#I don’t have the funds to run around buying shit either I can’t wait to go home and make me a juicy burger

[tariah23]

Fucked up in the crib starving for days because my sister made me come over to her place to cat sit but didn’t leave any food in the apartment for me to eat-

[teddy06writes]

A Night In Las Vegas

requested by this anon: “I had the BEST idea: CC!Quackity came up with the idea of his Las Nevadas character arc after going to Las Vegas and meeting Reader there. Maybe one night the reader decides to go and twitch and finds quackity doing a lore stream and the reader is like: no way, it’s the guy I met in Vegas.”

{I love this concept, sorry it took so long for me to get out}

Quackity x reader

trigger warnings: some swears

premise: after getting ditched by your friends on the last night of your long weekend in vegas you run into a very interesting guy who doesn’t hesitate to befriend you. But what happens months later when he still seems to be running circles in your mind?

{covid don’t exist here, no sir}

{for the sake of the story, readers favorite color is blue, if its not, either pretend it is, or get over it}

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10:34pm

“You can’t just- you can’t kick me out!” You yelled. 

Your bestfriend laughed, “Just find somewhere to go for a few hours! Me and Hunter want alone time!” 

“A few fucking hours!?! Seriously?!” But your duffle bag had already been thrown at your feet, and the hotel door room was swinging closed, muffled giggles coming from inside.

Groaning, you picked up your bag, where were you supposed to go now? 

“Not that I was like- listening in or anything- but damn that sucks.” 

You jumped turning to see a man with black hair sticking out of his beanie standing in front of the door diagonal from yours. 

“Uh- yeah. Last night in Vegas and I get ditched for a random hook up,” You scoffed, “I should’ve known it would happen.” 

“That’s not cool, uh- I’m Alex.” He stepped forward, offering his hand. 

Somewhat reluctantly, you shook his hand, “(y/n).” 

He nodded, “I was going to head out for a late night wander, find something to do-, preferably away from all the hookups that seem to be happing around us right now. If you want to come.” 

You glanced around, “Seriously?” 

“Oh- god that did sound kinda creepy didn’t it,” Alex scrubbed a hand over his face, “Sorry- I- you can just forget about this then-” 

“No! I mean- You don’t seem like a rapist or anything. I’ll come with.” 

He grinned, “Poggers, you can, leave that, in my room, if you want. Just seems like a pain to lug around everywhere.” 

You bit your lip, “Leaving my belongings in a strangers room while I go with said stranger to find something interesting to do, sure- why not?”

~~

10:57pm

Somehow, you found yourself wandering out of the hotel lobby, and onto the crowded streets along side Alex. 

“So.... whats your favorite color?” He asked as you walked.

You laughed, “What?” 

“We’re like, total strangers- it was a question, to get to know you.” He tucked his hands into his pockets. 

“Oh, well-” before you could finish your sentence, there was a large amount of gasps and yells from the crowd in front of you.

“What’s going on?” Alex asked quietly. 

You craned your neck to look over the crowd, gasping, “The water show! With the fountains outside of Caesar’s Palace!” You grabbed his hand, tugging him with you to push through the crowd, “This was the whole reason I agreed to this trip- but we never got to it!” 

You shoved your way through the crowd until you got to the front, pressing against the barrier to watch the fountain display. 

“Holy shit.” You heard him mutter from beside you. 

You grinned, “It’s impressive right?” 

“Imagine the coding it would take to get those things to stay on time.” 

~~

11:27pm 

After the show had ended, you had kept wandering for a while, up the strip, asking various questions back and forth. 

You had found out that he was a Minecraft youtuber and a law student, though you’d had to admit, you weren’t too knowledgeable on either that subject. 

Now you were both staring up at the Dave and Busters sign, “This is a good idea right?” 

He nodded, “Definitely. Come on, I’d bet I could beat you at skee ball!” 

Laughing, you followed him into the building, and up the stairs toward the arcade entrance, “Your on!” 

After buying the credit cards for access to the games, you grabbed his hand, dragging him over to the skee ball lanes. 

“Lets go!” He shouted, a few minutes later, upon realizing your score was a total of 10 points behind his, “I’m popping off!”

You laughed, “Okay, what game’s next?” 

Nearly an hour later, you had both run out of credits, and laughing, made you way up to the prize area. 

“Do you think its possible to compile our tickets?” He asked. 

“Why?” 

You followed his pointing finger to the large stuffed dragons sitting on one shelf. 

“We need him.” You said immediately.

After picking out a bright red dragon, you began to argue over the name as you made your way to the counter. 

“What about Carl?” You suggested. 

He shook his head, “I have a friend named Karl.” 

“How ‘bout........ Phil?” 

“I also know a Phil.” 

“Hmmmm, what about Sebastian?” 

“He doesn’t look like a Sebastian!” 

You frowned, “Well do you have any ideas then?” 

Alex thought for a moment, “Albert.” 

You looked down at the dragon, “Albert it is.” 

At the counter Alex convinced the reluctant worker to allow you to use both the cards credit totals, and then you went happily on your way out of the building, stopping to take a picture of Albert in front of the sign, which Alex posted to twitter with the comment of, “Look at our son!” 

You’d staid mostly out of frame, but he managed to get about half of your side, since you were the one holding Albert. 

“Do you think any pf the buffets are still open?” Alex asked. 

“I hope so, I’m starving.” You giggled. 

~~ 12:06am

The buffet was somewhat deserted, and you and Alex had grabbed seats in one of the corners after getting plates full of food.

Albert sat on the table between you as you talked. 

“So it’s roleplay- but in Minecraft?” You asked, barley holding back a laugh.

He nodded, chuckling, “It sounds stupid, I know, but it’s like- huge. Especially since technically I’m getting back into the main lore now, with the whole project: vegas thing.” 

“Project Vegas?” You asked. 

He nodded again, “My character, he’s been through almost everything that's happened, and everything always ends to blow up in his face, literally sometimes. He’s built contries from the ground up- as stupid as that sounds- but they always fail, but this one won’t fail.

“I’m partnering with another guy on the server to set up a whole economy, he’s making a bank, and I’m making- well I’m making my own Vegas.” 

You took a sip of your drink, “What’s it going to be called?” 

“I haven’t figured it out yet,” He admitted, “I wanted to just call it Las Vegas but the names already taken.”

With a chuckle you shifted in your seat, “What about....- what about Las Nevada's?” 

He laughed, “I like that.” 

“Tell me more about this server then, I still don’t understand the story.” 

With another chuckle he launched into the story, “Well, it all started when this guy called Wilbur Soot decided he wanted to start a nation....”

~~ 3:18am

“Blue.” 

You were back at the hotel now, still with Quackity, sitting out on the balcony of his room. Some how, you had ended up having some slightly deep talk about life and death and a million other things before lapsing into silence, simply watching the blinking lights of the city. 

“What?” He asked softly. 

“You asked me my favorite color, ten minutes after we met. It’s blue- that's my favorite color.” You shivered against a cold breeze. 

Alex shifted minutely closer, “Why?” 

You shrugged, “It can be so many things. Deep and dark and mysterious but also light like the summer sky and filled with hope. There’s a million shades from happiness to anger, and to everyone it could mean something else.” 

“I like that.” He said quietly. 

~~

7:04am

You yawned, rubbing sleep out of your eyes as the car drew closer to the airport.

Alex tapped on the steering wheel in time with the music, quietly humming along. 

“Oh, I see my friend, they actually waited for me.” You said as the car pulled up to the curb. 

“How considerate.” He chuckled, climbing out of the car. 

You followed suit, retrieving your duffle bag from the back seat. 

“Well, it was cool knowing you Alex.” You said. 

“Likewise.” 

Before you started to walk away you remembered, and quickly turned back to where he was standing, pulling Albert out of your bag, “Here, he’s yours. You spent more tickets on him than I did.” 

He shook his head, “Keep him. I give you full custody of our son.” 

“Oh- okay... bye then.” 

You barley made it a few steps before he was quickly catching up to you, grabbing your arm and spinning you to press his lips on yours. 

“Good luck with your shitty friends.” He breathed, before hurrying back to his car, leaving you flustered and running to catch up to your friend. 

~~

One and A Half Months later

It had been over a month since the Vegas trip, but you still hadn’t gotten Alex out of your head. 

You had clicked, on some level, and the late night conversation you had shared seemed to keep you thinking about him.

Now, you scrolled aimlessly through twitter, checking the trending tags until you came across one called “LAS NEVADAS” 

Now that piqued your interest, and clicking on it, you found posts of people live tweeting an event- no a live stream. And not just any live stream- a Minecraft stream.

Quickly you opened a new tab, pulling up twitch as fast as you could. 

What was the name of his channel? Oh god why did you forget?

Returning to twitter you searched until you found a link, following it to a new twitch tab. 

And there he was. 

The boy who had been doing laps around your mind was actually there, talking to another character. 

“Look Sam, you and me, we could control everything. I need the bank to help fund Las Nevada’s, we can be partners.” 

You sat, watching the stream, enthralled. 

Once it had ended, you still could hardly believe you found him, quickly following another link back to his twitter and opening a direct message. 

Y/n: Um, this is awkward, idk if you remeber this, but we met in vegas, about a month ago, and I had no idea how to find you until the stream today

quackityHQ: uh, hi? 

qusckityHQ: proof?

Quickly you sent him the picture you had taken of him with Albert, 

y/n: uhhh, bam, proof? 

y/n: our son is sitting on my head board right now

quackityHQ: holy shit

[mizunetzu]

I just skipped school and binge read all of your fanfics- They’re really good gRRRRrrr 🥺🥺 Keep up the good work!! That being said- Can I request a fluffy Hawks x male reader where the reader has a cold and is stuck in bed and Hawks takes care of him? Thank you vv much!!!

HAHHAHA WHY IS ALL MY HAWKS REQUESTS ALWAYS FLUFF (I mean ur like my second one but it’s still flufF) (and not that this wasn’t fun to write cuz it was HAAHA I’m lowkey proud)

(Also gRRRRur so nice but GO TO SCHOOL >:( BARK BARKK BAEKR)

——————

Hawks x reader - The Sick Fic

⚠️warnings - it’s as the title says. It’s the sick fic.

Pronouns - male, he/him

——————

(Y/n) coughed up sticky red blood.

“Y-yeah, no. I don’t think I can patrol today, Yusha-san. The villain from yesterday activated their quirk on me-and I’m feeling a bit sick.”

Yusha, the secretary to the (L/n) hero agency, typed something down on his computer. “Is it something we should be concerned about?”

“No.” (Y/n) croaked out with a chuckle. “Their quirk isn’t really dangerous, but it did make me a bit sick. It’ll pass, don’t worry.”

“Ok. I’ll send in one of your sidekicks to patrol with Hawks-san today.” More typing from across the phone. (Y/n) pursed his lips.

“U-uh,”

“Don’t worry. I’m sending a male sidekick.” Yusha practically read his mind. (Y/n) didn’t want any stupid girls hitting on his stupid, popular, pro-hero patrol buddy boyfriend.

“Thank you, Yusha-san.”

“It’s nothing. Get some rest, (H/n). We expect you to show up tomorrow.” Yusha ended up before (Y/n) could even say goodbye. He lazily dropped his phone onto his bedside table, burying himself under his bedsheets as best as he could. Just as he was getting comfy, the urge to cough up more blood kicked him in the stomach.

He flung himself over his bed, practically shoving his head into the small waste bin under his bedside table. He wiped his mouth with his forearm after hacking up more blood, his head suddenly feeling hazy and jumbled.

He groaned, and got under the bedsheets once more. The world seemed to be against him today, as another distraction forced him out from his beauty sleep.

His phone buzzed once. Twice. Then the annoying, overlapping ring of multiple messages being spammed buzzed out his phone, making (Y/n) cover his ears with his pillow.

Annoyed, he patted around the side table til’ his hand landed on his phone, pulling it towards him and under the sheets.

‘Keigo 🍗 - where r u :(‘

‘Keigo 🍗 - who’s this...rando dude patrolling wit me :(((‘

‘Keigo 🍗 - r u asleep or smth’

‘Keigo 🍗 - wake up ur late to patrol and I need my yakitori addiction funded today’

‘Keigo 🍗 - DUDE’

‘Keigo 🍗 - BBBBBBBBBB’

‘Keigo 🍗 - IM NOT GONNA STOP SPAMMING U TILL U ANSWER ME OR SHOW UP AN PATROL WITH ME >:(((‘

(Y/n) sighed. He opened the messages, meaning that Keigo would get the ‘message read’ notification, but he couldn’t care less. Tossing the phone lazily on the table, he muted the messages app.

———

(Y/n) stirred in his sleep when he heard tapping on his bedroom window. (Y/n) opened his sticky eyes, barely open enough to see a blurry red object tapping against the glass frame. Eventually, the object halted, gave up, and swooped down and out of sight. He shrugged.

Just as he closed his eyes, more pelting came from the window, this time louder and heavier. (Y/n) snapped his eyes open, flinging himself out of bed, and getting ready to activate his quirk.

He visibly relaxed when he saw the huge red wings tapping outside the window, with a certain hero crouching down, looking at him sheepishly and trying to pick open the window lock. The man waved with an embarrassed smile, his feathers following suit.

“Keigo Takami. What the fuck are you doing in my house.”

The man, Keigo Takami, chuckled awkwardly while (y/n) undid the clasps on his window. He stepped back, allowing him to worm his way in through the small window.

Keigo paused, half way squeezed in with his wings stuck in the cramped window frame. He was stuck. “Y...you need to buy a bigger window-“

“Are you dumb?” (Y/n) chuckled, the sight of Pro Hero Hawks, man who could pull absolute pussy, bent over his bedroom window, stuck with his wings awkwardly fluttering in place. “Just, I don’t know, send your feathers off until they’re small enough to fit you in.”

Keigo had a wave of realization. This man had no braincells whatsoever. “...oh, haha, you’re so smart~”

One by one, feathers jutted out from his back, each floating either inside (Y/n’s) room or outside the window. Once all of them were off, and his back were relatively empty, he tumbled ever-so-gracefully inside the room. He stood up, his wings rebuilding themselves in seconds, and did an awful curtsy.

“Thank you, thank you, I’ll be here all day to take care of my sick patrol partner who do happens to be my boyfriend,”

“Speaking of patrol -what happened to patrol? A-and the dude you should be patrolling with? You should be out by n-“

A sharp, piercing pain shot through (Y/n’s) head. Now that the adrenaline from Hawks pounding on his window was subsiding, he seemed to remember how much his head was hurting.

He fumbled down, catching himself on the foot of his bed while Keigo lurched forward. “You good?” He mumbled, taking off his black wool glove.

He rested the back of his palm on (Y/n’s) forehead, before signing uncontently and replacing his hand with his lips. Even if he was burning up, (Y/n) froze.

After a while, Keigo drew his head back. “You’re burning up...”

Silence. Hawks awkwardly chuckled and played it off by running his hand through his hair.

“Lips are more sensitive than hands are-so I was just...you need to get to bed!” Keigo quickly stood up, gently ushering the sick hero to his bed. Pulling up the thick-set covers, Keigo hazily tosses his jacket to the corner and discarded his other glove.

“Try and get some rest. Did that dude’s quirk from yesterday do this?” He got a nod in response. “Alright. I’m gonna go change and get you some shit.”

With that and a warm smile, Keigo disappeared through the bedroom door. (Y/n) followed him with his eyes, right before he was out of sight, then let his eyes droop close.

———

“Pssst.”

A finger poked at (Y/n’s) cheek. He grumbled, furrowing his brows and keeping his eyes screwed shut. He heard a sigh from somewhere above him.

Something feathery tickled him from underneath his nose. He scrunched his nose up, expecting the odd feeling to go away, before feeling a sneeze build up. The watery feeling course through his nose before his head shot up every-so-slightly to let out a weak “Achoo!”

Keigo snickered. (Y/n) finally opened his eyes. Keigo was sitting beside him, now in casual clothes, holding a convince store bag and a red feather. The feather flew out of his hand and stuck itself on his back.

“Sorry I was out for so long. You didn’t have jack shit in your house, so I bought some medicine and takeout since I know you won’t eat soup and I can’t cook.”

It was true. The only thing Pro Hero Hawks is allowed to do is heat up a hotdog, and even then he might break the microwave. And (Y/n) won’t eat soup he made if his life depended on it. If he can’t even turn on the stove, what makes you think that he’d drink a whole bowl of soup made by him and not die?

“Whad’ja get?” (Y/n’s) voice came out more gravely and deep than he expected. Under different circumstances, that would’ve been kinda hot. Keigo pulled out things one by one from the bag.

“Ok so, I got painkillers, a cooling pack, a heating pad just in case your stomach starts hurting, a thermometer, and I found these cool matching red bird keychains and I bought them on impulse. One for you and one for me~ I also bought 2 beef bowls”

Keigo layed all the items down either on the bed or on the table beside it, holding up the keychains last. Shaking them around a bit, turns out there was a small bell inside both of them. (Y/n) tried, and failed, to hide his growing smile.

Keigo placed the cooling pack on (Y/n’s) previously burning forehead. The sudden coldness forced an involuntary groan from the bed sick male. He chuckled.

“Sorry. Deal with that for awhile and I’ll feed you~” Hawks saddled up in the spot next to him, holding the two plastic bowls and worming his way underneath the covers. He placed the food down on his lap and switched on the tv.

They sat in silence, the only thing being the sounds of the tv filling the room with the occasional reaction or snicker from the two. Keigo alternated between shoveling a forkful of rice and beef into his mouth, then feeding his boyfriend and carefully making sure none spilled onto his bed. The news reporter droned on onscreen, their voice being tuned out by the two hero’s.

“By the way, Keigo,” (Y/n) started, once he swallowed his food. Keigo gave a hum of acknowledgment, holding up a finger to (y/n), then to his mouth until he finished chewing. Thickly swallowing, Keigo hummed again.

“You were supposed to patrol today. With one of my sidekicks. What happened to that?”

Keigo looked at (Y/n), before looking back at the tv so causally. For a while he said nothing, until he opened his mouth.

“I ditched.”

(Y/n) made a sputtering noise. His shock turned into a long string of hacks and coughs, which Keigo waited ever-so-patiently for him to calm down from. “You ditched?! Keigo, you’re the no. 2 hero! You can’t be caught ditching!”

“Relaaaaax,” Keigo leaned farther into the bed cushions. “I told my agency and your stupid sidekick man that I was gonna check on you. It was a valid excuse.”

“Still!” (Y/n) rubbed at his temples. Hawks shoveled another forkful of food into his mouth. “You’re sitting here watching tv with me instead of working!”

“I needed a break. Plus,” Keigo held up his unfinished bowl of food defensively.

“I can’t believe you.”

“I love you too~”

(Y/n) sighed.

“I hope you get sick.” Hawks chuckled, saying something about being immune to all sicknesses.

Needless to say, (y/n) was patrolling with one of Keigos sidekicks the next day.

——————

[btsslowburnfic]

The Arrangement Ch 17

Story summary: Desperately in need of money, you answered the questionable ad. AKA-Arranged marriage AU featuring Y/N and Yoongi

Chapter Summary: Part one of the photoshoot

Previous Chapter here

The work week proceeded as normal. Well, what had become normal. Delivering coffee and reminding Yoongi to eat, answering emails, trying to figure out which meetings Yoongi actually needed to go to and which ones were a waste of time. Of course you always went to the meetings, and holy shit you couldn’t believe the topics couldn’t have been discussed via email. You were looking forward to this particular day because you got to go visit Hoseok in the style department and Jimin had decided he was tagging along “for funsies.”

Yoongi was supposed to go and get measured and try on clothes for his photoshoot. When you reminded him that morning he laughed at you, “Uh no. Hoseok knows what size I wear. He can figure it out. Go look at the clothes and I might try some of them on tonight.”

You and Jimin met up for lunch and then headed up to the styling department.

“I’m excited. I’ve never been to a photoshoot before.” You said bouncing up and down in the elevator. 

“Yeah, they’re pretty boring actually. Like if it’s with some of the hotter models it’s a little fun for the eye candy, but then you feel bad for them because they have to sit for so long  making awkward faces. They are constantly getting their make-up and hair touched up. Touch base with craft services to make sure there’s plenty of water. The lights are bright.”

You took out your phone, “Oh thanks. I wouldn’t have even thought about that. Any other tips?”

“It’s Yoongi. It won’t take as long as it does with the other people. He’ll show up, do it, and leave. JK and Tae, especially Tae, want to chat with everyone on set and if they are together it takes foreeeeevvvveeeeeerrrrr.” 

“Huh, ok. Thanks.” The two of you arrived at JHOPE Fashion and walked through the rainbow vomit doors. 

Hoseok was wearing glasses with yellow lenses today, which made his dramatic facial expressions stand out even more. He immediately rolled his eyes. He pointed to you. “You are not Yoongi.” He pointed to Jimin. “And you are not Yoongi.” He put his hands on his hips. “So why are the two of you here?” 

“I’m sure you can guess why.” You responded dryly.

“Ugh. That ungrateful man. I had lovingly hand stitched these pieces. For him. These patches...” Hoseok pressed his fingers together as though he was praying. “Fine. Fine. You. Y/N. Come. You. Jimin. Wait right there.”

Jimin’s eyes went wide. “Me? Why do I have to wait here?” 

Hoseok turned from where he had started to walk towards the back. “You will thank me in a minute. A certain someone is coming to get his fitting in a few minutes.” He raised an eyebrow and then turned around, his heels clacking against the red tile floor.

Jimin started to blush profusely and before you could ask, Hobi interrupted, “Come new girl. We have work to do especially if that boss of yours refuses to come here and experience these magnificent beauties for himself.”

You followed him through the large door, which led to lime green hallways and then to a quiet, more muted workspace. The walls were lined with fabric bolsters, the middle tables with ribbon, thread, patches, paint. Paint? 

Hoseok sat down. “From what I understand, this album will have an acoustic feel to it versus his previous albums. For that reason I have chosen these natural materials such as cotton, linen, and denim.” He spread out several pieces onto the large table. “I have also opted for a more neutral pallet, as much as it hurts my soul. I have chosen colors found in nature. I have chosen brightly colored accessories such as these silks to stand in contrast with the stiff fabric and more neutral colors he will be wearing. Additionally, I avoided black. We’ll see if he notices.” 

You watched as he draped the red and purple silks over the top of the clothes. For whatever reason, you found it mesmerizing watching the fabric juxtapositioned in such a way.  “It’s so cool to hear you tell a story just using clothes.” You said, somewhat enchanted.

Hoseok flicked his eyes up to you, “Thank you. That is what I try to do with my collections. Everyone’s outfit tells a story, even if they don’t mean for it to. May I?” He asked, stepping back and gesturing at you.

“Oh man. You know I don’t dresses fancy--”

“Shhhh you don’t tell me.” He looked at your outfit. You had opted for an Aline skirt and blouse with a casual blazer.  “You had meetings this morning, that’s obvious by the jacket. You usually dress cuter. Which means you are either sick or not feeling great. You look fine. So I’m guessing...you are on your period. Sorry, this just comes out, I can’t stop it,” he paused for a moment as your jaw dropped open slightly. He stepped closer, inspecting the shoulders of your jacket. “The blazer is at least ten years old but you shouldn’t have had a blazer ten years ago unless it was for your school uniform and that isn’t a school jacket. Which means it probably belonged to an older sister or aunt. You are very responsible and well organized otherwise you wouldn't be Yoongi’s assistant. Therefore you are most likely the oldest or only child so that is your aunt’s jacket. Your blouse is nice. You actually like it, you’ve worn it twice in the week you’ve been working here. You bought it at a thrift store. You don’t spend a lot of money on yourself, but you are very confident. Therefore, it’s not that you don’t think you deserve nice things, it’s just that you can’t afford them so you likely grew up poor and it has continued into your adulthood.”

“Holy shit. You should be a detective.” You said to him.

