#multi-window support

[detrasystem]

i love scrivener. ok. i have bought this piece of software around four separate times, that's how much i love it.

which is why it pisses me off that, for some god forsaken reason, my windows license no longer works?? hello??? i spent so much money on this thang????? and tech support for it is nigh nonexistent.

[serverprovider24]

Allow Multiple RDP Sessions on Windows Server: A Step-by-Step Guide

How to Enable Multiple Sessions [Windows Server and RDP] In this guide, you’ll learn how to enable multiple RDP sessions and resolve common issues that may arise. To connect to a machine using any remote desktop client, enable Remote Desktop and ensure users have authorization for RDP access. Keep in mind that desktop versions of Windows limit concurrent RDP sessions to one active user. run mulitple rdps This guide will also help you fix the “The Number of Connections to This Computer is Limited” error How to Enable Multiple Sessions [Windows Server and RDP].

By default, Windows Server disables multiple RDP sessions, meaning another administrator connecting will disconnect your session. Follow this tutorial to configure your server, allowing you to run multiple RDPs efficiently, whether on a single server or multiple servers.

Enable Multiple RDP Sessions Discover how to activate two RDP sessions and allow more than two. First, enable Remote Desktop on your PC.

rdp1 To enable multiple RDP connections, disable the restriction limiting the server to a single session per user, then adjust the maximum allowed connections.

Step 1. Activate Multiple RDP Connections Follow these steps to allow multiple RDP sessions on Windows Server:

Log in to your RDP server.

Press Windows Key + R to open the Run dialog.

Type gpedit.msc and press OK to open Local Group Policy Editor.

Navigate to: Computer Configuration -> Administrative Templates -> Windows Components -> Remote Desktop Services -> Remote Desktop Session Host -> Connections

rdp2 Restrict Remote Desktop Services users to a single session: Set to Disabled and press OK. how to use multiple rdps at once using rdpwrap Limit number of connections: Set to Enabled, then increase the RD Maximum Connection allowed to 2.

rdp3 Note: If you set it more than 2, it won’t make any difference because you can make two concurrent sessions in this case! It’s done; now you should be able to have multiple RDP connections at the same time.

Step 2. Create New Remote Desktop Users To manage RDP sessions effectively, it’s best to create separate users. However, you can connect multiple times to RDP using the same user account!

Steps to Create Users:

Open Computer Management by typing compmgmt.msc in the Run dialog and pressing Enter.

Navigate to Computer Management (Local) -> Local Users and Groups -> Users. Right-click on Users and select New User. rdp4 Note: Add the newly created users to the Remote Desktop Users Group.

rdp5 Fill out the required fields and create as many users as needed (for now, just 2 users). Test your setup by connecting to RDP with two devices using different user accounts. woshub mulitple rdp Then, open Task Manager to view online users and their sessions.

rdp6 Using the above steps, you can Enable Multiple RDP Sessions successfully. Stay with us! There are so many to learn.

Allow More Than 2 Remote Sessions To enable more than two remote users, install Remote Desktop Services (RDS) enhanced multi user support for terminal servers windows 11. While an RDS license is required, installing RDS provides a 120-day free trial for this feature. Here, we’ll install RDS without using an ADDC (Active Directory Domain Controller).

Step 1. Install RDS

Open Server Manager.

In the Dashboard, select Add roles and features.

Choose Role-based or feature-based installation in the Installation Type step and click Next.

Select a server from the server pool in the Server Selection step and proceed.

Tick the Remote Desktop Service checkbox in the Server Roles step and click Next. rdp7 Proceed to the Features step with default options.

Tick Remote Desktop Connection Broker and Remote Desktop Session Host checkboxes, then click Next. Note 1: Accept any pre-required role services or features if prompted.

Note 2: To use RDS beyond the 120-day trial period, install the Remote Desktop Licensing role as well.

rdp8 In the final step, tick Restart the destination server automatically if required and click Install.

Note: Installation may take some time and might require several server reboots.

rdp9 Once done, increase the RD Maximum Connection allowed in the Limit number of connections file (e.g., 99) and set both files’ statuses as described earlier Buy RDP all locations.

How to Fix “The Number of Connections to

This Computer is Limited” When using Remote Desktop Protocol (RDP) to connect between Windows Server instances, users might encounter the “The Number of Connections to This Computer is Limited” error. This occurs when the session limit is reached, preventing further connections.

In this guide, you’ll learn how to fix this error using multiple solutions. When the maximum configured connections are reached, subsequent users will encounter this issue.

rdp 10 Server operating systems, like Windows Server or Linux, provide the platform for running applications. They ensure network connectivity and access to hardware resources. While RDP servers are a smart solution for remote work, they can face issues. Bugs causing server problems often occur in layers such as the Network, Hardware, or OS, but most are found in the application layer. Today, we’ll tackle one such issue and learn how to resolve it.

After purchasing a Windows RDP, configure it to support multiple concurrent RDP sessions, enabling separate sessions for different users. You can adjust the number of allowed simultaneous connections on your server.

If the “The number of connections to this computer is limited” error persists despite not exceeding the maximum allowed connections, this guide provides two solutions to resolve it.

Solutions to Fix “The Number of Connections to This Computer is Limited” Error If you frequently face the “The Number of Connections to this Computer is Limited” error, this guide provides steps to resolve it. After ensuring your RDP server is properly configured, test the following solutions. If your system is part of a domain, ask the domain controller to support this setup. Additionally, choosing a reliable RDP provider can prevent such errors.

For non-domain systems, disconnect the network cable, turn off WiFi, and restart the computer. After rebooting, reconnect the cable and activate WiFi. Linux RDP This often resolves the issue.

If the error persists, this tutorial offers two methods to fix it, letting you choose the best solution based on your system and expertise.

Solution 1: Check for the Number of Connected Users The error may occur because active RDP sessions remain disconnected. Some users close the RDP application without signing out, keeping their sessions open. To check:

Press Ctrl + Shift + Esc to open Task Manager. Go to the Users tab to view active users. rdp11 Right-click any column, select Session, and check the session types (RDP, console, terminal, etc.).

rdp12 Identify users connected via RDP and ensure their statuses are Disconnected. With this step, you’ve successfully applied the first technique to fix the error

rdp13 You have successfully finished the first technique to Fix the Number of Connections to this Computer is Limited Error.

Solution 2. Using GPO to Enable Multiple Remote Desktop Connections A Group Policy Object (GPO) is a collection of policy settings that could potentially cause issues. If the “The number of connections to this computer is limited” error persists, the second solution involves updating the Group Policy to allow multiple connections.

The RDP “The number of connections to this computer is limited” issue might have been resolved if you managed to update the Group Policy to permit multiple connections.

rdp14 Follow these steps:

Computer Configuration > Administrative Templates > Windows Components > Remote Desktop Services > Remote Desktop Session Host > Connections. rdp001 In the right pane, locate Limit Number of Connections and double-click it.

rdp16 Set it to Enabled, then enter your desired connection limit.

rdp17 Next, find and double-click Restrict Remote Desktop Services users to a single Remote Desktop Services session in the same pane.

rdp18 Set this option to Disabled to remove user restrictions.

rdp19 Finally, restart your computer for the changes to take effect. This will resolve the error by allowing multiple concurrent RDP connections.

Conclusion In this article, you learned how to enable multiple RDP sessions. To allow multiple RDP connections, you need to disable the single-user remote desktop mode and adjust the remote connection limit. This enables two RDP sessions simultaneously for free. However, if you need more, you must install the RDS role on the server. The RDS feature is free for 120 days, after which you must purchase an RDS license to continue using it.

This guide also covered how to fix “The Number of Connections to This Computer is Limited” error. Two solutions were explained to help you resolve the issue. If you have other methods or solutions, feel free to share them with us. By following the two solutions provided, you can easily fix the error. However, if any issues arise, don’t hesitate to contact us. Our technical support team will assist you in resolving any problems efficiently.

[timmydraker]

Every now and again, Tim breaks things.

Not as in he accidentally snaps a pencil or messes up when fixing a grapple, though that does happen, when Tim breaks things on purpose it’s… a lot.

It started when he was a kid the first time his parents canceled his birthday after an opportunity came up in Dubai and they wanted to stay longer. Tim was seven and at that point his birthday was the only day in the whole year that he could be sure they would be home.

At first he stood in his room two days before his birthday with silent tears as he processed what he had just heard told via a short phone call.

Then he just… lashed out.

Tim banged on his door and screamed like a banshee before ripping hooks of his shelf and throwing them at the walls and leaving dents. He yanked on his closet door till it creaked and broke one hinge and then took a pencil and stabbed it into his pillow.

He cried himself to sleep and upon waking up to his nanny arriving in the afternoon he panicked and quickly cleaned up the mess he had made.

Tim was ahed of himself for getting so emotional and making a mess, feeling like the child he was but more importantly he felt so very out of control.

He ignored the part of him that felt better after causing a little chaos and putting his anger outwards. A relief and high of a sort when he gave into an anger he hadn’t really felt before.

So, after that he decided that if he was really, really, really upset and he couldn’t get his blood to stop pumping so quickly, couldn’t get rid of that overpowering urge to hit and thrash and throw, he could do so as long as no one saw.

It happens again when Jason dies and Thai tiem he throws his camera out the window, which then makes him sob as he still had photos of his beloved Robin inside and also panic because how the hell was he supposed to fix a window without his parents noticing?

He does it a few times when he’s training to be Robin, to the point he tries to use a punching bag but when he found that the lack of damage being done left him feeling worse, he may or may not have grabbed a Batternag and stabbed instead.

Tim did not do it when his mum died, nor when his father was almost taken off life support, because they wouldn’t like it and it was about them.

The bats don’t k ow about it, but his team does.

Greta had heard him have a rather rough conversation with Batman and when she went to check on him after he hung up, she saw as he opened his Bo staff and started whacking against the Titan Tower console, hitting over and over in dead quiet before activating the blade on the end and slicing through the biggest scream, causing half of it to fall off the wall.

She had gone to the others and Tim had been given no choice but to open up to his team.

It took him a while to admit that it helped a hell of a lot more to talk to them than to smash up multi-million dollar equipment.

Jason and Damian are the first of the bats to see it, though by then Cass was well aware of his habit as Tim could never lie to his sister.

He hadn’t had a moment like that for months, nearly a whole year, but then one night when Jason and Damian had needed to come by his Nest to get some backup toxin cure when Ivy was announced as escaped: he got a call that pissed him off.

One of the board members he had very clearly told Bruce he wasn’t willing to work with as the prudish man annoyed him, had been transferred to DI from WE because for some reason Bruce seemed to think Tim needed to work less and needed more help. Why that was in the form of a useless former CFO was beyond Tim, but it wasn’t abnormal for Bruce to make company decisions like he was operating with the Justice League and everyone had basic respect for each other-

During the call, Jason and Damian had been watching and observed as Tim grew more and more tensed as he spoke with Lucious, who was doing his best to calm the situation as he had witnessed the aftermath of one of Tim’s outburst within a week of knowing the young man.

Damian watched as Tim tells Lucious to call him back in a few hours so he can be more rational before handing up and very slowly placed his phone down on the desk.

Being an assassin, Damian is an expert of body language and had been working with Cass to become a master, but to see such anger on Tim was odd. Tim was a snappy and shouting kind of angry, but this quiet and shaking rage was something different.

“Drake-“

Tim holds a hand up and when Damian actually goes quiet, Jason knows something is up and moves to stand beside the youngest of them just one case.

“If you would please give me a moment.”

The two watch as Tim moves into another room, one that they knew to be a work room that Tim used when he built or repaired things.

He shuts the door and for a moment there’s nothing before the sounds of clanging, bashing and thudding starts to rattle the walls. They hear it all but see nothing, only having the sounds of Tim shouting out obscenities and metal hitting metal to go off.

Though it’s muffled they can hear some of what he’s saying like, ‘stupid fucking Bruce with his stupid fucking meddling’ and in a mocking voice: ‘“I act dumb so people don’t know I’m Batman”- ARE YOU SURE ITS AN ACT?!’.

Glass shattered as Tim said something about buying Bruce’s company just to fire him.

By the time it settles down they can hear his breathing through the walls.

A deep inhale sounds before something, maybe a desk, is righted upwards and Tim walks back out looking only mildly disheveled. “Sorry, needed a moment. What was it you needed?”

Damian, who was caught between defending his father and trying to get a peak into the thrashed room, wanted to insult Tim for his poor emotional regulation but got the feeling it wasn’t the time.

Jason seemed to agree and answered for them both, saying, “Just some toxin cures… Ivy for out.”

Tim inhaled deeply again, looking behind him and giving a blank look, “You’ll have to ask someone else.”

Damian raised an eyebrow, “why?”

Tim gestured to the room he had just exited, “I was reorganising.” A pause. “They were in there.”

Jason gave him a teasing smirk, “you broke them didn’t you?”

With a shrug, Tim adjusted his gloves and walked over to his desk, “It was that of Bruce’s face.”

[dcxdpdabbles]

I found and read this cute story on AO3, about Frostbite being Danny's legal parental guardian. In the story Bruce Wayne runs into Frostbite (in his full yeti glory no disguise) who is setting up for school bake sale. Got me thinking about what if Danny's past rogues took turns filling in and doing parental stuff especially at school functions. Like Frostbite does the bake sale, Pandora shows up for his games, Ghostwriter goes to all of the PTA meetings, Clockwork goes to teacher meetings, so on and so forth.

The 43rd Annual Gotham Academy Bake Sale by Faeriekit

Ohhh, that sounds good! I'll get it a read when I have some time. Thank you for the rec!

Danny Fenton is one of the lucky few who have a very involved household. His various family members would always sign up for any school event the boy needed support in. It didn't mean that the boy won everything, but as a teacher for nine years, Emily has come to learn how much it mattered to just have someone show up.

She had seen students whose entire faces light up after spotting someone in the crowd in the same amount she saw a student's hope crumble after they scanned the room.

Danny was a polite young man, a bit on the shyer side, but kind and not a troublemaker, his previous school had her believe. If anything, he seemed to struggle with fitting in, but no students blatantly disliked him.

The general opinion of Danny matched, as her students would say, "I know him from class, but I don't really talk to him. He seems cool though".

Maybe that's why so many people were supposed by his family to march into the auditorium during Danny's talent show. Seeing him wave at the row before starting his gymnastic act had been such a surprise.

Now, Gotham wasn't a close-knit community, not with the size of their city and the millions of people living within it, but everyone would have noticed that Danny was adopted.

After all, he was the only one that wasn't glowing or a large humanoid animal. They cheered the loudest among the crowd; uncaring Danny got bronze- having lost to Joey's tapping dancing for second and Damian's spectacular multi-instrumental cover of a meme song for first place- and Danny beamed back at them.

Gotham was known for not being meta-friendly, but that was only due to a few mean people who shouted the loudest on media outlets. Many of Emily's students were meta, had family that were meta, or knew someone meta. It wasn't a common enough trait one would encounter a meta on every outing, but you would see them in Gotham well enough.

Everyone knew, but no one said it out loud. In the same way, she knew which students' parents were in the country illegally but worked harder than anyone else. Saying anything would help the cops, or worse, the rich running Gotham.

Even the most prejudiced Gothamite would rather be spat on then give them aid. And those who were so prejudiced to help the poor man's enemies, well, Emily has lived here long enough to know they vanished rather quickly. The smart ones kept their mouths shut.

No one could forget what happened to that guy who accidentally insulted Penguin. His grandmother had been an illegal immigrant on his mother's side.

No one messed with that side of the family.

"Hello, Mrs. Jackson." Danny's adoptive father, Dr. Frostbite said, ducking down to avoid banging his head on the door. On one of his shoulders was a box of hotdog wieners; on the other were multiple bags of bread. "I'm here for my snack bar shift."

Emily tilts her head back to look the Yeti in the eye. He had been shocked the first time they met, but she could admit that Dr. Frostbite was a relatively gentle and wise soul. "Welcome aboard. The girls are just about to take the field. You can put that down by the crock pot over there."

The mountain of white fur brushes by her with the grace of a king as Dr. Frostbite does as she says. There were no customers at the window, so she leaned on the counter and offered him a smile. "Did you enjoy the game?"

"Yes. I was saddened our team did not win, but Danny hit a home run." Dr. Frostbite's sharp smile could have been frightening if he wasn't oozing parental pride. "I caught it all on video."

Emily opens her mouth to respond when a hand lands loudly on the counter with a loud crack. Her heart leaps, and she looks into Danny's Ember. She isn't one of Emily's students, though she does appear to be a teenager in appearance.

You know. If it wasn't for her hair made of fire. Or her blue skin. Or her glow.

"I set a boy on fire," She announces with a cackle.

