#was half way through my second caffeine drink of the day

[robertsbarbie]

maybe me drinking an ungodly amouhh my t of caffeine EVERY day isn’t the best thing

#was half way through my second caffeine drink of the day #when i started getting chest pains #not racing or shaking like usual too much caffeine effects but like #actual pain #and like i’ve started drinking an alarming amount of caffeine this semester #just cause of how long my days are #eris: text

[nightdivinity]

Drink Responsibly: Chapter 1

ABO!Vampire!Batfam x reader

Minors! Do! Not! Engage! +18 only!

Platonic!Alfred, Bruce x reader, Possessive! Batboys x reader

Warnings: Bad life choices, possessive behavior, a/b/o, they're vampires, loooong age gaps, no proofreading, reverse harem.

Writer's Note: I am so tired. I exist only because of caffeine and spite. So here you go, Chapter 2 is done as well. It will come out Friday hopefully.

Grey eyes stare into yours as you try your hardest to not squirm under the intensity. How did you get to be where you are? You have no clue. Honestly, there shouldn’t have been a callback. You should not have landed this opportunity for the second interview. The initial screening process should have weened you out in the first place.

From what you had gathered from the chatty chauffeur in the town car, (the town car! They knew you had no car to get to Wayne Manor, let alone to your job. Yet they still sent you someone to go pick you up from your ratty apartment.) This was all ordained by someone much higher than Mr. Pennyworth in front of you. The talk with the chauffeur had almost put you at ease until you looked out the window and saw the heavy iron gate open to Wayne Manor’s winding driveway. There’s no doubt in your mind. You shouldn’t be here. In more ways than one.

It made your bandages itch the more you thought about it. You couldn't scratch them like the feral animal you were deep down inside. At least, not when you're being as heavily scrutinized as you are now.

“I’m not sure you know what you’re getting yourself into my dear.”, the butler says.

“I want this job.”

He sighs then and reaches for the cup of tea sitting on the table next to him. When you got to the Manor, Mr. Pennyworth had met you at the front step. He still ushered you through a side entrance and a winding set of narrow hallways until you reached the sitting room you were now in. Not that you were complaining about being treated like a servant when you were trying to like hell to land the job.

If ever there was an excellent place to kill someone, this was it. You find yourself thinking as you look away from him and study the art on the walls. The manor itself was far removed from society and the small windowless study with the ornate crackling fireplace was oppressive as much as it was impressive. No one would ever hear you scream.

“The issue is not a matter of want. The issue is a matter of need.”, he says.

You watch him take a sip as a bead of sweat collects at the back of your neck. It was getting too hot in here, and the bandage around your wrist was itching.

“I need it. No one wants to hire me”, You reply.

You’re not sure what you expect after you say that. Half of you were expecting him to start grilling you like he did during your interview two days ago. That one had taken place in daylight, in an ostentatious conference room at Wayne Enterprise's.

You were still waiting for him to pick you to the bone and say, “Why is that?”. The other half feels like the admittance makes you guilty. Guilty of going out that night. Guilty of getting caught in a crowd surge while blackout drunk. Guilty of the infected thralls that were unleashed by the Scarecrow goons. Guilty of killing the infected that had started ripping you to pieces. Not that you remember any of it, frustratingly enough. No one, not even the news, gave enough information on that night. Why was I there?

“How are you doing dear?” Pennyworth asks.

You blink. No one has asked that yet. Not by anyone that you feel genuinely wants to know the answer.

“Good. Sore, and I believe honesty is the best policy. I can’t dance like I used to.”, you joke.

It falls flat in the cramped space as you give him a tight grin. His grey eyes dart momentarily to the crutch that was resting next to the chair, and to the cast going slightly above your knee.

“Yes, honesty is such an important quality nowadays. Might I say, it is fortunate that you survived.”

“No one else thinks that. I’m just thankful that Duke was there. I was told he was the one that got me to the hospital. Now he’s gone and got me this interview.”

It’s funny. Time from that night seems disjointed. While you were black-out drunk, you do feel as though you were only in the club for five minutes. The attack happened at 12:45 am. You remember waking up in the hospital and finding your chart on your way to the bathroom. It said you were admitted at 2 am. The next time you managed to grab it, it had said 12:59 am. Not to mention your wounds were healing at a faster rate than most Omegas. Something was picking deep inside your skull.  

 “Luckily this job is not strenuous if you are up to the task.”

You nod at him. You need this.

“Well, there are rather strict rules. Breaking them is a breach of contract that will be handled severely. This isn’t like a regular job out there. Any problems that arise will not result in a simple firing.”, he pauses before continuing, “For example, personal electronic devices are prohibited in the Manor. Your bags will be thoroughly checked by me upon arrival. You will be allowed devices that are monitored by security.”

“I can’t just be cut off from my family”, you protest.

“We don’t want you to. You may make phone calls during your allotted time off. They will happen here, or in Master Bruce’s office with either him or me in the room. Your predecessor was fond of skirting her duties and we have found the need for such restrictions.”

“While excursions are discouraged, they are not prohibited. We will go over those security measures at a later time. You are to be readily available when called upon at any time they require something. While day workers are employed here, at no point are you allowed to interact with them.”

You can’t help the way your brows furrow. This was going to be a long year if you were to take this opportunity. With each rule, you wondered if this was why the position was empty for so long.

“I tend to the bedrooms, and at no point should you enter them unless invited by the occupant. You will be given a room as well, and I would appreciate cleanliness. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner are all served at the same time, tardiness is prohibited.”

“Will I be helping in the kitchen?”, you ask.

“No. Not unless you want to, if you are going to cook, please notify me accordingly.”

“So, wait. I’m confused. Just what is my job here?”

Alfred sighs and for the first time since you’ve met the prim and proper gentleman, he seems a bit haggard. Which did not make you feel good.

“It gets awful lonely here in the manor. As I’m sure you are aware, Alphas live for a long time. Particularly ones infected such as those in Wayne Manor. Now and then it is refreshing to have something that brings more life into such a place. The children have taken an interest in you, and that is enough for Master Bruce.”

“I’m not a toy.”

“No. You’re fortunately not. What you are being offered is room and board, all you have to do is adhere to the rules. In exchange, you have to be a friend. Surely you know how to do that”?

If he had asked your friend, he’d have been met with a resounding no. After that night you had found yourself crippled in the hospital with no friends to speak of. Your friend had been peeved, rightfully so, that you had just packed their wasted butt into a car with a stranger. You had been miffed because hello?? They weren’t the ones chomped on by a deranged rabid Beta. They had made it home in one piece, even getting past the front door and into their bed. Both of you had been wasted, so why act like it was all your fault? You were getting tired of the world treating you like you were the root cause of life’s issues.

“I won’t be doing any of that”, you ask.

Now he just looked downright uncomfortable. You were almost embarrassed, but the question needed to be asked. Being hired to be a friend to Alphas that were at least a century old likely resulted in you waking up in a bed that’s not yours.

“Only if you consent to it. You won’t be reprimanded for not doing it, or if you do find yourself in that position.”, he clears his throat, “Healthcare and dental is provided. Due to your circumstances as an Omega, blockers will be provided along with your daily vitamins. Your health and safety is paramount to us.”

You had nothing more to say. Silently you sat there, running through any alternative options, and yet you kept hitting a wall. There was no denying it, this was the best option you could be given. All you had to do was smile and nod and make it a year. By then you should be able to get your feet back underneath you and be able to reassess your situation. Who knows? You might just like it.

“I’m going to say, you have a deal”, you smile at him.

“Then please, call me Alfred.”

He gets up then and holds a hand out to you to help you out of your chair. His smile back is warm, creases folding up from his eyes, a drastic change from the cold persona that you had started becoming accustomed to.

“Shall I call for the town car Ms. (L/N)?”

This was the start of a beautiful friendship, you decided. You nod your head as he pulls you up and gives you a brisk but friendly pat on the shoulder.

“Duke, you don’t have to do this”, you protest.

It was the thirteen-hundredth time you’ve said it. When Alfred closed the interview, he had taken the time to walk you to the front door, pointing out so many rooms that it all went over your head. You almost made it to the front. Then Duke saw you and took over from there.

“No, no, and for the last time, stop. I want to do it”, Duke grins up at you.

He was on the floor, taping up the last of your boxes. You hate to admit it, but you’re not sorry in the slightest as he does all the heavy lifting. The best part about it was getting to see all the muscles in his back when he turned around. Yum. Hey, you were a red-blooded Omega. There were just some things you couldn’t fight.

“Be careful not to break that”, you warn.

“Right, because what will the world do without these little tchotchkes?”, Duke laughs.

Somehow, not surprisingly, he dodges the stray crutch that you toss half-heartedly in his direction. At this point, he was used to you trying to weaponize your “mobility aide”.

It all started when he helped you get back to your apartment, in a wheelchair that he bought. Then he abandoned said wheelchair and carried you bridal style up several flights of stairs. Citing that the elevator was too dangerous because it hadn’t been inspected in the past decade. Even ignoring you when you told him that it would be far more likely for both of you to fall to your death in the stairwell. This was all two weeks ago, and he still refuses to use the elevator.

He was on the floor now, humming and throwing your shit in boxes. You weren’t sure how he did it. When you agreed to the move, you had been internally wincing and panicking. Thinking it was just going to be you, hopping pitifully around the room. Probably taking breaks and reminiscing over the stray artifacts of your life. You would’ve needed at least three days max to get packed. Duke cut it down to two hours.

“Sooooooooo”, you draw out, “Tell me about the others.”

 “There’s not much to say, not a lot that I can either way. What do you want to know?”

Your eyes narrow as he turns weirdly evasive. He always got a little cagey when you brought up his adoptive family. Never quite answering the question.

“What are they like? Are they nice?”, you ask.

He pauses and stands, turning his back to you so he can put a box on the trolley. We’re going to take the elevator. You thought with a smug sort of glee at the realization. That means you’ll be in your wheelchair. See, you’re slowly reclaiming your independence. Sort of.

“Um. Cass is really nice, but you won’t see her often. Same with Steph. They both kind of do their own thing and no one lives at home besides Alfred, Bruce, and me. Though that might change.”

He pauses again. You stick your tongue out at his back only for him to whirl around to face you. Quickly you snap it back in and try to appear innocent as you stare up. Ew. Popcorn ceiling. You wonder for a second if you could have asbestos in your lungs from that.

“Dick, I mean Grayson, he oversees the training of the Alpha taskforce in Bludhaven. Jason avoids Bruce like the plague while doing the most to get his attention, and I can't really get into what he does for a living. You don't want to know. Tim lives and breathes at Wayne Enterprise’s various global sectors, some of the time, he’s the hardest to track. Damian has been somewhere in Pakistan. Where? I don’t know. I would avoid him and Jason if at all possible. Not that you'll likely see them."

You had to smother your cry of relief. This was going to be a lot easier than you thought. There were only going to be three people that you had to worry about. Maybe you were going to finally complete a New Year’s resolution now that you had time. The world was looking up for you.

“I think that’s it, are you ready?”

His question breaks off your train of thought. You can’t help but groan when he gets near you, arms outstretched, ready for a hug and humiliating you. To make matters worse, he says the worst thing possible.

“Up you go!”, Duke crows.

“No! To the chair! Put me down you overgrown bat!”, you say.

Thankfully he does, gently plopping you down in the cushy seat and stooping to ruffle your hair. You were hissing mad. Not that he cared. Just to goad you further, he reached over to the handles behind your back and rang the obnoxious little bike bell he attached to it.

“Run”, you warn him.

He laughs while sprinting with the dolly all the way to the elevator as you try like hell to mow him down. Both of you completely missed the way his phone kept blowing up with notifications, the small dings being mistaken for a bike bell.

#abo batfam x reader #vamp!batfam #vamp!batfam x reader #batfam x reader #still tagging yandere #yandere batfam x reader #yandere batfam #i've got four essays due by the end of this week #going to my corner to cry now

[autisticlenaluthor]

Midnight

“I’ve got you!” Kara says in the morning when Lena trips over trips over the blanket discarded on the floor. Before Lena can fall, she lunges forward and catches her in her arms— graceful as ever. For a second, they both laugh. 

“My hero,” Lena says through her giggles. She kisses her and boops her nose. “Thank you.” 

“I’ve got you,” Supergirl says when another L Corp press conference is attacked. As the crowd runs in every which direction— scattering across the park like flies, Lena makes a beeline for her. She ducks down and throws her hands over her head— Kara immediately crouching over her. Like the wind, her cape blows over Lena’s body and shields her. When shots fire, they bounce right off. They’re nothing but a startling bang and flattened bullet. 

“I’ve got you,” Kara says again, her hand holding firm on Lena’s arm. “I’ll get you out of here.” 

“I’ve got you,” Kara affirms at game night when it’s time to pick teams. “Right?” 

Lena grins and rolls her eyes. “Obviously.”

 

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” Kara says, pulling Lena aside to hand her a coffee.

Lena blushes bright red.

“Kara!” Her voice is an octave higher than normal but she can’t help it. Of course Kara would interpret her disgruntled texts about how she was running late and wouldn’t have time to stop at Noonans as an invitation to buy the drink for her. “You didn’t have to do that.” 

“I know, I wanted to. And you really can’t function without caffeine.” 

Lena bows her head and smiles. They’ve got an 8am CatCo staff meeting in five minutes– she really did need the boost.

Running her index finger over the rim of the cup, Lena bites her bottom lip. “You really are my favorite- you know that?” 

“I know.” Kara grins. “But I love when you remind me.”

 

“I’ve got you,” Kara whispers, half asleep. Lena curls into her, shaking like a leaf as she reaches out to hug her around the neck. 

Through the darkness, Kara can just barely make out the spotty tears on Lena’s cheeks. She’s frowning, chin quivering, but still, fighting to keep the rest inside. Kara wraps her arms around her and gently pulls her close. 

She’s no stranger to nightmares either– to seeing the images of her worst days projected onto the backs of her eyelids like a looping movie she can’t escape. In moments like these, she’s almost grateful they’ve been through it so many times together. It means she knows exactly what Lena needs to feel better. 

“It’s okay,” Kara breathes, carefully rubbing Lena’s back. “You’re safe. It’s just a dream.” 

Wordlessly, Lena sniffs. She holds Kara a little tighter– her way of reminding herself that she’s real, she isn’t going anywhere. 

“You’re safe,” Kara says again. “He can’t get to you.”

“It’s okay– I’ve got you.”

Kara drapes Lena’s coat over her shoulders and puts her arm around her, effectively shielding her from the crowded clamor of the gala. At midnight, the party is still roaring. A scene with noise and flashing lights Lena hit her limit on half an hour ago. 

Lena nods to herself, pressing her body closer to Karas. For a second– she doesn’t have the discretion to think about being caught in her moment of weakness. She doesn’t care about being watched or gawked at. 

Because they planned for this weeks ago. Because Kara knows when Lena says they need to go, it means they need to go now. Because they never go to an event without knowing where the service exit is.

Before Lena knows it, they’re hidden away in a private hallway, on their way out of the building.

“You alright?” Kara checks. 

Lena nods and manages a small smile. 

“Yeah,” she whispers. “I know you’ve got me.”

#supercorptober2023 #ew

[bitchlessdino]

the situationship

Pairing: seokmin x afab!reader x roommate!wonwoo

Genre: smut

Word count: 4.6k

Tags: polycule, secret relationships, reader being told they’re pretty and beautiful, reader w/ breasts, degradation, face sitting, double penetration, anal play

author note: this was probably the longest thing I've ever written and i felt so happy hearing yall want a full length version of the headcanon. this is the followup to the headcannon "homie hopper" under Dokyeom's tab in my masterlist and per request to the people that enjoyed it. I will be tagging all of you hehe.

