#i have been saying that while stimming in my room for like five minutes

[coffeefromvoid]

I’m him I’m him I’m him I’m hi-

Tybalt, je suis Tybalt, you could say iejdjrfjrn

I am donee!! For now, i still want to think of extra details and stuff to give the costume more character but rn im really happy with it!!

[kiestrokes]

Say My Name | NSFW

Pairing: Fratboy!Song Mingi x AFAB!Reader/You/Yn Featuring: Jeong Yunho, Jung Wooyoung, Kang Yeosang, Kim Hongjoong, Park Seonghwa, with mentions of Choi San of ATEEZ and Yoon Jeonghan of SVT Rating: NSFW. Mature (18+) Minors DNI. Word Count: 7,407 Genre: some slices of life, mild inner turmoil, college au, smut. Warnings: this storyline does have polyamory/open relationships intertwined, bisexual/pansexual orientations for: Yoon Jeonghan, Jeong Yunho; Jung Wooyoung; Choi San and Song Mingi, jealous ex boyfriends, drinking, smoking weed, cursing.

Sexually Explicit Content: mention of threesomes, mxm, fxm, fxmxm, oral sex (f. receiving), vaginal penetration, condoms, orgasms (both), clit stim, nipple stim, hair pulling, kissing (with tongue), deep sex (or rough sex, but not bdsm level, and no degradation), slight praise, let me know if I missed anything.

Summary: You and Yunho have been childhood best friends since your mothers grew up together, living in different towns but spending all the holidays together. The friendship has always been light and easy, never serious. Reconnecting in college and exploring each other in new ways. After a second breakup with your high school sweetheart, Yunho propositions you to break your dry spell with his new fraternity brother transfer and high school friend Song Mingi. How could you say no?

🗝️ Note:  Welcome to my gay frat house I guess 🤷🏻‍♀️ it didn’t start out this wayyy. But YunWoo took over my brain a week into writing this last year. In addition to the YunGi brainrot that kind of started this. Technically it was the Booty Wurk dance where Yunho looked like Mingi that we all have to blame. But anyway. Hope you enjoy! Please let me know if you did 💋 P.S. long vers of why this took me forever to get this tf out at the end.

Beta Reader(s): @minisugakoobies @minttangerines @chans-room in addition to massive thank you to Sunny and B for helping me in the midst of final edits when my imposter syndrome took over.

Disclaimers: This is a work of fiction; I do not own any of the idols depicted below.

Read it on ao3!

THE FIVE PARTS OF RUSH WEEK:

KNOW THE RULES

OPEN RUSH

FORMAL RECRUITMENT

INVITATIONS

PLEDGING

PART 1: KNOW THE RULES

Honestly, you can’t believe you let yourself be persuaded into dating your high school boyfriend again after his drunken tirade last autumn.

Yet here you were, listening to two of your friends throw out theories as the why it had ended this time.

Secretly, you knew the reason.

“Maybe it was the distance?” Yunho offers.

“Yea the whole twenty-minute walk from the other college was really far,” Wooyoung scoffs in thinly veiled sarcasm.

“It’s not like it came as a total surprise, he hasn’t touched me in two months.”

You sigh airily into the phone tucked into the crook of your shoulder, while your hands work on the task of deleting photos of your ex from your socials across various tabs on the laptop screen.

“Two months? Not even a kiss?” Wooyoung gasps, appalled.

“Not everyone is as affectionate as you Woo,” Yunho chuckles across the three-way call.

“Noona you should come to the frat party this weekend.”

Wooyoung perks up at the thought of you finally single again. He had missed your casual drunken make out sessions after your 3AM burger runs.

“Aghhh I don’t know…”

“It has been a month since the breakup.” Yunho tacks on, “and you still haven’t met our new frat transfer.”

“I feel like I know him well enough from all the photos and texts you send me about him,” You roll your eyes in mild annoyance.

“Don’t be jealous, noona. There's plenty of Yunho for us all to share,” Wooyoung chastises.

You and Yunho erupt into laughter.

“Yah! I’m serious.”

“Woo, you just confessed to wanting an actual piece of Yunho.”

“I have never hid my affection for hyung or you, noona.”

“That is true,” you conceded.

“Sooo, the party?”

“Can I get laid?” You sigh again, knowing there is no winning this battle.

“I think I can arrange that,” Yunho’s voice turns mischievous.

“Yunho-”

“I got to go, the pizza arrived!”

Yunho’s line disconnects.

“Want me to ask Yeosang to come with you to be your emotional support human?”

“Yes, please.”

You hang up, after Wooyoung makes you say I love you, no less than three times.

The lack of his constant chatter has your mind itching with anxious thoughts, like a small army of ants crawling across your feet at the park this summer.

Are other friend groups as horny as yours seems to have gotten?

Do other collectives partake in casual encounters together?

What do they do with their feelings?

Your ex hadn’t been all too happy when he found out that you had partaken in a threesome with Yunho, while the two of you were broken up last year. Even after you explicitly explained that the two of you never did anything more than kiss.

Now you can’t seem to discern if it’s his voice or your own spinning all these new worries. Those tiny ants tunneling into the deep crevices of your amygdala.

PART 2: OPEN RUSH

Your phone dinging awakens you on the following Wednesday at five in the morning, a video message from Yunho.

Blearily you hiss at the sudden light, and drag the brightness of your phone down, pressing play on the video once your eyes have adjusted. Yunho’s voice comes from above the phone, and you quickly put together that the transfer is lying in his lap, rambling.

“Hyung, why are you always leaving with Wooyoung?”

“To work on some dance techniques, his friend San lets us use their gym.”

“That guy in the opposing frat?” Mingi slurs a scoff, burrowing into Yunho’s thigh.

Yunho’s deep laugh sounds behind the screen and it settles you in your sleep disrupted state.

“Wooyoung might being trying to charm San into switching, among other things…”

This turn in the conversation seems to peak the younger guy's interest as he flips on his back suddenly, gazing up at your best friend with starry eyes.

“I’ve never been with a guy, hyung.”

“Do you want to try it out?”

Yunho’s hand strokes the bleached hair away from the younger man's temple.

“Are you offering?”

He sits up excitedly, tongue toying at the corner of his mouth.

“Maybe, but not right now. You’re in no condition.”

Yunho laughs tenderly, warming you with comfort. Bottom lip jutting out the other guy flops back into Yunho’s lap.

The video ends there, the only message after it is what you assume to be the frat boys name.

Mingi.

PART 3: FORMAL RECRUITMENT

You and Yunho had started your little secret in freshman year, accidentally.

When the then, fraternity president, Yoon Jeonghan had happily pulled you both into a room for a makeout that led to much more. Changing the dynamics of your friendship with Yunho subtly. Clandestinely.

When you weren’t in the relationship, that was quite literally sucking the life out of you. Yunho often brought up another person to your solo dorm and eased the two of you into a consensual threesome.

This was different though; Yunho had never asked you to test the waters on a new third. Either he tested them, or you were all comfortable enough to dive right into triple play.

“What’s different with this new pledge?” You asked, prodding Wooyoung in the ribs to steer his attention away from his burger.

He shrugs in an answer before tilting his head and offering a response, “I think Yunho might like him, they went to school together when they were younger, and he transferred here after having a hard time last year specifically for Yunho.”

You scrunch your nose in thought, chewing on another fry.

“Yunho likes everyone.”

“Noona you know what I mean.” Wooyoung grips your chin, so you have to stare into his eyes.

“Oh.”

Wooyoung nods with a wag of his brows, releasing you with the knowledge you understood what he meant. Mingi wasn’t just a throw away third, Yunho wanted him to become part of your group.

Maybe even something more?

“I’m just glad you’re single again, it was getting a lot to handle over the last year.”

Wooyoung rambled on about how he needed both you and Yunho.

“Woo do you think what we’re doing is…” you break off with a click of your tongue, having interrupted him mid thought of your own.

“What?”

He snags a fry, smirking as you swat at him.

“I don’t know, do you think it’s ok? I mean I don’t want to lose you guys over something as silly as sex.”

Wooyoung didn’t immediately respond, which worried you even more.

“I think we are in college, exploring ourselves and having a little fun.”

He gives you a shrug, but you can see the tension in his shoulders. You and Woo shared a wariness of strangers and fear of losing people that Yeosang and Yunho didn’t have. Nobody ever left the two of them, they were sunshine bottled up in human form.

Your circle hadn’t added anyone new since sophomore year of college when your high school friend, Yeosang, had showed up at your University with Wooyoung.

Which felt like forever ago but had only been three semesters ago in reality. The two had taken their first semester abroad in the German exchange program.

Even then, none of your friends had ever had sex with just you. Sure, Wooyoung got drunk at parties and enjoyed making out with any of you that were willing. All of you enjoyed dirty dancing all over the sticky frat or sorority floors together.

Although frat president Hongjoong was definitely not among the willing. He’d frozen up like a Ouija board when Wooyoung planted a sloppy kiss on him during his election celebration.

Speaking of the devil, Kim Hongjoong was sauntering up to your table, with a wicked smile on his distracting lips.

Oh no.

“Yunho told me you were finally single and ready to Mingle.”

Hongjoong fixed you with a reading stare and challenging smirk.

“HJ, not today,” you groan, massaging your temples.

He slides onto the tabletop, “no not today, but next Friday.”

Hongjoong plucks a fry from your dwindling order, nibbling away while awaiting your response.

You gnaw on your bottom lip, as Yunho approaches with Seonghwa. It seemed Hongjoong had escaped them in order to harass you first. “Are they coming?” Seonghwa asked excitedly.

Tossing his bag onto the seat and slipping his black hoodie off one shoulder to expose a black tank top below. Before gliding on top of the sun warmed table and snatching a bite of Wooyoung's burger.

You look up and right into the puppy dog eyes of Yunho, “We have another surprise for you.”

Yunho smiled encouragingly, Seonghwa shot you an eager nod with stuffed cheeks, Wooyoung squeezed your elbow, and with the deepest sigh you blink your eyes in consent.

“Fine, I’ll be there and Yeosang will too.”

“What?” Yeosang’s head whips to you from where he was slipping into the bench beside Wooyoung.

Who is fighting Seonghwa for his burger.

“I’ll explain later.”

Wooyoung taps his arm once his burger has been rescued. But Yeosang continues to bounce a confused stare from you to the fraternity across from you.

“Lovely!” Hongjoong claps his hands together excitedly, like the mad magician he is.

PART 4: INVITATIONS

You release a deep sigh, thumb skimming the text invite that Yunho had dropped in your group chat last weekend.

“You sure you’re good to do this?”

Yeosang’s hand touches your shoulder, drawing you back into your budget uber, a squashed Nissan Leaf.

“Yea, I need a hook up and some trash frat booze to solidify the end of my shitty relationship.”

Yeosang nods in agreement, he couldn’t take much more of your dorm room hermiting. Post high school sweetheart breakup (for the second time). You’re still unsure how you were convinced to give him a second chance.

“Let's go then, looks like the party is in full swing.”

You finally look out the window, the 1940s brick craftsman is borderline radioactive with the amount of neon lights covering it inside and out.

The two of you make your way up the neatly trimmed lawn, taking care not to disrupt the group of stoners that are gazing up at the stars trying to locate the big dipper.

Yeosang’s white netted shirt glows an otherworldly purple as you descend into the black lights inside the house.

You’d chosen a comfortable party fit. But did take Yeosang’s advice and threw on the top he’d suggested. Hoping that the magic it was doing for your cleavage was enough to get you laid tonight.

The two of you locate a familiar face among the crowd; Hongjoong is sitting on the stairs carefully rolling a blunt. You lick your lips at the sight of his tongue flicking out to seal the wrapper.

Shit, you really needed to get laid tonight.

“Hey HJ,” You nod to the person leaning on the wall next to him and they smile politely back.

“Hey! I can’t believe you’re actually here.”

You roll your eyes as Hongjoong hugs the two of you at once.

“As if you’d let me ditch this time.”

Hongjoong smirks at you as he reclaims his seat on the stairs.

“Where’s Woo?” Yeosang asks, hoping his friend hasn’t already gotten into trouble.

“Oh, Yunho and Woo are both downstairs, they’re doing a little dance thing.”

Hongjoong passed the blunt he’d been rolling to his companion. Waving his hand dismissively towards the entry of another room.

“Through the kitchen right?” Yeosang says, slipping his hand in yours, tugging you in what you can only imagine is the direction of the kitchen.

“Mmhmm.” Hongjoong murmurs, sending you a wink as you slip into the crowd, “good luck!”

Yeosang guides you in front of him once you locate the basement stairs. You’re thankful for all the brightness of the yellow rope lighting as you clamber down the sticky stairs. The music reaches your ears immediately.

“Oh my god, are we in 2012? Who the fuck is playing Booty Wurk?”

“Haven't you seen the new TikTok dance?”

“No.”

You and Yeosang descend the final layer of stairs just in time for the first chorus and an eyeful of your childhood best friend with a cap low over his eyes dancing in perfect sync with Wooyoung to the older R&B song.

Yeosang’s gasping face is a mirror of yours when you turn to him.

The two of you take up real estate on the stairs to watch their little show above the heads of the gathered college crowd.

You screech as the hip rolls start, and Yeosang shakes you as your two friends glide through the crowd. Dancing a path until Wooyoung is on his knees and you notice the person filming him. Wooyoung tugs the brim of his hat and slams the camera away.

The crowd screams, engulfing the boys in hugs and cheers. The two of you join in the cheers, before trying to get their attention.

“WOO! YUNHO!” You shout, waving your hands.

Yunho’s head snaps up and a grin fills his face as he comes to scoop you off the stairs in a spinning hug.

“You made it!” His smile widens when he sets you down.

“Yea, yea no big deal” you wave his excitement off.

“I want you to meet someone, where did he go…” Yunho breaks off as he scans the room.

“Can I least get a drink off before you start forcing socialization on me?”

Your pre-hookup jitters have made a reappearance, and you’re secretly wishing you had snuck off to get high with Hongjoong instead.

He laughs, “ok, ok. Woo? Yeo?”

Their heads pop up and they push away from their perches against the wall where they had been reviewing the dance video, to join you. The four of you weave through bodies to the fraternity's wet bar.

Yunho sets to work mixing up some drinks when another T-Pain song scratches across the speakers, and Wooyoung shouts in delight as the whole crowd starts singing offkey to Buy U A Drank.

Your best friend shakes his head laughing to himself.

“What?”

“I know where he is now,” Yunho wags his brows at you as he passes a cup to you and Yeosang who is watching the screaming crowd with confused curiosity.

“I can’t see anything!” You turn to Yunho, as he takes a sip of his drink regarding you over the rim with mischievous eyes.

He taps the bar counter, “hop up here.”

He sets his cup down on the other side and lifts you into the counter before you have time to think.

A small circle has formed around three people. In the center is a guy with dyed silver hair, shaggy and falling across his eyes.

“That’s Song Mingi,” Yunho smirks up at you.

Ahhh, mystery fratboy finally has a last name.

You roll your eyes back at him, as if hadn’t been sending you propaganda of his high school friend the two weeks leading up to the party.

Both of you turn back to the dancers, and you take a big gulp of your drink as he starts body rolling along with the others. The exception is- his gyrations are ridiculously fluid putting the other two dancers to shame.

“Fine, he’s cute” you yield, and Yunho leans into the side of your legs with a triumphant laugh.

“He’s more than cute, he has perfect proportions,” Yunho takes another sip of his drink before turning his face to yours, “still wanna test him out for me?” Yunho whispers against your cheek, his hand giving your knee a squeeze.

Your eyes couple briefly before yours drift to Yunho’s smiling lips, and you grant him a nod and a quick peck.

“He has to fuck well with moves like that,” Wooyoung tugs on Yeosang’s arm, and the other guy rolls his eyes.

“Wait, why is everyone confused whether Mingi is good in bed or not?”

Your question goes unanswered. Leaving you vaguely worried that you’ve been roped into popping someone’s cherry. But Yunho would do that to you.

Would he?

“That’s the one?” Yeosang questions you and Yunho, to which you both nod.

Yeosang purses his lips surveying the dance moves, he himself is not interested in the same shenanigans as Yunho and Wooyoung. He had simply come to grab a free drink and deliver you to Yunho.

Or take you home if you weren’t feeling up to it.

“He does have pretty proportions,” Yeosang nods, mutually agreeing with Yunho.

Wooyoung slaps Yeosang across the chest, “Mingi has pretty everything you should see his-”

“Agh.”

Yeosang slaps his hand over Wooyoung’s mouth, face contorted in disgust at the oversharing.

“Do I want to know?” You query Yunho.

“I honestly have no idea, Mingi still hasn’t been with a guy to my knowledge or hooked up with anyone since he transferred.”

Oh, maybe that’s why everyone’s so unsure if he’s good in bed or not.

“We went skinny dipping!”

Wooyoung rolls his eyes while stealing a sip of your drink.

“Ahhh…” Yunho wags his eyebrows, “with San?”

Wooyoung sends Yunho a glare at the mention of Yunho’s opposing frat president, “San stood guard.”

Yunho and Wooyoung appear to be having an argument with their eyes, one that you and Yeosang have apparently not been clued in on. As Yeosang looks at you with confused brows and you shrug in response.

Time to diffuse this before it escalates.

“I really need to meet this DJ.”

You steal your cup back from Wooyoung as another 2000’s club hit comes on.

“Oh, it's just Seonghwa! He wants to see you both,” Wooyoung’s festering mood quickly dissolves as he turns to lead the way to the makeshift DJ booth.

“Just Hwa,” You and Yeosang share a secret smile.

Yeosang had developed a small crush on the upperclassman, something about his eyebrows and fluid personality.

You slip off the counter and Yunho’s lips brush your ear, “that’s your other surprise.”

“Mine or Yeosang’s?”

You laugh lightly, nudging Yeosang in front of you.

By the time you shuffle through all the bodies Mingi is also waiting at the booth. Chatting eagerly to Seonghwa, who is in full alter ego, DJ Mito gear.

Wooyoung excitedly begins to introduce you and Yeosang when Mingi blurts out, “the one that needs to get laid.”

“To clarify, that is not me,” Yeosang raises his hand in earnest.

All of you laugh at both of their honesty. Mingi flushes suddenly dissolving into a giant puppy in front of you, staring at his shoes.

Oh, now this you can definitely work with.

“Well, it’s true.” You shrug, “and you’re the one that’s been selected to take care of that situation for me?”

Mingi looks shyly at you under his brow top teeth worrying his bottom lip before he gives a nod.

You stifle a groan and take a sip of your drink, or more accurately, down it.

Seonghwa’s attention turns back to mixing the music, one ear if his headphones off to listen to your group to the best of his multitasking capability.

Yunho’s laughs and bumps Mingi with his shoulder.

“Don’t worry, she doesn't bite…that hard.”

He teases, draping an arm across Mingi’s shoulders. You clock how Mingi leans eagerly into Yunho’s touch.

Interesting.

Yeosang catches your observing, raising his eyebrows at you to gather your attention.

“You good?” Yeosang mouths and you nod in return, eyes flicking to Seonghwa but Yeosang shakes his head in dismissal.

“Next time,” you mouth back at him and his cheeks flush.

“Yeo come dance with me!”

Wooyoung tugs on Yeosang’s hands, sloshing punch everywhere.

Yeosang rolls his eyes in tender annoyance, “after I wash this off my hands.”

“I’ve got a couple of towels,” Seonghwa tosses one to Yeosang, as Wooyoung snatches the cup to chug the remnants of his drink.

“There! Now let's dance.”

Woo bounces as Yeosang purposely takes his time in drying himself off.

Your eyes flit back to Yunho, who is whispering something to Mingi as Yeosang delicately dabs his hands with the towel. Yunho turns to kiss your temple before collecting a needy Wooyoung, a reluctant Yeosang and pushing Mingi towards you.

“Take care of her Mingles.”

Before you have time to object, three of your friends melt into the crowd and Seonghwa sends you a conspiratorial wink.

Mingi looks up at you from under his bangs, “wanna dance?”

You flash him a startled smile and nod, pulling his hands from his pockets and slinking through the crowd together to a little spot on the floor.

Through the forest of arms, you see Yeosang and Wooyoung with arms draped across each other's shoulders, foreheads touching and hips undulating to the beat. Yunho dances behind them with a mutual friend from a sorority, his eyes find yours and he wags his brows as if he was smirking with his eyes.

Mingi’s hands switch from shy to confident as he turns you to face him, slotting you over his leg and fingers biting softly into your hips. You laugh warmly at his boldness and loop your arms around his neck and roll in time with him. He beams down at you.

“What?” You tilt your head in question.

“Should have known that all of Yunho’s friends can dance.”

Mingi’s hands drift up your back to spin you around, facing away from him.

“I hardly call this dancing,” you call above the music.

His laugh rumbles against your spine and you let him press his front into your backside, your ass molding into the cavern of his hips. Allowing your head to drop back onto his shoulder, swaying your body in tandem with Mingi’s, as his hands skim across the front of your hips.

You make it through three songs, dazedly watching your friends through the crowd. Yunho’s fellow Greek friend has disappeared. He and Yeosang have sandwiched Wooyoung in a slow grind to the current song. Yunho keeps stealing reassuring glances at you and Mingi between the gyrating field of bodies.

Eventually you lose sight of them, sinking into the pleasant hum of your head and thrum of your body. A combination of the bass from Seonghwa’s music and the drink Yunho had mixed for you.

Mingi’s thumb skims under the hem of your top to stroke your stomach, causing you movements to stutter a little bit as he tentatively presses your clothed pussy into his thigh from behind.

“Hi.” Mingi breathes caging you in, “do you want to go upstairs where it is quieter?”

You tilt your head, “eager to get started already?” you tease.

“Something like that,” he nibbles his bottom lip again, waiting for your consenting nod before taking your hand and guiding you back towards the stairs.

On your way up to Mingi’s room you catch sight of Yunho making out with Wooyoung, while Yeosang taps away on his phone ignoring the pair.

A feat which you found so difficult that it causes you to miss a step and fall against Mingi.

Wooyoung is perched on the bar with Yunho between his legs, devouring one another. But that isn’t what causes your stuttering footwork on the stairs, it's Wooyoung’s pretty hands drifting down to clench equal handfuls of Yunho’s ass.

“Are you okay?”

Mingi’s voice snaps you out of your gaping, his warm eyes calling you back to him.

You give him a quick smile, “I will be in a minute.”

PART 5: THE PLEDGING

This is how you ended up in your current position, sprawled under the massive man named Mingi. He hadn’t even kissed you yet and your blood was already racing each time he looks up at you from under his lashes.

“Are you still okay with this?” His fingertips stroke your cheek.

You nod your mouth parting as his thumb pressed into your bottom lip. Mingi’s resolve was lost when the tip of your tongue flicked against the pad of his finger, a soft moan escaping him before pressing his lips to yours.

The two of you quickly find a dance of lips, teeth and tongue. Mingi licks eagerly into your mouth, almost stealing your air with how hard he sucks on your tongue. You nibble his bottom lip in response. The two of you shudder against each other, gasping for air before diving right back into ravaging one another's mouths.

You let your hands explore his body, over the loose black tee he has tucked into the matching pants. Pulling it loose so that you can trail your fingers up the soft skin of his spine.

Mingi nudges your nose with his, signaling you to tilt your head so that he could get more access. Your pelvis rocks up into his when he sucks your tongue, and he rolls back. A ghost of the moves you had seen earlier.

