#it popped up again today for the first time in a solid 2 years and i’m just so ://////

[stonesandswords]

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[beardysuits]

Closer to Dad pt 2

Part 1 found here

I can’t believe it, I’m uncle Rob! I was still getting used to being a solid 50 pounds heavier, probably even more to be honest. When I dressed up as Rob, I had chosen one of his older football jerseys to feel his stomach pressed against his beefy belly. Each step I took I could feel the fabric stretch to accommodate my new form. I patted it, feeling the jiggle ripple through the rest of my abdomen. This was going to be a fun day.

Normally it would have taken me about 15 minutes to get from Rob’s house back to mine, but with my new longer legs, and the amount of excitement built in, I made it in half the time. Stepping up to the front door, my heart was racing in anticipation. I haven’t spent real quality time with my dad in what felt likes years. To go from being the scrawny son he essentially ignored, to becoming his best friend and brother, was a dramatic shift. However, I let out a long breath of air and pounded on the door with my strong fist. 

Dad, I guess I should refer to him by his first name now, Mike, opened the door and looked at me inquisitively. He wasn’t even wearing his usual jersey, just a green t shirt and jeans, his hair messy, with the locks shining in the golden sunlight. 

“Rob? What are you doing knocking on the door? You haven’t done anything but stroll in like a bastard for years”. Shit, of course I should have just walked in. Rob’s been coming over to our place for years now to hang out with my dad. I chuckled to try and cover.

“What and not take you up on opening the door for me? Fat chance,” I told him with my best uncle Rob impersonation. He rolled his eyes and ushered me in. I think I can still play this off. Coming into my home as Rob made it feel like a brand new experience, like I was stepping foot for the first time. Though that may just be because I’m about a foot taller and my perception has greatly shifted at this new height. 

“You want a beer?” Mike asked, closing the door behind me. 

“It can’t even be 8 am,” I told him without a second thought. His eyebrow raised again. 

“What took you so long to ask?” I asked him back. He scoffed and wandered off to the kitchen. My heart would not slow down. I can make a couple of recoveries, but what am I supposed to do when he actually starts talking about football? Mike came back, and tossed me an unopened can. I popped the tab and took a swing, almost spitting it right back out. Fuck me, that’s what beer tastes like? At the tender age of 20, I was just shy of getting myself any alcohol of my own. Though also, at the tender heart, I was too chicken to sneak one of my dad’s to try before today. 

Thankfully Mike had his back turned to me, otherwise he surely would have seen me grimace from the taste. 

“So, game’s not for another hour,” he said, coming back from the kitchen again, this time holding the entire box full of beers. Oh god do I have to drink all of those? I can’t even stomach one. 

“How about you make your lazy ass of some use and help me stock the fridge? Especially since you didn’t bring any of your own,” he continued. Was I supposed to bring something? I’m clearly an awful guest. I followed him downstairs to his man cave, one which I rarely stepped foot in. 

It was what one would expect of a middle aged man who was obsessed with football. A once plush couch now worn out from years of ass being met with it, a small beer fridge along the side, massive flat screen tv along the back wall. If you pick up a copy of “Man Caves for Dummies”, you’d find this on chapter one. Mike shoved the box of beers at me and I waddled off to the fridge to stock up. Not like there was much space anyways, he always kept it pretty filled. 

As I was finishing up the bottom level of the fridge, I felt a hard smack against my ass, almost causing me to shove my whole head into the fridge. 

“Hurry up slowpoke, I wanna get these chilled before the game starts,” Mike said, pulling another beer out of the top shelf. He already finished the first one? I was too distracted to even drink mine, now so aroused at my ass getting smacked, and being ordered around by my dad. Don’t get me wrong, I was used to him ordering me around before, but this time it was playful. It didn’t help that my new cock was pressed against the silky material of my jockstrap, hidden under Rob’s set of Wranglers. I was chubbed up since I came in his body earlier today, but the touch of Mike, and the material sliding against it, made me rock hard. 

I adjusted my pants to help try and mitigate how much of my cock showed and closed the fridge door behind me. 

“Just giving you time to remember how I got the good ass genes from dad,” I told him. I turned and shook my ass at him, smacking it myself. Fuck Rob’s butt really kept up some perk since his old military days. 

“Please, the only thing you got from dad was a bad back and a receding hairline,” he said, chuckling to himself. He took a swig out of his beer and I decided to mirror him. This time, I knew what to expect and choked down the ale with less effort. This actually wasn’t too bad after a while. He reclined back on the couch and kicked his feet up on the corner L of the sofa. He was wearing his basketball shorts and his calves were showing. I never looked at my father in a suggestive way from the implication alone, but I wasn’t me right now. Even as his brother it felt like I was somebody entirely different. 

I could admire how strong his legs looked, especially when he stretched one of them out to pop his knee. The shorts rode up and a brief glimpse of his thigh bared itself to me. This didn’t help my need to hide my raging boner at all. He turned his attention from the TV and looked at me. 

“What are you waiting for? Permission?” He asked. I sat on the opposite end of the couch from him. We had an hour until the game, and I immensely regretted not doing more research before I took over Rob. Mike tried to engage with me about the team, sports, players, and I did my best to rebut against them with jokes and more general comments. He definitely knew something was up though. I drank through the whole thing, feeling my new belly slosh as it contained nothing but beer. The jersey I was wearing started to feel even tighter as I felt my stomach expand to accommodate. 

“Jeez Rob are you okay?” He asked me, minutes before the game began. My consciousness was starting to fade some, the alcohol finally starting to kick in. I had to have been 6 beers in by this point, only taking so long due to Rob’s large build. 

“What do you mean?” I asked him, blinking slowly to orient myself. He finished his last bit of his drink and threw it into the closest trash can. 

“You aren’t yourself. No idea what I’m talking about, stumbling through any conversation, it’s like I’m talking to…” he shrugged, “well, Timmy”. That made me snap into focus. The original plan when I took over Rob was to talk to my dad about anything but football, and hopefully, make him actually like the real me. 

“What about Tim?” I asked him. He cracked open a new beer. 

“Well you know, he’s a good kid, but I just don’t get him. Always up in his room all day, toying around with those little figures of his.” My figures I paint as a hobby. Something about bringing those little guys to life brought me a lot of calm. I didn’t even think my dad knew they existed.

“Have you tried connecting with him about what he likes?” I asked him. I knew the answer, but wanted to hear him admit it. 

“Yeah,” he said. Liar. “I mean, kind of. I just don’t get it. You known when we were growing up we were outside, running around the woods, getting dirty. Tim he just, I don’t know, is just a shut in. We didn’t grow up like that, he actually did things. Like when we kidnapped the Connors’ dog and posted a ransom to buy snacks in the summer. I mean you know, we did a LOT together. Tried new things, grew closer. He doesn’t do anything, just toys away and plays on that damn computer”. 

Ouch. Can’t say I’m surprised though, it’s about what I expected him to feel. 

“But I wanna connect with him, you know. I want to be his dad, not just his father. I taught him to ride a bike, hit a baseball, how football works. Then he became a teenager and just dropped all of it and became a different kid.” I was about to open another beer, but wanted to be as much of myself as possible. 

“You know Mike, I think he may have always been like this,” I told him. He raised an eyebrow in response. “I think, he just wanted to be the person you wanted him to be so you’d love him. But, he found out that he wasn’t happy doing those things, so he just decided to be himself, and hope you’d love him anyway.” 

Mike was silent for a long time, not even taking another drink. 

“That is, at least my theory,” I said. He shrugged and pondered. 

“I mean I do love him, no matter what he does,” he finally said. “He’s my son. He can be a pro athlete or build and sell a computer for a living. I just figured since we had so much fun together and have great memories, that’s how he should do it too. But, maybe I should try and see how we can do what he likes more.”

I could feel the tears well in my eyes. Fuck Dad, why couldn’t you just tell me that. 

“Thanks Rob for just letting me- are you crying?” He asked. I wiped the tears away and hid my face from him.

“No no, just, fuck it,” I said, looking for a new beer. 

“You fucking softie,” he said, a hearty laugh escaping him. “Here, for you listening to my bitching.” He leaned over the armrest of the sofa for a little while and finally pulled out a new can. He tossed it to me. Raising his own, he opened the tab. I did the same, only to be met with a flare of foam dousing me. He cackled and slapped his knee. 

“Fucker!” I yelled at him, already becoming inhibited from all the drinks. “Gotta change this fucking shirt now,” I told him. I could feel the words slurring as the alcohol came on harder. I stood up, stepping back to try and regain my balance. I grabbed the bottom of my jersey with both hands and yanked it up, my head stuck in the hole before finally tugging it off and slamming it to he ground. 

I looked down, once again admiring Rob’s hairy chest and beautiful pecs. The years of service he did performed wonders on his body, which he didn’t give up on as he reached middle age. 

“Give me a shirt,” I told him, trying to make it to the staircase. 

“Rob fucking sit down, you’re fine,” he called out to me. “Let that shit dry and just be half naked for a bit you puss.” I walked back and fell back on the sofa. My cheeks were flaring up and I could feel my heart pounding from the exertion. I put my hand on my chest to feel the heart rate, and couldn’t help but squeeze a little, feeling the pec succumb to my own touch. I chuckled and looked over to my father, who was looking at me intently. I chuckled to him.

“What?” I asked, losing sight in trying to pretend to be Rob at this point. He smirked. 

“Nothing, just, all this talk about our childhoods is making me just remember the good old times. You know know, the Connors dog, the woods, the…. late night talks. Ones about girls, and who was hot in my grade, who was hot in yours. How we’d-“ he pulled his own shirt off and threw it on top of mine. “Try to figure out what would make them feel good”. 

I admired Mike’s body, not as toned as mine, but certainly he took care of himself as he aged. He own chest displayed a gorgeous set of fur. How did I miss out on just how beautiful he was? How did I not get these genes and looked more like my mother? How is he looking at me so… sexually? He slid down the L of the sofa, laying his head against the back cushion, throwing an arm behind his head to rest it. His armpit was shadowed in a dark bush, which I can only imagine smelled of a strong musk. 

Wait what the fuck? This is my dad, or my brother? He’s family, but I did jerk off my own uncle just hours before. He’s my dad, but he’s also not making this weird. He’s.. he’s.. fuck he’s sexy! 

“Game’s about to start,” I told him finally, not taking my eyes off his physique. 

“They’re playing the Buccaneers, I know how it’ll go,” he said. He got on all fours and crawled to me. Judging from the look in his eyes, the beers had taken their toll on him as well. We were now face to face, mere inches from one another. I could smell the alcohol on his breath as he leaned in and planted his lips on mine. I pushed back a bit, but he wouldn’t let me break away. His tongue slithered forward and traced it along my new one. I gave in and wrestled his with my own, my lips moving in sync with his. He placed a hand on my chest and squeezed at my pec, the warm touch juxtaposing with the shivers which shot through me. 

I took my hand and placed it on the back of his head, brushing my fingers through his salt and pepper hair. As I gripped at it, he became more aggressive and reached for my throat. He wasn’t rough with it, but placed his thumb just below my Adams apple, pressing firmly. My breath was ragged from his force, and my pants had grown so incredibly tight in futile attempts to restrain my cock. My other hand went on the lower end of his back, guiding him to press into me, the fur on our chests entangling. 

He slipped his mouth away from my lips, running them down my neck, kissing me as he lowered himself further down this stolen body. When he got to my belly, he took extra time to take both hands and rub them across it. He worshipped my stomach, kissing at it, gripping, and without a single word, making me know it was his. His hands ran down my stomach to zipper off my hands, toying with it. I spoke back to him with my dick, flexing it to tell him it needed to be released. 

He looked up at me and smirked, lowering his head down again to lick at my bulge. It was torture, I needed to produce it to him and have it slide down his throat. I reached my hand down to get to my pants, but he immediately snapped and grasped my wrists. 

“Uh uh,” he hushed. “Remember, I’m making you the girl here. And a good girl, lets the man do what he wants.” He released my wrists and finally got his hands back on my zipper. He zipped it down, before finally finishing with a flourish and pulling the Wranglers down to my ankles. He worked to get them kicked off my feet, before being met a silky pink jockstrap, which could snap at a moments notice. It was absolutely soaked in precum, and my dick had pushed it to its limits. 

“What the fuck Rob? You sporting these now?” He asked me. I smirked at him. 

“Was just remembering the good times,” I told him with a wink. He seemed to hesitate, almost snapping back to reality. However, the lust must have taken over, as he proceeded to take his tongue and lick up the precum which topped off the jock. Just feeling the tip of his tongue hit my cock made me groan involuntarily. 

“Shut up, Tim might be home,” he told me. I wouldn’t worry about that, I wanted to tell him, but no words could form at this point. He proceeded to lap at my bulge, seeming to suck off any of the pre which had accumulated. Just as it seemed he was about to pull my jock off, he backed away. Fuck, was something wrong? I looked up and saw him working on getting his own pants off. He was struggling, barely able to move at all. 

I assisted him, leaning forward and not taking the same slow care he had given me. I yanked the pants off and discovered two thing about my dad. One, he liked to go commando. Two, he had an impressive cock. Veiny, hard as a rock, and long enough that I knew he could rub out a prostate without even going halfway in. If he was the surprisingly soft and sultry type, I was the ravenous one. I had never actually sucked a dick before, but had watched plenty of films to emulate what others had done. I gripped the base of his shaft, which despite how large my new hands were, still was an intimidating beast. 

I licked at the head of his cock, tasing the musky aroma come to life as the sensation of manhood trickled down my throat. He tasted amazing, his own precum starting to mix with the sweat he had built through the day. I licked my lips, lubing them up as I began to take his entire cock into my mouth. The years of study had prepared me somewhat for what it took to take him, but practice made perfect. At first I almost gagged and vomited the half dozen beers which still waved in my stomach, but as I got into a rhythm, it became easier. He leaned his head back and didn’t say a word, but moans were suppressed from his closed mouth. 

He raised both arms up, showing off his pits. The smell permeated through the air, filling my nostrils. He must have not showered in the past couple of days, as I could smell the usual scent of my father embody the room. It motivated me to work harder, pushing my lips to the base of his balls and holding them in place. He grabbed the sides of my head and thrust his cock back and forth, skull fucking me as a growls began to erupt from him. 

I thought he was about to coat my throat with his cum, but just as he was about to finish, he threw my head back and pushed me to the other side of the sofa. I looked up to find him jerking himself off and staring at me seductively. 

“Turn around and show your big brother that hole of yours,” he commanded, sitting up on his knees. I did as he was told, getting on all fours and facing away from him. I felt the couch move below him as he crawled to me. He spit, and the sensation of his saliva against my hole made me shake. With one hand, he spread my ass cheek to the side, and with the other, I felt him guide the tip of his cock. Pressing against my hole, I gripped at the fabric in the couch, my knuckles turning white. 

“Easy,” he told me. “Remember, just like we used to practice.” He pushed the tip and my hole reluctantly allowed him in. It was a shock of pain which made me scream. His hand quickly shot to my mouth and covered it, muffling my howls.

“I told you to shut up,” He said. He kept pushing his cock further in, still holding my mouth closed. He inch which slid its way in made me try to yell louder in and louder, but his calloused hand pressed harder against my lips. There was a sensation, a pop. Immediately I stopped yelling and groaned again, this time in ecstasy. 

“There you go lil bro,” he told me. “Just like riding a bike”. He pulled out some and pushed his way back in. Fuuuuuuck. Fuck he was so god damn big! He pumped, his cock rubbing against my prostate. Each thrust sent electricity coursing through my body and out the tip of my cock. I hadn’t touched it in ages and wanted to pump in unison with him, but too much of me was just holding on to the couch for dear life. His thrust began to increase in speed, with no room in between for rest. 

“Fuck daddy’s gonna cum!” He yelled out, clearly not worried about the noise anymore. He put a hand on each of my shoulder to steady himself. 

“Cum in me dad, cum in me!” I yelled out, my lips free from his grasp. 

“FUCK!” He yelled out, pushing his balls deep against my bare ass. I felt his cock twitch with his pulse as wave after wave of his cum shot deep into my colon. I counted it out, each pulse getting weaker and weaker, before finally all I could feel was my dad’s stomach resting on my back as he caught his breath. He slid out and fell back on the couch, his legs spread, and while now limp, he cock rested beautifully on his thigh. 

I laid on my own back and marveled at him, so gorgeous even just lit by the TV glow. For a second I was worried in his post nut clarity, he would realize what had happened. Instead, I could hear him snoring, somehow already passed out from the exertion. I took the opportunity to finally whip off the jock strap and pump my cock, which had been lathered up in a concoction of my precum and dad’s saliva. 

I felt his cum begin to leak out of my hole, running into the couch. I grabbed a small handful and rubbed it between my fingers. It was thick and a stark white, prime for breeding. Prime for lathering up my cock further and… lathering… That, gave me an idea. Releasing my cock, I stepped to my pants he had discarded on the floor. I fumbled with the pockets until I found it, another vial. 

Inside was the lotion I had made to slip myself into Rob. I was worried it would wear off while I was here, making me be ejected. So, I brought an extra container in case I had to sip back inside. But, what if I went a step further? Both of us were already naked, so I took the opportunity to pour the contents all over Rob’s body, just as I had done in my real body. 

It was a miracle there was enough, as Rob was twice the size as my original body. However, I finally stood in front of my father, silk, lathered up, and ready to experiment. I was just as careful as I was when I took over Rob’s body. Fingering my dad’s hole and enlarging it. Making it able to take one finger, then two, three, until finally my whole hand was inside of him. I think all of the drinking had sedated him, as he wasn’t moving a muscle from all of the activity. 

I pushed further, finding the process to be much more difficult than last time. Previously, I was going from a short, lanky form, barely 150 pounds into a man twice my size. This time, while my father was hardly a small man, had less room available to take in Rob’s body. I worked carefully, pushing both arms inside, before taking a deep breath and plunging my head inside. This sensation was the same at least. Pitch darkness, a tight sensation, the beating of his heart echoing around me. The issue was, Rob’s chest was so fucking massive, I had to really push to get inside. 

I could still feel my feet outside, so I used them to prop myself up and force myself in further. I could only imagine what it looked like out there. The towering form of Rob, chest deep inside of my dad’s hole as he tried to slam his entire body into him. However, with each thrust, I could feel my body being encapsulated by my father. Eventually I found my whole upper body inside, and I worked to stretch myself out. It was like I was trying to slide into a latex suit that was two sizes too small. Every crevice of mine was suppressed and pushed inward. 

It was constricting, my father’s form could barely contain the man who had at least 40 pounds of muscle on him. But surely, I found a way to get both legs inside and curl my feet in too. I felt the hole close and Rob’s body completely be closed in. Having done this once already, I had an idea of what to do next, but the size difference made it all too difficult. I did learn however from last time to adjust my cock first and not cause a panic. With both arms still not in position with my dad’s, I took my cock and slide it into his like a sheath. 

Before I aligned them though, I experimented and pulled back and pushed in again. I did this a few times, feeling like I was fucking the inside of my father. It was too good, but I had to push on, the constriction was getting to me. I aligned both feet and legs, arms, hands, and finally head. I slithered my tongue into my father, and pushed the top of my head into his. With one final force, I pushed my cock into the tip of his and felt the transformation complete.

I opened my eyes and surveyed the room, my head groggy as I felt the alcohol trying to hold me still. The glow of the TV still reflected off the walls, but more noticeable than that was the smell of my father’s musk right next to me. I looked to my left and found his armpit right next to my face. I inhaled deeply, now aware that I was my dad! I liked at his bicep, knowing all the while this tongue just moments ago was worshipping me. I sat up, trying to orientate myself. 

Everything was the exact same, though now I could see just under me was a pool of the lotion and cum which soaked into the seats. I rubbed my dad’s hole, and found that some of his cum was still leaking out from me. I brought it to my face and lapped it up. It was salty, tinged with the potency worthy of breeding. 

I took another scoopful of his, I guess, MY own cum and lathered up my new dick. As I never did actually finish while I was just Rob, I still had a sizable load to get out. I pumped my dad’s cock which had sprung to life once more. I smelled at this pits as I did so, lapping at his biceps and worshipping my new body. 

NSFW version found here

From the excitement of today, it didn’t take long before I could feel the eruption coming. 

“Fuck I”m gonna cum!!” I yelled in my dad’s voice, before finally letting out the build up of cum spray all over me. Despite getting off just earlier today, it was a cascade as I coated chest. The fur absorbing every drop and sinking into my chest. My cock was bright red, pulsing as each drip soared into the air. But it was over all too soon, and I was left with just myself, the smell of cum, musk, and the football announcers quietly speaking. 

I looked down at myself, proud of the mess I had made. Though, I did wonder what this meant. Was I stuck as my father, with Rob gone forever? Would I get ejected as Rob? As myself? The lotion had lasted this long already, I wonder how much longer I had. If it wasn’t long, I wanted to make the most of it. Slowly, I raised myself up and stood, looking to dress myself up. There I found the jockstrap I had Rob wear, still damp. I stepped in and shimmied it up my legs. 

It was cool at this point, and made me shiver, but it was so good to be reunited with it. I rubbed my hands over my body, coaxing the cum further into my hair and admired the nice bulge my dad gave the jockstrap. Maybe if I can keep this up for a bit, I’ll have to have dad pick up some new clothes…Something with leather perhaps. 

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A bit of a longer story, but hopefully that makes you all enjoy it even further! Would love to hear from all of you as to what you'd like to see more of as I try to get back more into my writing.

Thank you all!

[silverzoomies]

Turkish Delight

peter maximoff x reader smut

chapter 1: sweet talkin'

link to chapter 2: here

warnings: shameless smut, porn without plot, phone sex, mutual masturbation, best friends, dirty talk

word count: 6,368

a/n: hiyaaa !! i'm back with more filth !! peter speaks russian in this one. i've seen people use russian in place of sokovian language before. and since i've been learning russian for a while, i thought i'd give it a shot !! if you're familiar with the language and anything seems off, please let know asap !! as usual, apologies if peter seems ooc, or if my writing isn't up to par !!

tag list (if i forgot you, please remind me !!): @dewberryobssesed @violetharmonscupcake @kaismanwich @jellyluvr @taintandviolent @ahoyladiesz @scene-and-dandylover @quickandsilvers @luttic @billielourdslays

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Chillaxing on the sofa in his mom’s basement, Peter drew out a sigh. His hooded eyes gaped at the TV screen. As he channel surfed, his thumb tapped lazily on the remote. Peter stopped to check each channel in abrupt intervals. Afternoon cable was boring as hell today. It failed to grasp his short lived attention span.

Seinfeld reruns? He saw just about all of ‘em. Soap Operas? Those were more his mom’s thing. Huge pass. Nature documentaries? Could be cool. Guess it depended on which one, though.

Oh. It was the one about the polar bear’s great journey across the arctic! Nifty enough. Except, Peter saw that one three or four times already now. Скучный (boring). Так скучно (So boring).

‘Kay, soooo…TV was kind of a no-go. Instead, Peter popped on the PS1 and settled for a game of Metal Gear Solid. The game’s opening intro was a little too slow for his liking, but Peter forced himself to focus. It sucked he was so antsy today, so fidgety and impatient. He needed some kind of distraction. Any distraction. And he needed one fast.

Peter bounced a leg, half invested in the game’s dialogue. His fingers absentmindedly flicked the controller buttons. Not even five minutes into playing, he found himself frustrated and bored again. This time around, he figured some company might ease his ennui.