"That's so?" Dr. Frostbite gently rips open the box, taking out the hotdog packages. With one large claw, he rips a hole into it and lets the few weiners slide into the crockpot with a gentle splash. "What did he do?"

"Tried to slap me on the butt." She huffs, rolling her eyes, but her smirk doesn't lose an edge of smugness.

"Well done." Dr. Frostbite praises placing the lid back on. It always surprised Emily to see such careful actions from the large creature. "I assume you did so out of Pandora's line of sight?"

"Naturally. I don't want her lecturing me in front of the whole community." Ember scoffs, crossing her arms. Behind her, the top of Pandora's head can be seen swinging side to side over the dugout, keeping an eye on the ball.

She was the best volunteer referee because even the parents knew not to shout insulting things when she was present. Emily doesn't think she has had such peaceful games in a long while. Hopefully, Danny will try out again for baseball next year so the woman can return.

"Oh hey, you're Danny's English teacher, right? Mrs. Johnson?" Ember asks, leaning on the counter to give Emily a curious look.

When the blond nods, holding out her hand for a shake. "That's right. It's nice to see you again, Ember."

The girl's hair flairs a little as a grin grows on her face. Her hand is ice cold to the touch, but she's got a firm grip that her husband would appreciate. "Likewise. I got a message for you from Ghostwriter. He sent the notes for the last PTA meeting to you and the revision playwright for the musical you two were working on."

Emily's mood brightens up. "That's wonderful. Could you tell him I'll check it out when I get home and get to my laptop since my phone broke in the last Two-Face attack?"

Ember's hair flickers in the wind when she nods, but Danny bounces right up behind her just as she opens her mouth to speak. He's wearing his Gotham Acadamy Baseball uniform with pride despite them losing. "Hey, Frostbite, can I go with Tim and Duke to get Peoeria Pizza? We'll be back before the girl's game ends."

"Only if you take Ember with you," Dr.Frostbite says, nodding to his daughter, who looks alarmed to be included. "She needs more friends."

"Hey!"

"Sure. Come on, Ember, you'll get along with Duke. He likes old-school rock."

"It's not old-school!"

Emily laughs, watching the two siblings bicker as they stride away, blending into the crowd with no one batting an eye at the glowing girl anymore. How blessed that boy was.

"I'm glad Danny has gotten comfortable here. I always worried he never was going to have a normal childhood." Dr. Frostbite confesses to swirling the hotdogs around in the water to ensure each one is cooked.

"I think you and the rest are doing a wonderful job. You're a great father." She assures him, thinking wistfully of her William. He's been on deployment for a few months now and will likely miss the holidays again, but his contract is almost up. They may try for a child when he gets in the reserves. "How are things at the clinic?"

"Oh, wonderful. I'm grateful that Mr. Wayne has allowed the expansion of Thomas Wayne Memorial Clinic. Dr. Thompkins will be covering the east side of Gotham while I help those on the west. It's much more fulfilling than working in some hospital that demands funds for the silliest things. Back home, that would have been illegal. The people would have burned me at the stake if I had allowed anyone to pass away due to greed."

"My kind of people." She laughs. A sharp crack sounds from the field as the bat makes contact with the ball, and the crowd goes wild. It's a wonderful day.

[creepyscritches]

I read your post about open enrollment for the ACA and was hoping you might expand on why you believe it would take years to dismantle. I've been terrified that with a Republican house/senate, Trump could just snap his fingers and make it go away within months of taking office. I'd love some reassurance that that's not possible.

Hiya, sure I can share some thoughts on the matter! First, it's very important to understand the ACA is a huuuuuuuuuuuuge system with subject matter experts in dozens of places throughout the process. I'm one of those SMEs, but I am at the end of the process where the revenue is generated, so my insight is limited on the public facing pieces.

What this means is that I am professionally embedded in the ACA in a position that exists purely to show what conditions people are treated for and then generate that data into what's called a "risk score". There's about 6 pages I could write on it, but the takeaway is that the ACA is

1) intricately interwoven with the federal government

2) increasingly profitable, sustainable, and growing (it is STILL a for-profit system if you can believe it)

3) wholeheartedly invested in by the largest insurance companies in the country LARGELY due to the fact that they finally learned the rules of how to make the ACA a thriving center of business

4) since the big issuers are arm+leg invested in the ACA, there is a lot of resistance politically and on an industry level to leave it behind (think of the lobbyists, politicians, corporations that will fight tooth and nail to protect their profit + investment)

The process to calculate a risk score takes roughly 2 years. There is an audit for the concurrent year and then a vigorous retro audit for the prev year - - this is a rolling cycle every year. Medicare has a similar process. These are RVP + RADV audits if you would like the jargon.

Eliminating the ACA abruptly is as internally laughable as us finishing the RADV audit ahead of schedule. If Trump were to blow the ACA into smithereens on day 1, he would be drowning in issuer complaints and an economic health sector that is essentially bleeding out. You cut off the RVP early? We have half of next RADV stuck in the gears now. You cut off the RADV early? No issuer will get their "risk adjusted" payments for services rendered in the prev benefit year (to an extent, again very complex multi-process system).

The ACA is GREAT for the public and should be defended on that basis alone. However, the inner capitalistic nature of the ACA is a powerful armor that has conservatives + liberals defending it on a basis of capital + market growth. It's not sexy, but it makes too much money consistently for the system to be easily dismantled.

Or at least that's what I can tell you from the money center of the ACA. they don't bring us up in political conversation because we are confusing to seasoned professionals, boring to industry outsiders, and consistently we are anathema to the anti-ACA talking points.

I am already preparing for next year's RVP for this window of open enrollment. That RVP process will feed into the RADV in 2026. In 2025, we begin the RADV for 2024. If nothing else, the slow fucking gears of CMS will keep the ACA alive until we finish our work at the end of the process. I highly doubt that will be the only reason the ACA is safeguarded, but it is a powerful type of support to pair with people protecting the ACA for other reasons.

I work every day to show, defend, and educate on how many diagnoses are managed thru my company's ACA plans. My specialty is cancer and I see a lot of it. The revenue drive comes from the Medical Loss Ratio (MLR) rule stating only 20% MAX of profit may go to the issuer + the 80% at a minimum must go back to the customer or be invested in expanding benefits. The more people on the plan using it, the higher that 20% becomes for the issuer and the more impactful that 80% becomes for the next year of benefit growth. It is remarkably profitable once issuers stop seeking out "healthy populations". The ACA is a functional method for issuers to tap into a stable customer base (sick/chronic ill customers) that turns a profit, grows, and builds strong consumer bases in each state.

The industry can never walk away from this overnight - - this is the preferred investment for many big players. Changing the direction of those businesses will be a monumental effort that takes years (at least 2 with the audits). In the meantime, you still have benefits, you still have care, and you still have reason to sign up. Let us deal with the bureaucracy bullshit, go get your care and know you have benefits thru 2025 and we will be working to keep it that way for 2026 and forward. This is a wing of the federal government, it is not a jenga tower like Trump wishes.

[tpwrtrmnky]

clinic

[ID: Multi-page comic with crudely drawn stick people. Page 1:

Four panels. Panel 1: A green stick person is talking to a receptionist in some building.

Green: "Yeah uh I've got an appointment with the transhexualism clinic? For a… routine checkup?"

Grayscale: "Hallway A13 then."

Green: "Ok thanks"

Panel 2: The green person is looking at a big hall with hallways on the side labelled "C" and "D"

Panel 3: The green person is inspecting a plaque next to a stairwell

Panel 4: The green person is looking down a hallway with a turn to the right in the far end, and a barred door on the left

Page 2: Three panels.

Panel 1: The green person is moving along a walkway overlooking some strange equipment, including a control panel of some sort, a large shelving unit, a bunch of pipes, and a table with a single chemistry flask in it.

Panel 2: The green person proceeds down a geometrically nonsensical elevated walkway in a room with a perspective illusion cube hanging from a chain. There is a box on the floor with some lines in it.

Panel 3: The green person approaches a door labelled "A" in a dark room, the glow of the sign appearing to be the only light source. Large, skull-shaped figures can barely be spotted in the darkness.

Page 3: Four panels.

Panel 1: The green person walks through a tunnel structure with three round windows, viewed from the outside. It is supported by some pillars.

Panel 2: The green person emerges from a door to another receptionist, who is leaning backwards in their chair.

Green: "Oh! Uh, hi, I'm-"

Receptionist: "Wait room for the chroma clinic's the next door on the right."

Panel 3: The wait room consists of three couches and a small table. The green person is the only one there, aside from a grayscale doctor in the foreground.

Doctor: "Your turn, this way."

Panel 4: The doctor's office contains an L-shaped table, the doctor has a typical office chair.

Doctor: "So uh, sorry about the long wait time. As you know we're very busy."

Green: "…Do I know that?"

End ID.]

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[thewriteadviceforwriters]

Master Dialogue Writing Techniques for Engaging Fiction (For Writers)

(Beware, long post!)

As fiction writers, we all know that effective dialogue is essential for bringing our stories and characters to life. After all, the way our protagonists, antagonists, and supporting players speak to one another is one of the primary ways readers get to know them on a deep, intimate level. Dialogue reveals personality, uncovers motivation, and propels the narrative forward in a way that felt narration simply can't match.

But nailing natural, compelling dialogue is easier said than done. It's a craft that takes serious skill to master, requiring writers to have a keen ear for authentic speech patterns, a nimble handle on subtext and implication, and the ability to strike that delicate balance between being true to real-world conversation while also keeping things snappy, dynamic, and laser-focused on the story at hand.

If you're someone who struggles with crafting dialogue that truly sings, never fear. In this in-depth guide, I'm going to dive deep into the techniques and best practices that will help you elevate your dialogue writing to new heights. By the end, you'll have a toolbox full of strategies to ensure that every exchange between your characters is as gripping, revealing, and unforgettable as possible.

The Fundamentals of Effective Dialogue

Before we get into the more advanced nuances of dialogue writing, let's start by covering some of the foundational principles that all great fictional conversations are built upon:

Reveal Character One of the primary functions of dialogue is to give readers a window into who your characters are as people. The way they speak — their word choices, their tone, their body language, their turns of phrase — should provide vivid insight into their personalities, backgrounds, values, quirks, and emotional states.

Think about how much you can glean about someone just from how they communicate in real life. Do they use a lot of slang and shorthand? Are they verbose and flowery with their language? Do they struggle to make eye contact or fail to respond directly to questions? All of these subtle linguistic cues are powerful tools for crafting multi-dimensional characters.

Drive the Plot Forward While revelations about character are crucial, you also want to ensure that your dialogue is constantly pushing the story itself forward. Each exchange should feel purposeful, moving the narrative along by introducing new information, triggering plot points, creating conflict, or prompting characters to make pivotal decisions.

Dialogue that feels aimless or extraneous will ultimately bore readers and detract from the forward momentum of your story. Every line should have a clear intent or function, whether it's uncovering a hidden truth, setting up a future complication, or escalating the tension in a high-stakes moment.

Establish Distinct Voices In a story featuring multiple characters, it's crucial that each person has a clearly defined and differentiated way of speaking. Readers should be able to tell who's talking just from the rhythm, diction, and personality of the dialogue, without any additional context clues.

This doesn't mean every character has to have an over-the-top, hyper-stylized way of communicating. In fact, the most effective character voices often feel grounded and natural. But there should still be distinct markers — whether it's word choice, sentence structure, tone, or speech patterns — that make each person's voice instantly recognizable.

Convey Subtext While the literal words being spoken are important, great dialogue also traffics heavily in subtext — the unspoken emotional undercurrents, power dynamics, and hidden agendas that simmer beneath the surface of a conversation.

The most compelling exchanges happen when characters are communicating on multiple levels simultaneously. Perhaps they're saying one thing out loud while their body language and tone convey a completely different sentiment. Or maybe they're engaged in a subtle war of wits, trading verbal jabs that reveal deeper wells of resentment, attraction, or vulnerability.

Mastering the art of subtext is key to creating dialogue that feels layered, lifelike, and imbued with dramatic tension.

Strategies for Writing Snappy, Realistic Dialogue

Now that we've covered the foundational principles, let's dive into some specific techniques and best practices that will take your dialogue writing to the next level:

Omit Unnecessary Details One of the biggest mistakes many writers make with dialogue is bogging it down with too much extraneous information. In real life, people rarely speak in perfectly composed, grammatically correct full sentences. We stumble over our words, interrupt each other, trail off mid-thought, and pack our speech with filler words like "um," "uh," and "you know."

While you don't want to go overboard with mimicking that messiness, you should aim to strip your dialogue of any overly formal or expository language. Stick to the essentials — the core thoughts, feelings, and information being exchanged — and let the subtext and character voices do the heavy lifting. Your readers will fill in the gaps and appreciate the authenticity.

Master the Art of Subtext As mentioned earlier, crafting dialogue that's rich in subtext is one of the keys to making it feel gripping and lifelike. Think about how much is often left unsaid in real-world conversations, with people dancing around sensitive topics, conveying hidden agendas, or engaging in subtle power struggles.

To layer that sense of unspoken tension into your own dialogue, consider techniques like:

• Having characters contradict themselves or say one thing while their body language says another

• Utilizing loaded pauses, interruptions, and moments of uncomfortable silence

• Injecting subtle sarcasm, skepticism, or implication into a character's word choices

• Allowing characters to talk past each other, missing the unspoken point of what the other person is really saying

The more you can imbue your dialogue with that layered, emotionally-charged subtext, the more it will resonate with readers on a deeper level.

Establish Distinct Voices As mentioned earlier, ensuring that each of your characters has a clearly defined and differentiated speaking voice is crucial for great dialogue. But how exactly do you go about accomplishing that?

One effective strategy is to give each person a unique set of verbal tics, idioms, or speech patterns. Maybe one character is prone to long-winded, flowery metaphors, while another speaks in clipped, efficiency-minded sentences. Perhaps your protagonist has a habit of ending statements with questioning upticks, while the sarcastic best friend always punctuates their barbs with an eye roll.

You can also play with differences in diction, syntax, and even accent/dialect to further distinguish how your characters communicate. The key is to really get to know the unique personality, background, and psychology of each person — then let those elements shine through in how they express themselves.

Lean Into Conflict and Confrontation When it comes to crafting gripping dialogue, conflict is your friend. The most compelling exchanges often arise from characters butting heads, engaging in verbal sparring matches, or working through deep-seated tensions and disagreements.

Conflict allows you to showcase the high stakes, unresolved needs, and deeper emotional currents that are driving your characters. It forces them to make bold choices, reveals aspects of their personalities that might not otherwise surface, and generates the kind of dramatic tension that will really hook your readers.

Of course, you'll want to avoid making every single dialogue scene a full-blown argument. But learning to sprinkle in well-placed moments of friction, confrontation, and clashing agendas is a surefire way to elevate the energy and impact of your character interactions.

Read Your Dialogue Out Loud One of the most valuable tricks for ensuring your dialogue sounds natural and lifelike is to read it aloud as you're writing. Hearing the words out loud will quickly expose any clunky phrasing, overly formal grammar, or inauthentic rhythms that would otherwise go unnoticed on the page.

Pay close attention to how the dialogue rolls off your tongue. Does it have a smooth, conversational flow? Or does it feel stilted and unnatural? Are your characters' unique voices shining through clearly? Are there any spots where the back-and-forth starts to drag or feel repetitive?

Actively listening to your dialogue — and making adjustments based on how it sounds in the real world — is an essential part of the writing process. It's one of the best ways to refine and polish those character interactions until they feel truly alive.

Hopefully, this can help you all!

The key is to always keep your focus on authenticity. Ask yourself: how would real people actually speak?

Hey fellow writers! I'm super excited to share that I've just launched a Tumblr community. I'm inviting all of you to join my community. All you have to do is fill out this Google form, and I'll personally send you an invitation to join the Write Right Society on Tumblr! Can't wait to see your posts!

[hannie-dul-set]

fire and brimstone (and you’re a moth made of gasoline) — THREE.

SYNOPSIS. having fought tooth and nail out of high school, university, and law school, only to end up working for a law firm that basically serves as a clean up dog after the biggest organized crime group in the district, you thought you couldn’t get any lower than this. 

the bar is in hell, and yet you’ve managed to limbo six feet beneath that. alternatively— na jaemin is the personification of hell, and your very existence just makes him even worse than he already is. 

PAIRING. na jaemin x female! reader. GENRE. gang! au, lawyer! au, office! au, comedy, drama, romance, very light angst, this is a sitcom, hate to love(?), a somewhat questionable power dynamic, asshole! jaemin (my beloved…my kryptonite…) but he’s also an idiot, jaemin has an eye contact thing, inspired by the manhwas “weak hero” and “study group.” WARNINGS. an abundance of criminal activity (including but not limited to organized crime, fraud, blackmail, DUIs, unethical and illegal occupational practices, etc.), blood and violence, suggestive themes, eventual non explicit sex, jaemin with a tattoo, legal inaccuracies because i am not familiar with south korean laws, so i’m just using my own country’s as reference. also because this is just a stupid thirst fic. who gives a damn. WORD COUNT. 5.8k.

