#i set an alarm for fucking 8am to wake up and watch this shit

[embersofhope-if]

THE SECOND TBOSAS TRAILER DROPPED!!!!!

I KNOW

ive been going feral over it on twitter🤭

^^here it is for anyone who hasnt seen it yet😋😋

[takaraphoenix]

As fucked up as the American health system is, the one thing I am envious about is that they at least get sleeping pills. They can’t sleep. Doctor gives them a prescription for sleeping pills. They get to fucking sleep.

Meanwhile the most a German doctor musters is “have you tried setting an alarm clock in the morning to get up at the same time every day? it may take months but your sleep schedule will set itself”.

Bitch, I was awake for 40 hours the other day and I still didn’t get tired.

My sleep schedule isn’t the problem here. I mean. It also is. Because some days, I go to bed at 8AM, other days, I go to bed at 7PM and then wake up at 4AM, and sometimes I just don’t go to bed at all. Did a thing where I only slept every second night for a week because I figured surely, if I don’t sleep at all, the tired must kick in early the following evening and that way I might get my sleep schedule on.

How do you recommend me I just set my alarm clock to 8AM every day when I am usually not even asleep yet at that time and when I am telling you that I did the whole not-sleeping-at-all thing too.

It just goes beyond my comprehension, quite frankly, that humans have created medicine that helps people sleep, but German doctor are just like no, go try drinking a warm drink before going to bed and not engaging in things with a screen instead.

I just want to be able to sleep. Why is that asking too much. I go to bed at midnight, I still lay awake at 10AM, not having slept a lick.

And then my father tries being helpful and asks why I can’t sleep. Surely something serious must trouble me to keep me awake. I mean, sure, if I stay awake long enough my mind will rotate back to bad shit too, but it’s not like the bad shit is the only thing keeping me awake. I just can’t turn off my brain.

It’ll spin fanfiction, replay the day, re-evaluate that movie I watched last week, write a lengthy review about the show I finished that day, visualize whatever project I’ve been working on during the day to continue that, write a tumblr post about the most random and non-pressing matter in my head. Not all of these are current, pressing issues that keep me awake.

My mind will just find something to occupy itself with if I’m laying alone in the dark for too long. If it has to, it’ll reach far, far back and get annoyed at the shit ending of a show I watched five years ago, or get hung-up on details of a movie I watched a month ago, or start planning Christmas in January or some shit.

I just want to sleep. What’s not clicking about that.

[edie-baby]

Baby Boy Chapter 11 (S) | Lando Norris

Summary: Milana Navratilova is the best friend of Victoria Verstappen, and is for lack of a better word, a minx. She can pull anyone into bed with her at any time. So when she attends the Austrian Grand Prix with Victoria, the drivers make for good bedfellows. Until she finds a man who makes her finally feel like herself. Her baby boy.

Warnings: smut, swearing, non-con kiss (will be a chapter warning for that one), OC is a w h o r e and i love her.

The Friday morning sun was a horrific way to be awoken from the reverie both Lando and Mila were in, tangled in each other's arms. Mila was the first to wake up, moving her head from Lando’s chest to look at the alarm clock over his shoulders, its red LEDs displaying the time as 7:18am. She had remembered hearing most of the boys complaining that they were to wake up at 8am on practice day, so she let herself relax back into Lando’s arms and revel in the warmth of his chest.

“Morning, darling.” He grumbled a few moments later, his arms shifting to intertwine one of his hands with Mila’s. She swooned at the sound of his accent mixed with the gravelly tone of his morning voice.

“G’morning baby boy.” Mila replied in a similar tone, her own voice hoarse from the screams his fingers, mouth, and cock had dragged from her throat a few hours ago. Lando smiled to himself, snuggling his nose into the crook of Mila’s neck, breathing in the familiar cherry scent that he now knew came from her body wash. Mila giggled, his hot breaths fanning out onto a sensitive part of her neck, and she squirmed slightly from the ticklish sensation when he started peppering kisses onto that same spot.

“Do you want to get breakfast with me and go for a walk before I have to do work shit?” Lando whispered, and Mila felt her heart melt at the domesticity of getting breakfast and going for a walk together with the man curled up around her body.

“Of course baby boy. But you’ll probably need to go back to your room soon in case you want everyone to see your walk of shame.” Mila teased, her eyes catching the very wrinkled button up he was wearing last night that she all but tore off his body.

“But that means leaving you, and I really don’t wanna.” Lando moaned, his bottom lip pushing out further as he gave Mila his best puppy dog eyes, and he saw them working as her resolve melted almost immediately. Mila kissed his nose lightly before rolling away from him, stepping up from the bed to amble over to her suitcase before she stopped in her tracks, turning to look at Lando with scared eyes. He sat up immediately, concerned because of the worrying look Mila sent him.

“Your walk of shame is going to be a lot less obvious than mine. I feel like someone took a jackhammer to my pussy.” Mila joked, her accent making her words sound so much more vulgar to Lando. He felt a tingle in his cock, the sight of Mila naked in front of him, complaining about how hard he had abused her cunt was the perfect thing to get him going this early in the morning. Lando stood, his half-hard member catching Mila’s eyes immediately. She smirked as he walked toward her, looking forward to their morning plans much more than she ever thought she would.

Lando’s hands scooped Mila up into a bridal carry as he walked them toward the shower. Mila stood by and watched the muscles in his back flex as he set the water temperature, and as he leant over further, his cute little ass caught Mila’s attention, and the temptation to spank him was irresistible. Lando let out a high pitched squeak when he felt the stinging sensation on his backside, head turning to see Mila watching him with a primal stare.

“I wanna ruin you.” She whispered, moving past Lando to step into the shower with a sweet smile while the Brit was frozen in place for a moment. His brain caught up and he scrambled into the large shower, being pulled in close by Mila’s manicured hands immediately.

With that same predatory smirk he had seen the first time he met her, Mila sank to her knees in front of Lando, his back to the shower head, the warm water cascading over his tense shoulders sent a shiver through his body, part of that making his cock tingle even more. Mila grabbed him with both hands, she needed to, really, he was long and he was thick. With a few lazy pumps up and down his shaft, his cock was just as hard as it had been last night, and Mila was ready to begin the torture. By her calculations, she had about 25 minutes until they would need to leave to get breakfast and still go for their walk before Lando was needed by his team. And 25 minutes was more than enough time for her to tear him down and put him back together.

With a few kitten licks to his tip, Mila started out nice. Her hands still moving up and down slowly. Lando’s hands moved toward her, one tangling in her hair while the other rubbed along her cheekbone with adoration. She stopped immediately, withdrawing completely from the tanned man standing above her. Her hands fell to her thighs, eyes staring up at him through her lashes, the hickeys he left on her last night clearly visible in their position.

Lando looked down at her confusedly, then Mila reached up and tugged his hands away, the smirk returning when the gears in his head began processing.

“Gotta keep your hands to yourself, baby boy.” Mila growled, the command shooting even more blood to Lando’s cock, and similarly to Mila, he didn’t know he’d enjoy being told what to do this much. He listened though, hands leaving her form and sliding onto the tiled walls of the shower. Mila smirked in satisfaction, the naturally red hue of her lips just as tantalising as the iconic maroon lipstick.

Her hands and lips returned to Lando, her tongue catching the bead of precum leaking from his tip, the veins running along his cock throbbing in her hand. Delicately, Mila traced each vein she could see with her tongue, leaving the thick, throbbing vein on the underside of his cock for last, flattening her tongue and applying more pressure than she had so far. A strangled moan reverberated through Lando’s chest and fell from his lips with a blush. Mila looked up into his eyes, taking in the broken expression on Lando’s face, his cheeks flushed with frustration and embarrassment, his eyes half lidded staring back down at her, jaw tense, his teeth gnawing into his bottom lip. She could tell how much self restraint it was taking for him not to grab her by the hair and fuck her face till he blew his load down her throat. So, she rewarded him.

With a breath in through her nose, Mila wrapped her lips around his cock, pushing herself down until he was almost fully consumed by her mouth and throat. His eyes widened, hands shaking in their attempt to stay on each wall of the shower. Mila’s eyes watered slightly, her jaw was beginning to ache, but she ran her tongue around as much of Lando’s cock as she could reach, then began pulling away, her hands on his toned thighs to steady herself. Her tongue continued to roll around his length, continuing its ministrations when she reached the head, her hands taking the place where her mouth just was, running up and down his shaft, twisting on the way.

The next time she looked up at Lando, his jaw was slack, eyes closed as he looked up toward the ceiling, his expression reading purely bliss. Milana continued her actions, putting her all into pleasuring him, until she felt his hips buck slightly, his cock hitting the back of her throat. Instead of gagging, like Lando had expected, Mila pulled off him again, glaring up at him in a way that made his stomach erupt in butterflies. With slower, more purposeful movements, Mila began stroking him again, the contrast between being so close to finishing, to right back at the start gave Lando whiplash worse than his car ever could. He stared down at her with eyes just as hard, hands itching with the desire to grab her by the throat and fuck her till all she remembered was his name. But just as his hands began moving toward her, she took all of him in her mouth again, swallowing around him and staring directly into his eyes. He grunted, a deep, guttural grunt that had her whimpering around his cock. He felt himself twitch and Mila picked up the pace in response. His breaths were coming out in gasps, hips twitching in place, and just as his vision began to go white, it all stopped.

A whimper fell from his lips, and he was surprised at the sound as much as Mila was pleased with it. He looked back down to her, his aching dick in her small hands, the tip a dark, angry red. Mila couldn’t seem more pleased, staring at his cock like she was a woman starved. Just as Lando was about to begin begging, she took him in her mouth again, working with a renewed vigor. Lando’s moans were broken, crackly, and coming out of his mouth sounding more like breathless whimpers as his pleasure built, coming to his peak again. This time, when his hips began stuttering, nonsense falling from his lips, Mila continued, stuffing his cock as far down as she could handle, her nose brushing his pubic bone when he finally released, hot ropes of salty cum shooting down her throat, and Mila continued swallowing around him, pulling everything she could from him. She pulled off his cock with a pop, a delighted smile crossing her face as Lando looked on, broken and blissed. She slid around him in the shower, getting under the water to wet her hair, then grabbed some shampoo and began washing her silver hair, teasing eyes staring at Lando while his eyes darkened.

“Come on baby boy, we better get showered and ready to go or we won’t be able to go for a walk.” Mila teased, washing the shampoo from her hair and stepping out, wrapping the impossibly fluffy towel around her form, leaving Lando in the shower for the second time in a matter of about twelve hours.

[tenderlyrenjun]

the one with the morning classes

summary: you don’t really want to go to class, and Yangyang half-agrees.

↛ ↛ ↛ psych major!Yangyang x art history major!reader

↛ ↛ older female reader, college au, mentions of alcohol, yearning, best friends to lovers/ish, smut (18+) - there is literally sex in every scene, best friend!ten on both sides, study dates, love confessions in bed

↛ word count: 11,9k (I am so sorry lmao)

part one > part two > part three

if you are under 18 and interact with this at all, i will block you

An obnoxious ringing interrupts your day, way too early, and you whine at it, suddenly reminded about the terrible decision that you made last year with the on-call academic advisor: selling your soul to Satan, or, as they phrased it, taking an 8 A.M. class. The default iPhone ringtone seems especially heartless right now, even though you have a class at this time every semester.

Still, it takes Herculean effort to pull your hot, sweaty face out of the pillows and actually get a breath of fresh air. You inhale once, twice, then support yourself on your elbows, tossing all your messy hair over your bare back, like a curtain, to draw it away from your cheeks. The sunlight makes you squint, not having given you enough time to adjust to it yet, because laying in bed, naked, is so much more enticing than actually waking up. Unfortunately, the ringing persists, getting louder, you think. You find yourself clawing through the sheets again, in search of that damn alarm. And when you do find it, screen faced down, you hit snooze via power button, giving yourself extra time before class.

After the annoying sound stops, Yangyang leans toward your naked shoulder, his d!ck thrusting in you at a further angle. He kisses the tip your spine with slightly parted lips, peppering more along your deltoid muscles, directed by his trailing tongue. You cannot tell was tingles more – the goosebumps left in his wake, or the blood rushing to your vulva, caused by the nipping at your skin. Yangyang finds a more permanent spot (that would be hidden by a shirt) above your collarbone and sucks deeper for a few seconds. Instinctively, you drop your cheek into the sheets again and swirl your ass up, before propping your lower body on your knees. His groans fall with you, and he nearly did too, but he stands on his hands. You are very aware of his strength, especially now as you close your eyes and he reverses your moves, grinding his hips forward. One of his hands reaches forward to grab your face and finally kiss you. He is slow and head spinning, and he continuously inclines his head at varying degrees to keep the embrace going.

Then, your phone goes off again and you break the kiss.

“We need to get – Oh, God.” Your forehead redirects onto the mattress, and your breath becomes shallow, cracked by sharp whines blurring out the alarm. As far as you are concerned, Yangyang is all consuming, from the way he kisses you to the way he makes you feel. “Ah, right there, please.” He squeezes your ass, fingers drilling deeply into your skin. His touch feels better than a massage, you think, almost loosening up all your muscle tension.

“So naughty,” Yangyang whispers, strongly. He sounds masculine without being so aggressive. It is very sexy of him. You try to show him, too, that he is hot, by reacting more enthusiastically. Unlike him, you say it silently and hope he knows. He replies, slapping your butt again, and smirks when you moan. “Wanna play hooky? You still, fuck –“ His breath drops, voice getting lower, huskier. He propels his d!ck shallowly, at the same pace your mouth widens in an ‘O’ shape. “- remember your manners.”

“Mmm hmm,” you agree. You roll your hips side to side, slowly stretching as if coming out of child’s position in yoga. It similarly feels satisfactory, like an injection of morphine. “We really need to get up. I have class; you ­– shit –“ His thrust pushes you forward, muting your counterarguments. “- you have class soon.”

Yangyang combs your baby hairs onto your opposite shoulder, gently nibbling around your thyroid, and you whine, knowing that you have an easily swayed mindset right now. “It doesn’t sound like you want to get up yet.” He guides your hips like a figure eight motion. His hand comes around front, between your thighs, holding on in a way that allows him to stimulate your clit with his index and thumb. Every movement gets more intense: the speed, the pressure, even the direction of his fingers, as he elongates all the sensations. It feels like he gets bigger too, lunging more alert with his thrusts. “You need a good wake up call, huh?”

You nod, eagerly, biting your lip. “Mmhmm, my morning ritual is, is really long, fuck.”

Yangyang smirks, motivated even more by the double entendre. And the way his tip rasps against your walls, oh god. You ball the sheets into your fists, putting a protective layer between your nails and palm because he gradually becomes erratic. He comes down to your ear, using his lips to bite at it while whispering, “Wanna turn off the alarm?”

“Hmm?” You open your eyes. “Oh, right.” It doesn’t feel like it has been nine minutes. So, after you pick your phone up again, you turn it over to look at the alarm settings, but it is replaced by the call acceptance slider. You blink a couple times and try getting a clearer look – which is difficult, considering that your head keeps bouncing as he grinds harder and harder, and harder. Then, the call restarts. “Shit.”

Yangyang stops moving to glimpse at what’s wrong. His chest brushes against your back and you can feel his erect n!pples graze your spine. You turn the screen at him, contemplating whether to answer it. Thank God, though, that Ten isn’t asking to FaceTime. You honestly don’t know how you would recover from him seeing Yangyang lay naked on you, especially after that comment at the Halloween party about feeling ‘too comfortable’ with him like this.

“I’m gonna answer it.”

“What?”

“I have to answer it,” you argue. “It’s Ten. He’s going to suspect something if I don’t.” The call ends again, and the notification center shows six missed calls. You turn over your phone again. “Shit, he’s been phoning all morning. I have to answer it.”

You partially expect Yangyang to get up. Instead, he comes down, brushing your hair over your shoulder and pushes you into the blanket. You stretch your arms away from him to redial Ten’s number, although your hands (and thighs) start shakily with his moves. The line rings four times before Ten answers, and you sigh, half-disappointed, half-orgasmically.

“Um, hello?” Ten answers sarcastically, on speaker. “Are you ready? ETA 20.” You hear rustling on the other end that sounds similar to Yangyang ruffling your bedsheets. He is trying to get at your t!ts and you let him, propping up into a true doggystyle. Ten doesn’t appear to discern anything, so you keep the phone on mute – which is necessary because you buck your hips at Yangyang, getting his tip angled on your g-spot. He outlines your n!pples, fingers squeezing over your areola. You almost moan again, but Ten reminds you about his presence: “I’m getting in my car right now.”

“Hmm?” Why?

The silence is deafening, all excess noise stopping, until it is just your heavy breaths and small wet noises. You widen your eyes, thinking that Ten discovered your current … entanglement, so you grab Yangyang’s hand, to suppress anymore sounds. It makes you lose balance temporarily, but expectedly he catches you, by the waist. He waist a few seconds, then drops his wrist to your clit, lightly sliding up and down without thrusting his d!ck. You let him continue, panting with your lower abdomen quivering. He has to stop though, because his exhibitionist tendencies might expose you two. You take his hand off your clitoral hood and kiss his inner wrist before sucking his fingers clean. He shudders his hips. You bite your lip. He smiles. Then, he takes his hand back, planting it into the mattress for extra support so that you can actually answer this call, that the two of you keep forgetting about.

“It’s my treat, remember?” Ten tries to jog your memory, nearly shouting. You can hear him breaking through your bubble. It is just that you are a bit distracted at the moment to really recall any memories. You cannot be entirely held accountable for Yangyang’s big d!ck.

Yangyang starts sucking on your neck again, pushing his pelvis slowly into your ass harder, to give you a better reminder: that you are currently being a good girl for him, to make up for being so naughty this morning (even though he also seemed pretty close to ditching class earlier).

“For breakfast yesterday, after the party,” Ten outwardly tells you. Right, it’s Monday, and you often grab coffee with Ten on the way to campus because 8AMs are hell – you have to absorb new information when you can barely see through all the crap in your eyes, and he can barely comprehend his notes from the night before without the morning bean juice. There is some shuffling on his end again, similar to shaking his wrist free of a sweater to get a better look at his watch. It isn’t enough to hide the moan trapped in your throat. So, you try biting your fist as Yangyang swirls his hips, grazing the ends of your nerves. You roll your eyes to the back of your head and hit mute, in order to moan. “Unless you want to walk? I don’t think you’ll make it though. It’s, like, almost 7:20.”

“What?” your voice cracks. You are still muted though, so you un-mute and repeat the exclamation, whining a little when Yangyang tries to get you to orgasm faster, also having heard the time. Hopefully Ten does not notice anything. You think that you were quiet enough to push it off as a complaint.

“I’ll be outside your apartment in 20.”

Yangyang pulls your chin to make you look at him, staring at you to ask what is going on. You mouth a quick explanation: Ten. Ride. Coffee. 20 minutes. He is so close, warm breath enveloping your skin. You take the distance, initiating yet another kiss, essentially in front of your best friend, although the latter cannot hear or see either of you. Yangyang holds onto your chin, possibly afraid of being swept away or falling again. But you have enough support for both of you, and you know that if you fell, he would catch you. So, you kiss him again, and again.

“Hello?” Ten calls into the void. “Did you lose signal again? See, I told you not to choose the shitty complex on Main because the connection is so bad there.”

You put a hand above Yangyang’s heart and clear your voice, turning to the speaker. “I’m still here. Just, hold on a second.” You hit mute again, then turn to Yangyang. “Do you want a ride too?” Yangyang contemplates for a second, and you drop your forehead into your elbow, biting your lip because, after all, he is still inside you, inside your clenching and very aroused p.ussy, where you want him to finish. He nudges your shoulder with his nose and confirms that yeah, he needs a ride. You kiss him a few more times, unsure why, just wanting to be close – something about want to say in his presence, enjoying his presence. He swirls his hips. It feels really good to be with him. “Yeah, so Yangyang is in the neighborhood.”

“Wha-“

“A huh,” you whine, more at Yangyang than Ten. “He just texted me. He’ll meet you – us! He’ll meet us at my apartment. I’m going to get ready now, bye!” you say everything in one breath, hanging up as equally abruptly before Ten could insert his two cents. You drop the phone and turn around, kissing Yangyang deeply. As he returns your affection, you enunciate slowly, “Five minutes, then we have to get ready. Ten is getting too suspicious.”

Yangyang finishes a little bit after five minutes, not that you mind. Non-residents have to get buzzed into your building, and Ten doesn’t have a key to your front door. You indulge the moment, laying on your arm bent under a pillow. He looks at you with all the care in the world, no longer that suave fuck buddy from a few moments ago but a young romantic who caresses your inner thigh and talks big game about all the connections you two have in common, or don’t. Your hand dips to the top of his head, combing a small section with your nails to his ends. Yangyang asks you for the time, and you almost don’t give it to him, preferring to spend time with him here than overanalyzing some stupid thesis statement that you wrote at 4AM. You pout, and pull his phone between the two of you, showing him that Ten will arrive in ten minutes – ironic, you think.

Yangyang approaches your face, millimeters from your lips. He waits for you to flutter your eyes closed, anticipating a kiss, then runs into the shower. It takes you a minute to join him, and when he sees you, smirking, like you have some dastardly revenge plan in the works, Yangyang shuts the glass door, isolating himself in the cold shower. He holds on extra tightly so that you cannot get in. You look hot when you are annoyed though – he needs to annoy you more. It is even more fun to mollify you. He pulls you into the shower next to him by grabbing your ass and makes out with you against the wall for a few seconds, until you start stretching at the lavender body wash on the shelf behind him.

This time, Yangyang finishes first, hopping out to sprinkle the roots of his hair with dry shampoo so Ten does not get too suspicious. If he has wet hair, then it would be obvious that he stayed over. He puts the powder back on the shelf and wanders into your room, towel wrapped loosely around his waist – even though it’s nothing you haven’t seen before. There are a few of his clothes in your closet from all the time you stole them, or a couple mini getaways that you two have taken. After he changes into an outfit that he can actually wear in public, he picks out an extra one of his over-sized shirts and drapes it on the towel rack for when you get out. He knows that you really like his clothes, especially the organic band tees. It is another plus that you share the same music taste. Hopefully, none of his friends catch onto the coincidental similarities.

Yangyang likes that you spend a lot of time in his clothes. They always end up smelling like your lotions. It is comforting and reminds him of all the nights ‘studying’ until 3AM. You know, not that he would actually say it out loud (mostly because he also likes to wear his favorite shirts), but you look cuter than him, in his Kendrick Lamar concert tee. And besides, there is a secondary reason as to why he rummaged through your underwear drawer: he wanted to choose your panties for today. It might be a black lingerie set, but how is he supposed to know the difference between a t-shirt bra and a balconette? :^)

Yangyang makes his way into the kitchen, snagging a mini muffin off the island. With the work out he just had, he needs protein but there isn’t enough time to cook anything, not that he actually could; eh, he’ll end up buying something on campus. He tosses two more muffins into his backpack for later – one chocolate for him, one strawberry for you. On Mondays, between classes, he usually catches you in the student experience center, finishing some last-minute assignments. You always end up pushing lunch until after four, ergo he tries to bring you some snacks, whenever he can. Once, his research methods class got cancelled and you didn’t have any pre-lecture materials to work on, so he brought two cups of ramen. You two had a semi-date then. He wonders if it can happen again, today. Ten interrupts the thought though, before it can develop into a real plan, and he sighs. He doesn’t know why, but he keeps thinking about defining this relationship at the worst possible times.

