#don’t make me count them i am bad at math!!!

[percentstardust]

i now write 4/5 of king viserys’ children and 3/4 of alicent’s children.

[awrkive]

[TEASER] CATCH YOUR WAVE (m) — JJK.

the last thing you expected when you strolled into your new school is to become the favorite project of the 5’11” tatted-up overly enthusiastic, golden-retriever-in-human-form PE teacher, jeon jungkook. he’s all goofy grins, bad math puns, and relentless charm, while you’re busy pretending you’re immune to his antics... spoiler alert: you’re not. and that infuriates you. 

alternatively, jungkook tries to prove that opposites don’t just attract — they collide. a classic case of one plus one equals: “oh, no. i like him.”

PAIRING jeon jungkook x (female) reader

GENRE r18+ (fuff, slight angst, mature content) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

WORD COUNT ~15k (still working around the final wc)

TEASER WORD COUNT 1.8k words

WARNINGS/MISC teachers!au, pe teacher!jk, math teacher!reader, seven!jungkook, himbo!jk, coworkers!au (works in the same school), oc gets kinda mean sometimes but jungkook likes it lmfao, extremely corny pick up lines.. he tries 💔 2000s romcoms references (sorry) warnings for this teaser: nothing major. just bad math puns delivered by himbo jungkook :')

NOTES inspired by the whole “can she gaf me💔” vibes in the seven mv (by jungkook) and ultimately the click five’s song, catch your wave (hence the title🥸 pls listen to the song for the whole vibes hehe <3). ive been wanting to write himbo jk for awhile bcs all my jks are like … smart so far so i thought wait we need to change that. gahhhh im so so freaking excited ive been thinking about writing this ever ever since i wrote that one himbo jk drabble 💃🏼

[ CYW MOODBOARD ] • [ MAIN MASTERLIST ]

RELEASE DATE 2025, APRIL xx | 01:00 AM KOREAN STANDARD TIME (GMT+9)

They say life is a balance of good and bad days, and you’re not a pessimistic person, but sometimes enough is enough. How is your week already this bad when it’s just barely started? 

Sunday morning, when you picked up your laundry from the shop, you were too late to realize that you mixed not just one but two white underwear with the colored loads. You’d blame it on the fact that they were too tiny, too flimsy for you to notice. But you know you should’ve double-checked before putting them in the machine. And now you have lost two panties. And in this economy? That shit cost a ton. 

When Monday came and the head of the Math Department informed you there was a sudden shift in your schedule for the semester, it meant that instead of teaching three Algebra classes for tenth graders, you’re also teaching pre-Algebra for eighth graders, meaning you’re gonna have to cross the long walk from the high school building to the middle school one, the latter being all the way to the left wing, completely the opposite side of the right wing where the faculty room and your initial classes are. 

Today, you’ve woken up with your WiFi not connected to the internet (something you have to talk to your landlord about when you come back home) and just two minutes ago, you realized you forgot to take your coffee order with you from the cafe across your school building, the sad garlic bread you bought along with it staring right at you without its beloved beverage pair. 

Truthfully, it might be your last straw. How the hell is this happening to you out of all people? The semester is just starting, for god’s sake, and you’re already hanging on by a thread. 

You take a deep breath on your seat before standing up from your cubicle, heading to the coffee machine by the snack bar.

You hate the coffee here. Whatever brand they keep on stocking the pantry with, it’s too naturally sweet – and you don’t like your coffee with sugar. 

But you have no choice but to make do. The cafe’s too far out and your first class starts in about twenty minutes. 

“Good morning, Ms. Math Genius – ready to crunch some numbers today?” 

As if this day couldn’t get any worse, you shut your eyes close for a moment when you hear the familiar voice. 

You stir your coffee with downturned lips.

“Only if you promise to flex those brain muscles—” You say, turning to look to the side. Much to your expectation, it’s Jeon Jungkook, leaning casually against the wall with that usual faux suave he keeps on around you – which you can’t take seriously because his big doe eyes tell you a completely different story. He’s wearing some Nike dri fit shirt, one that’s too tight around his chest and accentuates a comparatively tiny waist that you have to force your eyes upwards. But as they do, they land on the biceps that are straining against the poor material. It wasn’t lost on you though that one second after, they’re suddenly flexing. You arch your brow as you glance a look on his face. “—as much as you flex those biceps.” 

Jungkook’s lips curl into a huge grin, expecting the jab. 

“You know it!” He chuckles, running his fingers through his bangs. “I’m all about solving problems, and I’d say my favorite equation is you plus me equals a perfect start to the day.” 

You fight a loud groan from escaping your lips as soon as he says that, giving him a certain look before shaking your head and going back to your coffee. 

But you should’ve known better by now, because Jungkook – aside from being a PE teacher extraordinaire and every student’s favorite at that, Thee Football Coach, 5’11” tatted brunette with a long, fluffy hair paired with an objectively, annoyingly attractive face – is persistent. 

Most especially when it comes to annoying you. 

A few steps, and then you feel him getting closer to you. 

“Did you know that—” 

You roll your eyes. That’s it. If it’s another one of his corny math pick-up lines again you swear to god— 

“Jungkook, you don’t have to keep doing this everyda—” 

“—we’re like parallel lines?” 

“What.”

“Did you know that we’re like parallel lines?” Jungkook repeats earnestly, just like he always does. When he’s up in your personal space like this, it’s easy to get a waft of his cologne – and your annoyance could’ve been justified if he smelled like shit but somehow, even though he looks like he just got back from a run judging by his running shoes and gym bag, he still smells… okay. 

Just okay. As in, you don’t care how good he smells like or how he smells at all.

You make sure to keep that thought at the back of your head. 

“No.” You say, hoping to dismiss the conversation right there as you pick up the cup of coffee from the machine, ready to turn on your heel, but then Jungkook laughs ever so slightly and gives your arm a barely-there poke.

“Come on, entertain me a little.” 

You squint your eyes at him. He challenges your stare with a growing smile on his face. Scoffing, you roll your eyes again before you put the paper cup back on the table. With a sigh, you cross your arms and look at Jungkook. For a split second, his eyes cast downwards to your chest level but he quickly snaps out of it. 

“Okay… we’re like parallel lines… why? Because we’ll never meet?” You say in response to his little request, keeping your tone impassive. 

Jungkook’s eyes slowly widen at your words, smile slowly dropping – as if the logic of your words have ruined one of his million pick-up lines again. 

“I– no! What? I meant, we’re like, always running to each other! Side by side. Parallel lines.”

“Okay… so still never meeting?” You ask impatiently, brows furrowing. 

Jungkook mirrors your confusion. Then, he raises a hand, one finger up. “One second. I’ll fix this–” he takes his phone out from his pocket, types on it quickly, lip jutting out as he reads whatever he’s looking up, and then, “Ohh, I might have meant asymptote lines. We’re like asymptote lines.” 

Your face contorts into even deeper confusion. Holy shit, you’re not dealing with this very early on in the morning, especially not after the circumstances of the past hours.

“Asymptote lines are more depressing than parallel lines if we’re talking metaphorically.” 

Jungkook squints his eyes at you, suspicious. “Are you sure?”

“I would hope I know my lines, Jungkook. I teach them everyday.” 

He laughs again, eyes crinkling at the corners cutely, and you hate how that tugs something at your heartstrings. 

You catch yourself right at that moment.

Jeon Jungkook is not cute. You keep in mind. He’s not cute. 

Jungkook thinks you’re so cute. Gorgeous, most of all, and unbelievably so. You and your signature furrowed brows and pink pouty lips.

As usual, you have your hair up in a clean bun today, and Jungkook can smell the lace of sweet vanilla from you as he takes a step closer to get a cup for himself. 

He loves the coffee here. Whatever brand they keep stocking the pantry with, it’s sweet as fuck. Just like how Jungkook likes his caffeine dose. Kind of like you, he thinks. 

Jungkook casts a quick glance at you again, can't really help himself when you're so pretty, although he makes sure to be subtle about it.

You’re wearing another one of your pencil skirts, one that he has to avoid staring at for longer than three seconds lest his mind takes him too far – but the upper view is even more of a torture, unfortunaly for him. Because as much as you wear the same outfit every single day and it should mean that Jungkook should get used to it by now, he can never be immune to your silk long sleeves, where you keep the top three buttons open – and as much as Jungkook tries to pry his gaze away from the exposed skin down from your neck, it’s like there’s a strange force in the universe that keeps him on it. Doesn’t really help that you like crossing your arms under your chest, too, making his mind run a mile per minute at the thoughts that form inside his head when a very apparent cleavage shows—

Alright. Damn. It’s like 8 am. 

And you were saying something about lines…

“Yeah? I hope you can teach me too, I need to—” 

“Goodbye, Mr. Jeon.” You cut him off before he can even finish his sentence, taking your coffee with you as you head to the direction of your cubicle. 

The nickname makes Jungkook’s lips curl up. He probably shouldn’t smile, given that you only ever call him that when you want to cut the conversation with him short. But he can’t help it, it sounds sweet coming from your pretty lips. 

In an attempt to not look like a fool, Jungkook bites his lip as he watches your disappearing figure, your heels clicking on the floor as you walk away. Your legs look so long in that grey pencil skirt, and it really should be criminal how you look like that even when you’re just showing your back. 

In his trance, he forgets about the brewing coffee in his cup and absentmindedly takes it out while the machine is still running, the hot liquid pouring from the nozzle quickly burning the skin on his finger. 

“Oh, shit!” He hisses, jumping from the shock, almost knocking his coffee out but thankfully he manages to catch it on time, just as when another member of the faculty walks by the snack bar. 

With an awkward smile, Jungkook raises a thumbs up to Mrs. Lee. 

“Good morning, Mrs. Lee. Looking rad as always.” He cheerfully greets, and Mrs. Lee’s confusion from seeing him fumble with his cup earlier quickly turns into a coo. 

“Oh, Mr. Jeon, you charming kid. I was just gonna get my cup of coffee.” She says, walking towards his direction. 

Jungkook adjusts the strap of his gym bag to his shoulder and takes a cup for Mrs. Lee with a grin, making her smile. 

She thanks him and with a playful salute, Jungkook goes toward the general direction of his cubicle, and because the PE department and Math department are just across from each other, he walks past you, typing something on your iPad before you look around and catch his gaze.

Jungkook automatically waves, smiling brightly, but you only frown, shutting your iPad close and ignoring him.

Amused, Jungkook tries to fight off a huge grin, taking a few long strides to get to his own cubicle. 

His day is already off to a good start.

© 𝐀𝐖𝐑𝐊𝐈𝐕𝐄 2025. all rights reserved. copying, editing, reposting and/or translating any of my works are not allowed.

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 4

in which spencer reid and inexperienced fem!reader are interrupted at the most inopportune of times. he calls you on the first night of his case. dirty talk turns into a hard conversation. we get a glimpse into spencer's past, and we finally learn why he's so hesitant to sleep with you.

series masterlist

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: dirty talk, phone sex/mutual masturbation, softdom!spence, obligatory he talks u through it, lots of graphic discussions of sex, established relationship, angst (sorrryyy!) a/n: so remember how i said you'd need the bonus chapter to fully appreciate/understand this part? i was wrong!! it will come in handy probably in the next part tho:) also idk how these parts keep getting so long im sorry! anyway, i love you all so bad. thank you for bearing w/ my craziness. PLEASE let me know your thoughts on this part!! i adore hearing from you!! kisses

(also special thank you to @fliesforeyes who convinced me phone sex w/ spence could be done!! i will link his phone sex blurb here :)) thank u binx!!

“Three million six hundred eighty four thousand three hundred thirty two times fourteen million seven hundred sixty one thousand nine hundred seventy one.”

You’ve lost count of how many stupid math questions you’ve asked your human calculator boyfriend, just to see if he can actually do them. Spencer is silent for a second, and you think you’ve finally stumped him. 

“That one is complicated.”

You sit bolt upright in his bed, looking down at him and pointing an accusatory finger. His brows raise at the manic look in your eye. 

“You don’t know.”

“I do know. I meant it would be hard to explain if you aren’t a math person.”

“Bullshit!” You scoff, “you don’t know!”

“It would display on a calculator as five-point-three-eight-eight-E-thirteen. It’s a really big number.”

“Oh, really big, huh?” you mumble, searching for your phone blindly in the sheets and scrambling to open the calculator app. “Um… what numbers did I say?”

Spencer repeats them back to you and you press the equals sign. 

You look at it. 

And then you set your phone down. 

“I was right, huh?” he smiles up at you, probably reveling in your pouty wrongness. 

Too proud to admit it, you collapse on top of him, burying your face in his shoulder. 

“I don’t like this game anymore. What the fuck even is an e? Why are we doing algebra?”

Spencer laughs, brushing your hair aside. 

“The e stands for exponent. It’s to the power of ten.”

“Ever heard of a rhetorical question?”

“Yes, I have.”

It’s hard not to snort even at his dumbest jokes. 

“You’re annoying. Let’s do something else.”

You roll over onto your back again, letting your head flop over to look at Spencer, whose hair is exactly the right amount of messy after a long day, falling in impossibly soft waves over the perfect lines and contours of his face. Despite lounging, he’s still in his suit from work—he’d left Quantico and immediately picked you up. There were no solid plans for the evening, so after both of you pretended that you wanted to go out for a while, you ended up back at his apartment. 

He looks good. Almost too good. 

“Something like what?” he smiles lazily, reaching over and tracing his fingers over your cheek. 

“Something… naked?”

His grin widens and he shakes his head. 

“Me naked or you naked?”

Pretending to think about it, you roll your bottom lip between your teeth. 

“Mm… why not both?”

“Hm. Why do I feel like I know where this is going?”

The mattress sinks underneath your elbow as you prop yourself up, dropping your head over Spencer’s to kiss him. 

“Because you’re so smart, and you think it’s a great idea.”

He entertains your kiss for a moment. Just a moment.

“You sound sure of yourself.”

“Because I am!” You finally give in to your impulses, tangling your fingers in his hair and looking at him meaningfully. “It doesn’t make any sense for us to have not had sex. I don’t care about any of your weird, cryptic moral reasoning.”

He grabs your wrist carefully. 

“It is not moral,” he scoffs. “We haven’t even talked about it yet.”

“Really? Because I feel like we’ve talked about it a lot.” 

He begins to reply, but you realize you don’t want to get into a debate over whether you’ve technically talked about it yet. “I don’t even care! If that’s all that’s standing in your way, then let’s talk about it. Right now.”

Spencer sighs, his eyes darting between yours as he reaches up to cradle your cheek. 

“Fine. But I have things to say you’re not going to like.”

“So business as usual?”

He rolls his eyes. You allow yourself a tiny self-satisfied smirk, forever relishing in his poorly-hidden soft spot for your constant teasing. Spencer ignores this. Which is probably for the best. 

“I know you probably won’t see it this way, but—sex is different than everything else we’ve done so far. It can be really fun, obviously it feels good, it facilitates deeper feelings of connection—that’s all true. Which is why, in my opinion, it’s incredibly important that you be selective with who you sleep with. Because it’s so easy to do something you regret, and sex is vulnerable. It should always be with someone you trust and—and… care about.”

A pink flush stains his cheeks like watercolor as he stumbles over the last few words. It makes your heart flutter against the confines of your chest.

Maybe best not to think about the absence versus presence of certain four-letter words and what they may or may not mean. You’ll move on to more pressing matters and pretend like it doesn’t ache just a little in your whole body. 

You cover his hand with your own. 

“Are you going to break up with me anytime soon?”

Spencer’s eyes widen, filling with genuine horror and confusion. 

“What? No!”

“Are you going to cheat on me?”

“Absolutely not, I—”

“Then I’m not going to regret it. Issue resolved. Moving on.”

“Honey, I just want you to be 100% sure that I’m what you want.”

“Oh my god,” you groan, flopping onto your back once more. “I have begged you to sleep with me on multiple occasions. We have been dating for months and I liked you even longer before that. I think about it literally every time I see you. I don’t know how to be any surer.”

It’s quiet for a moment as you study the imaginary pattern on the ceiling. The rebuttal you’d been anticipating doesn’t come—instead, the mattress shifts next to you. Spencer enters your field of vision, now leaning over you with a little smile on his face that gives you butterflies. 

“Every time?”

“…yes, every time,” you agree, voice considerably thinner than it had been a moment ago. Spencer glances at your lips as he speaks. 

“Interesting. And what is it that you think about exactly?”

You groan again, attempting to roll facedown, but he pins your shoulder to the bed. The way he’s sweetly kissing down your cheek and jaw is infuriating because you know it’s a false pretense. 

“Ugh, I don’t know! Don’t make me answer that!”

“You said if talking about it was all that was standing in my way, we would talk about it. Now I want to talk about it. Come on,” he says, voice low and cloying against your throat as he attempts to tease the answer out of you. “Tell me what you think about when you think about us having sex.”

You let out a shaky breath at the feeling of his lips skimming your neck, hating how easily he can reduce you to this. 

“I… I always wonder what it will feel like. Sometimes I wonder if it will hurt.”

Spencer sighs, interrogation by way of seduction momentarily forgotten. You silently curse yourself for saying something so un-sexy. 

“It might, sweetheart. That’s one of the reasons we’ve held back. I… really don’t want to hurt you. I don’t even know if I can.”

You grab his face in both hands, forcing him to look at you with more confidence than you feel. 

“Sometimes I worry about it, too. But I like you a lot more than it scares me. I still want to.”

He kisses your palm. 

“You’ll be okay. It doesn’t hurt for everyone, and even if it does, you’re resilient.”

“Exactly. So you have to get over yourself.”

Spencer laughs like he wasn’t expecting to, eyes sparkling as he regards you.  

“Yeah. Yeah, maybe I do.”

He’s smiling again as he leans down and kisses you—a slow, lingering thing which tastes like spearmint as you part your lips for him. 

“Please?” you whisper against him after a long moment. He hums, keeps kissing you. 

“What is it that you think you want? You don’t even know what you’re asking for.”

“Tell me,” you beg, chasing his lips. “Tell me what you’re going to do with me. We can talk about it. This is talking about it.”