NOTE. there was supposed to be more to this chapter, but it’d end up being way too long so i reserved it for the next one. anyway, hope you enjoy your first week at nalkeutta. feedback and comments much appreciated. happy reading! CHAPTER FOUR.

AFTER ONE ANGRY PHONE CALL, YOU FIND OUT MORE FROM MARK THE INTERNAL AGREEMENT BETWEEN JSS NALKEUTTA. Mark understands the precarious spot JSS is in, but can’t risk losing his major legal recourse whenever things get icky within his gang dealings. JSS recognizes the significant benefits it had been receiving by partnering with Nalkeutta, but this continued arrangement would be inimical in the long run.

So they came up with a very simple compromise. Nalkeutta will stop hiring lawyers from JSS if the firm simply hands over one of their lawyers to them, effectively cutting public ties between the two parties. However, Mark Lee will continue supporting JSS as a private investor, all while retaining the protection fee benefits that the firm has been enjoying thus far.

It’s a win-win situation for all. All except you.

You’re the only loser in this situation. These fuckers are tossing and trading you around like some sort of commodity.

“Are you happy that you’ve finally managed to poach me after all this time?”

Knowing very well how pissed you are, Mark offered to pick you up from your apartment. Today’s scheduled to be your first official day at Nalkeutta. He’s smiling in the driver’s seat of his fucking Bugatti, and it just makes you feel even shittier as your ass lands on the plush cushions of his unreasonably expensive car. “Seatbelt,” he simply tells you. You grunt and fasten it on. “I hope you’d change your mind about your transfer once you get a tour of our building.”

Oh, joy. A building tour. The best description for you and Mark in the car right now, driving down the sepia streets of Yeongdeungpo district, would be that of a chipper mom taking her angsty teen daughter to a birthday party, chin on palm, staring out the window and all.

He eventually pulls up to a tall, multi-windowed building. Very tall, wedged between two shorter establishments. You look at the towering building from inside the car, noticing the sign greeting you right above the well-mainted glass doors— Daybreak Security Company, it says. You release a scoff. Wow, what a disguise. 

Come to think of it, in the months you’ve worked with Nalkeutta, you’ve never actually been here before. Mark’s always the one visiting JSS, never the other way around, so there is the barest amount of curiosity here. “You can head in first and wait in the lobby,” he tells you. “I need to park this thing in the basement.” Your hand stops at the door handle, squinting back at Mark’s instruction. He laughs. “The staff are informed about your arrival. Most of them are out, anyway, so you have nothing to worry about.”

Dubious, but you don’t protest. Mark Lee stays hazarding by the sidewalk with one car window open, watching you as you make your way to the entrance. You tentatively look behind, only to be met by Mark’s close-eyed smile, waving a hand to prompt you inside the building. You grimace and spin your heels. What a psycho, you think, and you finally hear him restarting the car to leave once you’re already halfway through Nalkeutta’s doors.

Jeez. He and Doyoung are on the opposite ends of the boss spectrum— both equally despicable— but at least your former boss wasn’t as creepy or an active threat to your life. Heck, he was even a source of entertainment sometimes. You don’t think you can get away with the same disrespectful shit you’ve been pulling on Doyoung with Mark. The only reason why the latter has been letting you talk back so much is because he never saw you as a threat. Now that you’re in his territory, you can’t be so complacent.

Anyhow, you do as instructed and are currently waiting in the lobby, collecting curious stares here and there from an incorrigible amount of men coming in and out, and your best attempt at an impatient resting bitch face so that none of these fuckers try to talk to you is starting to be overcome by queasiness. When the hell is he coming back? You notice a group of guys in their early twenties whisper while sneaking glances at you from the corner— one of them you’re pretty sure you’d had to bail out before for a DUI.

Besides that glimmer of abnormality, the rest of the lobby is eerily normal, harboring the appearance of any other company office with potted plants and clean sofas and a receptionist corner. Granted, they are trying to pose as a very legal, very unsuspicious security company, but knowing what you know about Nalkeutta, it just makes you sick to the bones.

Eventually, Mark Lee shows up, emerging from the ground floor elevator near the couch you’ve been waiting on. You don’t even try to hide your annoyance. “Sorry, Had to take a phone call,” he says, smiling and sounding not very sorry at all while nudging you out of your seat. “C’mon, attorney. Let’s start the tour.”

You release a dead and pained groan. Mark pats you on the back for your enthusiasm, leading the way through.

Nalkeutta has four floors in total. The first floor is basically the entirety of Nalkeuta’s front— Daybreak Security Company, all decked out with an abundance of private meeting rooms for clients, consultation offices, and a bunch of flat out empty rooms labelled as storage, and bathrooms on each wing. There’s both a staircase and an elevator leading further up the floors or down to the basement parking lot. Mark says he’ll show you to your reserved parking spot later, and that alone is already tipping the scales between him and Doyoung on who is the better bad boss.

The second floor is reserved for the general office— divided into Nalkeutta’s four divisions and a common break area in the center, cushions and sofas already occupied by less than familiar faces. You don’t look at any of them and instead feast your eyes “You’ll also be stationed on this floor,” he tells you, smiling. “But we’ll save that part of the tour for last.”

Wow. You can’t wait to have another crowded cubicle sandwiched between roughed up gangsters who probably don’t know how to work a printer. Now that you think about it, it’s kind of uncanny that this notorious gang operates in a sterilized office setting. Mark Lee never fails to send you to the depths of discomfort.

“Now, to the next floor.” Up another level in the elevator are two very large conference rooms, an entire fucking gym area, and rooms and rooms of organized files and storages, each tightly chained with locks, but that’s not the point.

They have a gym here. There’s a freaking fully-equipped gym in the middle of all this corporate bullshit. Of fucking course there is.

“I’ll give you the keys to the locked rooms later,” he informs with a hum. “And you’re free to use the amenities up here.”

There’s no point hiding the sheer disgust on your face. “You’re offering me up to a biohazard chamber.” This is a male dominated building. You may be stereotyping, but you can’t imagine how hygienic these roughed up gangsters are. Mark always smells like baby lotion and fabric softener, but hospitals hide the smell of blood and death with a noxious amount of industrial chemicals and disinfectant. Look at him laughing at your repugnance. Evil, evil man.

“Alright, now let’s head up to the fifth floor.”

Riding up the elevator, you notice quickly that the uppermost floor has a lot less going on than the three below it. The first and only place Mark lets you enter is his private office— instructing you to knock thrice in case you have an urgent matter to discuss with him without informing him beforehand. The rest of the rooms on the floor are confidential, beyond your scope of authority.

He drops a set of keys onto your open palm. “But once you’ve worked with us for around three or four years, I might change my mind.”

It’s concerning how employee access to restricted information depends on the insane boss’s fickleness of mind. “Sure.” You pocket the keys. “Is there anything else I need to know?”

“Yeah,” he smiles. “Let me show you to your office.”

Your palm, still inside your slacks pocket, tightens around the keys. Office? No. No fucking way. Haha. He probably means just a cubicle. Your heart starts racing. Mark starts walking, and you hear the thumping in your ears coincide with your clacking heels against the hollow hallway. 

Office. Office. Your hopes are starting to rise up as the elevator brings you a level down. It dings. Mark leads you back into the fourth floor, and when you pass by the sets of cubicles divided in the open office area without your boss turning his head or stopping or even batting an eye— you start losing your shit. Holy crap. He stops in front of a close-doored room, interiors concealed by large blinds from the inside. 

There’s an acrylic placard attached to the door. It says Chief Legal Officer.

“This room is yours.”

When he opens the door, the first thing that greets you is the glistening name plate sitting parallel before you atop the sleek mahogany desk. 

It has your name on it. Gold. Avenir font. Engraved. Heavy enough to knock a man unconscious with one blow. You’re about to cry. Nevermind all that you said earlier. Fuck Kim Doyoung. Mark Lee is the best boss you could ever ask for.

“Hope the interior is to your liking, but you can change it up however you like.” 

That prompts you to actually take a look around, and holy shit— it’s almost as big as Doyoung’s office. There’s a substantial amount of organizers and cabinets. At the center sits a set of low, mustard settees and a small black coffee table to match. The floor is carpeted and lint-free. There’s a fucking mini fridge near the artificial potted plant in the corner. Your head snaps towards Mark. He laughs at your, speechless, open-mouthed, teary-eyed reaction to his surprise. 

“I’m guessing you’re satisfied with the office,” he says, looking like he’s about to say more but is interrupted by a silent buzz from his phone. He pulls it open, and his brows furrow for a split second. “Hmm. I still have to introduce you to Nalkeutta’s Executives, but something came up.” Mark pockets back his phone, and his usually pleasant expression takes over once more. “For now, I’ll let you get yourself settled in your office. I’ll send someone to pick you up in a while.”

The moment Mark Lee leaves the premises, you let out a scream, walk forward, drop down to your knees, and attempt to hug the entire length of your desk. 

“Oh my god,” you breathe out, cheek pressed against the cold surface of the red mahogany wood. “Oh my god, I’m naming you Savannah and you’ll be my new best friend.”

Savannah does not reciprocate your affections, but who gives a damn. You’re not sure how long you’ve been embracing your desk and inhaling the new office smell, but apparently long enough for someone to knock and push open your door with a sing-songy “Hellooo—!” The greeting quickly gets cut off the moment your widened eyes meet that of the intruder’s. Your knees are kissing the carpeted ground. Your head is cocked in a very uncomfortable manner in order to face the direction of the door— but not as uncomfortable as how the guy who just entered looks at the moment.

“Whoa, uh,” he double-takes. “Mark asked me to pick you up. You must be our new lawyer…?” 

You continue meeting the man’s gaze. You force your stiff shoulders back and slowly pull yourself up, patting down your pencil skirt. “Yes,” you start, promptly introducing yourself. “And you are?”

Very smooth. His gaze flickers down, making its way back up to meet your eyes— of which a wide grin starts to unfurl on his face. Your brow twitches. “Lee Haechan. Head of the Yoosun Department. My office is right across from yours.” He called Mark by his first name. Meaning, he must be one of his higher-ups. You wonder if it’s a Nalkeutta requirement to be rude and pretty in order to be promoted. “Nice to meet you, attorney. Seems like you’ll have no problem fitting right in.”

Haechan extends an arm for a handshake as if he didn’t just hit you with the worst insult you’ve been slapped with his fucking week. You respond with one firm shake before wiping the same palm against your blazer. 

He notices. You intended for him to notice. You beam at him with a smile. He’s still grinning, but slightly taken aback. “You’re fun.”

Mark has yet to orient you with the general organizational structure of Nalkeutta, but at the very least, there’s one thing you’re certain of.

“And you’re wasting time. What did Mark send you for?”

You answer to no one but him. Meaning, you’ve no reason to fake pleasantries with this Haechan guy. He barged into your office without waiting for admission. This guy needs to be taught a lesson.

“Oh, right,” he huffs. “He called us for a sudden meeting to meet the new head of our legal department, or something. I didn’t even know we had a legal department! Anyway, follow me, let’s head to the conference room. By the way, do you have a boyfriend?” The elevator doors close before you. You grace him with a response the moment he presses the floor button.

“You saw me in carnal embrace with my desk earlier. The only thing fucking me is my impending workload.”

Haechan chokes out a snorting laugh. “Holy shit,” he wheezes. “Is that a call for help? If so, I’m a pretty helpful guy.” 

You look at him, smiling. “Unless you’re a seventy-inch mahogany wood in width, I’m not interested.”

“Damn. High standards. I give, I give.”

You roll your eyes, taking the liberty of twisting the doorknob to the conference room before you. Your entrance is accompanied by a creak. At once, four sets of eyes immediately fall on you.

The first is the usual creepy ass gaze of Mark Lee, way too happy to see you. The next one is unfamiliar, covered by the glint of his glasses lens, but you don’t sense any animosity. The third is both blurry yet somewhat recognizable at the same time— a shiver down your spine when you meet his sharp glare. What the hell? This guy looks terrifying.

And the last one feels like walking back into a den that you swore you’d never return to. 

Na Jaemin’s eyes flicker up from his phone the moment you enter. You stifle a swear under your breath and shoot your gaze down. He flashes you a smile. Ah, fuck. Of course he’d be here. It totally slipped your mind thanks to the high from your new office and Lee Haechan trying to hook up with you. You’ve yet to judge whether or not a sick new office outweighs having to deal with this sick freak’s face every day. 

“Attorney!” he chirps from across the room, comfortably lounging on one of the office chairs lining the long conference table. A squeak accompanies every time the chair swivels from left to right, back and forth. “Long time no see.”

Yeah, you hoped it’d stay that way, but when did the scales ever tip in your favor? You swallow down any attempt of fear trying to break out and turn your head to the side. “Mark, what are we discussing?”

Standing at the head of the table, your new boss smiles at you. Not because of your flat enthusiasm. No way. He seems to be amused that you just ignored Na Jaemin point blank. “Ah, yes. I wanted to properly introduce you to our division executives and give you a briefer on the company.”

The annoying swiveling sound has stopped. You don’t dare look at that side in the room throughout the rest of the meeting.

“Alright, now that everyone’s here, let’s get started.”

Nalkeutta is divided into four divisions, and the other four brutes you’re trapped in this room right now are the executives of those four divisions respectively. You already know Na Jaemin is the man in charge of Ganghak. Lee Haechan has Yoosun. Glasses is introduced as Huang Renjun, who’s in charge of Hyeongshin. Big scary guy is Daehyeon’s Lee Jeno.

There’s a familiar ring to all of these division names. They’re all high schools in Yeongdeungpo. It starts to all make sense when Mark Lee tells you that this gang of his was founded nine years ago. 

Nalkeutta started as a juvenile gang by a bunch of fucked up high schoolers. And those schools continue to serve as breeding grounds for scumbags like them. This shit is insane.

“Hold on.” 

Your voice echoes, freezing the entire room. You narrow your eyes at the very comprehensive diagram of Nalkeutta’s organizational structure Huang Renjun is presenting up front on a laptop screen. 

“There’s something wrong with this.” You get up from your seat. You squeeze past Mark and Renjun, taking control of the touchpad to zoom into the upper part of the chart. Your name is underneath Mark’s, and on the same level as the four executives, but that’s not the problem here. “Why am I the only one under the legal department?” you lift your head up as you say this, eyes firmly locked into Mark. “Where are the rest of the lawyers?”

Mark Lee attempts to look apologetic and remorseful. “Attorney,” he starts, walking up. “You know well how hard it is for Nalkeutta to establish trust between our partners. We are in fact extremely grateful that we managed to get someone we trust very deeply to finally work with us directly.”

This son of a bitch. They couldn’t have at least pretended to give a fuck about your position.

How—how does he expect you to manage the legal affairs of this messed up organization all by yourself? Your blood starts to simmer. Fuck it, it’s already boiling, and you’re just about to blow up when Mark Lee opens his mouth before you could.

“Anyhow, let’s talk salary.”

Goddammit. This guy sure knows how to pacify you.

Jeno hands him a binded folder. He smiles and hands it over to you. “This is our employment contract. Let me know if you find any issues so we can negotiate, but the important part is here.” 

You glance down at the part of the page he’s tapping. Yearly salary. Your eyes fly wide open when you see the numbers on the page.

150,000,000 KRW. 

Your head shoots up from the folder. You look at him like he’s joking. He isn’t.

“Does this meet your standards, attorney?”

Motherfucker. First, a new office. Now this. It’s like he wants to strip you from your rights to complain.

‎*‎

Your first job under Nalkeutta is accompanying Huang Renjun to a client meeting in Yeongdeungpo’s Chinatown.

“Good to have you around, attorney.”

Well. Client meeting is a stretch. The quote-unquote client is a mixed-martial arts gym under Hyeongshin that’s been paying protection fees very diligently until last month. Hyeongshin’s grunts were sent to sniff around the other week to see what was up, and the owner of the gym was caught rendezvousing with a Cheongang under the bridge connecting Yeongdeungpo and Map.

Cheongang. If Yeongdeungpo has Nalkeutta, Map is controlled by a different gang called Cheongang. You don’t have much intel on them, save for the fact that this district was once part of their territory until Mark Lee came into the picture. Needless to say, the two gangs don’t have the most amicable relationship. This is going to be less of a client meeting and more of a beatdown for sure.

