#ive worked every fucking day except thursday this week

[chososcamgirl]

HIHIHI SIGMA ALPHA IYA‼️🤗 SOOO ERMM SORRY FOR DISAPPEARING FOR TWO DAYS… I HAVE A LOT OF TESTS THIS WEEK SO I GOT RLLY BUSY 😢😢 I HOPE YR HAVING A VERY SIGMA DAY 🔥🔥 IM GONNA TRY AND MAKE THIS CHECKUP RLLY FIRE TO MAKE UP FOR THE PAST TWO DAYSS

ITS OKAY POOPIE I COULD NEVER BE MAD AT U 🤗💗‼️ WERE BOTH IN THIS TG.. we are A PACK… I HOPE YOUVE BEEN TAKING GOOD BREAKS THO‼️ BEING BUSY IS SO DRAINING SO MAKE SURE TO GET LOADS OF REST TOOO 🐺🙏💪

OKOK SOOO I GOT MY TEST RESULT BACK AND I ACTUALLY KINDA COOKED⁉️⁉️ I CANT BELIEVE I DIDNT FAIL 😭😭 GLAD THO CUS THAT MEANS MY GRADES ARE STILL UP 🆙��💪 IM TRYING TO WORK ON A SLEEP SCHED BUT ITS SO HARDD 😢 BUT I HOPE YOUVE GOTTEN MORE SLEEP + STOPPED ACHING

ORNENRNDNF I HAVE PLANS TO DRIVE TO THE MALL WITH SOME FRIENDS AND IM SO EXCITED SINCE ITS BEEN A WHILE SINCE I WENT TO A MALL (had to restrict myself because of my HORRIBLE spending habits.. 😪😪) IM SO HAPPY WHBEBENEJEEN 💪🐺‼️🔥🤗🤗

ITS ALMOSY SJAP WEEKEND… IM SO PUMPED… KINDA SCARED THESE CHAPTERS R GONNA CRUSH ME… IYA IF WE HOOKED UP WITH SUKUNA.. 😡 HE ENEBSBENEBDB WERE GETTING INNNN THE PLOTTT IM SO EXCITEDD FOR THIS SJAP WEEKENDSDD 💪🤗🔥

THESE PAST TWO DAYS WERE NOT SKIBIDI IM LIKE BARLEY MAKING IT THRU BUT HOPEFULLY TMRW WILL BE SIGMA SINCE I HAVE PLANS WITH FRIENDS‼️🤗 I ACIDENTALLY FELL ASLEEP IN A CLASS AND MY TEACHER TOLD MY MOM WHICH RESULTED ME GETRING MY GYATT BEATEN 😢😢 I NEED TO MAKE SURE IM LOCKED IN FOR REAL REAL NOW CUS MY TEACHER IS OUT HERE TO GETTTTTT MY ASSSSS 😖😖😣😫😔😰 AND ALSO I THINK I HABE AN INGROWN TOENAIL OR SMTHING CUS LIKE IT LOWK HURT ASF BUT IT DONT LOOK LIKE IT.. MY FRIENDS WERE POINTING OUT HOW I WAS WALKING WEIRD AND JTS CUS IT HURTS LIKE HELL EVERY STEP 💔💔😩😩 SEND TIPS FOR HOW TO TREAT JT CHAT‼️🔥 I SWEARRR ITS GONNA BE THE DEATH OF MEEE 😢😢

+ ITS TECHINCALLY OCT.4 HERE (2AM) BUTTT ITS CLOSE ENOUGH TO OCT.3RD AND GUESS WHAG DAY IT WAS…. NATIONAL BF DAY (I found out thru all the stories my friends/mutuals were posting 💔) so happy national bfs day toge 😍🥰😘 PLEASE I NEED HIM SO BADDDD

M-m-mahiTOE…? *I utter in disbelief* n-no… this can’t be… iya…. How could you do this to me…. Why….?? *runs away sonbing* 😔😔 not very sigma… (OK TBHHHH.. UNDERSTANDABLE BUT I FUCKING HAtE THAT HO 😡😡😡 I’ll make an exception for you tho iya 🥰🥰😘😘💗💗

OK IK U LIVE WITH THE KANGAROOS BUT HAVE U SEEN THE ELECTION STICKER THIS YESR??? LMAO I LOVE IT SO MUCH CUS WHY IS IT LITERALLY A PIC OF MY FACE??? IF U HAVENT SEEN IT HERE https://www.nytimes.com/2024/09/05/style/michigan-i-voted-sticker-werewolf.html THATS THE LINK TO AN ARTICLE ABT IT BUT JUST LOOK AT THE PICTURE I DONT LIVE IN MICHIGAN BUT I WISH I DID SO I COULD GET THE STICKER 💔

ATOD ANSWERRRR… lowk……. Lighting McQueen 🤗🤤 OR THE BLUE MNM… THEY COULD GET ITTT 😍🤤

OKOKOK QOTD UHH A RANDOM HOT TAKE U HAVE SRY THIS ONES BORING IM TIRED ASF AND HAVE MY LAST EXAM TOMORROW ‼️‼️🔥 WISH ME LUCK + GN (morning for u. 😘)

LOVE U LOTS SIGMA 🤗‼️🐺🙏

-🐺

HI ALPHA!!! 🐺

this is the ask from friday or thursday i believe… but i saw ur other one SO DW IM ANSWERING BOTH😈 ITS OKAY!! don’t feel pressured to send one in every day bc i know it can be a lot but just know ur asks are always appreciated and ily <3

YES i’ve been working for the last 4 days opening and closing basically and it’s so customer orientated like ARGHHSH my body is just exhausted BUT I HOPE UR DOING WELL TOO!! the pack must stick together🙂‍↕️‼️

YESSS I KNEW U ATE… the power of the pack manifested together to make you cook🔥🔥 also omg me and u both have horrible spending habits… i leave my room and i drop $300 on random shit but even if i stay in my room i just go online shopping which is SO BAD like ive spent $5000 in the last two months…. oops!

YAY FOR SJAP WEEKEND!!! NAUR ur teacher is a OPP fr like hello there was no need to tell ur mum😒😒 also THE INGROWN RAIL HELP i hope it heals soon i’ve never had one before so i don’t know the pain💔 SEND REMEDIES CHAT‼️‼️ also i hope the weekend is better for u alpha and i’ll use the power of the pack to manifest next week is better too <3 LMFAO HAPPY NATIONAL BOYFRIENDS DAY TOGE

yes mahito… he is my guilty pleasure in a way… IDK HES JUST SO… idk i can’t explain it.. forgive me pls🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️ LMFAO THE STICKER HELP😭 NO I LOVE IT I WANT IT PLS

AOTD‼️ my hot take is that lychees taste bad🙇‍♀️ IM SORRY THEYRE JUST SO GROSS😭 LMK URS ALPHA!! ILY🫵🫵

[lovestrucksuggestion]

hey, sorry if this is too much or smth, but i really don't wanna tell anything to my friends i fearike it'd be "too real" AND OBVIOUSLY I WANT IT TO BE REAL BUT, i don't know, i feel like i'll jinx or fuck it up somehow if i tell it;;

hello, again, okay so, a few weeks back we had this thesis project 6 per group and ive had converstaions w all of them except for 1.

by this point i was lamenting over a past love, we werent necessarily together since we were like, idk 14 or smth when it happened and its been 7 years, we kinda drifted apart after graduation since i thought 'it wouldnt last anyway' and i kept rejecting their advances for a year or two, but i still liked them;;; anyway back in 2020 we got in touch again and i told them that i still liked them and i was just dumb and all that and they seemed to return my advances and ofc i asked if they were comfortable and not just going w the flow yknow and they said yes so.

i confessed and they said not yet cause of school stuff but they do like me still and so i said id wait, THEN it was all okay since we joke and all that but they always seem to reject when i ask them directly about us or like even just to meet up or smth, and ofc i get it so i try not to bother them too much until valentine's rolls in and they post smth on ig with them and their friends and theres this girl with a solo shot of her being goofy and smiling and i just.

idk i took it as a sign to stop since he always used to do that w me before so yeh.

and then like with school i just got lost in all it and directed every ounce of my passion so we finished some stuff quite early, theres only 2 big ones of them we needed to do so a member suggested to split the work between us six. one of thems easier than the other so i got grouped with the guy i havent talked to, kinda scared abt it but all was fine. i added him (lets call him graham) on facebook so we could talk in messenger about planning what to do and all that, then after i found that he's friends with another group member who happened to be someone im close with, kinda AND they messaged me so i asked whats up cause i thought it was abt the project and they reply with smth along the lines of "nothing, graham's just rlly overjoyed since u addrd him cause he likes u" AND IM WHAT CAUSE IM P SURE WEVE NEVER MET then he follows it up w "ure his type, smart and hardworking" AND I DONT HAVE THE HEART TO TELL THAT IM A FALSE ADVERTISEMENT CAUSE IM RLLY NOT ALL THAT AND IM SCARED OF DISAPPOINTING ANYONE

anyway they let it be and i didnt think much of it cause maybe theyre just messing around yknow so nothing much happened, we finished the project and everything's all right until we were grouped for another thing through our society/club whatevr and i was kinda nervous since its my first time meeting them and everything was fun actually turns out it was graham's bday last tuesday so i greeted him and we joked a bit cause wednesday's the club thingy, i didnt even know what he looked like since his pfp's from when he was a kid

wednesday rolls in and im in the library with a friend, a mutual friend of ours and he said hello to me and i was so happy somehow??? I DONT REALLY GET IT MYSELF I USUALLY TAKE SO LONG TO ACCLIMATIZR TO SOMEONE BUT LIKE THE CLUB THINGY WENT WELL AND WE WERE JOKING BY THE END OF THE DAY AND I JUST, i think i like him as well?? he even asked to take a picture with me he seemed so nervous i wanted to hug him I ACTUALLY THOUGHT ITD BE OUR WHOLE GROUP IN THE CLUB but it turns out it wasnt so !!!!!!

thursday comes and we messaged a bit (he chatted first, abt the thesis) we were in a seminar and i was a bit late that day so i was at the back and our other classmates r upfront w him so never really met, until a friend of mine and i were going home and we MET THEM ON THE TRAIN ISTG MY HEART WAS JUMPING UNTIL I GOT HOME SMILING LIKE AN IDIOT WHILE WALKING

okay sorry but like, tldr, im a bit afraid that i only "like" him cause he liked me first, yknow after i waited for the previous person and evrything for so long and receiving little to nothing ++ i think his expectation of me's kinda high im neither smart nor hardworking im just anxious all the time so i have to do my work quick or else i'll die and some part of me's still doubting his feelings for me as just a prank cause nsjdhbf idk im not really pretty too so whats up why is this happrning but he's so fucking cute (generally) and i am falling as well and im scared cause we'd be graduating in a year so what if this also doesnt end quite well and i end up losing a friend?

i kinda also wanna just come up to him and invite him for a date but yeh :( and yesterday my phone died and i was stoked to meet him but he wasnt at uni so i was kinda sad then i find out the previous person i like messaged me and idk they were kinda flirty and i feel bad if i leave them again cause ive done it once and i was only left with regrets so what if im just repeating history aaaa its so hard to like manage everything too if graham and i somehow manage to be together im not great at balancing things what if i let him slip away or smth

again sorry for this i just wanted to know what other people think i really wanna shoot my shot at the same time i feel like im a people pleaser so yknow what if im just doing this cause of attention or smth idk huhu thanks in adavmce if u answer this but no hatd feelings if u dont thank u boo

Hello, you seem very stressed out! Please take several deep breaths, put on some calming music and remember that none of this is life or death.

First of all, you're right to let this past love go, it's simply not in the cards and I'm proud of you for recognizing that. Throw the whole man away, if he makes you feel bad(even if he's not doing it on purpose!) you don't need that drama.

I'm not going to diagnose you with anything over the internet, especially not based on one interaction, but I will say that in this ask specifically, you are exhibiting pretty high levels of anxiety and worry that it might be good to speak to a professional about. Your university should have free mental health services, if you have insurance you can call and ask what providers they cover, and failing that, there are many therapists and psychiatrists who offer sliding scale coverage for low income patients.

Alright, now that's done, what needs to happen here is something that I know you will not like, but is pretty much mandatory-you need to have a conversation with Graham. It's okay if it turns out you only like that he's interested in you, and when you get to know him you're less into him. You're not asking him to marry you after all. It's also okay if you're not smart or funny or hardworking (I think you're being too hard on yourself, but even so, it's okay).

If you talk with him and express your interest, you can set a boundary on how you like to be complimented(i.e., low pressure compliments that don't comment on your abilities) and specify if you want something casual just to see how you vibe. Even if you graduate, you might stay together, or you might not. You definitely won't know unless you try.

Also, who cares if you want attention???? you're human, that's totally natural. You're not gonna go to Needy Jail for it.

All that to say:

go to therapy

figure out what you want (in general and from Graham specifically. You can do this in therapy)

stop talking to past love

start talking to Graham about what you want

remember that even if things end up less than ideal, it's okay

[itsthwippingtime]

anyways i’m at work now and i literally have so much shit to do today i won’t go to bed until 11 at the earliest probably so i get operate on an hour of sleep all fucking day

[megacarapa]

AT LONG LAST..... here is the needlepoint ive been working on since march :3

again much like last time what actually happened was that i bought it in march and worked for like a month, then ignored it for a few months except a bit here n there, then fully picked it back up in late july and worked on it basically every day til i finally finished it last week

i finished it tuesday afternoon and went to have it framed wednesday morning and the frame was already done thursday morning so i immediately went to pick it up and then went to give it as a gift to my grandma the next day LIVE FAST NEVER STOP THE GRIND🔥🔥🔥

anyway so um. i love needlepoint so fucking much i think it might be my favourite thing, its my fucking happy place, i killed my arm while working on this but i couldnt stop 😂 embroidery is nice but ugh. needlepoint <3 nobody else like her

also the reason that the background is a different color at the bottom is bc i realized too late that i was using the wrong color but wtw it still looks nice

anyway time for some more pics, here’s what the backside looks like

size comparison to my first needlepoint :3

i didnt take that many process pics this time especially around the end point and i regret it fgdfgg but heres the few i did take

idk how to take good pics <3 THX FOR READING

[peakyblindersxx]

whiskey business - john shelby x reader (part 6 of ?)

gif by my queen @michaelgreys, i'm basically her fanblog now but im not mad about it :) i mean just look at him!!1! i almost fainted

a/n: first of all, if you stuck around to this point, tysm for reading!!! this has been one of the most amazing fics ive ever been a part of and it's all thanks to the gorgeous @stxdyblr-2k, who generously took control of the next few parts. her brain is beautiful and we all owe her flowers or something. when i read what she sent me i couldn't bring myself to change much except for some small edits, so pls give her lots of love if you like it!!!! i'm still working on requests as well :)

love, abi xxx

read part one two three four five | my masterlist

tagging: @datewithgianni, @mayaslifeinabox, @deepdonutkid, @springsoulofengland, @lilymurphy03

prompt: nothing this good can last forever. john doesn't know how to feel, and neither do you.

warnings: nsfw! a teensy bit of smut, angsty as fuck prepare yourselves accordingly, a lil fluff if u squint, yeah this fucked me up

Obviously, it wasn't the last time.

Over the coming months you had many last times; his mouth pressed against your neck said as much. As his responsibility at work increased, you'd find yourself heading to his office after your lectures and night classes more often, perched on his lap, smoking, while he finished up his numbers under your critical gaze.

Thomas was more than aware; his snarky comments made it obvious he had his ways of monitoring your actions. You'd seen the dark car lurking outside your rallies and lectures, and no matter how you'd try to throw him off, not even telling Ada where you were going and even, in a moment of desperation, through your neighbours back window, somehow, his silent shadow was still looming. He was practically begging you to make a mistake, to give everyone an easy out. You just couldn't give him the satisfaction. You knew Tommy saw the world as a chess board, always several moves ahead of his opponent. Even when you played him in chess club all those years ago, you could outflank him if you thought on your feet and kept him thinking he was winning until you obliterated him in the end game. It was brutal, sure. But as he told you, there were bigger games at play. You had your own. Thomas could read your mail, intercept your phone calls and have you followed, but he couldn't hear what you said out of earshot. Your lot could smell an interceptor in your ranks, so spying at that close of a proximity was out of the question.

That's why he'd decided to let you have John. You knew his silent approval and his constant management of the narrative meant he saw a tactical gain. There was only so much information he could get from Ada, but John? He just had to agitate him in the right way and all your secrets would come tumbling out. It was difficult hiding your world from John; of what he knew of, he was supportive, quizzing you over current affairs and political discourse, listening intently. Yet, you had to watch your mouth. You had to keep a barrier up and you knew John sensed the distance. Fundamentally, there was nothing either of you could do.

So here you were, in a comfortable limbo. Your days were filled with work, evenings were for lectures and reading groups at the city's university, Ada and you often stopped for a drink or three; you'd go by your flat to freshen up, and then to John's office. Sometimes, you wouldn't visit for a week or so when the guilt sent you over the edge, it was draining to be living so many lives and knowing you were betraying the person you loved most on earth. Ada was oblivious, taking you on her nightly adventures filled with men, dancing and waiting while she was busy kissing in dark corners. Sometimes a young blinder would ask if you wanted to be walked home. The first occurrence you thought was sweet, but as the nights it occurred coincided with nights John seemed extra pent up, you'd decided to ask. The boy, who couldn't be older than twelve but who you knew was trained in using firearms and had a revolver pinned to his hip and a razor in his cap, looked confused.

"Mate, it's not a tough question. Why do you come and ask?"

"There's a phone call." He shrugs, "Isaiah or Michael tells us to go and get you."

Isaiah and Michael were somewhat aware? Fucking hell. Your fling was basically a military campaign at this point, so many of your friends were complicit. The little lads who ran as messengers around Birmingham were complicit. You had to just end it.

But when you sat on his thigh, his chin hooked over your shoulder, it felt so worth it. He never turned you away when you came crawling back. He never mentioned it until after you were finished, hooked under his arm.

"Fucking missed you, gorgeous."

Sometimes he'd remind you not to be a stranger with a wink, but you could tell it was tearing him apart too. He never once came to you. That's how he could justify it in his mind; obviously, the bare minimum was not having sex with his sister's best friend, but in failing that, waiting for you to initiate it was somewhat better. He barely talked to Ada now, citing work as an excuse, but truly the guilt sickened him. He couldn't believe he was prepared to continuously hurt his little sister and betray her. But every time you turned up at his door, he couldn't find it in himself to turn you away. In his mind, every single time you came to visit him was the last time he'd let it happen, yet he was always waiting for you to come back, his blind closed to signal he was prepared. He never would call, it had to be your choice.

You'd been off and on for over five months now. It was so difficult to hide in plain sight, but you just couldn't stop yourself. Neither of you purposefully meant for this to be happen but fuck, was it fun.

For your birthday he'd gifted you a fur coat from the same shop his sister, aunt and the fashionable crowd of Birmingham had purchased theirs. He joked that you looked like a "proper razor chaser", kissing you when you pouted at his teasing, begging you to wear only the coat when you fucked him next. It was a practice for blinders to buy a coat for their wives and girlfriends as a status symbol. You were neither, but John claimed that being his "favourite lass" also counted.

John was a laugh, but you knew at any time he could close his door to you. Until he decided he couldn't be bothered with you, you weren't going to get caught. You just had to be careful until he got bored.

***

You did end up putting a foot wrong. It was a Thursday night; you were sitting on the edge of John's desk while he was ridding you of your blouse. It was past midnight, Birmingham was asleep. You almost didn't bother coming out tonight, but you knew John had lost a deal and you wanted to be there for him. Your skirt and stockings were strewn across the desk with his shirt, vest and waistcoat, muddled into the files and papers which were once neatly stacked.

His fingers were pumping in and out of you, his mouth lapping at your breast, your head tipped back in euphoria, groaning. The stress made him more affectionate and tender with you, and it was nights like these that made you wonder. Wonder if this could ever be something more, something real.

John's body suddenly pulled away from yours, quickly turning the light off.

"John, what-" You were cut off by John’s hand over your mouth, muffling your words.

"Shut up and get behind the desk." He hissed. "Someone's coming upstairs."

You quickly grabbed your clothes from the shiny oak surface and crouched, hiding yourself from view, quickly making yourself decent. You weren't going to get shot through the head with your tits out. You listened to the stairs creek, and it sounded like a group. You two were easily outnumbered. They were talking, but the thick panels of wood muffled their voices.

As your eyes adjusted to the darkness, the cracks in the door giving the room a dulled glow, you could make out the figure of John. He was free of his shirt, toned body on display, standing with his back flat to the wall, revolver produced from a discreet notch in the door frame, gaze fixed on where they'd enter. He was tense, ready. The door was unlocked from the outside, the door handle twisting.

John's lip shifted in confusion yet still he kept his trigger finger ready, not a single shake from your general.

The light flicked on and a shriek rang out. It was blinding, and you stood up slightly dazed. Finn was in the doorway, John next to him clutching his chest, panting and lowering the gun.

"Jesus Christ, Finn, can't you knock like a normal person? Scared the shit out of us." John bellowed, shaking as the adrenaline coursed through his body, resting his hands on the edge of the desk as he regained his breath.

"You're the one who pointed a gun at me! I didn't even know you were in 'ere!" Finn yelped.

The commotion had attracted the attention of Ada and Isaiah, who had come running and stopped in their tracks upon seeing you standing behind John's desk in the middle of the night. They weren't stupid. John was topless, your clothes obviously rumpled, both with matching tousled hair and practically stinking of guilt. You'd been caught red handed. Ada's eyes flicked between both you and John, and you could practically see the pieces of the puzzle clicking together in her mind, all the moments she found questionable since you'd returned suddenly making sense, realising she had been deceived by the two people who she was meant to trust most in life. Finn looked absolutely crushed, he'd never been able to conceal his emotions as well as his older brothers and sister, linking his fingers through Ada's, squeezing her hand.