Spencer exhales deeply, wedging a thigh between yours. Immediately you clamp around it, trying not to grind against him too overtly. 

“You want to know what I’d do to you?”

“Yes—” you paw at his jacket. Surprisingly, he doesn’t stop you from pushing it off. Your heart pounds. 

“Well… we both know how anxious you get,” he muses, pressing his lips so delicately to your fluttering pulse-point in emphasis, and then back to your mouth. His thigh pushes harder against you to supplant the absence of his lips as he speaks, though he kisses you sporadically and between sentences. “You’re hard to get out of your head when you’re nervous, you know that? I watch it happen. One minute you’re with me, and then you start overthinking, and getting self-conscious. The only thing that seems to relax you is letting me touch you—so first I would touch you like I’ve touched you before. I’d make sure you know how pretty you are and how good you deserve to feel.” You whimper inadvertently at his words, arching into him and grinding against his leg as he pauses to kiss the sensitive soft spot below your jaw. “You’re going to need to be really ready to let me in. Do you know what I mean by that?”

As he asks, he pushes his thigh against you harder. Your body responds immediately, arching into him and seeking more friction. When you squeak, he takes it as a no. 

“I mean I need you relaxed and wet. You’ll excuse my crude language.”

You pull at his tie, breathing heavier now and so turned on it’s almost painful. 

“What are you gonna do after that?”

“What else is there to do but fuck you after that?” he breathes. “You want me to tell you how I’d fuck you?”

Something about it makes you whine salaciously. You’ve heard him curse—you’ve even heard him talk about fucking you. But it feels more real now; when it’s low in your ear and you’re covertly undressing him and he’s pushing your shirt over your stomach promisingly. 

“Yes, please.” 

He hums against your jaw, nipping and brushing his lips over the skin as he considers. Leaves you waiting. 

“I would have to take my time with you. You’ll be overwhelmed. I know you think you won’t, but you will. I’m going to have to be so, so careful with you, angel. It’s going to drive me insane. But it will feel good for you.”

“Why careful? I don’t want that.”

He chuckles. A chill runs down your spine. 

“Yeah, you do. You’re going to want me to be careful when I’m—” he pauses, pressing his thumb to your bare lower tummy and dragging up to a spot below your belly button. He presses down lightly again. “Right here. Approximately.”

The surface of the sun has nothing on the temperature of your skin in this moment, as you writhe underneath him in both arousal and embarrassment. Mostly, burning need. You feel almost sick with it. 

“Please don’t make me wait anymore. Just do it, please, Spencer. I need it to be you, I don’t want it to be anyone else. I promise I’m ready.”

It’s silent for a moment. Your heart quickens. You sense his walls wearing away, his instinct to keep you intact for god knows what reason crumbling. He’s finally going to give you what you’ve been begging for. 

Spencer opens his mouth, eyes glimmering—

And then his phone rings. 

You both freeze—he melts dejectedly before you do, more accustomed to an ill-timed phone call and realizing the finality it can present. 

He’s breathing heavily against your neck, as if maybe whoever it is will just hang up. But the phone keeps ringing. 

“I’m sorry.”

Your stomach sinks as he sits up, grabbing his phone from the side table and rubbing circles on your inner thigh as he answers.

“This is Reid,” he says, lackluster. 

If you wanted, you could hear what Penelope is saying—but you don’t bother listening. It’s going to be a case. Spencer is about to leave. The details are his problem. 

“Okay. I’ll be there in an hour.”

He hangs up, tossing the phone onto the mattress and not speaking for a moment, just continuing to rub your leg apologetically. Watching you almost mournfully—taking in your disheveled hair, your likely blown-out pupils, the shirt pushed almost over your chest. 

“I have to go right now,” he finally manages with a heavy sigh, gently pulling your shirt back into place. 

You sit up, shedding all the hopes that had been building for the evening, and try to sound chipper—though all you feel is bitter disappointment that goes deeper than you understand. 

“I know. Go ahead, I can get a cab home.”

He frowns, running his hand over the back of your hair. 

“I don’t love the idea of you standing on the sidewalk waiting for a car in this part of town so late. Do you just want to stay here for the night and go home tomorrow?”

You force a smile. Great. So you’ll be spending the night in his bed after all—just without him. 

“Sure. Thanks.”

“Yeah.”

Neither of you are feeling particularly grateful. 

Soon you’re walking him to his own door. Both of you come to a stop in front. 

“I’m sorry,” he sighs again. 

“Spencer, it’s fine. It’s your job. You don’t need to apologize. You were very clear about this part when we started dating.”

“I know, but… it’s easier in theory than in practice.”

You smile. If Spencer is a reflection of you, it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. His hair is still messy from your fingers running through it and he’s missing his tie. You hope all his coworkers see and feel bad about taking him away from you. 

But it’s not their fault. You just want someone to blame. 

Instead you mould yourself to his body, wrapping around him like you belong there. He returns your embrace, pressing his lips into the crook of your shoulder and rubbing your back in that way he always does with you. 

In that moment, your affection for him becomes so profound it’s like a chemical reaction—everywhere he touches burns and you love him so fucking much it aches in every inch of your body the way your muscles do when you have a bad fever. Love is the most terrible of afflictions, you realize. It is a fever dream. It’s every fiber of your being screaming to tell him how you feel, to beg him on your knees not to go because you love him like a child loves a parent or a bee loves honeysuckle or the ocean loves the horizon. Pared down to your most basic components, the barest version of yourself, you require him. Your soul needs his soul. 

“Spencer?”

“Hm?” 

It’s nothing more than an absentminded hum against your skin. 

“I…”

Should you be looking him in the eye when you say this? Should you say it right before he has to leave? Just because you say it doesn’t change the fact that he’s about to be gone for several long days. Maybe this is a terrible time to admit something that suddenly feels so true and so consequential. 

He senses your internal conflict, pulling back despite your resistance and holding your face between his hands. 

“You what?” He murmurs, soft eyes bouncing back and forth between your own. Fuck—you feel so observed, now. Like he can read your mind. 

“I forget.”

FUUUUUUCK. 

Spencer blinks. Processes. You watch the disbelief crystallizing over his eyes like ice freezing over a lake. 

He knows. 

He knows you didn’t forget, and he probably knows what you were going to say, and he’s going to tell himself he was wrong to spare your dignity. 

Everything hurts when he kisses you. You wonder what regret tastes like. 

“Well, let me know if you remember.”

It’s too gentle and at the same time he can’t hide the edge with all the tenderness in the world. You nod as if in a trance, already looking forward to dissociating as you lie in bed and stare at the dark ceiling.

Two small goodbyes are exchanged, slightly stifled now, as if shared between drunk strangers who have sobered up and are mutually embarrassed about how candidly they’d interacted before. 

You close the door behind him, doing up all the locks, and meticulously flick every light switch in the apartment off before climbing into his bed—though you don’t really feel like you deserve to be there anymore.

But perhaps this is all an overreaction. It’s not like you owe it to him to say I love you, or anything—it was bad timing, anyway. And why can’t he say it? In fact, why hasn’t he said it? 

Maybe you have it all wrong. 

Maybe he doesn’t feel that way about you. 

You fall asleep before you allow these questions to make you sick. 

24 hours go by. 

24 hours go by and you really had meant to leave his apartment—it was just that you woke up late, and your phone was dead so you couldn’t call a car, so you charged it while you made breakfast, and then you ate, and then you decided to take a shower and wash your clothes, and then it was two in the afternoon and you hadn’t left yet and you decided to walk to the store and replenish the groceries you’d used up. 

Maybe you got a bit distracted looking at flowers and other beautiful things at the market and by the time you got home it was 5:00, so you decided to wait until seven to skip rush hour. And then eight, just to be sure. 

Before you know it, it’s midnight, and you’re dozing off in his bed again (teeth cleaned with the brush you’d bought at the store—maybe this whole situation hadn’t been entirely unwitting on your part.)

Throughout the day, you tried to let all your anxiety about the previous night melt away. If it’s something that needs to be addressed, Spencer will address it. Everything will work out in the end. That thought is how you’re able to doze off. 

You’re almost asleep when your phone lights up and begins buzzing on the side table. You wince as your eyes open, not adjusting well to the harsh bright display and unable to discern who’s even calling you at this hour. Stupidly, probably because you’re half asleep, you answer without checking. 

“Hello?”

Your voice is groggy, quiet with sleep. 

“Shit, did I wake you?”

“Spence?” you whisper, stomach flipping at the sound of his voice on the other line. You feel caught, still sleeping in his bed. 

“… yeah,” he chuckles. “Did you not check who was calling before you picked up?”

“I was asleep,” you pout. “Kinda.”

“Okay. Go back to sleep, honey. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

You sit bolt upright, phone balanced between tense fingers and speaking directly into the microphone. 

“No! No, I’m awake. What’s up? Why did you call?”

A longer stretch of silence—you’re too sleepy to comprehend what it might mean, though never too sleepy to worry about it. With a pang of pain, you recall your strange goodbye, the words you hadn’t said. 

“I just needed to hear your voice,” he sighs. You frown, staring at nothing in particular in the pitch black room. 

“Oh. Is everything okay?”

“As much as it can be.”

“Right.”

More quiet. You chew on the inside of your cheek, stricken with a sudden feeling of awkwardness that you haven’t had with Spencer in a while. 

“I’m sorry… I don’t really know what to say.”

“That’s okay,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice which makes you feel a bit better, “why don’t you tell me about your day? Or you can absolutely go back to sleep, if you’re too tired.”

“Don’t ask me about my day,” you whisper, flopping down on the bed once more. Shame seeps into your voice. He laughs. 

“What? Why?”

“Because if I tell you you’re going to think I’m super weird and you’re going to break up with me.”

Laughter tapers off into gentler tones. 

“I already think you’re super weird. It’s actually one of your most attractive qualities.”

Blood rushes to your cheeks. 

“But it’s like… borderline crazy.”

Immediately, he replies, “for better or worse, I also frequently find myself attracted to crazy.”

“Thank you for calling me crazy and super weird,” you grumble. 

“I also called you attractive twice. Tell me.”

When his tone takes on that easy, assertive quality, and it’s sort of raspy and low because it’s late and he’s been talking all day, and you can hear the lazy smile on his face—you imagine him laying on his hotel bed, arm slung over his eyes in the dark as he grins into the microphone—you have a very difficult time saying no. 

“Fine. Guess where I am right now.”

“Um, I would hope you’re in bed?”

You smile to yourself, basking in the victory of successfully throwing him off his game even slightly. 

“Guess whose bed.”

Silence. 

“What an interesting question.” That cocky smile, the low drawling is back, and you chew on your lip, ignoring the shiver that runs down your spine. “If it’s not mine or yours, we’re going to have issues.”

“But if it is yours? You’re not going to call the police on me?”

“Why would I call the police? To tell them there’s a pretty girl in my bed and I don’t want her there?”

“To tell them your psychopathic girlfriend broke into your apartment and might be holding hostages there.”

Spencer laughs; a brittle, drawn out thing, flat and quiet as the desert.

“If you were a psychopath, calling the cops would be a waste of time. I would handle you myself.” The idea of being handled has your thighs clenching. “But—yeah, don’t invite anyone else in.” More humor finds its way into his voice, momentarily relieving some tension that had sneakily begun to build. “Having people in my space makes me anxious.”

“But not me?” Your whisper is half flirtatious, half insecure. Spencer’s reply is soft, as if he’s picking up on this from hundreds of miles away.

“No, not you. You are always the exception.”

“Good,” you say, cheeks aching as you half-bury your warm face into his pillow. “Because I made myself really comfortable. You have a nice shower, by the way.”

Spencer groans. 

“You’re killing me.”

“What? What did I do!”

“Don’t talk to me about my bed and my shower. I might start to think you’re intentionally being a brat.”

“You asked me about my day! I’m just telling you what I did!”

But you’re also intentional teasing him for sure.  After a pause, he sighs in defeat. 

“You’re right. I did do that. Tell me what else happened.”

“Well,” you begin, all too eager, “I had to put my clothes in the dryer after I got out, so I borrowed some of yours. But then they were way comfier than mine, so after I went to the store I put them back on, and—”

“Okay.”

“Okay what?” you frown. 

“Tell me what this is.”

“I—I don’t know what you mean.”

Lying to a profiler is usually pointless. 

“I’m not stupid, sweetheart. Tell me why you keep talking about my shower and my bed and my clothes.”

Caught red-handed. Your skin heats up. 

“I don’t know. I miss you.”

He hums in a way that blurs the line between sympathetic and patronizing. Even through the phone you can feel the bass of it in your bones.  It changes the frequency you’re vibrating at. It’s hypnotic. 

“But that’s not really why you’re being intentionally provocative, is it?”

“No,” you admit quietly. “I’m still upset you had to go last night.”

“So you’re frustrated and you’re taking it out on me?”

Your brow furrows. Well, when he puts it like that…

“I’m not taking anything out on you.”

“I think you are. And I don’t appreciate that, because I’m on your side, honey. Do you think I prefer being in a hotel bed by myself or being in my bed with you?”

Somehow, he makes you feel like a scolded child. But he makes it appealing in ways you don’t understand. 

“Your bed with me,” you murmur, skin prickling with the coldness of his absence even as you curl under the blanket. 

“Right. So why don’t you tell me what I can do for you right now, instead of punishing me for things that are beyond my control?”

“I wasn’t punishing you,” you mutter. 

“No? You weren’t intentionally talking about using my shower and sleeping in my bed and putting on my clothes so that I’d have to think about what I can’t have right now?”

“I—”

“Believe me when I tell you I have been thinking about what I can’t have, all day. Your efforts are entirely redundant and you can’t say anything about yourself that is even close to as dirty as the frankly disrespectful thoughts I’ve been having about you for seventeen hours.”

The lack of air is making you so dizzy your vision goes gray at the edges. 

“What… what thoughts?”

“None that you need to concern yourself with.”

“You can’t just say something like that and then not tell me!” you insist. He’s obviously giving you a taste of your own medicine and it’s fair but it doesn’t mean you have to like it. 

“I can do whatever I want,” Spencer corrects cooly in a way that pisses you off beyond belief because he’s right. It triggers some adolescent immaturity within you—a desire to get back at him, so to speak. He wants intentionally provocative? He can have it. 

“Fine. Then so can I. And there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it even if I could.”

“Spencer,” you warn. “If you don’t tell me what you were thinking I’m gonna—” you look around the room for ammo. “I’m gonna look through your nightstand!”

“Go ahead. I’ll warn you, it’s not very interesting.”

“Sounds like what someone who has something hide would say,” you mumble, crawling across the mattress through tangled sheets and using your phone flashlight to open the drawer. 

Spencer is patient and silent as you take in its contents—a small blue leather-bound notebook (full of what looks like Russian), a fountain pen, a glasses case, various kinds of vitamins, and—

“Spencer Reid,” you say, dragging out his name and pretending nothing is fluttering in your stomach, “what are these?”

“I don’t know. I can’t see what you’re referring to.”

“Take a wild guess.”

“Oh, I have one. But I’d like to hear you say it.”

You realize you may have gotten yourself in deeper than you meant to by going through his stuff. Well—they don’t say karma is a bitch for nothing. 

“What are you doing with a box of condoms?” 

He chuckles and you feel it in your whole body, warm as you stretch across his mattress and eye the box like it might jump out at you. 

“Those are years old. I’ve used three since I bought them.”

“Don’t tell me that,” you whine. “I don’t wanna think about all the other women you’ve seduced.”

“You wanted them to be for you, huh?” 

You flush. Honestly you hadn’t even thought about that. 

“I… I don’t know. I kind of just assumed…”

It’s silent for a second and you frown, realizing you hadn’t even considered protection when you’d imagined sleeping with him before. 

“You assumed what, honey?” he asks, voice soft. 

“It’s dumb. I can’t tell you.”

“You can tell me anything. I’m not going to think it’s dumb, I promise.”

You chew on your lip, letting your eyes unfocus on the box as you muster the courage to be honest. 

“Whenever I imagined it… we didn’t… use anything.”

The words make you cringe even as you’re saying them. So does the quiet that follows. 

“When you imagine us sleeping together, we don’t use a condom?”

“Ah!” The phone drops to the mattress as you cover your ears and roll onto your side, curling into yourself once more. “You didn’t have to say it! You make me sound so weird!”

“It’s not weird,” he laughs, because he can probably imagine exactly what you just did, “I just wanted to make sure I was understanding you. That said… we would definitely use protection.”

“Do we have to?”

The quiet words take even you by surprise—and they seem to stun Spencer as well. Several false starts are punctuated by a sigh as he gathers his thoughts. 

“We really should, baby. That’s the kind of thing we need to take seriously.”

“But you’re… you’re good, right?”

Thankfully he picks up on your meaning. 

“I am. I wouldn’t touch you if I weren’t.”

“And I’m good. So...”

“Hm. And has anyone ever explained to you where babies come from?”

You groan in frustration. 

“Spencer, I’m being serious! There are ways to negate that.”

“Honey,” he murmurs, “I understand that. But it would be irresponsible of me to say yes. We can talk about it in the future, but—”

“I’m telling you it’s already dealt with. The chances of an accidental pregnancy are slim to none.”

The new information hangs in the air for a moment until Spencer speaks—to your surprise, his voice is low and humorous. 

“That is… good to know. But even so—I’m setting a dangerous precedent if I always let you get exactly what you want.”

“Is it such a bad thing that I just wanna—I wanna know what it feels like? You don’t want that?”

“That’s not what I said. I want to know exactly what you feel like. I’m just hesitant to give in so quickly because it makes me look weak.”

You laugh breathlessly, caught between being turned on by the first part of his sentence and amused by the sarcastic second half. Your thighs clench and your hand absentmindedly wanders between them. 

“You know what I was thinking about?” you ask. Spencer hums curiously. “I was thinking about when you let me, um… when you let me touch you how you touch me.” He hums again, but you can hear the amused curve of a smile in it now.

“When you had your mouth all full of me and you looked so pretty?”

“When I—yeah,” you agree, too caught up to deny his compliment as your fingers brush your most sensitive spot through clothing. “And  how you got me all messy after. And I was wondering what it would feel like… inside me.”