Taglist: @sluttymingyu @sluttywonwoo @huiranghaes @shmooooo @wonwussy @multi-kpop-fanfics @flowerwonu @httpswonwoosglasses @kooookie @just-here-to-read-01 @onlyseokmins

You swore that you were mere seconds away from throwing yourself on Seokmin the first time you met at a mutual friend’s birthday. You felt betrayed moments after finding out he was your roommate's best friend. That meant if you did decide to pursue Seokmin and things fell through, you’d have a common denominator haunting you. It wasn’t right, and you knew that. Yet two weeks ago, you felt like god himself was testing you when you found Seokmin right at your door one evening. 

You could feel your soul could pretty much leave your body the moment you drink in his sudden appearance. His wavy dark hair fell to his pretty, soft eyes, a relieved smile decorating his cheeks. “Y/n, right?”

Even with the simple way, he says your name, just–

“Right. Yeah. And you’re Seokmin.”

“Yeah,” a soft sigh leaves his lips, and you could’ve sworn a tinge of pink on his cheeks, “Is Wonwoo here? He said I could come by and just wait until he’s home to go out.”

That couldn’t have been right, you thought. He was supposed to be stuck working on an independent project and would be coming home for a while another day. You open your mouth to inform him but freeze, the words refuse to come out. Something was telling you that it was no coincidence that Seokmin decided to take the space of your roommate tonight. Instead, you tell him: 

“Yeah, okay. Come wait inside.”

Seokmin sets his stuff aside on the couch, tapping his lap with his fingertips and smiling at you politely. 

“Want a nightcap? I still have some coffee, or I could make tea?” You offer.

Seokmin nods. “Coffee sounds great.”

You went ahead to warm up some coffee you had brewed previously during the afternoon. In doing so, you subtly try observing Seokmin, who overtly does nothing, settling in quietly. You bring the half-full mugs to the coffee table where Seokmin decides to wait patiently and places one in front of him. He thanks you softly. He graciously accepts the mug and sips it, humming at it delightfully. “It’s very smooth.”

“Thanks. I wasn’t sure if you wanted cream or anything, so I set it aside on the table.” You respond, immediately regretting how you started to overexplain.

He chuckles, drinking the coffee as is. “It’s delicious. You have good taste.”

You got slightly giddy. It was nice to hear someone sharing a common love for a good roast. “It’s a really nice brand from Brazil. It’s been a personal favorite lately.”

“I can see why. Do you enjoy making coffee? Wonwoo told me you were a barista but wanted to open up your own shop.”

“Yes! That's the goal.” You start giggling, cueing the butterflies taking place in the pit of Seokmin’s stomach.

This prompted you to go on a tangent of your caffeinated career goals, taking the man's questions as an invite. What Seokmin learned that night was how much you rambled without noticing, not that he minded. Hearing you go off and just talk about something you love was (1) refreshing because people thought of him to be the same so it was nice to have to listen to someone else, and (2) you were so cute with how your eyes lit up with every word and detail. He thought he could listen to you for hours, days even. Although that would be nice, stalling wouldn’t have done him any good.

“Can I be honest?”

“Sure,” you answer invitingly.

He takes a deep breath. “I wasn’t here waiting for Wonwoo.”

Your bubbly exterior diminished, leaving a curious sternness. You cross your leg over the other, hands to either side, actively listening. You weren’t expecting that answer, nor were you surprised, however it was rather interesting to see Seokmin take the initiative.

Your head tilts to the side, peering at him more carefully. “Then why...it couldn’t have been to see me?”

He took a beat. “Yes, I actually did want to see you. Does that make you uncomfortable?”

You wanted to choose your words carefully, hoping your intentions would be evident between the lines. Your body veers towards him, your eyes glaze over him from top to bottom, noticing how casual but done up he actually looked: a plain white tee and a pair of cuffed jeans. Perhaps nothing to someone passing by, but seeing how the top hung around his collarbone loosely yet fitted up around his chest and lower torso, Seokmin didn’t seem like that sweet clueless guy after all, “No…I knew you were lying. I also knew Wonwoo wouldn’t be home tonight.”

He hums, softly scoffing in a way that just said ‘well what do we have here?’

“Does that bother you?”

The corners of his lips turn up in a relieved smile, eyes shifting to the shape of your lips, “Not in the slightest.”

He leans towards you, his hand reaching over to rest on the couch arm behind you. You catch Seokmin’s lips upon impact, initially cautious leaning away for any sign of hesitation. Your hand comes up behind his head and pushes it back on you, the warmth conjuring in your stomach was almost unlike anything you ever felt with someone else. You pull him closer, his body following to crawl over you. Your knees propped up on either side of him, Seokmin’s hips dip to match you, not showing any signs of leaving your side.

What preceded that night were things you wouldn’t dare let out an exhale of a breath. His hands stroke your sides as you ride him, their pressure digging into your flesh, falling to your ass that supports them satisfyingly in his big hands. Your moan his name blissfully, having him rut in you without the faintest clue how things have escalated this far so fast.

“You feel so good.” The sounds of your squelching fuel his stamina, sputtering your name, losing control of his impulses.

“Min, I’m gonna cum…”

He lets out a deep chuckle. “Well, we can’t have that yet.”

With the strength left in him, he lifts himself off the bed and pushes you down flat on your back, not pulling out even once. His legs bent at the knees, his hips buck into you, giving you the pleasantry of having him do some of the work this time. His hands take your legs to toss them over either of his shoulders. Your lower torso is lifted in the air but soon pushed down by the sheer force of his cock, twitching inside you, bottoming out. Your hands gripped the sheets underneath you.

Your mouth drops in amazement, following Seokmin’s euphoric voice gasping and groaning as he fills in the casing, a thrust to squeeze out every drop. He collapses on top of you, his mouth roughly taking yours as his hands stroke your sides. “You’re so, mmhp, fucking amazing.”

“Stay the night?” You offer in a soft voice.

Despite his pleasant smile, there’s hesitancy in his voice and he pulls away. “Really, are you sure? What about Wonwoo?”

Your eyes shoot up in realization. “Right, fuck. He’s supposed to come home sometime tomorrow morning.”

“How early?”

You shrug your bare shoulders. “I don’t know, like 9 or 10 am?”

A relieved smile presents Seokmin’s face. “Then I’ll leave around 8 am?”

You match his expression, “If you want, okay.”

“Okay.” His smile goes a little bigger.

“Okay.” As does yours.

He leaves around 8 am like he planned, of course not without a few rounds in before that, and hardly a trace of him is left behind. When Wonwoo comes back an hour or two later, he doesn’t question any events from last night. Your sexual rendezvous with your roommate’s best friend goes without a hitch.

Seokmin and you don’t define the relationship. Things were simply harmonious without it. Between sneaking around to have sex at either one of each other’s places or during one of those nights out together, it would’ve felt a lot of pressure to give this situatonship a label. Of course, there was something between you two that desire more than a fuck buddies situation, but you took what you could get.

“You’re gorgeous, you know that,” You could hear the thick nectar oozing out of his voice as he held your nude body in his arms.

You smile down at him, arousal seeping out of your warmth deliciously as it coated the lining of the condom dressing Seokmin’s length, squeezing around its girth and riding his lap. “I got a pretty damn great view myself.”

His chuckles tickle your skin, taking your arm to kiss you from your palm and gradually to your elbow, rocking his hips underneath you. Your moans are short and sweet, feeling how full he makes you feel. You are so close to where you are, calling his name, kissing his lips as if it is naturally where they belong. 

“Mh, cum–Seokmin, mmh.”

“Doing so good, baby. Cum all over co–”

“Hey Seokmin, Wonwoo’s here!”

Soonyoung, Seokmin’s roommate, warns him from the other side and you immediately hope over him to hide under the covers. He tucks you away from the door’s view and tries pulling on a shirt until his bedroom door opens. Wonwoo enters with his eyes on his phone about to open his mouth regarding something important until he sees Seokmin barely an arm in the shirt. 

The older man narrows his eyes at him, “uh, am I interrupting something?”

Seokmin rapidly blinks back at him, thinking of a response, “Uh, yeah can you like come back in an hour or s-something?”

“An hour, what takes an hour? What were you even doing?”

Seokmin tries scoffing nonchalantly, ultimately failing, “Nothing super important. Just, uh, mmm, m-masturbating?”

Even with an answer as outlandish from Seokmin, Wonwoo remains doubtful but doesn’t question his best friend as he backs away from the room and closes the door behind it. When the nude man checks for things to be clear, i.e. waiting for any more reception from the other end of the door and asking Soonyoung what the situation is in the living room via text message, he finally takes a breath of relief and looks underneath the covers for you inside. 

His smile still shines in the dark of the thick fabric and you melt underneath its warmth. “Hey, we might have to cut things short today. I’ll distract him by taking him out to lunch. Can you leave 5 minutes after we do?”

You nod understandingly, “Okay.”

“I’m sorry–”

“No, do not apologize, we knew what were getting into. I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Okay,” he sighs, still worried about leaving you behind.

You reassure him by pulling him into a deep kiss, caressing his tongue with your before, pushing him away, and rushing him out of the apartment as soon as you can. You were grateful for Wonwoo’s work schedule, it made your apartment available most of the time. There were those days you preferred his place to yours, forgetting to take into account that they are very close. This was one of those days that maybe it would’ve been better at your place.

It wasn’t as easy avoiding Wonwoo as you hoped it’d be. You found no fault in him, he’s a great roommate. He just had really poor timing sometimes, it almost felt on purpose on that point. Maybe that’s the guilt talking. 

“You’re so good at making my cock feel welcome, baby.” Your mouth is warm and tight around his girth, Seokmin moans feeling you hollow out your cheeks. 

Finally feeling like their alone, he gazes down at you with a sinister look in his eyes. Running his hands through your hair, the pads of his fingers going grip from your scalp. He feels your lips reach the base of his cock, seeing your head sink into his lap. “S-shit, you’re so–”

“What’s going on?”

You pull your mouth off Seokmin and avert your attention to the familiar man’s voice. You quickly match Seokmin’s panicked expression and gained as much distance as possible from him. The half-naked man quickly covers his raging boner that has met his dear friend's eyes. Wonwoo stares down from his spectacles to quickly drink in the situation, immediately forming his own conclusion. You draw attention to the situation as calmly and mild-mannered as you could. “Wonwoo, bud, I can explain.”

“It looks like you were sucking my best friend's dick.”

There was no better explanation than that. Seokmin, still pantless, inches over to his friend, awkwardly covering his half-flaccid cock, before trying to reconcile what’s left of this weird arrangement. “Wonwoo, I’m so—“

“Sorry? You should be.” Wonwoo drops his things to the ground, reaching for the top button of his dress shirt, and slowly peeling it away to reveal his skin. “I have a lot of catching up to do.”

You couldn’t help but watch him finish all the way through, his name barely escaping your lips until you realized past the incredibly toned abs what Wonwoo was insinuating. Seokmin was confused, of course, he was. His best friend was undressing in front of him and his sexual partner. What was he supposed to think about this?

“It really sucks finding out that you both had all the fun, sneaking around my back. Seokmin out of anyone would’ve known how attracted I am to you.”

Your eyes shoot open over to the man in question, who warps a flustered smile. “We may have talked once or twice about it.”

“We both talked about if we’re given the opportunity to be in bed with you, we’d both take it. And to think that he’d have the balls to get a head start. Bastard.” Wonwoo’s hands grasp the top of his pants to slip them down to his ankles and kick them aside.

His hands instinctively hold on to the fullness of his rod over the fabric of his briefs, stroking himself as he slowly approaches you, who watches him like a kid with a new toy. 

You always considered Wonwoo an attractive man, but an even better roommate, having a situationship as you do currently with Seokmin was out of the question.

He bends down to your level and fingers at the oversized tee shirt you borrowed from Seokmin and follows the seams to its hem, “May I?”

You nod subconsciously before you realize that shirt is abandoned across the room and you’re entirely naked. Both men scan your body like it’s on display and Wonwoo tucks a hair behind your ear. “Seokmin was really keeping you for himself.”

“You started first when you waited until it was Mingyu’s birthday for them to meet me.” Seokmin retorts with sass.

“Well, I hope you don’t mind sharing time around. I have known them longer than you, and it looks like they don’t mind, don’t you y/n?”

Your throat was dry, shifting gazes from both the incredibly gorgeous men in front of you, asking for both your attention politely and mesmerizingly.

“I-I don’t, if I’m being honest. Seokmin?”

You turn to the man who was mentally prepared for one thing only to have a complete other. He watches Wonwoo’s hands trail over your body, watching what was exclusively his for some time only to have it be touched and admired by his own friend. He admits to himself it wasn’t entirely fair what he did to have you be his, but if he wasn’t going to do it, Wonwoo would’ve.

Then again, there was something exciting about seeing you overwhelmed with pleasure. There are some things he wishes he could do to make the experience more fulfilling for you. If this was what you wanted, who was he to say no?

“Alright, Wonwoo, how do you want to do this?”

A content smile spreads across Wonwoo’s face before looking back at you. “That’s up to, Y/n, of course.”

It was as if you walked into a wet dream. You were sinking your mouth over Seokmin’s length while Wonwoo’s length was prepping to be in the other end. Seokmin was relieved to see that pretty face of yours, wrapping your lips around him and taking him whole. “You take me so well.”

You hum contently around his girth, gaping open on the other end as Wonwoo caresses the shape of your ass. With his rubber-covered cock, the tip teases your entrance. Wonwoo licks his lips in anticipation, “Are you ready? Remember one tap for yes, two for no.”

You land one tap against the bed, giving him the okay, and Wonwoo wastes no time filling the absence of your warmth. You vibrate around Seokmin, allowing a groan to elicit from the man and he watches Wonwoo gain momentum inside of you. Wonwoo grips your hips in his hands slamming against you.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head while your lips and hands lose your grip on Seokmin’s shaft. Seokmin proceeds to thrust himself in you, tugging your hair, regaining his sense of control. His mouth was watering seeing you being used.

“Shit, your mouth feels so fucking good. You like that? Me and Wonwoo taking you at the same time?”

A corner of Wonwoo’s lips tugs against his cheek, “I bet they do, what a good little slut.”

He picks up speed, having you practically gargle Seokmin in your mouth, dribbling your chin and down your neck in a mix of your drool and his precum. The sensation was riveting until Seokmin had to pull off of him, scared of coming too early. This was a race he did not plan on finishing first place.

Like clockwork, Wonwoo pulls you by the arm, pressing your sweaty back to his firm chest, meanwhile, Seokmin joins your lips together. The taste of himself on your tongue is admittedly exhilarating, he chuckles with a heavy breath against your lips, intensely sharing a gaze. “Good slut is right.”

You whimper, followed by a moan, Seokmin’s tongue pushes past your lips, entangling itself with the presence of yours, and reaches his hand down to find your wet clit. 

“Seok please, mmh, I can’t take it.”

“What? Is our little cockslut being needy? Wonwoo isn’t enough?”

You shake your head, “He’s s-so good, b-but, I want you t-too. P-please.”

A whine lingers in your voice, both men’s jaws dropping at its gorgeous resonance. Seokmin takes a look at his best friend, a devilish glut in his eyes. “How ‘bout it Wonwoo? Should we give them what we want? Or should we make them work for it a little more?”

Wonwoo’s breath tickles the back of your neck, teeth grazing your ear. “I think they can take a little more teasing, can’t you y/n?”

