#she doesn’t directly call it that but I shit u not that is the message. will rb with the pages later & make it unrebloggable lol

[thirteens-earring]

book I’m reading: a lot of people experiencing mental health crises turn to libraries which are unable or unwilling to meet their needs

me: alright yeah

book: this is because we got rid of the asylums. open the asylums

me: um

[leahblackk]

I have not sent in a request jn like 6 years but okay -

something maybe a lil big angsty but like spencer is being over the top sarcastic with reader. maybe they’re in an argument over his job or something some argument and Spencer is just being very rude and sarcastic to the point where reader can’t tell if it’s a joke or not, and in the midst of their argument spencer is called away on a case, and comes home to see reader has left. (if u wanna fluff it up at the end he can apologize profusely and they can cuddle it out but up to you leah bc your mind is genius)

Hurtful words

(Not my gif)

Summary: a little blurb by my local amazing ideas giver, Alex. Let’s all say thank you Alex for this idea.

Couple: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Warnings: Spencer being a little shit. And mentions of being injured because of gunshot. And many mistakes I’m sorry :)

Oh my god yes! I feel like I haven’t done a blurb in years. Your blurb ideas are the ones that keep me going. And you are the genius!! Your ideas are extremely amazing and I’m happy I can make them true <3

Spencer Reid.

What a mystery that man was.

Y/n met Spencer as a sweet young man with glasses and cute jumpers. A man who didn't catch certain social things. He didn’t understood sarcasm in certain occasions or indirect messages or double intentions. Of course, he knew what it was, but he didn’t know how to act with it or how to use it.

Until he learned how to be passive-aggressive.

The first time Y/n ever saw Spencer being passive-aggressive with someone was with JJ when the Lauren/Emily thing happened. Spencer, of course, was very mad about it. JJ was his best friend, the person he most trusted besides his girlfriend. He couldn’t understand why he couldn’t know. It wasn’t like he was going to tell anyone! He had the right to know that his friend whom he loved so much wasn’t buried five feet underground! He cried on his girlfriend floor for hours, and when he was too embarrassed by her looking at him, he went to JJ’s house. She saw him, she saw him crying his eyes out for her and she didn’t say a damn thing! Of course he was going to be mad.

Y/n never thought she had to worry about him being like that with her.

Spencer always has been a sweet man. But he isn’t when he’s under stress, mad or sad. The pressure over him made his IQ of 187 slashed to 63. He couldn’t think straight. And Spencer never worried about him being like that with his girlfriend. He didn’t had any reasons to be. She was all nice to him and cared about him.

But now, things changed while they were fighting in their shared apartment.

Y/n has been injured on a case after being reckless, or that was the way his boyfriend thought, but to be honest she saved a life, even if that got her hurt. She didn’t care. She would do it again. And that petrified Spencer.

Even if her doctor told her she could go back to the field. Spencer wasn’t going to have any of it. That was why they were fighting. Neither of them liked to deal with strong emotions. He wanted to say he didn’t want her to be there because he was scared he was going to lose her. He couldn’t lose her. She was his everything. His glue putting him together when the world tried to bring him down and shatter his heart. She was the thing that keeps him going. But instead of saying that, he was treating her badly and Y/n on her side wasn’t going to have any of it.

“Why can’t you understand, Spencer? I’m not a child. I can perfectly take care of myself.” She said putting her clothes on her go-bag while Spencer took them out.

He chuckled, “Perfectly take care of yourself? Yeah of course I believe you. When did you take care of yourself? When you put yourself in front of the unsub and he shot you? Yeah, Y/n, that’s taking care of yourself.”

She frowned.

That hurt.

“Excuse Spencer but you’re not no one to tell me what to do.”

“I’m your boyfriend!” He said, hurt.

“And? That doesn’t give you any right to tell me what to do. I’m a grown-up, Reid. If you didn’t notice. I’m not a child you can take care of.”

“Sometimes I think you are, you know?” He then looked at her, “You act worse than a child sometimes. Being so reckless and putting yourself in danger.”

“Like you haven’t done that yourself either.”

“I have! But I knew what I was doing. You weren’t thinking!”

“When is gonna be the day you understand you can’t tell me what to do?”

“When you stop being so reckless and actually take care of yourself,” He crossed his arms over his chest, “But apparently that’s not happening.”

She sighed with anger and looked at him. Throwing a shirt over his face and going downstairs to the kitchen to drink water and calm herself. Spencer followed her and entered the kitchen taking a glass of water as well.

She didn’t even look at him. He wanted her looking at him. He wanted to feel those eyes on him even if they were full of anger.

So he made it in the wrong way.

“And you said you’re not a child,” he murmured referring to her throwing the shirt on his face.

“What was that?” She turned around and look at him.

“You perfectly heard it, Y/n.”

“I can’t believe you’re the one calling me a child. Look at you,” she moved her hands up and down in front of him to make a point, “I’m going to that case you like it or not.”

“I wouldn’t risk the team to be with you on the case. They might end it up injured with your recklessness.”

Silence.

The words Spencer throw made echo in both lovers ears.

Reid bit his bottom lip regretting the words as soon as they came out of his mouth. Trying to take them back but the damage was already done.

Y/n looked at him without any emotion. Until her eyes start to burn and the tears came out. She lifted her hand with anger and wiped them off feeling her cheeks getting warmer and warmer.

Spencer looked at her and his heart ached. Why did he said that? She was a great agent. He was just scared of losing her and if by telling her that stuff, she would stay home safe, he would do it. But he regretted it now. He regretted it so much.

She chuckled without any humour and licked her bottom lip, tears coming down her face again.

But she let them now. Too tired.

Spencer’s first instinct was to step forward to her, but she stayed back putting her hands in front of him, to stop him.

She didn’t want to be touched by him.

He looked down.

He spends his life touching her. Loving her and worshipping her body. Touching her soft skin with soft moves, carefully not wanting to break her as she was a porcelain doll. But now, she didn’t want to be touched by him.

And Spencer understood.

He did.

It was all his fault at the end of the day. He made her stayed back when he wanted to pull her in. It was his fault. “I don’t want you to touch me,” she murmured and passed him taking her arms close to her so they wouldn’t brush his skin.

Spencer’s tears came down now.

I don’t want you to touch me.

She didn’t want him to touch her.

But all he wanted to do was touch her and let her know he didn’t mean those words. How could he? She was perfect in everything she did, her job included. Mostly her job.

Spencer didn’t notice how much time had passed while he stood frozen in the middle of their kitchen until he felt his phone buzzed. He took it out of his pocket. It was Morgan.

Hey Spencer. I know you love your girlfriend so much but we have to hurry! People are dying you know? Not everything is vanilla and roses like you two.

Spencer chuckled. Only if he knew.

He went upstairs with careful moves while he pressed his palms together trying to stop the trembling. He mostly did.

All her clothes were now in the closet, her go-bag as well. She wasn’t going to the case. It wasn’t a surprise. He knew he would achieve what he wanted after saying that. But now it didn’t felt right.

He moved closer to where she was. On their shared bed. He sat down. He was about to open his mouth to say something but she did it first. “Please don’t say anything. You have said enough and I think your thoughts are very clear,” her voice sounds broken. And was all his fault, “Just go. Tell the team I haven’t made full recovery yet.”

He nodded even if she couldn’t see him because she was hiding under the blankets.

What Spencer didn’t notice was the way after saying those words, her hands end it up on her mouth trying the sobs not to come out. She knew if Spencer heard those he would stay with her, even if they just argued. It was Spencer at the end of the day.

He would do anything for her.

Spencer full of guilty took his go-bag and walked directly to the door, looking at her once more.

He wanted to ask.

He needed to know.

You’re gonna be here when I come back?

You’re gonna still be here when I come back?

But the words never left his mouth. They got stuck on his throat. The pain and the tears as well. He needs to say he still loved her. That no matter what he still loved her. He loves her.

He-

He loves her.

But he couldn’t. So he turned around, and left.

When the front door closed Y/n finally let the sobs out.

…

The young doctor tried to avoid all the questions on why he was so grumpy and distracted.

The answer to those questions was “I just had a huge fight with the love of my life and I’m worried she leaves while I’m here. Even if she have every right to I’m still scared because she’s the only thing that keeps me going.”

But of course, he didn’t said it.

He just dismissed everything saying he didn’t have good sleep which didn’t make things better because later on, he was going to be teased by Emily and Morgan.

And when the case was finally closed, he ran to the closest flower shop to buy her favourite flowers and then he went to her favourite restaurant to get her favourite food to then ran to the metro all the way to their shared apartment.

He tried to manage to open the door with all the things in his hand but he couldn’t so he put his satchel and the flowers on the wooden floor, and he was about to put the food as well but then he thought about the germs even if the food was protected, so he put it above his satchel and he was finally able to open the door.

The lights were off which wasn’t weird of her. She wasn’t a lover of the lights of the apartment, always reminding Spencer that they needed to change them as they were too bright, but they never had time to do so, but that was exactly what Spencer was going to do tomorrow.

He then took off his shoes and put them next to the others, but her shoes weren’t there which was weird but he didn’t think too much about it. Maybe she forgot to take them off.

Spencer, then, open the door, even more, to put all the things inside of the house. He put his satchel on the little table next to the shoes and his keys as well.

Her keys weren’t there.

Spencer’s heart stopped.

Her keys weren’t there.

He breathed in and out softly trying to calm his desperate heart beating faster and faster on his chest wanting to get out. He put his palms together trying to stop the trembling but this time was impossible.

He took the flowers with him and went upstairs closing the front door behind him and he open the door of their shared bedroom.

She wasn’t there.

She-

She wasn’t there.

Where did she go?

Did she leave?

No.

No.

“No,” Spencer whispered the tears coming down his eyes.

She wouldn’t. Even if she was mad. She wouldn’t do that as everyone else did without any more explanation than a letter or a note.

A letter.

He needed to find the letter.

He searched on their bed and the tables beside their side of the bed. He didn’t look in their closet or bathroom because she wouldn’t leave that there.

Spencer went downstairs to the kitchen looking for the letter on the dining table and outside of the refrigerator. But there was none.

He, then walked to the living room looking and moving things making a mess.

He needed to read the letter.

She must have left a letter.

Everyone else left a letter.

And the door open but he didn’t heard it because of his desperation and the sound of his heartbeat making echo in his hears

He needed to find the letter.

He turned around and she saw her. Standing there with a sundress and her hair tied. She looked beautiful. She always looked beautiful, but she had a frown on her face looking with confusion at her surroundings, the mess he just made and then back to Spencer repeatedly.

And then he understood he needed to explain himself. “I-I,” he looked down and closed his eyes full of tears for a few seconds. She saw the trembling on his hands. She made a step forward from instinct but then she stopped as she remembers what happened between them. He looked up at her. He couldn’t get the words out of his mouth but she waited for him to talk, patiently while he tried to find the correct words. “I came here right away. Well not right away because I went first to the flower shop and then to your favourite restaurant,” he rambled looking at her. She didn’t stop him. She didn’t have any intention to stop him. Instead, she listens carefully. She always listens, “you weren’t at home and I’ve been nervous all these past days because I thought you would leave, and you had every right to and then I came back here and you weren’t and I looked for a-a note or letter.”

Her heart shattered.

People that left his life always left a note or a letter. She remembers when he told her that.

“I didn’t leave,” he nodded. She didn’t. She stayed. “Penelope called me and she needed help with something and then she asked me if I knew why you were acting so weird and I talked to her for a while and I didn’t realize how late it was. I’m sorry.”

He shocked his head. Stepping forward to her. “You don’t have to apologize. I’m the one who needs to apologize. I shouldn’t have treated you so badly and I want you to understand that I didn’t mean a single word because you are so great and so amazing in everything you do. I would never mean those words,” now was her turn to nodded, “I just said that because after you being injured, I didn’t want you to hurt yourself or even get killed. I’m selfish, yeah I know that. But you’re my everything, Y/n. Without you, I don’t know what will I do, you’re the only one who keeps me together and the one who brings light to my darkness. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he took her hands looking for permission first, “I said those things because I knew you would stay home, but I didn’t mean them I swear I didn’t.”

She nodded again and hugged him. He sobbed while he hugged her as his life depends on it. “I know. It’s okay love. I won't leave you I promise,” she sobbed too. “I love you.”

“I love you more, so so much.”

And they held each other while they sobbed and repeat those three little words back and forth.

They were home now.

They were okay now.

[notnctu]

haechan: the cocky | vol 2

━ welcome home to the housemating smut series :)

☆ click the link above to read background info about this housemate!

☆ GENRE: smut, pwp ☆ DETAILS: fem!reader, college!au, housemate!au ☆ WARNINGS: explicit language, dirty talking, nicknames, dom!hyuck, penetration, oral (giving & receiving), slight degradation?, mentions of exhibitionist kink? ☆ WC: 3.6k  ☆ SYNOPSIS: after receiving haechan’s text messages, you hurry up to his room and the sexual tension is thicker than you can ever imagine. 

☆ AUTHORS NOTE: read vol 1 here if u havent already :) theres no plot yall its just smut,, this one a filthy one ha ha skjdhfgieas

When you enter Haechan’s room, his back faces you as he sits comfortably in his expensive gaming chair, clicking furiously at his mouse and practically abusing the poor device. “Why are you so worked up?” Your voice causes him to perk up, removing an ear from his headset. 

“Mark fucking sucks at this game.” Haechan rolls his eyes as he speaks directly into his mic and Mark’s tiny muffled voice shouts back at him. 

Leaning into Haechan’s face, his eyes leave his monitor momentarily to intently watch your actions. Your fingers grab hold of the built in mic and speaking lowly, you greet the other boy through the receiver. “Hi Mark.”

Haechan raises an eyebrow at your seductive tone and the happy smirk on your face when you hear Mark stammer back a faint, “h-hello, y/n.” 

“Mark, I gotta go.” Before even letting Mark protest and throw a fit, he’s hanging up the call and forfeiting his winning streak to finally finish what you two had started. You’re laying on Haechan’s bed with eyes that eat him right up, a look of lust and desire. 

His gaze bounces between the open door and the way your thin shirt does absolutely nothing to hide how erect your nipples have become. His signature face of disbelief: tongue in cheek and rolling his eyes, paired with a small scoff. 

“What? Are you cold or something?” He snickers, getting up to close the door.

“No... I’m just..” Propping up on your elbows, you glance briefly down at your shirt and then, away at the ground shamelessly. 

“Aroused? Turned on?” Haechan taunts as he leans down to hover above you, his fingers toying with the ends of the thin fabric. As much as you’re trying to avoid eye contact, he doesn’t allow for you to shy away for long.

“Maybe.” You gulp the pooling spit in the back of your throat, the tension rising in the room. “I came upstairs like you told me too.” Pouting, he finally has you fixated on him with a thumb on your chin. 

Making eye contact with him is not only incredibly intimate, but there is something mesmerizing and comforting in the way Haechan looks at you. “Right, my good girl did what she was told. How much longer can she keep that up?” His whisper is hot against your skin, but he doesn’t lean in any more. 

“Don’t test me, Hyuck.” You snap back gently, crossing your arms across your chest and almost immediately, Haechan pushes you lightly onto the bed. You yelp at the boldness, knowing that your bratty side might have edged him on.

“Hyuck....? Baby, we haven’t even started yet.” He smirks, and you wish for nothing more than to wipe it off his face. He has the absolute confidence to play with you all night if he wanted to. Cocky motherfucker. 

“Do something, please.” The whine in your voice catches his attention, only fueling his ego more than it has already inflated. 

“What does my pretty baby want me to do?” Haechan has the full audacity to sit back in his chair, legs spread wide and arms resting behind his head. He’s left you on the bed practically untouched, yet the moment you sit up, a small pool of wetness rushes in your panties.

He’s done nothing, but your body reacts to him too strongly for you to admit. “I want you to give me a kiss.” You mumble.

However, Haechan leaves no room for a pause. “Speak up.” His voice is low and dark as he watches you squirm in your shorts, your legs rubbing together for some friction. He just loves how needy he can get you to be.

“Give me a kiss.” A little louder this time, all the while being mindful at how thin the walls are. Haechan patiently waits for you to finish your beg, “please.”

He pats his lap for you to come sit, then opens his arms to invite you into his embrace. Your legs fall on either side of his thighs and his hands rests on your waist. Haechan peers up at the pout that hasn’t left your face and gently smiles. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

There’s a sense of rivalry when he uses that nickname, holding less of a soft implication than when he calls you baby. “You’re taking forever.” You groan, rocking against him with a frustrated whine.

However, he holds you steady by your hips and chuckles mockingly, “it wouldn’t be fun if I just gave it to you. I’m giving you more of an experience to remember the next time you want to rub one out.”

“Trust me, I’ll be fast forwarding these parts in my brain.” Rolling your eyes, your hands find themselves lightly on his chest. He feels rather solid through his black shirt, “you’ve been bulking up?”

“Yeah. Can you tell? Johnny has been waking my ass up early in the morning to go to the gym with him because Jaehyun has class.” Haechan presses you up against his torso and you’re impressed at how sturdy he feels.

“So that’s why we have two jugs of protein powder taking up counter space. Doyoung and I were concerned at how much the other two were consuming, but I guess the portion includes you now.” Your hands wrap around his neck to pull him unbelievably closer, the tips of your noses touching now.

Haechan stares at you with hooded eyes and breath mixing with your own. “What does it taste like?” Your question seems to hold a sexual innuendo, or it could be the tension in the air as you both try your hardest from devouring each other’s lips right then and there.

“Mmh, tastes like shit. Rather taste something else instead.” Haechan licks his lips and tilts his head only slightly. His mind is clouded with lustful, heavy thoughts of feeling your plushy lips against his own. And the possible taste of your tongue lapping with his brings him much excitement as well. 

“Should I try some?” The power has slightly shifted into your hands as Haechan seems to be in a trance from your proximity and sensual drop in tone. But you’re both wrapped up in each other’s scent of shampoo and it’s enough to drive you both hungry for one another. 

“Want your lips around something else.” His thumb pulls your bottom lip down just gently before slipping it into your open mouth. Your tongue circles his finger, slowly sucking to mimic the feeling of his cock. It sends tingles down to your lower abdomen and a small moan erupts from the back of Haechan’s throat. 

Something pokes at your inner thigh and without needing to look down, you already know how turned on Haechan has gotten. He won’t be able to wait it out anymore. “So pretty.” Haechan coos as he drops his finger from your lips. “Do you still want your kiss, baby?” 

“Of course.” You lean in thinking that Haechan is going to finally give you a good smooch on the lips, but he picks you up and tosses you onto the bed. He’s discarding your shorts and underwear, peeling it off your legs and tossing it somewhere in a corner. 

He spreads your legs wide open, “holy fuck, you’re dripping.” And you’re so close to telling him to stop exaggerating until he gathers slick from your hole and it unleashes a small waterfall cascading onto the bed sheets. “Since when were you this easily aroused?” 

Before you can retaliate, Haechan softly kisses your clit and slowly licks a long strip up your cunt. You arch into him, his lips pressing against you just a bit harder than the first time. Eyes are locked in on yours as he flicks delicate licks at your bundle of nerves. “Good girls get the best kinds of kisses.” 

He will never be able to get enough of your taste or your legs squirming at the jolts of pleasure that run down them. The fact that stands is that Haechan inexplicably loves pleasuring women and performing cunnilingus, that’s undeniable. But there’s something very special about the way your body reacts to his smallest gestures and sensual words, so responsive and almost like, your body knows how much it wants him. 

And if you two hadn’t been so cordial and polite about living with each other in the beginning and considerate of your other housemates, he would’ve fucked you a long time ago. It always felt as if Haechan was walking on thorns around you, making sure he didn’t cross the lines of making you feel uncomfortable. 

Nonetheless, your pajama shorts do a terrible job at covering you up or the small moments when your shirt would ride up your stomach, he always found his stares to linger. And not to mention, all the moments he has walked by to catch a glimpse of you masturbating. Truthfully, he’d been masturbating to the thought of you too and only to find out that you shared the same interest in him. 

You suppress your moans with your hand, afraid to risk the chance of getting caught by your other housemates. Nevertheless, your muffled moans encourage him to lick harder, building a quick rhythm. “Hyuck, please fuck me.” 

It’s agonizing the more he edges you closer to your release. Haechan is addicted to lapping your endless flow of juices that he almost chooses to ignore your breathless plea. He lets go and the knot of pleasure in your stomach dissipates for the time being, your chest rising and falling rapidly to catch your breath.

“I thought you lost your ability to speak for a second.” Haechan doesn’t mean it as a joking statement, it’s meant to instill slight humiliation in you and with a bit of a teasing tone in his darkness.

You don’t take his words to heart, “I can speak and I know what I want.” Your voice is brighter than before, until Haechan’s grin turns mischievous and he’s plotting his next few words carefully. 

“Use your smart words and tell me what you want then.” Taking off his clothes, his shaft slaps against his stomach with an angry red tip leaking precum.

The sight of his dick has you clenching around nothing and it’s obvious where your focus has shifted to. You mindlessly take off your shirt, “for a computer science major, you sure like words a lot.” 

“For someone who’s ruining my sheets, you sure like to verbally under compensate how much you want me.” Haechan rubs his tip at your entrance to gather lubrication, a small whine escapes his lips as he’s trying his best to hold back from ramming into your wet cunt.

“Hyuck, please. I want you to fuck me speechless.” A sparkle catches in his eye as he’s gleaming at how the dirty words spill from your pretty mouth. Pulling you up, he holds your head steady and lightly taps your lips with his tip.

“Speechless? I guess you won’t be able to whine with my dick in your mouth.” And slowly, you invite his hot shaft into your warmth and the saltiness hits your palette. A long string of profanities fill the air when you lick the underside of his tip and hollow your cheeks to suck more of him.

“Do you think you can take the whole thing?” He moans and it shocks you how raspy his voice suddenly got. His hand is rests on the back of your head lightly, patting and smoothing your hair lovingly. If it isn’t for that lost lustful look in his eyes that represent an innocent curiosity, you wouldn’t have awarded his request. 

Opening your throat, he slowly guides you further down his length. Haechan’s reactions are ungodly satisfying as he throws his head back toward the ceiling and instantly tightens his grip in your hair. 

“Fuck, fuck. Okay, I’m done messing around.” He manages to chuckle playfully, pulling you off his dick as a string of saliva draws from the disconnect. Pulling you by your hair, he tilts your head upward at him and he leans down to kiss you: open mouth, tongues lapping, spit mixing.

The kiss ignites a flame in your chest being that it’s probably one of the hottest kisses you’ve ever experienced. Haechan’s dominance is caring, yet strong enough to remind you just how rough he has the ability to be. 

“Lay on your side.” You do as you’re told as Haechan unravels a condom to slip on. A feeling of excitement bubbles up in your core, you’re finally getting fucked. It’s not the first time you and Haechan have done penetration, but it’s definitely not enough times to satisfy your lust for him.

With your body facing the door, Haechan lays down behind you, a hand on your hip to press your ass against his shaft. “How cute. We’re spooning.” He taunts menacingly and reaching around to rub your swollen clit. 

You yelp and Haechan covers your mouth instantly. You’re a moaning mess in his hands as his fingers work magic stimulation down below. Every squirm has you bumping your ass up into his hard on. 

Just as his tip enters your wet hole, a knock on the door has you both halting your movements. Your heart is racing at the interruption and it’s not going to look too good with Haechan’s dick barely up your cunt and hand hovering over your clit. There will be no lie that can get you two out of this naked situation.

“Haechan, can I borrow your speaker?” It’s the voice of Jaemin. Of all the times that he actually comes home, you’re midway having sex with Haechan. 

It doesn’t seem to bother Haechan though, maybe a bit agitated that someone interrupted the tension, but overall he doesn’t seem phased. Then, you remember all the times you’ve knocked on the other boys’ doors during their hookups and it’s gotten to the point that no one really cares. “For what!?” 