"I forgot to drop this off earlier." Finn stated, holding up a money box, "Ada had keys so we thought we'd sneak in so I wouldn't get done by Tommy. We did call round yours, Y/N. We thought you were in bed."

"I'm sorry." You said. It was not enough but you just didn't know what else to say. You couldn't make it right, you'd really fucked up this time. Tears pricked at your eyes, as Ada examined you in silence.

John stepped in front of you defensively. "Look, Ada-"

"How long has this been going on?" She asked, her voice shaking with rage. You and John exchanged a glance. "I said, how fucking long?"

"Five months, six in a fortnight." He answered.

Isaiah whistled lowly. "That's fucked. I thought it was only a few times, that it'd finished."

"Never really over when it's John is it." Finn interjects, you glance to him, were you just one in a long string? You shouldn't be surprised but it was easy to pretend he may actually care about you.

"You've been fucking around for six months behind my back?" Ada yelped, Finn trying to comfort her but she pulled away from him. "And you fucking knew Iz."

"I'd expect this from you, yeah? Wouldn't put anything past you these days.." she sneered at John, "But you? You?! You're meant to be my best mate, but here you are sneaking about fucking my brother?"

"Ada-" you began, eyes welling with tears.

"I thought I could trust you. You're just another fucking razor chaser, aren't you?" She spits. "That's why you came back."

"No it wasn't, Ada-"

Her eyes flashed with anger, but this time John was on the receiving end. "You bought her that fucking coat ,didn't you? The fur one. You did! Fuck's sake!" Her fists were clenched, shoulders squared. For the first time in your life, you understood why crowds parted for Ada Shelby. Understood all the free drinks and cab rides, the nervous serving staff declaring your meal on the house (always acknowledged by Ada with a hefty tip), understood why the men of Birmingham didn't last long with her.

"Did it feel good to swan about town in that fucking coat, while acting as though you cared about me? It's so fucking embarrassing. All trussed up because my knobhead big brother makes you feel special? Thanks for rubbing it in my face."

"Ada, I love you. I never meant to hurt you, I got caught up and that's on me. It's my fault."

"You're not acting like you love me. This isn’t what love is, Y/N." She retorted.

You couldn’t do anything but nod. She was right.

John opened his mouth to speak, Ada silencing him, a scowl darkening her features.

"I don't care what you have to say. Any of you. Who else knows?"

"Thomas, Michael, Arthur-" John listed off slowly, each name prompting Ada to break down a little bit more in front of you.

"I didn't know Arthur knew." You said pointedly, John sending you an exasperated glance. He was planning on dealing with that later, but right now was about his sister. Fuck him if he thought you were going to stick around much longer. You didn't want to hear him justify everyone else knowing about your fling with your best friend being left completely in the dark.

"That all you have to say for yourself?" Ada snaps at you.

"I have fucking no defense, do I Ada? I should've walked away." You pushed your hair back, frustrated at yourself, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. You begged yourself not to cry. Tears wouldn't help anything.

"Why didn't you?"

You didn't know. Your silence only riled her up.

"Why didn't you fucking walk away?" Ada yelled, slamming her hands on the desk.

You felt hot tears run down your face, quickly moving your hands to dab at your tears.

"Don't you dare fucking cry. After all you've done, you don't get to cry in front of me." Ada growled at you, John going to shush her, obviously wanting to comfort you. "You can all fuck off. You've all lied to me and gone behind my back. Fuck’s sake, you could've just told me. You could've just told me."

"We didn't want to hurt you." John said, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder but she flinches away.

"This hurts so much more. You get that you all lying to me is so much worse, don't you?"

"We weren't thinking."

"You really fucking weren't." Ada laughs bitterly, shaking her head, blinking away tears. "Fuck you lot."

She stormed out, tailed by Finn, begging her to slow down and talk to him, protesting his innocence in the situation. Isaiah hesitated in the doorway, his eyes flickering between you and John.

"I had no idea you two've been at it for so long."

"Iz, fuck off yeah? I've had enough today." John shot back, sliding across the desk towards you. "You alright, lass?"

"We're done here, John."

He slid off the table, his hand cupping your face, "Hey, gorgeous, I get it but don't go breaking my heart tonight. Can we just leave this for tomorrow? Sleep on it."

The idea of getting any sleep at all tonight was laughable, you'd be up all night replaying these moments and torturing yourself. Tonight couldn't get any worse so you had to finally end it. Now was the right time.

"John, it should've never happened."

"But it did."

"I don't want to talk about this anymore. It's over."

"Y/N. You know for me it was never just about-"

"You're making it difficult. Stop making it difficult. Whatever you say isn't going to change that right now we have to do the right thing."

"I know you're right, but I don't want to let go. Is it so wrong to want you? I adore you, you know that."

You wouldn't meet his eyes. Sighing, John pressed his forehead to the side of your head, chin brushing your shoulder, eyes closing. He was begging you to stay with him. There had to be a solution, you'd figure it out together. His voice was cracking, eyes glassy. He looked so much younger when he was pleading. The tall bloke who terrorised the Midlands with his razor rimmed cap, a revolver in his hand, and a ruthless trigger finger had vanished. You wanted to stay, burning to curl up with him and for him to kiss it better.

"I should go." You told him. He rested his forehead on your shoulder, letting out a shaky sigh before pulling away, nodding.

"I'd drive you home but obviously-"

"Obviously."

John suddenly turned from you, eyes narrowing at Isaiah who was still hovering at the door. "Thought I told you to fuck off. Make yourself useful and get Y/N home safely." His tone was ice cold once again.

Isaiah nodded, offering his arm to you. You reached the door and instinctively looked back at John. His eyes met yours, staring at you from his desk, just as you knew he would. He prepared himself to watch you leave every night, but this time was different. That was it with you two.

Isaiah strode down the street with you in silence. You were tucked into his side as was customary with the upcoming blinders who were particularly ambitious, but there was no relaxed chat.

"Isaiah. What’re you thinking?" You asked, voice tinged with nervousness.

He sighed, running his free hand across his jaw, "That was intense in there."

"Just how he is." You shrugged.

"Does he love you or sommet?"

"Fuck knows… does it matter?"

"Of course it does. Do you love him?"

"Drop it. None of that matters, it shouldn't have happened in the first place so it can’t," You snapped, the anger at the situation you'd created suddenly overwhelming.

Isaiah whistled, raising his brow at your obvious turmoil. "You're in fucking deeper than you want to admit."

He walked you up your path, watching you turn the key to the side door leading to your bedsit. You paused, turning to him.

"Iz… I don't know what to do next."

It was so dark, you could see his face only by the lit cigarette burning to embers between his fingers. He inhaled deeply, pausing before delivering his carefully laid out plan of avoidance. Obviously the event of him crossing the Shelbys and losing their good graces weighed heavily on his mind. You nodded, listening intently, noting his ideas of relocation but he explained they were a final resort. The best thing to do was try to regain their trust; in the long run, he had calculated, it was the only option that didn't result in your life being haunted by the Shelbys. Even if they left you alone, their enemies would make a point to go after you, seeing you as an easy target. The other option was to leave the country.

"Good luck, Y/N. I mean it." He muttered as you turned the handle to the temporary safety of your home. You nodded, offering you cheek for the polite good night kiss you'd become accustomed to. He rolled his eyes and obliged, pressing an affectionate kiss to your cheek and ruffling your hair. "I'm serious. Watch your back."

***

John broke down when he finally heard the lock click shut. His eyes had been prickling with boiling tears, his jaw tensed to hold them back. He yelled out in anger, flipping his desk with force, a loud crash as the wood splintered against the stone flooring, glass shattering from the photo frames. His hands went to his head, unable to stop the gasping breaths escaping from his trembling lips, his face reddening.

"Fuck’s sake." He growled. He'd fucked everything up. He had nothing, just as he'd told you the first night you returned. The consequence was no surprise, he'd anticipated the fall out for a while, but he couldn't resist you. He was completely guilty and had no defense; his only justification being that you made him think with his cock, not his brain.

Fuck’s sake. Polly was going to murder him. She'd always had a soft spot for Ada, as the only girl in the family, and was no stranger to lecturing him over his flirtatious behaviour around Ada's friends. She'd murder him. He had a half mind to never go home. He rubbed at his eyes with his knuckles. Polly had no use for tears. That's what she'd tell him when he was a boy coming home with a skinned knee. This was far worse.

He was also sure that he was a worse brother than Tommy, perhaps the worst in the world. His baby sister, who he'd helped to toddle, carry proudly on his shoulders after school and race with her on his back through the fields on the outskirts of Small Heath, had walked in on him obviously in the midst of fucking her best mate. If he had swallowed his pride and actually talked to her, he wouldn't be in this mess. He could've told her that things changed, that for the same reasons Ada loved Y/N he had fallen for her, that he was truly sorry but she had to know before it got too far and someone got hurt. He couldn't go back.

He should've never approached you that night.

He should never approach you again.

He looked over the mess of his office, the splintered wood and shards of glass, a confetti of paperwork. Now nothing mattered. None of this mattered. He'd lost everything and he had only himself to blame.

[haruharuz]

Sunnclass' Bootcamp

As many of y'all might know, I started a 10k challenge where I'll work every single day except Tuesday, Valentine's and of course when I'm sick (like currently lol).

This Bootcamp is specifically designed to get my body where I want it to be and increase profits to the max in every way.

As soon as my nose ain't snotting no more.. I'm gonna be hitting this until my body and mind are right. WHILE I do this camp, I'll be doing the 10k challenge.

This finna be a wild ride.

GOALS

Handstand

Forearmstand

Right, left and middle splits

Lose 3 inches on waist

Gain 2 inches on ass

Increase overall flexibility

Increase mobility

Back walkover into split

Forearmstand into split

Split grip walk

Invert mid air

Ballerina

Superman

Increase overall fitness

Gain more pole strength

Keep nails done in some manner (including toes)

Stretch DAILY

Workout DAILY

This is the current list 😊 I'll probably add to it later. For now let me tell you the in depth plans ! I say the word “you” in this a lot as if I’m speaking to myself lol. On top of this I'll be studying constantly when I'm not at work so whew.

Let's start with the workout regimen! Ive broken it down into mon-sun ! Easy to understand and follow steps. 

NOTE: Whatever workouts you CHOOSE to do in the first week, do the exact same workouts with added weight if possible for the next MONTH on this schedule. 

 ex: if you choose a 15 minute chloe ting hiit workout for the HIIT day, every wednesday for 3-4 weeks you should do that same hiit workout for best results.

Fair warning: this is a LOT. It's not going to be easy to do this 😩

Monday

Glute focus with some cardio :

If no gym: find one cardio, and two booty workouts (one should be a warmup and the other should be 20-30 minutes and preferably with weight of some sort)

If at gym :

Tuesday

- 15 min treadmill warmup 3.5 mph with two 30 second sprints.

- glute warmup with bands (25 x 2 fire hydrants, 25 x 2 donkey kicks / 15 x 2 rainbows / 25 x 2 glute bridges / 30s glute bridge hold / 30s glute bridge hold with pulse)

- dumbbell at moderately difficult weight  glute bridges  3 x 12 (3 sets of 12 reps)

- hip abduction at moderately difficult weight 3 x 12

- cable pull through OR kettlebell swings with moderately difficult weight at 4 x 10

- stair master for 10 minutes 

core focus with cardio

if no gym: find one cardio and two core workout videos, i don’t care who you use! Whatever works for you is totally fine by me. total workout should be around 30 minutes or so, you CAN follow the core portion of the gym workout at home too.

if at gym:

Wednesday

- 15 min treadmill warmup 3.5 mph with fluctuating incline 

-  crunches 10 x 3 / mountain climbers 30 s x 2 /  bicycle crunches 30s x 2

- reverse crunches 45s / plank 15s / plank twists 15s x 2

HIIT 

Choose your favorite hiit workout and go at it !

Thursday

Choose one upper body workout ( I don’t care where it’s from) and follow the glute regimen from monday BUT substitute the hip abduction machine for squats 4 x 10 ! and add leg press 2 x 10 at light weight.

Friday

ACTIVE REST DAY! 

Saturday

Full Body

Find any full body workout that suits your needs and follow it, this goes for the gym or at home. 

Sunday

ACTIVE REST DAY! or MIXED BAG ! Choose your favorite workout and go for it.

Now that that’s over with! Let’s talk about our other skills, here’s what I’ll be doing myself... daily.

Stretching Routine:

Middle splits 

Front Splits

back flexibility

full body stretch

OTHER SKILLS:

Every day at work I’ll be spending 15-30 minutes on the pole practicing new moves and working on my conditioning and strength.

RULES:

Every morning i will be following this handstand video and this forearm stand video accompanied by an absolute fuck ton of water and a nutritious breakfast.

Twice per week I will be working on my front and back walkovers !

Drink a gallon of water every day

Take multivitamin every morning

Meal plan or prep for the week ( aka cut some fruit up and stick it in a container so it’s easier to eat) 

dont quit

get your nutrients in :  greens, vegetables, fruit, rice, protein- all that good stuff! it’s super important to making sure you’re safe and healthy

i’ll be doing my nails once every week in some way, whether they be long or just a clear coat on my natural nails! 

epsom soak twice per week (as i’ll be dancing on TOP of doing this)

fast food/ eating out is going to be limited to once per week for me 

do this for one full month

GENTLE REMINDER: This is for myself, but it’s here for anyone who wants to try it. don’t push yourself too hard and pls be safe if you do.

[css1992]

Guilty Pleasure

[Porn AU]

Summary: Peter and Beck used to be a power couple in the porn industry, but after Beck dumps him, Peter is forced to start over. With no money, no family and nowhere to go, he doesn’t have much choice other than to keep doing porn, so he joins Just4Fans to get back on his feet and then one day he gets a very generous tip from someone under the username of YKWIM.

All the warnings listed on Part I apply. 

Read on AO3

Part I / Part II / Part III / Part IV / Part V /  Part VI /  Part VII /  Part VIII  / Part IX / Part X /  Part XI / Epilogue

-x-

Almost three months into his new life, Peter was finally able to establish a routine that worked for him. He woke up around nine in the morning, tried to get some sort of exercise done, usually yoga or a jog around the block, then he had breakfast by himself, because both Ned and MJ had class or work before he was even up. After that, he made sure to post something on Just4fans, so people could see it throughout the day, and answered private messages and comments from the night before. Lastly, he headed to his newly created Twitter account to promote the new content and to interact with people there as well – it was a great way to get new subscribers.

That usually took up most of his morning, then he went downstairs to Ned and MJ’s apartment for lunch. He usually ate with at least one of them, except for Mondays and Wednesdays, when neither was home, but even then he ate at their place since he didn’t own any kitchen appliances yet – it was on the priority list, but not that high up, he liked having an excuse to visit his friends every day.

Later, he headed back upstairs and, depending on the day, he would take new pictures and videos or edit the ones he took the day before. Finally, at night, he posted more content on his Just4fans and chatted with his subscribers until it was time for bed.

In the last week of April, on one of his morning jogs, he noticed that just a few blocks away from his building there was a charity called the Bright Future Foundation. He thought the name sounded familiar, but try as he may, he couldn’t remember where he had heard of them. It was only after running past it a few times that it clicked – Mr. Harrington, his science teacher, told Peter to look it up.

The Bright Future Foundation helped kids who aged out of foster care get their lives together. They offered support in the form of scholarships and grants, academic and personal mentoring, and help with internships and employment readiness skills. That was what their website said, as Peter vaguely remembered from his high school years, when he still planned on going to college.

He went inside one day, not really sure why, and when the front desk lady asked how she could help him he just stood there for a few minutes, silent and nervous. She asked if he wanted to learn about their programs, but he shook his head, sticking his hands in his pockets. The woman waited patiently, a motherly smile on her face, until Peter asked if they needed any help.

And that was how volunteering at BFF became a part of his new routine – every Thursday from nine to five, starting in the first week of May. Since it was just a few blocks away from his place, he could walk there instead of taking the subway.

He liked his new routine, it was tiring but it didn’t leave a lot of time for overthinking or ruminating on the past. He never felt lonely because Ned and MJ were always around and he actually made a few friends among his subscribers, which was nice.

For the first time in a while, Peter was feeling happy. And it wasn’t an elaborate, fragile sort of happiness, where things needed to be in perfect place for the feeling to be felt, no. It was the simplest kind of happiness: he had friends, a job, a place to crash and everything was fine. Nothing was perfect, but it was fine.

A few days after he sent Tony the lingerie pictures, he decided to send him the video. He was a little insecure about it, it was 13 minutes long after editing and Peter had really lost it for a minute there, one could clearly tell. He was gone for most of the video, a moaning mess, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes, begging for something – someone – that wasn’t even there. It either looked ridiculous or fucking hot depending on the person watching, and even though he was pretty sure Tony would not think it was ridiculous, he still worried just a little, but he sent it anyway. It was still early in the day when he did, some time around noon, and he didn’t expect him to answer any time soon, so went on with his day.

Tony messaged him around 2AM, as usual, but there was no text, just three videos in the chat. In the first one, it looked like he was wearing a suit, he could see the dress pants pulled down and the white shirt pulled up as Tony jacked off for thirty seconds before he came all over his hand. It looked like he was in a bathroom stall, sitting on a toilet, and Peter bit his lower lip, wondering if he was at work when the video was taken.

The second video was similar to the first, but it looked like he was in a garage or something like that – probably the workshop he always talked about –, Peter could see a black shirt bunched up around his waist and sweatpants around his thighs.

Last but not least there was a video of him completely naked, lying in bed, and the video was shot from Tony’s point of view, like he was holding his cell phone close to his face, looking down, instead of propping it up in front of him like he usually did.

They were all incredible and delicious and got Peter rock hard in a second. The boy got comfortable on the bed, lay on his back, took off his pajama bottoms and sighed when his cock sprung free, shivering a little when the chilly night air touched his heated skin. He planted his feet on the mattress and spread his legs, but didn’t do more than that yet.

“That good?” He messaged Tony, cheekily, and the older man started typing right away.

“This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me in my whole entire life and I’m 48, so yeah. That good.”

Hm, forty-eight. So Peter wasn’t wrong in his assumption. He bit his lower lip, a rush of excitement running through his veins. Tony was so much older, almost thirty years his senior. Peter supposed he must be really experienced. He wondered if he usually hooked up with younger men or if in real life he only dated women – it wouldn’t be a shock – but most of all, he wondered what he looked like. Maybe he dyed his hair, but if he didn’t, it was probably mostly gray and fuck Peter if he didn’t have a thing for that.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about it. You broke me. I was in the middle of a meeting when you sent that video, I had to excuse myself to go to the bathroom to watch it. What have you done to me, witch?” Peter wanted to laugh, but it got stuck in the back of his throat with a moan when he slid a hand to his lower abdomen and his cock stood to attention.

“I don’t know about that, but your videos sure got me horny as fuck.” He rolled his hips a little, humping the air, and finally gave in to himself, holding his cock in one hand and the cellphone in the other.

“Is that so?” He could almost hear his voice through the phone – soft, but powerful. He always imagined Tony would sound like that if they ever talked face to face.

“Yes, daddy” And that would always be his default answer to anything he might ask with that voice. He closed his eyes for a second, quickening the pace of his strokes just a little, when his phone beeped again.

“Are you touching yourself right now?”

“Yes, daddy” Peter shivered, imagining Tony’s reaction to that revelation.

“Can I hear you, baby boy?”

He didn’t even hesitate, he started recording a voice message and moaned into the phone, thrusting his hips against his fist as he quietly begged for Tony’s cock, his fingers, his mouth, anything, he just wanted the man to be there taking care of him, making him cum, that was all he wanted, and he wanted it so badly.

He came in just a few seconds and hit send on the voice message before he could overthink it. As he lay there, breathless, staring at the ceiling and trying to gather his strength, he fantasized about Tony listening to it. He smiled to himself, like an idiot, then his cellphone beeped, bringing him back to reality.

“You’re gonna drive me mad, you know that? I’m actually going insane and it’s all your fault. Also, my dick is gonna fall off and that’s on you, too.” Peter had the presence of mind to laugh at the message, but it took him a few seconds to gather enough energy to write back to him.

“That’s a serious accusation, Tony, I’m gonna need all the evidence I can get, so every time you touch yourself thinking of me, make sure to send me proof, ok?”

“Oh, you don’t know what you just got yourself into.” Again, Peter could only laugh, because judging by the amount of videos Tony sent him that day, he really was in for a treat.

Days later, on Friday, Peter got up early to go for his usual jog around the block. He was a little tired from the day before, still adjusting to his new routine at BFF – it was his third week there and they were starting to realize that Peter was a quick learner and very eager to help, so they took advantage of that, which was fine with him, he was thrilled to be able to help somehow.

So after a quick, half-assed jog around the block, he went back home, showered and decided to take the rest of the pictures Tony asked for. The man was still going nuts over the video, he wouldn’t stop talking about it and every day there was a video of him finishing himself off in their chat and Peter could hear his own voice in the background, screaming Tony’s name.

It was both embarrassing as fuck and hot as hell, so the younger man also spent a lot of those last few days in the shower trying to cool down, but Tony was not making it easier.

As much fun as that was, he was curious to see how Tony would react to the new pictures. He realized that would be the first time the older man would see him with clothes on, which sounded ridiculous, but it was true. He didn’t have many pictures on Instagram, but most of them were selfies and there were just a few where it was possible to see maybe a hint of a shirt, but that was it.

So he took the outfit he and MJ picked out and winced, remembering how much it cost, but at least he picked out clothes he might wear some day – if he had a meeting with the queen of England, for example. He put on the light gray suit by Hugo Boss, with a pink shirt with big, white dots by Levi’s Vintage underneath, black dress shoes by Brunello Cucinelli and a Gucci watch he was able to find on sale for half the original price. The whole outfit was worth around five thousand dollars, and was definitely the most money he had ever spent on – well, anything.