You tuck your hands into his fluffy faded hair and tug at the nape. Mingi moans low and deep into the back of your throat, the vibrations sending your nipples hard. As if he knew, his hand skidded up to squeeze a breast through your shirt and bra. You nip at his lip in response.

He chuckles low, pulling back to meet your gaze, “do you even know my name?”

“Mingi,” you whisper, and you watch how his pupils dilate in response.

Fueling your next assault, looping your arms around his neck and craning up to kiss each side of his jaw, “Song.”

A kiss to his cheek, “Mingi.”

Lastly, a teasing kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Mingi growls and the two of you begin frantically shedding your clothing, as soon as you are naked, he lifts you up the bed to rest against the pillows. He reclines back on his heels, the swell in his boxers looking dangerously bigger than you had anticipated.

“Still want to do this?”

Mingi laughs huskily at your consistently eager nod.

“I’ll go slow,” His voice oozes with reassurance.

You swallow and meet his eyes, sprawled before him like the last dinner, completely nude and exposed. His fingertips dimple into the top of your knees as he drinks you in.

Mingi slowly opens your knees, still testing you for any signs of push back or rejection of consent. You feel your timidness subside when Mingi’s eyes locked eyes with the swell of your pussy, when he couldn’t contain his tongue from flicking out to lick his lips.

Mingi reaches out to run his middle finger firmly down the slick valley of your folds, causing your hips to jerk as he bumps over tender the nerves of your clit.

“Sensitive?”

He looks up at you from under his lashes again, and it takes everything in you to not squeeze your thighs shut and moan

“Yea,” you huff.

“It’s been a while and even then, my ex was always too tired to take care of my needs.”

“Of course he was,” Mingi let out a sarcastic laugh as he thrust two fingers inside you.

You gasp clutching the sheets, hips chasing his hand on their own accord.

“Are you okay?” He asks, gaze rising with the roll of your body until he meets your eyes, “I need to loosen you up a bit, so I don’t hurt you.”

You give a tight nod, breathing deeply through your nose as tendrils of arousal begin to spread their roots as he starts working his fingers. Your body is so keyed up from lack of intimate touch that you’re dousing his hand in what feels like seconds.

“Just relax and enjoy yourself.”

Mingi curls his fingers against the front wall of your cunt and his thumb lazily circles your clit as you pump your hips against his hand in blatant desperation. Chasing the foreign feeling of someone else bringing you to orgasm.

Coming so fast, that you grind your teeth together and clutch his brawny forearm as your body bows off the bed. The first orgasm coasting over you, like your first gasp of air.

Mingi moans at the sight of you and adds another finger, extending your orgasm until you’re trying to roll over to escape it. His other hand pins you to the bed by your thigh. You’re affixed, watching Mingi as he watches you with parted lips. Your hips meeting his thrusting hand and you convulse again. Mingi groans, his hand on your thigh tightening.

“Mingi-Mingi, ngh,” you claw at his arm as you feel the release gush around his fingers.

“That’s enough, I like it a little rough. Please, I want to feel you.”

You’re tugging his wrist and drawing your hips away. Mingi leans forward with a soft huff, brushing his lips against yours before grabbing a condom from the windowsill.

You stare at the sight above you, his rippling abdomen, the impulsive thoughts winning and you raked a hand gently down his stomach. He tenses in response and goose bumps erupt across his chest.

You drag your nails down the divide of his muscles slipping beneath the soft fabric of his fitted boxers and tilt your head back to meet his watchful eyes.

“You’re so soft.”

Mingi lets out a surprised laugh at your compliment, his head dropping to your shoulder.

“Would you like to keep touching me, or me to get started?” He whispers, lips kissing your earlobe.

You tuck your toes into the sides of his boxers and tug them down as a response. Mingi raises an eyebrow at you.

“My ex wasn’t always sex repulsed by me.”

You shrug and Mingi dives to plant another soft kiss on your lips as your fingertips idly stroke his length. Your thumb tracing the pearl of precum around the tip.

“Careful Mingi, you’ll make me think this was all because of me.”

You return his kisses as he mutters an, “it is” against your lips.

A hand coming up to grasp your breast, “all for these and this,” his large hand cups your damp pussy as he sinks back onto his heels.

His thumb strokes your bottom lip, “and really for this mouth and that smile.”

Mingi groans when you nip the tip of his thumb. His teeth rip open the condom in his other hand and he wastes no time in rolling it over his intimidating erection.

“Ready for me?”

Suddenly the shyness washes over him again, he fists his length, hand lightly bracing on your thigh and you can’t stop another eager nod in response.

Mingi holds true to his promise of going slow, rubbing his sheathed erection over your wet folds until you’re begging him to stop. Cunt clenching around nothing, needing to feel the stretch you know he will bring. He grips your hips, eyebrows pinching together as he lines up at your entrance.

You gasp as the fat head of his tip breaks inside, your hips chasing his cock to seek more and Mingi complies with a grunt of his own. Sinking slowly into you, his long fingers spreading your lower lips open to make his leisurely dive smoother for the both of you.

Your lungs feel empty by the time he is fully seated inside of you. His arms slide under your shoulders to hold the nape of your neck as he rocks upwards into you. The movement stroking places you have never felt.

“Oh fuck-" you clutch at his bicep, “Mingi.”

He kisses you again, mouth just as eager as earlier, rolling his hips deep into you as his tongue glosses over yours. Mingi rocks with a controlled place as your body tightens on itself again. His mouth seeks out your breast, tongue laving at your nipple and you gasp as he grazes it with his teeth.

“You like it a little rough right?” He looks up at you as his mouth sucks your nipple behind his teeth.

You cry out a “yes!” at the sensation.

Mingi moans in response around your breast. His hands reach down to wrap your legs around his hips as he sinks impossibly deeper against you. Stretching your entrance with his thick base in a way that makes you lose anything left of your resolve.

You’re filled up entirely with him, it doesn’t take long until you feel the tension building in your core, your walls squeezing around him.

Mingi abandons his marking of your breast to watch you. Clutching his ass, thrusting frantically into his stilled movement as he presses upwards into you so that it’s focused against the sensitive ridges of your glory spot.

“Say my name,” Mingi grunts.

His hands bruise into the valley of where your hips meet your thighs.

“Mingi,” your strangled whine comes, as heat blooms up your neck and across your cheekbones.

He groans holding himself firm, hands gliding up your ribcage to give each of your breasts a synchronized squeeze.

“That’s it baby, use me all you want, this is about you.”

Mingi puffs out short pants, not unaffected by your movements either. Squeezing your breasts entirely with a pitchy whine of his own, as your legs shudder around his thighs.

“Mingi,” you beg and his hand slips to your jaw as your eyes flutter open to meet his.

Mingi’s lips connect with yours, tongues sweeping against each other. Until your head presses back into the pillow as your orgasm crests, as tight as his hand fisting the hair at the nape of your neck.

Mingi starts thrusting into you again, his lips parting, gazes fluttering open to meet and never leaving yours as he picks up speed. Drifting you through your second orgasm or the night.

“Shit,” Mingi grunts in response.

Hips lazily rolling into you, in a way you didn’t know was possible. The top of his pelvis rubbing deliciously against your swollen clit.

“Mingi-”

He moans, “louder.”

“Mingi!”

You cry out in pleasure, and he lets go of his controlled strokes. One final crushing kiss to your lips he reaches down and throws your legs over his shoulders. The two of you moan in unison as he swirls wide circles into your cunt.

“How could anyone ever leave this pussy alone?”

Mingi pins your knees to your shoulders, thrusting your breasts between them obscenely, his eyebrows converging at the sight of you, his breathing becoming ragged.

“Oh god baby,” he sinks his weight into you, stealing your air.

You gasp and tremble in bliss at the depth his dick has reached.

“Mingi,” you breathe.

He continues to rock in and out with half pulled strokes. Ensuring he continues to fill you up entirely, not wanting to miss an inch of your canal seizing around him at his inviting intrusion.

“You look so good like this,” his gaze slips up to meet yours.

Your eyes flick down to the folds of your stomach, your tits bulging between the bracket of your thighs and whimper as you watch Mingi pull almost completely out suddenly and press back in slowly.

Who the fuck is this kid?

“Let's just do this a couple of times, please.”

You give him half a nod. Too taken by watching him. Gasping in rapture each time his body shudders, as you squeeze around his tip when he matches it to the entrance of your pussy.

Your insides fighting each thrust back in, a budding feeling so intense you can barely hold your eyes open. Sharp sounds leaving your lips in little uhts and uhs. Nails embedding into the caps of his shoulders.

“Does it feel good?” Mingi huffs, sounding strained.

Finally.

“So good Mingi,” you whimper.

“You're so wet for me, fuck. Can you come again?”

You gasp a “yes!”

Mingi thrusts in, pressing his hips up into your clit again causing the orgasm to begin unfurling.

“Oh god” you whimper, “they keep coming.”

Mingi lets out a stutter of groans intermingled with a raspy laugh, when your cunt clamps down on him. His jaw tightens and you fall apart when he firmly wedges himself inside, hand coming up to press on your stomach. You cry out silently as he repeats the motion until he gets what he is seeking.

You spray the lower part of his stomach, the cute little swell that sits between the peaks of his hip bones and he lets a ragged breath at the sight of you ruined underneath him.

“Oh oh-oh,” you thrash as your legs try to straighten at the sensation.

“Fuck yes!”

Mingi’s resolve finally breaks, hooking his thumbs into the ditch of your knees and letting loose. Hips pounding against yours as the waves of your orgasm roll back to form a new crest. His face hovering above yours, eyes lowered to watch how you take him, and he groans, gaze lifting to meet your lidded one.

You clutch at the blankets, face titling and greeting Mingi’s lips sloppily as you pant into each other's mouths between haphazard kisses.

Your body’s connecting with wet laps and tight thrusts. His damp chest brushing your stiffened nipples in an opportune way that has you coming again. The hardest one of the night, from the multiple points of stimulation happening to your body.

Maybe the hardest one ever.

Mingi’s body jerks and he lets out a booming version of your name as your insides clench him, spilling his own release into the condom as your orgasm seizes his cock. You cry out louder than all your grunts and moans before.

He lets your legs go and they numbly butterfly open around his waist, as your body trembles under his continuous motions.

Mingi whispers your name in repetition as he tosses his head back, toned hips working the both of you through the aftershocks.

You open your eyes when the roaring in your ears subsides and Mingi’s are still closed, his forehead pressed to yours. One hand braced on the pillow beside your head and the other idly stroking your calf.

“Fuck,” he swallows loudly.

You let out a breathy laugh and his eyes flutter open, and slowly, while holding your gaze he shifts back. Kissing each of your thighs as he lowers them, hands spreading across the soft of your stomach and rubbing back down to your front of your hips

“Are you ok?”

“Yea, very ok.”

Mingi smiles scooting back to slowly pull out. You shudder as the warmth of your own release leaks out of you and Mingi moans.

“You came so hard,” his thumb circles your entrance causing your hips to lift off the bed and a lewd moan to escape you- “don’t move.”

Mingi removes his hand, slipping off the bed to remove the condom. Tying it in a knot and tossing it into the bin by his desk.

He returns to you, erection still bobbing as he looks down at you with those hungry, dragon eyes. Seeking treasure.

“Can I?”

His eyes flick to yours, tongue peeking out the corner of his lips.

“Can you what?”

You shuffle up on tired elbows and yelp as Mingi sends you right back flat, tugging you to the end of the bed as he lowers into a crouch.

“What do you think, can I clean you up?”

You shift up again, nodding a little shyly and Mingi grins devilishly before opening you wide to him again.

“I’ll make it worth the trouble for you.”

“Trouble for me-umph.”

The question dies in your throat. There is no kitten licking or test kisses, he dives right in mouth suctioned to your dripping core. Sucking licking and moaning into the sensitive flesh.

“Oh fuck, Mingi!”

Your head drops between your shoulders as his hands wrap around the tops of your thighs, his nose bumping your clit with the passionate way he’s devouring your pussy.

“What happened to the bashful guy downsta-ah,” you break off into a wail.

Mingi moans as you shudder, undeniably leaking more arousal into his waiting mouth, you grasp at his hand, and he takes hold of your fingertips as the other sinks into his hair and he groans into your cunt when you pull.

“Mingi!”

Shamelessly rubbing your pelvis into his face as the tension starts to tighten again. Your brain is on fire with the feeling of his mouth on you, in combination with the pleasant ache in your core where he had just been. It’s all too much, and all too good at the same time.

“Mingi, Mingi, Mingi,” you chant softly, “oh Mingi!”

He laps at you again and again in a way either of you can’t seem to get enough of by the telltale way he’s got a crushing grasp on your thighs as if his broad shoulders aren’t enough to keep you open to him. Mingi groans into your cunt, tongue flexing inside your entrance. Just as you're climaxing nicely you feel his teeth graze your clit.

Stars explode, never in your life had you felt your vision go dark and white at the same time. You cry out so strangely that you don’t even recognize your own voice. Your spine arching until the band snaps and sends you collapsing back against the bed, wheezing for air.

“Too much?”

You feel rather than see Mingi leave a kiss to your sex swollen pussy.

“What-what, the fuck was that?”

He huffs a laugh through his nose, “told you I’d make it worth it.”

Mingi slips from between your thighs and the bed sags on either side of your ribs, his lower half cloaking yours with welcome warmth as your eyes finally regain their ability to open.

You touch his cheek, gazing at him with newfound admiration, “who taught you to fuck like this?”

Mingi laughs and lowers his eyes almost bashfully, you groan. His intermittent shyness will no doubt be the death of you, and Yunho.

PART SIX: BREAKFAST

“Hey baby, we are going to miss breakfast if you don’t wake up.”

Mingi’s deep timbre melodiously sweeps into your dreamless sleep.

You groan, stretching around his body that’s sitting next to you on the bed. Eyes drifting open to find a much more scholarly version of the demon that turned your body into the aching, sated mess it is now.

“Are those real?”

Mingi touches the wire frame of his glasses, laughing shyly.

“Yea.”

“Mmm, so cute,” you pull him down for a kiss.

Mingi moans into your moan and suddenly your body isn’t so sore anymore. Hands drifting to the open collar of the buttons on his henley.

“Come on, our friends are waiting for us to head to breakfast.”

You groan in protest, kissing his neck.

“I could eat you for breakfast.”

Mingi moans low, his hand supporting your neck in a way that tells you he’s as close to giving up on food as you are, but his growling stomach makes you stop. His cheeks and ears turn pink

He retrieves a t-shirt and sweats that had been sitting at the foot of the bed, “picked you some of my stuff so you don’t have to do the walk of shame.”

“Careful, I might develop a little crush on a thoughtful guy like you.”

He nuzzles you again, “get dressed please, I want to eat and then come back and have you again. If that’s ok with you?”

Mingi pulls back to meet your gaze, puppy eyes on full display. Internally you’re crumbling into a swooning pile of nothing.

Fuck.

“Yes, please.” You peck him on the lips before climbing out from under his covers.

Mingi sits back against the headboard and watches you slip into the clothes he’s lending you. His eyes furrowed in thought.

“Why didn’t you just hook up with Yunho?” Mingi asks from his sprawled position on the bed, taking a swig of the water he’d put on the nightstand for you.

“Because Yunho and I never have sex without a third,” You tug his shirt down, “and he wanted me fuck you first, before he takes you or us to bed.”

You laugh as Mingi sputters and chokes on the water, his cheeks flaming.

You climb into his lap completely dressed, “not that you really needed a test run in my opinion.”

“Does that mean, all of us…together?”

You bite back a moan as Mingi looks at you with the widest puppy eyes you never knew he could display.

You raise an eyebrow, “are you trying to convince me to skip breakfast?”

“Breakfast first, we'll need our energy.”

Part Two Teaser!

© COPYRIGHT 2021 - 2024 by kiestrokes All rights reserved. No portion of this work may be reproduced without written permission from the author. This includes translations.

🗝️Note: Here's the long version of what happened: I wrote a massive part of this fic last year in August. But had a minor surgery in October that kind of foiled any progress and spent most of the fall/winter traveling around to see friends. Took on a bigger job role at the end of December and was in training until the 1st of March. Had some insane (and annoying) health issues happen from end of March - June 😒 that have furthered the issues with my brain. Then uhhh, hurricane Helene decided to make her way into the Appalachians'. I am truly suprised in myself that I managed to get this posted today, after the craziness of this week alone. We are still without water, having to shower at my aunts. Work was so far on another level, that its not even on earth. And we had an emergency vet visit. BUT ITS HERE. So sorry that it’s taken me so long to get this out. Hope it was worth the wait!

[lockoutkey]

list of proof i’ve collected that my kids KNOW what they’re doing they just don’t want me to know aka time to prove to the bitch other teacher my students aren’t vegetables aka three and four year olds are little shits and only live to terrorize me

1) today i fell off the play set trying to catch kid 1 from falling and kid 2, who was on the swing set, stared right into my eyes and laughed for a minute straight. he has never looked into eyes or laughed for us.

2) After taking kid 1 to the bathroom i had to grab kid 3 to stop her from eating sand. I see kid 1 washing his hands and say “good job washing your hands! what a superstar!” he immediately stops and looks at me and stims instead. i’m forced to hand over hand after standing there for five minutes trying to get him to do it again.

3) After repeatedly throwing crayons on the floor and having to pick them up, kid 3 starts crying. I say “You’re fine. You’re upset because you had to pick up. Don’t throw crayons on the floor and you won’t be upset. We can draw instead” She immediately stops yelling and throws crayons on the floor. She picks them up and i hide the crayons. She tries to eat beans.

4) kid 4, who has been here for weeks, is laying in my lap and playing with my hand. i say “you’re pretty chill right now huh buddy?” he bites me two seconds later

5) kid 6, the one who calms down when you juggle, was having a meltdown so i started juggling. she kept giving me more so i hid them in my sleeve. i told this to my coworker and kid 6 stops me from juggling, grabs my hands, and shakes her head no, then walks away.

6) i asked kid 5 if he hid the daily craft and he fell on the floor laughing. i asked him if he hid it because he didn’t want to do it and he shook his head yes. i checked his pockets and found a piece of the craft. we still don’t know where he put it

7) kid 6 screamed in my face and i said “woah friend, that’s a lot of feelings. why don’t we read a book to calm down.” because i thought she was overwhelmed. turns out she just wanted to hold my hand and instead of straight up grabbing it like she usually does she yelled.

8) during lunch kid 1 wasn’t eating and i asked “why aren’t you eating you like cereal. you saw me pour your gatorade.” and he held my hand so i said “is it because you dont have fruit snacks?” and he said yes. as far as i’m aware that’s his first and only word ever and no one believes me.

9) we have magnet letters on this board and i was spelling and saying the abcs for kid 4 and he pulls my hand away and starts doing it himself while saying the letters. like ok. fine i won’t play with you.

10) you know how they say kids can’t tell time? mine can. i won’t elaborate. just know it’s hell.

11) kid 3, who i have many nicknames for such as squirmy and princess, was sitting in a wagon for our walk. i asked her “hey princess, is this your new throne?” and she hits the wagon. she then hands me a wagon toy in the classroom and i go “is this your throne?” and she grabs it back (she does throw it but it’s the thought that counts)

12) kid 4 is big on echolalia and i’m big on playing monster. so i roared at him and he roared back and for a good five minutes we were in the gym roaring at each other.

13) got side eyed by kid 2 for not playing old mcdonald after i told him we only play it at circle.

14) got side eyed by kid 2 when i started singing old mcdonald to calm him down. he calmed down, but then he stood across the room and glared at me.

begging someone to save me i’m getting psychologically destroyed by four year olds

[nimbasa-librarian]

Scapegoat (Almost Redux)

Why. Why had he said that?

It had been three hours since he screamed. His throat still felt raw. Though.. Perhaps that was because his heart had been in his throat.

Elesa was right. She couldn’t scold him worse than he could scold himself.

He scrubbed at his face again, the cool water keeping him aware. Elesa had left thirty minutes prior, telling him to muster up his nerve before leaving

“You’re going to sit your ass down and you’re going to fucking apologize” She’d seethed “I don’t care how fucked you feel. You don’t talk to people like that” 

Oh, if only she knew how fucked he felt after he’d said all that. 

He looked in the mirror at his own mocking smile

It had been such a terrible day. A terrible, lonely day 

He had been stuck in the office all day, and while Elesa had meant to see him for lunch, he’d been left on his own for the meal due to a schedule change, only making the lonely feeling that much worse. 

All of the well meaning employees of the station had been getting on his nerves, asking him every five minutes if he was okay, how he was - he had to lock his office door to get them to stop. He wondered why they bothered. They’d always preferred Ingo. Why were they here?

And then, instead of Elesa, Anya had been there at the end of the day, offering food with a nervous stutter he wasn’t used to in her voice. Her Yamasks seemed to be concerned for the both of them, circling around their heads and making the pressure behind his eyes feel worse, somehow. 

After about four different attempts at conversation, Anya read the “room” so to speak, and stopped talking, holding the food with both of her hands as they walked. 

He knew she did that to stop her stress stim. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything about it

They got into his apartment, and Anya said that she couldn’t stay due to a work obligation - some important delivery? Whatever -  but that Elesa would be over in a few minutes. 

Then she spotted the calendar he’d taped to the fridge. 

“Ah.. Emmet” She quietly admonished. Emmet bit the inside of his cheek “Didn- Didn’t Elesa say you shouldn’t keep tha’ thin? It just makes ye more … more anxious, don’t it-” 

“Why are you even here?” He abruptly asked, turning sharply away from the empty living room 

Clearly blindsided by the question, she turned to face him “Uh. . Wha’?” 

“Elesa is who I have dinner with. You’re never here. Why are you here?” “I … Elesa, she asked me t’bring the food an-, you got out o’work the same time I did, so I just-” 

“Exactly. And it’s done. You can go now” 

“Emmet, Did I.. Did I do something?” She seemed to instinctively ask, her Yamasks had stopped in their rather aimless fluttering about, coming back to their trainer’s side “Were you expecting Elesa? She’- She’ll be here any minu-” 

“Yes! Yes I was expecting Elesa!” He shouted “I have been waiting for Elesa all day and instead you are here!” 

He rubbed his forehead, and didn’t see the confusion in Anya’s eyes. 

“I .. I’m sorry.. Elesa didn’t - she didn’t tell me anythin’” She attempted to clarify. “But I’m… I'm worried about you, Emmet. I… I like to see that you’re okay” 

“Why?” 

Well now she looked really confused “What? Because y’r my friend, Em-” 

“You’re Ingo’s friend and Ingo isn’t here!!” 

Okay, now she looked offended- 

“You’re my friend too!” “Barely!” he almost laughs in frustration “Just like - like everyone else!” his hand went through his hair, knocking off his hat “All day I was bothered by people that only cared about Ingo - they liked him better. I am Emmet and I liked him better too. You are his friend. You don’t need to be here” 

“But- Emmet!” She desperately tried to get his attention “I’m not just Ingo’s friend, Xerneas above - I’m just trying to help you- you put up that damned - damned calendar up again as if its gonna do anythin-” 

“Shut Up!!!!” 

He’s finally looking at her, and his eyes are red, his face is screwed up in an angry frown that looks so very wrong on his face 

“... I am Emmet. You were friends with Ingo.. You … you only care because you care about him. Just - just like everyone else. Not like Elesa. Not like Drayden.” 