“To use in the shower.” A jiggle on the doorknob panics you, but Haechan is lifting your leg in the air and enters you fully without a warning. You bite back a moan as Haechan buries his face into your neck. The initial stretch from his girth stings with pleasure and you relax into him when you adjust to his size. “Why is your door locked?” 

“Fuck, is this making you more wet?” Haechan whispers lowly into your ear and a smile grows against your skin.

“Shut up.” You mumble, clenching around him every time Jaemin tries to open the door. He starts moving his hips into you, long thrust that jolt your body every time he enters. 

Haechan laughs, “it’s in the bathroom already, leave me alone! I’m with someone.” He’s looking down at your eyes rolling to the back of your head and the tight grip you have on the sheets. You feel all of him, his cock fills you up to the brim, grazing upon your sweet spot. 

Jaemin scoffs on the other side, “okay. Use protection, kids.” And his shadow disappears from under the door. Haechan removes his hand and his hot moans fill your ears.

“No wonder why you leave the door fucking open. You want us to see you, don’t you?” His hips ram harder into your pussy, rougher and faster than before. The soreness begins to occupy your lower regions from how much Haechan stretches you. His dirty words aid you closer to your release. “Imagine if I didn’t lock the door and Jaemin saw me balls deep in you. You’d like that, huh? What a slut.” 

Your legs feel like jelly as a familiar exhilaration surges through your limbs. “Speechless now, aren’t you?” Haechan smirks and drops your leg. Hands hold you by your waist as he bottoms out, his balls slapping your thigh slightly. Once he’s nestled in deep, he starts rubbing circles on your clit once again and you’re squeezing around him so well that he doesn’t need to move. 

The added sensation brings you to your edge, along with the feeling of fullness. Without a fail, he always makes sure he takes care of you first. “I’m gon-- cum.” Words are jumbled in your scattered, empty brain. The release is on the tip of your tongue, the tips of your toes, Haechan’s rhythm on your bud doesn’t falter.

“Cum on my dick, baby. I want to feel you lose control.” His final encouragement leads you to your demise as your pussy clenches around him sporadically and your legs shaking from the pleasure. But it doesn’t stop, Haechan starts fucking you through your orgasm, so fast that it almost has you crying out of the intensity. His nails dig into your skin. 

“Oh-- shit! Hyuck, I--” Haechan slams your hips down to match his and you’re holding onto the sheets for your life. The toe curling pleasure overwhelms you and you can’t tell, but you’re cumming again. It just never seems to stop.

With a last grunt and full thrust, you feel his dick pumping inside your walls. He kisses your shoulder tenderly and smooths over the moon crescents he left, “shit. I’m sorry for calling you out like that.”

“It’s fine. It was hot.” He pulls out and an emptiness disappoints you. Turning around to face him, you latch on and give him the biggest hug. “But I really just am forgetful! I don’t leave it open on purpose....”

“Baby, you say that, but do you also forget that you live with five other horny men?” He kisses your temples and sits you both up.

“That’s why I do it when you guys aren’t home.” Getting up, you start putting on Haechan’s shirt and slipping on your panties. “Do you think Jaem is done showering?”

“Probably, that guy uses 2 in 1 shampoo and body wash so he just lathers and rinses.” Haechan ties the condom and tosses it into the trash can. He slips on a pair of fresh briefs and starts removing his soiled bed sheets. “Come back and help me make my bed when you’re done.” 

Nodding, you slyly walk out of Haechan’s room. You turn the knob as quietly as you can and shut the door softly. When you spin around, Jaemin walks down the hall with a towel around his naked shoulders and his black hair wet from his shower. His toned body is glistening with droplets as his sweatpants hang low on his hips and the waistband of his underwear peek out. 

You’re so distracted by his appearance that you don’t realize he’s caught you leaving Haechan’s room. “Is that Haechan’s shirt?” He quizzes you, a smirk twitching his lips automatically at your doe eyed expression. “And are you not wearing pants, y/n?” 

“I see you’re done with your shower.” You say quickly and you dash away to the bathroom. The moment you shut the door, you’re surprised by a random girl on the toilet.

“Sorry!” You both yell, covering your eyes at the sudden intrusion on both ends. 

“I didn’t realize there wasn’t a lock on the door.” She says and you turn to face the door to give her some privacy.

“Yeah, it’s been broken for awhile now. We usually just put a sticky note on the door to show that it’s preoccupied.” You don’t even question who she is, denoting that it’s either Jaehyun or Johnny’s lady friend. “I’ll just wait outside.” 

“Wait, do you live with Johnny?” She asks and truthfully, you’re not ready to go back outside in any chance that you’ll bump into Jaemin again. The bathroom is where you intended to hide until enough time is passed, while also doing your business. 

“Yeah. We’re housemates.” 

“Ah, that’s comforting to know that there’s another girl here. I thought it was just a house of guys, so I was a bit worried coming over.” Her voice sounds reassured and you’re exhaling out all the anxious air you had pent up since seeing Jaemin.

“That’s good. Men, am I right?” You try laughing to lighten the mood and surprisingly through the steamy suffocation, she giggles back. 

“Yeah, I mean, I’ve never seen so many bottles of AXE body spray in one bathroom.” Living in a house full of men, you realize you slightly miss the bathroom talks with your girl friends. 

“Look in the tub, there are four bottles of men body wash, yet they always use mine! It’s a hoax.” You announce excitedly, despite still facing the door.

“I have the same one! I fucking knew Johnny smelled like white strawberries and mint, but I couldn’t tell if the scent was from me or him.” 

Maybe sometimes, it isn’t so bad living with a group of attractive men. You get to laugh with their hookups in the bathroom! And before you know it, Johnny is knocking on the bathroom door to the fit of giggles and questioning why there are two voices. 

“I thought you had left without saying goodbye.” He says.

“Damn, the sex was that bad.” You joke and Johnny fakes a laugh through the door.

“Let me know if Haechan is any better, y/n.” You gasp at his statement, but don’t respond. The flushing of the toilet and the sink running being the only noises in the room. You’re stunned. Knowing Jaemin’s big mouth, he can’t keep a secret to save his life.

“It’s nice meeting you, y/n.” Johnny’s hookup gives you a warming hug before leaving and when she opens the door to join him, you give Johnny the middle finger as your form of response. 

“Nice meeting you too!” You yell back to her and shut the door to finally do your business. 

Great, now everyone knows you fucked your housemate. 

[clearlydiamondz]

Your Only Fan

Erik!Stevens x Black!Reader

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Erik Finds out his best friend slash crush has an only fans. Things go a little right once he finds out.

Warnings: Cursing, SMUT, 18+ Content

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It was a Friday night, which meant that (Y/N) was getting a chance to see her best friend, Erik. Or E, which she calls him. It’s been a minute since she seen him considering she’s been caught up in her school work and he’s been caught up in whatever he had going on. 

Erik was excited when he saw that she messaged him, asking if he wanted to come over and watch a movie. Instantly he answered. 

E: Awe, lil baby miss me :( lol

(Y/N): how you my best friend and you don’t even come see me no more. i feel neglected.

E: Don’t worry, I’ma be there in an hour..

(Y/N): make it 30?

E: oh u desperate? aight, 30 min it is.

Erik grabbed his belongings, grabbing his adidas bag packing an overnight bag. After getting his phone and charger, he made his way out the door and to his car.

(Y/N) finished up cleaning herself up after doing a session on her Only Fans. After about an hour, she earned about a good 900 alone from just tips and subscriptions. This was one of the good nights. 

She made her way out of her bathroom, go to her little recording area cleaning all the toys and things before Erik got there. She didn’t want her best friend to find out about her dirty little secret. It was something that she wanted to keep buried for as long as she could.

She wasn’t ashamed of being a sex worker, she supported other girls. Spoke very strongly about it online. Even did some work with other girls and guys. She just didn’t want everything to change between her and Erik if he ever found out. 

She was in the kitchen making her famous dip when she heard the door open. She looked up and saw Erik walking in with his things in his hands. “Wassup big head?” he said walking into the apartment as she smile at him.

“Hi E, so I found this perfect movie for us to watch.” she said as he groaned. 

“It better not be no scary movie.” he said as she pouted. 

“Nevermind,..” she mumbled looking down as he laughed. “Lemme put my shit down and Ima come show you some love.” he said as she nodded. There was no question that had (Y/N) had feelings for her best friend. How could she not? He was handsome, kept up with himself, a gentlemen. The way he talked and made her blush. It was hard not to have feelings for this man.  

Erik walked into the room putting the extra clothes in the empty drawer she had for him. As he was putting the clothes inside, she heard his phone going off. He grabbed it seeing that it was one of his friends, Tyrel sending him an iMessage and picture. 

Ty: bro , u know bout this??

Erik confused, opened up the picture to see an Only Fans profile. He was about to question him about it until he saw the profile picture.

“Is that-”

PearlyPerfection

Hi, my name is (Y/N), come visit me on my page to come play with me. 

“What the fuck?” he whispered to himself. It took everything in him not to pull up OnlyFans on his phone, but it was failed. Miserably. He searched her name, sitting on the bed looking at one of the thumbnails on the videos. He saw that it was a price for ten dollars a month for the basic subscription fee. After paying for it, he clicked on the video. 

“Hi daddy...’ she seductively whispered to the camera. She had on a white and black school girl outfit that barely covered her ass and pussy. Her skin was oiled, shining looking like  milk chocolate. “My pussy been so wet just thinking about you. Do you want to see?” she gushed biting her lip.

Erik couldn’t contain the weapon that swing between his legs. Just by the second it was getting harder looking at her. She sat back against the pillows opening her legs to show her wetness. 

Okay.. now I understand why she’s called Pearly Perfection...

If it wasn’t perfect, it was close to. The wetness spread across her outer lips, making her skin gloss. She spread her lips with her fingers, the yellow acrylic really contemplating her skin complexion, letting the wetness get on her fingers as she moved it up and downward to the entrance. 

“Ooh that feels good..” she moaned quietly to herself. She dipped a finger inside, slowly fucking herself with it.  She lifted her leg, slapping her vulva before leaning forward grabbing something behind the camera. She came back into frame with a clear dildo. She grabbed it, looking into the camera before licking the tip of it. She placed her mouth on it before deep throating it, basically shallowing the entire thing.

“Damn-”

“Erik!” he heard from the kitchen. “Everything good?” 

“Uh yeah, I’m coming!” he exclaimed standing up. He exited the tab before placing his phone in his hoodies pocket. He stood up adjusting his issue, before walking out to the kitchen to see her pouring dip chips into the bowl. 

“You good? Look like you seen some shit?” she said chuckling as he shook his head. 

“If only you knew.” he whispered but she heard him. 

“Did you say something?”

“Nah..” he walked into the living room grabbing the remote as she looked at him a bit confused. Damn, I can’t even get a hug.. 

She grabbed the dip and chips walking to the living room, placing it on the coffee table. She walked back grabbing herself a wine cooler and Erik a beer. She walked back walking past him plopping down on the sofa. 

“I hope you found a good movie since you want to watch a damn scary movie.” she joked, all Erik did was just chuckle before going through the list. She looked at Erik waiting for a smart comeback but nothing.  

“Erik... are you okay?” she asked him touching his cheek as he looked at her.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“You’re acting strange. If something happened than you can talk to me.” she reassured him as he smiled. Erik turned back to the screen before picking a random action film.

About an hour into the movie, (Y/N) leaned forward grabbing some dip and chips, her shirt was risen up a bit showing her red laced underwear and her back side. It was usual that (Y/N) dressed like that around him, they were comfortable with it. But for known reasons, it had Erik squirming in his seat. She looked back to see why he was moving so much. 

“Erik.. are you sure you’re okay?” she asked him as he nodded. She leaned back and he moved to the opposite side of her. “That’s it.” she grabbed the remote pausing the movie. 

“The hell is wrong with you?” she asked him standing up as he looked up at her. 

“What do you mean? I’m not-”

“Yes you are. You acting like you can’t touch me. You haven’t even eaten my dip and you eat my shit up as soon as it hits the table. I know when there is something wrong with you and there is something bothering you.” she said to him as he sighed scratching the back of his neck. 

“Okay, I’m going to be honest with you but be honest with me.” he said as she nodded. “Do you have an only fans?” The question rightfully was a curve ball but she would never like to Erik. Plus, if he was asking about it most likely he already knew the answer.

“Yes..” she trailed off. “How did you find out?” she asked him. Her heart was beating fast, so loud she could hear it in her own ears. 

“Ty sent me a picture of the profile.” he said as she rolled her eyes. 

“Wow, creepy ass nigga.” she said smacking her teeth. 

“No offense but there are a bunch of creepy ass niggas on Only Fans.” he said sitting up as she sighed. “Why you never told me about this?”

“Look how you’re acting. You can’t even touch me. I don’t want it to change things between us. That’s the last thing that I want to happen. A-And your acting different.” she pouted as he sighed. “Like if you ashamed that you are friends with me just up and say that. Trust me, it’s feels way more better than being- than being treated like I’m dirty or something.” Erik saw her eyes watering, and his entire mood changed. For a split second he forgot he was friends with a water bag.

“Wait, (Y/N) it’s not like that.” he stood up cupping her cheeks in his hands looking at her. “I don’t care what you do , you will always my best friend. I won’t ever look at you differently.” he said to her as she started to sniffle. 

“So why are you acting like this?”

Erik mentally cursed at himself. Now he really is going to have to admit that he watched a video and felt some type of way about it. It was all happening the wrong way. “Before I admit it to you, there is something else I should admit first" he said as she nodded. She sat down as he sat down beside her. 

“First of all, I’m admitting this to you because I’ve let this shit drag on for way to long and I need to just to say it. (Y/N), I’ve always had a thing for you. I’ve always wanted you to be mine. Like in a way where we are more than just bestfriends.” he said as she took it all in. 

"Erik I-"

“Wait, I’m not done yet. Out of curiosity, I went to your profile and I saw one of you’re videos. Ima keep it real, shit was sexy as hell. To the point where I wanna fuck the shit outta you.” he admitted. If there was one thing that she loved about him was how honest he was. 

“Okay, I just want to start off by saying that I have feelings for you too. And I want to be more than just best friends...” she trailed off as he smiled at her. “And another thing, if you have an Only Fans, doesn’t that make you one of those creepy ass niggas that-” her sentence was cut off by him pinching her thigh. “Ow.. that hurt.” she pouted as he smirked at her. There was something in his eyes that she never seen before. She stood up before straddling his lap as his hands gripped her waist. 

“Oh you bold.” he said as she nodded. 

“So tell me, what did you think about my videos?” she whispered in his ear. His eyes fluttered shut as he felt her lips kissing along his neck. 

“They were something.. I- ooh.” he moaned out as she started to whine directly on his dick. She grabbed the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head showing his bare chest. She traced her hands up his chest before throwing across his shoulders. 

Erik leaned in, brushing his lips passed hers smirking. With a brief movement her lips connected with his, him immediately dominating hers. He kinda tasted the cherry lip balm that was on her lips, that made her lips smooth and soft. Their tongues traced along each others in a way, like Erik was giving up his dominance. 

She bit her lip, standing up from his lap as she smirked at him. “What you doin/” he asked her. When she didn’t give him an answer, she got on her knees. “(Y/N).’ he said in a warning tone. 

“What’s wrong daddy?” she asked him. The way she said that you would think it was sinful. “I always thought about you fucking my throat, Erik.” she said as she smiled. She pulled the waist band down from his Nike Sweat pants, noticing he was free balling. “Oh you are big...” she said grabbing the base of it. She squeezed it making him jolt his hips forward. 

She kissed the tip, licking along it tasting his pre-cum. She knew Erik always kept up with himself. Drinking water and eating fruit. If he tasted like this now, she wanted to taste him when he bust in her mouth. 

She wrapped her lips around his erection, before going downward, letting her throat relax around him. “Nasty ass bitch..” he grunted thrusting his hips upward. Seeing him like this had her dripping down her thighs. 

She was messy, he liked that. Spit dropped down her chin along pre-cum.

“This is how you do it, huh? Freaky ass...” he said throwing his head back. She smiled at him. She hallowed her cheeks inward to make it tighter as he grunted. He grabbed her lifting him as she pouted. 

“Fuck wrong with you?” he asked her.

“I wanted you to cum in my mouth..” she said as he chuckled. He leaned forward kissing her, there tongues sliding against each other. She was just like him she liked having that shit messy. 

“Let me ride it, daddy..” she whispered to him, stroking his dick as he stood up. They quickly took off all their clothes as she pushed him back on the sofa. She hovered over it and before she could sit on it, he stopped her.

“You still on the pill, right?” he asked her as she nodded. 

“Yeah I am..” she said making him smirk. 

“Thank God, I don’t plan on pulling out.” he said as she bit her lip. She sink herself on it as the both of them whispered out a quiet ‘fuck’. By far, Erik was one of the biggest nigga’s she been with. She had dildos his size probably a little bigger, but it was different because he was fucking her back. 

“Tight ass pussy, this shit wet for me huh?’ he grunted in her ear as she gasped. All she could do was moan. “Answer me..” he started to thrust his hips upward s she moaned out. 

“Fuck, yes daddy.” she gasped out as he smirked, He was hitting a spot that she ain’t even believe was possible to reach. He rotated his hips in a way that made him hit ever inch of her wall. 

“You’re so fucking deep, I feel it in my stomach.” she gasped as he smirked. 

“Yeah take all this big dick. Take it like a big girl. Making a mess all over my shit, I should have you’re nasty ass get down on your knee’s and clean it up.” he taunted her as she fucked him back. She gained her confidence back. 

She purposely made herself tight as he halted his movements. He leaned back grabbing her waist as she smiled. “Does it feel good, daddy?” she asked him as he grunted squeezing his eyes shut. 

“You tryna make me bust this quick? Huh? Get up. I got something for you’re ass.” he said. She lifted herself off as he stood up. He picked her up, walking to her bedroom. He threw her on the bed getting in between her legs. She prepped herself up to see what he was doing as he kissed her up along her thighs. 

He licked along her folds as she let out a huge sigh. He moved his tongue in slow circular motion applying pressure. “Oh shit, just like that.” she gasped. He moved his tongue downward to her entrance. She started to grind herself against his mouth, basically using him. 

“That’s it, use my fucking mouth bitch.” he grunted. His tongue was demonic. She wasn’t expecting to come so close but damn was she getting a run for her money.

“FUCK! ERIK! YOU’RE GONNA MAKE ME CUM...” 

“Who’s stopping you?” he said to her. Within a couple of seconds, she came all over his tongue in lips with a piercing scream. 

“Ass up face down. I’m beating that shit up until I’m done.” he grunted out at her. She turned on her stomach before lifting her ass in the air, creating the perfect arch.

Coming from behind, he entered her nice and slow as he winced. “Shit don’t make no sense. Why you giving me this good pussy, huh?” he said fucking her and she moaned. “I ain’t tell you again, answer me.”

“Because your dick feel so good in my pussy daddy..” she moaned out, gripping the sheets. She started fucking him back at the same pace. “Cum inside me please... I want it so bad.” she moaned as he smiled. 

“Yeah, beg for my shit. Nasty Ass,” he grunted slapping her ass making her scream.. “Pussy making a straight up mess on my dick... shit fucking creaming.” he said looking at his dick. He paused her movement as she gasped at the sudden halt. 

Erik was in a complete shock about what was happening. He was finally digging in her guts and he was about to bust all in her. He pulled out flipping her on her back as he settled in between her lips. 

“Baby...” she moaned out as he smiled. Genuinely smiled. 

“Talk to me..” he whispered kissing her shoulders as she shuttered.

“I’m so close.. please baby.” she whispered back looking into his eyes. The energy in the room instantly shifted. They weren’t fucking any more, they were making love.

He inserted himself inside of her as she let out at a satisfied sigh. He gave her slow strokes as he put his hands behind her to hold himself up. The strokes were slow and deep. 

(Y/N) thought that the only sex she could enjoy was rough and hard, but she was just proven wrong about everything. She was loved this feeling. She didn’t know if it was because it was with Erik, but she needed more of this. 

Erik was in his own world. His main focus was to make her cum. And he was  close to itg just by the feeling. She was gripping him to the point where it was hard for him to move. 

“Loosen up ma, shit tight as hell.” he said chuckling as she moaned. 

“I’m sorry I’m so close..” she said as he nodded. He was close too, and most likely was going to cum before her. 

Within a couple of seconds later he came deep. She felt his heavy load paint her walls, that triggered her own orgasm. She clawed at his back, definitely drawing a bit of blood. He collapsed right beside her as they both looked at each other. 

“You do know that means that you are mine, right?” he said to her as she chuckled looking up at the ceiling. “I’m serious. I’m the only one that need to be getting all in that, you understand me?” he said as she nodded. 

“Loud and clear..” she whispered before tucking herself under the covers. 

“Quick question... why did you start doing it?” he asked as she sighed. 

“Like two years ago, money got real tight. I started doing it, honestly I thought that it was just gonna be something for me to extra money on but than I blew up, and I started to get a lot of money from it. Now, I make enough money on it to pay all my bills, plus more. Including my job down at the restaurant.” she admitted to him. 

“Hm, well I understand..” he said. Their was a sudden silence until he spoke up again. 

“You could join me on my Only Fans. My fans would love seeing you fuck me.” she joked as he raised an eyebrow at her. 

“Shit, I don’t mind.” 

“Wait you serious.” 

“Dead ass.”

The next morning, Erik woke up in the bed, where it was empty. The smell of her cooking made him get out of the bed. After brushing his teeth and what not, he made his way into the kitchen to see she was making homemade pancakes. 

The only thing she had on was one of Erik’s T-Shirts that he left over her the last time he was here, with some a pair of boy shorts. “Good morning.” he said walking behind her wrapping his arms around her waist kissing her neck as she smiled. 

“Good morning to you too.” she placed the batter on the counter, turning around to look at him. 

“Mm, you smell good.” he said. “I’m so glad that I can finally call you mine.” he replied as she smiled at him. Here she was thinking that it was just something said in the moment, but she was glad the feelings were genuinely real.

“I am too..”

[soulwillower]

tozier (vii)

(tozier!reader smut)

requested: okay so once regular requests open, here’s my idea. so the reader and richie are siblings and they absolutely hate each other and to get under his sisters skin, he fucks her best friend. so in sheer anger she decides to fuck all of his

warnings: smut, unprotected sex, dirty talk, also minor violence, bit of blood, sub reader AND dom reader, BOTH baby, light choking, mild mild cumplay, oral (fem recieving) 

part 7 of the tozier series [  i  ii iii  iv v vi ]

guys!! finally the last part, thanks for all the love on this series :) this was rly so so much fun to write for yall, pls let me know how u feel about this/the series in general

(losers and reader are 20+ and in college in this)

4.5k words

♡

"i fucked your friends, anyways." you say with a grin. 

"funny, y/n. as if any of them would settle for you." richie snarls, smirking as if he's proud of what he'd said. it makes you smirk, shaking your head. if only he knew. 

"richie, i don't think she's joking." ben speaks up. everyone's eyes turn to ben, and your heart pounds as you bite your lip. you look at each of the others quickly - ben's gnawing on his lip and looking at richie uncertainly, mike is staring at the ground in thought, eddie's staring at his lap with an amused grin, bev is smirking between the two boys with her eyebrows raised, and bill is looking at ben with a small look of realization.

your eyes land on stan, who's staring back at you intently, a suggestive look on his face as he tugs a small part of your underwear from his front pocket as he thumbs it with his finger. you send him an intent look back, trying to beg him not to do it. 

when you look at richie, he's shocked, mouth agape. "what?" richie says quietly. "you fucked my best friend. it was only fair." you say with a shrug, smiling at him. he looks like he might punch you. 

you stifle a laugh, trying to keep a straight face but failing. richie looks furious as he walks up to you, the two of you standing in the middle of the make-shift circle the losers formed in the living room. 

"which one?" he says through a clenched jaw. 