“The shoes, I gave you last week. They don’t have a story yet, other than a very good -looking man in a suit helped you out because Jimin said you were a nice girl. You wear zero accessories which shows a lack of both funds and sentimentality. Most people have at least one piece of jewelry that means something to them, but if you have one, you don’t wear it.” He smiled at you, his white teeth gleaming. “ Now, how much am I right about?” He crossed his hands in front of his chest.

You clapped your hands as though you were in an audience. “All of it. Although I am still weirded out that you know I’m on my period. Next time I’m going to wear something skin tight to throw you off.” You joked.

“Well,” he started, “At least now that you work here you don’t have to worry as much right?”

Given the shitshow you went through this weekend you weren’t sure about that, but you shrugged, “It definitely pays better. And money doesn’t buy happiness, but it sure helps make some things less hard.” You gestured to the pile of fabric on the table, “So...what do I do? Take these clothes with me for Yoongi to try on or will they be at the photoshoot tomorrow? Do I need to bring them to the photoshoot?”

Hoseok sighed dramatically, “I could dress Yoongi drunk, in my sleep. He can just show up tomorrow and I will dress him then. My staff will make sure the clothes and accessories are at the photoshoot. Here,” He walked over to one of the garment racks. “More clothes for you. I know you have a big closet. And if you run out of space, just take Yoongi’s, he only wears like three things despite my best efforts.”

You laughed, “Yeah, you’re not kidding. Ok thanks,” You took the clothing. “I appreciate it.”

“It’s no trouble. Feel free to see yourself out, I’ll see you tomorrow. Oh and please make sure the catering has strawberries.”

“Strawberries? Got it.” You were learning so much today. 

You exited the backroom and saw Jimin over near one of the pedestals. He was chatting with JK who was getting fitted with a corset. What an itty bitty waist, you admired. The two of them seemed to be having a good time and you had a new list of things to do so you waved at Jimin and headed to 1802 to drop off your new clothes. You had forgotten Hoseok knew you lived with Yoongi. The week had flown by.  

You sent a text message to Jiwoo asking if you could stop by her desk and ask her a few questions to make sure everything was set up for tomorrow and then stopped by the apartment.

You conferred with her and learned how to navigate catering requests via the company website; apparently it wasn’t available on the app, good to know. you felt much better about the shoot tomorrow but still nervous and excited.

You knocked on the door to Genius Lab. No answer. Never any answer. You typed the code in and saw Yoongi wearing his headphones, lost in his own world. He had told you to just wait on the sofa when this was the case and that he would eventually notice you. Normally the smell of coffee was what alerted him to your presence, but you had come empty handed today. You sat down on the couch and took out your phone.

YN: I don’t mean to alarm you. But there’s something behind you.

You saw his phone light up. He ignored it for a minute, presumably to finish listening to a song, and then picked it up. You heard him laugh and take off his headphones.  “You are the worst.” He spun around.

“So mean. Hey. Tomorrow is my first photoshoot. I checked on the outfits for you. By the way, Hoseok is like Sherlock Holmes with clothing. I learned I’m supposed to contact catering, I have hair and make-up requests in. Do I need to do anything else?”

Yoongi thought for a minute. He never really participated in that side of the photoshoot, now that he reflected on it. He walked his way through a day on set.  “No. The changing rooms and photography are handled by other departments. Check with Jiwoo or Jimin, they’ve both set up a shoot before.”

“I did. I’m getting ready to send in the last food request. Any requests?”

“Mandarins. I don’t like to eat a lot on set because I don’t want stuff getting stuck in my teeth.”

“That makes sense. Ok. I’ll let you get back to it then.” You got up and stretched.

“Tomorrow will go fine. If you forgot anything, it will be somewhere in this building.” He reassured you.

“That makes me feel a lot better.” You said honestly. “Alright, I’ll see you around.”

“Later.”

--------------------

The next day arrived with Yoongi heading off to the hair and make-up department and you heading to the 11th floor to see what the photo set up looked like. You exited the elevator. Man your hands were sweaty, you followed the sounds of voices and made your way to the shooting location. The lighting crew was checking their overheads, a stand-in was posing on the various props they had set out. It looked as though there were three separate “areas” for shooting photos. One area had a large white couch, complete with coffee table, rubber plant, magazines. The whole set up designed to look like a living room. A second space was a blue sheet with a white background. The third space was a kitchen, complete with an island, stovetop, and refrigerator. Holy moly this space was huge. You marveled at it.

“Hello, can I help you?” An older man walked over.

“Oh hi, I’m YLN. Yoongi’s assistant. I was stopping by to check the set up. It looks incredible.”

“Thank you. Yes. Here, let me walk you through it.”

You received a tour of the set and also an overview of the order of shooting. You also found out that next week, weather permitting, there would be a second shooting at the park across the street. You got catering checked in, or at least pointed to the table and felt like you did a thing. The same happened when the clothing team showed up. You pointed to dressing rooms and the vanity where the accessories trunk should go. You were thankful no one had asked you any questions so far. This was a steep learning curve. You had hoped someone you knew might be here today to help ease your nerves, but so far, it was all new faces.

Finally, you saw one familiar face. Alice walked in, carrying a small case with her. You waved.

“Hey! It’s nice to see you again.” She said. “I had no idea you were Yoongi’s assistant until today.”

“Oh, yeah. I guess I didn’t mention that. I was so overwhelmed that first day,” you smiled.

“No worries. He was just telling me and Bongcha that he had an assistant now. He’s almost done. His make-up is setting. I’m on hair today which isn’t my strong suit, but it’s not like he’s needing a fancy up-do or anything and it’s good for me to practice.”

“Ok great. This is my first time at a photoshoot, so if there’s something I’m supposed to be doing but I’m not, can you let me know?” You confided in her. 

“Absolutely. It looks like most of the stuff is set up how it usually is. Just remember,” she got closer to you and spoke quieter, “You are Yoongi’s assistant. Some of these people, especially these older guys will try to get you to do stuff like get their coffee, grab them snacks. That is not your job. It’s not by job. If they have an assistant, it’s their job.” 

“I knew I liked you when we first met,” you smiled at her. “Thanks for the heads up.”

“Anytime Unnie.”

She walked over and took out her hair tools and placed them on the table reserved for hair and make-up. A few minutes later you saw Yoongi walk in wearing a black shirt and grey sweats. His face looked even more beautiful than normal. Next to him was a petite girl with long black hair pulled up into a ponytail, dragging a make-up train behind her.  Yoongi looked around for a second, and then locked eyes with you. You saw the tiniest smile threaten to come out as he walked over.

“Hey. Everything here looks good.” He gestured to the room.

“Thanks. I didn’t do most of it, I just pointed and people seemed to know what to do already. Your face looks good.” 

Yoongi chuckled, “You can thank Bongcha for that. Bongcha, this is YN.”

Bongcha stuck out her hand, “Hi. Nice to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Nice to meet you as well. You do good work. I give his face a 10/10. Highly recommend.” 

“Well, it’s easy when you have such a great model to start with,” She smiled while looking up at Yoongi.

Yoongi had started to blush between the pair of compliments. “Is Hoseok here yet?”

“No not yet.” You took out your phone to see if you had any messages from Hoseok. Nope. You looked back up, “Bongcha, I’m sure you already know, but the make-up table is over there.  Alice is setting up right now.”

“Great, thanks!” She headed over, her shiny hair swishing behind her. 

Speak of the devil in blue himself, Hoseok strutted in at that exact moment wearing an electric blue suit. His crisp white shirt underneath popped beneath the jacket, and his pocket square had little sunshines on it.

“Wow. You look like the sky.” You said before you could help it.

“Thank you. Indeed. It was my inspiration today. It’s a crime to be indoors beneath these artificial lights on such a beautiful day. Oh well. It can’t be helped.” He laid eyes on Yoongi, like a predator gazing on its prey, “Yoongi. Baby. Come.”

Yoongi scrunched his face. “Don’t call me baby. If you miss the sunlight so much, leave. I know how to dress myself.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you don't know which pieces go together.” Hoseok grabbed Yoongi by the shoulders and started leading him over to the clothing section, leaving you to laugh at the pair of them. You went over to the table you had set up for yourself between make-up and the food. You had printed off several lists that morning to help you stay focused. You checked off several action items. Satisfied, you sat your clipboard down and looked around. It was a well-oiled machine for sure. You walked over to the hair and make-up table. “Hey ladies.”

“Hey! Have you two met yet?” Alice asked, referring to Bongcha.

“Yep, we just did.” Bongcha confirmed, putting on her make-up apron and filling it with various powders and brushes.

“Ooooo we should do a make-up party sometime.” Alice squealed. “We try to do it with all the new girls. And since Yoongi is” she hushed her voice again “One of our favorites. We have to take care of his assistant.”

You smiled, “Sure. That sounds nice. Excuse me.” You decided to go see how the clothes were going.

“Yes. Yoongi’s assistant. So glad you’re here.” Hoseok turned to you.

“She has a name, it’s YN.” You heard Yoongi say from behind the curtain.

“Yes yes. I know. We talked yesterday, remember? At that meeting I scheduled for me and you that you did not come to. Anyways, here. The outfits are now coordinated. They have tags on them corresponding to their accessory in the accessory trunk. Some pieces have more than one option that the Director of Photography and Yoongi will decide on. Got it?”

You looked over the set up. It seemed simple enough since Hoseok had organized it so well .”Yep. You going out to enjoy the sunshine?” 

“Honey, I am the sunshine. I’m off to get laid after having to deal with this cloudy baby.” He gestured to the changing room.

“Don’t call me baby.” Yoongi shouted from behind the curtain. You just laughed as Hoseok turned around and left. You waited for a few minutes. 

“You ok in there? Need me to come help you put your pants on?” You teased.

“Not necessary.” Yoongi slid open the curtain. Why was everyone teasing him today? He pouted without thinking about it.

You walked over, straightening the collar of his shirt “Hey now, you can’t go around pouting like a baby and not expect people to call you one. Here,” you handed him a mandarin. He scowled at you as he took it. “Such a pretty face” You laughed. 

“Yeah whatever. I can eat this while they set up the white meter. You should be fine to just hang around at this point.”

“Alright. Sounds good.” The two of you walked over to the main part of the set where the Director gave Yoongi instructions about where to sit as they practiced the blocking and softbox placement.

“Oh my god he looks so good eating that tangerine.” You overheard. Your eyes bugged out slightly and you turned around. A group of women from the photography team were looking at the images to check the saturation and focus, as well as apparently the model. Damn. NEXT CHAPTER

@lidda  @anpanman-sonyeondan   @firefairy1  @cuteipat​  @sugaslittlekookies​  @janeelizabeth1216​ @deeepvibes​ @gxldenhunny​ @livelyjay​ @niniita-ah​ @bobbyboops​ @honeysunandsoil​ @deathkat657​

[tunedtostatic]

Iris 2 crew at Pride on a planet

• It’s Pride month and (Krejjh voice) I am feeling FESTIVE, so, Iris 2 crew at Pride: the highs, the lows, the fundraiser coffee

• Violet hasn’t had a chance to go to a Pride parade/festival often. She loves spending the day getting to feel like she can truly relax and be herself, surrounded by other queer people and their loved ones, having spent so many years dealing with nebulous biphobia at school and work.

• She buys little bi flag earrings from a craft booth and wears them all afternoon.

• Krejjh is overjoyed for all the humans here who are having the chance to support each other and take pride in identities outside the gender binary. They secretly feel a little weird since they themself grew up without a gender binary, and so not fitting in one isn’t a part of their identity that felt significant or caused problems for them until they came to live among humans and suddenly it did. But it makes them feel safe and happy to be among so many humans who aren’t within the gender binary either.

• They’re also enjoying the preponderance of glitter.

• Brian has to intervene when Violet buys a little pack of biodegradable glitter and Arkady dares them to eat some of it.

• Sana wears streaks of temporary hair dye, a sparkly shirt, and a giant shoulder bag full of water bottles, bandaids, snacks even though there are plenty of places to buy food, sun visors, and sunscreen. She and Violet make sure everyone reapplies sunscreen every few hours.

• Arkady and RJ are both a little on edge, not fully turning off their protective instincts toward the rest of the crew. Even here, surrounded by a multitude of other queer people, Arkady can feel her heart racing just a little when she takes Violet’s hand in public. It isn’t like she can’t take care of herself if someone starts shit with them one-on-one, but she’s holding Violet’s hand and what if that means she’s putting Violet at risk and...

• As the day goes on, Arkady relaxes a little and starts to enjoy herself more. Near the end of the day, when everyone is happy and sticky with sweat and sunscreen, she has a semi-accidental heartfelt conversation with RJ when they get stuck in line together waiting for the toilets about how hard it is to let their guards down and truly believe that it’s statistically likely this event will stay safe and no one will attack the participants.

• Arkady might not be completely relaxed herself, but she loves watching Violet relaxing and enjoying herself.

• Violet buys a purple flower from a stall and threads it into Arkady’s hair for a lesbian history/ace pride purple/horrible Violet’s-name pun triple reference, causing Arkady to lose the ability to form sentences (and to be distracted from her fears) for a good thirty seconds. She wears it for the rest of the day and when they get back to the ship she secretly finds a book to press it in.

• Violet doesn’t try to stop Arkady from being worried or protective. Instead, she focuses on enjoying herself and having all the moments with Arkady that she wants to have, from buying her the flower to getting ice cream for both of them. She knows from her own anxiety disorder that telling someone to “calm down” or trying to make them relax isn’t helpful, especially when there’s a piece of truth in their fears (Sana may also have tracked her down the day before to talk about what is and isn’t helpful when Arkady is afraid something bad will happen).

• Park buys so many cups of coffee from the coffee booth that he might be single-handedly funding the queer youth programs they’re raising money for.

• No one has any idea if he’s queer or just here as part of the crew. He’s clearly enjoying sipping coffee and lurking comfortingly next to McCabe.

• Just as Arkady is starting to relax, a cute transport starship pilot also wearing a sparkly outfit starts flirting with Sana, and Arkady slips into security officer mode, lurking around trying to determine whether they’re secretly a threat of the good old-fashioned smuggling underworld variety, until Violet drags her away to look at the art vendors and leave Sana to flirt in peace.

• The planet they’re on has done a solid job of holding an accessible event, and there are enough rest areas and seating on the parade route and between the spot where the crew watches the parade and the park/food area that Brian doesn’t have to walk prohibitively far.

• He runs into another linguist he went to undergrad with who is there with eir partner; the partner and the Iris crew are stuck chatting with each other while Brian and his friend have an animated conversation about...no one is exactly sure what, but it definitely has something to do with “poststructuralism in queer exolinguistics.”

• The crew loses track of Krejjh briefly after they peel off to buy donuts for a suspiciously long time and then don’t answer their comm (it turns out they were mid-transaction buying a surprise for Brian). Sana decides that the best course of action is for herself and Arkady to hoist Violet up between them so that she can see over the crowd, an endeavor that unsurprisingly doesn’t actually locate Krejjh but does give Violet a great panorama view of the festivities. Park stands by sipping coffee, Brian makes suggestions for things he thinks Violet ought to yell to get Krejjh’s attention in the style of the classic lost in a crowd meme (“SH’TH HREMREH IS TERRIBLE!”), and RJ tries desperately to pretend they don’t know any of them.

[calpalirwin]

Tough Act

Summary: Lip may have finally met his match.

A/N: A season 4/season 5 AU of sorts. My first Shameless/Lip Gallagher fic too, so fuck off if it sucks.

Content: Swearing, fighting, fucked up-ness.

Word Count: 4.3k

And away, and away we go!

__

The door to the lecture room slammed open, averting everyone’s attention to the teenager rushing into the closest empty seat. Underneath the sea of unruly brown curls was a face red from the exertion of his run across campus in a blind hurry. There was a wild look in his crystal blue eyes as he tore his backpack apart, digging around for a notebook and pen, and a flash of agitation as he came up empty-handed. The adrenaline of his bad morning made all his movements swift as he frantically scanned around to figure out who to ask to help him out of his predicament. 

“Psst,” he whispered, his rushing about coming to a standstill as he stopped on the girl seated to his left. “Psst… hey!”

“What?” she whispered back in annoyance, her lips barely moving, her attention still fully on the professor who continued with their lecture.

“You got a spare scrap of paper. And, uh… a pen? I seemed to uh…”

“Forgot to charge your precious laptop?” she questioned with the same note of annoyance.

“Oh, you think I’m one of these snobs?” he smirked, gaze flickering about the room. “Nah. Rough morning.”

Her eyes rolled as she reached wordlessly into her bag at her feet, producing a notebook with a pen tucked into the spirals. “Here,” she hissed, handing it over.

“Oh, I don’t need the whole th-”

“Don’t care. Now, shut the fuck up.”

“Thanks.”

“The fuck did I just say?”

The boy smirked again, but didn’t say another word, turning his attention to catch the rest of the lecture.

When the class was over, he ripped the pages free from the notebook, tucking the pen back in the spirals and handing it over. “Thanks again.”

“Keep it,” she said, pushing the notebook into his chest as she rose to her feet. “You clearly need it more than I do.”

Confused irritation flashed across his face as he followed her out of the classroom. “I was just trying to be nice. Fuck.”

She paused, turning on her heel to face him. Now that they were literally standing toe to toe, she got a good idea of just how tall he was as she found herself eye level with his chest. Or what would be his chest if it wasn’t covered in a white t-shirt sporting the words “Fuck you you fucking fuck” in blue block letters. The same color blue of the simple zip up hoodie he was also wearing. The kind of blue that really made his eyes pop as her chin tilted upwards to find his own gaze staring down at her, unchecked attitude in every sharp feature of his face. She crossed her arms, scoffing. “Are you saying I wasn’t nice back?”

“Look, if you’re gonna be a cold bitch, that’s fine. But why bother helping in the first place?”

“Right. Next time I’ll just let you keep pestering me, then.”

“I just said ‘thank you.’ What the fuck more do you want?! Jesus…”

“You’re welcome!” she snapped back. “Better?”

His temper gave way to cockiness as he flashed a grin. “See? Was that so hard? Can I buy you a coffee? Or like a new notebook?”

“Ugh, I don’t get you. One minute you’re pissed I helped you. The next you’re trying to flirt with me? Pick a side, loser.”

“It’s Lip, actually.”

Familiarity flashed in her eyes. “As in Gallagher?”

He chuckled lightly. “Yeah. How many Lips do you know? Wait… you know me? How?”

“Think you’re the only one from the South Side with a brain? I’m Mickey and Mandy’s cousin.”

“Oh shit! You’re a Milkovich?”

“A Y/L/N, actually. But yeah, I guess.”

“No shit, huh?”

“Yeah, what gave it away? The attitude, or the fact that I’m the only one in this place taking notes by hand?”

“Well, not the only one,” Lip chuckled, waving the notebook he had tucked under his arm.

“Right…” she said before walking off. After a few steps, she turned to look over her shoulder at him still standing there. “Well?” she demanded. “You buying me that coffee, or not?”

That trademark smirk graced his lips before he adjusted his backpack on his shoulder and jogged after her. 

“So, how’d you end up here?” Lip asked as they pushed their way out of the building. He rubbed his hands together, blowing into them before digging into his pocket, producing a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Lip shook the box at her in a silent question as he placed one between his lips and lit it.

She took one, and when she moved to take the lighter from him, he gave a small shake of his head. One of Lip’s hands cupped around the cigarette in her mouth, the other lighting it for her, before he took a long drag from his own cigarette. “You gonna answer my question?” he asked, pocketing the cigarettes and lighter.

“You didn’t really give me time before you asked a new one,” she responded, blowing a ring of smoke.

“Well?” Lip prompted, twisting his left wrist in a gesture to indicate for her to go ahead and answer.

“Like I said. You think you’re the only one from the South Side with a brain?”

“I mean… statistically no. But to get into a place like this? And afford it? What’s your secret? The Milkovichs fuckin’ got some dirt on someone? Can you get them to threaten them for me too?”

She rolled her eyes. “One, I got in here on my own. Two, I’m not a Milkovich. I may share a little blood, but I don’t share the name. Not that I’d want to anyway. Fuckin’ Terry trying to fuck the gay out of Mickey by having him fuck that Russian broad? Like he has several dipshit sons to pass on those disphit genes. Who gives a fuck if one of ‘em’s a raging homo?”

“Hey, that raging homo is fucking my brother. Watch it.”

She raised her hands in defense. “Like I give a shit who’s fucking whom. None of my damn business.”

“Whom, huh? Jesus, you are smart.”

“Yeah, and for a brainiac you’re fuckin’ slow. Smart isn’t a special Lip trait made just for you. Other people can have it too. Probably hard to see that though with your ego. Does that ever get heavy?”

“Ooo, she bites.”

“She happens to have a name. And I swear if you call me a Milkovich one more time, I’ll show you exactly how I’m not one by not pulling my punches for a Gallagher like some white trash version of Romeo and Juliet.”

It was his turn to hold up his hands in defense. “Shit, okay. Let’s see… a Y/L/N… My age, give or take a year in either direction… that makes you Y/N? Which makes you a junior. Impressive.”

“Is that an ‘impressive’ in regards to your stellar deduction skills? Or an ‘impressive’ in regards to me being a junior.”

“The latter. I’ve already almost dropped out like 6 times.”

“Mmm, then maybe you’re not as smart as you think you are, Lip. Spewing bullshit to illiterates is easy. Actually being smart though requires a little more work.”

“Alright, fuck me for being curious, but I don’t exactly see our kind around campus, do you?”

“That’s probably because we don’t go around flaunting that part of ourselves. We had our chance to get out, we took it, and then we didn’t bother looking back.”

“What like some take the kid out of the hood metaphorical shit? Wouldn’t the follow up to that mean that you can’t take the hood out of the kid?”

“Yeah, and that’s exactly why I’m constantly busting my ass to keep up with these silver spoon trust fund brats. It was easy in high school. Pay attention every now and again, and you don’t have to bother with cracking a book to be labeled a genius. Big fish, small pond. Here? These kids have had nannies and tutors since before they could string two words together. Suddenly I’m just an average sized fish in a bigger pond. And out there in that ‘real world’ everyone keeps harping about? Do you see how as the pond gets bigger, you get smaller? But you think I’m gonna let that slow me down? Play into that self-fulling prophecy that I won’t amount to shit because of where I grew up? No. I’m gonna keep my mouth shut, and work my ass off because that’s what got me out in the first place, and that’s what’s gonna keep me from backsliding.”

“Did you just call me a small fish?”

“I’m saying you better get your shit together, Gallagher. This ain’t fuckin’ t-ball, it’s the big leagues. Back home, we might be the big shots. But here? We ain’t shit unless we do something about it. And showing up late to class without a fuckin’ notebook and pen isn’t how you make that happen.”

“Fuck, alright. If I wanted a lecture, I’d just call Fiona.”

“Just trying to warn you. One hood kid to another. But by all means, you could also contemplate dropping out for the 7th time.”

“Anybody ever tell you that you need to fuckin’ relax?”

“If they think that, they’re not stupid enough to say it to my face.” She took a last drag from her cigarette, blowing the smoke up in Lip’s face, before dropping the butt on the ground and grinding it out with the toe of her boot.

“Oh, yeah cuz I bet you’re real tough,” he deadpanned with an eye roll, stomping out his own smoked up cigarette, and pulling open the door to the school’s coffee shop.

Y/N scoffed. “Start putting those pretty eyes of yours to good use Gallagher, and you might just realize that in addition to being smarter than you, I can also do anything else better than you. That includes being tougher. And partying harder.”

“Pretty eyes, hmm?”