“Why am I even here?” you grunt in the car on the way to your destination. Huang Renjun is scrolling through his ipad as he sits next to you. He’s kind enough to respond to your mindless grumbles.

“Having a lawyer around is always useful,” he simply says. “Mark says this is your first exposure to the organization’s operations. You don’t have to do anything. Just observe.”

You peer at the side mirror and look at the other two Nalkeutta cars trailing behind this one. Huang Renjun is actually a lot nicer than you expected. Considering your first introductions to Nalkeutta were Na Jaemin and Mark Lee, this guys is a breath of fresh air.

The air turns rancid the moment you cross the paifang gate, and you watch as all hell breaks loose at the Rongyu Mixed-Martial Arts Gym at four in the fucking afternoon.

“Gijeol-ah I thought we had a relationship!”

You wince at the sound of Renjun’s voice.

“How could you cheat on us with these ugly Cheongang pricks?”

The gym’s doors are closed, but there’s almost a dozen people guarding it— all looking like they’re one second away from jumping the nearest person and beating the shit out of them. A few moments later, the door rattles open. A head pops out. He looks like he’s about to crap his pants.

“You— you Nalketta fuckers ask for too much shit! How could you raise the protection fees overnight? That’s not fucking fair!

You really feel like you shouldn’t be here, but for once in your life, you feel pretty thankful that there are lines and lines of tank built men surrounding you as a protective shield.

“Well, it’s part of the contract you signed, Gijeol-ah! This is your fingerprint isn’t it?” Renjun taunts further, holding up a contract before tapping on the bottom right page. “If you were having trouble, you could’ve just gone to me directly. Hyeongshin is pretty understanding, you know. We even let you off with just a warning last time when you were three months late in paying your loans. You should’ve been grateful that you’re not under Ganghak or Daehyeon.”

Nevermind. You no longer feel safe. You hear the nearest Hyeongshin guy next to you crack his knuckles. Another one starts warming up. You won’t be surprised if one of them is currently frothing at the mouth.

Huang Renjun drops his hands down. He sighs and hands you the contract. 

“But you went off to stab us in the back, Gijeol-ah. Unfortunately this is as far as my understanding extends.” 

You briefly skim over it. Wow. Mark Lee put work into this. It’s vague enough to bypass statutory limitations. They’re using Daybreak Security Company as the legal entity to ensure the contract’s validity. You see a few questionable provisions that might void this contract. And that’s gonna be your job to fix. Lucky you.

“You— you can go and shove your understanding up your ass! I’m sick and tired of Nalkeutta’s bullshit!”

“You’re breaking up with us? That’s too bad.” It’s starting. Huang Renjun lands a hand on one of his men’s shoulder. “Give me a call once you’re done.”

With that, they start to move forward. Renjun walks up to you and you hear a yell and the sounds of fists being thrown the moment he spins you around and prods you to the opposite direction of the noise. Various thuds and screams flood you from behind, the sounds of bones crushing and bodies crashing getting dimmer as you both continue to walk back to the car. 

“You hungry, attorney?” Huang Renjun asks. “I know a good dim sum place nearby.”

“Wait, what the fuck, hold on,” you stop. He turns to you, brow raised. “We’re leaving? Just like that?”

Renjun narrows his eyes. “What? You want to watch that disgusting mess?”

With that prompt, you hesitantly turn around, and there you see a Nalkeutta guy swinging a metal bat straight into the ribcage of one Cheongag grunt. Oof. You wince. What a waste of a good sunset.

“I don’t fight. What’s the point of having men working under you if you won’t put them to good use?” The both of you make it back to the car. The driver inside greets Renjun, and the latter waves him off. “But if it’s a hard job, then I just transfer the case to Ganghak or Daehyeon. Usually Ganghak. Most of those guys are just like their psychopath of a boss.”

Yeah. This guy isn’t normal, either. What did you expect? At least he’s polite to you.

You slide into the backset. “Dim sum sounds nice.”

“Great.” He follows not long after, leaving an instruction to the driver. “Take us to Mama Hong’s.”

Renjun was right. Mama Hong has a killer dim sum selection, and you’d bookmark it on your maps if this place didn’t remind you of a massacre that’s currently ongoing. You can’t exactly enjoy your pork buns to the fullest knowing full well that someone’s head is getting bashed in right now. The silver lining is the fact that Huang Renjun is a good conversationalist and has not once called you a bitch nor tried to get in your pants in the past two hours that you’ve been with him. 

He’s a pretty cool guy. He joined the gang for money because he was a dirt poor immigrant in high school but then at one point he realized he was in too deep to quit.

It’s good to know you’re both stuck in Nalkeutta because you treasure your lives. It’s like Mark Lee has an invisible loaded gun perpetually pointed at your heads. What a way to bond in solidarity.

The sun had long set when Renjun received the text that the job was done. “Let’s go,” he tells you. “Two hours of overtime is good enough.”

See, this guy speaks your language. 

It takes another twenty minutes to get back to the Nalkeutta building, jotting another extra hour on your DTR. Meaning three total hours of overtime pay. Fucking amazing. If things continue speeding at this rate, then you won’t be entirely miserable working here. You’re already walking out the sliding doors of hell and thinking about harvesting your crops the moment you get home— but that’s exactly the moment the world decides that you haven’t filled your daily quota of dread yet.

“Attorney.”

Goddammit. You should know by now that the moment you think things are going well, god’s just gonna immediately spit in your mouth and tell you to enjoy it.

Na Jaemin lights the cigarette between his teeth, embers cascading onto the ground only for a good second before he stops on it to flash you a smile. “Took you fucking long enough,” he says. “Come with me. New recruits screening.”

Your brows furrow. When you don’t move for ten seconds too long, Na Jaemin’s smile drops.

“Mark’s orders. Notarize their contracts, or some shit.”

For fuck’s sake, you just clocked out. Disgruntled, you force your body out of its frozen state and you hear the psycho walking in front of you mutter something under his breath— something you’re not curious enough to find out. He leads you to a parking garage just a few blocks away, and it’s at this moment that you realize that maybe he lied to beat the shit out of you without anything knowing.

That fear is shut down when the dim, flickering lights of the rundown garage reveal seven teenage boys standing in one line as if they’re about to run a military drill. They’re all wearing Ganghak uniforms. This is some kind of sick mockery.

“Alright, you fucking maggots.”

Jesus christ. The way you flinch at Na Jaemin’s voice is purely instinctual— something that hasn’t been deeply ingrained into the seven boys before you, it seems, because they continue standing stiff and still with their chins up as Na Jaemin saunters up to them. He fishes something out from his pocket. You squint. It’s a car key. He clicks on it. You wince, a sudden glaring of lights from behind the boys.

“There’s only one car. There’s seven of you.”

You hear his voice speak as your vision readjusts.

“Get to it.”

Hold on a second.

“Hey, hurry the fuck up. Why aren’t any of you moving?” Your mouth gapes. You watch the realization slowly sink into the seven faces in front of you— an expression that Na Jaemin doesn’t share because more than anything, he looks pretty annoyed right now. He lets out a grunt and flicks his wrist up to check the time. The look on his face when he drops it back down is enough to send at least three of the kids stuttering. “If no one hits the ground in three seconds, you’re all fucking death for wasting my time. One. Two. Thr—”

The sound of a knuckle hitting a jaw. You shut your eyes and look away. 

There’s nothing enjoyable about watching a bunch of teenagers beating the shit out of each other, but your co-worker seems to fashion a different opinion. “Whew.”  A nasty grin spreads on his face, just as one of the boys drops onto dusty cement, no sign of getting back up any time soon. “One down. Can’t wait for this shitshow to be fucking over.”

You’re horrified as you look at him, but that’s the problem— you’re looking at him, and this doesn’t go under his notice. 

Na Jaemin locks into you. He tosses his unfinished cigarette behind and traps you into an unwanted conversation. “We haven’t seen each other in a while, attorney,” he starts with a hum. “You haven’t even spared me a hello since you got here. It’s almost like all those weeks we spent in prison together are nothing to you.”

Even if you want to talk to him, what the hell are you supposed to say to that?

You resign by flitting your eyes to the side and looking away. You hear a scoff and the sound of a lighter click, followed by the reintroduction of his foul cigarette smoke wafting through the air around you. “Want a hit?” he asks. You grimace. You get a feeling that he won’t appreciate being ignored a third time. So you force an answer out of your suffocating throat, and you try your best to make it entertaining so he doesn’t sock you in the face for being dull and boring.

“No, thank you,” you quickly say. “I intend on dying from heart failure, not from my lungs collapsing.”

He lets out a huff. You almost mistake it for laughter. “Either way, you die.”

“That’s true, but I don’t want my breath smelling like rot before the rest of my body does.”

Silence. Uh-oh. You’re met with a prolonged silence, followed by the click of his tongue and you notice him tossing the second cigarette like the first one, a little less willingly this time. God. There’s no place for your eyes around here. In front, there’s a teen battle royale and to your left is a bastard who gets triggered by eye contact. There’s nowhere for you to look but down, and even then you can still hear the cacophony of pained groans and punches hitting.

“Had fun on your little excursion with Renjun?”

Why the fuck is he trying to make small talk now? “A bit. He didn’t force me to watch a massacre and treated me out to dim sum. It was great.”

“Hah.” 

The hairs on the back of your neck jolt.

“Ain’t that pretty fucking nice.”

Why the fuck is he mad about that?

You snap your head up, about to look at Na Jaemin, but your attention is pried off from him when you hear the gravelled roar of one of the Ganghak students in front. Your eyes blur from the whiplash— then you notice one boy battered with deep heavy breaths, standing above his fallen peers. His eyes are wide. There’s multiple bruises on the visible parts of his skin. The weight of your worry is trumped by Na Jaemin’s sheer apathy.

“I—I did it,” the boy breathes out. “I did it, hyung-nim.”

Na Jaemin looked like he was just watching his favorite show earlier. Now he looks like he can give less than two shits about what this kid had just pulled off. “Name.” You can never fucking figure him out.

“Sion…Oh Sion.”

He grunts. “Yeah, congrats, whatever.” He tosses the car keys to the ground. It lands next to one of the writhing kids groaning in pain. “Now get lost.”

Na Jaemin’s heels turn back and he quickly starts walking away. You’re flabbergasted. Your feet move one way, then quickly reverse. What the fuck. What are you supposed to do now?

“Hey!” You catch up to him, still looking back at the sight you’re leaving behind. “We’re leaving already? Doesn’t the kid need to sign a contract?” He’s walking way too fast. He leers at you with an annoyed grunt and starts walking even faster.

“I don’t have it. Fuck, whatever, he can do that shit tomorrow.”

“What?” It comes off as a screech. “I thought Mark asked me to be here!”

Na Jaemin suddenly stops. You bump into his shoulder and stumble back with a swear. When you draw your breath in to look up, you see that Na Jaemin is already looking at you with an intensity that burns away all the venom out of your throat, leaving nothing but silence behind.

“Mark didn’t say shit,” he spits out. You think he’s about to toss you into the nearest dumpster, but then you notice a wrinkle between his brows. It’s deep. It’s troubled. And then he lets out an exasperated groan. “Whatever.” 

Na Jaemin stomps away, leaving you in the dead of night to figure out what the fuck just happened.

‎*‎

Before making it back home to your apartment, you stop by a public phone booth to call an ambulance to the scene of the altercation. This is way too much overtime for your first official day, and the last hour wasn’t even paid because you already clocked out before Na Jaemin lied to your face just to make you watch a teenage fight right and throw a tantrum at the very end with no fucking explanation.

Needless to say, it was an eventful day. It gets even more eventful when you reach the door of your apartment, about to key in your passcode, until you notice a piece of paper sticking out from underneath the door gap.

Your brows knit together. You snap a picture of it before slipping it out of the door and finally letting yourself in, dropping your work bag onto the floor of your entryway to examine what had been lodged into your apartment.

It’s an envelope. A cream colored envelope with a few smudges on the paper.

You open it. You couldn’t be less prepared with what you’re about to read.

You’re fucking dead, bitch.

Wow. Now a literal death threat. It’s almost as if you’re not allowed to catch a fucking break.

fire and brimstone (and you’re a moth made of gasoline). © hannie-dul-set, 2025.

[englishotomegames]

Bloody Painter Dating Sim (血腥畫家戀愛遊戲)

Release date (Windows, Mac OS, Android, Steam) Multi-language release: October 1st, 2024

"You have unfortunately been captured by a serial killer, and you must increase your chances of survival within seven days. Your choices will determine how he treats you and the outcome of your relationship.

What will your final relationship with him be...? Will there be a change in the relationship between the killer and his prey?

This is an official romantic horror visual novel game created to celebrate the 10th anniversary of the character from 'Bloody Painter' and to give back to the fans for their support.

It is a spin-off based on the 2017 version of the story."

This is a free game by DeluCat! You can download it here. The Steam version will release later this month.

[wormonthesidewalk]

Of Crochet and Book Nooks

summary: after discovering he can, in fact, touch you, Bob is happy. That's it. Happy Bob. Mostly fluff, but the tiniest bit of angst if you squint.

notes: dudes, this little scene was just ruminating in my head for 3 days, so I decided to share. And reader calls Bob "Bobby", because HE LOOKS LIKE A BOBBY, OK, SEE THE VISION

this entirely went longer than I expected, but I kept thinking of new cute things!

Val had sent you on a mission to track, find, and assassinate John Walker. Finding him was no problem. Attacking him was no problem. It was the aftermath that shocked your life for the better, beginning from the moment Ghost put a bullet through Taskmaster's skull.

Throughout seven months of your status as an Avenger and living in the Watchtower, your life had taken irreversible turns. In between missions, home cooking with Yelena, card drinking games with Alexei, training with Bucky, and movie nights that nine out of ten times ended up in a sarcasm match between Walker and Ava, you could find very little to complain about.

If someone had told You From One Year Prior that you would be living in a multi-billion dollar establishment with six people who could only be described as your family, supported entirely out of the pocket of the woman who tried to incinerate you...

Inarguably, though, the most enjoyable factor of your new life was your closest companion, Bob.

Bob wasn't a conventional member of the Avengers, but no one allowed him to feel left out or unwanted. He had a special bond with every member of the team, but you were different. He took longer to warm up to you, for reasons you never figured out, but that left Ava wiggling her eyebrows at every chance she got to see you and Bob sitting together at dinner.

Your connection sparked three months in, when Bob found you crocheting against one of the wall-height windows overlooking the city. Your orange and yellow yarn was strung out along your legs, having been disassembled from its carefully constructed bundle by someone's (Yelena) dog long ago. Bob asked if he could join you. You welcomed him with a tiny smile. Several minutes passed, and he asked what you were making. You showed him the pattern for a mug holder that was to be a birthday gift for your mother.

One compliment led to a conversation, and one conversation led to another. Before either of you knew it, you had abandoned the yarn and needles to just talk with him.

This became a routine for the two of you. One of you would be working on something, the other would approach, and the task at hand would be unintentionally shoved to the sidelines. You two found a steady balance.

Bob didn't say anything when he found the small crocheted coaster resting on his bookshelf, with a note attached: So your glasses don't wake up the entire lower West side. It was a reference to an off-hand comment he made a few days prior about how he hated solid coasters. He loved using coasters, but ceramic or cork ones were either too loud or had a horrid texture. He told you how he hated setting his glasses down on ceramic coasters because he felt like everyone in a ten-mile radius could hear.

He didn't say anything, but you knew he knew. He carried that coaster everywhere he might use a glass. You suggested you could make him another, to which he responded with a firm, "No. I like this one. Thank you, though."

What led to your deepest connection, though, was when he shared his book nook for the first time. You complimented a book you caught him reading, saying that you had read it before. He asked how you liked it. Your mouth opened enthusiastically to rant before slowly closing. You were getting ahead of yourself.

"You have to finish it. I won't be able to talk about it without spoiling something major," you instructed, your eyes still alite with joy.

Bob's eyes widened, and he hurriedly flipped through the last fifty pages of his book. "Where?"

"I'm not saying! Just finish it!"

"Okay- well... you can wait for me? Can you, I mean? Wait?" Bob looked up at you like a toddler begging to be picked up. "I'm a fast reader, I swear. And I just mean- you know- if the ending is so good, I want to talk about it immediately. Yeah. Yeah?"

You plopped yourself down right next to him without hesitation. "Can I read one of these in the meantime?" You asked, gesturing to his collection of novellas on the small bookshelf behind you. Bob nodded, a little too quickly to be anything less than excited.

You two began a similar routine with every book either of you read. Bob had a lot of time on his hands, so if he noticed your concentrated or enthusiastic reading habits - a specific way you held the book in both hands, legs still as stone, periodic breaks to put the book and and do a lap around the entire floor before returning with a clear mind - he made sure to pick up his own copy and read it. Quickly. He read it, if only so you could have someone to discuss it with at the end.