He darted across the arm of the couch to a side table. Over a stack of comic books and empty cans of soda, he snatched the receiver to a Garfield phone. Peter dialed a number in less than a second. Too fast, at first. The phone didn’t even register his request. Rolling his eyes, he dialed the number again. Slower this time.

Peter kept the vibrant hunk of orange plastic between his cheek and shoulder. Buzzy ringing echoed on the other end of the line, as he waited for the recipient to pick up. The time it took for a voice to finally respond felt like fifty billion years. Your voice. One of Peter’s closest comrades. The pal he shared most, if not all, of his free time with.

There were days when you visited, and you laid back on the sofa with him. With your legs stretched over his lap and a magazine in your hands, you relaxed. Peter would always do his usual, playing whatever game he ‘bought’ from the local K-Mart. Every time he cursed himself for making a misstep, you giggled. You knew how frustrating it was for him, if he wasn't a hundred leaps ahead of everything. And just to get back at you - but also to hear you laugh again - he’d reach over and dig his fingers into your belly.

He loved that it took such minimal effort to make you laugh. You always had an easygoing warmth about you. And maybe you were also pretty cute too. Sometimes, the crook of your smile made him blush. Oh, and you didn't mind duking it out in Mario Kart sometimes. That was also kinda cool. What more could a lonesome guy ask for? Просто друзья. Ничего больше (Just friends. Nothing more). Yeah. He could be content with that. No problem.

Ten minutes into conversation with you, Peter breathed a yawn into the receiver.

“You know, I’m surprised you have the patience for talking on the phone.” You joked.

The speakers roared with a soft buzz in his ear. Peter didn’t register your words at first. Blinking lazily, he tapped the PS1 controller buttons at rapid speed. In the game, Snake fought off an onslaught of bad guys. Peter faked his offense with a scoff.

“Seriously? Man, what’s up with that? It’s like everyone thinks I can’t do stuff at normal speed without goin’ berserk.” He said, cursing under his breath as Snake got gunned down again.

A small part of him wished you were there, with your legs over his lap, cracking jokes at his expense. Over the phone, you emitted a gentle laugh.

“Because you have? Multiple times, dude!” You said.

Surely you could hear Peter’s eyes roll in his skull.

“Oh, yeah? Name five.” he pressed.

The fast paced clicking of the buttons echoed like a trill in the basement. He overheard the sound of rustling as you shifted in place. If Peter had to guess, he’d bet his left foot you were still lazing around in bed. It was a Saturday, after all. With the hour tipping on the edge of late afternoon. You always moved at the slowest of speeds on your off days.

“I’m just saying! I totally get it. Even I don’t have the patience for chats on the phone sometimes.” You said, and a squeaky yawn followed.

More rustles scuffed from your end, as if you moved to stretch. Keeping his gaze fixed on the flickering, CRT screen; Peter followed flashes of light from each grunt’s gun. His reaction time proved effortless as always. His methods, not so much.

“Nah, it’s cool.” Peter mumbled after a beat, “Doesn’t bother me much if I’m talkin’ to you.  You’re not boring, first of all. And on the off chance I do get bored, I can just say - hey, babe, I’m gonna hang up. And you won’t get-uhhh…” He lingered on his next thought, distracted with gunning down more masked baddies, “You won’t get, like, butt hurt over it."

“Why would I?” You laughed, “Did someone seriously get offended by that?”

“My aunt did once. She got mad pissed ‘cuz I told her I was ‘kinda bored’ on the phone. She made me pass it to my mom, so she could rat me out. Said I showed a ‘lack of consideration'; ‘er whatever.” Peter paused, brows furrowed. In Metal Gear, Snake perished yet again. Peter rolled his eyes once more, “She’s kinda mental, though. это возмутительно (it’s outrageous).”

Your only response was a quiet hum of acknowledgement. Peter broke the silence that followed.

“Hey, you’re not busy today, are you? Wanna do somethin’ later?” He asked, knowing full well you had jack shit to do.

“I don’t know. I’m feeling soooooo lazy today.” You playfully teased.

The soft pattern of your breathing sent electric tingles down Peter’s neck. Shuddering, he shook off those unexpected chills. Another beat, and Peter groaned, as Snake perished over a low poly landscape. You gotta take it slow and stealthy, man - Peter reminded himself.

“Хорошо (okay)? So? Come be lazy over here then.” He replied, “Tell you what. If you do, I’ll go ‘n snag some of those Turkish delights you like. The same ones my mom gotcha for your birthday. Remember? From Sokovia?”

Your voice perked up instantly, bringing a cheesy smile to his face. Homely fondness simmered in his chest, and Peter felt himself blush. He pulled his lip between his teeth, pausing his game to focus more on conversation. Leaving Snake stranded in the middle of the snow.

“Oh my gosh!! No way?? I haven’t had those in forever! Seriously, the ones from Sokovia?” You chimed.

“Hell yeah! But you gotta get outta bed first, dingus. C’monnnn.” Peter whined, “I’m so bored here, babe. Oh! I totally forgot. I finally got my hands on a Gameboy Color too. Swear on my life I paid for it this time. You could come over ‘n try it ouuuuuut.” He teased in a sing-song voice, wiggling his brows.

“Gameboys and Turkish delights? You’re spoiling me today, Peter! What’s the occasion?” You joked over the line.

He shrugged, forgetting you couldn’t see him, “Bored outta my friggin’ skull. That’s what.” After a beat, he awkwardly added, “And maybe I like hangin’ with you? Do I even need a reason?”

“Well, I gotta admit…you had me at Turkish delights.” You feigned a dreamy tone.

Peter chuckled again. Under his breath, he muttered softly, “ Это все, что тебе нужно, да (That’s all you need, huh)?”

“Huh?” You asked, oblivious to his comment, “What’d you say? I didn’t catch that last part.”

Peter ran a hand through his silver locks, leaving his hair loose and messy. Cradling the phone in his other hand, he knitted his lips to one side.

“Nothin’. Don’t worry about it. You want me to come get you? ‘Cuz I can.” He checked his digital watch, decked out in a Star Wars theme, “I can right now, if you-”

“It’s fine. I love going out with you, but I really don’t wanna deal with motion sickness today. I just had lunch too. No offense!” Another yawn rang over the phone, hitching into a squeal at the end. Peter didn’t realize he was smiling so big until his cheeks started to hurt, “I’ll just drive over. Sound good?”

Peter rolled his eyes, sarcastically groaning. He threw his head back into the sofa cushions, playing up his fake frustrations.

“Auuuuuuugh! But that’ll take years.” He dragged a hand down his face, pulling his cheeks under his fingertips, “Is this ‘cuz you blew chunks last time?? You know that doesn’t bother me, right? Everyone does it, babe.”

You made a noise of disgust. Something like an eugh , “Please, don’t remind me. That sucked so much. Yeah, no, I’d rather not. I really need a break from it.” You sighed again. Kind of a bummer, but he could deal.

“It’s whatever you want, I guess. So, when are you gonna head out?” Peter asked, sitting up on the sofa and putting the controller aside.

He bounced a leg at rapid speed, his knee moving in a flesh tone blur of motion. Less from agitation, more due to anticipation.

“I’ll leave soon. Just give me a few minutes. Think you can wait?” You chuckled in that sweet, quirky way again. The melody gave Peter butterflies. Ignoring the fluttering in his belly, he pushed himself off the couch. Grabbing the base of the Garfield phone, Peter cradled the lil guy in an arm. He figured he may as well get dressed, and freshen up before you arrived, “It’s so cold today. I haven’t even gotten out of bed yet! I’m still bundled up in my undies. Got your jacket on too. You left a Game n Watch in the pocket, by the way. I didn’t even know they still made those!”

“Yeah. I totally called that one. Get up already, ya slacker.” Peter joked trapping the phone between his cheek and shoulder again. He scratched his bare chest. His fingertips grazed the sparse covering of white hairs there. Yawning, he nodded, “Okay. Okay. Okay. Sure, just-”

Something about your last statement finally clicked in Peter’s brain. He rapidly blinked, shaking his head fast enough to give himself whiplash. Peter did a quadruple take.

“Подожди (wait)! Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, waiiiiiit …hold on a sec.” He narrowed his eyes, “Say that again?”

“Say what again? The part about the Game n Watch?” You asked, and Peter’s brows furrowed.

“N-Nah. The…did you just…have you been lyin’ around in your underwear this whole time?”

“Uh, yeah? Why? Is this revolutionary information?” You chuckled.

“In my jacket? Like, I didn’t hear that wrong? What’d you like…sleep in it ‘er somethin’?” Peter arched a silver brow, pressing the phone handset closer to his cheek. As if doing so might somehow help him hear you more clearly.

It really wasn’t that big of a deal either way. You borrowed his jackets all the time. Peter never thought anything of it before this conversation. Aside from the fact that - when you did return them, he loved the sweet scent you left behind. The smell of your perfume, with the added bonus of your natural pheromones…

Ебать (Fuck)! Why was he even thinking about this? The two of you had such a casual thing goin’ on. But now, Peter thought of you in a different light. Something friskier. Not that he meant to. Maybe killer boredom + cute friend = horny speedster. Or perhaps the planets aligned in some totally off-the-wall way.

Whatever the case, Peter’s mind raced on autopilot. He pictured the way you might look right now. In your room, spread across your bed in nothing but your underwear and - Ебена мать (Holy shit) - his jacket. With your long legs bare, your knees bumping together as you squeezed your thighs shut. Tummy exposed. And your tits-

Woooooooah there! Slow down, casanova! Peter shouldn’t be…nah, he really shouldn’t be wondering what your breasts looked like. Ppfffbbbbt …’kay, so, maybe in the past he thought about it once or twice. But what dude wouldn't contemplate the hidden mystery of a pal's titties sometimes, ah?

“Well, so what if I did? That doesn’t weird you out, does it?” You asked, a careful waver in your voice.

“Uhhhh…nahhh, babe. Just…” Peter shifted in place, rerouting his thoughts, “Just…got one hell of an image in my head. Might’ve pictured you like that for no particular reason at all.”

Lucky for him, you didn’t seem to think anything of his confession.

“Not much to imagine…” You replied. Сомнительно (Doubtful).

“I mean…pffbbbttt…sure, yeah. Maybe not.” Peter awkwardly laughed, scratching the back of his neck. His voice dropped, a little more hushed, “Unless…you’re wearin’ some really cute panties over there.” Again, he laughed, rushing out a quick, “I’m kiddin’. I’m kiddin’. I’m kiddin’. I’m totally messin’. Just bustin’ your balls, babe.”

Except…he sorta wasn’t. Peter found himself oh-so curious. Twisting the phone's orange wire around his finger, he anticipated your reaction. Anxious you might think him weird for pushing things too far. Never had the two of you charted this kind of territory. It was a minefield, with a 95% chance neither one would make it out unscathed.

“I guess? I think they’re kind of cute.” You added, innocent as ever. Awesome. You weren’t peeved at him, at least. Peter brought the phone to his chest, exhaling an anxious breath to calm his racing heart. When he put the phone to his ear again, he figured you’d moved on. But your cadence shifted. To test the boundaries of your friendship, you teased, “They’re pretty small on me, though.”

Ah. Ah. Интересно. Очень интересно (Interesting. Very interesting). What an unexpected but totally wicked development. Peter lowered himself slowly onto the couch, setting the phone's base on the side table. He eased backwards into the cushions, and tightened his twisting of the phone wire. Swallowing hard, Peter found he had difficulty focusing. Especially with his imagination running so goddamn wild.

“Yeah? …How small is pretty small?” He dared to ask.

Long seconds of silence ticked by at the pace of a narcoleptic sloth. If Peter weren’t so eager to hear what you had to say, he may have torn his hair out. Over the line, you laughed.

“Small enough they barely cover my ass? Why are you so curious all of a sudden?” You cooed.

Peter fluttered his inky eyes, nibbling chapped skin on his lip. Fuzzy pink swarmed the rest of his face, as his mind conjured images of you so effortlessly. Clear as day. Heat stirred to life in his groin, and Peter pictured the way your plush cheeks might hold in tight painties. His breath hitched.

“I-uh…” Peter felt the heat in his cheeks creep down his neck, flustered at lightspeed, “Just thinkin’...maybe you should do somethin’ about that?” He gritted his teeth, pinching the bridge of his nose. What a lame response, “Черт возьми (damn it)!” He huffed under his breath, too quiet for you to hear.

Toying with this newly discovered sexual tension, Peter humorously asked-

“Sooooooo…what color?”

You giggled into the receiver, airy and light. His body registered the noise somewhere , down south of his belly. He wondered if you were as flustered as him. And the visual of your bashful face and shy smile had his heartbeat ramping up to mach 10.

“What? A-Are you for real asking me…oh my god, dude!” Your giggles turned into goofy snorts. Which he found so endearing. Once you composed yourself, you spoke again. Though, your tone came off as more flirtatious, “If you really wanna know so bad…then fine. They’re black. Lacy. With a little bow on the front.”

Дерьмо (Shit)...

His silver brows soared high, disappearing under his bangs. Paying little attention to his instinctive actions, Peter guided his free hand between his thighs. Inwardly, he told himself he was only adjusting his uncomfortable hard-on. ‘Cuz it’d be totally weird if he did anything else…right? Best to ignore the movement of his thumb, as it absentmindedly circled his bulge.

“Huh…that’s so…” Peter blinked, clearing his throat and masking his nerves with a chuckle, “‘Kay, I’ll be up front with you, babe. That sounds cute as hell. Very nice.”

“Really? Oh, please, Peter. They’d be cute on anybody.” You scoffed.

“Uh huh…” He smirked, dropping his tone even lower, “‘Cept, now that I’m really thinkin’ about it? I’m bettin’ they look criminally cute on you.” Peter lazily smirked.

You laughed, breathless like you ran a thousand miles, “Wh-...what are we even doing right now? Seriously, why am I talking to you about my-” The uneasiness in your voice bled through the line.

Your concern was for good reason. Nevertheless, Peter interrupted you mid-sentence.

“Easy there, chuckles. We’re just chatting. Nothin’ too unusual, right? We’ve had some seriously raunchy conversations before. Remember? That time I got laid on a golf course? You told me about that time some dude shot a load in your eye. What’s the difference, anyway?” Peter grimaced, as he recalled your story from eons ago.

You giggled yet again, “Peter, you know damn well what the difference is!” You clarified with a sigh, still playful. The phone wire went slack around his finger, as Peter second guessed himself. He parted his lips, on the cusp of apologizing. Bringing one hand up to the phone, he held it loosely. Your sugary voice chimed again, “I’m kinda wondering, though…what would you think if I told you I’m topless right now?”

His grip compressed around the handset.

“Topless, huh?” Peter cast a quick glance at his hard-on, twitching painfully under his boxers. His mind jumped straight to sinful places again. Peter thought about what your tits probably look like, embraced in his jacket. Nipples hard, grazing the inner-lining. He swallowed, “What’re you tryna tell me? You gonna drive over here in nothin’ but that?” Peter quipped.

A more sultry laugh melted through the receiver. Peter trembled, as your smooth voice coaxed him like a tempting song. His free palm squeezed his bulge, putting pressure to his length over fabric. Peter’s brows turned inward, and he fluttered his eyes shut.

“I guess that wouldn’t be so bad, if it wasn’t so cold outside. It’s freezing today. I don’t know how you can run as fast as you do when the weather’s like this.” Your tone disguised itself with lighthearted innocence again, “It’s not any warmer in my room either. My nipples could cut glass. They’re, like, soooo hard.”

Peter adjusted himself on the sofa, giving the swell of his bulge another teasing squeeze.

“ Ты маленькая соблазнительница (you little temptress)...”  His hot breath fanned the phone.

“I love it when you talk like that…” You replied, “Even if I have no idea what you’re saying. It sounds really hot, to be totally honest.”

“Oh, yeah?” Peter teased his lip with his teeth, speaking in a more flirtatious voice; buttery smooth, “ Я забыл вынести мусор (I forgot to take out the trash)...” For added effect - just to embarrass you more - he tacked on a husky moan.

Peter made himself blush, as the sound came out far more pornagraphic than he intended. The rasp of his voice scraped through the line in a hushed, “ Oh, yeah, baby. ”

The erotic tension you felt from his teasing was palpable, even over the phone. Peter could sense the shift in the way you gasped. So faint, so shy, so cute.

“Oh…oh, wow...uhm…” You tried concealing your bashfulness with more of those candy coated giggles. But Peter could practically hear the blood racing to your cheeks, “What’s that mean? Something good, I hope.”

Peter bit his tongue, lips turning in a cheeky grin.

“It means you’re really turnin’ me on…”

Another hesitant pause fell between the two of you, before you scoffed.

“Oh my god, no it doesn’t! I can hear you laughing!” You griped, snickering along with Peter. A few more tension heavy beats pulsed over the line. You spoke again, “Hey…I’m sorry. Can I put things on pause for a sec? I just wanted to ask…are you okay with this?”

“Are you?” Peter gently asked, giving you ample time to think about it.

“I don’t know…maybe…” You whispered, “Isn’t this, like, super weird for you?”

“I mean…suuuuuuure. It’s totally weird. If you kept goin', I wouldn't be into it...at all...” He bullied you with a playful edge, hoping you could read the flirtatious undertone in his voice.

“Ohhhhh…you wouldn't be?” Judging by the saucy lilt in your voice, you most definitely caught on, “You know what would be even weirder?”

Peter adjusted on the sofa again. Getting comfortable, he laid on his back. His taut legs stretched across the cushions, and Peter propped his head on the couch’s arm.

“Whazzat? Enlighten me, babe. I’m listenin’. You got my full attention.” He teased.

“Your full attention, huh? I must be doing something right.” You snickered, “So…you know how I said I love it when you talk…like that?” Your voice wavered, “What I really meant was-uhm…when you do that on the phone…it makes me kind of horny.”

His brown hues burst open, wider than ever. Peter’s pupils dilated, expanding as far as the universe itself. He swallowed again, his mouth falling open. Your filthy confession set his arousal ablaze, making his dick twitch. As heated desire took over, Peter couldn’t restrain himself. He snuck his fingers under the waistband of his boxers, fingertips gliding over silver hairs. A small piece of him almost felt guilty for doing so.

“It does, huh? Хорошо знать (Good to know).” Peter whispered, tenderly grasping his shaft.

You made a naughty squeak of a noise in response, “Y-Yeah, Peter, I’m serious. You really have to stop doing that.”

“Почему (Why)? Are you soakin’ yourself over it? Gettin’ a lil wet? It’s cool. You can tell me…” Peter heckled, expelling a breath as he gave his dick a single tug.

“Oh, I bet you wanna know all about that, huh? You’re so bad, Quickie...” You teased, clicking your tongue.

Peter’s ears burned, turning pink as he took in the coquettish nature of your voice. Scoffing, he feigned his indignance.

“What?! Hey, nah nah nah! You started this! Это несправедливо, черт возьми (it’s not fair. Dammit)!” Peter laughed, carefree with you as always, “You can’t seriously drop a bombshell like that and expect me not to-”

“Not to come running?” You hummed, sweet tempered, “I’m just messing with you, baby. But since we’re on the topic…I made such a mess of these little panties. Just from listening to your voice.”

Peter couldn’t even pretend he didn’t like the sound of ‘baby’ on your tongue.

“Oh, man…anything but the panties…” He joked, “You should-uh…you should save yourself some trouble. Y’know…take ‘em off, maybe? Might be more comfortable.” Peter hinted, playing nonchalant, “Just tryna be a good friend. Give you some advice. You should for sure take it.”

“But I’m already so cold…” You whimpered, “Your jacket’s so warm. Smells good too. Really good. But it’s not enough to keep me covered.” You spoke with flirtatious innocence, and Peter played along.

“No harm done, принцесса (princess). I’ll warm you up if you need me to.” He reassured, sweet talking you over the phone, “Ты думаешь, что я не позабочусь о тебе? (Do you think I won't take care of you)?" Peter mumbled again. He listened to your sickly sweet laughs, before asking, “So…do you get like this every time we talk on the phone?”

“Mmmm…maybe.” You hummed, “What if I said yes?” You shuffled around again, and Peter’s mind jumped elsewhere. He imagined you shed yourself of damp, black lace. Leaving you wanton and needy in nothing but his jacket, “You know…we’ve been talking about me a lot this whole time. You wanna tell me what you’re wearing? I don’t really have a visual.”

“Oh…me?” Your request caught Peter off guard.

“Yeah, you. Who else, blockhead?” You playfully quipped, smoothing your voice to say, “You don’t have to be shy. I just wanna know, so I can think about taking it off of you.”

Peter didn’t know he could blush this much. Puffing a bashful laugh, he looked down at his body. Mostly nude and toned enough. He had his x-gene to thank for his pecs and hard abs. A fluffy bouquet of silver hairs peeked out from his boxers. Underneath, his dick throbbed, pressing eagerly into fabric.

“Uhm…I’m not wearin’ a lot? Nothin’ special. Just some black, boxer briefs, I guess. Wait, no-” Peter lifted a foot, his lips curling in a goofy smile, “Got my Star Wars socks on too.”

A sensual moan graced his ears, “That’s so hot.” You softly whined, “Star Wars socks? Peter, just take me now.”

Despite the fact you were totally messing with him, that playful comment made his chest tight. 

“Nothing else though?” You pressed.

“Nnnnnnnnnnope.” He drew out the word, popping the P, “Just the-uh…yeah. Boxers ‘n sexy socks. Not much to take off.”

“And you’re pretty fit, aren’t you? You always looked really jacked to me, so-” You said.

Peter cocked a brow, snickering to cover his embarrassment.

“Wooooahhh…you been checkin’ me out, babe?” He asked, darting his dark hues across his athletic bod. Peter flexed an arm, “Sure, I guess I’m in decent shape.” He found he couldn’t dismiss your compliments. Peter looked good, and he knew it. But he preferred hearing it from you, “Hey, you wanna know somethin’, like, way crazy?”

“This? What we’re doing right now is so crazy, right?” You laughed, sounding as bashful as him.

Peter snickered, “True. Truuuue. But, uh…” He shrank in his spot on the couch, pressing the vibrant handset closer into his cheek. Pre-cum seeped through his boxers, as Peter tugged his dick steady and slow. Careful not to stimulate himself too much yet. He dropped his voice to a hushed rasp, “I’m kinda in the same spot you are right now. If you-uh…if you catch my drift.”

The two of you knew each other for a long time. Several years, in fact. But never once did Peter think he’d hear his closest pal say-

“Ohhhh. Are you hard right now, baby?”

Oh. Yeah, this buddy-buddy friendship was in major trouble. Doomed to crash and burn. As soon as the words fell from your lips, spoken in your honeyed voice; Peter’s breath hitched in his throat. He sank his teeth so hard into his lip, he almost broke skin.

“Y-Yeah. Since you-uh…started talkin’ about your panties. I’m sorry, babe. Just been kinda bored and worked up all day.” He sheepishly chuckled.

“You poor baby…” You coddled him over the phone. And while he should’ve been embarrassed, Peter had no problem with you talking like that, “Can I ask how big you are?”

Peter stalled for a moment, before pulling the front of his boxers down. His hardness flopped against his belly, pulsating and ruddy from his teasing. Taking his aching length in his hand, he rubbed the underside with his thumb.

“You mean my dick? It’s-uhhhh…like six, maybe seven inches almost?” He squeezed his cock, milking beads of pre-cum, “But size doesn’t matter, yeah? It’s the motion of the ocean, babe.”

“Noooooo, baby. You’re so perfect. Wish I could see how good you look like that…” You cooed over the phone.