His voice sends shivers down your spine and you feel obligated to nod. He kisses your ear in thanks, his tongue tickling your ear lobe, “Good. Now, why don’t you let Seokmin pay you back by letting you use his face like a seat.”

A nerve in the younger man’s cock twitched at that suggestion, really grateful for Wonwoo’s presence at this point.

You quickly follow, asking Seokmin politely to make himself comfortable before you decide to. He nods willingly, laying himself at the head of the bed and pulling you along to take the next steps. You hover over his face, giving Seokmin a view of your pretty tits and flustered expression before he holds on to your thighs and lowers you to the latch of his lips. His nose immediately tickles your clit and tongue sampling your arousal.

“W-wow…”

A sense of pride settles in Seokmin’s stomach, feeling the instinctive jerk of his raw hips to follow. Wonwoo comes to your side, takes the side of your face in his hands, and attaches his lips to yours. In your half-open gaze, you see his glasses fog up as well falling to the lower bridge of his nose, causing you to bump into them repeatedly. His teeth gnash against your lips, tugging at them carnivorously before his tongue would play with yours, his hands finding home on your breasts.

You feel the tweak of his fingers, rolling your nubs in between as you grind into Seokmin’s mouth, unable to think of a response to what comes next out of Wonwoo’s mouth.

“Seokmin’s so lucky to know what your pussy tastes like. You’ll let me try next time won’t you?”

Babbling, brain scrambles from Seokmin’s skillful tongue, you opt for nodding, a rewarding kiss pressed in your lips in return.

“Good.”

You feel his hands squeeze the weight of your breasts in his hand and catch a nipple in his mouth, sucking and erecting it to its full size. “Your tits are so perfect. You don’t know how long I’ve waited to have you like this. Seeing you walk around with barely anything on sometimes, I almost lost it. If I knew you were such a little whore, I would’ve taken my chances sooner.”

You moan louder at Wonwoo’s voice, at the same time feeling Seokmin fucks your inside with his tongue faster, as if the impact of Wonwoo’s words were getting you both off.

“My only regret is I should’ve gotten to you first.”

You mewl, the heat of your body makes you lose balance. His handsome, kind face gazes up at you playing with your breasts, smiling charmingly, “You’re so pretty. Hey Seokmin. Where are we at making them cum?”

Seokmin takes his time pulling back for air before answering. “I think they’re ready. They’re so wet.”

“All thanks to you. Now, could you grab that lube from the bedside?”

The scene followed with Seokmin on his back with you on top of him. He would knock his cock at one entrance, while Wonwoo prepped and slicked the other. You kiss Seokmin feverishly, stalling for the imminent fullness you’re about to endure, and Wonwoo asks for your consent one last time.

“I’m ready, Wonwoo.”

The click of the cap follows, a chill sensation of the water-based lube hitting the crack of your ass, having you shudder on the man below you.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” Seokmin praises, fueling your ego with kisses as his hands grab either of your ass cheeks and spread them apart.

Wonwoo let the pressure of his fingers test you out, feeling your hole swallow tight around him, a foreign but gratifying feeling to enter your body. “Good, good. You’re taking it so well.”

“Mmh, Wonwoo, mmp…more…”

He snickers. “Already can’t get enough? Seokmin you go this.”

The younger man nods, taking his member out and easing it inside your wet slit, your body accepting him naturally like he was home. Wonwoo plays with your ass a little longer, matching the rhythm of Seokmin’s hip, and inches himself in between the divide between both yours and Seokmin’s legs.

The pump of Wonwoo’s digits stretches inside you, scissoring and adjusting to their form before he replaces it with his cock, easing it gradually to avoid any pain on your end. You take a sharp breath, feeling the length fill your insides in their entirety and soon enough you feel the insane feeling of both fat cocks pushing deep and gratifyingly inside you.

You scream out in pleasure, resting your forehead on Seokmin’s shoulder and doing nothing to contribute to the insane ecstasy running through your body as thick as blood. Seokmin clutches you by your ass, swatting a hand at either one between every fierce grip, muffling your moans in his kiss. “You want the neighbors to hear or something?”

Wonwoo chuckles within his grunts, “Can’t help yourself, can you, baby?”

You could hardly hear the words they were saying, both rods coming in and out of you with no uniform rhythm, just fucking the daylights out of you until mouth drooling thick strands down to Seokmin’s chest. “Mmp, so g-g-good…”

You claw up for the pillows behind Seokmin, digging your nails until you could feel the flesh of your palm through the fabric. You weren’t sure how long its been, from baring the Seokmins’s hands that sucks on the skin and texture of your breasts so hungrily and the clap of Wonwoo’s hands against your jiggling cheeks that bordered your stretched-out holes, you never felt any feeling like this. You fould feel the taste of iron on your tongue from bit your lips so hard, clenching for dear life or this pleasure wreck you that hardest it damn could; you wish it’s never end.

“God, I’m cum-ning. Can I? P-please…”

Seokmin looks over your shoulder at Wonwoo, who was drenched in his perspiration, visibly tired but not drained, nodding back with a smile that could light up pitch-black skies. Seokmin turns to you smiling reassuringly with his lips against yours, catching his breath. “Cum for us, beautiful. We wanna see it.”

Seokmin’s word was as good as any, your trained hips now losing their grace, involuntarily twitching your lower body,  and seeping your climax out on Seokmin’s sheets, helplessly faltering and losing strength when you’re finished. Wonwoo still pushes his last bar of stamina rutting inside you with Seokmin to follow. Simultaneously, they cum at the same time, exchanging gaze of pride, and pumping the last bit of their load in the condoms, over-stimulating you. Wonwoo kisses along your back, and Seokmin does the same with your cheeks, pushing sweat-drenched strands of hair away from your face.

You fall on your back against the bed as they pull out, both guys quickly disposing of their condoms and dressing to an appropriate level for a pair of friends that had sex with the same person. Seokmin is quick to help you clean up, getting a warm towel and letting it soak up the overflow of your orgasm, “I’ll run you a bath in a quick bit. We must've taken a lot out of you.”

Wonwoo watches the moment like a bystander, remembering briefly during the sex that there will be a next time but unsure if that would ever be the case. Seokmin looks over at you so kindly, treating you delicately with what seems to be like love in his eyes, thinking to himself, was there ever really a situation like this ever again?

“You’re really good to them.” Wonwoo comments.

“It's only natural when they give their all. Look how tired they are.”

You sip the water Wonwoo provided you earlier. “I’m okay, I’m okay, but thank you. The both of you. That was…incredible. Really.”

“It really was,” Wonwoo agrees, picking up the shirt he dismissed so easily coming across them initially, “Well, that was fun. I think I got my closure. I…I’m happy for, you guys. I’ll get going.”

The older man turns to leave until he hears one of their voices call out to him. He averts his attention from the familiar voice and meets eyes with Seokmin, who had the most welcoming smile he had ever seen on the man. 

“Look. This…We can’t just walk away from this like it never happened. With Y/n’s permission, we should all…do it again.”

Wonwoo’s eyes shock open in apparent shock, shock for Wonwoo that is, stunned that Seokmin would offer such an arrangement. “Wow. Uh, Seok, that’s really big of you, but you don’t have to do that, you know? I'm not trying to get in between this, whatever it is.”

“You wouldn’t,” you butt in, “I think this something we’d all be okay with. The choice is yours, Wonwoo.”

You pull yourself up from the bed to sit up, joining Seokmin’s side. “Please?”

Wonwoo hadn’t even considered the possibility of the offer. He did enjoy himself and Seokmin’s presence did not hinder any of it, on the contrary, made it more pleasurable. He looked at the eyes of the people closest to him, the sexual tension radiating off of them was indescribable and for some reason, they felt even more complete if they had them. With an idea so bizarre, so out of his comfort zone, he couldn’t help but agree more. There was no reason for him to say no.

“Okay, but no more sneaking around. I want all the details.”

Seokmin nods, a hint of relief on his face and yours, “Of course, welcome to our situationship, Wonwoo.”

#wonwoo smut #seokmin smut #dokyeom smut #seventeen smut #jeon wonwoo smut #lee seokmin smut #lee dokyeom smut #seventeen dokyeom #seventeen wonwoo #seventeen seokmin #seventeen x you #seventeen x y/n #seventeen x reader #seventeen #seventeen fanfic #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios

[incrediblyaccuratethoughts]

I’m Gonna Tell ‘Em (Don’t you Dare)

Ao3

Tim just wanted coffee. That’s really all he desired in life. Coffee. His position as Red Robin. And Wayne Industries to get its shit together for one goddamn day. In that order.

“Are you shitting me? I was a fucking crime lord you little terror, I don’t give a fuck-”

He’d done an all-nighter in the Batcave. Again. Trying to crack a cold case he was sure had something to do with Riddler's vague warning a few nights ago. And he was so close, but his eyes had started to close for just a little too long.

So tell him why he walked into an argument that seemed to be based around the topic of murder, at 7 in the morning. Between Jason and Damian. Who both tried to kill him at least once. Respectively.

“And I am the Demon Prodigy of the League of Assassins. I could kill a man before I could speak.”

Tim stands in the doorway, contemplating if his need for coffee is higher than his potential rate of getting maimed in the dining room.

“Yeah, but you were fucking sheltered inside the bases like goddamn Rapunzel in her-”

“I was not sheltered. You of all people should know of Mother’s harshness for disobedience-“

“Oh and I’m sure you were so disobedient Mr. Goody Two Shoes-“

Ultimately, the urge for coffee wins. Tim crosses the kitchen as unnoticeably as he can, skirting the edges and keeping his footsteps as light as he can manage on 10 hours of sleep in the last week.

He’s busy, okay?

“I’ll admit I wasn’t raised to go against the orders of a higher-up but that did not mean-”

“Bull. Fucking. Shit.”

“Did my propensity for sneaking animals into the house escaped your notice? I thought you were better trained-“

“So what? You save every bird with a broken wing you come across, but you’d willingly slit the throat of a human?”

“Yes, Todd. That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

The coffee pot is half full. Tim counts this as the one redeeming factor of this morning. The threat of getting stabbed is nothing in the face of sweet, sweet caffeine.

“What’s your fucking number then?”

“I can’t possibly know the exact-“

“Oh no, you don’t get to pull that shit on me-“

Tim considers pouring himself a cup, but he’s gonna drink the whole thing anyway and he’s exhausted enough to zone out during Alfred’s inevitable lecture, so he takes the whole pot and tips it back.

“I was sent out for missions when I was barely more than a toddler. You can’t expect me to remember every-“

“Ra’s had files on every fucking mission I did while brain dead and high on Lazarus rage, there’s no fucking way he didn’t have an exact-“

Tim chugs his precious coffee. The temperature is surprisingly cool enough that he doesn't immediately burn his tongue. Not that a few scorched taste buds would stop Tim from inhaling the only thing between him and unconscious. But it’s the thought that counts.

“What’s yours then, Todd?”

“Nope. Not until you tell me yours first. I’m not about to have you raise the number because I told you mine.”

“That’s preposterous. I would do no such thing.”

Tim calculates his chances of making it back out of the kitchen with a quarter pot of coffee in his hands and decides his caffeine fix is safer off with a few counters between him and his homicidal brothers.

And yah know. His physical well-being. But that’s pretty low on his ‘fucks to give list’ at the moment.

“I don’t trust a fucking word coming out of your mouth-“

“There’s an easy way to settle this if you’d just-“

“What? Shut up? Drop the argument? No fucking-“

“We can write it down separately and then show it to each other at the same time."

“…huh.”

Tim looks up in genuine fear when both of his siblings go quiet. That’s never a good sign. Not in this house.

There’s a window to his right that he could probably smash through if it came to it.

Neither of them are looking at him though, just regarding each other with much less animosity than a few seconds ago. Tim decides he’s probably fine and goes back to his coffee.

“I will go retrieve a piece of paper and two pens.”

Damian leaves the room and Tim freezes like if he stays still enough it’ll keep Jason from noticing him. Unfortunately, now that his older brother’s attention is directed to his surroundings and not just screaming at a 12-year-old, he makes direct eye contact with Tim.

“Oh hey, Timmers. How long have you been here?”

Tim stares at him blankly. He- doesn’t know what answer Jason wants from him and he’s not willing to face his older brother’s wrath if he’d been having what he thought was a private conversation.

“Sorry about the noise. I hope we didn’t wake you up.” Jason says after it’s clear that he isn't getting answers out of Tim.

As if the manor isn’t literally soundproofed. For this exact reason.

Tim’s 17 years of social etiquette training won’t let him just not answer the open-ended comment, but god does he wish that it did.

“No, I was already up.”

Jason nods as if he was expecting that answer. Which is fair. Tim’s sure he looks just as tired as he feels. His eye bags could hold all of his emotional trauma. They’re Guchi.

“And does Alfred know you’re drinking straight from the pot?” Jason motions to the carafe Tim’s clutching like a lifeline. Because it is.

Tim opens his mouth to lie through his teeth, but is saved by Damian’s re-entry. Wow, he’s never been so glad to see his stab-happy younger brother.

True to his word, the kid’s carrying a few pieces of paper and pens. Tim could leave now. He could casually walk right past them, out of the kitchen, and back to the cave to keep working on his case, but dammit, he’s invested now.

He’s still not sure what this argument is about exactly, but he’s willing to wait a few more minutes to satiate his curiosity now that he’s tentatively sure that the argument isn’t going to evolve into physical violence.

“I’ve acquired the tools to finish this once and for all, Todd.” Damian announces, sliding half of his spoils to Jason.

“Great. We’ll write our body count down and on 3 we’ll turn ‘em around. Got it?”

“Don’t tell me what to do” Damian grumbles, but writes dutifully anyway. The kid would be funny if he didn’t back his threats up with swords.

Tim is. Still lost, but he’s always secretly wondered how many people his brothers have killed. In a morbid way. Mostly because he wants to know if the murder attempts on him were a particularly special event or just a pattern. For his mental health's sake.

“Got it?” Jason asks, holding his paper close to his chest so no one can peek. Tim doesn’t know who would, considering he’s the only one in the kitchen that’s not a part of this squabble, but Damian copies the movement and Tim finds himself inching closer, taking the last swig of his coffee.

“One.”

“Two.”

“Three!”

They flip the papers around and for a moment the kitchen is quiet.

“FUCK YEAH!” Jason pumps his fist in the air with a whoop. “Ha! Take that, Demon Brat! I’m the Robin with the highest kill count!”

Tim spits out his coffee and coughs violently. It’s partially because he got some in his lungs, but also to cover the incredulous laughter bursting uncontrollably out of him. It takes him a good few seconds to get his breathing under control, but when he looks up, his brothers are staring at him.

For a moment he’s tempted. So fucking tempted. Because he hasn’t told anyone anything more than bits and pieces about his time with the League. Hell, the only reason his family even knows about his little stint playing lap dog for Ra’s, is because he choked out a vague explanation about his missing spleen when he went into sepsis.

They don’t know about the missions he was sent on. The people he sold out. And most importantly, the multiple bases he blew up because he was crazier than the Joker after Bart and Kon’s death and then the near miss with Bruce.

The bases he absolutely didn’t evacuate. With hundreds of people inside. A few actually avalanched down mountainsides, and he’d eat his Batarang if any of them survived.

The only word he’d confidently use to describe his mental state then, is feral.

He didn’t have to blow them up. He really didn’t. A good few of the bases he’d never actually seen before he snuck in to level the place, but he’d been having a shitty year so naturally, he was going to make sure Ra’s got to have one too.