Her expression was unreadable. He couldn’t tell it she was angry or upset or perhaps both. He didn’t care. He didnt- he didn’t- 

“I don’t want you here - I am Emmet and I don’t need any more fake sympathy!! I don’t need more people pretending to be my friend!!” 

He didn’t even notice Elesa standing in the open doorway, one hand holding a grocery bag, her expression one of abject shock. 

He was too busy staring at his other friend, who had shocked tears gathering in her eyes. She looked like she wanted to argue with him, to defend herself

But instead, she turned, and nearly knocked into Elesa as she ran off, her pokemon rushing after her in their own form of distress. 

Just seconds after she left, Emmet felt guilt crash over him in waves

And Elesa wasn’t about to let him wallow

“... What the fuck is wrong with you?!” 

Her verbal lashing had been brutal, but needed, and after taking time to calm down - both of them eating in relative silence, she left. 

He had to think of how to apologize. 

Ingo had been missing for three months. Anya had been trying her absolute best, but it didn’t take a whole lot of observation for him to know she was completely out of her depth. 

Perhaps that was what had put him on edge. It was no excuse, but it was a reason. 

They were all in uncharted territory, and he had expected perhaps too much of a friend he’d only had for a year and a half

Or perhaps he had expected less, and her attempts to try harder - despite not being sure if what she was doing was the right thing - came off as condescending

As if Anya was capable of such a thing. 

He wiped his face. It was better to just be honest - as he always tried to be. Just say sorry. That he is hurting, that he clearly misinterpreted her kindness and that he understood if she was angry at him. 

And then there was a knock at his door

Elesa never knocked. 

Emmet wondered if Elesa sent Anya up here herself. Perhaps Anya was rightfully upset and wanted to tell him what-for in her own way. 

Not like he didn’t deserve it. He said so many cruel things he didn’t mean to get her to leave instead of just saying “I just want to spend time with Elesa. I will see you later” 

Like an asshole. Like Elesa said. 

He took a breath, and walked over to the door, opening it to be greeted by Anya. 

Daniel and Drew were not with her; an odd sight. 

He swallowed his anxiousness, ready to bluster out as earnest an apology, before he noticed the schooled neutrality of her face. The practiced thin line of her mouth, her jaw was clenched. 

“I’m sorry” She started, blindsiding Emmet enough that she continued after he couldn’t respond “I shouldn’t.. I shouldn’t’ve assumed we were friends jus’ because we talk. Talkin’ - talkin’ doesn’t make people friends” She seemed to reason “I … I overstepped. That’s what I did. That’s why you were upset and I get it” 

No, no-  what the hell was she talking about? Did she talk to Elesa? Where was she getting this? 

She pulled up the loose sleeve of her button down, displaying her XTrans and holding it up. “I …” She seemed to take a moment, unclipping it and holding it out to him “Y’can… Y’can delete y’r information from my Xtranseiver… and.. I’ll start takin’ the cab t’work... I won’t bother ye anymore. I hope y’know that I am really, truly sorry for readin’ too much into our relationship. I’m.. I’m sorry I thought we were friends. That.. it must’ve been really uncomfortable for ye. Once.. Once you’re done with this I’ll be on my way” 

Her tone was as even as could be managed, but the redness in her eyes gave away everything. She was like Ingo, in that regard. 

Emmet, for his part, felt like she’d approached him and whacked him upside the head with a baseball bat. 

He- He had to say something. He had to react other than staring at her with his own wide eyes. 

All he could manage was a befuddled “... What?” 

That… clearly hadn’t been what she was expecting to hear from him. 

“I … “ she cleared her throat, still holding out the Xtrans “I .. I’m apologizin’. That’s what uh. You wanted, right? I.. I was rude, I didn’t understand and.. And I'm sorry.” 

.. That cleared up absolutely nothing. 

Why the hell was she talking like his outburst - those cruel words he’d said to her - were not his fault, but hers? 

He raised his hand, and pushed down her xtrans, getting a better look at her miserable eyes - her attempt at keeping her expression calm failing under the duress of the hurt his words had caused. 

He honestly would have preferred if she’d just smacked him in the face. 

She didn’t say anything. She was waiting on him. 

… He had an idea, quite suddenly. 

“... Put your Xtrans back on” He requested, his voice as quiet and as low as he could manage “Follow me to the roof” 

Confused, she just quietly did as she was told. He hated the lack of questioning. 

He shut the door behind him, and led her down the apartment hall to the elevator, and they made their way to the rooftop - the 55th floor. Up top was a pokemon battle “arena” that was rarely used. 

“Do you have Irene and Frankie?” 

She looked confused, hands over her belt “... Yes..?” 

Emmet took a deep breath, and walked to one side of the field, holding up a pokeball. “... Battle me” 

“What?” 

“... We are… “ he huffed “I am Emmet and I need to battle. Please” 

He released Gurdurr, who stood firm before him. 

Anya was quite valiant in her attempt to keep her expression calm, but he could see the tremble about her hand when she chose a pokeball, and out came her Frosslass 

She should have chosen her Hatterene. She would have had a type advantage. 

But Anya knew that she was clearly too distraught to deal with Hatterene's attitude. Irene would not listen to her, it would have been irate. 

Because Anya was far too upset. God, he’d made her so upset, he’d never seen this before. 

But he needed to get this energy out. He needed a challenge. 

He’d spend the rest of the week apologizing if he had to

But now, battle. 

Anya didn't speak, her hand signs an obvious sign that she was not ready to say anything - not wanting any rawness in her voice to distract her. Frankie was perceptive as always, and seemed to fight more aggressively than before, leveling a glare directly at him that felt very, very threatening. 

Emmet was reminded how long Anya had been the Frosslass’ trainer. 

The battle ended in an exhausted stalemate, the two of them panting heavily from the energy released. The pokemon returned to their pokeballs, and - at last too tired to try - Anya released a sob, rubbing at her face with one hand, trying to cover her eyes like she was humiliated that she was even crying. 

Now that he was also burnt out and exhausted, he strode over from his side of the field to hers, and stood about a foot or so away. 

“I am Emmet. I should have never said such cruel things” He states plainly, his own voice pained and heavy. “You are my friend. You are a good friend, an excellent friend! I should have never said that. I was hurting and did not simply tell you so. That was unfair to you.” 

She looked at him with disbelief in her eyes, as if she hadn’t expected him to say all of that. If you asked Emmet, he would admit that hurt more than almost anything else. 

“I am sorry, Anya.” he stated firmly, trying to get his voice to show his sincerity as best he could “I am Emmet and I am… I am so sorry, I swear on Reshiram, I would never have said that to you if I was not hurting, but that is no excuse. I am sorry” 

Now she looked shocked. Did she really think he wouldn’t apologize? Why would she think such a thing? 

And yet, she said - 

“... Really?” 

He nodded “I will say sorry until I can’t anymore. I just… I miss Ingo, and some days are so much harder than others and… I get so mad.” His fists were trembling at his sides “But it is no excuse! I am sorry!” 

He hoped and prayed that she believed him. He’d stand before Reshiram himself if it meant that she believed him. 

He couldn’t lose someone else in his life, not by his own sabotage this time. 

She seemed to be taking in his words, her breath calming, as if the worry in her chest was leaving her bit by bit with each exhale. 

He knew it would be a long shot, but he decided to try

“Can I hug you?” 

He’d realized she had the same discomfort with physical touch as Ingo did - they were basically identical there. One of the reasons they’d become friends, such good friends. Emmet had hoped they would become friends like that. 

Perhaps they already had, and he’d ruined it. 

But - thank whatever dragons he should thank for this, he got a nod, and he wrapped his arms around his friend, getting a hug back, which was far more than he could have hoped for in this situation.

(Art by @blaiddraws​ - commissioned for this fic)

They didn’t move for some time, seeming to both need to silence on the rooftop, and reassurance that no, they weren’t about to go their separate ways. 

“... Did you finish your work obligation?” He asked. 

She nodded “There was… There was a delivery of books from Pre-Sinnoh. Hisui. They’re… princeless. Part of a private collection” 

Oh, that sounded interesting. 

“.... Have you had dinner?” 

“... No appetite” .. Yeah, that made sense 

“If i… made popcorn.. Would you stay for a little?” 

She seemed to consider it, thankfully. “.. Yes.. But uh, first, I have to… Frankie” 

“What about Frankie?” 

“She is upset. I need to tell her that we are okay” 

Emmet’s brow furrowed “Why is that?” 

“... I can explain, but let me calm her first” 

They parted their hug at last, and Emmet gave her a nod. 

Anya re-released her Frosslass, who almost immediately leveled a very harsh glare at Emmet. 

“No! Frankie, i’s not like last time. We’re okay” She immediately stated.

The pokemon looked a tad suspicious, but seemed to calm when Anya put her arm on Emmet’s shoulder “We’re okay. It’s not like before. Please, rest well, okay?” 

It took a moment, but Frankie nodded “Froh!” Anya got a little nuzzle from the ice type, and she was returned to the pokeball. 

Okay, now Emmet had even more questions. 

Anya looked a tad sheepish as she faced him “... Can we go inside?” 

He wordlessly nodded, and the two of them returned to the apartment 

As the popcorn was in the microwave, he looked at her “Where are Drew and Daniel?” “I left them at home” She answered, “They were both way too worked up after… that.. An’ i knew tha’ if Drew saw ya again you’d get attacked. He holds a grudge like ya wouldn’t believe” 

“Know that from experience?” 

“Unfortunately, yes” 

His brow furrowed, but he didn’t ask. 

“... Y’ever heard of Piers?” She suddenly asked. 

“... The rock star or the gym leader?” “They’re the same.” She answered “I knew ‘im. We were friends f’r a real long time”

The microwave beeped with completion - sparse pops coming from the microwave for a few seconds after. 

“You were?” 

“.. Yes.. I was..” She seemed to trail off after that for a moment, but came back to it. “I know that my uh, reaction, an’ the talk i had t’have with Frankie was… strange. But it’s related t’that… If y’r willin’ t’listen, I’ll tell ye. If y’don’t care I understand” 

Emmet was pouring the popcorn into a bowl, and thought about it. 

Her discomfort was clear, but the clarity that it might give him was verrrrrrrry tempting. 

It wasn’t often she talked about her life before the move from Unova. And she was offering. 

He felt that it would be rude to deny her bravery. 

So he came over to the couch, sat a respectful distance away, and placed the bowl between them

“I am Emmet. I am always ready to listen. You are a verrrry good storyteller, you know” 

There was a small smile at that, and she leaned back into the couch

“Well…. I used t’live in a city called Spikemuth…” 

[that-was-anticlimactic]

reki with tourette’s headcanons

[ID: it’s reki from sk8 the infinity wearing a yellow sweatshirt with his hands on his hips. he’s wearing a red bracelet on his right wrist and he’s smiling. behind him is a touette’s syndrome awareness flag. end ID.]

so. @zukkaclawthorne got me hooked on reki with ts and now imma post headcanons i wrote oops

okay so first—that little skateboard he plays with??? stim toy, actually.

he likes the sound the wheels make—that whirrrrrr sound. it makes his arms flappy :)

he also finds the rolling motion soothing and relaxing and it always calms him down—it takes his mind to a happy place

he rocks back and forth and shakes his legs a lot. that also contributed to why he was terrible at skateboarding the first few times he tried—because his body would be like “time to rock back and forth!” and it would mess him up

neck twitches for days :)

no but for real—neck twitching is one of his worst tics because sometimes—if he’s in a bad mood or if he’s sad or anxious—it gets harsh and violent and really strains his neck.

so, langa gives him neck / upper back neck massages to help with the pain

he went through this phase for a couple of months where whenever his neck would twitch, he would snap his fingers two times.

he has a lot of hand tics which can be stressful when he makes skateboards because sometimes he’ll be in the groove and then suddenly he’ll mess something up

speaking of messing things up, he has a tendency to dig the bottom of his palm into his forehead whenever he feels like he does something stupid—he doesn’t even realize it until someone points it out.

he feels like even more of a failure of a skater because of his tics because they can hold him back and make the course more dangerous.

if his blinking tic resurfaces, sometimes the blinking gets so intense that he literally cannot see for anywhere between five seconds and a minute depending on how bad it is. that is how he got some of his worst scars.

or sometimes he’ll make a really aggressive hand motion and it throws him off balance on the skateboard due to the intensity

anyways back to hand tics: he points a lot and does symbols like the “rock on” sign or certain numbers (for some reason, the most common number for reki to throw up is four—though sometimes he throws up whatever number he hears) he also grunts a lot as a tic so he sounds angry even when he is’t.

sometimes, his hand tics really hurt and his hands become shaky and his fingers start to feel the way his heart feels when he’s anxious. langa helps in different ways—he holds reki’s hand, he gives him something to fidget with to try to distract him (sometimes it’s his own fingers—he’ll just set them in reki’s palm and be like “let me carry some of the pain”—no, reki didn’t totally cry when he said that what)

sometimes, reki sticks pencils in his ears. his teachers have been trying to stop it since he was young, but he always did it anyways—he couldn’t help it.

his hair is also long enough for him to chew on. yes, he chews on the tips of his hair because i say so. sometimes, to stop him from doing that (and from swallowing his own hair), langa will try to make him laugh so it falls out of his mouth and then he’ll scoot close and tuck the hair behind reki’s ears… once they start dating, he kisses him too. but also that’s one reason why he wears the headband—to try to keep his hair out of his face so he doesn’t chew on it.

reki’s favorite form of stimming (other than his skateboard toy, that is) is stress balls. he’s got a couple of stress balls in his room or backpack—even one with string attached so he can carry it around his wrist. he just really likes the texture of them.

after his second race against adam, cherry and joe were so proud of him and also impressed and worried dads that they bought reki a big stress ball, like, the size of a stuffed animal. it was a blue cat. he uses it all the time.

speaking of fricking adam, we all know he would so use reki’s tics against him during a race. like, when he grabbed his wrist and “danced” with him, he would mock reki’s tics or say creepy things about how his verbal tics are music and his motor tics are him dancing along and it makes him so uncomfortable and like even more shaken

oh and adam purposely does things to trigger his tics, like when i mentioned that number tic??? yeah, adam will purposefully say numbers to make reki do the hand gestures

one time, reki wanted to tell langa that he loved him but got nervous so he signed it in sign language instead. but, since reki’s tics are occasionally hand gestures, langa thought that it was just a tic and mentally was like ���i wish that was for me…” and reki is like “i wish he knew it was real…” and joe, cherry, shadow, and miya are all facepalming and groaning at their obliviousness

reki prefers taking hand written notes to electronic notes because he draws / doodles to stim and he can’t really doodle well on a laptop. so, he’ll doodle in class all of the time

sometimes, his pictures / notes turn out pretty bad / illegible depending on how bad his tics are, but that doesn’t phase reki. it used to when he was younger, but it doesn’t bother him at all anymore. in fact, he thinks it adds personality

during class, he’ll draw pictures for langa and slid them on his desk. they’re usually really random things like the teacher or the back of someone’s head or squiggly lines or whatever he sees outside. more often than not, it’s abstract art. langa loves these drawings and he keeps them all on his desk in his room.

reki also started drawing pictures for the rest of the sk8 crew and gives it to them during races. when he gave everyone their first doodle, he was like “i’m not the best artist ever and sometimes my tics mess up the doodle, but i thought of you while i drew it so i want you to have it”

(shadow didn’t shed a couple of unwilling dad tears when he got home that night what)

anyways, they all keep them. every single one. miya puts them in their school binder so they don’t feel as alone / isolated at school.

although shadow and miya give reki a lot of crap / teasing about not being as good as everyone else, the second they hear anyone comment about “the weird red head that makes noises” and comments on his ts in a negative way, oh, they will stop you.

sometimes, reki whispers words he hears under his breath as a tic (echolalia, baby~) and when he overhears people saying stuff about “that redhead that always follows snow around” or about him not being good enough or how he’s an idiot to face adam, he ends up muttering that too. and it’s not a one and done kind of thing—like. he does it for days. it makes him so upset (and i already hc him, with depression so it just makes it worse)

having tics while having injuries is not a good combination—especially if it’s with a broken arm. the crew made sure to keep an eye of reki’s comfort / pain level after adam broke his arm and literally tried to kill him in their final race. joe let reki squeeze his hand whenever he felt the urge to tic and cherry would ask him how much pain he was in after he ticced and depending on how bad it would be, would make joe or shadow fetch a heating pad or an icepack for reki.

joe also taught reki about the magical thing called physical therapy tape and helped him put it on his shoulders, neck, and back one time. it was his idea to use the tape on reki’s fingers when he was injured to make him feel better (because it literally makes my fingers feel better)

also langa kisses each of reki’s fingers and knuckles, slowly and tenderly, soft so he doesn’t hurt him or trigger a tic. a way of showing that he loves him not despite his tics, but even with his tics and that he loves him and his tics.

cherry isn’t always the best at showing he cares, so he’ll wear a ts ribbon sometimes in a way to show support (and it makes reki beam)

shadow once gave reki a flower shaped stress ball because there were “extra at work” (not true—he went looking for one)

miya didn’t really know much about ts at first and asked why reki made those noises and made weird movements all the time and langa explained so then that night when miya got home, they did research on ts so they could understand it better. later, they told reki that whenever they called him a slime, they meant it purely about skateboarding and it had nothing to do with his tics—even that his tics didn’t make him less of a skater

all his life, reki had been the different one: the one no one wanted on the team because sometimes his tics messed him up, the one who was asked to leave classes during tests because his tics were too distracting and made him take the test in the hall, when sometimes he’d get too overwhelmed by how close people were in the halls or at races and would have panic attacks, how he rocked in his chair and adjusted his position seventeen times an hour and sat on his feet while the other kids didn’t, how he shook his legs more aggressively than others, how he couldn’t skate as well as everyone else because of his tics and because he wasn’t good enough

which is probably part of the depression that weighs on his shoulders

the first time reki had a panic attack during a race due to closeness and overstimulating noises (and this is the first one after the sk8 crew happened) langa was racing and wasn’t there to help, so shadow kind of panicked and like picked him up under the armpits and carried him away from the crowd since reki could barely process anything other than panic and the sound and feeling of static and they sat in shadow’s car for the rest of the race and once he felt better, he gave shadow a huge hug and shadow returned it.

one time it happened and cherry was nearby and he saw the signs before it got bad (remembered from the previous time / his own experiences) and helped talk reki down before it got bad (he has a soothing voice)

usually, though, when / if it happens (because reki usually feels safe there), langa is the one who helps

but it got so much worse after skating against adam the first time because he no longer felt safe and suddenly everyone cheering adam’s name even after witnessing what he did to reki was too much but langa was racing adam so langa wasn’t there and this time it was joe who kneeled in front of him and started talking just loud enough for reki to hear and he was like “you’re safe—we won’t let anyone hurt you. we won’t let him hurt langa. you’re safe. i’m here and so is cherry and shadow and miya and langa will be waiting for you at the end of the race…”

it happens again at the next race he goes to—and this time it’s miya who notices and they tug on langa’s sleeve and is like “i think you need to take reki somewhere else” and langa does :)

okay i’ll end on a positive ts note or two—langa asks reki to add the ts ribbon to the design on his skateboard

shadow finds chewelry at the store one day when he’s shopping and buys it for reki (and gets a matching one for langa!)

once reki came back after his mental health break, the first thing joe said to him was, and this is nonnegotiable “reki! i missed you and your tics!”

miya once overheard reki muttering to himself about his annoying tics were, so they intervened and was like “your tics aren’t annoying. they’re you and anyone who think s they’re annoying is an idiot”

and for the first time in his life, reki doesn’t feel alone and isolated and so different from everyone (at least, he’s working on that last one) and he’s finally found a group of people who want him on their team and a boyfriend who always supports him and makes him feel less isolated, tics and all <3

i uhh I have a lot of feelings,,,

[veinsandknuckles]

please write something w abed being comforted by his partner!! i don’t mind if it’s sfw or not!! just please make it soft and stuff! thanks!!

Very good prompt, thank you anon!!! Abed Nadir/Reader Abed shuts down, goes nonverbal and the reader helps him recover. PG-13 Content warnings: ableism, self harming stims, Autism Speaks (implied), reader and Abed are both hornballs (implied) I think I wrote a gender neutral reader, but if I didn’t succeed lmk what I should fix. Same goes for any content warnings I may have missed! -------- You turned heel and ran as soon as you heard Abed scream. There was nothing quite as painful, both sonically and emotionally, as that high pitched, drawn out shriek and you knew it never came until he’d been pushed well beyond his limits. It carried, too, before it trailed off - there was a good distance between your upcoming lecture and the library so by the time you threw open the door to the study room, you were out of breath.

Abed sat on the floor, hugging his knees to his chest and Britta crouched beside him, awkwardly patting his shoulder and waving a hand in front of his face.

When she saw you, she got to her feet to give you room. “I don’t know what happened, I found him like this.”

“Thank you, Britta.” You got to your knees in front of him and Abed stared right through you. It would be alright - you had a plan. “Abed, can you talk?”

Abed blinked. You drew a deep breath and looked him over. His grip was a little tighter, his posture was a little more hunched. You studied his hands - his nails were digging into his arms, he was hurting himself. As counterintuitive as it sounded and as heartbreaking as it was to see, you knew this was a good sign.

You kept your tone and face as neutral as possible so he wouldn’t have anything to interpret. “Can you make a sound?”

He screwed his eyes shut and after a pause, he managed a little hum.

“Alright, good. Last question, are we doing scenario A?”

This time the hum came quicker and stronger. Once meant yes, twice meant no. Silence meant he was beyond choosing. You turned to Britta.

“Britta, do you have Abed’s class schedule?”

“I think so.” She got out her backpack and started rifling. You could tell she was nervous, and like most nervous people, this meant she wanted to talk. “I should have a copy in my wallet, or I can get one from -“

“Can you find his professors and tell them what’s up?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I can do that.”

“Great, thank you. I’ll keep you updated.” You turned back to Abed. “Abed, I’m going to grab you.”

With a bit of effort, you managed to get him on his feet with his arm across your shoulders. He stood on his own but held on tight. “Good. Now we’re going to walk, just follow my lead.”

The sight of the two of you staggering awkwardly down the halls was enough to make practically everyone stop and stare. You knew from experience that glaring right back sometimes prompted people to get out of the way but usually didn’t remind them to mind their own business. Abed had told you he didn’t notice, especially not when he was this far gone, and that if he noticed, he didn’t care. That didn’t stop you hurting on his behalf.

It took some doing, but in less than five minutes you made it to the right door. Abed walked on his own now so he entered ahead of you and stood motionless in the middle of the room while you turned on the lights, shut and locked the door behind you and made sure everything was as you’d left it. Popularity with the dean might be a mixed bag, but it definitely had its perks and the use of this dilapidated, dank corner of the campus as an emergency hide-out was one of them.

You made sure to walk into Abed’s eye line before touching him again, then took him by the arm and led him to an armchair placed against the far wall. He sat and you sat beside him.

From under your own chair, you got out a box of emergency supplies and dug out a candy bar, thanking the stars that no rats or stoners had found this little stash yet. You peeled off the wrapper and handed it to Abed who held it in both hands and took a bite. Slowly, gradually, his breathing deepened and his limbs relaxed.