Her eyes rolled, but the way her cheeks flushed didn’t go unnoticed either. “That would be the only thing you heard… Friday night. 8 o’ clock. And if you have to ask… well… guess you better put that brain of yours to work.” The smirk on her face could rival his any day as one of her hands patted affectionately at his chest. “Bye, Lip.” And with that, she walked backwards from him out of the coffee shop, leaving him wondering what the fuck had just happened, and more intrigued than he’d ever been by any girl before.

~~~

Lip understood what Y/N had meant about not needing to bother with an address for the party. All he had to do was follow the sounds of loud music and drunk laughter.

He could feel the music vibrating in his bones the second he stepped inside, the room dark with the exception of the strobe lights bouncing triadic colors all across the party-goers, one of which was Y/N.

“Hey!” Lip said when he got closer to her.

“Hey!” she greeted with a grin. “Looks like you figured it out. C’mon, let’s get you a drink.”

He followed her deeper into the house, into a brightly lit kitchen that had him squinting. “Pick your poison,” she said, tossing him a red cup.

“So, I still owe you that coffee,” he commented after a beat, while they made their drinks.

“Oh, do you now?” she asked, looking up at him over the rim of her cup.

“I mean… I don’t do well with debts.”

“Who said you were in my debt to begin with?”

“You helped me out when you didn’t have to. What would you call that?”

“I’d call it being nice.”

“Yeah, well you know as well as I do that being nice comes with a price tag attached where we’re from.”

“That may be so. But look around Lip. Sometimes people do things for others without there being a catch. And it was a fuckin’ notebook and pen, not bail money. I don’t need anything from you, because I don’t want anything from you. Crazy concept, I’m aware.”

He took a pause to take a long drink from his cup. “I don’t get you, you know that? Like you’re nice, but you’re such a fuckin’ bitch about it too.”

“The duality of woman,” she smirked, bowing dramatically. “Some people aren’t so easy to pin down, Lip. God forbid you might actually have to get to know them. Or let them get to know you. Which one scares you more, Lip?”

Again, as a chance to get his thoughts together, he took a drink. He decided to take a page from her book. “Bye Y/N,” he called out over his shoulder as he walked away.

She watched him go in proud amusement, knowing that she’d be seeing Lip sooner rather than later.

It took about an hour for Y/N to be proven right.

“So less say you n me get outta here,” the drunk nameless college boy slurred, one hand propping himself up against the wall, the other getting dangerously close to her face.

“Let’s not, and say we did,” she replied, grabbing his hand and dropping it to his side.

“Aw, but where’s the fun in that?” he crooned, breath smelling like cheap booze and shit weed.

“The fun is that you walk away with the only part of you bruised being your ego,” Lip growled from behind.

Frat boy turned to face Lip, his movements sluggish. “And who the fuck are you?”

“Nobody,” Y/N hissed at the same time Lip responded with “Her boyfriend.” “Nobody,” Y/N repeated in a firmer tone. “Lip, leave. I got this handled.”

“Yeah, leave,” the other boy said earnestly. “Probably be best if you didn’t watch me fuck your pretty little girlfriend.”

“Ugh, you’re disgusting,” she spat while the muscle in Lip’s jaw ticked. “You can follow Lip in getting the fuck out of my face.”

“Mmm, feisty. Good. Just the way I like ‘em.”

Y/N’s hand cracked against his face, and then Lip was shoving him backwards. “The fuck did you just say to her?! Get the fuck out of here!”

“Oh, yeah? And who’s gonna make me?”

A snarl ripped itself out of Lip’s throat, before he was throwing a punch, his fist connecting solidly with the other guy’s jaw. “Lip!” Y/N scolded in disbelief as Lip took the next hit square in the face. “Hey!” she yelled, wedging herself in between both young men, each prepared to keep exchanging blows. “Leave! Both of you!”

The drunk frat boy stumbled off, but not before throwing Lip the dirtiest look he could muster. Lip huffed in disdain, but stayed rooted in place. “You alright?” he checked, the lights bouncing off the room showing the area around his mouth already starting the transition from red to purple. With a thumb, he wiped at the trickle of blood spilling from his nose, smearing it with the blood coming from his busted lip.

With both hands, she shoved him as hard as she could. “I had that fuckin’ handled!”

“Well fuck me for being nice, then!” he shot back, matching her anger. He turned on his heel, away from her.

“Where the fuck are you going?!”

“Away! Like you wanted!”

She grabbed his arm, whipping him back around and dragging him to the nearest bathroom. “Sit!” she instructed, as she locked the door and grabbed a washcloth.

“I’m fine,” he protested, but sitting on the ledge of the tub anyway. “Nothing I haven’t dealt with before.”

She slammed one of her hands on the counter as she turned on the faucet to wet the washcloth. “See?” she said, cupping his face and cleaning away the blood. “It’s exactly that type of thickheaded stubbornness that’s gonna keep you stuck exactly where you are.”

“Thickheaded stubbornness?”

“Yes. That chip on your shoulder that says the world is always gonna be against you, and that everything comes with a price tag. That fighter’s instinct you disguise as reckless bravery, but is really just a stupid desire to hit the world as hard as it hits you. The world isn’t as black and white as you were made to believe. If this was some piss poor attempt at saying we’re even for giving you a fuckin’ notebook the other day, congrats. We’re even. Thank you. Are you satisfied now, Lip?” She chucked the washcloth in the sink.

“I’m never satisfied. And wasn’t it you who told me that sometimes people can do nice things for others just because? I wasn’t evening a score between us, Y/N. I was just being nice.”

“Well, way to be a bitch about it…” she snorted.

“Oh, you liked it,” he taunted, rising to his feet. “Didn’t you?”

She rolled her eyes in disgust. “No.”

“Aw, not so tough when it’s me confronting you with the truth now are you?”

“Fuck you, Lip.”

“Yeah, you’d like that wouldn’t you?” He closed the distance between them in one step, lifting her up onto the counter, his lips finding that niche where her neck met the collarbone. When her fingers flew to tangle in his hair, he took that as his cue that he wasn’t pushing limits that shouldn’t be pushed. But erring on the side of caution, he pulled back to peel his shirt off, giving her ample time to stop him. When he got a throaty whine of protest instead of her slapping him senseless, he chuckled darkly. “Aw, look who doesn’t want me to leave now.”

Y/N pulled her own shirt up and over her head, tossing it to join his on the tiled floor. She hooked a finger in his belt loop, pulling him back to her. “Fuck me, Lip,” she breathed before their lips collided, heat radiating in every touch.

~~~

Lip’s chest heaved as he tugged his jeans back on. “Here,” he said, digging out his phone and handing it over. “So next time we can cut right to the chase.”

She scoffed but started to put in her number anyway, a warning about how he better call on the tip of her tongue, but the screen changed as the name “Fiona” flashed and his phone started to ring. “Uh…” Y/N said slowly.

He swore under his breath, taking the phone back and answering. “Yeah, Fi? Whoa, slow down. Ian did what? Okay, we’ll keep him there. I’m on my way now. I dunno, Fi, as soon as I can. I’m coming from campus. But I’m coming. Just… sit tight or something.”

“What was that?” Y/N asked as Lip hung up the phone, pulling on the rest of his clothes in a hurry.

“Family emergency. D-do you have a car? Can I borrow it? It’s faster than taking the L.”

“Yeah,” she said, redressing with the same hurry and dangling her car keys. “C’mon, I’ll drive.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” he rushed. “Come with me, I mean.”

“I’m coming with you whether you like it or not.”

Figuring that arguing with her would only only result in him leaving later, he nodded his head before letting them out of the bathroom.

The drive to his house was filled with tense silence as Lip bounced his leg and smoked the whole trip. As a quiet act of comforting the young man, Y/N rested a hand on his leg, and while he flinched at the contact, he allowed her hand to stay, the touch soothing even if it didn’t fully quit the storm raging in his head.

She hadn’t even put the car in park before Lip was bounding out, his boots racing against the pavement as he rushed towards the house. Y/N followed as quickly as she could, nearly colliding into his back as Lip froze in the small entryway of the house. “Where is he?” Lip barked, his brief hesitation breaking at the sight of his family huddled together in the middle of the living room while pounding and screaming sounded from upstairs.

“Up there,” a woman a couple years older than Lip directed, her voice cracking with fear and worry. “Mickey’s trying to break down the door to get to him. He’s been locked in there for like 2 hours, Lip. He stopped answering us. I- I-” Tears rolled down her cheeks as she pushed shaky hands through her hair. Behind her was a man and woman who looked to be even older than the woman talking, a teenage girl and boy of similar age, and a small toddler, all of them bearing the same terrified confusion.

Lip nodded once, understanding what the woman was saying without her needing to finish the thought. “Are all the knives accounted for?”

“Yeah, I think so. But… Fuck, Lip, I dunno what to do. Like I can’t just call the cops. I- I guess I could call Tony?”

“No, it’s fine, Fi,” Lip told her. “I’m gonna go help Mickey. You guys stay here. Actually, Kev, come with me. Carl, you too.”

As the men sprung into action and headed upstairs, the attention averted to Y/N who was still standing in the entryway. “Who are you?” the woman asked.

“Uh, I’m Y/N. I drove Lip. You must be Fiona?”

Fiona nodded numbly. “Yeah. This is V, Debbie, and Liam. Thanks for driving Lip. Uh…” She dug around in her pockets, pulling out a few crumpled bills. “Sorry,” she said, placing them in Y/N’s hand. “That’s all I got right now.”

“Oh, no,” Y/N responded, pushing the money back. “I- I go to school with Lip.”

Any chance for more small talk was interrupted by a loud splinting crack and an ��Ian! What the fuck?!” before Lip, Kev, and Carl all came stomping downstairs, along with Mickey and Ian. “Y/N?” Mickey blinked, as he helped Ian onto the couch.

“Mickey,” Y/N deadpanned.

Mickey looked back and forth between Lip and his cousin, shaking his head. “Fuckin’ hell, Gallagher. You gonna fuck all my female relatives, or what?”

“Shut the fuck up, Mickey,” Lip and Y/N told him.

“Ian, are you okay?” Fiona asked, as Debbie went into the kitchen and came back with a glass of water.

“Yeah, I’m fine…” Ian muttered, gulping down the water, whatever that had transpired upstairs apparently long over in the red head’s mind.

Fiona’s gaze flickered over to the other boy’s for a more detailed answer. When Kev answered with a small whistle and twirl of his finger to indicate that Ian was off his rocker, V shoved him. “Kev!”

“What?” the man asked, holding up his hands in defense. “It’s true. Oh, and Fi… we’ll uh… fix the door tomorrow.”

“Don’t care,” Fiona responded, all her attention on Ian.

“I’m tired,” Ian declared.

“Okay, get some rest right here. I’m gonna talk to Lip real quick.” Her voice was soft, motherly even. A drastic change from the scared person she’d been 10 minutes ago.

“Okay. Hey, Lip. You home for the weekend?”

“Something like that,” Lip told him before following Fiona into the kitchen to talk out of earshot.

“What are you still doing here?” Mickey asked Y/N, not caring for the answer as he stalked after the eldest Gallagher siblings.

“Yeah, who are you?” Carl asked.

“She’s friends with Lip,” Debbie explained.

“Oh,” was the knowing reply.

V rolled her eyes. “Alright, Debbie, Carl, take Liam upstairs and go to bed. Kev, c’mon, let’s go home.”

There were some grumbles before the group dispersed, leaving Y/N alone with Ian. “So, you’re friends with Lip, huh? And related to Mickey somehow?”

“We’re cousins on his mom’s side. And I wouldn’t say Lip and I are friends, necessarily.”

“Mmm, right. Yeah, Lip doesn’t really do friends. Or relationships.”

“Good to know.”

“Hey, thanks again for driving Lip over,” Fiona’s voice sounded from behind as her and Mickey came back into the room. “We got it from here if you got somewhere to be.”

“Lover boy’s outside,” Mickey smirked.

“Not a problem. And thanks, jackass,” Y/N said, then headed in search of Lip, finding him on the back porch smoking yet another cigarette. “Hey,” she said softly, sitting down next to him.

“You’re still here?”

“Was I supposed to leave?”

He shrugged. “Everyone else does.”

“Ooo, dark…”

“Wasn’t saying it to seek sympathy points.”

“Does this tough act of yours ever get tiring?”

“Who said it was an act?”

“It’s not gonna kill you to let someone in, Lip.”

“Yeah, maybe. But it sure beats the hell out of watching them leave. Because in the end, they all do. I learned a long time ago that the only person I can count on is myself.”

“What a lonely way to live your life.”

“Better than the alternative.”

“Did you miss the part where I said I was tougher than you? That shit,” she said, jerking her thumb back at the house, “is a fuckin’ Tuesday. If anyone is gonna get the fucked up parts of you, it’s me, Lip.”

“Why?”

“Why do I get it?”

“No, why do you want to?”

“Because you get me back. Look, I know I’m abrasive. I know I piss people off. Because like you, if I push them away from the start, then when they eventually leave it hurts less. But here’s the stupid thing about that, Lip. It still hurts. Maybe this time it doesn’t have to.”

“You know that this is like a complete 180 from you berating me three days ago, right? Or even earlier this evening. Or right now.”

“That didn’t seem to bother you when you were fucking me in that bathroom.”

“How do I know you won’t leave?”

“How do I know you won’t?” she countered. “I’m not saying you gotta fuckin’ marry me, Lip. Just loosen up on the tough guy act. Not everything has to be a fight.”

“But what if I like fighting with you?”

“I’m sure we can find ways of making sure that still happens.”

“Wanna stay the night then? Maybe have a fight or two?”

__

Tag List

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[forlornmelody]

The Fantabulous Vacation of One Harley Quinn and Her Girlfriend Poison Ivy

Rating: T (suggestive themes, cartoon violence)

Fandom(s): DC Comics

Ship: Poison Ivy/Harley Quinn

Linkage: Ao3

Summary:   Harley's been burning the wick at both ends and Ivy knows just the thing to help. But it takes more than just a change of scenery to get Harley to let go.

Note:  Commission for @rookie009

~*~*~*

“You’re probably wondering Mr---Watchman--”

“Tockman.” Mr. Watchman spits. “William Tockman.”

“Why I’ve brought you here today.”

Mr. Watchman rolls his eyes. “I imagine you’re going to tell me.” 

“Ah! Good. You’ve stopped struggling. Progress, Mister!” Harley boops him on the nose. Maybe she made the binding too tight? “I’m not cutting off your circulation, am I?” She leans in close. “Are you comfortable? I need you comfortable.” 

“I’m tied up in ropes, wench!”

“Ah, see! This is what I’m talking about!” Harley sits across from him and his fainting couch, pulling her pen from her bun and making a heading on her notepad. “You have a whore madonna complex.” Chewing her pen, she murmurs, “perhaps from the trauma of your wife’s death? Cystic Fibrosis, was it?”

Her new patient says nothing. “Mister?” Harley glances up. “Willy?”

“Help!” William Tockman dangles from his left ankle, suspended in air by a beefy vine.  “She’s gonna kill me!” 

“Oh please. You’re hardly worth the trouble.” Ivy steps around him and the vine, brushing the dust off her hands. “Hi Harls!” How she got the vines up this far on this abandoned apartment building, Harley has no idea. But it sure has a lot of brick to climb. 

“Ivy!” Harley doesn’t so much as hug her as ram her at full speed. 

Her target, used to such behavior by now, braces for impact and manages to hug back. Harley takes a big whiff. “Mm. Jasmine?”

“Lilacs.” Ivy peers over at Clock King. “You...uh, busy?”

“Mm yeah. A little tied up at the moment. Or he is, at least.”

“So I see.” Ivy chews her lip, staring out the window as if she had left a reminder there. She makes a face as the draft stirs some of the painting tarp discarded on the floor. “I was thinking maybe we could get out of town for a bit.”

“HELP.” 

“Are you asking for help, Billy? Or do you prefer Willy?”

“HELP ME! THESE WOMEN ARE CRAZY.” 

“Great!” Harley says brightly. “Admitting you need help is the first step towards healing!”

“Harls? Are you even listening?”

“You need help dismantling another CEO along with his company?”

“No.”

“Fundraiser for conservation efforts?”

“Harley--”

“Pride pre-game with Kitty?”

“Harleen.” That stops Harley short. Ivy never calls her that. Mostly cause she hates getting called Pamela with an undying passion. Probably childhood trauma. But Harley digresses. 

Ivy sighs. “Sorry. Look. I need a vacation. We need a vacation.”

“I need help!” 

“SHUT UP ALREADY.” Ivy and Harley say it together, and Ivy waves a hand, muffling Harley’s captive, er, patient with a particularly broad leaf. 

“Mm... I’m a little busy--”

Ivy glances at Tockman, finally. “I can see that.”

“Lemme look at my calendar. Mmm.. maybe...next year? Definitely the one after that.”

“Harls.”

“I know, I know. But there’s my derby team, missions with Task Force X, the Birds of Prey, my day job--”

“I know.” Ivy takes her hands, gently, and squeezes them. It’s the softness that stops Harley in her tracks. “It’s why you need some time off.”

“But--”

“Shh. I already have plane tickets and a hotel booked. You don’t have to plan a thing.”

Harley can’t help the blush creeping up on her cheeks. “Aww, shucks, Ives. When are we leaving?”

“Now. The plane’s departing in--shit. We gotta go.”

“MMRPH.” 

“Oh, right.” Ivy releases Clock King with a patented thud as she shoves Harley out the door. “Bye!”

-----

“So, we’re we goin’?” Harley pushes the arm rest out of the way and rests her chin on Ivy’s shoulder. She glances at Ivy’s phone as if it’ll give her some clues. She spots a sudoku puzzle. “Japan?”

“No.”

“The Amazon?”

“Nope.”

“Themyscyra?” 

Ivy gives her a look. “Really?”

“Er….my mom’s? Please say it’s not my mom’s.”

“It’s not your mom’s.”

“Thank God.”

“Also, why would we fly to your mom’s house when we could easily drive? Or take a commuter bus?”

“Good point. Mm.”

Ivy smooths Harley’s hair out of her eyes. “It’s a surprise.” She snatches a quick kiss before the flight attendant rolls by. “You’ll love it.”

In this moment, Harley’s pretty sure she’d love anywhere as long Ivy’s there with her. She’s lit up by the light of the tiny window behind her, and her crimson locks glow like an angel’s. But Harley knows well enough that neither of them are anywhere close to innocent. “Say, how’d you get us past security?”

Ivy winks at her. 

“No casualties?”

Her lover mockingly brushes her own chest like a scandalized church mouse. “I would never!” she snorts. “They’ll be fine. Just a little dazed and confused.”

Harley leans her head on Ivy’s shoulder. “I know the feelin’.” And really! Harley’s proud of her. Ivy’s never been one to follow rules or care for humans. But she tries for Harley. Why she bothers when Mistah J never seemed to care, Harley has no idea. But it means the world to her. 

-----

The taxi drops them off in front of a large revolving door. But it’s not the gold handles that capture Harley’s attention. 

It’s the lush plants growing from every nook and cranny on the place. Harley bets Ivy could spend an hour naming all of them (scientific names and personal names.) Butterflies and hummingbirds in every color of the rainbow--and the faint buzzing of bees. A solitary stream crosses their path, and a wooden bridge stretches over it. Garden terrace after garden terrace rise up from the ground to an open-air cafe at the top. 

And behind the walls and the hotel proper? A waterpark. 

Harley’s eyes go as big as saucers. “Ivy! You shouldn’t have!” She squeezes her into a hug.

“Thanks, sweet pea, but I can’t breathe.” Ivy manages to get out.

“Oof, sorry. Here ya go.” Harley releases her, and Ivy pecks her on the cheek. 

“Best part is, they’ve a zero-carbon footprint and they’re waste free.” Harley rarely sees her grin so wide.” 

“Whoa.”

“They call it The Greenhouse.”

-----

Their first day at the resort passes in a blur. Harley shows Ivy a good time in and out of their bedroom. They go snorkeling in the ocean, ride the rides so many times Harley ends up upchucking their picnic at the beach, then make love at sunset in their honeymoon suite. Harley wonders if the management thinks they’re--well, they’re as good as, aren’t they? They don’t need rings or a wedding or a place of their own or--

“Harley?”

She blinks. Ivy only calls her that when she’s worried. Harley realizes she’s been staring at the chocolates on their pillows for God knows how long. “Yeah?”

“You okay?”

“Of course!” she says automatically, pulling Ivy into another kiss.

Ivy kisses back, then runs a finger down her cheek. “You’d tell me if you weren’t, right?” The setting sun makes her hair even redder, which Harley didn’t think possible, and Harley finds herself toying with her curls. 

“Hey, I’ve been wonderin’.”

If Ivy notices the change in subject, she doesn’t mention it. “Yeah?”

“How come we haven’t seen any other guests? And how come we haven’t been arrested?”

“Oh! That.” Ivy waves a hand dismissively. “I rented out the whole resort.”

“With what money??”

Ivy shoots her a wicked look that sends shivers down Harley’s spine. “Ace Chemical’s investment fund.”

“Ooooh, you’re naughty.” 

Harley dives in for another kiss but Ivy puts a finger to her lips. And doesn’t let her suck on it. Rude. “So, are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?”

“Since we’ve got all this extra cash, wanna make a run at the casino? I hear they donate the proceeds to rainforest restoration.”

“Alright.” Ivy sighs and reaches for her dress. Harley has a sinking feeling that she’s going to bring this up later. Maybe if Harley’s lucky she’ll forget about it? Yeah. Ivy forgets things all the time. 

“Last one there buys the first round!”

-----

Ivy and Harley sit across from each other, an immaculate brunch setting between them and two mimosas. Her lover’s plate sits almost empty, and while Harley’s lies largely untouched. She keeps playing with her veggie egg white omelet, but the next bite never seems to make it to her mouth. “And then we can go for a walk on the beach later! Have you seen those beds? Right there on the water? Mm. Do you think anyone would hear us if we--”

“Harley, wait.”

“Like, the sound of the waves would cover it up, right? Mm. Maybe not. I’m loud. Not as loud as--”

“Harley, no. Stop. Stop.” Ivy presses her hands on either side of Harley’s face, drawing her to a standstill and inches away from her. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I want to!”

Ivy gives her a sad smile, shaking her head gently. “You don’t have to impress me, Harls. I love you.”

Harley, in typical Harley fashion, vibrates with energy. “But…I want this to be special. As special as y--”

“This vacation already is special. Cause you’re here with me.”

“But--” I’m not that special, Harley wants to say. But she knows Ivy won’t let her get away with saying that out loud. She wants to crawl underneath the tablecloth and hide until Ivy leaves. They always leave in the end. Once they get what they want. Mistah J--

“I love you, Harley Quinn.” Ivy takes her hand, gently, rubbing her thumb over her knuckles. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And maybe. Maybe it’s that she doesn’t know what to do if Ivy stays. It’s easier to love someone who doesn’t love her back. It’s safe. Ahem. Emotionally safe, Dr. Quinzel says inside her head. For once, Harley has nothing to say. She’s too busy trying to keep the tears from falling. 

“You don’t have to do anything. I already love you.” Ivy bites her lip--the way she always does when she’s thinking hard. Like how best to resurrect a drooping petunia or a rose bush that has a pest. She takes a deep breath, steeling herself. “And if it’s not too much--too early--to say this: I always will.” 

“You proposin’ or somethin’?” The words tumble out of Harley’s mouth before she can stop them. Her cheeks feel like they’re blushing as bright as Ivy’s hair. 

“I…” Ivy’s eyes widen. “I-I don’t have a ring on me.”

Shit. Fuck. ShitshitshitFuuuuuuuuuck. “I’msorryIdidn’tmeanit.” “It’s way too soon.” Harley puts on her best brave face--the same one she always put on when Bats showed up and Mistah J magically was nowhere to be found. “Marriage is so outda--”

“Harley.” Ivy puts her entire hand over her face. “Quinn.” “I never said I didn’t want to marry you.”

“Mmphwr?” 

“Who wouldn’t want to marry Harley Quinn? You’re amazing.” She traces her eyebrows. “You’re the smartest person I know.” Boops her nose. “You’re impossible to kill. Holy fuck.” Runs her fingertip across her bottom lip. “You…” Ivy presses her lips together, looking down at the table. “You helped me love again when I hated everyone.”