"all of them."

the room is silent as everyone's jaws drop except yours, bev's, and surprisingly stan's - the latter of whom are smirking. richie looks like he's in utter disbelief. it's silent for a few moments, until someone breaks the quiet. 

"who was the best?" 

you turn bright red at that. 

"shut the fuck up, eddie!" richie yells, no sign of joking on his face; he's red as he stares you down. you don't cower at all in front of him - in fact, you're definitely the one with the most power in this situation, and you smirk. 

"so... a-all of us slept with y/n?" bill says in shock. everyone looks around and you're just smirking, your brother furious. "i can't fucking believe you. this isn't funny at all." richie snips. 

"this isn't any different from what you did, richie. c'mon, it was just some fun. it's not like it meant anything more to any of us." mike says. you're shocked that they're all taking it so well.. you never expected them to find out, but they seem to be on your side. thank god. 

your eyes dart to stan, who's still sat on the couch. he meets your eyes and doesn't back down, his gaze piercing and intense. his eyes course over your figure and you feel a twinge of emotion as you remember his hands on your skin, his lips.... you clear your throat as you look away, hoping to god nobody will notice your lace undies sticking slightly out of stan's pocket. 

"-why are you taking her side?" richie hisses, shoving everyone away. his eyes barely leave yours, his fists clenching down by his sides. 

"because you are in the wrong, richie. you cannot possibly be mad at me for this." you say with a grin. "sorry, you're just overreacting. plus you're not just fucking cecily, now you're actually dating her. which is way more shitty. and clearly they all wanted me, richie. i'm an angel."

bill snorts from where he's standing, "yeah r-rich, you're the one who always says that girls who suck fingers without being told to go to h-heav-"   

richie throws his empty cup towards bill, missing by only an inch as he yells, "can it, denbrough! shut the fuck up!" 

you're bright red from bill's words, looking from him, to richie, and then catching stan's eyes again. you swallow, throat dry. 

"-wait, who was the best?" comes from bev this time. you bite your lip, watching as richie shoves her lightly. you grin, "well, ben was the sweetest, but mike was the most surprising-"  "you better shut the fuck up right now y/n." richie mutters. you shrug, "you talk about cecily all the time to me!" you yell. "plus, i'm not finished. eddie... well, that was the dirtiest." you smirk at him and he grins at the ground, richie moving towards you. you back up swiftly, still talking. "-eddie fucked me in your bed, you know." 

richie shoves you hard, looking the angriest you ever have seen him. everyone else gasps or rushes towards the two of you, but as your back hits the wall near the fireplace you barely wince, laughing. "then there was bev... that was the hottest. you were in the other room." you wink.

bev gives mike knuckles out of the corner of your eye and you almost laugh, watching richie as the others tug him back from you. "y-y/n, stop. we get it, r-richie's gotta calm down." bill says as he holds back richie's seething form. 

you tilt your head, grinning at bill. "what, you don't want richie to know that you have the best dick game?" 

everyone stops, and richie freezes in bills arms. "wh-" bill starts with a cocky smirk, but then richie's wrestling bill to the ground, and your eyes are widening. "richie, knock it off!" bev yells, laughing as richie shoves bill's head and bill just laughs on the ground. 

mike and ben get him off of bill, who's sitting up with a disheveled shirt and smirking. "jesus, richie." stan mutters, still on the couch seemingly unbothered.  

you feel the need to make it worse, just to rub it in. "richie, it's okay. he felt bad at first, fucking me in my bedroom while you were asleep next door-"

"shut up y/n!" richie yells, loud enough that you think the neighbors could have heard. stan laughs from the couch, and richie turns to stare at stan, who's lounging as if nothing's happening, looking entirely amused and unbothered. it’s hot. 

it's quiet for a moment, and it seems like everyone thinks you're done. you mutter, "but stan was the most recent, like ten minutes ago, actually." stan doesn't even really react to your words, he just grins devilishly at richie, dimple popping in his cheek. 

you clench your thighs. 

richie turns to you again. "you're a fucking bitch. you’re so disgusting, it's no wonder you couldn't get any of my friends to want to date you. so you just tried to fuck them all instead. you're embarrassing." richie spits. your eyebrows draw together and you almost quip back but a movement makes you look to your left. stan rises as he states, "richie. shut up." you and richie both look to stan, as do the others. 

"i don't want to hear shit from you, uris. fuck you, i've told you for years to keep your paws off my sister." he spits, and stan tilts his head. 

"she's a grown up, richie. she's not just your sister. if she wants me to go down on her in the backseat of your car, why the hell would i say no?" 

and then richie's swinging at stan, punching him hard in the face.

"richie!"the others call, bill and mike pulling him away and holding him firmly this time, shocked that he really did it. "stan?" you call, moving toward him as he flexes his jaw and holds the side of his face. he stands all the way up and licks his lip, a smear of blood leaking from the fresh split on his lip. richie's shaking his hand, face bright red under his glasses. 

"fuck all of you." richie hisses, turning and shoving eddie and ben out of the way as he grabs his car keys and storms out the front door. 

it's quiet after richie leaves, and everyone decides that he needs cool off time before he comes back or before anyone tries to talk to him. so they then get the message to trail out and head to the basement in groups of two or three until just stan remains. "stan, i'm sorry." you say weakly, offering a hand. he lets you lead him to your bedroom upstairs, silently looking at the ceiling as you re-enter the room with a shitty first aid kit. 

stan is impossible to read as you tear open a wipe to clean around the cut. your hands shake as they rise to his face. "i'm sorry." you whisper, the guilt getting to you.

 you jump a bit as one of his hands lands on the bare skin of the back of your thigh. you meet eyes and stan stares directly at you, "i'd do it again."

you smile shyly, looking down and swiping across his bottom lip to collect the blood. "i never meant for this to happen, i guess. i was just so angry, and i- yeah."

it’s quiet again. 

"when did you and bill fuck?" is all he asks after the silence. you blink at him, thinking. "um... a few weeks ago? when we went to kiera gross's party." 

he hums, his hand still rubbing your bare leg and making you feel weak. his fingertips graze the skin of your ass before moving back down, making you exhale shakily. you feel like you want stan to know that you don't have anything going on with bill - but you're nervous. "i promise, i- god, would you stop fidgeting?" 

your hand grabs his jaw, but he jerks his head away and he tosses you a glare. "i'm fine." he mutters. 

"i don't have to be doing this, i can just go back downstairs." you snap, crossing your arms. 

"yeah, perfect, why don't you go let bill fuck you again?" stan quips. "he was the best, right?" you roll your eyes, shaking your head as you look at his pouty lips. "stan, come on. and tilt your head up." 

it's silent again and stan's staring up above you, avoiding your eyes as you wipe a bit of alcohol over his busted lip. "y'know, i hate to say it, but this is kind of hot." you whisper. 

he stares at you dryly. "you think your brother socking me in the face is hot?" 

you laugh, "no, i think me telling you what to do is. you take directions well." his face blooms light pink at your words and you feel proud. he’s watching you carefully, "really? that's cute coming from you. i seem to remember you begging for me to tell you what to do not even an hour ago." 

you swallow, cheeks going red, but you notice his are too. "maybe you just need to be put in your place, stan." you whisper, leaning forward to capture your lips together. he winces slightly, his busted lip tender against yours, but his hand grips your ass immediately, tugging you towards him. 

you slide onto his lap, straddling him easily. the kiss starts slowly, but quickly heats up when he pulls you down to grind on him, causing you both to let out shaky moans of pleasure. then you gently push his shoulders back, “wanna feel you inside me.” you whisper, noticing his knowing smirk as he lays back, propping himself up on his elbows to watch you. 

you slide back on his lap, undoing his pants and sliding them down his legs. his cock springs up and you bite your lip, hand wrapping around his base. you pump slowly, watching as he bites him lip and tilts his head back. you're filled with desire as you take in his size, desperate to feel him. then you're pressing a kiss to his lips, balancing up on your knees and teasing him against your slit, spreading your wetness. he groans, bucking his hips up but you shush him, kissing him again.

he pulls off your shirt, and you quickly do the same to him, taking in his toned torso. you silently thank whoever made stan so goddamn good at baseball. he groans as you place his hands down and off your body, gently sinking down onto him.

you both let out loud groans, relishing in the feeling of him stretching you out perfectly. his head falls onto the wall behind him as you start to move on top of him, stabling yourself on his chest. “fuck, y/n.” he groans lowly, eyes shut in pleasure. 

he looks so perfect under you and you move yourself quicker, loving how he fills you. one of your hands slips into his hair, pulling and making him groan, his hips stuttering. “stan…” you moan as he places kisses on your neck and chest, moving your hips as you bounce. his teeth nip at your skin, his hands rising to grip your ass, hiking up your skirt. 

leaning forward, you find a new angle and bite your lip to keep from screaming at the feeling. stan's biting his own bruised and split lip, his face flushed and chest heaving. he’s hitting deep inside you and you feel full, moaning as you bounce up and down. you moan into his skin, sucking dark marks up and down to column of his throat, 

you lean to press your hands against his chest, changing the angle again. “fuck.” he mutters and you moan, your legs burning but the pleasure flowing through your body. he all but growls, his head falls against the wall again with a groan of pleasure, his hands raising to your hips and fucking up into you, eyes scrunched. his hips are stuttering and he’s flushed, looking like heaven under you.  "stan," you moan, "you feel so good, fill me up s'good." you whisper, unable to stop yourself as you moan. 

through breaths, he's whispering into your ear. "sorry, who did you say fucked you the best?" he asks as you clench around him. 

"shut up." you whisper into his ear as you bounce on him, your hand rising to his throat.

 his eyes lace shut, screwing with lust as he moans, hands hard on your hips as he fucks you down onto him. you squeeze his throat lightly, feeling him swallow under your palm. your lips meet and he bites down on your lip hard, moaning at the feeling of your hand on his neck. 

"who fucks you this good?" he says, and you can feel his voice vibrate under your palm, his lips in a sexy grin as his eyes flutter shut. "shut up, stan." you say again, "don't make me leave and let you finish yourself off." you whisper in his ear. 

he moans at that as you move your hips, your hand still around his throat. 

his hand rises up your back, palm sliding over your bare skin and then gripping your breasts, starting to thrust up. you moan loudly, forehead falling to his shoulder at the new angle as stan stretches you and hits perfectly deep inside you. your hands fall to his chest, clenching around him as you whimper. 

your legs burn and it's almost like stan can tell, because he's lifting you off him and then swiveling you so that your back falls onto the mattress. he hums, "no, you won't leave." 

you raise your brows as he grabs your legs, pulling you down towards him on the bed. "what makes you think i won’t just get up right now?" you ask. 

but then he's sliding into you, one leg held by his hand and the other behind him. he fills you up and makes your toes curl and your vision cloud in pleasure with one stroke. and then he's thrusting, your whole body bouncing as he pounds into you, hitting your g spot perfectly and making you gasp sharply in pleasure. 

"because," he whispers into the shell of your ear, "nobody can make you cum like i can." 

you let out a shaky breath, the last ounce of dominance gone from your body as he fucks you into the mattress. he slips his thumb into your mouth and you wrap one hand around his forearm, sucking on his thumb and swirling your tongue over the tip of the finger as he stares into your eyes. 

he bites his lip, grinning. "what was it bill said? that girls who suck fingers without having to be told go to heaven?" 

you blush at that as he thrusts into you, and he coos as he slips the finger out of your mouth with a light pop. "yeah, guess he's right. you are my good girl."

and then he's rubbing your clit gently with that thumb, his hips rocking into yours and making your legs shake. you moan loudly, the pleasure making you squeeze your eyes shut. 

he hums, "you'd better be quiet or everyone's going to know who's really your favorite." he whispers cockily against your lips, and your eyes roll back as you moan quietly. 

he smiles at you, other hand smoothing your hair. your eyes fall to the marks from your fingers around his neck, and you get shiver of pleasure knowing the effect you have on him.  "you need me. say it." he whispers against the skin of your chest. 

you let out a strangled, "n-need you, stan... i n-need you." you rush out, feeling dangerously close to your second high of the day. he smiles, kissing you sweetly as he thrusts deeper than before, making you moan into his mouth a low whimper. the aching need is becoming almost unbearable, and you pull him closer to you, clenching around him as you near your high. 

"it’s okay, i need you too, babylove." he whispers into your ear, kissing your hairline as he tugs your leg up more, hitting a different angle. the new sensation pushes you over the edge and you're moaning his name in ecstasy, eyes screwed shut as you pulse around him. you feel euphoric as he rocks you through your orgasm, kissing you softly. 

his name falls from your lips as you hold him tight, your nails leaving small half-moons in his skin. you come down from your high and stan's right behind you, only a few more thrusts until he stills slightly, his breath shake as he props himself above you.

 he pulls out and pumps himself, biting his lip as a bit of blood lingers from the split. you're breathless as he cums in spurts on your stomach, enthralled by the sight of his beauty. "god, y/n." he whispers, the david star charm on his necklace glinting in the light against his bare chest. 

"didn't want to cum inside you." he whispers against your lips, but you pull him closer, "it's okay, i'm on the pill anyways." you whisper. he swallows, sighing in relief as he collapses next to you. "good girl." he whipers breathlessly. you smile into his neck as he pulls you closer to him, your naked limbs warm against each other's bodies. you lay there for a few moments, listening to his rapid heartbeat calm down as he plays with strands of your hair. 

he gets up suddenly, though, and pulls on his own underwear and then pulls your own from his pocket of the pants on the floor. you swallow, watching him as he slowly slides your underwear up your legs slowly. he watches you, too - "did you fake it?" he asks. 

you blink at him. "no, actually." you admit, face red. "never with you." 

he smirks, kissing your bare legs as he makes his way up your thighs. you swallow, heart beating quick. "wh-what are you doing?" you ask. he shrugs, "you look so beautiful when you cum. i want to see it again." 

your throat dries up as you try to swallow to avoid choking at his words, shock coursing through you along with desire. holy fuck. "but your lip-" but he shakes his head, "-don't care." he says, eyes already focusing on your heat. 

"o-okay." you say shakily, "god, please," you add, looking at him as his breath hits you. he watches you as his tongue sticks out, licking a stripe up your pussy before swirling on your stimulated clit, making you gasp in pleasure.

the feeling is sharp and pleasant as he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks lightly, tongue running over your folds. his hands move to hold your thighs as he delves in, your moans quieting as the pleasure increases after already being so overstimulated. 

you're already shaking. his mouth moves on you expertly, his tongue sliding to fuck up into you and making your hips buck, his nose brushing against your clit. you tug on his hair and he groans, sending vibrations through your body that make your toes curl. "stan, f-fuck," you say quietly, whimpering. 

its soft as he looks up at you, his tongue working you so well that within a few minutes, you know you’re already about to cum. your fingers tug his hair hard and then he's reaching to cup your face.

 his thumb presses against your lips and you kiss it softly, making smirk in between your thighs as he kitten licks your clit and draws a gasp from your lips. “stan, oh my god, i’m so close.” you sigh out, overwhelmed by how good you feel, by the pleasure coursing through you and the affection for the boy you’re with.

he just holds you tighter to his face, lapping your juices up and flicking against your clit before sucking, your thighs tightening. “stan, please, i’m gonna-” and but yourself off with a high moan, hand covering your mouth as you hit your high. you cum for the third time on his tongue, your legs shaking as you ride it out, your fingers combing through his curls. you sigh in bliss as you come down from your high, full of affection and need. 

stan rises from between your thighs, pressing a kiss to each before pulling up your lacy underwear and kissing your lips. 

he's wordless as he leaves the room, coming back moments later with a warm washcloth to clean himself off your stomach. you watch him the whole time as he smiles, your handprint fading from his neck. your stomach flutters as you pull on a sweatshirt and press a kiss to his nose. 

but the door opens and shuts from downstairs and you both share a look: now is not the time to test richie. 

stan looks to your window, then back to you, "i'm going to go. it's probably best." 

you pretend not to be disappointed. "y-yeah. makes sense." stan stares at you for a second with a gentle smile before standing and quickly getting dressed the rest of the way. 

you watch silently with an aching heart as he pulls his shirt on, grabbing his shoes and then leaning to kiss you quickly. "hey." he says softly, and you meet his eyes. "i'll... see you soon." 

"okay." you whisper as he slips out your window and down to your roof. 

you don't see stan for almost eight days after that. he doesn't phone the house, the losers don't come by much, stan not at all. richie doesn't speak to you, only in passing and only micro aggressions. it's lonely.

it's almost sunset when the door knocks, and you take your time walking to open it. 

you swing the door open and do a double take as you see the boy standing on your doorstep, hands in his pockets. he looks nervous, but when his eyes catch your figure, his face turns red. 

stanley uris looks devastatingly gorgeous in the dying light of the afternoon. 

"-oh, i thought..." he clears his throat. "i thought richie'd be here." he says, swallowing. you raise your brows, "he's at work right now, actually." you respond, toe drawing circles in the ground. "why did you even try to come and talk to him? he's a nightmare right now, he'd definitely try to beat you up again." you say softly. he chuckles a bit and your heart keels over and surrenders to him. 

stan shrugs, "he's been my best friend since we can remember. it's not as bad as he seems to think, i know we can get through this." 

you nod, heart then deflating as you realize that stan's intending to apologize to richie and beg for him to forgive him - of course friendships are more important than hook-ups, but after last time... and the way stan had stood up for you when richie was being mean... you'd hoped things would be different with him. 

because you think you've loved stan for a long time. 

"anyways, he has to learn to accept that i have feelings for his sister. i'm not going to sacrifice my happiness just because he's acting like a child, or that he's mad that i spend all my time thinking about you." 

your head snaps up to him and your eyes widen, heart soaring at his words. "wh-wait what?" you ask, suddenly shy. "you-" you just smile, not knowing what to say. stan shrugs, as if it's as simple as saying the sky is blue. 

"i think about you all the time, y/n. i like you as more than a friend, more than just a good fuck. i want to be yours, i want you to be mine. always have." 

you smile so big you think your face may split in two. "i think about you too, stan. haven't stopped in a few years. i missed you last week." 

"then can i take you out?" he asks boldly. "promise i'll hold your hand and buy you dinner." 

"he'll kill us." you say, looking into stan's bright honey eyes. they're full of confidence and mischief and you think he's absolutely irresistible. stan's large hand finds purchase on your waist lightly as he smiles, "has that ever really scared you, y/n?" he asks. 

you smile as you take his hand. "of course not." 

he kisses your forehead as you step towards him, his arm pulling you closer and releasing hordes of butterflies in your stomach. "think we should go visit him at work? order a shake with one straw and make out in the corner booth?" stan asks, the light catching the purple and yellow skin of his fading bruise.

you laugh as you walk towards his car, shoving him a bit. "you're an asshole." you say, butterflies rampant. his laugh makes you warm and he leans towards you. "you can say that all you want, but i know you've had a crush on me since we were kids." he teases. 

you roll your eyes. "you're really testing me, uris." 

"it's okay, tozier. i think you're beautiful even when you're mad." he says, pecking you on your nose. "well you better get used to it, i guess." you mutter, and he chuckles a bit as he kisses your forehead. 

"i will never get tired of you, no matter what you do or what your brother thinks." 

tag list: 

@gabiatthedisco @blisshemmings @stenbrozier @sft-core @clownsloveyou @moon-shine-baby @daughter-of-the-stars11 @trashedfortozier @oceandog13 @kait16xo @upamongthestarss @fiantomartell @beverlyparkerr @beauregard-s @diorbubs @leighjaenikhowell @cowbellies @deepestofwaters @psykronium-cube @ruefulposts @letmereid @topper-mostofthepopper-most

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[randombubblegum]

Comment 1: My take on song girl is after the Ciara dog girl stuff Awsten probably doesn’t want his gf talking about that stuff online. Not to hide it just don’t be public. When song girl was on twitch years ago she’d have little chats w people & I don’t think she thought this time would be different. At the end of her most recent twitch she went oh. Oh. And her eyes got super wide & I think she realized this was a mistake bc of who was watching & the questions. She hasn’t gone on since.

you make good points in this ask!! lemme go point by point lol

i didnt watch all the way to the end of her twitch stream (got bored) so i didnt see the moment youre talking about but yeah, she did get uncomfortable when people would hint they knew she had a bf. but even after she was CONSTANTLY talking about her bf, dropping hints she was seeing someone, talking about getting on european time for the exact duration awsten was in europe……. i dont think its like an unavoidable compulsion for ppl to talk about their significant others so that was like, a choice she was making in conversation to an audience? like i think she didnt realize people already knew, but also a really poor way to keep something apparently ~top secret~ private lol

also, i have to argue, she kinda is public?? she has an insta which is normal but she also has a twitch, with apparently a decent following/mods/subs/etc. id hardly call that private like you or me, yknow? before awsten she dated another musician, albeit one w a much smaller following, so its not like shes new to the idea of online fanbases i think

all that aside tho, like, i get what youre saying about not meaning to open herself up to scrutiny. i think you have a point and thats rly valid. my main thing, and a core belief i hold thats the reason i do literally any amount of discussion about parx on here: my tumblr is not meant to be viewed by the people im talking about, its NOT easy to find (ive never even typed her real name), and theres zero reason song girl (or dog girl, or awsten, or like literally anyone who knows parx) should know it exists much leas be seeing the things i say about them!!!! i rly dont believe they are. i dont wish this girl any ill will, i dont condone (and have specifically warned yall against) leaving comments or messaging her directly or like trying to make her feel bad/harass her. this is just a little tucked-away gossip corner to note the things she and awsten are making public. i guess i am a little harsh when i talk about her sometimes but really the one im mad at is awsten for treating girls like interchangeable clones lol -_-

but also that shit w your ex—i know EXACTLY what youre talking about and honestly your ex and his friends are assholes lol. without getting into too much detail ive been in that situation in different roles and like, friends of mine have actively unfollowed/cut off other friends for slinging mud about their (not abusive just regular) exes after a breakup. if youre warning people that someones abused you thats one thing but talking shit about your ex and having friends join in just to take them down a peg is shitty childish behavior. and it sucks!!!! so i get why you feel that way. i dont think this situation is the same but i get you lol

basically in summary yeah i think she doesnt know what shes gotten into but thats on awsten for not warning her lol. i dont think us making idle chatter on a tiny internet corner shell never reasonably see (and thus will never feel bad about) is the same as harrassment/bullying/deliberately trying to make her feel bad and thats def not my intention. i also dont care about her specifically but ya i agree w u on the principle of the thing. and no worries ur ask was rly thoughtful i appreciate it!!! :) thanks for expressing a logical opinion in a reasonable way lol i feel u

[pishufics]

study date(s)

"Bertholdt knows that he needs to start trying. It’s junior year, and he’d rather not stay stuck in the same class next year as a senior. If he fails the next test, he’s in some shit. So, he's going to ask you for help."

pairing - bertholdt hoover x reader

tags - high school au, fluff, humor, texting

warnings - none

author’s note -  this was just a one shot but i kept writing lol it kind of switches between you and bertholdt, but i don't directly say his thoughts, it's kind of like 2nd person omniscient if that's even a thing LOL

lmk how the texting reads, i'll change it if it's weird

reblogs and comments are appreciated ! mwah

ao3 

chapter 1 - two days

reinah: I swear if you don’t just ASK her

Do you want to be held back?

bertoto: relax okay i’ll do it :(

r: Okay, okay

Lmk how it goes

b: i never said i was asking today

Bertholdt sighs and locks his phone once he sees Reiner start to type a reply.

Bertholdt is struggling with English, which surprises him. He’s a good student in every other class, but the moment Mr. Ackermann starts talking, he finds himself dozing off, missing the lecture. Recently, though, he’s awake in class, but still not paying attention. All his focus is on you, who sat in the middle of the classroom while he sat in the back, due to his height (he didn’t really mind, though; better chance of not getting caught asleep).

One day, due to some miraculous occurrence, the short, stern teacher actually had the boy’s attention, but not for long.