But through all of your reading, all of your crocheted gifts, and all of your late nights spent up ranting to each other about the latest novel, Bob never touched you skin-to-skin. Never. You understood perfectly why and never dared to push him. Still, it was hard not to wish for more... for whatever motivations that may be.

That's what led to you sitting with him on the couch in a serene silence, punctuated only by your pounding thoughts as you debated how to broach the topic.

"Hey, Bobby?" You murmured.

He picked his head up from where he had been working on a small metal puzzle, humming softly in acknowledgement.

"Can I try something?" You held his eyes steady, shifting in your seat to face him more fully.

"...Okay."

Your fingers itched in your lap, and you made the beginning movements to reach out with your left hand. Bob caught onto the micromovement in a flurry, and like lightning, he scooted several inches away.

"What are you doing?" He demanded in a voice so soft you were sure he could hear your heart crack.

"I just... I want to see-"

"Y/N, there's nothing to see!" He insisted, adamant blue eyes flickering between your face and hands. "You... you know what happens. You've seen what happens."

Your mouth faltered as you sucked in a deep breath. "I know what happened before," you murmured cautiously. "I absolutely won't if you don't want me to, but I want to try. I trust you, Bobby."

"You shouldn't," he snapped with more force than intended. Your jaw shut with enough force to click your teeth. Bob sighed and shook his head. His brown curls flopped loosely, and you had to resist every impulse in your bones to run your fingers through them.

"Why do you... want to?" He whispered after a minute, eyes now locked on the floor.

"I have a theory," you stated, letting every syllable pass your tongue with measurement. "I think that your memory... flashing... whatever ability may only spark when you're stressed. Anxious, mad, upset... you know? Or during a low, as you call it."

"Okay?"

You observed his fingers, which twitched and fidgeted amongst themselves just slightly more than normal in your presence. "Are you upset right now?" You asked calmly, gently.

"No," he answered without hesitation, his eyes flickering up to yours.

You nodded slowly. "I have absolutely no evidence, but... it's a gut feeling. So - with your permission, of course! - I want to test it out."

Bob didn't respond for several minutes. You stared back to him in that time, using every observation and instinct to try to gauge what was going on in the head of his, to no avail.

"I don't want to hurt you," was all he murmured for several seconds. "I don't want to cause you pain."

You shook your head adamantly. "Because it's my idea, whatever happens... if I'm wrong... will be entirely my fault," you stated, pressing your lips together anxiously. "Seriously, Bobby. I won't blame you. This is my idea."

This reassured him none. "But I'll still be the one who... will make you see something horrible. And I'll know it before you do... and it'll be... bad. I can't..."

He shook the bad thoughts away vigorously.

You sucked in a deep breath before sighing slowly. "I won't force you to do it. Not at all. I just think it could be worth a shot. Just... in case, you know? But only if you're absolutely sure."

Bob stared at the couch between you for several beats before hesitantly placing one hand on the mattress. The space between us was only several inches wide, and he had to curl his hand to fit it in without touching your knee.

"Are you sure?" You whispered, eying him cautiously. You hovered your left hand over his. If you didn't know any better, you could've sworn electricity prickled in the solitary inch separating your fingers.

Bob nodded quickly. "Yeah," he exhaled slowly, as if forcing out any remaining inhibitions. "I trust you."

"I trust you," you whispered. This did more to physically relax him than anything else.

Tentatively, your hand lowered in the morsel of space, and you let the pads of your fingertips graze over his. As you let your palm settle into his, and his fingers slowly stretched to accommodate for yours, you couldn't help but notice the clamminess. Was that from running hot, or sheer panic?

"You okay?" You whispered, but if he did or didn't answer evaded you as you counted the milliseconds.

You waited to see yourself transported to another room - perhaps the hospital waiting room you saw the first time his hand grazed your bare arm in the OXE facility. But nothing happened. You remained in the living room, on the couch, with Bob only inches away from you.

And your hand in his.

Your head shot up with excitement. In an instant, your eyes met his, which had widened into impossibly large blue saucers.

"You can touch me," he whispered with a sort of reverence that made a small zoo erupt in your stomach. "You can touch me... I can touch you."

"I can touch you," you nodded slowly, a small smile tugging its way onto your cheeks.

"You can touch me!" Bob exclaimed. His grip on your hand tightened. He shifted on the couch to face you fully, and for the first time since you'd met him, held minimal regard for his other hand landing on your leg.

He looked like a child who had just been gifted the most elaborate gift of their dreams on Christmas. You had never seen anything so beautiful.

You laughed happily, grabbing his other hand in yours. Months had been spent imagining what his skin would feel like - and there was not one ounce of disappointment to be found in your body. His hands were warm, but soothing. Calloused, but tender. As if he were afraid to squeeze your fingers too hard and cause you to disintegrate.

On impulse, you let one hand graze the side of his face, brushing your thumb and knuckles against his cheekbone. You could fathom no sweeter feeling, and your grin turned shit-eating.

"Holy shit!" Bob shouted, which was a rarity to hear him swear. He jumped to his feet, taking you up with him.

"Holy shit!" You agreed, nodding quick and hard enough to snap your head off of your spine.

With that, he dropped both of your hands, grabbed the sides of your jaw as if your skull were made of antique fine china, and his lips were on yours. It was eager, hungry, and impatient - but so heartfelt. Like a parent embracing their child after months spent apart.

Your entire body froze. Your eyes didn't close, because every nerve and neuron in your body was firing simultaneously. Your hands remained locked in place where he dropped them, lips parted permanently in the silent gape that formed the instant his fingers found their way just behind your ears.

It took Bob not milliseconds to sense the shift in your demeanor. His eyes widened, and his face snapped away from yours. He took several steps back, bumping his calves into the coffee table, and wincing. This did nothing to stop him from backing further away.

"I- I'm so sorry!" He held up both hands. Those formerly light-filled eyes were plagued by something much more painful. "I'm sorry, Y/N! I didn't- I didn't mean that- oh shit-" he pushed his bangs back as his breath quickened.

You took several steps forward to reclaim the greatened space between you. "Bobby- it's okay-" you tried to interject through his stammers.

His complexion was similar to that of Alexei's suit, all down every inch of his face, neck, and ears. "No! It's not- it's not, Y/N. I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to... I just got- I mean- that's not- I didn't get excited! That's... shit-"

"Bobby!"

"God, I fucked up..." he exhaled, resting his hands against his knees. "I'm so sorry. I don't know what... I didn't mean to..."

"Bob Reynolds!" You demanded, voice raised only in an effort to grab his attention. Bob's head snapped up to you, like a silent command in the base of his brain had ordered him to abandon all pretenses of panic.

You forced a slow breath through yourself. "It's okay, Bobby," you repeated, gentler this time. "You did nothing wrong."

Bob eyed you suspiciously. It was like someone watching a bomb timer. "You're not... mad?" He murmured. His fingers resumed their fidgeting.

"No! No. No no no." You smiled, shaking your head quickly. "Not one bit. You just caught me off guard. That's all."

He nodded slowly, straightening his entire posture. "I am sorry, though. That is.... not how I wanted to do that."

The zoo reopened in your stomach. "Do what?"

"That." He gestured vaguely to where you two stood in front of the couch. "I was just so... happy. Excited. I don't know..." his head dropped again in shame. You closed the distance between you two more, leaving a foot of space for him to decline your advances still.

"I've wanted to do that for weeks," he whispered. His eyes flickered everywhere on your face but yours.

Your heart dropped into your stomach, which felt ready to lurch out of your mouth - in all conceivable best ways. "Weeks?" You repeated. Bob offered the tiniest flick of his chin to confirm. Several short breaths escaped you as you watched him.

Slowly, undoubtably, your featured shifted into the brightest smile. Brighter than the sun, brighter than Yelena's face when Fanny peed on Walker's shoes for the first time.

The wind was viscerally knocked out of Bob, but he seamlessly recovered to mirror your smile with one of his own.

"So you're not... you're..." he stammered loosely. The crimson tint was, slowly but surely, returning to his skin. "You're really not mad? Or... uncomfortable? Freaked out?"

Cautiously, allowing him to reject your advances, you lazily draped both of your arms over his shoulders. His hands instantly went to your waist, just under your ribcage.

"Absolutely not," you murmured, your tone laced with adoration. "I'm pretty damn happy."

His smile and eyes softened with a tangible relief. You could feel the muscles in his arms and shoulders steadily relaxing under your touch and words.

Bob pressed a quick kiss to your cheek before pulling you the rest of the way in for a hug. This hug was new; tender through the lingering anxieties, calming through the shuddering breaths that still racked through his torso. This hug was close. Unwavering. Unafraid.

Bob had hugged you before - he was a hugger. But there were always reservations. His head was always held just an inch away from contact with your neck or face, at such an odd angle that you couldn't imagine sustaining the embrace for longer than several seconds, for his own sake. His hands were always fidgeting with your blouse or jacket, as if ensuring there was a true layer between your abdomen skin and his. Hugs with Bob were like watching a tightrope walker 40 feet in the air. You weren't the one in danger, but every shake of the rope left you flinching for the acrobat's sake.

But not this. His hands did not falter, his arms did not waver in their strength to hold you dear. His face buried in the crook of your neck without shame. One of your hands came up to dig into the base of his skull, and a low groan escaped him, as if he were in physical pain and your hand through his brown locks was a shot of Novocaine.

This was security. Reverence. Hope. Calm. Peace.

"Thank you for trusting me," he whispered against your neck.

Your arms tightened over his shoulders. You pressed a loving kiss to what you could access of his jawline before whispering back, "Thank you for trusting me."

"-excuse me, I'm gonna go vomit-" a female voice interjected from the other side of the living room.

Both you and Bob picked up your heads to find Yelena, Fanny's leash in hand. The blonde stared at you with a snickering expression before miming a gag. "Jesus, I leave you two alone for twenty minutes and I come back to you two steps away from making babies..."

Bob almost choked and dropped his hands from your sides. "That's- that's not what we were doing-" he muttered, his entire gaze flickering from you, to Yelena, to the floor.

"Mhm," Yelena hummed, narrowing her eyes in humor. "I told you to get a room, Bob. Did you listen to me?"

"What?" Your head snapped up to him with an incredulously entertained smile.

"No- no! No. That's not-" Bob held up a finger to Yelena in warning. His head snapped back and forth between you and her. "She didn't- no. No."

Yelena cackled as she retreated into the kitchen.

chat I thought this was so cute

please like, reblog, comment, all the things :)

[22ayla21]

Hello, for your "Sweet Stories, Intoxicating Feelings" Event, may I request Chocolate Cake and Hot Chocolate with Malleus Draconia, please?

"Chocolate Cake and Hot Chocolate"

Event: "Sweet Stories, Intoxicating Feelings"

Malleus sat in his favorite armchair in the castle library, bathed in the soft light streaming from the window and caressing the spines of the books on the shelves. Silence enveloped him, broken only by the quiet breathing of his young son, asleep in a cradle nearby, and the rustling of pages beneath his fingers. In this cozy sanctuary, the anxieties and the burden of responsibility that usually weighed upon him from his people dissolved. Now, only one thing mattered — his family.

He closed his eyes, and the memory of meeting her, the Queen of the Briar Valley, his beloved, flashed in his mind with the same clarity as on that very day. The warmth and light that had filled his soul then felt almost physical now.

Love… The word echoed within him with deep contemplation. His thoughts, like delicate threads, stretched in different directions but invariably wove together into her image.

Love seemed to him like a rich chocolate cake. He vividly recalled the time they sat together in one of the castle halls, enjoying this delicacy, and his gaze followed with admiration as her lips touched the small spoon, taking a bite of the chocolate bliss. The taste that lingered on her lips seemed the embodiment of everything he felt beside her. The richness of her smile, the depth of her gaze, the tenderness of her touch — everything was as multifaceted and intoxicating as that cake, where each layer revealed new facets of pleasure.

"Chocolate, like love," he thought. Just as thick, dark, and deep. At first, it seems like just sweetness, but the deeper you delve, the more this taste captures all your senses, making you forget everything else in the world. And like this cake, love was multi-layered — every moment with her was a unique piece of happiness that could never be erased from memory.

He opened his eyes and saw his queen, thoughtfully gazing out the window. Soft golden light played in her hair, and her face radiated peace and serenity. In such moments, Malleus felt completely safe, as if the whole world existed only for the two of them. She was his chocolate, his sweet and rich cake. And he understood that he could never be satiated by her. Every minute spent together only intensified this desire. She had become the very essence of his existence.

Suddenly, a desire to prolong this feeling of sweetness overcame him, and he decided to treat himself to a cup of hot chocolate. Malleus turned to the fireplace, where logs crackled merrily, took his favorite mug, and filled it with the thick, fragrant drink. He allowed himself to dissolve in this moment, feeling the warmth spread through his body, warming not only his flesh but also his soul, giving him a sense of comfort and security.

He closed his eyes, savoring the enveloping warmth, as if love itself filled his heart. Like hot chocolate, her love warmed him in the coldest of times. When the outside world seemed cruel and full of anxieties, all he needed was her presence, her warm gaze, her gentle voice. It was like a sip of a warming drink on endless cold nights, which receded only in her tender embrace.

Malleus felt his heart beat faster as he looked at her again. But it wasn't just the feeling of love, but also the realization that she was his anchor, his warmth, his inexhaustible source of support. Beside her, he feared neither the cold nor loneliness. She was his hot chocolate, which he drank in greedy gulps and which warmed his soul in any situation.

At that moment, their son stirred quietly in the cradle, and Malleus, without taking his eyes off his wife, felt a small hand reach out to him. He rose and went to the crib, gently taking the baby in his arms. His son nestled his face against his chest, falling asleep again, and Malleus, looking back at his wife, understood that his love for her, like exquisite chocolate, only grew deeper and richer with each passing moment. And although their son was still very small, he already felt this love, this strength and warmth emanating from their little family.

"He will feel this love too when he grows up," Malleus thought, and his gaze slid back to his wife, whose face, turned towards them, radiated tenderness. She too felt the warming feeling of love spreading within her, and Malleus knew that his feelings for her would never fade. Like this chocolate, love was not only sweet but also bittersweet, deep, giving comfort and joy, asking nothing in return.

He approached her, and she smiled softly, sensing his nearness. Malleus gently kissed her forehead, and she wrapped her arm around his shoulder, affectionately stroking his back.

Their world was filled with this warming feeling, which was more precious than all royal titles and responsibilities. It was love, like chocolate — eternal, warm, rich, and incomparably sweet.

[lostinlovingrevery]

Girls Just Want To Have Fun

Weapon X/Logan Howlett X F! Reader

You're just a girl in your own world

A/N: This is the most vile and weirdest thing I've ever written.

Warnngs: TW: NONCON/CNC elements! SMUT, MDNI, reader is 21+, also reader is a bit unhinged and bratty and a bit delusional lol, unprotected PiV, multi creampies, Oral (M and F! recieving) rough sex, choking, stalkerish vibes, biting, mention of blood, feral logan, weapon x logan, mentions of mutant politics, Van attempting to write an 80's vibe, includes Cyndi Laupers song Girls Just Wanna Have Fun (teehee), a tad bit dark humor

“I KNOW! She is such a bitch!” 

Posters filled with scantily clad pop idols and glammed-up rock bands covered the walls, with hints of vintage floral wallpaper spotting through. You sat in a messy bedroom, with a floor covered in clothes, cropped tops and ripped jeans, a bra hanging off a half-open dresser drawer. A pair of pink and blue rollerblades hang off the back of the cream-colored bedroom door. Stacks of movies sat on a tv, movies such as Nightmare on Elm Street, Friday the 13th, and Halloween. 

“And she has the nerve to ask me if I was serious about college? Like, homegirl, I’ll switch my major again if you don’t stop judging me, so I don’t have to deal with your constipated wrinkly ass.” 

You admired your nails, as you finished putting on a fresh glossy coat of neon pink over them.. You were lying in bed, on your belly and lazily kicking your legs behind you, a corded yellow phone up to your ear, supported by your shoulder. You heard your best friend yap about her own college counselor, who was some old perverted man who carried some very old-fashioned ideals about women in education. 

Bright pink bubblegum bubbles pop against your lips, as you continue chewing, smacking your lips loudly before blowing another bubble, and popping it again loudly. Raucous laughter escapes you as you hear your friend tell a hilarious joke.

Outside in the dark. A tall looming figure stood behind a tree. A cold wind blows as leaves scattered across the ground. 

You sat up on your bed, sitting cross-legged, as you reached to your nightstand for your can of cherry Coke and sipped loudly, smearing your red lipstick over the aluminum. You giggled again at another joke. 