“Yellow?” Yangyang answers, mid-bite. He shifts the phone to his shoulder so that he can check your notification center for any missed calls. You have three. Ten has been going to voicemail all morning, Yangyang deduces, and if he was Ten, he would be damn suspicious at this point.

“Hi, baby,” Ten coos. “I’m outside. Buzz me in, yeah?”

Yangyang reflexively pouts. “I’m not your baby. I’m 20 now.” Still though, he complies, letting Ten into the building, and his friend is upstairs within a minute – not that it is too far. You live on the second floor.

“So,” Ten sings while glancing around the apartment. Yangyang wonders what for – hopefully, not searching for his secret relationship. Ten closes the door, his eyes landing on Yangyang and eying him down suspiciously, in a curious way. “What are you doing in the neighborhood, anyways?”

“I, uh, bought breakfast at Allen’s coffee, down the street,” he lies, “And I didn’t feel like walking back to the frat.” He shrugs too, trying hard to be as nonchalant as possible.

“A huh.” Ten does not seem to accept it, but he lets it slide when you walk into the room, wearing Yangyang’s t-shirt tucked into a pair of black jeans. Yangyang cannot see why Ten would recognize the top because you also happen to like Kendrick Lamar – one of your favorite songs is King Kunta, even though you cannot sing along to save your life. Yangyang finds it endearing that you enjoy rap music, even though you cannot match the flow or pitch.

His gaze is still endearing when you walk into the kitchen, beelining for the last mini muffin. Yangyang catches how intensely he was staring at you, after you blink at him (and Ten).

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing,” they mutter, looking away.                        

“Okay,” you drawl suspiciously, swallowing half your breakfast. You fold the rest of it into the front pocket of your backpack and pick up your textbook. Yangyang meets your gaze but you immediately flicker to Ten. “Can we grab something at Starbucks really quick?”

Ten stares at Yangyang. You just got coffee for yourself, even though you were coming here? Yangyang waves a hand, unsure how to respond. This whole secret relationship has gone on longer than he thought it would. It was supposed to be a one-night stand kind of thing when he first kissed you, the night that Ten introduced you two back in March after Renjun’s birthday party, and not even a one-night stand! He just expected you to make out with him, not give him a blowjob in Kun’s bathroom then let him take you back to his room at the frat.

“What?” You look between them. Yangyang shakes his head, nothing. You stare him down and give in, then turn back to Ten. “I haven’t eaten anything. Please?”

“Alright, fine,” Ten cedes. He holds his hands up in surrender, his keys waving like a white flag. As you all file out the door, Yangyang jokingly asks if he can drive. Ten deadpans at him, protective over the car, and smacks him on the back of his head. “Let’s go.”

Yangyang barely notices when they pull into the drive-thru on 1st, too busy scrolling through Instagram while you and Ten talk about an EDM festival coming this weekend. He only picks up his head when you lean over the gear shift, blocking the GPS from his view (in the middle seat) – he was monitoring the distance to make sure that you get to class on time.

“Can we get two breakfast sandwiches, an iced coffee with 2% milk, and an iced London fog latte, extra pump of vanilla, with coconut milk?” You turn to ten. “Want anything?”

Ten furrows his eyebrows. Neither of them looks at Yangyang, and he lowers his phone, knowing that he is about to be caught in a lie. He didn’t think that Ten would ask anything because of the time crunch. Evidently, he was wrong, and now he doesn’t know how to unspin the lie.

“Who are you ordering all that food for?” Ten asks.

You look at him skeptically, a what the fuck hanging palpably in the air before you point to the backseat. “For the baby.”

“Not a baby,” Yangyang pipes up, voice cracking. He tugs on the collar of his shirt, smiling embarrassed.

Ten turns on his side, back facing the window as he stares between the two of you, ultimately settling on Yangyang. “I thought that you said you already got breakfast at Allen’s.” Ten rotates to you. “That’s why he’s in the neighborhood, right?”

A huh, yeah. Yangyang almost tells another lie but the monitor clerk asks if they want anything else, and they are holding up the line with an empty lane in front. Saved by the bell intercom. Ten orders an extra americano, then you all persist through the awkward silence until reaching the front window. You pay with the app as Ten passes out the round of drinks like a bartender. Yangyang pokes his paper straw through the lid. You can’t baby him if he does everything himself first.

“Uh, are you good?”

Yangyang looks up. You have your iced latte between your legs, holding it at the top of your thighs on your crotch like an ice pack.

“Yeah, what do you mean?”

“I mean,” Ten enunciates, putting this drink in the cup holder, “people only put ice on their private parts when they’re sore.” He widens his eyes, posture stiffening and he points at you. “Did you have that guy over? The best y-“

“You don’t –“ You hold up a hand, physically interrupting him. Yangyang should have known that Ten would never seriously suspect him as your fuck buddy; he doesn’t know whether to be relieved or offended. “- have to repeat it. I just feel sore.”

Yangyang smirks at that, but he has to hide it when Ten looks at him, pinching his cheeks down like a Tim Burton character. The look in Ten’s eyes is confused again, and he knows that one of two questions is going to come out: if he met that guy that you’re sleeping with, of if he is the guy that you are sleeping with. Fortunately, Yangyang sees the navigation touch screen, and the time is two minutes until eight and you are five minutes off campus. Ten has to drop the conversation and speed to the art building so that at least you get there on time. The extra few minutes he has to spend alone with Ten gives him the idea to cool things off with you for a few days.

That sounds bad, like he is blowing you off, but honestly, you agreed.

Yangyang caught you in front of the communal office space for linguistics GTAs, a few minutes before office hours ended. He snatched you into a supply closet, dragging you by the waist, and covered your mouth to prevent you from screaming bloody murder. You two acknowledged the thin ice that has been melting for a couple weeks now. And he brought up taking a break from seeing each other for a while. At first, you thought that he was breaking up with you – or as close to breaking up as possible, because still, you are not dating. But then, he saw your face and reassured you that he does want to keep seeing you, even in secret; maybe next time, you two should talk about your relationship.

Friends do not need to see each other every day, you know. Or, like, at least, casual friends don’t. Sure, you FaceTime Ten all the time and Yangyang lives with Xiaojun so he sees his best friend daily by default, but you two are not similarly close friends, especially not when other people can perceive how you two interact. No one has to know just that you see Yangyang just as often, in person. And you do it because, well, because you like him – which explains how he ends up back in your bed by Wednesday.

“I’m gonna be late again.”

“No, you won’t.”

Yangyang reaches around your collarbone, brushing his thumb along your bottom lip until he can comfortably hold your jaw. He draws you in for another kiss, his eyes mirroring yours - distracted, enamored, aroused. You cautiously spin around, throwing your arms around his neck to avoid getting swept away, which seems impossible because he holds you securely, at your mandible and the beltloop on your waist. He inhales upon the next embrace, closing his pretty mouth over your philtrum like a slow bite – like several slow bites. You meet him, every time, at the end of each kiss when he shifts onto his toes, getting too tall for your lips, and pull him back on the ground to get more. He moans, after you start roaming your hands under his shirt, running your nails over the crevices in his body like a memorization technique for an early class you don’t have.

You feel hungry, for love, wanting to feel warm. The sun will not rise for another half hour, but he is the warmest thing in the room, even though you are fully dressed, not expecting to be late like two days ago. He copies your moves, unbuckling his hand like a belt, sliding it under your shirt and palming your b.oobs. Then, you squeal, giggling breathily, when he spins you around again and smacks your ass, pushing your thighs into the mattress that you two are standing over.

“Do you trust me?” he whispers in your ear, sucking upward on your external jugular vein.

“No.”

Yangyang stops, deadpanned. He hits your butt again, like a punishment – his favorite kind of punishment, it seems because he repeats it every morning like a bad kind of player, the rich one who goes to bars and unexpectedly falls in love with an attendee, as if it is a coming of age Netflix movie. He repeats it again until you fall on your hands over the bed. You look behind your shoulder at him, jaw dropped. And he takes no time to interpret it, stumbling next to you.

You roll over, led by your hips, so that you can match him, latching onto his face with your hands on his cheeks. “Of course, I trust you, dummy.”

He looks down still, picking at the seams of your jeans. And you detect his teasing tone, easily, because he goes directly to your inner thighs, tracing up along the thread until he reaches your zipper. “Really?”

You roll your eyes, then make him look at you. He has that kicked-puppy expression in the way the outline of his eyes falls below his eyebrows, but the glint and the gummy smile have you knowing otherwise. “Yes.”

Yangyang pops your pants button undone, mischievously pulling his lips into a dramatic pout. “And you’re not lying to me?”

“No,” you emphasize. You brush his hair back, scratching your nails along his scalp, behind his ears. His smile cannot help itself, breaking out in a way that has you completely immersed. It reminds you of that time when you went go karting with Ten and a few others. You were undoubtedly a bad driver, bumping into the track walls, even during the straight lanes. One time, you made a particularly excellent sharp turn, surpassing Johnny to the finish line. Unfortunately, you were completing lap 3 of 5 and him 5 of 5, but Yangyang still congratulated you afterward – in bed. He also lit up, when you two were just laying under the covers, staring at the ceiling because the stars were too far away. You held onto the arm around your waist, laying on his naked shoulder as he told you about wanting to be a race car driver as a kid, then an automotive or aerospace engineer as a teenager, before he settled on psychology. He kept talking, as if crafting this beautiful galaxy. That is when you knew.

“Prove it.”

“What?” You sit up and straddle him. “How do you want me to prove it?”

Yangyang starts begging for affection, slithering his hand down your stomach, into your underwear. He pulls you into his chest, giggling when you topple him into the pillows, clearly not having estimated the force. You like that you never have to beg for his attention. He always, for some reason, notices you, and it is so hard not to pick up on it. You wonder just how no one has learned about you two yet. It’s not like you are being subtle. Although, the smallest acts he gives you can be found under subtle in the dictionary. Like now, he tucks your hair behind your ear, gaze flickering from his hand across your cheek to your eyes. You kiss him again – only a brief peck, because he inserts two fingers inside you, making you gasp sharply enough to break.

“Can I confess something?” you ask, suddenly braved by an idea to prove that you do trust him.

Yangyang stops fucking you, his fingers flexed still. He scans your face for an actual lie but knows that he will never find one, mostly because he already knows the next few words out of your mouth; he has felt the same way for months. And maybe, at this point, he owes you some explanation, for keeping his own confession unspoken. He wants to give it to you first, before your own declaration. It is something that he thinks he should do, like a societal norm for the guy to confess – that is what all the romantic movies say, right? Well, there is Princess Leia and Han with their whole I love you and I know dynamic, and while that was really cool in the scene, Yangyang has a fixed scenario in his head.

“I love you,” he blurts, quickly, sitting up.

“You love me?”

His heart drops. You are not supposed to surprised. He was nearly 100% confident that you had fallen in love with him, too, but this might confirm that so much was in his head. You keep staring at him, jaw slacked and hands on his shoulders. Only when he starts pulling away do you react, catching his hand.

“I really like you,” Yangyang reiterates, self-pouring salt into his bleeding heart. He hesitates for a second, unsure if he should even be vulnerable again, but what does he have to lose? “I –“ He swallows, still looking into your eyes – “I love you.”

Then you kiss him.

And he lets you kiss him.

He lets you kiss him because of the way you cradle his face, like he is made of glass, like he is the most precious crystal that you have to protect. Your lips get softer when he wets them with his tongue, after feeling confidence in your embrace. You kiss him in a way that takes away the word the love, wrapping him in a security blanket to return the warmth.

“I love you,” you whisper slowly, barely audibly enough for him to hear it over the smack of your tongue as you lower to him. You pause, mouth slightly ajar on his. “Too.”

Yangyang peers at your closed eyes, almost willing you to open them so he can tell you, again, that he loves you, so he can see your reaction when he really tells you. He grabs your face and sits up again. You roll your head to the side, like you anticipate his kiss. He gives it you, simultaneously returning his hand into your pants.

“What time is it?”

“What?”

“What time is it right now?” Yangyang asks you with a sense of urgency.

You turn around, fumbling around for your phone, which is now somewhere mixed in your sheets. The two of you had spent a good ten minutes remaking the bed after the night you had, and currently, blankets are strewn across, folded into messy piles. With the thought distracting you, Yangyang slips two fingers past your underwear again, twisting the crotch area with his thumb for easier access. You pause, sighing heavily, hand bunching up the linen as he scissors you.

“I asked you a question,” he reminds you, slightly stuttering at the end, hesitant to add a term of endearment. Even with the confessions you both just gave, it does not define your relationship and he doesn’t know how to broach it just yet, only wanting to kiss you closely and hear all the love sounds that he feels deprived of.

“It’s 6:21.”

“Good,” Yangyang whispers in your ear as he prepares you to take him. “We have time.”

Yangyang redirects your face to his, tilting your chin up as he leans to the side, almost inhaling your lips. Upon another kiss, he adds his tongue, tired of the light pecks. They don’t express his affection as much as he wants, because small embraces end quicker, causing you to withdraw – which is the furthest desire from his mind, especially considering that he just confessed, multiple times. He curls his tongue, placing only the tip beyond your lips. You check him, trying to catch his tongue but merely snagging his spit. He smirks because you whine again. Was that not enough? Obviously not, he notes after you pull back, breathing on his lips, making him chase you. Your breath sounds rapid and rough, and he wants to alleviate your nerves. Yangyang extends his neck again, craning to meet your lips. He gives you a second to recover, to prepare, panting the faintest ghost kisses across your lower face. Your hand comes above his shaking heart, stopping there as you bite your lip coyly. He wonders if you want to stop. Both of you just acknowledged a lingering more-than-friends adoration.

But then you slide your hand under his chin, making him really look at you.

“I love you,” you repeat.

The repet!tion exceeds his own confession, and he isn’t sure whether to confess again, but you take the initiative for him, rocking side to side like ridin’ d!ck bicycle. Yangyang parts his lips just enough to blow small, uneven breaths. He feels you open his jeans while shifting over one of his thighs, his fingers still trembling inside you. Sex with you always feels so reciprocated. Your nails graze his c.ock erect, your hand tightening at the tip, where you push your thumb on his pre-cum. It gives almost the same sensation as your tongue and the sensation gets more intense. He starts thrusting in tandem, making you clench, around his bicep, for support. When you start flicking the flesh on the underside of his penis (the part that connects the shaft to head), he stops your hand.

Yangyang comes forward, caressing your mouth and massaging your clit. “I’m gonna cum.”

“So cum,” you taunt him, smirking into the kiss.

Your resolve temporarily falters, dripping into a moan that he swallows up wholly. He keeps sinking his fingers at different depths, at a fast and shallow pace, waiting for you to reach the same point. You certainly feel wet enough. He touches that spongey tissue area in your p.ussy that has you seeing stars. You moan his name over and over again, until the two syllables become a tongue twister. He disentangles your tongue, using his own. All those years tying cherry stems in his mouth as a teenager really paid off. He starts making a come-hither gesture, simultaneously flirting with your lips. After your hand ceases, exclusively squeezing his base, right above his balls, Yangyang slows down, slipping his fingers away from your G-spot, up and over your clit, your orgasm weakening.

“Ugh,” you grumble.

“We have time,” Yangyang tells you, “to have sex.” He looks at you through his eyelashes, gradually lowering his head under your shirt, his shirt. After Monday, he wondered if you ever owned any shirts yourself, or if you donated all of them once you ‘discovered’ his closet. “Tell me you want it too.”

“I want you.”

He doesn’t know whether to clown you or flirt with you. The first option would make you laugh, but the second would get him laid. Luckily, you decide for him, shimming out of your jeans and panties, then you slide his pants down to his ankles. He wraps his hand around your throat, drawing you to his lips, and he unintentionally squeezes when you settle on the tip of his c.ock. As you ride him, your walls hug his d!ck nicely, giving it a nice tight feeling that he can’t help but moan at. You straighten your back to gain some height over him and slip your tongue in his mouth. His hands reach out to your ass, guiding your hips forward in waves. He starts breathing heavier and his grip gets stronger.

“Shit, I’m gonna cum.”

Yangyang kisses you, pulling your words into his mouth, “So cum.”

“Fuck.”

He chases after your high, under the guise of helping you ride out this orgasm, getting his d!ck to twitch deeply inside you. When his hold gets too firm, you whine, suddenly over stimulated. Your nails dig into his bicep roughly, barely soothed by the t-shirt he still wears. He thrusts asynchronously with you before coming undone and dragging you into his chest. You feel warm and sweaty in this post-sex glow, your hand and head resting on his chest. He traces little hearts on your inner wrist, not wanting to let you go completely.

“You need to stop picking my underwear if you’re just going to destroy them,” you joke, kissing him on the cheek. “I have to double wash these thongs you know.”

“Can we –“ Yangyang swallows a lump in his throat. He feels like he is pulling you impossibly close, even though you are not moving away. “Can we go back to that thing you were saying earlier?”

“Hmm?”

“The,” he pauses, indecisive whether he actually wants to bring everything up right now. He ultimately decides for it. “Part with the ‘I love you’?” He knows that his voice sounds smaller than normal and that his eyes are shifting nervously at yours, but he wants to hear it again, wants the validation.

“Right,” you understand, nodding your head equally slowly. You straddle his lap again, and he immediately balances you by the waist, wanting to keep that impossibly close distance. “I’m – I’ve fallen –“ You swallow, looking away, but he needs you to look at him. Because if you can’t say it to his face, how does he know that you’re not just saying it out of obligation? Thankfully though, you see to be on the same wavelength, returning to his eyes, and his breath hitches, abs shaking in anticipation. You confidently give him the sentiment, “I love you.”

Yangyang tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, watching the way his fingers finish, stroking along our cheekbone. “I know,” he whispers coolly, leaning into your ear. “It’s hard not to love me,” he changes the subject, “I’m the best.” You scoff and push his chest, but he fastens an arm around you as equally fast, smiling too wide. He is a little sorry, for ruining the moment, but his laugh isn’t convincing at all. “I love you too.”

Sex, you think, feels infinitely better once the weight was lifted off your chest, once the spoonful of love was added. And the way Yangyang keeps kissing you, absolutely obsessed with holding your waist, tells you that spoonful is a misnomer, too small. The measurement for an entire ocean might be a better description. Still though, you would never call describe sex as love making, especially not to his face. At that point, you would be faced with an ‘oh, my god; that’s disgusting, man’ – not that you mind entirely, because the teasing smile he uses is so, so important to you, and sex feels just like that – the love part, not the disgusting thing. Although, sometimes he can be quite disgusting, yanno. Ah, he just makes you want to skip class and stay in bed beside him all day.

Except, both of you know how bad of an idea that is, with midterms are right around the corner.

Despite that, he spends the night at your apartment again, staying up until 3AM even though he has abnormal psych at 8 on Thursdays.

“I need a study break.”

You roll the cover of your design textbook towards your spiral notebook and toss the pile onto the floor, kicking the blankets off your feet. Yangyang barely spares you a glance, too absorbed in his case study. It is the last of five, and he only has the results, psychometrics, and summary statement left to write for this one before he is completely done for the week. Similarly, you have an exam on Joseon architecture later today and you are a third of a chapter away from catching up on reading, but honestly, fortresses get annoying to look at, especially when you have to compare militia structures against lower-class housing. So, you infiltrate Yangyang’s personal bubble, sliding an arm over his hips and your head into his lap.

“Does this mean I have you join you?” he teases, already putting away his pens. He pushes all his study materials by his feet, never leaning too far up, to keep your head in place. It gets even more comfortable when he relaxes again, resting across the pillows. You close your eyes, melting, when he massages your scalp, like he immediately knows where every knot or corner of tension are.

“I would really appreciate it, if you joined me.” You sigh. His touch is heavenly, and it makes you tighten your arm over his pelvis.

Eventually, Yangyang goes back to his homework, this time reclining in a way that lets you curl into his side. And you aren’t actually asleep, just mildly daydreaming with your eyes shut, thinking about literally anything (Yangyang) other than structures. When he raises a book midair, in front of his face, you move positions, sprawling across his chest, leg coming between his thighs. You (purposefully) annoyingly stick your head under his cheek, to ensure that you, at least, moderately block some of the passage.

Yangyang giggles. “Am I officially joining you now?” He puts his papers on your nightstand and wraps an arm around your shoulders, luring you to his lips. Your leg slithers above the waistband of his joggers, and he helps you straddle him again, sinking into the mattress to get a good view of the way you look in his oversize hood, in only his oversized hoodie. “You’re clingier.”

“Than what?” you ask innocently, rubbing his shirt fabric along his chest. You start pouting, as a response to his silence. Does he not want to cuddle? You shake your head. No, he does, given the way he pushes up the hoodie and yanks you further up his lap. “We cuddle the same amount.” You lower toward his ear, holding his neck in place, and whisper, “Do you not want to? Because I can leave.”

Before you can even think about getting off, he kisses you, sitting up. “Don’t go.” His hands come under your ass, squeezing as your arms circle around his neck. “It’s just –“ He bites his lip, suppressing a whine, which you can feel clog his throat. “You can’t sit on my lap like this. I’m getting hard.”

“Again?” you taunt. He slaps your butt, rather harshly, leaving a warm tingling sensation that he kneads away. You grind into his touch and kiss up his neck. “We can try the Pomodoro method.” You blow into his ear, shakily, as his hand presses particularly rougher. “I’ll set a timer for 25-minutes.” You look at him with chaste, despite the way you are purposefully making his blood rush. His fingers move to the edge of the hood, lifting it slightly. “Think we can have fun in just 25 minutes?”

“Mmmhmm,” he agrees early, nodding his head forward to kiss you. You don’t let him meet you though, not that you think he really noticed, what with being distracted by your very naked legs. He slowly sits up, all the way, and you feel his d!ck twitch against your thighs.

“Or do you think we won’t be able to finish?”

Yangyang throws you onto the bed and removes his shirt in one fell swoop. “Bet?”

“Missionary?” you ask, almost sticking your tongue out at him. “You’re getting more vanilla.”

Yanygyang gasps, then whacks your butt. “Take that back!”

You prop yourself on your elbows, eying all the naked parts of him up and down, from his low waisted briefs to his well-defined pecs to the rather cross sulk on his lip. “Make me.”

“Don’t have to.” He takes away your smirk, displaying it across his face. You tilt your head to the left, expression slacking blankly, but you catch on, feeling his fingers outline your sides. He slips his thumb between your lips, pushing it slowly until you basically give him a finger job, like a preview to the actual head he wants. “You’re already prepped.”