“Pam.” Fuck, she’s getting misty eyed. 

“I mean it. I was ready to wipe humanity off the map and start over.” She laughs a little, her voice rough as she wipes her cheek with the back of her hand. “But then you came along and nominated yourself my new shrink.”

“Don’t give me all the credit.” Wow, okay. Maybe she’s more than just misty-eyed. “You saved me too. From Mistah Jay. From Bats. From what woulda been a really boring life.”

Ivy’s smile slips slightly. “You’re not gonna die on me, are you Harls?”

Harley squeezes her hand. “Nah. You’re stuck with me.” Her words come out a little thick. “For richer or poorer.” 

Her lover leans in close, capturing her lips in a warm kiss. “That’s usually pretty literal for you.”

“HEY.” 

“It’s true! Guess I’ll have to see if Ace or maybe Lexcorp has any funds they won’t miss. I need to get that ring soon. Garnet? Spinel maybe?”

“Aww, shucks. How am I gonna be surprised now?”

Ivy scoffs. “If it’s a real surprise, it’s not a good time for a proposal.”

“But what if I want to be like those girls in those Tik Toks? Like where you propose to me but like I got my own box in my pocket?”

“Harley. A ring box wouldn’t fit in your tiny ass pockets, and you know it.”

“You know what would fit in my shorts?”

“Harleen Francis Quinzel.” Her laughter dissolves in a kiss and Harley pulls her back to their suite. They got a lot of planning to do. Though Harley has a pretty good feeling they’re not gonna get a whole lot of planning done today. But Harley’s okay with that. Pam’s always been the top of her to-do list anyway.

[hermannsthumb]

From horny twitter: Hermann writes a very very detailed review of a vibrator online

not sfw below cut!!!!!!!!!!! 

----------------------------

Now, usually, Newt doesn’t mess around when he’s on the clock, because that’d be very unprofessional of him and that’s totally not who he is, but he’s in a little bit of a rut with his current project and could use the distraction. Online shopping is his favorite go-to distraction these days: he can lose himself in size charts and color options and hunts for coupon codes and forget, even for a few minutes, that the end of the world is accelerating towards them at an intimidating rate. Plus, he can write off half his shit as work-related expenses. Win-win. Though maybe not this particular search.

Newt has a pretty reliable arsenal of sex toys he’s used on rotation since he packed up and shipped across the world for the PPDC, but the ten-year warranty vibe he’s used since PhD #3 (and his favorite of the bunch) finally crapped out on him last week after a historically intense fight with Hermann got him historically wound up. Eleven years ain’t bad. After testing out a different charger, poking around in the wiring, and even going so far as to zap it a few times with some sorta-stolen drift tech to see if it stirred any life back into it, he finally decided it was time to just mourn, move on, and buy a new one. (Even if, unfortunately, his particular favorite model was discontinued when the company’s factory was destroyed in a kaiju attack and they never quite managed to recover. More casualties of the war.)

The sex toy market is truthfully booming during the apocalypse. It makes sense, Newt guesses—anything for a distraction. Personally, for Newt, orgasms tend to dampen his own existential dread, even if it’s just for a few minutes. He scrolls idly through a few Top Ten For 2023 listicles on various sex magazine websites to see if anything jumps out at him (some of the recommended toys are dildos he already has, and vibes that are a little beyond his k-sci paycheck), just hoping for something to jump out at him. Apparently he missed out on a limited-edition run of jaeger and kaiju-themed vibes and dildos that came out in early January, which he’s honestly a little pissed about—he’s the top expert on kaiju biology, god damn it! Didn’t anyone want to consult with him about their hypothetical junk? Accuracy matters.

“It’s all off,” Newt mutters grumpily as he examines a 360 view of one of the kaiju dildos. Trespasser. “It’s not even the right color. Fucking amateurs. Did they even try?”

“What are you doing?” Hermann says.

Newt slams his laptop shut. Hermann decided to cut his lunch break short today, apparently. “Shopping,” he says.

“You sounded awfully angry about something, is all,” Hermann says. He clacks over to his half of the lab and shrugs off his big parka, then pauses. “Do you need to...talk about it?”

“No,” Newt says.

Hermann breathes out in obvious relief. “Good,” he says.

He takes his usual spot at his chalkboard and resumes his calculating. Newt re-opens his laptop and scrolls away from Trespasser before he can make himself angry over anatomical inaccuracies again. The jaeger vibes from the collection are pretty cool, actually; the designs are a lot cleaner, and their artistic license is a lot more forgivable. The highest-rated of the set is one obviously (but not enough to invoke copyright infringement, if that can even exist for a jaeger) modeled off of Coyote Tango, with like, a million different settings, and an astronomical cost to match. Newt eyes it enviously. He could be shoving that up his ass right now if he’d just signed up for a stupid email list last year.

He follows the link to Amazon to read through some of the reviews enviously, too. Life-changing; best money ever spent; warranty lasts a lifetime. Ten stars across the board. Sold out, obviously. No idea when it’ll be back in stock. He could get the Striker Eureka model for twice the original cost as when it came out, if he wanted, but the idea of constantly having to associate the twenty-something punk Hansen kid with his intimate affairs makes him shudder.

A nine-star review for the Coyote Tango model from someone named MathLover69 is the only one to make Newt really pause, on account of how absolutely insane it is.

I saved quite a few paychecks to purchase this vibrator, and though the cost is steep, I must say it is absolutely worth it. As opposed to my normal vibrator (here another vibe is linked, and Newt’s eyebrows jump at that price, too), which has only five settings, an admittedly bulky body, and average battery life, the CT2023 has a generous ten, a sleeker design, and charges fully in a matter of minutes. The orgasms I have experienced while using it are higher in quality (and more numerous) than any resulting previously from masturbation, though I have not tried beyond setting six yet. It also works wonders for stress relief. (I have an incredibly irritating colleague, and nothing calms me down so much as a quick round with the CT2023 after a spat with him.)

The body is versatile enough to be either inserted into one’s—

Newt feels heat rise to his cheeks in spite of himself, and he skims the second paragraph of MathLover69’s review to get the gist of it—that there are, uh, plenty of ways to utilize the vibe, that it’s discreet and small enough to wear to work (if you were inclined to do so, as MathLover69 implies he might’ve been) and that when combined with the Yamarashi dildo, the pleasurable experience increased tenfold. Talk about oversharing. Jeez.

My only complaint would be that the design is a poor approximation of the real Coyote Tango, and for that I’ve docked a star. I would recommend this product.

“This guy is a total nut,” Newt says to himself.

“Hm?” Hermann says.

Newt considers the implications of showing Hermann the vibrator listing: Hermann will know he was shopping for sex toys, Hermann will know he was shopping for kaiju and jaeger-themed sex toys, Hermann will know he was shopping for kaiju and jaeger-themed sex toys during working hours a mere ten feet away from him. Embarrassing, but on the other hand, MathLover69’s review is too funny to not share with someone else. “Hey, Hermann,” Newt says, angling his laptop towards Hermann. “Look. Who comments shit like this?”

Hermann descends his ladder carefully and inches up behind Newt’s shoulder, squinting at his laptop screen. He immediately turns bright red. Newt must’ve offended his Victorian sensibilities with the mere suggestion of self-abuse. “Oh,” he says. “Er.”

“Way TMI,” Newt says. “Listen to this line. ‘With the Yamarashi toy inserted into one’s mouth, and the CT2023 inserted up one’s—'”

“Well, how else is one meant to review a masturbatory aid?” Hermann snaps, surprising Newt. He looks oddly flustered. “Details can be—er—helpful. Can’t they?”

“Sure, dude,” Newt snorts. “Except they’re obviously just screwing with people. They literally have a 69 in their username.” He taps at the MathLover69, and doesn’t mention—on behalf of Hermann’s delicate mathematician feelings—that the MathLover part is obviously meant as a joke too.

“Well,” Hermann says. “Perhaps it’s just his—er, their birthdate.”

Newt turns around to stare at Hermann, taking in his red cheeks, his red ears, and the gaze he’s fixed steadily on his shoes. It’s all Newt can do to not to gape at him. “Hermann, you’re kidding,” he says. “Right?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Hermann says.

“You didn’t,” Newt says.

“I,” Hermann stammers. “Well—”

“I didn’t even know you—”

“That I what?” Hermann says.

Newt gives a half-shrug. Hermann doesn’t seem the type to engage in any sort of vice, let alone this kind. And especially not with the type of sex toys he apparently gravitates towards. (If Newt was a little bolder, and had a little less shame and care for hygiene, he might ask to check out the Yamarashi, because anatomical inaccuracies aside, wow that sounds awesome.) “I mean, you know,” Newt says. “You’re kinda you. No offense.”

Hermann takes offense. “I am human,” he says. “I am allowed to masturbate, Newton, and I was merely attempting to educate other customers about the—product—with my thoroughness.” He adds, awkwardly, “My review was voted very helpful, as you can see.”

“Okay,” Newt says with a grin. “I get it. Sorry.”

Hermann marches back over to his side of the lab with a scowl. Newt waits until he’s sure Hermann’s not watching him, and is too distracted by muttering angrily under his breath, to bookmark MathLover69’s page of reviews.

It turns out (as Newt revisits the page later that night, in the privacy of his bunk) Hermann buys and reviews a truly staggering amount of dildos and sex toys, and on top of that, has absolutely zero filter behind the wall of anonymity. It’s to the extent that some of his reviews read like goddamn sexts.

It took me three occasions to successfully work myself up to taking in the entire length…

My orgasm was so pleasurable I alarmed my colleague with the noise I made, who believed me to have injured myself…

The highest vibration setting is a bit of a disappointment…

These are excellent for double penetration…

It also turns out Hermann is a veritable sex fiend. Or at least a masturbation fiend. Judging by his reviews alone, Hermann’s purchased more than a dozen different toys in the past three years alone. That’s four a year. One every three months. That’s not even including buttplugs, which (according to other reviews) he sometimes just wears into the lab (“work”) for the hell of it, which Newt isn’t even going to think about right now. How the hell has Hermann kept this much of his life under wraps? When the hell does he have time to jerk off as much as he apparently does? No wonder they never seem to have any fucking funding; all of Hermann’s paychecks are funneled directly into his—well.

Newt recalls the faux-injury incident Hermann mentioned in a comment with mild embarrassment. No wonder Hermann had been so weird and flushed when he opened his door, and made excuses to say bye to him so quickly—Newt just caught him (oh, boy) immediately following the best orgasm of his life. Well, mild embarrassment, and a little more than mild arousal. What Newt would’ve given to have been there five minutes earlier, to watch Hermann in the act of the best orgasm of his life, to maybe even be the one to cause it…

What Newt would give to use Hermann’s fancy-shmancy vibrator on him, or literally anything from his giant masturbatory arsenal. Or even just watch him use it on himself. Hermann’s just so damned buttoned-up and uptight—it’s all about the contradictions. Juxtapositions. Newt unzips his jeans and sticks his hand down his boxers. “Stupid Hermann,” he moans, as he begins to bring himself off to the image of Hermann with that stupid kaiju dildo down his throat and that stupid jaeger vibe up his ass. Negotiator of peace between the two? Stupid joke, stupid Hermann. Or maybe he’s picturing Hermann showing up to the lab, all plugged up and loose from using a different vibe on himself that morning. Or maybe Hermann pushing two dildos into himself at once. How the hell can he even manage that? Ass his size— “Oh, goddamn it,” Newt moans again, and comes all over his hand.

Whatever. It’s not like Hermann’s ever going to find out about this.

[all-things-are-nothing-to-me]

The New Nihilism

It feels increasingly difficult to tell the difference between—on one hand—being old, sick, and defeated, and—on the other hand—living in a time-&-place that is itself senile, tired, and defeated. Sometimes I think it’s just me—but then I find that some younger, healthier people seem to be undergoing similar sensations of ennui, despair, and impotent anger. Maybe it’s not just me.

A friend of mine attributed the turn to disillusion with “everything”, including old-fashioned radical/activist positions, to disappointment over the present political regime in the US, which was somehow expected to usher in a turn away from the reactionary decades since the 1980s, or even a “progress” toward some sort of democratic socialism. Although I myself didn’t share this optimism (I always assume that anyone who even wants to be President of the US must be a psychopathic murderer) I can see that “youth” suffered a powerful disillusionment at the utter failure of Liberalism to turn the tide against Capitalism Triumphalism. The disillusion gave rise to OCCUPY and the failure of OCCUPY led to a move toward sheer negation.

However I think this merely political analysis of the “new nothing” may be too two-dimensional to do justice to the extent to which all hope of “change” has died under Kognitive Kapital and the technopathocracy. Despite my remnant hippy flower- power sentiments I too feel this “terminal” condition (as Nietzsche called it), which I express by saying, only half-jokingly, that we have at last reached the Future, and that the truly horrible truth of the End of the World is that it doesn’t end.

One big J.G. Ballard/Philip K. Dick shopping mall from now till eternity, basically.

This IS the future—how do you like it so far? Life in the Ruins: not so bad for the bourgeoisie, the loyal servants of the One Percent. Air-conditioned ruins! No Ragnarok, no Rapture, no dramatic closure: just an endless re-run of reality TV cop shows. 2012 has come and gone, and we’re still in debt to some faceless bank, still chained to our screens.

Most people—in order to live at all—seem to need around themselves a penumbra of “illusion” (to quote Nietzsche again):—that the world is just rolling along as usual, some good days some bad, but in essence no different now than in 10000 BC or 1492 AD or next year. Some even need to believe in Progress, that the Future will solve all our problems, and even that life is much better for us now than for (say) people in the 5th century AD. We live longer thanx to Modern Science—of course our extra years are largely spent as “medical objects”—sick and worn out but kept ticking by Machines & Pills that spin huge profits for a few megacorporations & insurance companies. Nation of Struldbugs.

True, we’re suffocating in the mire generated by our rule of sick machines under the Numisphere of Money. At least ten times as much money now exists than it would take to buy the whole world—and yet species are vanishing space itself is vanishing, icecaps melting, air and water grown toxic, culture grown toxic, landscape sacrificed to fracking and megamalls, noise-fascism, etc, etc. But Science will cure all that ills that Science has created—in the Future (in the “long run”, when we’re all dead, as Lord Keynes put it); so meanwhile we’ll carry on consuming the world and shitting it out as waste—because it’s convenient & efficient & profitable to do so, and because we like it.

Well, this is all a bunch of whiney left-liberal cliches, no? Heard it before a million times. Yawn. How boring, how infantile, how useless. Even if it were all true... what can we do about it? If our Anointed Leaders can’t or won’t stop it, who will? God? Satan? The “People”?

All the fashionable “solutions” to the “crisis”, from electronic democracy to revolutionary violence, from locavorism to solar-powered dingbats, from financial market regulation to the General Strike—all of them, however ridiculous or sublime, depend on one preliminary radical change—a seismic shift in human consciousness. Without such a change all the hope of reform is futile. And if such a change were somehow to occur, no “reform” would be necessary. The world would simply change. The whales would be saved. War no more. And so on.

What force could (even in theory) bring about such a shift? Religion? In 6,000 years of organized religion matters have only gotten worse. Psychedelic drugs in the reservoirs? The Mayan calendar? Nostalgia? Terror?

If catastrophic disaster is now inevitable, perhaps the “Survivalist” scenario will ensue, and a few brave millions will create a green utopia in the smoking waste. But won’t Capitalism find a way to profit even from the End of the World? Some would claim that it’s doing so already. The true catastrophe may be the final apotheosis of commodity fetishism.

Let’s assume for the sake of argument that this paradise of power tools and back-up alarms is all we’ve got & all we’re going to get. Capitalism can deal with global warming—it can sell water-wings and disaster insurance. So it’s all over, let’s say—but we’ve still got television & Twitter. Childhood’s End—i.e. the child as ultimate consumer, eager for the brand. Terrorism or home shopping network—take yr pick (democracy means choice).

Since the death of the Historical Movement of the Social in 1989 (last gasp of the hideous “short” XXth century that started in 1914) the only “alternative” to Capitalist Neo-Liberal totalitarianism that seems to have emerged is religious neo-fascism. I understand why someone would want to be a violent fundamentalist bigot—I even sympathize—but just because I feel sorry for lepers doesn’t mean I want to be one.

When I attempt to retain some shreds of my former antipessimism I fantasize that History may not be over, that some sort of Populist Green Social Democracy might yet emerge to challenge the obscene smugness of “Money Interests”—something along the lines of 1970s Scandinavian monarcho-socialism—which in retrospect now looks the most humane form of the State ever to have emerged from the putrid suck-hole of Civilization. (Think of Amsterdam in its heyday.) Of course as an anarchist I’d still have to oppose it—but at least I’d have the luxury of believing that, in such a situation, anarchy might actually stand some chance of success. Even if such a movement were to emerge, however, we can rest damn-well assured it won’t happen in the USA. Or anywhere in the ghost-realm of dead Marxism, either. Maybe Scotland!

It would seem quite pointless to wait around for such a rebirth of the Social. Years ago many radicals gave up all hope of The Revolution, and the few who still adhere to it remind me of religious fanatics. It might be soothing to lapse into such doctrinaire revolutionism, just as it might be soothing to sink into mystical religion—but for me at least both options have lost their savor. Again, I sympathize with those true believers (although not so much when they lapse into authoritarian leftism or fascism)— nevertheless, frankly, I’m too depressed to embrace their Illusions.

If the End-Time scenario sketched above be considered actually true, what alternatives might exist besides suicidal despair? After much thought I’ve come up with three basic strategies.

1) Passive Escapism. Keep your head down, don’t make waves. Capitalism permits all sorts of “lifestyles” (I hate that word)—just pick one & try to enjoy it. You’re even allowed to live as a dirt farmer without electricity & infernal combustion, like a sort of secular Amish refusnik. Well, maybe not. But at least you could flirt with such a life. “Smoke Pot, Eat Chicken, Drink Tea,” as we used to say in the 60s in the Moorish Church of America, our psychedelic cult. Hope they don’t catch you. Fit yourself into some Permitted Category such as Neo-Hippy or even Anabaptist.

2) Active Escapism. In this scenario you attempt to create the optimal conditions for the emergence of Autonomous Zones, whether temporary, periodic or even (semi)permanent. In 1984 when I first coined the term Temporary Autonomous Zone (TAZ)

I envisioned it as a complement to The Revolution—although I was already, to be truthful, tired of waiting for a moment that seemed to have failed in 1968. The TAZ would give a taste or premonition of real liberties: in effect you would attempt to live as if the Revolution had already occurred, so as not to die without ever having experienced “free freedom” (as Rimbaud called it, liberte libre). Create your own pirate utopia.

Of course the TAZ can be as brief & simple as a really good dinner party, but the true autonomist will want to maximize the potential for longer & deeper experiences of authentic lived life. Almost inevitably this will involve crime, so it’s necessary to think like a criminal, not a victim. A “Johnson” as Burroughs used to say—not a “mark”. How else can one live (and live well) without Work. Work, the curse of the thinking class. Wage slavery. If you’re lucky enough to be a successful artist, you can perhaps achieve relative autonomy without breaking any obvious laws (except the laws of good taste, perhaps). Or you could inherit a million. (More than a million would be a curse.) Forget revolutionary morality—the question is, can you afford your taste of freedom? For most of us, crime will be not only a pleasure but a necessity. The old anarcho-Illegalists showed the way: individual expropriation. Getting caught of course spoils the whole thing—but risk is an aspect of self-authenticity.

One scenario I’ve imagined for active Escapism would be to move to a remote rural area along with several hundred other libertarian socialists—enough to take over the local government (municipal or even county) and elect or control the sheriffs & judges, the parent/teacher association, volunteer fire department and even the water authority. Fund the venture with cultivation of illegal phantastice and carry on a discreet trade. Organize as a “Union of Egoists” for mutual benefit & ecstatic pleasures—perhaps under the guise of “communes” or even monasteries, who cares. Enjoy it as long as it lasts.

I know for a fact that this plan is being worked on in several places in America—but of course I’m not going to say where.

Another possible model for individual escapists might be the nomadic adventurer. Given that the whole world seems to be turning into a giant parking lot or social network, I don’t know if this option remains open, but I suspect that it might. The trick would be to travel in places where tourists don’t—if such places still exist—and to involve oneself in fascinating and dangerous situations. For example if I were young and healthy I’d’ve gone to France to take part in the TAZ that grew around resistance to the new airport—or to Greece—or Mexico—wherever the perverse spirit of rebellion crops up. The problem here is of course funding. (Sending back statues stuffed with hash is no longer a good idea.) How to pay for yr life of adventure? Love will find a way. It doesn’t matter so much if one agrees with the ideals of Tahrir Square or Zucotti Park—the point is just to be there.

3. Revenge. I call it Zarathustra’s Revenge because as Nietzsche said, revenge may be second rate but it’s not nothing. One might enjoy the satisfaction of terrifying the bastards for at least a few moments. Formerly I advocated “Poetic Terrorism” rather than actual violence, the idea being that art could be wielded as a weapon. Now I’ve rather come to doubt it. But perhaps weapons might be wielded as art. From the sledgehammer of the Luddites to the black bomb of the attentat, destruction could serve as a form of creativity, for its own sake, or for purely aesthetic reasons, without any illusions about revolution. Oscar Wilde meets the acte gratuit: a dandyism of despair.

What troubles me about this idea is that it seems impossible to distinguish here between the action of post-leftist anarcho-nihilists and the action of post-rightist neo-traditionalist reactionaries. For that matter, a bomb may as well be detonated by fundamentalist fanatics—what difference would it make to the victims or the “innocent bystanders”? Blowing up a nanotechnology lab—why shouldn’t this be the act of a desperate monarchist as easily as that of a Nietzschean anarchist?

In a recent book by Tiqqun (Theory of Bloom), it was fascinating to come suddenly across the constellation of Nietzsche, Rene Guenon, Julius Evola, et al. as examples of a sharp and just critique of the Bloom syndrome—i.e., of progress-as-illusion. Of course the “beyond left and right” position has two sides—one approaching from the left, the other from the right. The European New Right (Alain de Benoist & his gang) are big admirers of Guy Debord, for a similar reason (his critique, not his proposals).

The post-left can now appreciate Traditionalism as a reaction against modernity just as the neo-traditionalists can appreciate Situationism. But this doesn’t mean that post-anarchist anarchists are identical with post-fascism fascists!

I’m reminded of the situation in fin-de-siecle France that gave rise to the strange alliance between anarchists and monarchists; for example the Cerce Proudhon. This surreal conjunction came about for two reasons: a) both factions hated liberal democracy, and b) the monarchists had money. The marriage gave birth to weird progeny, such as Georges Sorel. And Mussolini famously began his career as an Individualist anarchist!

Another link between left & right could be analyzed as a kind of existentialism; once again Nietzsche is the founding parent here, I think. On the left there were thinkers like Gide or Camus. On the right, that illuminated villain Baron Julius Evola used to tell his little ultra-right groupuscules in Rome to attack the Modern World—even though the restoraton of tradition was a hopeless dream—if only as an act of magical self-creation. Being trumps essence. One must cherish no attachment to mere results. Surely Tiqqun’s advocacy of the “perfect Surrealist act” (firing a revolver at random into a crowd of “innocent by-standers”) partakes of this form of action-as-despair. (Incidentally I have to confess that this is the sort of thing that has always—to my regret—prevented my embracing Surrealism: it’s just too cruel. I don’t admire de Sade, either.)

Of course, as we know, the problem with the Traditionalists is that they were never traditional enough. They looked back at a lost civilization as their “goal” (religion, mysticism, monarchism, arts-&-crafts, etc.) whereas they should have realized that the real tradition is the “primordial anarchy” of the Stone Age, tribalism, hunting/gathering, animism—what I call the Neanderthal Liberation Front. Paul Goodman used the term “Neolithic Conservatism” to describe his brand of anarchism—but “Paleolithic Reaction” might be more appropriate!