He checked himself in the mirror and snorted a little, he sure looked like a spoiled brat, which was probably what Tony meant by “expensive and beautiful”, so that was fine. He styled his hair so it looked effortlessly tousled, but not too much, and set his camera to take the pictures by the living room window.

He took a few pictures on the windowsill, some other leaning against the glass with his hands in his pockets, a few others looking out the window. He posed on his armchair, too, which was the only piece of furniture he had in his living room at the moment and he wished he had a decent dining table so he could pose like he was on a date with the camera, but he supposed those would do.

Once he was satisfied with what he got, he took off the clothes, put them away and went downstairs to have lunch with Ned and MJ. For the first time since he moved in with them, they both had Friday afternoon off, so they spent it together, eating junk food, watching bad TV series and playing really old tabletop games Ned had brought with him when he moved from his parents’ house.  

In between a game of Monopoly and Scrabble, Peter pulled his phone out to check his messages, and was surprised to find one from Tony, sent just a few minutes earlier. He checked the time and noticed he must still be at work, so he opened it, assuming it couldn’t be anything too sexual.

“Hey, are you feeling better today? Just checking in.”

Peter frowned for a second, but a quick look at their earlier messages reminded him that he was feeling a little under the weather the day before and he’d told Tony that before he went to bed.

“Hi, Tony! I’m all better now, thanks for asking. I guess it was just allergies or something.”

He didn’t expect Tony to answer right away, but as soon as his message was sent, he started typing.  

“That’s good to hear, but you need to be a little more careful with your health, kitten. Just yesterday you said you had an apple for lunch. At 4PM.”

“You’re one to talk.” Peter snorted. They always berated each other for poor eating habits. Peter was a 20 year-old bachelor living by himself and sharing meals with his equally young and dumb friends, so pizza was on the menu more often than not; Tony was a forty-eight year-old businessman with too little time to care. “Did you even eat today?”

“Don’t try to turn this around, this isn’t about me.” Peter rolled his eyes and smiled to himself. “Did you do anything fun today?”

“I took some pictures for you, it was quite fun.” He knew the mention of new pictures would get him interested in a minute.

“Don’t play with my heart, kid. When can I see them?”

“I don’t know...” He teased just a little, because he knew Tony wasn’t above begging and it was fun to watch.

“Don’t be mean to daddy, come on. He’s always so good to you.” Peter smiled, because, yeah. He was.

“I’ll send them tonight, I promise.” He decided, since they would have more time to talk then, if he sent the pictures earlier, Tony would still be at work and Peter would still be at his friends’.

“Good boy.”

“You know I am.”

“What are you smiling about? Who are you talking to?” Ned looked suspiciously at him, so he quickly put the phone down and shook his head with a nervous smile.

“Just a subscriber with a bad one-liner.”

MJ looked at him like she knew a secret, but Ned just shrugged and finished setting up the game.  They ended up calling it a draw and ordering pizza afterwards, but Peter went back home early because both Ned and MJ had work the next morning.

Once he got upstairs, he went to edit Tony’s pictures and since it was still a little early to send them, he decided to check his twitter DMs. He didn’t read them very often, he already had his plate full with JustForFans, but every once in a while he checked them and answered as many as he could. Most of the messages were dick pics anyway, he just ignored those. Some others were people being nosy and asking way too personal questions, or worse, asking about Beck. He learned how to talk his way around those, but one message in particular stood out and really got to him.  

“I’m so glad you’re doing okay, honey! The way Beck is with his new boy now makes me wonder if he ever even loved you. He sure moved on quickly. You’re better off without him anyway, I always liked you better.”

That sort of comment wasn’t exactly unusual, but that second part caught him a little off guard. Makes me wonder if he ever even loved you. It just – why would she say that?  The way Beck is with his new boy. What way, exactly? What could he possibly be doing that made that person assume Beck never even loved him? People thought they were perfect together, they said it all the time, so much so that Peter himself was almost convinced of it for most of their relationship, so why in the hell would anyone think he loved this other guy more? To the point of assuming he didn’t even love Peter in the first place?

He was a masochist, he decided, as he opened Instagram. And not even the good kind of masochist, because there wasn’t any pleasure involved in what he was about to do, just pain. He unblocked Beck’s profiled and fucking looked. He didn’t know what he expected to find, but just looking at the first picture was enough to make him realize it was a terrible fucking idea. It was a black and white picture of him and the new guy cuddling in bed, kissing with soft smiles on their faces, captioned: “Nowhere else I’d rather be.”

Peter closed the app quickly, he didn’t need to see that. It meant nothing.

That picture meant nothing. That caption meant nothing. Because Beck was a fucking liar, a fucking actor, a fucking illusionist, a fucking – artist. He painted beautiful pictures, he weaved beautiful words, but none of that meant anything. Because it never meant anything when it was Peter in his arms, so why would–

Fuck, he should be over him, so fucking over him. But he really wasn’t, he would go back to that toxic environment if Beck snapped his fingers and that was scary to know. It was fucking terrifying to realize he was one text away from crawling back to him, even after all the humiliation, even after Beck just fucking up and left him with nothing – nothing –  he would still go right back to his arms. He still wanted to go right back to his arms.

It made him feel pathetic and weak because he knew that what they had was toxic and abusive. And he had known that for a while, way before they split up. Deep in his soul, he knew he was living a nightmare, day after day, over and over again, but he couldn’t fucking leave. He thought Beck was all he had. He promised him forever. He promised he would always be there for him. He was all Peter had in life, and he had lost so fucking much over the years, he couldn’t afford to lose anybody else.

But he did, didn’t he? He lost Beck. He was in someone else’s arms right that second, professing his undying, fake love.

Peter took a deep breath and held it a few seconds, then exhaled slowly.

He didn’t lose anything, he was set free. He was free and he had a record to break – it had been three days since he last cried about that asshole and he didn’t plan to ruin it.

He closed Instagram and went to his Just4Fans. He posted a few pictures from a phoshoot he did earlier that week that made him feel sexy and confident, which was the opposite of how he felt at that moment, but he was going to fake it until he made it.

In a few minutes, he got lots of comments and private messages with compliments, but somehow none of them was enough to fill the empty spot Beck left when he dumped him.

Well, none except for one.

“Were you planning on giving an old man a heart attack today? ‘Cause that’s how you give an old man a heart attack.” The silly message got a smile out of him, and that was a lot considering how broken he felt.

“Lol. It wasn’t in my plans, no, but now I’m worried. Is the old man okay?” He joked, and immediately got an answer in his inbox.

“He’s waiting for you to keep your promise. Says he refuses to die before he sees some pictures of you? Do you happen to know anything about that?” Peter chuckled.

“Oh, yeah, I think I know what he’s talking about. Hold on a sec.”

He selected his ten favorite pictures with the date outfit and sent them to Tony, feeling butterflies in his stomach for reasons he couldn’t explain. He lay in bed for several minutes, staring at his phone, waiting for an answer, but the older man didn’t say anything, even though Peter could see he was still online. He started to get a little anxious, worried that he had messed up somehow, so he messaged him again.

“Well? Have I finally rendered the old man speechless?”

Almost at the same time as he sent his message, Tony replied:

“I need to see you.”

Peter’s heart almost jumped out of his mouth when he read those words, eyes widening in shock. I need to see you. He read it a few more times to make sure it meant what he thought it meant. It couldn’t possibly – Tony wouldn’t want to meet him. That would be absurd. He was – well, Peter wasn’t sure, but he sounded important most of the time, he was definitely very rich, very hardworking and he seemed like a really nice guy. So really, why would he want to meet Peter. That made absolutely no sense, obviously he meant something different than that, he just didn’t quite know what–

“Please,” said the next message, just a few seconds later.

Peter bit his lower lip, feeling his face grow warmer. Just for the hell of it, he thought – what if Tony did mean he wanted to meet him? What then? Peter couldn’t say yes, that would be insane. He didn’t even know the man, all he knew were little things about his daily life, he didn’t know his last name, if he had a family, if he was married, if he was a psychopath – he didn’t even know what he looked like!

Still, he fantasized about saying yes. But that was just a fantasy. He couldn’t do it, that would be crazy.

Right?

“You won’t regret it, I’ll treat you right.”

Well, fuck. He had to go straight for his Achilles’s heel, huh.

Peter kept staring at the bright screen of his phone, breathing slowly to try to contain his wild heart that seemed adamant to burst out of his chest cavity in the next few minutes. He didn’t know what to say. No, his brain supplied, like it was obvious, because it was, right? He couldn’t say yes, yes was not a viable answer. He had to say no, it was only a matter of how he would say it without hurting the older man’s ego.

But.

Why exactly did he have to say no? He knew there were ate least 99 good answers to that question, but he couldn’t think of one, so–

“How do I know you’re not a serial killer?” Peter asked, even though he wasn’t really worried about that, it was the last thing on his mind, to be honest.

“You’ll know.” He said, plain and simple, and not helpful at all. And still, no flight response whatsoever from Peter’s brain. His stupid mind couldn’t seem to understand that that was clearly a terrible idea.“We’ll meet in a restaurant, the best in New York, and nothing else has to happen, I promise. We’ll have a nice dinner and that’s it. I just need to see you in person.”

That sounded reasonable, didn’t it? A public place, lots of eyes on them. If Tony turned out to be a creep, he could just leave. At the very worst, he’d be disappointed and lose a very generous subscriber; at the very best, he’d get a good meal out of it and who knew what else. It sounded reasonable. So it was probably reasonable.

Right?

“Can I wear this outfit?” He asked, because, well, that was all he had to wear to New York City’s best restaurant – whatever that was.

“You must, baby.” He answered quickly, and Peter smiled to himself. “So I’ll take that as a yes, then?”

He typed a quick yes, but didn’t send it right away. He gave his brain a few seconds to come up with reasons to say no, because he knew there were good reasons for that, but he really, honestly, just wanted to say–  

“Yes.”

“Perfect.” He replied right away, as if he had been staring at the phone, waiting for his answer. “I’ll set a time and place and let you know. You won’t regret it, Peter.”

Peter loved all the pet names Tony gave him, they were all sweet and funny, but when he called him by his actual name, it just hit different. It felt good. Like he wasn’t just a pretty picture in a porn app, an expensive hobby, but a person. It was hard for him to remember that, sometimes.

Some other times, it felt good to forget.

[flugmunk]

fuck it let me tell yall little story here. so for highschool the place i went to was off the norm for different schools in that there was internships shoved in so that every thursday kids can go out to the Great Big World and. do shit. get job experiance nd ll tht. to get aheaad of the curb. WELL me being an art nerd thinking my life would revolve aroun art stuff so OBViousLY i gotta do an art thing for internships. couldnt find shit for ninth grade so helped round with the cafeteria. free food. 10nth grade i was approched by two kids who haad plans to work on a film at some place and asked if i wanted in. they would do everything else and my role would be just to work on a small little animation segment for the film. i had no plans by then so well. fuck it. i agreed and joined. better than stuck in classrooms. now the thing about me nd animation is that i had. NO prior knowledge. sure i made a few gifs but thats. that is still comparable to nothing. and the animation was JUST ME. storyboard, character design. background. timing. colors. sound. JUST ME. except for the voice. i didnt know shit fuck all. and i only had one school years worth- once a week of that- and 5 hours out of THAT. to do my shit. for free mind you because it was a school based internship program. and while the other two are doing whatever else for the film, they check on me every now and then to see how progress is going along. and im a shy quiet introverted fuckermother back then and im all like "oh im fine im fine immmm fiiiiiiinnnneeee" because i didnt wanna let them down. meanwhile as i stand in their way to block the view of a burning shithouse. things were not fine. only halfway through did the internship place offer me someone WITH animation experience to guide me. guide. not helping. guide. because help would imply that now here is two people to share the work of this animation bullshit. nah that person was just there to be all "and heres what you click if you wanna do this thing in this overpriced program". eventually the thing ends, shit is ready to get wrapped up. final day. i thought i lost everything nd stayed like a couple hours searching through all the files. THANKfully i didnt actually loose the project. now i can just give it to the other two film people. i dint know shit what they were doing for the film the entire time, i was busy with wrangling the stuff of this damn animation. wanna know the best part of all this? i never gotten to watch the final product of the film. i dont even know if my animated segment is even in there. i dont have the file for said animation with me. and frankly i dont care. its over. but thats only the beginning. heres what i did for 11-12th grade for the intern program. under a read more cuz this post is already getting long.

those two years i combined because i ended up stretching the project. this time i managed to find a place all on my own. coincidentally a place that is responsible with some big film festival thing that i never attended. now the thing bout school based internships, is there the students gotta make a project for the benefit of the place. so no it could not just be normal (unpaid) office/grounds work. done with under the mentoring of a person who works at the place. the first few weeks i was just helping sort through mail, thinking of what to do for the project^tm.

motherfucker do yall wanna know what me, the mentor and the teacher that showed up to check up, came up with for the project? guess. thaats right. another goddamn animation. ALLLL ON MY OWN RAWDOGGED. huwehh. this animation was to be of "how to get tickets for attending the film festivals." sounds good enough. surely i could use the experiance ive gained only one year prior right?

listen. my memory was absolute shit. i didnot learn jack shit bout how to make animation. wanna know what my process was like? what i actually did in ordder to create a moving image? open ph*toshop. draw everything. everything. in there. savve everything as a png. put each damn png into whaatever program was to replace flash. slap the sound file atop. resist the urge to toss the equipment out the window. save final file as finished product. THAT is what id did for the internship animation the year prior. i knew that thats the worst way to go about things but its the only way i knew how. for the 11-12th grade thing, i did tht shit again. the revious year was for around 1:30 minutes long i had to do. this time was around 2 minutes. thats extraa more for me to do. alone. unpaid. again. and again it was just me on the animation. the mentor person had other things to be busy with. but this time i felt even more shitty because its already looking like shit and i still didnt want to let anyone down. the end of the year was coming up, things had to wrap up. i knew i wasnt gonna be finished. the school and job people allowed me to take the designated laptop with me to do what i need to do. i spent half way through the summer bullshiting my way through. i finished, sent the people the final file. got on the bus. went to the job place. returned the laptop. and said the final goodbyes to whoever was in the building. after that i also, didnt see what became of the animation. i never bothered checking the website. i dont even know if they even HAVE the file anymore. the mentor person got dropped out of the job halfway through anyway but at least there was a backup mentor so that i could stay around. all this just for a grade. all this just for experience. all this for experiance tht i would then forget and regret. I SHOULD HAVE GONE FOR FUCKING NATURAL ENVIORMENT WORK OR SOMETHING. restoration work or cleaning up or or. ANYTHING. theres surely pleanty of that needed. but alas time machines dont exist.

[detectivejay-chuckles-halstead]

Nervous Breakdown // Jay Halstead x Reader

Photo by @karihighman​

Description: Jay is there when you start to break down.

Words: 1539

Warnings: None

Pairing: Jay x Reader

A/N: So, this I wrote for me. The schedule Reader talks about is my actual schedule. The sign offs are the things I actually need. This was me last night, except I didn’t have someone like Jay to talk me down from my nervous break down, I just had it and then had to be at my clinical this morning (which I’m still at btw lol). But yeah. Hope you enjoy. And if my posting is sporadic in the next month or so, this is why. 

“Come to bed,” Jay told you softly, leaning on the doorframe of your bedroom with his arms crossed over his chest as he looked at you with papers spread across the floor, couch, and coffee table. 

Your movements were frantic as you tried to organize them all, trying to figure out the best system to keep everything together. Every section was chronologically ordered for the online documentation, paper clips holding each stack together. Then, there were the colored sheets that had even more important signatures on them. You had to make sure everything was in order as class was drawing to an end. 

“I’ll sleep when I’m done, Jay,” you snapped at him before closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry, I just-”

“I know.” He walked over, stepping around the stacks before sitting directly behind you in the only place clear of paper. “Come here.” 

You couldn’t stop yourself from leaning back into his chest, his arms wrapping around you. Grounding you as your mind went a mile a minute. You also couldn’t stop yourself from grabbing your calendar, flipping it open to this month.

“What’s the schedule look like?” His chin rested on your shoulder as he looked at the planner. 

“I have to help with the EMT class Saturday from seven to three. Then I start my shift at work at eight tomorrow night. Then, work Sunday night. So I’m going to try and catch up on some sleep on Sunday. I have my exam in Med Emergencies on Monday. Then, I have an ambulance clinical AM shift at seven. Same on Wednesday. A quiz in Med Emergencies on Thursday. Then, I work Thursday night. Off at eight on Friday morning, but I picked up a shift from two to ten Friday day. Then, ambulance clinical on Saturday AM shift. 

Same with that next Sunday. A quiz in Med Emergencies on the seventeenth. Then work that night. Work the night of the eighteenth, but I’m off at four in the morning instead of my usual eight. Mainly because I have an OR clinical on the nineteenth from seven to three. But then I work that night, off at five on the twentieth because I have an exam in Med Emergencies that day. Ambulance clinical AM shift on the twenty-first. Twenty-second, I have an ER shift from seven to three, then I work that night. Work Sunday night, so I’m going to try to catch up on sleep that day. 

Twenty-fourth I have another exam in Med Emergencies. Ambulance AM shift on the twenty-fifth and sixth. Then, we review for our Final in Med Emergencies, but I work that night. I’ll get off at six to get to my ambulance clinical on the twenty-eight at seven. I work that night, but off at five to get to my Maternal-Fetal Truck shift by eight. 

On the thirtieth, I have an ER shift from three to eleven. The thirty-first, I have my final in Med Emergencies, and then work that night. Off the day of the first, but I work that night. Then, an ER shift at three on the second. Then, I work that night, but I’m going to try to switch shifts just because my ER shift won’t finish until eleven. The third, we have our student evals. The fourth, I’m helping the junior class with their Ops day, and then I have an ambulance clinical that night. Off the fifth, but work that night. Off the sixth, but work that night. Seventh is labor day, so completely free. ER shift on the eighth at three. Then, on the ninth, OR shift at seven.

“After that, I don’t know because we haven’t signed up for our capstone. Which all of this,” you said, motioning to the mess of papers, “is me getting everything in order to make sure I have everything done and what I still need. Because we can’t start capstone until all of our skills check offs are done, and we’ve hit all of our demographics.”

“What do you have left to do for your skills?” That question got you to sigh, putting the planner down and grabbing a notebook. You had to push your glasses back up on your face as you looked down at your messy handwriting. 

“Five peer reviews for pediatric intubations. Two peer reviews for needle cricothyrotomy. Three peer and two instructor reviews for trauma assessment. Five peer reviews for trauma intubations. Two instructor reviews for joint splinting -- which I’m already an EMT, why the Hell do I have to sign off on the BLS stuff again? Same with long-bone. I need one peer review and two instructor for traction splint. Again, BLS bullshit. Seven peer reviews for medical and cardiac scenarios. Eleven peer reviews for IV starts, and one instructor. One instructor for IV piggyback. Five peer reviews for IO. Oh, and another instructor. Three peer for IM injection. Three peer for synchronized cardioversion. One peer for defibrillation. Three peer transcutaneous pacing. Four peer reviews and one instructor for adult team lead scenarios. Five peer reviews and one instructor for pediatric team lead scenarios. Eleven peer reviews for being a team member. Three peer reviews for being a team leader for geriatric scenarios. Six peer and one instructor reviews for adult physical assessments. And finally. Six peer and one instructor review for pediatric assessment,” you read off, letting the paper fall to the ground. 

He held you a little tighter. You felt bad. With all the stress you’d been under for the past month, and with how crazy his job was, the two of you hadn’t gotten to spend a lot of time together. And the next month was going to be even crazier. 

“When are you supposed to start your capstone?” He pressed a kiss to your neck, your eyes fluttering closed in response. 

“They want us to start September Ninth, but I’m going to be the last one who gets to sign up because I’m so far behind! Everyone is going to pick the cool preceptors, and I’m going to get stuck with the ones nobody else wants,” you vented before huffing in frustration. 

It was indeed very frustrating, stressful, and downright annoying that you were so far behind compared to everyone else. That’s what happens when you have to be off for six weeks because you tore your knee. Now, it was a constant game of catch-up. 

“Just breathe when I breathe,” Jay instructed in that calming voice, following his breathing pattern. It got your heart rate down as tears came to your eyes, despite your internal protests. You were on the verge of a nervous breakdown, and it wasn’t going to be pretty.

“Maybe you should email your instructor?” he suggested when you had your breathing under control on your own.

“And have her take me off all my clinicals and reschedule everything? No. No fucking way. I can’t just email her and schedule my nervous breakdown, Jay. She was very clear in first semester that if we took on too much and couldn’t handle it, she’d take us off our clinicals and completely reschedule everything. I can’t do that, Jay. I can’t because then I’ll be even further behind.” You were talking a mile a minute, Jay taking a deep breath behind you. You took the hint and matched your breathing again. 

“Okay, then don’t email her. But, I want you to come to bed right now. It’s two in the morning. You have an ambulance clinical in five hours. You need your sleep. All of this will be waiting for you when you come home tonight,” he insisted. You didn’t want to, but you knew he was right. 

The two of you stood up, walking into the bedroom. You couldn’t help it as you collapsed on the bed with a groan, much more comfortable than the hard floor in the living room. He wasted no time in joining you, pulling you close again. This time, you were able to see his face at least, tracing his features gently with soft fingertips. You missed him. 

“How about we do something Labor Day? Just you and me to destress a bit?” you asked, Jay nodding in agreement before lips met gently. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” he said with a soft chuckle, kissing you again. “But you’re almost done. This is the worst of it. After your final, you’re pretty much done with lecture. Capstone is your last hoorah. Then, your tests and you’ll finally be a paramedic after over a year. Doing this through a pandemic. Through all your family crap. I’m proud of you.”