Your eyes flicker up, purely, as if he is about to ruin you for the first time. It’s his favorite part whenever you blow him – you looking into his eyes, taking every inch of him. He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, dragging your lip down until he lets go, your lips smacking together. You bite your lip, suddenly feeling empty, even though neither of you have really done anything yet. “Are you going to fuck me then?” Your voice sounds so harmless, now lacking the bite as you mentally anticipate his d!ck to stretch you open right now. He shakes his head, no. “So what –“

Yangyang spreads your legs a little wider, strictly, darting in the direction of your main bullseye point. His touches remain light and teasing, not getting there yet, responding to all the little mannerisms that make your lower body so rhythmic. He rubs a finger, swirling the ends of his movements to get your hips riding his digits. You whimper breathily, voice cracking at such a high pitch. He sweeps your bottom lip, pressing his tongue softly, making you wish that he would fuck you already. It is insanely evil, for him to give you a preview of the intense foreplay without actually doing it, barely giving you the imagery of it all. You clutch his shoulder, to steady him for a constant kiss and to actually get on his slender fingers. But he never lets you. Instead, he pulls you by your ass, one-handed, forcing you to roll your hips on the silhouette of his d!ck. Fuck, how can you even feel his c.ock? His joggers are so thick. He maintains the stupid, inhumane taunts, kissing the air between you two, caressing everywhere along your hole. A few minutes pass without him changing the routine, so you reverse the positions, throwing him on your mattress and straddling his lap like a stripper. And with almost the same level of experience, or confidence (you hope it’s confidence), you seesaw over his d!ck. He swiftly locks your arms around his neck and his behind your lower back, palming your ass. You look into his eyes for a second, then kiss him roughly, smashing your lips on his.

“You’re. So. Eager. Today,” he says, muddied by elongated spit noises. His eyes are flittered closed as he smiles smugly, accepting your style of manhandling. Your embraces are light and rapid, doing everything in your power to prevent him from straying too far. But his abs get too shaky, too firm, the familiar build up washing over him, so he has to pull away. When he does, you try chasing him and he brushes your hair behind your ear, slowly stroking your jugular vein like ticking baby hairs. “I love you.”

You smile. “I love you too.” You peck his lips, now sitting sticky on his lap. He looks so pretty, eyes glazed and lips slightly parted. You just have to kiss him again.

Yangyang bends your back to the comforter, guiding you by the throat, simultaneously pushing his pants mid-thigh, c.ock bouncing more freely. It slaps your p.ussy, naturally twitching aroused. He is so close that when he pumps himself a few strokes, his knuckles rasp along your clit and you buck your hips for more touches. You feel his wet tip run along your slit, and you just know that his hand locks above his balls, right around his base, ready to push in. But you stop him.

“Let me ride you,” you pant, slowly opening your eyes.

He nods his head enthusiastically, and you pop off his head. You turn around, back facing him as you take off the hoodie, leaning down to graze your n!pples on the blanket.

Yangyang wails. “That’s not fair. I want to see.” He takes off his pants, to be as equally naked.

You redirect his attention back to your p.ussy, using your first two fingers to pinch your clitoral hood and gently tug it up and down, over his d!ck as you back into him. He lets out a loud moan at the sight; it takes everything in him to not thrust, listening to your command ordering him to wait. You brush your hair over your shoulder again and look at him behind your shoulder, sultry. Your mood changes are so sexy. His body moves automatically, hunching over your spine to litter you with kisses, his hand trailing behind his saliva. You take that palm and put it on your t!t as you grind his c.ock between your ass cheeks, sliding it to the most sensitive nerves of your p.ussy. He aids your building orgasm with two fingers, leaning his metacarpal inside of your thigh to rub circles specifically under your nub.

“Oh my god,” you exhale, walls throbbing in a vacuum of emptiness, needy.

You sit up and push him onto the pillows by his chest, then reach behind to grab his c.ock erect. His breath thunders, encouragingly. He waits for you to do something, scanning your bare back for every little love bite and mark. You slowly descend and use your knees to bounce, ass swirling between his thighs. Your hips oscillate from outward jumping to figure eights, to rocking sideways. And his favorite position seems to be when you take all of him, gyrating shallowly, letting only about an inch leave your p.ussy before you slam back down on him. You mimic his slaps, taking your hand off his inner thigh to grip your ass, dragging your nails up, leaving a tingling sensation. He rolls his eyes to the back of his head, recording the moment in his brain forever, then slaps your jiggling flesh several times. This position gets his big c.ock deep within your p.ussy, causing his balls to bump against your labia. Then he starts thrusting with you, pounding his hips up.

“Fuck, Fuck, Yanygang. Mmhm.”

He copies your expletives, adding some bad girl’s and other lewd nicknames, before slamming with some finality. You think that he is about to cum, but he withdraws, making you whine sharply. Yangyang flips you onto your back, immediately attacking your chest. His hands support you like a wired bra and shakes them, pushing the pads of his thumbs into your sternum so that your hardened n!pples remain level with his mouth. He licks one lightly, circling around the areola, then latches on, sucking with his tongue flattened under your skin. You arch your back to him, drawing him close. He repeats the action on the other, but longer, as he pinches and kneads your b.oob.

“Come on my d!ck again, you dirty little girl,” he orders, voice low and hoarse.

“Then stop pulling out,” you whisper, similarly breathless.

“Okay.”

You lean away from him, supported with your hands on his thighs, spinning your hips in circles and side to side. His hands squeeze your waist, jostling you to his chest brutally.

“Don’t do that,” he growls, teeth barring before he kisses you again, croaking the moan in your throat. He drags you close, fingers digging into esophagus so that his tongue and reach inside.

Your grip scratches on his triceps, pink lines haunting his skin. You keep bouncing up and down, until his chokehold drops. His mouth falls open, releasing strings of curses after gasps. He spanks you hard, twice, then grips your ass, jerking it savagely. You change the motion, grinding in tiny, little, miniscule circles. Your thighs shiver, your entire body following. He rotates his d!ck, thrusting asynchronously. And you claw through his hair, tugging the strands rougher and rougher as your abdomen keeps tightening.

“Almost, almost,” you whimper. “I’m so close.”

Yangyang pulls your bottom lip with his teeth. “Me too.”

You begin slowing down, no longer able to bounce up and down, choosing to rock back and forth. Then, everything stops for just a second, your walls compressing his springy c.ock until you break. All of his muscles grate against you, making you feel each ridge and movement. He follows your orgasm, feeling the way you milk every drop out of him, sucking his entire length balls deep. Your whine sounds like a treble, harmonizing with his lower moan. And you two spend another moment in cowgirl position, collecting your breaths, basically fused together.

“I love you,” Yangyang repeats. Ever since yesterday morning, he has been throwing out the sentiment spontaneously whenever he can: during sex, after sex, while cuddling, in the middle of study dates, behind his cup of coffee at the physics café in the afternoon when no one else is nearby. He follows up with another confession, “I want more than 25-minutes.” And it catches you off guard, considering his previous statement and the other, in the midst of sex, or love making, as some people would call it.

“The 25-minutes is just for right now,” you reassure him, gently patting his cheeks. “We have to study. I still have part of a chapter left to read.”

“Then say it back.”

You pull his face to yours, brushing your noses together. “I love you,” you tell him slowly, enunciating every syllable.

“So, spend the night at my place tomorrow,” he requests. His arms come behind your lower back, his eyes pouting like a lamb.

“Of course,” you answer impulsively, immediately going to kiss him after. Then you pull away, stopping him on the shoulders. “Wait. You have roommates. You have six roommates.”

“Four,” he corrects you – Sicheng graduated last year and moved in with Yuta. “We’ll be fine. Dejun is going with Kun to some conference; I don’t remember what. Hendery is staying at an AirBnB before the EDM festival this weekend. Lucas is …” Yangyang bites his cheek, trying to recall his roomates’ schedules. “I think he’s going on a date. I don’t know, but he bought roses and they’re sitting in the fridge. And Renjun … Renjun …” Yangyang swallows. He almost forgot about the tidbit that he learned at the Halloween party last weekend.

“Renjun what?” you ask, pecking him lightly and chastely.

“Won’t be there either.” Yangyang stops you. “Can I ask you a serious question?”

You sense the serious tone and straighten up, clasping your hands around his neck. “What’s up?” you prod slowly.

“Did you really like him?” he questions so softly that you almost do not hear him. “Renjun?” he clarifies after you stay quiet (even though it was just a few seconds).

“Yeah,” you answer quietly, not entirely sure if you even want him to hear you, the ambience settling into something melancholier. “But I love you.”

It seems like he ignores you.

“Why didn’t you get with him?”

“You don’t mean that.”

You shake your head, pulling back, your eyes painfully dry. All the fuzzy spots from your orgasm earlier connect the dots in your head, and you wonder what this is, if he doubts you, doesn’t trust you.

But he agrees, “You’re right. I just … I mean, why are you with me instead?”

“Instead?” you ask. You come back to him – it’s always him, and you hold his face, making him look at you. “I’m not with you instead of Renjun. There’s no compet!tion. I love you,” you enunciate the confession again to really emphasize it.

“But –“

It doesn’t seem to stick. And you sigh with your entire body, slumping away from him. “Does it really bother you that much?” You shift around, biting your lip while his soft c.ock scrambles inside you. He meets your eyes this time, scanning your pupils for more reassurance. “You are kind and smart and hard-working and insanely talented, and … and I love you.” He stays quiet, and you almost throttle him, needing a bit of affection too. “Say it back,” you beg, differently from minutes ago. You drop your forehead on his shoulder. “Please.”

Yangyang seems to understand and reciprocates, “I love you too.”

You pull yourself to face him and beam, mirroring his tender gummy smile. Then, you kiss him again, toppling him into the pillows. He rolls you over, causing you to giggle loudly as he peppers small bites along your cheeks, across your nose, and whispers the same confession on loop.

“I love you,” he ends, kissing you deeply. He comes up for air, inhaling sharply. “So, stay the night with me tomorrow – tonight. At my place.” He brushes your hair away from your face, to get a better look at the sweet glaze in your eyes. You think that you fall in love a little more, especially with all his domestic acts.

“Okay,” you agree.

“Okay,” he repeats. “Okay.” He nods his head, smiling wider, if possible, and kisses you over and over and over again.

Funny thing about Fridays: Yangyang doesn’t have a morning class, doesn’t have class at all actually; meanwhile, you have another art history class, at eight. The damn class is 90-minutes, so it is held three times a week. His lectures, you recall bitterly, go on for 2-3 hours each, granting him the three day weekend that every college student desires, pushing his classes to the first four business days of the week. That means he can stay up all night Thursday to Saturday, gaming for long hours into the night – not that you get to see it often, because when you do stop by the frat house, you spend time with anyone else. And usually, someone is visiting at the same time. You know, you write yourself into Xiaojun and Sicheng’s pool compet!tion, or watch moves with Lucas, but tonight (really morning, considering that it is 1 A.M.), you sit with Yangyang in his wide gaming chair, thumbing at The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild (BotW) while he plays Overwatch with Haechan and Jeno. Thankfully, you don’t have any major assignments due later or any in-class presentations, so you can just curl up next to your boyfriend and pull an all-nighter, stealing snacks and drinks from his new mini-fridge so that you can avoid accidentally bumping into one of his roommates. Although, you Uber’ed to his place with a box of friend chicken and side dishes.

After the same gold lynel kills of Link for the third time in a row (the one in the Hebra region, outside the shrine, that has a sword you want), you lazily toss the controller onto his desk. Dying again and again gets frustrating, and you need to relieve the buzz. So, you turn to Yangyang, who looks to be in the middle of a campaign (is that what his levels are called?), and start asking him questions about his video game. Like, you know how sometimes people get so desperately horny that they ask their partner to explain Overwatch to them? Yeah, that is exactly how this feels, as Yangyang’s distracted voice describes his location and next move. And it is no wonder that he is a psych major – he is good at communication.

“What does that character do?” you whisper-ask, while the screen refreshes after he wins a battle.

“That’s an attacker.”

“A huh,” you nod along. You vaguely know what that means, based on the t!tle and all your years of the Club Penguin Card Jitsu game. “And that one?”

Yangyang removes his headset to around his neck and faces you, grinning sideways. “Are we sharing interests right now?” He pushes your legs apart, then straddles you over his thigh. His desk separates you and the game, pressing a fine line between the bones in your spinal cord. He turns the microphone down, muting himself from his friends. It is one thing for the two of you to be alone in the frat house and another for his close friends to physically hear you in his arms. “Or are you just needy for my attention?” Yangyang pulls one hand on your skin, rubbing small soothing circles. “That’s a sign of a relationship, you know.” He leans into your ear, whispering, “Like a date.”

You push him against the chair cushions, scrunching your nose at his laughter. “As if we haven’t done that already,” you say sarcastically, rolling your eyes for emphasis.

“What?” he asks. “Go on a date?”

You nod your head. Neither of you really call these types of things dates, but they are. Sometimes you also hang out in public, alone, maybe holding hand or kissing, even though lately it seems like you stay inside and study and have sex all the time. Actually, there is a rave going on this weekend with one of your favorite DJs – one shared equally by the two of you. You have yet to invite Yangyang, but now seems like a good time.

“You don’t really care about my games,” he pouts, “Do you?”

“I’m sorry,” you agree, pouting with him. “I don’t speak nerd.”

Yangyang gasps, sitting up straighter. “It’s not a nerd thing! It’s a game of strategy!”

You shake your head, still not understanding. “I don’t speak virgin either.”

He slaps your ass. “We both know that isn’t true.”

“Am I supposed to be the virgin, in this scenario?”

“Are you becoming a born-again virgin?”

You shrug. “What would you do if I did?” You completely straddle his lap, scooting up his thighs until his d!ck sits at attention between your abdomens, and you whisper in his ear, “Would you leave me?” You bite his ear, softly licking the external side then blowing on it. “Would you ruin me? Take it away?”

“Virginity is a social construct,” he reminds you, growling. He slips his hands into your underwear. “I’ll ruin you right now.”

Except, another round on his game loads, and you find yourself leaning onto his shoulder opposite the microphone so that he can play, despite the insane wetness soaking your underwear right now. Then, two more games go by and you want his attention. He asked you to stay the night with him, and this doesn’t necessarily feel like that. So, you get off his lap, slithering down his legs onto the ground, onto your knees.

First, you untie his pants and spring his d!ck out. It’s not difficult, because (1) he has pyjama bottoms on, and (2) he manspreads like a motherfucker, giving you easy access. Then, the blow job starts. You lick your palm a couple times and angle his tip in your mouth, starting soft. His legs tense momentarily, making you consider stopping, but a hand appears, pushing you halfway down his length.

“You look so pretty down there, angel.”

He obviously did not actually look at you; you know because he usually makes eye contact when he is close to cumming, enjoying the way your eyes glass over. And because his keyboard continues clicking.

You continue on that way – keeping one hand squeezed halfway down his d!ck; hollowing your cheeks, adding extra suction all over his tip; flattening your tongue on the underside and rolling it like sushi at the very top. Despite his d!ck being fully erect in your mouth, his attention is less than enthusiastic, fingers working diligently on those numbers. It gives you an idea. You start bobbing your head faster, in tune with his typing, egged on by his compet!tiveness. And when his voice goes up an octave, your grip gets tighter, only slacking when you drop back down halfway. His groan echoes in your ear, sounding like he lost (whatever that means), so you pull off. He breathes a little bit harder after the smacking sound falls from your lips, preceding all the fluttering little kisses down his shaft. You hold his d!ck up and lick one stripe up between his balls, and he shouts at his friends:

“Alright! I’m done for the night. Play tomorrow. Bye!”

Yangyang pulls you to your feet, standing with you. He scans your eyes, pulling you closer and closer, debating whether to kiss you or not; he never really kisses you after you suck his d!ck, unless he eats you out too.

“Bed now,” he orders you in whispers, patting your butt a little too hard. You fall onto his queen-sized mattress stomach down, bouncing with his fluffy duvet. He kneels next to you, lifting his sweater off your thighs and spanking you again, three times. Each smack precedes a loud, high-pitched gasp. “You’re so needy.”

“Fuck,” you mutter at a particularly hard hit, his hand slipping to the wet p.ussy lips that need some friction. “Is that a bad thing?”

A door shuts loudly down the hall, making you two straighten up in attention. You prop yourself forward on your elbows, staring at the door. Yangyang watches your reaction, his ears alert and back facing the door. You hear Hendery walking up the stairs, something jangling with him, like keys or plates. A second pair of feet march with him, making you look at Yangyang. He shrugs his shoulders, shaking his head; he thought everyone was going to be gone this weekend, which does not apparently start on Fridays for his roommates.

“You’re going to need to be quiet,” he whispers. This is nothing new. The two of you constantly fuck, like rabbits, regardless if anyone can hear you, but Hendery is two rooms down and Yangyang is sliding two fingers knuckle deep until hitting the urethral sponge. His curling has your thighs tensing to the point of shaking. As he settles between your legs (not letting up on the pressure), he taps your sternum twice, telling you to keep still and quiet.

But you moan. It just comes out, not something that you can control. Especially when he nips all around your clit, lip biting at your skin and sucking small bruises. He keeps going like this, nodding his head for more vibrations everywhere except the most sensitive spot. Your breath gets more labored, breaking loudly.

“You need to be quieter,” he reminds you.

“Mmm, I can’t. You’ll have to move slower.”

Yangyang speeds up his fingers. “Not a chance.” He swipes his thumb across your clit once, then twice, then harder, giving it a little pinch. “Even if you cum, I’m still going.”

You whine, disagreeing. “Mmm mmm, you can’t say things like that. Fuck –“ He starts crawling over your body, peppering light touches along your stomach, around your b.oobs, above your collarbone. “- I want to cum.” You mewl, again frustrated, because he pulls his fingers out. He gestures you to shush, putting them in your mouth. With his hands occupied around your face and throat, his d!ck jostles, sliding between your p.ussy lips without actually entering. “Please,” you beg, “I want to cum so bad.”

“Ugh,” Yangyang moans in your ear, this time guiding himself inside your warm and aching hole. “I know,” he tells you. “I can feel it.” He rotates onto his side, propping up one of his legs to get into an easier position where he can pound you better. You grab one of the pillows, briefly arresting it with your nails acting like handcuffs before settling it under your oblique. The new angle puts Yangyang right back at your G-spot, his tip abusing the sponge harshly. “You’re milking my c.ock, huh? You’re – You want me so bad, huh?”

“Mm hmm, yeah,” you agree. His gaze fixates on the way your ass claps against his pelvis. He doesn’t even have to lead you anymore; you start backing up on him, motivated the rougher he tugs your hair. “Please, please,” you chant in whispers. He spreads your cheeks, obsessed with the disappearing act you pull, needing to see it more.

“Fuck,” he groans. He cups your b.oob off the mattress, supporting the other one with his arm, and pinches at your n!pple, swirling it around between his thumb and index finger. “Come on, pretty girl. You need to cum?” You nod your head fervently, face warming intensely. “So, cum on my c.ock. You can do it; come on.” He drops your chest for your neck, pushing your head into the blankets so he can kiss you again, incoherently vibrating broken praises on your lips.

“Yangyang, Yangyang, I’m – I’m – Harder, please. I’m so – Oh, fuck.”

He moans your name seconds after, spilling into your pulsating core, and relaxes, chest falling into an equilibria rhythm with yours. His c.ock softens, finishing its workout, so you swing your leg away from him and spin around, placing a hand on his chest. You stare at him for a little bit, like watching the sun set. He peaks an eye open, then closes it quickly, teasing you because he knows that you saw it.

“You’re going to get cross-eyed staring at me,” Yangyang jokes.

“Then let me get cross-eyed,” you counter, slithering an arm under his head like a neck cushion.

“That’s disgusting.”

You scoff, pulling on the ends of his hair. “You’re disgusting.”

He smacks your butt lightly. It is definitely his favorite punishment. “And you can call it a kink, fyi.” He opens his eyes in time to see you pout, and in return, he pecks your lips, pulling away just as fast.

You look over his shoulder at the time: 2 A.M. and bury your face in his chest. “We need to stop sleeping so late. My body can’t handle this.”

“My body can handle yours.” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, even though he would not be ready to go again, at least for twenty minutes.

You chew on your lip a little bit, then repeat a post-sex tradition (well, it has essentially become a tradition this week). “Can I ask you a question?”

Yangyang kisses your shoulder, wrapping a leg around yours to keep you locked nearby. “Of course, anything.”

“Do you want to go to the rave with me, this weekend?”

“Like,” he processes, still hidden the crevice of your neck, “as in a date?” He lays across your arm, and you notice the glint in his eye. “Are you asking me out? I was supposed to do that!”

“Oh?” you return the tease. “We can just not go then, and I’ll wait for you to ask me out.” You start getting up, but he drags you back down, tugging specifically on your hand. He kisses you as a confirmation that yes, he wants to go; he wants nothing more than to go on a real date with you.

[smol-and-grumpy]

Light My Fire - CH03

Pairing: CEO!Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: She always thought her boss was an ill-tempered man, but when he presents her with a proposition she can’t quite deny, she gets to know him better. It’s not bad, right? Because all she has to do is being fake married to him for six months, sounds do-able, right? Right.

Warnings: There’s sweet fluff in this.

WC: 2738

Please share your thoughts with me, I’d love to hear your feedback.

Beta’d by @deanwanddamons​​ <3

SERIES MATSTERLIST

They enjoy their glass of wine in silence before her stomach starts to growl. It growls the loudest she’s ever heard. Maybe it’s because she hasn't had anything to eat since this morning, and her stomach rebels against the wine as it’s  the only thing in there. She should have known better.

Dean must have heard it because he starts to chuckle, “What toppings do you like? I thought we could share one.” 

“Sure, but don’t judge, please?” She says as she stands up, sees Dean’s eyes on her and feels the urge to cover up. He gets up from his chair and takes the towel she brought out with her, holds it up for her to cover herself.

When he looks at her again, he has one eyebrow cocked, “Why should I judge?”

 “Uh, because I quite like pineapples on pizza,” 

“I don’t judge,” Dean scoffs, and adds, “But I really think that should be illegal,” He laughs, but he doesn’t say anything more, and goes in to order their pizza. 

Y/N slips in while he’s on the phone and goes straight to her room, and changes into something comfortable. Now that she’s seen that he wears sweats, she’s happy to match him. It’s actually pretty weird seeing Dean like this because the only clothes she ever saw him in are suits, it makes her think that he even sleeps in them. She wonders if he has other clothes at all.

When the pizza arrives, Dean moves the glasses and bottle into the living room and asks her what movie she wants to watch, but she really doesn’t mind so she lets him choose. Dean zaps through Netflix and settles on Bird Box. 

While the movie starts, he hands her some napkins, and she’s wondering if that’s enough, because she’d hate to ruin the nice couch. He must have sensed her hesitation because he’s smirking, “It’s okay, you don’t wanna know what I managed to spill on this couch already,”

“Ewww,” She mocks, cringes her nose and he snorts out a laugh.

It’s easy, she thinks. It’s easy to let herself go. It’s easy to be here with him and just talk about anything outside of work. She comes to the conclusion that Dean’s not such an asshole after all. In fact, he’s a real gentleman. And that’s not really good, is it? It makes her feel things she shouldn’t feel.

She shakes the thought out of her head and takes a slice of pizza out of the box. It’s then  that she realizes that the whole pizza is riddled with pineapples. She frowns, “I thought you didn’t like pineapples on pizza?”