Your kindly words and airy tone made the veins in his dick throb with electric heat. Peter clutched his cock tight, pumping the velvet skin a touch faster. Giving himself just a simple taste of relief. His stomach clenched, hardening his abs.

“Не так идеально, как ты выглядишь (Not as perfect as you look)...” Peter muttered, drawing in a shallow breath, “Babe, I gotta tell ya, I’m really feelin’ this. I’m so into you right now. W-Want you to keep talkin’ like-uh...”

His imagination took his depravity to the next level. Now, Peter thought about joining you in your room. He wondered how soft and smooth your skin would feel. Supple and hot under his fingertips. What might you look like writhing under him, whimpering as he played with you? As he teased you? Man, you were both so screwed.

“Never thought dirty talking with me would turn you on so much…” You giggled.

Peter secured the handset between his cheek and shoulder. With both hands free, he raised his palm to his lips. He drew a long stripe with his tongue, bringing his damp hand to his cock. The slick lubrication pulled a gentle moan from his throat.

“M-Maybe a little bit. Ебать (Fuck), maybe a lot.” Peter groaned, labored in his breathing, “Can you - Ебать (fuck) - you wanna do somethin’ for me? Just a little favor between friends? S’all I’m askin’, baby.”

“Anything you want, Peter.” You mewled.

“Can you- mmmmohgod -” Peter choked up. He almost chickened out, but pushed himself to ask, “Can you touch yourself for me? Please? Пожалуйста, моя маленькая принцесса (Please, my little princess)...” His foreign whispers weaved pretty whimpers from your lips.

“Yeah. Yeah, I can do that, if you want me to. But you have to do the same for me too. It’s only fair, right? Equal exchange?” You whispered, acting playful again.

Peter breathed a guilty chuckle, “Uhm…yeahhhhh…about that…”

You softly gasped, “Have you been-”

“Playin’ with my dick this whole time? Maybe.” Peter admitted. His thumb caught another pearl of pre, spreading the slickness over his sensitive head, “But I’m not, like, totally jerkin’ it yet…” He lied, pressing you to encourage him.

“Oh, you’re not, huh? What are you doing then?” You asked, “Are you being a bad boy, Pietro?” The abrupt drop of his given name shocked him into silence.

Peter felt his groin tighten, and an exhilarating rush electrified his nerves. For the thousandth time, you giggled. And for the thousandth time, Peter’s heart leapt. Dumbfounded, he gathered his composure and played along again.

“Y-Yeah. So bad. You gotta help me, babe. I’m just-...I’m so hard. Don’t think I can stop myself if you keep talkin’ like that.”

Through the receiver, Peter’s ears caught wind of a needy mewl. He gripped his cock hard, guiding his fist in firmer strokes. His legs quivered, and the heels of his Star Wars socks slid across the couch.

“Does it feel good when you touch your pretty cock like that, sweetheart?” You cooed.

Peter almost went straight into cardiac arrest. He jolted in place, feeling his cock stiffen in his grasp.

“Святой трах (Holy fuck)..." Peter suffocated on his own groans. For an instant, his words failed him, “Uhmmm…hah…wow-uh…Ебать (fuck). Feels good, yeah. Don’t think it’s enough. I need-...uhm…I want-uh…”

“Yeah? What do you want, baby. It’s okay.” You spoke so sugary sweet again.

“I-...Я просто хочу увидеть тебя (I just want to see you)...” Peter’s veins tingled under his touch, as he tugged his dick with more urgency, “Shit! I-...how come I never knew you could be like this-” And to Peter’s ultimate humiliation, he whimpered your name. Along with another whiny, “ Ебать (Fuck). ”

“Like what?” Your coy voice teased him over the line.

“I dunno…so-uh…so damn nasty.” He joked, and even through the phone; he knew he had you flustered again.

“I guess we all have our secrets, hmm? Tell me more, Pietro. When you touch yourself like that. With those big, strong hands…how’s it feel?” You asked, driving him to keep going.

Peter snorted a laugh, “Strong hands? What??” His endearing playfulness took a backseat, as he grunted into the receiver, “God…feels like my strong hand’s not enough. Мне реально тебе нужно прямо сейчас. Нужна так сильно (I really need you right now. I need you so much).” His voice fell to a whisper. Pumping his slick, crimson cock through his fist, he breathlessly pleaded, “Talk to me, baby. Please. Tell me-ohhh…tell me what you’re doin’ over there.”

You squealed a sultry giggle, further igniting Peter’s pleasured frenzy. He squirmed in his spot on the sofa, forcing himself to stay put. Battling the forces of the universe, it was all Peter could do not to race to your room. Just to spread your legs and hump you like a speedy bunny.

“Mmmm…I’m just doing what you asked me to…I’m being so good for you right now.” You whimpered.

“Oh. Okay…uhm…far out. Uh…wanna gimme the steamy details?” He heckled again, fumbling his words in his nervousness, “Please, don’t hold off on me, baby.”

“I’m…” Your precious voice wavered, teeming with awkwardness as your confidence dwindled, “I’m playing with my little pussy. Just for you. And I’m so wet. I can’t stop thinking about your hands…so big…”

“Боже мой (my god).” Peter muttered. Combating impatience brought upon by his genes, he willed himself to take things slow. His strokes became steady and teasing, as he edged his aching cock, “Holy shit, babe. Yeah? Keep goin’...”

You moaned soft squeals into the receiver, “I want you so bad, Quickie. Please, baby, don’t make me beg. Can you touch this little pussy for me? Please? Your fingers are so big. I don’t think they’d fit all at once. It’s been a while, and I’m so tight.” Your naughty voice pleaded.

“God, I wanna touch you so bad. Я хочу прикоснуться к этой сладкой киске (I want to touch that sweet pussy).” Peter’s impatience got the better of him, and he quickly gave in. He grasped his cock hard, wringing himself fast enough to make his balls bounce. Creasing his brows, he groaned, “Ohhh..What’re you tryna to do to me, babe? Talkin’ about how tight you are…Ебать…”

“But I ammmm.” You whined again, “I’m squeezing my tiny fingers so tight. It’s so soft and hot for you. Bet it’d feel really good if you stretched me. With your fingers, with your cock - fuck, Pietro. I just need you, baby.”

“Please, baby, oh, please? Wanna be inside you. Wanna feel you. I promise I won’t go too fast. Я обещаю (I promise).” Peter whimpered. But as you mewled again, another forceful wave of carnal heat crashed over Peter. In a quieter tone, he choked, “Нет, я могу. Я пойду так быстро (No, I can. I’ll go so fast).”

“Pietro, you can go as fast as you want, baby. I won’t stop you.” You pleaded, your broken voice so kittenish and wanton, “F-Fuck. I’m rubbing my clit. So sensitive. Thinking about you. Thinking about your mouth on me.”

“Ебать!!” Peter moaned through clenched teeth. His self control rapidly abandoned him. Speedily rutting his sore cock through the squeeze of his fist, his body refused to slow down, “Говоря о скорости (Speaking of speed)...” Peter craned his neck back, raising a hand to keep the handset to his ear, “You gotta stop makin’ all those cute noises, baby. Please…I can’t-”

As surges of horny pleasure circulated through his body, Peter thought of you again. He imagined you on your bed, caged under him between his arms. In his daydreams, he kissed you intimately, touching your pretty, naked body. Peter wanted to feel how wet you were for himself. And hell, the danger of pushing your friendship past its limits made you more tempting. Such a lewd, risky thought pushed him closer to the edge of something righteous.

“Baby, I wanna see you. Can I? Can I see you stroke that thick cock? Would you let me? Ohh, fuck, Pietro.” You whimpered. And your noises were so shamelessly lecherous, you could’ve made a pornstar blush, “Can I kiss it, please? Can I kiss your big cock?” You whimpered.

“О боже мой, пожалуйста (Oh my god, please)!” Peter choked, every word hitching in his throat, “Baby…babe, you can’t do this. Ya really can’t be-” He laughed lazily, his dark eyes falling half lidded. His cock throbbed, bright red and turning purple at the tip. He rutted in a speedy blur, “Stop. Stop. Stop. I’m gonna…babe, I’m gonna bust-” He slurred.

You squealed his name as loudly as your hushed voice would allow. And Peter swore he could hear the slick sound of your fingers. As they played with your pretty, little cunt.

“I’m gonna cum, baby. Please cum with me. Please? Pietro, OH~!”

“я кончаю, я кончаю (I’m cumming, I’m cumming)! ‘M Gonna-” Peter’s moans seeped through the receiver, his wet lips parting and mouth hanging open.

His swollen cock erupted in white-hot jets, coating his pecs and belly. With all his muscles tensed, Peter’s legs trembled. He rode out those lusty waves in tandem with you. The pleasure of orgasm sounded leagues more intense on your side. You took longer to cruise through it, whimpering and moaning Peter’s name. As you did, Peter basked in his momentary afterglow. Keeping the phone pressed to his ear, his head resting on the arm of the sofa; he listened to you with a smirk on his lips. At the end of your journey in ecstasy, your moans turned into flustered giggles.

Peter's thoughts reeled him in again. Imagining you, looking so sheepish and fine in his jacket. Now, he desperately wanted the real deal. To see you in all your post-nut glory. Mere seconds later, his sore cock pulsed to life again. As his hardness squirmed on his belly, Peter breathed another sigh.

On his end, you heard nothing but silence. You kept calling his name, your tired voice infused with anxiety.

“Uhm…Peter? Hey…are you there?” You asked.

And he didn't say a single word more.

[strniohoeee]

Dolor Pt. 2

Pairing: Chris Sturniolo X Female Reader

Synopsis: Y/N hasn’t seen Chris in a year and a half, but with the help of her friend she’s surprised by them🤭 Will those feelings still be there for one another?

Warnings���️: None, I’m not too sure how I feel about this one, but I had no other idea on how to write it so I hope y’all enjoy 🙃

Song for the imagine: ANGEL- Brent Faiyaz

Read part 1 here🫶🏽

Don’t ever leave my side, baby I’ll die

But from what I know, you’re always here to stay

You’re an angel in disguise

It has been a solid year and half since Chris and I broke up, a solid year and half of never seeing him or his brothers. It was very hard, but it also flew by. I wasn’t sure where a year and half went. It was honestly scary.

We both told each other we’d love to cross paths, and reconnect in a few months to be friends, but life got in the way, and that never happened. I’m honestly glad it didn’t, we were both so busy I believe it helped us move on from one another faster.

We all stood mutuals with each other on instagram and TikTok, but we just didn’t interact with each other. I watched them grow in all aspects, and it was amazing. I thought I’d be there to witness it first hand, but instead I was watching from the sidelines….it hurt me, but it had to be done.

My TikTok was flooded with videos of them from their tour they were just on, and it’s honestly crazy how much people can change in a year and a half. That didn’t even look like Chris. He was much more mature looking, sculpted cheekbones, shorter hair, stubble on his face…..Chris was looking good.

I shook that feeling off because I could not allow myself to fall back in love with Chris. It took me a long time to move on from him. I will always love the kid, but to fall out of love was hard. I hadn’t seen or talked to any other guys since splitting with Chris, and I wasn’t too sure if that was the same with him. Deep down I hoped it was.

I was scrolling on TikTok one day when I saw a clip of the triplets from their recent podcast video, they were doing a Q and A video, and somehow Chris pulled out a question asking about me. I decided to watch the video

“Okay so this person says how’s Y/N, and how have you been since the breakup. I’m currently going through my own break up right now, and I just need some advice” Chris read out

“So uh this is a good question. It’s been a year and a half since I’ve last seen Y/N, and it’s crazy to say it’s been that long, but it has. With the relationship we had and how special it was it took me a full year to finally be able to feel okay, and understand why we split up. It hurt and some part of me still hurts, but we told each other the night we broke up that we both will be okay because we’re strong, and that’s something I’ve been holding on to. I presume that she’s okay, I’ve seen her instagram posts and her TikTok’s, and she looks amazing. I actually really miss the girl. So I hope she’s doing great, and for you going through your break up just know everything happens for a reason and you’ll be okay take your time and work on yourself” he said

Oh god this was making it so hard for me not to call Chris and ask to see him….I missed him so badly

I scrolled some more and another clip popped up

“This person wants to know do you still love Y/N” Nick asked Chris

“Oh 100% that woman is my everything. Like we’ve said in the past we hope to cross paths again” Chris said nodding his head

This has to be a sign? Like this has to be a sign that I have to see him, that Chris and I are meant for each other right? Or am I being delusional……

I wasn’t sure if I wanted to call him, text him or just ignore all this and keep it pushing in life. I felt torn between my decisions

Today I was getting ready to film with Larray and Arrington. I had gotten so close to them within the last year, and we always filmed together. Larray was my biggest supporter in all this, and he was also friends with the triplets which kind of made it hard, but he never got in between anything. Although he hoped and prayed that we’d get back together one day I always told him time will tell.

He had an idea where we all stay in his car for 24 hours with special guests. I wasn’t sure who these guests were, and I wasn’t sure why he wanted us to stay in a car for 24 hours, but I agreed I knew it would be fun.

I had driven over to Larrays house, and let myself in

“YOOOOO” I yelled from the door

“Were in hereeee” Arrington yelled back

Oh god I was the last one here….I hated this, but anyways I walked to Larrays room, and when I walked in my heart sank

“Oh” was all I said as I walked in

“Hiiiii baby” Larray said, causing everybody to turn around with him the triplets face dropping

“What’s? Uh….whats going on” I said looking at Larray

“We’re filming a video, and I brought my friends” he said back

“It’s been so long” Chris said looking at me saddened

“It ummm it has” I said smiling at him

“We have missed you so fucking much….holy shit” Nick said running over and hugging me

“Uhh it’s been so fucking long I missed yall too” I said hugging him

“Matt you look so different now” I said jaw dropping and giving him a hug

“Good different I hope” he said hugging me

“Of course good different” I said laughing at him

I moved to Chris

“You look so different too” I said pulling him in for a hug

“I’ve missed you” he said hugging me tighter

“Missed you too” I said pulling away

After chatting for a bit Larray decided to film his introduction for his channel

“Alright bitches we are filming a 24 hour car video today, and of course I had to bring in my ride or dies Arrington and Y/N” he said and both Arrington and I made an entrance

“And then you know Larray had to stir the pot, so he brought the triplets” Arrington said to the camera causing us to laugh

“As uhhh most of you know there’s uh an elephant in this room between uh two people, but ummm we won’t talk about it” Larray said

And we just laughed at him

“You are so messy” I said to him rolling my eyes playfully

“Alright let’s get to the car bitches” he said and we ran out

I sat in the passenger seat, Chris and Arrington in the back, and then Nick and Matt in the third row

“Alright so right now we’re driving to Target which is 45 minutes away because Larray decided to do this video during rush hour” I said to the camera

“Uh- is that a drag?” He asked me

“It sure is” I said to him

“So Y/N….you said Matt looks different….you already had Chris so will you try another brother” Arrington asked me

I looked back at him jaw on the floor, as Chris and his brothers were laughing

“You weirdo Arrington, I will not fucking get with Matt” I said shaking my head

“Could you believe this kid” I said looking at the camera

“Ouuuu the fans want to know how many boyfriends since Chris” Larray asked me

“Boyfriends plural? Do they think I’m a slut….its only been a year and a half guys, and there’s been zero guys since Chris” I said shrugging my shoulders

“OHHHHHH CHRISSSS” Larray and Arrington yelled at him hyping him up

“She loves me too much to do that” Chris said to the camera

“Uh-“ I said turning around to look at him

“I’m just kidding” he said and touched my face playfully

“SAW THAT” Nick and Matt yelled from the back

We had finally gotten to Target, and Chris and I were paired up to go on the hunt for some things, and we had to vlog it together

“Alright guys I’m here with uh….my ex” I said to the camera

“What a great reunion” he said looking at the camera

“Who would’ve thought a year and a half later we’d be in Target shopping for a video together” I said looking at him

“I honestly thought it would’ve happened sooner, but I mean hey” he said shrugging his shoulders

“Oh whatever” I said rolling my eyes at him

Him and I were doing some shopping and grabbing some stuff, and we had found ourselves in the coloring book aisle

“Look the Disney coloring book, your favorite” he said leaning down to grab it

“You remembered?” I asked him

“Of course I did, and you only get specific coloring pencils cause you’re weird” he said laughing

“Hey don’t be mean” I said laughing at him

“It’s cute” he said smiling at me

“Do you ever think about us?” I asked him

“Pretty often actually” he said looking at me

“Do you think you see a future with me” I asked him

“I’ve thought about this a lot, and every time I picture my future you’re a main character in it” he said looking into my eyes

“This year and a half has been rough, and I so badly wanted nothing more than to cave and call you over, and just hold you tight” I said looking down

“I sat in my room for so many nights wondering if the decision I made was right, and after a while I just became numb to the feeling, but I want this again….I want us” he said

“I think we should start slow first. I want us to truly work out this time no break ups no nothing” I said to him

“I think so too, you should come film with us again we miss you so much, and the fans miss you too” he said

“I’ve seen…all over my tik tok” I said smiling at him

“Yeah they love you and I love you too so much” he said pulling me in for a hug

We finished vlogging some, and headed back to the car with everybody getting back in our original seats

“Okay everybody we are back, we’re going to go eat something and then we’ll be back in the car for the next 24 hours” Larray said

After we ate we went back into Larrays car trying to stick out this challenge and just chatting with each other asking each other questions

“How many girlfriends since Y/N?” Larray asked Chris

“None. I told yall she’s the love of my life” he said looking at the camera

“Awww Chris” I said looking at him

“HEY CITY GIRLS UP. Do not fall for this” Arrington said

“Shut the fuck up” I said laughing at him

“What’s one regret you have” Nick asked us

“I think my biggest regret was completely dropping you guys out of my life. Like no interactions no nothing that hurt the most” I said to them

“We appreciate that” Matt said

“How do you guys feel after seeing each other” Matt asked Chris and I

“Is this a hot seat? What are we doing” Chris said

“Shut the fuck up and answer” Nick said

“I feel at peace, like seeing him was the last piece to my puzzle. I still love Chris of course, and we’re hoping to take things slow, and eventually get together again” I said to them

“Yeah. I love her so much, and seeing her today brought back all those memories. Memories that made my heart flutter, and I knew I couldn’t let her go again” he said looking at me

“Yall cute as shit this has got to stop” Larray said

“So yall heard it here first they are back together” Arrington said to the camera

“WOAH WOAH NO” we both said putting our hands out

“We are taking it slow…we are not dating yet, and trust me you guys will know when we’re back together. It’s a maybe for right now” I said to the camera

“But she will be in our videos again” Chris said

“SHE WILL?” Nick and Matt said

“Yes she will!” He said to them

“FUCK YES FINALLY” Nick said getting excited

We had chatted for a good thirty more minutes before we decided this challenge was not going to happen

“Alright guys we did not make it, but we love you and we’re heading inside now” Larray said

“BYEEEEEE” we all yelled to the camera, Chris pulling me in and kissing my forehead

“Are you guys going to soft launch your comeback before I post this?” Larray asked us

“You know that’s not a bad idea actually” I said looking at Chris

“We could do that. I’d love to do that” he said pulling me in and kissing my cheek

“Yall soft launching but he smoochin on you” Matt said looking at us

“Uhhhh mind your business” Chris said sticking his tongue out at him

“OMG to keep it like private you guys could do like a couples shadow picture” Nick said

“Waittttt I love that let’s do it” I said to Chris

We had snapped the picture, and Chris posted it collabing with me once again so I can post and share it. Nick and Matt also shared it to their story saying the gangs back together and they can’t wait to film with me again. Immediately the love we got was INSANE

❤️nicolassturniolo,matthew.sturniolo,larray, and 450,000 others

christophersturniolo: I told you guys we’d always always find a way back to one another. Although we aren’t dating again we will be thinking about it for our future. I love this girl with my whole fucking heart, and I’m so glad we’re in each others lives again. She was my right person at the wrong time.My number one girl💍. Were back BITCHESSSSS🥳

Sturnioloteam: STFU THEYRE BACK

arringtonallen: mhmmm I was here for this picture so back off everyone

nicolassturniolo: mama and papa🫡

matthew.sturniolo: yall cute or whatever…..

larray: yall can thank me for this reunion MHMM💅🏽

Y/Nusername: my number one guy…love this kid so much💋

sturnioloooooo: I knew mom and dad would find each other again

The immense love we received was insane. Had you told me a year and a half ago today that all that pain would be gone, and we would find each other again I would laugh in your face. I guess I am making it to the end of his story….🥀

The End

I hope you guys liked this one I feel ehhh about it, but I had to have a happy ending🥹 but anywho let me get to writing some more 🖤

-J💅🏽

[peachy-panic]

Not My Father’s Son

Shh it’s a surprise. Roughly 15 years after the beginning of Do No Harm. 

WARNINGS: BBU/BBU-Adjacent, collar mention, fear of medicine, scar mention, bad family relationship

The kid perched on the twin bed can’t be much older than him, if not several years his junior. At his own twenty-one years, that would put this rescue right at the border of legal age for entry into the system. But after three years immersed in active rebellion work, he is no longer surprised by the ease with which WRU ignores their own rules.

He crouches into their line of sight, keeping a solid 3-foot distance. Their sharp, green eyes track his every move; wary, in direct contradiction to their body language. It’s still eerie to witness, no matter how many times he’s seen it in action—the way the ‘training’ embeds itself so deeply in each person’s psyche, so much so that they are able to convey a false openness, a mockery of calm, even in their most desperate moments of terror.

And this rescue is terrified.

“Hi,” he says, keeping his voice low and even. “I’m the shelter coordinator here. You can call me KT.”

Rule number one is no full names at intake. It’s not a pleasant thought, and certainly not one anyone in this work likes to think about, but the new rescues don’t always stick around. Sometimes they’re taken back by force, sometimes they are pulled back in by the demons those people planted in their heads. But once they’re back in WRU’s clutches, delicate information has a tendency to spill out. People have a tendency to get hurt.

The volunteers—the people who help run these shelters and perform under-the-table medical care and go on emergency extraction missions—know what kind of risks they’re signing up for when they dedicate their lives to the cause. But he has seen too much loss in his life at this point not to enforce every precaution.

“I heard you were having some trouble with the medicine,” he begins. But no matter how softly he makes the statement, their eyes lock up with renewed terror.

They dart their gaze to the small table beside the bed. On it is a plate, mostly empty save for a couple empty sandwich wrappers and crumbs, and—most notably—a small paper cup with 2 pills still inside.

“It’s okay,” he says calmly, showing his palms. “First thing you need to know is you don’t have to take anything that is given to you here. We are not like them.”

They never believe it the first hundred times, but it’s always worth stating.

“Second thing,” he continues, “Nothing we give you here will harm you. And I’ll prove it.”

He pulls a small bottle from his pocket and shakes 4 pills into his palm, then stretches out his hand. “Pick two,” he says. “Any two.”

Their eyes dart between the offering and his face, searching for any sign of a trap

“Go ahead. It’s okay.”

He patiently waits them out, as long as it takes, but they finally reach out and pluck two of the pills from his palm, careful not to let their fingers touch skin.

“Cool.” He nods then lifts his hand in a half-hearted cheers gesture. “Bottoms up.” He throws his head back and swallows the pills dry.

They are staring at him when he opens his eyes, and he offers a small smile.

“See? That would be one hell of a game of roulette, and I’m not that brave. Promise.”

It takes a few more seconds of hesitant thought, and he is prepared for the likely possibility that it won’t happen today. That’s okay—he’ll try again tomorrow. But then, without a word, they bring their hand to their mouth and pop the remaining two in. Tempering his own joy to the smallest smile of encouragement, he picks up their water cup and hands it over.