“You really know how to sweet talk a lady,” you joked, resting your head on his chest.

It was the exact thing you needed to hear. Jay always knew what to say. You were so close to being done. Then, you’d be in your dream career. All the hard work was going to be worth it. The thousands of hours in clinicals, the hundreds of hours in class. The countless sleepless nights and caffeine filled days. Yes. It would be all worth it. Just a couple more months to go. And Jay was by your side.

[missmonsters2]

About You || Part IX

Gif by: giuliacommissions (please check her out if you’d like to commission her for gifs and other work 💞)

PAIRING: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader/OFC

Summary: Wanda had never known loss like she has until she lost Pietro. It’s debilitating. She can’t eat, can’t sleep, can’t even leave her house. Life is fading fast, and she’s not sure if she even wants to hang on. Enter you, a stranger that reconnects her to the daily things that makes life beautiful.

Warnings: Deals with loss & grief and the spectrum of emotions and depression that comes with it. Please note there is no glorification in any of this. Loss, grief, and depression are nothing beautiful. Also, please don’t hesitate or reach out for help if you are in a dark place. Love you, lovelies 💘

Genre: Angst & Romance

NOTE: One more chapter after this. YES I KNOW I’M LATE IN POSTING AHH.

PART I || PART II || PART III || PART IV || PART V || PART VI || PART VII || PART VIII

PART IX of X

Count: 2562

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Moving into the new place is a whirlwind with you.

You let her paint all over the walls for decorations, and Wanda's never had so much fun picking a couch before.

Wanda is currently flushing red as Natasha is over, and she had caught the two of you amorously loving each other.

You had to go to work, so Wanda was left to face the embarrassment alone.

"You certainly have a lot of energy," Natasha comments, and Wanda drops her paintbrush.

"I can't help it," Wanda mumbles.

"Oh, it's fine. At least you're doing it in the name of love. Loudly, but for love."

"You could hear us?"

"We can hear you every time," Natasha deadpans.

"We?" Wanda emphasizes.

"My only advice is that you pick better times to do it if you can. Clint had to wait outside for an hour and a half last time he came over."

Wanda flushes, her ears a hot red while she tries to resume painting.

She can't help it if she wants to have you when she does.

"So, was Clint right?"

"About?" Wanda mumbles.

Natasha stares at her friend and frowns.

"That she's the top?"

Wanda slams her paintbrush down.

"No one is allowed to be friends with Clint anymore."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

You were weird on the phone today.

A little skittish in Wanda's opinion. You said you wanted to take her somewhere after work. 

She couldn't help but worry that maybe you were regretting everything, but then you showed up at home at 7 PM with flowers in your hands.

"Would you go somewhere with me? I have something to tell you."

A look of worry passed over Wanda's face, but she nodded as she grabbed her jacket.

The ride was quiet. You were tense as your hand would grip the steering wheel before relaxing, the cycle repeating.

"Where are we going?" Wanda asked. 

"I wanted to show you the person who made sure I wasn't alone," you tell her. 

Wanda is surprised because she wasn't aware that your friend was in the same town. She thought they were out of your life, as you had indicated.

But then, when you pull up into the cemetery, Wanda's heart dropped.

"Why didn't you say so?" Wanda looks at you, heartbreaking at the sad smile on your face.

"It doesn't change that people do come and go."

Wanda doesn't say anything and lets you lead her. She feels a little on the edge because she knows this cemetery too well by now, and the route is familiar.

The two of you come to a stop, and Wanda looks at the gravestone she's seen many times before. She used to spend hours every day sitting here.

You put flowers down before standing up and looking at Wanda with wet eyes.

"I have something to give you," you quietly say, your hand fishing in your bag before you pull something out and put in Wanda's hands.

Her yearbook. 

Wanda looks back at the gravestone, the words searing on her eyes.

Pietro Maximoff.

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Flashback...

You were in a bit of tizzy. You and your business partner just recently bought the space to open your own psychology clinic. 

You had just hired a marketing firm to help you with your advertising for your grand opening. He would be arriving in a couple of minutes with his advertisement plan.

"Hello?"

You shoot up from your office, putting down the boxes as you rush to the front.

"Hello!" You say breathlessly, feeling a little shame at what a mess you look like.

The guy standing there looked equally of a mess with his blond hair with dark roots in an array. He looked a little breathless, and you guessed he was running late.

The two of you stand there, looking at each other before the two of you start laughing.

"I'm Pietro, your marketing manager."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

"Pietro, the job had been done weeks ago. Why do you keep coming here?" You quirk your brow.

You and Pietro had hit it off quite well, getting to know each other as he helped you with advertising your clinic and services.

But it was professional. Except Pietro had kept coming even after everything was finished.

Monday it was coffee, Tuesday was lunch, Wednesday was dropping off a coffee and a bagel, and now it was Thursday, and he had come on his lunchtime again.

"I just wanted to see if you wanted to go for dinner," he smiles. 

You stand there, brow still quirked as you assessed him.

"Alright."

"Cool, how about 8 PM?"

You nod, and Pietro smiles and runs out the building again.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Dinner is a pleasant affair. 

He is flirty but respectful. He holds doors and chairs open for you but doesn't make a move to grab your hand or try to get closer.

Pietro is talking about his plans to see his sister next weekend when you interrupt him.

"Do you keep coming by my office because you're interested in me?"

It's blunt, but you rather be straight forward about it.

Pietro stops his story, mouth still open before closes it sheepishly.

"No," he admits, "I actually wanted to set you up with my sister."

"Pass," you say immediately.

"What!" Pietro says. "C'mon, you guys would be a perfect match."

"Not interested in dating," you tell him as you eat your food, more relaxed that it's not a date.

Pietro groans and you laugh a bit before he starts eating again.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Even after your blunt rejection, Pietro still comes by the office to pester you into getting lunch.

He lectures you that you can't skip it even if you're busy and lists all the things that could happen to you if you don't eat.

"Cancer? Really?" You say to him.

"Everything causes cancer," he tells you seriously.

"Wouldn't that mean that even eating can cause cancer?" You argue back at him.

"Exactly," he says seriously, "If we're all going to get cancer regardless, you should eat and have a full stomach at least."

You laugh, a weird familial warmth filling the pit of your stomach.

"You seriously haven't changed," you tell him.

"What do you mean?" He asks you.

You roll your eyes, but you don't expect him to remember.

"Pietro Maximoff, track and field captain, while also the student council president. The guy everyone wants to be friends with."

Pietro's mouth dropped.

"We went to the same university?" He says excitedly. "You do know my sister too then!"

"Yeah, she's really nice," you say while you look down at the ground with your hands shoved in your pocket.

"Nice?" Pietro snorts. "No one ever says that about her."

You chuckle.

"She beats up bullies, so she's automatically nice even if she seems like the equivalent to a cactus."

"So, you're saying you will go on a date with her!" Pietro says excitedly.

"Are you deaf? Nowhere in what I said says I'll go on a date with her."

"But you just said she's nice!" Pietro whines. 

"I also said she's the equivalent to a cactus."

"Wanda's really wonderful, trust me."

You merely hum.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

It's a little weird, you admit. Having someone like Pietro who goes out of his way to spend time with you.

People ask all the time if you're dating, but Pietro always laughs it off and says that you're like family to each other.

"I'm her big brother!" 

"You're only two months older," you would always say in response.

"God, you're like Wanda. Older is older," Pietro would joke. 

He talks about Wanda a lot. You can tell he clearly adores her. You're not sure you really understand sibling bonds because of your own brother.

But Pietro talks as if he would move mountains for her, and talks like Wanda wouldn't hesitate to take a bullet for him.

"Is that piece of shit calling you again?" 

You look away from your phone screen to Pietro's scowling face. 

He knows everything about you.

He knows that your brother has been trying to get back in touch with you.

"Yeah," you sigh as you put your phone down and sit back in your chair. You have 30 minutes to relax before your next patient comes.

Your brother had seen you in an online advertisement and has been calling your workplace. You picked up the phone one, talked to him briefly before he started saying how he needed cash.

You haven't picked up the phone since.

"You should just let me pick up the phone and tell him to fuck off," Pietro glares at the offending phone.

"You have a lot of free time," you say to him in response. 

"I'm a director now, hell yeah, I have lots of time," Pietro laughs. 

The two of you banter some more when the receptionist tells you your appointment is here.

Pietro smiles at you before he walks out of the office with you following him.

Except, at the front desk, you see your brother standing there.

"What the hell," you mutter under your breath.

"What are you doing here?" You say to him.

"Miss, that's your appointment," the receptionist tells you. 

"My appointment is supposed to be with a Leon--" You groan because he used a fake name to book the appointment.

"You need to get the hell out of here, Jake," you glare at him.

"I just need 5 minutes to talk, don't you want to talk after all this time?" Jake frowns at you.

You want to make a scene, but this is your workplace, so you drag Jake into your office with Pietro right on your heels.

"No, I don't want to talk or catch up. Why would I want to catch up with someone who left me at an orphanage?" You hiss at him.

"I was 18!" Jake defends himself. "I couldn't even take care of myself, let alone you. I left you for the best."

You scoff at the response.

"And what? You want to catch up now? Or is this about the cash you said you needed."

Jake is quiet.

"I just need a loan," he says instead.

There's a scoff in the background.

The two of you look over to see Pietro there looking at Jake in disgust.

"What's your problem?" Jake glares at him. "Get out of here, this is family business."

"I am family," Pietro says in return.

"With family like me, she doesn't need your ass around here," Pietro pulls out his checkbook from the inner chest pocket of his suit jacket.

"Take this, and get the fuck out of here. If you ever come back around here without her wanting you around, I'll sue you," Pietro threatens, ripping out a cheque and shoving it into Jake's hand.

You catch the numbers as your eyes widen.

It was $10,000.

Jake's eyes are wide too, but he looks at Pietro once more before looking at you.

"Deal," Jake says and leaves.

"Fucking dick," Pietro mutters as Jake leaves the building.

"What the hell, Pietro!" You yell at him.

"Why did you give him $10,000?"

"Because jerks like that will keep coming around until they get what they want. Or until their legs are broken, but I don't know anyone who can do that for me. Yet."

You stare at him in disbelief, but he just laughs and pulls you in for a hug.

"$10,000 is nothing to make sure my little sister isn't hurt."

You denied it when Pietro asked you later if you were crying.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

"You should show up here. At 7 PM."

You look at Pietro.

"Are you trying to set me up with your sister again?"

"No. Yes. Maybe," Pietro answers.

"Give it up, man," you shake your head at him.

He talks about Wanda all the time. You admit you're a little intrigued by her. But only because Pietro spins her in such a wonderful light, even when he tells you stories of when she's being an asshole.

"My sister is going to die alone with a cat, have some sympathy, and meet her. I guarantee you'll want to lock her down. I'm convinced she's your soulmate," Pietro determinedly keeps going.

"Why are you convinced of that?" You quirk your brow.

"Because she's prickly, you're super nice and patient, and I can't explain it anymore, just meet her!" Pietro whines.

You laugh.

"Well, I'll actually be traveling to Europe next month for a volunteer experience there for some less fortunate kids who need counseling. But, I'm not opposed to meeting her when I'm back. No guarantees, though, and on one condition."

"What's that?" He asks you excitedly.

"I want her yearbook, and when I meet her, I'll give it back," you tell him.

"Why do you want her yearbook?" He asked confusedly.

"I never got to write in it," you tell him.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

"That was the last time I got to see him. He died while I was in Europe."

Wanda knows because she was in the car accident too.

She opens her yearbook and sees an added message on the back, the only other writing in it other than Pietro's.

Wanda,

You may not recognize me, but I wanted to say thank you, for all those years ago, for sticking up for me and getting my things back.

Sincerely,

The girl you saved.

There was a picture there, and Wanda flipped it over. She sees a picture of you back in university, with a familiar dirty backpack.

"When I saw you at the bridge...I just couldn't let you die. You were someone Pietro loved so much. I--"

"Did you blame me?"

Wanda saw a flash of guilt through your eyes.

"I did at first. I hated you at first. You were his family. He loved you so much, he loved me like family, and now he's gone."

Small things over the past few months pass through Wanda's head. Like how you talked as if you new Pietro, trying to get her to not blame herself.

She listened to the words, a dull ache in her chest because the truth felt like you had blamed her too, and she deserved it.

"But...Pietro was right. I met you, got to know you, and everything Pietro told me about you was right. I couldn't blame him for trying to set me up with you."

What a small word, Wanda thought. 

And you were begging.

"Please don't hate me."

But Wanda merely closed the yearbook and opened her arms so you could dive into her comfort.

Because even though you had blamed her, hated her at first, you still saved Wanda. You still stuck around, cleaned her mess up, loved her even when she was awful to you. 

You took in all her imperfections, loved her, and let her love you.

"You are my soulmate," you confess her to, lips quivering.

"Pietro always had a way of taking care of his family. I asked him at the funeral for help, and he gave me you," Wanda whispered.

Your tears stopped at Wanda's calming words. She pulled back, cupping your face as her thumb wiped your tears.

"I love you," she insists. "I'm never letting this hand go."

She holds up your hand, pressing her lips to the painted red string around your wrist.

"I was lost, but you found me. I'm never letting you go."

PART X

[sequencefairy]

I posted 944 times in 2021

93 posts created (10%)

851 posts reblogged (90%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 9.2 posts.

I added 654 tags in 2021

#the whole queue and nothing but the queue - 133 posts

#story of my life - 75 posts

#the ghoul boys - 69 posts

#watcher - 67 posts

#bfu - 65 posts

#jess answers - 56 posts

#shyan - 54 posts

#shane madej - 46 posts

#home is where the fandom is - 45 posts

#ryan bergara - 44 posts

Longest Tag: 136 characters

#ive decided that it's very good my boss is not available to me to discuss the finer points of whether or not batman eats pussy this week

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

"i don't believe a single word you say (but i can't stop listening)" might make a good title for a shyan fic, but i don't have any ideas for it so i thought i'd drop it here in case it sparks anything for you

Oh, oh.

Late night college radio show host Ryan. It's a call in show, and it's about ghosts and conspiracy theories and he gets more than his fair share of fucking weirdos, but sometimes people call in with genuine stories and those are great nights.

Ryan loves his job, actually, as a night owl. He likes watching the sun rise through the station windows. He plays an eclectic mix of music between callers and sometimes, when he can wheedle someone into doing it for free coffee and advertising spots after midnight, he gets a real medium or a psychic to come on the show and sometimes, he really feels like he's helping people out.

That is, until he starts getting calls from this guy. At first, Skeptic Dude refuses to give his name, calls in to argue with Ryan about whatever theory he's presenting. It's good natured tho, and Skeptic Dude's funny as fuck, and Ryan starts really looking forward to the nights when the dude calls.

This goes on for a while, and then the calls stop, and Ryan misses them. He gives it a month, and then he makes a throwaway comment after two am on a Thursday morning, wondering where the Skeptic Dude has gone.

The next night, there's a message left on the soundboard for him, pink paper taped to the top edge, just under where he hangs his headphones. It says some guy named Shane called and there's a number in Keith's nearly illegible scrawl.

Ryan pulls his phone out and dials the number, thinking maybe he remembered the psychic he'd been chatting with online's name wrong, but the voice that answers the phone, thick with sleep, is Skeptic Dude.

62 notes • Posted 2021-11-23 04:40:51 GMT

#4

shyan + the moon

how dare you ask for something that is so me?

---

Ryan can feel it already, the shifting starting under his skin. The calendar says the full moon will rise on Friday, but the pull of it has already begun, hooking like pins behind Ryan’s navel and dragging his eyes up off his computer monitor and towards the big windows to look at the sky. Ryan forces himself back to looking at the screen in front of him and resettles in his chair. The chair creaks, and Shane looks up. Ryan ducks his head to avoid Shane’s shrewd gaze. 

Shane knows. He has since that long haul trip to Ohio early on the BFU days. Ryan had always prided himself on being so very careful, so very cautious, so very aware of making sure not to schedule filming trips during the weekend when the moon would rise, full and fat, and drive him into the nearest woods and turn him into a rippling mass of fur and teeth and claws. Except, that filming trip had been rescheduled three times already by the time they were finally able to go, and there’d been nothing Ryan could do. It’s awfully hard to keep something like not exactly being entirely human under wraps living in each other’s pockets like they do on the road. 

So. Shane knows. He’s never really asked any questions, and seems content to let Ryan never have any kind of conversation about it. Ryan has noticed, however, that Shane has always been very good about not scheduling anything the weekend Ryan isn’t available. 

Ryan sighs, and tries to rein his focus back towards the video he’s editing. It works, more or less. 

Later, Shane corners him near the fridge along the back wall of the office.

“You’re fidgety,” Shane observes, not looking up from the coffee he’s doctoring to his particularly preferred shade of caramel.

Ryan drops the spoon he’s holding and it clatters to the floor. Shane still doesn’t look at him, but Ryan can feel the flush crawling up the back of his neck as he bends down to retrieve the spoon, gripping it tightly in his fist. He watches Shane look up at the calendar tacked onto the whiteboard over the sink, and nod to himself. 

“It’s this weekend, isn’t it?” 

“What’s this weekend?” Brittney asks, pushing between them to get at the basket of snacks set next to the sink. 

“Nothing,” Ryan says, taking an involuntary step back. This close to the moon, his senses are starting to heighten and the sugar-sweet scent of Brittney’s shampoo lingers on the back of his tongue. It makes him want to gag. Shane watches him over Brittney’s oblivious head, a calculating glint in his eyes.

“Do we have any more of those shrimp crackers?” she asks. 

“Dunno,” Shane says, his weighted gaze sliding off Ryan’s face and attention turning towards Brittney. It gives Ryan the out he needs and he takes it. 

The office is suddenly smothering. 

Ryan stalks back to his desk, drops the spoon onto his mousepad and grabs his coat off the back of his chair. He shoves his hands through the sleeves and then he’s gone, before anyone can say anything. 

Outside is better. Outside is fresh air and not a bombardment of smells that normally don’t bother him, except for when the moon gets close. Ryan takes a deep breath, and forces himself to relax into the exhale. He walks around the building towards the loading docks at the back and leans against a stack of pallets, tilting his head back to let the sunshine touch his face. 

Shane finds him there. 

“You okay?” Shane asks, approaching carefully, the way he might if Ryan was already sporting claws and teeth and not still passably human. 

“Just needed some air,” Ryan answers, leaning more fully against the stack of pallets. 

“Sure,” Shane says, in that way that means he’s agreeing with Ryan because he doesn’t want to argue with him. It makes Ryan bristle a little, to be dismissed, but also they already don’t talk about this so it’s entirely irrational. “You need to take the rest of the week off?” Shane asks. He’s got his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. 

“No,” Ryan replies, shortly. He’s fine. He can handle it. It’s not like he hasn’t been handling it for years already. 

Shane lifts his hands in surrender. “Okay, man,” he says, “just checking. You seem, I dunno, extra--” he cuts himself off with a twist of his mouth. 

“Extra, what?” 

“Something’s different this month, is all,” Shane says, after a moment. “Look, I’m not an expert, obviously, but like, you’re--there’s something more happening here.”

“It’s nothing, Shane,” Ryan says, suddenly exhausted and wishing they could go back to never talking about this like they haven’t ever before.

Shane hums, unconvinced. Before Ryan can blink, Shane’s stepped forward and into his space. Ryan’s reaction is immediate and instinctive. His hands come up and push, palms flat against Shane’s chest. 

“Don’t--don’t crowd me,” Ryan complains, when Shane doesn’t step back. This close, he has to crane his head back to look up into Shane’s face. There’s a flush riding high on Shane’s cheekbones and Ryan doesn’t understand why. 

Shane’s own hands wrap around Ryan’s wrists, fingers encircling them easily. Ryan sucks in a breath, getting a lungful of all the smells that Shane carries with him. The sharp clean scent of his deodorant, the musk of all the shadowed places on his body that never see the sun, the bitter caramel scent of the coffee he’d been drinking, the sticky-sweet funk of pot that barely clings to this coat. Ryan’s eyes slide shut, unbidden. 

Anyone else this close would send Ryan’s other senses into overdrive, but Shane’s still holding his wrists, and Ryan can feel the thump of Shane’s heart under his palms. It’s calming in a way that it shouldn’t be. Ryan wants to lean into Shane, and the thought brings him up short and makes him open his eyes. 

When he does, Ryan finds that Shane’s crowded in closer, that now he’s lose enough that when Shane blinks, Ryan can see the fall of every eyelash against the barely there freckles on Shane’s cheeks. He can see the silver coming in through the brown of Shane’s beard. 

“Ryan,” Shane says, something strained in his voice. 

“You--what’re you doing?” 

“I don’t know,” Shane says, and he looks as confused as he sounds. “I can’t--” Shane cuts himself off with a frustrated noise.

“I think--” Ryan moves to step back, but finds he has no where to go and that Shane’s hands tighten around his wrists instead of letting go. He pulls, flexing his fingers against Shane’s chest. “Hey! Let me go, asshole.” 

“No,” Shane says.  

“Shane,” Ryan says, very carefully, “what the fuck are you doing?” 

Shane steps closer, and Ryan finds himself bending his elbows to let him. Ryan’s heart thuds against his ribs, the pallets dig into the small of his back. 

“I can’t,” Shane says, maybe to himself, but he’s close enough now that Ryan can feel the breath of his voice. “Ry--” he says, eyes flicking down to Ryan’s mouth and then back up to his eyes. “I don’t understand what’s--I can’t--”

“Are you--what’s going on? Talk to me,” Ryan says, almost frantic. Shane’s tongue darts out to wet his lips and Ryan’s gaze snags there, heat blooming through his veins. His fingers tingle where they’re still pressed into the fabric of Shane’s shirt. Shane blinks. Ryan’s stomach turns over.     