“Does anyone have number three?” Mr. Ackermann asked. Bertholdt definitely didn’t. He hoped someone would raise their hand so the teacher wouldn’t resort to calling a random name.

To his relief, you did.

“I think what the author was trying to convey was…”

Bertholdt didn’t really get what you were saying, but he admired your intelligence. You knew the material and could explain it in detail, while he couldn’t even recall the book's name in question.

He started to admire more of your traits - he gazed as you would lightly, but briskly, tap your foot in frustration when you didn’t know an answer and smile at the way your face relaxed when you finally got it. Seeing your motivation in class kickstarted his.

Bertholdt knows that he needs to start trying. It’s junior year, and he’d rather not stay stuck in the same class next year as a senior. If he fails the next test, he’s in some shit.

So, he's going to ask you for help.

...Tomorrow.

-

“Girl, I don’t have any more fucking gum. I drove up to Costco, bought the value sized pack, and you somehow managed to chew all of it.” You say exasperatedly, shutting your locker.

Sasha pouts. “Are you sureeee? There’s prolly half a stick left in your front pocket…”

You swat her hand away. “There’s. Nothing. Left. I promise.” She continues to stare at your bag.

“Fuckin-” You mutter, reaching into your bag and pulling out a snack-size bag of Cheezits. They’re one of your favorite snacks, but you know you can’t win when it comes to Sasha and food. You reluctantly hand the bag to her.

“Thanks, y/n!” She smiles and tears open the bag.

“Yknow, you can be annoying as shit, Sasha.”

She winks at you and eats her stolen prize. You turn to leave and head to 3rd period. English.

Hm. You’re usually greeted by your other best friend around now-

“Yeoooo!!” Oh, there he is. Connie daps you up before wrapping his arm around your shoulders. “What’s good?”

“I don’t really wanna go to 3rd," you answer. "Sasha stole my Cheezits."

“Does anyone really wanna go to any class? And that's your fault, you know you can't bring food without Sasha's fatass taking it,” Connie replies, and Sasha punches his shoulder.

“Okay, I know...have you started studying for the test?”

He blankly stares at you. Guess not. You have the same teacher, but different periods, so you can’t keep an eye on him.

“Nevermind. I’ll see y’all later.” You throw up a peace sign and head in the opposite direction.

It’s not like you’re bad at English, but you just don’t like school in general. You go to class to get your participation grade, then go home.

There might be another reason you tolerate 3rd period, though, and it isn’t the professor. (He is pretty fine, but he's an adult, so you don’t let your thoughts escalate).

-

Mr. Ackermann didn’t like assigning things online, so most of the work in this class was on paper, contrasting your other classes where everything was digital. Kind of annoying, but you’ve learned to deal with it.

You mainly use mechanical pencils because you hate the way wooden ones write, but one day, to your slight dismay, you forgot them at home. Just your luck.

There’s a container of pencils and a sharpener in the back of the classroom, so you stand up to go retrieve one and notice a tall boy asleep in a desk not too far back from yours.

Bertholdt Hoover.

You knew him, of course. You find it a little rude to not know your classmates' names; you’ve dealt with numerous “who?”s in previous years and don’t want to put anyone through that, so you make sure to pay attention during introductions.

You chuckle at sight. The class has barely even started, and the guy is already dozing. In an awkward position, at that. One of his long legs is across the other, cramped underneath the desk. His head was laying on his right arm with his left against his hair. You thought to wake him up, but he looked so peaceful, you couldn't bring yourself to do it, plus, it's not your business. Mr Ackermann somehow didn't notice either, so Bertholdt always had a good rest in 3rd period English.

Every time you walked into class, you checked to see what weird position he would be sleeping in. You found yourself looking forward to it- he looked kinda cute when he was sleeping- but he stopped one day. You were a little disappointed, but glad to know that he was starting to pay attention in class. You still glanced at him as you walked in- he's a pretty attractive guy. No harm in just looking...

-

You shrug your backpack off and sit at your desk, stretching your legs out a bit. The walk from your locker to this classroom was kind of far. You reach into your bag, get your mechanical pencil out, and wait for Mr Ackermann to pass out the first assignment.

Just then, you hear someone walk up to your desk, and you glance over.

‘Oh, it’s Bertholdt. I don’t think we’ve ever spoken.’ You feel your face heat up, wondering what he wanted from you.

“Hey, y/n…” He nervously starts.

“Hey. Need something?”

“Yeah, actually...about the upcoming test.”

You hum in curiosity. “What about it?”

He clears his throat. “I’m lowkey failing this class, and if I mess up this test, I’ll have to retake this class next year. Do you think you could, uh…”

Bertholdt inhales in an attempt to calm himself down. It doesn’t really work.

“Could you help me study?” Phew. He managed to get it out pretty well and made a mental note to give himself a pat on the back later. But he hasn’t fully succeeded yet; you still need to agree.

You weren't opposed to the idea. You kind of figured he would be struggling in class a bit since he used to sleep all the time. It’s alright with you, and you wouldn’t mind a potential new friend. Sasha and Connie were exhausting at times.

“Yeah, sure. When?” You pause. “Actually, just text me.” You hold out your hand, asking for his phone.

Bertholdt was practically shaking in his sneakers as he reached into his pocket and handed you his unlocked phone with the contacts app open. You actually agreed! And you were giving him your number! Reiner was going to be so proud, he smiled to himself.

As you type in your info, you appreciate the cleanliness of his phone. That shows you that he’s at least hygienic.

“Aight. Here you go,” you return his device. “See you later.” You smile.

Bertholdt can’t believe this is happening.

Mr Ackermann’s voice interrupts his thoughts. “Oi, Hoover. Sit down.”

Startled, he jumps back a bit at the sudden acknowledgement. He was focused on you and tuned everything else out.

“Sorry, sir.” Bertholdt gives you a quick grin and turns to go back to his desk. Once he sits, he looks down at the new contact:

y/n :)

xxx-xxx-xxxx

Bertholdt can’t help but smile. Just seeing your name and number on his screen made him giddy, and he thought that the smiley face you added was adorable.

His thoughts are interrupted yet again, but not by the teacher. He looks down at his phone, which just buzzed.

| Messages

reinah

Did you do it yet bruh

Good timing. Bertholdt taps on the notification and goes to type a reply, but decides to send him a screenshot of your contact…with your number scribbled out. Reiner was a flirt, and he didn’t want to risk anything.

r: YOOOOOOOOOO HOLY SHIT U ACTUALLY DID IT

Bertholdt rolls his eyes and puts his phone in his backpack. He was going to pay attention- for real - today. He didn't want to seem too clueless when you tutored him.

“Can anyone tell me what rhetorical strategy is being used here?” Mr. Ackermann asked.

Bertholdt certainly could not. But that was changing soon, with your help.

--

“Okaay, we got Ms. Tutor over here now,” Sasha smiles in between bites of a burger.

“Do you even know how to, like, teach, though?” Connie gives you a skeptical look.

“It prolly isn’t too hard. All I gotta do is help him study. If he needs help understanding a concept, I’ll just explain it,” you defend yourself. “We still have two weeks. Ion mind making flashcards or something.”

“You’re getting into it, huh?” Sasha laughs.

Your face heats in embarrassment. “Girl, you know it isn’t like that.”

“And why not? You’re always bitching about how lonely you are. High school isn’t gonna last forever…” she replies.

“I have no recollection of saying anything like that.” You glare. But she isn’t exactly wrong. You’d like to experience the “high school romance” you’ve heard so much about, and Bertholdt is pretty cute. It’s not like dating is a significant concern, though.

“I’m always here as an option, y/n,” Connie winks as he takes a sip of his soda.

“Hell nah.”

Across the cafeteria, Bertholdt is trying to eat a sandwich, but Reiner won’t leave him alone. He was right about Reiner being proud, but Bertholdt almost forgot how persistent the jock could get.

“I didn’t think you had the balls, dude. I was ready to see English 3 on your schedule again next year,” He grins, arm around his taller friend's shoulders.

“...Can I eat?” Bertholdt sighs and shrugs his friend away.

“Have you texted her yet? What day are you gonna hang out with her? You gonna bring her anything? Flowers or somethin’? Girls like that kinda stuff.”

Bertholdt didn’t really think that was true.

“First off, no, not yet. I need to see when I can actually go. Second, no, I am not bringing her anything. I didn’t say it was a date. She’s going to help me study.”

“Fine, man. At least try to seem more interesting, yknow, so she can like...be interested in you.”

“Are you saying I’m boring? Ouch,” He jokingly pouts and rolls his eyes at Reiner’s double usage of ‘interesting.’

“You said it, not me.”

“Okay, I don’t wanna hear that from you...if it came from Annie, then I’d believe it.” Bertholdt looks in the blonde’s direction. She took a bite from her burger, looked up from her phone, and shrugged.

“Damn, for real?” Bertholdt sinks. He didn’t think he was that dull. He did lots of interesting stuff, like…

Like…

Bertholdt sighs in defeat.

“It’s fine. Maybe y/n likes boring,” Bertholdt huffs, taking another bite from his sandwich.

“Yeah, okay, keep telling yourself that and see where it gets you…” Reiner mumbles.

“Come again?”

“Nothing, man…”

School's been over for an hour or two. You’re aimlessly scrolling through your phone when you feel a buzz, and glance towards the top of the screen.

| Messages

xxx-xxx-xxxx

hey

it’s bertholdt 😁

where should we meet up?

Your heart starts to beat a little faster. ‘Relax, girl… don't act like he's asking you out or something,’ you tell yourself.

y/n: hey!

how abt the library?

+  what day/ time works for you?

You add his number to your contacts as you wait for his response.

bertholdt :^)

is saturday at 3 okay?

y/n: yep

do you need a ride or anything?

b: no, but thank you

see you then ☺️

y/n: alrighty :)

You smile at his use of emojis, send what he requested, then swipe down on your screen to check the day (what? It's normal to forget sometimes.) Wednesday. Two days.

You feel like it would be awkward to study with Bertholdt considering you aren’t really friends, so you decide to text him a little more so it isn't too bad when the day arrives.

----

“See? That wasn’t so hard!” Reiner exclaims. “You could’ve tried to talk to her more, but it went good!”

“I think it would’ve been weird if I did say anything else. Best to leave it at that…” Bertholdt exclaims, trying to calm himself down. He had two days.

He wonders what he should do now. Study so he could impress you? Do something to make himself seem more interesting? What would he even do...?

Bertholdt taps back onto the conversation to reread it for the 6th time. Was there anything he could’ve said different? Should he try asking you someth-

Oh, wait-? You’re typing?

“Oh shit- Dude, she’s saying something else. What do I do?” He begins to panic. Did you suddenly decide he wasn’t worth your time? Were you cancelling?

y/n: sooo

how’s your day been?

Whaaaaaatttt?? You actually...care to ask?

Bertholdt stared at his phone in surprise.

“What’d she say? Cmon! Don’t just look, dude!”

“She...asked how my day’s been-”

“-You gotta reply now! You were on the chat when she said it, so she knows you’ve read it!” Reiner urges.

Shit. He doesn't have enough time to think of a good reply.

good, but better since i’m texting you 😉|

The hell? No, that’s weird. And too soon. He tries again...

pretty good, thanks!

kinda stressing over the test, haha

how’s your day going?

There we go. He twiddles his thumbs as he waits for your reply.

y/n :)

oh, dw, it’ll be fine !

my day was okay

sasha took my last bag of cheez its :(

b: ah, i'm sorry abt that :(

+ yeah, you're right

have you as my tutor :)

“Nice job man! That was...kinda flirty? You’ll get there!” Reiner ruffles his hair in encouragement, and Bertholdt shoos him away. He stares at his phone in anticipation. Was that too much?

----

i have you as my tutor :)

You lean your head on your pillow and feel your face heat up at the compliment ( was that a compliment?)

It’s not like you’re dumb, so he’s not wrong to think that. Your lips curl into a smile as you reread the message. But how do you reply? Should you compliment him back? You don’t really know.

if you’re saying i’m smart, thank you :))

hoping that wasn't sarcasm lol

You wait a minute, and he doesn’t reply, so you decide to ask another question.

is there anything specific you wanna focus on?

You cringe at the double texting, but hope that it doesn't make him think you're weird. You swipe away from the conversation and scroll on various apps as you wait.

b: ofc it wasn’t sarcasm, you're really smart, y/n!

i'm mainly struggling with rhetorical strategies and logical fallacies, but i could

use a general review too

if that's okay with you

You bury your almost overheating face into your pillow. Why is something like that getting you flustered, you wonder. You sit up, take a deep breath, and focus on the second part of his message. You're pretty good with what he needs work on, and a general review should be easy to put together.

y/n :) okay, we can focus on the first 2 on saturday

we can review the unit on other days

see you at school:)

At this point, you really don’t know how this conversation could go any further, so you ended it. Bertholdt returns your goodbye.

You exhale and sit up in your bed. Hopefully tutoring him won’t be too awkward now that you’ve spoken to him a bit, and there's still tomorrow at school to speak to him. You find yourself excited for the study date tutoring session, since you could get your homework done too.

"Two days," you smile.

[normal-thoughts-official]

What’s ur opinion on the treatment of Maia’s character on the show??

it was shit and antiblack and the sh writers can come fight me any day. i absolutely hated the way a lot of the time she was written as irrationally angry when actually she was RATIONALLY angry, and the fact that they made j*ia (both stances of it, actually) happen was a punch in the face to me

like maia was such a breath of fresh air for me because she was the ONLY one who was actually addressing what a racist piece of shit jace was, and calling him out and making no excuses or coddling him. it was so great and nice. and then they had her hook up with him, which means one of the two:

it was just pent up sexual frustration the whole time

the fact that he was hot overrode the fact that he was a racist piece of shit

both of those are fucking terrible and i can't even pick which is worse. first one implies that woc being mad at white men for their bullshit is really just them "wanting" said white men, which is a gross, racist, mysoginistic trope meant to shut them up when they complain about the shit they face. it is belittling, unfair, and dismissive to all the shit white men put them through, just like going all "you're so cute when you're angry" when someone is pointing out your shitty behavior is a condescending asshole move designed to make the other person's complaints seem like whiny spoiled child attitude, when they are not. it's fucking disrespectful and sh going with that trope is shitty as hell

and the second one basically implies that being racist is nbd. it's like, oh, they had their differences, but ~desire~. like sorry but no woc on their right mind would want to hook up with a racist white men who was deliberately being racist to them all the time, and even if they DID, taking that narrative choice is inherently different from a real life woc making that decision because it is supposed to convey a message. and the message i get from that is that being racist is alright as long as you're hot, or that racism is not going to be a dealbreaker for A BLACK WOMAN when it comes to attraction. or worse, that it was just banter

then we have the saia breakup which was every level of bullshit on the book. i'll never forgive the way the narrative basically villainized her for needing time and space after going through something traumatic because "simon needed her" or whatever, like simon doesn't have a lot of other friends who could support him, or like MAIA HERSELF didn't need support either. but of course a black woman wouldn't need support, she just needed to deal with everything on her own, but also fuck her for needing that because even that is not enough of not-a-nuisance to make her desirable. fuck u sh writers. and it was ooc and bullshit anyway because they wanted to make the sizzy bullshit happen

and THEN there is the jordan thing which is every level of the worst thing that's ever happened. jordan. was. abusive. i'm not even talking about the fact that he literally turned her against her will out of JEALOUSY, i'm talking about the fact that she explicitly said that he was controlling and jealous and had been stalking her. the fact that jordan didn't respect her no when she broke up with him and kept trying to force her to come back, making her uncomfortable and disrespecting her wishes, made him abusive, end of story. the fact that he then PUNISHED her for it by turning her makes him even worse

there is no world in which it is a good narrative choice to make someone go back to their abusive relationship for whatever reason, mUCH LESS A BLACK WOMAN, because black women are already told that they should endure any bad treatment they get x5981758931751. fuck sh for romanticizing a black woman not only forgiving but GETTING BACK WITH her abusive ex and never even addressing what made their relationship abusive and wrong and acting like the only problem was that he left her, and not the fact that he treated her (a black woman!!!) as property or as if she owed him affection. and their relationship was basically written as maia redeeming him and it's not anyone's job, ESPECIALLY NOT A BLACK WOMAN'S, to make people who treat them like shit a better person. it's just not

and also generally we never got to see maia being vulnerable or getting taken care of, it was always the other way around, which again, racist trope. when things got hard for her the writers just yeeted her, and then, as if that weren't bad enough, villainized her for going away and taking care for herself. her plotlines were never treated as important (then again, no one's but jace and clary's ever were). LUKE, A BLACK MAN, KEPT CHOOSING CLARY OVER HER. she was treated as evil, mean and irrational for having a realistic approach under which violence was sometimes necessary as a means of self defense (see: being willing to kill clary and then killing heidi. both were the correct choice. like, sorry) even though whenever she resorted to violence it was NEVER overly violent or without reason. they basically villainized her for fighting back racism, and that is so fucking shitty and ughh

i love her as a character and she owns all my uwus and she's never done anything wrong ever in her entire life but the sh writer's room (and cc because i know most if not all of the narrative choices i mentioned up there were directly taken from the books) can eat shit

[bubblesuga]

Oblivious To Adoration - 2 (m)

Summary: After an intense night of drunken sex, Jungkook realizes he wants more. When he suggests an idea to you, you were shocked. However, who were you to say no to Mr. Jeon Jungkook?

W/C: 3,118

Prev Part - Next Part 

Warnings: car sex, unprotected sex, slight exhibitionism 

Sleeping beside Jungkook was more comfortable than you thought. 

You had always known him as this muscular guy, so the thought of properly cuddling with him had never crossed your mind. That is, until you fell asleep last night when you definitely weren’t supposed to.

It was just so warm in his arms, your bare chest against his side while light snores left your mouth. Jungkook woke before you, glancing at the clock with a small sigh. Throughout the night he hadn’t let go of you at all, which was surprising to him because he was always one to want to sleep on his own. 

“(Y/N)?” Jungkook’s voice was soft, almost as if he was speaking to a baby. 

You stirred momentarily in your sleep, and Jungkook couldn’t help but push a strand of hair from your face. It was like his hand had a mind of it’s own, and all he could do was watch while he stroked your hair. 

Leaning down to your level, images of last night flashed through his mind. Pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose, he giggled at the contrast of this kiss compared to the ones from last night. He watched your eyelids flutter at the sound, so he quickly covered his mouth in an attempt to watch you sleep just a little bit longer. 

Your chest heaved as you inhaled, signaling your wake. Softly, your eyes opened to see Jungkook watching you with hooded lids. 

“You did so well last night,” he praises, the words being a welcoming first sentence for you, “you’re so amazing.” 

He leans forward to press a kiss to you and you immediately kiss back, remnants of the night before on his tongue still. Jungkook growls when you drop your hand between the two of you, your fingers skimming the tip of his member and feeling it twitch beneath you. Even when he was soft he was still so big. 

“Baby-” Jungkook chokes into the kiss as you grip the base of his cock, “s- stop. I have to work soon.” 

You immediately let go of him, pulling away from the kiss with a blush on your lips, “I’m sorry, you kissed me so I thought-” 

“I just wanted to kiss you,” Jungkook leans forward again, his lips brushing against yours, “sometimes I want to kiss you without fucking you.” 

“Oh.” Your blush deepens, embarrassment flooding you. Jungkook chuckled at your rosy cheeks, his thumbs brushing them. He stands after a moment, slipping on his boxers with his half-hard on, giving you a playful glare once you noticed it. 

You were confused by the kiss, your mind immediately racing with thoughts about how you weren’t 100% sure what being friends with benefits entailed. You thought it was mindless sex, nothing more and nothing less. His tongue intertwining with yours only when the two of you needed to get off, but what he just did to you seemed so domestic. It was dangerously close to approaching relationship-like tendencies and you had to put a stop to as soon as you possibly could. 

“I’ll get you some water,” he rolls his neck, stretching away the sleep, “you probably need it after last night.” 

Sending you a wink, he opens his bedroom door and pads down the hallway, into the kitchen. Whistling some song he heard on the loud speaker at work a few days ago, he couldn’t help the pep in his step. 

It was definitely one of his happiest moments in a while, especially while he watched you come undone above him in one of the most erotically delicious scenes he had ever seen. He only thought this sort of stuff happened in the movies, but you proved him wrong in one night with your goddess like figure and the moan of his name. He was glad that he had the place to himself because he had no clue what he would have done had Taehyung been home. There’s no way he could have kept quiet. 

So, when he placed the jug of filtered water back into the fridge and turned around, he jumped to see Taehyung standing in the doorway of the kitchen, an eyebrow raised and a knowing smirk on his lips. 

“T- Tae! When did you get home?” Jungkook stutters, scratching the back of his neck nervously. 

“Just got in, what’ya go there?” Taehyung moves to lean against the doorway, his tongue in his cheek while his smirk grew. He gestures towards the two cups filled with water, causing Jungkook to whip his head towards it. 

“Nothing! You know me, always so thirsty.” he lets out an awkward chuckle, picking up one of the cups and downing the water in a few gulps. 

Taehyung takes in his friends panicked state, “You got laid didn’t you? Who with? Can I meet her?” 

Jungkook looks up with wide eyes, shaking his head incessantly, “No fucking way, dude. There’s no way you will ever meet her.” 

“Ah, so you did get laid?” 

Jungkook’s face reddens, his ears heating up at the possibility of Taehyung finding out that Jungkook was boning his best friend. Taehyung gave him a pat on the shoulder, a chuckle leaving his lips, “Is this your attempt to get over your crush on (Y/N)?” 

Jungkook choked, covering his mouth in an attempt to hide his shock but he knew that Taehyung had already seen his reaction.

He knew that Taehyung was well aware of his crush on you, especially since he wouldn’t stop talking about that night. Since everyone knew what had happened, he had no problem mentioning about how it was one of the best nights of his life. Even if Yoongi was upset by the fact that his bed had been taken over by you and Jungkook, he still had no regrets. However, you seemed insistent on keeping this a secret so Jungkook knew he couldn’t just come out and say ‘ah, no. (Y/N) is in my bed right now and we just had a full night of wild-’ 

“Earth to Kook?” Taehyung waves his hand in front of Jungkook’s face, breaking Jungkook out of his stare. 

“Huh? Oh- yeah, I figured it’s just best to get her off of my mind so I brought home a girl from the bar,” Jungkook shrugged, his ability to lie even surprising himself, “so I’m gonna get back to her. Holler if you need anything but don’t come in my room.” 

Taehyung puts his hands up in surrender, “You got it, don’t need to worry about me. I respect the sock on the door.” 

Jungkook gives a small nod to his roommate, shakily walking back to his room with now only one glass of water and a whole lot of nerves. 

“Took you long enough,” you were dressed now, your hair brushed and thrown up into a bun, “thank you.” You grin, taking the glass of water. 

You notice Jungkook’s expression, raising an eyebrow while you swallowed your drink, “you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” 

Jungkook sits on the bed, his head falling into his hands. A frustrated sigh falls from his lips. There was nothing more he wanted to do than tell his roommate what was going on but he’s trying desperately to respect your wishes. 

“Taehyung’s home,” Jungkook looks up, biting his lip, “I don’t know how to get you out of here.” 

“What?” You hiss, your voice dropping significantly in volume, your heartbeat rushing to the tips of your fingers while anxiety overcame your every being, “how the fuck am I supposed to-” 

“Whoa, okay,” Jungkook jumps up, rubbing his hands up and down your arms comfortingly, “we’re gonna sneak you out. You just have to be quiet and make sure Taehyung doesn’t hear your voice.” 

You nod. Obviously this was the safest bet, not that you were expecting some elaborate plan to sneak you out of the window or anything like that. However, knowing Jungkook that was probably the first thing to go through his mind. 

Carefully, Jungkook pulls you in for one last kiss, before slowly opening his bedroom door and taking a peak to see where Taehyung might me. 

Hearing the menu sound for PUBG from his bedroom, Jungkook lets out a little sigh of relief and holds your hand tight in his. You ignored the fire that ignited in your lower half at the pressure, tip toeing passed Taehyung’s room and successfully making it to the front door. 