“I don’t,” Dean shrugs, takes a bite and pretends to wrinkle his nose before he grins with his mouth full and continues to eat. 

Y/N doesn’t think she makes it far into the movie because her eyelids are getting heavy halfway through. It’s the most illogical, most boring thing she’s ever seen, but she didn’t want to hurt his feelings so she tries to watch it. 

Last thing she remembers, though, is that she’s half leaning against Dean before she fell asleep. 

 ***

 Y/N wakes up in a bed. It’s clearly not hers. It took her an embarrassingly long time to realize that she’s in Dean’s apartment and that she’s in her bedroom. 

Oh no, she remembers eating pizza with Dean, remembers falling asleep to the stupid movie. He must have carried her to her bed. 

Her own fucking boss had to carry her to bed! If that’s not embarrassing she doesn’t know what is. 

She scans the room and her eyes settle on the clock on her nightstand. It’s already past 8am. She slept like a baby through her alarm but in her defense, the bed is so fucking comfortable, more comfortable than her own, and it’s only a fucking guest room. She wonders how comfortable Dean’s bed must be. How he can even wake up and get out of it every morning astounds her.

And then, the thought of being late for work crosses her mind before she realizes that she doesn’t have to go in. Realizes that she didn’t sleep through her alarm because she didn’t set one in the first place.

Grabbing her phone, she sees that there’s a text from Ruby.

 R: How was your first night? Did you consummate your fake marriage? *wink wink* 

 Then a text ten minutes later.

 R: Oh my god, it should have been a joke but you did, didn’t you? He’s in a remarkably good mood. Didn’t bitch about the coffee I brought him at all!

 Ah, Dean’s already at work then. He’s usually there before she turns up, and now she knows why. It’s only about a ten minutes walk from his apartment. 

 Y/N: Relax, nothing happened.

R: Ah, there she is.

Y/N: I slept in. The bed is so comfortable!

R: His bed I’d hope!

 She snorts out a laugh. 

 Y/N: No, I have my own room that’s bigger than my apartment.

R: Ugh, maybe I can come see you? Wanna see how the most not eligible bachelor lives. Or send me pics! Oh shit, he called out for me. I need to go. But I swear, whatever you’ve done to him. Do it again! I like to work for him when he’s not constantly yelling at people.

 She chuckles at that. She doesn’t answer Ruby though, instead she sends a text to Jack, telling him that she’s got another job that would secure him his degree and that everything’s okay.

Climbing out of bed, she decides to get coffee. It’s weird not having to go to work and she kind of misses it a little. 

Y/N walks out into the kitchen where there’s still a faint smell of his cologne and coffee in the air. A deadly combination for her brain apparently, because it makes her insides tingle in all the right places. She looks around and immediately spots a yellow sticky note left on the machine. 

It’s Dean’s handwriting. She knows it from all the scribblings he leaves on her desk when he already shut off his laptop and thinks about something that she must do for him the next day. 

 The machine is easy to handle. On, off. That’s it. I’m sorry I made you watch that movie. If you want to know, it didn’t get better after you fell asleep. Two hours of our lives, wasted. I’ll see you tonight, maybe we can watch something else — D

 She’s smirking. He really took his time this morning to write her a fucking novel. It really baffles her that he goes out of his way for her and it really seems like he genuinely cares to make her stay with him as comfortable as he can. Well, it does benefit him too, come to think of it.

 *

 After another round on the massage comforter, she walks into her room to find a message from Jack. 

 J: I hope you don’t sell yourself for my benefit. But I trust you. Miss you x

 She has to smirk and immediately types an answer back.

 Y/N: Just stay in college and make me proud, alright?

 Just when she’s about to put her phone away, it lights up with a call.

Dean.

“Hello?” She says, wondering if she should add sir to it at first but decides to drop it.

“Hey, you slept alright?”

She smiles, “Yeah, thanks. It’s the most comfortable bed.” She bites on her tongue so as to not ask him about him carrying her back to said bed.

There’s a light chuckle on the other end, “Good. Listen, I went over my schedule today because Ruby didn’t do it for me, and saw that I can’t have a movie night this evening like I wrote on the note,” He pauses to think, “You found the note, right?”

“Yeah, I did.”

“So, you maybe did know this because you arranged the invitation and you put it into my calendar, but I didn’t until about twenty minutes ago,”

She thinks hard about his schedule, remembers that there was something. An event. Some kind of gala. 

“But instead of watching a movie, what would you say to me taking you out?” He says, “I called them and managed to do a last minute adjustment to my invitation.”

“Oh,” She huffs out, knowing where Dean wants to go with that.

“Thought it’d be a good opportunity to show them my wife. Are you in?”

He still asks, even if he actually doesn’t have to? Because yeah, she obviously can’t be a fake wife in private. The world needs to see it. Amara needs to see it.

“I guess,” She mutters. She is actually not really sure if she can pull that off. Her heart beats faster just thinking about walking on a red carpet.

“Y/N, you don’t have to, you know,” It’s as if he senses her dread, “I don’t want to do anything that makes you feel uncomfortable, but we should at least try to look like a happily married couple and we can’t pretend if you don’t want to.”

“No— I mean, it’s okay, I’ll do it,” Her voice is more firm this time. She wants to. Wants to show him that she can do it. 

It shouldn’t be hard, right? She’s been with a man before. She knows all that hand holding stuff. And Dean’s paying her double for god’s sake. What’s an evening of being flirty with him? It’s not like he is an old greasy man. Well, maybe that would be better? Maybe then she will not risk falling for him? Because that’s what is going to happen if she’s not careful, she just knows it. And then she’ll get her heart broken. Even though a broken heart is a little price to pay if it means that Jack can finally start his own future, come to think of it.

“Okay,” There’s a huff of breath, he’s smiling, she can hear it, “Good. I’ll get Gabe to drop off my card, you can go shopping for a dress. The card has no limit, just buy whatever you want, alright?”

She grins smugly, “I need shoes, too.”

“Buy all the things you want.”

“Alright, sir.”

“Y/N, stop calling me that. Unless,” He pauses and there’s a playfulness in his voice, “That’s what you like.”

She’s glad it’s not a video call, so he isn’t able to see that her face is burning up. She doesn’t say anything and Dean takes the hint.

“Right, I have another meeting, I’ll see you around 7pm. The gala starts at 8pm.”

“K, bye Dean.”

“Have fun.”

*

 Y/N’s standing in her room as she waits for Dean to come back. He’ll probably need to shower and get dressed too. 

Gabe came by to drop off Dean’s Centurion card and he walked straight into Dean’s bedroom to drop off Dean’s tux onto his bed. She never had such a card in her hands, it feels heavy, made of platinum, not like her cheap plastic one that she only uses once in a blue moon.

At first she didn’t know where to go because she hadn't been dress shopping for a gala before. She wondered if H&M would be a good choice but then thinks that it probably wouldn’t. While she was out shopping she looked into shop windows and came across a beautiful long sleeved sequin pattern dress in gold. 

She never knew gold would look good on her but the shop assistant was so nice, even though she knows it’s that woman’s job, she felt really good in the dress and it wasn’t over the top with the price so Dean should be okay with it. She couldn’t resist buying matching shoes, too. 

Later, she splashed out some money for lingerie that she could wear under it and hoped that Dean wouldn’t mind. He told her to buy whatever she likes, so.

And now, she’s nervously pacing around her room. Her pacing only stops when she hears footsteps approaching.

There’s a knock at her door, “Y/N, you okay?”

“Yeah,” She manages to say.

“Good, sorry I’m a little late, had to pick up something on the way. I’ll shower and get dressed. Meet you in the living room in thirty minutes?”

“Sure,”

She hears him opening the door to his room.

Thirty minutes. Ugh. She hasn’t even applied makeup yet. She’s so nervous.

After a last check in the mirror, she walks out into the living area, her heels clicking on the marble flooring. She’s not used to wearing such high heels, and prays  that she won’t stumble and fall flat on her face. 

As she rounds the corner into the living area, she sees Dean already waiting for her, dressed in a fitting tux and smelling so fucking delicious. He looks like he’s just stepped out of a glossy magazine spread and that’s not fair. She can already see the press giving them a caption for their picture together. It reads, DEAN WINCHESTER COULD DO SO MUCH BETTER. 

Y/N can feel Dean’s eyes on her. They’re wide and his lips part slightly before they curve up into a smile. It’s bright and white. She’s smiling too, can’t not smile when he’s looking at her like that. Looking at her like she’s the only one that matters. She’s not used to it at all.

“Wow,” Dean breathes out, “You look beautiful.”

She was already blushing before but now her cheeks heat up a little more, “Thank you. You’re not bad yourself.”

Dean has to chuckle and then all of a sudden, he runs back to his room, “I’ll be right back,”

After about a minute Dean reappears clutching things in his hand. One of them is a pocket square. He went in and picked out a color that matches her dress. She has to grin at that.

He places it inside his jacket but he seems to struggle, “Can you help me, I—”

“Of course,” She grins, and steps closer to him, arranging the pocket square so that I’d look nice. Patting his pocket, she leaves her hand on his chest when she’s done, feels his heartbeat underneath her palm. She can swear it beats a little faster than usual, not that she knows his resting heart rate. “All set.” She says and Dean grins at her. 

“Okay, now my turn,” Dean licks his lips and clears his throat, and she can’t help but wonder what he means by his turn.

She doesn’t have to wait long, because Dean opens up the little box he was still clutching and she can see the princess cut diamond engagement ring with a matching wedding band. 

“Dean, no.”

“Why, Dean, yes.” He chuckles, takes them out, and takes her left hand in his. “Y/N, will you give me the honor of being my fake wife for real now?” 

Y/N has to giggle at that, “Yeah, of course,”

He smiles, slips the ring onto her ring finger and to her surprise, they fit perfectly. She looks at Dean, raises her eyebrow, “Let me guess, Ruby?”

“Yeah,” Dean smirks, and then he shows her his left hand, “I have one, too. So, you ready?”

“Not really?” 

“That’s the spirit,” Dean places his hand around her waist, pulls her close and kisses her cheek softly. 

It does nothing to calm her down because she’s even more nervous now. 

“You gotta try to keep me from falling, okay?,” She says as he moves his hand to the small of her back, and guides her to the door. 

“I would never let you fall,” Dean shows her a small smile and they step into the elevator. 

In there, she eyes him up again, can’t quite take her eyes off him. He looks so good with the slight scruff and the freckles, the crinkles around his eyes deepen the longer she stares at him. 

“What?” He asks her, raises an eyebrow.

“You look good, Mr. Winchester,” She says with a smile.

“You too, Mrs. Winchester. Most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. And I’m not lying.” He leans in, places another kiss on her heated cheeks before the elevator comes to a halt. 

He helps her get out and Gabriel’s already waiting, holding the limousine door open for them.

CH04

[mediocre--writing]

Hey! I just read a couple of your drabbles and I LOVE THEM!💙💙

So if you don't mind, could you please do a Harringrove drabble/ficlet based on either of the two (or a mix of both, if you can) Twenty One Pilots songs "Tear in My Heart" and/or "Smithereens"?

Because, for me, Tear in My Heart is very Billy and Smithereens is very Steve👉👈

Thank you!!💜

Ok so love this and you have an amazing mind, just so you know.

This is like a 2 in 1 fic post so :))))

So smithereens and steve work so well together, like

“I go step to a dude much bigger than me/ for you I know that I would get messed up, weigh 153/ For you I would get beat to smithereens”

Like this is just Steve's personality. He got into a fight every season and barely ever wins without intervention. And like i could see him just being so overcome with emotions that he just does what he knows, which is self destruct.

Like with his fight with Jonathan, he almost accepts that Nancy was too good for him and thinks that he might as well take other people with him.

Then with Tommy in the parking lot, it’s not really a fight, but it shows that he has a conscience and fixes his mistakes.

Then with his fight with Billy, he only tries to protect the kids, even if he’s losing miserably.

I could 100% see steve having snuck into billy’s room during the night once (before he really knew about neil), not to do anything nefarious, but just that he had a really bad nightmare, because there was a small power outage, and billy is really good at helping him sleep afterwards.

And let's just say that Billy's alarm clock (which is always set for 5:30am, half an hour before Neil wakes up just to give him peace of mind) doesn’t go off because of the power outage.

And Neil comes to wake up Billy for school because he hasn’t woken up yet, and sees Billy spooning Steve and both boys are snoring and pressing bare chest to bareback, and so deep asleep that Neil lets them sleep, letting them wake up on their own.

And they do. Billy wakes up around 8am, feeling insanely well rested. He smiles and squeezes Steve before turning to sit up from his bed to look at his alarm clock, that’s blinking on and off and reads 3:18am, but the sun’s up and… the house is quiet.

Billy feels the dread settle deep in his chest, and swears he could cry if he were .000000001% more worried.

He hears the creaking of work boots walking around the house and knows, just from the tension lingering in the air, that it’s just an angry Neil pacing in the kitchen/ dining room and waiting for Billy to wake up.

He doesn’t know whether to wake Steve up and tell him to escape out of the window and run or just let him lay there anyway, it’s obvious that Neil already saw.

He let’s Steve sleep and throws a shirt on and slowly walks out of the room into the pits of hell, seeing Neil turn to him with an angry face a brighter shade of red than a firetruck.

As slurs are screamed and Billy is thrown into the walls and has family tchotchkes launched at his face, Steve wakes up after a particularly painful shove makes the wall shake, pushing a single picture frame fall off the wall on the other side.

Steve shoots up after that loud bang and hears a wail and muffled yelling before something else hits the wall. He grabs his shirt and puts it on as he walks out the bedroom door, seeing glass shattered on the hardwood leading to the family room, but what he sees around the corner is so much worse.

Billy’s bleeding in about twenty different spots, body curled in a ball in the corner of the kitchen, Neil standing over him, but turning to Steve with a grin.

Steve feels his blood boil as dots connect and loose ends are tied up, making the connection between Billy's bad nights and the new bruises he’ll sport under his shirt. The way he tries to hide it when he flinches at loud, authoritative men who are bigger than him. Why he told Steve to never call his house and why he is the way he is.

So Steve doesn’t think for another second before launching himself at Neil, slamming him into the floor, but that’s about as much as he wins that fight, because Neil is slamming him back and beating him the same way he did his son.

And billy, let’s admit it, is probably much stronger and a better fighter than his dad, but it’s so hard to fight back against an abuser that has controlled your life for so long. Even when you know you could win and that they deserve it, neil hargrove is still his dad and he could never get it into his head to hit him back.

But Steve was trying too hard to take him down because he was doing the wrong thing and losing terribly, never having won a fight once in his damn life.

Billy’s sitting up against the wall, ribs in excruciating pain and vision blurry, but he sees Steve getting up and kicking Neil once before backing up, and Billy sees his camaro keys in the dish by the front door.

So he stands up as fast as he can, ignoring the dizziness as if that would make it go away, grabs steve’s arm and shoots to the door, grabbing the camaro keys and shooting outside

He takes the driver’s seat, despite his dizzying head, just knew that he’d have to drive for a few miles then they could reevaluate, and Steve was clumsily getting into the passenger side.

Billy had only just started the car when Neil came rushing out the door, screaming threats and slurs as if that would make them stop their escape.

The camaro backed out of the driveway and shot down cherry lane in record time, going to the center of town, the least likely place Neil would cause a scene.

It isn’t until Billy puts the car in park that he can bear to look at steve.

He’s got a bloody nose and his shirt sleeve is torn off, hair disheveled from both sleep and the fight.

But billy looks so much worse.

He’s still hunched to the left from his ribs, he’s got tons of cuts along his arms, legs, and face from, what steve suspects, the broken glass on the floor. He’s also got this wild-animal-look in his eyes. One that screams, I escaped alive, but at what cost?

“Bill-”

“Why’d you do that?”

“Why-- I’m sorry are you asking me why I attacked your dad when he was kicking you while you were, literally, on the floor?”

“Ye--no, I-- but you got hurt, why’d you do that?”

“Billy, what did you expect me to do?” a shrug is all he gets in response--”If you saw my dad doing that to me, can you honestly expect yourself to stand there and watch it happen, or walk away and let it happen?”

Billy turns to face the grocery store--Melvad’s-- that they were parked in front of.

“It’s all weaving together in my head. All the bruises, the jumpiness, how you like to control things, it all makes sense, but what doesn’t make sense is why you wouldn’t just tell me, Bill,”

“And what exactly would you have been able to do about it, huh? You gonna take care of the situation or some shit, Steve? Trust me, I’m used to it and--”

“But you shouldn’t have to be ‘used to it,’ Bill, that’s abuse, and you don’t deserve that shit, not ever,”

Their conversation is halted by a tap on the glass by Steve's window, and the boys turn to see Joyce Byers looking more motherly than ever.

Steve rolled the window down.

“The hell happened to you boys?” she asked but corrected herself with a shake of her head, “Doesn’t matter, just come in to clean up, we’ve got bandages and antiseptic, free of charge,”

Billy wiped away the tears he didn’t know had formed and nodded to her, “We’ll be out in a minute, Mrs. Byers.”

“Joyce, please,” she demanded softly.

“Joyce, of course,” Billy offered a subdued smile.

She walked off and Steve rolled the window back up.

“Thank you,” Billy spoke quietly after a moment. “I’m glad he didn’t hurt you worse,”

“Billy, for you I would get beat to smithereens,”

“Well of course you would, you weigh like 100 pounds, not like you could put up much of a fight,”

“Hey! I gave him a black eye, thank you very much!”

“Oh, well, my bad, baby, then maybe you weigh 150, huh?”

Steve grumbled from the passenger seat, “153,”

Billy chuckled and grabbed Steve's hand over the console, locking eyes and smiling at each other, enjoying their small moment.

“We should probably get in there before Joyce comes out herself?” Steve sighed as he moved to take his hand out of Billy's.

“One more minute, please,”

Steve just tightened his grip on Billy's hand and moved towards the center of the car to rest his head on Billy's shoulder, Billy's head falling onto his.

-

Billy and Tear In My Heart thooooooooo

Like it fits him so well, again this is amazing.

I also see billy as a resident hater of america and it’s fucking government becuase, well, they have a history between his myriad of speeding tickets and, oh what was it, oh yes, the tentacle monster that impaled and possessed him.

And in California, there’s no cold weather where he lives, so there’s not exactly potholes to avoid.

The first time he drives into the cooler states and has to avoid potholes, he decides that his car deserves a vacation after this.

But the potholes become the biggest issue after he and Steve start dating.

He’s absolutely enamoured by this boy, because who wouldn’t be. He respects Billy's limits and can hold his own in arguments, and they fit together like missing pieces of a puzzle.

Steve has changed Billy, not that he’d admit it, but he’s softer now and all of his sharp edges have been baby-proofed. They’re still there and dangerous, but they’re more difficult to be stabbed by.

All the cracks in his heart have been filled with gold, like Kintsugi (a Japanese technique of repairing broken pottery with gold).

And Billy can complain and complain about Steve's clinginess, about his intrusion into his life, and his persistence to stay, but deep inside Billy's never felt more loved or cared for in his life.

But these damn potholes might just make him lose it.

Because billy is anything but a bad driver, he can control the car even when it’s going 45 over the speed limit, but now that steve falls asleep after their movie dates or when they’re coming back from barbeques with the party, Joyce, and Hopper, he’s driving the speed limit.

Which is just appalling.

But some of these potholes are so deep you could dive into them and not hit the bottom.

Like what the fuck, Indiana?

And, one time, Max is with them after a barbeque when Steve falls asleep and Billy slows the car down to what feels like snail speed, but is just the speed limit.

“Why are we going so slow?” Max asked as she leaned forward from the backseat to whisper to billy.

“Steve’s sleepin’,” he said, as if it was the obvious reason.

“You’re whipped,”

“Shut up, Shitbird,”

Max leans back into her seat with a grin on her face at the absolute mush her big, tough brother has turned into for Steve Harrington.

[vintagedolan]

okay this is kinda more of a question, but if you turned it into a concept I'd love you forever. With that tweet you just reblogged, do you think that the boys would still do stuff like that once they're dating girls (like if they lived with them?) or do you think it would be weird

i’ve always said that I think whoever dates one twin pretty much has to be like brother/sister with the other for the whole dynamic to work because our boys are SO codependent haha (in the best way). That being said, I think their relationship comes first, always. so I think they definitely still would. I can give you a lil concept too cause it’s just too sweet to think about🥺

-----

Ethan had been spared from the aggressiveness of a ‘grayson alarm’ for almost three months now. Ever since you had moved in, Gray had accepted that he would spend the first few hours of his morning alone. It wasn’t too bad, considering you’d actually managed to get Ethan into a somewhat normal sleep schedule. He was used to getting up around 8:45 now - fairly respectable. 

So when he felt a strong hand on his shoulder, his immediate reaction was to roll away, towards you, arms wrapping around your warm waist. But the hand is too familiar, even if it is more gentle than normal. So he rolls back over, peeking one eye open, then the other to make sure he’s seeing things right this early in the morning.

Grayson is standing by the bed, one hand in the pocket of his shorts, the other awkwardly hanging at his side. His eyes are a different kind of puffy, and Ethan feels his chest tighten a bit. 

“You okay?” He whispers it, and Grayson just shakes his head back and forth, tears already starting to form again. 

Ethan doesn’t hesitate for a second, but he still climbs out of the bed slowly, trying his hardest to make sure he doesn’t wake you up. He frowns a bit when you stir, so he leans over, pressing a kiss to your hair and rubbing your back for a moment until you settle back down. 

He’s dead on his feet, but it doesn’t matter. He snags a scrap piece of paper off his desk, scribbling a note.

good morning, i love you. out with gray, needed some brother time. be back soon.

And with that he grabs a shirt and pulls it over his head, leaving the note on the sheets before heading out to the kitchen. Grayson’s not saying anything - he’s just following him like a shadow, needing the presence of his brother more than anything else. But he still breathes out a sigh of relief when Ethan grabs the van key off the hook, heading out the door. 

Ethan gave him even more time, just plugging his phone in and playing old Cudi as he drove to the coast, back to one of their more isolated ‘thinking spots’ where you could hear the waves crash and no one would bother them.

It was much nicer to open the back of the van and sit on the cushions - in the earlier days they would just sit on the grass, pretending their asses weren’t numb halfway through the conversation. 

They sat shoulder to shoulder for a while, watching the ocean crash against the rocks. He doesn’t have to say anything - all he does is look at Grayson, checking to see if he’s ready to talk.

“Just... a bad day. I feel like I can’t get it together recently. Like I’m good one day, and the next I’m so far down the hole again that I can’t fucking breathe. Tired of fucking bad days.” He lets it out, the weight of it making his shoulders slump. Ethan just puts an arm around his shoulder, holding him to his side. Doesn’t matter how much he gives him shit for touching him in a video - there was just something grounding about it, and he knew that’s what his brother needed.

“A bad day isn’t a bad life, Gray. I know it can be hard to remember that. Gets overwhelming for me sometimes too. There’ll be good days too. Just gotta fight to get to em.” 

The conversation flowed well after that, talk of everything going on in the world and within their own minds. 