Not to mention that Tim was as depressed as he’d ever been and wasn’t particularly giving a lot of fucks about if he died during his warpath. He’d already lost a spleen, what were a few more organs?

So this argument? This competition? He finds it objectively fucking hilarious.

Damian and Jason are still staring at him in bewilderment, and for a moment -just a wild moment- he thinks about telling them.

Explaining how he was just. So done. And could only think of one way out, so he systematically hacked into every base he could get his hands on. Stole as many files as he could during his time constraint. And then blew all of them sky-high.

Thought about telling them how on one particularly bad night, gone through every log of the people in those bases. How he hadn’t been ‘sick’ as he claimed the week after he managed to crawl out of his safe house.

He was just too horrified to look anyone in the eye.

It would be funny to watch his family’s expressions go through the five stages of grief and add a few more just for funsies, if they even believed him at all. But no. Tim had his secrets and he was going to take them to the grave.

He grinned at his brothers, patted Jason on the shoulder with a quiet congratulations, and strolled out of the kitchen.

Tim had cases to solve and letting his family assume he wasn’t capable of murder was better for all of them in the long run.

No matter how wrong they were.

👻

In my defense. Writing prompts make the brain noodle go brr. You can blame @coffinbirds and @batcavescolony for these posts.

#you thought i was gonna have him spill the beans? #absolutely not #get wrecked #tim drake is a menace #also a coffee addict #it's truly a problem #get this man some therapy #jason todd is far too proud of murder #can't blame him thou #sometimes i also just wanna glock a bitch #damian wayne has no chill #he's twelve with swords #and not afraid to use them #we should all fear him at all costs #bat family #batfics #tim drake fanfiction #tim drake fluff #batkids #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd #jason todd fic #jason todd fluff #tim drake #damian wayne #damian wayne fanfiction #damian wayne fluff #batman fanfiction #batfamily #batfamily fanfic

[joshslater]

It started with coffee

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[buthowboutno]

totally not late 15k hits post

hmm? what’s that? we hit 15k hits on ATWLP?? like, yesterday, right? mhmm? yes?

We’re just gonna totally gloss over how I’ve left y’all on a cliffhanger for the past two weeks but uhhh HERE’S SOME CONTENT PSPSPS I PROMISE THE NEXT CHAPTER IS COMING OUT AS SOON AS POSSIBLE (my gf was visiting, i was too busy fawning over her to type xoxo.)

I would just like to say again that my readers are so fucking insane and talented and you guys have really been SUCH a huge support for every step of the way. It only took like three chapters to gain 5k hits!!! That’s absolutely /wild/. 

So anyways, to the stinkies that have been here since the beginning and the ones that have joined us recently, i love y’all so so much and here’s to the second half of this truly monstrous fic.

Beneath the cut: Donnie’s POV from the end of Chapter 15.

QuarkedUp: not dogging on the newbies but she may or may not have caused us to have to redo our entire experiment

BootyShaker9000: You? Not being outright facetious to someone?

BootyShaker9000: Who are you and what have you done with the short nerd?

BootyShaker9000: Follow up question, will you keep them forever?

QuarkedUp: I hate you

Donnie snorted at your text as it popped up on the screen. He caught May smirking at him through the corner of his eye while he typed a response.

“What, am I not entertaining enough company?” she asked, taking a sip of her cocoa and keeping eye contact with Donnie over the rim of her mug. May had pointedly left the matching set alone for you and Donnie.

Donnie had appreciated that with words he couldn’t begin to form yet.

“I fear there’s no way to answer this without getting on someone’s bad side,” Donnie said.

May snorted, setting her mug down and reaching for the tupperware Donnie had brought over. Mikey had made more lavender sugar cookies that he insisted that Donnie take over to you that night, nevermind the fact that you were coming over later tomorrow.

Donnie might have… left out that detail when Mikey had asked him.

“Ah, well, don’t let me get in between you and your partner,” May teased. She bit into a cookie and hummed appreciatively.

Donnie’s cheeks felt warm as he began typing again. He would never get used to May calling you his partner. Between her and Splinter, Donnie’s mind had been rife with intrusive thoughts about you.

Thoughts about grabbing your hand with his when you placed it on his knee, about sticking his face in his hoodies when you finally returned them.

Thoughts about…

Nope! Lock it down, Donatello.

BootyShaker9000: You do not.

BootyShaker9000: Would you like me to make you something to drink?

QuarkedUp: oh yes pl

BootyShaker9000: Have we reached the point in society where we just aren’t finishing words anymore?

BootyShaker9000: May and I just finished off the last of the hot cocoa, but I can make you a green tea?

Donnie got up from his beanbag and walked over to the little area where the kettle was set up, flicking it on and searching through the little drawers for the tea you liked.

“I’m so glad the two of you use the mugs I bought,” May said as Donnie pulled out the matching pair to his mug. Donnie gave May a soft smile before turning back around to retrieve the honey.

“We use them every time I come over. I think their excessive abuse of caffeine is the last thing keeping your roomie tethered to reality, if I’m being honest,” Donnie said. Not that he, admittedly, was much better. You had forced him to start limiting his Redbull intake to just two cans a day if you couldn’t have your third or fourth cup of coffee.

‘Turnabout’s fair play,’ as you had told him.

‘I’m an engineered weapon of war,’ Donnie said back, ‘I can handle a little caffeine.’

How rude of you to care about his well-being.

May cackled, reaching into the tupperware for another cookie, “That’s what they get for being an engineer. Us art majors just go insane in the poetic way.”

Donnie huffed a laugh through his nose, “How very Plath of you.”

“I think that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me,” May said. Donnie walked back over to retrieve his mug and took a long sip while he opened up his chat with you.

No new messages.

Weird.

BootyShaker9000: Sweetums?

“Has your roommate texted you in the last five minutes?” Donnie asked, setting his mug back down and tapping at his tech gauntlet to check your location.

“You’re… really overprotective, aren’t you?” May asked, but pulled out her phone all the same. With a few swipes she looked back up at Donnie, “Nothing since this morning.”

“Some might say I’m paranoid within reason,” Donnie said, focusing his full attention to his tech gauntlet. He tapped on your icon showing your location and pulled up your health stats. Heart rate slightly elevated, but nothing else too concerning, “My concern is backed up with years of empirical data and, for lack of better words, gut feeling.”

“I can refer you to some resources on campus for your anxiety, you know,” May said. She looked concerned, but Donnie just waved her off.

“Still not a student, but thank you.”

Donnie’s gauntlet started beeping obnoxiously, startling both of them. Donnie’s heart stopped when he saw the familiar notification on the screen.

“Something happened,” Donnie said, engaging his jetpack and taking off immediately through the open window. He didn’t wait a second to give May any explanation. How could he? How could he waste any second that should be spent making sure that you were okay?

He hovered above your last known location, finding nothing but the faint scent of your body wash and acetone that you had undoubtedly spilled earlier in your lab. Donnie dropped down to the ground and tried to trace where your smell was coming from. His eyes locked on his your hoodie that was folded neatly and placed on the edge of the sidewalk.

Donnie practically fell to his knees as he grabbed it. Your phone fell out of the front pocket as he did so with a note taped to the screen. Donnie’s hands shook as he picked it up off of the ground, thumbing the piece of paper open so he could read the messy scrawl.

Othello Von Ryan,

For old time’s sake, I’ll be frank. We have your partner and you have significant funds. There doesn’t need to be any hassle tonight, just so long as you follow every instruction.

Load $20,000 worth of Bitcoin onto a USB and go to the address sent to your phone. Bring no one. Leave your weapons behind. If you try anything, we will not hesitate to cut our losses and move on.

Consider our graciousness for your years of theft to be a gift for the happy couple.

–Purple Dragons

Donnie felt a eerie calm wash over him. It was like he had retreated into the back of his own skull, only merciless logic and cold fury guiding his next actions.

He pocketed your phone and rose from the ground with the hoodie in hand. He ran his thumb over the soft fabric, his mind completely focused while he pressed call on his phone.

“Leo? I’m going to need you to listen very carefully.”

#ATWLP #donnie x reader #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt donnie x reader #donatello x reader

[legolasghosty]

54. At the next inconvenience I will start biting people. - feels like any of the girls... or Alex. Do with that what you will.

Oh gosh you're so right... and this seems like a great way to channel all of my almost finals week frustration...

Willie fumbles for the handle to Julie and Flynn's apartment with his hands full of pastries and drinks he snagged before he finished his shift. Hey, nothing says late-night study session like day-old muffins, right? He finally manages to get the door open and stumbles through the entrance into the kitchen/living area.

Flynn, Reggie, and Alex all look up at his entrance. Julie is still glued to her laptop, Carrie has her eyes shut as she focuses on whatever is playing in her headphones, and Luke... might be asleep.

"I come bearing sustenance," Willie says, their voice coming out a worn-out edition of their usual customer service tone. He sets the drink carriers down on the counter, then drops the bag of pastries beside them. "I make no promises about how edible and/or hot stuff still is, but better than nothing."

"Gimme," Flynn groans, making grabby hands at him from where she's sprawled on the couch, one leg in Julie's lap and the other tucked up to her chest. "But heat it up first, at the next minor inconvenience I'm going to start biting people."

"Kinky," Reggie jokes weakly from where he's sprawled out on the floor, surrounded by papers.

"Not the way I do it," Flynn growls back. "I'm about a millimeter away from egging this professor's house for all the BS she's pulled this quarter."

"Warming up the coffee, got it," Willie cuts in, grabbing Flynn's cup and heading for the microwave. "Love me some minor vandalism, but we should probably save it for after finals."

"Or like after we graduate?" Alex suggests, his pencil thumping out a soft but steady beat against the edge of his textbook. "So they can't screw you over academically?"

"She'd have to catch me first," Flynn points out.

Willie just shrugs and starts handing out drinks as the two of them banter back and forth about the best timeline in which to get revenge on their professors. Luke's goes in the fridge. Reggie downs probably half of his mocha in ten seconds. Flynn takes a long sip of her massive latte and sighs. Willie can almost feel the humanity returning to her system as the caffeine settles. Julie barely even looks up when he sets her tea down on the table. Alex takes his lemonade with a smile and a hand on Willie's wrist to pull them down for a quick kiss.

"How was work?" he asks when they separate.

"Nasty," Willie admits. "Coffee shop near campus the week before finals kind of nasty. Got yelled at by like three people."

Alex winces. "I'm sorry," he offers.

Willie shrugs. "Can't say I blame them. I'm not far off blowing my lid either with Covington's exam coming up."

"If he fails you, I'll get more eggs," Flynn states. "We can get him and mine together."

"You're amazing," Willie tells her gratefully.

"You brought me coffee," she points out.

"Point taken," they laugh.

He returns to the kitchen to grab the bag of pastries and his backpack, then settles in beside Alex, leaning back against the couch near Flynn's hip. They pop open their laptop, gratefully accepting Carrie's offer to plug in the charging cord. Alex shifts a little closer so their shoulders are brushing and Willie leans into it, letting the warmth burn off some of the stress of the day.

Finals suck, but at least they can all do the suckiness together.

#legolas tag #julie and the phantoms #legolas ask #jatp #jatp fanfic #willex #alex mercer #willie jatp #flynn taylor #reggie peters #look I just only have so many brain cells to write the whole gang into the scene together #this is my way of coping with finals stress btw #I have to study alone cause I have like 1 decent friend here and she has the flu #plus I'm having to do my finals early cause of a family thing so most people aren't even studying this much yet #so if I don't get a cozy study gang with free treats from someone's lousy coffee shop job #then they can have it instead

[sorcerous-caress]

I can't fall asleep so here is a fun story.

When I was 16-17, I watched that russian sleeping experiment video, and it stuck with me for a while. I thought there was no way it's real, like it was clearly a creepypasta, but also I knew the best lies were built on half-truths, so it must have held some truth to it.

I did some digging on the Internet and found an article that stated how the stages the human body goes through the more they go without sleep. It was summer break, and I thought, what's a better use of my time than testing this out on myself?

I was curious and skeptical, i felt like some of the stuff in these articles were exaggerated. I didn't have a plan i just had a lot of free time, a locked room, lots of energy drinks, coffee, and a very uncomfortable chair.

The first day went easy. I spent it normally and stayed up playing video games and watching movies. Nothing unusual.

The second day went fine at first but I had to give up the bed, I dragged a very uncomfortable plastic chair into my room, it didn't even have arm rests. That's also the day i started slowly drinking energy drinks. My focus was deteriorating so I couldn't do anything but scroll through the apps on my phone.

The third day is when strange things started happening. By that point, I was unbelievably exhausted. I drank so much caffeine that I could see the veins on my hands slightly bulging out, and their colour was more prominent.

I couldn't stay sitting down because I would fall asleep, so I forced myself to get up every 10 minutes and walk around the room in circles. I was listening to loud metal music at max volume during the whole thing because the second my mind relaxed, I knew I'd fall asleep.

It was barely the start of the day too, this was me 1/4 through the day. I really didn't to fail now especially when I came this far.

The article mentioned that the hallucinations start on the third/fourth day. It's also when your brain forces you to fall asleep each time you blinked, it's called microsleep.

I did experience it. It wasn't like a normal blink where the world around you resumed, more like a long, slow blink that disconnected you from your brain for a second before you snapped back into reality.

So i kept this routine up for 3 hours. Sit, scroll through social media, stand up, walk around, and sit back down. Rinse and repeat.

I kept reading through the article, It was the only thing motivating me at that point. Especially since I had an argument with a friend earlier during day 2, when they screamed at me to go to sleep. I almost ended up losing them because of it, so I just lied and said i will go sleep.

They just didn't get it, yk? I already committed to this. I can't turn back after everything I endured. I wanted to see what happens, to witness it first hand because each one of those articles about sleep deprivation sounded like the plot of horror movies, and I wasn't buying it at all.

Also, I hate the taste of black coffee, but by that point, I just swallowed it all down without care. I don't even remember if it tasted like anything. My hands were shaking so much, but I knew I'd fall asleep without it, so I kept going.

I successfully made it halfway through the day, I've reread the same article so many times.

I kept thinking about the hallucinations, wondering when they would finally start. Would it be like seeing a ghost in the room? Auditory hallucinations were out of the question because I never stopped listening to the loud music, I also locked myself inside my room, just in case I attempted to wander outside and sleep on a couch or fall down the stairs by accident.

While I was circling the room, I kept staring at the poster on my wall. It was the Vitruvian Man by Da Vinci. It was the only humanoid poster I had up, so my eyes kept naturally seeking it out.

And there was something about its stare.

Each circle I finished would get me closer to it bit by bit, I couldn't see anything else besides it. I couldn't stop feeling like its eyes was speaking to me.

I kept remembering the article and the hallucinations, wondering if this is when it's finally starting. I embraced it and felt excited, i wanted it to speak to me, to come out of the poster and stand in front of me.

I couldn't even hear the loud music in my headphones anymore, only its stare. I stopped walking and kept standing still staring at it, waiting for something to happen.

But the look in his pupils, the crystal clear meaning of it.

Oh, i realised, it wants to kill me.

That empty stare in those soulless eyes, terror washed over me, and all excitement was replaced with fear.

Genuinely bone-deep fear. Me, a teenager in the 21st century who has had a comfortable modern life for all my years of living, felt true fear for the first time in my life.

It's going to murder me, I kept repeating. I was afraid to look away because I genuinely believed it would jump out at me the second I did.

Then I remember day 4 in the article, how they described that any hallucinations will get more intense, more real.