“What time is it?” His voice was steady but quiet.

“It’s twenty minutes past three.”

“I have a test.”

“That’s alright, you can take it over another day. Britta is filling everyone in”

Abed sighed. He’d finished the candy and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

“You want another one?”

He held his hands out, but wide apart, and you placed the whole box in his lap so he could help himself.

It always baffled you when people insisted Abed was difficult to read - all you’d had to do to learn was watch, listen, use a very little imagination and then ask him to explain whatever wasn’t logically obvious. He fished out a Rubik’s cube and went to work of separating the colours as thoroughly as he could.

“Thank you,” he said and looked at you properly for the first time.

For now, as long as nothing caught him off guard and he was careful, the danger had passed. You smiled and squeezed his knee. “Always.”

“Aren’t you missing your classes?”

“Eh. I like to be a little unpredictable - keeps them on their toes.”

He smiled back. “People love a good mystery. Simple mysteries, anyway.”

“Who are you calling simple?”

Abed looked a little questioning, so you waggled your eyebrows to signal that you were kidding. His expression didn’t change. “You’re not simple. You figured me out and not even I got very far with that.”

“I don’t know about all that... it’s usually easier to understand other people’s problems than to understand your own.”

“I guess that’s true.” He seemed to be working through something, so you let him be until he spoke again. When he did, he sounded hesitant. “Will you get bored?”

“How do you mean?”

“Once you’ve figured me out.”

“Abed, you’re not a puzzle.”

“I don’t know. A lot of awareness campaigns would disagree with you.”

“No, I meant you’re not a puzzle because that implies a challenge.”

Now he stared at you and his slightly offended expression made you laugh. It might suck to always be called special, but it did still mean you were special.

“Being with you is not hard work. At least it isn’t hard work for me.” But Abed didn’t look reassured, so you went on. “Does it feel like I’m trying to solve you?”

“I’m not sure. You’re methodical. Maybe I just worry about it, so I look for signs...”

You reached out and put an arm around him. Abed leant his head on your shoulder.

“I don’t want to make you feel like that because it’s not true. I love all of you. If I just wanted to learn how to help someone through a shutdown, there’s easier ways to do that than dating you.”

“Cool.” He held up his hand and you laced your fingers between his.

“Should I do anything differently?”

“No... I just needed to be sure.”

“What happened to stress you out, anyway?”

“I don’t want to talk about it. It wasn’t interesting.”

You snorted. “Alright then.”

He leaned out, a small smile playing on his lips. “So, if you're not dating me for my mind, it must be because I’m physically irresistible.”

“Of course it is.”

“Cool.”

“Every time you talk about Inspector Spacetime I tune out your voice and imagine climbing you like a palm tree.”

“What?”

“I meant -“ you began, but then Abed waggled his eyebrows and you laughed. “Oh, I see. Very nice.”

“My mind was somewhere else.”

“Yeah, I bet.”

He pulled at you, gently, and you slipped out of your seat to sit on his lap. Abed put his arms around you and kissed you and the kiss still tasted of sugar. When he broke it, you felt short of breath for the second time that day.

You leaned your forehead against his to steady yourself and forced yourself to ask, “are you ready to get back out there?”

“Technically, yes. If I lie, will you stay here with me?”

“Of course.”

“Then I’m not ready.”

“Good. I was hoping you’d say that.”

[thiswasinevitableid]

Indruck 22 for the meet uglies?

Here you go! I went SFW on this one

you’re on a date with this awful, awful person who keeps getting under my skin because my friend and I have been eavesdropping all night and your date says something that makes me snap … I thought it was a first date, not a three year relationship

“...such a waste of money. I mean, why spend all that to get something tacky on your skin?”

Indrid rolls his eyes at Barclay from across the counter of the Amnesty Lodge coffee shop, the cooks arms and hands sporting a plethora of tattoos rivaled only by Indrid’s collection.

“I dunno, l like the one I got.” The other man--who seems to be on the worst first date of his life--shrugs.

“You honestly think you and Juno couldn’t have spent that money on something else in college?”

“I mean maybe but, uh, we were earnin our own cash, figured we got to decide what to spend it on.”

“Hmmmm” the first guy sips his coffee, “sounds like a typical excuse for someone who doesn’t want to admit a mistake.”

“C’mon, that ain’t fair-”

“Ugh, stop saying ain’t! I can’t take someone who talks like that to meet my family.” Before the target of his disdain can respond, he snaps his fingers, “hey, buddy, can I get a refill or what?”

“The station for black coffee refills is right there, sir.” Barclay indicates the very obvious corner of dispensers, his voice the kind of calm that Indrid knows means he’s memorizing this guys face to warn other staff about.

They earn a brief reprieve while The Asshole leaves the table. When he returns, he’s shaking his head.

“God, have you looked at the photos they’ve got up? Who the fuck wants to look at bones?”

Indrid quickly glances at his friend to be sure he’s permitted to start a fight. Barclay nods.

“Quite a lot of people.” Indrid spins on his stool. “I’ve sold a number of them just from the display here. So perhaps you could keep your rude, unclultured, close-minded, obnoxious mouth shut.”

The man balks, looks to his companion for help. He offers none, mouth trying to form words and only coming out with halves of ones (except for the “fucks” which are plentiful).

“Oh my fucking god, you agree with him! That’s it, I’m out.” The Asshole pushes back from the table and storms out. The remaining man leaps up, panicked.

“Fuck.”

“It’s okay man, shitty first dates happen to all of us.” Barclay offers from beside the bakery case.

“I mean yeah, they do, but that wasn’t one of ‘em. That was my boyfriend of three fuckin years.” He dashes out of the shop, sparing a final glare at Indrid as he does.

Indrid trades a sheepish look with his friend, “Oops.”

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

“I’m glad you finally get to meet Duck!” Aubrey grins over her shoulder as she and Indrid wind down the hall at the office Kepler magazine.

Founded by childhood friends, Kepler worked a combination of print and video content that saw its subscribers and revenue climb while other publications struggled to stay afloat. Aubrey was head of the video team, though she contributed content to the magazine in the form of interviews about environmental activists of color and sustainable gift guides.

Kepler has three sections: travel, science, and environmental writing. Indrid now has the honor of being one of their primary photographers. He started two weeks ago and is thoroughly enjoying his work and the company of the other staff. The only person he’s yet to meet is Duck Newton, one of the founders and main reporters, as he was off on an assignment.

Aubrey knocks, gets a friendly “come in” and ushers Indrid into the office.

Looking at him from behind the desk is The Asshole’s Boyfriend, whose face goes from open and friendly to confused, then to perturbed.

“You okay?”

“I, uh, fuck, n-ye.” Duck sighs, “remember how I told you Alex and I split after a shitty date in a coffee shop?” He points at Indrid, “this was the fella who, uh, expedited the process.”

“Ohhhh.” Aubrey frowns, then shrugs with a smile, “whelp, he’s our new photographer. We’ll see you around.” She hurries them outside once more, shutting the doors. As they head back the way they came, she whispers, “his ex was a huge fucking dick, so if word gets out everyone is gonna think you’re a fucking hero.”

“He didn’t seem to see it that way.”

“It was only a few weeks ago, so it’s still pretty fresh. He’ll heal from it okay, Duck’s a tough cookie. And I’m sure you guys’ll get along eventually.”

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

“Juno, please, you gotta come with me.”

“I would bud, except it’s April and I’s fifth wedding anniversary that weekend. And no, we already have plans, so we can’t just take over this assignment as part of the celebration.”

“Fuck” Duck leans back in his chair.

“...You really asked everyone?”

“Ye-no, fuck-”

“Duck.”

“I ain’t asked Indrid yet.”

“There it is.” Juno smirks, “you gotta ask; besides, we were gonna have him do illustrations for the feature, but photos would be even better. And we both know it ain’t his fault y’all broke up.”

Duck nods, promises to ask Indrid after lunch. He finds the photographer flipping through his files from his shoot for next issues cover. His silver hair is pulled back, red glasses sitting on the desk beside him so he can gauge color correctly.

Duck kind of wants to pull the silver locks just to see what happens. It’s not his fault Indrid looks like his Sophomore roommate who he had a raging crush on, only with more tattoos and a much more captivating face. Pity he helped fuck up Duck’s last chance at a stable relationship.

“Hey, Indrid, you got a minute?”

The photographer cocks his head.

“I, uh, so we got a feature on this whole chunk of places touting themselves as ‘sustainable romantic getaways. I booked a bunch of places, but a lot of ‘em will turn me away if I turn up solo. And the person I was supposed to go with ain’t an option any more. Neither is anyone else. You get my drift?”

Indrid pinches the bridge of his nose, “you realize this is a terrible idea, yes?”

“Hey, we been workin together just fine. Ain’t we? Wait, fuck, I ain’t been treatin you bad even when I’m tryin to be professional, am I?”

“No, you’ve been perfectly polite. But there’s a world of difference between being cordial in an office and going on what’s functionally a vacation together.”

Duck crosses his arms, “I ain’t about to lose eight hundred bucks in deposits.”

Indrid blinks, then chuckles, “Fair. What day do we leave?”

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

The temperature rises and the air dries as they speed south on Five. Indrid fiddles with games on his phone as cover for the list of “will this be a disaster or not” he’s mentally constructing. So far the signs are positive; Duck isn’t very chatty, but neither is Indrid. They have similar tastes in music, which makes much more sense when Duck explains he was a burn-out in high school. He also isn’t agitated by Indrid stimming, which makes it easier for the photographer to relax and enjoy the drive.

But they haven’t spoken about the elephant in the car, and Indrid resolves not to be the first to do so. No point in poking the sore spot if he doesn’t have to.

They stop at a Sinclair for gas. Duck reaches into his glovebox for something as Indrid climbs out, comes away with a photo instead. It’s one of those ones from a photobooth, faded but unmistakably him and his ex. His face falls for a second and Indrid scurries into the Dairy Queen attached to the convenience store.

As he waits in line, he turns one fact over in his mind like a picture he’s trying to make sense of; it would be easier to let their awkward first meeting go if he did not genuinely like the other man. He’s charming, in a quiet way, and very friendly. He’s built like the guys Indrid always got useless crushes on in college, usually third tier frat boys or--if he was lucky--a bear a few years older than him who liked his men on the odd side.

He doesn’t like seeing Duck sad. The sadness isn’t something he can fix. The stalemate between these two facts annoy the living hell out of him.

He’s next in line, glances up to confirm what he wants, and gets an idea. Last week, he overheard Duck talking with Aubrey about roadtrip snacks of their youth.

“One chocolate dipped cone, on me.” He holds the treat out to the other man.

“Oh. Uh, thanks. These are my favorite from when I was a kid.” Duck’s smile returns.

“I remembered. Or, ah, that is, I remembered you saying that.”

The smile changes, “you didn’t need to.”

“I wanted to. Shall we?”

“Yep. Uh, you gonna be able to drive and eat that at the same time?”

“Do not doubt my ability to consume ice cream under difficult circumstances, Duck Newton.”

They make it to their first stop unscathed. It’s what Duck refers to as, “eco-bespoke,” a fancy spa and hotel built in a former school, the kind that was made in an era of beautiful instead of grim educational architecture.

“Goats!” Indrid claps his hands, delighted, at the two animals stabled near the main building. One of it’s supposed sustainable elements is the small farm that helps feed the on-site restaurant. Duck smirks and Indrid suddenly feels the gulf in their upbringings, “Ah, I suppose they’re not exciting to someone who grew up in a rural town.”

“Nah, but they’re damn cute.” Duck checks the tag on their room keys, “okay, we’re in the green building, room 2B.”

Indrid snaps some photos as they cross the grounds, more to remind himself of things he wants to come back to later than anything else. He’s busy studying a strange mark on the wall by their door when Duck says, “I can sleep on the floor.”

“Why--oh” he stares at the single bed, “in retrospect, we should have seen this coming.”

“Yeah.” Duck drops his bag near the closet, slides the door to look for spare linens. Indrid summons his courage, finds it lacking, and so bolsters it with nonchalance.

“It’s a king, we could easily share.”

“You’d, uh, you’d be okay with that?”

“It is only narrow definitions of masculinity that mean something like sharing a bed is inherently sexual.”

He’s not entirely sure that made sense, but Duck nods, “You want the right side or left?”

“Right, please.”

“Great. And, uh, Indrid? Thanks for rollin with all this. I, uh, I know it’s fuckin weird but this is a huge feature for the magazine and we woulda been fucked if we had to pull it.”

Indrid gingerly sits on his side of the bed, “You’re welcome. And I don;t know about you, but” he smiles, catches Duck watching him intently in the mirror, “I’m enjoying myself so far.”

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

“Why has an activity that renders one incapable of using their thighs been deemed ‘romantic?” Indrid mumbles, face-down on the bed to offer his burning legs relief.

“Fuck if I know.” Duck groans as he sits next to him, “Kinda fun, but if I was doin this to get you in bed, I’d be fucked.”

“I am in bed” Indrid teases.

“And if I tried to put the moves of you you’d toss me outta it. Assumin I could even move myself that close.” Duck nudges him, then clears his throat, “uh, I mean, not like we’d be doin that-”

“Nono, point taken.” Indrid rolls over. The horseback ride was one of the “couples exclusives;” a trot out to a beautiful oasis for a gourmet picnic. Indrid got some excellent shots, including one of Duck with honeycomb dripping down his chin, which he will not be offering up to editors but may keep for himself. For it’s beautiful composition, of course.

Mercifully, their next stop is the pool. Indrid settles himself in the hot tub while Duck types some notes on his phone. Then his friend doffs his bathrobe and Indrid may as well be in a dream. In the steaming, echoing paradise of multi-colored tile and ecstatic shouts, Duck stands like one of the angelic fountains at its heart has come to life.

“You okay there, ‘Drid?”

“Yes.” He hopes his lack of glasses means Duck will mistake his blatant staring for trying to get his vision in focus.

“Then scoot your cu--uh, your butt over so I can sit down.”

Indrid gladly moves aside, finds he’s so comfortable with Duck pressed against him that he begins nodding off in the warm lull of the water. When the other man nudges him, saying it’s time to go, he finds a strong arm draped over his shoulder and Duck’s smile the most relaxed it’s been all trip.

Their last task at this location is to locate the speakeasy somewhere on the premises and order the “lovers delight” (only available to couples). To do so, they follow clues purple light bulbs, doors that lead to tiny, art-filled rooms, secret staircases, and a false supply closet to a dark wooded, dimly lit, incredibly pleasant bar looking out over the property. The drink turns out to be a massive goblet (more a bowl that someone stuck on a stem) of ginger syrup, prickly pear juice, and silver tequila.

It also turns out to be incredibly strong. So much so that when they get back to the room, Indrid loses his balance getting his shoes off, which makes Duck laugh, which results in both of them flopping onto the bed.

“S’fun. You’re, you’re real good at the clues. Should, should go to an escape room when we get home.”

“Wasn’t, hic, that hard. They, they want, hic, want you to find it.”

“Take the compliment, goofus” Duck pushes his shoulder.

“You’re, hic, the goofus.”

“Nuh uh.” Duck sticks his tongue out. Indrid does the same, then licks his cheek just to hear him laugh.

Duck rolls onto his back, giggles dying down to a contemplative sigh, “He woulda hated this.”

“Your ex?” Indrid crawls to stay close to him.

“Yeah. Everythin I like, or, or thought was fun, he thought it was a waste of time or just plain worthless. He, he wasn’t like that at the start. Dunno what changed. Probably me. Probably got borin. Got worse.”

Indrid is not so drunk that he believes he can fix this. But he’s just drunk enough to stroke Duck’s cheek and murmur, “No. Nono, hic, you’re th’best.”

He doesn’t remember falling asleep after that, but he must have, because his phone is beeping at them to get up and face the day. They do so with to-go coffees in one hand and their bags in the other, neither speaking of the night before until Indrid has turned the car into deeper desert.

“Sorry for gettin on a thing about Alex last night.”

“It was a three year relationship; goodness knows you’re allowed to have feelings about it.”

“Even relief?”

Indrid glances at him, “Of course.”

His friend leans back in his seat, sipping from his travel mug, “That’s half the reason I been in such a funk. I feel like I oughta be sad, then I feel guilty for the fact I’m relieved instead. But if I really was that unhappy in it, why did I hang around so long? Maybe that was the best I deserved, y’know?”

“I know the feeling, yes, but I can’t say I agree with your statement. You deserve someone who sees you for who you are and adores it, not someone who loved what you once were and became bitter when you grew.”

Duck looks at the console between them, at Indrid’s chipped black nails and the hand he hopes isn’t shaking. He squeezes it a moment longer than necessary, “Thanks, ‘Drid. It’s nice to hear that from someone who’s still gettin to know me. Juno and them, they’re my friends, I know they’re in my corner but, uh, sometimes I worry that anyone new is gonna find me dull or somethin like that.”

“I’m sure some people would, just as some take one look at me and decide I’m a weirdo who they don’t want to deal with. But I can say with certainty that I don’t find you that way.”

Duck grins all the way to their destination. It’s a quirky trailer park full of amenities and built mostly from salvaged materials, doing it’s best to run off the grid. It also gives each trailer a theme, and Indrid flaps his hands when he sees they’ve been booked in the “The Cramps” themed one.

“Hell yeah.” Duck mirrors his excitement as they open the door. Their haven from the desert sun is full of kitschy horror artifacts and a much smaller bed than the previous spot. There’s no debate this time; Indrid settles on the right, Duck on the left, and they settle in for a nap before venturing out to work.

They take in the bar, the arcade, the mini-golf course, and the “couples supply room” (“damn, didn’t know they made eggnog scented massage oil” “ooh, I like how that smells”), but Duck turns out to be most excited to rent a stargazing kit and guide Indrid out into the dark desert. They’re on their backs, shoulder to shoulder and munching chocolate covered fruit, when he discovers the source of his glee.

“There!” Duck points to a crackling streak of silver.

“A meteor” Indrid wiggles happily as a second one speeds through his view.

“It’s the Perseids, and this is a damn good place to watch ‘em. Look, there’s another one.” He’s breathless each time and Indrid’s heart threatens to beat hard enough to crack the earth at the sound.

“Did you ever wish on stars when you were little?”

“Yep. Never asked for much worth notin, though I’m pretty sure I wished once to just wake up and be a boy. Or, uh, guess for everyone to see me as one. What about you?”

“I wished...I wished for someone to do things like this with, some who’d kiss me and tell me that they didn’t need to wish because what they wanted was right here.. I love the world, I want to see so much of it, that’s half the reason I chose my profession.. But when I was young I thought I’d be with someone when I did. I thought it was easy to find that kind of love. To be worthy of it.”

“Hey now” Duck rolls onto his side. He’s backlit by the moon, meteors zipping behind him as if they, just like Indrid, are pulled to him, “what happened to all the stuff you said in the car about deservin someone who adores you?”

“It’s easy to apply such things to you, harder to believe them about myself.”

“How come?”

“Because you are everything a sensible person could want in a man and I am not.”

“That’s where you’re wrong” He sets a hand next to Indrid’s shoulder, “Can think of at least one sensible fella who wants to get to know you a whole hell of a lot.”

“He’ll get to know me plenty, we’re co-workers.”

“There are different kinds of gettin to know someone.” Duck dips down, brushes their noses together, “for instance, the last few days I’ve gotten to know you’re a damn good travel companion and that Ned was smart to hire you. But I’ve also gotten to know there’s some things about you I really wanna know.”

“Such as?” Indrid’s fingers find Duck’s sides.

“Such as whether you wanna go on a date with me when we get back. No assignment, just the two of us gettin some time together.”

“I want nothing more.” He leans up to kiss him, feels him shudder happily when their lips meet. Indrid wonders how long it’s been since someone kissed Duck like they meant it, and resolves to make up any deficits with an enthusiasm that would put horny eighteen year olds to shame.

Indrid nips Ducks ear, “you know, were it not for the threat of mosquitos and scorpions, I’d suggest we make good use of the non-food items in that basket.”

Ducks grin lights Indrid up like a comet, “Then howsabout we go test just how conducive our trailer is to romance?”

Indrid kisses him adoringly, “Lead on, sweetheart; I’ll follow you anywhere.”

[fittrition95]

I have Autism.

I actually had it since I was a baby but my parents never knew until I was an adult. I finally got diagnosed in 2018 at the age of 23 after seeing three therapist in my life who either didn't know my issue or thought I had Autism but wasn't treating me correctly. I wish I would of came out sooner but was afraid of what people would say.

Ever since I was a toddler, I was so good at masking my symptoms of Autism and pretending to fit in with other people that my parents were never told to take me to a professional for diagnosis.

Fun fact, my 3rd grade teacher actually said I had ADD so I ended up in special needs classes even though the classes were too easy for me (I was smart).

After being diagnosed with Autism, I did some counceling with the same lady who diagnosed me. I found out about her from the third therapist I saw when I was an adult.

I need up opening up more and because more communicative because of her and I can't be more grateful for her.

Here are symptoms I currently have since birth that are traits of Autism so you can understand who I am as a person:

1. Masking - hiding symptoms to fit in with others and not stand out to be different.

2. Communication issues - not doing well in group settings and other ways of communication. I actually am ok with talking on the phone depending on situation and if I need to talk to someone one on one, it is hard to start the conversation and keep it going unless it is about a topic I am passionate about. I would always write letters or send emails to my parents and other people in order to communicate along with text messages because I don't have to see the person's reaction. I also will have a hard time communicating while keeping eye contact so I will talk while staring at something else.

3. Stimming - humming, moving hands around, holding something, chewing on Objects, etc.

4. Sensory Issues - texture of foods and clothing, hearing (can hear anything loud or soft).

5. Small talk - practicing what I am going to say to someone in my head so I feel comfortable saying it when I do walk up to them. There would also be times where I would have the words in my head but I just say silent and stare at the person. Also, trying to talk to someone about my interest. If anyone talks about something I don't care about, I try to engage in the conversation but deep down I want to walk away.

6. Doing the same thing over and over - when I was a baby my parents said that I never crawled but instead rolled. I would start in the living room and end up in the kitchen. I would do this multiple times a day back and forth.

7. Starring at objects - I love fidgit spinners and other objects I can play with and see move over and over. I also love to see how different objects work so I would play and stare at it for a long time. I will end up not paying attention to others because of it.

8. Getting fixated on the same tasks - people with Autism have special interests and will focus on learning the interest in full. I do this with exercising (working out, gaining muscle/loosing weight), computers (tech, electronics), TaeKwonDo, Korean culture and language, adolescents and puberty, etc.

9. Getting overwhelmed with so many tasks - if someone gives me a big list of tasks to do, I will freak out and have to slowly go through the list one by one. Also, cleaning the dishes and my room takes a long time to do because it is a lot and it overwhelms me like crazy.

10. Meltdowns - I only do this when I am at home because I feel like I will get judged in public so when I get overwhelmed I will keep the feelings inside which developed stress. I will have meltdowns when I don't want something or things aren't going my way. When I was in fifth grade, I started having meltdowns and I would run to my room, scream, slam the door and trow objects. My parents would always yell at me and call me a "baby." Once the meltdowns happen, I will just need to be alone to let it happen but I really would love someone to just cuddle with me to make me feel better. When the situation is going on, my communication will just shut down and I won't be able to say why I'm upset until the end.