As you step through the threshold, you let go of Jungkook’s hand and turn around with a sigh. 

There it was again, you remembered it well from the last time. The awkward way to say goodbye, you weren’t sure whether it be a hug or a kiss. Something about the way he was look at you, his hair still disheveled from last night and the soft smile stretched across his lips made him look so inviting. 

Just as you were about to lean forward, Jungkook licking his lips in the process, you both pull away as quickly as you moved in once you heard Taehyung’s door squeak open. 

“Oh shit,” Taehyung laughs, and your blood runs cold for a moment before he speaks again, “the irony of (Y/N) interrupting your hook up, huh Kookie?”

“Ahaha,” you lean around Jungkook’s shoulder, “I didn’t know you had a girl in there, Jungkookie. Next time let me know and I won’t swing by.” 

Jungkook’s jaw drops momentarily before he turns around, looking directly at Taehyung. His eyebrows raise for a moment, “U- unless, (Y/N) was the girl in your bed last night.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Hyung,” Jungkook waves him off, turning back to you, “I’ll see you for movie night. Bye.” 

Then the door was shut in your face, the dark wooden panels greeting you much like they did when you showed up last night. 

~*~*~

It’s been a couple weeks since you last saw Jungkook. 

With differing schedules, it had been difficult for you to meet up in any way. Aforementioned movie night was cancelled and you began to worry that Jungkook was regretting his decision with you. 

His text messages were sparse and you only managed to call him once or twice with him actually picking up. Taehyung responded to you more than Jungkook did, mostly explaining that he’s been picking up extra shifts or that his boss scheduled him oddly. 

So, you wake up one morning and groan. Still no texts from Jungkook, so you decide to take your ass to his job. 

Sitting in the booth, the hostess of the restaurant went on to sit you in Jungkook’s section. She knew you around here, especially since Jungkook wouldn’t stop talking about you from the moment he met you. 

You spot Jungkook on the other side of the dining room, so you wait patiently for him to walk over to your table. 

When he finally makes eye contact with you, he grins. Quickly, he makes his way over to you and sits across from you in the booth. 

His white button up and black apron was fitted against his abdomen, different from his usual baggy clothing. You liked the look on him, especially with the shirt tucked into his black slacks. For a moment, you forgot why you showed up in the first place. 

“What’s going on?” Jungkook questions, his grin growing when he notices your eyes trailing up and down his neck. 

“I just haven’t heard from you in a while, was wondering if you were upset with me or something.” You were suddenly shy, crossing your legs beneath the table. You couldn’t line your thoughts up to accurately say what you were feeling, or why you were so upset that you hadn’t heard from Jungkook in so long. 

“Upset with you? No, honey-” Jungkook shuts his eyes and sighs, your blood running cold at the adoring nickname, “(Y/N), I’ve just been working a lot. Believe me, there’s been nothing more that I wanted to do than see you.”

Feeling your mouth go dry, you attempt to swallow. Of course he was working a lot, it’s summer and Jungkook was a university student. He isn’t necessarily on the richer side of the spectrum. 

“I’m sorry, this was stupid.” You begin to get up from your seat but Jungkook quickly grabs your wrist, pulling you back down gently. 

“No it’s not stupid,” Jungkook speaks softly, his hand moving to hold yours, “if we’re going to make this work, we need to be able to communicate. All our issues and feelings.” 

“Do you have any issues with this?” This was much different to what you were feeling before about this arrangement. Now that you had gone without him for a while, you didn’t want it to end. 

“No, none at all-” Jungkook’s hand tightens around yours, “I’m off once this last table pays. Wait for me, I’ll drive you home and we can talk.” 

He rushes back towards the last table and checks them out, thanking them for coming and holding up a finger to you, gesturing for one more minute. 

It doesn’t take him long to clock out, and he’s walking back out towards you with his button up exchanged for a too-big-for-him grey shirt and sandals. Standing, you slip your bag on your shoulder and follow Jungkook out the restaurant. 

“Anyway,” Jungkook starts once he’s backed out of the parking lot, “I have absolutely no problems with any of what’s going on. But if you do I’d prefer you tell me sooner rather than later.” 

“If I’m coming to you and asking you if you have any issues, what makes you think I do?” You raise a brow, watching him down shift on the gear of his bucket car. You told him it’d be better to invest in a decent car rather than a nicer apartment but he insisted that he loved this hunk of junk. 

“Dunno,” Jungkook shrugs, “I’ve been worried you haven’t been... enjoying it as much as I have.” 

“Oh, Kookie,” you laugh, “I’ve been enjoying it more than you know.” 

“Good, good.” Jungkook grins, pulling up to a stop light and biting his bottom lip. He looks over to you, moving his hand from the gearshift to your thigh, squeezing. 

Immediately you gasp, looking down at the way his large hand gripped your thigh. “What’re you-” you cut yourself off with another gasp and feel Jungkook’s hand dip beneath your skirt, rubbing soft circles over the fabric of your underwear. 

Your hands fly to his wrist, “Jungkook!” You squeal, nearly turning into jelly once you felt him dip his fingers into your underwear and press hard into your clit. 

“What, baby? Tell me what you want.” He teases, looking over to you with dark eyes. In turn, you toss your head back and let out a loud moan. Completely forgetting that everyone in the cars beside you could see you, your back arched off the back of the street while Jungkook’s pace quickened. 

It all ended too soon when Jungkook heard a honk from behind him, seeing the green light and pulling his hand away to downshift. You catch your breath to the best of your ability, looking down to see your arousal on Jungkook’s tattooed fingers. 

“You can’t do that to me.” You groan, your own hand flying down to cup your sex in a sad attempt to ease the pressure. 

“Do what?” Jungkook’s eyes were on the road, his middle and ring finger between his lips and sucking off your arousal. You bite your lip, “Kookie, please.” 

“What? What do you want?” Jungkook’s voice had a certain husk to it that only happened when he wanted to be deep inside of you. 

“Pull over, I need you.” 

Jungkook didn’t need to be told twice. 

Pressing on the gas, he pulls into the parking lot of your apartment complex. He reaches over and unbuckles your seat belt, leaning his seat back and pulling you over. 

You look around quickly to see the parking lot mostly empty, the grinding your hips down on top of his in an attempt to get him as hard as possible. 

“Come on darling, we don’t have time to fuck around.” Jungkook says in your ear, pulling you down to his lips and kissing you hard. He reaches between you and slides your panties to the side, sliding a finger between your folds and collecting your wetness. 

As you reach between him, you lean back against the steering wheel and accidentally press the horn. The beep makes you jump forward and Jungkook begins to laugh. 

You giggle with him, capturing him in a kiss again and reaching for his zipper. 

It didn’t take long for him to slip inside of you, an appreciative groan falling from his lips. “It’s been too fucking long.” 

“Oh yeah?” You lift yourself up and slide back down again, “and whose fault was that?” 

“Shut up,” Jungkook laughs, his fingertips digging into your hips, “not my fault my boss is scheduling me so much.” 

“Stop talking.” You moan, sinking your teeth into his neck. Feeling yourself sink onto him deeply, you remembered just how well he filled you up. It was almost like he was meant to be inside of you, and there was nobody else you ever wanted to be in this position with again. 

Jungkook’s hands begin to move up and down your sides, “I’m close baby.” 

You begin to move your hips faster, Jungkook latching his lips onto your collarbones and biting down. You moan loudly, feeling yourself clench around Jungkook. 

“Come for me.” Jungkook encourages, his thumb rubbing figure 8′s on your clit, and then you felt your release unlatch. Your vision goes white and you hear Jungkook yell your name, following your orgasm with his own and shooting white hot strings of cum painting your insides. 

You still on top of him, your legs shaking with the aftermath. Your head falls onto his shoulder, Jungkook’s arms pulling you as closely to him as possible.

You two stay like that for a few moments, both of you catching your breath. You pull away to move your lips to his and kissing him hard. Jungkook pulls your bottom lip between his teeth, still reeling from the sensitivity of his release. Though he was softening inside of you, he didn’t ever want to leave. 

Suddenly you hear a knock on the window, and you jump away from him, bumping the horn again. 

You and Jungkook whip your heads towards the window and you spot Namjoon, who leaned down to look into the car. He holds a smirk on his face and he waves, before walking towards the buildings. 

[wcamino-confessions]

Okay wow I usually don’t say this kinda thing especially after I swore off ever touching amino but I feel like this needs to be said.

Have you guys tried to educate her? Yes. Did she refuse to listen? Yes. does she have every right to be criticized for her actions? Yes. We’re her actions bad and unruly? Yes. And does she deserve backlash for them? Yes.

You guys have every right to be mad at Tae for what she said and done, her callout post was immature, her statements were not researched and she refuses to be educated, she’s clearly confused and says blatantly wrong things. Her actions so far have been shown to be rude, sarcastic, or childish at best and again you have every right to be mad and vent about it.

To be clear I absolutely hate alm and blue lives matter, everyone and anyone who defends them are racist and people who refuse to be educated r especially racist and you have every right to call em out on it. But like... be a lil nicer to the minors???? You can still criticize they’re actions bc Tae’s actions are well bad and immature and you can still vent and rant about them on here if you want. That’s not harassment. I’ve been on here for awhile trust me it’s not harassment if you just vent about her actions or post screenshots about it. But I’ve seen people admit they’ve been borderline harassing her and like just, don’t do that? Again your welcome to be mad and your welcome to criticize or rant or vent about her. But don’t cross the line, she’s a minor and while that doesn’t excuse what she said or her actions , harassment has more of a negative impact on her then adults. You don’t have to sympathize with her because what she’s been saying is racist, you don’t have to like her, you don’t have to stop posting about her, you don’t have to stop being mad about it, but like, just be a tiny bit nicer to her? I get it I get it she’s being annoying and harmful and immature, but the situation would be a lot easier on to handle if you could calm down just a tiny bit. Besides you guys can pretty much ban her at this point, isn’t that the worse punishment you can give to her without harassing her? She deserves a ban and it won’t be crossing the line.

As for Tae, listen I know your a minor and you say stupid shit all the time. I used to be a transcum until I had a trans friend slap me over the head and tell me that’s a shitty take and to change it /hj. Which I did btw. I get it, but Tae you need to sit back and educate yourself. I know it’s hard to believe these people, probably because these thoughts are being aided by friends or family or just you don’t want to because of the amount of backlash your getting. So let me explain to you, as one minor to another, why ALM is bad and racist. ALM is a movement made to directly combat against Black Lives Matter, thus why its racist. And I know your about to think “oh but what if you separate the words from the movement” and to that I say, your still doing what the movement is trying to aim for, saying “all lives matter” even if your apart of the movement or not is still overshadowing and ignoring the fact that many POC lives are still in a state or position where many people don’t think they matter. Think of it like there’s a house on fire, saying “all lives matter” is the same as going up to the fire fighters and saying “oh all houses matter, why aren’t you taking care of the other houses” you might think your helping but in context your just making everything worse. No matter how you say that phrase now, whether it’s in connection to the movement or not, your still harming the cause of BLM. And yes, it is a big deal people are dying, I know you think “it’s a part of life” but people are losing they’re fathers, mothers, and children, all because some cop didn’t like someone’s skin color and decided that they should die for it. It’s never a okay thing to do, to take someone’s life over their skin color, something they were born with, something they can’t really control. That’s like ((as an example)) someone killing your mom because she has red hair or something. You just lost your mom because she had red hair. These deaths aren’t just “deaths” they’re impacting other people’s lives, these people who died were important to others. And they didn’t deserve having they’re lives taken away. And as for “they didn’t have it as bad in the 60’s” of course they didn’t, but that doesn’t mean they don’t have it bad here aswell, that’s like saying “oh atleast I didn’t blow up the building” after tearing down a wall, it doesn’t change the fact that you still tore down that wall. Sure it could have been worse but literally everything can be worse. It doesn’t change the face things are bad now, and need to be fixed. From the context on how you speak about the movements and how you use “they” when referring to POC im going to assume your white or atleast not POC ((correct me if I’m wrong)) which means you don’t fully understand why this is so important because you maybe ((again correct me if I’m wrong)) have never experienced what it’s like to be a POC, if that is the case then you need to step down from your high horse and realize that you can’t say something is “not as bad as _____” if you’ve never even experienced first hand. Comparing pain and suffering is only going to lead to more problems. Tae they’re is always room to change, your not a lost cause. But you need to educate yourself and realize what your saying is bad if you do want to change and be a better person. You can’t excuse your actions, you can’t undermine them, you have to own up to them in full volume and realize what you said was harmful.

I already expect backlash for this post, which is fair, again I’ve been on wac for awhile, I don’t think any of these posts here are harassing Tae ((although it would be epic if you guys can refrain from using the c word, just a personal request u don’t have to follow through )) these posts hold valid critique that I think Tae needs to listen to, even if some of them are a bit harsh. And I know the mods wouldn’t allow harassing messages to get onto this blog. But if your in like the comments or something saying “I’d rather harass her then not” like... calm down my guy, you have a right to be mad but you can also just ban her ass and get the same effect and message with it being deserved lmao.

[satoruvt]

the color of you - you (7)

thank u for reading. this was an amazing ride. i hope this last chapter is as meaningful to u as it is to me.

pairing → keigo takami x reader

word count → 3249

summary → you’re not really dating, so you can’t really be in love with him... right?

song inspo → kill my time and best years by 5sos and the Tiniest bit of eight by iu x suga!!!

this chapter → y/n’s sad, two cute girls, a text, a talk, kisses, a happy ending for our favorite idiots in love.

warnings → super emotional sex at the end lol

It’s taken a while for you to get to functioning level. A while, you think, because it’s been two weeks and you just now are starting to take note of the dirty dishes in your sink and the pile of laundry in the corner of your room that you haven’t washed yet. Because it’s been two weeks and most nights you lay in your bed and sit there and stare at the wall. Because it’s been two weeks and you still replay what you said, over and over in your head, because it’s been two weeks and you have to will yourself not to cry when you see Keigo on news reports on TV or in the local newspaper.

A while. And you’re still not… okay, yet. It might take a while longer to get there.

The days go by quickly. You spend your time baking, like usual, but it’s lonesome now. It was never lonesome before Keigo - tiring, sure, but it never made you lonely. He never helped you out anyways, he sat on top of your counters and snuck spoonfuls of cake batter and icing like a brat (and pouted when you said no more, like a brat). And when you’re not baking, you’re scrolling mindlessly through social media. Or crying. Or laying in your bed. Or all three, at once, on the worst nights, because this shit sucks.

In retrospect, you have no idea why this hurts so much. Keigo and you, despite legal arrangements, were never really dating. He was never yours to lose. He was a friend, when it came down to labels. Fake boyfriend, if you really wanna be technical. That’s it, though, nothing else - you two are - were - friends.

Still, it hurts. It hurts a lot. It hurts so much sometimes you think you feel it physically; some nights ago you thought about it and almost-felt a bright flash of pain over your heart, like your brain expected it to happen but it didn’t. You cried for a bit after that. Ran yourself a bath at near-three in the morning, soaked emotionlessly in the hot water in the quiet. It didn’t make you feel much better, not really, but it soothed you at least for a short time.

You’re walking to Angel Cakes (the clouds are painted different shades of gray, so you hurry just in case it starts to rain) when you feel your phone buzz in your pocket. Your music stops - a call, it seems - and when you pull your phone out to see the number you see it’s Keigo’s publicist. You figured it was coming, but - again - it’d been a while, so it still takes you a bit by surprise.

You don’t even get to murmur out a greeting before the guy’s speaking. “Why did you call it off so suddenly?”

You blink, sigh, don’t even bother with a hello anymore. “I just… couldn’t do it,” you answer, and it’s at least kind of true. Vague, but true.

Keigo’s publicist sighs, this time, and you can almost see him pinching the bridge of his nose. “Okay, well, legally, you’ve only got three weeks left to keep this up. You don’t have to talk to him often, but don’t make it obvious something happened. Do you think you can do that?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“If it really bothers you, I won’t pressure you. Neither will Hawks. But I hope you stick around for what little time is left.”

The call ends with a gentle “okay” on your end, and then his publicist thanks you and hangs up. By the time you put your phone back into your pocket you’ve arrived at the bakery. You walk through the front, offer a few of your employees a tight-lipped smile, then make your way directly into the kitchen.

The day is so slow and so fast at the same time. It seems to take hours to mix ingredients, but proving dough for three and a half hours seems like fifteen minutes. That’s how it’s been lately - slow and fast and stagnant and flowing all at the same time. You stopped, but the world didn’t, and it makes you dizzy to try and catch up. Somehow it happens, but you feel barely there.

You’re usually just in the kitchen most days - you are the head baker - but all you’re doing is waiting for a few batches of cupcakes to cook, and it’s a busy day, so you decide the front of the house could use some help. You tell one of your employees to go on their break while you take over at the register.

The customers come and go; you write down names, call out orders and hand out pastries and coffees. Two girls walk in at one point - memorable, since one of them has bright pink skin and they’re both wearing UA uniforms, you recognize - and you smile at them when they come up to the counter, but they don’t order anything.

“Can we have a picture?” The pink girl asks, eyes blinking at you. You furrow your brows.

“What? Why?” is your first reaction, and the other girl - who has pink cheeks and a cute bob - speaks.

“You’re Hawks’ girlfriend! We love you,” she says, adding the last part shyly, and both of them look up at you hopefully.

Her words send you into a brief moment of thought - you miss Keigo. You’ve known that you do, it never leaves, it’s always in the back of your mind at the very least, but seeing these girls, knowing they’ve followed yours and Keigo’s relationship, knowing they fully believe you and him are together… it does something to you.

Nonetheless, the gesture is nice, and it makes you smile genuinely for the first time in a while. “Okay,” you agree, chuckling at their delighted giggles. They turn around, the pink girl holds her phone out to catch the three of you in a photo, and you throw up a peace sign and the cutest face you know how to do. As icing on the cake, they both order something to go, too. You call out a thank you for your support as they exit through the doors, grinning back at you.

The thought of Keigo lingers in your mind as your employee from before comes back out and you retreat into the kitchen once more.

-

You need to tell Keigo.

If he doesn’t already know. You need to tell him, because ever since those girls visited the bakery, you can’t stop thinking about it. You need to tell him because regardless of how much easier it is, you hurt him by not just explaining that he didn’t do anything, and there’s only, like, two weeks left until the contract is done, and if he never wants to see you again, he won’t have to.

You need to tell him.

You unlock your phone, finding your messages app and then Keigo’s contact. He’s sent a few texts since the two of you last talked in person (all asking if you’d be willing to sit down and talk) but he hasn’t sent anything in a while. Before you lose the little courage you have, you type out the message and send it.

y/n

can we talk?

Keigo responds almost immediately, and somehow it makes you feel worse about everything.

keigo

Yeah, of course

You tell him to come to the bakery after closing tomorrow, and he says he’ll be there. You put your phone facedown onto your sheets and breathe.

-

The next day isn’t slow and fast. It’s just fucking fast. Fast enough that it seems like only a few hours pass between when you get there and closing, and then you send all of your employees home and you’re wiping down the counters and waiting for Keigo to show up. Because you’re talking to him today. Because you’re going to tell him you love him. Wow.

You’re turning your open sign over so it projects “closed” to the outside world when you see him. He stands outside the doors, watching you watch him, and when you make eye contact with him it’s like a breath of fresh air and pollution all at once. Both of you stay where you’re at, still, until you see him offer a small smile and you don’t feel as tense, not anymore. He opens the door and you move to throw a dirty rag behind the counter.

“Hey,” Keigo says after a moment. He stands in the middle of tables, hands in his pockets, and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“Hi,” you respond, and God, it’s so awkward. “Um, do you - do you want anything? I could make coffee, or - I have, like, two leftover donuts from today, I know you like them.”

“No, I’m okay. Thanks.”

It’s so awkward. You nod, then gesture to an open booth in the dining area for both of you to sit. Keigo does and you follow, sitting on the opposite side. You get strange deja vu from it. There’s silence for a moment, but then you can’t stop yourself from speaking, opening your mouth a few times to get the right sounds formulated in your head.

“I’m so sorry, Keigo,” you say quietly, meeting his eyes. He looks confused, brows furrowed. “I didn’t mean to - to do this, I never thought I would, I’m just - God, I’m so sorry. I fucked everything up. I did this to us.”

“No, what?” Keigo responds. You fiddle with your fingers on your lap. “This wasn’t just you, what are you talking about?”

Your heart is pounding. You want to look at him, to see him, drink him in because you’re pretty sure it’ll be the last time you’re able to, but tears sting your eyes and you can’t see properly, so you keep your head down. “It was,” you murmur instead, wiping whatever’s slipped out as briefly as you can before looking out the window. The street in front of Angel Cakes is empty. In your peripheral vision you see Keigo tense, lean away from the table between you.

“You have to say it,” he tells you. He knows. He knows, he knows - time moves in slow motion, when you turn your head, when he blinks, the way he sounds when he speaks.

“I love you, Keigo,” you say. It comes out so easily. Too easily. It feels so right to say it, even despite the circumstances.

It’s so quiet. It reminds you of the night of the conference, and you know what’s going to happen. He’ll leave. You know it’s coming, he -

“Really?” Keigo asks, and why is he grinning like that?

“Yeah, I -”

“Holy shit. Holy shit - Y/N, me too. I love you too.”

What?

Keigo laughs like he’s relieved and you can’t move, can’t breathe, all you can do is look at him. He looks so beautiful and you blink yourself out of your trance, licking your lips before you speak again.

“You - too? You feel the same?”

“Yeah. Have for a while.”

A moment passes, but then you furrow your brows - “Why the hell didn’t you say anything? Do you know how much time that could have saved both of us?”

Keigo laughs, and it’s genuine and you know it is because his eyes crinkle at the ends. He shrugs, remnants of a smile still on his lips, when he finally speaks. “I thought you knew, and you didn’t feel the same. I figured that’s why you were acting weird, why you told me to leave after the conference.”

You need to move. You stand up, exit the booth, pace a little before stopping. “No, I…” you pause, running a hand through your hair. “I realized how I felt and thought you didn’t feel the same at all, and I didn’t want to tell you and have it ruin everything, because so much is at stake with your image and the bakery -”

Amidst your ramblings, Keigo had stood up as well, standing in front of you. He shushes you and you let him, looking up at him.

“So what I’m understanding is that we’re both fucking idiots?” He questions, and you let out a breathy laugh. 

“Yeah,” you say, still smiling. “I think so.”

The two of you just stand there for a moment, basking, before the thought hits you: you can kiss him. You could kiss him before, sure, but that was… for his image, for the contract. You can kiss him for you. You can kiss him because you want to.

You barely lean forward, but Keigo seems to get the message. You go slow - you don’t want to scare him away, you don’t want to scare yourself away. You want to remember this forever. But you close your eyes and feel your way through it, sigh when your nose bumps his and then you’re kissing him, for real, for you. And it’s so much better than it ever was before, because you know he loves you, he loves you.

It’s short, but you let yourself sink into it, fall into Keigo like you never let yourself do before. His arms wrap around your waist as yours come around his shoulders and you stay like that for a minute, feeling and breathing and loving, before the two of you break away.

“You’re really good at that, hero,” you say, just like the first time, and Keigo grins. A thought crosses your mind and you take half a step away from him. “So, um, the bakery’s closed, and I was just gonna head home but would - do you - do you want to come with me? To, uh, to my place?”

You’re sure you sound stupid, stuttering and fumbling over your words, but when you meet Keigo’s eyes he looks like he couldn’t be more enthralled by an invitation. So you grab your things and lock up Angel Cakes and the two of you are at your apartment in fifteen minutes flat.

You unlock your door, throw your things down on the couch and turn around to face Keigo, who’s still at the door.

“Be honest,” he starts, “did you bring me here to kill me?”