As they tilt their head back to swallow, his eyes dip unwittingly to the band of discolored skin around their neck; a tan line from the collar that would have been severed and destroyed before they came anywhere near the boundary of the shelter. Without having to look, he knows there will be another mark of newfound freedom in the form of a freshly stitched line just behind their ear.

For a moment, he is overtaken by a memory, seared in technicolor behind his eyelids: a piggyback ride in his childhood playroom. His forehead pressed against a soft bed of blond curls. His own little fingers coming up to trace a line of pink, raised skin he had never noticed before. One he could only see from that angle. “Sev, you have a cut.”

He blinks himself back to the present. The rescue is staring down at him with eyes that are eager to trust through layers of wariness.

“Thank you,” Kade whispers sincerely. “You did great.”

Two knocks behind him startle them both. He turns over his shoulder to see Jordan, the nurse practitioner on night shift, in the doorway.

“Torley,” he says. “Need to steal you for a minute.”

Kade sends a meaningful glance in the direction of the frightened rescue. “Is it urgent?”

Jordan’s deep brown eyes hold his for an extra moment. Kade has known him long enough, both professionally and personally, to read the answer there.

“Okay,” he breathes, turning back to the rescue. “I’m sorry. I’ve got to step out, but I am around if you need me, okay? Ask anyone to page me and I’ll head this way. Yeah?”

Hesitantly, the rescue nods. It will have to be enough for now.

The door has barely closed behind him when Jordan curls a soft hand around his elbow.

“Jesus, Kadence, you can’t do the pill trick every time. At this rate, your liver is going to fail by age 30.”

“Maybe I had a headache,” he counters. “Or maybe I’m making up for the rebellious teenage years I skipped out on.”

“You mean you’re not still in them?”

Kade smiles, leaning a little bit into his warm touch.

When they reach the end of the hallway, something in Jordan’s demeanor changes. The teasing smile slips from his face as he scrubs a palm over his mouth. He pulls Kade to the side, turning to face him and lowering his voice so that only the two of them can hear.

“What’s wrong?” Kade asks before he can explain. “Is it another emergency rescue? Two in one night?”

“No, it’s…”

“Jordan?”

He meets his eyes again, and by now Kade is well and truly nervous. “It’s your brother.” He drops the bomb, watching it land over Kade’s expression. “He called for you.”

Kade blinks, trying to wrap his head around those words in that order. He hasn’t spoken to Stephen in almost a year. Jordan knows that, along with most of the reasons why.

“Tell him to fuck off,” he says, though his voice is a little pinched.

“Kade—”

“No.” He shakes his head, starting to walk away.  “I… I have work to do, I don’t have time for… And he should know better, after that fucking disaster last Christmas—”

“Kade.” Jordan pulls him back, forcing him to pay attention. “He said it’s about your father.”

-

@whumpervescence @shiningstarofwinter @distinctlywhumpthing @whumptywhumpdump @nicolepascaline @anotherbluntpencil @hold-him-down @crystalquartzwhump @maracujatangerine @batfacedliar-yetagain @thecyrulik @pumpkin-spice-whump @finder-of-rings @melancholy-in-the-morning @insaneinthepaingame @skyhawkwolf @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @mylifeisonthebookshelf @dont-touch-my-soup @whump-world @inpainandsuffering @cicatrix-energy @quietly-by-myself @whumpsday @extemporary-whump @the-whumpers-grimm @thebirdsofgay @firewheeesky @whumperfully @hold-back-on-the-comfort @termsnconditions-apply @cyborg0109 @whumplr-reader @pinkraindropsfell

[ladylooch]

Hi B, I hope you had an awesome day!

I'm venturing into your asks without doing it anonymously - hoping I don't fall flat on my face with this ask. It's a long one, too 😬

Just a little preface - I went to visit my parents today after they returned from their Caribbean vacation. My Dad was diagnosed with Parkinsons about 15 years ago, and despite his mobility issues, everything went well with the assistance they were provided through the 2 weeks. So, they traveled home, and while my Mom went to get the luggage cart, my Dad saw their bag come out in the carousel. This is not going to sound funny, but trust me... they were laughing as they told me this. He decides to try and grab the bag, and he does - but he loses his balance and falls to the ground. He still has a solid grip on the bag and doesn't let go. He's then dragged along the floor alongside the carousel for about 20 feet before he lets go of the bag.

So, with all of that, I was wondering, between Timo and Nico, or even any other men in your AUs, who deals with embarrassing moments the best vs the worst? Does anyone get mad or annoyed or can they laugh it off?

Thanks so much, as always, B!

Oh my gosh!!! hahahahaha! I knew someone who had Parkinsons for over 25 years, so I completely understand that these stories are funny and offer some sunlight in the midst of a really dark disease. Hugs to you babe and your parents! It's a really tough one 😘

Nico is the best in these moments. He rolls with it all. Not much rattles him. He is also the one that is very much a caretaker. If Lexi trips, "baby! are you okay!" If she gets sick and he has to help clean her up, he is all about dignity with her, stepping out if that is what she prefers or keeping his eyes focused on her face. One time, Lexi and Nico are wrestling around on the couch and Lexi lets out a lil toot. Nico immediately pops up, looking down at her red face. She is completely mortified. Nico literally locks eyes with her and says "That is the cutest fart I have ever heard." Lexi responds with, "I want to die." And then there is Nico: "No, babe do it again! that was so cute!" 💀

Timo is similar too! Although I don't see him thinking Emma's farts are cute.But we see his roll with it attitude with him and Em all the time. It's more so about making sure she is okay, feeling out if he can make fun of her or not, and then going from there. During her first pregnancy, so much is happening to Emma's body that he doesn't dare make fun of any of that. He knows she is too sensitive about the changes. I feel like Emma is always running out the door late after having Lio, so she will leave the house in her slippers or Crocs to go meet clients. Timo is constantly meeting her in the city with her high heels 😂 Eventually, he just hides a pair in her car so he doesn't have to keep rescuing her.

[dollsonmain]

So, thinking lately about how disappointing That Guy is as a partner. I mean, he always has been, but things like me being sick this week always drive it home again.

-

In the past week while watching me struggle with a fever he's asked me how I'm feeling one time. That was immediately followed by a demand that I do paperwork for him even though the answer was that I was still very bad off.

-

I asked to go to the ER and he insisted on not only going to Urgent Care instead, but to the really shitty one we stopped taking Son to because it's really shitty. We've been mostly using the other one down the road that's tied to a medical university nearby, and that one not only has their own lab, but has had excellent care so far other than one doctor saying I wasn't in enough pain for the fact I was peeing blood to be kidney stones, and it was kidney stones.

We go to that one, I have antibiotics within an hour, and results on my MyChart.

Both Urgent Cares have lovely people, other than Dr. Sean at the shitty one not listening to me at all.

To be fair, after the Urgent Care did fuckall, he asked if I wanted to go to the other one or the ER and I said no. I'm not trying again until symptoms are more obvious. Being blown off like that twice in one day while exhausted and sick was enough.

-

I've said repeatedly to him that I'm having a very hard time with solid food and asked him to get me some liquid food. The past week I've eaten maybe 2 days worth of food total. I'm living off of gatorade, basically.

He just decided not to get any liquid food. Didn't even give an excuse. I asked for meal replacement shakes and gelatin cups because those are easy to eat and I need nutrients to have an effective fever, and to not die.

-

Randos on the internet care more. My ex-now-dear-friend from 20+ years ago cares more.

But it's not like this negligence is anything new. When Son was born by cesarean, my mom had to say to him "You know she can't shower by herself right now. It's been a week, I bet a shower would feel really nice. Why don't you go help her with that."

He stood there awkwardly while I washed myself.

It's just bizarre living with someone who doesn't care about anyone.

-

I'm feeling pretty good right now!

I haven't felt absolutely horrible, really, other than the first two days which were indeed absolutely horrible, or when the fever gets higher that feels pretty bad. I felt Wrong. Now I'm just very tired, been sleeping most of the past week, and waiting to see if I'm going to pop a fever again today. The wobbliness has improved but I'm still not 100%. Like I'm not getting up on a ladder to change a light bulb any time soon and it sounds like the washing machine is trying to take a walk and I might let it.... I'm also starting to get some muscle aches which are just as likely from sepsis as from being majority bed ridden for a week.

I did go lie down after starting the cleaning cloths in the wash, then got up around 10:30 and felt well enough to shower and start my laundry which, again, no one else has been doing. I may or may not wash the sheets, we'll see how I'm feeling here in a little while. Might try to snack on some dry cereal, though it's cold liquids that seem to go down easiest. I just slammed that kefir. My temp is rising, again.

And obviously I'm feeling more energetic if I'm this rambly.

[zeldaelmo]

Dismissed, chapter 2

Link patted Epona's neck and pressed his face against her muzzle. She nudged him in response and the tears lingering in his eyes since he left the King's study nearly spilled over. No, focus. He inhaled the cold winter air until his lungs burned and schooled his face into his trademark stone mask.

"Hey Ma, I'm home for the holidays!" Link pushed the door open, the smell of baked apples nearly bringing him to tears again. Zelda loved his baked apples, just with that extra smidge of honey— no.

"Hi darling! Oh, you're early, that's great. Dad is already here, too, actually—" She stopped mid-sentence, threw a tea towel over her shoulder, and put her hands on her hips. "What's up?"

"Uhh, nothing? I'll bring my bags upstairs." He squared his shoulders and set a firm first step onto the stairs. 

"Not so fast, young man. You'll tell me what that gloomy face is about and then you can go upstairs."

"Hey, welcome home, Link!" His dad popped his head out from the living area. Maybe he would save him. "My son got promoted, that's what's up! Congrats, boy!"

The thin lines that had snuck their way onto his mom's forehead over the years knitted together. "So, you're not Princess Zelda's personal guard anymore?"

"Um… no."

"So sudden? Didn't you just recently return from a journey with her?" 

Yes, yesterday and at the picnic they made on their way back, she sat so close to him that their knees touched, but today he was dismissed.

"Ah," his father interrupted, waving with the flint in his hand. "That was more a Calamity thing anyway. Now that's dealt with, anyone else is just as good as a guard for her." 

Link forced a smile and nodded. His father disappeared again, murmuring something about the fireplace and the wood being too wet.

Squinting one eye close, Link set his foot on the first step again. Please let her—

"Link." Great, perfect, spectacular.

"Hm?"

"Did you tell the King that you don't want that promotion but prefer to stay her guard?"

"No." He shifted his bag from one shoulder to the other. "It wasn't his decision."

His mother stared at him, mouth slowly falling open. "Why would you—?''

"It was hers."

His answer lingered in the warm air of the kitchen for a moment. He gripped the bag harder and finally took two more steps.

"Wait, wait, wait. Did she ask for a promotion for you or for a replacement? Did you talk to her, at least?"

"No, yes, and no," Link shouted down from the balustrade, thrusting his bag next to the bed he would share with Aryll for the next few days. With a thud, he dropped on the mattress and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. He would never make it through the holidays like this. He couldn’t start crying like a baby at every little reminder of her, at every vague mentioning of her name. 

What did he do to deserve this? His mother kept talking to him from downstairs, pots, pans, and wild speculations clattering together. The word 'misunderstanding', he picked up from her verbiage, but what was there to misunderstand? Her decision was clear, she didn’t want him at her side. She wanted someone else, a random knight she didn’t know. It was about him, that was the only logical conclusion. If she wanted a promotion for him, she would have told him. They had had enough opportunities for a friendly chat about his future on the road yesterday. They had spent two months journeying from Rito Village to Death Mountain, stopping at Gerudo Town and at last their stay in Zora’s Domain; there had been tons of times she could have mentioned a potential promotion. No. She must have been hit by that thought overnight. Something must have made her realize that he was the most horrible person to have around. But what? Why?

“Link, are you listening?” His mother wouldn’t give it a rest. 

“Hmhm.”

Heavy steps made the wooden stairs creak, but Link didn’t bother to look up. He just wanted to sulk a bit, was that too much to ask in this house?

“Oww!” Something solid and heavy hit his stomach and he shot his eyes open. Small but speedy hands tickled him all over his torso and he sputtered a handful of blonde hair out of his mouth. Aryll.

“Now, let’s see if you can’t get your brother up and moving!” His father leaned against the balustrade, pleased with his little stunt of throwing Aryll on top of him.

“Hey Aryll.” Link got out, finally getting a hold on his sister’s wrists. 

“Hey stinker! Where’s the princess? You promised to bring her with you one day.”

How many times a day could a stomach drop? He hadn’t reached the peak yet, apparently. Slowly, he pushed Aryll off and fiddled with the hem of her dress. “I—I don’t think I will. I’ll get a new position after the holidays and I won’t see her as often anymore.” Or at all because she decided overnight that she didn’t need him around anymore, since the Calamity was defeated. Had she only ever seen the Hero in him?

“Oh, that’s too bad.” Aryll blew a strand of hair out of her face. “Especially since you’re in love with her.”

Link’s eyes bulged and he dropped her dress and pushed her. “What?! I’m not.”

“He’s not,” his father interjected, crossing his arms and shaking his head at the childish ideas of his daughter.

“He is!” Came from downstairs.

“Ma, stop that!” Link shouted in the vague direction of the kitchen under the gallery.

“I’ll stop if you go back and talk to her. I don’t buy that promotion horseshit, there’s something else and you won’t solve that by stuffing baked apples into your face and staring into the void.”

“I’m not staring into the void, I just want to have five minutes to myself, okay?”

“Come on, Aryll.” His dad held out his arm again and Aryll peeled herself from the bed, hopping on. “Give your brother some space, he’s a grumpy teenager today. I always wondered if he’d skip the rebellious phase, but I guess he’s just a late bloo—”

“DAD! You’re not helping!” Link yelled, hardly containing himself from throwing a pillow at the pair.

“Sorry,” his dad mumbled and trampled the stairs back down, Aryll dangling from his shoulders upside down, making faces at him.

Link held his breath for a moment and released it with a big sigh. He was being unfair to her. They hadn’t seen each other for so long and all he had for her were snarky comments. Wow, add ‘horrible brother’ to the list of his failures. Together with… yeah, where had he gone wrong? He couldn’t tell. All he saw in front of his inner eye was Zelda, turning her head over her shoulder and laughing over his joke. Zelda, bringing him tea in the morning with a radiant smile that should be forbidden at that hour, calling him sleepyhead. Zelda, thanking him for his advice with her horse, fluttering her lashes at him. She had done that! He wasn’t crazy. He had even made a note in his little diary about it. He had burned the pages immediately after, of course, like every time. But that didn’t change the fact that it had happened!

Silverware chinked in the living room and Link jolted out of the bed. How long had he daydreamed? Did they call him for tea already? Spirits, he really needed to get it together. He flew the stairs down and stopped in front of the table. 

His father, his mother, and his sister were happily munching baked apples and drinking tea. They hadn’t even bothered to put a fourth plate and silverware for him. This day was quickly heightening up to the worst day post-war. Rolling his eyes at Aryll’s poked out tongue, he grabbed the back of his chair. 

Clatter!

Did… his mom just put her foot on the chair and kept him from pulling it? What the actual…? 

“Go talk to her. She can’t just order you away, princess or not. She owes you an answer at least, you've been her knight for over a year."

Link rattled at the chair. "Ma, just let it rest. I'm fine, okay? It's nothing."

"Elvra, don't you think you're overreacting?" His father put his silverware down and cleared his throat into his fist. "It's just a new job."

"She asked for a replacement, Arn. And she didn't even tell it to him herself. It's not nothing."

"Well, she has a bit of a temper—"

Link groaned and pulled at the chair again. "Could you two please stop and just let me celebrate the holidays with the people who I obviously falsely assumed liked me?"

Aryll leaned on the table with both hands, narrowing her eyes — an effect ridiculed by her bobbing pigtail. "I also think you should talk to her or she'll marry someone else." 

"Nobody is going to marry anyone!" The words burst out of him, but… but… what if that was the reason for her odd behavior? What if she found a decent candidate for her hand and didn't want him, the Hero of Hyrule, in the way? He had gathered quite some popularity thanks to saving the world and the people were used to the image of the Princess and the Hero visiting the villages together. He couldn't deny that a suitor would look pale in the light of his reputation. Oh. 

"Link?" The chair budged, clattering to the ground. 

"Sorry," he murmured and picked it up again. 

The eyes of his mother were soft. "It's your decision in the end. But it's still enough time to ride to the castle, talk to her, and come back for dinner tomorrow. We know she's important to you, it's okay."

Link swallowed. He had just arrived, this was stupid. But could he really spend the holidays with the image of her and a faceless suitor in his mind?

"Maybe it's nothing. Or maybe we just set the table for five." Her wink made his throat dry and he whined from the bottom of his heart. "You're worse than a pack of malice Lynels. All of you." 

He turned on his heel and rushed the stairs back up. Alright. He would give it a shot. Epona didn't mind the exercise, riding would give him a clear head, and in the worst case, he wouldn't catch Zelda and would know as little as he knew now. He left the gifts under the mattress, if only as reason to come back in time. The rest of his belongings went on his shoulder again and off he was. 

"Am I going to be a princess, too, when they marry?" Aryll's voice carried so much excitement that he didn't need to see her hands clapping.

"Nobody is going to marry!" He shouted around the corner. 

"Good luck, lover boy!" Was the only answer he got, but at this point, he really hadn't expected anything else.

[daemonmatthias]

despite my best efforts at a schedule and socializing... it’s been one of the hardest summers I’ve had in a while.

some of it is big things, like struggling to stick to any kind of schedule I set for myself due to this being the first year my husband’s work schedule is hybrid (he is home every other week, then I am home alone every other week; if it were just one or the other, I’d be fine), and not being able to go on walks due to the heat.

some of it is nebulous things, like needing to save money but then Sales keep happening on things we kinda need/weird things pop up, and my husband is bored af all day at work and then his mood affects mine because i just am sensitive to other people’s moods, and the fact that we need to formally decide if we are moving out of state soon (husband knows his answer, but I am scared/overwhelmed and will have to quit teaching), and that all this weirdness is making it So Hard to Concentrate on Reading, which is usually my solace in the summer.

but honestly, a lot of it is stupid little things and I don’t understand why so many of them are happening all at once. Just since yesterday morning:

the new avocado I needed to quarter for my usual breakfast smoothies refused to yield the pit, which ended up breaking, and I spent a solid 5 min scraping and slicing to be sure there were no remnants

immediately after I finally got that situated, I grabbed the new carton of almond milk, and it was... somehow sealed wrong?? idk how, but it would NOT open. so I tried opening the side to make a spout (like the little milk cartons from school), but that also would not open cleanly. I ended up needing a knife to slice into it. And then I had to go digging for a pitcher we never use to keep it in since the carton was destroyed.

then my nook crapped out on me. [backstory first: 2 months ago, my nook started randomly resetting itself, which deletes all of your side-loaded content. I ended up having to call customer service. They wanted me to hard reset. It took like 1.5 hours on the phone with them because it SAID it was connected to the wifi but then it wouldn’t do the next step of the set up process because it couldn’t find a wifi connection. Finally the set up process actually went through and they were like “ok all good now!” (right. ok. magically fixed the resetting issue by resetting it. yeah.)] Yesterday, while I was in the middle of reading a library book (considered side-loaded content), it reset itself again, which, of course, deleted the book I was reading.

We agreed last time that if it kept happening, I could get a new nook. Unfortunately, the new model doesn’t come out until september and I’m wary of buying another of the same model in case it has the same problem 2 years in (which is past the warranty period, of course). I did decide to pre-order the new one and pray that hard resetting would again “magically fix” the problem for another 2 months.

This morning, I finally made myself start cleaning the porch. This is terrifying because our porch gathers leaf litter like a mofo and I haven’t cleaned it in ages. There are all sorts of spiders and bugs out there. 

AND of course my gardening gloves have been in an unsealed cart out there. they are shot. i will have to do all this bare handed...

I successfully get the pots of dead plants thrown away. I begin to gather the open bags of dirt to throw them away, having to be extra careful of spiders with my bare hands. A wasp starts flying around me. I try but fail miserably to remain calm and run inside. That chore will not get done today, and today was the last day of below 100F/some cloud cover for who knows how long.

Since I can’t do that chore, I check my amazon cart to see if anything we need got put on prime sale. basically... no. I buy it anyway. or try to; the shipping page keeps crapping out on mobile. I move to my computer and finish the purchase on desktop.

now time to pre-order that nook. except it won’t let me sign in. b&n’s website has so many trackers and shit that it breaks firefox sometimes. (is2g i use nook only because others don’t let you completely turn the backlight off, and as soon as my free year of premium membership is up, I’m going back to using bookshop.org for everything.) I switch to chrome (blech) and sign in.

i press “pay with paypal” and then “complete purchase”. It never pulled up my paypal to let me choose which card to pay with. I have to get into paypal to even figure out which card it payed with. It paid with not the credit card I wanted, not even my default card as selected in paypal, but with our shared checking account. (annoying but no damage done.)

time now to hard reset my nook... oh look, it’s doing the same connected/not connected to the wifi thing. goody...

all this in only the last 30ish hours. and it feels like the whole summer has been like this!

I can’t pretend good things haven’t happened. I visited my family, my bestie visited me and we did a fun craft together, I joined a new public library and love it more than my old one, I hung out with a friend to eat good food and visit a thrift/record store, we FINALLY framed/hung some art and it looks GREAT, I reorganized most of our music so its easier to access, husband made an htpc (home theater computer) so we no longer get youtube ads and he set up plex on it so I can watch the shakespeare plays I have downloaded, I finally made our new 9 delights tracker and it’s almost perfect, I joined my coworker-friend’s book club (bingo card system- good-, but the group read is an author I hate), I crocheted a dog sweater that actually worked (but idk yet if it fits cuz it’s for my parents’ dog), I began the process of switching away from google drive/gmail to something more secure (proton, which I got for almost 50% off).

And there are SO MANY good things coming up: we leave in a couple days to visit the city we might move to, we have tickets to barbie & oppenheimer, we’ll go to a friend’s daughter’s 1st bday party, my besties are coming to visit (museum, escape room, and musical all purchased and lined up!), we’re spending labor day weekend in a luxury cabin in the mountains with friends (owned by one friend’s rich aunt who is not charging/excited to host us), we have tickets to see my fav studio ghibli in theaters in sept., I have tickets to see To Kill a Mockingbird with a coworker-friend, we have ballet tickets for the season...

and yet, I’m struggling daily to complete basic tasks and maintain a positive attitude due to the onslaught of Stupid Little Grievances. :/

[nancypullen]

Thursday

It’s been a lovely couple of days and that’s mostly due to being able to play in the dirt.  It’s hard for me to remember that we’re not on Tennessee time anymore and I can’t rush the planting and blooming schedule.  If I’m being honest, I tried to rush it in Tennessee too and I was always the lady running out in a nightgown to cover tender plants to protect them from a late spring frost.  Having said all that, I’m ready.  Seeds have been sown, shrubs planted, soil prepared for bedding plants, and I’ve got an itchy trowel hand.  I need some red vinca and everything else will fall into place.  Send a wish into the universe that my Zinnia seeds all pop up.  They’ve never failed me in the past but I’m having to learn about new dirt.  In Tennessee I had to learn all sorts of tricks for growing things in clay. Now I have sandier soil.  Clay holds moisture, sand does not. The flowers beds I don’t worry about, I’ve added plenty of good soil and nutrients to those. Crossing my fingers that everything bursts into bloom and makes us the prettiest house on the street.  I love this time of year, all of the planning and hoping and little victories - that’s good for my soul.