11. Plans for the day/week - every week I plan for what I am going to do that week and if any of that changes, I have to know at least three days in advance so I can reschedule or find something else. I don't deal well with last minute plans or changes because I will have a meltdown. One day, one of my fitness classes was cancelled an hour before I was to leave and I ended up having to do a class I did not want to do because I coukdn't find anything else that would work for my current schedule.

12. Changes in routine - similar to previous trait, but if I have been doing something the same way for a long time and it changes, I get frustrated. When we switched from one set of forms in TaeKwonDo to another, I was about to have a meltdown because I already learned five forms and then had to stop those forms and learn eight different ones before testing for Black Belt which I was already half way on the path. Also, if I go the same same place for years to do something and then I don't need to go there anymore or the place changes, I get overwhelmed for the first two weeks till I get use to the location.

13. Not expressing emotions or getting very emotional - when Someone is sad or something terrible happens in life, I will be upset but it is more internal. I also don't express my emotions like someone else would but if you yell at me, I will end up crying and will try to hide it until I am alone by myself in a room to process it. Whenever I would fall down outside I would not be upset because I can handle pain better than others. I also can handle vaccines like a pro ever since I was a kid.

I'm sorry this is long, but I just want everyone to understand who I am as a person. I know I have tried to have conversations with others and maybe they either didn't like me because I only said a few words or they just didn't understand why I acted the way I did so I hope this post helped you out.

[rosy-cheekx]

Hypothetically

 @aspecarchivesweek Day One: Wish

I wish to make you happy.

Jonathan Sims/Georgie Barker

This was it. Jon fiddles with the pale green collar of his shirt; eyes focused resolutely on the version of himself in the mirror that hung on the wardrobe in his student flat. Tonight’s the night I’m going to ask Georgie to…

He shakes his head to himself, wincing at the end of that sentence. He knows what he’s going to do tonight, what he wants to do tonight, what difference does vocalizing it make, even if it’s just to himself?

Glancing down at his watch, Jon chews his lip. He was meeting Georgie at the bar in thirty minutes. The bar was ten minutes away…He should probably leave now, right? In case he needed to find them seats or use the loo or if the walk ended up taking longer than the dozens of times he’s been there before? He doesn’t want to be late, that would just make everything worse-

Huh. He’s pacing. Jon forces himself to stop and stands in the middle of his bedroom, wrapping his hands around his sides, thumbs digging into his back, feeling his diaphragm push his ribs out and in as he breathes, focusing on the solid movement of his body. Why am I so nervous? His therapist had talked to him, years back, about identifying sources of his anxiety. He hates that it works, hates that it means confronting his own brain and acknowledging his faults.

Is it the bar? No. This bar, The Addison, is one of the few pubs Jon actually enjoys. It’s always got a bit of a draft so even in the busiest nights it never feels like the heat of the room is inescapable. Jon’s not the biggest fan of beer, per se, but he can knock back a pint with the best of them, so long as he has something in his stomach first, and the pretzels and beer cheese The Addison makes are his favorite. The thought of them make his stomach growl.

Is it Georgie? No. He has a lot of strong feelings for Georgie, feels comfortable being himself around her. He drops his stuffy academic persona and can be his regular, less-stuffy-but-still-academic self, the one who speaks to her flatmate’s cat in a higher-pitched voice but still with proper Queen’s English, because “they deserve to be treated with respect, don’t you Madame?” She cares about him, too, he knows that, and he’s enjoyed their months as friends and the past few weeks they’ve been a couple.

As a couple…He feels a twinge of anxiety in his chest that makes him flap his hands instinctively, a quick stim to ward off the impending doom building in his belly. Ah. Found it. He and Georgie have only gone on a few dates: a coffeeshop on a Saturday morning, and a movie night in Georgie’s flat, an evening which had been planned to be a movie marathon of Georgie’s favorite bad horror movies, the B and C rated films that were truly just a vehicle for half-naked women sprinting down alleyways and gratuitous fake blood effects. Any excuse for them to laugh over popcorn and predict the plot points, except Jon had fallen asleep partway through the second movie and had woken up the next morning on Georgie’s couch, a worn fleece blanket over his slumped form. But this? This was a proper night-time date, involving alcohol and a walk home and, Jon was sure, a “mind if I come in?” and it would be different because it wasn’t a friend he was talking to, it was his girlfriend and there were expectations and he was a virgin and didn’t want to disappoint her because he knows Georgie is experienced and she deserves to have a good time and it’s his responsibility as a boyfriend to do that, even if he’s terrified because he hasn’t before—

Woah. Jon takes a deep breath. That was a lot. He did a full Sims, as Georgie would say, letting things snowball in his head until he explodes. He closes his eyes, wringing his hands again, just a gentle flutter at his sides. It’ll be fine. She’ll understand. She has up to now. Georgie has understood his weird studying habits, his deep aversion to spiders, his need to be early everywhere, his sudden shutdowns and stimming habits and how he loves to be held and touched. She can certainly handle him being a nervous virgin.

Jon slips a condom in his wallet and then, hesitating, tears off two more and throws them in. In case he messes up the first time. Checking his watch, he sees its quarter to eight. If he leaves now he’ll only be five minutes early. Perfect.

--

The Addison is a healthy dose of busy on a Thursday night in late autumn, the hum of conversation and music floating over Jon is just the right amount of chaos for him to reach equilibrium, feeling enthused by his nervous energy. He’s sitting at the bartop, spinning the cap to his beer bottle, watching it whirl, whirl, whirl, clattering on the stained wood and spinning all the while. It’s entrancing.

Georgie is speaking to him now. She smiles warmly at him and feels his stomach flip. God, she’s gorgeous when she smiles. Her hair’s in braids this month, pink and orange weaved tightly together, contrasting with the tight black turtleneck dress she wears. He catches himself staring at her profile, the planes of her face animated as she tells him a story about her professor and his alleged vow to fail her this semester. His face is warm. See, he soothes himself, you are attracted to her. You’re just nervous.

“Jon. Jon?” Georgie’s eyebrow is quirked up and she’s smirking at him, like she’s caught him in a lie. “Everything alright? You’re staring.” Jon feels another rush of blood to his cheeks, prickling at how exposed he feels to have been caught up in his thoughts about her.

“Oh-uh, yeah,” he nods, hesitating before reforming his own features into a smile. “I-I was just thinking. Well. How nice you look tonight.” Georgie isn’t immune to compliments, he knows this for certain, and its reaffirmed as she ducks her own head briefly, smile shifting from teasing to soft.

“O-Oh. Thank you, Jon.” She sips her drink, preferring something a little harder than Jon’s beer, usually a vodka cranberry she can nurse throughout a night or throw back when she needs a little something more in her bloodstream, fogging her mind. “You look really nice too, you know. Your green shirt is my favorite.” She gestures to the button up and he nods absently, glancing down at it. When he looks up, her face is close to his, hand weaving into the curls by his ear. He sighs and leans into the touch, feeling a shiver run through him when they kiss. He tastes the cranberry on her lips, vodka on her tongue, her liquid courage enthusing him as well as her (not that she needs any excuse to be bold, really), and makes a choice.

When they pull away for air, he grins wildly at her, the face he makes when he knows he’s about to a very Not-Sims thing. When the bartender makes his rounds again, a pale man in a black button-down, Jon orders his own ruby-red drink. Georgie’s eyebrows meet her hairline as he does so, folding her hands together. “Who are you and what have you done with Jonathan Sims?” The chuckle behind her voice balances the sternness of her words. He just grins at her and takes a sip of his newly-acquired vodka and cranberry juice, the dry flavors curling on his tongue and making his head feel light and warm after even half the glass.  

-

Jon is drunk. It doesn’t take a genius to see that. He knows he’s a lightweight and even the divine soft pretzels he’s been munching on since his arrival can only handle so much. He’s finished his second hard drink on top of the beer and is feeling properly light and airy. Like a cake, he giggles to himself. He’s having fun, chatting with Georgie about life and cats and uni and their plans for the future. Jon’s entertaining a couple of options, a few research jobs in London, and Georgie is poking his side, making him laugh as she teases him about his studying skills being useful for something more than exams.

“At least I have studying skills!” He says, pushing her off his side, linking their fingers together to inhibit her from poking him again. “You can’t ride my coattails forever, you know.”

“I won’t have to! It came in today.”

“What did?” His thoughts are clouded, edges of anxiety smoothed over into something more ignorable.

“My microphone! So I can start my podcast about spooky shit, remember?” Georgie squeezes his hand and finishes her own drink, far along as Jon in liquid consumed but not nearly as affected as he is. “I’m going to uncover the world’s mysteries and teach my faithful audience about the supernatural. I’ve got the title nailed down, too.” With her free hand she paints a banner in the air. “What the Ghost. ‘Cause it’s like ‘what the fuck’ and I can talk about all sorts of weird shit.” Georgie swears a lot, and more when she’s tipsy.

“Can I see it?” The words are out of his mouth before he can think them through. “The-the microphone, can I see it?”

Her eyes widen and she nods, “Oh, yeah of course! I haven’t been able to test it out yet, so maybe you can help me.”

Jon insists on paying. So does Georgie. They resign to splitting it, each vowing to pay next time and knowing they will never outsmart each other.

-

Jon doesn’t realize how drunk he is until he’s walking the five minutes to Georgie’s flat. Tucked into her side, the air is cool around his face, the wind an icy hand cupping his cheek. Everything feels smeary, liquid, warm. Hands in the pocket of the peacoat he knows he bought for the aesthetic and not to keep him warm, he fingers his wallet, feels the circular outline inside, and feels…nothing. Good. He can do this.

He’s always loved Georgie’s flat. It is warm, all orange and yellow lamplight, houseplants, and a cosy cluttered look. Her roommate exists only in residuals, the sneakers she leaves by the door and the dishes she does at odd hours more proof she exists than anything like conversation. Jon respects that. Georgie’s room is a lot like the rest of the flat, which means it’s a lot like Georgie herself. Warm, dark, soft, and scattered, with hidden elements of cat hair no matter how many times she cleans. Jon throws his coat over his desk chair and collapses onto her bed, reveling in how her pillows feel under his back. He takes a moment to greet the weird smile-faced stain on her ceiling before sitting up, watching Georgie fold herself next to him and open a carboard box, taking out a chunky black microphone with a USB cable. She brandishes it like a sword, before angling it to her face.

“This is BBC 4 with breaking news,” she intones into the microphone, putting on a crisp RP accent and lowering her voice an octave. “Ghosts and ghouls have been discovered at King’s College, Oxford, residing as university professors. News anchor Jonathan Sims has the story. Sims?”

Jon presses back his giggles and leans into the character, accent already pretty close to the posh voice she puts on. “There’s been an error, actually. They’ve been the students all along. Journalism student Porgie Parker has been found out to have been a ghost. These discoveries were made after her boyfriend, English Literature student…Bonathan Bims, realized she had never picked up a textbook because she couldn’t! Her hands went right through them!” By the time he’s gotten to the word textbook, Georgie has pounced on him, microphone forgotten as she wrestles him to the bed, alternating between poking and tickling him until he lets the bit trail off, voice a mix of giggles and pleas for her to stop.

When she lets off, Jon abruptly realizes the intimacy of their position. She’s straddling him, her hands pinning his wrists to the plush pillow behind his head. They’re both breathing hard, cheeks flushed, and smiling.

Jon isn’t sure who started the kiss, but it doesn’t really matter. His arms are wrapped around Georgie’s neck and her hands are cupping his face, cool to the touch, nails lightly scratching his jawline. The bed is soft and Georgie is warm, pressing in from all sides, and it feels good. This he likes.

She kisses along his jawline and he feels heart rate pickup, flexing his hands (when did he curl them into fists?) as she presses against his neck. He wishes vaguely she’d put her hands back in his hair, he likes that soft feeling of pressure on his scalp. The smile on the ceiling is smirking at him now, the curve of the water stain looking more vicious than it had earlier.

Her hands are on his chest, she’s unbuttoning his shirt. Her hands feel too cold now, the shiver running through him one of anxiety, not desire, and Jon is sitting up before he knows what he’s doing. Fuck. Georgie, the saint, backs off him and kneels beside him on the bed. Jon’s hands flit to the undone buttons, fingertips circling them, suddenly unsure what to do.

“Are you okay, Jon?” Georgie’s voice is softer, eyes searching his face as she wedges her hands underneath her knees. He watches her wrists, the swing of her braids as she cocks her head, anything to avoid her eyes.

“I-” he gestures to her vaguely. “Y-You know I haven’t before, right?”

“Oh. Oh.” Georgie nods, understanding maybe a little better than he expected. “No offense, but I kinda figured, Jon. Not in a bad way!” She backpedals. “I just figured, you know, there’s no rush.”

“I mean, there’s a little of a rush,” he admonishes under his breath. At her hum of confusion: “You know, the whole-” he gestures again, as if he could pluck the word from the air. “-third date…thing.”

“Jon,” Georgie sighs his name, voice soft and so patient, a voice he doesn’t think he’s heard used anywhere else. “There’s no rule saying what we have to do when. Or how. Or ever, for that matter. It’s no one’s business what we do except ours.” She reaches out a hand, waiting for a slight nod, before taking his thin hands in her own. “Is that why you drank more than usual today?”

Jon nods, feeling a sag of relief spread throughout his body. “I just- I want to make you happy.”

“You do make me happy, you twit. That’s why we’re friends and it’s why I’m dating you.” She presses a kiss to his knuckles. “Contrary to popular belief, I don’t need sex to be happy. Is it fun? Yes. But not necessary.”

Jon frowns, chewing on his lip and eyeing the window of her bedroom, tracing the rectangle with his eyes over and over again. “I-hmm.” Georgie watches him search for words; she knows how he ticks well enough to know they’re coming if she waits. “What if, hypothetically, I never had sex with you? Ever.”

“Well,” she gave his hands a light squeeze. “Hypothetically, I’d be totally okay with it, though I’d ask if you were asexual and make sure we had appropriate boundaries.”

“Huh?” The word draws him back to her face, the deep brown eyes that search his own. “Asexual. Like, no sex?” She nods, again, ever-patient. “Huh. Asexual.” He drops the pretense. “Maybe.”

Asexual. The word felt good as he rolled it around in his mouth. He traced the letters with his fingertips in cursive against his thigh as Georgie let go of him, rolling off her bed to pull on sweatpants and a t shirt instead of the dress she was wearing 

“Let’s look into it, if you want. Together.” Georgie grins at him now, rye and warm. “I will have to ask you if want hypothetical crisps, because I’m hypothetically fucking starving.”

[that-tall-queer-bassist]

My personal Pros and Cons of my ADHD

Pros

-noticing all the little details and appreciating them in the fullest

-Emotional Dysregulation, because when I get a new plant, or find that one oddly shaped metal marble I lost a while ago, I am so excited it’s pathetic, but I love that feeling of pure joy.

-hyperfixation of the week/day/hour (i know some people describe it differently, let me be pls) . I usually switch between art mediums, and/or a few video games/social media sites. for example, I’ve been on tumblr for 3 hours as i write this, after not touching it for, i think a month?

-nuerodivergent friends. They’re just better.

-the ability to completely drown myself in information to ignore reality. Is it healthy? no. But i simply cannot handle another existiential crissi rn, so i will instead play minecraft while listening to alt rock playlists on youtube because getting spotify sounds like a lot of work.

-my ability to retain absolutely useless information, from either my, or my other nuerodivergent friends hyperfixations/special interests. I can explain to you in terrible formatting if it’s out loud, the evolution, history, training, anatomy and roles of the horse in our world, and how ao3 works, and what makes or breaks a fanfiction.

-Object Impermanence. When i literally hide myself a treat or surprise and forget about it, then get so excited when i do find/discover it again. I hide google questions, and/or song lyrics in my tabs :) its so fun. Also, hiding away stressors. Again, healthy? no, but i don’t feel like having anxiety all day, so whatever.

-Emotional Dysregulation, again. I can switch from sad or angry to happy and excited/content in a few seconds. It’s also great for getting my siblings out of their funk. ex., my sister is mad at me. I make a silly voice repeating what she said or cross my eyes at her. she laughs, then we can talk and have constructive conversation about why she shouldn’t get that upset about me “cutting off her reading time” when we share a room and I want to sleep, and know that she will be very tired tomorrow if she doesn’t also go to sleep. (We have this conversation almost every single night, i’m not even joking)

Cons

-Emotional Dysregulation. When i get upset, I’m Upset. Like, big time, ruining friendships and familial ties if i let it get out of hand, Upset. Yeah.

-Time Blindness. Constantly late, or early, or under or over estimating the amount of time it takes to do a thing, not eating til 4 because you forgot but you also should just wait til dinner, but now its 9 and I still haven’t eaten-

-Executive Dysfunction. I can’t do the things needed to function. Don’t have the mental energy to explain this one, so google it i guess? There’s a whole checklist of things you need to be able to do to function, and i can do like, three on a good day.

-Sleeping Trouble. People with adhd have trouble falling asleep, staying asleep, and waking up. So, sleeping trouble. So I’m constantly tired.

-Internal Clock is SLIGHTLY OFF. Nuerotypicals have that normal sleep schedule. Adhd ers have it shifted forward by, i think, 2, 3 hours. So we go to sleep later, and wake up later, and that’s the only way to get a healthy amount of sleep. My entire family also eats dinner super late, which might be because we’re weird, but I suspect the inner clock thing cuz we all got adhd.

-Object Impermanance. I hid my math homework one time. I failed that class. 

-Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria. Never trying, or starting cuz I’m so terrified to get a bad reaction. Constantly masking around certain people to appeal to the few of my Nuerotypical friends. Or, y’know, majority of my extended family. They’re ableist. and homophobic. And transphobic. And racist. and sexist. The list goes on, but, yeah. Never coming out to them! :D

-Masking. It’s exhausting and I can only handle so much of it.

-Not Masking around nuerotypicals. The shoot down after finally revealing my true thoughts, urges, feelings, stims, etc. just sucks. Super disheartening. 

-Squirrel or shiny jokes when they’re made by people without adhd. Yes, I do get distracted by squirrels, and shiny things, and dice. Stop pointing it out, and/or putting me into yet another box of your labeling. 

-saying that I’m lazy, worthless, or a disaster when really it’s not helping. I already have that internal monologue, you adding to it and giving it some truth/extra ammunition is not. helping.

-Emotional Dysregulation. Again, because mood swings. like, I’m trying to be rightfully angry with you. Stop making me laugh with you’re silly faces or pointing out of a weird face someone made in a picture you took. 

-the stigma about the hyperactive subtype. I’m inattentive. I have No Energy. Ever. Sometimes i have restlessness, but there is still no energy. Stop portraying me as bouncing off the walls, especially with caffeine. Caffeine just catches my body speed up to my brain speed, settling me down a bit, at least mentally. 

-people not getting when i say I’m overstimulated, or need some time alone to process or re-energize, and following me, or continuing to do the overstimulating thing. I will literally. lose. my. mind.

-when people shut me down after I share something that is really important to me, or make fun of me for liking something an “abnormal” amount. Flashbacks to overnight camp, when whenever I said anything about horses, they said I had to do five squats, and when i got really excited about discussing the differences in riding styles/types with another person who really liked horses, but rode english, they said that it was obnoxious, when i was just.. excited to finally find someone to talk to and who felt the same way after, basically, years and years of no one getting it or wanting to listen or talking with me about the thing. To this day I don’t discuss horses with anyone, cuz it hurts so much remembering that, and the fear of it happening again is still there. 

-seeing other people be ashamed about their adhd and hesitant to mention until i talk, like, super openly about having it, in like, the first 5 minutes of knowing each other. It just.. hurts.

-I’m super empathetic, not in a way that’s helpful though. Like, wincing, or limping myself because I saw you drop something on your foot, and am imagining it so vividly that it feels like it happened to me. Reading a fic about abuse or depression, and it hitting too hard and hurting me almost physically, and on a personal level because I simply cannot handle it. Feeling someone else’s pain so vividly that i can’t comfort or help them in any way, because I am so preoccupied with  feeling their pain. 

-never being able to finish things without starting something else. All the WIPs in my google docs, istg, i will be driven insane by it. 

(y’know, this was kinda fun. As a rant, but also as a way for me to identify things about myself and my adhd that i like. Like, I know its so much shorter, but I have a hard time with positive self affirmation, so it was kinda nice. I might do it again, but just the pros part cuz the cons are kinda depressing ngl.)

(OH, Y’all should reblog with your own personal pros added on! You can add cons if you’d like to :) I’m just interested in seeing how your experiences/feeling differ from mine :) )

[lovely-necromancy]

A Cure for Insomnia CH 14

Somehow someway you had ended up spending the night in Toby's room. What had started out as sitting next to him turned into laying down next to him. And after a while of no talking or movement, just the steady sounds of breathing. You more or less closed you eyes for a minute.

Before you knew it you were waking up to sun in your face. And found a blanket haphazardly thrown onto you. Though honestly you probably just moved a lot in your sleep. A quick glance around the room tells you you're alone and by the looks of it have been for a little while now. Weirdly there doesn't seem to be a clock in the room and when you go to check your phone the battery is dead.

'Oh God what time is it?' you worry as you gather yourself to leave the room in search of a clock.

Even though you have the strongest suspicion that you're already late for work. Fuck Nate is gonna kill you. You hope you don't get fired for this. That doesn't really seem like the Cowell way but you really don't want to risk it. No where else in town would pay the bills plus give extra cash for doing jack shit.

Just as you closed the door behind you you see Toby and Connor walking up the corridor. Toby has two bowls in hand and his steps falter a bit when he sees you.

“Shit did I wake you up?”

You can see the veins in his arms as he tenses, poor guy must have a tic coming on. You hold your hands out to give him the option of handing them over so he can relax. With no hesitation on his end he does just that.

“No? I don't think so, I just woke up. What time is it?”

Toby's hands jolt in place. A large tremor of movement, thankfully you took the bowls from him so he wouldn't have splashed...cereal? Your confusion must have shown because you get a nervous laugh in response.

“It's like eight twenty or something.” seeing you visibly deflate he adds, “Barry told me to tell you you're excused from work today.” He took a bowl back from you and placed a hand at the small of your back to push you back towards his room. Apparently done with having a conversation in the hallway and letting your breakfast get soggy.

“Barclay.” you remind him, your efforts award you a shrug, “and are you serious? Because making me late for work wouldn't be very funny.”

He plops on his bed and a bit of milk sloshes out of the bowl dropping on to the sheets. In the back of your mind you think about how Barclay more than likely is going to ban Toby from the lodge for anything other than an emergency. At least if he ruins the bed by dropping food all over it...actually you're pretty sure Jake's mentioned there being a rule about eating in the rooms.

“I'm serious, you can go ask him yourself.” his face flushes as he shovels a spoonful of Captain Crunch into his mouth, “twey shed somfingu bot ah ahpawawgee for da kid”

You give Toby a sneer as you process what he just said. Even normally your brain didn't always process what was said to you properly and Toby speaking with a full mouth certainly didn't help in any case. But you can kind of gleam a bit more context from his red cheeks that your spontaneous three day weekend is thanks in part to Jo hanging out with you yesterday.

Really you didn't mind that she hung out with you. But you would accept the apologetic day off for her attempting to give you a love life. You aren't one of her gossip stories nor do you wish to be.

“First, gross dude. Second, I'll take it.”

He snorts, “Watching me chew through the hole in my face is ne-neat but me talking with my mouth full is where you draw the line?”