“You just--Ryan, Christ,” Shane swears. 

“You too,” Ryan says, before he can stop himself. The heat in his blood has a purpose now, and it’s all running south. 

“Stop me,” Shane pleads. The tone of his voice makes Ryan’s head swim. He could no sooner stop Shane than he could stop the full moon transformation and lord knows, Ryan’s tried to stave that off at least a hundred times. It feels like Shane can’t stop himself either, like they’re locked into the riptide of whatever this is together, and Ryan stops fighting it the moment Shane’s mouth finds his. 

The relief of this surrender is sweeter even than giving in to the transformation after trying to hold it off, and Shane tastes like coming home.

Ryan’s hands slide from Shane’s chest up around his neck, pulling him in. Ryan tangles his fingers in Shane’s hair, and Shane’s hands find Ryan’s waist under his unzipped coat, fingers bunching in the fabric of his shirt. 

When they break apart, Shane doesn’t lift his head immediately, just presses his forehead to Ryan’s. “What’s--is this some wolf thing? What’re you doing to me?” 

Ryan swallows. He shrugs. “I don’t know, I don’t think so?” He looks at Shane’s mouth again, and then watches Shane’s throat move as he swallows. “God,” he says, “you have to kiss me again.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yes,” Ryan says, and pushes up on his toes to make sure that Shane does. 

.<>.

“Oh,” Beth says, when Ryan asks her about it at the community meeting a week later. Her blonde hair is pulled back off her face in a high ponytail, and her tawny eyes sparkle. “Yeah,” she says, curling her hands around the styrofoam cup of coffee on the table in front of her. “That happens.” 

“What happens?” Ryan asks, leaning back in his chair. He reaches up to tug at the bandana he borrowed from Shane’s collection that morning. He’s not used to having his neck covered and the sensation of the fabric against the still purpling bruise Shane left and keeps going back to worrying every time he gets anywhere near Ryan’s neck, makes Ryan want to squirm in his chair. 

Beth lifts her cup to her mouth to hide the smile. “Pheromones,” she says. 

“Pheromones?” 

“Yeah, you know, like, they tell people like us that we’re aroused,” she answers. 

“Shane’s not--” Ryan says, and then clamps his mouth shut. He’s not, right? He couldn’t be. Ryan would have noticed. He’s sure he would have noticed. Absolutely sure. There’s no way. And anyway, it’s not like--well, he and Shane did spend the entire weekend attached to each other at the mouth and several other places besides, so he guesses he can’t say anything about how Shane’s not the other thing that Beth’s implying. 

“Not everyone’s tied to the moon, like you, Ryan,” Beth says, knowing. “You should bring him next week.”

“No. Nope. Not happening.” 

Beth shrugs, and her ponytail slides over her shoulder. “Your call,” she says, “we’d love to meet him though.” 

88 notes • Posted 2021-02-26 14:10:54 GMT

#3

shyan + 'shane uses non-sexual kink techniques to calm ryan down after an spn shoot' setup?

It’s the hand around the back of his neck that does it. 

Suddenly, in the midst of the buzzing static of his brain, Ryan finds silence in the grip of Shane’s fingers on the back of his neck. It’s not a tight grip, and it’s quick, just a fleeting moment of pressure, enough to reel in all the loose and fraying threads of Ryan’s ability to reason and logic himself through the rest of this shoot. It’s not on camera, because Shane would never, just that quick reach up, the close of his fingers around the back of Ryan’s neck, and then, blessed silence in that brief warm squeeze. 

The rest of the shoot goes as well as can be expected, and Shane doesn’t touch Ryan again. He won’t, Ryan knows, he never does. It’s only these little moments of grounding, to remind Ryan of the lines and borders of his body, to bring him back inside of them, contain the ever-expanding spiral of anxiety back inside of his flesh where Ryan can beat it back with measured breaths and catching the steady gaze of his partner out of the corner of his eye. 

At the hotel, Ryan’s restless again. He usually is after a shoot, but this is different. It’s humming under his skin, buzzing in his ears, like the panic is still trying to win. It fades out under the pounding of the shower on his shoulders, but it’s back with a high-pitched whine when he turns off the light in the bathroom and steps back out into their room. 

Shane’s sprawled out on the bed closest to the window, all eight hundred miles of his limbs spread across the dizzy pattern of the comforter. He’s not asleep, Ryan knows, because he’s tapping a rhythm against his sternum with one finger. It’s steady, slow and even, and Ryan’s eyes catch on the movement of Shane’s hand, the tap of his nail against the button on his henley. 

Shane’s eyes open when Ryan sinks down to sitting on the bed he’d claimed as his own when they’d dropped their shit off here earlier in the day. 

“Still buzzing, hey?” Shane asks, voice low. He always knows, seems to be able to read it in Ryan’s body language, no matter how much he tries to hide it. Ryan nods, because even if he tried to lie, Shane would know and Ryan tries very hard not to lie to Shane. 

Shane sits up on the bed and turns so he’s facing Ryan, his long legs crossed. He looks at Ryan.  For the first time in their long partnership of not saying anything about the elephants they keep bringing into every room they’re in, it looks like Shane might say something after all. Ryan holds his gaze. 

Shane looks away first. Something that’s fine in the dark and under the cobwebs seems not to be fine in the low light of a hotel room across town. Ryan looks down at his own knees. His palms are sweaty where he skims them against his thighs, the fabric of his sweats catching. He shivers, shrugging his shoulders up and then rolling them back and down. 

He closes his eyes, sucking in a breath. He’ll need to settle, find his way back into his own skin, pull in the scattered shadows of his fears and seal them back inside the boundary of his own physical form. If he doesn’t, he won’t sleep. 

There’s a touch to his knee, then a grip, just above the joint, Shane’s fingers pressed into the pressure point, enough that it draws Ryan out of his breathing count. Shane’s sitting on the edge of the other bed now, feet flat on the floor. He’s leaning forward, and when Ryan doesn’t shake off his grip, he grabs hold of Ryan’s other knee. 

“This helps.” It’s not a question but Ryan nods anyway. Shane squeezes a little tighter, and Ryan feels something in the top of his spine come loose. Ryan breathes out, and Shane shifts forward, close enough that their knees brush. When he looks up this time, Shane’s watching him, eyes dark. 

“Get on the floor,” Shane says, letting go of Ryan’s knees. He leans back to give Ryan some space. 

Ryan hesitates. If he does this, what does it mean for them? If he lets Shane put him back together like this, what does that change about who they will be in the morning? If Shane sees him like this, sees him coming apart at the seams still, even hours after, what does it change about how Shane sees him? 

What if it changes nothing at all?

Ryan slides forward and then off the bed entirely, going to his knees in front of Shane. He looks up. Shane’s watching him, eyes searching Ryan’s face, hands pressed against his own thighs. There’s a wild feeling behind Ryan’s ribs, something untethering him from himself as he kneels here, for Shane. It’s just kneeling, Ryan tries to tell himself, but he knows it’s not. He knows it’s more than that, that is has been more than that since Shane gripped him by the back of the neck so many hours ago. 

The thick carpet and soft bedding deadens everything in the room, snuffing any extraneous sound before it can begin to ring. 

The energy under Ryan’s skin seethes. 

Shane’s watching him. Ryan shivers in a breath, the tension in his spine still ratcheted tight. 

“Hands behind your back,” Shane suggests but Ryan knows it’s not. Something about Shane’s tone makes Ryan want to scramble to do whatever Shane is asking of him. “Lace your fingers together.” 

Ryan does what he’s told. Shane reaches out and pushes his fingers into Ryan’s shoulder. Ryan locks up his core to resist the overbalancing. Shane nods to himself. 

“Stay like that,” he says, and sits back on the bed, leaning back on his hands. “Feels okay?” 

Ryan nods. Something warm and longing curls in his belly, but Ryan ignores it. Eventually this position will be uncomfortable, what with the way his shoulders are pulled back and the pressure against his knees, but for now, Ryan feels like he could stay here for hours. Feels like he might want to stay here for hours, with Shane giving the instruction. He packs that thought away to examine not here on his knees in front of Shane.

“Tell me about the property again,” Shane says, after a moment. 

“What?” 

“You heard me. I want a history lesson.” 

“A what?” 

Shane sighs. He scuffs a hand through his hair. “You’re still keyed up from earlier, right? So, stay there on the floor, and tell me a story.” 

“I don’t see how this is going to help.” It comes out as more of a question than anything else. 

“Why don’t you just trust me and see,” Shane says. He turns on the bed and settles against the pillows, arms crossed under his head. He looks like he’s ready to sleep. He gives Ryan a few seconds of silence to fill and when Ryan doesn’t he pushes himself up a little on his elbows. “Well? Go on.” 

So, Ryan does. 

It takes a couple of tries to get into the rhythm of telling the story, but once he’s found it, the words just keep coming, until his voice starts to get hoarse and the ache in his knees and his shoulders becomes too pressing to ignore. 

What he stops feeling is the thrumming anxiety.

 When he pauses for a deep breath, Shane sits back up. 

“How’re you feeling?” 

“Knees hurt,” Ryan says. He shrugs his shoulders as best as he can. “Shoulders, too.” 

“Okay,” Shane replies, and reaches out, big hands landing on Ryan’s shoulders. “How’s the rest?” 

Ryan takes a moment to check. Aside from the physical ache of kneeling on the floor for however long it’s been, he’s fine. He yawns, ducking his head to hide it since his hands are still laced together behind his back. 

Shane’s face softens. The slight smile that curves his mouth is full of a fondness Ryan knows Shane will never attach words to. “Think you can sleep now?” 

“Yeah,” Ryan croaks. 

“Good,” Shane answers. “Unlace your fingers for me, okay? Then slowly roll your shoulders out, you’ll get stiff otherwise.” 

Ryan rolls his shoulders out, reaching up first one hand and then the other to rub at the muscles that have stiffened while he’s been kneeling. 

“Standing’s gonna suck,” Shane says, when Ryan’s finished moving his shoulders. “Let me help.” 

Shane offers his hand and Ryan takes it, letting Shane steady him as he pushes himself up off his knees, one leg at a time. His knees both pop when he straightens, and it makes Ryan shiver. He feels laid out like he does sometimes after a hard run, the good kind of exhausted. He looks up at Shane. Shane’s looking down at him. 

For a moment, they stand there, until Shane reaches out with one hand to brush his fingers along Ryan’s jaw. The tenderness of the gesture makes Ryan’s toes curl into the carpet. The moment is broken when Shane steps back out of Ryan’s space. 

“I’m beat,” Shane declares, rocking back onto his heels with a dramatic yawn that he covers with one hand. 

“Yeah,” Ryan agrees. He looks over at the bed he’d claimed and then back at the rumpled one Shane’s been lying on. 

“Just get in,” Shane says, slipping around to the other side of the bed. “Grab the light when you do.” 

By the time Ryan remembers how to move, Shane’s already under the covers. He’s got his glasses in his hand and he waggles them at Ryan when Ryan reaches to pull down the coverlet and get in. 

They get situated, Shane on his back, one hand thrown up behind his head, and Ryan curled up tight on his side. 

“Ryan,” Shane says, into the dark. “Chill. Just sleep, dude. You need it.” 

“Shane?” 

“Yeah, bud,” Shane says, and Ryan can hear him moving behind him. 

“Just--”

“C’mere,” Shane says, from much closer than he was previously. Shane’s hand curls around Ryan’s shoulder, giving him a squeeze. “Stop getting in your head so much about this,” Shane suggests, “you’ll undo all that work from earlier.”

Ryan takes a deep breath and exhales slowly through his nose, forcing himself to relax. As he does, he realises that Shane’s snugged up almost directly behind him, warmth of his body bleeding into Ryan’s. Shane’s hand smooths down Ryan’s arm and then lands in the dip of his waist, the weight of it soothing in a way Ryan hadn’t expected. 

Ryan closes his eyes. 

He falls asleep thinking about whether it would be weird to reach back with one foot and find Shane’s calf with his toes. 

135 notes • Posted 2021-05-14 13:52:56 GMT

#2

“His name’s Bergara,” Perugini offers, while Shane flips the file open over his lap.

The first page is a copy of a criminal record, Bergara’s mugshot pinned to the upper left corner of the page. Shane gets an impression of dark eyes, dark brows, and a strong chin. He moves down the page to look at the rest. There’s a string of petty thefts, a grand theft auto, and an assault charge that Shane makes a note to look up later. His eyes stray back up to the mugshot before he turns the page. 

Bergara — Ryan — Shane notes, is only just younger than him. He looks dangerous, his mouth curled in insolence even in the mugshot. Shane flips the page over. 

“What’s the play?” Shane asks, closing the folder. He looks up at Perugini, watching the older man’s face. 

“Get to know him,” Perugini answers, gold tooth showing in his smile. “Make friends, treat him nice, show him how we could help him get his little business off the ground.” 

“And if he doesn’t want to play?” Shane asks, already knowing the answer. Perugini’s smile turns sharp. Shane is reminded of a shark he saw in an aquarium once when he was little. 

“Tie up that loose end, Madej. I hear you’re good at that.”

Read it on AO3

Playlist // Cover by @_lazulila 

238 notes • Posted 2021-07-21 14:11:21 GMT

#1

L from @jdrenes and R from @tjustine on insta

Photoshooooooot

380 notes • Posted 2021-05-26 03:27:10 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

[thedevilnamedlola]

"Usually, I lie. At a party, someone asks the question. It’s someone who hasn’t smelled the rancid decay of week-dead flesh or heard the rattle of fluid flooding lungs. I shake the ice in my glass, smile, and lie. When they say, “I bet you always get that question,” I roll my eyes and agree.

There are plenty of in-between stories to delve into; icky, miraculous ones and reams of the hilarious and stupid. I did, after all, become a paramedic knowing it would stack my inner shelves with a library of human tragicomedy. I am a writer, and we are nothing if not tourists gawking at our own and other people’s misery. No?

The dead don’t bother me. Even the near-dead, I’ve made my peace with. When we meet, there’s a very simple arrangement: Either they’re provably past their expiration date and I go about my business, RIP, or they’re not and I stay. A convenient set of criteria delineates the provable part: if they have begun to decay; if rigor mortis has set in; if the sedentary blood has begun to pool at their lowest point, discoloring the skin like a slowly gathering bruise. The vaguest criterion is called obvious death, and we use it in those bizarre special occasions that people are often sniffing for when they ask questions at parties: decapitations, dismemberments, incinera- tions, brains splattered across the sidewalk. Obvious death.

One of my first obvious deaths was a portly Mexican man who had been bicycling along the highway that links Brooklyn to Queens. He’d been hit by three cars and a dump truck, which was the only one that stopped. The man wasn’t torn apart or flattened, but his body had twisted into a pretzel; arms wrapped around legs. Somewhere in there was a shoulder. Obvious death. His bike lay a few feet away, gnarled like its owner. Packs and packs of Mexican cigarettes scattered across the highway. It was three a.m. and a light rain sprinkled the dead man, the bicycle, the cigarette packs, and me, made us all glow in the sparkle of police flares. I was brand new; cars kept rushing past, slowing down, rushing past.

Obvious death. Which means there’s nothing we can do, which means I keep moving with my day, with my life, with whatever I’ve been pondering until this once-alive-now-inanimate object fell into my path.If I can’t check off any of the boxes—if I can’t prove the person’s dead—I get to work and the resuscitation flowchart erupts into a tree of brand-new and complex options. Start CPR, intubate, find a vein, put an IV in it. If there’s no vein and you’ve tried twice, drill an even bigger needle into the flat part of the bone just below the knee. Twist till you feel a pop, attach the IV line. If the heart is jiggling, shock it; if it’s flatlined, fill it with drugs. If the family lingers, escort them out; if they look too hopeful, ease them toward despair. If time slips past and the dead stay dead, call it. Signs of life? Scoop ’em up and go.

You see? Simple.

Except then one day you find one that has a quiet smile on her face, her arms laying softly at her sides, her body relaxed. She is ancient, a crinkled flower, and was dying for weeks, years. The fam- ily cries foul: She had wanted to go in peace. A doctor, a social worker, a nurse—at some point all opted not to bother having that difficult conversation, perhaps because the family is Dominican and the Spanish translator wasn’t easily reachable and anyway, someone else would have it, surely, but no one did. And now she’s laid herself down, made all her quiet preparations and slipped gently away. Without that single piece of paper though, none of the lamentations matter, the peaceful smile doesn’t matter. You set to work, the tree of options fans out, your blade sweeps her tongue aside and you battle in an endotracheal tube; needles find their mark. Bumps emerge on the flat line, a slow march of tiny hills that resolve into tighter scribbles. Her pulse bounds against your fingers; she is alive.

But not awake, perhaps never to be again. You have brought not life but living death, and fuck what I’ve seen, because that, my friends at the party, my random interlocutor who doesn’t know the reek of decay, that is surely one of the craziest things I have ever done.

But that’s not what I say. I lie.

Which is odd because I did, after all, become a medic to fill the library stacks, yes? An endless collection of human frailty vignettes: disasters and the expanding ripple of trauma. No, that’s not quite true. There was something else, I’m sure of it.

And anyway, here at this party, surrounded by eager listeners with drinks in hand, mouths slightly open, ready to laugh or gasp, I, the storyteller, pause. In that pause, read my discomfort.

On the job, we literally laugh in the face of death. In our crass humor and easy flow between tragedy and lunch break, outsiders see callousness: We have built walls, ceased to feel. As one who laughs, I assure you that this is not the case. When you greet death on the daily, it shows you new sides of itself, it brings you into the fold. Gradually, or maybe quickly, depending on who you are, you make friends with it. It’s a wary kind of friendship at first, with the kind of stilted conversation you might have with a man who picked you up hitch- hiking and turns out to have a pet boa constrictor around his neck. Death smiles because death always wins, so you can relax. When you know you won’t win, it lets you focus on doing everything you can to try to win anyway, and really, that’s all there is: The Effort.

The Effort cleanses. It wards off the gathering demons of doubt. When people wonder how we go home and sleep easy after bearing witness to so much pain, so much death, the answer is that we’re not bearing witness. We’re working. Not in the paycheck sense, but in the sense of The Effort. When it’s real, not one of the endless parade of chronic runny noses and vague hip discomforts, but a true, soon- to-be-dead emergency? Everything falls away. There is the patient, the family, the door. Out the door is the ambulance and then farther down the road, the hospital. That’s it. That’s all there is.

Awkward text messages from exes, career uncertainties, generalized aches and pains: They all disintegrate beneath the hugeness that is someone else’s life in your hands. The guy’s heart is failing; fluid backs up in those feebly pumping chambers, erupts into his lungs, climbs higher and higher, and now all you hear is the raspy clatter every time he breathes. Is his blood pressure too high or too low? You wrap the cuff on him as your partner finds an IV. The monitor goes on. A thousand possibilities open up before you: He might start getting better, he might code right there, the ambulance might stall, the medicine might not work, the elevator could never come. You cast off the ones you can’t do anything about, see about another IV because the one your partner got already blew. You’re sweating when you step back and realize nothing you’ve done has helped, and then everything becomes even simpler, because all you can do is take him to the hospital as fast as you can move without totaling the rig.

He doesn’t make it. You sweated and struggled and calculated and he doesn’t make it, and dammit if that ain’t the way shit goes, but also, you’re hungry. And you’re alive, and you’ve wracked your body and mind for the past hour trying to make this guy live. Death won, but death always wins, the ultimate spoiler alert. You can only be that humbled so many times and then you know: Death always wins. It’s a warm Thursday evening and grayish orange streaks the horizon. There’s a pizza place around the corner; their slices are just the right amount of doughy. You check inside yourself to see if anything’s shattered and it’s not, it’s not. You are alive. You have not shattered.

You have not shattered because of The Effort. The Effort cleanses because you have become a part of the story, you are not passive, the very opposite of passive, in fact. Having been humbled, you feel amazing. Every moment is precise and the sky ripples with delight as you head off to the pizza place, having hurled headlong into the game and given every inch of yourself, if only for a moment, to a losing struggle.

It’s not adrenaline, although they’ll say that it is, again and again. It is the grim, heartbroken joy of having taken part. It is the difference between shaking your head at the nightly news and taking to the streets. It’s when you finally tell her how you really feel, the moment you craft all your useless repetitive thoughts into a prayer.

At the party, as they look on expectantly, I draft one of the lesser moments of horror as a stand-in. The evisceration, that will do. That single strand of intestine just sitting on the man’s belly like a lost worm. He was dying too, but he lived. It was a good story, a terrible night.

I was new and I didn’t know if I’d done anything right. He lived, but only by a hair. I magnified each tiny decision to see if I’d erred and came up empty. There was no way to know. Eventually I stopped taking jobs home with me. I released the ghosts of what I’d done or hadn’t done, let The Effort do what it does and cleanse me in the very moment of crisis. And then one night I met a tiny three-year old girl in overalls, all smiles and high-fives and curly hair. We were there because a neighbor had called it in as a burn, but the burns were old. Called out on his abuse, the father had fled the scene. The emergency, which had been going on for years, had ended and only just begun.

The story unraveled as we drove to the hospital; I heard it from the front seat. The mother knew all along, explained it in jittery, sobbing replies as the police filled out their forms. It wasn’t just the burns; the abuse was sexual too. There’d been other hospital visits, which means that people who should’ve seen it didn’t, or didn’t bother setting the gears in motion to stop it. I parked, gave the kid another high five, watched her walk into the ER holding a cop’s hand.

Then we had our own forms to fill out. Bureaucracy’s response to unspeakable tragedy is more paperwork. Squeeze the horror into easy-to-fathom boxes, cull the rising tide of rage inside and check and recheck the data, complete the forms, sign, date, stamp, insert into a metal box and then begin the difficult task of forgetting.