Aside from playing in the dirt, I’ve been painting again. I picked up a very ugly cupboard at auction for two dollars.

It’s heavy and solid, so the bones are good.  I don’t know why they’d put a pressed wood top on such a sturdy cabinet, but it’s fine for my purposes.  I may have to cut a little strip of trim for the front, but that’s easy enough. A little wood glue and you’re in business. Anyway, I cleaned her off and removed that ugly hardware.

Bet I could make some witchy Halloween jewelry out of those.

I’ll be using this for extra storage in my craft room and probably sitting my Cricut on top of it.  Since it’s going in that room, I decided to use the leftover paint from my desk rather than buy new.  I had plenty, why spend more?

I got the first coat on and let it dry.

I went back and touched up spots that I missed and then let it dry. Today I put on the second coat, let it dry, and attached new hardware.

Much better.

Two bucks for the cabinet, some paint that I already had, and just under ten dollars for the handles. Twelve dollars total for some pretty craft storage is a WIN!  It still seems a bit plain to me and you know I like lots of foo-foo and fuss.  I may have to add some roses.  I’m definitely adding roses. Speaking of roses, it’s almost KENTUCKY DERBY TIME!  I look forward to the run for the roses every spring.  I’ve spent the last few weeks tracking horses, checking points, reading lineage charts, and still making my pick based on names and silks.  Although there are gray horses (my favorite!) in this year’s race, I’ve actually picked a bay.  I’m going with Practical Move.  The name reminds me of Practical Magic (a favorite movie),and the trainer and the owners have great backstories.  I’ll probably regret it. Practical Move is the youngest horse in the field, his jockey is 0 for 1 in the derby, his trainer is 0 for 2, but this horse has never finished out of the top three. Dare I hope?  Right now I think his odds are 14-1 which isn’t bad at all.  Could be worse.  They’ll draw for post position on May 1st and that can hurt the chances of even the best horse.  I think the smart money is on Forte, there’s a lot of fuss over him and he’s been winning, winning, and winning.  I just don’t get a good vibe. How many times have we seen the favorite fail to cross the finish line first?  Plenty.  I may eat these words on May 6th, but I gotta’ go with my gut.  If I don’t, then I have to do math (points, odds,etc) and I’ll do just about anything to avoid math. Besides, who can resist a horse whose parents are named Practical Joke and Ack Naughty?  Not me.

Alright, bringing this nonsense to a close.  The mister is upstairs on a Zoom photography club meeting, so I’m going to go soak in a bubble bath and read for a while. Fresh air and turning the dirt makes me tired.  Maybe it’s the pasta dish I made for dinner.  We rarely eat pasta and now I remember why.  It’s heavy in the tummy.  Definitely having salads for dinner tomorrow. That’s all from me. Go have a lovely evening. Have a treat, watch your favorite show, lose yourself in a wonderful book, or just sit outside and count stars. Feed your soul something good. Sending out lots of love tonight, enough for everyone. Getcha’ some. Stay safe, stay well, XOXO, Nancy

[audrak79]

He Sustains

10/1/24. God’s timing is never wrong. I got another reminder this week of this fact.  Life is tough and we just never know what is coming down the road.  But no matter what, it’s not for us to be consumed with or worried about.  Our focus needs to be on what we are doing right now.  What we do right now should have a kingdom impact, but we shouldn’t be so focused on the worries of tomorrow that we miss an opportunity today. 

This year Transformation Church out of Tulsa, OK released a few new albums.  They are full of amazing talent.  TC’s worship team is phenomenal but they grabbed some of the best of the best to collaborate with; Tauren Wells, KB, Tasha Cobbs Leonard, Jekalyn Carr, Tye Tribbett, Chandler Moore..... Last week, was the release of the album Thy Kingdom Come and one song in particular was RIGHT ON TIME, Sustain.

I’ve never struggled with anxiety or panic, I’ve always felt that I was anchored, solid and grounded handling the stress of life well and therefore was able to help others through their struggles as well.  However, in this season of my life the tables have turned and now I have fallen victim to anxiety. It made me angry at first, likely a result of some pride. Nobody wants to experience anxiety, especially when they have managed 45 years without it.  Most of my anxiety seems to be a result of my lack of sleep.  I lay awake all night, not with anxiety, just my thoughts not stopping.  Often times I play out scenarios of how my day might go, who I’ll talk to, what their response could be, but the bulk of what runs through my mind are song lyrics.  The songs are random, usually something I’ve been using in my workouts at the Y, but they are on super high speed. My mind can barely keep up with them at times. My therapist told me that if I was in bed longer than 30 minutes and not asleep, I need to get up and do something.  Seems logical, but I can’t find the motivation to even get up.  I just fight.  I fight the insomnia thinking I am better than it and that I can will myself to sleep.  I try to go to bed by 10, but then I’m awake at 11:30pm, still watching the clock at 1:30am, and then by 3am I am up for the day but still laying there fighting myself with these songs on repeat at 120 MPH. I finally drag myself out of bed at 5am to start my day at the Y.  I try to reset with some reading and coffee before hitting the law office, and then I struggle all day yawning and crying because I’m so exhausted that every emotion or task is overwhelming and feeling like I can’t breathe. On the days that I do get a little sleep, I feel much better and everything is manageable. I still feel overwhelmed, but not to the point of panic and tears. This has been an ongoing issue for a few weeks now and I started praying as I lay there and asking God, “Why can’t I sleep, what are you trying to tell me?”  I’ve tried it all; melatonin, CBD, magnesium, a glass of wine in the hot tub, reading, reducing caffeine and electronics.... I finally reached out to see my therapist regularly instead of thinking I could just go “as needed” because I realize that what I need is consistency.  I also humbled myself and called the doctor asking for help.  My therapist has me doing breathing exercises and journaling while the doc has me popping pills to get me to sleep.  One med wasn’t enough apparently, because I now have 3 to juggle when the first 2 wouldn’t cut it.  You would think that 3 medications designed for anxiety and sleep would knock down an elephant, but NOPE, not this elephant. 

Yesterday was a tough day.  I cried, a lot.  I managed to get through my class at the Y, hit my favorite spot for reading and tried to pray and reflect on what all this was.  I read a chapter in The Awe of God and sat for bit.  As I was leaving, in tears again, I felt God speak to my heart that this was just something I needed to go through. That I needed to stop fighting the emotions, feel them and then release them to Him.  Just as when Jesus was in the wilderness, His flesh was weak but the Spirit was strong. I need to allow Holy Spirit to do in me whatever He pleases while I just lay all my hurt, my struggles, my pain and my pride at the foot of the cross. So, I cried as drove to the office, I cried at my desk, I had lunch and cried with a friend, then when late afternoon came and I was all alone I locked the door of the office and hit my face to the floor and just cried out to God and asked Him to sustain me and thanked Him.  I needed to be reminded that He is all I need and that if I just simply rely on Him, He will sustain me and get me through whatever all this is. Nothing of this world will ever be able to sustain me, carry me, or provide for me the way God does. Those are temporary fixes to a lifetime problem.  But eternity is coming, and that is where my hope lies. 

I popped my sleep aids last night at 7:30pm and laid down in my bed.  I attempted to read in Romans and as my vision began to blur, I laid my Bible down and my glasses on top of it and just allowed myself to slip into my blanket and drift to sleep.  My daughter was kind enough to shut my light off when she came home.  I rested well and instead of looking at the clock when I did wake up, I began to pray and just thanked God for who He is and for all He provides.  Then the song Sustain by TC began to just run through my head at a normal speed.  Instead of fighting myself and trying to will myself back to sleep, I enjoyed the lyrics of the song and let in minister to my heart.  I had a sub take over my class today at the Y so I was able to stay in bed until 7:30am.  I took my time and enjoyed worshiping in the shower then coffee and breakfast with my daughter. 

So far, I have made it half way through the day without anxiety and without tears (except when I was worshiping, but that always happens 😊 ). Progress! I’m taking time to journal my feelings but also to journal my story. My therapist says if I journal, I'll begin to see my healing. I’ve lived through a lot, most of which I have never really spoke of.  I have lived thinking that if I ignore it, it never happened. I’m learning to share bits and pieces of my history as the Lord directs but it is often hard to trust people with such heaviness. We have normalized for too long staying silent about the things that haunt us.  In the words of Pastor Jerry Flowers, “Secrets don’t keep you safe, they keep you stuck.”  We can learn a lot about our patterns and change them if we simply take the time to study them and heal. We all have a story that needs to be shared, we just don’t know who we may help pull from the pit by allowing God to use our pain for His glory and the good of His people. My testimony is one of victory, acceptance, restoration and reconciliation. Today I choose to allow God to sustain me in my joy and in my pain, in my rest and in my weakness.  

As I decided to get out of bed, I checked my Bible app verse of the day and scrolled on Instagram for a hot minute.  The verse of the day came from 2 Cor. 10:5, which says:  “We destroy arguments and every lofty opinion raised against the knowledge of God, and take every thought captive to obey Christ,” 2 Corinthians 10:5 ESV. It's not easy to take our thoughts captive, but when the enemy speaks lies to us and we know that it goes against God’s word, we MUST redirect that back to His truth. I know often times I am my own biggest enemy and that’s why I have to stop fighting this season and embrace it, giving it right back to God and counting it ALL joy as I know that “suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us”- Romans 5:3-5.

As I finished my morning scroll, there was a picture on Instagram of this girl and she was handing a dark mess up to the hands of the Father and under it was Psalm 55:22: “Cast your cares on the Lord and he will sustain you; he will never let the righteous be shaken.” Psalms 55:22 NIV

God’s timing is never wrong, it’s always perfect and right on time.  I will embrace my mess, my pain, my tears and even my anxiety and insomnia and instead of fighting it and focusing on it, I’ll feel it and release it back to my Savior knowing the He will sustain me. This is only temporary, it’s a season and it will pass because joy comes in the morning! My favorite line of the song by TC is “Your promises always come true, not dependent on me but relying on You, Your mercies are new everyday so I will trust You.” Enjoy the song lyrics below, I pray they speak to you as they have spoken to me:

Sustain, as performed by Chandler Moore, Jekalyn Carr and Transformation Worship

Holding on to your Word,

It’s the Light in the dark

Hope for my heart

Seasons come, people change

But you were there at the start

You won’t leave at this part

When my heart fails,

In the Faith I know

I find strength in you alone

You Sustain, You sustain

In the middle of it all

You remain the same

Through the rain, still you reign

You Sustain

Letting go of our fear

Not sure what’s ahead

But I trust what you say

Spirit come have your way

I surrender my pride

Lord here is my life

You sustain, You sustain

In the middle of it all

You remain the same

Through the rain, still you reign

You sustain

Your promises always come true

Not dependent on me

But relying on you

Your mercies are new everyday

So I will Trust you

[l-vd-laar]

Cheerful, Confusing, and A Little Scary – Loss of Life Album Review

From 80s synth pop to existential power ballads.

The awkwardly satirical duo known as MGMT are not just a source of internet memes (the “Electric Feel” bass cover incident) and TikTok hits, but are responsible for some of the iconic songs of the past two decades, such as their 2007 single “Kids”, which still haunts the world today.

Over the years, VanWyngarden and Goldwasser’s project has earned the reputation of being slightly odd and “not your typical pop group”. The golden duo do not shy away from themes of disdain for our current cellphone society, expressing their snarky comments through either cheerful pop or disorientating dissonance. This “weirdness” came out especially strong on their 2018 release Little Dark Age, which featured peculiarities such as “She Works Out to Much” and “When You Die”. After a solid career of mocking the music industry – and declaring their love for Brian Eno – MGMT release their fifth studio album Loss of Life. Although, Loss of Life is still filled with references to a time long gone, the band shows maturity by taking stabs of satire and cynicism from their previous lyrical aspects, and work it into the nuances of the music.

Design by John Baldessari, Noses & Ears, Etc. (Part Two): Two (Flesh) Faces with (Blue) Ears and                                                             Noses, Two (Flesh) Hands and Hobby Horse, 2006.

The album kicks off by pestering the listener with an immediate nostalgia inducing prelude on “Loss of Life (part 2)” – We’ll come back to discuss the “part 2” and why this would be in an opening track title? The first of many sly shenanigans. The track starts out with a gritty vinyl sound that introduces a music box tune, accompanied by robot-like voice that speaks of uncanny observations of our world and tells the story of a Welsch bard. It is somewhat reminiscent of “Fitter Happier” by Radiohead, but more cryptic.

VanWyngarden recently explained that their earlier success had given them the freedom to focus more on the music for this record, and this becomes apparent throughout the musical arrangements. An example of this is the bridge in “Nothing Changes”, which offers a lovely intricate symbiosis between brass and synth, which builds up and down and finally flows over smoothly into the final section of the song.

Referencing to the sound of 2000 nostalgia, “Phradie’s song” exhibits the cynical attitude that MGMT is known for, but in a more sophisticated manner. The song starts out with a rather cheerful guitar strum, which is soon accompanied by the joyful ringing of bicycle bells and whistles, one again confronting the listener with looming nostalgia. There has been an internet trend going on of late 90s/early 2000 kids reminiscing about the aesthetics of their childhood era. “Phradie’s song” somehow captures this feeling of longing for childlike unawareness, reminding us that this is something we will never get back. The song then goes on as a lullaby and dissolves into something ungraspable. Comforting and threatening at the same time.

“I Wish I Was Joking” is another close gathering of oddities. The chords progressions border on eerie, and the constant unresolvedness tricks the ears. The song makes a reference to drugs, and the construction of its sonic body does in fact stimulate a feeling of still hanging out at an afterparty, while you should have gone home hours ago. Now you find yourself on a dirty couch, fighting a battle with gravity. This same anti-climactic feeling can be found on “Dancing In Babylon”, which features Christine and the Queens. This song lacks climax in the sense that it’s structure seems to tease a chorus, but never actually finalizes this promise.

Lastly, to lay on the Brit of Britpop, the closing track of the album “Loss of Life” (there is it), the album returns back to its opening music box melody. However, this time it finally gives us the resolve that we have been waiting for the entire album in a cosmic dreamscape Stg. Pepper-esque goodbye. It holds on to the uncomfortable nostalgia that runs through the entire album like a thread, but intermixes it with glimpses of hopeful sounds – such as the return of the brass. Only to resolve into some demonic sound and send us back to “part 2”, where it all began. Suggesting that the album is a circular never ending experience.

Instead of communicating their message through words, MGMT have embodied the lost souls of postmodernism in their music, showing real maturity and leaving me confused and scared of a potential “Bubblegum dog” following me in my nightmares. Yet it should be considered that this was a close analysis of the album, which I have listened to multiple times in a row. And what may be the biggest trick of all, is that if you were to listen to it casually, it can also pass a just a pleasant pop record. The pastiche and satire have been integrated in such a subtle way, that it does not stand in the way of the “listenability” of the album. And although the record has been received with mixed reactions, the duo has shown incredibly musical integrity. And for those who stand with one foot outside the borders of reality, Loss of Life might help you slip out the other one as well.

[wordsinwinters]

Then Again, Chapter 28: Secrets of a Teacher’s Pet

Summary: After an intense fight and a forced-to-share-the-bed situation during their junior year decathlon trip, Peter and the Reader examine their faults and failings. As they attempt to fix their mistakes and improve their friendship, that friendship quickly begins to evolve into something else. Masterlist (with AO3 links) Betas: @fanboyswhereare-you @girl-tips-from-satan @lilbeatlebear

Then Again, Chapter 28: Secrets of a Teacher's Pet

(Word count: 4,134) Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22, Part 23, Part 24, Part 25, Part 26, Part 27, Part 28, Part 29, High school lunches are abominable, and should be illegal. I swear, what passes for pizza, macaroni, and even grilled cheese might as well be scraps of cardboard stuffed with some sticky yellow substance of unknown origins, as opposed to anything healthy or vaguely edible. The vegetables available aren’t much better: they give off the look and odor of something that’s been canned for a few hundred years before being briefly stuck in a microwave and dropped into a metal pan. Well, maybe that’s an exaggeration. They’re just super bland and tasteless. But don’t get me started on the very real danger of the milk that’s required with cost-reduced or free meals. After getting one that’s curdled like cottage cheese or a slimy, soupy sort of solid, you learn not to trust them. A lot of kids take them because they have to and immediately dump them into a garbage can on the way to their table. The bagged apple slices aren’t too terrible though, given that the flavor hasn’t been boiled or steamed out of them and there’s no reason to doubt what they’re made of. Luckily for me, Peter’s gifted stash of snacks in my locker from yesterday held over to today and I’ve been eating enough during breaks that I’m only hungry enough for the apples, able to avoid all the other barely tolerable options for once. I’m as grateful for that fact as I was happily surprised to find he managed to remember and pick out my favorites. (Michelle probably helped him.)

Walking to the cafeteria ten minutes late is an uncharacteristically peaceful experience. The usual, deafening current of hundreds of teenagers rushing to their next class has been replaced by a trickling stream of occasional wanderers strolling along with hall passes lightly held in hand. It’s a calming change of pace. Still, as I draw closer to the cafeteria, the sounds of classes beginning behind closed doors grow softer, slowly overlapped by the swelling chaos of first lunch. It’s funny how approaching this part of the school during lunch feels like walking into a roaring tsunami of cacophony, but once you’re inside it talking with your friends, the enormity of it muffles into a tame tide, as if an invisible barrier has stitched itself together around the table. (At least if you’ve had enough sleep, that is. After another long night of texting with Peter, I’m not sure I’ll be able to block out much of anything.) By the time I turn the corner of the last hallway and head to the lunch line, most people already have their food and are sitting at their normal tables — my friends included — so it takes no time at all to maneuver through the pizza side. I grab a bag of apple slices from the tin pan beside the soft pretzel warmer and quickly get to the register. The lunch lady punches in the code for the apples as I swipe my ID card and type in my passcode, four little beeps quietly popping up through the bursting bubble of cafeteria noise. Like every day, I thank her and she offers me a tired nod in response. Then I make my typical path toward my friends sitting in the middle-ish back area. A few tables away from Michelle, Peter, and Ned, more toward the front, Abe and Sally are sitting with their other friends, including Flash. That must mean Monday was an anomaly like I suspected— just a chance to collect the last morsels of gossip about the trip before everyone slid back into our normal school routines. (Surprisingly, neither of them asked about or alluded to the pool incident, thank god, though Flash must’ve told Abe about the accidental blackmail thing because Abe whisper-asked me about it once no one was paying attention. As soon as I said it wasn’t a big deal and I’d rather Mr. Harrington never hear a word about any of it, he nodded and let it go with a subtle “OK” hand motion.) Suddenly, Peter whips his head around and catches my eye. He jumps out of his seat and rushes to meet me halfway. “Hey!” he says, smiling and slightly breathless a moment later, hair lightly ruffled from the mini-jog. “How come you’re late? Ned said you stayed after class, but he didn’t know why.” Then, looking at the lone bag of apple wedges in my hand, “And where’s the rest of your food?” As we make eye contact again, I try to ignore the swooping sensation in my stomach: I have been trying, really trying, to get used to his energy the last few days — to his wider smiles and the abrupt return of his sincerity — but his spontaneous excitement in moments like this still causes butterflies, as much as I resent the fact. Even so, his energy is infectious and, undeniably, pleasant. I find my lips itching to mirror his bare smile, and do my best to hold it back. “I stayed back to talk to Profé,” I explain as we walk together, “about the skit that’s due on Friday. I wanted to see if my group could just perform it for her tomorrow while everyone’s out recording theirs.” I glance at him and the crinkle around his eyes makes it clear he knows me too well. “You mean get out of having to watch your own video on Friday.” “Maybe.” I keep my gaze on our table as we approach it, shrugging and hoping my guilty-as-charged grin isn’t too obvious. The deal I made with Profé is normal for the two of us. It’s usually the group members who make it more of a struggle, refusing to cooperate because they’d rather procrastinate than memorize their lines a day early. (If they’re even willing to memorize their lines. 75% of the class just reads from a paper someone else has to hold up behind whatever phone or iPad they use to record it— even though Profé

takes off 5% of their total project grade if she catches it. And she always does.) Luckily, my group for this one was just as happy as me to get out of the awkward recording process and the even more agonizing experience of watching it on the whiteboard the following day, forced to sit still and confront our stale acting and terrible, underdeveloped accents. “What’d she say?” “She said it’s fine,” I say, climbing into my seat across from Ned and Michelle as Peter sits beside me. “As long as I help her grade the quizzes from her first year class once we finish.” Ned and Michelle let their conversation about Chemistry fizzle out to join ours. “Such a teacher’s pet,” Ned says with a wave of his hand. “Always manipulating the system for your own gain.” I give him a sarcastically sour look. “If you made fewer jokes like that, I could still be grading ours.” Last month, Ned just had to make a comment about me changing his test answers. As much as Profé likes me and would be happy to hire me as a personal assistant, she couldn’t keep handing me my friends’ and classmates’ assignments after he said that in front of everyone, which is fair. Plus, even though I enjoy helping her, it’s nice to have more time to socialize, especially since Ned, Betty, and I sit next to each other. It also helped me feel less guilty, seeing as I had actually done it. “But it wasn’t a joke, right?” Michelle clarifies, reading my mind. “You did change Ned’s answers for him.” Ned sighs, glancing down at his plate to spear a broccoli floret with his fork. “And I should’ve been more grateful, I know.” He looks back up, clearly amused. “But it’s just so funny to freak you out.” “Funny to you, maybe.” Objectively, it was pretty funny. I was walking up to Profé’s desk to hand in the stack of freshly graded tests when he very loudly asked me to change his answers on the next quiz too — which a few people laughed at, assuming it couldn’t be true if he had blurted it out — and it took me so off-guard that I turned and smacked right into someone else’s desk, hard enough it felt like I cracked my hip bone on it, triggering an ill-timed “Jesus!” Immediately, someone called out, “It’s pronounced Hay-soos in this class!” Even I could recognize the humor in it, once the pain had passed a minute later. Profé was still shaking her head in pity as I hobbled over and handed her the papers. Her tone of voice conveyed a sort of disappointment and inconvenience when she said that, well, maybe it’d be better if I didn’t grade this class’s work anymore. “Wait, for real?” Peter asks, brow twisted into a quizzical disbelief. “You’ve never done that for me.” Michelle’s mouth quirks into a (prideful?) smirk. “She’s done it for me.” He looks between the two of us, surprised. “You’re not in my Spanish class, though,” I tell Peter as I open my bag of apples, hoping the meager defense will assuage him. “Neither is Michelle!” “That was for our World History class.” “And AP Psych that one time,” I admit reflexively, remembering. I reach over to her plate and swap a few fries for a slice of apple. “Wow, okay then. I see how it is.” Peter leans back as if against an imaginary wall, squinting at me, eyes glinting with teasing sarcasm. Like I said before, as much as I’m trying to get used to our new dynamics, it’s hard to pretend this playful attitude isn’t incredibly attractive; we’ve always teased each other, but something about the nature of it has shifted. It’s more fun than before. I lick my lips to get rid of the salt from the fries and ignore him. Meanwhile, Michelle takes the apple piece I gave her and holds it like a cigarette. “Not to defend the cheating, lying, and overall academic fraud she’s committed,” she says, “but she was responsible for messing up my World History test right before we took it.” She bites the apple and chews for a moment. “We were quizzing each other on our way in and she said Genghis Khan went— what was it? As far west in Europe as Germany and as far east as Lebanon in the Middle East.” “Instead of Poland and the Levant,” I