“You’re so bad Mary-Ann!” You laugh, you look over at the tall mirror leaning on the wall, leaning forward and fixing your lipstick with your middle finger, and popping your lips together. Admiring the blue and purple eyeshadow, and cat-claw eyeliner you tried on. You also recently got a perm, and love the way your curls popped out your features.

You and Mary-Ann went shopping today. You bought TONS of new clothes, some new makeup. Even decided to try out some Wet n Wild waterproof eyeliner. So far, it’s held up great - especially because Mary-Ann hasn’t stopped with her so-funny jokes. You were laughing so hard you were tearing up.

“Shut up! Oh my god.” You threw your head back, standing up from your bed. The phone cord follows you across the room, stretching over your mattress as you set your nail polish back in the messy jewelry box on your desk. “Oh, by the way, did you see Van Halen on MTV? It was SO cool!” 

The looming figure stands watching. His eyes searching the front of the house- minuscule details he’s observing. He picks up movement in one window- lit up bright on the top floor. He sees a woman with hair that curls down her shoulders walk by, her figure made a shadow by the warm lighting inside. He tracks her movements. 

“Van Halen, Yeah!" I want to get their album.” You say as you mess with your jewelry box, a poor attempt to organize it. You scoff at the tangled mess of your necklaces and push the lid of the box down, turning back to examine the rest of your room lazily as you listen to Mary-Ann ramble about Madonna. You liked her, but not as much as Cyndi Lauper. Now that was a real idol for you. She understood you. 

You pushed your curtain aside, looking out into the dark expanse of your yard. For a moment, you thought you saw something shift by the old Oak tree. A small chill ran up your spine as you felt like there were eyes on you… Then Mary-Ann mentions something that made you remember Bobby Wilkins and your earlier conversation with him on the phone.

“Oh! Before I forget, guess who asked me out again?...” You turned away, forgetting the momentary creeps you felt, as you dropped your curtain. Not noticing the figure appearing beside the tree again. 

You bite your tongue, as you wait for Mary-Ann to guess, and when she says the name, you scream and jump. “Yes!” You giggle. “Out of ALL the men I’ve been with, he actually seems to know what he’s doing too. He lasted a whole song, can you believe that? I think he may make things official too, finally.”

Mary-Ann giggled over the line, and before you could continue, you heard beeping. You glanced at the radio clock with white blocky numbers that sat on your bedside table and rolled your eyes. “Mary-Ann? I gotta go, the parents are calling.” You scoffed. Mary-Ann bids you goodbye and good luck, you make a kissing noise to the receiver, before ending her call and answering the next. 

A small shuffle through the leaves. A cricket chirps nearby, suddenly falling silent as bare feet walk through the dewy grass, wet from an earlier rain storm. A wooden gate with a metal padlock sat in the quiet darkness. A sharp snikt! 

The padlock falls into the grass, impossibly cut in half.

“Hello?” You tilted your hips with a hand placed on them, annoyance on your face.

“Hello darling, me and your father are just doing our check-in. Is everything alright?”

“Yes, Mom.” Your tone, a tad condescending, rolls your eyes as you walk around your messy room. Kicking clothes to the side, fiddling with the ear of an old stuffed bunny that you’ve had since childhood, made by your dear departed grandmother when you were born. 

“Did you finish your coursework?”

“I didn’t have any.” 

“Now I find that a little hard to believe dear.”

“Are you really calling me a liar?” You scoffed. 

“No, I-” 

You heard the sound of your father talking, his stern voice demanding your mother hand him the phone. You heard his angry breath as she obliged. 

“Hi, Daddy.” You purse your lips as you prepare for yet another mind-numbing lecture. 

“Darling, you need to start taking your education seriously! I’m paying for your college. That is something most children don’t get the luxury of! You are 22 years old, it is time to start building your life! Time to take on some responsibility!”

You walked back to the mirror hanging on the wall, rolling your eyes as you listened to your father lecture you about responsibility and your future, and blah, blah, blah.

Bor-ing!

“Do you not care about the work me and your mother put in raising you!”

“Daddy, take a chill pill,” You scoffed, nearly a whine. “I love you and mom, but sometimes girls just want to have fun? Y’know?” You smiled, twirling your hair. 

You heard an exasperated sigh. A twinge of guilt tugged at your heart. It’s not that you don’t want to have an education or responsibilities. You just spent your whole life being prim and proper for your father, the politician! You just simply wanted to party a little, and have some wild memories to look back on before you become stuffy and serious like your old man…

The back door slides open slowly. The family dog, a German Shepard lifts his head from his bed, curiously watching the intruder as he silently crosses the room, pitched in black. The tall, muscular man, dressed in shadows, stared down at Shepard as if observing the pooch as well. 

The intruder tilted his head, as he listened to the voice coming from the stairwell, a faint glow of light bleeding down the stairwell. He turns and walks towards it. The dog goes back to his resting state, seemingly unaffected by the animal that has come into his house. 

“Well, me and your mother will be home Thursday. You’ll be fine till then, correct?”

“Duh.” You scoffed. You smacked your lips, “Did the conference go okay?”

“No, unfortunately. Seems I’m the only one to support those poor people.” 

“I’m sure there’s someone out there who supports me daddy, maybe you need to look for them. Not everyone is as outspoken as you.” You say, in some attempt to support your father. “If not, at least you’ll be the first.”

“Thanks dear…. Don’t have too much fun, understand?”

“Yeah yeah. Bye dad. Tell mom bye.” You ended the call.

What a bummer!

You walked across the room, shedding articles of your clothes off. Your white crop-top, and your light blue bellbottoms, discarding them on the floor among your mess of clothes. Leaving in a matching pink panty set and socks. You grabbed your walkman and pulled the headphones over the curls of your hair. 

You mess with the player, rewinding to get back to the first song. You and Mary-Ann made a bunch of cassette tapes of your favorite songs. Took forever, but so worth it. 

Pressing play, you listened to the cheerful synthetic beat synth and a grin appeared across your face. 

I come home in the morning light

my mother says when you gonna live your life right

oh mother dear we're not the fortunate ones

and girls they want to have fun

oh girls just want to have fun

You clipped the walkman onto your french-cut panties, and began to rock your hips back and forth to the beat of the song.

The phone rings in the middle of the night

my father yells what you gonna do with your life

A flip of hair back and forth, curls bouncing and falling over your shoulders

oh daddy dear you know you're still number one

but girls they want to have fun

oh girls just want to have

Some fun

Wanna have

You brought your arms up, as you closed your eyes and began mouthing to the words, swinging your hips in a flamboyant manner that matches the song. 

Girls, they want, wanna have fun

Girls, wanna have

You rolled your head, eyes still closed,

That's all they really want

some fun

when the working day is done

you know girls, they want to have fun

You danced around the room, kicking clothes in the air, not a care in the world. The upbeat synth filled your core, excitement buzzing through you-

Some boys take a beautiful girl

and hide her away from the rest of the world

I want to be the one to walk in the sun…

Oh, girls, they wanna have fun

Oh, girls just wanna have

A spin, your curls flying

That's all they really want

some fun

when the working day is done

you know girls, they want to have fun

Oh, girls just wanna have fun

You mimicked dance moves you’ve watched on MTV, a few steps forward, a shimmy of your shoulders. God, you must look so hot right now!

You opened your eyes, looking in the mirror in front of you, admiring the way your body looked,

When your heart dropped. 

You almost didn’t notice it at first.

Him

A shadow, standing in the darkness of your hallway, right outside the doorway. A tall, dark, looming figure whose whites of his eyes you could barely make out- staring right at you. 

You slowly turned around, your lips parted, your heart frozen, and your blood cold.

Girls, they want, wanna have fun

Girls wanna have

The song continues playing, blaring in your ears- making you think your heart did physically stop because you couldn’t even hear your heartbeat. You stare at the figure, eyes wide, he was nearly as tall as your doorway! 

He took a step forward into the light of your room, barely lit by your lamp. You audibly gasped. 

A beastly, muscular man. He wore some type of metal helmet on his head, cage-like in appearance- very gnarly. Brown, scraggly grown-out hair down to his shoulders, a thick, ungroomed beard. His eyes narrow and focus on you. Nostrils flaring with each breath, a mean scowl that should scare you. Except it didn’t.

Your eyes trailed over the muscular body, you have never seen a man look so…Tasty before. Hair, strong, tense arms, you could make out each vein, flexed against his skin. His toned stomach tensed and flexing with each breath. A hairy trail that led down to…

You gasped, your lips parted in an O shape. 

Wow! He’s…..

Huge!

Now, you haven’t seen a lot of penises in your 22 years of living, having only lost your virginity on your 18th birthday (a major disappointment)  and only gathered a body count of just 4 guys (each a step up from the last!), and you did see some dicks in a dirty mag that you and Mary-Ann giggle over in the bookstore. None of them looked like his though. 

You bit your lip and looked up at the strange, feral man. 

“So uh..What’s your name?” You ask, tipping your chin up, attempting to straighten your shoulders. “Got a reason to be in my house?” 

A snarl on his face, as he stepped forward. 

It happened so fast. 

You didn’t even know what hit you, literally.

One moment, you’re dancing to your favorite song in your underwear - the next, a strange naked man with an absolutely bodacious body tackles you! 

There was an initial struggle. Your mirror got knocked over, and your lamp fell to the floor, distorting the light of your bedroom. Blankets pulled off your mattress, your jewelry box fell to the floor in a loud clatter as tangled necklaces and bracelets scattered. Your prized walkman was safely discarded in the pile of laundry.

Legs pushed up in the air, and you let out a loud gasp. 

The man's face pressed to your cloth pussy- as he takes a deep inhale, his nose digging into the space where your clit was located. He let out a strangled groan, before taking another inhale, and you felt yourself grow wet from the sound. 

Bobby Wilkins never smelled you like that!

The man sat up, his hands grabbing the cloth that covered your mound, and ripped it off you with ease- making you yelp. I spent money on that!

His teeth gritted, his nostrils flaring, he looked up at you, before reaching out and ripping your bra off too - for good measure, apparently. Your tits jiggled from the harsh movement, his eyes watching them, as you attempted to push yourself up.

His hand pushed you harshly back to the ground, as he returned to his previous task. A small grunt escaped him as he pressed his nose to your pussy again, another deep breath and a deep moan that sounded human came out of him. Wasting no time, he buried his face into your pussy, his tongue lapping you up. 

“Oh!” You squeaked, your hands grabbing onto the cage-like helmet on his head, gripping it to anchor yourself. You felt his tongue dip into your hole, and gasped, eyes squeezing shut from the stimulating pleasure that was brought on to you. “Oh my God-” you whined, “You’re SO much better than Bobby Wilkins!” 

You arched your back, spreading your legs wider as you thrust your hips against him. An angry grunt escaped him from your squirming, as he grabbed the back of your knees, pushing them down to your sides, rendering you barely able to move as he planted his face back into your pussy, his tongue lapping into you hungrily, his long beard scratching your inner thighs.

You moaned the position you were forced into helplessly. The pleasure of the wild man's tongue made you not even consider how terrible of a situation this is. For you, you were just getting the best head of your life.

A fiery feeling built in your lower stomach. Your toes curled, rhythmic pleasure erupting through you, as you felt yourself tightening over his tongue. A loud cry escaped you as you threw your head back, your legs shaking and trembling from the overwhelming sensation. 

Is that what an orgasm feels like?!

Despite your past relationships, and assuming you did have an orgasm before, your world was now turned upside down. Or actually- right side up.

That was the most orgasm you ever had. 

Your legs went limp, falling to the ground as the man sat up. He grabbed you by the neck, pulling you up from the ground, teeth bared, his face and beard soaked with your wetness, he threw you onto the bed on your stomach. You pant to catch your breath, the high of cumming so hard you saw stars slowly coming down. 

You didn’t have time though, as you felt the man's legs bumping into yours, and before you knew it, his cock pressed into your hole. 

“Oh!” You gasped as you felt him push the tip in roughly before his entire member stretched you open. “Oh, my-” You let out a purr, body slumping into the mattress. You bit your lip, hiding the smile that grew across your face. Wait till Mary-Ann hears about this!

He thrusts inside you in one quick movement, setting your senses on fire as you lurched forward on the bed from the force. His hips flushed against your ass. Your legs shook from the nearly painful intrusion - but you loved it.

You always loved the tall, dark, mysterious men. Fantasies of dark strange men coming into your room just as he had. Mary-Ann thinks it's from the fucked up horror movies you've watched. You think it's because you're a romantic.

His hand came up and grabbed your curls in a fist, pulling your head back harshly as he pulled out to the tip, and slammed back into you. Your hands gripped the sheets, mouth hanging open as he began a brutal and rough pace, slamming his cock into your pussy over and over.

How radical!

His hand came down, pushing into your lower back and holding you in place. His lips curled into a snarl, his hand yanking your hair back harder- making you yelp, turning into a moan. 

For the first time in your life - You’re rendered speechless.

His pace never faltered, you felt that familiar tightening in your lower belly, as your hand reached around to grab his wrist, nails digging into his skin.

He let out a loud shout, as he slammed into you, deep inside, and you felt a warmness filling you up. He didn’t let go of his hold on your hair, panting as ropes and ropes of his cum filled you to the brim, slowly leaking out what could not fit. 

He pulled out, letting go of your body and stepping back from you, his cock hanging limply between his legs as he opened and closed his fists, staring down at your shivering form. A twitch of his dick, and slowly he became hard again. 

You caught your breath, your body shivering from the intensity of his cock slamming into you. A small disappointment rushed through you - you didn’t reach the second orgasm before he finished, but you felt on cloud 9 anyway. What this was, felt so much better than even smoking grass. 

“That was so-”

A yelp escaped you as he grabbed your hips and flipped you onto your back, pushing you further up on your messy bed, he clambered over you. You watched his hard erect cock bouncing in shock. 

I didn’t know they could do that!

The boys you’ve been with, last only 2-3 minutes top, and can’t do anything else after. This wasn’t a boy though, this…this was a man. 

He’s a little weird. You’ll take him over Bobby Wilkins though, any day!

Your legs were pushed back to your shoulders, his hands a tight grip around your ankles as pinned you down. His cock ran through your messy folds, his cum leaking out of you. He angled himself, slamming back inside you, a sickly wet noise heard through the room, making you embarrassed at the sounds coming from you.

As if he doesn’t notice anything other than how good your tight pussy feels.

He resumed a brutal pace into you- except this position felt so much better. His cock hitting that spot inside you that you thought was a myth!

He was grunting, staring down where he was rutting into you, his hips flushed against yours as he buried every inch of himself inside you. A small whine escaped his lips as he tipped his head back, panting over how good you felt. 

When he smelled you, the moment he walked into the house- everything else was forgotten. His orders to kill a man deemed a threat, who is supposed to be in this house. All he could smell though, was you. It drove him feral, the need to claim you, breed you. 

Then he saw you, dancing, carefree, happy.

It triggered something in him. A realization that he wasn’t free. 

His mind was fuzzy a lot of the time. His brain was filled with orders on what to do, how to do it. Torture and pain were all he knew. Occasionally, he can break free from the brainwashing, from being a mindless animal - able to fight back just for a bit until they torture him again until he can do nothing but comply. 

What he was doing to you, was a mix of both instinct and desire. A desire for control, of doing what he wanted. 

When you didn’t recoil from his presence when he didn’t smell the fear from you. He took it as permission. 

His hands came around your throat, fucking you faster in an inhuman pace. Your legs perched on his shoulders. A loud, repeated smacking sound filled the room. 

You looked up at the feral man, and for a moment you saw a flash of humanity in his eyes. Pretty eyes, never seen a boy with such pretty eyes, you couldn’t help but think to yourself. His hands wrapped around your throat, choking you only slightly- but not enough that he told you he was aware. 

Your eyes trailed down to the dog tags dangling around his neck. You could barely read them, only seeing a flash of the name; Wolverine

What kind of name is that?

Your thoughts go blank, as he angle himself and fucked up into you, and that building feeling in your lower belly snapped once more- waves and waves of the ecstasy earlier- only much stronger this time flooded through you, as your body tensed, your back arching and your mouth opened in an O shape as you cried out. 

Tears flooded your eyes, streaming down your cheeks as you were pushed into overstimulation. Electric shot up your spine with each thrust, your hips thrusting up into his with each of his sharp thrusts, slowly melting back into something honey-like as his cock pounded into you.

His hands removed from your neck, moving down to your hips, gripping them so tight- his nails digging into your skin painfully, but only spurred you on. 

Your hands fisted the sheets, as you tilted your head to the side, and he saw his chance. Leaning down, he bit into the crook of your neck, his canines piercing your skin and drawing blood. The taste of iron on his tongue, as he began to moan, eyes rolling back as he clamped down on you, rutting into you and filling you up with his cum for a second time. 