Unbeknownst to them, you were waking up back at the house, pouting a bit when your searching hand found paper instead of skin. As soon as your vision was clear enough to read it, you smiled. It had been a while since the boys had spent some good quality brother time, and you were glad. But the fact that it was only 8am told you that it was probably more serious than just hanging out. 

It wasn’t any of your business, but that didn’t mean you didn’t wanna help if you could. You checked Ethan’s location quickly, smiling when you saw that he was headed back to the house. 

You had to work quickly, but you managed to cut up fresh fruit and finish the vegan french toast just in time, scooping it out onto plates. The familiar hum of the van sounded from the driveway as you made coffee, using the premade settings. A bit of pride ran through you when you sat down Ethan’s cup just as you heard the door open. 

“Woah, it smells good in here.” You heard him from around the corner, and you couldn’t help but smile when they appear, Ethan’s arm slung over Grayson’s shoulder. 

“Morning, I made breakfast.” 

And you weren’t expecting much of a reaction, maybe a thank you. But when Grayson starts to tear up again you panic, looking at Ethan for an explanation. He doesn’t have time to give you one, cause Grayson’s arms are around you, engulfing you to where you can’t see anything but his chest. 

“Thank you. I really didn’t wanna make breakfast,” he’s mumbling, and you’re just squeezing him back, a bit confused. “Group hug E.” 

You feel E come up behind Grayson, his familiar hands wrapping around your waist as he hugs you and his brother. And you know that one of them will explain it all later, but right now you’re just glad they’re okay. 

[tsipasce]

Same Difference, ch.03

A/N: so two cute idiots walk into a tea shop...

Chapters: 01  |  02 | 04

AO3 | Fanfic

Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shiiiiiiit. She thought as she shakily sipped the tea she had just made.  It had been an hour or so since she escaped, and the gravity of the situation once again settled on Nanami’s shoulders. She realized just what it meant to have left her purse in his car. If it had just been her phone and cards, she could go and replace them, but what really concerned her was her I.D. If there was any sensitive information he was after, he was certainly going to find it on there. “He knows my address…” she realized aloud.

No amount of SleepyTime tea would be able to fix this. I’m doomed...

It was getting late in the day and without any of her cards or phones, she was stranded in her apartment, waiting for the worst. However, she did have some old pots and pans lying around. It’s not the strongest metal, but it’ll at least make a lot of noise if they’re broken and give me time to escape if shit hits the fan. She broke down the metal objects and reformed them into a considerable amount of deadbolt locks on her front door and windows. As she went to check how things looked outside, she saw it: It’s that same damn car.

Nanami immediately shut her blinds and had a mini freak-out. Why in the world did I think they wouldn’t follow me? Fmllll.

Freaking out wasn’t helping, so she decided to refocus and calm herself by planning and researching her would-be opponent. If he decided to make good on his last threat, she at least needed to know who she was up against. She pulled out her laptop and remembered she was able to check her phone notifications through it. There were no notifications and for the first time she was glad her inbox was so dry. Clearing her mind, she tried to remember details that would tell her who she was up against.

“Overhaul”. That’s what the driver seemed to call him. Is that his villian name? Nanami figured it was worth a shot, assuming she’d probably find some petty criminal’s rap sheet. Though if she was being honest with herself, he was much more intimidating than your average delinquent. She pulled up Boogle and searched the name. She unfortunately got her answer.

… You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

It was then that all of the hints she had missed before came crashing down as she saw the words “yakuza” and “Hassakai” plastered on her screen. She had to be the unluckiest woman alive, she was thoroughly convinced of that now.

After taking a personal moment to scream into one of the throw pillows on her sofa, Nanami decided to press onward in the hopes of finding out about his quirk. He hadn’t been able to use it yesterday, but she was sure he would try again if given the chance. This piece of information was much harder to find, but not impossible. A couple gruesome articles later and she found what she was looking for. The article read “ His quirk is suspected to involve the disassembly and reassembly of anything that he touches at a molecular structural level upon touching the target with his bare hands.”

She reread, and then reread it again. And again. This is impossible. “That’s my quirk.” Though she had to keep it a secret most of her life, she suddenly felt almost angry that someone else had it, that he had it. She hid her powers, always being careful to understate her quirk, then here comes this asshole using it without a care in the world. The more she thought about it, the more she began to question whether she was angrier at him for owning it, or at herself for rejecting it. Before she could make the existential breakthrough, the Dr. Nanami Watanabe part of her brain brought up the obvious question, rousing her from her thoughts:

“How in the world do two people that aren’t related have the exact same quirk? Has that ever even happened before? What does this even mean?” she had to ask herself aloud. I have to talk to him, she realized, grimacing at the thought.

It would be incredibly dangerous given who he is, but as it stood, he had all her information—probably more considering his connections—and she couldn’t talk to anyone else about it and risk getting them involved. Besides, for whatever reason, he wasn’t able to use it on me the last time. Maybe it was just a fluke, but I have to at least try and find out. Considering this, his behavior (well, some of it) began to make sense. If she were a yakuza boss and found out someone else was walking around with your very specific, and possibly very destructive quirk, she’d probably want to have a talk with them too.

Cautiously looking out the window, the car was still there. It was a long shot, but she hoped they had her phone in front of them so she could send a civil invitation to meet from a distance. She reopened the phone messenger on her laptop and began to type. Nanami had written a lot of serious messages in her life, but this one definitely took the cake.

After rewriting it a couple times she settled on a riveting, final draft:

Dear Overhaul,

I know who you are. Let’s chat.

*send*

Looking at the message, she commented dryly “I should’ve just dropped out of med school and become a writer. Great work, Nanami *facepalm*”. After a message like that, she was sure he’d think she was an idiot and she wouldn’t blame him one bit. He may not respond, but at least she can say she tried. If he agrees, then there’s a slight chance we could come to an understanding and he won’t merc me on sight. Maybe.

Just as doubt was about to rear its ugly head, three dots appeared.

Nanami’s eyes were glued to the screen in anticipation while her ears were still straining to hear if there was any commotion outside her door. The dots disappear.

 “Tomorrow at 8AM.” The text read. She wasn’t sure if it was the man himself, but it didn’t matter. Death threats or not, she didn’t wake up that early on a Sunday for anyone but the Lord himself.

“No can do. Tomorrow, noon, at Matcha Mastery” She replied. If anything went down, she at least wanted to get one last fix from her favorite shop.

The three dots appeared and reappeared at least 4 times. Whoever was responding was being careful about what they wrote.

“Fine.”

Or not..

And just like that, she had a date with the devil for tea.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Sleeping was near-impossible that night. Though she had set a time and place, there was also little stopping him from sending in a couple of his “colleagues” to make a preemptive strike. Thankfully, the night went by without incident, the mysterious car having only left at daybreak. After checking her locks one more time, Nanami set an alarm for 11:00 AM and passed out.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The alarm blared and she woke up with a start, the anxiety from the day before bubbling up to the surface. After going through her usual routine, she went to her closet and stared blankly. She had never been more confused as to what to wear, it was a meeting with a class B villain, after all. Do I wear a sensible pantsuit or a dramatic gown with a fur coat made of dalmatian puppies? Thinking it best to be as inconspicuous as possible, she went for a third option: her favorite sleeveless black turtleneck, some high-rise jeans with a black leather belt and black leather boots. Putting her hair into her signature ponytail, she checked her watch, “11:45, just enough time to walk there.”

Though she’d made this walk a hundred times, today it felt excruciatingly long. She’d say it was like marching to her own execution, but thought it best not to speak something with such a high probability into existence. Five minutes later and she had arrived.

There were only a few other people in the small shop, but she thought it best to sit upstairs in one of the private rooms. She put in her order and headed upstairs to wait and mentally prepare. Enough privacy where they won’t be able to hear our conversation, but public enough that I can call for help if things go south, she plotted internally. Just then, her order was called, and she headed down the stairs. As she took the last step she heard someone else come in and looked towards the door to see him there. He hadn’t noticed her yet and went to order. For a moment, she observed him from afar. He wasn’t wearing his signature mask or jacket, but donned a simple black mask, button-down shirt and slacks with a gray tie instead. She was surprised at how different he looked. Speaking of surprises, he was actually being very courteous to the staff, What a stark contrast to the guy that threw me in the back of a car yesterday… She commented inwardly. Nanami was so focused on her thoughts she didn’t realize that her stare was being returned. She quickly snapped out of it and looked away, feeling a tinge of embarrassment lightly stain her cheeks. He subtly raised an eyebrow, but his expression stayed otherwise the same.

Not wanting to lose her air of confidence so quickly, Nanami poised herself and walked confidently over, reaching past him to get her order, his eyes never leaving her. Without a word, she turned on her heel, returned to the private room upstairs and waited, her heart racing after having been that close. A few minutes later she heard someone walking up the stairs and braced herself for the encounter. Overhaul calmly walked into the small room, sat across from her, and stared. It seemed as if neither of them knew how to start the conversation which she found surprisingly comforting at first, but then she remembered why they were there in the first place.

They sat in that heavy, awkward silence for what felt like an eternity, neither one of them breaking eye contact. Nanami usually wouldn't be this hostile right off the bat, but after their encounter yesterday, she made an exception. His gaze was intense and still borderline homicidal as he studied her, but she knew she couldn't afford to show signs of weakness and look away. While focusing so intently on his eyes, she could swear she saw a tinge of curiosity. Hm. I can work with that. Truces have been made on less, right? She convinced herself, deciding it was time to put a knife to the growing tension. "Alright, let's chat." she began confidently. His eye twitched ever so slightly at this and she could tell he was still contemplating less pleasant, nonverbal forms of communication. "Why were you following me yesterday?" "No. That isn't how this is going to work. I'm questioning you." He replied sternly, almost cutting her off. "You can think that, but I'd like to remind you what happened the last time you tried to corner me with questions. How's your stomach feeling, by the way?" Nanami asked innocently, though her face was smug. At this she could see his face shift to a look of disbelief, then quickly regress to anger and a bit of embarrassment. She could tell he wasn't used to being talked to like this. She was skating on thin ice, but she'd be lying if she said she didn't enjoy watching him react. The silence continued and Nanami sipped her tea, raising her brows at him expectantly. Not being able to use his quirk to shift the balance, he came to terms with the fact that he'd have to answer her at some point. "On Friday you were snooping around Hassakai territory, accosted one of my subordinates. Then you proceeded to destroy construction site materials. It's not odd that I would have to investigate such a suspicious character." He stated matter-of-factly as he crossed his arms over his chest, sure of himself. Nanami looked around dramatically, gesturing, “Am I in the Twilight zone? That's not at all what happened. I didn't accost anyone or destroy anything, I saved him by--" she abruptly stopped, thinking it best not to confirm what he may or may not know about her quirk. Or is it “our” quirk? Gross. She then continued " I saved your subordinate and I get thanked by almost being kidnapped? Make it make sense." "If that's true, then explain how you did it. In detail." He replied, but it sounded too much like a dare. She knew what he wanted to hear but was afraid of the consequences if he got his answer. Overhaul decided to take the initiative and provoke a demonstration out of her, since the explanation was taking too long for his liking. After glancing around to ensure they were alone, he took a napkin, and wiped down her mug. Nanami was watching him intently now. He began removing his glove and she reflexively flinched at the movement, remembering the threats from yesterday. He noticed and moved slightly slower, before removing it completely. He then took her mug, examining it.

A germaphobe who has to touch things to activate his quirk, huh? No wonder he's so grumpy. Nanami thought.

Just as she was about to ask what he was doing, he raised the mug between them and disassembled it, the particles now in free fall. Before Nanami thought, she reacted, placing her hand beneath the soon-to-be mess, catching and reassembling the particles at they fell. She looked at the now intact mug and realized she had done exactly what he wanted. Crap. She hesitantly lifted her gaze to meet his and saw a hint of... wonder? Is he happy about this? She wondered, but the rest of his expression was that of suspicion. "Explain." He commanded in a low voice. She knew it was too late now. No amount of strategy would get her out of this explanation. "I.. I researched you—I mean your quirk— last night, and well… it's the same as mine. Exactly the same." She added the last part clearing her throat, now looking down, her mind going a mile a minute at the declaration. He paused a beat before responding. "It truly is a virus." He said with disgust. Say what now? Nanami had a couple of ideas as to how he'd react, but this was not one of them. "Pardon?" "Quirks. They are the virus of this generation." He continued. Still puzzled, but curious, Nanami prodded, "You mean, literally or in some philosophical, villain-y way?" "Both. Everyone has ascribed to the label of either hero or villain, intoxicated by their own delusions of grandeur. All because they've been given powers by a virus derived from rats. It's filthy." "No, no, no," Nanami mentally switched gears to become Dr. Watanabe, " while I agree hero and villain complexes can be dangerous in equal measure, and they might be a ‘moral virus', quirks are not biologically viruses. They're hereditary mutations," she stated confidently. "Well, you don't look like one of my relatives." He replied plainly, sizing her up. They both knew he had a point. " I.. I can't explain that. But it's widely known that quirks are hereditary." " Known or theorized?" " Science doesn't work that way. Even things we're almost 100% sure of are still sometimes considered theory. Doesn't make it any less true." "One, I know how science works. And two, it also doesn't make it 100% true. You can't ignore data just because it contradicts your beliefs." At this Nanami thought for a moment before deciding they needed to refocus and come to terms on a truce. "Well. What now? I can't have you tailing and threatening me with abduction." "And I can't have someone with my quirk walking around, ready to be weaponized by my enemies…How can you assure me you won't be a problem?" Is he throwing me a bone? "Look, I'm a semi-law-abiding citizen just trying to live a relatively quiet life, and I have no hero license. I haven’t the reason nor the means to cause trouble." "You already have. Yesterday I was...” He cleared his throat, “…unable to execute my quirk." Geez that sounded like it hurt to say… Nanami thought. He continued, "However, you were able to utilize yours against me. There is an imbalance and it must be rectified." "But I have no idea how that happened. It was a fluke!"

" You can't be sure of that." He stated, and she knew he was right. Just as she was afraid of coming the negotiations would come to an impasse, he continued, "But I can. Let me study you." Her eyes shot open wide at that suggestion, " And lock me away in whatever yakuza hideout cell you've probably already constructed for me? No, thank you." "So you're not the least bit curious as to why something you claim is hereditary behaves like a virus? Why you were unaffected by overhaul yesterday?" "You were going to disassemble me??" Nanami asked in disbelief, though her professional and personal curiosity were indeed piqued at the prospect of researching their shared quirk. He looked confused and answered as though she was the weird one," Of course. I was going to overhaul your arms and then return them to you once I knew the threat had been neutralized." " You were going to ‘return my arms’? How considerate of you." She said sarcastically. "But still, the answer is no." "So you're not curious?" He pushed, knowing the answer. "No. I mean yes! But I'm not going to become a lab rat." Just then, an epiphany struck her. It would be a long shot, but it was her best shot at a truce and to get her questions answered. She had to at least try.

"But I would be willing to become a lab

partner,

" she said, raising her eyebrows, hoping he would accept the proposition.

"Excuse me?"

"Well, we could work together to figure this out. We’re both looking for answers so our goal would be the same, I’m a whole ass doctor, and I can tell by how you remove your gloves you at least know basic lab practices. All you have to do is guarantee you won't harm me or anyone I associate with. I should be able to go about my life without worrying about what you might do to me... Do we have a deal?"

He paused thoughtfully, and she could tell he was genuinely considering the proposal. He looked her in the eye, searching for any signs of deception until he finally spoke, "Under one condition," She was both relieved he was going to accept and afraid of what he could possibly ask of her. " You must work in my lab under my supervision. I will also monitor you and your communications."

"Yes to your lab. No to monitoring." Nanami shot back without hesitation.

He looked vexed, and countered, "You must never speak of our arrangement, and we will have mutually agreed upon check-ins."

"... Deal."

" Good."

Nanami knew better than to offer her hand to a germaphobe and instead opted to start their partnership out on the right foot. She gracefully rose, casually brushed off her pants and walked around to his side of the table. Looking at him seriously now, she began " If we're going to be partners, let's do this properly," she then bowed as she would to any new colleague, " I look forward to working with you, Mr. Overhaul."

He was silent, and Nanami was getting nervous, not knowing how he would respond. He stared at her a beat. She couldn’t see it, but he was pleasantly stunned. Recognizing her consideration, he rose in a similar fashion and returned her gesture, "And I you, Dr. Watanabe."

[wings-n-tings]

Breaking In

Part 2

You woke up to the bright sun as sweat dripped down your forehead. You should’ve left a window cracked or something, it’s hot as hell. A drop of sweat roll down your face as you sat up to check the time.

It’s almost twelve which means you gotta get going before they catch up to you. They might be following you, so leaving now would be your best option. You jumped back to the drivers seat, started up the car, and drove away as quickly as you could.

I was in the room before them. What’s the big deal with those weirdos? It’s not like I had a gun pointed at their heads or anything. You told yourself that trying to convince yourself that they over reacted, but you couldn’t put it all on them. A random person was in their room. They probably thought you were watching them while they slept. A cold shiver ran up your spine as you processed this. You just became fully aware of why they reacted the way they did, I mean imagine waking up to someone you don’t know and have never seen before in your life sneaking around your room in the dead of night. They behaved the way any sane person would’ve in this situation.

You drove a few more hours crossing state lines into Nebraska and then South Dakota. The pressure in you’re bladder was building up minute after minute. So you pulled into a gas station in a town called Dimock and ran inside before you’re bladder exploded.

After you did you’re business and stepped out the restroom you decided to get a snack before leaving again. So you walked through the isle unable to decide if you want the hot Cheetos or some crackers so you just got both. You walked up to the counter and placed everything down. “Is that all for you?” The cashier asked. She seems nice. “Yes, thank you.” You smiled at her as she scanned your items. “Would you like a bag?” You nodded at her while as you pulled out the credit card you found this morning. As she was bagging your items you noticed the “Now Hiring” sign on the counter. You drove pretty far from where you stole the car maybe you can hang around here for a little bit and try to get a job and save some money.

“Are you guys still hiring?” You asked the cashier. You looked at her name tag to get her name.

“Yes we are. Do you need an application?” She turned to grab the application from the countertop behind her after you nodded eagerly. “Thank you so much Ms. Emily. Is it alright if I fill it out here?”

“Yeah that’s no problem. Here’s a pen.” She pulled a pen out of a little cup and handed it to you while admiring your car outside. You didn’t say anything about it to her though because it’s not really your car, you don’t even know what kind of car it is, and you didn’t care enough to check, so you shrugged it off and wrote your name on the application after thanking her for the pen.

You didn’t know what to put down for your address but you remembered seeing a motel not too far away from here so you just wrote the name of the motel there. You’re gonna live there for a bit, just until you accumulate enough money to get an apartment. Now you didn’t have a phone number you don’t even own a phone because you don’t have money for one. You have an email but no way to check it. You’re going to have to come back everyday to ask about an interview.

“After you finished putting in your personal information you called Emily back and handed her your application. She smiled at you and read your name on the application. “Thank you, (Y/n).” She paused. “Actually do you think you’ll be available for an interview in the morning at 8AM. We desperately need the help.” That came as a surprise to. They usually take your application and forget about it. “Yes, actually I can. Should I ask for you when I come?”

“No need I’ll be here. I own this store and it’s getting difficult to run things smoothly by myself. You’re the first person that’s applied and I’ve had the sign up for a few weeks now.”

“I’ll be here at 8. Thank you so much.” Gathered your things and walked out the store and started heading to the motel you spotted earlier.

———————————

You paid for one week to stay at the motel. After that you’d have to sleep in the car because after seeing the charge on whoever’s credit card that is they’ll most likely cancel and report it.

It’s been a minute since you had a nice warm shower so you took off your clothes and just soaked in the water. Motel soap isn’t that great, but it’s all you have right now. So you lathered it over your skin. You even used the shampoo to wash your hair. You want to look your best for this interview.

After you got out the shower you wrapped yourself in the towel around yourself the turned and filled the bath with water and every soap you could find in the room. The motel didn’t have washers and dryers so you had to do it the old fashioned way. You threw them in the water and let them soak for thirty minutes before stirring them around in the water for a bit and ringing the water out. There were no hangers so you slung them on the shower pole and let the water out of the bath tub.

You walked out still wrapped in the towel and jumped on the bed landing on your back. The sun was starting to going down so you set an alarm for 7am and laid on the bed. You were flipping through the channels on the tv looking for something good to watch and landed on a show called Doctor Sexy. It’s a weird name for a show but it’s very interesting. You fell asleep in the middle of the episode and when you woke up to your alarm going off some weird tv ad was playing.

Turning it off you headed into the bathroom bringing the towel with you. At some point during the night it slipped off and somehow ended up on the floor.

Your clothes were still a little damp but it was unnoticeable so you shook them out and put them on. After you finished getting ready you hopped in the car heading to the corner store for you’re interview. You pray to whoever could hear you about this interview. It’s only a cashier job but something is better than nothing, and you are grateful for this opportunity. You can finally start to get your life back on track.

——————

“Well (Y/n) this concludes the interview. You seem like a very nice girl. If it’s alright with you I’d like to move on with the hiring process”

“Wait really?” She nodded eagerly. “Yeah of course. What do I have to do?” You asked her. This seemed too easy, but you’re not going to question it. Maybe she really is desperate to get some help around here. “Well I just need to get you a name tag and put you on payroll. Just confirm your name and birth date are correct and you can start on Monday.” You did as she said then stood up and shook her hand. “Thank you so much Ms. Emily. I’ll see you on Monday.”

There was something off about all of this, but you disregarded it. You finally got a job. A job that you start working on Monday. Which was two days away. You are, honestly, excited. Who knew a job at a corner store would bring you such joy.

——————

You got back to the motel at eleven, which is really early. You didn’t know what to do with the rest of your day so you decided to waste it by watching tv. You took off your jeans and your sweater, leaving on your tank top and underwear and jumped on the bed. You haven’t had a day like this in a while and you wanted to cherish it.

Unbeknownst to you, the car you’d stolen was for the two men you were trying to forget about. It is very precious to them so they were tracking it down during the two days you were resting on.

——-——

One week later...

Although you’d only worked for five days, you were hired on week of payday which means you get your first pay check today. You were kind of excited about it. You normally work the closing shift, but today Ms. Emily asked you to open because she has to run some errands.

You were supposed to get off at four so you were getting a little worried because Ms. Emily said she’d be back at a quarter til three, but it’s 3:50 now and she still isn’t back. As time went on you realize she isn’t gonna get back today. I hope she’s okay. Weird things have been going on in this town this past week. Some people even went missing so you were worried for her safety.

When seven rolled around you decided to call her. She probably got held up somewhere, but she didn’t answer. You made the executive decision to close early, you had walked to work today to take in the scenery and you didn’t want to leave work too late, the dark is a scary place. You went to her office to grab your check and used the ATM to cash it then pocketed your money.

As you walked out the store you made sure it was clean and turned off all the lights. You took the key out your pocket as you walked out the door then turned and locked it.