He sucks in a breath. Your legs brush against each other and you twist slightly as you pretend like you’re not touching yourself just a little bit. 

“You want me to come inside you?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, brain short-circuiting at the way those words sound in his voice. 

—

On the other side of the line, Spencer isn’t doing a fantastic job of thinking clearly either. His dick is half-hard already and it’s only getting worse with each little noise you make that you don’t seem to realize you’re making. 

“Really? That would be very messy, baby. I’m surprised that’s what you want.”

“But I really want it,” you breathe. He’s not even looking as he slips his hand under the waistband of his pajamas and palms himself, his other hand rubbing tiredly over his face as his phone rests on his chest. This was not how he intended for this call to go, believe it or not—but he’s here now. 

“Yeah? Is that why you’re touching yourself right now?”

You go silent—which is more or less exactly the reaction Spencer had been expecting. Patiently he waits for you to deny it, in three, two—

“’M not.”

Now, he could explain how he knows that’s a lie. How your breathing pattern changed, and your voice got softer and airier, and how you started speaking with smaller words in fragmented sentences. But he doesn’t feel like explaining any of that. 

“I know that’s not true,” he murmurs. “You know what? It wasn’t fair to get you all worked up last night and then leave. I don’t want you frustrated, honey. I want you to do whatever you need to do.”

You make a little gasping noise, and Spencer can imagine the way your back would arch when you did it. His own hips buck slightly as his dick twitches under his fingers. 

“Where are you touching?”

“Um—over my clothes.”

Cute. 

“Go under them for me. Tell me how it feels when you’re touching yourself like that.”

It takes a moment, in which all he hears is the rustling of fabric, until you’re whispering, “feels… it feels good. I wish you were here.”

He inhales, freeing his cock and squeezing the base. 

“I know. Just listen to my voice, pretty. I’m right here.”

Spencer allows himself a few slow tugs as he imagines what’s happening in his bed. You make a squeaking noise, like a held-back moan, and his eyes screw shut. 

“I need them inside,” you whine, and he knows you’re referring to his fingers—the ones currently stroking his own leaking cock. 

“You can use your own, just give yourself a minute first. Remember what I said about needing to be ready?”

“I am ready—” judging by the surprised chirp you interrupt yourself with, you’ve proven yourself right. What surprises Spencer is the weak sound of disappointment you make next. “Spence, it doesn’t feel the same.”

“We’re different sizes, honey. Your hands aren’t as big as mine. But you can still make it feel good.” 

He almost says, 90% of the nerves in the vaginal canal are located in the lower third—in other words, within approximately 2.36 inches from the opening, which you can most certainly reach—but he refrains. He’s not sure if that’s good dirty talk. 

“You have a really sensitive spot about three inches up, right in front. It’s going to feel a little different than the rest of you when you touch it. I want you to try and find it for me, okay?”

“Okay,” you breathe, ever-eager to please even from a great distance. There’s a quiet moment. “I can’t—I don’t think I can r—oh,”

The moan is so pretty Spencer can’t help speeding up the motion of his hand, hissing slightly as his fingers brush against the angry tip with every pump. 

“Did you find it?”

“Yeah,” you whine, a weak, high-pitched thing. “Oh my god.”

“Be gentle,” he warns with some effort as his own hips jump slightly. “You’re really sensitive there. If you’re not careful you’ll make yourself sore.”

“I don’t care—holy shit—” the way your voice rises and tightens to a squeak at the end has Spencer moaning as he fucks his fist. A black hole forms and warps time, turning every minute into a second and every second into an infinity until he has no idea how much time is going by. He drags his thumb over the tip, smearing precum over his cock and whining as his jaw drops at the feeling. “Oh my god, Spencer,” in that same strained, high voice. “’M gonna—ah!”

He gets the general sentiment. 

“What, baby? You’re gonna make yourself come all over your fingers? Is that what you wanted to tell me?”

“Mhm!”

“Yeah, I bet you are. It feels good, huh?”

“Yes,” you cry. 

“See? You don’t need my fingers to feel good. Mine barely fit, you know that? I have to hold your fucking hips down whenever I put my fingers in you because you can’t stop squirming. I don’t know how you think you’re going to take my cock.”

“Spencer!” 

He knows. 

“Come, baby. Let me hear you.”

The delicate sounds you make as you bring yourself to orgasm tip him over the edge of his own—grunting as he comes all over his fist. 

“Jesus,” he strains under his breath, the word dragging out into two long syllables as his hips buck involuntarily and cum drips down his knuckles. He’s lightheaded and he’s created a mess and it all happened so quickly. “Fuck,” he breathes, a rasping chuckle as he reaches for the towel he’d dropped on the bed after his shower earlier. “You conscious over there?”

“I’m conscious,” you slur, breathing heavily. “I’ve never had an orgasm by myself before.”

“Are you proud of yourself?” Spencer smiles, wiping his hand off and making sure he’s otherwise clean. “You should be. I am.”

He’s barely kidding. 

“I’ll be proud when I can do it without your help,” you tease. 

“But I’ll always want to help you with that.” His already warm face flushes further as he goes over what he’d said. “Sorry I was so vulgar.”

You laugh. He blushes even more. 

“Are you? I think you secretly love being vulgar.”

“I don’t know why! I have no idea where it comes from. I would never speak that way in any other context. I should probably work on that. Sometimes I look back on the things I say and I’m genuinely appalled.”

“Well, don’t stop on my account. Personally I enjoy it.”

“Yeah, I think I’m corrupting you. You probably shouldn’t enjoy it.”

The truth of it weighs heavy on his mind, but he’s pretty sure his voice alone doesn’t betray that and you can’t sense it through the phone. 

“Oh, my god. Do not do that falling on your sword shit. I like being corrupted by you. If you stop I’ll be very upset.”

“Well god forbid you get upset,” he teases gently. Idly he wonders if the reason he’s suddenly feeling so depressed is because his cortisol levels were already high from the case, and then he jarred his system with an orgasm, spiking his dopamine and ultimately causing it to plummet without the oxytocin release that post-coital physical contact would usually provide. 

Or if it was something else. It could also be something else. 

For the millionth time, he wishes he was with you. Part of him also wants to go to sleep. But mostly he wishes he was with you. 

—

A comfortable silence settles over the conversation. In the ditch between words, you’re mapping constellations in the texture of Spencer’s ceiling. If you squeeze your eyes almost shut, you can imagine it really is the night sky. You can imagine he’s really here. 

You think about what he said—his apparently mindless vulgarity. Did it mean anything? Or was he just rambling to get you off?

“Spencer?” you murmur. 

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you a question?”

He sounds earnest, perhaps a little tired, as he replies, “always,” through the little metal rectangle on your chest. He likes me and my questions are important to him, you repeat to yourself silently as you work up the strength. 

“If Penelope hadn’t called, last night… were you going to have sex with me?” 

Your lip tastes like his toothpaste as you chew it. Spencer sucks in a breath of air like he’s about to speak—and lets it fizzle out like foam on a carbonated drink. 

“I don’t know,” he finally admits, lamely. “That wasn’t my plan, but you can be extremely convincing when you want to be.”

“But why can’t it be your plan?” It’s an almost whine, pouty and childish—but the next words are quiet and pained. “Is it something I’m doing wrong?”

“No, no! It’s not you. You’re perfect. It’s—it’s complicated. It’s a me thing.”

Such trite words—such a ubiquitous, simple excuse sounds almost comical from his mouth when you know he’s capable of all the eloquence in the world. It’s not you, it’s me. It’s ridiculous. 

“Okay. Let me simplify this for you,” you begin with an uncharacteristic assertiveness that surprises even you. “I want to have sex with you. Either we are going to have sex or we’re not. So your future branches in two diverging paths. In one, we have sex, and then we keep having sex. In the other we never have sex ever. If you want to ever have the privilege of fucking me, then we just have to do it. Otherwise it simply will never happen. And I’m not eternally patient, Reid.”

Go me, you think, slightly breathless from your monologue. 

“Watch your mouth,” he says dryly. Something about the chastisement makes your stomach flip and your whole body tingle. “When you talk to me you call me Spencer. I will also accept Doctor Reid.” You wrestle down a smile, refusing to let him change the subject. A delayed sigh from him sobers up the conversation. “You know what I want. I’ve been very clear with you about that. But…”

“But…?”

Another sigh. A deeper, shuddering sigh, like his breath is searching for balance. Like Spencer is in a precarious position for which he was unprepared. 

“But—but to be completely honest… I worry that you’ll regret choosing me. And I know virginity is a social construct and I’m not implying that your worth will somehow be diminished if we have sex but regardless of my views on virginity as a construct, having sex for the first time can be weird and scary and it’s incredibly intimate and I don’t want you to regret your first time like I regret mine because you chose the wrong person.”

The words come at you so rapid-fire it takes you a moment to process them. And aside from all the ways you want to reassure him that you will not regret choosing him—that you could never, ever regret anything about him—one thing stands out. 

“You regret your first time?” 

Something between a scoff and a sigh travels through the line. You can tell he’s not annoyed at you for asking so much as he’s flustered himself with all his own words as he occasionally does. 

“Yeah. Yes. Sometimes I do. The person—she didn’t… like me as much as I liked her. And I was really, really in love with her, and she knew that and she knew she wasn’t in love with me—or maybe she was, I don’t know—but my point is, when one person likes the other more than the other person like them, things get complicated. And however you feel about me—that’s fine. It’s fine. I don’t want you to feel bad if we don’t feel exactly the same way about each other. I understand that this is newer for you, it’s different, I—I just don’t want us to do something we can’t undo because I don’t want to relive that. And I’m not saying it will never happen but I just don’t want you to make this choice when… when right now, I think we’re in different places emotionally. Regardless of that, I want you to choose the right person. I don’t want you to choose me and then find out that we feel differently after we sleep together and leave you feeling like you signed up for something you didn’t understand. I’m sorry. Maybe telling you this is selfish. But I’ve been thinking about it and trying to ignore it and I think I just have to be completely honest.”

Your ears ring like Spencer just fired a blank right into the microphone. Like you just got backhanded across the face and now you have the world’s worst case of whiplash. 

Every finger is numb and your blood is so cold it feels blue as it slithers thick through your veins. 

What you want to do is scream. What you want to do is go back to last night and stop yourself from almost telling him I love you, slap yourself and keep your cards a little closer to your chest. Because now he knows, and he doesn’t feel the same. 

You want to scream bloody murder. 

But when you try, when you unhinge your jaw and part your chapped lips and expect a bellow to come hurdling up the corridor of your throat with so much force it rattles your bones, all that falls out is a small, “oh.”

Maybe that’s worse. 

Spencer doesn’t reply. You hate yourself for feeling obliged to fill the silence. 

“I didn’t realize you…”

I didn’t realize that you don’t love me back. 

I didn’t realize I like you more than you like me. 

I didn’t realize you’d tell me to masturbate in your fucking bed and then drop this not even five minutes later. 

If Spencer Reid was able to talk to you over the phone with the same amount of affection and familiarity as always, like everything was still okay, knowing you love him and he doesn’t love you the whole time, he is not who you thought he was. 

“I’m sorry,” he lamely says again, like it could ever help. 

More silence. Now you can’t bring yourself to speak, so Spencer does. 

“I realize how awkward this is. I really didn’t mean to put you in this position. Especially not over the phone when I—god, I’m stupid. I’m sorry. But can we—can we talk about this in person when I get back? Please?”

Is that what grownups do? Is the proper etiquette for him to take you out to dinner and explain why he’s not in love with you? Is he going to break up with you?

What does one even wear to a breakup date?

“Okay,” you whisper. Your eyes sting, your everything stings, like you’ve been wrapped in a shroud of briar. Sheets that were soft a moment ago feel like sandpaper on open wounds. You feel like an open wound. 

Spencer sighs. It’s a sound of relief that confuses and hurts you even more. 

“Okay. I—okay. Thank you. Um—I’ll let you go back to sleep, now.”

“Okay,” you repeat—as if any of this were okay. But you can’t keep being that stupid girl who feels it all so much harder, who loves easily and begs to be loved in return, too naive to assume that someone who treats her so kindly might not reciprocate her feelings. It has to be okay, because if it’s not, you’re silly and dramatic and you’re just proving him right. 

“Goodnight,” Spencer whispers, and you can’t help but feeling that it’s the last time you’ll ever hear those words from his mouth while you’re in his bed. And he’s not even fucking here.

So you pull the blanket a little higher. You let your tears stain his pillow because they’ll be invisible by the morning. It will be like they were never here. Like you were never here. 

“Goodnight.”

-

part five

[bookished]

( a collection of jock x nerd dialogue prompts. adjust phrasing as necessary.) feel free to make edits to better suit your muse, but please don’t edit or add on to the original post <3 if you like, please consider supporting me through tips

"You think you're so smart, huh?" "Well, statistically speaking, my GPA says I am."

"Okay, so you're good at math. But can you explain why my heart races whenever you walk into the room?" "Biologically, I suppose adrenaline might— Wait, are you flirting?"

"This is ridiculous. You shouldn’t be lifting me like that!" "Hey, you’re light as a feather! Besides, I just wanted to show you what strength feels like."

"You know, you’d make a great quarterback with how fast you solve problems." "And you’d make a great nerd if you applied that logic to your studies."

"Let me guess, you failed another test?" "Nah, just looking for an excuse to talk to the smartest person in the room."

"You might be a brainiac, but I could definitely teach you a thing or two about confidence." "Confidence? Or arrogance?"

"I don’t understand why you keep sitting next to me in class. You don't even take notes!" "Maybe I’m here for the view… or maybe I trust your brain to get us both through."

"For someone who’s supposed to be so smart, you’re missing something really obvious." "And what’s that?" leans closer "How bad I want to kiss you right now."

"You’re like a puzzle I can’t solve." "That’s because you’re not thinking hard enough." "Maybe I’m just distracted by how cute the puzzle is."

"You’re too focused. Ever thought about focusing on something… or someone… else?" "And who would that be?" smirks "Maybe you should figure that out."

"Bet I can make you blush before you can solve that equation." "Highly unlikely—" blushes "Told you."

"You're not my type." "And yet, here I am, making you smile like I am."

"You look like you could use a break. How about we grab some coffee? My treat." "You sure you’re not just trying to steal my notes?" "Nah, just trying to steal your attention for a little while."

"If you keep looking this cute when you're annoyed, I might just have to irritate you more often." "You’re infuriating." "But I’m charming, too, right?"

"Do you ever take anything seriously?" "I’m serious about getting you to go out with me. That counts, right?"

"You’ve got those smarts, but I’ve got… other talents." "Like what, being a distraction?" "If that's what it takes to get your attention."

"Why are you always bothering me during study time?" "Because watching you concentrate is kinda… hot."

"You know, you’ve got a lot of facts in that head of yours. Think any of them could explain why I keep thinking about you?" "That’s probably an overproduction of dopamine and— wait, are you hitting on me?"

"You're in my space." "Maybe your space is where I want to be."

"I think I just figured out the formula for attraction." "Attraction isn't a formula." "It is when you're involved."

"You know, if I ever wanted to impress you, I’d have to learn some big words, huh?" "It’s not the words you use that impress me… it’s what you do with them."

[queen-of-the-avengers]

Bleeding Heart Syndrome

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.6k

Warnings: angst, bucky kills someone, implied smut

Summary: Deciding to give this another try, you want to prove to yourself that Bucky is more than just the murderer you know him to be. He takes you to his work to show you that he runs a business like any normal person. However, when someone makes one wrong comment, you're reminded why your heart bleeds because of him.

Between Love and Hate Masterlist

Squares Filled: no modesty (2023) for @buckybarnesbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

Then

It didn’t matter how many dates you and Bucky went on, you were still nervous to have him over. You decided to bring him over to your house for a homemade dinner. Your mother taught you how to make a delicious pasta dish that you were just dying for Bucky to try.

Bucky pulled up to your house with Steve and Sam in the car. Bucky checked the time for the tenth time since leaving his mansion. Living this double life was getting too hard to conceal. You were getting closer to him and asking all these questions that he couldn't answer. He was trying so hard to keep you in the dark, but how long could he do this?

Sooner of later, his past was going to catch up to him.

“Should we follow you up?”

“No,” Bucky sighed. “Just stay out here.”

Bucky got out, walked up to your door, and knocked. You jumped from the sudden noise but rushed over to the door. You opened it to see Bucky standing there looking drop-dead gorgeous.

“Right on time,” you smiled and let him in.

“Is something burning?”

“Shit.”

You left his side and ran to the kitchen. You yanked the pan off the stove and checked on the vegetables in there.

“Need help?”

“Actually, yes. My mom taught me this recipe but I never said I was good at cooking it,” you chuckled.

Bucky shed off his jacket only to drape it over the back of the chair. His muscles bulged in the tight shirt he was wearing. Forget dinner. You wanted him. Bucky took over the process and made it his own despite you telling him how your mom made it.

“Check on the noodles.”

You took a single strand of noodle and threw it at the wall. It stuck to it like it was glue.

“It’s ready,” you grinned.

After draining the noodles, you poured them into the pot that had the sauce. The noodles flowed over as a bunch so that they splattered inside, causing the sauce to spray out. You gasped when it touched your neck and Bucky smiled when he saw a red drop on his white sleeve.

“I am so sorry,” you giggled.

Bucky pulled you close and leaned down to press his lips on your neck. He licked a stripe up your skin to gather the sauce. Your giggle turned into a moan when you felt his lips latch onto your skin.

“No fair, Bucky,” you moaned. He nibbled on your skin right over the spot where you needed him the most. “Wait, the food needs to go in the oven.”

Bucky pulled away and quickly placed the dish into the oven at the right timer. He turned to you and grabbed your waist so he could sit you on the counter. He leaned in again but you backed away before his lips could touch yours.

“Wait, we only have thirty minutes before the food is done.”

Bucky tilted his head to the side and did some math in his head.

“Six times.”

“What?”

“I can make you come six times before the oven goes off.”

You didn’t have a chance to say anything as he whisked you away to the bedroom.