I was terrified, and I didn't want to die, so I did what any normal person would do when faced with a whispering cheap poster of an old creepy painting.

I caved in and went to sleep.

Laid on the bed, i imagined it walking behind me, I imagined him slowly moving towards me.

My heart was beating so much, every fiber of my being was beyond terrfied.

I was convinced he is standing in front of the bed.

Thankfully tho, It didn't take more than 3 seconds for me to fall asleep after I closed my eyes, I didn't even have to try.

I've only made it to the middle of the third day, by the time I woke up, it was the afternoon of the next day. I slept a whole day and my body felt beyond broken.

I needed to eat, i needed water, and I needed to go to the bathroom. I did all of these things in an hour and then immediately went back to bed.

I slept for another full day.

The following week, I slept for 16 hours per day, then it dwindled to 13, then 8, and after a month, I went back to my normal sleeping schedule.

But the thing is, the painting doesn't have eyes, really. Not clear ones, at least. They're so small already, and it was printed on a cheap poster, so they were basically a couple of pixels.

Yet I remember seeing clear eyes on the third day, with pupils and everything, i could almost count the eyelashes. And they didn't seem out of place either, it felt like they were always a part of the painting.

Anyway, I never threw that poster out. It cost me 10$, which to a broke teenager was a lot of money. Also, Da Vinci is a pretty chill guy. I felt kinda mean to throw his painting out over one murder hallucination.

I did get my answers, tho! My experiment wasn't a complete failure, and I went back to the friend I lied to so I could inform them of my results. They weren't pleased, and we ended up falling out because of it. It's alright.

But since that day, i never could stay up much. Like whenever I get sleepy, I really really get unimaginably sleepy. Feels like my brain removed my admin access to my sleep cycle, and I lost the ability to stay up for more than a day.

Probably for the best, it's been years since this happened and my sleep still suffers from the same problem really. Which is funny because sometimes I do get insomina and can't sleep, but it never lasts for more than a day before my brain forcefully shuts me down.

It was fun I guess? I don't recommend doing it because the results aren't that impressive really. Thank fuck I didn't have a mirror in my room at the time, I feel like it would've made the hallucinations come by quicker.

Also, I am very aware of how stupid and an endangerment of my life it was to do that, now that I'm grown at least. You don't have to tell me about it. I don't plan on repeating it, and none of you should, really. It's more of a cool story I tell nowadays, a found memory of when I almost self-indunced psychosis. And yes! That russian experiment video was fake af.

Anyway, here is the painting for reference.

I had tiny stickers to cover his peepee so dw dw.

I couldn't find the article I was reading at the time, but here is a really similar one that explains the stages and is very accurate to what I experienced.

Imma sleep, goodnight <3

#don't even know what to tag this wjth #♡not writing?

[idiopath-fic-smile]

post-W.A.R. Summer ficbit

Still taking prompts for my "donate at least $25 to an abortion-related cause, get at least 250 words of fic" exchange, with the additional caveat that while I can't promise anything, so far I don't think any piece has been under 750 words.

Enjolras’s first job was being paid under the table to move a bunch of old boxes of files at his mom’s office. His second job is working for the same office as a receptionist. The best things about the gig, according to Enjolras, are defying gender expectations and getting to read books at his desk when there are no customers.

Grantaire’s first job is with an aggressively mediocre fast food sandwich place. He wipes counters and applies mayo onto spongy baguettes and has a noticeably bad panic attack following his manager’s half-hearted attempt to teach Grantaire the register during the hellish weekend lunch rush. 

He comes home reeking of cheap bread. He sees shreds of lettuce when he closes his eyes at night. His first week, he made the mistake of mentioning Enjolras during a completely empty night shift — he didn’t even say boyfriend, but apparently they could read it in his tone — and from then on, none of the guys he works with will look him in the eye. 

One day about a month after he was hired, in the wake of another terrible lunch rush, his manager makes a comment that is simultaneously racist, sexist, and homophobic, and Grantaire realizes with sudden crystal clarity that this isn’t like school, where your transcript follows you around with a careful tallying of all your various sins. He can just leave and start anew at a completely different job, reputation fresh, résumé blank as it was before. Unless his new employer randomly thinks to contact one very specific sandwich shop, he is in the clear.

So he does leave. He doesn’t give two weeks’ notice, doesn’t even wait until the end of the shift. He peels off his apron, doffs his uniform hat, and leaps over the counter. He calls Enjolras, who has a license at last, and the two of them get sandwiches at another, different aggressively mediocre sandwich place to celebrate. 

“You jumped over the counter?” Enjolras keeps saying, smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“It seemed like a faster way out than walking around Stephen the Manager.”

“Diving over the counter, like in an action movie.”

“If it was an action flick,” says Grantaire, “I probably would’ve managed to land on my feet.”

Enjolras laughs.

Grantaire’s second job he gets through Bahorel, at the movie theater on the other side of town. He gives out tickets, listens to customers endlessly complain about the prices, and learns to work a cash register only slightly better than before. The manager is generally not breathing over his shoulder, which means he can do things like give the employee discount to his friends, which is always a highlight. 

Now when he closes his eyes at night, he sees popcorn, which is really just a move sideways. The bread smell is replaced by the overpowering odor of artificial butter.

One night during a slow spell, his fellow cashier tells him her favorite movie is Saving Face, which Grantaire knows through Enjolras is both a rom-com and a landmark movie in queer cinema, and that is how Grantaire manages to make a new friend, right there in the box office, wearing a plasticky vest and a stupid clip-on bowtie. Lin is a good person to know — another ally besides Bahorel when the line of increasingly annoyed customers stretches across the building — and a partner-in-crime when nobody is lining up to see anything and the only goal is to pass the time.

She even invites him to parties, which he mostly avoids because he can tell from her stories they involve drinking and pot, and he’s not sure he trusts that side of himself. But when Who Killed The Electric Car? comes out, she drives out to the city with the rest of the ABC to see it and get overpriced coffees after, everyone talking a mile a minute under the twin stimulants of caffeine and companionship. It’s a good afternoon, a great one, even, and Grantaire marvels at all the forces that brought them all together, from activism to friendship to a desire to earn $7 an hour.

It’s nice to get caught up with everyone, even though it’s also basically impossible to get a word in edgewise.

Combeferre is working at a small mom-and-pop bookstore that is in the process of going out of business due to the huge, shiny Borders right across the street. Eponine continues to sling buttons and fabric at the Joann’s next to the Panera, and Musichetta eventually joins her, mostly out of enthusiasm for that all-important employee discount. Jehan and Feuilly get jobs bagging groceries at the weird organic health food store outside of town, which is one of few places in a fifteen-mile radius where Jehan’s clothing choices don’t draw much hostility. Nobody is surprised when Courfeyrac turns out to be a natural as a waiter, nor are they surprised at the jokes he makes about how exactly he winds up with so much of his money in cash. Cosette gets a fast food job, looking, Eponine notes, unfairly good in the cheesy polyester uniform. Joly and Bossuet both become science tutors to middle schoolers, which they describe as about half teaching and half babysitting.

Marius doesn’t have a job; for reasons that are unclear to the rest of the group, his grandpa disapproves of him working.

Bahorel, the only senior in their bunch, leaves for college in the fall, but in the meantime, there’s still plenty of summer left, and it’s a novelty for Grantaire to be able to go and spend money with friends without first leaving a note begging funds from his parents. They finally go laser tagging together as a group, and predictably, Eponine is lethal at it. Combeferre turns out to also have killer aim.

“If you two wanna go see a movie this weekend,” Grantaire tells her on the ride home, “I can hook you both up with six-dollar tickets. Nothing more romantic than savings.”

“The only thing that’s still out that I wanna see is Snakes on a Plane,” she says. “And I don’t see Combeferre getting much out of that.”

“Maybe he would for love,” he singsongs, and she punches him on the arm.

That’s all he says on the subject for like two months (Eponine punches harder than Musichetta), until a weekend in August, halfway through a shift at the theater, when he spots Eponine and Combeferre standing in line together, just a little too dressed up for the movies. Combeferre is wearing the kind of shirt you have to iron.

“Two for Step Up,” says Eponine. ‘Don’t you dare,’ say her eyes.

“Together or separate?” asks Grantaire.

“Uh,” says Combeferre, “together.”

“Of course,” says Grantaire, smiling widely. “Of course. That will be twelve dollars, please.”

#world ain't ready #making a ship canon after like 7 to 8 years LIKE YOU DO #a massive thank you to everyone still reading WAR fic bits in 2022 #it warms my heart

[hermitdrabbles56]

Coffee and Bones: also known as Twilight has stiff joints and should not be given caffeine on an empty stomach.

"You…okay there buddy?" Wars asks tentatively as he watches the rancher warily. 

Twilight was currently staring at his slightly trembling hands. Trying to figure out why it felt like his heart was pounding and his chest and back felt tight. Was he breathing alright? Or was he starting to wheeze? Maybe his head was feeling a little weird too, and it felt like he'd been running a marathon with his body ached but didn't all at once. 

He licks his lips a bit and swallows slightly before settling on an answer. "I'm fine.." 

He'd slept in, that had to be it. Everything felt off whenever he slept in, and he hadn't moved yet aside from sitting up. So that was also probably it. Right? 

"You…don't look fine.." The Captain says worriedly. "Are you feeling ill?" 

Was he? 

Maybe a little when he woke up. He was so hungry his stomach had started to burn with rebelling acid. He'd woken up about half way through the second shift last night and had not been able to go back to sleep for a long while because of heartburn. 

His own fault really for forgetting to eat a real meal at lunch, and they'd just had something small at dinner because it'd been a shit day and Wild was out of commission. So shoving some hardback and water in his mouth at four in the morning before trying to go back to sleep probably wasn't the smartest decision? But it was better than nothing. 

Plus Four had given him something to drink and a muffin when he woke up. So that couldn't be it right? And actual breakfast will be ready soon. So it'll be fine.

"No..not ill. Just out of it." He says softly. 

"...then why are you shaking?" 

"That, I'm not sure." He says with a small hum. 

"Hey Four?" Wild's worried questioning tone draws Twilight's attention as he finally looks away from his trembling hands. "What was in the cup you gave him?" 

Their smallest looks up from his book and gestures to his own cup. "My morning black tea mix, he's usually up when I am so I just made a cup for him like usual when he did finally wake up. Just, helps with functioning and everything in the morning and it tastes better than coffee." 

"Ahhh, that would explain it." Wild says with clarity. 

"Explain what?" Wars asks worriedly. 

"Caffeine on a very empty stomach." Wild clarifies. 

"Ohhh…yeah..yeah that sounds accurate." Twilight murmurs with a tired tone as his stomach even roils and burns slightly as if to confirm. 

"He ate with it though?" Hyrule questions. 

"Oh sweet summer child, you eat like a bird. So you'd be able to survive off a muffin and a cup of something. This guy? He eats like a bear preparing for hibernation." Wild explains. "So he's got a caffeine high running through him mixing with an encroaching bought of the hangries." 

Hyrule just gives a grimace as Twilight gives a small hum of confirmation. Rubbing at his forehead a bit. The realization hitting him that someone else needs to eat too. 

"I'll be fine, but I should probably take care of Epona.." He murmurs as he stiffly moves to get up. Ignoring how his knees and shoulders pop and crack in the process. Something else he usually deals with before the others are up. 

"Sweet mother of Din, what the fuck did you do sleep like a pretzel!?" Wind exclaims. 

Twilight just manages a small chuckle as he gives himself a moment to make sure he's got his balance. "No..just slept." 

"Yeahh..I uh, I already took care of Epona when I realized you were still asleep. So maybe just worry about readjusting your skeleton?" Wild suggests with a concerned grimace. 

"You couldn't have told me that before I got up..?" Twilight groans slightly. 

"That wouldn't have fixed the bones problem…besides it's not like you're going to have a chance when no one else is standing here for a good couple of hours so just. Crack your limbs alright?" Wild sighs.

Usually, Wild and Four are the only ones who have to endure his morning routine. Aside from occasionally the very concerned old man. So the confused looks from the other five are rather warranted. 

Twilight gives a grunted sigh then looks over at a still sleepy Sky. "Cover your ears." 

The chosen hero just gives a small nod and does so. They learned early on that poping joints makes his skin crawl, and can even make him feel sick to his stomach. So they try to spare him as much as they can. 

Starting at his feet and moving up Twilight carefully flexes, twists, stretches and slightly rotates all the joints in his legs and feet. Getting a chorus of pops and cracks, but also relief as the pressure and tension is released. He then plops down on a log so his legs won't give out as he works on his arms, and shoulders. Followed by slowly twisting and bending as far as he can to get as much of his back as possible. 

A shiver runs down his spine and his ears flick and twitch as he manages to get some decent cracks out of his neck that reverberate into his skull. He even manages to pop his jaw a bit as he finally cracks and massages his stiff fingers until they're loose. 

Only then can he finally breathe better as his body is left with just a light aching from head to toe, and the burning hunger in his stomach. 

"..Well then….I now understand why you're so good at knowing how to fix our joints." Legend says with audible sympathy pain. 

Twilight just lets a small tired hum. "Mhm…experience sure does help.." 

"That's fair, but now, maybe try eating something.." Wild sighs as he hands the rancher a big bowl of warm homestyle potatoes and meat. A perfect and filling meal that makes everything so much better as soon as it settles in his stomach.

#fics #linked universe #lu twilight #lu warriors #lu legend #lu wild #lu four #lu wind #lu hyrule #lu sky #lu time #time doesnt talk but hes most definitely staring in quiet concern for most of this #twilight doesnt talk about the fact that he also has cronic pain #because he wants the others to feel like they can vent to him #especially Legend #they both have skeletons with minds of their own #this most certainly is not from experience #or else Twilight would nit have been able to pop the aching bones #but he deserves relief as a treat #rejecto skeletons are fun

[whump-me]

Whumptober Day 12: Insomnia

This is a standalone story in my original Mind Games universe, a modern-day sci-fi/fantasy thriller setting about ordinary humans with superhuman abilities and the people who want to use or destroy them. Full description in my Whumptober masterpost, which is linked in my pinned post.

This story contains: working to exhaustion, car accident, mentions of minor whump

Words: 3600

---

Leman didn’t know how long he had been driving. The highway was always the same, as if all his frantic speed had gotten him exactly nowhere. Always the same hum of the engine under him. Always the same trees speeding by to either side. Always the same soothing growl of passing cars, the same hypnotic glow of headlights in the dark.

The vibrating hum slipped into his bones, tugging his eyelids down. His eyes drifted shut. Even behind his eyelids, he saw the road. It stretched out in front of him endlessly. The trees waved him on his way. The engine sang him a droning lullaby.

A horn blared. His eyes snapped open. He jerked the steering wheel to the left a second before he would have careened into the side of a minivan.

Their soft, rhythmic sleep-breathing turned to quiet murmurs of confusion and fear. “What’s wrong?” Daisy, the youngest, asked. Her voice was still blurry with sleep.

“We almost got in an accident,” Jefferson said. He was the oldest, and liked to know things the others didn’t.

“Did they find us?” Milo asked. He didn’t sound afraid, only resigned. Like he had been waiting to be recaptured ever since John had carried him out of the PERI facility and bundled him into the car. Hearing that kind of dull despair in the voice of a child who couldn’t be older than eight made Leman’s heart ache. It was an actual physical sensation, just under his ribcage. He hadn’t known heartache was a literal thing.

Or maybe it was just lack of sleep he was feeling.