You’re on high alert now since it was late out. You were walking back to the motel when you got this eerie feeling that you were being watched causing you to pick up your pace to get to the car faster. You turned in the room key this morning on your way to work since today was you check out day, however you talked with the manager about leaving your car parked there until you get off of work so you had nothing to worry about as long as you move it by the end of the day.

As the motel came into view your paranoia got the best of you and you started running to the car. Someone is watching you and you know it. Your heart started beating a little faster as you got in the car. You accidentally touched the hot wire and jumped as electricity surged through your arm. “Fucking shit Mother fucker!” You screamed. Your entire arm felt numb, you were careful about the wires this whole week, this hysteria is throwing you off. So you took a moment to recoup and recover. Your entire arm feels sore and you’re still a bit disturbed, so you started the car and drove away from the motel.

—————

You parked in front an abandoned warehouse and killed the engine. You were gonna have to sleep here for the night and find a different spot tomorrow. It’s dark out so you decided to call it a night and go to sleep. You have to open the store again in the morning.

You were very curious about what may be inside the warehouse though. You didn’t want to go in, yet still you got out of the car and started walking to the door.

What am I doing? This is so stupid. Why am I walking to this building? What if there’s dead bodies in there? Don’t go you dumb bitch!

Against your better judgement you walked in anyway. To you’re surprise, though, it was completely empty. You walked towards the middle of the room and looked around curiously. Maybe you can sleep in here instead of the car. It might be more comfortable, and no one would walk inside the building. Well, no one except for you.

You walked next to a pallet and laid down on the ground. Positioning yourself so that if someone were to walk through the door they wouldn’t see you. You closed your eyes and slipped into unconsciousness and before you knew you jerked awake and had to take a moment to catch your breath.

You weren’t sure why you woke up so suddenly so you stayed awake and made your way to door. You stopped in your tracks when you were in front of the door. You heard voices so you cracked the door open to peek out and see who was there. It was still dark out but you could still see them.

You saw two very large men. One a bit shorter than the other. They looked familiar but you couldn’t pinpoint where exactly you saw them before. You couldn’t take your eyes off the taller one. It was something about his hair. They were examining your car and when the taller one walked around to the passenger side and you finally saw his face. Your breath caught in your throat as your face paled. The strange men from the motel. You didn’t think you’d see them ever again in your life. Why are they here?

You slowly pulled your head back in from the crack in the door and slowly started to back away from it. Suddenly a hand was covering your mouth and something sharp was poking at your side.

“Don’t scream or I will kill you.”

You couldn’t see her face, but you knew exactly who she was.

“Ms. Emily what are you doing?” You asked lowly the fear in your voice was evident.

“Just be quiet. Do everything I say and maybe I’ll let you live” She growled in your ear.

“Please don’t hurt me.” You said louder this time. Hoping the men outside heard you.

“Shut up!” She yelled this time.

She dug the knife into your side. She didn’t stab you bad enough for medical attention, still it was deep enough to leave a mark. You cried out in pain but she grabbed your mouth harder so that your groans were muffled by her hand.

Suddenly the door was kicked open and in came the two men with guns in their hands. They both looked at you for a moment before looking at your boss. “Let her go.” The taller one said. If you remember correctly his name is Sammy.

“I don’t think so. You know when I saw her in your car I though she knew who you two were. I was hoping to use her to get to you Winchesters. But turns out she just stole your car.”

“Wow, I feel used and abused.” She dug the knife a little deeper and you cried out in pain as you were starting to see black dots in your vision. Your legs gave out under you but she held you up like you weighed as heavy as a piece of paper.

“A gun won’t kill me. If you let me walk out that door you can have the girl.” What do these guys want with your boss? And why is your boss trying to kill you? “Witch killing bullets.” The shorter one stated.

Sammy was still aiming his gun at your boss. You were scared that he was going to shoot the both of you, and if he didn’t shoot your boss she was going to stab you to death. You don’t want to die, and you don’t want to sit here and wait for something bad to happen. Thinking quickly you bent your arm to prepare yourself. You forcefully yanked your arm back hitting her as hard as you could in her gut and as suspected her grip loosened on you and you ran away from her as best you could before falling to the ground.

That’s when you heard the shots ringing throughout the building, and you watched your boss fall to the ground. Dead.

You were frozen in fear. You couldn’t stop staring at the dead person in front of you. Everything went by so quickly. Sammy came to aid you while the other guy, Dean, went to your boss, or ex boss, or whatever.

“Are you okay?” He asked but you didn’t answer. You couldn’t answer. It was like someone took your voice away from you. You started to breath harder and harder which was making the dots in your vision worse you’re breathing was all you could hear until Sammy yelled at you “Hey! Look at me. Hey!”

You averted your gaze away from where Ms. Emily was and looked Sammy in the eyes. “Are you okay?” He asked you once more. “I’m gonna pass out now.” Your voice was weak and the dots in your vision connected and you were engulfed in darkness.

Part 3

[hatsukeii]

Pt.2 to the Karasuno boys during the coronavirus quarantine, this time it’s gonna be Kags, Yams, and Hinata w their s/o, which ig is gonna be you in a few situations.

🌊Kageyama🌊

- “How much milk do we have at home mom?”

- “Fuck, we’re running out of milk”

- “She really expects us to understand this shit? This is Zoom not fucking Khan Academy, she’s not that great.”

- Probably one of the bulk buyers Tsukishima shits on.

- Realises he only has one carton of normal milk at home.

- So this boy goes out and buys like 4 cartons of different flavoured milks. Strawberry? Chocolate? Banana? Melon? Yes.

- And do you think he doesn’t finish it? Ohohoho you are mistaken. This bitch somehow finishes all of them in the span of a week.

- Tries to write notes during online classes.

- Fails miserably.

- Does not understand a thing the teacher is saying.

- Would rather die than admit that to Hinata.

- He’s not allowed out of the house but you are.

- Which means study dates are a frequent event during the quarantine.

- You’re now his personal English and Science tutor.

- “What the fuck is a mitochondria?”

- “It’s the powerhouse of the cell sweetie.”

- Is so fond of you he voluntarily gives you some of the flavoured milk he fought middle aged women to buy, but he obviously would try to cover up that soft spot he has for you.

- “I had to snatch it from the fridge before a Karen who bought five of the same flavour did, you better finish it and grow the fuck taller.”

- Volleyball “practise” in his room after the tutoring.

- He teaches you how to do basic shit like receive, serve, and of course, set.

- You fail miserably all the time, just saying. But good news is, that doesn’t matter. None of it does.

-All Kageyama lives for is that cheeky smile every time you fuck up a move. That victory dance you do after you finally succeed. The tight hugs you give him, thanking him for teaching you how to play volleyball. It’s all those little things that he absolutely adores. He wouldn’t exchange you for the world.

🍃Yamaguchi🍃

- “Do you have your hand sanitiser?”

- “Put your mask on, stay safe!”

- “You’re out of masks? I’ll be right there, I have five extra boxes”

- Extra cautious about the virus because his immune system isn’t the best.

- Has a stash of food at home, ready to be cooked anytime.

- Isn’t allowed to go anywhere farther than the neighbourhood.

- Hates online classes with his whole heart, but still attends them to maintain his grades.

- Actually really smart, takes very nice notes in class.

- Anything you want or need, he’s gonna get it for you.

- Meat buns? No problem. Boba? Easy. Hotel? Trivago.

- Since you guys are good at different subjects, you go to his house to help him with English, Philosphy, and Biology.

- And he comes over to yours to help you with Maths, Chemistry, and History.

- And he surprisingly, likes subtle dark political humour. A lot.

- “What is covalent bonding supposed to be the fuck?”

- “Think about it like communism.”

- Yamaguchi is actually a very, very good teacher.

- (Way better than when you asked Tsukishima for help, but don’t tell him that or he’ll get salty.)

- Guess what ya boy Yams can cook to save both your lives.

- Every time he walks out of your house you’re equipped with five new quarantine recipes to make for your entire family.

- After every “tutoring” session, comes the movie session.

- You introduce him to classic movies and go all the way back to watch films from the 80s-90s.

- It’s been about 3 weeks and you’ve managed to watch Pulp Fiction, Dead Poet’s Society, Breakfast At Tiffany’s, Forrest Gump, Top Gun, all those oldies.

- Movie sessions consist of cuddles, forehead kisses, hair braiding, more kisses, tickle battles, and falling asleep on Yamaguchi, your head snuggled in his chest while he plays with strands of your hair, thinking about how lucky he is to have someone like you that cares.

☀️Hinata☀️

- “Hinata get your ass back to bed.”

- “It’s 5am dude lessons start at 8am go back to sleep.”

- “I swear I love you but I will block you.”

- Good luck getting his jumpy ass to sit the fuck down.

- Constantly waiting for the quarantine to end. (Spoiler alert: it’s gonna take about a month or two more.)

- Since he’s so used to getting up at 5am for volleyball training and school, his mental alarm clock wakes him up at 5am too, even though all he has to do is go on a website.

- Tries to catch up in class while calling Kageyama.

- Fails. Terribly.

- Doesn’t understand a thing the teacher says, even after bombarding her with questions.

- Probably doesn’t think he needs a mask, so you force him to wear one if he ever had to go out.

- Isn’t allowed out of the house at all because apparently someone in his neighbourhood was infected and diagnosed with COVID-19.

- You’re not allowed to go over either, so you send him all your notes, hoping he doesn’t fail his classes.

- Video calls you to ask for homework answers.

- “I’m not giving you the answers, but you can take my notes, or ask me if you need help.”

- You both have Netflix Party on your computers, so you use that to talk while binging Disney movies at ungodly hours.

- Secretly cries himself to sleep because oh my god this boy misses you so fucking much seriously.

- Gets made fun of by Natsu for being a pansy.

- “Shoyou, it’s not like your girlfriend’s dead, whatcha crying for?”

- Probably stares at photos of you in his phone, reimagining how it feels like for you to be by his side.

- Plans to take you out on as many dates as he can once this whole thing is over. Cuddles and kisses for hours are musts.

[sunshineyoongles]

Sweet as a Flower(shop)- a yoonmin fanfic

Hi, this is the first fic ive written in actual years so here’s hoping i havent gone all rusty, huh?

AO3

When Jimin sets up his flowershop business in the space below Yoongi's flat, neither knew how much it would change their lives.

alternatively:

Yoongi has the opposite of a green thumb and florist Jimin despairs (but it's okay because they're both falling in love) ____________________________________________________

Min Yoongi was aware of the new flower shop that had opened up in the shop below his apartment- oh trust him. He was well aware. Painfully aware. For the past three weeks, he had been woken up at 8am on the dot by hammering and drilling whilst the store was being renovated. His (asshole) friends thought it was a blessing that something managed to get Yoongi into a somewhat healthy sleep pattern, but he and his under-eye circles begged to differ.

This particular morning, however, greeted him differently.

Opening a cautious eye and preparing himself for the shock of power tools, Yoongi instead found sweet, sweet silence. He had woken up naturally. Bliss. He flops back onto his bed with a relieved groan, body going limp and becoming one with his mattress.

Not too long after his phone alarm starts wailing, sending him bolt upright. Below the large numbers of 8:30 AM (he’d woken up on his own before 8? He entirely blamed the builders from downstairs for messing with his body clock that much), Yoongi saw a notification pop up.

‘Mums birthday. Don’t forget a present.’

…In hindsight he should have set that reminder for yesterday because now it was his mums birthday and (it takes his sleepy brain slightly longer than he’s proud to admit to work out) he has approximately…two hours to get ready, get a gift, and drive to the place he had agreed to meet her at for breakfast.

In other words, he was royally fucked. Don’t get him wrong, he adored his mother! But between the unnaturally early mornings forced on him recently and late nights at the studio, Yoongi hadn’t been quite on top form.

He drags himself out of and starts up the coffee machine, leaning against it and smacking his lips as he tries to think of something to do. His eyes search over the room to see if there’s anything he can use as a makeshift gift while blaming amazon for the lateness of the ‘real’ gift.

There’s nothing. Unless you count the scarf in the corner but first of all its spring and second of all Yoongi has a sneaking suspicion his mother had bought it for him a few years ago… best not to risk it.

The coffee machine beeps and Yoongi takes a well needed sip, closing his eyes to enjoy the caffeine as well as the new silence in the flat now that flower shop has (hopefully) finished being done up.

It hits him.

Flower shop. Flowers make good presents, they look expensive and it’s right underneath his feet… he could even try to weasel a discount by telling the owner he lived upstairs and complaining about the noise. That would buy him enough time to get her a proper present, one closer to what she really deserved in time for the dinner that evening.

He grins proudly to himself and kisses the side of the mug.

“I can always count on you to save me when I’m in trouble…”

With a speed that can only be achieved with the threat of a mother’s disappointment, Yoongi was showered and dressed and on his way downstairs. He was dressed in his least ripped pair of jeans and a jumper she had gotten him for his birthday the year before. Perfect mother-pleasing material.

He pats his pockets to make sure he has his keys and phone as he walks around the side of the building to see the shop just being opened up. A short boy arranging some displays on a table outside so they catch the dingy morning light as well as possible.

“Oh, thank god… Yo, you. I know I’m a little early but honestly you’ve been keeping me up early every day for the past- a-ah.” His words die in his throat as the person setting up turns to look at him, gloved hands reaching up to brush coppery hair out of his eyes and leaving a smudge of dirt on his forehead. His eyes are wide and surprised, plump lips slightly parted. Yoongi swallows slightly, not sure if looking that pretty was actually legal at this time in the morning. Especially when you’re wearing ugly gardening gloves and have mud on your face.

“Goodness, I’m sorry! You surprised me there!” The boy giggles and awkwardly gestures to the door, “were you looking to buy? I’ll be in in just a moment once I’ve finished here...”

The reminder of why he was here shakes Yoongi out of his stupor and he nods, mumbling a quick ‘thanks’ before shuffling inside to see if he could find his mum’s favourites. True to his word, the florist steps in a few minutes later, visibly excited to have a customer already in a way that reminds Yoongi slightly of a puppy.

“I didn’t expect to have customers so soon! The display must have really worked-” he continues babbling as he ducks behind the counter and Yoongi can practically picture a wagging tail behind him.

“Is there anything in particular you’re looking for, sir?” The boy asks, and judging from his face and voice, Yoongi assumes he can’t be much older than a teenager.

“Yeah… It’s my mum’s birthday and she loves orchids… so…” He shrugs, not sure what else to say about the flower.

“Orchids, hm?” The boy glances around the shop, tapping his lower lip in thought in a way that drew Yoongi’s eye. Did he mention how plump they were? Probably. It was also probably worth mentioning again.

The florist looked back at him after a moment of contemplation, “What’s your price range? I have a few ideas about bouquets that would be good with orchids, or even just some nice potted orchids?”

“Actually, kid, I was hoping to speak to your manager? Or the owner of this place?”

Yoongi looked at the kid as he just nodded earnestly.

“Yup, that’s me!”

“…You… You own this place?” Yoongi stared, taken aback for a moment. When had tiny, baby children started running businesses?

“Mm… It’s been my dream for quite some time since I graduated… so what did you want to talk to me about?” he meets Yoongi’s gaze and smiles encouragingly.

“Uh, well I live upstairs so…” At that, the Kid’s (technically not a kid?) smile widens until his eyes disappear into crescents and- was that a slightly crooked front tooth? Oh god that’s adorable. Yoongi groaned internally in defeat, unable to bring himself to complain at his new neighbour and dampen his mood for a small discount.

“Oh! I’d been meaning to introduce myself, here” He starts running around, grabbing flowers and ribbon from all over the shop while introducing himself at lighting speed “, I’m Park Jimin, but as we’re neighbours you can just call me Jimin- I’m actually so glad you came to me first because I’ve been worrying all morning about what time you would wake up and if I knocked to introduce myself and woke you I’d feel awful! Oh, Goodness I didn’t even think about the builders! They didn’t annoy you, did they? I hadn’t even considered it, I’m so-“

“Yah, Jimin, It’s fine. They uh… They didn’t wake me up.” The lie hurt his heart to make but the relief that crossed over Jimin’s face made up for it. “I’m Min Yoongi… but I guess Yoongi is fine…”

Jimin beams at him and starts wrapping up the bouquet, something Yoongi hadn’t paid much attention to until now. It looks… expensive.

“Jimin… how much will that cost? Y’know, roughly…?” He rubs the back of his neck, not wanting to look like he’s a cheapskate but also not wanting to bankrupt himself just before paying for breakfast.

“Oh this? Free of charge. Think of it as a gift to a good neighbourship between us!” He holds out the bouquet, smiling as if he wasn’t just letting at least £40 fly out of his pocket for the sake of friendship. If not more.

“I can’t accept that. Firstly, you can’t lose money on your first customer. Secondly, shouldn’t I be the one buying you a housewarming gift? Thirdly… just no.”

Jimin purses his lips at this, hesitating. “Well, I insist.”

“Well so do -” Yoongi gets cut off by a buzz from his phone. It’s his mother. He’s running late.

“Is… Is everything okay?” Jimin watches as the colour drains from Yoongi’s already pale skin, leaving him alarmingly ghostly.

“I’m late… shit. Shit, shit, shit. Okay! I’ll take the flowers for now but I’m paying you back later!” He grabs the bouquet and runs out of the store, an airy giggle following him out as he scrabbles for his keys.

[tenderlyrenjun]

the one with the morning classes [preview]

summary: you don’t really want to go to class, and Yangyang half-agrees.

↛ ↛ ↛ best friend’s younger brother!Yanyang x older reader

↛ ↛ female reader, college au, mentions of alcohol, smut (18+), sneaky relationship/sex, morning sex, food mention, this is a preview! i just wanted to post it

↛ word count: 2,870k

part one > pt. 2 preview > part two

if you are under 18 and interact with this at all, you get blocked

An obnoxious ringing interrupts your day, way too early, and you whine at it, suddenly reminded about the terrible decision that you made last year with the on-call academic advisor: selling your soul to Satan, or, as they phrased it, taking an 8 A.M. class. The default iPhone ringtone seems especially heartless right now, even though you have a class at this time every semester.

Still, it takes Herculean effort to pull your hot, sweaty face out of the pillows and actually get a breath of fresh air. You inhale once, twice, then support yourself on your elbows, tossing all your messy hair over your bare back, like a curtain, to draw it away from your cheeks. The sunlight makes you squint, not having given you enough time to adjust to it yet, because laying in bed, naked, is so much more enticing than actually waking up. Unfortunately, the ringing persists, getting louder, you think. You find yourself clawing through the sheets again, in search of that damn alarm. And when you do find it, screen faced down, you hit snooze via power button, giving yourself extra time before class.

After the annoying sound stops, Yangyang leans toward your naked shoulder, his d!ck thrusting in you at a further angle. He kisses the tip your spine with slightly parted lips, peppering more along your deltoid muscles, directed by his trailing tongue. You cannot tell was tingles more – the goosebumps left in his wake, or the blood rushing to your vulva, caused by the nipping at your skin. Yangyang finds a more permanent spot (that would be hidden by a shirt) above your collarbone and sucks deeper for a few seconds. Instinctively, you drop your cheek into the sheets again and swirl your ass up, before propping your lower body on your knees. His groans fall with you, and he nearly did too, but he stands on his hands. You are very aware of his strength, especially now as you close your eyes and he reverses your moves, grinding his hips forward. One of his hands reaches forward to grab your face and finally kiss you. He is slow and head spinning, and he continuously inclines his head at varying degrees to keep the embrace going.

Then, your phone goes off again and you break the kiss.

“We need to get – Oh, God.” Your forehead redirects onto the mattress, and your breath becomes shallow, cracked by sharp whines blurring out the alarm. As far as you are concerned, Yangyang is all consuming, from the way he kisses you to the way he makes you feel. “Ah, right there, please.” He squeezes your ass, fingers drilling deeply into you skin. His touch feels better than a massage, you think, almost loosening up all your muscle tension.

“So naughty,” Yangyang whispers, strongly. He sounds masculine without being so aggressive. It is very sexy of him. You try to show him, too, that he is hot, by reacting more enthusiastically. Unlike him, you say it silently and hope he knows. He replies, slapping your butt again, and smirks when you moan. “Wanna play hooky? You still, fuck –“ His breath drops, voice getting lower, huskier. He propels his d!ck shallowly, at the same pace your mouth widens in an ‘O’ shape. “- remember your manners.”

“Mmm hmm,” you agree. You roll your hips side to side, slowly stretching as if coming out of child’s position in yoga. It similarly feels satisfactory, like an injection of morphine. “We really need to get up. I have class; you ­– shit –“ His thrust pushes you forward, muting your counterarguments. “- you have class soon.”

Yangyang combs your baby hairs onto your opposite shoulder, gently nibbling around your thyroid, and you whine. “It doesn’t sound like you want to get up yet.” He guides your hips like a figure eight motion. His hand comes around front, between your thighs, holding on in a way that allows him to stimulate your clit. Every movement gets more intense: the speed, the pressure, even the direction of his fingers, as he elongates all the sensations. It even feels like he gets bigger too, lunging more alert with his thrusts. “You need a good wake up call, huh?”

You nod, eagerly, biting your lip. “Mmhmm, my morning ritual is, is really long, fuck.”

Yangyang smirks, motivated even more by the double entendre. And the way his tip rasps against your walls, oh god. You ball the sheets into your fists, putting a protective layer between your nails and palm because he gradually becomes erratic. He comes down to your ear, using his lips to bite at it while whispering, “Wanna turn off the alarm?”

“Hmm?” You open your eyes. “Oh, right.” It doesn’t feel like it has been nine minutes. So, after you pick your phone up again, you turn it over to look at the alarm settings, but it is replaced by a call acceptance slider. You blink a couple times and try getting a clearer look – which is difficult, considering that your head keeps bouncing as he grinds harder and harder, and harder. Then, the call restarts. “Shit.”

Yangyang stops moving to glimpse at what’s wrong. His chest brushes against your back and you can feel his erect n!pples graze your spine. You turn the screen at him, contemplating whether to answer it. Thank God, though, that Ten isn’t asking to FaceTime. You honestly don’t know how you would recover from him seeing Yangyang lay naked on you, especially after that comment at the Halloween party about feeling ‘too comfortable’ with him like this.

“I’m gonna answer it.”

“What?”

“I have to answer it,” you argue. “It’s Ten. He’s going to suspect something if I don’t.” The call ends again, and the notification center shows six missed calls. You turn over your phone again. “Shit, he’s been phoning all morning. I have to answer it.”

You brush your hair over your shoulder again and shakily redial Ten’s number. The line rings twice before he answers.

“Um, hello?” Ten answers skeptically, on speaker. “Are you ready? ETA 20.” You hear rustling on the other end that sounds similar to Yangyang shuffling your bedsheets. Ten doesn’t appear to find out about Yangyang’s presence, so you keep the line off mute. “I’m getting in my car right now.”

“Hmm?”

All the excess noise stops, and you widen your eyes, glancing at Yangyang for some information but he doesn’t know anything either.

“It’s my treat, remember?” Ten tries to jog your memory. It’s just that you are too distracted at the moment to really recall any memories.

Yangyang starts sucking on your neck again, pushing his pelvis at your ass even harder to give you a better reminder: that you are currently being a good girl for him, to make up for being so naughty this morning (even though he also seemed pretty close to ditching class earlier).