Now

You open your eyes and see that it’s not a dream; Bucky found you and took you to one of his mansions. Being back here will mess with your head in a way that makes you think you’re not going to survive this. Still, you get out of bed and push down those feelings. You don’t want to feel this way. You want to be able to love him and go on dates without fearing what will happen if someone bad crosses your path.

You want to love him in the way you deserve but you’re not sure how.

Someone is cooking something delicious in the kitchen, and your stomach rumbles to let you know that it wants food. You put a cardigan on and head downstairs to the kitchen where a chef is cooking breakfast. You must have passed by ten of Bucky’s men, all armed and ready for anything that might come their way.

This makes you feel like you’re in a prison, not someone’s home. Will you ever feel at home here?

“Here you go, Miss Y/N,” the chef says and slides you a plate of food.

“Not hungry,” you sigh and push it away.

“Eat.”

You look to the left and see Bucky walk into the kitchen dressed in a suit. However, his white shirt is untucked and open revealing his toned stomach and chest that you love so much. His tie is slung over his shoulders and his hair is damp from his shower. He is practically half-naked in front of his own chef and men. This man has no modesty.

“You’re not my dad.”

Bucky pours himself a cup of coffee before turning to face you. He doesn’t take his eyes off you as he finishes getting ready. Your eyes follow his fingers as they work their way down his shirt. He tucks his shirt in and begins working on his tie next, and you snap your eyes up to his.

“I’m not in the mood to argue. Eat.”

“No.”

Bucky finishes with his tie before walking over to you. He is so intimidating while standing but with you sitting down next to him, it’s almost impossible not to shrink back into your seat like a little kid.

“You can be pissed at me all you want but you’re not skipping out on a meal. Eat.”

“Or what? You’ll force me?”

Time seems to slow down the longer he stares at you. Then, he grabs your jaw not super tightly before forcing your mouth open.

“Yes.”

You push him away and grab the fork to show him you’re complying with his request. He waits until you take two bites before leaving your side to tend to his coffee. Damn, these eggs are soft and fluffy.

“Happy?”

“I have to go work,” he says instead of answering your question. “I’ll be back later.”

“Off to kill someone?”

“I do own a business, you know,” Bucky sighs. “A business that will crumble if I’m not there.”

“Can I go with you?” you ask before you can stop yourself.

“You want to come with me?”

“Yeah. It beats being alone in this house with a bunch of strange men with large guns.”

“There are many more are work.”

“Will you let me come or not?” you sigh.

“Go get dressed,” he says after a beat, “after you finish eating.”

You quickly down the rest of your food before heading to your room to get dressed. Bucky waits patiently for you to finish before escorting you to one of his luxurious cars. He keeps the music low and maintains a reasonable speed. For someone who murders people, you’d think he’d want to speed all the time. No, he’s too busy thinking about you and driving carefully in order to protect you.

You might think he’s a monster but he’s never stopped loving you.

When Bucky arrives at his skyscraper of a building, he leads you inside with a hand low on your back. The receptionist sees him and flashes him a flirtatious smile. She subtly fixes her dress to make her boobs stand out, and you glare at her as you pass by.

“Good morning, Mr. Barnes.”

“Good morning, Tate.”

He keeps it simple without so much as a look at her but that doesn’t stop her from trying to gain his attention. She looks at you and almost shrinks back into her seat from the glare you’re giving her. You two step onto the elevator and begin the journey to the top floor.

“You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?” you ask and look at him.

“You’re giving her the same look you gave every woman who tried to flirt with me. Remember that poor girl you made cry on our second date?”

“Shut up,” you snap. “There is no look.”

If you could, you’d wipe that smirk right off his face. Thankfully, he drops it for now. The higher you go, the more men with large guns there are. Bucky wasn’t kidding before. You know what kind of work he’s involved in but how much protection does one man need?

“I’m in meetings for most of the morning but you’re more than welcome to stay in here. My computer password is pisică.”

“Of course it is,” you laugh humorlessly.

“If you need anything, I am only down the hall.”

“Yeah, I got it.”

Bucky resists the urge to go over to you and kiss you. You’ll come around and he just needs to be patient. As soon as he leaves the room, you walk over to the giant window that overlooks the entire city. Damn, he has such a nice view. You take in his office and notice personal pictures on his desk.

All of them are of you. There is one with you two standing in front of a mirror with his hand around your throat. You thought it would be a good picture at the time. You had just taken three shots before going to dinner so you thought this picture was a good idea. Another one is of you at the beach he took you to. He bought it out so that you two could enjoy some privacy and he caught you soaking up as much sun as you possibly can. The third one is of you laughing because you had pulled a prank on Bucky and he couldn’t miss an opportunity to snap a photo of your smile.

You don’t realize you’re crying until you taste salt on your lips. You were so happy in these pictures. This was before you knew what Bucky did. This was before reality slapped you in the face. You’re not sure what to do but you know how you feel. You love him so damn much but you’re hating yourself for loving a murderer.

You sit at his desk and log into his computer. He must not have anything incriminating on his computer if he’s going to let you snoop without him in here. All this power but you’re not going to snoop in places you don’t belong in. He trusts you and after all this time, you’re not going to let that break.

Instead, you go to Amazon and smirk when you see what’s floating around in your cart. If Bucky is so rich, he won’t mind if you spend a few thousand dollars on shit you want but don’t need. It’s not like he’s going to miss the money.

Bucky’s phone pings at a notification from his bank. Someone spent over five thousand dollars on Amazon, and he smirks when he realizes you’re out there spending his money. You might be doing it to spite him but he loves it when you spend his money. He confirms the purchase through a text message before returning his attention to the many men inside the conference room.

Some of the men are involved with different mafia’s from around the country, some men are CEOs of different businesses, and some men are important in their perspective fields. All of them are interested in the weapons Bucky sells. He’s become so successful that he delivers to everyone across the country. They all flock to him like cattle.

“Gentlemen, I have an epo coming up soon in New York that will showcase the weapons I have for purchase. Of course, you’re more than welcome to come but the price is set. NO discoounts will be given.”

That sends some of the men in an uproar. They’ve been doing business with him for years and they’re still treated like first-time customers.

“Come on, Buck, don’t you think you’re being a bit unreasonable with your prices?” One of the Mafia men, Antonio, asks.

“You’re more than welcome to go somewhere else. Oh, wait, you can’t. I’m the only one with the shit you want so take it or leave it.”

Antonio shuts up knowing he can’t take Bucky on right now. Instead of fighting him, he leans back in his chair and stares at Bucky. The meeting continues on for another two hours as they discuss the weapons expo and Bucky’s telecommunicaiton sector that sells privacy for computers. Bucky looks at his watch and sees it’s almost lunch time so he decides to address one more thing before concluding this meeting.

“One last thing before this meeting is done.” He looks at one of the men who is one of the best drug lords in the couontry. “Race, tell your men to stay the fuck out of my goddamn bar. They’re brewing up trouble.”

“I can’t stop my men from going where they want to go,” Race shrugs.

“Maybe if one of them has a bullet in their heads, you’ll ge tthe message.”

Race rolls his eyes but knows better than to argue with Bucky. Before anyone can say anything, someone knocks on the door. Everyone turns their heads to you when you open the door and steps inside.

“Oh, sorry,” you sutter.

You turn to leave but Bucky stops you.

“Come here, pisică.” You walk further into the room and try to ignore all the stares you’re getting from the men. Bucky hates that they’re all looking at you like you’re a piece of meat but he doesn’t start a fight he knows he will win. Antonio keeps his eyes on your ass longer than the rest of them, making Bucky’s blood boil. When you get to him, he pulls you inot his lap despite the blush on your cheeks.

“Never be sorry for being where I am. What do you need?”

“I’m hungry,” you whisper, hoping no one else can hear him. “I wanted to go out and get lunch.”

“Take Steve with you.”

You look into his blue eyes in thought. You don’t tell him that you wanted to go out to lunch with him. Instead, you nod and get off his lap.

“Cute girl you got there, Barnes,” Antonio chirps. “You gonna pass her around or what?”

You freeze in your step, clearly uncomfortable with his comment. Before, Bucky was willing to let his wandering eyes slide. Now, he’s a dead man.

“Take Steve with you to lunch. Go,” Bucky says to you.

Thankfully, you don’t argue with him. As soon as you close the door behind you, you hear the clear sound of a gunshot. If his comment made you freeze, you’re fucking rock soldi now. Still, you peek into the room through the small window on the door. Antonio is slumped over in his chair with blood splattered on the wall behind him. He’s dead. Bucky killed him. You look up and lock eyes with Bucky who still holds the smoking gun.

He hates that you’re crying because of him.

You immediately turn and run from the room to where the elevators are. You barely get on when you hear Bucky’s voice call for you. You turn to him with tears running down your cheeks.

“No, I’m fine, Bucky. I shouldn’t have expected anything different.”

“I wasn’t going to let him live after what he said.”

The elevator doors start to close but you put your hand out to prevent them from doing so.

“That’s the problem with you, Bucky. Your immediate response to everything is death. I shouldn’t have come here. You should return to your meeting. I’ll have lunch alone.”

You let go of the elevator doors and continue to stare at him until the doors closing breaks your eye contact. Your heart is breaking because he is the best thing to have ever happened to you, but how can you ever get past something like this?

x

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[andromeda-nova-writing]

What Makes a Compliment

Fem!Reader Words: 1242

AN: Clearly, this is turning into a series. The last parts are here. I do find these two quite a wreak as they navigate how new this is for them lol

“For someone who claims to be bad at math, you’re quite adept at fractions.” It was neither a compliment nor an insult from Veritas. Just an observation he had picked up as he watched how Y/N had moved around her studio working on a garment replication.

“You must be in a good mood if you’re making jokes.” She spoke as she carefully counted the threads in the fabric's weave, trying to keep an even number as she worked on the embroidery details that had to be placed on the pocket's exterior. “I’m just adding seam allowances together. Nothing compared to the numbers you work with.”

“Three-eighths plus two-thirds.”

“One and one twenty fourths. I thought you were here to avoid listening to construction work not quiz me.”

“You did that faster than entering it into a calculator.”

She worked on sewing a knot into the back of the fabric. “And your point is?”

“You could give yourself a little credit instead of belittling yourself constantly.”

“It’s not belittling myself, it’s acknowledging something I’ve never been good at.” She looked over at her couch where he sat reading over something for the Intelligentsia Guild. “Why are you even bringing this up?”

“I would say you are decent at math.”

“I thought you would be quieter. You said that you would just be focused on your work.” Taking steps back, she was able to better get a view of the jacket that hung on the dress form in the center of the room.

“I was. I only bring it up since you can do fractions better than whoever put this report together. The data here is a mess.”

She frowned. “How much of a mess?”

He tapped the seat of the couch motioning for her to join. A simple request that she didn’t mind fulfilling. On the tablet’s screen lay the data chart Veritas had been referring to.

“How did they get basic multipliers wrong?” The more she looked over the report the more anger she felt. “Even I could do this. This ruins the rest of the report with how it’s supposed to correlate with the data. This was either lazy, sent off too early, or poorly done.”

“Exactly what I thought.”

“I don’t see why you needed to show me as well then. This is your field, not mine. The only fractions I know are related to measurements. I doubt anything I say would add value.” She stood up getting ready to move back to her work.

“That university has truly done a number on you.”

“Excuse me?”

“Yes.”

“What do you even mean by that?” She blinked in confusion trying to wrap her head around that sentence and even the beginning of their conversation. “What are you going on about today?”

“You have shown an odd lack of self-confidence in our conversations and debates. Am I wrong to say it was due to something being said to you at the university?”

“Nothing was said to me there.” She returned to her seat from before. “I think half the people there are scared to have me lay into them and the other half are now leaving me alone just due to me being involved with you.”

“Involved is an interesting way to label a relationship.”

“Unless someone caught us that one time,” the one time being when they had first made out against a whiteboard in a classroom, “I don't think people know. To be fair, I don't think we even had a chance to talk about that. We've been too focused on work.” It had been the first time he had come to her home. Any meetings outside of work hours, they were still discussing work not even taking a second to talk about what had happened.

“I didn't think there would be much to discuss. We clearly enjoy conversing with one another and find each other attractive. I doubt you are the kind to do those sorts of activities on a whim with anyone. I would assume that we were on the same page when you invited me to your home.”

“Of course but I would like to discuss it. You’re crazy if you think I wouldn't want to discuss it. Or do you forget how much you can get on my nerves? Why would I want a relationship built off of only giving critiques?”

“You’re mistaken if you think I only value you for critique.” He placed the tablet down on an end table that had been filled with fabrics. “It’s indeed a thing I enjoy about you but not the only thing.”

She looked away from him. “Well forgive me for being concerned with such when I doubt our abilities even to offer a straightforward compliment.”

“It’s not like I’m known for doing such. You are the only person I know who regularly greets me with an insult while having the confidence and intelligence to face me in a battle of wit. Even so, I did offer a compliment earlier.”

“That was comparing me to others. It's not a compliment.” This was becoming unproductive. Y/N stood up once more heading towards the dress form. “First you don't know how to use critiques properly and now I find out you are horrible at compliments. Maybe I just had a lapse in judgment that day.” She was only half teasing.

“I think your colorwork is impeccable. Something I wish others would take notice of but I wish their discovery of it remains different from my own.”

“You aren’t even making sense. I’m working with black fabric and gold thread. You don’t have to be an expert at colorwork to get that right.”

“I wasn’t talking about your sewing work.” His hand gently trailed from the top of her shoulder towards her hand. She hadn’t even heard him moving away from her couch.

“I know you aren't talking about my clothes and I doubt you have seen any work I've done in the past.”

“I see your work every time you talk.”

She did her best not to lean into his touch when she turned her head to the side to look at him out of the corner of her eye. “You make no sense.”

“What makes no sense is that I willingly listen to insults and critique spoken by someone who has impeccable skills when it comes to color theory being used in makeup.”

Her nose scrunched up. “You know I only wear lipsticks and glosses.” Her words slowed as she thought over what he had said. “Did you just say you like it when I insult you when I’m wearing lipgloss?”

“I said nothing of the sort!”

Her laughter had caused her to fall back against his chest. “I can’t believe it! I have the Veritas Ratio weak over lipsticks and insults. Who could have guessed?”

“I do not understand why you are making me repeat myself. I enjoy that you think for yourself instead of being quick to praise me for what should be the bare minimum. Nowhere did I say I enjoy being insulted. I was trying to complement your use of color.”

“Just say you like my lipstick. It didn’t need to be any more complicated than that.” It was hard not to smile.

“It's not often I compliment a person’s appearance. At least beyond the expected pleasantries.”

“Just say it. Maybe I’ll find myself enjoying your voice more if you say sweet things to me.”

[very-gay-poet]

Warning: I am incapable of taking myself seriously, use “???” and “!!!” way too often as I am afraid of the first mark being lonely, and use “:D” at least once a paragraph, and if I didn’t, dw I used it in spirit Also I talk a lot (this is 779 words)

I love (hate) how jkr made everything so much harder than it needed to be for herself and the fandom lmao like the currency always pissed me off so I fixed it here you go: 

This is based on the British currency (bc I’m most familiar with that and still have no idea why she didn’t just do this considering she just made a normal senior school magical and gave it magical properties for hogwarts?????) 

The ratio to a Galleon to BP is 1:1 to make this simple bc I don’t wanna do more math than necessary :D

(ima leave all the math at the bottom to those who care about that but pls look at it I had to do MATHS. I DID MATHS FOR THIS.) 

and Bc I am full of whimsy, I want them to have a print on them, kinda like how the current royal is on all the notes and coins to stop people from making it themselves or smth idk anyway a Galleon has a dragon on it bc they’re cool argue with a brick wall you have a better chance of winning (I based some of these on familiars which were more commonly associated with smaller animals so none will be as cool as a dragon :( IM SORRY CHARLIE WEASLEY I HAVE FAILED YOU)

Half a Galleon is called a Ullium (named after the first, and best, Minister Of Magic) it’s a silver coin, only slightly larger than a Galleon, in the shape of a decagon, with a print of a cat bc I definitely think they have a saying like “a cat is a witches best friend” kinda like “A dog is man's best friend” bc I love cats and so do they <3

A fifth of a Galleon is a Sickle wow I’m actually listening to canon for once look at that!!! Basically equivalent to a 20p on its own, but looks like a 5p for some reason (small circular silver coin) but with a griffin on it bc why tf not you have something against griffins????

Next up, holy moly replay that clip dude bc I’m following canon for once AGAIN!!!! Be so proud of me chat I know I am, anyways, everyone's favourite the Knut (PFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTT THAT PUN WAS NOT INTENDED AT ALL LMAOOOOO) a little bronze coin with a goat on it (fun fact that I probably should’ve known sooner: goats were believed to be magical or spiritual powers!!!! sick right???? Anyways thought that was cool, slapped it on a coin what you gonna do about it champ) no one makes a Galleon out of knuts (oh my gods I am a child) but if you wanted to you absolute weirdo you’d have to have 21 of these bad boys

MOVING ON to another one of my own making, a Coronet!!! It's a small reddish coin about the size of a twenty p and isn’t very popular, usually just used as change (bout as useful as a five p or penny) but it has a ferret on it so I wouldn’t be complaining ya win some ya lose some. 

Named it coronet bc it was the name of an actual currency once used in England but bc of inflation it doesn’t exist anymore :( my baby girl was “a denomination of sterling coinage worth a quarter of one pound (five shillings, or 60 (old) pence)” according to google bc you can’t expect me to acatually remember that 

Anyway for all y'all here for the math *cough* losers *cough* come right this way: 

Galleon to pound ratio is 1:1 

Sickle = fifth of Galleon (5 of them make 1 Galleon)

Wanna make a sickle through knuts??? First of all, why?, Second of all you just need 7 of them to make 1 sickle

To make a (1) Galleon through knuts like a dumbass you’d need 21 knuts 

Though maybe not as much of a dumbass as people who wanna make a (1) Galleon out of Coronets HAHAHA have fun counting out 63 of them bitches suckers!!! (Coronets are a third of a Knut bc...I really am in too deep aren’t I) 

Anyway if you wanted to make a Galleon with a Ullium, like the smart person you are, you’d only need 2 

*to the tune of Sabrina Carpenters tour conclusion* 

If you have an issue with my math, no you don’t :D 

if you wanna know another equation of how to make x out of y then figure it out yourself :D 

I am not a calculator I simply work here :D

If you want to use this for inspo or use it as is then be sure to credit/tag me as I love reading things :D

[musings-of-a-rose]

Falling Slowly - Chapter 5

Pairing: Tommy Miller x f!reader

Word Count: 5400+

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story. 