The other major problem with the Traditionalist Right is that the entire emotional tone of the movement is rooted in self-repression. Here a rough Reichean analysis suffices to demonstrate that the authoritarian body reflects a damaged soul, and that only anarchy is compatible with real self-realization.

The European New Right that arose in the 90s still carries on its propaganda—and these chaps are not just vulgar nationalist chauvenist anti-semitic homophobic thugs—they’re intellectuals & artists. I think they’re evil, but that doesn’t mean I find them boring. Or even wrong on certain points. They also hate the nanotechnologists!

Although I attempted to set off a few bombs back in the 1960s (against the war in Vietnam) I’m glad, on the whole, that they failed to detonate (technology was never my metier). It saves me from wondering if I would’ve experienced “moral qualms”. Instead I chose the path of the propagandist and remained an activist in anarchist media from 1984 to about 2004. I collaborated with the Autonomedia publishing collective, the IWW, the John Henry Mackay Society (Left Stirnerites) and the old NYC Libertarian Book Club (founded by comrades of Emma Goldman, some of whom I knew, & who are now all dead). I had a radio show on WBAI (Pacifica) for 18 years. I lectured all over Europe and East Europe in the 90s. I had a very nice time, thank you. But anarchism seems even farther off now than it looked in 1984, or indeed in 1958, when I first became an anarchist by reading George Harriman’s Krazy Kat. Well, being an existentialist means you never have to say you’re sorry.

In the last few years in anarchist circles there’s appeared a trend “back” to Stirner/Nietzsche Individualism—because after all, who can take revolutionary anarcho-communism or syndicalism seriously anymore? Since I’ve adhered to this Individualist position for decades (although tempered by admiration for Charles Fourier and certain “spiritual anarchists” like Gustave Landauer) I naturally find this trend agreeable.

“Green anarchists” & AntiCivilization Neo-primitivists seem (some of them) to be moving toward a new pole of attraction, nihilism. Perhaps neo-nihilism would serve as a better label, since this tendency is not simply replicating the nihilism of the Russian narodniks or the French attentatists of circa 1890 to 1912, however much the new nihilists look to the old ones as precursors. I share their critique—in fact I think I’ve been mirroring it to a large extent in this essay: creative despair, let’s call it. What I do not understand however is their proposal—if any. “What is to be done?” was originally a nihilist slogan, after all, before Lenin appropriated it. I presume that my option #1, passive escape, would not suit the agenda. As for Active Escapism, to use the suffix “ism” implies some form not only of ideology but also some action. What is the logical outcome of this train of thought?

As an animist I experience the world (outside Civilization) as essentially sentient. The death of God means the rebirth of the gods, as Nietzsche implied in his last “mad” letters from Turin— the resurrection of the great god PAN—chaos, Eros, Gaia, & Old Night, as Hesiod put it—Ontological anarchy, Desire, Life itself, & the Darkness of revolt & negation—all seem to me as real as they need to be.

I still adhere to a certain kind of spiritual anarchism—but only as heresy and paganism, not as orthodoxy and monotheism. I have great respect for Dorothy Day—her writing influenced me in the 60s—and Ivan Illich, whom I knew personally—but in the end I cannot deal with the cognitive dissonance between anarchism and the Pope! Nevertheless I can believe in the re-paganaziation of monotheism. I hold to this pagan tradition because I sense the universe as alive, not as “dead matter.” As a life-long psychedelicist I have always thought that matter & spirit are identical, and that this fact alone legitimizes what Theory calls “desire”.

From this p.o.v. the phrase “revolution of everyday life” still seems to have some validity—if only in terms of the second proposal, Active Escapism or the TAZ. As for the third possibility— Zarathustra’s Revenge—this seems like a possible path for the new nihilism, at least from a philosophical perspective. But since I am unable personally to advocate it, I leave the question open.

But here—I think—is the point at which I both meet with & diverge from the new nihilism. I too seem to believe that Predatory Capitalism has won and that no revolution is possible in the classical sense of that term. But somehow I can’t bring myself to be “against everything.” Within the Temporary Autonomous Zone there still seems to persist the possibility of “authentic life,” if only for a moment—and if this position amounts to mere Escapism, then let us become Houdini. The new surge of interest in Individualism is obviously a response to the Death of the Social. But does the new nihilism imply the death even of the individual and the “union of egoists” or Nietzschean free spirits? On my good days, I like to think not.

No matter which of the three paths one takes (or others I can’t yet imagine) it seems to me that the essential thing is not to collapse into mere apathy. Depression we may have to accept, impotent rage we may have to accept, revolutionary pessimism we may have to accept. But as e.e. cummings (anarchist poet) said, there is some shit we will not take, lest we simply become the enemy by default. Can’t go on, must go on. Cultivate rosebuds, even selfish pleasures, as long as a few birds & flowers still remain. Even love may not be impossible...

[thotsforvillainrights]

~Pivitol~

Summary: Life is good when you do good, or when you see good. When you act in good...put good in, get good out. However, the devil has a funny way at sending temptation right to your doorway. Unfortunately for Kai, he answered that call.

Chapter: 12

Warnings: None

“Are you going to stand around all day and watch me dust pictures and shelves?”

“Oh well...no but...”

“But?”

“Uh nothing. I suppose I just don’t feel like going back to work when you’re around. Honestly having you here feels like a mini vacation for me.”

“I’m glad you think that way about me but I don’t think Pops will be so happy to know his successor is slacking off on the job. If the yakuza is anything like the books and the movies, you should be out running the streets and doing gangster stuff by now haha!”

“Yeah but the times have changed.” He leaned against the walls and watched you go to town with the duster, never missing a single inch or corner. “Lately we were struggling to keep afloat upon staying relevant with the coming age of heroes and villains. At one point, the Hassaikai was almost nothing. Given some time and effort, I’ve just barely managed to drag us from the shadows with other groups following our path as well. It doesn’t even feel like we’re gangsters anymore. The only thing we do now are shakedowns and such. Sometimes it comes with the occasional turf war here and there. A few groups still push product here and there...yknow...drugs. But us? We’re damn near a charity organization now. I do a shit ton of paperwork and taxes. We donate to parts of the city and make sure the streets we own stay clear of any unfamiliar threats. I can’t say I enjoy the philanthropic changes but anything is better than letting the organization sink. Besides, Pops is pleased to know we’ve changed direction nowadays too.”

“You know, I’m glad too. Now please go to work.” He just barely dodged the playful jab at his sides. He smiled, bid his goodbyes, and headed down to the lower part of the base as usual. Upon entry he was already greeted by Chrono with a suitcase of what he assumed had to be either money or more paperwork. “Overhaul, you’re a bit late for once huh? It’s usually me haha.” Chrono joked and Kai sighed. “You’re rather bold to comment on my time frame when you came in an hour late last Friday under the excuse that you were stuck in traffic.” He spoke and walked, grabbing the suitcase and mentally taking note of it’s weight.

Money this time. How delightful. Perhaps he could buy you a nice gift to thank you for always spending time with him?

“Hey! I’ll have you know that I wasn’t lying about that traffic dude. It was absolute ass the entire drive. Well anyway, there’s some guy waiting on your line. He’s been waiting for you for almost 30 minutes. He said it was something important about a business proposition or whatever? Anyway, he must be telling the truth for him to actually stay on the line that long.”

“And why didn’t you link him my cellphone line then, if it was so important?”

“Pshhh, and risk having you on my ass for giving out your personal number? No way in hell. Anyway, let me know later what it is. I’m going to be heading out with Hojo, Tabe, and Setsuno today to make peace with that group on the west end of the city that keeps threating our men. Catch you later.” And just like that, Hari was gone and on his way out of the hall. Kai took a second to gather himself and placed the suitcase down next to his desk before answering the phone. “Hello, is this Chisaki Kai?” 

“This is he. Who are you and what can I help you with.” He mentally groaned at the incoming conversation. One could only hope it’s not another bum looking to get in on their terf, or some sort of tax collector from the IRS. “Glad I can finally make your acquaintance Mr. Chisaki. This is Tado of the Matsufuda branch. I was actually hoping to come and meet you in person but one of your main men told me now wouldn’t be a good time seeing as the old boss is out on business and you’re all alone.” The man chuckled and Kai squinted his eyes in speculation. “What is that supposed to mean then? Did you figure I couldn’t balance things without Pops being here? Need I remind you who you’re talking to?” He started to heat up until the man on the other line laughed. “Now now, no need to get testy so soon boy! The suitcase, do you have it?” Kai paused and looked down at the case in curiosity. “Yes. Was it you that sent this?” He asked, eyeing the case intently. “Correct. Inside that case you will not only find a gift from us, but you will also find it to be a wonderful new business venture as well. I have the utmost confidence it will double the Hassaikai’s monetary wealth in no time while also producing quite a bit of street credit.” The man rambled on while Kai was cautiously opening the case. 

Not money on the inside but...pills???

“What the hell is this supposed to be, a joke?”

“No joke Mr. Chisaki! It’s the future is what it is! My organization has developed a new drug and we predict it will be the craze among the youth around here. After creating it, we sent it on a trial test run throughout the nearby city. Our plan was to sell for more than it had cost us to make the drug. The money we got was outstanding in return. Just from the test trial alone, we gained almost triple back in funds. More money than we’d ever make following this new peaceful ‘grey area’ path your group has set in stone. What I’ve included in the case is more than enough of the new drug for your group to distribute on your end of the city. Charge more than retail, get us our percent of the money and you guys keep the rest. It’s genius! What do you say?”

“...I’m sorry...I don’t deal drugs anymore. You’ll have to ask a different person for this.” Just before he was about to hang up the phone, the man stopped him. “WAIT! Just hear me out. How about this eh? What about you keep the suitcase full and keep ALL of the profit you make from it then? It will be like a free sample of course. Once you see how much it benefits you, then you can contact me for a new run. How is that?” A long pause with no answer. Was he really sitting here and thinking about this right now? He had only been clean from selling drugs and such for a month or two. In that time, it was you that made him want to stop all of this. Since the moment he met you, he slowly began to change his path...his very steps. Yet...here temptation was knocking on his door. He paused to do the math and there was no question that the money that would come in would be more than they could make in a month on their own. It would be a nice little bonus in the pockets of his men as well. “Just get back to me when you run out. Tell me what you think then.” The line hung up and went idle. Kai mindlessly hung up the phone but his eyes never left the case. He stared at the tiny pink pills for what seemed like ages before finally snapping out of it.

“Just a weeks worth of pushing it. We’ll see where it goes from there.”

»—————————–———————————————————–✄

TIp Jar: https://cash.app/$YuTakeyama

[electra-xt]

I’ve been following you since around the end of TUA Season 2 and I honestly can’t tell whether you really love Iron Man or really hate Iron Man

Every time you post about Tony Stark I squint at my screen like an old man figuring out the new iPhone his niece just bought him

yes

the answer is that i really love iron man but really hate what a lot of writers do to iron man! i fell HARD in love with everything tony stark when i was 16 and i still find the core emotional premise of tony stark profoundly compelling. in general, i'm drawn to fictional stories of people reckoning with existing power and influence more than i'm drawn to underdogs. and he built his own mechanical heart!!! he literally flies too close to the sun!!! he's motivated by deep sorrow but is also sharp and cynical and perceptive!!! this is my shit!!! for about 2 years i adored everything iron man and i read (and wrote!) metric tons of tony stark fic. i was also a dramatic teenager going through some shit so i would stand in the kitchen with my side-effect-causing nighttime pills in my hand and think to myself, you are running out of both time and options. the device that is keeping you alive is also killing you. so whatever opinions i have about iron man will always come from the place of having at one point deeply loved and found meaning in tony stark as a character! but also, it's been a couple years and that is about the length of time i last in any fandom, so my feelings have shifted and changed over time :)

i have not watched all the mcu movies; i haven't even fully watched all the ones with tony in them. i have read a non-zero amount of comics ranging from 1963 avengers to tony stark: iron man (2018). i ingested so much fanfiction that my veins ran with it. at some point in july 2018 i looked up from the ao3 tabs on my phone and realized i was in a batteries plus store waiting for my mom to be finished buying batteries and i was also at that moment reading a fic about tony and steve growing old and dealing with the changes in their lifestyle and relationship and i was like "oh i'm OBSESSED obsessed here." my favorite mcu movies are iron man and avengers 1. my favorite comics arcs are the second drinking arc from the 80s, ultimates 1 and 2, and every single issue of squirrel girl. my favorite fanfiction is by sineala, isozyme, a user who is clearly a throwaway sock, and this one orphaned fic that haunts my dreams. i wrote two fics set in the ults verse before the tua obsession set in!

unfortunately the marvel canon is so enormous, so male, and so disney-driven that the amount of non-character-focused influences is kind of dizzying and gives me whiplash. i used to stand in target in the pantry aisle and stared at the iron man® raspberry jello on the shelf and think... this is the guy i read 90k word painstakingly developed fics about? this is the guy who canonically pushes people away and drinks to excess and hurts people with his words and pulls all nighters trying to fix the damage he's done to the world but deep down he's powered by guilt that he'll never outrun? and he is on jello? they put him on jello? you can buy tony stark at target and eat him?

because it isn't tony stark the battered rehabilitated hero who is on the jello... and it isn't tony stark the battered rehabilitated hero who is in the recent comics... and by endgame, it wasn't even tony stark the battered rehabilitated hero in the movies, either. the mcu so thoroughly processed tony stark over a decade of profits and focus groups and military funds and robert downey jr.'s increasing power in the direction of the mcu that i feel like the character ended up warping into something i liked a lot less. i don't really mind that he died in endgame, but i'm not a fan of his story with pepper and morgan either. i wish that he had been able to retain some of the bite to his character and i feel like there was SO MUCH potential there that just could not have been used because of their thematic constraints... and also for like 13 years now the tony stark solo comics have been shit because he's the most popular mcu character so they keep bringing on big names to write for iron man and the big name authors are all like "aha! what if i deconstructed iron man?" and everyone who actually likes the character is like no PLEASE don't. it sucks man. plus there's only ever been one woman who wrote an official iron man storyline in anything, and that was a two-issue tie-in to a crossover event. i don't honestly have a lot of faith that anything cool or unusual will be done with iron man for the indefinite future unless they hire new people to write him who have a different perspective and a different agenda than the writers have now.

so it feels like tony stark is wired into a really big machine and i like tony stark and i like parts of the machine but also god i wish he were not in the machine! i don't like the machine! if i am ever in a marvel mood, i will scamper around scavenging fics and relishing good takes that make me happy. and in tribute to my past self, i still own this and i will probably keep it on my bookshelf forever, because sometimes...

deep down...

iron man good

[pebblysand]

OF CRYSTAL ROSES (EXTENDED AUTHOR’S NOTE OF CHAPTER VI. OF CASTLES)

-- TO READ THE CHAPTER ITSELF, SEE HERE ON AO3 --

well, well, well. here we are. spoiler alert, gryffindors make plans they don’t stick to, lolz. all the good intentions in the world, i had. study, i said i would. yet, here were find ourselves, eighteen thousand words later. this appears to be how i roll. slept about five hours last night, too, so apologies if i’m slightly non-sensical/rambly. this chapter ought to be sponsored by deliveroo and teapigs tea, a brand of tea that appeared in my local supermarket a few moths ago and that i steadily refused to buy because - can tea really be worth this much? low and behold, once you’ve tried it once, it appears to be addictive. i’ve, while writing this chapter, worked my way through about four packs of their different teas - they are just this good. i have a job interview tomorrow so wish me luck in gaining employment which will hopefully fund my expensive habits.

now, before we get into the nitty gritty of the chapter, itself, i just needed to say this: i cannot thank everyone enough for the incredible response on last chapter. i’d kind of grown accustomed to getting a couple of reviews for each of them and to writing in my little corner of the internet but boy, you guys are bloody legends! i am so overwhelmed with gratitude for everyone who commented, kudo-ed and generally gave love to this fic in general. i really didn’t expect such a response and it’s meant the world to me. i think it’s probably also the reason why i’m posting so early because i kept being like, god, i can’t leave this many people waiting in this cliffhanger hell. i think this chapter ends on a more positive note (although, i’ll let you judge), one that might be more conducive of a few weeks’ wait (more on that below), haha.

this being said, as i explained on here before, i come from very tiny fandoms where basically everyone knows each other and the number of people reading would usually fit in my flat. the fact that over 80 people are now subscribed to this fic just blows my fucking mind. you’re all magnificent and i love you. i try to respond to all the comments so let’s keep chatting if you feel like it (although, no pressure - comment if you want to, but do know that it makes me very happy when you do :)). you’re all fabulous and i wish you all the best!

anyway, spoilers for castles, chapter vi under the cut.

guys, guys, guys, i am so tired. i’ve spent four days editing almost 20,000 words and my brain is fried. but, we are officially at the halfway point of this story, yaaaay!!! my plan, at this point, is that we’ll have six chapters on each side but even if i do end up splitting this one later (more on this below) i’ll end up with seven chapters on each side so either way - yay to the end of act 1!

i think that’s also why i tried to turn this chapter around this quickly. to me, i always kind of saw this fic as having two parts. part 1: the immediate post-war aftermath with the heartache and the love-fast/burn-fast start to harry/ginny. part 2: a slow and actually healthy rebuild of their relationship, and of the world around them. i have genuinely been writing towards that last harry/ginny scene in this chapter for months. it feels like such a relief to finally have that weight off my shoulders. and i actually do think it’ll allow me to focus on study later. act one is finished, and act two can wait a bit, i suppose.

now, obviously, given that i already apologised last time, part of me still wants to apologise for the length of this chapter, even more so, actually. it sits at about 18,000 words which, by nanowrimo’s standards, is over a third of a full book, wtf. yet, you guys also said last time that you didn’t actually mind long chapters, so perhaps i shouldn’t beat myself up too much?

as i said in the a/n, this is a little bit of different set up than chapter v. though. i know exactly where to split this. as you’ve probably seen by now, there’s a very natural split point after harry has his breakdown on the couch with ginny, before Christmas properly "starts." the reason i didn’t split this one there, though is: a) selfish: i needed to get this out. stop working on it. i need to study. when it’s out, i’m not thinking about it anymore. it would have been a bit non sensical to split this just for the sake of it and post two chapters at once, which means i probably would have held onto the second part for another couple of weeks, and fuck that. additionally, b) you may not have noticed this but: the chapter titles rhyme. why did i bring this additional difficulty upon myself, i do not fucking know. especially because i will soon run out of one-word construction materials to draw from, lol. as a result, though, i need an even number of chapters to close out this story and because i’m sort of planning six chapters from now to the end (more on that below) i can’t really split this one right now. like, if i end up with another overlong chapter in the next few months, i probably will take that opportunity and go back and split this one, just for readability. but at this stage, at this stage, because i don’t know how many chapters i’ll have for act two (six or seven), i’m keeping this chapter like this for the time being. i kind of hope i end up with seven chapters on the other side and am able to split this one down the line, but we will see. in the meantime, my most sincere apologies to the folks who read fanfiction before bed and it’s now 4 am by the time you’ve finished this. i’ve been there before, believe me.

from a personal standpoint, though, i have to say, this chapter (compared to the last one) was incredibly easy to write. i think i’d spent so much time imagining and writing these scenes in my head as kind of a culminating point for the first half of the story, that it quite simply poured out. i did have a little bit of an everything is shit crisis yesterday and today, but sure look, that always happens. overall, i am quite happy - i think - with the end result.

now, when i say "easy to write" i mean, technically, easy to find words to write down what was in my head. i do not mean: easy to write on an emotional level. oh boy. i’m generally not a crier. i have been asked, a number of times, by people who said my writing made them cry: do you cry when you write, too? and my answer was always ‘no’. i don’t judge, but i’m just not that kind of person. i know people who cry every day but personally, we are in the middle of a pandemic, my father recently passed away, i’ve lost my job and am studying for an exam my life is pretty dependent upon, and i haven’t cried in months. yet, i swear, there were a couple of times, both writing this and editing it, when i had to step away from the screen because i could feel a lump in my throat. that had never happened to me before. i didn’t, like, bawl or anything but god i felt it. i don’t know if it’s because it’s my first time killing an oc, someone who was really mine but boy. giulia. i kept trying to find ways not to kill her, or apologising to her. to me, she’s tom’s last victim and that really, fucking hurts. if you’re hurting too, i don’t really know what to tell you. i’m sorry, i suppose. her death was needed for … plot purposes, lol. god, i’m the worst haha.

re:harry/ginny: i must say i really like where they end up, at the end of this. i had planned this to a certain extent. i was always under the impression that they would talk over christmas, but not get back together. however, the reason why they weren’t getting back together, in my head, was initially quite different. i initially didn’t have ginny dating someone else. i think i mentioned i was toying with the idea in the a/n for last chapter, but at the time i wasn’t truly sold on it. then, i ended up writing the scene i’d originally planned for them and it didn’t quite fit. what i’d planned, at the time, felt rather ooc for ginny when actually on paper. on the other hand, harry, under my fingertips, kept trying to kiss her and i kept hitting the delete button. i swear, i know it sounds weird to people who might not be writers but sometimes, your characters really do seem to have their own agendas. when i caved, let him kiss her, then the scene took on a different meaning, and, i hope, a better one. i think something clicked there and it feels like a good place for act one to end. obviously, they’ll get back together cause this follows cannon so you know, not much suspense there. it’s more about the how than the what, to me.

re:ginny’s letters: this idea came to me a while ago, actually. i was thinking that they’d need to talk about what happened last year, but i was kind of struggling on the how. having character a tell a story to character b is always a bit difficult, in writing, because it can quickly end up being boring. like, when ginny tells harry about christmas last year and lupin, in this chapter, telling that in dialogue is already rather long an laborious, and it’s overall such a short story. for harry, it’s easy. i’m in his head so he can just say ‘he told her about the hallows’ and the dialogue can be about their reaction, rather than the events itself. but ginny, she needs to share facts, as well as feelings. and doing that through long monologues just didn’t appeal. first, it’s quickly boring and second, it’s also kind of ooc. she’s not giulia, you see.

i did entertain the idea of completely skimming past it. ‘she told him about last year and he was horrified.’ - moving on. but, i don’t know, that didn’t feel quite right either, because i think they need to exchange, and talk, and that just felt like a copout. also, to be honest, it’s a very difficult story to tell. like, i’ve seen people in fics being like ‘so, harry sat down all of the weasleys and told them everything the trio did in seventh year,’ and i’m like that’s so difficult, though. sitting someone down and telling them all about your trauma, with little preamble, just setting it all out there, i can’t imagine ginny (or, frankly, most people) actually doing that, you know? we reveal bits of ourselves bit by bit, not all at once.

then, it hit me: she’s a writer, isn’t she? at least, she is canonically in first year, with not only the diary but also the poems, then writing for the prophet. obviously, the diary thing would have riled her up a bit but i do think in the end, she would probably have been like: no, i won’t let him take writing away from me, you know? so yeah, letters. daily letters. you won’t see all of them in next chapter, but probably quotes from the most important ones, things that harry reads. that’s where he gets his facts about her story last year, and then they can focus on their feelings about it. fab! something to look forward to, haha.

now, re: the future. as i said, we are entering act two. act two will gradually become more "fun" and fluffy, i suppose, but i won’t lie, we will be keeping the same happy/sad vibe that a lot of you have commented on with this fic. it exists for a reason (as i said, life is about sex, but it’s also about funerals). as i said before, this fic is, above all, an exploration of what ‘all was well’ actually means.

this being said, this isn’t an 8th year fic. there is a very specific future pov from which this fic is being narrated, and that’s in october 2027 (i know, precise). obviously i have 28 years to get through in act two so that will affect the way that the timeline is designed. it will obviously be more spread out, especially in the later chapters. this being said, while i have about a million of ideas for all the space in between and a very clear view of what the last chapter will be, the exact layout of each chapter is still slightly blurry. i haven’t sat down to put all my ideas in chronological order yet, as well as into some sort of chapter structure, which is also why i can’t really tell if it’ll be six or seven chapters in the end. all of this to say, there’s still quite a bit of work to be done.

this means that, as i said in the a/n, i don’t think you’ll get next chapter until at least, may. please don’t think that this means i’ll be abandoning this fic or anything, it’s just that i’ll be doing work you probably won’t see. i’m probably going to take the rest of march off writing to study (bar maybe a roar-series Harry&Hermione friendship one shot? maybe) then take april to plan and write as much of the next chapters i possibly can. ideally, by the end of april i can have a first draft of the whole thing. i desperately want to write as much as i can now that I’m jobless in the hopes that when i do find a job (again, interview tomorrow, pray for me), i can just have editing to do at the weekends. but we all know i relate to harry on a very deep level when he says ‘when have our plans ever worked, anyway?’ so we will see, haha.

anyway, these were all the thoughts off the top of my head, re: this chapter. if you have any questions or other things you’d like me to ramble about, feel free to send in questions, my ask box is always open. i know i probably think about this fic (and hp) way too much but i’m an extrovert and my hobbies used to include travelling, pints at the pub, dating and, well, there’s none of that anymore, is there, lol? the uk has stolen our vaccines (fucking brexit) so here’s to being obsessed with fictional worlds i wish i could live in for a while longer,

i will now go and endlessly refresh my email for reviews and kudos, like the attention seeking basic bitch i am haha.

have a fab evening, everyone!