“For breakfast yesterday, after the party,” Ten reminds you. Right, it’s Monday, and you often grab coffee with Ten on the way to campus because 8AMs are hell – you have to absorb new information when you can barely see through all the crap in your eyes, and he can barely comprehend his notes from the night before without morning bean juice. There is some shuffling on his end again, similar to shaking his wrist free of a swear to get a better look at his watch. It isn’t enough to hide the moan trapped in your throat. So, you try biting your fist as Yangyang swirls his hips, grazing the ends of your nerves. You roll your eyes to the back of your head and hit mute, in order to moan. “Unless you want to walk? I don’t think you’ll make it though. It’s, like, almost 7:20.”

“What?” your voice cracks. You are still muted though, so you un-mute and repeat the exclamation, whining a little when Yangyang tries to get you to orgasm faster, also having heard the time. Hopefully Ten does not notice anything. You think that you were quiet enough to push it off as a complaint.

“I’ll be outside your apartment in 20.”

Yangyang pulls your chin to make you look at him, staring at you to ask what is going on. You mouth a quick explanation: Ten. Ride. Coffee. 20 minutes. He is so close, warm breath enveloping your skin. You take the distance, initiating yet another kiss, essentially in front of your best friend, although the latter cannot hear or see either of you. Yangyang holds onto your chin, possibly afraid of being swept away or falling again. But you have enough support for both of you, and you know that if you fell, he would catch you. So, you kiss him again, and again.

“Hello?” Ten calls into the void. “Did you lose signal again? See, I told you not to choose the shitty complex on Main because the connection is so bad there.”

You put a hand above Yangyang’s heart and clear your voice, turning to the speaker. “I’m still here. Just, hold on a second.” You hit mute again, then turn to Yangyang. “Do you want a ride too?” Yangyang contemplates for a second, and you drop your forehead into your elbow, biting your lip because, after all, he is still inside you, inside your clenching and very aroused p.ussy, where you want him to finish. He nudges your shoulder with his nose and confirms that yeah, he needs a ride. You kiss him a few more times, unsure why, just wanting to be close – something about want to say in his presence, enjoying his presence. He swirls his hips. It feels really good to be with him. “Yeah, so Yangyang is in the neighborhood.”

“Wha-“

“A huh,” you whine, more at Yangyang than Ten. “He just texted me. He’ll meet you – us! He’ll meet us at my apartment. I’m going to get ready now, bye!” you say everything in one breath, hanging up as equally abruptly before Ten could insert his two cents. You drop the phone and turn around, kissing Yangyang deeply. As he returns your affection, you enunciate slowly, “Five minutes, then we have to get ready. Ten is getting too suspicious.”

Yangyang finishes a little bit after five minutes, not that you mind. Non-residents have to get buzzed into your building, and Ten doesn’t have a key to your front door. You indulge the moment, laying on your arm bent under a pillow. He looks at you with all the care in the world, no longer that suave fuck buddy from a few moments ago but a young romantic who caresses your inner thigh and talks big game about all the connection you two have in common, or don’t. Your hand dips to the top of his head, combing a small section with your nails to his ends. Yangyang asks you for the time, and you almost don’t give it to him, preferring to spend time with him here than overanalyzing some stupid thesis statement that you wrote at 4AM. Ten will arrive in ten minutes – ironic, you laugh.

Yangyang runs into the shower ahead of you, jokingly holding the glass door shut for a few seconds. And when you glare at him, he thinks you look really hot, so he lets go. You jump in with, prepared to scold him. He grabs your ass, pushing you against the wall, making out with you for a few more seconds, until you start stretching at the lavender body wash on the shelf behind him. This time, he finishes first, hopping out to spray the roots of his hair with dry shampoo so that Ten doesn’t get too suspicious. If Yangyang has wet hair, then it would be obvious that he stayed over. He puts back the bottle and wanders into your room, towel wrapped around his waist, even though it’s nothing you haven’t seen before. There are a few of his clothes in your closet from all the times you stole his clothes, or all the mini getaways that you two have taken. After changing into an outfit that he can wear in public, he picks out an extra oversized shirt and drapes it on the towel rack for when you get out. He knows that you really like his clothes, especially the organic band t-shirts. It is another plus that the two of you have the same music taste. Hopefully, none of his friends can pick up on anything.

He likes that you spend a lot of time in his clothes. They always end up smelling like your lotions. It is comforting and reminds him of all the nights ‘studying’ until 3AM .You know, not that he would actually say it out loud (because he also like to wear his favorite shirt), but you look cuter than him with his Kendrick Lamar concert tee. And besides, there is a secondary reason as to why he looked through your underwear drawer: he wanted to choose your panties for today. It might have been a black lingerie set, but how is he supposed to know the difference between a t-shirt bra and a balconette? :^)

Yangyang makes his way into the kitchen, snagging a mini muffin off the island. With the work out he just had, he needs protein but there’s not enough time to cook anything. He tosses two more muffins into his backpack for later – one chocolate muffin for him, one strawberry muffin for you. On Mondays, between classes, he usually catches you in the student experience center, finishing up last minute assignments. You always end up pushing lunch until after four, so he tries to bring you some snacks, whenever he can. Once, his research methods class got cancelled and you didn’t have any pre-lecture material to work on, so he brought two cups of ramen. The two of you had a semi-date then. He wonders if it could happen again today. Ten interrupts the thought, with another call, and he sighs. He doesn’t know why, but he keeps thinking about defining this relationship at the worst possible times..

“Yellow?” Yangyang answers, mid-bite. He shifts the phone to his shoulder so that he can check your notification for any missed calls. You have six. Ten has been going to voicemail all morning, and if Yangyang was him, he would be damn suspicious.

“Hi, baby,” Ten coos. “I’m outside. Buzz me in, yeah?”

Yangyang reflexively pouts. “I’m not your baby. I’m 20 now.” Still though, he complies, letting Ten into the building, and his friend is upstairs within a minute – not that it is too far. You live on the second floor.

“So, Ten sings, glancing around the apartment. Yangyang wonders what for; hopefully not searching for his secret relationship. Ten closes the door, eyeing Yangyang up and down suspiciously, in a curious way. “What are you doing in the neighborhood, anyways?”

“I, uh, bought breakfast at Allen’s coffee, down the street,” he lies, “And I didn’t feel like walking back to the frat.” He shrugs too, trying hard to be as nonchalant as possible.

“A huh.” Ten does not seem to accept it, but he lets it slide when you walk into the room, wearing Yangyang’s t-shirt tucked into a pair of black jeans. Yangyang cannot see why Ten would recognize the top because you also happen to like Kendrick Lamar – one of your favorite songs is King Kunta, even though you cannot sing along to save your life. Yangyang finds it endearing that you enjoy rap music, even though you cannot match the flow or pitch.

His gaze is still endearing when you walk into the kitchen, beelining for the last mini muffin. Yangyang catches how intensely he was staring at you, after you blink at him (and Ten).

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing,” they both mutter, looking away.              

“Okay,” you drawl suspiciously, swallowing half your breakfast. You fold the rest of it into the front pocket of your backpack and pick up your textbook. Yangyang meets your gaze but you immediately flicker to Ten. “Can we grab something at Starbucks really quick?”

Ten stares at Yangyang. You just got coffee for yourself, even though you were coming here? Yangyang waves a hand, unsure how to respond. This whole secret relationship has gone on longer than he thought it would. It was supposed to be a one-night stand kind of thing when he first kissed you, the night that Ten introduced you two back in March after Renjun’s birthday party, and not even a one-night stand! He just expected you to make out with him, not give him a blowjob in Kun’s bathroom then let him take you back to his room at the frat.

“What?” You look between them. Yangyang shakes his head, nothing. You stare him down and give in, then turn back to Ten. “I haven’t eaten anything. Please?”

“Alright, fine,” Ten cedes. He holds his hands up in surrender, his keys waving like a white flag. As you all file out the door, Yangyang jokingly asks if he can drive. Ten deadpans at him, protective over the car, and smacks him on the back of his head. “Let’s go.”

[shamelessly4shameless-blog]

130lbs of Ukrainian Courage. (pt2)

The sound of Mario wailing as he tumbles from the Rainbow Road into the abyss wakes Mickey the next morning. The light creeping around the edges of the tattered blue curtains is pale and cold, meaning it is far too fucking early for Mario to be falling off any road or castle or whatever.

Mickey tries folding the pillow over his ears to muffle to sound but if anything, it gets louder. Yevgeny has clearly decided that the lack of paternal presence interrupting his game means it isn’t a problem and turned the volume up.

Ian is still asleep; his breathing deep and even against Mickey’s bare shoulder and it is the only thing that keeps him from bellowing from the comfort of their bed. With a mumbled curse, Mickey gets up and plods toward the living room, pausing to tug on some sweatpants and a crumpled vest.

The volume drops the further down the stairs Mickey gets and is practically mute by the time he sets eyes on his son, who is gazing angelically up at him from the floor.

“Hey Papa.”

“Don’t you ‘Hey Papa’ me; do you know what time it is?”

“Early.”

Yev hedges and Mickey raises his eyebrows a fraction, prompting a more accurate answer.

“Too early.”

Yev amends and Mickey nods. Good enough.

“Exactly, so why are you outta bed?”

“Bad dream.”

Yev shrugs. Ian uses the same single shoulder twitch when he is a little unsure of how much Mickey actually wants to know about something and clearly Yev has picked it up which actually makes Mickey feel a little guilty. He reaches the foot of the stairs, pushing his tousled hair backward out of his eyes. Yev scrambles to his feet and stands awkwardly in front of the TV as the characters continue to replay their victories and losses on the screen behind him.  

Annoyed as he is, Mickey pads across the room and drops down onto the sofa, patting his knee.

“Alright. Tell me.”

Yev plonks himself on his father’s lap, gratefully inhaling the familiar comforting scent of him. He lifts one of Mickey’s arms, draping it around his shoulders and a little of Mickey’s irritation dissipates as he gives Yev a small reassuring squeeze.

“Well I don’t remember much but there were sharks.”

Mickey stifles a groan but manages a faint sympathetic noise. He had let Yev watch Shark Week re-runs the last time he was off school sick and it seems to have made a lastingly awful impression on the kid.

“There are no sharks in Chicago except in those …”

Mickey fumbles for the word in his sleep deprived mind and gives up

“...water-zoos.”

“Aquariums.”

Yev confirms and Mickey nods, yawning. It is far too fuckin’ early. Water zoo? Thank fuck Ian hadn’t heard that one. Mickey would have been getting shit about it for weeks.

“Right. And, hey, you know what you can get in China Town?”

“Sweet knock-offs?”

Yev answers a little uncertainly. Caught off guard, Mickey laughs loudly, a rich, unexpected sound that makes Yev smile too.

“Yeah, no, you can get those but you can also get something called shark fin soup. Humans are the top predator, kid and we make soup outta those fuckin’ sharks.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Ukrainians – we eat a lot of cabbage. Irish, like your Dad, a lot of fuckin’ potatoes. Like, a LOT, it’s their whole thing. The Chinese though? Fuckin’ sharks buddy. Don’t mess with the Chinese.”

“You don’t eat cabbage!”

Yev giggles, imagining his Papa trying to make his way through a big plate of the gross purple vegetable Mama sometimes cooks.

“Nah, you’re right. That stuff sucks. But you get the point?”

Mickey asks, seriously hoping Yev does because Mickey himself seems to have lost it somewhere between water-zoo and potatoes.

“Yes Papa.”

Yev yawns and tucks his head under Mickey’s chin, small arms wrapping around his neck.

“Good. Let’s get you back to bed.”

Mickey stands, lifting Yevgeny with him, placing a quick kiss on his forehead and smoothing dark offshoots of hair into some semblance of order.

“Can’t I just stay down here?”

“No. You could have if you hadn’t woken me up with that noisy damn game. Next time keep the volume down.”

Mickey scolds but his heart isn’t in it and Yev just blinks at him, blue eyes large and round in the semi-dark as Mickey stoops to turn the TV off.

“Can I come in with you and Dad?”

“No!”

“Please?”

“No.”

Mickey repeats flatly, stubbornly ignoring the way Yev’s arms tighten around his neck.

“But I’m little, like you! I take up hardly any room and you won’t even know I’m there.”

Mickey pauses mid-step and arches one contemptuous eyebrow at his son who quickly dips his head, burying his face in Mickey’s neck with a giggle.

“Don’t make me kick your tiny ass! One, I am not ‘little’, I’m average fuckin’ height! Two, you take up all the room cause you fling your arms out like a starfish and three … well I can’t fuckin’ remember three because it’s basically the middle of the night and I shouldn’t even be awake right now.”

As Mickey grumbles, Yev snorts loudly into the crook of his Papa’s neck, trying not to actually laugh during his telling off. Mickey puts his tongue between his teeth with a long-suffering grimace. Sometimes he wonders why he even bothers telling Yevgeny off at all, the kid is as bad as Ian is for not taking his moodiness seriously. Mickey waits patiently for Yev get a grip before continuing up the stairs and heading for Yev’s room.

“Paappaaaa.”

Yev gives a small whine as they pass by his fathers’ bedroom door. Mickey rolls his eyes, not bothering to respond. Even if Ian wasn’t butt-naked in there, Yev was getting to be too old to be brought in with them. Mickey hadn’t slept in his own dad’s bed in his life, except for that time he and his brother’s dragged the old man upstairs blind-drunk and Iggy thought it’d be funny to push Terry on top of Mickey, flattening him to the bed until Terry rolled over. Asshole. There was a pleasant fuckin’ memory right there! Two hundred pounds of bristles, flabby chest and stale breath on top of him for nearly an hour. Jesus!

Mickey deposits Yev on his bed and stands back, folding his arms across his chest sternly as the kid pouts. Yev gives one last ditch attempt at emotional manipulation but he knows it won’t work even as he tries it.

“What if someone steals me?”

“Don’t worry, they’ll bring you back soon as you start yapping.”

Mickey teases and then relents when Yev scowls up at him. He pulls back the blanket, gently coercing Yevgeny beneath it with practised ease.

“Come on, no one messes with the Milkovich family and no one will ever hurt my boys. Not while I’m around. You know that.”

Yev nods sulkily, he does know that. Even Mama, who sometimes says that Papa is full of shit when she thinks Yev can’t hear her, knows that this is true and has told him so.

“Get some sleep.”

Mickey raises his eyes to the ceiling as he patiently kisses the top of Yev’s head, one large hand gently cupping the back of the kid’s neck. Yevgeny huffs onto his side but obediently closes his eyes.

Mickey wanders back to his room, scratching his ass and yawning widely. Kids, man. Even the one that he actually likes is a pint-sized pain in the ass! ‘I’m little, like you’ Mickey silently mimics the words and wrinkles his nose. He pauses by the bathroom and stretches up to Ian’s pull-up bar. His fingertips graze the metal but he has to do a small jump to actually grip it. Fuck sake.

He does a couple of reps, working his shoulders and clenching his ass and then drops back down, secretly hoping that Svetlana’s long-legged DNA doesn’t come roaring in at puberty. All he needs is a lanky version of himself strutting around the place.

He finds a pair of boxers on the floor, sniffs them and determines they’ll do until morning and crouches down beside Ian.

“Hey … Hey Sleepy Face, sorry to be a dick but you gotta put these on.”

Ian blinks at his boyfriend, glowers at the boxers, and puts his face back into the pillow.

“Go away.”

“Sorry man, but you got nine inches of Red Wood on display and we’re probably gonna have company in about five minutes.”

“Ugh.”

Ian groans and reluctantly lifts his head up again. Mickey gives him an encouraging smile and lets the underwear hang from his index finger until Ian takes them and begins to clumsily wrestle them on.

“Atta boy.”

Mickey ruffles his hair and clambers over Ian to flop onto his side of the bed, settling on his back and gathering the redhead onto his chest. Ian mutters something and Mickey squints down at him fondly

“What’s that Mumbles?”

“Was it that shark week dream again?”

“Nah, it was something else. I think he’s over the shark thing now.”

Mickey has been scolded so many times over that show he doesn’t even feel guilty about the lie. Ian drapes one long arms across Mickey’s body and sighs contentedly, already slipping back into sleep.

A few minutes later Mickey hears the door creep open and closes his eyes, letting his breathing slow and deepen, feigning sleep.

The bed jostles slightly as Yev clambers on and peering through carefully lowered lashes, Mickey sees one small hand come up and rest on Ian’s shoulder as Yev cuddles up. He might not be willing to carry Yev into their room but Mickey secretly doesn’t mind Yev curling up with them as long as he gets to maintain that he doesn’t condone it and he closes his eyes again, smiling.

*

By the time Ian’s alarm goes off at 8am, he finds himself sandwiched between two Milkovichs. One curled on the edge of the mattress, the other spread-eagled across half the bed. He snaps the picture on his iPhone before carefully scooping Yevgeny up and carrying him through to his own bed. Ian knows how Mick feels about their kid sharing their bed.

Ian eats the banana on top of his pillbox and drops the skin in the trash, making sure it is visible on top because Mickey will check for it, and then fiercely deny he is checking for it if he has to look too closely to spot it.

Ian loves the quiet mornings in their home. Only two blocks away from the street he grew up on but it feels like a world away. The kitchen is set up how Mickey likes it as he does most of the cooking but the coffee machine is Ian’s baby and it is exactly as he wants it to be. The filter papers are neatly stacked to the left, the coffee scoop perched on top of the machine and the little brush he uses to clean it sits in a glass to the right.

Coffee used to be Mickey’s thing too, when they first moved in not long after Ian’s cocktail of medication was finally perfected. He would go and make it whilst Ian’s body adjusted to the morning dose and then carry it upstairs to him and they would drink it in bed together. However, Ian found the trembling in his hands lasted longer if he didn’t have something to do with them, so he took over coffee duty. Carrying the mugs upstairs was a bit of a bitch if he got the shakes badly and after the third time Mickey came downstairs to find Ian frantically scrubbing the new carpet, he announced that he preferred his coffee downstairs.

“I’m not some loft-apartment asshole who wants to read the tabloids with an ex-presso. I like to sit at the table like a normal person.”

It wasn’t the most romantic couple story in the world but it was the longest running little domestic routine Ian and Mickey had so it held a very special place in Ian’s heart.

Ian smiles to himself thinking about those early days. He had wanted to keep everything pristine and Mickey, completely bowled over by the level of freedom their own place afforded them, had wanted to fuck on every possible square inch of property. Ian remembers the first day they woke up together in their home. Mickey had spent the entire morning naked. He made coffee naked, ate breakfast naked and helped Ian unpack the boxes left over from the day before, naked.

“The neighbours are going to get so well acquainted with your ass.”

“What do I care? Nosy fucks. C’mere, I want to Christen the closet next.”

“But I just organised it!”

“I’ll re-colour code it for you later.”

“It’s not colour coded, it’s just ...”

“Come. Here. Now.”

Ian had been terrified about moving in with Mickey. They’d come within inches of breaking up after he took off with Monica. Ian had actually tried to break up with Mickey on the steps of the Gallagher house. Mickey had listened and argued and then listened again, his fists clenched and eyes misting over. He had looked at Ian with so much hurt and confusion and Ian knew his face mirrored Mickey’s own but he hadn’t known how to stop the awful rollercoaster he seemed to have put them on.

“Go home, Mickey.”

“You are my fuckin’ home.”

Mickey’s voice had cracked slightly, lifting and breaking on the word ‘you’ and Ian had never heard a worse sound in his life.

“You sound like a fucking queer.”

Ian had spat those words at him and he shuddered at the memory now. He had been trying so hard to make Mickey angry enough to leave him, trying to force his hand. It had partially worked. It made Mickey angry but rather than walking away, he had stormed up the steps and got right in Ian’s face, not touching him but close enough that Ian could see that his eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep and the faint creases in his brow had deepened from weeks and months of strain.

“Well guess what, fuckhead? I am fuckin’ queer. I came out for you – you made me come out for you! Now you think I’m gonna let you tank this thing cause you don’t feel well? No. Fuck you! You’re not doing that to me.”

“Fuck off!”

Ian had pushed him and Mickey had wrapped a fist in his shirt, dragging Ian backwards with him as they hit the railing and refusing to let go even as they grappled for balance.

“Get the fuck off me! Why are you doing this?”

“Because I love you.”

“You don’t!”

“I fucking do! Whatever this is, it isn’t about me not loving you and you are not putting that shit on me. I’m here, bitch and I ain’t going anywhere.”

Mickey had finally let go of him with a look of such cold fury that Ian’s insides turned to jelly and Ian had stormed inside slamming the door behind him. Mickey had stayed. He had simply sat on the steps and waited. He waited there for over an hour until Ian came back and slumped down beside him ready to talk. Mickey had lit a cigarette and handed it over silently.

“I don’t want to take the pills.”

“Fine. We’ll find another way.”

“You can’t spend your life taking care of me, Mickey”

“Uh… yeah. I can.”

“I stole your baby! I’m probably crazy!”

“Meh. Babies are overrated; you can keep him if you want?”

Ian had laughed and then, completely exhausted, he had started crying. Mickey had pulled his head down onto his shoulder, wrapped an arm around his shoulders, and just let him get it all out.

“I want you, Ian, crazy or not. Don’t care.”

“Why?”

“You fuckin’ deaf as well? How many times do I gotta say it? I love you, asshole.”

*

The coffee machine gurgles and spits out the last of the batch bringing Ian out of his reverie. He blinks and glances down at his hands, a little shaky but not so bad. The bathroom door closes upstairs and loud, tuneless humming floats down to Ian as he pours two mugs.

“Mornin’.”

“Good morning. Shit! You look exhausted!”

“Thank you very much, just the comment I needed.”

Mickey grumbles accepting his coffee and giving Ian a quick kiss on the shoulder as he leans around him to pick up his cigarettes. He slips the film sleeve off and rather than leaving it on the side as usual, casually moves over to the bin, peering in before depositing his trash.

Evidently, satisfied that the banana peel is in there and at least someone in this house listens to him some of the time, Mickey lets go of his morning grouch and smiles

“Good coffee this morning.”

“Yeah? I added nutmeg!”

Ian beams proudly and although Mickey has no idea what nutmeg is, he nods approvingly.

“Nice.”

He scratches his nose and shifts his weight awkwardly from foot to foot, leaning back against the counter top and eyeing Ian curiously

“Uh …Do we have, like, an anniversary or something?”

Ian snorts and smirks at him mischievously

“Um … do you think you would have let me have an anniversary? You don’t even like your birthday.”

Mickey gives Ian a deadpan look that says Ian is not as funny as he thinks he is

“Just ‘cause I don’t like something doesn’t mean you haven’t done it.”  

“True. It’s 4th July.”

“What? We didn’t get together in July.”

“It’s symbolic! The American day of Freedom! So … unless you remember the actual date...”

Ian plucks some fluff from the wild riot that is Mickey’s quiff in the morning. He loves the way his hair seems to explode in every direction before he has a chance to tame it with wax.

“You’re so gay.”

Mickey grins, draining his coffee cup and lighting his first cigarette of the day, grin widening as Ian punches his arm lightly.