“Honestly I never even thought of that.”

You can't help but let out a chuckle at how dumb that must have made you look. Geez you were such a dork sometimes. On the other hand it seems like that must have been the funniest thing Toby's heard in a while as he roars with laughter. Soon your chuckles turn into full blown laughter from Toby's contagious mirth.

“I'll get out of your hair after I finish eating.” you finally say when the two of you calm.

“...you don't have to do that. I-i thought we cou-cou-could hang out?” he says sheepishly.

Toby tends to stutter when he's nervous you notice. Maybe this was to be expected you kind of did solidify that you both wanted to be friends. Of course that would mean opening up to hanging out together on purpose more often.

“I'd like that! Did you have something in mind?”

The room goes quite, well more accurately Toby goes quite as you finish your cereal. Looks like someone hadn't thought this far ahead. At least you aren't the only dork in this room or this friendship for that matter.

Toby's dark eyes scan around the room, not really looking for something while he thinks of something you could do today. Instead of just staring at him like a creep you turn your attention to the rottweiler looking at you with hopeful eyes. Connor's eyes briefly moving towards your bowl where a tiny bit of milk sits and then back at your face. Licking his chops as he looks you dead in the eyes.

Having a pretty good idea of what he wants you look for Toby's bowl. If it was on the ground that'd be a good indication that Connor's allowed a bit of cereal milk if it was on the bed well then you'd still have your answer.  And sure enough right next to Connor's butt is an empty bowl.

Yup, Barclay is so gonna ban Toby from the lodge.

Throwing out any thoughts of the lecture you'd get if Barclay were to find out you let a dog eat from his bowls you place the bowl in front of Connor. Who sits in his position and won't stop making eye contact with the bowl. Tail going a mile a minute as he stares at his prize in anticipation. God he really is the best boy in the whole world.

“Thank you Connor.” you whisper to the dog before he attacks the bowl.

As the pup rips into the left over cereal milk, which wasn't even that much, you can't keep yourself from flapping your hands right by your chest. The fast movement seems to catch Toby's attention and brings him out of wracking his brain for ideas. Giving you a moment to just enjoy the happy stim he just watches. It isn't until Connor has bounded over to you letting you pet him as a 'thank you' for giving him a treat, that Toby speaks up.

“Is there...what's there to do here?”

Looking at Toby as you shake Connor's ears around, you don't immediately say anything. Honestly thinking of just what the two of you could do in this small town. Something that wouldn't prove to be too distracting and maybe give the two of you a chance to get to know each other better. Something without too many interruptions or things to get you off topic.

“Wanna go get a slushy?”

Toby's brown eyes cut as he stares at you unimpressed.

“I kno-rrow that we're in a small town but, 's not that small.”

“Oh no it's actually smaller.”

He rolls his eyes with a huff ready to bite in with a snarky remark no doubt until he catches your eyes and the serious expression. He stares at you, eyes darting across your face looking for a sign that you're joking.

Thankfully you aren't one to leave a friend in the dark.

“Tobias, the gas station Tim works at is the only one for this town.”

“That can't be right, it's not even in town. What about...” once again Toby's eyes shift as he tries to think of any other gas stations within Kepler.

When he comes to the conclusion that you are indeed not fucking with him and Kepler does just have the one gas station his shoulders slump. Almost like he's in shock that he hadn't caught that sooner. You can feel the tinkling sensation of a tic coming up, at the base of your neck. Timing it mentally as you watch Toby go through the stages of grief you miscalculate and ruin your tic.

Head jolting into your right shoulder rather than jerking above it. Letting out a small “fuck” at the fact that you're about to be in an uncomfortable sensation, not totally unlike when you chase off a sneeze but still do need to sneeze. You feel the tic at the back of your head but know it won't be going away anytime soon and all thanks to your hubris.

Looking back at Toby you find he's moved on from the single gas station fact and is looking at you mildly amused. Briefly you wonder if he's ever chased off a tic and felt the uncomfortable sensation you're now dealing with. That leads you to ponder if he's ever even felt the anticipation of nerves before a coming tic. It's not really a painful sensation but discomfort sometimes goes in hand with pain so maybe CIPA affects that feeling too. You'll have to ask, but first you have to shut his stupid face up.

“Shut it.”

“Didn't say anything.” he smirks.

His smiles are really growing on you. They feel special and very genuine despite the awkward nature of his facial movements.

“Hey wait, the mini mart doesn't even have a slushy machine.” he says as the realization finally sets in.

“Yea we have to drive to another town for one. So far Franklin has the best slushies but it's like two hours away.”

You lean your weight back onto your hands watching as Toby's wide eyes stare at you in disbelief. Actually in this light you really can't tell if Toby's eyes are blown wide or in their normal state. Judging from the way his lips curl over his teeth you figure they must be as he stares stunned by something you've said.

“Do you seriously drive two hours for a slushy?” the disbelief in his voice is thick, but not thick enough to cover the thinnest hint of amusement. Maybe even pity.

“Not all the time, sometimes its only like thirty. One night I actually drove five hours without realizing it...though to be fair I did get lost.”

Lost in your thoughts on that particular night some how you'd ended up in Point Pleasant. Instead of a slushy you'd gotten a Mothman themed iced coffee. A nice trip over all but one you didn't want to go on at the moment.

Coming back to the present in time to catch Toby flopping back on the mattress his curls bouncing up over his face as he did so. He let's out an exaggerated groan.

“Still, Brian's got the car today.”

Pfft that's not an issue.

“I have a car.” you say plainly.

That must not be the issue because Toby raises himself onto his elbows to look at your lax form on the carpet. Leaning back on your hands with Connor splayed across your lap looking ready for a nap. Toby opens his mouth to say something before shutting it and looking off to the side. He seems to collect himself quickly but not enough to look at you.

“Uh..I, that's not really the...” well maybe he hadn't collected himself that much.

Brow furrowing as you squint at the man before you. The two of you don't know a lot about each other but from what you've noticed Toby has some hang ups about drivers and driving. Although he's let you drive him home once that doesn't mean he was comfortable with it or wanted a repeat performance. And while you don't consider yourself a bad driver you'll spare Toby the difficulty of admitting he isn't comfortable with you driving.

“You can drive.” dark brown eyes are on you the instant the words spill from your lips, “You've driven my car before. Plus I don't mind I like not driving.”

His eyes dart from you to Connor and back up into your face. Even though they're darting slightly you know he isn't such evaluating your expression. He's thinking and weighing his options.

“You sure?”

And with no hesitation at all, “Absolutely, you've driven it before.”

Though he hadn't been thinking of that particular issue with being given the choice of driving your car. It did bring up another insecurity before hastily stomping it into the ground. He has driven your car, albeit once, before and you are giving him explicit consent to drive it again. Regardless of his tourette's, Toby honestly can't believe you have such blind faith in a person you've just befriended. Then again that's friendship isn't it.

“Ok then...let's go?”

After a nod from you Toby grabs Connor's gear to get him ready for the drive. Meanwhile you take the dishes back downstairs to the kitchen, letting Toby know you'd meet him by the door. Unsurprisingly Barclay is in the kitchen when you get down there to place the bowls into the sink.

Seeing as it's just the bowls and spoons in the sink you decide you can wash them before placing them in the sanitizer rack.

“Mornin'.”

“Good morning.”

“Basket's on the table.”

“Thanks.”

A quiet settles over you two and you can feel Barclay's brown eyes trail towards your form every few seconds. Finishing the dishes you turn, leaning your butt onto the counter, to face the lumbering man.

“Can I help you?” you raise a brow at him. Clearly he had something more he wanted to say.

“I, I just thought we were closer than that.” he sighs.

Okay what now? Your confusion goes ignored as he continues to speak.

“Seriously YN, you didn't need to sneak away last night if you wanted to spend the night here, and with your boyfriend. I wouldn't have judged.”

“My who? Tobais? He's a friend!” you whisper scream in case Toby is near by. God could at least save one of you this embarrassment.

“Really YN? From the things I'm hearin' you two are a bit more than friends.”

“Ok seriously where are you getting your info from? We haven't done anything. Like just YESTERDAY we agreed we were friends. We've known each other maybe a month?!”

“See that's why this is confusing, you don't touch just anyone. And suddenly you're handsy with some new kid.” Barclay had the decency to start whisper screaming with you. He's gesturing vaguely towards the rest of the lodge before bringing his hands before him and flailing them away. As if to say 'what am I supposed to do with this now?'

“He's neurodivergent!” you say bringing your palms up in front of you.

“So are Jake and Aubrey.”

“And I high five Jake so much.” throwing your arms outward to indicate how much you two high five. “Plus he gets a hug nearly every time I see him.” hands brought back to emphasis this point.

Barclay thinks on that for a bit, “Point taken,” he stands from his hunched position and crosses his arms over his chest, “so y'all aren't dating? Nothin' happened last night?”

“No and no.”

“Don't have to deep clean the sheets today.”

“Gross and no.” best keep the milk droplets out of this, you'd really like to leave the kitchen sooner rather than later. Preferably with no lecture about hygiene and the importance of respecting other's property.

Barclay looks down at you scanning your face for something you aren't quite sure of. But you have a feeling he's treating you like a child for a very specific reason.

“I'm not a virgin.” you deadpan as the man before starts to sputter.

His eyes wide with disbelief. So he really thought you were a virgin this whole time? You wonder who else thought this, you hoped they wouldn't try to confront you about your nonexistent relationship.

You'll just never understand why people assume you're a virgin and why they try their hardest to butt into your life when they think that way. This topic tends to put you in a sour mood and you can already feel it on your face. It's disgusting how people can't mind their business about baseless assumptions.

“Jeez sorry YN,” he does look it as he rubs the back of his neck, “it's just you've never shown an interest and I guess we all got swept up in the possibility of seeing you happy.”

“I am happy?”

“I mean in a relationship, happy in a romantic relationship.” He claps his hands gently on your shoulders. A touch you've gotten used too, had you not wanted it you would've taken a step back.

“Kirby's not in a relationship.” you point out.

“Kirby's gross, and you're adorable.” he chuckles at your glare, “a-dor-a-ble.”

“I will bite you.” he lets go of you with a laugh.

“We're just...trying to keep you safe.” he sighs, and though you don't understand what any of their weirdness has to do with “keeping you safe” you nod. Just to get this over with faster.

“Can I leave now? Tobais and I were gonna get slushies.” he didn't need to know your plans but you didn't want him assuming you two were sneaking off for a date.

“Yea yea, sorry for keeping you.” he leans against the counter as you grab your basket and head out of the kitchen and towards the main door.

Toby and Connor were already waiting for you. If the swaying of his weight was anything to go by they'd been waiting for you for a bit. Seeing you coming his subconscious movement stops and he opens the door. Keeping it open for you.  You lead him over to your Soul as you look through the basket for the keys.

“Keys?” he questions as you pat your pockets.

Toby stops walking with you as you begin to panic. You've lost your keys. Before you voice that though you look through the basket once more, placing it on the hood of your car so you can use both hands to check. His eyes follow you and are caught by a gentle swaying.

“You are a serial killer's wet dream.”

He opens your passenger side door and comes out holding your keys that had been in the ignition. If the blank look he gives you is anything to go by he's not impressed.

“I,I,I was in a hurry!” you say flustered that you did something so stupid. His expression doesn't change.

“Could you pop the trunk please?” you ask not looking in his direction.

The click of the lock is all you need to hear before you rush around him to place the basket in the back. As you do you catch sight of the deer skull still in your trunk. With everything going on you hadn't been to see Madeleine for a mount for the guy. You'll have to remember to stop by her shop this week.

Toby had already gotten Connor situated in the back by the time you sat down in the passengers seat. After buckling in and plugging your phone in to charge you stare ahead of you waiting for Toby to start driving. When you look over at him you see he's staring right back at you with a brow raised.

“Yes?”

“Where are we going?”

Yes the key detail of any road trip, the driver needs to know the destination. Unfortunately for you and Toby you've forgotten to tell him one crucial detail. You drive with no sense of direction. And you relay this to Toby. He looks seconds away from getting out of the car and claiming he's never seen you before much less ever been friends with you.

He takes a deep breath and collects himself.

“Y'know what Brian's worse with directions.” he says more to himself than to you.

He calmly puts the car in gear and heads off to town. No input from Connor, you may have chosen a really good day for this drive. Your phone hits one percent as you pass Resort Row. You know the Hornet's Nest is coming up and that intersection leads to the interstate despite not having legible signs.

“Hey when you get to the Hornet's Nest swing right then drive straight, we'll end up on route 3 onto the interstate.”

“Hornets' nest?”

“It's a skate/stunt park. You'll see it after we get away from the mountain.”

Just as you said Toby saw the Hornet's Nest as he turned onto the road leaving the mountain. By the time you were on route 3 your phone had charged up to seven percent. Enough to turn it on and put on a playlist. You put on one of your sea shanty and folk punk combos.

Toby hasn't even let the song get thirty seconds under way. “No vetoed, we are not listening to sea shanties.”

So he does have music preferences, fair enough. You switch to a playlist with a more chilled electric vibe that has a few oldies tossed into the mix. Toby hasn't heard this playlist before and you are determined to learn his music tastes today.

“Wait wait wait, so you'll listen to folk punk but not sea shanties?”

“How are those even related?”

“They are literally the same thing.”

The two of you continue to bicker back and forth about how similar, or different, shanties and folk punk are. Occasionally it's broken when you read a sign, noticing Toby's horrible squinting, to see if you're on the right route to...well you don't know the destination Toby's been ignoring most of the exits for the past forty minutes though you're sure you two could find a gas station with a slushy machine at any one of the surrounding towns.

You don't mind though you're really enjoying the ride. The soft sounds of the car cutting through the wind at seventy three miles an hour. And the dull hum from the engine falling into the background as They Might Be Giants plays softly through the radio. With a majority of his focus being directed to the road  and the handful of other cars around you, your conversation is limited to topics that don't require much thinking. Really you've just ended up playing twenty questions with the other pulling uno reverse.

Not life altering secrets or deep talks...well until the question was favorite romantic comedy.

“How is Venom a romantic comedy?” Toby laughs after you answer.

“They kiss!” Toby just snorts.

“No Venom in Anne's body kisses Eddie.”

“Yes Venom kissed Eddie. Romance.”

You hear the murmur of 'oh my fucking God' come from Toby as you giggle in your seat. Having been egged on by that simple phrase you continue.

“Eddie is always giving Venom chocolates.”

“Oh yes, sorry, that's very romance.” Toby laughs out rolling his eyes.

“Thank you, I'm glad I could enlighten...” you pause as a sign for the next exit catches your eye. Had you two already driven two hours? Time really does fly when you're having fun. “Hey next exit, Franklin.”

“Thanks got it.” this time he turns on the blinker to get over into the exiting lane.

“What gas station am I looking for?” smart man. He's stopped asking for specific directions and is now asking for a land marker.

“Giant baby.” the car comes to a stop at a red light and Toby takes his eyes off the road to face you.

“...is this...will I just know when I see it.” “When you see it” you say the last part in unison with him nodding solemnly.

To his credit Toby has gone a long way with your weird antics, despite being your official friend for less than a full day. Keeping up with this pattern he doesn't ask anymore questions about this giant baby, keeping his eyes peeled for anything worthy of that title. His valent efforts are rewarded not even ten blocks from the turnpike.

“Is that...”

“Giant baby.” you nod knowing he sees the giant opposum decal in the window of the beat up gas station.

Opening your glove box you remove a spare mask for yourself before offering a sealed in package one for Toby. Who readily takes it after he parks your car in front of the store. Turning to look at you, you can read all the skepticism on his face. It's funny how this is where he questions you, your destination and not like the way over here-or the moment right after you told him you had no sense of direction.

“They have the four divide mega slush.”

“What the hell is that?”

With a coy smile you put on your mask and exit the car waiting at the front for your friend to get his shit together. He doesn't take long to follow you, Connor's lead in hand, into the gas station.

For as dingy and beat up as it looks on the outside it isn't bad once you step inside. Might actually be cleaner than the mini mart in Kelper. Toby glances around taking a mental tally of all the patrons in the store and their positions. He does this a bit. Just hyper aware of everyone when in enclosed spaces.

Dragging him over to the slushy machine after acknowledging the cashier's greeting. Showing him the four divider mega slush cup you demonstrate how it works. Choosing the only three flavors you like and adding a random extra of the three into the forth slot.

The face he makes when you stick the straw in the middle is priceless.

Toby demonstrates how a slushy should be made. Grabbing the single cup and over filling it with cherry flavored ice. He doesn't pick up a straw and you two make your way to the counter.

Since Toby drove here you had no problem paying but he was quicker to get his wallet out and hand the cashier a ten for your slushies. They give him back his change and you two wind up back in the car, taking off your masks.

You take a long sip from you drink.

“I can't believe we drove for two hours for you to just wreck your taste buds.” a playful disdain in his voice.

“Not 'we', you.”

He cuts his eyes at you before shaking his slushy into his open mouth. Guess he couldn't use a straw when he was missing part of his cheek. No suction there.

“So?” you say adding the questioning lilt to your voice.

He shrugs, “It's good.”

“Worth the drive?” He shakes his head.

“Nah - drive made it worth it.”

[strangeradventuresofp]

nervous (five x reader)

requested by : @pixiefella​  -   Heyo! It’s me again hshshs. So here’s my idea: five x male reader, where the reader is autistic and stims a lot (stimming is something autistic people do to relay emotions and relieve pressure and such hdhdh) and maybe Diego says something or makes fun of him and five goes into defense mode?

A/N : hihi thanks for waiting so long for me to complete this im sorry it took me so long hhhhh but i hope you like it!! gender of reader is not specified / referred to as 'they/them/partner' i hope thats okay!!<33 also au where five didn’t time travel and they’re all about 20 years old i guess lol xo p

“Five, are you sure your family even want to meet me? You said yourself that they’re busy people, a-and I don’t wanna bother them or-”

“Y/N, stop.” Your boyfriend placed his hand on your cheek gently, smiling as his eyes met yours. “You don’t have to be so nervous, I’m right here with you, okay?” He took your hand in his, squeezing it gently in an attempt to comfort you, which you were grateful for, and you nodded as he pushed the gate of the academy open, leading you up the concrete steps so the two of you were face to face with the large door. Anxiety flooded your body, your palms beginning to get sweaty. Five pressed a consoling kiss to your cheek before wrapping his fingers around the door handle, and thrusting open the door.

~~~

The first time you had met Five, you were nervous to even look at him, in case he got the wrong idea. It was in Griddy’s, the doughnut shop a few blocks away from the Umbrella Academy. He entered in a blue blazer and shorts, with long socks that ended just before his knees. Piercing eyes bored into yours as he made his way up to the counter, where you were sat. You couldn't help but gawk at him as he sat down, overwhelmed with how confident he carried himself. He tensed and untensed his jaw and you turned back to your coffee, swirling it around in the cup. You began to rock back and forth slowly, nervously as you felt his eyes on you again. When you tugged at the ends of your hair, he frowned.

"Are you okay?" His voice was soft and gentle, hardly how you had expected it to be and you nodded, pulling your hair harder a few more times before returning to soft tugs. "Black coffee, huh? Good choice. It's my favorite." A kind smile took over his lips and you felt your nervousness dissipate a little, the rocking slowing down, the tugs getting gentler.

"Mine t-too. I like the bitter taste. It's simple." He smiled wider and a slight smile found its way to your lips in return.

"What's your name?"

"Y/N."

"That's a nice name. I'm Five."

The two of you sat in a content silence as you sipped at your coffees, not having to speak to enjoy each others company. It meant a lot that he didn't even know you and he had tried to make you feel more comfortable and less nervous.

Griddy's became a weekly thing, and then eventually an every other day thing until he finally asked you to be with him and, of course, you said yes. You had never been so comfortable around anyone and it warmed your heart that he took a chance on a random person in a doughnut shop and it worked in your favor.

~~~

Upon stepping into the academy where your boyfriend had grown up, you were instantly taken aback at the sight. It all seemed so incredible and big, and posh. You were immediately overwhelmed, you couldn't deny.

Five slipped his hand into yours, intertwining your fingers in consolation. Your free hand began flapping by your side, a couple whimpers escaping your lips when your anxiety caught up with you. Slowly, you were led into the living room, giving you an oppurtunity to scout out your surroundings to try and familiarise yourself with the way that it looked while your hands stopped moving.

When you walked in, five people were sat, spread out among the two couches and numerous sitting chairs. One of the girls sat down was very pretty, with ringlets stuck in her caramel hair. She gave you a dazzling smile and you felt like bowing to her, an aura of regality surrounding her. The other girl was also pretty, but hardly seemed as confident in herself as the other did. Her dark hair covered a lot of her face and her lips turned up into a shy smile when she saw you.

There were three boys. One was extremely well built, his body smothered in a large coat that swallowed him up completely. He gave you an awkward nod, as if he was confused as to why he was there. Another smiled wonderfully at you, raising a hand in her direction that said 'Hello'. His hair seemed matted he wore an outdated leather skirt and a jacket over the top of his bare chest. A glass containing some sort of alcohol occupied his other hand. The final boy intimdated you the most. He gave you no smile, no nod, no sense of acknowledgement. The only reason you knew that he knew you were there, was that his eyes didn't leave your body. His eyes were dark and his outfit consisted of many knives strapped to his body.

"Everybody, this is Y/N, my partner." All apart from knife boy said a hello or hi as Five introduced you. "Y/N, this is Allison, Vanya, Luther, Klaus and Diego." He gestured to each of his siblings when calling their names, the majority giving you a little wave when you smiled politely.

Unfortunately, how polite you tried to be couldn't hide your nervousness. Inevitably, your anxiety bubbled over and one of your hands flapped while the other pulled at your hair.

"What's wrong with them?" Diego snickered and Five's eyes instantly filled with murderous intent. He gently placed his hand on your shoulder.

"Y/N, dear. Would you please go and find me a new pair of socks? Mine are wet from stepping in a puddle on the way here." His eyes were gentle when he looked at you and he smiled softly. "Bedrooms are upstairs, love." As soon as he heard your footsteps reach the top of the stairs, his eyes turned dark again and his head snapped towards his siblings.

"Alright, shitstain." His finger pointed firm towards Diego. "If you even dare to say a word about Y/N again, I will personally see to it that a bullet is put through your thick skull. And if you don't like that idea, I will quite happily murder you in the worst way imaginable." Five's face was serious, his fists clenched by his sides.

"Now, when they walk back in, you are going to apologise and we're gonna forget this ever happened."

"What if I don't?" Diego asked, a smirk on his lips. His face quickly fell to one of shock as a flash of blue light appeared in front of him, a sharp object grazing against the sensitive skin of his neck.

"Oh, you will." A maniacal smirk crept onto Five's face, one which Diego found a little worrying. He would never actually hurt his siblings; this was just to warn him and the others that he would do anything to protect you and wouldn't tolerate anyone making fun of you. And it worked, they all looked nervous, on the edge of their seats and not in a good way. Another blue flash of light appeared as your footsteps echoed down the wooden steps, the clang of a knife hitting the floor creating a silence until you reentered.

"Thank you, angel." Five smiled and pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek, taking the balled up socks from your fingers and sitting down, beginning to take off his shoes and socks, replacing the old with the new. His socks weren't even wet, but the time away gave him an oppurtunity to threaten Diego for laughing at you and it gave you an oppurtunity to calm down a little.