The job followed me down Gun Hill Road; it laughed when I pretended I was okay. I stopped on a corner and felt it rise in me like it was my own heart failing this time, backing fluids into my lungs, breaking my breath. I texted a friend, walked another block. A sob came out of somewhere, just one. It was summer. The breeze felt nice and nice felt shitty.

My phone buzzed. Do you want to talk about it?

I did. I wanted to talk about it and more than that I wanted to never have seen it and even more than that I wanted to have done something about it and most of all, I wanted it never to have hap- pened, never to happen again. The body remembers. We carry each trauma and ecstasy with us and they mark our stride and posture, contort our rhythm until we release them into the summer night over Gun Hill Road. I knew it wasn’t time to release just yet; you can’t force these things. I tapped the word no into my phone and got on the train.

I don’t tell that one either. Stories with trigger warnings don’t go over well at parties. But when the question is asked, the little girl’s smile and her small, bruised arms appear in my mind.

The worst tragedies don’t usually get 911 calls, because they are patient, unravel over centuries. While we obsess over the hyperviolent mayhem, they seep into our subconscious, poison our sense of self, upend communities, and gnaw away at family trees with intergenerational trauma.I didn’t pick up my pen just to bear witness. None of us did. And I didn’t become a medic to get a front-row seat to other people’s tragedies. I did it because I knew the world was bleeding and so was I, and somewhere inside I knew the only way to stop my own bleeding was to learn how to stop someone else’s. Another call crackles over the radio, we pick up the mic and push the button and drive off. Death always wins, but there is power in our tiniest moments, humanity in shedding petty concerns to make room for compassion. We witness, take part, heal. The work of healing in turn heals us and we begin again, laughing mournfully, and put pen to paper.

Daniel José Older"

[doc-pickles]

it’s nothing funny just to talk (p. 1)

What happens when you text that random number graffitied on a bathroom stall in your favorite bar? Jo Wilson is about to find out. - In which Bar Princess and Doctor Evil Spawn meet via text.

More Jolex on your timeline because y’all seemed to love what I posted before! Also I’ve posted this whole piece on AO3 as well so it might look familiar.  

this idea came to me in a fever dream and i am not sorry that y'all have to deal with it. 99% of this fic will be in "texting" format, so be prepared for that. 

Jo is regular Alex is italics

Saturday 11:04 PM

heeeeey is thiss doctor evil?

I gotta say ur phone sex namee needs sum weerk

u soud like a comic book village 

fuck

village

VILLAIN

Who the hell is this? And how did you get my number? 

i’m just a girl at thee bar!!!! 

Joe’s Bar?

noooooo

i’m at enerlad city bar

You didn’t answer my question. 

u asked a quesitoon?

whata was it?

i’m goos at takifjg tests 

How’d you get my number?

it qas in the bathrooom!!!

it said “for a good tiem txt dr evil spawne” 

so I did

I am ready to havee fun

You’re drunk, obviously, and I’m going to have to kill Cristina for putting my number up. 

ooooooh is thatt ur girleifnd?

hirlefiend 

girlfriend**

Wow you’re really gone. And hell no, she’s my roommate. One of them. 

ooooh how many do u hav

roomees not girlfriends 

Three. Two girls and a dude. 

intereeesting...

well it’s tome for fireball shoots

steph is yeeling at me 4 txting too much

goodbey doctor eviel apawn!!

Oh lord. Tell Steph you need water. Or an IV. 

I’ve got her. she’s throwing up on her shoes. thanks doctor. - steph

  Sunday 10:11 AM

You know you’re pretty funny, Bar Girl. 

jesus christ what fucking time is it?! 

10 AM

I’m assuming you have a massive hangover. 

hold on I can’t hear you over the sound of me vomiting

TMI as the kids say these days. 

what’re you a grandpa or something?? 

No I just don’t know how to use text lingo. Except WTF. I know that one very well. 

quick question

who the fuck are you?

Dr. Evil Spawn. You found my name graffitied in the bathroom of Emerald City Bar. 

holy shit

I thought I dreamed that... WHAT THE FUCK

Nope. I’m real. 

holy shit i’m so sorry

my texts were so annoying

Who hurt you? I mean you were shitfaced, I’m assuming someone broke your heart into tiny pieces. 

the opposite actually, I was at a bachelorette party

not mine, i’m so single it hurts

Ahhh that makes sense. So you got shitfaced in solidarity? 

exactly you get it

you seem like you’d be the DD at a bachelorette party

Well seeing as I’m a dude I don’t do Bachelorette parties. 

Well I did go to one, but that’s a different story.  

hmmm you seem like a very interesting man doctor evil spawn 

going to bachelorette parties, living with women who aren’t your girlfriend 

OMG ARE YOU DATING THE GUY YOU LIVE WITH?!

George? No absolutely not. And before you ask, my other girl roommate is gay. 

so you’re single?

i’m only asking so when you murder me the police have as much information as possible

Haha very funny. I would be a terrible murderer. 

you didn’t answer my question

Fine. Yes I’m single. 

i’ll note that in the “serial killer file” i’m building 

gotta go, I have to do work :/

Have fun, don’t die. 

  Sunday 8:38 PM

Arizona is trying to set me up on a blind date. 

who’s arizona?

My gay roommate. She wants me to meet this “bubbly blonde” she knows from her pilates class. 

ahhhh. why don’t you go?

Bubbly blonde is not my type. Sounds like she’ll spend the whole date talking about how much she loves dogs or her knitting hobby. 

Plus she does pilates, that tells me more than enough. 

you’re making some good points. I don’t pity you. 

You better not. How was work?

the longest day of my life

it was just paperwork, I don’t actually work on the weekends

What do you do?

hmmmm that’s exactly what a serial killer would say

i’m an elementary school teacher

Oh so you sing and dance and paint pictures all day?

what school did you go to?

were working on multiplication tables and basic photosynthesis tomorrow

Wow that sounds like a lot.

it’s may, ive got three weeks of school left so I have to cram all the crap we didn’t cover into these last few weeks 

Ahhh that sounds more accurate.

and what do you do? 

besides text strangers that you don’t know

I’m a pediatrician. 

oh so you make kids cry and wipe snotty noses all day? two can play at that game

Well we both have to deal with snotty noses sooo...

I GET IT!! Doctor Evil Spawn!! 

why evil spawn though? 

I wasn’t this nice when I started med school. My personality is an acquired taste. 

ha! that’s a funny joke. 

so if you’re a fancy schmancy doctor why do you live with three other people?

I’m only a resident, not making the big bucks yet. Everyone else is a doctor too. 

are they all pediatricians?

No. Arizona is too but Cristina is a cardiologist and George is a trauma specialist. 

interesting!! I too live with my coworkers. it’s not fun. 

the table is always covered in craft supplies. 

Well I can never read the grocery list on the fridge. Stupid doctors script...

oh that’s a classic. you’re pretty funny Dr. Evil Spawn

Thanks Bar Girl. 

I gotta go. monday tomorrow and you know how fourth graders can be. night!! 

Night . 

  Monday 9:47 AM

there’s not enough coffee in the world for monday mornings. 

  Monday 10:52 AM 

Sorry I was yelling at the interns. We have a decent coffee cart here. Keeps me alive. Are you texting in class?

no it was recess

now they’re at spanish class

i’m not totally irresponsible 

Oh good to know the future of America is in good hands. Teacher Princess is “not totally irresponsible”

teacher princess?

Well, Cinderella lost her shoe, you puked on yours. Same thing. 

wooooooooow

that was so uncalled for...

I thought it was funny. Gotta go set a broken arm. 

broken arm vs. adverbs... can we switch? have fun lol

  Monday 3:26 PM

I don’t even think I know what an adverb is. 

how did you become a doctor??

Don’t need to know adverbs to fix a couple broken bones and snuffy noses. 

oh darn I should’ve gone to school for seven more years then

Haha. How were the adverbs?

better than expected, grading papers while I wait for my roomies to be done

we carpool, saving the environment and shit

Okay Eco Warrior.

you text like a 60 year old man

you’re not a 60 year old man are you?

No I’m a 28 year old man though

28 a doctor and you’re single? your personality must be worse than you described 

I’m a busy man, I don’t have time to settle down. And I have no desire to. 

yet you have time to text a complete stranger? 

hmmmm interesting...

Ouch, that one hurt Princess. 

steph is making me socialize with the other teachers

if I don’t respond, they killed me or dragged me to an essential oil party

Hahahaha

  Monday 5:18 PM

Did you get roped into a pyramid scheme?

nooo but therew as wine

I should sotp drunk texting you so often 

It makes your presence that much more entertaining. And bearable. 

woah woah dude

i’m a gem 

I can tell. Elementary school teacher with a heart of gold. 

awwww your too sweet tome

It’s a Monday. Who the hell gets drunk on a Monday?

teachers

we deserve it

You’re a teacher and you’re single and still going to Bachelorette parties. You’re what, 23? 

i’m 25 and i’m doing greta thanks you very nuch 

cnat believe that i’m supplying my perosnal info to a serial killer

What makes you so sure that I’m a mass murderer? 

ur weird nickname and ur intimate knowledge of the himan body

Mmm yes well a good amount of women do find themselves screaming around me often. Or under me. On top of me...

omg are you sending me dirty jokes

you’re crazy 

What can I say. 

Gotta go, I’m on call tonight. Get to bed safe, Bar Princess. 

mmmkay thanks Doc

  Wednesday 11:29 AM

What do you think is worse: School lunch or hospital food?

hospital food, no doubt

thursday is mac and cheese day here... I could bathe in that stuff

We have Spaghetti Wednesday but that’s the only good thing here. 

mmm how depressing

the teachers do a pot luck once a month and that’s always good

the art teacher next door to me makes the BEST blueberry muffins. 

Lucky. All I get here is vending machine cookies. Anything interesting happening in the elementary world? 

a first grader got lice last week so naturally we all have it now

I had to chop off six inches of my hair

Holy crap. Lice can be vicious, be thankful you didn’t have to shave your head. 

it feels like I did, my hair hasn’t been above my shoulders since the backstreet boys were still touring

Wow. I’m glad to know you’re well cultured. 

of course I am

gotta go, kids are back from music class

Don’t be too hard on them, they deserve a break every once in awhile. 

  Thursday 3:06 PM

Incoming Voice Call

“Jenna you forgot your lunch pail. Have a good day!”

“Hello?”

“Hi Mrs. Peters. I didn’t grade Henry’s test yet, I’ll have it tomorrow. Thanks bye!”

“Helloooo?”

“Steph I gotta grab my things, I’ll be there in a seco- oh shit. Hello?”

“Bar Princess?”

“Doctor Evil Spawn? I must’ve butt dialed you, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay I... I don’t mind the interruption. Are you leaving work?”

“Just about, we’re wrapping up the solar system and I have to bring home the diorama.”

“I was never good at the models, I prefer working with the real thing.”

“Oh ho, a man that works with his hands. I can appreciate that.”

“You know now we’re officially talking and we still don’t know each other’s names.”

“Well around here I’m Miss Wilson, but you can call me Jo.”

“Jo. Hmm I like chicks with dudes names. I’m Dr. Karev but you can call me Alex.”

“Well nice to kinda meet you Alex. I’ll talk to you soon, I gotta get out of here.”

“Talk to you later.”  

  Thursday 4:34 PM

I wouldn’t mind if you were my teacher.

how did I know you’d send me something along those lines

I’m predictable. I’m still calling you Bar Princess. 

as you wish doctor evil spawn

I get to assist on a surgery today. Tonsillectomy. 

like removing tonsils? that’s awesome

for you, not for the kid

Oh she’ll be fine, she gets ice cream and jello for a week.  

okay yeah I might be jealous of her now

id love to be off work for a week and have you waiting on me hand and foot

the ice cream is a nice bonus

You think that’s my job?

well you said you aren’t making the big bucks yet so.... yeah 

Keep dreaming. I’ll talk to you later, gotta scrub in. 

have fun!!!!

[virgilisashark]

I’ll Always Love You

TW: Injury, stabbing, bruises, implied bullying, implied homophobia, homophobic slurs used, doctors, fatherly!Tony Stark, tell me if there’s anything else!

This was originally a two part series but I couldn’t figure out how links work so here’s one fic

Summary: Peter gets stabbed, but not when he’s on patrol. The injury is a bit more than he first told Tony.

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

The ring of Tony’s phone was annoying. It caused him to feel irritated, tempted to throw the phone across the room. But, somehow, whenever he sees that the person who is calling is Peter, the urge goes away.

Except for when Tony answers and Peter hissing in pain on the other side.

“Pete?” Tony said, trying his best to keep an anxious tone out of his voice. He stood from his desk, quickly walking down the hallway.

“H-hey Mr. Stark,” Peter gasped, “Oh- ow. Yeah, that hurts.”

“Peter. What happened?” Tony turned down the next hallway, walking faster than he previously thought possible every time Peter made a pain filled noise.

“Okay, not to alarm you-”

“Too late.”

“But I may or may not have been lightly stabbed.”

Tony might have had a heart attack right there and then. “Stabbed?!?” 

“Lightly.” Peter corrected. “It’s not that bad, Mr. Stark, I think I got it- oh, oh no that’s painful. Never mind, I don’t got this.”

“Obviously.” Tony scoffed, finally entering the room that had his Iron Man suits in it. “I’ll be right there. Where are you, kid?”

“Uh-uh.” Peter took a deep breath. “B-brownster road, in an alley. By the school.”

Tony put on the Iron Man suit, practically jumping out of the window. 

“Okay, kid, I’m gonna go-”

“No!” Peter said. Tony half expected Peter to stammer out an apology, embarrassed, but it never came. 

The kid must be really bad.

“...Okay. I’ll stay right here. Can you apply pressure to the wound?”

Peter didn’t respond. Tony hoped that meant he was doing it, and not that he was dead.

“FRI, read Peter’s vitals.”

“I have no access to Peter Parker’s vitals.” FRIDAY answered, calmly.

“What?”

“N-not in suit.” Peter mumbled.

“What?” 

4 minutes. Tony was going as fast as he could. Civilians, who there were a lot of: it was only around 3:30 p.m, probably thought something was trying to destroy the world again. But no, it was just Tony trying to save his kid, who wasn’t in his suit.

What the fuck?

“FRI, find Peter.” 

“Alley,” Peter slurred out.

“I know kid,” Tony mumbled. 

“Right there, sir,” FRIDAY said, highlighting Peter’s body through the buildings.

Tony sped over to where he was, landing next to him.

“Jesus fuck.” 

Peter was worse than Tony imagined. Blood covered his entire leg. His pants were ripped, and the knife still stuck out of his leg. If it wasn’t for his superpowers, Peter would definitely be dead from the amount of blood he’s lost.  

Although there was so much blood Tony couldn’t get a good look, he could’ve sworn blood was coming out of multiple wounds.

He already had a black eye forming. His lip was cut. Puke mixed with the blood. Peter had thrown up, which probably meant he was punched in his stomach, which meant more bruises.

“Okay, let’s just...” Tony walked over to Peter, going to pick him up.

“Ow, ow, ow.” Peter hissed.

“I know kid, but we gotta get you to the hospital wing. Can you hold on tight?” 

“Mm,” Peter murmured, gripping onto Tony. He had successfully picked Peter up bridal style, grabbing him from his back and upper legs so he wouldn’t apply as much pain to the wound(s).

He flew fast, but not as fast as possible. He could tell by the painful whimpers that the faster Tony went the more it hurt, so he opted to flying fast enough to get them to the medical care center in the tower in less than 10 minutes, but not fast enough that Peter was in unbearable pain. At least, he hoped the kid wasn’t in too much pain. 

“FRI, alert Doctor Banner that Peter got stabbed, and open the landing window in the Medical Center.” Tony ordered, holding Peter tightly.

His blood was all over his suit. He landed in the medical center, bringing Peter into the first room, setting him down on the bed carefully as Bruce and 3 other doctors ran in.

“Peter! What happened?” He began to grab things to clean up Peter’s wound.

“Stabbed,” Peter replied, breathing heavily.

“Yeah Pete, we know that. But how?” One of the doctors asked.

Peter closed his eyes. Bruce tapped his cheek lightly.

“Gotta stay awake, Peter.” Bruce turned to Tony. “Can you go, please?”

“Go? That’s my kid, Banner.”

Bruce nodded. “I know,” He ripped Peter’s jean leg clean off, tossing the bloody fabric into a trash bin. “But we need to work-” One of the doctors grabbed some anesthesia. Peter lifted his head with the other doctors help.

Tony stayed still.

“Tony, go. Peter will be fine.”

He huffed, turning and exciting the hospital room.

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

When Peter woke up, his first thought was ow. His leg still had the pain from yesterday, although it was much dueler than before. His left eye was closed shut.

He looked to his right. IV’s were connected to his arm. Out the window, he could see that it was currently night time.

To his left, Tony laid on a chair, passed out.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter frowned. He pulled the blanket up from where his leg laid.

His shoulders slumped. It was wrapped in bloody bandages.

“Peter?”

Turning to look at the source of the noise, Peter saw Tony sitting straight up.

“Kid. Shit, are you okay?”

Peter opened his mouth to respond, but Tony cut him off. 

“Stupid question. Of course your not.” Tony added. His tone was softer than it usually was, almost pitiful.  “Kid, is there anything you want to tell me?”

Peter stiffened. He could barely remember what had happened, but he had a few ideas of what Tony might be referring to. “No.”

“Really? Because you weren’t only stabbed. Something was carved into your leg.”

Peter took a shaky breath, closing his eyes.

“Here’s a reminder, that no matter what, you’ll always be our school’s number one fag.”

“Is it permanent?” Peter asked, silently praying that it wasn’t. He wasn’t ready for the questions, the rejection.

“We don’t know.” Tony leaned back in his chair. “Do you know who did-” Tony gestured vaguely to Peter’s entire body. “that?”

A pause. The answer hung in the air for a few seconds. “No.”

“Pete-”

“I don’t know who it was, Mr. Stark.”

Tony called bullshit, but he wouldn’t press right now.

“Peter, I need you to tell me. The carving...” Tony cleared his throat, trying to think of a way to say it. 

“It says fag, doesn’t it?” Peter asked, the sadness and exhaustion in his voice. His eyes were still closed, his head lying on the pillow.

Tony sighed. “Yeah. Kid-”

“Not now.” Peter said. It sounded like he really, really couldn’t deal with it right now.

And he couldn’t.

Tony nodded slowly. “Yeah, okay. Not now. Bruce said you’re out Friday, we can talk then, okay kid?”

“Y-yeah.”

A knock came at the door, followed by a nurse holding a clipboard walking into the room.

“Alright, kid.” Tony gently ruffled Peter’s hair. “Get some sleep.”

“Okay.” 

Tony sighed softly, turning and walking out of the room as the nurse ran simple tests on Peter.

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

Peter was dreading Friday. Even though he got out on Thursday (Bruce said his healing powers allowed him to leave earlier than expected), he wasn’t able to enjoy the take out May ordered, or the movie he was watching with her.

Not only was he nervous for Tony and his conversation, but he was sure that May knew what was carved into his leg. If she asked, Peter knew that he would panic, probably to the point of a panic attack.

But she never did. 

Peter got up at 9 p.m, obviously he didn’t half to go to school, and got dressed.

His phone rang as he got finished brushing his teeth.

Peter answered after the second ring. “Hello?”

“Hey, kid.” Tony’s voice rang out. “I’m gonna be there in about 5, so you better be waiting outside for me.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Actually, I’ll come up to your apartment. I want to see your hot aunt.”

Peter whined, “Mr. Stark!”

“Relax, kid. I just want to talk to her. And you, for that matter.”

Peter felt the panic in his chest grow. “O-okay. I’ll see you in 5 minutes.”

“Great.” Tony hung up. 

Peter plopped down onto his bed, going to rub his eyes before remembering that they were still slightly bruised.

He let his arms fall to his side.

Then, he allowed every possibility to play in his head. Over the last few days, he had planned out what questions Tony was most likely to ask them. None of them were good to Peter.

First, he’d ask if Peter was okay. He’d say yes.

Second, he’d question who hurt Peter, and why they did it, and why he didn’t fight back.

His answer was going to be simple. Something he could stick to. 

He didn’t know who, or why. He didn’t want to accidentally reveal his secret identity by fighting back.

Those were believable.

Then, he’d ask the question Peter was dreading most: his sexuality. 

The “Fag” carved into his leg wouldn’t scar, thanks to his super healing, but it would bring a lot of questions.

Peter might die if Tony asks him if he’s gay.

He’s been debating all week if he trusted Tony enough. He’d only ever came out to Ned and MJ, but that was completely different. He could get new friends. It would suck, yes, but he would move on.

He didn’t think he’d ever get over it if he lost his father figure his status as an Avenger because of who he loved. 

In the end, though, he knew Tony would figure it out eventually. He mine as well just tell him.

(Of course, that didn’t make it any easier.)

Tony had to accept him. He’d donated money to LGBT+ centers before, so he couldn’t be completely homophobic, right?

Right.

Peter jumped at the knock on the door. 

“Come in!”

May opened the door.

“Hey, Peter. Tony’s here.”

Tony smiled at May. “We’d like to talk for a few minutes, is that okay?”

May nodded. “Yeah, take your time. I gotta head out, call me if you need anything, Pete.”

“Okay.” Peter mumbled.

As soon as May left, closing the door behind her, Tony took a seat next to Peter on his bed.

It reminded them both of when Tony came to recruit Peter to go to Germany.

They both ignored that.

“So, kid. Do you remember who did-” Tony gestured to Peter’s entire body. “This?”

“No.”

“Really?” Tony questioned. “Cause you seemed to be conscious when I came to get you.”

“Well yeah,” Peter paused, scrambling for a reason. “But like, during it I was going in and out of consciousness. So I don’t remember.”

Tony nodded. “Sure, Underoos. Whatever you say.”

Peter took a deep breath.

In 4, hold for 4, exhale for 4.