“Obviously,” you answer quickly, and he laughs and you laugh and it’s so much better than before because he pulls you close again and presses giggly kisses against your lips and you do too. And then giggly kisses turn to kisses, and kisses turn deeper.

They’re deep enough that it’s getting kind of hard to breathe correctly, and when his hands move on you you sigh. He turns his mouth down to kiss at your neck and you swallow, relishing in the feeling of his tongue against your skin, before letting out a hoarse call of “bedroom,” which you feel Keigo grin at.

He stops his assault, though, and lets you lead him to your bed. You gently push him onto it, get him to sit down, then pull away enough to take your shirt off and when it’s off he just stares for a moment. It makes you a bit too aware of the fact that you’re here, with Keigo, and this is very obviously leading somewhere, but then he makes cute grabby hands at you and you giggle as you situate yourself between his legs. 

It takes little time for both of you to strip down completely, never leaving each others’ hold for more than a few seconds. You end up under Keigo as he preps you, curls his fingers into you until you’re mewling and gasping into his open mouth.

“Keigo,” you call, but more to ground yourself. Euphoria shoots from your core to your toes to the top of your head. “Please, I - I need -“

“What do you need, sweetheart?” He’s murmuring, silvertongued and sweet, “I’ll give you anything, just ask.”

A million cheeky responses run through your head but then one of his fingers rubs over your clit and you want to sob. “You. You, Kei, only you, just -“

Keigo groans, pulling his fingers away from you only to mumble a disgruntled “where the hell are the condoms” and when you giggle breathlessly he sends you a playful glare. You reach a blind hand to your bedside table, pull open the drawer with a bang and don’t even bother to shut it after you’ve pulled out a condom. 

He’s quick to put it on (and you pretend you aren’t absolutely mesmerized by his hands as he tears open the package), and once he’s pressed up against your entrance he looks up at you, a lingering question of “you’re sure?” and you nod.

“Love you,” Keigo gasps as he enters you. “God, I love you.”

His words make your heart swell and he pauses, letting you adjust to him before you ease him into a rhythm with a gentle roll of your hips. He feels like honey, warm and slow, taking his time with you and you wouldn’t have it any other way. He feels so good and sounds so beautiful and you love him, you love him, you -

Neither of you are rushing, and there’s no need to. You’re already close, your sighs and whimpers rising. You look up at Keigo and sweat shimmers on him like gold, drenched in the lingering blue light of the sunset - he reminds you of the world. Beautiful and true and glowing. You tell him you’re close and your voice is wrecked with emotion and his eyes are bright, bright.

“Thank god, I was never gonna last long,” he says, and you chuckle as best you can, air stripped from your lungs with every drag of him inside of you. “You drive me crazy.”

One of your hands runs down from around his neck, traces up until it rests on his cheekbone. He looks so gorgeous like this - gentle yet exasperated, hair curling wildly around his face and mouth hung open. He leans into your touch and moves his hips faster, and the one hand that isn’t occupied with touching him runs down between both of your bodies until your own fingers reach your clit, tracing circles until you explode.

Your orgasm rips through you slow and sweet like something you’ve seen coming from miles away. As you come down from your high, Keigo’s just reaching his, and you swear to any deity you can that it’s the most beautiful thing you’ll ever see. His wings unfold and spread in a flash of bright red, eyes clenched shut and he moans, letting himself fall further on top of you. He doesn’t let his entire body weight collapse onto you, and you lazily pull your arms around him as he shudders under your touch. 

The two of you lay there like that for some time, simply basking in each other. Eventually Keigo pulls out of you and disposes of the condom, and the second he gets back into bed he’s curling himself into your arms, burying his face into the crook of your neck. You close your eyes and smile into his hair.

“I love you,” you tell him. “Thank you for letting me love you.”

“You’re welcome,” he responds, and you scoff, but he takes himself out of your neck to look directly at you. “Thank you for giving me a chance to be loved by you,” he says. “You’re all I’ve ever wanted.”

All the colors in your universe appear in him.

[iron--spider]

you’re as good as it gets

“Whoever would have thought Peter would replace me?” Tony asks, peering over at Pepper as they set the table. “I guess I should have. I guess I should have seen it coming. I’m not as cool as I once was.”

 “I am going to record you,” Pepper says, glancing up as she sets the silverware down. “And then I am going to send the videos to Peter, whenever you do this.”

 “Good,” Tony says. “Then maybe he’ll see how much he’s hurting his old man—” Pepper starts coming at him with the dish towel, and Tony laughs, holding his hands up in surrender. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. Sort of.”

 “This is what you wanted him to do, right?” she asks, bracing her hand on the chair and looking at him. “This Octavius guy, doing this with him gets Peter college credit?”

 “The class does,” Tony says, chewing on a toothpick. “The working with him thing is a whole different...thing.”

 “He’s just living his life,” Pepper says, and she’s looking at him sadly now, like she might get it. “Getting better after everything he’s gone through. You know he’s not actually replacing you, he’s just—”

 “No, I know,” Tony says, laughing a little bit. “I know. I’m just being dramatic. To irritate you.”

 “Mhm. Easily done.”

 Tony doesn’t know much about Otto Octavius. Well, he knows everything he learned after he heavily, heavily researched him when Peter started working with him in his lab on the weekends. But, he doesn’t know Octavius as a person, and he doesn’t hardly trust anybody with Peter, even people he trusts. Logically, this is a good thing. Peter’s preparing for college. He’s getting back into the groove of things after...all the bullshit. He was having a hard time with it, for a while. Being gone for five years. His life upended. Tony nearly dying in front of him and losing an arm as a result of the near death. So Tony knows this is good. The kid’s moving on.

 He’s moving on?

He’s moving...on. 

 Tony’s had a lot of people move on from him. He expects it. He expects every day for Pepper to up and leave, for Morgan to pack up her little pink Hello Kitty suitcase and disappear in the wind. Rhodey never picking up his calls again. Happy slamming the door in his face. All of them would probably beat the shit out of him if they knew he still thought that way, but it’s so ingrained in him that it’s hard to push it back.

 He knows it would piss Peter off too. So Tony never says anything to him about his own dumb shit or his worries or his occasional loneliness, despite his firecracker of a daughter who’s been dressing up in Spider-Man costumes lately. But Tony misses Peter. And feels a dumb tinge of jealousy knowing he’s learning and growing with some other asshole scientist mentor guy. Tony is supposed to be the only asshole scientist mentor guy in his life.

 His phone buzzes in his pocket.

 “Speak of the devil,” Tony says, opening up Peter’s message. 

 “See, there you go,” Pepper says, laying out napkins. “He wouldn’t be messaging you if he’d replaced you. He’s too polite for that.”

 The message is a photo—a billboard of Tony himself, the kind of shit that started cropping up everywhere after everyone found out what he did. Suited up, sans helmet, staring upwards with a look of determination and grit on his face, like some kind of stained glass church art. Peter is in the foreground, both eyebrows raised, and it’s captioned “TONY ARE YOU STALKING ME?”

 “What a nerd,” Tony says, full of fondness. 

 “Make sure he knows he’s coming for movie night tomorrow or Morgan will never forgive him,” Pepper says. 

 “Noted,” Tony says, crafting a reply.

 ~

 A couple days later Tony is falling asleep sitting up in the workshop, still analyzing the layout for the new bot he’s creating to accompany DUM-E and U. He’s seen Peter a couple times in the past week, but the kid looks more worn out than normal with every new day that passes. Tony had texted a bit with May, trying not to worry, but that’s practically his every day state of mind, especially when it comes to his kids. 

 His kids. Plural. Two. How long has he been thinking about Peter like that? One of his own. Since before the end of the world? During, while he was gone, when there were things Tony couldn’t change, when the world was so heavy that he had to remove himself from it? When his failure loomed in front of him like a crumbling shadow, the darkness drawing all the light away from him?

 Was it then? Or was it when he saw the kid on their newfound battlefield, like a memory of a lifetime past, an impossible miracle? Talking and talking and talking like he used to?

 Tony leans forward and braces his elbows on the table, digging his thumbs into his eyes, nearly poking his own fucking eye out with his new titanium alloy thumb. It’s been a while and he’s still not used to the new arm. How it looks, how it feels, what other people think. An eternal reminder, just like the arc reactor was. Once again, he’s marked.

 He’s about to call it a night when his phone starts ringing.

 Peter.

 It’s after midnight, and yeah, he’s gotten calls from Peter at all hours of the night, but usually, it’s when he’s in trouble. 

 Tony answers fast. “Hey buddy,” he says. “You okay?”

 Peter’s breath is coming fast, and he doesn’t say anything for a moment. 

 Tony sits up straighter, eyes intent. “Peter, what’s going on?” he asks. “Talk to me.”

 “I—I, I—I made a bad decision. I didn’t know. I didn’t—I didn’t know. Help me.”

 Tony nearly leaps to his feet. Help me. Not I need help. Just help me. “Where are you?” he asks. “What happened? Who did this, what’s going on?”

 “I’m in—I’m in the suit,” Peter says, and Tony doesn’t know if he’s ever heard him sound like this. Only in the moment he knew he was dying. Or when he thought Tony was.

 “I’ll track you, are you safe?” Tony asks, getting up and sweeping towards the exit, a tension headache spreading across his forehead. “Can you stay where you are?”

 “I’ll—I’ll stay close to where I am, it should be—should be okay, but I don’t know, I don’t know.” His voice breaks and he sucks in a few gasping breaths. “I can’t think. I can’t—help me, please, I messed up, I don’t know what to do.”

 “I’m coming, I’m on my way,” Tony says, trembling now, himself, trying to summon the kind of strength that whatever this is needs. “Stay on the line with me, Pete. I’ve got you, just stay there.” He grabs his earpiece on the way out, activating it.

 “Friday, track Peter and give me the fastest possible routes to get to him,” Tony says, starting up the stairs. 

 He hasn’t had a suit on in almost a year. He hasn’t felt strong enough, safe enough, and the others have been covering it. It, the royal It, everything that needed to be done. Tony did what he could and it wound up well, and after that, nobody’s needed Iron Man. 

 But Peter needs him now.

 ~

 Tony can barely get him to talk while he’s on his way over, and that terrifies Tony even more—just short, clipped answers, wavering breathing, and it sounds like a panic attack. But Peter doesn’t seem to hear him, when Tony tries to talk him through it. He’s faraway in his head, too. 

 Tony finally finds him in an unused tunnel in Harlem, and getting over there without drawing a crowd is more difficult than Tony would have liked. But Friday finds him the way in that Peter must have found, and it’s like dropping directly into a horror movie. Quiet, echoes, dripping. 

 Peter crying.

 He’s sitting there, against the wall, his mask balled up beside him. This place is dirty and abandoned, and he looks too bright and vibrant to be here. Even in the state he’s in.

 Tony lets the nanos crawl back into the housing unit and he rushes over to him, kneeling by his side. He glances up, briefly, to make sure no one is keeping him here, that this isn’t a trap, but he doesn’t see anything anywhere. He hopes Friday would alert him to anything like that.

 “Hey, hey, okay,” Tony says, one hand on Peter’s shoulder, the other tipping his chin up. “Here I am, okay? What happened? What’d you do? I’m sure whatever it is, not your fault, we can fix it. We can fix it, together, no problem, kid. You know how much shit I’ve messed up and thought was beyond repair? Plenty. I always fix it, and we’re gonna fix this too.”

 Peter’s eyes finally focus on him, red-rimmed, and he shakes his head. He shudders to his feet, bracing his hand on the wall behind him, and he nearly falls before Tony grabs him and steadies him.

 “Otto,” Peter says, sniffling. “Doctor Octavius. He, he, he—he’s a bad guy, Tony, he’s—I’ve been helping him invent things and working on his specs and I’ve been helping him with all this stuff for months and months and he’s using it to hurt people, to commit crimes. He’s got—an entire team of guys, and I didn’t even mean to find them but I found them, tonight, they’re all these costumed villains, they were—they were working with the Rhino, that big guy I put away last month—”

 “Yeah, I remember,” Tony says, still holding onto him.

 “The police thought he had people behind him, more—more powerful people, but tonight I went after these guys that had robbed a bank on 4th street and I webbed up one of them but the other got away and I followed him—but I realized he was leading me somewhere bigger, and there were—Tony, he was there, Otto, he was in charge—he’s using these—these arms, they look like octopus arms, and I, I—I’m the one that helped—I helped him, I helped him with those—with those specs—”

 He covers his mouth, shaking his head, and before Tony can think about hugging him he steps forward and buries his face in Tony’s shoulder. 

 Peter keeps talking, muffled. “He’s responsible—his group, these people, they’re responsible for so, so much—shit—countless robberies, kidnappings, that—that explosion, at that office building, that happened—that happened in July, that was them, Tony, and people died, and I—and I’ve been—working with him since June—”

 “Stop, stop, stop,” Tony whispers, holding onto him.

 Peter gasps, sounds like he’s gonna start choking, and he claws at Tony’s shoulders. “I should have—realized, I should have known, some—somehow, figured it out, realized, but he—he acted so, so normal, with me, and I thought he was—I thought he was doing something—good, but he’s—he’s not—”

 “And you’re sure—”

 “I’m sure,” Peter whispers, wounded. “Positive. And I—they were picking up and moving their—base and I was—freaking out too much to even—follow—keep track—”

 “Shh, relax,” Tony whispers, ruffling Peter’s hair. “Relax, breathe.”

 Peter stops talking, but his breathing is labored, and he’s holding on tight.

 “The guy that got away, that led you to all this, did he know you were following him? Did he know what you saw?”

 “Don’t think so,” Peter says. He shakes his head. “I should never have—even taken that course, with Otto, let alone started—working with him. I made a bad decision, a—a stupid decision. May is gonna be so disappointed in me. And I know...I know you don’t like him.”

 Tony scoffs, still rocking them back and forth, gently. “I didn’t not—listen, one, May can never be disappointed in you. Please. And me, I’m just—I’m just jealous. I wanna work with you, I wanna hoard you, and that’s selfish of me, whatever. That’s all. But fuck that guy, now I have a reason to hate him. We’re gonna take him down, yeah?” He pulls back, holding Peter by the shoulders. “Yeah?”

 Peter looks positively fucking miserable, but thankfully, uninjured. “I’ve been helping him, Tony,” he says, dejected. “With...God knows what. The arms, they’re—they were supposed to be for limb replacement, but he’s altered them, and they’re—they look dangerous. He was in charge, he was—with all these criminals, some I’ve seen before, some that have gotten away from me and he was—he was in charge.”

 “Listen,” Tony says, stepping a little closer. “I’ve been betrayed before. More than one time. Used for what I know, what I can do. That’s what happened here. Nothing else. You have not and will not ever hurt anybody or anything. You’re a fucking angel, kid, and this does not change that. We’re gonna take care of this. You could do it without me, because you can do anything, but I’m gonna help you every step of the way.”

 Peter heaves a sigh, the kind of motion that shows he’s still horrified and put-upon by all this, but relieved that he’s not handling it alone. Tony knows how that is. It’s always easier to have backup, especially when things are personal. They both take things to heart.

 Peter moves in and hugs him again. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. 

 “Nope,” Tony says, automatically, hugging him back. “No reason to be sorry. My least favorite phrase from you.”

 “I’m just sorry for everything,” Peter says, voice breaking again. There’s a lot more behind that one, and Tony sighs, rubbing his back.

 “Don’t be,” he says. “You’re doing everything right. The world just sucks and good people get taken advantage of. And you’re as good as it gets.”

 “But we’re gonna fix it,” Peter says, tentatively, like he’s hoping to believe it.

 “Yes,” Tony says, firmly. “We’re gonna fix it.”

[nostalgic-pancakes]

Watching the starlings as autumn draws in

Summary: Tommy and his friends try on some skirts, and he reflects a bit on how they all got here. (It's a happy story) Title from September by Sparky Deathcap

Pairings: None! Platonic everyone (esp in irl fics_)

Read on AO3 (preferred place to read)

Word count: 2570

Warnings: None, except for surface-level references to the exile/prison arcs, but not much.

Other notes: I wrote this in a fit of madness last night in like three hours at 2 am, so i’ll probably edit it honestly but for now, enjoy! (If the CC’s ever display discomfort with this type of fic I will take it down)

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"WELCOME BACK TO THE STREAM, BOYS!" Tommy exclaims, rubbing his hands together as he starts rapid-fire answering questions about the stream, and the stream title from chat. It's funny, how over time, Tommy's come to see Chat as this one entity- an old friend. The nervousness of answering questions as a fifteen year old with nothing but a big personality, a twitch account and a copy of Minecraft is all but gone now, nineteen years old and happier than he's ever been.

Dreadfulzombie19: what are u doin this stream

"THANK YOU FOR ASKING, Dreadfulzombie19, today is gonna be a bit different, innit Tubbo?" Tommy raises his voice a bit at the end of his sentence, just loud enough for one of his flatmates to hear him. When Tubbo yells back an affirmative, Tommy turns back to his setup. Chat's gone a bit wild again, even though he, Tubbo and Ranboo have been living together for over a year now.

"Okay, okay, calm down chat- so recently I was at university, as usual right? And I had an eight AM class again, and… yeah I can see you all can relate."

"BUT! BUT! On my way back to the flat, I saw something really cool." Tommy hesitates in his speech to take a sip of coke again- his blood pressure's been acting up lately and watches Chat to wild again, asking him what he saw.

"Okay, so there was a shop- new place, which doesn't happen often this is fucking Brighton- and they sold skirts and dresses and stuff with adjustments for AMAB sizes!" Chat goes a bit bonkers, but Tommy's mod team- a little smaller than it used to be, now that he isn't the centre of YouTube or Twitch attention anymore, none of them are- are handling it, and pretty well.

"So I had to go, right? As many of you probably know, last year, I made the astounding discovery that gender-based stereotypes and expectations are, in fact, fake and I should not give a SHIT. And so I go in and look through the stuff- it's a really poggers shop by the way, and I find the perfect thing- it was the most poggers skirts and shit, okay? So, today's stream is going to have me wearing this pogchamp shit and wearing it right, with the help of…" Tommy ends his monologue by picking up the joke shaker-things that Phil had gotten him as a housewarming gift last year and indicates for his first two helpers to enter the office.

In walks his mother, face obscured from view as always, waving to the camera, and Wilbur, also wearing one of his only skirts for this occasion. Eret had taught him, on a phonecall in the skirt shop that week about the different types of skirts with a handy diagram. Wilbur's was a pleated circle skirt, brown to offset the bright yellow of his sweater and beanie, the same colour as his hair. It's very swoosh-y, so he's wearing black leggings with his regular shoes too. Motherinnit's also wearing her favourite skirt, a baby blue prairie skirt, Tommy thinks, and it's one he's seen fairly often.

Wilbur ducks down in order to show his face to Chat, and ruffles Tommy's hair while he's at it. Tommy's taller, but not by much, so Wilbur still fucking makes short jokes, That fucker.

Chat is now going so fast that he simply cannot read anything but some of the all caps messages and can barely make out some of the emotes.

"Okay, OKAY, CALM DOWN CHAT! WE HAVE TO GET TO FUCKING BUSINESS!" Tommy yells into the mix, like he did when he was sixteen and used the 'many people find me annoying at first' intro. Nowadays he just lets the content speak for itself. Anyone who wants to be here already is, by now.

Wilbur laughs a bit, and that hasn't changed at all. "Tommy, how is chat supposed to calm down if you're not calm?"

"I am their god!! They will obey via sheer digital willpower!" Tommy replies back, pretty zealously (What? An English Literature class is mandatory for his film degree, and The Great Gatsby by Zelda Fitzgerald is a good book, as are most of the other assigned ones. He's had entire conversations with Techno with just lit quotes and it drives everyone insane. Tommy loves it.) Chat seemingly has listened to his godlike abilities, with a few OG's spotting his half-quotation of one of Dream's last lines in the Dream SMP. The rest are spamming 'MOTHERINNIT'.

"If having a shitty magic trick book from a washed-up politician makes you a god, then what does that make me?" Wilbur replies, with one of Foolish's lines and swatting his hand at Tommy. Tommy swats back.

"Bitch" "Arsehole" "Shithead" "Fuckface" Wilbur finishes cheerily, as if this happens all the time. It does. Chat's used their antics now, four years of consistently making content together will do that for you.

Eventually Motherinnit reminds them both to get back on Topic, and Tommy goes back to facing the camera, addressing Chat directly.

"Today, my beloved mother, and my idiot brother-" "hey!" "And maybe my flatmates will be joining me to show off some cool as SHIT skirts! And a dress or two. We all have our selections, right?" Everyone nods in affirmative, even Tubbo and Ranboo. Though the camera can't see them. Ranboo's just come home from his final class, then. He should probably take the first hour back off, and judging by how Tubbo is forcefully judging Ranboo to the shower, he probably gets it. Tommy signs an affirmative to both of them, and gets back to the camera, where Wilbur's showing off all of his (very poggers) very stupid brown or yellow skirts. Tommy's are in cool colours, for fuck's sake.

"Oh yeah, Puffy just confirmed she'll be on stream! She'll be here in about twenty minutes, accounting for fucking traffic, and Niki' going to get onto VC after her own stream, what game is it this time?"

"GRIS." Wilbur answers.

"Poggers- she is the SHIT and will join us soon! So expect some QUALITY QUALITY content this stream!! Remember to not spam her chat to finish faster." Exclaims Tommy, even if it ends up as a light warning, as he picks up his own very poggers skirts from the extra armchair in his office to show the camera.

One is the classic red and white, mostly white but with bright red on the waist (elastic) and the bottom, and it reached to about Tommy's knee, if worn at the hip. It had no pleats, but the red bits were a very nice velvet texture, and while the skirt was heavy, it still had very much swoosh value, and pockets!! Big ones!! He slips the skirt on top of his jeans before entering camera view, the skirt visible in all its classic Tommyinnit glory, as he takes his place right next to Wilbur, who just took. a quick spin at the behest of several dono's., Skirt spying out from his lower shins all the way to his knee, making visible one of his (many) petticoats. ("What? It's cold all the fucking time here, Toms.") Tommy also makes a quick little spin, skirt flying outward, not upward, so it looks like he's hula hooping for a moment there. Lastly, Motherinnit spins around too, and while her skirts do not swoosh, she looks opulent, like she was about to go to waltz with the enemy, for whom she has a dagger in the back of her dress for. (He finished Anna Karenina and the Six of Crows duology within the same week and has not yet recovered. Jack Edwards is laughing at him as he thinks in his English Lit Graduate glory.)

It's fun, trying on different skirts- he and Wilbur accidentally bought the same dress at one point, which they paired up to wear, darting off into their respective changing rooms while giggling like idiots with their checkered blouses and the grindl skirts that Niki had sent over when she heard of this stream idea, laughing the whole time. Tubbo enters as dramatically as possible with Puffy, and while Tubbo looks really fucking good in his handkerchief skirt with embroidered bees and plain white shirt, it's Puffy who steals the show with an exact, real life version of her red banquet dress.

Fans from way back in the SMP, before Tommy had started branching out start going insane and are bringing back emotes Tommy wasn't sure were still available, but she is fucking stunning- deep shades of red and crimson, with slits on either side of her waist and all the detailing. She'd gotten the contact for her dressmaker through Bernadette Banner, Tommy recalls- she was so fucking cool when she streamed with him once, and gotten him to swear less and supplant those world's with bigger ones to intimidate instead. While he still curses like a sailor as part of his persona, it's less so and he does way less in real life these days, unless the situation calls for it. It's also just rude, especially in uni libraries, where he spends too much time these days wondering why he didn't read more as a kid.

Puffy's stolen his audience for a WHILE, and Niki coming on hasn't helped any, so Tommy exits camera view for a while to hug Ranboo really quickly- he's had midterms and has basically been dying all month.