[rapperkookz]

broadcasted | jhs | fluff, slight angst

summary: after a fight with your boyfriend, you suck up your pride and try to apologize to him, if only he would stop giving you the silent treatment.

genre: fluff, slight angst

word count: 2.6k ________________________________________________

Your POV

It took a lot to get your boyfriend angry. Understandably so, he was the embodiment of sunshine, an angel sent from heaven above. You know when he called your name, all looks of love and kindness in his eyes gone, did you fuck up badly.

In your defense, it wasn’t your fault. You both went to a university where money meant status, so when a friend of yours had the audacity to look down upon Hoseok because of his lack of wealth in comparison to the two of you, long story short: you went batshit ruthless. 

You could recall the situation vividly, the memory only two days ago and still a fresh wound causing a strain in your relationship with Hoseok.

~

“Why do you keep checking your phone? Hoseok hasn’t texted you back yet?”

You nodded, a pout playing on your lips as you rested your head on your palm, “He has a big exam for his philosophy class that he was worrying about, I wonder how it went.”

“I guess he has to study hard huh? Sucks to actually have to work just so he can survive after university.” Your friend quipped backhandedly. You furrowed your eyebrows, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m just saying y/n. We have trust funds and inheritance from our families, even if we fail all our classes, we’re already set for life. Hoseok has to actually study and work hard to keep his scholarship here and somehow get a good paying job after we graduate. I don’t know why you’re dating him of all people in his friend group.” 

“Why are you saying him like he’s less than us? I never thought I deserved better than Hoseok, Yoo Jeongyeon. Take it back right now.” You said offended. Jeongyeon only shrugged, “I mean, he is less than us y/n. He won’t amount to anything close to what we will end up doing in the future.”

“Hoseok may not come from our background, but at least his family isn’t full of cheaters and filthy tax evaders, you ignorant bitch.” You practically snarled at your so-called friend, “And who are you to talk to me about my relationship and who I date? You can’t even keep a boyfriend for more than a month, why huh? Cheating runs in your blood?”

At this point, the crowd of students around your table were giving the two of you looks, whispering no doubt about your argument. Family matters were a sensitive topic for everyone, especially those of you with a high-ranking lineage. Anything said can be used as an attack and can ruin reputation with a snap of a finger. Jeongyeon looked around embarrassed, unsure of what to say in response to your words. She scoffed after a few seconds, “You’re right. My family is full of cheaters, but in the end you probably will do the same once you realize that Hoseok isn’t good enough for you. Let’s be real, he’s only using you for your money-”

You couldn’t help yourself at this point, immediately reaching forward and taking a fistful of her hair, the girl yelping in surprise. You were beyond angry at this point, your blood boiling. You tugged harshly, “Take it back, you have no fucking right to-”

“y/n stop!” Your boyfriend said shocked as he and one of his friends, Namjoon, came into view, quickly separating the two of you. “Jeongyeon, are you okay?”

“Don’t fucking talk to her Hoseok, she’s a two-headed snake, that bitch-”

“I’ll fucking sue you, y/n!”

“Do it! Talk to my fucking lawyer. Can’t promise you’ll get what you want since your family’s dealing with your father’s sexual assault lawsuit, right?” You said with a mean smirk, unphased as Jeongyeon’s eyes started to water. Hoseok gripped your hand, “that’s enough, y/n.”

You were still fuming as Hoseok pulled you away from the scene, telling Namjoon that he would catch up with him later, as Hoseok led you to his car so that you two could talk without ears listening in. “Seok, why did you stop me? Jeongyeon was talking shit and badmouthing you right to my face-”

“That doesn’t give you the permission to pull her hair out, y/n.” He said staring at the dashboard, trying to collect his thoughts. You couldn’t believe his lack of anger, why wasn’t he as mad as you?

“She fucking said you didn’t deserve me and that you wouldn’t amount to anything close to us after graduation, the fucking audacity-”

“She’s right,” He said cutting you off, much to your surprise, “I don’t deserve you and I probably won’t succeed as much as you would, the fact that you’re angry about it means you’re embarrassed. How did you manage to date me for this long if you were ashamed of our different wealth classes?”

“What?” You said in disbelief, “Jung Hoseok do you even know what you’re saying right now? I’m not ashamed or embarrassed of you! Our different backgrounds don’t mean anything to me at all—what, why are you angry at me? It was Jeongyeon who fucking started it!”

“You didn’t have to roast the living shit out of her because she insulted me. I thought you would have been the bigger person and that you don’t bring family matters into arguments. I’m just disappointed that I had to see you act like that.” He said pinching the bridge of his nose. You called his name, shocked at the emotionless gaze he gave you, one you’ve never seen before. You scoffed, opening the passenger door, “I can’t believe you’re mad at me right now. I’ll see you later, I’ll ask my chauffeur to drive me home.”

~

And that’s how you ended up here. It’s been two days since you’ve seen each other besides passing the grounds at university, both of you quickly averting eyes after a glance at the latter. You didn’t regret what you did or said to Jeongyeon, considering you were only defending your boyfriend and your relationship. Still, you couldn’t help but at least feel guilty towards Hoseok, and towards his disappointment in you. He wasn’t a fighter, peace and fairness was in his nature, so to see you get physical like that, you suppose he had every right to feel the way he did.

You tried calling and apologizing to him hours after the altercation, but were met with missed calls and messages left on read. Not going to lie, you were hurt, but he did nothing wrong, it was all on you to self reflect and bridge your relationship.

“Have you tried buying him dinner? What about that steakhouse we love?” Jimin asked as you sat with him and Yoongi in the eldest’s studio. You scoffed and threw your Apple pencil at the boy. “I’m not going to buy his forgiveness with money, Park. He’s not materialistic like you.”

“Maybe not, but he has rich taste like the rest of us. I know your boyfriend like the back of my hand y/n, I am his roommate after all.” Jimin said. You rolled your eyes, Jimin was how you and Hoseok met in the first place. You and the boy met as children, your parents being business partners—and by now, in-laws since your elder brother and his sister were married last year in order to merge companies and raise stock prices.

“Don’t listen to him, y/n.” Yoongi chuckled lightly hitting the back of Jimin’s head. “Hoseok’s just been thinking, he’s not actually mad at you. It’s just a bit hard for him to comprehend since he’s never been in a situation like this before.”

“I told him, Yoongi. I don’t care about his status or how wealthy his family is, I just care about...him.” You sulked, feeling frustrated with yourself. Yoongi gave you a sympathetic smile, “Don’t take this the wrong way y/n, we all know you don’t think of Hoseok any different like the rest of us. But he gets insecure and inferior, you don’t get any shit because you’re the one with a higher economic status. Hoseok gets the short end of the stick in situations like this. Now c’mon, we’re airing in three minutes.”

Yoongi was the dj for the most popular podcast on campus. Students from all majors listened in because of his impeccable music taste, blunt personality, and charming voice. You and the other boys in their friend group guest-starred often, Yoongi only letting his close friends join in on his fun every Thursday afternoon.

“So he’s mentioned me at least?” You whined at the two, the boys chuckling and conspiring amongst themselves much to your oblivion. You were starting to go crazy, missing Hoseok so much and craving to at least hear his voice.

---

“Huh? Yoongi hyung’s airing already? Isn’t it a bit early?” Jungkook said turning up the volume of the speaker as he, Namjoon, Seokjin, Taehyung, and Hoseok lounged around Seokjin’s living room.

“Yeah, I guess so.” Taehyung nodded in curiousity, “Aren’t Jimin-ie and y/n guests today?”

Hoseok nodded, of course he missed you like crazy too, but it was endearing to him whenever he read your texts of apology and listening to the guys tell their encounters with you over the past two days, making cute excuses to try and get him to notice you. “Just talk to y/n already, dumbass.” Seokjin remarked from the side. “You’re not doing either of you any good by ignoring ‘em, y/n apologized already too.”

“I know, I just think y/n’s cute when they’re pouty.” Hoseok grinned fondly.

“Hm? Wait everyone shut up-”

“Jimin please, tell Seok-ie that I’m sorry and that I’m self reflecting! I feel like I’m suffocating and Hoseok’s my air, I can’t breathe without him! Why are you two laughing—oh my God the light is on, are we live right now?! Min Yoongi I’m going to fucking kill you-”

“Alright everybody welcome to your weekly dose of D2, I’m DJ Suga as you all know, and we have two special guests today, my dear friends Jimin and y/n-ow! Stop hitting me!”

“Oooh,” Jungkook snickered as the four boys started teasing Hoseok, an embarrassed blush on your boyfriend’s cheeks at your accidental live confession.

--

“And that’s it for today’s podcast, my favorite fuckers. We’re closing off today with Missing You by BtoB because y/n misses Hoseok. Make up already please, I think I embarrassed y/n enough for a lifetime-”

“I will never forget you did this to me,”

“See you next time on D2 everyone! Have a good night, don’t max out your bank accounts, and remember, I’m single.” Jimin said flirtatiously as Yoongi cut off the mics and started playing the song. God you feel like you aged ten years after this thirty minute podcast, you had no doubt that Hoseok heard your confession, you were pretty sure everyone heard your confession. There wasn’t a single student you knew of that didn’t listen in to Yoongi’s podcast every week.

“I did you a favor y/n, c’mon. There’s no way Hoseok would keep ignoring you after that.” Yoongi said lightheartedly. You grimaced at him, running your hands through your hair in stress. Swiftly, Jimin grabbed your phone and bag, “You’re coming with us to Seokjin hyung’s, in-law. No backing out because I have your stuff, time to face your boyfriend.”

You tried retaliating but were urged to follow them to Yoongi’s car anyway, your desire to see your boyfriend trumping your humiliation. The ride from Yoongi’s studio to Seokjin’s hotel flew by, your mind coming up with all kinds of scenarios and preparing for the worst as you walked towards Seokjin’s hotel room.

“Ah here’s our favorite DJ,” Seokjin said excitedly as the three of you entered. “Gotta say, this week’s podcast was one of your best ones Yoongi.”

You shot the eldest a look, glancing at the rest of the bodies that were dispersed in the living room. Immediately you met eyes with your boyfriend, body freezing as you stuttered and excused yourself to the bathroom.

“Go get ‘em tiger,” Jimin snickered as he patted Hoseok on the back, the boy grinning as he walked in the direction you went off. Seokjin crossed his arms, “Just don’t fuck in my bathroom, please—actually, if you do, just let me fucking know so I can get the cleaners to disinfect that place.”

“If I hear one thud from the bathroom, I’m blasting some cursed Wii music, I hope you know that hyung!” Jungkook yelled.

You splashed your face, hoping the cold water would bring down your body temperature and rid your flushed cheeks. You flinched as a knock sounded on the door, “y/n, can I come in?”

“I-uh yeah, it’s unlocked.” You said shyly as Hoseok entered the bathroom, closing the door behind him. You refused to meet his gaze, eyes downcast on the marble flooring as he put his hands in his pockets and leaned back against the door. You didn’t need to look at him to know he looked incredibly attractive right now. “I’m your air, huh baby?”

You cringed, bringing your hands up to cover your face. Hoseok let out a laugh, his voice sweet and melodic to your ears, your stomach doing somersaults at his mere presence. The boy gently took your hands, revealing your face to him, “I’m sorry for ignoring you baby,”

“Why are you saying sorry?” You muttered finally gathering the courage to look him in the eyes, “I was the one that disappointed you Seok,”

“I know you did all that to defend us, y/n. I don’t blame you for lashing out at Jeongyeon,” He said softly as he cupped one of your cheeks, instantly nuzzling into his warm palm. “Thank you baby,”

You pouted and wrapped your arms around his waist as he pulled you in for a hug. You felt a huge weight lift off your shoulders as he buried his face in your hair. God how you missed his scent. “I know I said it all in my texts Seok-ie, but I hope you do know that I’m so happy to be yours. I mean it when I say that I don’t give a fuck about your status and that I’m not at all ashamed to be dating you.”

“I know, y/n.” He said pressing a kiss to your crown, “I can’t help but get insecure sometimes because you really are too good for me-”

“shut up,” You denied tilting your head up to peck his lips. “I am not, if anything it’s the other way around. I can’t believe you really didn’t text me for two days, I was going crazy over here.”

“I was too,” He retorted rubbing your sides, “I was going to text you yesterday, but you were just so cute being all pouty, I wanted to drag it out a little longer.”

“Evil,” You scoffed lightly punching his chest. He only laughed and squeezed you tighter, “I love you y/n.”

“I love you too,” You mumbled relaxing in his embrace. “We should probably go back out there or else the guys will probably think we’re fucking in Seokjin’s bathroom.”

“I mean, Seokjin hyung gave us the okay, baby.” He smirked winking at you. You scoffed, rolling your eyes, though you couldn’t help the slight churn of heat that shot through your body, “I am not having sex in Seokjin’s hotel bathroom.”

“You’re no fun,” Hoseok said, this time his turn to pout. You lightly slapped his mouth, “Why do it here when we have a perfectly empty king-sized bed at my apartment?” 

He chuckled, snaking a hand down to squeeze your ass as you both exited the bathroom and rejoined the guys in the living room. The six looked at your interlocked hands and gave you claps of approval. “Can’t believe it took Yoongi hyung publicly outting y/n for you both to make up,”

“Yeah, can you breathe now, y/n?” Taehyung smirked at you as he agreed with Namjoon. You raised your fist to threaten Taehyung, cursing at him. The boys only laughed, Hoseok bringing your hands up to kiss the backside of your palm.

“You are so welcome, you fuckers.” ______________________________________________

a/n I got this idea after rewatching heirs and just mmmm i love hoseok goodnight.

7-11-20

[zankivich]

The Arrangement: CEO’s Son/Dom!Shawn x Black Sub Reader Chapter 2

A/N: I can’t promise all the chapters will come this quick, but I am inspired and I think I’m in love with these characters. I’ve never done a cocky character before, so I really want to try and tap into something interesting here with Shawn. Maybe I won’t who knows. Let me know if you like though? 

WARNING: smut. sex toys. public masturbation (kind of). orgasm denial.

*Shawn’s point of view*

She crawls out of his bed in the wee hours of the morning, at least for him. He wakes up long enough to tell her she’s free to use the shower and whatever else she needs. He can tell by the look on her face that she’s surprised at the gesture. She really thinks he’s a complete and total dick. But it’s the crack ass of dawn and he doesn’t have the emotional capacity to argue with her yet, so he rolls back over to go to bed.

He wakes up again to her heels clacking on the hotel room floor. She reaches over the bed in search of something, maybe her phone, and he tugs her down on top of him. She doesn’t seem nearly as happy about it as he is.

“Let me go! I am so late. I was supposed to be at work an hour ago.”

He skims his nose along her neck, happy to see that the hotel soap didn’t rid her of her own personal scent he’d grown obsessed with the night before.

“You’re the boss, you can go whenever you want.”

She pushes against his hold and he lets her for now, much more excited to watch her then fight with her.

“That’s not how I run my shit.” She snorted putting in an earring that must have slipped out when he was making her scream his name the night before. “This never happened by the way.”

He chuckled. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. That was a mistake, a big huge mistake. Your dad would have my ass and ruin my career. We both know it.”

It pisses him off far more than he has any right to. He used his dad freely for the connections, the money, the access to anything he ever wanted. But the second his dad became an inconvenience, he couldn’t beg for enough distance. This woman, with all her thick ass thighs and musical moans, was so much more than he ever could have expected. And he wasn’t about to let his dad ruin that for him.

“A mistake yea? Which orgasm? The one with my tongue, or the one with my fingers, or the one against the headboard? Just wanna make sure I’m on the same page.” He muttered.

Her eyes turned to slits and she leaned over him before shoving him back down to the bed with a very pointed finger.

“Listen here jackass. You do not get to use what we did last night against me.” She hissed.

“What the fuck would I wanna do that for anyway?! Jesus, we should keep fucking just so you can calm the hell down every once in a while.”

“Not likely. Bye Shawn.”

Her braids cut through the air as she leaves the room just as quickly as she entered it. He collapsed back against the pillows and let his hand travel along the tender spots where she’d sucked at his skin the night before. He could still taste her. Could still hear her. And his body absolutely betrayed him as a half chub began to form in his boxers. No one had ever given him what she had the night before. She had let him take the lead, had given herself over to him completely and fully. He was always dominant in bed but never with someone who gave off such opposite energy. She probably should have been the one bossing him around, and yet she had placed a lot of power and a lot of trust in his hands.

His half chub turns a little fuller the more that he thinks about her and he lets his fingers crawl beneath the covers to deal with it. He hadn’t jerked off over a woman, let alone a hook up, in years. He could think about the ramifications of that later. Not now. Not when he’s got the feel of her lips in his brain.

***

He heads past Tiffany’s desk to get to his dad’s office, but stops for a second when she gives him a look. Tiffany was probably the only reason his dad was able to get dressed every morning. She knew every detail of every minute of his day and she kept him directly on schedule at all times. It’s probably the only reason she wasn’t fired, cause she sure as hell isn’t sleeping with him like the other ones in the past. He likes her. She’s maybe the only person in either of their lives that doesn’t take any bullshit, even if she does have a little soft spot for him.

“Hey Tiffany. You’re looking radiant as ever this afternoon.” He grinned, leaning against her desk.

“You’re late.” She said flatly. “He was expecting you hours ago.”

“Yea, I had a bit of a late start today.”

She lets her eyes glide over him and stares blatantly at a hickey on his neck he hadn’t bothered to try and hide.

“Sure. I suggest you get your ass in there. He’s on one today.”

He rolled his eyes playfully. “Sounds good. Thanks, Tiff.”

When he walks into his dad's office, he’s already screaming to some poor bastard on the phone. So, he heads straight for the fridge and grabs himself a water to wait for the tides to turn against him. It doesn’t take long.

“Well if it isn’t my son, my one and only, the kid I’ve given everything to at every waking moment of his life! How kind of you to join me!” Manny sneered.

He took a seat on the other side of his father’s desk, plopping down into one of the not so comfy chairs he had there.

“Nice to see you too daddy-o. What’d I miss?”

“You missed the first goddamn meeting with the directors I asked you to come to!” His dad roared. “What did I say, Shawn? Enough of this childish bullshit. I gave you that pony show last night so that you could start taking things seriously, so that you could start taking your future with this business, seriously!”

“I fucking forgot okay. My bad.”

“It’s always your bad, dammit! Enough is enough. Everyone with a brain the size of a pea knows you don’t deserve a position in this company, the least you can do is make the nepotism a little less obvious. The least you can do is make the first goddamn meeting with the people who help fund us!”

His dad was definitely going to have a heart attack by sixty. It was just a given at this point.

When the yelling and the screaming doesn’t work, and it never does, his dad as an innate ability to switch up his approach. His dad was a vindictive bastard at heart and no one, absolutely no one bore the brunt of that the way that Shawn did.

“You want to touch music ever again?” He asked, his voice quieter than it’d been since Shawn stepped into the room.

His whole body locks up, and his eyes harden as he stares at him.

“This is all you got. All those demos, all those melodies? They belong to me. This is what you get okay? And if you don’t start treating this business with some dignity and respect? I’ll let one of these other yahoos take over the company and you’ll be shit out of luck. Do I make myself clear?”

His shoulders completely slump and the feeling that he seemed to have within him at all time came roaring back infinitely. The inadequacies. The powerlessness. He was nothing. Nothing. And never would he be anything that his father hadn’t already determined him to be. That’s just the way it went. It was the way the cards had been dealt for him. No use in fighting it.

“Yea, dad. I understand.” He muttered getting up out of his seat.

“Have Tiffany share the notes from the meeting you missed today. I want you here tomorrow at nine am. You’re going to follow me around to my meetings, get the lay of the land.”

There was no arguing so he just headed for the door instead.

“Oh and Shawn?”

He sighed but turned to face his father again. “Yea?”

“Try to not to let whatever whore you’re with next time make it so obvious. We’re better than that.”

No use in fighting it.

“Yes, sir.”

***

His shoulders are so tense that he can feel the knots forming along his neck. It’s the stress that always comes when his dad lays down the law and reminds him of where he’s at in life, where he’ll probably always be. They could say money buys you happiness all damn day long, but he hadn’t been happy. He hadn’t been happy in a really long fucking time. He’d tried just about everything. A five mile run. Had played the guitar until his fingers were sore. It isn’t until he tries to jerk off and that vision of her appears in his mind again, the way she had flicked her braids over her back, the way she had gleamed with sweat. It’s not until then that he really has to contemplate what the entire hell is going on with him, because he’s never thought about a hook up like this. Ever.

He stares up at the ceiling with another fucking boner starting in his pants. Fuck contemplation. Where had that ever got him?

“Thank you for calling Miss y/l/n’s office. This is Tianna, how may I help you?”

He peered over at the clock on his bedside. It was after eight o’clock. Way past working hours. He had a feeling wherever y/n went so did she.

“Tianna, darling.” He hummed. “She working you into the ground over there?”

She immediately snorted. “We’re doing just fine over here Mr. Mendes. How can I help you?”

“Please, call me Shawn.”

“Call me stupid. What do you want?”

Tough crowd in that office, really.

“I need to schedule a meeting with her. It’s work related. My dad needs her.” He lied.

“Uh Huh...and just what is it that your dad needs that he’s sending you to get at eight o’clock at night?”

He rolled his eyes up at the ceiling. “Look he’s having me take over some accounts to get the lay of the land. I’ve got two artists playing jingle ball alongside her artists. We want to talk possible on stage collaboration.”

And they called him dumb.

“Hmmm...well, she’s very busy.” Tianna drew on.

“Yes, I’m sure she is. If I was to come to her office right now though I’d assume she’s not exactly having meetings now is she?”

“If you came to her office right now I think your little spiel about ‘on stage collaborations’ might look more like a booty call.”

He chuckled. “But if you help me out with a little something, then I could maybe help her out with a little something, and we can all be a little happier.”

“You white boys always thinking your dick can cure cancer. Get off my phone.”

“I think if you didn’t want me to come, Tianna? You would’ve hung up already. I’ll see you in twenty.”

It was that kind of relentless optimism in life that had gotten him to where he was today. Here’s a hoping it struck one more time.

***

y/n point of view*

You’re sat at your desk trying to figure out what it was about the age of twenty that seemed to make your artists lose their ever loving mind. One of your up and comers was found outside a bar as three am drunk off his ass and now you had to face the casualties. There’s a tension thick and firm in your shoulders and rolling down over every individual vertebrae in your spine. You were stressed, had been all day, and it didn’t look like that was going to change anytime soon. You rubbed your fingers against your temples and reached for your phone to tell Tianna to maybe order you some dinner, and then head home for the night. No use in both of you being miserable.