“So, about your injuries.” Tony said, clearly trying to approach the topic with care. “The- what they wrote.”

“Yeah?” Peter asked. His eyes were already filling with tears, and Tony hasn’t even asked yet.

In, hold, out.

“I just- You know I don’t care, right?” Tony asked, wrapping his arm around Peter’s shoulder. (But why did he stiffen?) “I’ll always love you, kid.”

“Yeah, yeah I know.”

“So.” 

God, just keep talking, Peter begged. I can’t take these pauses.

“Are you...” Tony cleared his throat. “You know, gay?”

Peter took a deep breath. He closed his eyes. 

Just say yes, it isn’t difficult. 

Except, it was. So many bad things could come from this. 

But did that really matter?

“Kid, I really, really don’t care.”

“Yes.” Peter breathed out, surprising himself. In the back of his mind, he fully believed he’d always be closeted.

But now he wasn’t.

It was nice. And terrifying.

“Yes?” Tony unwrapped his arm from Peters shoulder.

Peter nodded quickly. He was trying desperately to not cry, but it was so hard.

“Pete, come here.”

Tony pulled Peter into a hug.

He broke.

He felt pathetic, sobbing onto Tony’s shoulder. He accepted him, so why was Peter crying?

“It’s alright kid, I’ll always love you.”

Peter sniffed, pulling away from Tony.

“S-sorry,” He mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

“Save it, kid.” Tony said. “Anything else you need to tell me?”

“No.”

“Great,” Tony clapped one, standing up. “Now come on, I’m hungry.”

Peter laughed, following Tony out of the room.

Everything was okay.

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: Give In (IV)

Idris Elba X Reader “Zanzee” Mini Series (6 Part Mini Series)

 Warning: Slow burn, angst, plot,

 Word Count: 7.6K

 Summary: For the past 5 months has worked on the set of the “Hobbs & Shaw” movie. She works close to all the main actors and is there to answer any whim they may have as the "Set Concierge". She holds herself to a high professional level and refuses to stray from the right side of that pesky, thin grey line that those in the entertainment industry easily jump over.

 Note: Will go through 1 week in the life of Zanzee Grant. Ya’ll I’m afraid this is as close as I will EVER get to a one shot. SMH. I cannot write a one shot to save my life.

 ***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

 ***Interactive Chapter***

 ****Thank you guys for reading. I appreciate it as ALWAYS! If you enjoyed this please LIKE and REBLOG.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

-Thursday-

 “Cut!” David shouted, a loud alarm rang, and all movement stopped.

 David sprang to his feet from his director’s chair and walked toward Idris who was hanging his head.

“Idris, what’s going on man. This is the fourth take of this scene. I never need four takes with you.”

 Idris rubbed the back of his neck, he clearly looked agitated.

 “Sorry David, I don’t know what’s going on,” he explained.

 “What do you need from me to help you with this scene?”

 Idris looked speechless as if he had no idea what he needed. He dropped his head again but smacked his palm to his forehead a few times in an effort to pump himself up.

 “I’ll get it,” Idris continued.

 “I know you will buddy but we’re kind of on a time crunch. We’ve only got this particular spot for nine more hours. We kind of have to get this laid today no ifs, ands or buts,” David added.

 Idris nodded and looked around the set. He’d been distracted all day, late with his actions, forgetful of his lines, dazed. And just out of it. It was completely out of character for him. He was always on. He looked at all the faces looking at him no doubt wondering what the hell was wrong with him. He quickly glanced at Dwayne and Jason off to the side who gave him a solemn look of solidarity. He sighed again and saw Zanzee. She was at the corner of the freeway perched on a cement block. The tension he’d felt in his shoulder blades returned. He knew what his problem was. Zanzee was his problem. He looked away from her before his eyes could roam her figure and looked down to his feet.

 He’d been all fucked up since last night when she shot him down, hard. When he got back to his place he couldn’t sleep, all he could do was kick himself for putting her in that position that he was sure she’d been put in countless times before. He’d propositioned her to sleep with him. He was not that man. Yeah. He’d had his share of set conquests and yes, those conquests had been leaked to the tabloids, but he was an actor, with how much he worked this was literally one of his only ways of meeting people. Not only did he proposition her, but he also let it slip just how much he thought about her. The entire night he obsessed over it and now today he was wallowing in the fact that she didn’t want him, she didn’t want him in the slightest bit looking at how quickly and easily she shut him down. Now his pride, and ego was bruised. If he were one hundred percent honest with himself it was more than his pride and ego, his feelings were hurt too.

 “Let’s take five, give you some time to get your head in the game and we’ll come back, eh,” David suggested. He nodded and turned his back to the majority of the crew. He looked out to the water under the freeway and took a few breathes. He walked to the railing and gripped the cement and groaned loudly.

 “Fuck!”

 He looked back to the water and saw several boats out with fans holding signs. He kissed his teeth. Privacy was something of the past. He always had to be on, always had to be prepared there would be a camera or a fan in his face. He always had to be on and ready to please, except when he was around Z. she never made him feel like the actor, never made him feel like he had to be on, he was always just Idris around her. He closed his eyes and tried to push any and all thoughts of the beautiful set concierge out his head. He took a few deep breaths and tried to get his head back in the game, he had a job to do nursing his bruised ego and hurt feelings would have to wait.

 Once David yelled “action” again he pushed through the scenes and laid them, not effortlessly but professionally. It wasn’t until nearly six he had any time to himself. He used it to lock himself in his trailer and focus on some music. Yes, he was avoiding her, and he didn’t care if she knew it. He couldn’t face her, he was too embarrassed, and he didn’t trust himself to be able to keep his eyes on her face. Every time she looked as if she was approaching him, he’d go in the other direction. If he saw she was where he wanted to go, he’d hold off and divert his path, if someone mentioned they’d call her for something he made an excuse to leave. It was exhausting.

 A knock broke him out of his concentration. He opened his trailer door and saw her standing there holding a box. All knowledge of the English language flew out his brain and he stood there in gaping silence.

 “Hey,” she said. He nodded and looked down.

 “Hey Z.”

 He felt his heart begin to pound a reaction he’d felt tens of times before but one he paid attention to now.

 “Were you busy? Am I interrupting?” she asked. He shook his head.

 “No, you’re good. What’s up? What can I do for you?”

 Hearing the way, the question sounded he shook his head.

 “I mean is there something I can do for you? I don’t mean for it to sound—” He trailed off. She pinched her lips together.

 “Sorry.” He said and rubbed the back of his neck again.

 “Its cool. This came for you and was sent to me so I’m here delivering it to you.” she held out the box to him.

 He took a step closer and gathered the box from her hands and brushed her fingers. She quickly pulled her hands back and he saw her flex her fingers before hiding her hands behind her back. His interest rose.

 “You okay?”

 “Yeah, yeah, totally fine,” she said before silence engulfed the space between you again. After a few moments she began taking a few steps back.

 “All right, I have a lot to do. See ya.” She turned and walked away, he stood there looking over her back as she disappeared across the lot. He walked back inside and kicked the table, he’d ruined everything by opening his mouth.

 When he returned to set he ducked into one of the production rooms hoping for one more moment to prepare himself. He walked in and heard Z’s voice.

 “Keep your shit together Z, keep it together. Two more months, you can make that work. Two more months and you won’t have to see him ever again.”

 Idris looked down feeling like shit, she was talking about him. He’d creeeped her out so badly that she was counting down the days until she could run in the opposite direction. He began to back away trying to ignore the painful disappointment settling inside him when he heard her speak again, instead of hearing anymore he hurried back out the door hating himself a little more than before.

 Filming the rest of the night was almost torture, she watched but from a distance. He kept to himself and tried not to watch her. Every time he looked her way she was already watching him. At one time he could have sworn he saw her looking at his ass before she looked away. She always stayed away from him, an action he wasn’t surprised by given what he’d heard in the production room. she was probably desperately trying to keep him away.

When it was close to nine Jason and Dwayne blocked him in a corner and badgered him for some answers to his behavior all day. He tired to push it all off claiming a hangover but the didn’t believe him. After nearly ten minutes of badgering, he gave in and told them everything. Dwayne looked confused and concerned while Jason looked amused, he was on the damn brink of laughter. When he busted out laughing Idris rolled his eyes.

 “I’m glad this situation amuses you.”

 “I jus--, I’m sorry, I—” he stuttered through his laughs.

 Dwayne placed his hand on idris’ shoulder before he shook his head. They both waited for Jason to finish. After a full two minutes he composed himself and sighed out.

 “Ah man, I’m good now. I promise.”

 Idris rolled his eyes again.

 “Glad to know I can give you some comedy. Don’t worry about laughing at my problems,” he said.

 “Problems? What problems?” Jason questioned.

 “Were you not listening bruv?”

 “You said you indirectly suggested you have sex and she said she works for you and not under you. I heard you,” Jason skimmed.

 “All right then. She’s avoided me all day, given I’ve been avoiding her too. After what I heard it’s clear I’ve cocked-up everything,” he finished.

 “What else did she say?” Dwayne asked.

 “Besides what I said already just that she has standards and holds herself to a particular level and what not.”

 “There you go. For that reason, you I know you haven’t cocked up in the way you think. You cocked up by not taking it further and telling her you weren’t after a measly screw. You let her think you were after some one-night shag. That is where you cocked up,” Jason explained. Idris looked at him and thought about his words and back to last night.

 “I didn’t hear a no, I heard she doesn’t normally sleep with actors, and she’s not like the other women who stalk this industry. I heard her pushing you away,” Dwayne finished.

 “That’s a nice alternative but it doesn’t explain what I just overheard.”

 “Who knows what she was referring to. Bruv, she’s into you,” Jason added.

 “I agree, I think she just doesn’t want to be the cliché set assistant and sleep with the actors. She’s above it and not the kind of easy conquests you’re used to. That should have been you opening to tell her she wasn’t and it’s more than sex for you,” Dwayne counseled.

 Idris nearly laughed out loud.

 “How the hell do you know it’s more than sex?”

 “Here we go. We’ve watched you for the last five months, we’ve seen everything we know you’re really keen on her. We know you’ve tried to play it off for months and tried to act cool like she doesn’t affect you but dude it’s obvious.”

 He rolled his eyes, he was getting annoyed with all of this.

 “I think that was her last-ditch effort in keeping you away. Her biggest move in making sure nothing happens between the two of you. If you think she doesn’t fancy you then you’re a plonker,” Jason theorized.

 He thought about her actions over the last five months and even last night. He then went over and over her words. Then he thought about how she watched him all day and began to think maybe they were right, but he got stuck on her words from earlier. He looked around the lot and saw her off in the distance again this time talking to that other set assistant that was clearly into her. She had an unreadable expression on her face as she stared at him. He looked like he was talking about something quite animatedly. He touched her elbow and it was there his touch lingered. Idris looked at his hand and didn’t like the way he felt seeing another man quite possibly flirt with her.

 “I say we test the theory and put it to bed once and for all,” Jason broke through his thoughts.

 “And how do you suggest we do that?”

 “I have a plan,” he said with a wide grin on his face while looking in Z’s direction.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

-ZanZee-

 “This is a bad idea,” you said.

 “What do you mean a bad idea? There is no world where a party is a bad idea,” Andra piped up. You rolled your eyes.

 “Who throws together a party in under six hours anyway?”

 “The rich is who honey child and we are going to partake and take advantage of all the opulence, and free food we can, you know a girl is always hungry,” she said.

 “Plus when was the last time you went to a party ms I’m boring as hell and live to work not work to live?” Lexi said with a mischievous gleam in her eyes.

 “Whatever bitch! At least I got a job,” you responded. You all laughed out. Lexi was boyfriend was drafted into the MLB and since then he didn’t want her working. She gave up a cushy spot at a top law firm to let him take care of her and every day of it was sweet torture. She didn’t have the guts to tell him she enjoyed working because he wanted to take care of her.

 “Low blow,” Lexi gasped. You rolled your eyes.

 “Please tell me that is not what you’re wearing,” Xio said. You looked over your body and looked back to her.

 “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

 “Girl, did you even try?” Xio asked pinching the flannel you wore as a dress.

 “What the hell is wrong with this?”

 “Nothing, it’s cute and everything but girl this is a celebrity party, not a house party. You need to bring it and serve all levels of bawdy!” Andra said as she dropped it down to the floor and popped a mini twerk. You snorted and shook your head unable to contain yourself.

 “Girl, keep all a dat’ over there.”

 “No Xio’s right, this is finally your chance to show those people that there is more to you than work. Give them the chance to see what you offer,” Lexi said.

 “So, what I offer is bawdy?”

 “You know what we mean. You got a banging body Z, it’s almost as poppin’ as your personality. They know bout the personality time to show the rest of the package,” Lexi added in a rare compliment that wasn’t backed by something snarky. You took a deep breath and rolled your eyes.

 “Plus., it’ll give one of them actors a chance to see what they’re missing. Guaranteed once they see you all fuckable they won’t be able to keep their shit together,” Andra added.

 You looked in the mirror and knew they weren’t going to let this go. They rushed into your bedroom each of them pulling clothes from your closet. You wouldn’t admit it to them but that was the plan. This outfit was party enough and it still kept the attention off you, no one would look at you differently. Idris wouldn’t see you any differently. If he propositioned, you again you wouldn’t say no.

 All this morning you kept thinking you’d fucked up from last night. You thought you’d screwed up with not saying yes and showing him all the tricks, you had up your sleeve. You chastised yourself endlessly and went over and over what you could have said, should have said, could have done probably should have done. You felt like you missed a huge opportunity, one that you really wanted but for reasons that went deeper than the surface couldn’t take advantage of.

 You went over and over it and at one point got upset that he thought so little of you that he would try to make a move, then you jumped out of that space and went into fangirl mode that thee Idris Elba was going to make a move on you, you of all people. Then as soon as you thought that you were filled with regret before it was washed away with annoyance. All day everything in you wanted to tell him you made a mistake and just do it but you didn’t. your mother’s words echoed in your head; “A lady always thinks about the repercussions of their actions before making a single move, if the repercussions are anything but favorable a lady makes no action.” She’d drilled that into your head since you were old enough to speak and after nearly twenty-eight years it had done it’s fair share of irreparable damage.

 You felt like such a bitch, a lying, punk bitch. Deep down you worried your friends were right. You were boring and you’d be single forever because you sabotaged every possible relationship or experience you encounter. You took a deep breath and tried to shake off the feelings filling you.

 “Get our shit together Z.”

 You rolled your shoulders back and in came your friends, each holding a different outfit. You rolled your eyes and wanted to run away from the ratchet fashion montage that you saw headed your way. So, the next hour passed with you trying on more outfits than you wanted, posing this way and that way all for their amusement. Everything you tried on showcased a particular part of your body, from the outfit Lexi picked, to the floss Xio picked and the ensemble Andra picked. You weren’t going to lie they were all cute, but it was a lot more effort than you wanted to put in. In the end you decided to do this under your own terms instead of being dressed by them.

By the time you made it to the location it was almost one in the morning. The street was practically dark except the neon shine from a few other neighboring establishments. You and your friends climbed out the black car and walked toward the three-story brick building and gave the security in front your name and he checked his clipboard and nodded granting you entrance inside. You and your friends looped arms and walked inside. The red-light hue stopped you all in your tracks.

 “What the hell?” you asked. They kept walking down the long hallway and pulled you along. You looked around as you came to the opening of the space, it was now a mix of purple and red.

 “Wow, not bad for a party put together in under six hours,” Lexi shouted in your hear over the music. You narrowed your eyes at her ignoring her chuckling.

 “So, what’s the plan ladies?” Xio asked looking around.

 “Two drinks first, then divide and conquer,” Andra said.

 The four of you walked down the steps and made your way through the bodies that were scattered around. Your arms never left each other. once you made it to the bar you fought for a spot and claimed it. You bopped your head to the music and looked around the club. You saw a few of your coworkers but made no move to say hello, you needed more than two drinks in you to begin the elbow rubbing.

 “What can I get you beautiful ladies?” the bartender asked.

 Andra smiled widely and twirled her curly hair around her finger.

 “What would you recommend?”

 “Well it depends what you like,” the bartender responded.

 “Oh me? I can go with the flow, I like whatever you like.” You rolled your eyes.

 “I like mixing two or more together,” he said leaning to her also.

 “The more the merrier,” Andra finished. It was clear they were no longer talking about liquor if they ever were.

 “Anyway, I’ll take a shot of henny,” Xio interjected.

 “Me too,” Lexi chimed in.

 “Grapefruit and vodka shot bomb,” Andra ordered.

 The bartender looked to you as did your friends.

 “What’ll it be tonight Z? who are we fuckin wit’ tonight?” Xio asked.

 You thought for a few moments and shrugged giving in to the bad influences of your friends and the small side of you that lived to act without caring about repercussions.

 “Tequila and whiskey shot bomb.”

 Your friends erupted in cheers and claps. You shook your head.

 “Finally, Zesty Zanzee is coming out to play!” Xio shouted and did her best Xena war cry that all your friends echoed. You laughed and shook your head. The bartender placed each of your drinks before you. You each took them up, you prepared to drink it but Xio stopped you.

“Wait, what are we drinking to?”

 “The fine selection of prime grade A man!” Andra shouted. You all shrugged and nocked back your shots. From the first taste of the tequila and whiskey mix you knew tonight would be an unforgettable one. As the burn traveled through you, you shivered.

 The next thing you knew you were dancing with your friends on the dancefloor with another drink in your hand. You swayed your body to the music and cared about nothing else. Your friends egged you on and you obliged every ratchet request, from the milly rock, to the nae-nae, and busted it wide open with your twerk. Your dancing brought the boys to the yard just like Kelis predicted. You turned down your fair share of advances and by the time you turned down the fifth guy you looked over and saw Idris sitting in a booth with Dwayne and Jason, there were a few women around them and you couldn’t tell if he knew you were there. One of the staff approached you, whispered in your ear and pointed to their area. You nodded, tapped your friends and made your way over.

When you climbed up the steps and approached the booth Jason was the first to stand and open his arms wide.

 “You made it Z.” you smiled and nodded.

 “I did. Didn’t know it was possible to put together a party in one day.” He shrugged.

 “I am a man of many talents, and my money is a super power,” he informed.

 “Sort of like Batman,” Xio piped up. Jason looked at her and you saw the minute he turned on his charm. Oh boy you thought.

 “And who is this angel?”

“Ah, this devilish angel is my friend Xio.”

 Xio held out her hand, smiled and batted her eyelashes.

 “Xiomara,” she said rolling her tongue to the rs. You internally snorted and shook your head.

 “It is a pleasure to meet you Xiomara,” Jason echoed. She smiled and bite her bottom lip.

 “Uh-huh, and this is Lexi and Andra.”

 Jason shook their hands as well followed by Dwayne. The moment Idris joined them your eyes roamed his body, he looked good.

 “You’re joining us, come on,” Jason said ushering your friends to find a seat. The only one that was left was close to Idris and a separate woman he was talking to. You scoffed and sat down, crossing your legs.

 He didn’t look at you, he was too wrapped up in his conversation. You looked at the woman, she was pretty, and her skin looked flawless. She wore a cute black and white figure-hugging dress that looked made for her. You thought she had to be a model. You didn’t realize how long you were staring at her until she looked at you and smiled. You returned the smile but looked away. You got up and walked to the private bar and placed an order for a few tequila shots. You leaned on the bar and took out your phone and skimmed your timeline. You slid on one of the stools and crossed your legs, the split on your dress showed your thigh and you didn’t care to adjust it.

 You took up one of the three shots the bartender placed before you and knocked it back without a breath, followed by the second. When you took up the third you turned and saw Idris looking at you. your eyes met and there they remained. You sucked in the last shot never taking your eyes off him and sucked your bottom lip into your mouth. At this point you’d lost track of how many drinks you’d had. Before the stare could continue Jason drew his attention away. You breathed out, rolled your eyes and turned back to the bar annoyed. You didn’t know what you expected but this wasn’t it. You looked back over, and he was again talking to the pretty woman. You stifled a groan, got up and walked away leaving the booth area and making it to the bathroom.

You stood in front of the mirrors and got a grip. He didn’t owe you anything. You told him no and he had every right to move on, and look for a willing party. Your ego was bruised because it was just last night, and it didn’t take him long. After a few minutes you walked back out determined to enjoy the rest of the night. As you walked back to the bar you bumped into a hard body. Before you fell backwards, he pulled you into his and held you there. You looked up into Idris’ eyes and your knees buckled. His strong arms were there keeping you from hitting the ground. One arm was wrapped around your waist and the other held your hip. Everyone in the room disappeared but the two of you. his eyes bore into you and you swore he could see all your secrets including the bullshit one of you not wanting him. His fingers tightened on your hip and that drew a sultry moan from you as you pressed against him more leaving not even a sliver of space between you. you could feel every hard plane of his body including the hardness that was growing against your belly. You bit your bottom lip and momentarily drug your had across his muscled chest.

“Goddamn you’re perfect,” you groned out before you could stop yourself. As soon as you said it you heard it. You cleared your throat and pulled back creating an inch of space between you.

 “You look amazing Zanzee,” Idris complimented. You smiled small and nodded.

 “Thanks, didn’t think you noticed. You’ve been otherwise occupied with tall, dark and curvy over there all night,” you said. The jealously in your voice was clear and it disgusted you.

 “Her? Eh.” He shrugged without giving any explanation. You wanted to kick yourself for expecting and wanting one.

 “Right, feel free to get back to her, no need to play my night and shining armor,” you said. He nodded and walked away without a word. You were flabbergasted, angry but also hurt.

 The next few hours all you could do was watch him. He mingled around the club talking to one pretty woman and then another, and another and finally you’d lost count of how many women were hanging over every word he said. By the time three rolled around he was in the center of at least seven women all laughing at whatever story he was telling. They all looked wrapped around his finger and you were salty as fuck.