Everyone on this stream- Tommy, Wilbur, Motherinnit, Tubbo, Puffy, Niki and Ranboo enter the camera frame after entering their dressing rooms for the last time on this particular stream, Puffy with full in-character wigs and makeup, Tommy in an Edwardian-Gothic reminiscent black and red dress, Ranboo in something he bought when he gap-yeared in Japan, punk lolita or something, Niki flaunting her pink in a Marie Antoinette style show of finery, Tubbo dressing in all green this time, something like a very deranged biology teacher who hasn't slept in days (Tubbo hasn't-Tommy has to get into that), Wilbur like a forest-nymph, all earthy tones and swishy fabrics and nature highlights, and finally Motherinnit, who hasn't changed but is here to take pictures as they all lean in together to fit into frame, as drastic as their height difference is. Niki is going to be edited in later, and everyone on the 'Dream SMP but nobody does Dream SMP and we're all fucking nerds' discord server is going to get a copy.

The stream wraps up there, after about two hours, and it's only about six in the evening- a far cry from the late nights and long hours from the beginning of Tommy's career, so everyone runs to their changing areas for the last time, into pajamas now, and packs away all of the clothes they wore, properly, as to not incense Karolina Zebrowska, and Jemma, Dan's wife, who would look at them disappointedly and nobody wants a sad Jemma because that means no cooing at their son. Also it just feels shitty.

Everyone huddles in Tommy, Tubbo and Ranboo's living room, and they out on UP for like, the millionth fucking time (they still cry when Ellie dies), and Tommy is leaning into Wilbur's side and feeling his mum play with the hair in his very small, stubby ponytail he's developed by being in Uni as he and Tubbo intertwine their legs together and Ranboo rests his head in the tangle of limbs, playing with his fidget cube. Puffy stays on Wilbur's side, intently texting someone and smiling the whole while, and Tommy takes a moment to reflect (something he's been getting better at doing) on how the actual hell they all got here.

The Dream SMP was always going to end- everyone knew it, if course, they were the fucking writers. But by the time they did, not only were their respective brands too closely intertwined to just… sever that quickly, but they'd become too close to even want to. So the SMP discord never shut, even though Dream and George had planned it months ago, and they continued supporting each other with their interests. Wilbur made a lot more music solo, with his band and even just random ass streams where he practiced guitar for an hour. He kept playing Minecraft, but it wasn't his main focus. A bunch of people left. More stayed. YouTube left him alone.

Dream, George and Sapnap are still Minecraft streamers, but their YouTube channels are mostly blogs of them being poor excuses of adults with other former SMP members joining in sometimes. Tommy and the Dream Team were closer than ever, even though the seeds of their friendship had been sowed when they used to linger after heavy streams together, reassuring each other that none of that was true and that nothing like… that would happen in real life, because Dream had used real abuse tactics, and those still hurt unless immediately taken care of. So they were. It was a running joke that Dream was stuck at 99 million subscribers since nobody really wanted the face reveal anymore. The other Dream team members were doing peachy.

Phil and Techno were also still primarily Minecraft streamers, but they also released things like advice videos and mental health stuff, especially for relationships. They had a new scripted series where Tommy was a minor character. The dadza jokes were still as real, and yes, outside of streaming, both of them were lovely people and responsible adults (mostly). They collaborated with DanTDM and co a lot more now.

Puffy and Niki kept doing games, but did lots of different ones, testing point and clickers to triple A titles, and making it all fucking hilarious while they were at it.

So where had that left Tommy?

After the Dream SMP, he'd kind of had no idea what to do, and he was going to University for the first time, so he just… did whatever he thought would be fun. He learned about vintage fashion from the queens themselves- Mina Le, Bernadette Banner and Karolina Zebrowska and had fun learning how to sew for the first time, fixing and making his own clothes for the first time, clunky as they were, Wilbur had cried, genuinely, when he saw the Lovejoy shirts that Tommy had made for the band. He'd found a genuine love for literature in university, so Tommy started talking to booktubers and studytubers like Jack Edwards and Noelle Stevenson. Tubbo and Ranboo had joined him, fucking around in any YouTube niche they found even remotely interesting. Eventually, they all found a happy medium- a bit of everything.

Some people obviously weren't happy with that but Tommy was happy as he was, making what he liked with his best friend's, living together close enough to most of their friends (family) to have fun and drop in on one another at ass-o-clock in the morning to comfort, to laugh. His sub count hasn't gone up in a while- most of his audience is static, with about 80-90k online on a stream at any time.p

It was a nice feeling, to have carved out a space for himself and the people he loves, and be is so, so glad that he got this chance.

Looking at his mostly asleep family, Tommy thinks 'yeah. Life is good.' as the last thought before he sleeps.

[hs-devote]

1. I N E F F A B L E

Moodboard // Content // Masterlist

Disclaimer:

All characters and situation in this story are fictitious. Resemblance to any person living or dead is only God knows.

1. INEFFABLE

Erskine Limited. A well known multinational company in U.K. Is a home for 20,000 employees across the country. One of the prestigious companies.

This head quarter looks more extravagant than the branches. Of course.

Never in her wildest dreams she thought would be sitting here. Greyish, sleek and shine furniture. Looking around, everything look sophisticated, professional.. while daydreaming about how come this opportunity was offered to her. Until a smooth yet firm voice calling her up close.

“Miss Y/L/N?”

Turning her head, a woman smiled at her, offering warm gesture. She's tall, her short black hair look nice against her delicate brown skin.

“Yes, I am.” Smiling, Y/N shake the woman’s hand.

“Sanaa Martinez.”

“Y/N YL/N”.  

Now, sitting face to face with her made her nervousness increase. Well, sitting in front of your new boss surely makes your worries skyrocketed. But, looking how she welcomed her, she's positive this would be good.

“Firstly, apologies for coming late. Having small problem back at meeting and.. your boss ask me to meet you before we met him.”

Hold on, this gorgeous woman will not be her new boss? If Y/N remember correctly, Mr. Adams said she would meet the new boss directly.

“Oh, I suppose he would be so busy.”

“Yeah.. yeah, perks of being the man who hold the highest level .”

“Pardon?” Y/N could not hid her shocked face, until something she think inappropriate in this situation came out of her mouth, “I’m sorry. I have no idea, I will working with the....”

“The CEO? Yes. The Owner? Can be. The man is in both position. I believe Mr. Adams did not tell you that?”

“No, ma’am.”

She sighed while massaging her temples, “Poor girl. I think he a bit bitter of you moving here. But this is your good chance.”

“Honestly, I was quite surprised when the offering letter came. Did not think I have a chance here. I mean, I work in a small branch office in Swansea. Now, I’m here, in the head quarter, in London.” Y/N smile, keeping the eye contact while deep down in her heart, she tried to calm herself. How the fuck it could be? She never dreamt being work together with board of director, let alone the CEO, the Owner themselves.

She laughed, “Non sense. If your performance can offer something more, why not?”

“I guess?” Y/N mumbled, giving her shy smile.

“Well, I have your resume here. But, tell me about yourself.”

.

.

.

.

Day one went smooth.

Day two went alright.

Day three, four.. until a week being here in her new office, everything went perfect. Y/N got a week training before starting her task as Executive Assistant to the owner this company. Mrs. Davies, or Rita, the lady in her mid forties who was her tutor for the this past week, patiently taught her about everything will be done as a EA.

“I must admit.. that you are indeed deserve this job. I’m amazed how you could cope with these, Y/N” She said in her desk, while screening Y/N tasks in her screen. “Never thought  a young lady will filling the EA position. I’m impressed.”

She grinned, “Thank you, Rita. It’s all because of you could guide me well.”

“Not really. You learnt quickly and I think.. pretty little head of yours can memories everything perfectly fine.” She hummed, “I am still responsible for you until next month. So if there are complaints coming, of course I will see you again.”

“And oh, Madeleine just told me Mr. Styles is in his office right now. I think it’s good for me to introduce you to him before you move to your office in Monday.”

“Madeleine?”

“His receptionist? Well, you will work with her too. Let’s go, Y/N. Your new office is quite far from here.”

Walking to her office was quite far because it was on a different level building, they separate the BOD’s building and general employee’s. Y/N eyes gawking around, admiring how people seem more professional doing their works.

“One thing I haven’t said.. be patient with Mr. Styles, he’s kinda having short temper.”

When the lift door opened, Y/N see a woman sitting behind her large desk. She must be Madeleine.

“Good afternoon Mrs. Davies.” She squeak, standing confidently. The moment her eyes move towards Y/N, she could see clearly her smile falter slowly. Weird.

“Hello Mads, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is Madeleine.”

“Nice to meet you, Madeleine.” Y/N smile while offering a hand, think shaking hands is normal and professional, apparently not for Madeleine. She just nodded while giving they both access card, “I’ll let Mr. Styles know you guys are here.” Y/N take it awkwardly.

“An access card?” Y/N mumble, glancing at Madeleine was on the phone.

“Everyone require an access card to the his office. I’m sure Madeleine will prepare one for you.”

“He’s ready. Waiting on his office. He just has 30 minutes tops. ”

“Thank you Mads.”

“Rita?” Y/N murmured, while looking at her surrounding.

“Yes?”

“Why Mr. Styles needs an assistant while he has a receptionist? Madeleine looks capable being an assistant too.”

“Well, actually Mads was once tested by us, but the results were not satisfactory. Everyone wanted to apply this job but.. you come with outstanding results. So, congratulations.”

They stopped in front of solid door that engraved Harry E. Styles in gold letter, Rita scanned her card until the door opened revealing a man focused on his Macbook. His gaze turned to Y/N for a moment.

Shit.

The first thing caught her off guards was the green eyes, and the cheekbones. Sharp jawlines followed, with pinkish thin lips.

“Mr. Styles? I'm here with your new EA.” Rita said, introducing her to him.

“Have a seat, Rita. Don't standing on the door.” He smiled. For a second, Y/N was cursing at her ignorance for not asking her boss profile, so seeing a man look younger than she think, doesn't shock her at all. He must be no more than twenty-seven years old, quite a young man he is – she think.

“This is your new EA, she is from Swansea office. She will ready in Monday.”

“Nice to meet you, I'm Harry Styles.” He gave Y/N small smile, offering his hand.

“My name's Y/N Y/L/N.  Thank you for the opportunity. Glad to be part of head office.” Shaking his hand, Y/N could feel his firm grip yet skin was very soft. She glanced at small amount of glitter on his nails, was he wearing nail polish?

“My pleasure.”

“Well, that's it. We do not want to interrupt anymore. And oh, Harry. Please do not be hard on this one. God knows how hard to find a competent EA.” Rita teased while pat Y/N shoulder. Mr. Styles, or Harry, just laughed while escort they both to the door.

“I never know Mr. Styles is that young.” Y/ N muttered, letting the lift door closed, ready taking them to the ground floor.

“I think you know, no?” Rita frowned. Y/N sighed, shaking her head.

“Well, maybe I just forgot that part. He is young, just turning twenty-five last February. Running this company after his father death three years ago. But young Harry has been helping the company since he was in college. That's great because not many children are successful in continuing a family legacy.”

“He's great business person too, but like I told you before. He's temperamental. If you get his wrong side, he won't afraid barking at you in front of people. And that's not a sight to see.” She added.

.

.

.

.

Monday coming. Y/N woke up at 6 in the morning, like usual. When she was still in Swansea, she could wake up at 7 because her home just 10 minutes away from office by bus. Here in London, Y/N needs at least 30 minutes to arrive on time.

Arriving the North Tower, which office level that Y/N wil working in. Madeleine was nowhere to see when Y/N stepped on her floor. She had no idea where is her desk. Seems like Mr. Styles haven't arrive yet. It's only 8.30 am, no wonder the office is still empty. The cleaning lady still doing her work. She has 30 minutes left until work hours begin. Suddenly, Y/N's phone buzzed. A message from unknown number.

Y/N, it's Madeleine. If you arrive earlier than me, your office is next to Mr. Styles'. It doesn't need access card, except if Mr. Styles ask for it.

After replying a thank you to her, Y/N walked to Mr. Styles' office. Noticing a door next to his, that must be hers. Her office was pretty spacious, Y/N has her own desk, shelves. Quite surprisingly to find an iPad next to the iMac. Smiling happily, she turned on the iMac, running the email first.

1 new message from hstyles@erskine.co.uk

From: Styles, Harry <hstyles@erskine.co.uk>

Subject : Introduction To: executive_asst@erskine.co.uk

Y/N

Good luck on your first day. Your office, your desk, everything has been fullfiled for your needs. If you are wondering, you will often join me in meetings. I think the iPad will be more efficient than you try to bring the iMac. - I'm joking. I will send your next tasks separately.

HS.

Giggling, Y/N reads the message one more time until realise that was sent at 8.00 am. He arrived earlier than her, didn't he?

While retrieving another message to come, Y/N bring her tumbler to the break room, hoping to find coffee or tea at least. Madeleine just arrived at her desk in hurry, while her hand quickly opened her Mac.

“Morning Madeleine?”

Her head shot up, “Hi. Have you set your finger print yet?”

“Yeah, already set.” Y/N nodded, “Want something? Maybe I'll find tea or coffee in break room.”

“No no thanks.”

“Right.” Y/N mumbles, walking away.

The break room was huge. Y/N could find anything. Professional coffee machine, huge fridge, wine cellar, anything.. you named it. It was more to say the kitchen of a professional chef. Y/N decided to make espresso because she sure need caffeine to work first day with Mr. Styles.

“Jesus Christ!”

Turning around, Y/N was absolutely shocked to find Mr. Styles standing behind her the whole time, only few centimeters away. His eyes looking sharp, his green irises darker than usual. His aura was different, a bit sinister than Y/N first met him the other day.

“Mr. Styles?” She spoke quietly, gripping her tumbler tightly. But he didn't budge. He was so intimidating. “Do you want something, Sir? I can bring it to your office?”

He suddenly closed his eyes, shaking his head once. Now, his irises looks like back to normal, light green. But the greenest she ever seen.

“I'm sorry. Uhm, I didn't sleep much last night. Think need a coffee, yeah.” He mumbled.

“Need me to bring it to you?”

“No, but thanks.”

“Alright. Excuse me, sir.” Y/N smiles, leaving him alone. It was undeniable she feel a little bit strange with his behaviour. Leaving her desk for a while, there was already about twenty incoming emails with almost all of them have attachments. None other than Mr. Styles was the sender.

The clock ticking at 2.00 pm when Y/N look at her phone, didn't realise time passed quickly. Until someone knocked her door. Madeleine bring a small box in her hands.

“This is your stationery and and your personal business cards.”

“Thank you Madeleine.” Nodding, She take it and put it on the desk. She hummed, turning her heels towards the door. Y/N grab her paperwork, ready to dial Mr. Styles' extension but her office phone rings first.

Incoming call: 621 – Harry Styles

Speaking of the devil. It was Mr. Styles himself.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Styles?”

“Hello, Y/N. About the monthly report, please finish tomorrow afternoon at the latest. Because you have to focus on Barclays paper, they arranged a meeting this afternoon. I'm sorry for sudden notice.”

“Oh, it's okay. Actually, both are done. I might deliver to you right now?

“Already?” Y/N frown, somewhat confused to hear his shocked voice, “Err, yes?”

“Amazing. If you have the softcopy, it would be nice if you send me both of them. For the Barclays paper, you can keep it because you'll join me in the meeting. I'll see you in the lobby an hour from now. Thank you, Y/N.”

After he hung up, Y/N send him both of softcopy and rush out to grab lunch. This is her first meeting and she doesn't want to pass out in the middle of meeting because she was starving.

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The trip to Barclays takes 20 minutes but seeing the traffic is a bit crowded, maybe they will arrive a little longer. Along the way, Y/N prepares meeting material while Mr. Styles busy behind the wheel. Surpising enough a big boss like him drives himself.

“Mr. Styles? Samantha from Barclays just emailed new adress for meeting. It won't held in Barclays office.” Y/N spoke lowly, not sure what she said. It's strange that huge company like Barclays suddenly change their meeting place without any apparent reason. From the corner of her eye, Y/N can see him rolling his eyes.

“Where?”

“It will take place at Shangri-La The Shard.”

“Please push back until 4.15 pm, I'm afraid we can't be on time because the traffic.”

“Right away, sir.” Typing away his request, Barclays team confirmed it in less than five minutes, “Confirmed at 4.15 pm, level 34, Yi Room.”

“You know, you will get used to things like this, sudden meetings, sudden change of place, hours. Event cliet. So, don't be surprised.” He said, one hand stay still in the steering wheel and the other touching the LCD screen.  Y/N just realised, his left hand's fingers filled with rings except thumb and ring finger. Ink sticking out of his wrist even though it's covered by his suit jacket sleeve. She wonder how many tattoos he had underneath. His pinky nail was polished with chipped black nail polish.

“Fancy listening some music? I'm not very used to driving in silence.”

Y/N smiled, “Go ahead. I don't mind.”

Get Up I Feel Like Being a Sex Machine roaring softly throughout the car. He hummed happily while tapping on the wheel. She doesn't expect, despite his appearance, he has this kind of an old soul. Staring at him from the corner of eye, his looks doesn't need to be questioned. He has a very beautiful face. His charisma is extraordinary, even when they were walking together in the lobby, she could feel it. Y/N swore there was many females who can't take their eyes off of him when he walks.

“Something wrong Y/N?”Y/N was caught off the guards, didn't think he was aware the whole time she was staring at him. Even behind his sunglasses, Y/N swore his eyes were wrinkled in humour.

“N- No. I just didn't think you have an old music taste.” Y/N startled, her cheeks heated.

“Oh, do you want to change the song? What do young people usually like? Ed Sheeran? Justin Bieber? One Direction?” He muttered, tapping the screen. He look like he was talking to himself rather than talking to Y/N.

“Ew no.. no. I'm fine. I just quite surprised. Didn't mean any harm. I'm sorry, sir.” Y/N laugh, massaging her temple. It didn't occur to her he could joke like that, many high profile people like him are always rigid and strict. He laughing along, letting Everything Has Changed go next.

“You not need to call me Mr. Styles or sir if it doesn't involve work, you know? I feel like an old man with big belly if you keep calling me that. Tell me, how old are you? You are no more than twenty-four if I may guess.” He asked.

“Uh huh, turned twenty-two last January actually.”

He nodded, “Well. Before we met them, one thing you need to know about Barclays, they're a bit sneaky, like to make their clients feel uncomfortable. Don't be surprised if they're too blunts. To be honest, I'm not comfortable taking you there.”

Y/N frowned, watching him from the side. “If you don't mind me asking. Why?”

He sighed, “ Just be careful with Mr. Higgins.” When he turned the wheel, Y/N could see The Shard at the end of the road. This is her first time setting foot in luxury hotel, she was ecstactic and nervous at the same time.

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That meeting went well, even though it was tense up a little, Mr. Styles or Harry could soften it. He was so damn calm throughout the meeting, but Y/N was sure from the look of his eyes, he really want to end it quickly. Especially when Mr. Higgins kind of made a comment of her, Harry defended her well. Y/N really wanted to speak up herself, but it was better to be quiet, playing the good – obedient assitant.

Sending the agreement back and forth for almost two weeks, Erskine and Barclays finally found a deal.

That day, she was arranging Harry's meeting schedule for the next two weeks. Aware of number of meetings he has to attend, the more tasks awaits her. It's not that she was not happy, but her lunch hour was falling apart. Ring of her phone startled Y/N, without seeing the caller id, she grab it. “Y/N”

“I need you to come to my office right now, we have some serious issue to deal with.” With that, he hung up. Y/N frowned, Harry doesn't usually speak grimly like that. Rushing into his office, she found him sitting in his chair, one hand cupping his chin. His eyes blankly staring at some files on his desk.

“Is there anything I can help sir?” Y/N ask slowly walking toward him. Without looking at her, he nodded, “Have a seat.”

“Are you aware we have two contracts which are a little deviated from the absolute procedur?” He asked, his tone was low. “Well, it's really deviated.”

“No, sir.”

He sighed, not satisfied with her answer. “Both are big clients, and it has been going on for months.” He grab two big files, giving it to Y/N. “You read this, find and point out the mistake.”

While Y/N read the papers, Harry dialled Madeleine's extension. Asking someone who was unfamiliar to his office. 10 minutes passed, someone entered the office. Y/N dare to not looking, just focus on the papers and scribbled some points that she feel weird.

“You called me, sir?” A male voice. She could feel Harry stand up from his chair, hands resting on the desk. He whispered to Y/N to move to the couch.

“Did you drew up contracts with companies during 2018? All of them?”

“Only from April to September.”

“Did you know you messed up?”

“Pardon? I don't understand-”

“Two god-damn big companies could bail on us, Ethan. You didn't read it or didn't understand?!” For the first time Harry raised his voiced, you could see him trying to hold back his anger. This Ethan guy shaking in his boots, his head hang low, both hands tangled. Y/N glad Harry didn't scream a bloody murder, if he did, she was sure this room is soundproof.

“I'm sorry Mr. Styles, b-but it was under your knowledge. I asked you at that time but you shoo me away. Even I asked Carlton, he said everything has been discussed by you.”

Harry froze in his desk. He seemed shock, but shouldn't he not be surprised if the agreements was under his acknowledge?

“It was?” He asked, half unsure at what he said himself. Ethan nodded in confirmation. He excused himself after Harry told him to leave. In less than 30 seconds, the door bursted open revealing a man with fancy clothes, curly blonde hair, hands in his pants. Y/N never seen him in this company before. Harry sighed in disbelief, dialling Madeleine's extension immediately.

“Don't you know what function of the phone or fucking intercom is on your desk?! I didn't say I'd be available for another guests.” He hissed.

That blonde guy looking at surrounding, until his blazing blue eyes caught Y/N busy figure on the couch. He taking closer step to her, tilting his head. “I've never seen you before.” He spoke lowly. Y/N just offered a small smile.

“Hey, Harry. Is this your new birdie? You didn't tell me you got a new beau.”

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Unedited.

What do you think? Let me know!

[novaviis]

Snaibsel Renaissance Fair AU

Part One. 

@ghost-in-the-stalls briefly mentioned snaibsel going to renfairs like months ago in my inbox and my dumb gay brain latched onto it like a corvid to a shiny piece of tinfoil, and now it’s a full-on au. 

Artemis is a former high school dropout, got her GED, troubled past, the whole deal. She's on the mend, trying to earn money to go to college. Doing really well for herself. She just got a job at the local Renn Fair for the summer. Not thrilled about it at first, but it's something, right? She’s decent on horseback, so she’s got that under her belt already (her Dad was obsessed with training her and her sister in every sport on fucking Earth, along with some more… nonconventional ones.) She’s been hired to ride in the jousting tournaments and give snot-nosed little kids horse rides around a little circle, shit like that. She’ll give it a trial run for a week or two, at least until she finds something better.

Zee is a bit of a veteran at the Fair already as a Sorceress. This absolute powerhouse of a woman in full renaissance garb, like Morticia Addams and Morgan le Fay were mixed together in one 5’5” bombshell. She runs the magic show, held every weekend on the jousting field for the crowd of wide-eyed spectators in the stands. She’s no amateur magician, that’s for sure. She’s not pulling bunnies out of hats or pulling off cheap illusions.

Artemis stays behind from her orientation on her first day to watch the show – mostly because he brother in law isn’t picking her up until later and she needs to kill time. She’s heard of this “Sorceress Zatanna” show, but hasn’t really seen her yet. She’s sitting in the front row, amused enough opening act of musicians and the Fair Jester to not be completely bored, but she’d definitely checking her phone for the whole show to be over.

And then Zatanna comes on. She owns the stage set up on the patchy grass immediately. In the torchlights she really sells the whole medieval vibe (the extra florescent lights and the microphone kind take points away from authenticity but they’re easy enough to ignore). Zatanna starts off small. She pulls a crow out of her sleeve and releasing it, having it swoop at the crowd for some thrills before perching on her shoulder. She takes a broomstick and makes it levitate several feet off the ground, even sitting on it and raising it higher. At one point, Artemis looks down at her phone and sees Roy texting that he’ll be there in 20 minutes. As she’s putting her phone back into her sweater though, she looks up and Zatanna is right there. In front of her, at the edge of the stand, grinning back at her. Claims that since someone is obviously not satisfied enough with her show, she’ll make it a little more emersive. Before Artemis can say now, Zatanna is taking her hand and guiding her out into the centre of the field and the rickety wooden stage. Artemis can barely see the faces of the crowd anymore, but she can feel them all watching her and it’s more than a little unnerving.