repeat, the words having haunted me for weeks afterward, the answer seared into my memory since. “But Poland has been taken over by Germany at different points and it was fragmented when he got there. Plus, Lebanon is in the Levant, so I wasn’t totally wrong.” Michelle makes an “Exactly” gesture with her left hand. “And that’s why she corrected her mistake on my paper.” She notices me about to sneak more fries off her plate and swats my hand away. “And since I didn’t change my own answer,” I say, returning to my own food, “it wasn’t really cheating.” “Ha.” Her laugh is flat, but bright. “Only because you used a pen to take the test and were too scared he’d notice a scratched out answer that wasn’t there before.” Before I can (in bad faith) refute that, Peter interrupts. “Wait, what about the Psych one?” I pause and smile, remembering one of the reasons I love our Psychology teacher. “It was just an extra credit question: ‘Who is my celebrity crush?’ Michelle wrote Antonio Banderas instead of Dwayne Johnson. It was only half a point. Antonio Banderas is her mom’s crush, which she talked about in class a bunch of times, not hers. Easy to mix up.” “And Ned’s Spanish quiz?” Ned coughs on a bite of spaghetti he just took, quickly taking a drink of water to recover. If he’s nervous about me explaining that one, I’m surprised. He and Peter usually tell each other everything, and the truth isn’t really embarrassing anyway. “You wanna cover that one?” I ask him, just in case. “Nah. Go ahead,” he shrugs, unbothered. That’s more normal. A noodle must’ve just gone down the wrong way. “It was a few weeks ago,” I explain, “when we first started making our plans to study for the decathlon, I think? Ned was super stressed with it all and had a bad case of test anxiety. He told me he knew the right answers, he just freaked out in the moment.” Peter’s eyebrows raise and he looks pointedly at Ned, whose lips are twitching. “Ned doesn’t get test anxiety,” he says, staring at him. “I think I remember that, actually. He just didn’t study. He stayed up all night and then freaked out in the morning saying he was gonna fail.” Before I can react, Ned erupts into the same giggles I heard from across the classroom when I smacked into that desk. Michelle’s eyebrows lift, though she seems unsurprised; if anything, her expression is practically a mental handshake of congratulations to Ned for successfully cheating the system. (The system being me.) “Okay, okay!” He puts his hands up to defend himself. “I lied, I know, and that’s bad, it’s a bad thing to do. But my GPA, my chances for college admissions, shouldn’t suffer because I’m bad at conjugating verbs in a third language.” He turns his head toward Peter. “And I did want to study more, but someone convinced me to play video games that night instead.” The attention of the debate swiftly turns away from the ethics of test answer “editing” to which of them is more likely to put video games above school work. As the boys argue, Michelle and I continue eating in relaxed silence. Even though the two of us have been texting and talking less the last couple days now that my conversations with Peter have become more time-consuming, we’ve settled back into our usual, stable friendship without any lingering oddness from the weekend. Thank goodness. My eyes flit to her at the thought, then quickly back to the boys. As they do, a gentle wave of comfort and humming warmth envelopes me. It’s a new sensation, one that’s easy to sink into and strange to explain. (And randomly recurring since Sunday morning.) Although it’s similar to the solace I feel when I appreciate that Michelle (and Ned) won’t be abandoning me anytime soon, like I briefly assumed over the weekend, I’d be lying if I didn’t own up to the fact it’s undeniably reserved for Peter. It’s been happening here and there during the most unexpected moments ever since we apologized to each other that morning. (This back-and-forth debate between him and Ned, which now involves them citing specific dates and exact hours of video game

playing, for example, isn’t exactly heart-warming or intriguing enough that it should warrant this feeling, yet here I am.) At first, I thought the sensation was just the sheer relief of reconciliation after a shitty, hellish night. But now I’m not so sure. It’s complicated, of course, to say the least. After spending so long desperately trying and failing to shove down this crush, my anxiety surrounding Peter and how this all might end, it doesn’t make sense to feel so… normal. The months I spent begging my own brain to avoid thinking about him, only to fail miserably and obsess over how, inevitably, the best outcome could only be private pain while the best bad option, if I was found out, would be a simple unraveling of fragile humiliation that Peter would clumsily (and apologetically) inflict— those months were like being a small pet in a washing machine: drowning, jerked around, disoriented, and in general torment. This crush has been one colossal Sisyphean self-inflicted torture session after the next. And yet, somehow, I’m suddenly alright. The danger has passed and I’m breathing just fine. Sure, I’m still nervous around him more often than not, and flustered, cautious, and even anxious at times, but it’s not nearly as overwhelming as before. It’s like most of the frightened, flighty energy this crush has plagued me with since the beginning has transformed into something less excruciating. Something that might border on exciting if I let it. It’s safe, above all else. Infinitely closer to safety than anything I’ve felt before, and certainly a thousand times more stable than that frozen, starless abyss I felt like I was staring into this weekend. To put it simply: my nerves have floated down to a reasonable level. Even if I still feel like I’m walking a tightrope some of the time, the rope is only a foot above soft-grassed ground rather than tied between skyscrapers. And since I’m less busy being worried, I evidently have more time to, as May would say, stay grounded and enjoy the moment. It feels like warm sunshine. That’s it. Safety and warmth. Anyway, suffice it to say that things are good between us. So much so that we’ve barely had a break in conversation since our fight. Between passing notes in the classes we have together, talking during lunch, and the obscene amount of texting we’ve done the last few days, it really does feel like being in a “friendship bootcamp,” like Ned and Michelle keep calling it. Especially because a big portion of our conversations has been Peter asking bizarre, random questions, like my opinion on Harry Houdini or if I know anyone who could get us fake IDs. (Each day I try to answer them as fully as possible with zero context. I gave up asking “Why?” and “What for?” early on; he would just text back things like, “wouldn’t you like to know, weatherboy?” or “you’ll find out later” or “I’m writing a memoir about you, duh.”) If it were anyone else, the sheer frequency of such vague texts might’ve aggravated me; instead, I found myself stifling laughter in bed until three in the morning Monday night, then 1 a.m. last ni— this morning. Peter and I have always enjoyed antagonizing Ned and Michelle on our own, so much so that, comparatively, we’ve always tended to be more civil (if not distant) to each other than either of them. Without the filter of them between us, our texting quickly became a tug-of-war of jokes, insults, and other teasing. In fact— “Hello? You there?” Peter’s waving his hand in front of my face. “You didn’t answer my other question.” I shake myself out of the mental hole I’ve been falling through the last few minutes and apologize for zoning out, only now realizing that Michelle and Ned have moved on to a discussion on the Spanish colonization of the Philippines and consequent linguistic history between Tagalog, Filipino, and Spanish. “Peter,” I say after a short yawn. “I think you’ve set a record for how many questions a person can ask in a day. Which one are you referring to?” I start to pull my phone out of my pocket to check my texts from him,

wondering what might’ve gotten lost in the waterfall of messages we’ve sent to each other lately. But he puts his index finger on the table, or rather, on the empty plastic bag that used to contain the apple Michelle and I finished a minute ago. “Where’s the rest of your food?” he specifies. “You and Michelle aren’t on any hunger strikes I don’t know about, right?” I roll my eyes. “I’ve been eating all morning, actually,” I say, returning his sarcasm. “A bunch of my favorite snacks somehow showed up in my locker. Weird, right?” “Super weird,” he says, nodding. “How’d someone get into your locker?” I pause. “That’s a good question. How did you get into it?” He grins. “Same way you got into mine on Friday.” He tips his head towards Michelle. “One of our friends pays way more attention to detail than anyone on the planet, and knows all of our codes.” Without breaking her eye contact with Ned, Michelle sticks her hand directly in front of Peter’s face. “Don’t bring me into whatever you guys are doing.” After a flash of middle finger, she puts her hand back down on the table and goes back to telling Ned off. “Really though,” I say, meeting his eyes again. “Thank you for all of it. It was nice to have a break from school food. Even if the sugar is going to make me crash sooner or later.” Preferably in sixth hour. It’s easy to get away with taking a nap in film class, as long as you can keep your head propped up on your hand. His ears twitch as he smiles. “I told you, I really want to make up for… well, everything.” “And I told you—” “That I don’t need to give you presents for that to happen.” “Exactly.” “So, you didn’t like the pens today?” Pens? “What are you talking about?” “I put some new pens in your backpack. You know, since you used up a bunch of yours taking notes during our decathlon study sessions.” That's true. In retrospect, I was more upset about them running out of ink than I ended up being about missing the actual competition. “Oh, I never saw them. I haven’t looked in my bag since first hour.” I wonder if…. “But, to be honest, I’m kind of particular about my writing instruments, so—” “They better be the Pilot G2 multi-color pack?” Wow. That is surprising. It must show on my face. His smile widens and he pulls his shoulders back. “Yes, actually.” I sit up a bit straighter. “You get that from Michelle too?” “Nope.” He shakes his head. “You left one at my apartment. Dark green. It’s also in your bag.” My heart rate jumps and I hate the fact that it’s over nice pens. Or maybe it’s the thought he put into it. It’s a perfect gift. Useful and, in a way, personal. The only other person who would think of it would be Michelle. She’s the only one who pays that much attention to me. “Alright then.” I try to keep my voice level, to not give away what I’m thinking or how happy I am that I can go back to color-coding my notes like usual. “That’s impressive, I’ll admit.” My chest aches, and I’m not totally sure why. “But,” I say carefully, “as much as I do appreciate it, there’s really no need for anything else.” “Oh really?” He leans forward, putting an elbow to the table, head resting against his hand. “Because I feel like you wouldn’t say that if you knew what I had planned for Friday.” I know it’s bait, that it’s meant to distract me from refusing his future gifts. But I can’t help it. “Tell me,” I demand. He pulls backward and, grinning, shakes his head so rapidly it messes up his hair. “It’s a surprise. I can’t.” It only takes me mentioning that, given how many wild questions he’s sent my way the last few days, I deserve one hint, minimum, for Ned and Michelle to notice and jump into our conversation. Ned offers to tell me about the Friday “event”— the one-word little slip up alone offending Peter more than the whole video game argument. “No, no, no, no!” Peter practically shouts. “Guys, I will kill you! Ned, I’ll tell Jason about how you’re planning to fight him, and MJ— I’ll, I swear, if you say anything, I-I’ll, I will—” “Yeah, you’ve got nothing on me, dude.” she says,

unimpressed, looking him up and down. “But, I’ll play nice this one time.” She looks at me, left eyebrow slightly raised with a clear message: There’s reason for concern. You’ll want to get it out of him as soon as possible. “So, Ned, when’s this fight happening?” We all turn to look at him, Michelle and I particularly curious about that piece of information. “Obviously it’s not,” he says, exasperated. “I’m just trying to figure out how to help a friend he’s been messing with.” “A miss Betty Brant, right?” As Michelle starts a rapid-fire interrogation into Ned and Betty’s beef with Jason, I turn my body and attention towards Peter once more. “You have to give me hints,” I say. “I’d like three, along with unlimited guesses.” He takes a deep breath, eyes searching mine carefully. “Alright, I’ll give hints,” he concedes. “But only two.” That’s better than I expected. “Two,” I agree. “But then you have to tell me tomorrow morning no matter what.” He extends a hand to shake, a smile perking back up. “That seems fair, since you’ll never guess.” I’m more than familiar with uncertainty when it comes to you, I think as that safe, sunny feeling settles over me again. I’ll manage just fine.

Next chapter

Author's note: Apologies for the very long filler chapter. Honestly, this is one of my least favorite chapters I've written and I'd hoped to fix it up a lot more before posting (I was planning a total rewrite tbh), but I figured it'd be better to stay on track with the weekly updating than push it back. Thanks for sticking with it!

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[wlw-multi-fandom-imagines]

Hey, may i ask for a little scenario where Cheryl blossom falls for a new Femreader student who's a pro kick boxer and can kicke asses (but at first sight she doesn't seem like it) when reader intervens on day when Cheryl Veronica and Betty start an argument with some guys from the sport team who are quite violente. Thank you !

Before she signed you up for your first lesson, your mother had very solemnly laid out a few ground rules regarding your year-long campaign start kickboxing.

1.  No hanging out after hours at the gym

You were only 14 at the time, but your mom wasn’t naive and she noticed the intensity in your gaze as you’d pass the gym and the way your face reddened as you stammered out a few words to the older girls standing out front when they asked if you were interested (in kickboxing, of course).  If she was going to pay for lessons, you’d better be focused on your trainer and not securing a hookup for later.

2.  No hiding injuries

You had hated going to the doctor since childhood, and it became apparent early on that you would go to great lengths to avoid doing so.  From denying fevers to the time you had hidden two broken toes for a week, you always made every effort to mend yourself up before revealing anything was wrong.  If you were going to fight, you had to be honest and suck it up enough to see a doctor if you needed to.

3. No fights outside the ring.

That one had been hard to stick to at times.  Though not violent by any means, you were quick-tempered and needed to get a handle on it if you were going to get “punching lessons”.  

You had agreed to all of these rules, to your mother’s subtle surprise, and had been in the gym every afternoon after school since.  And, to her immense relief, you didn’t allow the other women at the gym to distract you.  It was easier than you had initially thought, especially considering most of them were hot-headed and honestly a little too similar to yourself to consider dating.  

Cheryl, on the other hand...Cheryl got you wrapped around her finger within weeks of your arrival to Riverdale.  Your official tour guide to the new school, Betty, had introduced the two of you during your lunch period.  One look at the subtle flex of your muscles beneath the shirt you were wearing was enough to catch her attention, and the game was on.  

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

“Hey, your girl and her little friends are starting a fight.”

You looked up from your phone, frowning in confusion at the unfamiliar person in front of you.  You hadn��t cared to get to know many others at the school once settling in with Cheryl and her friend group, but judging by the sweatshirt, this was clearly the girlfriend of one of the lacrosse players.

“What?”

“Cheryl, Betty, and Veronica are in the parking lot with some of the football-”

You didn’t bother staying to hear the rest, opting instead to zip up your backpack and sling it over your shoulder.  Standing up quickly, you brushed past a few fellow students just arriving in the student lounge and high-tailed it towards the front entrance.

As you neared the doors, you saw a small crowd gathering near the parking spots that were unofficially reserved for the football players (aka: if you parked there and weren’t on the team, your tires were going to be deflated by lunch) and quickened your pace.  

“You seriously don’t have anything better to do than fake an insurance claim against a sophomore?”

Veronica’s voice was the first one that you could make out clearly as you pushed your way through the spectators.  A knot tightened in your stomach as you finally broke into the center of the crowd and spotted her, Betty, and Cherly at a standoff with five douchebags in letterman jackets.  You glanced around the sea of unfamiliar faces, hoping to spot Archie or hell, even Jughead.  

Nope.  You were the only reinforcement so far.

“Look, the little freak clearly came whipping into the parking lot way too fast and smashed into me and I have a few witnesses here that will back me up.”

“As if.  You literally almost ran Jughead and me over the other morning,” Betty pipes up.  

“And for someone always flexing Daddy’s money, you’d think you’d be able to afford to get a little scratch fixed.  Actually, I bet your Daddy would just love to hear all about this and all about that time two summers ago when you-”

“Shut the fuck up, you bitch.”

The Lead Douchebag lunged forward, a sudden surge of anger and panic replacing the smug features that had painted his face before Cheryl began her remark.  Whatever happened two summers ago was clearly something he intended to take to his grave, and she had struck a nerve in the same way that watching him rush her like that struck a nerve with you.

“Oh!”

The crowd reacted to your swift punch with one unified sound of surprise and teenage exhilaration, but the ringing in your ears drowned out any further responses over the next few minutes.  Five against one wasn’t a fair match by a long shot and you took quite a few blows, but the football players didn’t have the form or the stamina that you had.  So, when you landed a solid hit to the face or a kick to the leg, it gave you enough time to move on to the next opponent. 

The scene soon descended into chaos, with more students arriving to add to the jeering, screaming sea of onlookers desperately trying to record every second of action on their phones.  Eventually, Archie and Jughead were among them and turned it into a 3v5 before a few administrators caught wind and rushed outside to break things up.

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

“My mom is gonna be so pissed.”

Cheryl’s head tilted to the side, expression soft and filled with subtle adoration as you pressed an icepack to your cheek and slumped against the back of the bench outside of the principal’s office.  Apart from your face, your left side and your knuckles are really the only things that hurt much right now.

“No she won’t; Principal Honey isn’t even calling home and we aren’t in trouble.”

“Yeah, but this will bruise,” you said, shifting the ice, “and I’m not great at lying to her.”

“God, your healthy relationship with your mother is constantly both surprising and refreshing.”  The redhead reached over to squeeze your leg and you looked away, a little bashful at how she always teased you over the difference in parenting styles your mothers had utilized.  “But is it really that big of a deal?  Surely she has to be used to this kind of thing by now.”

“Not exactly.  I’ve never actually been in a fight outside of, you know, the scheduled ones...” you admitted, once again feeling your cheeks burn with embarrassment.  Cheryl looked surprised and like she didn’t fully believe your statement.

“Never?  And here I thought you spent your days before Riverdale saving many a damsel in distress.”

“Nope.”

“Well today you saved three, since I’m deciding to count Betty and Veronica as my fellow damsels.  And to say thank you, we’re treating you to dinner at Pop’s and then drinks and a little performance in the speakeasy.”

You arched an eyebrow, then grimaced at the flash of pain in your face.  

“Performance?”

“Just something we’re throwing together,” Cheryl winked mischeviously and just like that, any lingering concerns about your mother’s reaction to this disappeared.

[kithtaehyung]

Room 3 | PJM

summary: it’s just another normal day for you at the wellness center until it suddenly isn’t.  note: standalone for now! part 2 is semi-written but no solid plans atm. note 2 (june 7th, 2021): this will be revamped in the future! i really enjoyed this premise so i won’t get rid of it completely.  pairing: idol!jimin x massage therapist!reader  genre: fluff  word count: 9,188

-

-

Thirteen. 

The sidewalk underneath your feet has thirteen cracks in the little square you stand in.  Sliding a small rock into one of them provides you with something to do until you hear the squeaking, screeching brakes of a bus struggling to a stop in front of you.  

You adjust the strap on your shoulder as the doors open with a hydraulic hiss, and you give the driver a small smile before finding a place to stand.  There aren’t many people commuting today, so it’s a pleasant surprise that you get to sit down for a change. 

It was just another day in your life.  You got up this morning and did your routine, listened to your wake up music on repeat, and checked that you had your wallet, phone, keys, and earphones before heading down to the bus stop.  The very same earphones are still on as you now have your library on shuffle, and you hum along to the “na na na’s” of the current tune. 

Living in Seoul for about a year now, you were pretty settled in.  The people were accommodating, the quality of life was much better than where you were before, and you felt like you could live here for the rest of your days.  It was insanely tough at first, but the initial culture shock and feeling of loneliness lessened as you made friends and befriended coworkers.  You don’t have many people close to you here, but you can count on the ones that are.  

You turn your head to gaze out the windows.  Shimmering glass buildings tower over you, shops and street signs whiz by, and people look like they’re walking in slow motion as you follow them with your eyes.  Blips of pastels and bold colors mingle together and you look down to observe your own monochrome uniform.  For the place you worked at, you didn’t expect the clothes to look luxurious, but they’re actually designed very well.  And they’re soft.  

That’s enough for you.    

Your stop is next, so you hook your arm around the nearest pole to prep.  The steel has a coldness that seeps into your sleeve, but your only thought is wondering what you should eat for lunch.  

-

Why do you feel so tense? 

The sign right above you emits a sense of relaxation, but there’s a tightness in your shoulders.  Odd.  You lock your phone with one hand and grip the strap of your pack with the other before taking a deep breath.  You count down from three before letting it out.  

The hiss of your exhale mingles with the standard sounds of the city, and you concentrate on the flow of life both inside your body and the environment around you.  You did this often when you felt out of place, and it served to recalibrate you and your thoughts.  Storing your phone away, you make your way inside the frosted glass doors. 

Working at one of Seoul’s prestigious wellness centers was definitely something you were proud of.  If there was one thing you’ve wanted for years, it was for a way for you to massage yourself.  Everyone seemed to love your massages, but no one knew how to massage you.  That is, until you came here.  You’ve never experienced people knowing exactly where you were hurting and effectively working out all of those kinks during one session.  It was magical.   

What is even more magical is the fact that you joined the ranks of those same angels from above.  You love them, and they love you.

“Good morning! I hate you!” 

Well.

“Morning, Yoon,” you respond lowly as you take your earphones out and store them. “Love you, too.” As you walk around front reception, Yoon smiles at you and comments, 

“No, really, I think you legitimately repulse me now.”

You shoot her a look of pure terror. “What the hell did I do?”

“Nothing,” she sighs, dropping her eyes to the papers in front of her.  

In a state of panic, your mind speeds through any events that happened since the last time you saw her.  Did you accidentally ignore her once?  Look at her funny?  Yoon was big on body language. 

You didn’t realize you were still staring at her until she tapped the glass counter between you two.  “Hey, I’m sorry. I know you’re nervous. I just thought jokes would help.” 

What? 

“I’m not nervous, just tense for some reason.  Although, you definitely made it worse,” you admit, “I might need to take a longer break today and somehow get Jay to rub my shoulders.  Maybe I can bribe him with samgy--” 

“--Uhh, forget him; have you even checked your client list for this week?  I’ll do anything if you switch your schedule with me.” 

Double-what?

“Okay, now you’re just being weird,” you chuckle, “But also, no, I haven’t checked yet.  It’s Monday!”   

In a sing-song manner, Yoon warns, “You better check your schedule before I snatch it...”

You laugh again and wave her off, but her words only mess with your head.  As you make your way to the back room, you fidget and check your phone for any notifications you missed between when you exited the bus and now.  You don’t know what you expected: still nothing.  

As if you feel the weight of eyes on you, you glance up and notice some people are giving you looks.  

What in the hell is going on?  It’s 7am on a Monday and therefore way too early for people to be this upset with you.  Yoon may have said she was joking, but by the looks of everyone else...

A hand claps onto your shoulder, causing you to yelp and feel like you rocket right into the ceiling.  Only the hearty laugh beside you clues you in on who you were getting revenge on later. 

“Geez, someone’s not looking forward to today.” 

“You better sleep with one eye open tonight, Jay,” you seeth, hands rubbing your temples as you struggle to steady your heart rate. “Also, what’s so special about today?  Yoon was being strange just a second ago, too.”  

Your coworker looks at you like you have seven heads. “Okay, first off: if I had the amount of adrenaline in your body right now, I wouldn’t be able to sleep at all.  And second: you didn’t check your schedule yet?” 

They didn’t know it, but they were going to be the death of you. 

“No, I ha--It’s a Mon--you know what, I’m going to check now; you guys are killing me.” You leave Jay in a rush and race to the employee lounge.  The anxiousness in your chest is bubbling over.  

Jay’s on your heels, whispering loudly, “I can spoil it right now if you want!” 

You respond in a low voice, “Don’t you have a client to see?” 

“Nope!” 

You round the corner and see the back room door is already open, so you power through and head straight for the docking table on the other side.  Everyone working here has a personal tablet, and you unplug yours from the charging port.  Pressing through the menus as quickly as the tablet allows, you feel a thin layer of sweat on your skin.  Touch ID.  Login.  Main Menu.  Scheduling.  Weekly Outlook.  Confidentiality Prompt.

Shit. 