 “Why do you look so salty?” Lexi asked. You snapped out of it and shrugged.

 “I’m good. Having fun?”

 “Nice try. Spill.”

 You remained quiet.

 “Is this about tall, dark and fuckable over there?”

 She nodded to Idris and his harem. You shrugged.

 “Okay, bathroom break.” Lexi pulled you up and dragged you to the bathroom. Once inside she locked the door and made sure it was empty. She tore several pieces of paper towel and created a nice seat for herself atop the counter and plopped on it.

 “Okay, spill.”

 You looked over yourself, reapplied your lipstick and ignored her.

 “You like him, like really like, like. Not celeb crush like but for realsies,” Lexi gaped.

 “Oh my god Z, this is huge. You don’t like anyone. You’ve been single for almost two years and celibate for damn near that long, but here you are. You have feelings for him.”

 “Stop, that’s ridiculous. He’s Idris Elba, I’d be one stupid groupie if I did.” You chastised.

 “Why? He’s hot as hell, seems like a cool guy, talented, and he must be a pretty good guy for you to even remotely like him. So why would you be stupid?” Lexi asked.

 “He’s an actor Lex, an actor. Of all things, I said I’d never get involved with an actor, never go there and yet--,” you trailed off.

 “Well you were a dumbass for saying that shit out loud. You know the universe likes to fuck with people. You spoke this shit into existence. Stepping away from that, we’re here now. Feelings have been established, what’s the problem?”

 You remained silent again. It was pointless, she could read you as good as Andra and she pieced it together.

 “Oh, he’s an actor so you’re sabotaging yourself. Okay. Does he like you too?”

“I don’t know. Last night he came off like he was suggesting we have sex but now tonight he’s surrounded by a harem.”

 “Wait, pause. Did you sleep with him?”

 “No, I told him I’m not that type of woman, I don’t do shit like that.”

 Lexie groaned, rolled her eyes and shook her head.

 “So, he does like you and you already sabotaged yourself. You have to fix this Z. you have to tell him how you feel.”

 “The fuck I do. I feel nothing,” you lied.

 “Oh, you just want to sit on his face.”

 You snorted and laughed loudly, she joined in. After the two of you calmed down you shook your head.

 “Be real with me Z.”

 You sighed and gave up.

 “I think I like him, I know I want to have sex with him but how would that make me any different than all the other groupies he’s fucked?”

 “How do you know you aren’t different? How do you know this entire situation isn’t different? From the tabloids and gossip his sexcapades don’t last longer than a few weeks. You’ve been working together for months.”

 “I don’t want to be like all the others Lex. I would feel so stupid and dirty. He has a massive past.

 “Every sinner has a future and every saint has a past,” she reminded. You nodded because you knew that was what she was going to say.

 “You have got to forget that backwards shit your mother spewed growing up. “A lady always thinks about the repercussions of their actions before making a single move, if the repercussions are anything but favorable a lady makes no action.” Bullshit!” Lexi shouted. You pinched your lips together.

 “Do you realize how stupid that sounds. If you never make an action for fear of the fall out, you’d miss out on so much. If you didn’t take this job because you were afraid you couldn’t handle being split in three by three actors, you wouldn’t be crushing it now. Yes, I realize how that sounded now that it’s out my mouth. Not literally split in three by three actors. Although that thought is very appealing. Have you thought about it?” Lexi diverted.

 “I hadn’t until Andra brought it up and since then I have to say it’s a thought once a day,” you admitted. You and Lexi laughed again.

 “Maybe you should take your own advice with Devin. He loves you I’m sure he’d want you to be happy. Talk to him about what it is you truly want,” you advised. She nodded.

 “Only if you take the same advice.” She held out her hand to you. you thought for a moment and shrugged. You shook her hand and she pulled you in for a hug.

 When the two of you walked back to the party you looked around the club and saw your friends scattered around with different actors, they looked to be in deep conversations, or deep flirting. You looked to Idris again and he was still surrounded by his harem. You rolled your eyes and shied away. You found a pair of stairs and went down them unsure where they led. Once downstairs the boom of the music echoed but it was twenty times quieter. You saw different doors and tried one, you peaked in and saw a bed with sheer curtains.

 “What the hell.”

You walked down the hall to another door and opened it and saw the same sight. After looking in two more rooms with the same bed you walked into the last door on the right and sat on the red four posted bed there. You took a deep breath in, closed your eyes and released it. You got up and walked around then pressed your back to one of the posts. You took out your phone and checked your emails. Suddenly a message came in from Idris.

 MSG Idris: Left without saying goodbye?

 You bit your bottom lip and hugged your midsection.

 MSG Z: Surprised you noticed I was missing.

MSG Idris: Of course, I noticed. It’s hard to not notice you Z.

 Your heart began pounding faster.

 MSG Z: You’re right, I’m wearing bright red lipstick.

MSG Idris: It has nothing to do with your lipstick. You’ve always been hard to not notice. From the day I met you.

 Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump.

 You sucked your bottom lip into your mouth again and tried to slow your heart.

 MSG Idris: Did you leave?

MSG Z: Why? What’s it to you?

MSG Idris: If you’re gone there’s no need me being here anymore.

 “Jesus Christ.” You placed your hands on your thighs and bent over taking a few deep breaths.

 MSG Z: Why is that?

MSG Idris: Because I only came to this thing hoping to see you.

 You nocked your head back onto the wooden post.

 MSG Z: Could have fooled me? You’ve been surrounded all night.

MSG Idris: You’ve stayed away all night, all day. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.

MSG Z: So, you flirt with every woman in here.

MSG Idris: Every woman but the one I want.

 You stared at his words and thought about your response.

 MSG Z: Who’s that?

MSG Idris: At the risk of getting my ego bruised and feelings hurt again; you Z. I want you.

 “Oh god.”

 You stared at the words, but your fingers were frozen.

MSG Idris: Except last night when I said the words, I think you misunderstood. You took it as me just wanting to sleep with you. that’s not the case Z, I want more than sex with you.

 Your eyes bugged out in your head as you read and re-read his message.

 MSG Idris: I want your hands on my skin, I want your lips on mine, I want to taste you, I want to hear you moan my name, I want to see your body tremble because of me, I want to feel you around me, I want to see the color of your eyes are you succumb to the pleasure I bring you, I want to hear you scream my name, I want to roll over in the middle of the night and collide with your body, I want to see what you look like with messy bed hair at first morning’s light, I want to cook you breakfast, dinners, I want to sit and talk with you about everything from astronomy to the reason why evil exists, I want to vacation with you, I want to bring you home to meet my mother, my kids, I want that and so much more Z.

 You were speechless, breathless and your head was spinning. At this point you were hyperventilating from the rapid beating of your heart. You couldn’t believe what you were reading. You also couldn’t believe how affected you were, and how badly you wanted all of that too. You didn’t know how badly you did until he said the words.

 MSG Z: Jesus Christ you can’t say shit like that to me.

 “Why?”

 You spun around and there he stood leaned against the door frame. The purple light bathed covered him and he looked like a figment from your best dreams.

 “Why can’t I say that to you? I’ve wanted to say it for so long. So long.”

 He walked into the door and you found yourself backing up. You felt like the prey and he was the predator. The hum of the music above worked with the light to the room even more hypnotizing with him in it. You felt your back collide with the wall and you pressed into it. He stopped a few inches from you and stared at you. you licked your lips and tried to catch your breath.

 “Tell me.”

 “Because, I—I—I work for you,” you began.

 “I don’t care.”

 “This is incredibly unprofessional,” you countered.

 “I don’t care.”

 He took another step to you. You looked down his body and bit your bottom lip. Your body was betraying you big time. You felt the wetness puddle between your thighs. You were thankful the thick leather of the dress hid your hardened nipples. When you looked back to him you recognized the look in his eyes. It was the same look from the night in his trailer and the one in yours and last night. Hell, you’d seen this look many times before those instances you just never placed it until now.

 “Fuck!” you groaned. He angled his head and surveyed you.

 “Last night, you didn’t turn me down because you didn’t want me, or because you didn’t want this,” he announced. You swallowed and you pushed off the wall and walked past him. He grabbed your wrist and pulled you to him. Again, your body slammed into his. You moaned and squeezed his biceps gripping him.

 “You want this, you want this just as much as I do.”

 He stared into your eyes and lowered his baritone.

 “You want me Z.”

 Your control was gone.

 “Jesus,” you groaned.

 “Tell me.”

 “Yes, I want you.”

 In seconds he crushed his lips to yours sucking your bottom lip in. you moaned on his mouth and savored the feel of his kiss as you kissed him back. It was a kiss you’d dreamt of since you were a teenager, the kiss that woke you up and burned you from the inside out. The kiss that stole everything, air, senses, dreams, hopes, life. It was the kiss you’d wanted forever but never got. He delivered tenfold. The kiss became more frenzied as he pulled you even closer to his body. Idris dug his fingers into your hair and remained there. His moans intermingled with yours and soon the room was filled with only the sounds of your moans.

 When your lungs couldn’t take anymore, you pulled your lips away and gasped for air. Idris peppered kisses along your jaw and made a fiery trail to your ear where he nibbled at your earlobe. He spent a few moments there before he dipped his lips to your neck and found the sensitive part of your neck that was your weakness. He sucked your flesh into his mouth and there went your inhibitions. You felt his hardening length against your stomach, and you wanted more. You crushed your lips to his again and kissed him again, it was a kiss he eagerly reciprocated. You’d never felt like this before, never been set ablaze by just a kiss. You felt like you were having an outer body experience and watched yourself so close to throwing everything to the side. You pulled back and panted trying to compose yourself.

 “Shit.”

 “I second that,” Idris said taking a step to you.

 “No, no, we can’t do this.”

 “What? Why?”

 “Why? I’ve already told you.”

 “I’ll ask David for another assistant, then you won’t work for me.”

 “No, not that, this is not me. I don’t do this. I’m not some groupie who drops her panties for a hot celeb. I can’t be like the countless women you’ve done this with.”

 “Z, you’re nothing like them I know that, I see that. You’ve never been like that. I could tell that from the day we met. I’m not who I was with you right now. I’m different, I want things to be different with you.”

 You tried to gather if he was spitting game or being truthful. It was hard to see through your intense arousal and want for him.

 “I’m being truthful. Last night I came off wrong, I’m sorry for making you feel like I think of you as a body. I don’t see you like that Zanzee,” he pleaded. He slowly walked to you and took your hand. You were having an internal fight; your brain and your heart were warring, and it was an epic battle.

He trailed his fingers up your arm to your shoulder and goosebumps broke out all across your skin. He held out his arm to show you.

 “See, you do the same to me.”

 You looked at his arm and aw the goosebumps that mirrored yours. You looked back at him hope filling you.

 “Idris—” you began before his lips cut you off. You moaned again and allowed him to kiss you as the war within waged on.

 “Put me out my misery Z, please. Stop the torture. Be with me.”

 You pulled back and looed in his eyes.

 “What?”

 “Be with me. Be mine,” he groaned out as he placed single kisses along your face and lips.

 You felt crowded, as if you were seconds from giving in and he knew it. You kissed him again and pressed your body to his. He moaned and backed to the bed before dropping onto it. You climbed on him and returned his hungry kisses. You felt his hand snake down your back and squeeze your hip. Once he did that you felt his prominent bulge pressed against you. everything in you wanted to give in to everything you’d wanted for the last five months but you also knew it was not the right place. He rolled on you and trapped your arms above your head. You bit your bottom lip as the two of you stared at each other. He lowered his lips to yours again, but this kiss was different, it was slow, tantalizing, and gentle, this kiss spoke of feelings. You slowly got lost in his issues and the feelings they awoke, feelings that quieted the war within. You pulled him closer and moaned on him and enjoyed the moment. It had been so long since you’d been kissed and it all made sense, no one else would have ever done but him. He was running you for anyone to come after him. Every cell in your body knew it but happily accepted your inevitable fate. He slowed his kisses and you took the opportunity to roll back onto him. You kissed him once, twice and then a third time before you pulled your body off his. He lied there and took a few moments to center himself. You looked over his body and saw the evident sign of his arousal.

 “You need time to think don’t you,” Idris said as he sat up.

 You raked your hands through your hair and tried to get a hold of your runaway thoughts and feelings.

 “Don’t you?”

 “No. I’ve done my thinking. I don’t think you understand, this has been months in the making. Months Zanzee.”

 You studied him and saw be was being truthful.

 “I’m tried of running from it and to be honest I’m not a good actor if I do as you saw today. I know this is more your hang up than mine and I understand that. I have a past, one that is not favorable. I get it, really, I do. No one should enter something blindly, especially with an actor. This life can chew you up and spit you out. I care about you too much to force you into this.”

 You turned your back to him and shook your head.

 “Jesus Christ Idris.”

 You couldn’t believe your ears, couldn’t believe this was happening. You felt his arms around your waist, and you closed your eyes and sunk into his embrace. You felt safe in his arms, you felt as if he wouldn’t hurt you and you could believe in him.

 “I can wait for you to get there Z. I will wait.” He kissed your temple and then down the side of your face, to your jaw and then to your shoulder. You shivered.

 “What if I don’t get there?”

 “You will.”

 “How do you know?”

 “Because you feel what I feel, you want what I want. You won’t be able to just walk away from what the strength of this.”

 Silence filled the room and your phone went off. You looked at it and saw your friends messages asking where you were.

 “I have to go.”

 “Go ahead, I’ll hang back for five.”

 You looked at him and studied his face. He was beautiful. You couldn’t believe he was standing there saying he wanted you over all the other women he could have. He stepped to you and placed a gentle kiss on your lips. You kissed him back and caressed his cheek. You walked past him to the door but before you walked out you looked back at him. he was watching you, but his expression was masked now.

 “See you around DJ. Driis.”

You walked away leaving him there.  You had no idea how you got home because you were floating on cloud nine, but you were filled with so much anxiety and worry. You had a lot to think about.

 To Be continued….

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[early-sxnsets]

Scales, Fins, and other Fishy Daydreams

Archive Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18215168/chapters/43151156

Chapter 3/10 of It’s A Handheld Disaster

Word Count: 1553

Chapter Summary: Baz takes Simon's shitpost text a step further, and the outcome ends up spreading a few rumors.

SIMON

bi-sammy: sammy would still fuck huxley if he looked like the fish from shape of water

I grin smugly at my screen, sitting in a dark room with nothing shining but my mobile. The shutters stay shut, and the light from the bottom of the doorway barely filters into the room. It’s just me, this scratchy blanket, and Baz, somewhere else in England on another screen. I absolutely adore that.

gaystrell: why would you say something so controversial yet so brave.jpg

Sometimes, I catch myself smiling. Other times, I elect to ignore how real it feels. It’s weird, given that it feels like I’m just chatting with someone who I see everyday. The casualness of this reminds me of texting Penny in the afternoon on a Thursday.

Except, given the current time, it could be interpreted as more intimate than that of a friend’s text.

8am on a Saturday is usually a time reserved for comfort. For staying warm with someone you care about. Instead, I’m just messaging Baz.

bi-sammy: because im right

bi-sammy: hear me out here ive got a brilliant idea

gaystrell: whoever taught you the definition of a brilliant idea was clearly misleading you

bi-sammy: dont be an arse until youve heard it

bi-sammy: wanker

gaystrell: you’re truly proving your point

bi-sammy: ANYWAY

bi-sammy: shape of water au

bi-sammy: thats all

gaystrell: i’m appalled.

gaystrell: hold on.

I don’t think much of it. Occasionally, he disappears for an hour to two. I don’t bother asking, assuming it’s none of my business, but I do tend to worry a bit. I hope he’s alright.

After clicking off my phone, my head settles against my pillow as my eyes fall shut.

There’s something about this. There’s something about him. It’s a bit hard to pinpoint what it is, but the overwhelming feeling of comfort I have in the notifications I get from him just answering my bullshit is incredibly welcomed. He’s semisweet. I don’t know why I didn’t see it earlier, but he’s a fantastically bitter person.

My head slowly turns over, eyes opening and straining in the darkness.

I hate my empty room.

I hate the absence of comfort--I hate the plainness of these walls.

I want to say I hate my foster dad, but I also feel like I’m not allowed to say that. Not because the system will take me again and throw me back (even though I could have left a year back, if I was still in it). Instead, I feel like I shouldn’t hate him. Theoretically, I should be thankful for what I have. I’m not in a boy’s home, and I haven’t been since I was 11, but the remnants remain. The fights don’t go away, and neither do the weeks of starvation.

Still, I sort of despise living here under Davy.

That’s what he makes me call him. His name. His nickname. Not dad; of course not dad. He’s had me in his care for roughly six years, but he’s still Davy to me.

Shitty fucking Davy, with his strict curfews and practically using me as a housemaid because he’s too cheap to care for himself.

Shitty fucking Davy, not letting me add anything to my room because the day I turn 18, I’m out of here until his next kid (and cheque, apparently) come in. Told me I’d wreck the walls and ruin his furniture if I did put anything on it, too.

So that’s what I’ve got. Blank walls, blank furniture, blank everything. It’s like a jail cell for a bedroom, and everything I’ve got to show for myself is in a backpack and two dresser drawers/

But, at least, I own my mobile.

Every summer job, mixed with odds and ends shit and whatever I can do for my bill. It’s all mine, and Davy can’t fucking touch it.

Maybe that’s why, when I feel it buzz against my chest, it makes me feel more alive. It’s a reminder of all that work just to be able to talk to someone freely.

Arguably, the best feeling in the goddamn world.

I grab it and flip it over. It’s just an email about uni.

Fuck.

I end up scrolling through tumblr for a little while, doing nothing but liking and reblogging a thing here or there. It takes a little while before a little drop down falls from the top of my screen.

gaystrell: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1r7Wkwj7MSFk0--DgquHGhYVBbqneEYq0J01t0uMRmxA/edit?usp=sharing

gaystrell: feel the need to apologize before you click the link, but then again, you asked for this hell

When I click on it, it pulls up a doc titled just “crackfic”, and I’m floored with the first sentence alone.

“Fuck my fish ass harder, daddy.”

My hand flies up, covering my mouth as I practically wheeze as quietly as possible. A few paragraphs in and I’m nearly crying into my palm, muffling my laughter as I read through pages upon pages of the most ridiculous fic I’ve ever laid my eyes upon.

I check the word count out of pure curiosity, and it somehow makes me laugh harder.

bi-sammy: holy fucking shit

bi-sammy: i swear to god if you don’t post that i will

gaystrell: already in the process of making the archive post

gaystrell: i seriously believe you underestimate my sincere ability to be the biggest dick on the street

bi-sammy: i dont know whether or not u meant that as ur literal dick or the big dick energy in making that a post but id probably agree with you in both

bi-sammy: tag me in the post pls i want to be the first to reblog it

gaystrell: you’re a ridiculous, sad, little man

gaystrell: of course i’ll tag you

Within minutes, it’s uploaded with the absolute worst slew of Archive tags attached to it, and as soon as he tags me in his post, I tap the notification.

Scales, Fins, and other Fishy Daydreams

Word Count: 3,192

Summary: Fish!Huxley and Sam get it on Shape of Water style

@bi-sammy this is your fault (you're welcome)

I immediately slam like and pull up reblog, rapidly typing out my response before posting.

absolute madman. cant believe youve done this. i trust you with my entire life.

As usual, he's quick to reblog back.

anything for the absolute pain in my life x

Smiling shamelessly, I ride on the moment's high as our conversation stays out in the world. I quite enjoy this version of his softness. The public, taunting replies to mine. In all this time of following him, I can't really recall him ever being this friendly with anyone but me.

Makes me feel special. Maybe too much so.

BAZ

The jarring shock of the seemingly endless notifications rattles me momentarily speechless.

It isn't even 15 minutes after I'd replied to Snow and there's already a few people reblogging it with comments about him and I. A quick “i ship y'all’ to “powermove of the century”. Each make me flush deeper as the replies flood in.

If I were to be practical, I'm aware that I shouldn't be so flustered over the concept of us being a couple. It's most likely my overactive, sad, lonely imagination, but the idea of being loved just makes me blush. Especially since it's someone who doesn't seem to absolutely loathe me.

gaystrell: are you reading these?

bi-sammy: the what?

bi-sammy: i have. nothing to read. i cant read.

gaystrell: use your two remaining brain cells look at the notes for the crackfic

bi-sammy: holy shit

bi-sammy: im cackling

A notification pops up, making me snort this time. I pull up the post and send it off to him without a second thought.

gaystrell: sent a post

gaystrell: “sounds like something huxley would do for sam”

bi-sammy: stop im gonna piss myself shits too fucking funny

I pull it back up, scrolling down to reblog and adding a quick reply that, in all honesty, I should have thought out more. Secretly, part of me is glad that I sent it.

huxley wishes he was this smooth ;)

Within seconds, replies flood in from everywhere. From jokes about Snow and I possibly dating to the concept of Huxley writing (purposefully) shitty homoerotica about himself as a fishman. I quite like the conversation about the latter, while the former makes my chest knot in ways inexplicable.

Going through the notes makes me smile, even if it's mildly embarrassing. The amount of times I've seen the eyes emoji used is definitely excessive, but still somewhat welcomed.

Even my archive has a few comments already, although more based around the fic itself. More ironically, though, is the one person who probably took it seriously and just commented, “Nice fic!” I love the abundance of shameless appreciation for obscure fanfiction in the depths of this community.

Snow's messages roll down my mobile screen as I'm checking the comments, continuously replacing the previous message for the top slot.

bi-sammy: mate

bi-sammy: i love you

bi-sammy: also every time you reblog something of mine i get like 5 followers

bi-sammy: if you mention me i get 10

bi-sammy: youre???????????? a god????????

bi-sammy: can i marry you????????????

I slowly close my laptop, eyes on my phone with an absolutely gleeful grin.

gaystrell: when and where?