Your eyes stared at your feet and you picked your fingers anxiously. Five, from behind you, looked up at Diego, shooting him a glare that caused Number Two to clear his throat, earning a look from you.

"Y/N, I'm sorry for earlier. It was unfair." You nodded at Diego's words, looking back down. A sigh fell from Klaus' lips and Allison cleared her throat quietly.

"So, how did you two meet?" Vanya gave you a comforting smile when she asked the question and you and Five took it in turns to tell parts of the story. Gradually, you got more and more comfortable and by the end of the day, you were good friends with all of them, even Diego. You admired his superhero complex despite everyone else in the room hating it with a passion. Five watched you the entire time, a smile on his face.

Now, the two of you were walking to your home. One of Five's jackets was hung over your shoulders and his fingers were intertwined with yours. The two of you walked in a comfortable silence and you often felt his eyes on you. When you caught sight of his face, a content smile was on his lips. When you pulled up to your door, you smiled at him, and he smiled back.

"Thank you for today. I know how scared you were to meet my family, but you did it anyway. So, thank you, Y/N." His eyes were sincere and you hugged him gently.

"I loved it. I hope I can see them again some time." Five smiled wider at your words, cupping your cheek as he pressed his lips to yours. He felt you smile against his lips and you pulled away after a few minutes.

"I love you."

"I love you too, Five."

my masterlist

[nommy-thoughts]

Mastication Concentration

Summary: Logan usually chews gum while he studies, but today he is out. Remus volunteers to take its place.

Contains: Hard-ish vore (idk exactly where it falls. There’s chewing, obviously, and even rough chewing at points, but the only injuries sustained are bruises). Brief mention of digestion.