Notes: This is it. The chapter I initially wanted to write. Literally, just a small little one shot. But no. That’s not the Miller way apparently and once again, a Miller man took me by the hand and said “more”. Also I’m sorry please don’t hate me.

**If you want to be added to the taglist, join here or let me know!

❤If you enjoy the fic, please consider giving me a warm beverage! (It is not required in any way!)

**Divider made by @benkeibear 

**Reader is not described

Main Masterlist

Falling Slowly Masterlist

Tommy Miller Masterlist

Dating changed absolutely nothing between us. It felt the same as it always had, us sharing jokes, laughing, listening to each other, the amazing sex, just being around each other. Tommy and I always got along well and I guess it feels the same because we’d always been flirting. And then fucking. The only thing we never did was officially date.

A couple months in, Joel and Sarah have us over for our weekly family dinner. Joel had asked us to not tell Sarah about the baby until we were sure it was sticking around, which was fair. Since everything was going great with the pregnancy, we all agreed it was time to tell her. 

“We’re having steak? Since when are family dinner’s so fancy, dad?” Sarah asks as she walks into the kitchen, looking over her dad’s shoulder at the plate of grilled steaks. 

Joel nods towards me. “It was Daisy’s request.”

Sarah raises her eyebrows. “I didn’t realize we could make requests.”

“She can. You can’t.”

Sarah scoffs as she sits down, the rest of us joining her at the table. “That’s not fair. Why does she get special treatment?”

Joel starts loading steak onto plates and passing them around the table. “Because she’s stuck with Tommy and I feel bad for her.”

“Fuck off,” Tommy says, a smile pulling at the corner of his lips. He clears his throat before looking at Sarah. “Actually, there’s a reason. A real reason.”

Sensing the change in tone, Sarah looks up at her uncle. “What’s up? Did someone die? Oh no, you guys aren’t breaking up are you? What did you do, Uncle Tommy?”

“Hey now, what makes you think I screwed it up?” Sarah looks at him, one eyebrow raised. “Alright, fair point. But no.” Tommy takes my hand, rubbing little circles into the back of it. “You’re going to be a cousin.”

It takes her a second, the math playing out in front of her glazed over eyes before she looks at me for confirmation and I nod, my hand going to rest on my small stomach before she screams, launching herself out of her chair and nearly knocking me out of mine as she flings her arms around my neck. 

“Oh my GOD this is amazing news! I can’t believe I’m going to have a cousin!! AAHHH A BABY, DAD! THERE’S GOING TO BE A BABY IN THE FAMILY!” She launches herself at Tommy next, nearly knocking him out of the chair. “I promise I will help and babysit and do whatever you need for the baby! Wait, is it a boy or girl?”

“We won’t find out for a bit yet. But when we do, we’ll let you know.”

Sarah squeaks and hugs Tommy again. “I am so excited! You’re going to be a great dad, Uncle Tommy I know it!”

The rest of the dinner I wanted for nothing, Sarah immediately jumping to help me before Tommy could blink. Joel explained that she’d been dying to have a sibling for the longest time, but this is the next best thing. When it’s time for us to leave, she hugs me but pushes her face to my stomach, whispering things to the baby. Tommy gets in his truck after helping me in, chuckling as he starts it. 

“Well I don’t think we’ll ever have to worry about a babysitter.”

“At least until she finds a boyfriend.”

“Don’t let Joel hear you say that.”

We reach the end of Joel’s street and Tommy stops, his hand hovering over the blinker. 

“Tommy?”

“Move in with me.”

“What?”

He turns in his seat, throwing the truck into park. “I mean it. I’ve been wanting to ask you for…well, forever. I hate you being so far away all the time and fuck I love you so much and I just want to take care of you, and make sure that-”

“Tommy-”

“-that you’re never wanting for anything and-”

“Tommy-”

“-and I want to wake up every day beside you, officially, and-”

“Tommy!”

He pauses and looks at me. “Y-yeah?”

I take his hand and hold it, feeling his warmth seep into my skin. “I love you too and I would absolutely love to move in with you.”

His eyes brighten as a smile stretches across his face. “Yeah? Really?”

“Really. I love you, Tommy Miller.”

He pulls my face to his and kisses me, only breaking it to the sound of a horn honking from behind us. He laughs and pulls back, putting on his blinker and driving towards my apartment. 

“Tomorrow then?”

“Tomorrow.”

Several weeks later, once we’re all moved and settled in, we go to my OB, an ultrasound wand gliding around my stomach as they take their measurements. 

“Baby is looking good, healthy. Growing just as they should be. Oh which reminds me - do we want to know what we’re having?”

Tommy takes my hand where he stands next to me. “Yes, ma’am we would.”

She slides the wand around for a few moments and then stops, taking a picture of the ultrasound. “You’re going to have a boy.”

Tommy lets out a puff of air. “Are..are you sure?”

The OB smiles. “Oh yes. You see this here?” She points at a spot on the screen. “Definitely a boy.”

Tommy laughs, actually whooping a little and when he turns to me, I see tears welled up in his eyes before he wipes them away. “We’re gonna have a son. I can’t believe it! I’m gonna have a boy!” He leans down and kisses me and my hand comes up to the back of his head to pull him closer. He pulls back a little, eyes looking between mine. “What do you think?”

“Honestly, I just wanted a healthy baby. But I can’t wait to see a mini you walking around. Will it come out with a tiny belt buckle?”

“Oh shut up!” He smiles against my lips as he kisses me once more before letting the tech finish their scans. 

The pregnancy progresses and I start to feel more like a house, sweating whenever I think about walking, struggling to get up from sitting. The Texas heat becomes more and more oppressive and I find myself sweating from places I didn’t know I could. 

Tommy is wonderful. I don’t know what I did to deserve him. Every day he comes home and gives me a massage, paying extra attention to my feet and lower back, even learning how to massage for the sciatica that started up several weeks back. He gets me anything I ask for, no matter how ridiculous, and showers me with love and affection, praising me for the ability to grow a new life. 

“Ugh, I’m so big I can’t do anything!” I slam my fist on the bed next to me where I had tried, and failed, to sit up. 

“You’re in the home stretch, darlin’. Soon you’ll be holdin’ that son of ours and making me want to put another one in you I know it.”

“Slow down there, cowboy. I haven’t finished cooking this one yet.”

Tommy chuckles. “True. But until then, can I help you feel better?”

“How would you oh.” Tommy slides his hand between my legs, gently brushing over my sensitive clit. He leans in and nibbles on my ear lobe, gently pressing a finger over me where I need him and I whine. “Is that a yes, darlin’?”

“Oh fuck yes.”

Tommy continues to touch me as he nibbles on my ear, kissing that spot under it that has my hips jerking into his hand. Then he pushes up and drops between my legs, pulling from me 2 of the most intense orgasms I’ve had this entire pregnancy.

“Feeling good, darlin’?” Tommy asks as he wipes his face, sitting up from between my thighs. 

“Mmhm. But I need you.”

Tommy looks at me, his eyebrows pulled together. “I’m not sure-”

“The doctor said it might help stimulate labor.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t. And I am so ready to not be pregnant in this heat. Please Tommy?”

He looks at me and I try to copy his puppy eyed look, but all he does is laugh at me. “You’re so terrible at that.”

“Shut up.”

“Tell me if I hurt you, ok?”

“Of course.”

An hour later, my water breaks.

Calm and collected, Tommy uses every ounce of his training from the army to get us to the hospital on time and safe. Once we’re in the labor and delivery room, he shoves our bags to the side and continues his support, counter pressure on my hips during contractions when I ask him, ice chips, sneaking me honey sticks or whatever I wanted when the nurse wasn’t looking. He lets me tell him what I need and then he did it and I really don’t know what I would’ve done without him. He constantly whispered words of affirmation in my ear, especially as time went on and he could see me getting exhausted. 

“You’ve got this, Daisy. You’re the strongest person I know. You’re gonna breathe this baby out.”

16 hours of labor later, our son Jackson was born. The moment Tommy caught him he had him wrapped around his tiny little finger, Tommy’s tears falling onto his tiny little chest as he took his first breaths in this world. 

“Hey little guy. It’s me. I’m your dad.” His voice cracks on the last word as he turns to hand me our son. I take him, tears streaming down my face at this little tiny human who holds my entire being. 

“Hey Jackson. It’s mom. I’m so glad to finally see you on the outside!”

Tommy cuts the cord and then comes back by us, tears fully streaming down both of our faces as Jackson cuddles further into me. If he wasn’t in my arms he was in Tommy's, his tiny little body curled up and relaxed on his dad’s broad chest was enough to punch anyone right in the baby maker. And I’d just had a baby. 

Sarah is beside herself. She absolutely adores Jackson and spends every moment she can with him. Whenever she can get him away from Tommy that is. Even Joel, who had warmed up to me the moment Tommy and I started dating, melted over him, visions of his daughter playing in his eyes whenever he looked at Jackson. 

A few weeks after Jackson was born, Tommy comes out to find us in the living room, the tv on low as I feed him, circles under my eyes from lack of good sleep, hair in a messy bun, and smelling of milk. He sits next to me and puts his hand on my thigh, rubbing circles into it.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?”

I scoff. “Oh yeah, I’m sure I look like I’m ready for the runway.”

“I’m serious. You fucking made a human. You did that. Made a human and take such good care of him and you just…I love you.”

I can’t help it, but I cry, half from his words and half from the hormones that are just about out of my body from everything. 

“Marry me.”

I stop crying to look at him. “What?

“I had a whole thing planned but seeing you now? I can’t wait. Will you? Marry me?”

“You wanna marry me when I look like this?”

“Darlin’, you are gorgeous and strong and I fucking adore you. But if you’re not ready and I asked too soon, I promise I’ll wait. I can-”

“Yes.”

“Y-yes?”

The tears fall again, streaming down my face as I nod furiously. “I want to be Mrs. Miller.”

He laughs, pulling my face to his and kisses me, his tongue sliding into my mouth, moaning slightly before a tiny cry makes him pull back.

“Sorry, bud. I just had to kiss your mom. Wait right here.”

Tommy disappears into our bedroom and comes back with a small black box, opening it to reveal a ring, a slim white gold band with a modest sized diamond in the middle, and an engraving on the inside that simply said “Miller” with a tiny daisy engraved with it.

“Oh Tommy! This is beautiful!” He slides it onto my finger and I cry again looking at it. Honestly, I would’ve stayed with Tommy for the rest of my life without a ring. Without even officially dating. And when I told him as much, he laughed and said he wished he’d have known as he could’ve saved a lot of money.

We get married when Jax is about 6 months old in a small ceremony in our own backyard. Tommy, Joel, and Sarah completely transformed our small yard into something out of a story. Twinkling lights strung amongst the tree branches and bushes, a few long, wooden planks are set on stumps to make benches, and Tommy builds an archway for us, decorating it with vines and flowers, Sarah adding lights and a beautiful purple strip of fabric that was her grandmothers. I can see the tears glisten in Tommy and Joel’s eyes before they turn away clearing their throats, memories of their parents flashing in their eyes.

It’s strange. I’ve always heard people say, either in real life or on tv or movies, that they were so nervous on their wedding day. Cold feet. But me? I have none of that. I know that I was meant to be with Tommy, whether we got a receipt or not. And when I make my way down the flower petal clad aisle, staring into his deep brown eyes that are glistening with tears, a smile stretching his face, I know that he feels the same way. 

The celebration goes long into the night, Jax snuggled up next to Sarah, who also passed out in a little makeshift play area she had made for him. When it’s finally time to say goodnight to everyone, Joel quietly picks up Sarah and carries her to his truck and Tommy does the same with Jax, taking him upstairs to put him in his crib. The mess had been cleaned by family and so I follow Tommy, watching as he carefully adjusts Jax in his bed. My little family. I never dreamt in a million years that this is where I’d be at this point in my life, but I know I wouldn’t change a thing.

“What do you think about this one, little guy?” Tommy holds up an apple in front of him, Jax in the baby carrier strapped to his chest. He stares at the apple for several moments before babbling loudly and reaching for it. Tommy chuckles. “Alright, this one it is then.” He kisses the top of Jax’s head and puts the apple in the produce bag and repeats the process with all of the apples, completely oblivious to all of the women looking at him with heart eyes and at me with jealously. I really couldn’t care less. My eyes are glued to my husband, making me feel like I’ve been punched in the uterus. Suddenly, a Buddy Holly song rings out over the store’s PA system and Tommy puts the bag of apples in the cart, quickly moving to stand in front of me. 

“Let’s dance with mommy!”

Jax looks at me, his grin wide on his face with his few teeth showing as Tommy dances and sings with him, moving his little arms in time with me as I dance too. When the song ends, I look up at Tommy and find him already looking at me, his eyes soft and full of love that washes over me, making me warm all over. He takes my hand and pulls me to his side, leaning down to press his soft lips to mine. When he pulls back just a bit, he looks into my eyes and I nearly melt into a puddle there in the produce section. 

“I love you, Daisy.”

“I love you, Tommy.”

“You boys are sure working hard on that sandcastle! You want to take a juice break?” I ask, shielding my eyes from the sun as it blares down on the sandy beach. 

“No, mommy. Build!” Jax waves a hand at me, never removing his eyes from the sand castle Tommy is building in front of him. He’s pointing out different structures, the way to build it properly so it wouldn’t fall over and Jax stares between the castle and his dad with rapt attention. When the wave finally comes in, the water fills the moat perfectly, not even a crumble of sand coming down from the castle. Jax squeals with delight as Tommy hoists him in the air, laughing as he spins him around. 

“Great job, Jax and Uncle Tommy!” Sarah smiles wide at Jax as he takes her hand, pointing out all of the things that Tommy did to her. Joel stands to the side, making notes on what he’d do different until Tommy punches him in the arm.

“Shut up, asshole.”

“Language.”

Joel kneels down by Sarah and Jax, attempting to make his changes while Tommy walks back over to me, trying to insert himself next to me on my towel.

“Excuse you, sir. I do believe there is no room on this towel for you.”

He slides his hand over my bare skin, lifting himself to lay partially on me, his hand cupping my face, turning me to him. He leans down, his nose tracing a line up my neck and I let out a puff of air, my hand immediately coming up to scratch his scalp. His lips meet mine, his tongue gently prodigy at my lips and I slowly open them. He moans into my mouth, his hips slightly moving of their own accord. I turn towards him, throwing my leg over his back-

“Hey! There are kids here!” Joel yells from the sandcastle.

Tommy turns his head to the side and yells back. “How do you think they got here?”

“Get over here asshole and help me finish this castle so we can have lunch.”

Tommy chuckles and kisses me once more before leaning next to my ear. “We’ll pick this back up later.”

He pushes himself up, dusting his trunks off before turning and running back towards them, Jax and Sarah screaming with delight as he chases them around, nearly destroying all of Joel’s work. Soon Joel has joined in too, mostly to tackle Tommy into the sand, the kids’ laughter ringing out loud when Tommy’s butt hits the ground.

“It still needs a little work, but Joel and I can finish that up. Maybe make it self sustainable,” Tommy explains as we drive down the very narrow road that I eventually realize is a driveway. We pull up to a cabin that Tommy has definitely undersold.

“Tommy, we can’t afford this. Not even splitting it with Joel.”

We pull up in front of the modestly sized cabin that looks like it belongs on HGTV. And he says it isn’t even finished?

“Well that’s the thing. You remember the Jones’s? That big client we landed right around the time we uh, got together?” Tommy smiles and clears his throat, his eyes quickly darting to the rearview mirror to make sure Jax was still asleep. 

I nod. “Of course. They’re your biggest client.”

“Yeah, well I guess they have too much property and just want to get rid of it.”

“And they’re just giving it to you?”

He chuckles, putting the truck into park and shifting to look at me. “Nah. But they offered it to Joel ‘n me for an extreme discount. Less than what they paid for it, even including the upgrades.”

I glance out of the front window towards the cabin before looking at him again. “Why would they do that?”

Tommy shrugs. “What can I say? Mrs. Jones loves me. Anyway, they have it almost finished, just a bit of work on the patio and then basic stuff inside.”

His eyes are bright and excited. I can tell he really wants to do this and honestly, it would be really great to have somewhere to come to relax and unwind with the family. 

“Tell me more about it.”

His smile lights up the cab and I already know I’m on board with whatever he says. That damn smile with those fucking freckles kills me every time. 

“There’s 4 bedrooms and 4 bathrooms. All en suite. A big kitchen with those double stoves you always talked about, a nice sized dining area we could put a nice big table in, a stone fireplace that nearly spans the whole wall. Oh, and uh walk in closets and a sort of game room? Activity room? Somethin’ like that. And…let’s just go inside. I’ll give you the tour.”

Jax wakes up at that moment, yawning and looking around with his eyes that match his dad’s as he takes it in. “Daddy, we go in?”

“Yeah, bud. You wanna see?”

He nods furiously. “Yes!”

Tommy gives us the tour, Jax squealing with delight at nearly everything and I can’t blame him. This place is gorgeous. But Tommy also points out the practicality of everything, from the titanium shutters that will board the windows when no one is here to the laundry room that I always wanted, and the fact that he and Joel were planning on finishing the self-sustainable grid and water system, so we wouldn’t have to worry about the power going out, which was apparently pretty common all the way out here.

“And over there?” Tommy points to a space out in the backyard as Jax runs around laughing. “I was thinkin’ we could put in a greenhouse and root cellar. I know how you always wanted one.”

“Really? You think Joel would be ok with that?”

“Darlin’, if we weren’t already married, he’d have proposed after tasting one of your tomatoes.”