“Hey Ti’. I’m gonna be late again. Could you order me something? No mexican please, maybe something from that asian place with the dumplings?” You asked softly. “You can go home straight after.”

“Sure thing, girl. There is something I wanted to run by you though--”

“Oh not tonight, Ti. I’m swamped. Just the food, and that will be all.”

It was a bit of a bitch move, but you and Tianna had navigated these waters time and time again throughout your friendship. She let you be when you were stressed, but never let is pass. She’d always call you out eventually. You were pretty good at navigating professional and friendship. Also, you wouldn’t last a day without her, and both of you knew it.

It’s another hour before you hear movement outside your door. You assumed Tianna had given the delivery guy your office number, so you slide from your chair still barefoot and went to grab your meal.

He’s standing on the other side of your door with your food in his hands and that dumbass smirk on his face that you had practically licked off the night before. The worst part was the rush of feelings that flooded your stomach with him there. There wasn’t nearly enough irritation and annoyance as there was a fluttering and a heat. You had seen what he could do after all, and your body was already attuned to such things. Dumb.

“Oh what the hell!” You groaned snatching the brown paper bag from his hands. “How did you get up here?”

“Hey, don’t get mad at me! I told Tianna I was coming.”

Shit. She’d tried to warn you too. You were an idiot and a bitch. Lovely.

You reached straight for your dumplings, not having the capacity to deal with your six foot two headache before you dealt with your hunger problem. You popped a squat on the edge of your desk and looked at him between bites. No suit today. Instead he was wearing black skinny jeans that looked like they’d been painted on. He was wearing a cardigan that looked particularly fluffy and a white t-shirt. You noticed there was a difference in the way his eyes looked then what you remembered. They were duller. They weren’t nearly as alive as they’d been when he was making your body sing for him the night before. Hell, he hadn’t even looked this dead at the banquet. He looked tired, beat down. But, that wasn’t supposed to matter to you. Right?

“Why are you in my office right now?” You asked.

He stalked a little closer, choosing to sit on the arm of the chair beside your desk so that his legs could slide closer towards yours.

“I thought you’d be a little happier to see me.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And why would you think that? I told you what happened last night never happened. And you agreed.”

“I didn’t agree. I said I wouldn’t tell my dad.” He corrected.

“Whatever. You don’t hook up with the same woman more than once anyway. We both know that.” You shrugged reaching for another dumpling.

“Yea, I--I know. But, I think we both know last night wasn’t a normal hook up.”

You crossed and uncrossed your legs paying special attention to chewing each bite of food before you swallowed it, as you worked to compose your face.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh you don’t do you?” He hummed dipping his head to catch your eye.

He got up off the chair taking the two steps to be far too close into your bubble. You wondered idly if his lack of understanding of personal space came with the privilege of being rich, or the privilege of being attractive, or if was that whole male privilege thing instead. When his hands settled on either side of you on your desk, you settle on it being some kind of combination of the three.

“You’re gonna tell me I didn’t treat you good last night?” He whispered nose skimming along your neck. “That I didn’t touch you in ways you’ve never been touched before? That I didn’t have you cumming for me like a fountain?”

Your thighs pulse needily, but when you go to squeeze them together, he’s already standing there between them so that they wrap around him. His fingers trailed to your thighs and the sensation was so familiar, so right, that you found yourself leaning more into his space.

“I’m not asking for your hand in marriage. You’re stressed. I’m stressed. Just let me come over every now and again and knock you into a wall for a few hours. I think it’s a worthy transaction for the two of us.”

He was such an asshole. God, he was such an asshole and the assholery came off of him in waves. But he made you wetter than a faucet and he had big hands that felt so good when they were shoving you wherever he wanted. When you woke up that morning you had felt infinite relief. You hadn’t wanted to leave the warmth of the sheets behind. It was your first time being late since you got food poisoning three years prior. You had wanted to stay. And that was the second you lost.

“There have to be rules.” You sighed in defeat.

Shawn only heard yes and begun to tug at your jacket off your shoulders, his stupid lips doing this incredible thing on your neck that you really wish you hated.

“No one can know. It can only happen at night time.” You begun and paused to moan as he sucked at your collarbone. “It only happens at my apartment building or yours.”

“God I’ve really gotta gag this beautiful mouth.” He groaned reaching up to silence you with his lips.

Somewhere along the way you figured out that you were always working to have the upperhand, always fighting for power. And you figured out that you didn’t need that with Shawn. Once you realized that he wasn’t going to use it against you, that allowing him to be dominant was only going to result in your pleasure? You were able to let go. And when you let go, the pleasure was infinite.

Your chinese ends up on the floor. So does you dress as he very quickly breaks one of the goddamn rules and bends you over your own desk instead.

“God, this ass. I could write whole songs about it.” He muttered. “Spread your legs for me.”

“M--My desk.” You stuttered trying to be reasonable when your mind wanted anything but that.

“Spread them, or I’ll tie them open.”

Jesus.

You moaned softly into the hardwood, letting your legs drape open  against the side of the desk. His fingers mapped out your body, melding to every curve, and keeping you on high alert. Not being able to see him only made you want him more. You could hear the sound of his belt clanking as he undid his jeans, could smell that he was hot for you as you were for him. And that’s all that mattered.

“You’re so tight for me. Christ.”

He plunged inside your body like no one had ever before. Like maybe he hated you, or like maybe your pleasure was the only thing that mattered to you. His hips were hard and punishing. His hands gripped your hips like a gentle caress mixed with a punishment. It left you distorted, left you hot and bothered and completely absorbed in everything that he could make you feel with such startling precision. This wasn’t just him using your body to get himself off, this was something that occured in unison. For every second he spent chasing his own high inside you, you continuously found your own pleasure from him. It was infinite and all consuming. It was more than enough to keep you coming back for more.

The desk quaked on its legs, your papers flew everywhere, and still his fingers are grabbing at your ass like it’s his. And in that moment, it is. In that moment you’d give him everything one a silver platter if he asked for it. But, he doesn’t. He takes and he takes and he gives it all right back to you ten fold. You feel that familiar tightening in your stomach and your eyes clam shut. You’re at a total loss for how your orgasm could possily come this quickly and this intensly,  but here the fuck you are.

You reach back for his wrist on your ass and cry out into the wood of your desk as he only moved deeper within you.

“I’m gonna cum.”You whimpered.

“Not yet.”

You shook your head a tremble beginning in your legs.

“No I--I’m gonna cum! I can’t.”

His body leaned over you, caging you in and his lips found their way to your ear.

“If you cum without my permission? I’m gonna spank your ass so raw, you won’t be able to sit for a week.”

“Oh my god.”

The desk jerks askew and Shawn just slows down his thrusts in favor of digging deep into your body. And your back loses its arch as you turn to actual liquid in his hands.

“Fuck! Fuck! Shawn!”

“You’re fucking dripping for me. Take it. Take all of me. Make yourself cum.”

You grab at the papers on your desk and your eyes roll back in your skull once again. There’s a squelching sound every time you pushed back against his hips. It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. You’re fucking exploding. What a fucking arrangement.

***

Work goes a little differently in the coming weeks. You yell a little less, smile a little more, and don’t find yourself constantly rubbing that spot in your neck that seemed to absorb every ounce of stress you ever had. And it’s not about Shawn. It’s definitely not. It’s just the regular sex. It could have been anyone, really. It just helped that this someone was good with knots and his hips. After the initial fuck up, you stuck to the rules. Only his apartment or yours. Never during the day. He didn’t come to your office, and you sure as hell didn’t go to his.

It wasn’t exactly meaningless sex. It was purposeful sex. You each had a goal, a build up of tension, that you needed eased. Doing that together just seemed to make a little sense. It was easy. It wasn’t complicated. And that’s what you loved. Not the person. Just the act. It was dirty and hard and sometimes painful, and you loved it. He seemed to find every kink you had, even the ones you hadn’t thought you had, and laid them all out with sparkling clarity. You couldn’t help but think back to the first time after your agreement when you’d stepped into his apartment.

“Have a seat. Can I get you something to drink? I think I’ve got wine, water, and a juice somewhere.”

You were confused, plopped off your heels and headed for the shockingly white couch.

“Uh, do we need drinks for sex?”

He snorted. “What you, the most talkingest person I’ve ever met, thought we were just going to jump into things without talking first?”

“Well...yea. Kinda?” You murmured, now feeling a little indignant.

He took a seat next to you on the couch, crossing his leg over his thigh and turning towards you. The proximity alone was enough to get you a little bothered.

“Look I...I want this to be good for the both of us. And I want it to be safe. I want it to be consensual at all times. And to do that we really need to talk, okay? We’ve gotta set up what we want this to be. What we both want this to be.”

It’s a lot more endearing a lot softer than you expected. And you didn’t know how to justify this image you continued to have of him, with all the things you kept learning about him. He really made it hard to hate him sometimes.

“Okay.”

“Okayyyy. Well, why don’t you tell me something you don’t want, and I’ll do the same. And we’ll start from there.” He coaxed.

“Well I’m not doing no race play shit, that’s for damn sure!”

He rolled his eyes playfully. “What kind of a guy do you think I am?”

“A white one.” You blinked.

“Funny. No race play. Got it. I like to be dominant, but there’s some shit I won’t do. I won’t do anything until you bleed. I love slapping your ass as much as the next guy, but I’m not gonna do it to the point of pain over pleasure. I’m not gonna hit you, and I’m not gonna do any of the bodily fluids besides semen.” He explained calmly.

You bit your lip. “So you uh...you’ve done this before huh?”

He nodded softly. “I have. And you haven’t. That’s okay. I’m more than willing to teach you.”

“Okay...so is it like a dom and sub relationship?” You asked hesitantly.

“It doesn’t have to be that if you don’t want it to. Sometimes adding a label on it makes it more scary than it needs to be. This can still just be a hookup. Are there other things you don’t wanna try?”

“I don’t really want to be called anything derogatory.” You admitted. “I liked the rough parts. I liked...doing what you asked me to. I just don’t want to feel demeaned if that makes sense.”

You felt very out of your element. Again, you weren’t the expert in the room. He was. And you just had to trust that he was gonna do the right thing for the both of you. Only because, so far he actually had.

“Of course. I’m not sure if you’ve noticed yet but I’m not just here for my pleasure, y/n. Half of what I get out of it is making you feel good. That’s what I want to do.”

It was hard to look at him when he spoke like that. The softness, the earnestness. None of it made a lot of sense to you. And you didn’t like how your body reacted to it, how easily he could draw you in like that. So you reached for him, lips and teeth and fingers on the back of his neck. And he pulled you into his lap with such ease. It made you melt. You were kind of fucked. But it was okay for now.

“So you’ll be in LA through Sunday for the awards. I have you back here Monday afternoon. I moved all your meetings to Tuesday so you could rest up a little bit. And then it’s time to prepare for the MSG shows for Khalid.” Tianna rattled off.

You were listening. You were a hundred and fifty percent listening. And you weren’t at all squirming in your seat. Nope.

“S--Sounds lovely. Can’t wait!”

She did the black mother squint and lean at you, so you forced your hips to calm the hell down in your seat.

“What the hell is up with you?” She asked.

Your eyes widened. “Cramps! A real son of a bitch, aren’t they?”

“Cramps? You want me to get you some mitol?”

“No thank you, I already took some. I’m gonna work on the proposal for the new marketing campaign with nike and then I’ll take lunch okay?”

“Sounds good chief, holler if you need me!”

You watched with painstaking eyes as she slowly left the room before finally allowing you to collapse and reach for your phone. This was too much. This was the worst idea ever in the history of ever.

“Hello?”

“Turn it off. Turn it off right now, Tianna probably thinks I’m a mad woman!” You sighed shakily.

Shawn chuckled. “Nice to see you too darling. What did I say last night?”

Your eyes fluttered shut as you thought back to the look in his eyes when he’d pressed the egg shaped device between your legs.

“If I don’t wear it all day then I’m not a good girl.”

“Exactly. And what do good girls get to do?”

You bit your lip unable to stop the rocking of your hips. “Good girls get to cum.”

“That’s right. Do you wanna cum y/n? Do you deserve to cum for me?”

“Y--Yea. Yes, please? I--I wanna be good. I wanna cum.”

Sure enough the damn vibration increased and your thighs began to quake. You whined desperately canting your hips up for something that wasn’t there. Something that was probably a good forty-five minutes away from you by subway. And lord knows Shawn’s ass had probably never been on the subway.

“You make the prettiest fucking sounds.” He sighed. “I wish I didn’t have this meeting, or I’d come right over there and make you fall apart all over my cock.”

“A meeting? What meeting?” You asked desperate to keep your mind off the quaking beneath your skirt.

“My asshole of a dad is having me meet with investors for this new Madison Beer look-alike he just signed. They’re already trying to figure out how to maximize sex appeal. She’s seventeen.”

“That’s disgusting. You have to know that’s disgusting.”

“Of course I do. And you have to know better than anyone that I don’t really have a choice in the matter.”

You rolled your eyes up at the ceiling. “You’ll destroy that girl before she even gets a chance to figure out who she is, what artist she wants to be.”

“Yea well my father isn’t in the business of letting artists decide who they wanna be.”

It’s a little more honest than you’re supposed to be with each other. A little moment, where you let the facade slip. Where you’re not just two people fucking. Because you’re both in the same business, the same industry, and there’s something that allows you both the ability to know more than anyone else ever could. And that makes it a little hard.

“Are you coming to mine tonight?” You hinted, trying to get this thing back on track.

“Yea. I uh I’ll be there around ten.” He cleared his throat, base continuing. “I want you to keep it inside of you all day. And if you’re good. If I’ve decide you’ve been good, then I’ll let you cum tonight. Maybe I’ll even let you ride my thigh”

A moan escapes your lips that had no business coming out in the open like that. You had never even mentioned that his thighs sort of made your mouth water, nor that you’d even thought about rubbing your pussy all over them. That just seemed to be another one of those things he picked up on without you having to say it.

“Fuck. Okay, okay I’ll be good.”

“Good girl. I’ll see you at ten.”

You collapsed back against your chair again as the phone call ended. 12 hours to go. Shit.

***

You were lying on the bed withering. It’s the only way you could describe what it felt like you were going through. You felt like you were in heat. The room was sweltering. Your thighs had been pressed together for the past hour and it wasn’t getting any better. You needed to cum. God you just needed to cum. About twenty minutes ago, that bastard had moved it to the highest setting. You were dripping at this point.

He let himself into your apartment, the directive to leave your door unlocked making a lot more sense when you were practically grinding into your sheets.

“Fuck, I can smell you.” He hummed. “You miss me?”

“I need to cum. Please, Shawn. Please.” You started rambling immediately.

He proceeds as if you’ve said nothing. He starts with his watch, slipping it over his wrist to set on the nightstand. His rings and bracelet join the party as well. Then it’s his jacket and the button up. You listen to the metal clink of his belt and it make your eyes roll back in your head knowing that you’ll finally get what you’d been waiting on forever. The excitement is in your chest and between your legs. The want that you have for him curling up like a ball in your gut. He knows exactly what he does to do, and it makes you hate him and want him all the more.

It feels like hours before he joins you on the bed. And when he does, he just stares at you for a while. His eyes roam over your hips and your cheeks and the arch in your foot and the stretch marks near your belly button. It’s so specific and so intimate that you can only watch him watch you. He turned off the vibrations, but somehow you’re only now just noticing. Sometimes when he looks at you like this, you don’t know how to respond. Can never decide what the look in his eyes means. And you wonder if he knows either.

He blinks and the look vanishes, and back is this look that says, “I’m going to devour you for all that you are.”

“Come sit on my lap, baby girl.” He whispered.

You move on shaky legs, crawling onto your knees to where he sat at the edge of the mattress. His fingers slip between your legs, your hands falling to his shoulders as he tugs the vibrator from inside you. You’re a whimpering mess, and he just fucking smiles at you and tugs at your hips. Your lips touch his thigh and you have to hide your face in his neck to keep from cumming right there.

His fingers reach for your ass, digging deep into the flesh, as his lips touch your ear.

“I’m gonna let you ride my thigh until you cum. It’ll be the only time you get to cum until the end of the night, so I suggest you make it count.”

You whined softly arms wrapping around his neck in desperation.

“I’m so sensitive.” You whispered.

He tilted your hips down with his hands on your hips resulting in your clit brushing against his thigh with purpose. You practically sobbed.

“Oh my god!”

“God, your fucking voice.” He grunted. “Ride my thigh.”

There’s no need for lubricant of any kind because you’re soaked to your very core. It saturates his thigh until your gliding easily against the flesh. And it’s so fucking hot. It feels so fucking good. You couldn’t control the way that your hips fluttered and twitched against him with every push of your hips. Every slide had you gasping his name with recklessness. Just the way he wanted you. Desperate. Needy. Submissive. And you thrived in it.

He tensed his leg, making his thigh firmer, and you fucking lost it. Your fingers turned to fists in his hair just to have something to grip onto as you rode him for all you were worth. His hands on your hips helped move you faster and it made the knot in your stomach tighten and tighten until it snapped with ease.

“That’s it. That’s so good. Cum for me like a good girl.” He demanded.

You cried out into your apartment, back arching as your orgasm ran through you like a tidal wave. His thigh became drenched and your heart hammered heavily in your chest as you collapsed in his arms like the mess he turned you into.

“Fuck.” You moaned desperately. “Oh my god.”

“Feel good?” He hummed. “What do you say?”

“Thank you. Thank you for letting me cum.”

“You’re welcome. Now go pick out a toy to keep yourself occupied with.”

The second that Shawn found out you had a pretty impressive arsenal of toys for yourself, he had taken full advantage. You quickly discovered that your favorite scenario was the gspot stimulator that did some amazing, amazing things. You liked it most because it seemed to drive him crazy when you lost control, when you were just barely holding on to a thread for him. You got off on his pleasure, and he got off on yours. It was a beautiful endless cycle.

You go to lay back against your blankets, only for Shawn to join you sooner than normal. He took the toy from your hands and sat it down by your hip. His fingers trailed between your labia, thumbing playfully at your clit. He looked at you as you did it, eyes dark and hooded and hot. You were in for a wild as night tonight.

“I’m gonna put this in. I’m gonna fuck you with it. And you’re gonna wanna cum. But you’re not going to. Not until I say, do you understand?”

You rolled your hips incessantly and sighed. “Yea.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, sir. I understand.”

His fingers were rough and calloused, an incredible sensation against your smooth thighs. You felt his curls tickle your stomach as he leaned down to test your wetness with his lips. A groan made its way past your lips as he kissed at your clit. Before you could even begin to move your hips, he was pushing the toy inside of you and flicking the switch on.

“Mmmmm,” You hummed. “Feels good, Shawn.”

He twirled the stem of the vibrator manipulating the toy until it rested directly against your gspot. And that’s when he turned it to the highest setting.

“Oh fuck!”

“Feel good?” He chuckled teeth hitting your inner thigh.

“Y--Yea. Holy shit yea.”

He peered up at you from between your legs and proceeded to kiss, lick, and suck at the skin of your thighs. His fingers wrapped around the vibrator and started to thrust it in and out jaggedly. Your fingers dug into the sheets and you bit at your lip as he played you like a fuckin violin. The egg shaped toy slid in and out hitting the tip of your clit on every outward stroke. You whined and tilted your hips down trying to get more pressure.

He frowned up at you, teeth biting down into the flesh of your thigh before he soothed the mark with his tongue.

“Don’t do that. Be good for me.”

“I need it.” You sighed. “Please, Shawn.”

“What do you need?”

“Your tongue, your fingers--anything. Please?”  

“You want my tongue?”

“Yea. So bad.” You whined. “Fuck Shawn, please!”

He maneuvered your leg over his shoulder tongue pointing between his lips to hit your already engorged clit. The dampness of his tongue was heavenly against your aching flesh, but in combination with the still rampant vibrator it was so much more than that. It was completely and utterly too much. The coil in your gut grew hotter and tighter. Your toes curled. Holy mother of god.

“W--Wait! Wait I’m gonna cum!”

His hands did that thing where they locked into your hips, pushing you firmly down into the bed as he continued to suck you for all you were worth. You fist your fingers in his hair and threaded your legs around his back fully and deeply prepared to ride your orgasm out. Just as you were about to fall apart, muscles tensing and aching for release, it all disappears. He lets your clit slip from his lips and takes the vibrator out leaving you to pulse and thrash against the sheets.

“Fuck!” you grunted, thighs squeezing together involuntarily.

“Ah ah ah.” He hummed pulling them apart with ease. “Let me look at you. See the way this perfect cunt twitches for me. Shit, y/n. You have no idea how fucking pretty you are.”

You peer down between your legs watching your muscles clench anxiously around nothing. You can see yourself glisten from where you are, can only imagine how much better it must be from down there. There’s no room to think about it for long before he’s running the flat part of his tongue along your entrance in search for any juices he may have left behind.

Drool oozes past his lips, and he runs his thumb into your clint to spread it around. And then the vibrator is back in his hands, but instead of slipping it inside you, he presses it right up against your clit instead. The vibrations are rapid and loud hitting at every nerve ending in your already thoroughly soaked core. There’s no need to grind against it because he’s pushing it so tightly against you already, and when he flicks it beneath your hood so that it touches just barely at your actual clit, you’re done for. It’s right back where you were not even sixty seconds prior.

Your nails dig into his wrist and your back arches in desperation.

“Please! Please!” You gasped. “Let me cum!”

He shook his head not letting up on the pressure at all.

“You don’t order me. I’ll let you cum when I’m ready.”

Tears form in your eyes. It’s the denial and the pleasure and the cusp of pain that might just drive you over the edge if he’d ever fucking let it happen. You didn’t know the act of not cumming could feel this good, could make you feel this desperate. He pushed your body places that it had never been, made you feel things you had never felt. And he thrived on what it did to you. He thrived on your hips pushing back against him, on the moans that rung out from your throat. Every response seemed to fuel him even further.

Your legs begin to twitch again, screaming for ecstasy when a knock rings out on your apartment door, bringing everything to a crashing halt.

“You expecting company?” He asked, vibrator still very much in tact.

You shook your head, bottom lip destroyed by your teeth at this point.

“No. No one.”

They knock again.

“Are you sure?”

“You know I really can’t focus on anything but my clit at the moment!” You huffed.

The knocking continues, a little more aggressively this time, and Shawn finally rolled his eyes and pushed the vibrator back into his rightful position against your gspot.

“Don’t move. And you better not cum while I’m gone.” He ordered.

*meanwhile at the door*

There’s a guy at the door in a suit with his arms crossed in a semi intimidating fashion. Shawn’s half naked with one of the strongest hardons of his life hidden behind the door, and he’s a little confused and annoyed at the interruption.

“Hi. Can I help you?”

“Is Miss. Y/l/n here?” The guy asked.

Shawn raised an eyebrow. “Who’s asking?”

“I am sir. We got a disturbance call, and I’m checking to make sure things are alright.”

“Oh….Oh! Yea, no I understand why you might have gotten that call but I assure you things are fine here.” He snorted.

“Yes, well I assure you just as soon as I see her alive and well, I’ll take your word for it.”

The shit he went through for sex.  

“Look dude,” He sighed pulling the door open to reveal the sheets bunched awkwardly around his very naked waist. “She’s not in any pain she doesn’t want to be in. We’ll try to keep it down.”

“I’m sure that might be, but we take our jobs very seriously here and I’ve yet to see y/n, so I’m afraid I cannot leave you alone in an apartment you don’t live in.”

He rolled his eyes and turned to call into the house. “Y/n! Will you please tell the not so nice security guard than I am fucking you, not killing you!”

“SHAWN! IF YOU DON’T GET YOUR DUMB ASS FROM IN FRONT OF MY DOOR!!”