Wordcount: 2.9 K

[more of my vore writing]

~~~~~

“Do you have any gum?”

The sides in the living room look up. Logan’s on the stairs, leaning over the banister and looking down at them.

“Gum?” Patton repeats.

Logan nods. “I’m out,” he says. “I’ve already drunk five mugs of tea, I can’t just keep making more. And chewlery is just too squeaky right now, and I’m trying not to destroy any more shirt collars. So, do you have any gum?”

They exchange glances. Nobody, it seems, has gum. Then Remus perks up excitedly. “Ooh!”

Logan, relieved, starts to say, “You have—”

“Me!”

Logan pauses. “What?”

“Chew on me!” Remus elaborates, bounding to his feet and hurrying over to the stairwell. He grabs a railing in each hand, looking up at Logan imploringly.

Logan makes a face. Then pauses. Reconsiders. “That… that actually might be a worthwhile stim,” he admits. Remus squeals happily, and Logan adds, “But no injuries. I don’t want blood in my mouth; I don’t like the taste.”

Remus rolls his eyes. “Oh, fine. I’ll be durable.” But he’s still grinning broadly. With a dramatic flourish, he summons the shrinking device. Scampering around the corner and up the stairs next to Logan, he sets it. Then, with a flash of sickly green light, he appears to vanish. Logan knows, however, that in reality, Remus has simply shrunk out of Logan’s eyeline. He looks down, and sure enough, there he is.

The device, no longer supported by Remus’s hands, falls from the air. It nearly strikes Remus in the head, missing by less than an inch, and crashes into the carpeted floor beside him. It bounces, skiddering off the step. It continues to fall, bounce, and roll its way down the entire flight of stairs, but nobody pays it much mind. They can always resummon it when they need it again.

Logan bends down, scooping up the now miniature Remus into his hand. He considers his fellow side for a moment, then nods, lifting Remus to his lips. A moment before he inserts him, however, Logan pauses.

“When was your last shower?”

“Does Thomas’s last night count?”

Logan frowns. “As I recall, you just sat on the soap tray, making various random thoughts pop into Thomas’s head, and didn’t even get wet, let alone wash.”

“That’s true.”

“No, it doesn’t count. When did you last wash?”

Remus thinks back further, absently shimmying his shoulders as he does so. After a few moments, Logan sighs.

“Not recently enough,” he concludes. Remus in hand, Logan heads up the stairs. In the bathroom, he plops the shrunken creative side into the sink and turns it on. Squeezing a large dollop of hand soap into his palm, Logan begins to lather Remus up, rubbing the soap into his clothes and skin. Remus squirms. He’s not trying to get away, but he quite enjoys being a slippery problem, and if it means that Logan has to apply a bit more force to get the job done, well. Remus likes being manhandled.

Due to Remus’s constant movement, getting him clean takes rather longer than it needed to, but in the end, Logan is satisfied. He holds Remus directly under the streaming faucet to rinse off, considering the spluttering that results to be fair payback for making things difficult.

“Okay, you’re clean.”

Remus cheers. “Now eat me!”

“I’m not going to eat you,” Logan corrects. “I’m going to chew on you. There’s a difference.”

Remus shrugs. “Not a big one.”

“I suppose not.” Logan considers his shrunken friend for a few moments more, then nods, heading back toward his own room. Once inside, he sits down at his desk.

“C’mon,” Remus pleads. “Put me in your mouth already!”

Logan does so, head first to shut him up. Remus isn’t small enough to fit entirely inside his mouth, so his legs dangle from between Logan’s lips.

As Logan settles back into his study routine, he slowly begins to lick and suck on Remus like a piece of candy. He doesn’t taste like a piece of candy, but thanks to the sink bath Logan just gave him, he doesn’t taste bad, either. Along with the licks, Logan tugs absently on Remus’s ankle, like he might with the stick of a lollipop.

After about a minute, Logan summons the shrinking device with a gesture. He adjusts it, and he activates it again. Remus shrinks.

Logan slurps Remus the rest of the way into his mouth. Positioning him lengthwise along his lower left molars, Logan gently bites down. Remus is somewhat soft and squishy, but there’s some firmness to him too. Logan uses his tongue to move Remus across his mouth to the other side, trying a bite there too. He nods to himself. The sensation is different than that of gum or chewlery, sure, but he believes this will work. Logan returns to his studies.

Inside of Logan’s mouth, it is dark, and warm, and wet. In other words, it’s perfect. Logan’s tongue, bigger than Remus’s entire body, lifts him, crushing him against the roof of Logan’s mouth and knocking the air from his lungs with the force. Pinned in place by the enormous squishy muscle, Remus can’t even wiggle. Logan overpowers him without hardly trying. Echoing all around him, Remus hears an enormous glk as Logan swallows the saliva that had been building up around him.

He has never found the nerd more attractive than in this moment.

Logan’s tongue drops, and Remus drops with it. The large muscle tilts under him, rolling Remus around Logan’s mouth. He’s quickly dizzy and disoriented, and the first time that he has long enough to get his bearings is when Logan shifts him between his back teeth again so that Remus lies, sprawled on his front, across the bumpy teeth. They lift, pressing Remus’s back against the equally bumpy ceiling, and slowly squeeze all the air from his lungs. Logan holds him like that, delightfully snug, for several long seconds. Remus considers blacking out from the lack of oxygen, but decides that he’d rather stay conscious to enjoy the rest of the experience. If he gets bored — which he doesn’t expect to happen, but you never know, he’s had incapacitating boredom strike at the weirdest and most inconvenient moments before — he can pass out then.

After a while, the pressure releases. Remus gasps in a breath of — not fresh air, not really, he is inside a mouth, after all. But it doesn’t smell that bad, either. Unfortunately. All that dental hygiene must’ve given Logan un-bad breath. Actually, Remus realizes, he can smell some of that tea Logan said he drank, though not well enough to guess at what kind it was.

Logan bites him again, the same way. And again. It’s rhythmic, soothing. After a while, Logan moves him over to the other side, and does the exact same kind of crushing bite over there.

After he’s done that enough times that Remus has gotten used to it and is getting bored, Logan changes it up. He moves Remus to the front of his mouth and nibbles on Remus’s ankles with his front teeth. Since his ankles are, of course, boney, they don’t provide much give. If Logan hadn’t made him promise not to, this would have been a good opportunity to break something. Remus wonders, then, if breaking an ankle really would be a breach of that promise. On the one hand, Logan had said “no injuries,” which would technically include broken bones. On the other hand, the only reason he had given was blood, and if Remus just made sure his skin stayed intact, he wouldn’t bleed.

Before Remus could come to a decision, Logan moves him again. Apparently he didn’t like this position nearly as much as the one before. Logan’s tongue pushes at Remus, shoving his legs between teeth and lips, til he can feel the cold outer air on his toes. He wiggles them.

Logan nibbles on Remus’s calves now, which have more muscle to pad them, though not from all angles.

Remus decides that bruises are acceptable under their terms. Logan won’t feel a crunch or taste blood, but Remus will be able to tell the difference. And really, the way Logan’s biting him, his shins should be bruising. And now they are. Remus grins.

Logan shifts again before long. He pushes Remus even further out his mouth, so that Remus’s hips balance uncomfortably on Logan’s front teeth. They’ll be bruising too. His legs stick out of Logan’s mouth. Since his hips are still inside, and a fair portion of his thighs are supported by Logan’s lips, and since he’s lying on his face, meaning his knees bend up, not down, Remus’s legs don’t dangle. He wonders if he’s big enough to kick Logan in the nose, but before he can try, Logan pinches his legs between his fingers, rendering him immobile. Then Logan bites.

His teeth slip off Remus’s hips, thrusting into his stomach instead. Remus’s stomach, having no bones in it, offers considerably less resistance than Logan was probably expecting, and Logan’s teeth sink deep.

Remus nearly pukes. The only thing that stops him from actually doing so is the realization that if he throws up in Logan’s mouth, Logan will spit him out and probably not put him back in again, perhaps not ever. So Remus swallows the bile, forcing it to stay down with sheer willpower.

The pressure against his gut releases, and Remus gulps down air. He has only a second’s reprieve before Logan bites down again, but this time it’s a bit slower, a bit gentler. He still presses his teeth far enough into Remus’s midsection that the shrunken Creativity muses that if not for his promise of no injuries, he’d be bitten in half by now.

Logan seems to like the squishiness of Remus’s gut. He keeps him there for a good while, squishing Remus’s stomach in on itself with his teeth and making its contents want to squeeze up and out his throat each time. It takes a lot of Remus’s concentration to keep the mix of acid and partly-digested food inside, until he remembers that he can simply banish it from reality. It takes only a quick gesture to do so, and then, stomach empty, Remus can finally enjoy the sensation of being chewed on without distractions.

Two bites later, Logan presses his teeth hard into Remus’s stomach, and then slowly pulls his lower jaw back, effectively heimliching Remus. It’s a good thing Remus had banished his breakfast, because otherwise, there was no way he’d be able to keep it down. Logan rocks his teeth forward again, not stopping when they bump Remus’s pelvis. Slowly, Remus finds himself being pushed out of Logan’s mouth. He can feel Logan’s upper teeth scraping along his back, bumping each vertebra as they go.

He can feel cold air on his butt. He’s more outside Logan’s mouth than in, at this point. Logan’s upper teeth are behind Remus’s shoulders, shoving his face down into Logan’s tongue, and his lower teeth, though considerably less deep into Remus’s stomach without an opposing force to hold him in place, force Remus’s butt to stick up in the air.

Logan holds him there for just a second before reversing directions. His teeth slide up Remus’s belly until they catch on the bottom of his ribcage. Slowly, he’s dragged back inside Logan’s mouth, back to where he started. Logan’s teeth press harder and harder into him as they go, smushing Remus’s organs. (He’s not exactly sure what he’s got right there, but he’s pretty sure there are some organs getting smushed right now. Maybe a spleen? Yeah, Logan’s probably smushing Remus’s spleen.)

After Logan’s got Remus back where he started, he does it again. And again. Over and over, Logan pushes and pulls Remus around, not once releasing the pressure. He doesn’t exactly heimlich Remus again, since his teeth are sinking in at the wrong spot for that, but Remus feels reasonably certain that his spleen is paste by the time Logan switches it up again.

Logan slurps Remus all the way into his mouth, and for a few seconds, the lack of crushing pressure is disorienting. Remus lies on his face, catching his breath.

Then Logan tilts his tongue, and Remus rolls like a log til he lands on something hard and bumpy. Logan’s teeth, he realizes. He’s on his side, facing Logan’s cheek — he thinks; it’s too dark to actually see, but based on the direction he’d rolled and the side he’s lying on, he’s pretty sure Logan’s cheek is in front of him, and his tongue behind — with one arm flopped over him and the other pinned awkwardly underneath. His head smarts from striking the tooth, and so does one knee.

He’s only given half a second to make these observations, because Logan immediately bites down. He chomps, really, with enough force to immediately break all of Remus’s ribs if only he hadn’t promised not to get hurt. The teeth separate, and Remus finds himself suspended for a moment, the soft flesh of Logan’s cheek in front of him and the slightly rougher tongue behind supporting him so he does not fall. Logan chomps again, and this time as he releases, he spins Remus with tongue and cheek so that Remus lands on his face once more. Chomp. Spin. Remus lies on his other side. Chomp. Spin. Now on his back. Chomp. Spin. Back to the first side.

It occurs to Remus, as Logan continues to aggressively chew on him, that the nerd is finally treating him as what he’s standing in for, as gum. Remus isn’t quite as squishy, but Logan doesn’t appear to mind.

Remus wonders if Logan will try to blow a bubble with him. That might be fun, being stretched out like gum.

Logan doesn’t, though. He just chews Remus up for several minutes, not even pausing to shift him to the other side. Vaguely, between bites, Remus wonders what the nerd is studying right now. What emotions translate to chewing so intensely? Is Logan reading something exciting? Something infuriating? Is he trying to puzzle out some twisty bit of logic? It doesn’t really matter in the moment, but Remus still finds himself curious.

Eventually, Logan’s bites slow again. He grips Remus (lying on his face again) between his teeth and, almost gently, especially compared to moments before, slowly crushes the air out of his lungs. Remus’s spine goes pop pop pop. There’s a particularly satisfying pop at his hips. After a second, Logan releases the pressure. He shifts his jaw around, dragging his teeth across Remus’s back. Remus sighs happily, relaxing. It’s almost like a massage.

The sensation is pleasant enough that Remus almost falls asleep. Perhaps he does fall asleep. He certainly loses track of what Logan does after that.

Some time later, he has no idea how long, Logan spits him out. Well, no, he’s gentler about it than that. Logan sticks a finger in his mouth and uses it to drag Remus out. He pinches the spit-covered Creativity between thumb and forefinger, looking him over.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” Logan asks.

Remus grins and flips him off — almost his equivalent of a thumb’s up, in the current context. “Why’d you stop?”

“I have concluded my studies for the time being,” Logan answers. “Thank you for your assistance. You were quite helpful.”

Remus beams.

“Would you be amenable to repeating this experience at a future date?”

Remus grins. “You wanna chew on me again?”

Logan nods. “As I said, you were quite the aid to my concentration.”

Remus wiggles happily. “Yeah I wanna do it again!”

“Excellent. Would you like me to swallow you now?”

“Will you digest me?”

“No.”

Remus droops, pouting. “Aww.”

“However,” Logan adds, “I intend to get an actual snack as well, and I have no objections if you wish to observe as it digests.”

Remus considers for half a second, then nods, accepting those terms. “Can I get stomach burns?”

“No, I would prefer not to digest you at all, even superficially.”

“Fiiiine.” But there’s no hiding that Remus is eager to be eaten, even with the restrictions. “Chew me up one more time before you swallow?”

“Very well. Anything else?”

Remus shakes his head, reaching up toward Logan’s mouth and making grabby hands. Logan chuckles.

“In you go, then,” he says, lifting Remus up. He dangles him above his gaping maw, and Remus stares down into it, his heart thudding in delighted terror. Then Logan drops him.

Remus screams as he falls, flailing in the air. He lands on Logan’s tongue, and the mouth snaps shut after him. Before he can get his bearings, Logan’s shoved him back between his teeth, chewing forcefully on him.

Then Logan swallows, and Remus slides head first down his throat, whooping all the way. He gets stomach acid in his mouth when he splashes into it.

Bobbing back up to the surface, Remus flicks his fingers, creating a light so he can see his surroundings. At the moment, he appears to be the only solid in here. But not for long, he thinks with a smirk, settling down against the wrinkled wall.

Maybe he can even convince the nerd to leave him in here through dinner. If Logan objects to Remus skipping a meal, Remus can just have some of Logan’s portion. Isn’t like the big guy would miss the amount it’d take to fill Remus’s tiny gut right now, anyway.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

I was thinking, what if Jake accidentally triggered Chris? Like maybe Jake casually says something that sir would say when he was about to punish Chris. He’d probably feel so guilty.

So this isn’t exactly what you asked for, but it hits on another ask I received and is very similar! (sorry, other asker, I ended up losing your ask because Tumblr sucks)

CW: References to past whump involving a minor. PTSD/trauma response to stressful stimuli. Includes description of stimming including head banging. VERY vague references to past implied noncon.

Chris’s mind runs fast. Not as fast as his mouth, but that’s okay, he can mostly catch up to himself if he works at it. His mind runs fast but it also derails and crashes on tiny details when he’s trying to finish his chores, and he never had chores before he came to live here but he doesn’t mind them - it’s just hard to get them done when there keep being so many other things to look at.

He’s supposed to be cleaning the living room, and it takes Jake maybe half an hour to do this but Chris has been at it for nearly forty-five minutes, he thinks, maybe longer… and he’s still just trying to finish dusting all the shelves.

The thing is - the TV is on, because he likes the background noise, but words keep catching his attention, little phrases and bits of information his brain wants to add to the constant loop of his thoughts. Plus - plus, on top of the TV and the swirly letters he can’t read on all the books, and the way the throw pillows have kind of a cool texture - on top of all of that, there’s a chipmunk outside.

He knows it’s a chipmunk because Jake told him about how they chirp, which he didn’t know before he came here. Chris mostly didn’t know anything before he came here, but he’s learning, piece by piece.

The chirping keeps catching his attention, drawing him away, slowing him down. He’s no good at cleaning, he can’t think about it long enough, cleaning is too slow and too methodical for his brain. But he likes doing chores, because chores mean he belongs here.

He fluffs a throw pillow, then runs his fingertips over the rough braided texture right down the center, a change from the silky-touch feel of the sides. Silk, rough, silk, rough, silk, rough.

His eyes start to unfocus, go slightly blank.

Silk, rough, just like-

“How’s it going, Chris?” Nat calls from upstairs. She’s turning over all the mattresses and changing the sheets today, Antoni is with her, while Leila works on cleaning the bathroom upstairs and Jake’s down here, in the kitchen, just a few feet away. 

“It’s, it’s, it’s it’s it’s good!” Chris calls back, jerking himself into motion, but he can hear the chipmunk outside still, calling and calling and calling. Is it missing someone?

Do I miss someone?

The thought breaks in, strange and uncertain, hardly his own. It’s plaintive, sad. It’s a thought that belongs to Baldur in the dark nights, and to the numbered boy before that in the flat white room. It’s not a thought that belongs to Chris, who stands next to the window and looks out into  sunny day. It’s not a thought he wants.

So he ignores it.

 Thoughts like that come with headaches that leave him shaking in the dark, and he’s very good at ignoring anything that might bring on the pain again.

He moves to clean around the windowsills, which - who ever heard of doing that, but it’s on the list she reads out to him, and he tries to remember everything. He’s getting better.

The chipmunk chirps outside the window, a kind of throat-swallow sound, and Chris finds himself echoing the noise, making a high-pitched eep-eep-eep sound. It doesn’t sound like the chipmunk at all, but the little animal goes silent outside when he does it, and Chris feels a thrill.

It understood I was trying to talk to it. Maybe it’s listening to me.

That’s a silly thought, and he tries to tell himself it’s stupid, but when he thinks awful things about himself he can kind of hear how Jake would respond if he said them out loud. You’re smart, Chris, you’re smarter than you think you are - you’re brilliant in there, we’re just bringing it back out. Don’t talk down about yourself. The way you think about yourself is how you think about the world.

Chris mostly loves the world, now. So he tries to love himself.

The chipmunk starts back up again, and Chris moves closer, a smile on his face. Slow, and careful, step by step, cleaning forgotten, he tilts his head and-… there it is. Tiny body no bigger than a mouse in a movie, reddish-brown with the black and white stripes across its head and down its back.

Jake says they have stripes like that because the things that eat them don’t see color like people do, and the stripes help them hide.

I wish I had stripes to help me hide.

But the thought doesn’t matter, because Chris doesn’t have to hide anymore. He puts that thought away, too. Lets it sink into the revolving mix of things going on inside his mind at any given moment. Right now it’s mostly the chipmunk.

His hand keeps moving with the rag in it, wiping back and forth across the windowsill, spraying the glass cleaner and wiping at that, too, but it’s half-hearted and he knows he’s leaving streaks. He just… can’t quite stop thinking about the little chipmunk he can just see, hardly a breath of an animal, sitting in Nat’s grass under the white birch tree in her front yard.

If you go to the tree you can peel strips of white and black bark away, easy as cake, like peeling away all his skin to find the real him underneath.

There’s a voice, behind him, from the TV. Smooth, genial, warm and slightly arrogant, the voice of someone who has total and perfect confidence in themselves. 

Chris drops the glass cleaner, the plastic bottle bouncing off the floor. The chipmunk catches some hint of the sudden movement and takes off, disappearing in the blink of an eye.

“Of course, Deborah. But I don’t think it’s fair to remove this right that’s been enshrined in our laws since 1952 just because a few protesters get their, well, I won’t say it in polite company. But just because a few protesters are bothered, that’s no reason to get rid of an entire system that’s working just fine. We need to crack down on abuse, of course, and these nasty rumors about illegal acquisition - which, I know the head of WRU personally, I can tell you that’s all a bunch of nonsense-”

Chris’s constant running barrage of thoughts comes to a stuttering halt.

He turns slowly around, cleaning rag still clutched in his other hand, his heart somewhere trapped around his knees, to stare at the TV.

There’s a woman on the screen right now, with blonde hair shellacked in a kind of circle around her head, wearing bright red lipstick and a dress to match. She tilts her head at a practiced angle, and Chris unconsciously echoes the motion. His free hand twists, fingers twitching in a kind of dance, before they tap against his own side. Tap-tap-tap-tap, the motion soothing him, calming him, a rush of something pleasant that fights the fear.

“Of course, Governor Branch-”

“Oh, how do I love to hear myself called that, still,” The man replies. He sits back, the slight shine of the light off his hair makes Chris dizzy. He can almost smell the hair product that’s in it, can almost feel the smooth fabric of the suit Sir is wearing slipping through his fingers.

That’s the one he wore the night Miss Megan saved me.

“Speaking of illegal acquisitions, there’ve been persistent rumors surrounding WRU and its competing corporations about pet abuse, abductions, even minors being put into the system. What would you say o the protesters and pet liberation groups asking for better, more thorough investigations? Would you support the call for a Congressional investigation?””

Sir laughs - it’s a lovely laugh, pulling a smile onto the woman’s face, it’s a laugh Chris has dreams and nightmares about - and Chris lets out a choked-off sound. 

Baldur, darling, you do know how to make a man laugh, don’t you?

His fingers twist faster, tap harder into his side. He steps away, stumbling gracelessly, until he can find a hard surface, the wall. He taps on it as fast as he can, a constant barrage of tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap, holding back the worst of the fear, keeping it at bay.

The rush of the sensation isn’t enough to beat back the fog in his mind. He’s buying time but not enough. He can hear Jake singing to himself in the kitchen, and his mouth opens to call, to say, that’s him, that’s my Sir, that’s him on TV, but no sound comes out.

Outside, the chipmunk starts chirping again.

Chris slides down to the floor, curling himself up into a ball, staring fixedly at the screen. 

“Deborah, I have spoken to my good friend Timothy Rahm - current CEO of WRU, sorry, not all your viewers are going to know that, are they? - and he has assured me again and again that WRU has absolutely no minors in the system. They have strict physical examinations and quality control checks that ensure every single pet is of legal consenting age.”

Sir smiles, flash of bright white teeth. Chris thinks of whitening strips laid out in a little stray next to Sir’s sink. He had to look good for cameras. He does look good, in his suit with his tan and his sparkly amused eyes. 

Darlin’, don’t look upset. You’re going to stay right here in the basement for the party, can’t have anyone getting too good a look, can we?

But, but, but but I don’t like the, the basement, Sir I don’t-

Baldur. You’ll stay in the basement. No arguments.

Yes, Sir.

Chris leans his head over, until it thumps into the wall. Briefly, he feels a burst of better, a wash of something like adrenaline, but soothing, calming. So he does it again. And again. And again.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

The chipmunk is silent, listening outside to the sound of Chris as his thoughts revolve and focus around the man on the TV.

He can’t hear what they’re saying any longer, he doesn’t try to. He lets the sound of Sir’s voice, melodic and warm, wash over and around him, but if he keeps thumping his head on the wall - if he keeps tapping, too, if he can just do both - he won’t let him in.

Get him to stop doing that thing with his hand, it’s annoying as hell. I don’t care how, tie his fucking hands down. Teach him not to do that anymore.

The voice wants to trickle under his skin, but a good thump - it’s not painful, it doesn’t hurt, it’s only a shake out of his freezing, it’s holding back the sounds that would hurt if they made it too far in - knocks it back out.

Not yours. Not yours. Not yours. Not yours.

He chants along with the thumps of his head, the taps of his fingers. He whispers without sound. 

Better now. Better now. Better now. Better now.

His eyes go unfocused, and Sir is gone, but Chris can’t remember quite how to find his own way back. He doesn’t know how long he floats there, waiting. He doesn’t even know what he’s waiting for.

Someone crouches down in front of him and Chris flinches - no, no, he’s not supposed to touch the walls any longer, he has to stop or he’ll be in trouble again - only to feel Jake’s warm hands on his shoulders, up his neck, on either side of his face.

Jake’s smell, simple clean shower-smell, nothing like Sir’s heavy cologne. Jake smells like soap from the shower and fresh-cut grass from mowing the lawn this morning and the sun that shone in his hair when he did it, while Chris watched from inside.

“Chris?”

“I, I, I, I… I I I saw, I saw, I saw-”

Jake’s eyebrows furrow in concern, a hint of worry lines across his forehead. “What did you see, man? Can you tell me what you saw? Can you tell me what’s in your head right now?”

Sir isn’t on TV anymore. They’ve moved on to talk about something else. Chris swallows, looking up at Jake, then shoves himself forward to push into Jake’s chest, tap-tap-tapping on his side. Jake doesn’t stop him, Jake never ever stops him, he understands the tapping helps. Jake only puts one arm around him and holds him tightly, leaving the other down so Chris can tap, twist-fingers-tap-shirt, again and again.

The simple, clean rush of calm, bit by bit, building a wall to fight back the waves of awful things that want to dig under his skin.

“Chris, I need you to talk to me. What did you see? What happened?”

Chris closes his eyes, thinks of Sir’s smile, just like it always was. His laugh.

Thinks of being good in the dark.

“I saw a chipmunk,” Chris whispers. “Saw, I saw, there was a, a, a-a-a chipmunk, saw a chipmunk, saw-… then the TV, I-… on the, the TV on the tv there was, um, on the TV-”

“Okay. Okay, I know that wasn’t it, but… do you need me to turn off the TV? Would that help?”

Chris nods into Jake’s shirt, clutching hard onto the fabric, tapping his fingers. Hold it back, hold it back, push back the fear and the noise. “Heard, on the TV, I-I-I heard, I heard-”

“It’s okay. Look, I’m going to-… there, if I stretch I can just grab it-” Jake reaches out with his free hand, shakes the side table next to the couch until the remote drops off of it onto the floor within his reach. He turns off the TV and the sudden lack of sound fills the room with a new kind of weight. “No rush, buddy.” Jake squeezes Chris’s shoulders with one arm. “No rush to tell me. Take your time. You’re okay, you’re right here with us, this is Nat’s house. Nobody’s here but us, and we’re safe. I’ve got you, man.”

“You’ve, you’ve got me,” Chris whispers. He feels an urge to thump his head on Jake’s shoulder like he did on the wall, but manages not to. Only just. He can still hear Sir’s voice, like music that won’t stop playing, like when you get a song stuck in your head.

Sir would hate him wearing Jake’s big T-shirt, would hate the silky-mesh basketball shorts he wears all the time. Would hate his knobby knees sticking out from them, his sharp elbows that dig when he doesn’t mean them to. Sir hated his cold feet under the covers.

Jake doesn’t mind any of those things. Jake gives him the shirts he likes, and holds him, and doesn’t stop him from doing the things he has to do to keep his mind from running away too far for him to catch it. Sir was on the screen, but Jake has him here, and only one of those things is real.

Outside, a bit of bark peels away from the white birch tree in the wind, slowly revealing soft, easily-damaged wood the color of pale human skin underneath.

[punksarahreese]

Gloves | 4 mg Ativan

Nosdecember day 14 | @neworleansspecial

Anxious!Ava; Ava’s sensory issues get in the way of a surgery

CW: hospital trauma gore, panic attacks, sensory overload, self injury stims

***

“Ava!” Connor’s voice was barely audible over the chaos of the emergency department. It didn’t help that Ava was majorly overwhelmed, trying her hardest to focus on the task at hand so she didn’t have time to panic. It took a gentle nudge from April’s elbow meeting her ribcage before she was able to look up from the central line she had been doing.

“Go help him,” April ushered her out of the treatment room, “I can get a student to do this.”

Ava nodded, too much going on for her to be comfortable to respond. She slipped out of the crowded treatment room, pulling off the pair of gloves that had been making her increasingly uncomfortable. The ED was packed, chaos unfolding as Maggie tried to get the disaster protocol in place. A train accident had all hospitals in the area absolutely swamped with patients and Gaffney was getting the brunt of it due to its proximity. Ava and Connor had been called down to help with the traumas and assess any cases that would need surgical intervention. Connor was pleased; well, as pleased as a trauma surgeon is in such a morbid situation. He enjoyed the chaotic, fast-paced environment of the emergency department when it was experiencing a mass trauma. Ava, however, disliked that exact environment completely. She preferred the predictable, familiar OR where she was in charge and the only thing she had to worry about was finishing the procedure she could often do completely from muscle memory.

To say Ava was uncomfortable was an understatement. She hadn’t seen Sarah in a few hours, since the psychiatrist was jumping between the ED, the waiting room, and upstairs. Connor and her hadn’t been on great terms since their altercation in the CT lounge, especially after Ava had emerged from the room with makeup streaked down her red cheeks and other evident signs of a major panic attack. He didn’t apologize for making her meltdown and she didn’t ask for it; they just fell into some kind of silent cold war. No conversations had come up between them unless it involved work or faux-pleasantries to avoid confusing Latham. Since then, Ava had been increasingly more uncomfortable in Connor’s presence, so the last thing she wanted to do was go help him with a trauma. This meant she didn’t have a single person in her general vicinity to give her some semblance of security, which only worsened her anxiety.

“Finally,” Connor didn’t look up when Ava walked into Baghdad, which meant he missed the death glare she halfheartedly directed at him. He motioned for her to come closer, making her realize how much of a predicament this patient was in.

A large metal rebar was protruding from the upper chest of a teenage boy, whose clothing was bloodied and the rest of his body didn’t look much better. This was unfortunately something Ava had seen more than once since moving to Chicago. From the placement of the bar it looked like it would be a tricky surgery, though not one that Connor couldn’t do with the help of a resident. She wasn’t needed, not really, so why did he call her in here?

“Rebar to the anterior chest cavity, not through and through, pretty sure the bar snagged the left subclavian.”

“Where do you need me?” She tried her best to settle into her surgical mindset, ignoring the way the erratic beeping of the heart monitors was getting to her.

“I don’t think he can make it upstairs,” he was saying as he looked over the labs that Monique handed him, “You’ll need to go to the hybrid OR.”

“That doesn’t answer my question, Connor,” Ava gently lifted the gauze packed around the bar to check the wound, “You don’t need me, not for this. I could be helping with the other surgical candidates.”

“You’re going to do this, Ava,” Connor looked at her for the first time, “I have other patients already prepped upstairs.”

Ava’s heart sank. Not only was he forcing her to operate in an unfamiliar OR, he wouldn’t even be there for it. Usually Ava hated sharing her surgeries, especially with Connor, but today was just not a day for that. She hated traumas, was uncharacteristically unsure of things like this, so the thought of doing it without a trauma surgery assist sounded like a bad idea.

“Connor, no.”

“Ava, you’ll be fine,” he was already taking off his gloves and heading to leave the room, “The team’s already prepping, just get the bar out and repair the artery.”

“Connor!” He was already halfway past the nurse’s station by the time she had tried to stop him. Ava was painfully aware of the amount of eyes on her, the staff around her looking to the surgeon for clarification. She tried to take a deep breath but her lungs felt like they were in a vice, panic slowly setting in. She shouldn’t be this nervous, she tried to reason with herself, it was just another surgery. Everything was too much though; this was too much change at once.

“Doctor Bekker?”

“Right, uh,” Ava blinked rapidly as she looked over at the nurse, “Get him to the hybrid OR then. I’ll go scrub.”

She could do this.

She had to.

Five minutes later, she was scrubbing in. She didn’t like this at all, the OR in the emergency department was so different. It was new, yes, and very nice but it wasn’t her ORs. The huge glass windows looking into the ED only worsened it for Ava. She felt like a changed animal being watched at a zoo, except she couldn’t even pace to make herself feel better. She was on display and could see the chaos outside too, it was too much.

“Ready, Doctor Bekker?” some resident whose name she suddenly forgot asked from beside her. The young woman didn’t like Ava very much, probably because she thought she got in her way of Connor, but Ava could not care less. Residents were the least of her worries, especially now.

“Uh, yeah. Give me a second.”

She left the scrub area, going to get her gown and leaving Ava in silence. She got distracted by staring out the window, eyes tracking Natalie as she ran across the ED when a code blue sounded over the speakers. Ava didn’t realize how hard she had been scrubbing her hands until she looked down and saw how red her skin had become. Her anxiety was getting the better of her, making her revert to old compulsions in an attempt to soothe herself. She hadn’t been so obsessive about cleaning since med school, but she found herself washing her hands for a second time because something just felt off.

By the time Ava nudged the door to the OR open with her hip, her adrenaline was so high she wanted to run. Somehow it felt like her heart was going to jump from her chest, as anatomically incorrect as that might be. She was focusing on deep breaths while the scrub nurse helped her into her gown, but when she held open the first glove Ava knew this would be a problem.

Nitrile gloves were a sensory nightmare when she was anxious, as ironic as that was. Yes she was a surgeon and yes surgical gloves and the consistent beeping of heart monitors could trigger sensory meltdowns. Ava didn’t know for sure why and she had spent years forcing herself to ignore the anxiety that ate away at her stomach whenever she felt those gloves touch her skin.

Today was different though.

The second she had both gloves on she wanted to scream, the feeling of the material tight against her hands more uncomfortable than ever. She couldn’t stop herself from immediately reaching to touch her collarbone, a self-soothing stim she had since she could remember, subsequently breaking her sterile field when her hand brushed her neck. Cursing under her breath, Ava apologized and explained to the staff that she would need to go rescrub.

She ran to the sinks without thought, ripping the gloves and gown off her body the second she was out of the operating area. Her mind was a jumble of thoughts, heart rate probably above 160 if she had to guess. Everything was too much and even after tossing the offending gloves into the waste bin she felt like they were still there. The awful feeling of bugs crawling along her wrists and the powdery residue left behind from the nitrile made her want to gag.

Before she could stop herself, Ava clapped her hands over her ears. The yelling from the ED, the hum of the air conditioning, and the constant beeping of different machines was finally getting to her. The gloves had been her last straw though, bile rising to her throat at the thought of having to put them back on. Even when she scrubbed at her hands roughly with the harsh anti-microbial soap again she still felt them, the sensation making frustrated tears pop up without consent.

The next thing Ava knew she was on the floor. She couldn’t handle it anymore; everything was so much. She was crying, she knew it, but she couldn’t hear herself or anything else over the flood of thoughts that suddenly hit her. The rough texture of her scrubs was at the forefront of her mind, a constant reminder that she couldn’t exist without one thing touching her. Every tactile sensation was too much in that moment and a harsh sob left her throat.

All she could think about was what Connor said in the lounge that day. All of the intrusive, hateful thoughts that morphed themselves out of his words erupting in her head. Even though most of them weren’t ones Connor had actually said out loud, Ava’s anxiety took his anger poorly and had a hayday with the self-deprecation fuel.

All you do is get in the way, Ava.

Were you even thinking about the patient?

You’re so selfish.

This is so childish.

You’re not cut out to be a surgeon.

Ava was so far in her head she didn’t hear the nurses yelling, trying to get her attention. She didn’t hear Connor’s voice as he was asking her what the hell she was doing and what was wrong. All she could do was sob, short nails digging into her biceps with as much force as she could muster. She was so overwhelmed and everything was too much. She was hyperventilating, the room starting to spin, she was supposed to be doing a surgery. Why wasn’t she in surgery?

The next thing Ava knew she was waking up, disoriented because she didn’t remember falling asleep. It took her a few minutes of confused staring at the white ceiling before she realized she was in a patient room. Panic set in almost immediately, concern for the patient flooding her more than any concern for herself. She felt an immense wave of guilt; what had she done?

The rapid beeping of a heart monitor signaled her increasing tachycardia and that immediately caught someone’s attention. Sarah was there in seconds, hands landing cautiously on Ava’s cheeks to soothe her. Ava didn’t resist because she knew immediately that it was Sarah, relaxing into the touch but unable to make eye contact. She was still overwhelmed, despite the amount of sedatives undoubtedly circulating her system. The mental toll was just as bad as the physical and all she wanted to do was melt into Sarah’s arms and weep.

“Avey,” the pitying look that her girlfriend gave her sent guilt gnawing away at Ava’s stomach again, “Why did you push yourself this far?”

[siren1song]

For You

Summary: Logan and Roman are celebrating five years of marriage and get so incredibly distracted before they're even able to work on their plans for the day.

Warnings: None I can think of

Pairing: Logince

Word Count: 1,683

General Taglist: @acanvasofabillionsuns, @emo-disaster, @greenninjagal-blog, @jungle321jungle, @sleepy-sides, @gattonero17, @another-sandersidesblog, @strawberryjellystuff, @logic-with-a-pinch-of-deceit, @gr3ml1n-loser, @firey-alex, @orca-iguana, @spooky-scary-virgil, @yalltookmyurlideas, @sanderssidesweirdo, @stormypaint, @just-a-little-bit-gay-oops, @dying-is-a-hobby, @rose-gold-roman, @the-angry-ship, @rosesisupposes, @just-perhaps

Notes: Birthday fic for @main-chive. Ren you’re an amazing person ilysm

Commissions!! | Buy Me a Kofi!! | Join Casper’s Crew!! | Ao3 Link!!

There was so many things Logan loved about his husband. He could try to list them, but then he’d be stuck in bed with Roman’s arm thrown over his waist and head on his chest while Logan himself stared at the ceiling all day.

Well… he’d say the rest of the week but Logan wasn’t really one for exaggeration.

Maybe he’d list the top ten things and then get out of bed to make his love some breakfast? Learning to cook had been going well, and Logan didn’t want Roman to be the only one to make meals.

Alright, that sounded like a reasonable compromise. How to order this list though?

As Logan was trying to figure out if he wanted to go in descending or ascending order of some of his favorite things about Roman, his husband grunted in his sleep and shifted until his head was tucked just under Logan’s chin.

No particular order then.

“One,” he started, whispering softly as he removed his hand from behind his head to run his fingers through Roman’s hair, “incredibly adorable when sleeping.”

“Are you making lists while I’m trying to sleep again?” Roman mumbled, his voice hoarse but still full of amused affection at Logan’s actions.

“Yes, but this time the list centers around you. Surely that gives me a free pass?” he asked, unable to help the lift of the corners of his mouth, his heart metaphorically melting in his chest.

“Mmm, I suppose. The first one was calling me adorable?”

Logan chuckled, eyes tracking his husband as he shifted to supporting himself on his elbow so he could look down at Logan properly.

“Yes, when you’re sleeping you tend to get as close to me as possible and it makes me feel incredibly ‘mushy.’”

Another hum from Roman that turned into a yawn where he leaned back a little too far and landed on his back in the bed next to Logan.

“What’s the list then? All the features that make me the most attractive? You better not forget my love handles. Or the mole on my chin. They’re very important to how pretty I am.”

Gods above and below, Logan loved this man.

“And your surgery scars, and your crooked teeth, and your acne scars. Everything about you is beautiful, love. The list is some of the things I love bout you, in no particular order.”

Roman hummed (a little more successfully this time) with a little smile from Logan’s praise of his looks.

“No order this time? You usually try to at least go in ascending from least to most.”

Logan sat up, back pressed against the wall as he watched his husband with a soft smile.

“Yes well, pardon me for being unable to figure out any one thing about you I love more than anything else.”

Narrowing his eyes, Roman tilted his head in Logan’s direction, not doing much else to move.

“Are you buttering me up for something love?”

There was a snort, and Logan rolled his eyes.

“Have you forgotten it’s our anniversary we’re going to be going to the sunflower fields Janus has been taking care of?”

Roman shot up at the reminder, grin bright as his eyes locked on the closet.

“Oh, I can’t wait to wear the sun dress and sun hat I bought for this trip!”

Logan chuckled, mentally listed Roman’s enthusiasm for fashion at number two, and then prepared himself to leave the bed.

“Alright, you get dressed, I’ve got my own things to do to prepare.”

Roman waved him off, rolling out of the bed, slapping his chubby stomach in excitement a few times before going to the closet.

Gods above and below Logan loved that man.

At number three, Logan put Roman’s stimming with his own weight, and then he left the room to go take a shower before he got started on breakfast.

While he was getting dressed, Roman knocked on the bathroom door to get his attention.

“Yes dear?”

“Would you plug in the curling iron before you leave the bathroom? I want to be a little more feminine than usual today.”

Logan smiled, glancing towards Roman’s basket of hair products.

“Of course, love. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

“Thank you!”

When Logan was dressed in a comfortable pair of jeans and a blue tshirt he left the bathroom (having plugged in Roman’s curling iron and noting the closed bedroom door) and made his way to the kitchen.

He was going to do his best to make a simple breakfast of scrambled eggs, bacon, and sausage. Hopefully nothing would burst into flames this time.

“Logan, love, what are you doing?” Roman asked, entering the kitchen dressed in a beautiful sun dress that really complimented his body and his sun hat in his hands.

Looking to the eggs Logan was currently trying to save, he sighed.

“I’m attempting to cook breakfast. I managed the sausage and bacon, but at one point the eggs started to burn and I’m not entirely sure how to fix it.”

Roman’s smile was amused, and Logan knew he was doing his best not to tease Logan’s lack of skill in the kitchen.

“I’m flattered by the attempt love, but it’s not my birthday, today is a day for both of us. Why don’t you sit down and I’ll remake the eggs.”

Logan sighed, giving Roman a grateful smile as he sat heavily in his usual chair.

When Roman pressed a kiss to the top of his head, Logan’s heart swelled with affection and he couldn’t resist bringing his husband down for a peck on the lips.

The giggle Roman responded with only made Logan want to kiss him again.

“If you distract me with kisses we’ll have to get take out for breakfast,” Roman said, another giggle escaping his throat.

“Alright, I suppose your right. I’ll distract you with kisses after breakfast. Janus will have to tolerate us being a little late.”

His husband snorted, moving over to the stove to work on fixing Logan’s mistakes.

“We’re always late to everything on our anniversaries. Can we be on time for once?”

Logan let out an offended gasp, taking his years of watching Roman being dramatic to heart to really sell the fact he’s not at all offended.

“You would rather we skip out on our tradition of loving kisses and you trying to get away from my attempts to tickle you?”

Roman looked over his shoulder from where he was getting the pan ready to soak to get the burnt egg off easier to give Logan a look of exasperated fondness.

“As much as I love your kisses, I would like to cut out the squirming away from you jabbing your fingers into my sides from our “anniversary traditions,” love.”

Logan hummed, resting his arm on the back of his chair and his chin on top of it.

“Alright then, I suppose. I have other ways I can get you to squeal in that adorable way of yours.”

His husband huffed loudly, but Logan saw his smile as he turned back to the sink and turned off the water.

“You live to embarrass me. Five years of marriage and you have no respect for the love of your life? Honestly, Logan.”

Logan was about to retort, but the number got stuck in his mind, distracting him while he watched Roman work.

Five years. He’d been married to the most wonderful enby he’d ever met for five years. What a thought that was.

“Love? Logan?”

Logan hummed, blinking a little to get his mind back to the present and to stop counting the years in moments of Roman making him absolutely fall.

“You spaced out a little bit. Are you still trying to finish that list from earlier?” Roman asked, glancing at Logan while doing his best to keep his attention on the food he was making.

“Ah, no, actually. I think I forgot to continue that list after number three,” was his answer, smiling sheepishly when Roman gave him his full attention for longer than a few seconds.

“You forgot to continue a list after only three items?”

Laughing at his husbands shock, Logan stood from his seat so he could wrap his arms around Roman’s waist and press a kiss to his temple.

“In my defense, there’s so much to love about you I couldn’t figure out what to put next. You’re amazing in so many ways.”

Roman leaned back against him, shifting the eggs in the pan.

“Not in every way?”

“I love you, but nothing can redeem your blanket hogging habits or your inability to not sing awfully whenever a “meme song” comes on.”

With a snort that Roman tried his best to hide, he looked up at Logan with a grin, kissing his cheek.

“I don’t sing awfully, I sing to irritate you. There’s a difference.”

“What would that difference be, love? To scream in varying pitches that do not work well together?” Logan asked, leaning back a bit to give Roman a disbelieving look.

Roman’s cheeky grin was soon taken from him as he looked back at what he was cooking.

“The difference is you like my singing normally. So I have to make myself sound as bad as possible in order for you to get irritated because you know just how exquisite I actually sound.”

“Ah yes, of course, how could I be so misinformed? Clearly singing awfully and irritating me are two entirely different things.”

“Exactly! Glad you’re open to learning from your mistakes.”

Logan laughed, stepping back from his husband and shaking his head as he sat back at the table.

“I would say your insufferable, but I agreed to suffer you for the rest of our lives five years ago. So I suppose that would be an inaccurate statement.”

“Yep!”

As Logan rolled his eyes, he couldn’t help but think that he may not have been able to finish his list of things he loved about Roman, but he could tell that his favorite thing about his husband was Roman himself.