Confidentiality Prompts are for the therapists that have huge clients scheduled.  They’re put in place for celebrities and business executives to have guaranteed privacy.  

With a start, you wonder why the hell Yoon wanted your schedule.  Everyone here is wary of high-profile people.  It’s a whole different experience since they basically hold your life in their hands in each session.  You recall a horror story that happened when you first started working there, and still don’t know where that employee ended up.  

Your only problem is that you’ve never had to deal with this before.  Jay, Yoon, and a bunch of the veterans have, but this is going to be your first. 

“Damn, yours is longer than mine was,” Jay observes before you squeeze your tablet to your chest.  “That looks intense.” 

“Umm, snoopy much?” You shift your body away from him and speed read through the very long, very wordy window.  When you hit Accept, another window pops up that you have to read through.  This one is even more fine print. You suddenly realize something and dart your eyes up.  “Wait, you got one, too?” 

Jay nods and looks away, and he actually looks nervous.  “Yeah, we all got them this time.” 

Now that is alarming.  This client must be something else. 

Window after window comes up and you wonder if you should probably read these in earnest.  It’s starting to genuinely scare you.  

If this is that big of a deal… 

You banish that thought from your mind as soon as it appears.  Elephants would have to fall from the sky before you believe someone from that group is booking you here.   

You hit Accept before you realize you didn’t actually read and instead mindlessly scrolled through the prompts.  As the screen buffers, you bite your lip.

The screen goes back to normal and presents your schedule for today.  Your coworkers are living their normal lives, putting their stuff in their lockers and getting materials ready for various sessions.  Jay is being completely normal as he can’t stop laughing at your expression.  

And your life is anything but normal anymore because elephants are dropping from the clouds and the words Monday, 8am, Park Jimin are staring you right in the face. 

-

“You mean to tell me that you cleared your morning schedule just to see my reaction?” 

Jay laughs in earnest. “Yes, and it was so worth it.” 

You are failing to stop bouncing your leg as you wait at one of the tables in the employee lounge.  There’s a cup of coffee in front of you, but you already know you aren’t going to drink a drop of it.  You are about to be in close quarters with the equivalent of a royal family member, so coffee breath is out of the question. 

Suddenly self-conscious, you ask, “Do you have a toothbrush I can borrow?” 

“I actually do.  Let me grab it.” 

As your friend gets up, you scrutinize the table in front of you to avoid peoples’ lingering stares.  How everyone somehow knew your upcoming client before you did was a mystery, but you don’t really care enough at the moment to find out.   

Jay hands you what you asked for and you thank him before heading to the bathroom to freshen up.  After you brush your teeth like a madman, you check your face for discrepancies and sigh at your choice of almost no makeup today.  

You can’t help but wonder if the thirteen cracks in the sidewalk are laughing at you at this very moment.  

Checking your smart watch, you realize you have either the longest or shortest 30 minutes of your life left before your appointment with Jimin.  

You huff out a laugh at how ridiculous that sounds.  You refuse to believe this is real until you physically see him in the room.  Confidentiality forms or not, the name Park Jimin or not, you still can’t wrap your head around the situation. 

Speaking of the forms, you assume that they were printed out for company records as soon as you submitted yours to sign.  You decide to head back to the front desk after throwing Jay his spare toothbrush, to which he responds with pure disgust. 

-

It was like Yoon was waiting for you because as soon as you open the glass doors, she’s  hounding you, “So what did you do in a past life?  Did you save an emperor?  Rescue a prophet?” 

“I don’t know about a past life, but I did save a turtle when I was five.”  You tap your fingers on the reception desk and stare at the orchids on the counter.  “Or at least I thought I did.  I probably just made his life harder.  Can I see a copy of the forms I signed?” 

“I’m gonna go with the saved prophet.  Which one was it?” 

“Yoon,” you beg, desperate as you glance at the abstract clock above her and see that you have 20 minutes left.  A mere 20 minutes until he is supposed to arrive to check-in.

“Okay, okay!  Hold on,” she chuckles and rolls her chair away from you and towards the printer.  “By the way, if I wasn’t the one checking him in, I would’ve hijacked your entire day already.”  

Her words are garbled since you are laser-focused on rubbing an orchid petal between your fingers.  Its soft and supple touch is calming you, and just for a second, you are able to clear your thoughts.  

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding when Yoon hands you the forms.  The paper is still warm as you thank her and head towards the doors. 

“Oh, wait,” Yoon calls behind you, and you turn to see her grabbing another small stack of papers.  When she extends them over the counter, she explains, “I was waiting until you saw your schedule to hand these over.  Read through them carefully.”

“Thanks,” you whisper, even more anxious than before. 

-

Your heart jumps into your throat when you see what Yoon handed over.  You don’t even remember the walk to the back lounge and to one of the secluded tables; all you can focus on are the papers in front of you.  They look like they were written on and scanned before being sent over to the wellness center.   

It’s Jimin’s handwriting.  

You’ve seen his penmanship before.  There is no mistaking the neat, determined strokes.  Even the way he checked the boxes and circled the pain points on diagrams proves very... well, him.  Any other uncertainty dissolves after you see his birthday filled in, as well.  

This is really happening.

You gently slam the papers on the table and hunch over to commit the information to memory.  Months and months of schooling have sharpened this ability of yours, and you are determined to imagine this as just another client you have to memorize.  

Light to medium pressure.  Avoid anything above light pressure around the spinal area and lower back.  Shoulders, calves, and feet are pain points.  Facial area priority.   

A trip to the countryside right at this very moment sounds like a fantastic idea.  

Jay plops into the seat in front of you, and that thought bubble bursts.  “This color on your face suits you.  Reminds me of what’s-his-name, Edward.” 

“How much time do I have,” you question, not even acknowledging him.  

“Seven minutes.” 

“Of course,” you mutter before standing, the irony not lost on you.  “I’ll go prep now.” 

You don’t see Jay waving you off.  “If you survive, I’ll see you on the other side!” 

A laugh escapes you.  Personally, your only goal is to make it through five minutes.  If you pass away after that, you would have no regrets. 

-

You stand behind the reception doors with your tablet to your chest, staring at the wall across the way.  The subtle wallpaper pattern is a great choice for this place, you decide. 

Indescribable anxiousness and fear aside, you have a job to do.  As long as you keep your outside actions professional, your inner turmoil can be whatever the hell it wants.  You’ve been in this profession long enough and you know you’re ready to do this.  You’ve seen the whole spectrum of human emotion in this line of work.  No matter how well of a job you do, there are still people that are never happy.  As long as you focus on keeping the client’s wellness and health in mind, you keep your consciousness clear.   

Then again, you haven’t had to deal with a client like Park Jimin before, let alone a high executive or well-known actress.  

A muffled “Good morning and welcome” reaches your ears and you push yourself off the wall.  The frosted glass only allows you to see so much, but you can make out a few guys standing in the front area.  Two are taller and only wearing dark clothes, and the other is a bit shorter.  The latter is looking to be wearing a beanie, light colored top, and dark pants.

You can’t hear anyone talking other than Yoon, but suddenly the shorter one makes his way to your doors.  

It’s him.  You’re absolutely sure. 

Steeling your resolve, you pull your side open.  With a smile, you look straight at your client’s sunglasses-and-mask-clad face and greet him just like you would anyone else, “Good morning and welcome.  Am I speaking to Mr. Park?”

He stills for a second before he nods. 

“Nice to meet you.  We’ll be in Room 3.”

-

Jimin bows to you slightly and whispers a thank you, and you follow him to your room.  Your heart is rattling nonstop as you note the height difference between the two of you.  It isn’t as bad as you thought it was.  

The door to Room 3 is already open, and when Jimin enters you stop at the entrance.  

You lied earlier.  None of this feels real.  He’s physically in the room, and you still don’t think this is happening.

You let Jimin put his bag down on the corner chair before gliding into the formal greeting, “Since this is our first session, please let me know if there’s anything you need.  I did go over your forms, but if there was something that wasn’t specified, feel free to ask.  I want to make sure all of your needs are met today.” 

“Your name?” 

You falter. “What?”  Did he just... 

Jimin takes off his sunglasses, and you feel all oxygen leave your body.  He’s still wearing a mask, but you can see that his eyes are creased just a tad.  “It wasn’t specified on the forms.  Your name?” 

A part of you just chalks this up to being standard Jimin behavior, but the other part of you wonders if he really didn’t know whom he was getting a massage from.  Did Yoon not tell him?  Check-in is supposed to confirm your specialist. 

You also note that his voice is infinitely softer in person.  TV and recordings did not do this man justice.  

Keeping it professional is all you must do.  You tell him your name, apologizing for not introducing yourself already.  It’s also on your tablet, so you show him while you talk. 

Jimin leans forward to read it and smiles again. “Ah.  Pretty.” 

Are your five minutes up?  Can you pass away now?  He’s a mere six feet away from you but it feels like his presence is engulfing you. 

All that escapes you is a tiny thank you.  “So, mhm,” you clear your throat and yell at yourself to get it together, “Go ahead and undress down to your comfort level and lie down on the bed with the sheet on top of you.  That remote there is connected to my tablet, so just take it off the charger and bring it to the bed. You can press the green button whenever you’re ready.” 

Jimin looks towards the console table next to him and sees the white remote.  It’s docked in a sleek charging port and stands out against the light wood.  He nods, and you give him one last smile before reaching out and closing the door.

-

The only words your brain can process at the moment are not work appropriate, so you just go on autopilot to the employee lounge.  You expected Jay or even Yoon to be chomping at your heels as soon as you left Jimin by himself, but neither of them are around.  That was completely fine: employees aren’t allowed to divulge anything that goes on in client sessions unless it’s dangerous to either of you. 

You help yourself to a cup of water and down it before pouring another.  The fruit flavor for today is strawberry, and you watch the fruit and ice swirl around as you stir the big glass container.  There are pastries and assorted breakfast foods calling your name in the clear cabinet next to you, but you refuse.  Your adrenaline is hindering your appetite.  

People are still giving you daggers for stares, but after seeing Jimin in person you really can’t blame them.  Even when you couldn’t even see his face, you felt his presence.  His aura filled up that entire room and he only spoke around ten words.  It would be a lie to say that you aren’t intimidated.  You can already count the number of times you almost bolted out of the room on two hands.  But you made yourself proud: as long as you keep your outer actions calm, you can get through this.  Your voice was fairly level for someone whose heart was bouncing out of their ribcage.  In the end, you want to make him feel comfortable and safe.  Emotions cannot exist right now.

Self-deprecation comes into play as you wonder if this is a huge mistake and if Jimin is already out the door to find a better therapist.  

Oh, well.  At least he said your name was pretty. 

Your doubts are casted aside as your tablet dings.  

Jimin’s ready for you. 

-

When you enter the room, you can see that your client followed your instructions completely.  You glance at the corner chair and see that he even folded his clothes and set his jewelry neatly on the thin, long table.  Since Jimin can’t see you from his position, you allow a warm smile to grace your features.  

You close the door as softly as you can.  The way the room is designed, the clients lie down so that their head is opposite the doorway.  It takes you a few steps until you reach the head of the bed.  You gingerly take the remote from where Jimin placed it next to his neck and turn around to redock it, and start to dim the lights with your tablet.  Per standard, you ask, “Mr. Park, is this okay, or would you like the lights lower?” 

His voice is projecting straight towards the floor, but it still sounds so light, “This is good, but please, call me Jimin.”  

That’s definitely not what you expected, but you are touched.  You nod before realizing that he still can’t see you.  “Do you have a music preference for today?”

“Whatever you prefer is fine.”  

Jimin is being so agreeable that your nerves start to dissipate.  You were expecting him to at least be a little particular at some things, but he is being really easy to work with.  The atmosphere starts to feel safe enough for you to joke, “Well, it does depend on my mood, so for now I’ll play Standard Spa Chord Progression, No. 5 instead of No. 3.” 

The small chuckle you hear melts your heart.  “Ah, is that the one with the harp?” 

“No, that’s Spa Concerto, No. 4. We don’t have that one in our library, but I think it’s terrible anyways.” 

Jimin’s head lifts from the table in an earnest laugh, and you can’t help but laugh with him.  It’s infectious.  

You select a random song on your tablet, and you weren’t lying when you said it was standard.  The song is less of a song and more like a bunch of reverberating chords in slow succession.  That’s one thing you noticed about this place: modern tech but very outdated music.  Get with the times!  At least have some nice piano covers to choose from. 

“Not having Spa Concerto, No. 4 may be a deal-breaker for me,” Jimin comments, a hint of a smile in his voice.  

You’re still tapping on your tablet to get to his file, and you make your way back to the door.  There’s a clear slot on each room’s door to hold employee tablets, and as soon as you store yours, you can finally start.  “I don’t blame you, even though I think it’s awful, that one still topped the char--Oh, shit!”   

You aren’t watching where you’re going, so you don’t see the shoes in your path.  It’s so dim in the room and his shoes match the floor color but none of that matters because right now you are falling and you are falling fast.  Your first instinct is to grab the table, but that would risk pulling the blanket off of Jimin and you would rather die than do that to him. 

So, floor it is.

Your hand not holding the tablet breaks some of the fall, but your face definitely makes contact with the ground.  You can feel the slight burn on your nose and hand, and a sharp lingering pain follows.  

Okay, now can you pass away.  Someone from the heavens can come claim you now.    

Drowning in shame, you don’t help yourself off the floor right away.  Not only were you breaking your rule and joking around, you also weren’t paying attention and now possibly ruined Park Jimin’s shoes.  

You’ll look up good resigning practices later tonight.  You have enough money saved up to make it a couple months without a job, you reckon.  

When you finally lift yourself off the floor, you turn around and see Jimin pushed up on the table.  His whole upper body is bare and twisted towards you, and this is the first time you see his entire face.  It’s more beautiful in person, you conclude, even though it conveys nothing but concern right now.  “Are you okay?” 

You nod furiously and stand up completely. Your voice is shaky as you apologize, “I am so sorry.  One moment.” Before checking yourself, you check your personal tablet.  To say it was worth more than you isn’t that far of a reach.  No scratches, though. Praise be.

“Don’t apologize… Did you trip on my shoes?”

Embarrassment washes over you as you nod, not looking at Jimin.  Placing your tablet gingerly on the console table, you dust your uniform down and inspect your hands and feel your nose.  Luckily, there’s no blood, only slight rug burns.  If there was blood, you would have to postpone the appointment until you effectively sanitized.  With what you have, you just need to go wash up.  

Jimin is still watching you intently, which makes your face burn even more.  What a mess.  He’s probably second-guessing this whole thing.  

You bow, feeling tears at the corners of your eyes.  “Mr. Park, I am so sorry.” 

“Jimin.” 

“I’ll just need to clean my hands and then I promise we will start as soon as I get back.  I know your time is valuable so I’ll make up for the minutes we lost.” 

“I… Okay.  Thank you.” 

You make your way out of the room, still courteous enough to shut the door quietly.  Rushing to the nearest sink, a small sob leaves your throat as you wring your hands under the water.  Life is kind to you at this moment because no one is around.  You would never live it down if someone saw you coming out of Jimin’s room crying.  

After splashing water on your face and drying it, you take out a cotton pad from one of the glass containers on the counter.  You press it onto your eyes, decreasing the evidence of your current state.  

So much for making Jimin feel safe and comfortable.  You’ve only made it awkward.   

-

With a deep breath, you enter the room.  

Jimin turns his head and puts it in the crook of his arm to look back at you.  “Are you sure you’re okay?  I’m sorry I couldn’t help you…”  

You go over to his shoes and move them under the chair, wincing when you see visible tears on them.  Guess you’re withdrawing a chunk of your savings to pay Park Jimin for damages.  

“I assure you, I’m fine,” you state firmly, but soften, “But I’m really sorry about the shoes; I may have torn them.  I can pay you back.” 

You hear sheets shuffling, and when you face him, Jimin’s fully on one elbow and turned towards you.  “No, please, don’t worry about those.  I should’ve put them out of the way.  I feel bad.”   

“It’s definitely my fault,” you countered, “You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

Jimin uses your name, which stops you in your tracks.  “Everything’s okay, I promise.”

You should feel many different things, like pride in getting to see this man in person, or happiness from him actually addressing you by name.  But all you can think about in this moment is how disappointing you’ve been to another human being, and you sigh.  

You nod, but still plan to pay him back.  You know enough about designer brands to know those aren’t cheap, and they’re shoes you’ve seen him wearing a lot in photos.  

“It’s okay to lie back down,” you say softly, unmoving.  

Jimin searches your face one more time before settling back face-down on the table.  

It’s a normal day at work, you tell yourself.  Go through your routine.  

Launching yourself into action, you move to the far end of the console table.  Grabbing a bottle you’ve clutched so many times before that its label is wearing down, you uncap it and oil your hands and wrists.  You also unstopper a bottle of lavender oil and pour a few drops into the nearby bamboo diffuser and start it.  

You make your way to the head of the table and grab a rolling stool from a corner of the room.  The wheels on your chair don’t make any noise, which you fixed up yourself.  This day isn’t any different - it’s still silently gliding on the carpet.  Plopping your devastated self onto the cushion, you scoot towards Jimin’s head.  You’re about to place your hands onto his bare shoulders to start, but you whisper,

“It’s also okay if you want to cancel and reschedule with someone else, Mister--Um, Jimin.” 

You can’t believe you just gave Park Jimin a way out of a whole 60 minutes with you.  Where did this conviction and restraint come from?  Is this going to be the regret of your entire lifetime? 

After a long silence, Jimin answers with his face in the headrest, “If you call me Mister Jimin again, then I will.”

You huff out a laugh at his unexpected answer, and your shoulders finally relax.  It seems like he’s still fine after everything that’s happened, and you thank any deity you can think of for this second chance.  

-

Light to medium pressure.  Avoid anything above light pressure around the spinal area and lower back.  Shoulders, calves, and feet are pain points.  Facial area priority. 

You aren’t a fan of light pressure, but you understand why people prefer it.  Not everyone can handle the deep tissue or harder pressure massages. 

Jimin’s shoulders are incredibly tense, though, so you feel bad that you’re limited in what you can do.  You allow some medium pressure to the worst spots, and when you approach the insides of his shoulder blades you lessen the intensity.  

Gliding your fingers back to the ridge between his neck and shoulders, you feel that his right is still tight.  You use your left elbow to work that knot, careful to press even lighter than you would with your hands. 

Jimin grunts, and you still. “Is that too much?”

“No, I like that.”

You keep that in mind as your hands travel over the rest of his upper back area.  From time to time, you reapply the oil to allow for less friction.  It lets your fingers slide deftly across muscles and quickly work any troublesome areas, which Jimin has a lot of.

It makes sense: you can’t even imagine the amount of pressure all of the boys were constantly dealing with.  There was a lull in their activity recently, so you knew something was in the works.  Between recording songs, shooting music videos, fulfilling their brand contracts, and whatever else they do, you’re surprised you don’t feel more knots under Jimin’s skin. 

The soft chords of the next song float around the room, and you lose yourself in your movements.  You can’t see his face, which makes it a lot easier.  You worked through his whole upper body, neck, and upper arms area so naturally that you were admiring his wrist tattoo before remembering who you were massaging.    

For the seven hundredth time that day, you cannot believe this is happening.  You really hope Jimin does feel safe here despite your whirlwind of thoughts.  Have you kept it professional enough?  Neutral enough?  He seemed to be fine with your joking earlier, and he didn’t seem upset about the shoes in the least.  

But still… Maybe he was just tolerating you because it’s the same situation for him, different place and day.  Putting yourself in his shoes, you would feel pity for you trying your best to accommodate him.  The pressure over everyone everywhere you go had to be exhausting.  It couldn’t ever be normal.  

Your shoulders suddenly slump under the weight of what you feel for him.  

And Jimin seems to notice.  “Really, it’s okay about the shoes.  Those were getting pretty worn anyways.” 

You still.  Of course he thought you were still fussing over the shoes and not over his life.  His unending consideration was like a burning hearth: it made you feel so warm.

“Okay,” you respond softly, “I understand.” 

“Good.  If you worry about them again, I’m walking out barefoot,” Jimin says sternly, even though you know he’s kidding.  “And don’t test me, I’ve done it before.” 

Your words leave you before you think.  “I don’t believe you.” 

“Oh?” 

Jimin puts his hands on the table and you yelp, “Okay, okay, stop!” 

He laughs and plops his arms back down flat.  You lament as you still can see how his muscles bulge in your mind.  

You shake your head and sigh before rolling to his left and softly taking his arm.  His skin is so soft you don’t even need the oil, you notice.  You work his forearm before moving down to his wrist and fingers.  Thinking about Jimin’s threat, you are pretty curious.  “Be honest: did that really happen?” 

“It didn’t,” he responds immediately, “But I thought about it once.  My shoes were killing my feet so I thought about walking without them until I found a shoe store.” 

It sounds so childish to you that you chuckle.  “Where was this,” you ask, completely intrigued now.

“Ah, I honestly can’t remember.  I think somewhere in Europe.”

“...Did you just pick an entire continent because you couldn’t remember?”

“...There’s seven continents and one of them is Antarctica!  Picking one out of six is easy.”

This man is something else. You finally finish off his right side, and you gingerly set his arm down on the table.  With a mental pat on the back, you get ready for the next part of the routine.  In your softest therapist voice, you instruct, “Okay, go ahead and turn over and slide down until your head is on the table.”

Jimin obeys right away, shifting over and moving down.  The white sheet slips down his body a bit, and you diligently pull it up until it’s covering everything up to his neck.  During this, you feel rather than see his eyes on you, so you don’t dare yourself to look. 

You go back to your plethora of containers to re-oil, and roll your chair to the foot of the table. All that time, Jimin thankfully has his eyes closed. 

You were equal parts dreading and looking forward to this part of the massage since his face was going to be visible.  This way, you can’t escape the reality of the situation.  

But you decided to follow the flow of the conversation.  You learned the subtle nuances of human communication throughout your experiences: when people wanted to talk or stay quiet, if they were liking the conversation or not, etc. Jimin seems to be fine with talking despite your assumption that he was going to be quiet for the most part.  It has definitely made this easier for you, though. 

“I want to visit all seven continents one day,” you decide to admit. 

“I do, too,” Jimin responds, eyes still closed. “How many do you have left?”

You start on his feet, working along the smooth skin. 

“Uhh, well,” you whisper, “A good chunk. I’ve only been here and back where I’m from, and I just moved here around a year ago.”

After you tell Jimin where you were before, he sounds amazed, “You seem like you’ve lived here for so long. I wouldn’t have guessed.”

He’s definitely being nice.  You are just now getting decent at the language and customs, but there is still a lot you have to learn.

“But, I do want to start traveling again for a specific reason,” you divulge, sighing to yourself as you think yet again about your lofty dreams.

“Which reason is that,” Jimin asks, and you somehow know his eyes are open now. 

Your own eyes betray you as you connect your gaze with his. “I want to experience different techniques in person.” You don’t know he can feel the fire behind your eyes. “There’s no better teacher than experience, at least to me. I know I’m good at what I do currently, but there’s so much out there that I want to learn and get better at.”

You debate whether to keep going or not.  Jimin’s eyes are alight with curiosity, so you take that as your cue. It’s surreal that you get to talk about your dream with him of all people, so you strive to make it count. “Take music, for example: everyone agrees that music is healing, therapeutic.  But, there’s so many genres, so many ways to create it.  I see massage as the same way: therapeutic, but many different ways to make people feel better.” 

Jimin is silent as he tears his gaze from you to look at the ceiling. You concentrate on his ankles, working them as delicately but effectively as you can.  A part of you wants to keep talking, but you don’t want to push it. You may have said too much as it is.