“Explains the moaning when he eats one.”

We have a laugh and watch Jax run around for a while between the trees. He comes running up to us and Tommy picks him up, swinging him through the air, Jax’s scream of happiness ringing out. 

“Daddy, we stay here?”

Oh shit. They’re both looking at me with the same puppy eyed look. I cave instantly, although I was already going to agree. 

“Only if daddy and Uncle Joel think they can handle it.”

“Pass me the hammer please, Jax.”

It’s been a few months since we officially purchased the cabin, splitting it with Joel. All of us have spent several weekends here, Tommy and Joel finishing the upgrades to make it self sustainable, adding the greenhouse and other little touches. Today was the day they would finish the back porch. Sarah has been inside the greenhouse with me, helping me plant some vegetables and things in the root cellar. I come up to watch them for a bit, Jax following around his dad, tiny little toolbelt around his waist, complete with a giant belt buckle like his dad’s. He’s turned his hat backwards and is bending over Tommy’s large tool bag, tiny little finger pressed to his chin while his eyes scan the tools. He grabs one using both hands and holds it up, smiling triumphantly as Tommy praises him.

“Look at my strong little man! Let me see your muscles.” He takes the hammer from Jax who immediately flexes his little arms. Tommy squeezes his biceps and whistles. “You’ve got some strong muscles there, son.”

“There’s no way. Let me see.” Joel stops what he’s doing, Jax turning to him and waiting his approval. Joel raises his eyebrows and looks at him. “Wow Jax! I bet you could even pick me up!”

“I can! Watch!” Jax runs up to Joel and throws his arms around his leg, trying to lift him. Joel discreetly goes up on his toes, acting shocked and impressed that Jax could lift him.

They finish the porch and pull out a folding table, Sarah and I quickly grabbing some chairs to put around it, adding a big pitcher of lemonade that Sarah had made to the middle of it. Tommy and Joel argue at the grill for a bit over how exactly to grill the steaks, but eventually we all sit, admiring the setting sun and their hard work. 

Many weekends are spent here, holidays too, all of us loving the peace and quiet. A short ways from the back of the house is a giant lake that is shared with a handful of other cabins across the way. Tommy and Joel vow to look up someone to build a dock eventually, so until then, we have to push the little pontoon boat into the water ourselves, bringing it back up onto it’s trailer and storing it in the outside garage. The fact that this place came with it’s own boat still blows my mind. 

Sarah and Jax end up sharing one of the bedrooms, complete with bunk beds, their laughter and talking echoing down the hall until one of us has to tell them to go to bed. I love their relationship, Sarah treating Jax like the sibling she never had, and Jax the same with her. 

3 years after Jax was born…

“Pancakes, mommy?” Jax asks me as he walks behind me into the kitchen. 

“Let me see, bud.” I rummage through the cabinets, no pancake mix to be found. “Sorry, Jax. No pancakes today. How about a smoothie?” He nods enthusiastically and tells me a laundry list of fruits he wants, some completely made up. I’m gathering up what we have when Tommy comes downstairs, his red shirt unbuttoned, showing off his white tank underneath, stretching out over his large chest. He walks up to me and cages me in against the counter, both of his hands planted on either side of me, smiling when I look up at him. 

“Mornin’ darlin’.”

“Morning.”

He presses his lips to mine, his tongue coming out to slide across my lips and I moan slightly, fisting my hands in his tank top as he closes his arms around me. I can feel him growing more needy but a plastic cup clatters across the floor, breaking the moment. 

“Sorry!” 

Tommy breaks the kiss and chuckles, turning to see Jax chasing down the cup that was bouncing across the tile floor. 

“That’s alright bud. I’ll just have to-” 

Jax squeals as Tommy launches himself at him, chasing our little 3 year old around the kitchen. He bolts and runs towards his room upstairs and Tommy slows, stopping next to me to give Jax a moment to get into his favorite hiding spot, deep in his closet. 

“He’s a fast little bugger, isn’t he?” Tommy catches his breath while I hand him a to-go mug of coffee. 

“That’s why I don’t blink ever… You going to be early today?”

Tommy thinks a moment. “We have to meet the suppliers for this one gig and meet with the Rivieras to try and finalize that building deal. I think I’ve got them, just gotta cover a couple more things.”

“Don’t forget about Joel’s birthday today.”

Tommy takes a sip of his coffe and savors it for a quick second. “Yeah I know. I gotta pick him up today. His truck is in the shop.”

“Again? He really needs a new one.”

Tommy sighs. “Yeah. He’ll wait until that thing is drove into the ground though.” He pauses and looks at the counter behind me where Jax’s smoothie sits waiting to be blended. “Smoothie? No pancakes?”

“Out of mix. I’ll pick some up tomorrow at the store.”

He sticks out his lip to pout and I can’t resist it. I reach out, sliding my fingers behind his large belt buckle and pulling him to me, leaning up to bite his lip. 

“Careful there, miss. Don’t start somethin’ you can’t finish.”

I open my mouth to respond when Jax yells from upstairs. “DAAAAAD!”

Tommy chuckles, kissing me one more time. “That’s my queue. We will finish this tonight.” His eyes are dark as they meet mine and I push my legs together, a movement that doesn’t go unnoticed by Tommy. He winks before leaving the kitchen, moving exaggeratedly loud up the stairs. A moment goes by before Jax squeals and Tommy comes back downstairs with him hooked under his arm like a football, kicking and laughing the whole way. He sets him down and Jax tries to play fight him. They wrestle a moment before Tommy pretends to get hit hard, crumbling to the floor as Jax jumps on him and he grunts. 

“You got me, little man!” 

“Look mommy! I win!”

“My strong boy!”

Jax puffs out his chest as Tommy stands, giving him a hug before putting on his boots. 

“You be good for your mama today, alright?”

“We go to cabin tomorrow? With Uncle Joel and Sarah? And Uncle Joel's um..girl friend?"

Tommy nods. “Yeah, bud. If they’re still up for it. But-" He glances up at me "- Rose has to work so she can't make it. Guess the hospital needs extra hands."

This seems acceptable to Jax and he bounds back into the kitchen, sitting at the table to wait for his smoothie, pulling some coloring books and crayons towards him that were on the table. I walk Tommy to his truck where he quickly spins me around and pushes my back into it, kissing me deeply, one hand gripping my hip and the other twisting in my hair. He whimpers as he pushes himself against me and I almost tell him to meet me in the backseat. 

“We do have neighbors, Tommy.”

“So?”

“They have kids.”

He sighs before pulling back. “I can’t wait to get you on my own for a bit this weekend. I gotta make sure you remember how to yell my name.”

My knees go weak as his lustful gaze bores into mine. “Th-that’s good because I need to see how many sounds I can pull from you.”

Tommy groans and kisses me once more before he gets in his truck, turning it on. 

“See you tonight. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

I watch him drive off, giving me a wave before his truck disappears around the corner. Heading back inside, I see that Jax had moved from the table to turn on the tv. He was pressing buttons on the remote and getting more and more frustrated as the news program won’t click off. Instead, it gets progressively louder as he jams the wrong button.

“...continued disturbances in Jakarta, but are advising US citizens…”

“MAMA HELP!” Jax shoves the remote at me and covers his ears while I tap a few buttons, quickly putting on PBS Kids. He settles on the couch and I let him drink his smoothie there, snuggling up next to him as I sip my own. 

I spend some time playing with Jax, but then decide to start packing for the trip to the cabin. Joel had wanted us all to go for his birthday so I packed up some things for the 3 of us, scanning the cabinets and tossing some small snacks into our snack bag. We’ll have to stop at the store on the way. When Tommy doesn’t show up for dinner that night, I start to worry. He usually calls when he’s running late, although he was trying to close that deal today. I just tuck Jax into bed when suddenly, my phone rings and I rush to pick it up. 

“Hello?”

“Hey darlin’.” Tommy sounds apologetic and I sigh.

“You’re going to be extra late, aren’t you?”

He sighs into the phone. “Yeah. I mean, we closed the deal with the Riveras.”

“That’s great news!”

“It is. But since it’s Joel’s birthday, I told him I’ll take the Riveras out to celebrate the closing deal so he can go home to Sarah.”

“You’re a good brother.”

“The best. ‘M sorry, darlin’. You’ll be ok to pack by yourself?”

“Of course. I’ll pack your bag for you too.”

“Thanks. I’ll have to make it up to you this weekend.”

“I can think of a few ways you can do that.”

Tommy clears his throat and I realize he must not be alone in the room. “I can’t wait. Gotta go. Love you. Kiss Jax goodnight for me.”

“I will. Love you too.”

I cleaned up the kitchen and packed a bag for him, taking my time in getting ready for bed, intending to wait up for him. But the second I start reading my book, I pass out, book open in my hands. 

Until the screams outside rip me from sleep.

>>Chapter 6>>

General Taglist:

@frankie-catfish-morales @chaoticgeminate @janebby @astoryisaloveaffair @balekanemohafe @greeneyedblondie44 @hoeforthefictional @marvelousmermaid @hauntedmama @giuliarogers @icanbeyourjedi @wretchedmo @sunnshineeexoxo @livingmydreams13 @adventures-of-a-noodle @sara-alonso @theewokingdead @punkerthanpascal @giggly-otter @f0rever15elf @phandoz @dirtytissuebox @gallowsjoker @lovesbiggerthanpride @sarahmilesbendrix @booksarekindaneat @mrsudontknowme @swol-bear @charlispersonallyhell @xoxabs88xox @amneris21@gooddaykate @alindeluce @avengers-fixation @paintballkid711 @harriedandharassed   @ladykatakuri @marrianena  @practicalghost @withakindheartx @batdarkladyvampir @justanotherkpopstanlol   @mermaidxatxheart @alexxavicry @ichigodjarin @justreblogginfics @sullyosully @kmc1989 @veryprairieberry  

[todarknessitfalls]

Wait, a pinned post?? In this economy??

"Go on, make my day, go get high, on my mistakes."

Hi! I’m Antagonist/Kris/Nikolai, a certified crazy person silly goober.

I also go by Jack or Mercutio, but ask before using those names for me + nicknames. Jack and Mercutio is only for friends, and Tio as a nickname is only for very close friends

Artist page (Basic info) ->-> Meet the Artist!

My lovely boyfriend is @thund3randrain <3

Head over heels for my QPP @the-fallen-collective <3

I am unwell over many many things such as Palaye Royale, FNAF, BSD, Laceygames and unfortunately many many more

"Daydreaming of my funeral, like who would go, bet no one would show"

Currently obssessing over: FNAF + Afton Family Lore (specifically william afton) Palaye Royale The Amazing Digital Circus BSD Bendy and The Dark Revival + Bendy and The Ink Machine (blue is the biggest hyperfixations currently)

He/It/Void/Gore/Confetti/Pop/Doll/Lace. No They/Them (unless we're close) or She/Her please!!

"This is goodbye, you've bled me dry."

18+ users can interact and DM as long as you aren’t icky and comfy with the fact that i am a minor :3

DNIs: - Bad people in general - General DNIs (homophobes, transphobes, misogyonists, etc etc) - Radqueers - Pro-contact - Zoophiles, Pedophiles, etc etc - [Pro] Endogenic systems - Anti-recovery blogs (for EDs, S/H, anything) - NSFW + smut blogs - MDNI blogs - Anti-alterhumanity

"Same me, same you! Until the drugs start doing you~"

for our system blog see @a-void-of-a-system , there’s a personal blog list there. mostly the host (kris) will be posting here!!

I try to use tonetags, also please use tonetags with me!! It helps a lot :3

Please ask before touch!!

I mod too many RP blogs to count- I'll make a masterlist one day.

"I'm sorry mom I've got to go, I've dug this grave I call my home."

Interests -

FNAF + Afton Family

Super Mario Bros. (Basically every mario thing ever)

Bungou Stray Dogs

Laceygames

Classical literature

Drawing (i do take requests!! might be a bit slow though-)

Writing (both fanficition and original stories!!)

Saiki K

Assassination Classroom

"Unfaithful night, housewife she can smell the perfume"

common tags used on this blog:

#antagonist reblogs - i reblog random shit!! won’t always remember to tag though T^T

#antagonist rambles - my incessant yapping!!

#antagonist shitposts - i shitpost lol

#antagonist stims - self explanatory

#antagonist doodles - my drawings!!

#antagonist wrote something - my fics!!

#antagonist yaps with friends - me chats with my friends!!

#antagonist used a braincell - my thoughts. could be anything from shitposts to philosophy to maths!!

#antagonist vents - my vents, always check and block the tags pls!!

#antagonist is tired. - i am so so tired.

#antagonist laceyposts - what it says on the tin. i laceypost!

#antagonist is william afton - william afton posting

#man i love michael afton - michael afton posting

#my love <3 - i ramble about my beautiful wonderful boyfriend

#meri jaan <3 - i ramble about my fantastic beautiful partner

#antagonist roleplays - me just being a silly little guy with RP blogs on my main ^^

#antagonist raises the sun - i say good morning !

#antagonist travels to eep land - i say good night !

"Poor me, poor you, maybe one more drink or two Big dreams, small shoes, got nothing else left to lose"

uhm i think that’s it!! just be patient with me if i’m taking time to answer asks or requests, i get overwhelmed easily, and don’t take it personally ^^

all my moots ily and everyone else have a great time in my little corner of insanity!!

[raccoon-eyed-rebel]

Part 31 - The bathroom equation

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Part 30 -- Part 32

Summary: The guys (and girls) take to the group chats to discuss some serious issues

Warnings: Post contains generalizations. Please don't murder me for that.

Word count: Exactly 3k!!!!

**A/N: **SO! The guys joined me in the shower yesterday (not as sexy as it sounds, unfortunately) and as @geralts-yenn and I had had a discussion about what the house groupchat would look like (including very necessary shadow-group with just the girls, and a group chat with everyone who regularly spends time at that house...) this is what I came up with.

[The guys' chat is 179CS🏡, the girls are 179CS🧠🧠, and the everyone-group is 179CS Full🏡]

@geralts-yenn @deandoesthingstome @summersong69 @livisss @sillyrabbit81

@ellethespaceunicorn @ylva-syverson @poledancingdinos @thelastsock @wa-ni

@proud-aroace-beastie @totalwool

Mike:

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A post shared by Story2cats (@story2cats)

Sherlock: Great, she’s asking me what I’m laughing at.

August: If you value your life, don’t show her.

Sherlock: And if she steals his phone and sees it anyway? Xoxo Elena

Marshall: Paramedics or police?

Charles: Both.

August: Both.

Leon: Both.

Marshall: 👍🏻

Sherlock: They’ll never get here in time 😈

Mike: Nice knowing you, buddy ❤️

Elena: Dani, get your man in line.

Dani: What he do?

Elena: [video]

Ange: I mean…

Sol: He’s not… wrong…

Dani: He sent me that 🙊

Lexi: Is he okay?

Dani: Was he okay to begin with? 😂

Ange: Not that we know of…

Sy: Speaking of showers… We need rules.

Mike: Eh, why?

Sy: Because I was late for my date yesterday.

August: Which is our problem… how?

Leon: It’s not.

Charles: 👆🏻

Sy: In a house shared by eight guys there’s no excuse for a line for the bathroom!

Mike: Some of us have ✨girlfriends✨

Mike: You should try it sometime

Sy: 🦆🫵🏻 ❤️

Mike: Aww ❤️

Charles: He has a point, though.

Charles: Don’t appreciate getting yelled at for taking a shit in my own damn bathroom.

August: Not to mention the hair.

Sherlock: I don’t see the problem there? Just ask them to clean the drain when they’re done?

Leon: Spoken like a man who has never once in his life watched a woman clean a shower drain…

August: Good luck and farewell, Holmes

Sherlock: ?

Mike: Tears will be cried. Drains will be cleaned — by you.

Mike: Murder may be committed.

Sherlock: Surely, it can’t be that bad?

Geralt: No, he pretty much nailed it.

August: As much as I hate to admit it, the man is right.

Sy: So. New rules?

Leon: House meeting?

Mike: Sure. We’re all home, right?

Sy: Nope.

Mike: What? Why?

Sy: … sometimes when a date goes well, you end up staying over.

Sy: Are there other questions you need answered, bud?

Mike: I think I’m good…

Charles: Ladies, enough with the gossip

Leon: Right. Some of us have work to do.

Charles: Exactly

Sherlock: I highly doubt he was referring to you, Brandon.

Mike: Oooh, mad shade!!! xoxo Dani

Charles: Thanks. Sy, the complaint?

Sy: I had to wait in line to take a shower because the bathrooms were overrun by women.

Leon: Noted. The proposal?

Sy: I’m just pointing out the problem. Someone smarter than me can worry about the solution 🤷🏻‍♂️

Sherlock: Am I right to assume asking the girls to just… spend less time in the bathroom would result in murder, as well?

Sherlock: Never mind, Elena is nodding violently next to me right now.

Mike: What do you want us to do? Assign all the girls to one bathroom?

August: That might work, actually.

Leon: Doesn’t sound like a terrible idea.

Charles: Yes?

Mike: Wow, the one time I have a good idea, I don’t even realize it’s a good idea…

Mike: Wait, no.

Mike: I’m not permanently sharing a bathroom with seven of you because we sometimes have girls over.

August: Kid has a point.

Mike: I’m on a roll today! 😎

Sherlock: That leaves us with the question of how many women would have to be present to necessitate giving them their own bathroom, correct?

Marshall: If you desperately want to make it sound like math, then yes.

Sherlock: Not math. Logic.

Sherlock: And I find myself compelled to point out that I understand and enjoy logic.

August: Dealing with women is an aggravating experience, then, isn’t it?

Sherlock: Absolutely mystifying. But I’ve found that thus far the benefits outweigh the costs.

Mike: You know, for you… That’s actually kinda sweet 😂

Marshall: Romantic 👍🏻

Leon: Don’t tell her that…

Charles: Guys, seriously!

August: Right. Sol and Ange together never caused any problems.

Sherlock: Neither have any… liaisons of a fleeting nature

Mike: Hookups. You mean hookups.

Sherlock: You couldn’t pay me to say that.