“Anymore questions?” He asked the guard politely before closing the door in his face.

*Meanwhile back in the bedroom*

“You better have been fucking joking.”

He dropped the sheet from around his waist and wrapped his fingers around his dick working himself back up to peak hardness.

“Not at all. But I’m not done with you yet. Be a good girl and lie back.”

“But Shawn--”

“Be a good girl and lie back and I’ll let you cum on my tongue before I fuck the shit out of you.”

You lie back for him. Duh.

If you wanted to buy me a Kofi so I can not be poor that would be dope. 

Permanent taglist 

@simpledomain @liliane106  @xeuphorically-moonstruck @euphoric05 @daijanicole @bruhh-whateven @sinplisticshawn @thecurlsofgod @kamahriii @lifeoftheparty74

Arrangement Taglist: 

@moonlightmendes22  @cottoncandyshawn @iloveshawnieboi @iloveshawnieboi @shawnsblue @cottoncandyshawn

@claredolphinbear24 @peterbrokenparker @shawnase @blackharry

[smartguyreviewed]

2x2 - Working Guy

Originial air date: September 17, 1997

Did anyone have an actual job when they were teens? I remember how embarassing it was for me, a high schooler in the mid-aughts, to tote around resumes in my little manila folder and then be told to either apply online or have some snooty white asshole at Eddie Bauer all but dismiss me because he was clearly racist. The only jobs I really “held” included being an election judge twice, once during that totally insignificant 2008 presidential race and the other being a summer camp counselor at the church I went to. 

Those little jobs sucked but I chose them. The students of Piedemont High were not that lucky. 

The setting for this episode is the work experience program that shows students what it’s like to have a job. I have a lot of questions. I’m sure some of these students fared better than me back then and already have jobs, so wouldn’t this make no sense? Would they have two jobs? Are all of these jobs suitable for minors? Why does Piedmont fund such strange things?

Mo, as usual, (or depending on the plot of the episode) only cares about the perks of whatever he’s doing. With the band, it’s the girls. With this program, it’s being able to leave school after lunch. Wait, what? They’re having the students skip multiple classes for this? Is this part of a class or an elective? I wonder because this seems like it takes up a lot of time.

TJ is more excited about working in the industry of his choice, but if that was the case, he’d already have a job assigned to him as opposed to having to pick what’s on the board, making it first come, first serve. This is dumb and I can’t believe I have this many questions about a fictional high school. Anyways, TJ is short so he can only grab what he can reach and it’s not what he wants at all because he has a menial blue collar job.

Meanwhile, at the crib, Floyd is pissed because his basketball buddy who is a doctor apparently has cancelled their game because he has to do surgery. Floyd is only petty every once in a while so I’ll let him have this one. Then Marcus comes in wearing a suit and even though we’ve definitely seen him dressed up before, the audience goes wild. I hate canned audience reactions! He says not to hate him because he’s wearing Armani. 

I first thought Marcus was joking because it looks like a Sears original to me, but apparently he took Floyd’s credit card and had a ball buying clothes for his fancy schmancy job. Okay, I have more questions. Marcus had to buy a whole suit and shoes to enter his predominately white workspace. Is Piedmont paying for things the students need to even work at their job? What if you’re a natural black woman and you have to get your hair straightened if you have Marcus’s job? This is all for a part time job during school hours, so will these hours count towards credit since you’re not in class? I am so confused. 

Floyd is surprisingly okay with Marcus running up his card because his next question is asking if he can help Floyd get ready for his game. Marcus jokes that he’s going to be drinking with the guys after work. Floyd doesn’t press further and says he’ll practice alone until Yvette offers. Marcus and Floyd have a nice kii at this because duh, Yvette’s a girl and girls don’t play basketball. I love how all the Henderson men (including Mo) are sexist in their own ways. This isn’t the first time Floyd disregards his daughter when it comes to doing “manly” things and Marcus and TJ bond over their hatred of Yvette when her feminine ways don’t align with their default male ways. 

TJ comes in and doesn’t want to talk because he’s embarassed to have this job that was forced on him. Marcus adds insult to injury by informing him that he’s working at Marcus’s job.

Speaking of Marcus, this dude just doesn’t quit. He begins sexually harassing one of the women who works there, inquiring about what she does. She has to explain to him what a DVD is, immediately dating this show. Luckily, she has sense and shoots down his attempts. Sis can’t even do her job without some horny little high school boy bothering her. This program is stupid, by the way.

TJ enters, wearing his blue collar work uniform and ringing a bell. After fending off the usual “aww he’s so cute” remarks, he’s led into the office that needs the grub. The buffoons working there can’t seem to figure out whatever physics equation makes the DVDs run and of course, TJ is effortlessly able to offer a suggestion. He gets poached from this stupid temp position to help them out.

Floyd and Yvette are practicing in the garage when Marcus and Mo show up to gloat about their temporary yet important positions. Marcus has his own office. I would hate to be the person who worked there for years, sacrificed weekends, holidays and their sanity to get a promotion and their name on a door, only to watch a punk ass intern from high school get it instead. Mo is somehow working for a judge but I’m not sure for how long because this briefcase that was foolishly given to him contains a document that should have already been mailed off to William Renquist. Mo quickly dashes from that scene to deliver the mailpiece. Marcus makes an extremely dark joke that i didn’t even catch at first about someone getting the electric chair due to Mo’s carelessness. I’m sorry but I bellowed at that. However, I question how many lawsuits will be filed against Piedmont after this program is over.

TJ comes home and announces that he quit his blue collar job and is now working as a special consultant for research and development at DVD Electronic. That’s the name of the company? It’s so bland and generic that i sounds like an Amazon seller of used books and shit. Floyd is confused but TJ gets hired by a large company every other week so it’s whatever.

At work, we see TJ has his own office. Remember that person I would hate to be? They have to watch a fucking 10 year old get it instead. Maybe they did a mass firing or something because they seem to have plenty of rooms to just give to people. Of course, TJ likes the new digs. After his friendly secretary introduces him to his space, the resident hater shows up. I guess the person I was describing earlier is this white man, because man is he salty about having to share a cubicle when he started. White man is now attempting to get into TJ’s head and asks that he pitch all ideas to him first. How TJ, who is probably a psycho or sociopath didn’t see through this as a ruse for him to profit off his black ass ideas is beyond me. Or maybe TJ is faking dumb so that when he does reveal white man’s treachery, it’s more believeable? 

Marcus barges in and the white man is two seconds away from calling the cops before Marcus lets him know they’re related. But white man thinks him calling TJ his brother is a “black” thing until TJ says they are related albeit with similar genetic coding. I assume this is an obvious reference to Marcus being darker than him? Funny because I just wonder if Floyd’s wife was dark or if they both have a dark skinned parents and it just so happened to manifest in Marcus and no one else? Or maybe Marcus is actually his half-son? Let me stop. 

After the white man leaves, Marcus correctly assumes he is a piece of shit but TJ disagrees. He then gets a call to join a meeting. The head boss who is stationed in Zurich makes it a point to consider that TJ’s work study day ends at 5--wait, so they’re away from school for that long?--but quickly ignores that tidbit when some meeting gets pushed to 6. Of course, TJ shouldn’t be here unsupervised and out this late but we’re gonna ignore that even if the logistics of the Piedmont Work Study Program still boggle my mind.

So yeah, TJ is stuck at work and being asked about one of his ideas, the big boss says that the white man told him to filter all ideas through him. The white man is clearly displeased with TJ snitching but the boss man ends up making TJ the new head of the project. That’s how you use your privilege, even if it is child endangerment! The hating white man (whose name is Dick Ferrett by the way) comments to another coworker that TJ is toast. How dare this little black bastard be better than him?

Meanwhile, at home, Floyd is nursing an Yvette inflicted wound from when they were practicing basketball. TJ comes home acting like a middle aged adult, complaining about work and how bad traffic was. When Floyd notices how TJ is being affected by this job, he suggests that he quit. TJ whines for a little bit and Floyd relents. What the fuck Floyd, drag him by his collar and make him sit down! TJ promises to make Floyd’s game which means he won’t be able to make it because of work.

The next day, TJ is at work and discussing things with his secretary. The hating white man is just itching to fuck up TJ’s day and it shows. You might not be wondering who replaced TJ as the chow wagon boy but it turns out that it was Mo. Yes, instead of being fired from this program that he had no business being in to begin with, he was demoted to TJ’s job.

TJ is about to leave for the day when hating ass white man comes and dumps a bunch of work on TJ’s desk. See? Told you he wouldn’t be able to make Floyd’s game! Luckily, his secretary is going to film it for him.

Back at work, TJ is falling asleep trying to carry these stooges to a victory and the hating ass white man is actually calling TJ names. They even go back and forth for a moment. Floyd finally decides that enough is enough and he’s bogarted his way through security to get TJ because I’m sure it’s midnight at this point. TJ tells Floyd he must be mad that the game was missed. Floyd says he isn’t mad although the other guys’ kids showed up. Aww Flody. Parents have feelings, too.

The head white boss offers Floyd to hire TJ permanently but Floyd declines. TJ is able to get the hating ass white man fired before he leaves, in a move that is definitely petty but deserved. Fuck that guy, exploiting a gifted black child like that.

TJ is mad at Floyd according to a conversation between Yvette and himself. He thinks TJ is going to be mad at him forever but he comes downstairs and asks to play dominos with him. Aww. This is quickly ruined as per the usual. We all know TJ only abruptly forgives and forgets when he has an ulterior motive. This time, he’s going behind Floyd’s back to keep working with DVD Electronics. Floyd comes in during a session. I’m assuming he got his ass whooped after this but we just fade to black before an arms-folded Floyd can dole out any punishment. Eh, guess we’ll find out in the next episode. Ha. No we won’t.

Stuff I noticed:

- DVD Electronics video chat has a pretty stellar, crisp quality for 90s internet.

- Mo rewore this shirt from a prior episode. I really like when characters rewear clothes. It’s much more realistic than characters who seem to always have money for new outfits no matter how broke they claim to be.

- When TJ is bringing in the food, there’s an audience member who yells “You go, girl!” I have heard this woman in the audience of a Boy Meets World episode and another show that I can’t recall, but further proves that canned laughter is creepy and needs to be banned everywhere.

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Off Day: Seventeen

Bucky stared at his phone and felt a little light-headed from the speed at which blood had poured into his erection when he opened your message. It was a picture, one that he had asked for on his “To-Do List” that he made.

He knew you liked to torment him, however sweetly. You’d embraced flirting with him quickly and had just as quickly embraced sending him flirty pictures. This one though. It was filthy. One of the things he had put on there that would take you some prep time if you decided to take it for him. A way for you to stay distracted if you got overwhelmed. Or sad. Or any of the other feelings that tended to exacerbate your symptoms.

It made his mouth go dry and his fingers trembled as he tried to type a response. It was a pin-up photo. Artful but undeniably sexy. You were kneeling in front of a mirror in the middle of putting makeup on. Nude but for a pair of heels and the choker he’d bought you. The one with the blue jewel set in gold on a piece of black velvet ribbon. You’d fallen in love with it and protested him buying it. But, it was worth it. You’d changed the jewelry in your nipple piercings to match it. Your thighs were slightly parted and he could just barely see the pink of your folds. But the thing that made him throb was when his eye was drawn down to your plush bottom. He could see the wink of a jewel. Of a toy he’d told you to use. It was beautiful. It made him feel like he was standing behind you, waiting for you to get ready. Watching you. Admiring you from afar.

“Barnes,” Clint said snatching his phone, “Quit lookin’ at porn. You’ll be home tomorrow.”

Clint glanced down at his phone and recoiled, “Oh shit,” he tossed the phone back at Bucky like he’d been shocked, “God. What? Fuck. How do you get a girl to do that?”

“Ask nicely,” Bucky said blushing a little. 

“Do you think Nat would do that for me?” Clint asked

“Do what? Nat asked sitting across from them.

“Take dirty pictures and send them to me,” Clint said.

Nat shot Bucky a look, “Bucky!”

“I didn’t show him,” Bucky protested, “Clint took my fucking phone.”

“Was it at least pretty?” Nat asked clint, smirking.

“Very artistic. She put some effort in. I mean. In another life she woulda made a good alt model.” he said, cheeks coloring a little. 

Bucky can’t look at either one of them right now. He feels a little like he might have betrayed your trust by Clint getting a peek at you. He promised they’d only be for him. 

“I’m not tellin’ her I saw shit though,” Clint said, “I just thought Bucky was watching porn hub. I didn’t know he was doing some freaky shit with his girl.”

Nat snorted, “Oh,” she said, “So you did make a list.”

Bucky nodded, smiling a little, “Yeah,” he said, “thanks for putting that idea in her head.”

Nat grinned, “You’re welcome... We were talking about her doing makeup to distract herself... I was kinda kidding when I suggested dirty pictures but it worked. She likes making you happy. Or teasing you. I’m not sure which.”

“Yes,” Bucky answered nodding. Still blushing. But, it was nice knowing that you and Nat did girl things. Nat didn’t spend much time around women. They irritated her. At least. Most of the women in the bar did. They were pretend tough girls. Bitches. They might ride bikes and drink but they were really boring to her. She liked women that were smart and individual. Not mean girls. She had enough of those in High School. 

Nat snorted, “Nice,” she said, “I knew she was a keeper.”

Bucky picked up his phone to message you back, saving the picture for later in the secret file on his phone

He lavishes praise on you. You’re beautiful and perfect. That picture is hot. It’s so sexy he doesn’t know how he’s gonna sleep tonight looking at it. And thank you so much for showing him.

_______

Bucky is glad to be home. It’s chilly outside but it’s warm inside the clubhouse. He’s missed you and he wanted to go straight to White Rabbit to see you but you made him promise not to. You had something you were working on for him, apparently in a back room and didn’t want him to see it. He was itching to see you. It had been three days and he hadn’t slept well the whole time. He’d not realized how used to you he’d gotten. How much better he slept next to you. He sipped his beer and watched the clock, counting seconds until you’d wander through the door. 

You were always welcome, even when Bucky wasn’t there just by virtue of being a sweetheart who always paid her tab in full. And by being friendly to Nat and generally patient when waiting for a drink. They all liked you. Even the ones that didn’t remember you from school. If only because you did what they couldn’t do and got Bucky out of a bad relationship. He finished his beer and ordered his second, going to join Steve and Sam at the pool table, trying to kill time until you would be there. It worked. He’d hardly looked at the clock.

He was honestly surprised when you burst through the door, wearing a green pleated skirt and white blouse. Hair up in a bun behind your head and pretty red lips. Knee socks and cute little heeled oxfords. You look like a librarian. Out of place in the bar. Still, when you bolt into his arms and wrap your legs around his waist easily, he chuckles against your lips as you tangle your hands in his hair. He can’t stop you and he doesn’t want to. He hefts you up and ignores the jeers and whoops. There’s nothing but you. Your perfume. The feel of your eager, hungry lips against his. When you come up for air he grins, “Miss me?” he asked, teasing.

“So much,” you say smiling, a little breathless.

“Is this outfit for me?” he asks, kissing your nose.

“Do you like it? I did some shopping when I was up in Red Key.” you look uncertain and he smiles. You have an aesthetic. One you never had enough money to dress for. He really likes watching you build your dream closet a little at a time. Even if he has to threaten to punish you if you don’t buy whatever you’re drooling over occasionally. You deserve it and he likes knowing you feel pretty. He also likes wrapping his leather jacket around you when you’re chilly. He likes how big it is on you and the way it clashes with your neat, pretty style. 

“I love it,” he rumbles, “You look real good baby girl. I’m a lucky man, coming home to such a beautiful girl.”

You flush at the praise and he kisses your nose again, “Did you buy yourself anything else?”

“Some pretties and I got my nails done,” you tell him. 

He whistles softly and smiles, “Good to know the money I gave you to run around with went to good use, Princess,” he praised. You hadn’t asked but he’d made sure to give you a little something just to entertain yourself with. He’d left it on your dresser in the jar you kept to save up for this or that. 

You tilt your head, “Oh no. I used that to get you something,” you say smiling, kissing his cheek. “I had a ton of money in my Princess fund so I used what you left me for something else.”

“Y/N,” he scolded, “You were supposed to use that on something for you.”

“I did. It made me happy buying you something,” you murmur, cheeks coloring. 

He swatted your backside affectionately, “Why’re you so sweet, huh?”

“I dunno,” you answer, wiggling to be put down.

“Nuh-uh,” he said, shifting you onto his shoulder and carrying you over to the bar to sit with you on his lap, “Have a glass of wine with me?” he asked. 

You sigh, “Not today,,” you say shaking your head. Bucky kisses your head and signals to Nat to put it on his tab as she pours a coke for you. She kept a four-pack of Mini bottles and one wine glass. You were the only one that drank wine, when you did drink and it tickled her.

“Thank you,” you tell her, smiling and raising your glass in toast. “I still don’t understand how the fuck you walked into a biker bar and ordered wine,” she teased.

“Well, you stock it now don’t you?” you answer.

“Only because it’s you and we feel bad making fun of you.”

You shrug, “Much like the sloth, my plan for survival seems to be being as pathetic as possible so that bigger badder people leave me alone.”

Natasha snorted. She could appreciate that you were yourself. You didn’t like beer and wouldn’t pretend to fit in. You’d sip your glass of wine and crack quiet jokes.

“Pathetic?” Sam gasped scandalized, teaching across the bar to grab another bottle, “You’ve successfully whipped the most unrepentant man whore I have ever met AND you get to talk back to Natasha and live.”

“He wasn’t a man whore,” you say leaning against Bucky’s side, “He just didn’t know better.”

“And I’m pretty sure she’s the one that’s whipped,” Steve snickered.

Your cheeks burn and Natasha winces sympathetically, “Steve,” she says, spraying him with seltzer, “You’re fucking Stark so you should probably let the two of them just have their French vanilla sex and enjoy it.”

Bucky tilts your chin up and kisses you softly, cuddling you close and casually flipping off the guys that are D’aww-ing loudly. He’s never understood why guys act like assholes to their girls in public. You deserved soft all the time. You deserved to be able to look to him to feel safe whether or not his friends could see him.

“Shut up, ya animals,” Nat sighed. 

______________________

Bucky walked into the house and set his bag down by the door then set you down on the table, standing between your legs and putting his chilled hands on your thighs, rubbing tenderly to warm them up. You shiver and he chuckles, “I missed you, Princess,” he murmurs, kissing your nose.

“I missed you too, daddy,” you answer, hiding your face in his abs.

“You were a handful while I was gone,” he chuckles, “I loved all the pretty pictures you sent me.”

“You did?”

“I did,” he praised, “Lost a lot of sleep wishing I was here to admire how perfect you are in person.”

You beam up at him and he takes the pins out of your hair carefully, letting it fall down to your shoulders. “You’re so perfect,” he hummed, kissing your nose.

Your cheeks color and you nuzzle his abs again, “Can I give you your present now?” 

He chucks you under the chin, “You mean the present I told you not to buy?”

“But-” Your face falls and he tickles your side, making you giggle.

“No, no being sad,” he tuts, “Of course you can Princess.” He helps you off the table and listens to your shoes hit the floor outside the door and then listens to you scamper up the stairs. You’re excited. Thrilled about whatever this is and Bucky braces himself. Even if he hates whatever it is, he’s not gonna tell you. Not ever. You’re too sweet and he knows that whatever it is you saw it and thought it was perfect for him. That’s enough.

He helps himself to a beer and waits, listening to the rustling coming from upstairs. He shakes his head and settles into a kitchen chair waiting. When you come back downstairs with a black gift bag in your hand he smirks. You always tried so hard not to make things too feminine for him. He appreciated it but honestly, he wasn’t phased. He’d carry your purse and not even blink. He was a big scary biker. Ain’t no one saying shit. 

“What’s this, huh?” he said pulling you onto his knee and taking tissue paper out of the bag and tossing it aside.

You’re practically vibrating with excitement and he pulls the gift out of the bag. It’s a leather jacket. A tiny leather jacket. Like baby-sized. Bucky stops and looks at you. Your hands are over your mouth and you’re watching him waiting on his reaction. “Princess,” he said, not quite able to breathe, “I don’t think this is my size.”

He definitely can’t breathe. He can’t think. If you’re telling him what he thinks you’re saying he has to protect you. He has to keep you safe. 

“Bucky I-” you start and he can hear the anxiety in your voice and that hurts. He forces himself to smile and wipes a stray happy tear off your cheek. 

“I thought you were on birth control,” he said, feeling like his lips are numb.

“And they put me on antibiotics for my sinus infection- I- I’m sorry. I didn’t- I’m sorry.” You’re starting to cry in earnest now, springing off of his lap and covering your face with your hands. 

“Sweetheart,” he soothed, holding his hands out for you to take, “I just- I’m surprised. I think- I think I might have gone into shock for a second.” It’s breaking his heart to see you cry. He hates it. He can’t. It makes him think about all the times you cried and he wasn’t there to dry your tears. “Please, baby girl,” he coaxes, “Please don’t cry. Not like this. I’m sorry. I’m happy I promise.”

“No, you’re not,” you sniffle, wiping your eyes on the back of your hand and wrapping your arms around yourself.

He crosses the floor to you and passes you a clean handkerchief from the inside pocket of his jacket. You take it and he kisses your head while you bow your head and try to rein in all your emotions. Something Bucky still appreciates about your crying. It’s always real. He gives you the time you need before he starts talking again. Taking just a second to decide what to say. And rein in his own panic. His own irrational fear. His dad left. He didn’t know how to be a dad. He could barely take care of himself. How would he teach his son? And oh god, what if it was a girl? What would he do? 

When you look up at him though, he can’t think about that. All he knows is he has to fix this for you. You’re his. This baby is his. And this isn’t about him. Not really. You’re trusting him. Giving him this. You could have had an abortion and not told him and he’d never know. You’re looking up at him, uncertain and scared and he realizes with a jolt that he wasn’t the only one that was scared, you’d just had some time to adjust to it. Some time to decide you could do this. With him. 

“You’re right,” he says softly, “I’m not happy. I’m terrified.” He kneels in front of you and nuzzles your belly, kissing gently. You pet his hair, waiting. “I don’t- I don’t really know what to do with kids ya know? My dad left- a bunch of times. I don’t really know how to be a dad. I mean. Until recently I was drunk every night and fucking a bunch of different girls.” He looks up at you and smiles a little, “But if I can do this with anyone, Y/N, I can do it with you.”

“Really?” you whimper,  tucking hair behind his ear.

“Really.” 

“Promise?” you hold out your pinky and he links his pinky through yours, pressing his lips to your thumb and pressing his thumb against it to lock it. 

“I promise, Princess,” he said getting to his feet slowly and wrapping his arms around you, “I only get one chance. I’m not gonna fuck this up. Not now that I fooled you into thinking I’m a nice guy.”

You roll your eyes but giggle, making him swat your bottom affectionately. “When did you find out?” he asks softly, setting you on the counter and taking a cool cloth to your face gently.

“About 15 minutes before the girls showed up with pizza for our sleepover,” you murmur. 

He kisses your nose, “Have you seen a doctor?”

“Not yet but. Three tests on three different days seemed pretty definitive... I wanted to tell you first before I did anything.”

“We need to get you an appointment, Princess,” he murmured, kissing you softly, “We just got you healthy. I wanna keep you that way. Both of you.” He swipes at your nose gently with the cloth and you smile.

“You’re gonna keep me?”

“Of course I am,” he murmured, “You’re my Princess, and this is for both of us to handle, okay? Just give me some time to process it all. I promise. I’m okay. It was just a shock, baby.”

“Can we have a cuddle?” you ask, needing some comfort.

Bucky nods and helps you gently off the counter, “And snacks. I’m hungry.”

You nod and bucky Listens to your little white socked feet on the wood floors as he glances towards the tiny jacket on the table, “Ma is gonna kill me,” he murmurs rubbing the back of his neck.

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