The kids had all been abducted by the Psi Enhancement Research Initiative because they carried the genetic marker for Enhanced abilities. As far as Leman knew, none of them had an ability yet. But that didn’t matter to PERI—they had drugs that could activate the gene. After that, the kids could be trained as government operatives. Or, if the brainwashing didn’t take, they’d be sent down to PERI’s labs to be cut open and studied—or worse, sent to the breeding programs to create a stronger and more obedient generation of superpowered operatives.

But none of that was going to happen to any of these kids. Leman had been hired to get them out. Their contact was waiting at a motel two days away. Andreas was part of a whole team that did this kind of thing on a regular basis, or so Leman understood it. He and his team knew how to get the kids back to their families.

Leman didn’t work with Andreas and his team more than once or twice a year. Every time he did, he swore he wouldn’t do it again. Messing around with psychics made his skin crawl. Even the kids behind him made him nervous, although so far, none of them had moved anything with their minds or walked through any walls.

But these guys paid well. And besides, he got to feel like he was doing a good deed. He had saved three kids from a fate worse than death. Most of his jobs weren’t like that. Most of them were the kind where he didn’t like looking at himself in the mirror afterward.

The warm glow he got from working for these guys was almost enough to make up for the crawling fear that came with knowing just how out of his depth he was.

Or it always had been before now.

But PERI had never used this particular power against him before.

His contact was two days away. Two more days without sleep. He had already been awake for five.

Coffee. Energy drinks. Caffeine pills. His blood was probably half caffeine at this point.

His eyes burned. His hands trembled whenever he took them off the steering wheel. When the kids started making too much noise, he had to bite his lip shut to keep himself from snapping at them. It was hardly fair for him to take out his overcaffeinated and underslept temper on them. They’d gone through a life-changing trauma, and it wasn’t over yet. He was just pulling an extra-long all-nighter.

Two more days. He could do it.

He had to. If he didn’t, those kids were going right back to the facility he had rescued them from. He’d gotten a peek inside one of the labs, while he was trying to find his way around. There had been a small body lying on a stretcher. The tray of tools next to the stretcher had been bloody.

“They didn’t find us,” Jefferson said, and Leman realized he had never answered Milo. “Leman just almost swerved off the road because he hasn’t gotten any sleep.”

“I thought I told you to call me Mr. Manikowski,” Leman said, although being called Mr. anything felt strange, like he was a teacher standing in front of a classroom. He wasn’t anything near that respectable.

“Do you need a nap?” Daisy asked, sounding like she very much needed a nap herself.

And so did Leman. No, scratch that—he didn’t need a nap. He needed to crawl into bed and sleep for a week.

“Are we going to stop?” Milo asked hopefully. “I want to sleep in a real bed.”

“We’re not stopping,” said Leman. If he stopped, he would fall asleep, caffeine or no.

Or maybe he wouldn’t. As jacked up as he was, he might pace back and forth like an overwound toy all night, unable to stop moving, unable to stop his brain from whirring. That would be okay—they couldn’t find him in that way. Slowing down would give them a chance to catch up, but that didn’t matter unless they could find him.

But if he fell asleep, even for a second, they would find him.

The first night, they had stopped at a motel. One room for the four of them. The kids had shared the bed. He had slept on the floor, in front of the door. He had thought that would be enough.

But the threat hadn’t come through the door. It had come through his sleeping mind.

The alien presence had clawed itself into his thoughts, sticky fingers plucking out images from his memory—road signs they had passed, the flickering neon sign showing the name of the motel. The greasy sensation had been enough to jolt him wide awake.

He had thought it was a nightmare. Until the black vans had showed up outside the window.

Then he had figured out it quick.

One of their operatives could invade people’s dreams. They intended to track him through his.

That was the last time he had slept.

“We’re not stopping,” he said. “I don’t need a nap. I just need more coffee.” He guzzled the remainder of the coffee in the Styrofoam cup next to him. It had gone cold. He didn’t care. He couldn’t even taste it anymore.

“My mom says if you drink more than four cups of coffee in a day, you’ll give yourself a heart attack,” Jefferson said.

“Listen to your mother,” said Leman. “Better yet, don’t drink any coffee at all. You’re too young.”

“Is Mr. Manikowski going to die?” Milo asked. “Are we going to die?”

“Maybe,” said Jefferson. “The longest the human body can go without sleep is eleven days.”

“We’ll be there in two,” Leman promised.

He tried not to think about what would happen after that.

The dreamwalking operative had his scent now. And he couldn’t stay awake forever.

But all he had to do was get the kids where they were going, and then get far enough away before he fell asleep that the dreamwalker couldn’t trace him to them. He would figure out the rest from there. He always did.

And if he didn’t make it… well, at least his last mission would have been a good deed. It was a better end than he had always thought he’d get.

He laughed softly to himself. Either he was going soft, or the sleep deprivation was messing with his head. What he should have done was admit defeat days ago—check in to a motel, fall asleep, offer the people who were after the kids a deal. If the alternative was being chased by PERI for the rest of his life… Andreas’s team didn’t pay that well.

Why hadn’t he just given up?

His laughter had a sharp, staccato sound. He sounded like a malfunctioning robot. He sounded like he’d been awake for five days.

“Mr. Manikowski?” Daisy asked. “Are you okay?”

“He’s not,” said Jefferson. “He’s probably going to die. His heart is going to explode.”

“Go back to sleep,” said Leman. “All of you.”

The noises from the backseat subsided. The kids’ breathing grew soft and rhythmic again. Milo—or he thought it was Milo—let out a soft snore.

The trees waved him onward. The red lights of the car in front of him blinked at him slowly. The hum of the engine surrounded him, cradled him.

The trees reached down to hold him in their swaying branches. It’s all right, they whispered. It’s going to be all right.

The branches turned into claws. They sank into his skull with a soft popping sound. There was no pain. Just the oily sensation of unwashed hands rifling through his gray matter.

The fingers delicately plucked out the image of a highway sign—Middleburg, two miles.

He jolted awake.

He was diagonal on the road, drifting over the white line. He jerked himself back into the middle lane.

He tilted the Styrofoam mug to his lips. Nothing was left but a single cold drop.

A car pulled up next to him, flashing its hazard lights. The driver waved at him. He pointed toward the side of the road. Pull over, he mouthed.

That jolted Leman awake more thoroughly than a cup of coffee could have.

His hands trembled on the wheel. He could hold a sniper rifle perfectly steady, but he was shaking now. Then again, he’d never tried to use a sniper rifle on five days of no sleep.

It was too dark to make out the man’s features. But he doubted it mattered. He had never met the PERI operative personally, just felt their grubby fingers in his mind.

How had the dreamwalker caught up with him so quickly?

He stomped on the gas. He wove through four lanes of traffic, speeding past one car after another. Honks followed him. The speedometer crept up to 90, 100, 110…

The other car shouldn’t have been able to catch up with him. But it pulled up next to him again. Pull over, the driver mouthed, pointing insistently to the shoulder.

No. Leman hadn’t come this far to give in now. He hadn’t stayed awake for five days to let these kids go back where they had come from. He had one dropped a dozen enemies in a gunfight without taking a single hit. He wasn’t about to be defeated by one single set of grubby fingers in his brain.

The speedometer inched up. 120. 130. The oncoming headlights turned into a single white blur smeared across the night.

The trees thrust out their branches to stop him. Slow down, they whispered. Pull over.

“Like hell,” he muttered, but his lips were thick and clumsy, and he wasn’t sure he had spoken aloud at all.

He tried to punch the gas. But his body wouldn’t obey him. His legs were made of stone. His foot fell away from the gas, and wouldn’t move again. His fingers were numb against the steering wheel. Was he still holding the wheel? Was he still in the car at all? He couldn’t tell. Maybe he was up in the trees, being cradled by their branches. Rock-a-bye baby, on the treetop…

Then he tumbled endlessly downward and hit the earth with a screeching crack.

His eyes snapped open.

He had hit the metal barrier. Smoke rose from his crumpled hood. The airbag had released—it drooped across the steering wheel like a deflated balloon after the party was over.

Behind him, the children were crying.

He looked over his shoulder to make sure they were all right. All three of them had their eyes open, and were aware enough to be afraid. None of their bones were bent at awkward angles. That was good enough for now.

The pain of turning his head hit him a second later. His neck hurt. Everything hurt. He looked down at himself. Nothing bleeding, nothing obviously broken. Only a tightness in his chest that might have meant a broken rib or two. Again, that was something he could deal with later.

His foot must have slipped off the gas when he had fallen asleep. Lucky for him. Lucky for all of them. If he had hit the barrier doing 130, none of them would have made it.

That was where his luck ended.

Because in the rearview mirror, a familiar car pulled up behind him.

He reached for his weapon. Undid his seatbelt. Fumbled for the car door.

He wasn’t giving up those kids without a fight.

Every movement felt like struggling through a pool of thick honey. And the figure in the other car, of course, had no such problems. By the time Leman stumbled out of the car on wobbly legs, the other man was already hurrying toward him.

He was an unassuming figure—short, balding, with thick glasses and a middle-management face. But Leman knew how little that meant. He had felt the strength of those fingers in his mind.

He brought his gun up. His hands were shaking.

The man raised his hands. “Whoa,” he said. “Careful there. I’m a friend.”

“You’re not getting those kids,” Leman’s voice was as shaky as his legs. He didn’t know whether his hands were trembling from the post-accident adrenaline crash or just plain caffeine. Either way, his aim would be shot. He’d be lucky if he could hit anything at point-blank range.

“The kids are safe,” the man said. His voice was low, soothing, placating.

“Not yet,” said Leman. “But they will be.” He just needed the man to take a couple of steps closer…

“You’re looking for your friend Ethel,” the man said.

Leman blinked slowly at him. “What did you say?”

“The code. You’re supposed to knock at the door, say you’re looking for your friend Ethel. I’m supposed to tell you she went down to Florida to work on her tan. It would make more sense if you were actually at the motel.”

Leman shook his head. His sluggish vision struggled to keep up, briefly turning the man into a blur. “You stole that code from someone’s head. I’m meeting Andreas. You’re not him.”

“Andreas is at the motel,” said the man. “Our remote viewer saw the state you were in after the first night, and knew you weren’t going to make it. They sent me to intercept you.” He shook his head, letting out a soft laugh. “I thought I’d be looking for a needle in a haystack. Track down one car on the highway? It turns out it’s easy to spot the driver who hasn’t slept in five days.”

Then his face turned serious. “You need to sleep now. For your sake, and the sake of those kids.” He nodded past Leman, toward the crumpled car. “You’re lucky you all survived. For a few minutes there, I thought I was too late.”

Leman opened his mouth to ask how he knew the kids had survived. But he looked over his shoulder—wincing at the pain in his neck—and there they were, spilling out of the car, sleepy and scared, with tears and snot running down their faces. Even Jefferson, who would no doubt be mortified about the tears later.

Leman didn’t lower the gun. “I still don’t know if I can trust you. And even if I can, I can’t sleep. They have someone after me… he can get into my dreams…”

“It’s okay,” the man said. “I can block him. It’s why I’m here. You’re safe now. You can rest.”

“Those kids are my responsibility.”

“And now they’re mine. What do I need to do to convince you? Do you want me to call Andreas?”

“I’m not giving up those kids.” The ground swayed under him. The blur of the passing lights made him dizzy. His gun hand trembled.

“I’m sorry about this,” the man said with a sigh. “Please don’t shoot me, all right?”

He waved a hand—

And Leman was falling—

When he woke, the car smelled wrong. Like one of those pine-scented air fresheners. He never used those things. The seat under him was leather, worn and patched. And the steering wheel was gone.

Oh—it was gone because he was in the passenger seat. That explained why the door was on the wrong side.

The man from last night was sitting in the driver’s seat. Behind him, in the backseat, all three kids were sleeping.

“How long was I asleep?” he muttered in blurry horror. The sun was high in the sky. That alone told him it had been too long. Much too long. They should all be dead already.

He craned his aching neck to see the rearview mirror. “They’ll know where we are by now. They’re coming for us. They’re coming…”

“It’s all right,” the man next to him said, sounding entirely unworried. “I don’t know how much of our conversation you remember, but I did tell you I could block their dreamwalker. I control sleep—when you fall asleep, when you wake up, how deeply you sleep, whether you dream… Anyway, one thing I can do is make sure you never end up in the dream state where the dreamwalker can get at you. I’ve dealt with him before. I know how to keep him out.”

He felt for his gun. It was gone. “I want to talk to Andreas.”

“I can do better than that,” the man said, and pulled off the exit ramp. “We’re almost to the motel.”

Leman shook his head, and winced again. “We were two days away.”

“I told you I can control your sleep,” the man said. “I made sure you got as much as you needed.”

They pulled up in front of a shabby motel. The man pulled out his phone and dialed a number. “We’re here,” he said. “Would you mind coming out so my friend can see that you don’t have a gun to your head?”

The door to the room in front of them opened. There was Andreas, looking a little older than the last time Leman had seen him, but with the same easy smile on his face. He waved.

Leman looked from Andreas to the man in the driver’s seat. “You were telling the truth.” His brain still felt sluggish. He couldn’t tell whether he had gotten too much sleep or not enough.

“It’ll take a few days for you to recover fully,” the man said. “I suggest taking a vacation. You’ve earned it.”

“The kids are safe,” Leman said slowly. He looked over his shoulder again at the sleeping children.

“You almost didn’t make it,” the man said. His soft face turned stern. “You should have known you couldn’t stay awake that long. You put those kids at risk twice over. First, when you didn’t call for help. Then, when you almost shot me instead of letting me help you.”

“You could have been one of them,” said Leman. “And they were my responsibility.”

“And you almost got them killed. Think about that next time around.”

“Next time there won’t be any kids depending on me,” Leman assured him.

Something about his tone made the other man’s gaze turn sharp and thoughtful. “Why did you push yourself so hard for them?”

He shrugged. That movement hurt, too. “You’re paying me well. It’s my job to make sure you get your money’s worth.”

The man let out a soft chuckle. “Don’t give me that. I know we’re paying you less than your going rate. A lot less.”

Leman looked away. “I saw that place they were in. I couldn’t let them go back.”

“Is that all?” the man asked. “Or is there something you’re trying to make up for?” He gave Leman a rueful smile. “Controlling sleep means I’ve seen a lot of people at their most vulnerable. It’s given me a bit of insight into human psychology.”

If he had been feeling a little less groggy, Leman might have bitten out a sharp retort. As it was, he sat back in silence and thought about the job before this one, and the job after. He wouldn’t be saving any innocents after this. If he was lucky, no innocents would die because of him. If he was lucky.

“We’ve got a permanent spot open on our team, you know,” the man said. “We couldn’t pay you as well as we do now, of course, but there are other rewards.” He paused. “So long as you don’t put anyone else in danger next time around.”

Leman opened his mouth to say no. The word caught in his throat.

“No need to decide now,” the man said. “For now, rest. He you need it.”

“The dreamwalker still has my scent,” said Leman. “As soon as I leave, they’ll be on me.”

The man shot him another smile. “Then I guess you’ll just have to stick around.”

---

Tagged: @cakeinthevoid @gala1981

Ask to be added or removed from my Whumptober 2023 taglist.

#whumptober2023 #no.12 #insomnia #oc #fic #car accident #minor whump #my writing #my writing: whumptober 2023 #my writing: Mind Games

[tropes-and-tales-archives]

Rafael Barba:  Charmed

Word Count: 957

TW:  None.

AN:  Part one of a three-part series:  Part Two, Part Three

By the time December came to New York City, Rafael Barba was already tired of winter.  It got dark earlier, the wind chilled him to the bones.  Worse, with the holidays approaching, he was reminded – more so than usual – how alone he was.  The holiday displays in the store windows, the invitations to parties…he felt walled off from people, unable to embrace the charm of the season when he knew he had nothing to really celebrate.