The cold metal of the helmet around his head pressed into your flushed cheeks as he buried his face into your neck - and you wondered why he was wearing something so strange - and so grody!

You heard the sound of cloth ripping - but your ears were ringing too loud for you to confirm what it was.

His cock twitched inside you, releasing the last bits of his cum. He laid over the top of you for longer this time, and you caught your breath- wondering what was next. Your body was humming in pleasure, and carefully you brought your hands up to his arms. Sweat clung to his skin, his muscles hard and tense, flinching at the touch of your hands. 

He lifted his head up, looking at the mark he’d left on your neck. His eyes turned to you, staring down at you in a possessive way. He leaned down to your ear, a deep grumble escaping him as he spoke for the first time. 

“You’re mine.” 

It sent chills down your body, and your pussy tightened around him at the words. 

Wow!

He sure does know how to sweet talk!

“How much money do you make?” You ask, voice raspy. “A girl's gotta make sure she’s taken care of first.”

He stared down at you, and you’re not sure if it was bewilderment or anger on his expression. He roughly stood up, pulling out of you as your limbs feel weakly against the mattress. He grabbed your ankles, pulling you off the mattress and onto the floor, pulling you up onto your knees. You gasped, exhaustion screaming at you, but moaning when he grabbed and fisted your hair again. 

“It’s not a dealbreaker but-” 

You were interrupted as he shoved his cock into your mouth. Your eyes rolled back, gagging as his cock hit the back of your throat. A grunt escaped him, and he fisted both hands into your hair, as he began to face-fuck you. 

He was not nearly done with you.

When you woke up, you were in your bedroom, sprawled across the floor- completely ruined. 

Your muscles were on fire, and your throat hurt terribly, you could barely feel your legs. You glanced around the room, searching for the man, for Wolverine. 

Figures he leaves without a note.

Using what little strength you had left- you pushed yourself up to your feet, using the wall to balance you as you walked across the hall to the bathroom, flipping on the cold light.

You looked at your ruined self in the mirror. Your makeup was smeared over your face, mascara ran down your tear-stained face, small bruises lined your neck and collarbone, and you softly touched the spot where you could see the imprints of the man - Wolverine - teeth, scabbed over. You softly brushed your fingers over it, lips parted as a small breath escaped you. 

You stared at the mark, before looking back at your face in the mirror. A wild grin grew on your face, and you nodded slowly biting your lip.

Bitchin!

10 Years Later

“Logan, don’t forget, we have a visitor coming today, I may need your assistance to keep her busy until I can talk to her,” Charles calls out as Logan begins to leave the room. Logan stopped, quaking a brow.

“Who?”

“She’s the woman I told you about. Running for governor in New York. Her father was an old friend of mine.”

“Politician? No thanks.” Logan shook his head. Xavier rolls his eyes. “I only put up with Hank because he’s earned it. The rest of them can stuff it.” 

“You would have liked them. Her father was the only member of Congress to openly speak out about issues regarding the silent war between mutants and non-mutants. He was the only non-mutant supporter for years. We owe it a lot to him for opening the conversation and not backing down, and his daughter has followed greatly in his footsteps.” 

Logan crossed his arms. “It doesn't matter. These people become corrupt anyway.”

Charles sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Just, give her a tour of the place. All I need you to do. She should be here soon.”

Logan flares his nostrils, “Fine.” He turned and left the room, an aura of pissiness following him and Charles shook his head. 

“Always so rebellious…” He mutters under his breath. 

Logan stepped outside to the front of the mansion, and that's when he saw a car pulled up. At first, he didn’t think it was the woman Charles had talked about. It was a nice car, but not something a governor would drive, they typically had security with them anyway.

He watched, with his arms crossed as it parked, and the driver's side door opened. The chorus of Cyndi Laupers “Girls Just Want to Have Fun” flowing out of the car, before it was shut off.

That’s when you stepped out.

Dressed in a black pin-stripe suit, a pencil skirt that stopped above your knees, red heels to match your lipstick. Your hair is pulled up into a clean, professional bun. Gold hoop earrings accented your features, and a necklace with an X pendant was hanging from your neck

You were chewing gum as you surveyed the estate. 

Pretty place, it reminds you of your childhood home.

You grabbed your bag from the car, pushed the door closed, and walked over to the walkway that led to the front of the mansion, your heels clacked against the concrete and you reached the steps- looking up and seeing the man standing before you, watching you with a frown and a quirk of his brow. 

Your red-painted lips grew into a grin, as you slowly walked up the steps, not looking away from the handsome man staring down at you with that all to familiar scowl.

“Well, hello again.” You greeted once you reached the top step. 

Logan blinked in confusion. His brows creased together. “Excuse me?” He shook his head, as his eyes trailed over your body. You did look a tad familiar. He just couldn’t place you. 

“It’s been a long time, Wolverine.” 

You eyed him like a predator, but your smile screamed friendliness. Your eyes darted down, your hand reaching for the tags that rested around his neck. He stared at you incredously. 

“Though, I’m glad to see you’re in a much better state than when we last met.” 

“What?” He shook his head. You hummed at his confusion. 

“Don’t worry, I’m not offended you don’t remember me. I read your files.” You say, a click of your tongue and a shake of your head. “It’s been a long time and you’ve been through a lot.” You tilted your head, your eyes looking sympathetically at him. 

“Ah you arrived dear.” Charles voice snapped your attention from Logan. You smiled warmly. 

“Hello professor.” You greet him as he was in the doorway. “I was just saying hello to Mr. Howlett.” 

Charles smiled, his eyes darting between you both, and a moment of confusion appeared on his face. “Yes, Logan was so kind to offer to give you a tour of the mansion when you arrived, but my schedule opened up. Would you like to come with me?”

“I would absolutely love to professor.” You beamed. You looked back at Logan, who still held a look of bewilderment. You stepped forward and leaned into his ear, “By the way, I’m still yours.” You whispered. 

He turned to look at you, surprise on his face and you winked, before turning to head inside, taking Charles hand. Logan watched you with wide eyes and parted lips until you both disappeared around the corner. 

Faint memories played in his head, memories from a time he rather not remember - but you, with your red lipstick - 

Oh fuck

He took a step to the doorway, shock coursing through him. Then confusion, bewilderment, perplexed.

Then, he felt a twitch of his cock in his denim. 

[fandomnerd9602]

New Jeep (🌶️)

Wolf!Natasha Romanoff x Reader

The old jeep went out with a sputter. It had served you and Natasha so well. From high school to the start of your relationship with your wolf hybrid best friend.

It was a sad day when the jeep sputtered and died.

Tony was more than happy to pay for a new one for you. He went out and drove back with the best top of the line jeep for you.

“Tony,” you chuckled, “you didnt have to.”

“Kinda did,” he shrugged, “I’m protecting my investment in your organization or something like that”

You and Natasha were simply in awe of the new Jeep. It had better suspension, a better engine and of course that new car smell.

Natasha’s tail swished playfully, “wanna take it for a test drive, my hunter?”

You held the keys up and gave her a wink.

You spent a good half an hour doing donuts in the open fields near the sanctuary. Natasha was screaming with delight, her tail swishing happily as the Jeep continued going in circles.

Your adrenaline was pumping and so was your mate’s. In truth, Natasha was still in the midst of her heat cycle. The adrenaline, the rush of going fast speeds and doing donuts was only adding fuel to the fire in her core.

She looked at you, a certain mischievous look crossed over her lips.

You pulled the Jeep into your garage and closed the garage door. You unbuckled your seatbelt and Natasha unbuckled hers.

You tried to reach for the driver side door when your wolf grabbed your hand.

“Not yet” she purred, looking at you with a seductive smile, her voice dripping with desire like honey.

“N-Natasha?” You tried to formulate as her hands went to your pants.

“We still need to christen the new jeep.” She nibbled on your ear, her tail swished back and forth like a metronome; silently beckoning you, hypnotizing you.

“Naughty wolf” your own hands moving to her hips.

“I wanna test out the new suspension system, my hunter” her voice was husky.

“Back row?”

“Yes please”

The two of you couldn’t get to the back row fast enough it seemed. Natasha was practically tearing through your shirt, pulling it off you.

She guided your hands to her blouse, growling in your ear, “get this off!”

You practically tore it off her, a few buttons popped right off.

Natasha began grinding her hips into yours, rocking them into an all too familiar rhythm.

“Please,” she begged, whining in your ear, “I need you! I need my hunter!!”

You guide her khakis down and off her hips. “I’m all yours, my wolf” you gently whispered in her ear before kissing her pulse point.

Within minutes, the jeep was bouncing. The windows had fogged up. Natasha’s moans and cries intermixed with yours. Her nails dug into your shoulders lightly for support as she lifted her hips up only to bring them back down and grind into yours.

The all familiar howl of satisfaction rang out as Natasha came down from her high. It was the most glorious sound you ever heard.

Natasha nuzzled into your chest as she tried to even out her breathing. You and her shared a little proud laugh. Her tail swished slowly as you ran your hands tenderly over her bare body.

“Mmm,” she smiled at you, “I love the suspension on this Jeep.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, “a couple more rounds like that and it just might need replacing”

Natasha looked up at you, smirking, “is that a challenge?”

Natasha Romanoff, your best friend, your mate, the love of your life. She just may be the death of you. Some day.

Tags @lifespectator @supercorpdanbeau @scarletquake-n7 @julieromanoff @multi-fandom-enjoyer @russianredassassin @revanshand @texaswolf23 @redhoodte @iiconicsfan25 @idkwhatever580 @pinklawyerwinnerzonk

[flavorcountry]

I got a cold and watched that Jenny Nicholson video about the Star Wars hotel (it's very good) and fully lost my mind: even after experiencing a comprehensive four-hour deconstruction of why it didn't work for Star Wars, I still think a version of this would absolutely work for Star Trek. Take my hand and walk with me on my journey into madness, where I have infinite money, talent, and team to make it all happen!!

Overall vibe

If you want to make a hotel/resort experience that takes place inside a fake spaceship, I still think Star Trek is the way to go: so much of Star Trek takes place on ships, and we've seen the rooms are pretty nice!! Like the Star Wars one, my Star Trek hotel is also a simulated starship, but with better rooms and more fun stuff to do.

Are you ready for this shit

Can you tell I drew this myself

You'll arrive at Farpoint Station,* where the concierge checks you in and your luggage gets whisked away by station staff. Gift shop's also here. When you're checked in and ready to head to your room, you're brought to one of several transporter rooms. If you never went to the Star Trek Experience at the Vegas Hilton when it was active, I am truly sorry for you, because they had a ride whose boarding process included getting beamed away: you and your pals were herded into a zone where you were clearly meant to board a run-of-the-mill 20th-century simulator ride, and then there were jets of mist and a sound and suddenly you were in a transporter room on board the goddamn USS Enterprise NCC-1701-D. It was fucking magical and I never, ever want it explained to me. Anyway, that's what happens to you at my Star Trek hotel: you step onto a transporter pad and get beamed from Farpoint to a Galaxy-class Federation starship. Exit the transporter room and walk down the ship's corridor to take the turbolifts to Cargo Bay 1, where a "temporary muster point" has been set up (this is where the guest services desks will be), or just follow the lit-up companel signs to your cabin. Yes, it will look like guest quarters aboard the Enterprise-D, more or less — maybe a little smaller — but it'll have the carpet, the plant, the glass coffee table, and most importantly a window that looks out into space.

Or!!! If you booked the resort, keep heading down the hallway and take another turbolift to a different section of the ship where the holodeck entrances are. The holodecks, naturally, are running a Risa program, so you walk through the doors and under the arch and suddenly you're outdoors looking at a beautiful landscape with a pool and whatnot, plus the resort accommodations where the more conventional fancy rooms are, and also the restaurants and entertainment venues, all themed. There's a Quark's. There's a Klingon bar and grill. A Bolian salon/spa. Talaxian arcade?? Nausicaan axe-throwing pit?!?! Come on!!!!!!!!!

Here, have a floor plan

Key learnings

Two things stuck out to me that the Star Wars hotel fucked up that I think the Star Trek version can do better:

🤷‍♀️ LARP too complicated: Give 'em credit where it's due, the Star Wars hotel fucking swung for the fences trying to make a multi-hero story guests could integrate with, but it just didn't work. Technical failures! Possible conceptual flaws! Too much stuff packed into the schedule!

The fix: Just make it mostly a hotel most of the time. One or two weekends a month, there's a two-day fully-immersive LARP adventure that people explicitly book separately, and it's more expensive (more on that later). But at all times, hotel staff will be in uniform with division colors that make sense: concierge and guest relations in red, support and janitorial in gold, teal for any medical personnel. I think that means the people working in food services have to wear that plaid/vest combo the Ten-Forward staff have on, but there are certainly worse outfits.

🌴 No resort: The food at the Star Wars hotel was good, but there was no pool and no other luxury resort type stuff to do. It didn't sound relaxing.

The fix: Putting an actual resort in the Star Trek hotel under the guise of a permanently-running Risan holodeck program. The sheer elegance of it!! When the weather is bad, hotel staff in gold uniforms can make apologetic comments about how the sim's malfunctioning.

Roleplay though

People are going to want to stay onboard the ship. That's good! The thing about the ship cabins is you can build them in maybe two semicircular layers (the rooms will need to be curved because these are quarters onboard the saucer section, naturally) and just bury them underground. They don't need real windows — you're putting screens in that'll show a space view, especially when the ship goes to warp and you can see those rainbow trails. Inside the semicircle there's a lot of space where you can put the other, bigger sets: the bridge, main engineering, Ten-Forward, etc. None of those have real windows either, and also I don't think it matters where you put them physically: just stick a pretend turbolift in front of all the entrances and make guests take those whenever they need to go there! One thing we're also doing is putting little hidden speakers everywhere that put out a small amount of shipboard white noise; it may not even be noticeable on a conscious level, but it'll be there and it'll be soothing. This speaker network is also a great way to make an actual announcement if there's a real park emergency.

During most of the month, I think the bridge and main engineering are mostly just photo ops — maybe you have to book a timeslot? Just so you're guaranteed some time with just you and your buddies? But I also think there should be opportunities for what I'm going to call mini-LARPing: you and your pals can book an hour-long session and the staff trains and then runs you through a short scenario. If you've ever played Artemis or the actual Star Trek VR bridge crew game they put out a while ago, you know where I'm going with this: for however long, you and your friends are now the crew of a genuine-ass Federation starship trying to survive a battle! It's fuckin' Kobayashi Maru time, motherfuckers!! Everyone gets their own station! Lights flicker! Mist shoots out of stuff! The whole bridge shakes! There might be a warp core problem — better call down to main engineering! Whoever's down there gets escape room-style minigames and puzzles to work out and help their shipmates. At some point — and this will happen in every run of every scenario — there'll be a very mist-forward "coolant leak" near the warp core that forces whoever's in the room to duck and roll beneath a descending garage-style blast door before heading up to the bridge to activate their station up there; bonus points if the player can work in a "We lost a lot of good people down there, Captain." Maybe there's an actor in makeup who menaces the crew on the main viewer from time to time (pick beforehand from a list of villains! want to fight Klingons? Romulans? a rogue Borg tactical sphere? etc). Can you see it? I can see it, and it fucking rules.

I must at this point mention that in my world, you can buy an add-on where a camera crew joins you, and they cut up the footage afterward to make you and your pals your very own mini-episode. Yes the editing and post-production are expensive and time-consuming; I'm creating jobs here!!!! Maybe …… okay, hear me out: there's an array of hidden fixed cameras and microphones built discreetly into the set, and also players are issued a combadge with an individual RFID tracker that pings the cams and mics, so they only save footage when a player comes close. After the players are done, a machine algorithm uses the data gathered to assemble a rough timeline of each player's material and create a draft movie that a human editor can pick up and fine-tune. Yeah?? When you check out, you get handed a USB drive that looks like an isolinear chip with your mini movie on it, and maybe another one with all the raw footage just in case you're feeling ambitious!!!!

For one or two other weekends during every month, there's a heavily advertised, much more involved, and way spendier LARP for people who really want to get into it. It takes place over two days. There are lots more actors portraying characters necessary for the plot/gameplay. Don't bother packing for the daytime: all players are issued a uniform they get to keep afterward. Do I have any details on the scenario or RP? I do not. But I fully believe it's possible to construct something you could run over the course of a weekend that would keep a hundred paying guests occupied, amused, and delighted, provided you have a truly ridiculous amount of money and people, which I do because this is utter fantasyland.

Also it probably won't cost six grand. Probably??