Charles: Moot point. The average walk of shame happens before the shower.

Leon: It’s not like they stay for breakfast…

Leon: Beat me to it 😂🤜🏻

Charles: 🤛🏻

Geralt: The both of you are unbearable.

Geralt: August is right.

August: But…

Geralt: Sol and Ange don’t cause problems because Sol doesn’t take forever in the shower.

August: Right. But Angel is a nightmare, and so is Elena. Those two alone are enough to cause traffic.

Sherlock: Correct me if I’m wrong, but ‘Elena and Anjelica together, or either of those combined with any two others, or neither of them but a minimum of three others’ sounds like the kind of rule that will ensure we won’t even need it for the foreseeable future.

Sy: It also gives me a headache.

Mike: I don’t think I even understood enough of it to get a headache…

Sherlock: Minimum of 3, then ask me and Angie to not occupy both bathrooms at the same time. 🙄🙄🙄 Problem solved. You’re all still in trouble for even talking about this ❤️❤️❤️

Ange: They’re giving us what now???

Elena: Bathroom rules…

Dani: Tell me you’re kidding 🙃🙃

Elena: Dead fucking serious 🙄

Sol: Why?

Elena: Apparently 🙄🙄🙄🙄

Elena: We caused a traffic jam last night and made Sy late for his date???

Elena: Fairly sure Alicia didn’t mind because he’s still over there 🙄🙄🙄

Ange: What are the rules?

Elena: I don’t know. I’m glaring at Sherlock from a distance now.

Elena: I’m pleased to report he looks terrified every time I do 😈😈

Elena: They’re considering a girls’ bathroom.

Ange: I’m considering permanent occupation of all bathrooms.

Elena: Your boy called us both nightmares, by the way 😇😇

Elena: Apparently we take too long to shower, idk

Sol: You both take your time, sure…

Elena: Okay, fine. But he doesn’t have to point that out 🤷🏻‍♀️🤷🏻‍♀️

Ange: Funeral invitations to follow…

Ange: No but seriously

Ange: He thinks I take too long in the shower?

Ange: Fine!

Ange: I’ll take shorter showers!

Dani: He really said that? 💀

Ange: Let’s see how he feels about that in a week or two.

Ange: Enjoy flossing, August 🙃🙄

Dani: 👀👀 [the agonizing scream you just heard was brought to you by me spitting my drink over Mike’s keyboard]

Lexi: 🙊 Mike and keyboard both okay?

Dani: Keyboard fine, Mike hyperventilating. He’ll be alright, back to you Ange.

Ange: I might have to rescind this attitude…

Ange: As much as I want to get back at him for this, I don’t want him to run…

Sol: You really think he’d care? Ange… he loves you…

Ange: Not that much…

Lexi: Girl, please?? Have you seen the way that man looks at you?

Ange: … He’s never seen me, like… untweezed and unshaved and whatever

Dani: Never?

Ange: Never ever ever.

Sol: 👀👀

Sol: But why?? I only shave when I feel like it – which is almost never – and Geralt has never said anything??

Ange: Girl, you’re a blonde 👀👀

Ange: I don’t wax this stache, 2 weeks from now you’ll be confusing me for August. I swear.

Lexi: Okay there’s literally no way that’s true.

Dani: And even if it was, he’d still love you.

Ange: Yeah but I’m not about to find out, thanks.

Lexi: It’s your body, obviously

Elena: Do what feels comfortable

Dani: But if you do ever miss a day and he does say something nasty…

Elena: I’ll grab the shovels 😇😇

Leon: Ladies and gentlemen — mostly ladies. A little PSA regarding an update in the house rules at 179th Crescent Street. It was recently brought to my/our attention that the addition of a number of regular overnight guests has created a somewhat unmanageable situation in the realm of bathroom use. Therefore, the new policy is as follows: When three or more of the girlfriends are staying over, the upstairs bathroom is all yours! Management is currently unavailable for negotiation.

Charles: TLDR: take your long-ass showers on the second floor. Please.

Ange: This message was deleted.

August: I saw that.

Elena: Oh, I’ll say it with my chest

Elena: You all suck.

Sherlock: No…

Mike: Whatever you do, man, don’t finish that thought 😂

Sherlock: I think they got the message regardless.

Ange: Oh, we got it alright…

Dani: You’re lucky you’re cute, Sherlock 🙄

Mike: Hey!

Lexi: I’m so sorry to say this but… Over my cold, dead body am I walking up a flight of stairs in the middle of the night to pee.

Charles: @Leon Told you the ‘not up for negotiation’ thing wasn’t going to work.

Leon: It was worth a try.

Geralt: We’re not banning anyone from the house for using the ‘wrong’ bathroom

Sol: Then why the pointless rule?

Sy: Because yesterday BOTH bathrooms were occupied for well over two hours!!!

Sy: Seriously, what do you do in there?

Mike: Elaborate satanic rituals?

Sol: Occasionally.

Ange: Let’s see… Do we actually enlighten them?

Mike: Please do, I’m curious now…

Charles: I know what happens when I’m also in the shower… 😏

Ange removed Charles

Ange: Any other takers?

August: Angel…

Ange: Don’t tell me I’m overreacting!

August: I didn’t say a word 😑

Ange added Charles

Ange: Behave.

Charles: 🤐

Elena: Good boy.

Leon: Do you say that to Sherlock, too? 😏

Ange removed Leon

Marshall: Jesus, Ange…

Ange: Ugh, fine.

Ange added Leon

Mike: Seriously, girls… Other than summoning the occasional demon — what are you doing in there?

Sol: I’m gonna let Elena and Angie handle this one…

Ange: Alright. So first I check if I have all 4059834 items I’m going to need. Then at some point you’ll have to get naked, unfortunately…

Dani: Look at everything you hate about yourself for a solid 5 minutes until you’re nice and depressed

Elena: Didn’t come here to be called out like this, but thanks 🙄🙄

Sol: Poke your boobs and watch them jiggle because it’s funny until you’re less depressed

Mike: Getting jealous…

Ange: Then you turn on the shower and wait for the water to warm up

Lexi: To those ungodly temperatures from the pits of hell, you know? 👀👀

Mike: I’m not apologizing for that video, just so you know.

Lexi: That’s actually useful time to make sure you find the right playlist ✨✨

Sy: YOU DON’T NEED A PLAYLIST FOR A SHOWER

Lexi: Hard disagree

Elena: Yes, we do.

Sol: … Am I supposed to listen to my own thoughts in the shower?

Ange: I’d never be able to suppress my homicidal tendencies ever again, holy shit…

Dani: Then we actually get in the shower and warm up because the bathroom is cold, just like our souls.

Marshall: I’m genuinely learning more than I’ve ever wanted to know…

Mike: This is already taking longer than my whole entire shower…

Ange: And we’re not even close to being done.

Elena: @Ange Especially us…

Leon: Okay, fine, I’ll bite… Why is it different for the two of you?

Sol: Because they have curls?

Charles: That makes a difference?

Sy: So?

Mike: Why does THAT matter?

Marshall: Is that… important??

Elena: You’re all so clueless, it’s almost cute 🥺

Ange: @Marshall you actually might want to pay attention to this…

Ange: Alright. By the time I’m warm, my hair is usually wet all the way through

Ange: Massively heavy, by the way.

Ange: It’s hair-washing time! Which, idk about @Elena, but I have to do this in at least 4 sections if I don’t want to miss half of it.

Elena: I can get by with 2, but 4 is better.

Elena: Of course, 9/10 times I fucking forgot to section it before getting in the shower.

Ange: Obviously. So now you’re wrangling your wet hair into submission

Elena: Which is damn near impossible.

Ange: Exactly. But when that’s finally done, you can get to washing it.

Elena: And rinsing it until there’s absolutely no way there’s still any shampoo left.

Ange: Which takes a long ass time, BTW.

Ange: Then it’s ✨deep conditioner✨ time!!! Like… it’s always deepco time. I don’t even use regular conditioner anymore because my hair thinks it’s pointless. So like. That.

Elena: Mood.

Ange: And that stuff needs to sit in your hair for like 15-30 minutes

Mike: That’s like… 3 whole showers…

Charles: I don’t even spend this kind of time on my schoolwork 👀

Geralt: That’s not something to be proud of.

Sherlock: Imagine what you could do if you did.

Ange: Either way, it’s okay, because next… We exfoliate.

August: For those who haven’t been keeping count, we’re on step 12 or something. Jesus.

Charles: @Leon what the damn hell does our water bill look like?

Sol: Pay attention! Exfoliate! Then shave. Which, when you’re 6 feet tall in the showers here… damn near impossible, by the way.

Elena: (Cut yourself at least twice no matter how long you’ve been doing it…)

Lexi: Ohh! Cubicle yoga while holding a razor!!!

Dani: And while wet and slippery…

Ange: We’re superhuman 💃🏻

Sy: You’re nuts is what you are. All of you!

Dani: Anyway, when we reach baby dolphin status…

Dani: Which doesn’t happen until we’ve checked at least three times if we haven’t missed any spots…

Dani: I personally squeeze in brushing my teeth and skincare before rinsing my conditioner.

Elena: 👆🏻

Ange: Same! If I’m paying like 30 dollars for a hair mask that’ll barely last me two weeks, I’m gonna at least spend some time with it 👀✨

Sol: So that’s teeth and face wash in the shower. Then rinse that conditioner.

Ange: Which — again — takes a while if you have curly and/or a lot of hair.

Ange: Also, before I rinse my hair, I spend an ungodly amount of time detangling it with my fingers, which I have to do while the mask/conditioner is in. So…

Marshall: And at this point you’re finally nearly done, right?

Sherlock: … please, for the love of God, let it almost be over!

Ange: Oh, my precious little babies ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Lexi: At this point we’re slowly considering getting out of the shower, yes.

Dani: But the rest of the bathroom is cold, so we take our time gathering the courage to get out.

Leon: 🤦🏻‍♂️🤦🏻‍♂️🤦🏻‍♂️

Sherlock: The entire bathroom is hot enough to steam salmon at this point!

Mike: And yet, they manage to emerge from Mordor absolutely freezing…

Sol: When we do finally manage to make it out, we wrap ourselves in the biggest towel we can find…

Ange: By the way, ladies, you can thank me and Sol for the presence of the big towels in this house.

Sol: Oh GOD I remember the first shower I ever took here.

Geralt: The towels were fine.

Sol: …………. Geralt, I love and respect you, but you’re wrong and also stupid. ❤️

Ange: You’ll pay for that…

Sol: Looking forward to it 😈😈

Mike: Please continue…

Dani: We’re left with the rest of our skincare. So; toner, 1-3 serums, moisturizer. Sunscreen or oil, for me, depending on the time of day.

Ange: But the mirror is fogged up from the shower, so you have to deal with that…

Leon: YOU KNOW WHERE YOUR FACE IS, DON’T YOU?

Ange: Yes, but it’s also very pretty so I wanna look at it. Thanks.

Lexi: How can I meticulously study all the imperfections in my skin if I can’t see my face???

Dani: Exactly! (To both of those things, simultaneously)

Dani: So, after that, it’s time to moisturize everything you’ve exfoliated and/or shaved.

Elena: Which is… pretty much everything.

Sol: Cue deep sigh because this is where you find out you actually did miss a spot somewhere.

Ange: And then it’s back to the hair for the curly girls!

Elena: Leave in ❤️❤️❤️

Marshall: What?

Sy: ??

Mike: Wut?

Ange: It’s like conditioner, but you don’t rinse it out.

Sherlock: @Elena the stuff that smells good?

Elena: Yes 😂😂😂

Dani: Which reminds me; @Elena, is that your Quench in the bathroom or mine? I can’t remember…

Elena: Oh, God, me neither…

August: Settle this in the shadow group, ladies.

Lexi: You know about that, huh? 😂

Dani: Shit, they figured it out…

Sol: Not surprised… They’re not completely clueless…

Ange: Just mostly…

August: Thanks. Enough of that.

Ange: Okay daddy 🥺❤️❤️

August: 🙄

Ange: Anyway. After the leave-in and maybe two or three other products, I wrap my hair up in my hair-towel — or hair-tshirt.

Charles: Another towel? Why in the fuck?

Ange: Boys. I understand that you don’t give a fuck about this, but…

Ange: Regular towels are actually not good for your hair.

Elena: 👆🏻👆🏻👆🏻

Lexi: Besides… You can’t dry long hair and your body with 1 towel…

Sol: What she said.

Sol: What they both said, actually.

Leon: Are we finally at the end of all of this?

Leon: I’ve literally never been more glad to not have a girlfriend, jesus fucking christ…

Dani: Yeah, pretty much… You get dressed, dreading the cold of the hallway, and then we quickly go find a boy to snuggle up to who can then tell us we smell nice and are very soft, so we can convince ourselves we didn’t just spend an unholy amount of time doing all of that for absolutely nothing.

August: All of this is… insane.

Ange: Hey! I can stop doing half of this, if you think it’s so unnecessary 🙄🙄

Elena: Now that I think about it… It wouldn’t even save any time, because you still need to let the conditioner sit, so…

Charles: Right, ladies, this was very interesting…

Charles: I’m going to take a shower now.

Charles: Talk to you in about… 10 minutes 🙄

Sy: Remind me to never ask any of you any questions literally ever again…

[spaced-out-tiger]

Misfit Menagerie AU incorrect quotes cause I’m bored (might draw some of these later)

- - -

Riley: On the count of three, what’s your favorite cake?

Riley & Ryker: One, two, three-

Riley & Ryker: Chocolate cake, peanut-butter frosting, and chocolate chunks!

Doey: Our turn, Bobby! One, two, three-

Doey: Vanilla!

Bobby: I’ve never had cake before. What is cake?

Doey: I'm naturally funny because my life is a joke.

Riley: Snow got me feeling some type of way.

Doey: That's hypothermia.

Riley: Damn, the paramedics told me it was the magic of Christmas.

Ryker: Wake up! The sun is shining!

Riley: What do you want me to do, photosynthesis?

Ryker: Onion rings are vegetable donuts.

Doey, used to Ryker being dumb: Sure...

Ryker: Your stomach thinks all potatoes are mashed.

Doey: Okay?

Ryker: Lasagna is spaghetti flavored cake.

Doey:

Ryker: Lobsters are mermaid scorpio-

Doey: Jeez, that one is a little-

Bobby, interested: No, no, Ryker, keep going.

Bobby: Riley, I want a bedtime story!

Riley: I’m busy, Bobby. I’ll tell you one tomorrow.

Bobby: If you don’t tell me a story, I won’t go to bed!

Riley: Once upon a time, there was a kid named Bobby, who always wanted things their way. One day, their friends got sick of it and locked them in the basement for the rest of their life. Everyone else lived happily ever after. The end.

Bobby: I don’t like these stories with morals.

Riley: Is this a good idea?

Riley: Probably not.

Riley: Do I care?

Riley: No.

Doey: Real life should have a search function, or something.

Doey: I need my socks.

Riley: I am convinced Ryker and Bobby share a brain cell.

DogDay: And it's not in use very often, it seems.

Emma: I just wanna be called cute 21/7.

Doey: Why not 24/7?

Emma: Snack breaks.

June: I love making parties more interesting by telling strangers “I want you to know that I personally have no problem with you being here.”

Bobby: *Gasp*

Riley: wHAT??

Bobby: What if soy milk is just milk introducing itself in Spanish?

Riley: *inhales*

DogDay, in another room with Doey: Why can I hear screeching?

Ryker: The risk I took was calculated but, man, am I bad at math.

Doey, handing out popsicles: which flavor do you want?

Bobby: blue flavor!

Doey: uh you mean blue raspberry?

Bobby: blue flavor! Blue flavor!

Doey: Blue is not a flavor!

Bobby: BLUE FLAVOR!

Riley: Bobby has discovered "deez nuts" jokes and it's all they say now. Everything is deez nuts. They simply can't stop.

Riley: I asked Bobby where they learned that joke. They made me promise they wouldn't get in trouble if they told me. I agreed.

Riley: So they lean in and whisper, "deez nuts."

Riley: What if people had food names and food had people names?

Ryker: Hey, spaghetti, we’re having Riley for dinner.

DogDay: What is wrong with you people?

Bobby: Shut up, chocolate.

*The squad's reaction to being told they're the chosen one*

DogDay: I will not let you down.

Bobby: Sounds fun.

Ryker: K.

Kissy: *glares* (which means ‘No, I'm not.’)

Doey: Do I have to be?

Riley: Please god, I am so tired.

Bobby: Assert your dominance over your friends by kicking them in the face, and then giving them a little smooch on the forehead!

Riley: We need more help. Maybe I should call my friends.

Ryker: ... Your what?

Riley: My friends.

Doey: Are they saying “friends”?

Ollie: I think they're being sarcastic.

Bobby: No, no, no, this is delirium, they've cracked from being awake all night. Hey, Riley! All of your friends are in this room.

Bobby: That’s the longest worm I’ve ever seen.

Ryker: That’s a snake.

Riley: DogDay… I’m bleeding…

DogDay: Oh god… what’s your blood type?!

Riley: B positive…

DogDay: I’m trying to but you’re bleeding-

Ollie: Yeah, I’m a false prophet, but you believed me, so whose fault is it really that we’re in this mess?

Ryker: You ever get so tired that you start seeing spiders?

Ollie: Me after I take 17 Benadryl and start seeing the hat man.

Ryker: THE WHO?

Ollie: Oh is this not a safe space suddenly?

[purrplegyuu]

Cold | Choi Beomgyu

Index

Chapter five

Warnings: beomgyu's not soft anymore, explicit content, not finished smut, reader crying while having sex.

Word count: 1.5k

Taglist: @arianap23e, @haatohwa

Hii! I've been really busy this week, that's why I uploaded the chapter one day after I should. So sorry.

However, you know I'm not a native speaker, so make sure you let me know about any mistake I make. Thank you so much for supporting me. If you want to be added to the tag list, make sure you let me know.

When I received a message from Beomgyu ten minutes ago asking me to go to his room as soon as possible, I was hoping nothing but to see him being soft again. I was at Jiwoo’s house when that happened. 