Maybe that’s what made him call you to his office to run through your testimony for court the next day.  Maybe that was part of the reason, anyway.  Rafael had worked with you now for over a year, and if he couldn’t work up the courage to ask you out, he could at least admit to himself that he was half in love with you.

You arrived in his office with your usual sharp knock on his doorjamb, and even though it was late afternoon, the gloomy dusk was already falling outside.  It didn’t seem to affect you, though – you give him your usual smile, asked the usual good-mannered questions about how his day went, told him a bit about your day.  Then you segued to the case at hand, the testimony you’d give tomorrow.

It was a flimsy excuse, calling you in to practice.  You were an ace on the stand.  You never got tripped up or flustered, and you hit that sweet spot, the middle ground of competent and caring.  Juries loved you.  You could conjure up sympathy for the least sympathetic victim.

You knew you were good too, so Rafael wondered what you thought of the practice runs he did with you.  You probably didn’t see the obvious signs of how he felt about you – the way he always sat beside you at squad happy hours, how he engaged in small talk with you but none of the other SVU detectives.  You probably just chalked it all up to his own sense of over-preparedness.

Rafael glanced at his watch.  The courtroom he wanted to use was probably still in session, so he had a bit of time to kill.  With you.

“Want to go grab a coffee?” he asked, and he hoped he sounded casual.

“Sure,” you replied.  You buttoned your coat back up, pulled on your gloves and waited for him in the doorway.

One of the nice things about you was that the silences that fell between you were always comfortable.  He never felt the need to fidget with his phone, or fill in the quiet with awkward small talk.  He may be uncomfortable with his feelings for you, but that was just borne from a fear of rejection.  You exuded a calm competence, and it soothed him too.  

At the nearby café, at such a late hour, it was pretty empty, so you stood side by side and perused the menu board.  

“Red-eye,” Rafael told the cashier, and you seconded it but then hesitated and changed your mind.

“Actually, I’ll take a hot cocoa,” you said.  You glanced over at Rafael and gave him a little shrug and a smile.  “If I drink caffeine so late, I’ll be up all night, unable to sleep.”

“Maybe that’s my problem.”  He smiled back at you, switched his order to hot cocoa too, and paid the cashier.  

You murmured your thanks, first to him for paying and then to the barista who handed off your drinks.  Then you gestured at an empty table near the window and asked if he wanted to sit and drink instead of the usual drinking-on-the-go.

“I imagine the caffeine is part of it,” you said once you were both settled into your seats, picking up the thread of conversation.  “The sleepless nights, I mean.  And you have all that pressure, trying to find justice with impossible cases.”

Rafael scoffed, as he always did, when you gave him these small concessions to his job, but it made him feel seen that you noticed.  Liv acknowledged it sometimes, but you consistently recognized the uphill battles he faced dealing with rape and assault cases in a society that routinely failed to deal with them.  

And you, as always, scoffed at his scoffing.  You read him the same gentle riot act about not selling himself short, not discounting the good work he did even when he failed in a case.  You were like his own little cheerleader, propping up his failing spirits and confidence when no one else did.

“How’s your cocoa?” you asked.  “Are you going to go into withdrawal during our court prep?  Will I have to administer an emergency espresso shot?”  You pulled a face of mock-panic, and added, “I need twenty cc’s of Colombian Supremo, stat!”

Rafael laughed and tried his drink.  It was good – not too sweet – and it made him feel a cozy sort of warmth in his chest. That wasn’t the cocoa though – that was you making him feel that way.  Talking up how hard he worked, joking with him.  It was all you.

“Colombian Supremo sounds like really good cocaine,” he pointed out as he chuckled.

You laughed back at him and did your shrug.  “Caffeine, cocaine.  Whatever gets you through the season, I guess.”

Rafael Barba didn’t take many quiet moments in his life.  His life was, in fact, mostly work, and he was mostly alone because of it.  But as that familiar, comfortable silence fell between you – as you each sipped your rich hot cocoa and watched the traffic, watched the holiday lights shift and change in the display across the street, he was able to take a moment and allow a bit of the charm of the holidays into his life...with you seated across from him.

#rafael barba #rafael barba imagine #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba x you #law and order svu #law and order svu fanfiction #tropes-and-tales

[dfrobertson]

Spooktober Day 1

This month I try to get better at putting out work in a consistent manner. The prompts are from the Spooktober challenge by the.plottery on Instagram.

Todays prompt is "Pumpkin Spiced Lover"

Last night I stayed up late and assembled the machine. I enjoy tinkering, so I just put on a podcast and dove into the machine parts and circuit boards. When I finished it got pretty late. I knew I was too exhausted to start a test run. If there was any problem my reaction time would be too slow to avoid permanent damage. So I got to bed. I woke up as warm rays of the morning sun reached through my window. I felt well-rested and content. I remembered I had a long weekend. The beginning of October always had two things in store:  A national holiday and a new menu item at my favorite coffee shop around the corner, the pumpkin spiced latte. I decided to treat myself before continuing on my project and put on some athletic wear, before heading out the door.

I regretted my decision as I stepped out of my apartment building. The street was still shadowed by the surrounding buildings and the wind enhanced the air that still felt of the colder nights. Braving the harrowing circumstances I made it to the coffee shop. They seemed to just have opened and there just was one other customer seated at one of the tables. As I walked in the warm air and smell of old books and coffee enveloped me.

The young redheaded woman greeted me. In my mind, she was still the “new one” although she had already worked here for over half a year.

“Good morning” I laconically said to the room. The slender, white-haired boy looked up from his book and said something resembling a morning. I remembered seeing him around the campus. I made my way to the counter and ordered two beverages, one for now and the other for later. I wanted to have something to toast the successful first run of the machine.

With my hand full of warm, spicy beverages I felt better prepared for the cold two-minute walk back to my apartment. Once there I went to the living room and placed my celebratory coffee on the cupboard behind the machine. It looked like a cross between a 3D printer and an automatic coffee maker, but the size of a wardrobe. One of the side panels was not attached but leaned on the cupboard behind the machine. The uncovered part gave me a good view of the machine's inner workings, which I needed to make sure, that I did everything right last night. Before I started I sat down on my couch across from the machine to enjoy my drink. Of course, my mind was occupied with the machine.

The machine was a project I had with other people from an internet forum. We each built our own, but we shared blueprints and code. It was an adaption of a leaked formula to print humanoid, robotic bodies. The whistleblower was of course hunted down by whatever military he stole the technology from, but he uploaded it to the internet. Where a group of Internet perverts decided to use the technology to make themselves sexbots.

I was one of those perverts and shivering with excitement. The caffeine also helped. Before I had finished my coffee I was up on the computer I hooked up to the machine. Soon all lights were green and all all running parameters had been checked. I glanced at the model file I had selected to make sure it was the right one. While the file loaded I filled the tank of the machine with a solution containing all the building blocks it required to form the desired product. I was deep in thought while I prepared the mixture from various containers standing on top of the cupboard. I was already planning out the post to the message board to tell my peers of my success.

As I finished tipping all the liquids and powders from the cupboard into the tank and sunk the mixing pump in, the computer beeped signaling that it had finished the uploading process. A last check and then I clicked the green execute button. For a second or two nothing happened, but then a slow humming signaled the machine's activity. All levels within the parts were green. The computer signaled a total runtime of eight hours. So I went about my day. Exercise, lunch, video games, and a nice hot bath. I actually fell asleep for a while in the tub. When I woke up again I was slightly confused, the bathwater had gone cold and I was unsure how long I slept. After a quick rinse with hot water and my fuzzy bathrobe, I stumbled into the living room. The machine whirred and hissed, but the monitor showed that everything was running as it should be.

Half an hour left. I took a deep breath of relief. At that moment I noticed a strong scent in the room surrounding the machine. Of Ginger, nutmeg, cinnamon, clover and pumpkin. I instantly looked at the cupboard and I saw among the chemical containers a paper cup, with my name written on it. My celebratory drink.

I try to glimpse through the tinted glass of the printing chamber. The silhouette of a muscular, well-hung man is barely visible. That is the form I wanted, but it was incomplete. The head still needed to be finished printing, although it seemed wider. I prayed to the machine gods, that my mistake would not ruin everything. Slowly the thirty minutes passed.

With a pling and some steam, the chamber opened. There stood a large muscular man, with the head of a pumpkin and a sizeable erection. I gulped, I had feared the worst, but this outcome was the best. He smelled so delicious. I activated him and enabled the voice control.

“Fold me into a cinnamon roll, Daddy. Give me that pumpkin spice!”

It was going to be a great weekend.

#gay #gay fiction #lgbtq #queer writers #smut #writing scifi #science fiction #queer fiction #scifi #spooktober #writing challenge #prompts #writing prompt

[daughter-of-melpomene]

"The Confession" - Adam Kelleher + Bruce Wayne

(A/N: Here is Adam and Bruce's confession-of-feelings scene, written for @malafvma's birthday. Happy birthday, Bess, and I hope you enjoy this!)

ADAM WAS SWEARING OVER HIS burnt fingers when Bruce reentered the cave. He’d figured out a pretty genius idea for a weapon when he hadn’t been able to sleep last night – a mechanism, to be built into the Batman suit, that would release pepper spray into an attacker’s face when triggered – and had started working on it the instant he’d arrived at the cave that night, so excited that he’d kind of failed to realize that the man he was building the weapon for wasn’t even there to be asked whether he wanted it or not. But his fingers had just slipped while he was attempting to solder two pieces of the mechanism together, and now he was clutching his injured hand to his chest, cursing under his breath, as Bruce made his mostly-silent entrance.

Mostly silent, in that Bruce would’ve gone entirely unnoticed by most people until he decided to either speak or start attacking. Adam noticed him, though. He always did.

“Hi,” Adam managed to ground out, fighting the urge to stick his burnt fingers in his mouth. He'd read that saliva was supposed to be able to soothe burns, but he genuinely couldn’t decide whether looking like a complete weirdo in front of his best-friend-turned-crush by jamming his hand in his mouth like a toddler was worth it.

“You hurt yourself,” Bruce observed, sounding concerned. His eyes – those beautiful, thoughtful eyes that Adam had come to love – roved over Adam’s hand and pain-twisted face, and Adam felt his cheeks heat up, the way they always seemed to when Bruce looked at him these days. This time, at least, he could blame it on the fact that he currently felt like someone was pressing a hot poker into his fingers.

God, why hadn’t he brought some water down with him to drink instead of his usual coffee? Wasn’t cold water supposed to draw the heat out of burns? Curse his caffeine addiction, he thought bitterly, as he decided to damn it and stuff the burnt fingers in his mouth, running his tongue over the stinging skin. Curse it to the deepest circle of Hell.

“Was trying to work on a new weapon for the suit,” Adam muttered around his hand, somehow managing to speak pretty coherently despite the fact that he had three fingers in his mouth. To his credit, Bruce’s expression didn’t give any hint of the humor he undoubtedly found in this situation. “Had a great idea for a pepper spray gun built into the chest plate. My hand slipped.”

A few seconds of silence as Bruce took off his helmet, setting it down on the surveillance table with a thunk. Then: “How bad is it?”

Adam gave his friend an arch look, the effect of which was decidedly lessened given his fingers’ current location. “’M not an expert on burn degrees, Bruce. Hurts like a bitch, that’s all I know.”

It was kind of hard to tell through all the grease paint on his face, Adam could’ve sworn Bruce rolled his eyes. Which was fair, he supposed; pain had the tendency to turn him into a bit of a sarcastic bastard.

“Show me,” Bruce quietly requested, stepping closer to Adam’s work table. When Adam didn’t immediately comply, he gestured at the burned hand, the heavy suit gloves making the movement heavy and awkward.

Though he was loathe to do it (his saliva actually did seem to be soothing the pain a bit), Adam slowly drew his fingers out of his mouth, gingerly wiping them on his pant leg before holding them out to Bruce. His suited friend gently took his hand and looked it over, and Adam tried not to flush even further at the fact that Bruce was pretty much holding his hand. He was supposed to be hiding his feelings, damn it, not wearing them on his beet-red skin.

After about half a minute of examining the shiny red skin, Bruce gently set Adam’s hand back onto the table, and Adam tried desperately not to miss the way his friend’s hand had felt in his. Bruce turned away, walking toward one of the other tables in the cave and peeling off the suit’s gloves as he went.

Oh… kay. Was he going to say anything? What was the point of asking Adam how bad his burns were if he wasn’t going to tell the person with the actual burns? Was he just going to get out of the suit and not say anything else? And if he was, what was the point of looking over Adam’s burns at all?

“So,” Adam started, figuring he might as well make conversation if Bruce wasn’t going to say anything. That had pretty much been their dynamic their whole friendship, after all – Bruce would be awkwardly silent because talking to people made him uncomfortable, Adam would awkwardly ramble on because he hated silence, and they would both generally make whatever setting they were in, well, awkward. “How are the relief efforts going downtown? I’ll assume you stopped by there after your little chat with Selina.”

Selina. Adam hadn’t managed to meet the mysterious woman in person during the whole Riddler crisis, but he’d seen the recordings of her gathering intelligence at the Iceberg Lounge, had seen her through Bruce’s contact lenses while he watched his friend work through the cave’s monitors. She was beautiful, he could admit that, and he'd always admired a determined and badass woman. But the way she’d looked at Bruce (and the way he could assume Bruce at looked right back at her) stopped him from crossing the border into liking her. It was completely irrational, he knew that; he had no proof Bruce was even into guys, and even if he was, there was very little chance he’d ever think of Adam the way Adam constantly thought about him. Still, Adam supposed, feelings didn’t have to be rational, even if they were unfair to the person they were directed towards. (Or completely unrequited, but Adam chose not to think about that too much, lest he start to feel that visceral pain in his chest that started whenever he brooded about Bruce for a long period of time.)

“They’re going well,” Bruce responded. His gloves were resting on one of the worktables now, and he was clicking open some kind of small box on said table that Adam hadn’t noticed before. “GCPD’s managed to set up temporary shelters for everyone who lost their homes and can’t go anywhere else, and there's rumors that a construction company in Metropolis has offered to help rebuild the apartment complexes at no cost. I don’t think Mayor Reál’s confirmed anything yet, but plenty of the officers were talking about it.”

“Well, good,” Adam said, and he was about to ask about how the food banks were doing when Bruce shut the mysterious box and turned back around, holding a small jar of white cream and a roll of gauze in his now-bare hands.

Oh. Adam felt like an ass. Of course Bruce was planning to take care of his burns; how could he have thought he wouldn’t even say anything? Bruce had been taking care of him their whole friendship, just as Adam had done his best to take care of the other man, whether one of them was hurt physically or otherwise. Why should he have assumed Bruce would ignore him now?

Because you feel like he’s been ignoring the most important thing between you for two years now, a voice inside Adam whispered. You haven’t exactly been subtle about what you feel for him, and even though he probably just doesn’t notice, you feel like he’s ignoring your feelings on purpose because he doesn’t feel the same way.

Well, that voice could just screw off. Adam forcefully shoved it to the back of his mind as Bruce pulled up a chair on the other side of his worktable and sat down, taking his burned hand back up, even as his neck and cheeks flushed again at the renewed contact.

“Speaking of,” he managed to get out, trying to stop his arm from shaking as Bruce flipped his injured hand over and scooped some white cream from the jar. “How is Selina? The cat ready to keep her claws sharp by scratching Gotham’s unsavory?”