Let's gooooooooooooo

The rest of the time — and I cannot stress this enough — the Star Trek hotel is just a very heavily and specifically themed all-inclusive resort that has nice, fancy rooms and luxury amenities plus bookable ship cabins and opportunities for photo shoots or quick one-shot roleplay adventures for the real heads. You don't ever have to enter those latter parts if you don't want to! You can just hang out at the resort and have fun with all the themed entertainment, which I must stress is going to be both in-universe plausible and great, with something for everybody. Yes, there'll be a daycare, and yes, Flotter will be there in some capacity to entertain the kids. The food hall is my favorite part by far; I could pitch you Trek restaurant concepts all day. Romulan gourmet soup stand. Gummi candy store staffed by Ferengi where all the offerings are shaped like alien bugs. A vending machine where you can get a jumja stick or a three-pack of those nutrient pucks Picard and his new friends kept getting in "Allegiance." There will be an entire plant-based food vendor with a wide variety of delicious options for all meals, and it will be run by Vulcans.

A word on the gift shop

Question for you: have you ever watched a Star Trek show and seen a Starfleet officer pull on a jacket or shoulder a duffel bag that had the words "STAR TREK" on it? If so, then friend, I want to know where you get your hallucinogens because I want to experience this exactly once. All of the gift shops on my hotel grounds sell responsibly sourced, highly thought-out, well-made items that would be in-world plausible and have no obvious branding. Of course you can get a hand-carved horga'hn, but let's go bigger. Why not a light-up Tox Uthat for your nightstand? Ressikan flute for you, queen? How about a whole-ass knife store that's nothing but various kinds of Klingon cutlery? There will absolutely be an entire tailor's shop whose whole job is to put you in the Starfleet uniform of your choice; there may or may not be a Cardassian managing the place who's got a 50/50 cheerful/menacing vibe going on. There'll be not one but two stores that sell little models of ships: the regular ones and the gold ones. Don't tell me you can't picture it!!!!!

I think that's about it

Thank you for coming along with me on this bespoke journey into 100% insanity; now can somebody put me in touch with the Star Trek licensing people and also give me a billion dollars to build all this? Okay, thanks a lot!!

For timeline purposes and because it's fun, I'm positing a version of Farpoint that got built after the events of the TNG premiere where the Denebians got their act together and just built a normal surface base without suborning an interstellar lifeform.

[bangaveragewhitewine]

⋆⁺₊❅ mistletoe mayhem

Steve Harrington x Reader 

Word Count: 2.5k

Summary: My third contribution to @littlexdeaths The Twelve Days of Promptmas is best described as ‘meddling and mistletoe’

Content: Sneaking around and secret relationships. Yearning! Flirting! Ghosts of sexy-time past. Supportive but annoying friends! Loverboy Steve Harrington. 

✨ bang average festive fics ✨ Dividers by @strangergraphics ✨ 

Sylvia Harrington loved Christmas. 

She loved the bright gold lights, regal red baubles and gifts wrapped in shiny paper topped elegant bows. She loved playing hostess at the Annual Harrington Christmas Soiree, when her dress always matched her husband’s tie and her son’s sweater. She loved the spectacle of it all, the champagne and the meticulously put-together canapes. She loved the praise for her perfection.

Every year, their house in Loch Nora had the best decorations in the neighbourhood - she would wager the best in town - with a huge tree on the front lawn, adorned with bright lights and a shiny star the same hue as her favourite champagne. Sylvia Harrington loved her golden life, her successful husband and her gorgeous golden son. 

But the very thought of coloured Christmas lights and non-matching tree ornaments made her stomach churn. Chintzy, tacky decor gave her hives. 

Steve had always been in awe of them, the way multi-coloured string lights danced and popped in the dark winter light. He liked how the colours blurred behind his eyes when he gazed out the car window. When Steve was eight his father called him ungrateful for asking if they could get coloured lights that year, snapping unfairly at his son before Sylvia could let him down gently. He quickly learned not to bother asking again.

Tonight, the Harrington house is an explosion of colour, and while Steve misses his Mom - he hopes that she is enjoying her shiny gold Christmas in New York - he would much rather be here, watching Max and El wrap tinsel around their scrunchies and hang bright baubles from their ears like earrings, listening to Mike bitching that this was slave labour, that Steve could decorate his own damn tree.

He would much rather be here, watching how the colourful lights shine on you as you perfect the garland running along the mantlepiece. How you throw your head back at something Lucas said, your laugh melding into the cacophony of noise and Chrismas cheer.

“Oooh, mistletoe!”

Robin’s voice cuts through his dreamy daze, louder than teens laughing and squabbling and the Christmas music drifting from the speakers. She holds a sprig aloft over her head and shares a grin with Vickie, whose cheeks heat up beneath her rosy blush. 

“Who brought mistletoe?” Dustin asks, looking up from where he has been methodically planning the most efficient use of the extension chords and outlets. 

Shrugs and shaking heads ripple around the room. No one owns up to it. It’s not like Vickie’s aunt owns a florist that she works in at the weekends. Everyone seems to have conveniently forgotten that, even Vickie herself. 

Steve catches your eye and smiles a little before you turn back to the garland, adding one more silver bauble before backing up a few steps with your hands on your hips.

“Is it too much?” you ask, seeking out Steve’s opinion.  It’s his house after all, and although he has given his friends free reign it is only fair he should have his say now that he is the man of the house. 

The garland is a little lopsided and homely, far from the primped-to-perfection monstrosity his mother would insist on.

“I love it,” he says, smiling. He joins you by the fireplace to take in the masterpiece. “You’re a natural.”

Your cheeks heat up as you feel the warmth of his body next to yours. 

Behind your backs, your friends share secret smiles. The plan had spread quickly and quietly before they arrived, weeks of planning how to get you and Steve together. All you two needed was a little push, right? It was going to be a cakewalk. (Max had full-on screamed into a pillow when Dustin called it a ‘Christmas Cakewalk’ with that shit-eating grin of his).

“Let’s hang some,” Lucas says, taking a sprig from Robin. “Max, wanna help me?”

The couple (back together after their post-Thanksgiving fight) peel away from the group with mischievous smiles, partly because of their genius plan and the rest because it’s a perfect excuse to make out a little bit in Steve’s big house. 

“I’m going to hang some over your mirror so you can kiss your reflection without shame,” Robin teases, messing up Steve’s hair as he goes back to placing mismatched ornaments on the tree. 

As everyone returns to their tasks, you catch Steve’s eye again and share another little smile. 

Within the hour, the decorating has been completed, with the addition of the mystery mistletoe strategically placed around the house. Friendly kisses have already been exchanged - Dustin kissed Vickie’s hand in the most gentlemanly way, and Steve earned himself a wet smacker on the cheek from Eddie when he arrived just as the hard work was done. 

Everyone has drawn a name for your Secret Santa gift exchange, another get-together in Steve’s house on the day before Christmas Eve. There have not been many obvious swaps, but a few whispered “who did you get?’s”

There is far too much pizza, and laughter rings throughout the cozy house. Steve looks around, sees his friends bathed in colourful light, and feels the joy that had been missing from all of those other Christmases. The big empty house is no more, lived in and adorned with reminders of each of his friends even when they are not there; character sheets and forgotten dice, scrunchies and sweaters and guitar picks. Robin has all but made one of the guest rooms her second home.

He thinks about how his mother’s eye would twitch at the explosion of colour, the noise and chaos that comes with The Party. Steve loves it. He thinks of how she would plaster on a smile and pretend it’s fine, and play hostess with the mostest while gritting her teeth so hard that her teeth might crumble.

He does not let himself think of his father’s barely contained hatred of it all, or how he would hurl insults at his idiot son and his degenerate friends. Richard Harrington was worse than the Grinch, who at least had the capacity for love in his heart. Steve was not about to let the memory of him ruin tonight. 

“Hey.” 

Steve smiles when feels the warm press of your arm against his. 

“Hey yourself.” 

Your voices are loud enough for each other, squished side by side on the sofa with your friends crowded on either side and on armchairs and the floor. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” you ask.

Steve looks fond, still a little far away. “Just thinking. It looks good, huh?”

You look around the room with your own enamoured smile before looking back at Steve, the lights reflected in his cocoa-coloured eyes. “It looks like Christmas threw up. I love it.” 

“I love it too.”

You hear your friends quieten just enough so they can try to eavesdrop on your quiet exchange, and you both smirk. They’re not as slick as they think. 

“I’m getting a drink. You want anything?” you ask him.

His eyes sparkle with recognition before he says, “Yeah. I’ll come with.”

There are a few calls for extra sodas and more pizza, and even more furtive whispers as you leave the room.

“He likes her, it’s so fucking obvious!”

“Mike, shut up!” Erica hisses. 

And Robin hisses, “Max, did you put any mistletoe in there?”

You both manage to hold your laughter until you reach the safety of the kitchen, down the hall and out of sight. Your shoulders shake silently as you try to hold it back and not make a noise. 

“These fucking kids!”

“I know,” you giggle, warm-cheeked, “It’s kinda sweet.”

Steve double-checks that the coast is clear before taking your face in his hands to kiss you like he has been wanting to all evening. 

You need not be goaded by a plant to kiss Steve Harrington.

Beyond the taste of pizza and soda, the kiss is a sweet relief. It is a lungful of fresh air after holding your breath beneath water. It’s a blissful sip of a cool drink after a day in the sun, or hot chocolate after sledging. It’s perfect. All those hours without each other, since you left his bed this morning to help your Mom with groceries and gift wrapping, since you stepped back into his house with Nancy’s arm in yours in your cute skirt and sweater, have been absolute torture.

Your hands settle on his ribs, almost creasing the forest-green knit with your grip, and you smile against each other’s mouths. 

“One more,” he begs, whispering, “One more.” One more is never ever enough. 

You squeeze his trim waist and bless him with another kiss, much less frantic than that first one. His tongue against yours makes your body zing; you are hooked on him and finally, you have got your fix.

“Fuck, I missed you,” you whisper, fighting back the urge to nip his jaw and run your tongue along the barely there stubble. The urge to mark him above the collar and let the secret slip.

“I missed you more.”

Steve’s thumbs brush your cheeks, marvelling at you like the most precious treasure before you both prise yourselves apart with bone-deep reluctance.  

“I think you’re going to need to kiss my cheek or something to shut them up,” you say, piling pizza on paper plates for the teens—Margarita for Dustin, Hawaiian for El, and Pepperoni for Eddie and Max. You take another slice for yourself to keep your mouth busy, though it aches for Steve’s lips.

He gathers sodas, resisting the urge to shake up Mike’s for the hell of it - he would be the one to clean up, and his bitching is not worth it. 

“I guess I can do that,” Steve says, “I’ll try to restrain myself.” 

It pains him to keep his hands to himself, to not kiss your face and play with your fingers, to see your knee bare without his hand to keep it warm. He is beginning to ache from carrying the weight of not telling everyone how fucking in love with you he is, even though they all know it, they see it.

It was never supposed to be more than a late summer hook-up, a once-off. But then neither of you could quit each other, or bear to not spend time together after everyone else had gone home or gone to bed, back to school. Neither of you could push your long-held crushes back after they had breached the surface. So you committed to each other and keeping it quiet until you knew it would not ruin your friendship and threaten the group dynamic. But by then sneaking around was too fun to stop, too exciting to almost be caught. The fizzy feeling of keeping a secret was addictive, and you were both too good at lying. Not to each other, but to your friends. You both suppose you should feel a little bit bad about that, but being together, alone, is a balm for the guilt.

You feel the warmth of Steve behind you, his chin on your shoulder and his hips pressing snuggly against you. He is a tease, a temptress, reminding you through touch alone of the other day when he had you over the kitchen island, a day of playing house together.

“Who do you have for Secret Santa?” he whispers, his breath tickling your neck. Steve smiles when you roll your eyes at him. He bites his lip and wishes it was your mouth instead. 

“It’s not a secret if I tell you, is it?” 

You turn your head and peck the corner of his mouth. He feels seared and branded as you slip away from him, too far away to pull you back in. You can tease too. 

You wink at him, balancing plates of pizza with the skill and poise learned from your shifts at the diner. 

“C’mon, big boy. We’re going to miss the start of Gremlins.”

Steve watches the swish of your skirt, how it brushes your thighs as you walk back to the living room. The extra swing in your hips is for him, another tease. You’re staying over tonight; you will circle back to Loch Nora after bringing El and Will home. Steve has no idea about the red wine lace surprise beneath your clothes. An early Christmas gift.

Neither of you clocks the mistletoe strategically placed in the living room door (it was definitely not there when you left). The living room is swollen with baited breaths and bubbling silence as they wait for your reaction. They are on tenterhooks to see you both kiss (which should be fucking weird) and realise that you would be perfect together. 

Little do they know.

The weirdness of it all directs your eyes up to the green leaves and white berries above, slapped onto the doorframe with scotch tape.

They watch you present your cheek to him, and Dustin mutters ‘on the lips, dummy’ before getting smacked with a cushion. 

“You’re all perverts,” Steve says simply, before closing the gap to press a kiss to your warm cheek. His lips are still buzzing from how you kissed each other in the kitchen. Pizza and soda in your hands stop you from touching each, fingers itching to gently stake your claim.

You rock up on your toes to press a matching kiss to Steve’s cheek, making it shimmer with what is left of your lipgloss (there is already some on his mouth if anyone were to look close enough).

Exasperated by you both, there is a deflated feeling in the room. As if they expected an earth-shattering realisation prompted by meddling and mistletoe. 

“Can we sit down now?” you ask, undeterred by their disappointment. 

The lights are dimmed and your friends make room for you and Steve on the big squishy sofa. The opening credits of Gremlins roll up on the television as popcorn and candy are passed around and shared, soda cans are cracked open and they fizz quietly alongside the sound of chewing.

Pressed up close, with El’s feet in your lap and Robin and Vickie curled together on Steve’s other side, you have never felt so comfortable, so loved. After a little while you rest your busy head on Steve’s shoulder and feel him release a held breath. You are both sugar-crashed and tired of hiding. 

He offers you his hand, palm up on his thigh, and wears a private and pleased little smile when your fingers slot between his. You pull your joined hands into your lap, holding his big hand in both of yours. He squeezes three times and you squeeze four back, though neither of you has said it yet. 

It does not take long for your friends to notice, a ripple of nudges and mouthed ‘look!’s’ around the room, silent celebrations and barely-contained excited laughter.

“I fuckin’ knew it,” Eddie murmurs, smiling to himself.

You let them have it, their faux victory. 

You will figure out how to answer their questions, how to break the news that you have been a few steps ahead of them all this whole time, and how to apologise for lying and keeping secrets. 

But for now, instead of the film, you look at how the coloured string lights shine on Steve’s face and share one of your secret smiles with him when he catches you looking. You share it with your friends too and bask in the warm glow of it all. 

Thank you for reading! Comments, reblogs and likes are all like little christmas gifts to me! I love you, byeeee!

[liquidcrystalsky]

top ways to know that a tumblr post about tech software and shit is bullshit:

The stuff they recommend is incredibly out of date. Hey here's a version of microsoft office from fuckin 8 years ago, no. stop. This also includes recommending people to stay on out of date operating systems !

They recommend using like 13 different things all at once, when 1 or 2 is able to do the exact same. Privacy related firefox addons, you only need ublock that's it. More is not better. any time it's like here's a list of things which do [ONE THING] you only need One Thing, not a whole list.

They tell you to edit shit in the registry. only if you are for sure that there is no other option, you should use some front-end like Winaero Tweaker, or often there may be a built in script in windows. The BYPASSNRO is now "start ms-cxh:localonly" no registry needed to avoid connecting a microsoft account.

They tell you to edit the system itself. Editing the windows installation ISO is a really bad idea! A lot of debloating tools will delete actually important system files! there's a reason you can't delete edge (yes it sucks it's been like this for ages though). There are ways to safely remove bloat and telemetry from base windows without sacrificing security afterwards. again, uninstall what you can normally, and use Winaero Tweaker for the rest.

Just "new bad old good, retvn" bullshit man can we get over this. While yes the Default experience of everything is getting worse and worse and that's awful. you can also just not lie down and take it. You can uninstall things you dont like and use Different Things. you can change settings. you can actually Do Things to Make Things Better. I like windows 11 more than 10. Yes there's copiliot (you can turn it off), telemetry (in windows 10 already, and you can turn it off), the new right click menu (winaero tweaker to put it back, again this app is beautiful), recall (99% of computers cant even run it in the first place), but it's also got a better file manager, settings menu, multi-monitor support, UI (i said it), snipping tool, task manager, WSL, Terminal Shell, window management, WPA3 and NVME support, and security. but new thing you can turn off easily is a deal breaker i guess. You can just disable it. oh notepad sucks cuz copilot, uninstall it and use something else, notepad++ is good as hell. Just change things! also i dont even use windows anymore don't call me a shill windows 11 sucked less than 10 but it still sucked and i use linux.