“Why are you asking anyway?”

Ian tries to pluck the smoke from Mickey’s fingers but Mickey waves him off, not yet ready to surrender it

“Hey! Get your own!”

“I just want a pull. Cutting back.”

“Again? Jesus. You were a bundle of joy the last time you did that.”

Mickey lowers his brows in exasperation but surrenders the cigarette to Ian all the same.

“You could do it with me?”

“Oh sure, that’ll help keep this house a happy home.”

Mickey opens his eyes wide in disbelief of how dumb his partner can be sometimes. He pours another coffee for himself and tops Ian up as well.

“So? Come on. Why are you asking about anniversaries?”

Ian lays the cigarette in the waiting ashtray, ignoring Mickey’s outreached hand and subsequent grunt of irritation, and pulls his boyfriend into his arms, locking his wrists around the small of his back. Ian lets his hand dip low to cup one of Mickey’s cheeks in his hand and makes a small noise of appreciation at the back of his throat.

“I just wanted to know. That OK with you?”

“Yes,”

Ian grips the swell of flesh a little tighter and looks down at Mickey happily

“You really do have a perfect butt.”

“Thank you, Captain Grab-Ass. Mind if I finish my smoke now?”

Mickey says dryly, his demeanour a little gruff as it always is when Ian compliments him.

“When Yev goes home, I think we should run a bath.”

Mickey smiles and tiptoes to kiss Ian’s chin

“You gonna knee me in the face again?”

Ian scowls at him but Mickey is grinning, clearly amused and Ian grudgingly answers

“No. You can get out first this time. I just thought …”

“…It would be nice to towel me off. I know. And it was! You mopped up the blood real nicely.”

“Fuck off!”

Ian can’t help but laugh as he shoves the ashtray back towards Mickey who picks up his half-finished cigarette cheerfully and wanders in the direction of the stairs, the subject of their anniversary established but questioning neatly dodged and only a couple of months away too! Perfect!

Mickey is in a considerably good mood as he bounces up the stairs loading the Mario theme tune on his phone to wake Yevgeny. Fuckin’ perfect!

[determinationandcaffeine]

Some of these will not apply to many people so pls take them with a grain of salt. Also I’ve been collecting these pretty much for the two years I’ve been in college so it’s not a guide, they’re just… random I guess.

Making friends 

Warning - specially tailored for super shy people aka me

There’s a thing called the ‘first week window of endless oportunities’. It’s when groups are still forming and everyone’s desperate to make friends. This is the time to put your best self forward (I’m not saying be fake, just a little extra friendly).

Leave. Your. Door. Open. Do it. Even if you have a roommate. Best way to make friends the first week.

Actually get out of your room. You’re not going to meet many people if you hole up in your room. If you have a tv room or people are watching a movie, I don’t care if you’re not interested in what they’re watching, go.

If you have the balls to go to the room nextdoor and introduce yourself then you probably can skip this section by all means do it!

But if you don’t, going from door to door asking for help with your laundry takes a lot less courage + you will learn how to do laundry. Asking to borrow something (pencil, hair tie, hair dryer) also works.

If you’re staying at a residence hall, ask to sit with people at lunch! Nobody is going to say no, i promise.

Similarly if you see someone alone, ask them to have lunch with you! 

Also if you meet someone you get along with, as soon as you can, ask for their number ‘so you can go to the dinning hall together’. 

Remember people’s names - it makes people feel like you actually care about them. I know it’s hard but make an effort. Also it just gets annoying when someone asks about your name for the fourth time. Use mnemonics if you have to.

Asking what someone’s major is and where they’re from is standard procedure when you meet them but it doesn’t make for an interesting conversation. Think of other questions!

Make sure to arrive about 10 min early to your classes. There’ll be very few people and so it’ll be easier to strike up a conversation (actually people will probably talk to you without you having to say anything which is g r e a t)

Say yes - as a rule of thumb, your social life should prevail over your academic life the first two weeks. This is the time where you’re not really pressed for time. Say yes to watching movies, say yes to going to lunch, say yes to going to campus events (and even to parties). Obviously don’t do anything that makes you really unconfortable but do try to step out of your comfort zone

Make friends with an upper-classman from your same major. Or at least be on speaking terms. Talk to them on Facebook, ask them about your major, just use any random idc excuse to introduce yourself, it doesn’t really matter how you do it.

Don’t go home every weekend, even if you live close by. You’ll miss out on the best of campus life and some of the most fun memories with your new friends.

Keeping your old friends

If you know you’re going home for the weekend, try to finish most of your assignments/studying and make time to hang out with your friends. Spending time with them is the best way to keep those friendships alive. 

But! Don’t worry too much if you can’t come home or make time for your friends too often, you just have to make an effort to text them regularly. It will come naturally if it’s your best friend, but don’t forget to set a reminder to text other close friends at least once every two weeks.

You may think you don’t care now but you will once you come home for the summer.

If any of your friends are staying in your hometown for college, be ready for them to get another friend group. That doesn’t mean they’ve forgotten about you, but don’t be mad if they seem to have a lot more plans that don’t involve you. You can always ask to tag along some time and maybe even become friends with these people!

Some people you’ll just lose contact with. Don’t fret it.

Organization

Please print out or buy a calendar that has a whole page for each month. With boxes preferably *shameless plug*. You may think you have it all under control but there’s nothing like being able to see all your due dates, hang out plans and laundry days at a glance. (Also js but the pilot frixion are perfect to use on calendars because they’re erasable).

Hampers are love. Hampers are life. Also they’re the only way your clothes won’t end up all over your floor and bed (..and chairs) so get one.

Health

Adding fruit and veggies to all your meals is very easy to do. And very easy to forget. 

If you know someone who goes for runs regularly, ask to tag along! You’ll be more likely to keep active if you have someone who’ll drag you outside!

Get a mini fridge (if your dorm doesn’t come with one). It’ll be the best investment you’ll make in your entire college life. Also make sure to check in with your roommate beforehand so tbat you don’t end up having two fridges. And ask if they want to split the cost.

Academics

You will have some crappy professors. When that happens, the solution is not to cry over your (almost inexistent) notes and complain to whatever poor soul will listen.Find your recommended books, take a trip to the library, sneakily get them online.

On that note, you can find PDFs of almost any textbooks online if you just look for ‘textbook name pdf’. Yeah it’s not legal. Neither should be charging 100€ for a textbook. Yeah it’s probably not the latest edition. But email your professor about it, they usually don’t mind.

If your copy shops refuse to print out textbooks, go early in the morning or late at almost-closing time or just at a time where there isn’t anyone else there bc they’re a lot more likely to do it (not saying they will okay but there’s no harm in asking).

If you’re not a morning person, you’re not going to go to that 8am 8/10 times so if you can avoid taking it, do. Yes, you did it in hs but believe me, it’s different

Chances are you will have at least one Ridiculous Professor (a.k.a. one whose tests ask about literally every single detail). This is why it’s a good idea to look for past tests from this professor (or just ask an upper-classman. Seriously just make friends with an upper-classman) ASAP. And then make flashcards like a mad person.

If you’re too sick to get yourself to the ER and attendance is mandatory for that class, email your professor bc most times they won’t even ask for a doctor’s note. If attendance is not mandatory, don’t even bother.

Check how much your assignments are worth. Always. Stop spending time you don’t have on shit that’s worth 5%, just turn in something.

Semesters go by a lot faster because what you learnt in hs in a year, you now have to learn in half the time. My point? Start studying early.

It doesn’t matter how amazing of a student you were in hs, get ready for your grades to drop. How much they drop depends on you.

Partying

Partying may not be your thing and nobody will force you to go out. But I’d say try it at least once (preferably during the first week). Not just because of ‘the experience’ but because you might make some friends that way (I know if I’d stayed home I never would’ve met some of my best friends in college).

You’ll probably end up having to dress up at some point. Don’t leave it until the last minute. Also ask around, group costumes are awesome and you’ll come up with something faster than if you have to think of one on your own.

On a similar note, get a box to put your costumes in! At the end of the year (or when you finish your degree?) you can go through it and remember all the awesome times you had. Also some parts of old costumes will come in handy for new costumes.

This may vary from place to place but generally heels are only for very special ocassions, not a saturday night party.

I know that for some of you it’ll be your first time drinking so some random tips:

Don’t do more than 3 shots of absinthe in one night. DO NOT DO IT CHILD

You’re probably going to have a favorite drink freshman year and you’re most likely never going to want to touch it again by the end of the year. Choose wisely (meaning don’t do vodka because you’ll grow to hate it).

Avoid wearing really dark liquid lipsticks because after just one shot they look absolutely disgusting (butthole effect).

Drinks are expensive so when possible just pre-game (also smol tip - if you want to get the most out of your alcohol, add gummy bears to your pregaming cup. Don’t fucking do this if it’s your first time drinking)

I don’t recommend puking but it’s better than a trip to the emergency room and a convenient solution if you feel like shit.

Put a bottle of water beside your bed before you go out and chug it as soon as you get home. Thank me in the morning.

Hungover lectures are torture. Don’t skip class though, go and record it (ask your professor first obviously)

Depends on how safe your city is, but as a rule of thumb, let someone know if you’re going home and preferably wait until someone else wants to leave so that you don’t have to walk home alone.

Extra

If you need to write an email to a professor do it ASAP. Don’t put it off until let’s say 3AM. Not only won’t they respond in time but they can see what time it was sent.

Turn on nofications for your school email (and if you don’t have one ffs make one). 

if your laptop is kinda crappy and slow, get a new one. That thing will become a part of your body, especially in higher years. Freshmen always think they won’t bring it to class to take notes. Ha.

Do Not DO NOT give up your hobbies - I know how overwhelming uni can be but hobbies are a part of who you are. If you erase that, only your major is left. You are not just your major so make time for your hobbies.

If you have a roommate don’t like… use the Attack on Titan opening as your alarm. It will get you a pillow to the head. Applies to any other ‘wake up time to die’ ringtones too. 

Also please don’t let you alarm go off for too long because literally everyone on your floor can hear it and that shit is annoying 

Just a suggestion but stop drinking coffee every day. That way it’ll be a lot more effective during finals week. (Drink tea instead).

Remember to not be defined by your high school self. Nobody knows that person where you’re going anyway. Is there a certain way you’ve always wanted to dress? Want to dye your hair? Want to try being that person who compliments and smiles at people? Anything you always wanted to try? Now’s the time to do it!

Anyway, that’s all! I hope this was helpful and can ease some of your nerves about college!

More college posts

How To Stop Skipping Class

First Time in the Lab Advice

Tips on Organic Chemitry

Taking Notes in College

[intimatevoid]

casually steals yet another one from @notfinlandjosswhedon​   

Ever kissed anyone with a nipple piercing? Huh, I don’t actually know. I’ve done a lot of stuff with people who have those piercings, but kissed? I don’t think so.

What about a lip piercing? Yes, Ash has two.

Nose piercing? Hm. I don’t think so.

Did you sleep alone last night? Nope.

How are you sitting? Slouched in my chair.

Where is your family? In the next room, in Manitoba, in North Carolina, and in Sydney.

Do you plan on sleeping in tomorrow? I mean... I don’t really have set sleeping or waking hours. So probably, by “normal” definitions.

What were you doing at 12 AM last night? Crying I think.

Waiting for something? June next year, when I go visit @robotslenderman​ in Sydney.

How many people did you kiss last summer? Two are certain. Three or four are possibilities. Time kinda all runs together for me.

Was yesterday terrible? Yesterday was not a good day.

Did you reject or accept your last friend request? Accept.

Do you like pretzels? I’ve never actually had pretzels before.

Do you wait until you’ve completely finished a certain makeup product before you buy a new one? Yeah, I can’t afford to buy makeup all the time.

Would you say that people consider you a major flirt? Yes, I flirt with many people.

Do any of your friends have children? Yeah, a few of them do.

If you are in a relationship, how long have you been together? Two years as of early September.

Did you wake up before 8 AM this morning? I mean... I was awake AT 8am, but I don’t think that’s what this question means...

Do you wear eyeliner? Yes, I love it.

Whose wall have you wrote on today? Nobody‘s.

Would you rather cry in public or make someone else cry in public? The former. Other people might not be able to handle crying in public, but I can.

Would you rather sleep for 3 days or stay awake for 3 days?

 Stay awake. I just can’t sleep for that long, even when I’m at my most depressed.

Would you rather be just rich or rich and famous? Just rich.

Who will you be sleeping with tonight? Ash, probably.

Last person to make you laugh? @aelwen​, talking about her Superworld characters.

Do you look at older pictures and laugh? Not really.

When will your next kiss be? Probably within a couple of hours.

Have you ever truly thought you knew who you were going to marry? Pfft, marriage is not something I want.

Do you have anything that belongs to a partner or an ex partner? Not “belongs”, no. From them, yes.

What would you say if someone told you they were in love with your sister? I mean, I don’t give a fuck what any of my sisters do, so.

Has anyone called you babe or baby in the last two days? Yeah, I have some friends with whom that term is a pet name. It’s funny; when I was younger I used to hate it. Now, I think it’s really nice within the context of these specific friendships.

Do you still talk to the person you last kissed? Yeah, every day.

Who was the last person of the opposite sex to be in your bedroom?

 The last person of a different sex in my bedroom was Ash. The last man, though? Wow, that would have been a long time ago. Probably Seb, last time he visited.

Did you see your best friend today? No. We live very far away from each other.

Are your ears pierced more than once, if at all? Yes, I have four piercings in each ear, and I want more.

If you wear skirts, are you more likely to wear leggings, or go bare? Depends on the day.

Are you addicted to texting? I dislike texting because it’s clumsy and slow, but I’m always messaging people.

How many times do you knock on the door? Usually I text them to say I’m outside. But if I do knock, it’s either three or five raps.

If you could move somewhere else, would you? Montreal, with @aelwen​.

Did you kiss or hug anyone recently? Yes.

Does your phone ring in the middle of the night? My phone barely ever rings, full stop.

Is there anybody you’re really disappointed in right now? I mean, there are many people who disappoint me, but very few who I am actually legit bothered by.

Is there someone you will never forget? Many people.

Can you live a day without TV? Yeah, TV (or in my case, TV shows, since I don’t watch aired television) is not really my favourite thing.

Do you swallow gum when you’re done with it? If I can’t be fucked or can’t spit it out into rubbish.

Any plans for this weekend? I miiiiiight be going out somewhere on Friday night. But I don’t think so.

Have you seen anyone lately that you don’t get along with? Not that I can recall.

Who was the last person you rode in a car with that’s not family? @aturinfortheworse​, when I visited them last.

Would you be able to date someone who doesn’t make you laugh? Not a chance.

Is there anything stressing you out currently? *laughs maniacally*

What kind of mood are you in today? My mood is fine. My depression is awful though.

How late did you stay up last night and why? Again, sleep hours don’t really bother me. It’s after 6am and I haven’t slept, but I also had two short naps during the day.

Have you ever slept in the same bed with the last person you kissed? I usually sleep in the same bed as them.

Are you mad at anyone? Nope.

Did the last guy/girl you kissed have any piercings? The last person I kissed does indeed have piercings. The last girl or guy, on the other hand? Did not.

What is the name of the last band you discovered? I legit have no idea.

Would you rather go to a Katy Perry or Taylor Swift concert? Neither, thank you.

What pattern do the sheets on your bed have? The sheets are plain purple.

Are your days full and fast-paced? Not in the slightest.

Do you call any of your friends by their last name? Nah, except for one person who uses it as their derby name.

Have you ever gotten lost in a department store? Once at Indooropilly. But only once.

How long have you had the shirt you’re wearing? A year or so? Ash bought it for me. It’s my red Undertale shirt.

Are you a slut? Sexually, no. But I am very much a slut for emotional connection and sensuality, and I am absolutely a compersion slut.

What happened last time you got drunk? Like properly, fully drunk? @d-eerteeth and I played Just Dance and watched Marble Hornets.

When’s the last time you straightened your hair? It must be like a year ago now. My hair does NOT long being straightened, so I stopped.

What do you want right this second? some money tbh

What were you doing at 10:00 this morning? Sleeping, I think.

What cell phone company do you use? Optus.

Do you wear a bath robe? Nope.

Do you know anyone autistic? Besides myself? Yeah, a few.

How about someone bipolar? Mhm.

What do you want your job to be when you’re older? A body piercer/modder, with an emphasis on clients with special needs who can’t access normal commercial clinics.

What are you listening to? The sound of my computer humming.

Does the last person you texted smoke pot? She sure does.

What did you wear to bed last night? These same clothes.

Who’s in the room with you? It’s just me here.

Have you ever liked someone older than you? Yeah, most people I like are older than me.

Do you like men with beards and goatees? I really do not. Sometimes stubble looks good. But facial hair is seriously not my preference.

Where do you live? QLD, Australia.

Do you always lock your door? Yeaup.

Do you smoke cigarettes? Not for a long time.

Is your birthday in a winter month? Not in Australia, no.

Do you have siblings over the age of 21? Sure do.

What is the last letter of your middle name? A.

Have you ever skipped school just because you were tired? Nope. My refusal to do so kinda led to some breakdowns lmao

Do you wear your seatbelt in the car? Yes.

When was the last time you were told you were cute? Today, by Ash.

Do you like Chinese food? I’ve never tried actual real food from China, but I do like the food from the Chinese place down the road.

Have you ever trusted a guy when you shouldn’t have? Heh, yeah.

Do you have a brother? What’s his name? I have six. In order of age: Andy, David, Moses, Benny, Noah, Sean.

What time is it? 6:18am.

Is your phone close to you? It’s on my desk, a little above my keyboard.

What woke you up this morning? Heartburn.

When did you last use a straw? A couple of days ago.

Have you ever driven without a license? Nope. Was terrified of being arrested.

What color shirt are you wearing? A red print shirt.

Do you have a ceiling fan located in your bedroom? No.

What are you most looking forward to tomorrow? Potentially having enough energy to check out a queer meetup. Honestly it’s the thing I’m most looking forward to about the next week.

Have you cuddled with someone today? Yes.

Have you spoken to a relative on the phone today? No.

Do you use the toilet paper with the colorful designs on it? Nope. I just buy the cheapest shit that doesn’t feel awful.

What was the first thing you ate today? Muesli.

Do you have anything more important you should be doing right now? Sleeping, probably.

Have you set an alarm today? Nope.

Do you keep up-to-date with current news and events? I try very hard not to.

When was the last time you visited relatives? So long ago that I don’t remember.

Is chapstick a necessity for you? Yeah, especially in winter.

Name the last 6 people you texted/messaged:

Chloe (@aelwen​)

Stevie

Sage (@d-eerteeth)

Dusty (@robotslenderman)

Caitlin (@cookiekitcat)

Maddie @notfinlandjosswhedon)

How did you meet #3? Through a friend of a friend, with the help of awful memes.

What’s #6’s middle name? Don’t have a clue tbh.

Who have you known the longest out of your 6? Chloe and Dusty, I’m not sure exactly but I’ve known both of them since 2009.

Who have you known the least out of your 6? Maddie.

How do you know #5? We played some really good Overwatch together and became friends through that.

Where does #1 live? Manitoba. Too far away. :(

Is #1 your best friend? One of them, yes. <3

Who on your 6 doesn’t have a job? most of them actually

Does #5 have their drivers license? I have no idea tbh!

Would you ever live with #2? Tbh? I don’t think so. Near, but not with.

Why did you text #4? She sent me a lovely gift so I was thanking her.

Do you miss #3? Yeah. We haven’t seen each other in a long time.

Is #6 a stoner or alchie? the definition of this is a matter of some question to us lmao

Have you ever danced with #2? Yes, actually!

Have you ever done anything sexual with any of them?                           No, not really.

What would your life be like without #1? I don’t want to think about that life would be like without her.

Is #2 your best friend? Nope.

What do you love about #3? Sage is intelligent as hell, so resilient it would scare me if they weren’t on my side, competitively generous, and we have such wonderful banter.

What do you dislike about #3? everything go jump off grand central u bitch (um. for anyone else reading this. that was a joke.)

What is #5’s weakness? Cute things!

What kind of car does #4 drive? I don’t think she drives.

What would you do if #3 & #6 were dating? I would be surprised as hell but I mean each to their own y’know.

Does #2 have a boyfriend/girlfriend? She says that the woman she’s with (i don’t remember her name) isn’t her “girlfriend” but honestly she so is

Have you ever seen #1 cry? I have.

Have you ever kept a secret from #5? Not that I’m aware of.

What is something special about #4? I love her with all my heart.

Does #2 have any special talents? She’s good at talking my ear off!

In one word, describe #6. Interesting.

Has anyone in your top 6 hurt you? Who? Yeah, I’ve been... let down.

Have you ever fought with #6? Nope.

Is #1 a musician? She plays piano!

How old is #4? 25~

Would you ever kiss #5 (if you haven’t already)? Obviously assuming everyone affected by it was consenting? Yeah, sure!

[mtndewhoodies-blog]

Storytime about "The Last Of The Real Ones"

So today is the day Fall Out Boy released one of their songs from their new album M A N I A (and, god, it’s such a banger I’m listening to it right now). Last night, me and my six-year-old brother were laid up on an air mattress at our grandparents’ house because our power was out due to the hurricane. He was having trouble getting to sleep, so I decided I’d close my eyes too.

I closed Instagram, turned off my WiFi, turned the brightness down all the way, and set my phone down on the floor. Let’s be clear: I did NOT actually mean to fall asleep. I wanted to stay up until the song came out cause I just had a feeling Pete was going to pull something slick and release it at like 3am or some shit like that. Even if he didn’t I was /determined/ to stay up all night.

Here’s where it gets funny: my brother and I both pass out and, lo and behold, at 5:55am /exactly/ my alarm FINALLY starts to work (after four days) and I hear the opening keys of Bastille’s “Flaws” and, after fifteen seconds of thinking I was dreaming cause I’m stupid as fuck, my brother’s foot comes out of nowhere and kicks me the fuck off the air mattress.

The fall DID NOT break my phone or any bones, but the bruise my mom gave me when she accidentally kicked me and broke her own toe started to throb again(all me and my siblings/cousins/younger uncles mattresses were out in the goddamn living room and there were two adults and either couch, my mom needed something to drink I /assure/ you I am not being and have never been abused). I slowly climb back onto the bed cause my dumb ass STILL thinks this is a dream and I fall back asleep.

I wake up around 8am, three hours later realizing, “Well shit. Ain’t that messed up.” I go on my phone, turn my brightness up a quarter way, turn my WiFi back on, check ig. And, I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD, THE POST THAT CAME IMMEDIATELY AFTER THE LAST POST I LIKED ON MY FEED IS THE GODDAMN ONE THAT ANNOUNCED “THE LAST OF THE REAL ONES” BEING OUT AND IT WAS THE FUCKING PICTURE OF THE MEANING IN FRONT OF A PLANE WINDOW LOOKING OUT ON A BARELY-SUNLIT AIRPORT. Trust me, I know what ‘crack of dawn’ looks like. This picture was IT.

I dropped my phone, grabbed my earbuds off the floor, and then went onto YouTube to watch the video. I have not listened to a single other song since.