I told her I needed to go—even if she said she missed me at school on Monday, even if I was helping her with one of the maths topics she asked for because she knows I saw that topic last year, even if she asked me not to leave; I left, walking home with a weird excitement I only have when I want something good to happen but I deeply know something wrong will happen.

Beomgyu looks at me darkly when I finally get home. He’s silent one more time, but I don’t feel this softness from yesterday. I walk towards him, although I’m never the one getting close to him. “You took so long,” He hisses. “I’m sorry, I was at-” He interrupts me. “Take off your clothes” I look at him, suddenly trembling while my heart aches like a knife has just sunk into it. I hardly swallow as a knot appears in my throat. “I’ll be waiting in my room” He goes upstairs, leaving me all alone and making me feel guilty, like I’ve done something wrong. I go to my room first, taking my clothes off and letting them in my bed, turning around to see myself in the full body mirror of my room. Why do I feel so bad if I love him that much? Maybe because I don’t want him to fuck me once again—because I don’t want to know that I’m nothing but a whore. His whore. Then, why am I walking towards his room? Why don’t I run away as fast as I can? Do I even need to?... He’s never forced me to do anything… I have always been the one forcing myself. Because I love him. I wonder if this strength I have been trying to forge in order to show myself I have at least a bit of self-love has faded because of those short moments of softness I passed by his side. When I stand right in front of him, quiet and trembling… I understand that I’m under his power once again. He looks at me from his chair. His eyes move from my neck, my small breasts, my arms, my belly button, my thin legs, and my hips. I almost believe he loves me. That’s the moment he tells me to walk towards him. I don’t even mind closing the door as I already know our parents aren’t home and aren’t going to be home until it’s late and until we’re over. He looks at me, lifting his face since he is still sitting on his chair. His hands land on my hips, right before he pulls me a little bit closer just to leave a kiss on my lower abdomen. A chill runs down my back. He takes my hand with his right hand while the other one holds my hip, guiding me towards his lap. Each leg on each side of his body. He hugs my waist now, and I find support on the back of the chair. His lips meet my cheek. Then, he kisses my neck a few times, some more kisses on my clavicles and shoulder, and all I can think about is if he’s going to kiss me—because it is strangely what we do the least. His black skinny jeans meet my slit, making me moan highly because of the scratchy fabric against my sensitive skin and also because of the sudden contact. He looks down as his hands make me move above him, back and forward, not giving me time to get used to it. I feel my cunt drooling above him, wetting his jeans until there’s a dark patch on his jeans. He unbuttons his jeans, lowering along with his boxers just a little bit, until his dick’s standing against my tummy, rock hard and drooling pre-cum. He takes my hips, angling my body until his cock meets my slit. He moves my hips up and down, rubbing his cock against my slit—from my clitoris to my entrance, once and another time. On and on, until I’m breathless, a knot forming on my lower abdomen. But I still cannot hear him moaning, sighing, or even breathing. When I open my eyes, I find him looking at me. The tip of his pretty nose all red. I look up at the rest of his face—his shiny eyes and the top of his cheeks red like he had just cried or was about to before I came. And I don’t really know why but something inside me cannot do anything but blame his mother. Because, suddenly, she became the culprit of any bad thing that could ever happen to him.

Without even thinking about it, my hands pull away his hands, and then, they go to his face, caressing the soft skin of his pink cheeks. He looks at me confused, frowning at my unusual behavior.

“What’re you doing?” His voice sounds way softer than minutes before.

“Is it your mother?” I ask, but not actually waiting for a response. He looks at me surprised, and after a blink, I look at his eyes growing red and shiny. Then, I pass my hands over his shoulders, hugging his neck tightly, feeling him sighing. After some seconds of being this way, I can even say he’s crying.

However, I suddenly feel his hands taking mine tightly. I look at him confused—not even a tear on any part of his face. He forces me to stand up, doing the same himself, making me wonder if I crossed the line. He pushes me to the bed strongly, making me bounce because of the force he used. And when he positions himself right above me, everything I see in his face is hate.

Hate. The same hate I’ve ever seen on him. When he talked to me the first time we met at our parent’s wedding; every time we met each other at school; when our parents forced us to eat dinner together as a family;… when he entered my room at midnight and stole my virginity without even faking love.

The night right before that, I was sure that you couldn’t have sex for the first time without even kissing someone before. How dumb.

And every single time after that. The same hate, the same rage, the same resentment—just like I did something to him before.

But everything I do is loving him until I’m loving him more than myself.

I wonder once again if that’s what I want for my life—that unjustified hatred; the fear of what’s going to be his following action; his coldness; being always quiet, even if it hurts agonizingly when he pounds on my vagina the way he does, hitting my cervix once and again without even prepping me well.

Is that what I want for the rest of my life?...

Yes.

My tears roll easily all over my face, falling to his bed as his dick hits my cervix nonstop, but despite the great pleasure I feel, it doesn’t feel very good. I’m overwhelmed by a large amount of destructive thoughts I thought for a minute I would never have again because ‘Beomgyu is acting differently’. But he’s not anymore.

I close my eyes strongly, trying to deal with it, until I’m audibly sobbing beneath him. I try to cover my face with my arm, but he takes both of my hands, using his strength to force them above my head tightly.

I cried many times from pleasure, but right now… It just doesn't feel great.

“Stop,” I say. It’s always been hard for me to talk when I’m crying. But he doesn’t stop. “Stop!” I'm yelling. “Beomgyu, stop! Stop, I don’t want to anymore!” He lets my hands go as fast as he can and takes his dick out of me.

I cover my face with my hands trying to calm myself, until I find out I can’t because I need to cry everything away.

“Jeongseo” I hear his voice, and then, his hand touches my arm, making me jump from fear. I look at him, looking like he’s feeling guilty and scared at the same time. But what can I do? I already trusted him many times before, and every time I’m back on his bed, I understand once again that he will never change.

But that doesn’t really matter because after I ran away to my bedroom, I realize this is not the first time it happens. I’m trapped in this never-ending cycle, not actually wishing for it to break because everything I can think about is all the good moments, the nice feelings, him.

[cyberr-v0id]

Some people are so insufferable about maths.

I don’t mean like, treating it like it’s amazing and can do wonderful stuff, because you know what? It can do wonderful things when used properly!

I mean how I’ll be talking about how I can’t do maths, and someone who is way better than me and can do maths will be like ‘noooo!!!!! Don’t say thatttt! You’re great at maths!’

Or I’ll mention something like ‘I literally cannot do maths, I just wrote the decision symbol instead of the equals sign, and I’m not even doing a maths problem 😭’

And someone will say ‘uh, you do know that actually has nothing to do with your ability to do maths, right?’

WRONG AGAIN MATEY. If I am unable to distinguish between mathematical symbols when even writing them out for shorthand in a sentence, how, pray tell, am I supposed to be able to use them properly in an equation? How am I supposed to read when the question wants me to do and to properly do that?

Another thing I’ve had people say to me is along the lines of ‘I don’t think that anyone’s actually bad at maths, just that some people aren’t good at teaching it’

Hmm, yes, ok, see I’ve had- and forgive me if this is wrong, I’m not the best at counting- over eight teachers since being at this school, and I still can’t do maths. I had to teach myself ratio over the holidays.

The other day I had a maths exam. Real important one, fate of my future depends on it etc. I can’t get a proper good grade on it anyways because of how the system works, I can only get up to a five, so that’s two pass grades possible four fail grades. During the exam I had to keep restarting my questions because I had read the numbers in the wrong order (eg 16937 would become 19673) or written my numbers the wrong way around (eg 4 facing the wrong way)

I told my mother about it and how this has always happened and she, a psychotherapist who’s job entails recognising neurodivergencies in children, got upset that I hadn’t said anything to her before, because I could have dyscalculia and if she had known then she could have applied for support. But see, I had spoken to someone about it before- my maths teacher! Who should have been the perfect person to deal with this, if she hadn’t brushed it over like almost everyone else

You know what is also a symptom of dyscalculia? Not being able to distinguish between mathematical symbols!

So, to conclude:

Yes maths is great and can be really useful

Not being able to distinguish maths signs (➕➖➗✖️🟰 etc) actually has a big effect on one’s ability to do maths

Some people actually are just bad at maths, and your attempts at trying to convince them that they actually are good helps no one and just makes you seem like a privileged son of a salt biscuit

Not being able to read numbers in the correct order or right them the correct way round is also an issue with doing maths

Mathematical dyslexia aka dyscalculia effects a persons ability to: do maths, identify maths symbols, and read numbers in the correct order, as well as struggling to count

[i-live-in-spite]

You're just as smart as me

Summary: Reader is failing math and Spencer tries to make them happy

Pairing: Spencer x gn! reader

Genre: sad with fluff

Tw/Cw: Reader is in college but Spencer and reader are similar ages, self deprivation to the max, crying, Spencer fearing he's not good enough, Reader feeling like they're not good enough,

Word Count: 1.1k

I couldn’t stop the stinging in my eyes, I wasn’t too bad at math but my grades are slipping too close to D territory. The tears started to fall before I could stop them, gods I’m so stupid. Why can't this just click for me, why am I so stupid? 

I almost didn’t feel the hand on my shoulder, when I looked up I wasn’t surprised to see Spencer. He’s my boyfriend and he had a key, fuck why did I give him a key?

“My love? What happened? Did something happen to your brother?” I shake my head, unable to find the words to tell him. “What about at school, did something happen in one of your classes?” Though dating a profiler I’m not surprised he found the words himself, though, I’m sure it didn’t take a profiler to go down the list of problems I could have.

I start to pull away and he lets go of my shoulders but kneels in front of my face, “Darling please at least let me know what’s on that pretty mind of yours?” I couldn’t help but cry more, he thinks I’m so smart but I’m struggling in remedial math. 

I stop hearing Spencer worries as I cry and cry into my hands. I don’t know how long I was crying or when Spencer had laid me back onto the bed but when I was finally out of tears Spencer had my head in his lap, laying on my favorite pillow. His delicate fingers running through my hair as he rambles about the book series we were reading together.

“There’s my love.. How are you feeling? Tired? Maybe hungry?” I could tell he was a little unsure what to do, I was always the one who had my emotions in check better.

“I..” I rolled to lay on my back and to look up at him, his eyes were unsure but had streaks of worry filling that beautiful hazel. “Can I go shower?”

“Yes yes of course, do you want me to join you? I can read to you?” Every fiber in my being wanted him close but I couldn’t let him close. I merely just shrug and I see some of the life leave him, he’s so worried. So worried over stupid me, who couldn’t get simple math problems down.

“I don’t..know.” His hands continue to work through my hair. I can tell he’s disappointed, once every few weeks we would sit in the tub together and take turns reading chapters.

“You’ll call me if something happens right? If you need me? Right?” He has a subtle whine, it didn’t take a genius to know Spencer was craving to be the rock I needed.

I caress his face, my hands afraid to break the crystal of his beautiful features,  “Of course baby.. Of course”

“Can I run the bath for you?” I couldn’t stop the little sigh from my lips but I nod and he hurries to the bathroom. I looked through my drawers to find an outfit but nothing felt right, I grabbed a pair of loose shorts and felt them. I could feel my eyes start to water again, why couldn’t I do anything right? 

Why does nothing feel right, I couldn’t help the thoughts from flooding again. I snap out of it when Spencer opens the bathroom door.

“Hey hunny, the bath is ready. I can grab your clothes?” He eyes the shorts in my hands before going into his closet and finding a Tech sweatshirt. “Here, you can wear this? I wore to sleep on the last case, so it should smell like me? And..maybe the hotel?” I couldn’t help but chuckle but feel grateful for the sweatshirt.

“Of course I want the sweatshirt, it’s mine after all.” He chuckles at my little comment and hands it over. I feel the fabric before folding it nicely into a pile with my shorts and undergarments. “I’m gonna go soak for a little bit, okay?” Spencer nods and slowly holds my cheek.

“Please if you need me call me into the room, I’ll order some take out. I’m thinking chinese?”

“Oh please Spence, you can’t use chopsticks.” He shakes his head and his hands wrap around my hips gently.

“No but I know for you a good egg roll makes you such a happy royal, I see your little happy dances when you get your fried rice.” I give him a shy smile and just give in. “You want your usual lovely?” I nod and Spencer gives me a soft kiss to my forehead before I walk into the bathroom.

—-----

After the bath I walk into the living room and see a small nest of pillows and blankets in the middle of the room.

“I tried to find the softest blankets for you my love, I hope it makes you happy.” I turn to the man who could see into my darkest pit and still find the love to order food, to make nice spots for just us. I wrap my arms around his neck and his arms wrap tightly around me. “I love you so much, I don’t fully know what happened. I don’t fully need to know but I need you to know that no matter what I am here for you. I will always be here for you.” As I nod Spencer leads me to the nest of blankets. 

We cuddled together and ate away at our food, before I knew it the clock read 3:30 am. “I have a D- in math.. I just don't understand what he’s talking about.” Spencer looks at me surprised.

“Why didn’t you come to me sooner? Baby you know I wouldn’t mind helping you, I love helping you.” I look down feeling ashamed and the guilt rush to my face. “Hey baby..you don’t have to feel bad. Tonight we can cuddle and then tomorrow I’ll take a look at the class and see how I can help you?”

“You’re too perfect Spencer. I feel so..” He grabs my face with a little bit more force than I think he was expecting. 

“Don't you dare say you feel small, don’t say you’re dumb. I might be good with math but history is your specialty.”

“But you also-”

His voice turns a little stern, “I know so much because of you and my mom. I like history, sure but there’s too much guessing in some stories that I just don’t always find enjoyable. Your eyes light up the town when you get to talk about history, I could never have that reaction. We may have different niches in our type of smarts but you will always be just as smart as me.” I nod and he holds me tighter. “You could never ever change my mind on this. I love you so much.”

“I love you too, I love you so much.” He plays with my hair and I fall asleep to the song of his praise.

---

I know it's late @spencerreidsreads but my laptop died

[wlwloverwrites]

get to know your mutuals

tagged by @cruel-as-sin thank you so much for the tag!!!

what is the origin of your blog title? i love women and writing, but also i go by the name lover! so i kinda combined all of those things

favorite fandoms? definitely marvel and criminal minds, but does how to train your dragon have a fandom? idk i just really love those movies. also avatar (the blue people) also i’m a baby army, i just recently got into bts, they are super great.

favorite color? red !

favorite game? i don’t really play a lot of video games, does papa’s sushiria count? if it does, i enjoy that game.

song stuck in your head? bed chem by sabrina carpenter, man i just love that song.

weirdest habit/ trait? think out aloud, a pair of airpods hates to see me coming cause i will use them as an excuse to talk to myself.

hobbies? watching movies, omg i could watch them all day.

if you work, what’s your profession? im a full time student, i’m also fortunate enough to be covered by a scholarship so i dont have to work!

if you could have any job, what would it be? ooo i wish i didnt have to work, but probably a full-time movie screenwriter! or a movie director!

something you’re good at? massages! i can do a really good deep tissue massage, although im not certified so maybe don’t schedule an appointment lol

something you’re bad at? mmmm moving on when i don’t understand something. ex: i didn’t understand logarithms when taking calculus in hs, and it tanked my grade cause i literally could not move on until i mastered it.

something you love? movies !! i love love love movies, even the shitty ones.

something you hate? probably not understanding something that seems easy to someone else.

something you collect? everytime i go out with friends or family, i try to take them to a photo booth and i put up the pictures on my wall.

what’s your love language? i’m a huge yapper so just having a good listener or someone who matches my energy and talks just as much. i love that, orrrrr maybe physical touch, i love touching people lol, just a simple hand on the back, touching their clothes, or biting them.

favorite movie/show? avatar 2009, and my favorite show might be daredevil !

favorite food? anything my mama makes! i love homemade mexican food. if i can’t have that i’ll have sushi.

favorite animal? black panthers or just really big cats!

are you musical? no :/

what were you like as a child? i’m the youngest so i was a little devil lol

favorite subject in school? math

least favorite subject in school? again math

best character trait? determined, i feel i am a very driven person.

worst character trait? i can come off a bit mean or aggressive when im speaking. im not mindful of my tone sometimes so i think that’s why that comes from, and im a pretty loud person.

if you could time travel, who would you like to meet? billie holiday!

tagging: @imdoingsortagay @elle-romanoff @tv-fanatic-2y5 and anyone else!

[ask-captain-anya]

Totally understandable! Yea feel free to hold onto it as long as you like! Offer's open whenever. :>

By the way-- Please don't take this as me pressuring you!! Just wanna make sure you understand the vibe. You can wait as long as you want or even never join at all! Totally up to you.

But if socializing's the problem, we're super cool with lurkers. Yk, when people just read the chatlog but don't reply? That way you can access all the resources and stuff without having to, like... put yourself out there. I have to admit I did that for at least a few months, haha. And if you did immediately leave, we'd understand! It's a support group, not a lifelong commitment. Anyway-- hope you're doing good!

Wait actually-- Okay this is probably weird of me to say but I just saw something else that I'm pretty sure is you on a forum?? I keep reporting these accounts for doxxing but it doesn't seem to help...

Anyway if that WAS you talking about your pain being bad today, I'm sorry. :< That sucks. Bad pain days are the worst ever. I asked the server for tips for that sort of thing (didn't mention ur name dw) and five different people swore by math. Like as in solving tricky math problems to distract yourself from the pain? Idk it's never worked for me but maybe it'll help you.

Remember, it won't feel like this forever... <3

-Lio

Hi Lio!

I’ll admit, I don’t know what forum you’re talking about. But my phone has been compromised for awhile now.. Trying to fix it hasn’t worked. So this is your one warning that your words may also be broadcasted. I have no control of this.

I think I’d like to join the server. If lurking is allowed. And if you don’t tell people who I am. Sometimes I still get emails requesting interviews or being weird, I forget how many people know who I am. But I don’t want people to know who I am.

But who knows! Maybe I’ll be the most active! Haha.

My pain has been pretty bad recently, yeah. I see the logic about thinking about Math but I can’t really visualize an equation in my head. And I can’t see them either… Do you think 2 plus 2 counts as a tricky math problem?

— Anya