The next song has soft chimes to accompany the rippling chords.  Lavender wafts through the air and quells your nerves.  You continue to Jimin’s lower legs and glide your fingers along the flow of his muscles.  When you feel a break or disturbance, you stop and tend to it until you feel it’s balanced.  After his lower legs are done, you move on to his thighs.  You feel tightness all over, and you apply medium pressure to these areas because of how much muscle they contain.  

Jimin’s legs are a work of art on the outside, but so chaotic on the inside.  The chakra highways are disjointed, and you have worked through so many kinks in the roads.  If you imagine yourself as someone walking down a path, you are stopping every 10 steps to smooth over a pothole or breakdown a hill in the way.  You can’t see how this person can even walk, let alone perform on stage like this.  All of them never cease to amaze you.   

“Where would you start?”

Jimin’s sudden inquiry throws you.  You swear he was silent for a good ten minutes.  “What?” 

His eyes are glued to the ceiling still.  “Which places do you want to visit?  Like, where would you go to learn?” 

“Well…”  You are almost too stunned to speak.  He has been thinking about what you said this whole time?  Aren’t there plenty of more important things he needs to be thinking about right now?  “There’s this technique called amma that originates in Japan, and there’s an American technique called esalen that I want to learn, too.  I think that one is from California.”  

On a high from Park Jimin’s interest in your life, you ramble about a few more, your voice getting more animated the more you talk about different things.  It can’t be helped; you’ve been passionate about traveling and learning for so long.  You’ve just never been able to really try it since money was part of the equation.  Or more so out of the equation.  In addition, you didn’t really get to talk about it with anybody.  No one’s actually asked.  But somehow, Jimin did.  

When you realize you actually stopped massaging his thigh, you look up in horror to apologize, “Oh, I am so sorry - I didn’t mean to stop.” 

Jimin’s head is turned to the side, his hair falling into his eyes.  The smile gracing his face is soft.  “It’s okay,” he assures you, “I feel much better already anyways.” 

Your cheeks flush before he even stops talking.  “That’s good,” you whisper, “We’re almost done so I would hope so.” 

“What!” Jimin’s eyes dart to the clock on the table.  It’s already 8:50am.   

That saddens you a lot more than it should. 

“On second thought: I feel tense in my hand, I think you need to go back and redo it.  Here.”  He’s extending his right hand towards you as if to shake hands, and you laugh.  

“Nice try, Jimin,” you say, “But I do need to work on your face for the last part.  Close your eyes for me, please.” 

He stares at you for a second before obeying.  The smile from earlier makes a return.  

You roll your chair back to the head of the bed and plop down.  Jimin’s face is angelic even upside-down, and you pray to the heavens that you massage it perfectly.  

When you start, you quip, “See?  You’re so happy we’re almost done.” 

“No, no!” Jimin laughs.  “That’s not it.  You just called me Jimin - it was nice.”  

“Oh.”  You swear steam is billowing from your head.  How can he affect you so intensely?  And how were you keeping yourself together?  

With the resolve of a thousand emperors, maybe including one you probably did save in a past life, you steady your hands on his temples.  Rubbing in delicate circles, you start the last segment.  

Face massages are your favorite.  Even the smallest movements are invigorating, and you feel very refreshed after one.      

“When I come back, Spa Concerto, No. 4 better be available.” 

You smile.  There’s no way Jimin will be back, but you appreciate his friendly nature.  

“It’s not even all that great, but I’ll let them know,” you play along. “I’m more of a piano person, though. There’s a lot of piano covers saved in my phone that are way better.” 

Jimin’s eyes flash open at the same time he proclaims, “Ah, I love piano covers!  Especially on rainy days.”

“Mm,” you hum in agreement, “I can listen to those all the time.”

Your heart drops like a stone as you glance at the clock and see your time is up.  The hour absolutely flew by.  Dropping your eyes back onto Jimin’s face, you take your hands off his cheeks and say, “Okay, that’s the end of our session today.” You get up to dry your hands and lower arms with a cloth while going over the last steps, “I’ll leave you to get dressed, and I’ll come back to the room to give you water and some stretch and wellness recommendations moving forward. Just press the green button on the remote when you’re ready, like last time.”

When you turn back to him, Jimin’s fully propped up with his hands behind him. The blanket over him is draped across his body, just enough to cover his ribs.  He’s smiling right at you as he speaks, “Thank you.  You’re really good.” 

You bow in thanks, face lighting up like wildfire. “You were great, too,” you comment in return, immediately cringing inside. “I’ll be back when you’re ready for me.”

-

Right after you leave clients is when you start filling out their evaluation and wellness recommendations on your tablet.  You just worked on them, so the memories are fresh.  The forms are a mix of multiple choice and fill-in, and you recommend some specific stretches and deeper pressure for Jimin. 

This time, Jay is in the employee lounge when you come in to wait.  His legs uncross and he pops up from one of the modern loveseats that are just as firm as they look.  “She’s alive!” 

You roll your eyes but can’t hide the flush in your cheeks.  “I’m here, but barely,” you chuckle, your tablet dangling in your hand by your side, “I still can’t believe that actually happened.”

Jay leans in so that no one can hear what he has to say, which makes you suspicious since there’s no one around you.  In a low voice, he reveals, “Yoon and I made a bet.” 

“Wonderful,” you drawl, “I’m gonna walk away now.”  You can already tell this is one-hundred percent not in your favor.

“No, wait!” His whisper is loud. He bounces after you to the water and food station. While you fix yourself a cup, he continues, “Yoon thinks you’ll get done with the appointment unscathed, but I think you’ll come out of it with a problem.” 

Jay’s words remind you like alarm bells.  

You need to pay Jimin for damages.  

“Oh, shit, I need to get something,” you say in a rush, grabbing your tablet off the food station and scurrying to the locker room.  In the wellness center, the employee lounge is in the back, and the locker room is in the back of the lounge.  You think you still have time before Jimin is ready. 

There’s a notebook you keep in your bag along with a pencil case.  Tearing a sheet from the notebook, you write down what you think is a good estimate for the shoes.  Before you write anything else, you pause.  

You only skimmed through the confidentiality prompts, but you do remember a section about personal information.  Therapists aren’t allowed to give out their personal information unless specifically asked, and there has to be solid intent behind the client asking.  Jimin didn’t need to ask you for yours; he just said not to worry about it. 

After a good thirty seconds of your pen lingering above the paper, your tablet chimes.  

A split second decision has you crumpling the paper and chucking it in your bag.  You tear out a new sheet and tuck it with the pen under your tablet as you head back to Room 3.

-

You get to the room with a paper cup of water you grabbed on the way, and since you have things in both hands it’s a bit difficult getting the door open.  You try the handle but it only jiggles a bit.  One more try has you pushing the door right as the handle gives, and it works.

Jimin goes to you immediately when he sees your hands full, and you almost reel back from having him so close.  Which should be odd, since you were literally just with him for a full hour, and he was not fully clothed.  In the end, his presence alone is enough to affect you no matter the situation. 

You extend the cup to him and he grabs it with a small thank you.  

“I filled out your evaluation and it should be printed at the front already.  Make sure to drink more water after you leave,” you say with a smile, your chest heavy.  This was most likely the last interaction you would ever have with him. 

Jimin nods, his mask covering his smile but not his eyes.  He doesn’t say anything more. 

You almost leave it at that, but something in you doesn’t want this moment to end, so you take your chance. “And, umm,” you stutter as you fumble with the pen and paper.  You just lay your tablet on the massage table to free your hand, and click the pen open.  “How much should I pay you,” you ask, your gaze ironically on the very shoes you tripped over earlier. 

Jimin sets his cup down on the console table before taking the paper and pen from your hands.  You watch him write something - a price in Won most likely - as you explain, “I’m a big believer of making things right, so please let me pay for your shoes.  I should’ve seen them on the ground.”

He folds the paper and hands it back to you with the pen.  “If you insist.  But don’t check this until you get home.” 

“What, why?”  Your eyes dart to his face. 

Jimin stares at you before responding, “Nothing bad. It just might shock you.” 

Immediately, your gaze lowers.  If you tell anyone how your day went today, you would think they were weird if they believed you. If you tell anyone why you’re suddenly broke come this Wednesday, they would be lying if they just went with it.  “Okay, I won’t,” you assure him, and you’re telling the truth.  You are equal parts surprised and nervous that he’s allowing you to pay him back. 

With a deep breath, you give Jimin your best soft smile.  Your heart is hurting as you send him off, “Well, it was a pleasure.  Have a great rest of your day, Jimin.  Until next time.”  You catch yourself in a sea of emotion as your words die on your tongue.  The boys have schedules on schedules, so the likelihood of him stepping foot inside this wellness center again is minuscule at best.    

If anything, you’re grateful that you get to address him by name, and you succeeded in making this as smooth and safe as possible for him.  At the expense of a scraped nose and hand, but rather you than him.  

Jimin hoists his bag on his shoulder, the water cup you gave him already in the trash bin.  He walks right up to you and stands there, and you swear both of you can hear your heart beating.  One of his hands comes up to his masked face, and he speaks softly as he advises, “Ointment will help your nose if it still hurts.” 

Warmth blooms in your chest and cascades all the way to your fingertips.  Mirroring him, you bring a hand up to your nose and nod.  Your words tumble out, “Oh, yes, you’re right.  I can check if we have any in the back.”  

Satisfied, Jimin nods.  “Until next time,” he offers, his eyes creased and warm. 

You smile again and bow slightly.  He puts on his shades before heading out the door frame and into the hall, and you feel emptiness in his wake.  The world is fuzzy around your vision and you are trying so hard to commit everything that just happened to memory.  

Until the doors to front reception close, you watch Jimin’s retreating back.  When the frosted doors close shut, you close your own door to Room 3 and lean against the wooden frame.  The scrap of paper is creased in your hand as you clutch it to your hammering chest.  

“Holy shit,” you whisper to yourself.  It takes a good minute for you to compose yourself before pushing off the door and getting the room stripped and ready for the next session.  The whole time, you replay everything in your head.  

Jimin was just as nice as you have seen him through the lens of cameras.  If that was the case, all of them had to be the same way.  You are proud to like these wonderful people.  

You’re so happy you got to actually spend all this time with him, but that just magnifies the sadness you feel when it’s over. 

-

The room is done and cleaned up, and you go through the rest of the day on autopilot.  Not even Jay’s constant teasing could free you from your euphoria-numbed state.  The only thing that throws you back into focus is Yoon, and it happens at the very end of the work day.  

You push open the doors to front reception, and smile big at your friend behind the counter.  She’s beaming right back at you, and she puts her chin in her hand and shakes her head. 

“That must’ve been one hell of a message,” she says through a barely contained smile.  

Your hand flies to your forehead and you nod.  “I can’t believe that happened, Yoon.  I mean, it was really him.  Opportunity of a lifetime… I just hope he enjoyed the whole thing.” 

“You could say that,” she chuckles, “Enough to book you again, at least.” 

What?

“He did?” Your breath leaves you in a rush.  “If you’re joking with me, I’ll--” 

“--He did.  It’s not for a long time, but he asked for you specifically.”  Yoon gathers papers in her hand and starts to organize them in the containers behind her.  “You really piss me off, you know that?” 

“Love you, too,” you whisper, your head completely above the clouds.  You grab your phone and start checking your schedule from the wellness center app you have installed.  Grabbing the door handle, you absentmindedly wave back to Yoon and call out, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”  

The sun emits a golden glow at this hour, and the glass buildings along the street bask in its shine.  You head towards your bus stop while skimming your calendar for Jimin’s next appointment, but you’re already four months out and see nothing.  Not losing hope, you keep going and see a booking six months in advance.  Your heartbeat skips as you click on the appointment, and almost skids to a halt when you see his name written down.

-

As soon as you enter your small apartment, you head straight to your bed and drop your bag on the comforter.  Your whole body bounces as you plop yourself down next, and you stare straight at the ceiling.  

Your life is still normal, right?  Sure, you were able to spend an entire hour with Park Jimin, but that didn’t mean you aren’t still completely and utterly average.  

You close your eyes and go back to Room 3.  The scent of lavender fills your nostrils and you can still see his number tattoo as plain as day as you massage his wrist.  

In all honesty, it still feels like a fever dream.  That was someone else’s life you were able to live, someone else there with Jimin and you just decided to hitch along for the ride.  

But that was real, and so is the amount of money you still need to withdraw from your bank account.  

With a sigh, you reach into your bag and take out the piece of paper.  You were dreading this moment all day since he left.  Unfolding it, you prepare for the worst. 

But all you can do is stare.  

Jimin didn’t write down a price at all. 

Your name is at the top, and the rest is as follows:

Save your money for traveling and learning new things, not on me. I can’t wait to see what you’ve learned when we meet again.

-

-

a/n: thank you for reading! if you guys have any comments or feedback, please feel free to let me know!

[spasmsofthought]

flashes. (dick grayson x reader)

I’m not really well-versed in DC, at all, but I wanted to give this a shot. let me know what you think! It’s a bit of a mess, so please take this with a grain of salt and some grace. sorry if he feels ooc; I tried my best but I am by no means an expert or even an amateur. please be kind. idk if i’ll write anymore for him, but i wanted to try. it might be trash but it’s out there now xo

-- 

It’s not like Gotham is known for being a walk in the park. The city is all alleys in the middle of the night, dark vapors rising from sewers, and secrets in the shadows. At least, in your experience. 

There were no gated communities or fences to keep the darkness out in the apartment complex you lived in with your family. Only survival and common sense keeps you returning to your bed and food on the table.

So, when your younger (genius) brother is offered a scholarship to Gotham Academy on what feels like a whim, the world shifts. 

When your mother still works, though, it means you are the de-facto adult during the day. Your job keeps your busy in the mornings, hers during the afternoon and night. You’re just getting into learning what it’s like to handle a job and bills of your own, even though you’re still living with your family (part of it is to save money, part of it is because you just don’t want to leave). Your family is the only real home you have ever known. Why leave to only find inadequate housing where you have to worry about your safety and theirs separately?

So, like every month, you swap out of your work clothes, put on your newest (at least 2 years old) pair of jeans on, the only blouse you own that hasn’t faded or stretched or shrunk from countless wash cycles, and grab the bag you’ve stored in its own special place in the cabinet by your family’s loud, old, run-down fridge. 

You chance a ride on the bus, hopeful for no public catastrophes today. You listen to your small, but loved, playlist through the one earbud that works during the ride and you almost want to leap with joy when you step back down on concrete like this is what it is like everyday.

The architecture is a thing to behold. There is no wonder why this is acclaimed as the most prestigious private school in Gotham. Light is everywhere, and it’s like the outside world doesn’t exist. Every month you step on this campus it’s like you’ve never seen it before.

The grounds are meticulously groomed, everything in lines and straight edges. Concrete and nineteenth century buildings both cast heavy, sharp shadows in the late afternoon sun. There are some students lingering about, all grouped up and chattering in their similar uniforms. Compared to public art, haphazard graffiti, and buildings of all shapes and sizes, this place feels foreign. Different. It makes you feel strange and unwelcome; like entering a different world altogether. 

When you enter the pristine, elegant office, the entrance door propped open, there’s two figures you immediately spot: the secretary and the man standing in front of her. Your brother is yet to be found. He’s running late again. 

“Hi, hun, take a seat,” Grace’s sweet voice soothes from her position behind the desk. “He should be here any minute.” The man standing in front and a little to the right of her glances behind for second, casually swiping a look at you, before he turns forward again. 

“Thanks, Grace,” You exhale as you sit down. 

The chairs are nice, soft fabric and cushioned, but small. You so desire to bring up a leg to draw close to you, but it’s impossible without making yourself a human pretzel. And you don’t want to dirty it with your less than perfect shoes so, instead, you chose to bring the bag onto your lap and you pick at your cuticles, resisting to bring your nail to your mouth and chew on it anxiously. 

There’s never been anyone else in here when you’ve come before. Grace can make polite chatter, but then she leaves you in relative silence. It makes you feel anonymous. The man uttering sweet words to the secretary and then glancing at you again before sitting down next to you does not. You stop fidgeting with your hands and intertwine them together instead. 

A flash of the ceiling’s fluorescent lighting on glass against your eyes is what you first get a taste of, then all polish and silver, or something like it, cradling a wrist. The watch looks heavy, expensive. It looks like it could buy your family a newer, safer, apartment in a suburbia far away from here. 

“Hey,” Smooth as honey it drips out, and you are drawn to blue eyes and ebony hair. There’s a softness to his face and his eyes are warm. It would only take an hour, you think before you stop the thought from going any further. An hour to do what? You’re not sure, but the list expands the longer you take him in.

The first thing you ever learned on the streets when you walked by yourself to work was how to be aware, vigilant; on guard. Men were unpredictable creatures who were driven by greed or lust or power, and any of the good ones were swooped up and carried away to better things or dead before any second glances could take place. Or carrying on just fine behind their high fences and impenetrable walls. Just because this one introduces himself first does not mean he has proven otherwise. 

“Hi,” is all you can offer, a quirk of lips to his gesture of kindness.

You glance towards to door before your eyes make their way back to him. The gesture doesn’t offend him. There’s a familiarity to his face, but you decide to not spend time right now trying to figure it out. It already only tells you one thing: this guy is way out of your league. 

Grace gets up from her seat, rounds her desk, and makes her way out of the office, leaving you two alone. You watch her the entire time. 

“You waiting for someone?” 

“Yeah,” You nod even as the word comes out, “My brother.” 

He leans back like he’s got all the time in the world, and there’s a perusal that makes you taste butterflies and gulp down caution at the same time. You wonder if he saw the scuff marks and stains on your worn-out sneakers, or if he notices that you still haven’t had the chance to wash your three-day old hair and that’s why it’s up and back, and that your blouse is definitely from the clearance rack at Goodwill.

“Your favorite one?” 

Out of self-preservation, you try to hide the reaction to the humor you feel, “My only one.”

“I think that’s the same thing.” You almost want to roll your eyes. But there’s a genuineness in his conversation, like he means the words he’s saying to you. Like this isn’t a game. 

“Sure,” You shrug, “You’re allowed to be wrong.” 

“My name’s Richard.” It’s old-fashioned. It’s something you don’t really hear rolled off of tongues in your neck of the woods, that’s for sure. A hand comes out and rests halfway between you and him, and it’s one of the most graceful things you’ve ever witnessed in your entire life. 

“It’s nice to meet you.” You smile. Your hands stay clasped in your lap. 

“You gotta earn a handshake from my sister,” A voice pops up from the open door way. You swing your head around and watch for a moment as your brother makes his way towards you.

“Hi, J,” Your stand, open your arms wide, bag moved from your lap into one of your hands. His solid presence allows a brief hug before he steps back again. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude--” 

The man sitting next to you has chosen to rise as well and you’re closer than you thought you would be when you turn back to him. You notice now that your height means your eyes literally meet his lips straight on. There’s a curve of a smirk there for a flash of a second before it straightens back out into the smile you saw at first. The rest of your sentence is forgotten. He takes one, two, three steps back.

“You got them all?” The question saves you. Your brother pulls you back to him as you hand him the brown plastic bag. In it? His favorite snacks from the liquor store on the corner (the nearly sold-out, hard-to-come-by ones). 

“Every last one,” Your hands come to his cheeks, turning his face to each side.

You have to reach up now and it strikes you just how much he’s grown even in the past month. You both spend much of your time on the phone with one another. These monthly meetings set-up frequently enough for deliveries and some quick face-to-face time and seldom enough to avoid embarrassment (that’s what he says anyway). 

He brings the chip bag out and holds it up, “You even got these.” 

“Geraldo got them special order just for you.” 

“Tell the old man I said thanks,” He smiles like he’s seven again, spoiled and self-indulgent. “Richard” is still standing behind you and to the side, silent. You can feel his eyes flipping back and forth between the two of you. 

“Of course,” Your hands smooth over his shoulders and brush away imaginary dust. “Mom sends her love and says she’ll try and call you on her lunch in a few hours.” 

“Yeah, I know. I’ll make sure I answer.” 

“Thank you.” You exhale an affectionate sigh. 

Avoidant loner that your brother can be, there’s a reason you both want him here. He’ll be able to do the things you only dreamed of when you were his age. And one day, hopefully, you’ll all be out of this hellhole, onto better things. 

“I gotta go, but thanks for these. Even though you should be saving every penny,” He chides, holding up a finger like his words are somehow a threat. 

“Okay,” You chortle like you wouldn’t give everything up for your brother in a heartbeat. There’s another quick hug before he’s looking back at the man behind you, who is still standing there like some sort of stealth ninja. 

“Like I said man,” He nods and there’s something in his face that changes as he looks at “Richard”, “You gotta earn it.” 

It’s with those parting words that he begins to walk out. You stay stock still for a second before you leap after him, “I wanna hear all about what happened last week with Cara tomorrow on the phone!” 

Your brother, a mile away already on longs legs, shouts something indistinguishable back at you from down the hallway, his figure turning a corner.  

“Who’s Cara?” The voice brings your back to reality. 

You sweep your palms against your jeans and turn back to face the man with a three-piece suit and a watch that probably costs more than 20 years of your salary. Oh God. 

“This girl my brother asked out the other week. I bribed him with some of his favorites so he would tell me what went down.” You shrug your shoulders, not worried about spilling the tea about your brother’s romantic life. 

“Does he know that?” His arms seem to relax a little more and you think you could stare at him all day. 

“Eh,” You say, creeping back towards the open door. Your small crossbody bag is already on you and there’s no reason to sit back down. Richard follows you as you, apparently, both start to make your exit from the office. Nothing about it feels unnatural. “Sometimes you got to persuade instead of demand.” 

“Ha,” There seems to be something you are missing based on the way his mouth curves and his eyes spark, “That’s the truest thing I’ve heard in a long time.” 

“You’re welcome. That’s the only one that comes for free!” Your arms swing back and forth. “Anything else is gonna cost you.” 

The hallways usually feel like a labyrinth here, but you don’t feel lost this time. 

“What forms of payment do you accept?” You pretend to be thinking, but really you’re just glancing between the different features of his face. You’re not sure you’ve ever met someone like him. You’re not sure you ever will again.  

“The bank’s closed right now, actually,” The wariness is back. This guy walks like he’s used to treading on perfectly paved gold streets in his shoes. All you’ve ever known is cracked cement and rusted pipes that burst underground. “But I think it’ll be back up and running soon.” 

He doesn’t falter and there’s no anger or hurt in his expression at the metaphorical rejection. Instead, it looks something like silent patience. Maybe even acceptance. This guy could totally not be interested and you could just be being (too) ambitious. The door to the open courtyard, and your way home, is already before you both. 

“It was nice meeting you Richard,” You say as you begin to take steps forward. Your hands nervously hold the strap across your torso. You take a few more steps before his words turn your head back to him. 

“You can call me Dick,” He says with ease. The tone makes you feel like he’s speaking a language you don’t really understand. His blue eyes seem like they’re on fire; a contradiction, you know. There’s something about him that almost makes you catch your breath. You’ve never been been winded by just looking before. 

“Maybe I’ll see you around.” You offer, hands squeezing your bag strap. 

“I look forward to earning that handshake next time!” He calls out when you’re several feet away. 

I think you’ll earn a lot more than that, you almost say, but refrain. 

Instead, you wave back to him once before making your way out of the courtyard, caught between staring at your shoes and looking ahead to make sure you’re going to right way. You smile and daydream the entire bus ride home. Blue becomes your favorite color.