Oh, yeah, Adam, talk to your crush about the beautiful tough woman he no doubt has feelings for. That’s an amazing idea. Best you’ve had yet.

Without answering, Bruce gently smeared some of the white cream onto one of Adam’s burns. He couldn’t hold in a sigh of relief at the cream’s coolness, and almost instantly felt the pain of the wounds beginning to numb as Bruce rubbed the white goop into the inflamed red skin. He wondered exactly what was in the cream that made its relief so fast-acting, and resolved to ask Alfred later; it was probably one of the butler’s concoctions.

“She left,” Bruce said softly, not looking up as he grabbed the roll of gauze and started to unroll it. “Selina,” he clarified when Adam, who had totally lost all thoughts of their conversation in his thinking about the burn cream, didn’t respond. “She’s moving to Blüdhaven.”

“What?” Adam demanded, shocked. He and Bruce had been counting on Selina to stay on as another protector of Gotham’s streets; the whole Riddler fiasco had proven that it wasn’t a good idea for Bruce to keep going with only Adam for technical help and no in-field backup. And unless another vigilante suddenly popped up of their own accord (which Adam doubted, even with public opinion turned largely in the Batman’s favor since the flood), they’d pretty much be back to square one. They needed her. “What the hell? Why?”

“She…” Bruce trailed off as he snipped off a piece of gauze and started carefully wrapping it around one of Adam’s fingers. “She said that Gotham was beyond saving. Basically, that she wasn’t going to waste her time, and that I was wasting mine trying to save this city.”

“Well,” Adam snapped, surprised by the vehemence in his own voice. “She was wrong about that, wasn’t she? Nothing’s beyond saving.”

Even as he said the words, he realized, with no small degree of surprise, just how much he actually meant and believed in them. And from the way Bruce’s eyes flicked up to his face in mild shock, his caped friend realized it as well.

“You really think so?” Bruce questioned. Carefully, like he thought Adam might snap his answer the way he’d just done.

“Well… yeah,” Adam replied, slowly and just as carefully, trying to put his exact thoughts on the matter into words that wouldn’t seem confusing or stupid. “I just… I know you’re never going to be able to completely eliminate crime in Gotham. And I know you know it too.” A pause for Bruce’s nod of assent, then he continued once it was given. “And I know that there’s always going to be crappy people in this city, and that the Riddler probably isn’t the last hell-bent psychopath you’re doing to go up against, and even that sometimes – okay, most of the time – this city can be a real hellhole that makes you wonder how you’re stupid enough to keep living here.”

Okay, he was not making his point very well. Taking a moment to rearrange his thoughts, he took a deep breath and went on. “But despite all of this, the fact that you know all this, too, you still go out there every night. And I keep running surveillance and building your weapons, and Alfred keeps giving you advice, and even Gordon keeps getting you information from the places only he can go. And we’re all gonna keep doing all of those things, as long as we can, because we have hope that this city can be better.” He took another deep breath. Bruce’s eyes had been solidly on his face for the entirety of this little speech, and his face was practically on fire.

“My point is, as long as you and me and Alfred and Gordon, and anyone else who has faith in this city, keeps believing that Gotham can be better, than it still stands a chance. Because as long as even one person believes in something, or someone, there’s always hope. As long as there’s even one person with faith, nothing is beyond saving.” Wincing a little before he spoke the next words, he added, “And if Selina thinks otherwise, then I’m sorry, B, but she’s kind of an idiot.”

There was a solid minute in which the two men did nothing but look in each other’s eyes, Adam breathing slightly hard from the power of his speech as Bruce watched him with a blank expression. Adam considered speaking up to change the subject, given that he didn’t really know how Bruce was supposed to respond to something like that, but all of a sudden, a warmth entered Bruce’s beautiful eyes, and a soft smile tugged up the corners of his mouth.

“You really are the best person I know,” the caped man murmured, and all of a sudden Adam’s face was on fire again, because Bruce was looking at him with a look in his eyes that was almost… reverent. Which was nice, really, the kind of look that threatened to coat his insides with pure sunshine, but he genuinely couldn’t bear to have Bruce look at him that way, knowing his best friend wasn’t looking at him through the same lenses with which Adam had been looking at him for the past two years: a sweet lens, clear, but coated with soft feelings and genuine love.

“Well,” Adam responded, forcing an amused scoff and eying his now-gauze-wrapped fingers, wiggling them to test their mobility. “Kind of a pity about Selina, though. You two would’ve made one hell of a dynamic duo.” He let out a little chuckle, this one only half-forced. “The Bat and the Cat, imagine. We would've only needed to find someone with a hat-themed vigilante theme, and you guys wouldn't even have to fight. The criminals would've laughed themselves to death.”

It was the kind of stupid joke that normally would’ve gotten a soft laugh out of Bruce, but this time Adam’s friend didn’t make a sound. He just fixed his eyes on Adam’s face, with a newly blank expression that made Adam fear he’d accidentally said something wrong.

“You think I have feelings for her,” Bruce intoned quietly, seriously. His eyes locked onto Adam’s, and so intense was the look in them that Adam found himself unable to look away. “Selina.”

Oh, Adam did not want to have this conversation. Not now, not ever, really. Still, he was Bruce’s best friend, and it was his duty as such to listen to Bruce talk about the people he had feelings for, so he plastered on a half-smile, trying to ignore the sudden way his stomach was aching.

“Well, I can’t say I blame you,” Adam said, trying to sound like his heart wasn’t about to be cleaved in two. “I mean, she’s badass, and pretty, and she’s not afraid to put you in your place. Maybe not my type, but I can see where you’re coming fr-”

“Adam,” Bruce interrupted firmly, giving Adam’s wrist a short squeeze to get him to stop talking. “It’s not Selina. It was never Selina. It’s you.”

And for a moment, Adam sincerely thought he was going to asphyxiate, because at those words, the air rushed straight out of his lungs and he could not breathe. And even when he was finally able to draw breath again, he could feel it coming in short, shallow gasps, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Bruce, who was now looking at him with no small measure of concern.

He could not have just heard that right. He absolutely could not have. There was no way Bruce Wayne, caped savior of Gotham and his best friend since they were eleven years old, could possibly have admitting to having feelings for him.

“I – what – me?” he couldn’t help gasping, even though Bruce was bound to think he was being stupid, mishearing his friend so badly. Thinking, even for a second, but Bruce might have feelings for him over Selina.

And then Bruce said, “You,” and, well, Adam didn’t completely lose his breath again, but it was close. Dear God, he had heard him right. Bruce Thomas Wayne had just confessed feelings for him, Adam Benjamin Kelleher.

Holy actual literal shit.

“Me?” he whispered again, still having trouble forcing himself to believe it. It was as if his train of thought had slammed into a brick wall, so that the only thing he could thing was his most recent, incredulous thought: Bruce fucking Wayne has feelings for me.

Bruce’s eyes still wouldn’t let Adam’s go, even as the other man reached up to shove a lock of slightly sweaty hair out of his face. “It’s always been you,” Bruce admitted, and then he broke eye contact, looking at Adam’s wrapped hand on the table, and suddenly he sounded… shy?

Okay, why the hell was Bruce shy? Adam was the one who’d spent literal years pining for his best friend, convinced he could never have him because, for one, Bruce didn’t even like guys (except that he somehow did! And had never told his best fucking friend!), and for another thing, Bruce was way out of his league. He was the smart one, the athletic one, Gotham’s favored orphan. And what was Adam? A scrawny little nerd with an unnatural affinity for acrobatics, an awkward, anti-social tinkerer whose own father had never thought him worthy of anything.

And while Adam didn’t believe he wasn’t worthy of anything – that was a bit excessive, really – he certainly wasn’t worthy of Bruce.

“But why?” Adam demanded, unable to stop the words from bursting out. “Why me?”

Okay, wrong thing to say, because now Bruce was frowning in that determined way he did whenever Adam made a self-deprecating joke or muttered, after experiencing a failure with an invention, that maybe his father had been right. It was a frown that very clearly said, I care about you and you’ve put yourself down, so now I’m going to bring you all the way up. Whether you like it or not.

“Adam,” Bruce said, in a tone that left no room for argument. Now he was locked on Adam’s eyes again, and this time Adam was cursing those baby browns, because he really wanted to stare at his lap right now.

“I meant what I just said,” Bruce continued. “You are the best person I know. You’ve been with me through everything. You know me inside and out, and you’ve seen all my broken spots and been there for the dark patches, and you’re still here. You’re the only one who’s still here, besides Alfred, when everyone else has either died or left willingly. I know you. I can count on you. I trust you. And you know I don’t trust a lot of people.”

Here, Bruce paused for breath, the same way Adam had when making his earlier speech. “But it’s more than you just being here. You’re…” He paused again, this time to let out an amused huff and crack a small smile. “You’re amazing, Adam. You’re smart, and you’re funny, and you’re understanding and a good listener, and you’re… you’re just good.” Bruce gently reached out and took Adam’s uninjured hand, which was lying on the table next to his bandaged one. “Plus, your looks don’t exactly hurt.”

Adam let out a wet chuckle at that, and it was only then that he realized he was crying. Embarrassed, he went to wipe his damp cheeks with his bandaged hand, the one Bruce wasn’t holding, but Bruce beat him to it. Gently, so gently Adam had to bite back a sob, the other man raised the hand that wasn’t holding Adam’s and wiped a fresh tear from his face with a feather-light touch.

“I know you don’t believe all that yet,” Bruce said, in the most tender voice Adam had ever heard him use. “But I swear, Adam, whether you feel the same way about me or not, I’ll remind you of all those things every day until you believe them. Because whether you feel the same or we stay just friends, you’re worth it. You’re always worth it.”

God, what had Adam ever done to earn this man? This beautiful, courageous, perfect man sitting across from him, looking like a dark angel in his armor and face paint as he wiped Adam’s tears and said everything Adam had always wanted to hear.

No, Adam didn’t deserve Bruce. And he never would. But he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to try to every day.

“Of course I feel the same way, B,” Adam choked out, leaning into the hand on his cheek like a contented cat. “You massive idiot.” Unable to stop himself, he let out another wet laugh. “God, you realize this was the worst possible way to come out to me, right? You can’t just tell me you like men by telling me you have feelings for me, you’re lucky you didn’t give me a heart attack.”

“I know,” Bruce replied, giving him a smile that was so soft and so fond that the lump in Adam’s throat returned in full force. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well,” Adam sniffled, wrapping his fingers around Bruce’s and feeling, for all the world, like his hand had been sculpted for the sole purpose of fitting with his best friend’s. “I might be inclined to forgive you. You’re also lucky I’m a nice person.”

“I am,” Bruce agreed, dropping his hand from Adam’s face to gently take his bandaged hand. “I really am.”

They didn’t kiss that night, despite the fact that Adam had never wanted anything more. A few minutes later, Adam would take a wet cloth and gently, slowly, wipe the grease paint from Bruce’s face, neither of them ever breaking eye contact, but that was as intimate as things got. But so much was exchanged in the few hours that they spent in that cave, no one to interrupt them, alone together. Not so much words, really – they hardly spoke – but so many feelings that had been festering for a long period of time were released into the air and multiplied, strengthened by the knowledge that these two broken, brave, hopeful men had finally gotten over themselves long enough to see what was in front of them.

That night, the Batman didn’t take to the streets until almost two in the morning, hours after he normally set out for patrol. But despite that, everyone who faced him noticed an extra spring in his step, an added determination behind his punches.

The Batman was now more determined than ever not to lose faith that his city could improve. After all, he couldn’t go against the wisdom of the man he loved, now, could he?

#oc scenes #my ocs #otp: you’re my weakness #bruce wayne x oc #ch: adam kelleher #oc: adam kelleher #ocapp #ocappreciation #ochub #allaboutocs #fyeahsuperverseocs #fyeahdcocs #the batman oc #fic: goodnight gotham #ship: batnid

[evelyne-am]

24th March

Day 11

I am the worst, last night before Ramadan I did my fair share of partying. Barely did any work (actually I didn’t do any), stayed up sort of late again, and woke up feeling like absolute shit. Dragged myself to rehearsal today. It's the first day of Ramadan. I really wanted to fast but I told myself that I will see how it goes during rehearsals, if I really need water I will drink it but today I was 100% sure there was no way I could fast. I was fairly Sleep deprived for fourth day in a row and dehydrated. Maybe not in so many details, but I got called out on it. (When I arrived I had gone early so I could work on the little bit of the song that I had left to compose, but I see that on Fridays the admin people do not come early to let us in; so in front of Sir I was struggling for notes I made something on the spot and of course he understood). It was a backhanded compliment actually, everyone has kind of been drooping especially now that we have a more choreography based play, the fourth version that I think is now pretty much the final. but Sir says, Armeen was the one working hardest, and even she has lost it. I feel a bit shit. What is wrong with you Armeen why are you losing your focus after seven days only ?. This is exactly what you wanted in your life: a fully consumed fully immersed purpose that goes beyond fame and recognition and all other things. The Grammy involvement m, the post pandemic gigs, it was all amazing, but it requires someone very centred and focused to deal with that level of being out there. And I was not at all centred and focused. That is my goal for the year to be more ready for when big and little things happen and this is exactly what I wanted. But my old self who is a bit used to indulging is giving in. Rehearsal went okay, we’re in the Friday room, the small room. But today it doesn’t feel that bad. Sir actually went to a meeting for the second half mostly, so I guess there’s a bit of breathing space for us to correct things without fear. We improvised a whole new scene before he came and he seemed okay with it. Lots of choreography to remember, I can’t tell you how much I’m loving the choreography. doing physical things with my body is really something I enjoy, I don’t get to do it that much through music because I’m so focused on the voice in my head and remembering lyrics and music tunes, but there is something about physically remembering your cues in your physical role in a visual thing which is so new for me and I love it so much. We haven’t done our physical exercises in awhile, and today sir Did tell us that our posture and awareness are drooping so we did a little bit again. The team complains to me about my drinking diet Cokes in the break. And I say I don’t even like it I actually despise the taste of Diet Coke but is the only bit of caffeine that I can actually ingest in my body because I don’t do coffee and I don’t have time to make cup of tea. The breaks are so short and these days getting shorter as I have tasks to do before I go for my bit of fresh air. I’m just about to get up and walk about the field (Fridays we rehearse in the ground floor room in another building so break time is right next to the field of ShilpokolA) when Sharm hands me a cup of tea she made for me. That gesture melts my heart

We are very slowly progressing through the play but everything is having unique music and the director looks at me at the end when I apologise for not having prepared this song he told me to. He says that’s okay he took a day, you will work tonight yes, I say yes of course.

I’ve already planned a small personal life social thing, and I really want to do it so I quickly get myself up so that I am able to pull through the night. I did a really long walk at the park and even took a 10 minute swim and hairdo. Took a nap and towards the end of the night I’ve got a few of the technical work things done. I still have not done anything majorly creative of my own accord. And I plan that I want to have more space to do that, my weekend i.e. my Sunday night and Monday day I thought I would do social thing, but I’ve already done them this week so I decide to keep it open, I have Coca-Cola on Saturday so Sunday and Monday I will work a bit more on the music. i’m still sleeping really late and waking up barely in time for rehearsal, not that healthy but for some reason my body is getting used to it and I’m not struggling as much as I did before. But I’m really glad it’s Ramadan, it puts me in a mood, and I attempt to actually do a water fast tomorrow which means I only drink water and nothing else. Thanks for reading daily, I know it’s a lot of mundane things. I think I will try to summarise once a week too.