Zatanna pulls out a deck of cards that Artemis vaguely identify as Tarot. She announces to the audience that she’s going to give her new friend here a reading. Artemis picks four cards out of the deck and Zatanna spreads them out on the table, and turns the first three over.

Judgement, Ace of Cups reversed, and The Star.

There’s a bit of a pause on Zatanna’s face as she reads the cards, before she smiles fleetingly and looks up at Artemis – for a half second too long, if only because Artemis can’t breathe through it. Finally, though, Zatanna announces her reading. “Your past has been clouded by harsh Judgement, from others, from those close to you, and mostly from yourself. You’ve been binding to what people have expected of you. Your present, however, reveals a new sense of self-love and intuition. Though you still struggle with repressed emotions, this card shows progress….” Zatanna stops there, and looks up at Artemis. “Hitting the mark?”

“Yeah,” Artemis shrugs a little nervously, echoed by the laugher of the crowd. “A little too close.”

Zatanna raises her hands. “Don’t shoot the messanger. I only read the cards,” she smiles. “Your third card predicts the future, with the path you are on right now. The Star represents renewal – in hope, in faith, and in purpose. So, at least you know you’re on the right track. This last card, however…” She picks up the card and shows it face out to Artemis without looking at it herself. “Is a message directly to you, and overall look at who you are at heart. And,” with a grin, she flicks her fingers and the card vanishes in a puff of violet smoke, “it will only reveal itself to you.”

The crowd applauds the slight of hand, and Artemis is left a little perplexed as Zatanna calls for more applause for her assistant, before allowing her to go back to her seat. Artemis does slink back to the stands, but not without a few glances back over her shoulder, still wondering what just happened.

After that, Zatanna is done with the small tricks. Evidently, the tarot reading was a bit of a halftime show. She pulls out the grander illusions, vanishing from the stand only to reappear in the balcony reserved for the “King and Queen” of the Fair, who play along in delight as Zatanna steals a bottle of mead and reappears in another burst of smoke back on the stage. She chants in a strange tongue, that almost sounds like backwards English, before each trick. Artemis is completely entranced. Zatanna finishes the show by telling a story of an ancient witch who was so powerful and feared that it took a King’s entire army to take her down. Before she was burnt at the stake she put a curse on the King’s most valued treasure – the very Chalise that the Knights fought for at the Fair every summer. The King’s soul was bound to the Chalise, and the curse would only be lifted once one she deemed worthy won it.

To prove to any “doubters” that the story was true, she has the Chalise itself appear on the clothed table in the centre of the stage. Then, with all the fanfare of a grand finale, she chants a spell that causes all of the torches and electric lights to go out in one burst. Once the thrilled shrieks of the crowd have died down, a glowing figure remerges out of the Chalise from the pitch darkness, taking the form of an undead King. The figure rises into the air and flies over the crowd, until Zatanna “seals” it back into the Chalise. Cue all the torches reigniting and the lights coming on, to the standing ovation of the crowd. Artemis remains seated, honestly still blown away by the show.

She hadn’t thought that this place had that big of a budget for special effects, damn.

With the rest of the crowd on their feet and slowly beginning to shuffle out of the Fairgrounds, Zatanna takes her bow and makes her exit – but not before looking back to Artemis and giving her a little wink. Artemis, still confused as ever, doesn’t think much of it beyond wow. She joines the rest of the crowd in heading out of the grounds, through a long forest path to the parking lot were Roy was waiting to get her.

An hour later, as she’s taking her clothes off to get into her pajamas, she sits on her bed and pulls her socks off – only for something to fall out and slip under her bed. She hadn’t even felt it there. Artemis reaches under her bed for it, expecting a leaf or something from the stable where she’d been getting acquainted with the horses.

It’s a tarot card.

Artemis sits there, on her bedroom floor, holding the little card in her hand. The gold foil catches the light of her bedside lamp. She’s too dumbfounded to really react at first, but as she turns it over to see the Queen of Swords, her mind absolutely spins with every possible way Zatanna could have pulled off that trick without her noticing.

Artemis can barely sleep that night. She spends an hour sitting in bed just staring at the card like it’s going to give her the answers. How the hell did she do that?

[sunnytumbies]

just follow my yellow light (and ignore all those big warning signs)

Warning! This fic includes mentions of depression, anxiety, needles (in a medical setting), and dealing with grief/trauma. Please stay safe should you choose to read! 

A/N: This is also a more plot-heavy fic, with most of the fiendery occurring in the very last sections, so please be aware of that!  Word count: 8499 Title: “Yellow Light” by Of Monsters and Men

The thing about hospitals is that they’re all the same.  

Cal understands why people hate them—really, he does—but sitting here on the exam table, the paper crinkling beneath him, a blood pressure cuff tightening around his bicep, he can’t help but feel...safe. Understood.  

He’s biased, he guesses. He grew up in one, doodling on prescription pads with crayons, running his favorite toy car along the floor (weaving around the nurse’s practical clogs on his hands and knees, look, Mom, look at how fast I am!), his mother Marianne bouncing him on her lap as she updated charts on her computer even though he was far too old for that, stray blonde hair that escaped from her tight bun tickling his cheek. Every once in a while, she’d turn to him with a wide, warm smile.  

The whirring of blood pressure machines were his lullaby. The smell of antiseptic was the closest he got to the smell of home, and was in fact the very smell that followed him home from work with Marianne, permeated the whole house along with her tired sighs and her whispered arguments with his father Henry when she thought Cal was sleeping.  

So, yeah. Cal likes hospitals. Don’t overanalyze it.  

The nurse—Alicia, today—gives him a small, tired smile, the expression of someone who genuinely cares but is too busy to do much about it. “Dr. Moore says everything looks good, Cal. Just make sure to keep an eye on your lungs. Don’t bind for too long and keep doing your injections around the same time each week, okay? You know where to find us if you need something.”  

“Thanks, Alicia,” Cal says, but she’s already whisking out the door. Cal wonders how many patients she has. Alicia oversees the hospital volunteer program, and even though Cal's known her for years, he swears her face is as young and beautiful as it was when he was a child. She’s funny and whip-smart and strong and she likes Cal best, he thinks, but lately she’s looked so tired. 

He wonders if she’s one of the nurses who really cares about all of her patients. He wonders if that kind of thing is sustainable.   

Alicia cares, he thinks.   

He’s walking down the corridor, idly rubbing at the bandage across his forearm—and yeah, okay, if he has to name one part of the hospital experience that he could do without, it’s the blood draws—and he’s so fixated on reaching under the bandage to rub at the stinging skin there that he almost runs directly into Sweater Guy, who reaches out preemptively to steady Cal by the shoulders. 

“Shit, sorry,” Cal mutters reflexively, then looks up to see that it’s him and, well, fuck.  

Cal’s been volunteering at the hospital for six months or so, now, answering call buttons for the nurses and giving directions to confused family members and just grunt work, really, something—nay, anything—for him to put on his resume, and at every single shift he’s volunteered for, he’s seen Sweater Guy.  

He’s Cal’s height but twice as skinny, collarbones jutting out underneath his sweaters (his endless sweaters, usually layered over collared shirts and rolled up to the elbows, no matter how swelteringly hot it gets outside). The sweaters bother Cal more than they should, because they all look expensive, and yeah, sue him, he’s a little bitter, because he buys one new pair of shoes a year and calls it splurging. He’s a candy striper, Cal thinks. He wears a pair of yellow-tinted glasses that Cal cannot for the life of him make sense of, constantly slipping down his nose (and yes the yellow compliments the rich brown of Sweater Guy’s skin beautifully, not that Cal has noticed, thanks). He has what Zara always insisted is sex hair, expression perpetually annoyed, like he always has something better to doing.  

And he avoids the fuck out of Cal.  

“It’s not on purpose,” Zara said one day a few months ago, leaning conspiratorially  over their little table in the hospital cafeteria, mouth full of mediocre tuna fish sandwich, because Zara is a godless heathen who enjoys tuna fish sandwiches. “He’s just...busy, you know? He doesn’t avoid you more than he avoids anyone else.” 

“Except he does,” Cal muttered, toying with the bottle cap from his soda. More than once he’d made eye contact with him in the hall, and then watched him completely switch directions, head ducked down low over his shoulders.  

Not long after that, Zara--who had, until then, occupied the third room in he and Amy’s apartment--left school to attend a community college program for mortuary science, because Zara is, in addition to being a godless heathen, a chiefly ridiculous person, and now Cal doesn’t have anyone to complain to about this.  

It shouldn’t bother him, except...Cal is likeable. He is. He charms nurses as though that’s what he’s getting volunteer credit for. Babies smile at him on the street. He’s likeable.  

So what the fuck, you know?  

“I apologize,” Sweater Guy says now, and Cal is hyper-aware of the guy’s chapped lips, of his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down nervously in his throat. He makes himself look away.  

“You apologize? I’m the one who didn’t see you, dude,” Cal says, and God damn does that yellow sweater he’s wearing look nice on him. It shouldn’t. Yellow is categorically the worst color. Cal’s pissed.  

Sweater Guy actually cracks a smile. “Yes, well. I’m glad we avoided a collision.”  

And just like that, he’s walking off, and Cal doesn’t know what he’s supposed to make of it, if it means anything at all, but surely first contact after six months of silence means something.  

“Hey,” he calls out before he can think better of it. “What’s your name?”  

Sweater Guy stops and blinks, surprised, then pauses for a minute like he has to think about it. “Oh. My name is Quincy Washington.” He swallows. “What’s yours?”  

“Cal.”  

“It’s nice to meet you, Cal,” Quincy says softly, and Cal watches him walk away until he disappears around the corner.  

* 

Cal has a routine. He’s never been particularly organized, never been the type of person with color-coded planners or who lays out his outfits the night before, but he has a routine for check-up days: after picking up his inhaler refills and testosterone from the hospital pharmacy, he’ll treat himself to an iced chai tea latte with almond milk, hot if it’s cold outside or he’s feeling adventurous. He shifts his weight from foot to foot as he waits in line to place his order, his lips flicking up into a small little smile as he pulls out his phone, realizing he finally has an update, deciding to send it to the group chat he still has with Amy and Zara: 

I figured out his name!!  

Amy texts back immediately, and Cal’s little smile splits into a full-blown grin. ???????????

Sweater Guy, Cal types, shifting forward as the line moves. It’s Quincy Washington, apparently. 

Cal grins when he sees a message from Zara appear: r u sure he gave u his real name? that sounds pretty made up ngl :* but hey u finally talked to him!!!! told u it wouldn’t be hard!!!!! <3 <3 <3 <3 

Cal rolls his eyes a little, but good-naturedly. Zara was always convinced that Cal has a crush he’s not addressing, a conspiracy theory that has infected Amy as well, because no one fixates that hard if they DON’T have a crush, Cal, come on. Cal maintains that while he isn’t blind, there are about a million things more interesting about Sweater G--Quincy than how attractive he admittedly is. 

Cal: In my defense, he talked to me first, and it’s only because I ran into him. 

Zara: charming! did u gaze longingly into his eyes? did he gaze longingly into urs?

Cal rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. Well it wasn’t his EYES I was looking at. ;) (I  was looking at his stupid yellow sunglasses.) 

Zara: silly! u should’ve asked him if he needs roomies. it would be an honor if my old room went to The Cause :)))

Cal’s lips droop, the smile sliding off his face as he pockets his phone. He knows Zara meant nothing by it, but he’s been compartmentalizing the roommate situation until now, and it’s not something he can particularly deal with at this moment. He doesn’t have to, as it happens--at that moment, an impatient “--sir? Sir, may I please take your order?” breaks through his mental abstraction, clearly not for the first time, and he shakes his head to clear it, cheeks flushing as he approaches the counter, mumbling apologies. He orders his drink, iced chai tea latte, please,  making sure to leave a hefty tip in the jar. 

Eager to spare himself further social anxiety, Cal grabs his drink as soon as it’s placed on the counter, mumbling another apology as he grabs a straw and walks briskly out of the exit closest to the parking lot, sipping eagerly at the drink (he swears it’s even better than usual) and what do you fucking know. 

“Quincy,” Cal says when he reaches his car, clamping down on the little thrill he gets from knowing the name. He swirls the drink a little like some kind of movie character with a glass of wine. He’s chill. He’s cool. 

“Oh. Hello, Cal,” Quincy says sheepishly. He’s standing at the front of a car—not just a car, the car—its hood propped open in a universal sign of defeat. “I seem to...be having some car trouble.”  

“No fucking way,” Cal breathes out, because some things are too strange to be coincidences.  

“I’m...I’m sorry?”  

Cal shakes himself. “No, you’re good, sorry. It’s just that, uh. This is your car?”  

It’s a Mercedes AMG, and it’s been parked next to Cal’s car every day for a couple months now. Cal’s awe hasn’t dulled with time. He figured it belonged to some paranoid doctor, rich and extravagant and scared enough of car crashes to buy a luxury armored SUV. The fact that it belongs to Quincy isn’t strange all on its own—because sure, whatever, Quincy is well-off, that’s a thing that happens to people—but the odds of the day he realizes it belongs to Quincy being the same day he learns Quincy’s name after months of wondering and silence?  

Well.  

“Yes. It’s practically new,” Quincy says sadly, “but I’m hopeless with cars. It’s probably something rather foolish.”  

And then, because Cal is a masochist, he finds himself saying “Well, I know a thing or two about cars,” and yeah, okay, this is happening, apparently.  

“You do?” Quincy’s expression is nothing short of hopeful. “Cal, I would be incredibly grateful.”  

“Of course,” Cal says, already moving toward the car, because who is he to say no to a beautiful boy in a yellow sweater, to a beautiful car with its hood propped open? “It’s no trouble. Keys?”  

“In the ignition.”  

Cal forces himself to focus on the task at hand, even though sitting in the driver’s seat makes him feel downright giddy. He tells himself it’s the car’s immaculate leather interiors, the sheer novelty of sitting in a ridiculous, extravagant vehicle, and not the boy standing in front of the hood with his arms folded across his chest in defeat. He takes a breath.  

Although, he thinks as he twists the key in the ignition, surely this is an acceptable thing to be intrigued by. Why is unassuming Quincy, who looks no older than Cal, driving an armored SUV—and not just any armored SUV, but one that can sustain machine guns and hand grenades?  

He guesses people could say the same about him and his car, because the upkeep of classic cars is a bit of a bitch, but Cal’s beat-up inherited ‘59 Chevy Apache isn't machine gun proof, and it certainly isn't new. She's valuable, of course, but she was passed down to him, not bought fresh off the lot, and that value is probably tempered by years of dings and scratches. She's not a symptom of extravagance the way this absolute mammoth must be. So. Not the same, actually.  

When he tries to crank up the car, it makes a horrible grinding sound that he knows well, the needles on dashboard instruments shuddering. Cal takes great pains to compose his amused grin into something more sympathetic.  

“Good news and bad news,” he says, slamming the car door behind him reflexively before cringing. This isn’t the Apache, with its squeaky doors and stubborn latches, and that door alone probably cost more than Cal’s college tuition. “The good news is it’s nothing serious. You’ve just got a dead battery.”  

Quincy slumps a little with what Cal assumes is relief. “That seems manageable.”  

“The bad news, though,” Cal says. “Do you have jumper cables?”  

“No,” Quincy replies, ducking his head like he’s embarrassed.  

“See, that’s what I was worried about.” Cal gestures to his own car. He sips at his latte, and is genuinely alarmed to realize it’s almost empty. It’s delicious, but still, he’s only had the drink for twenty minutes at the most. “I don’t have mine either. I--” Cal considers the location of his jumper cables, in a heap in the living room of the apartment, leftover from a Skype debate with Zara centered on a story her classmate insisted was true concerning jumper cables and nipples. Cal doesn’t regret the use of a visual aid--he won the debate, after all, because seriously, have you seen jumper cable clamps, there is no way--but he decides this is not something he needs to share with Sweater Guy. “They’re at home. I can go grab them and come back to give you a jump, though? Our place is literally right around the corner.”  

“I wouldn’t want to impose,” Quincy hedges, a little desperately. Cal sees him battling internally between the need to be polite and the need to get his car running again.  

“You’re not imposing,” Cal says, “because I offered. Seriously. Apologizing to me when I ran into you! Thinking you’re an imposition after I offered you something! You’re too nice for your own good, Quince.” The nickname slips out without Cal’s consent, and he feels the tips of his ears warm.  

Quincy looks at him, tilting his head curiously. “I have an anxiety disorder,” he says after a moment, very plainly, and Cal feels like the biggest asshole in the world. He feels like an even bigger asshole because his knee-jerk reaction is to laugh, because what a mood, really.  

To his abject horror, the laughter actually bubbles out, warm and genuine and fuck, he needed it, but he can also feel himself blushing crimson, because Jesus Christ, Cal, this is not the kind of reaction you should be having to this information. “I’m sorry,” he manages after a too-long moment. “I’m so sorry, oh my God, I promise I’m not laughing at you. It’s just...fuck, we’re not allowed to be that blunt, you know?”  

Quincy inclines his head again, an unspoken question, and yeah, okay, you made this bed, Cal, now lie in it.  

“I just mean, like...okay. Example. I’m chronically ill, right? I have asthma, thanks for that, genetics, but anyway the point is that I tell people I’m sick and they’re like, get well soon! They don’t understand that I don’t...want that. They don’t get that I’m sick, and that it’s okay! That’s fine! If you’re sick, you either have to be dying, or you have to be overcoming it or some shit. I just…I wish I could introduce myself like hi, I’m Cal, I have depression and my lungs don’t work very well. But I can’t, because that’s weird, that makes healthy people feel awkward, and our whole lives are about making healthy people feel better about our fucking lives.” He takes a breath, a little more painfully than he would prefer because it's goddamn cold out. “I just mean...I don’t know. It’s refreshing.”  

Well, okay. Emotional intensity with Sweater Guy is not what Cal banked on happening today, but Sweater Guy is Quincy Washington, and now that he’s looking at him up close, he kind of feels like he’s demystifying him or...or something. The expensive sweater, he sees, is fraying at the sleeve from being picked at nervously. That annoyed expression, the one Cal always interpreted as aloof, is the face Quincy makes when his glasses start slipping down his nose. His sex hair is just...really good hair, perhaps a little mussed at the roots from a tendency to run his hands through it with the air of an exasperated father in a movie, and what’s wrong with that, really? 

Sweater Guy, as it happens, is just a guy.  

Anyway, Cal’s shifting his weight awkwardly from foot to foot, feeling the full force of the straight-up monologue he’s just delivered, but then Quincy is saying “That’s exactly it” in this relieved goddamn voice, so maybe things are okay after all.  “What is that? Why do they make it so weird? It’s not as though it’s contagious.”  

“Right? I don’t know. I’m just kind of exhausted of healthy people.” He inclines his head, toward his car, moving to the driver’s side because, again, it’s cold as shit and his lungs ache and he really should get Quincy that jump. “I’ll go grab those cables.”  Something in the pit of his stomach grumbles at the movement, and he frowns, a reflexive hand coming up to rest on his belly. Weird. 

“Oh, yeah,” Quincy says, like he’s forgotten what the whole point of this was (and doesn’t that just make something warm pool in Cal’s chest, God, he’s so screwed), and casts a withering glance toward the hospital doors. Cal looks at him for a second, shivering underneath his layers in front of his out-of-commission car, and before he can think about it any further than that he’s saying “You can ride with me there and back, if you want? It’s awfully cold out.”  

Quincy positively beams. “I would like that very much, Cal.”  

Okay then.  

* 

Amy is doing an honest-to-God tarot reading in the middle of the living room when Cal gets home, complete with candles and a red cloth draped over their coffee table, and isn’t that just their whole relationship summarized. He throws Quincy a put-upon glance over his shoulder, and Quincy bites his lip to keep from laughing. Has Cal mentioned that Quincy is attractive? God fucking damn it.  

“Permission to enter the divination room?” he says in lieu of a hello, and Amy startles, nearly knocking over one of the candles. 

“Cal!” Amy says, scandalized, staggering to her feet. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming! I would’ve gotten rid of these!” 

Cal can’t help but chuckle. “I’m not going to have an asthma attack from candles, Ames.” 

“You could! Go--go stand in the kitchen or something! Make your friend help me!” 

Cal gives Quincy a look, a sort of see what I have to deal with? shrug, and Quincy responds with an amused smirk. “I’d be happy to help,” he says in a tone that sounds like he’s honest-to-God fucking with Cal. “What tarot deck is that?” 

The kitchen is essentially attached to the living room, the two only separated by a narrow doorway, but Cal shrugs and takes this opportunity to wriggle out of his jacket and grab a soda from the fridge. He has a feeling he’s gonna be here for a while. As he reaches into the fridge, however, that strange little twinge deep in his belly makes itself known again, and he grimaces as a cramp seizes his insides. He closes the refrigerator empty-handed, leaning a suddenly-clammy forehead against the cool stainless steel. This does not bode well. 

“So how do you know Cal, again?” Amy is saying just as he’s composed himself enough to re-enter the living room. Quincy has migrated to the couch, at least, albeit with his back ramrod straight, Amy apparently having been satisfied that Cal is not in any immediate mortal peril. 

“He volunteers at the hospital with me,” Cal says before Quincy can say anything, and when Amy glances over at him, Amy mouths Sweater Guy over Quincy’s head. Amy’s eyes bulge, so Cal forges ahead before she can say something to embarrass him. “His battery died, so I came here for the jumper cables.”  

“Riiight, the hospital,” Amy says, a barely restrained grin in her voice, and God, when Amy tells Zara that Cal brought Sweater Guy home he is never going to hear the end of it.  “Did you put up the fliers, by the way? We’re really gonna struggle this month if we don’t get it figured out soon,” and Cal looks up sharply, idly placing a hand on his stomach when it protests at the movement. Why is Amy bringing up the roommate fliers now?  

“I know,” Cal says slowly, trying to communicate please don’t do this now with just a glance.. He sits on the couch next to Quincy, careful to leave a socially acceptable distance between them. “I know, Amy. But...no, I didn’t.” He wipes sweat from his brow with the back of his sleeve, his stomach starting to churn in earnest. 

“Cal,” Amy chastises, and Cal thinks he would prefer anger to disappointment. “Did you talk to anyone, at least? It’ll be easier if it’s someone we know for, like, negotiating rent and stuff.”  

“Um,” Cal says eloquently, but then Quincy is saying, “Actually, he talked to me,” and alright then, that took a turn.  

“Oh,” Amy says, skeptical, but her face has brightened nonetheless. “Really?”  

“That’s part of why I brought him with me to grab the cables,” Cal says, because he’s rolling with this, apparently. He really is never going to live this down. “To show him the room.”  

“I wanted to see it for myself,” Quincy says sagely.  

“Uh, yeah,” Cal adds lamely.  

Amy is giving him this proud goddamn grin, and Cal is having trouble looking at it, because seriously, it shouldn't be like this. Amy has left this whole roommate search up to him, which is a nice gesture—Amy could live with anyone, with her natural inclination toward small talk and her compulsive baking which is the least unwelcome coping mechanism and her goddamn optimism, but Cal, with his bound chest and testosterone injections, has a lot more to lose here. The thing is, Cal, for all his charm and his mock-flirting and his wolfish grins, has a hard time with people, so him bringing home a coworker (or whatever he's supposed to call Quincy—coworker doesn't feel right, and Cal's trying really hard not to overanalyze that) isn't exactly a common occurrence. Amy is a proud parent smiling at her kid for making friends on the first day of kindergarten, and Cal loves her for it, he does, but it also chafes against him like his chest binder on a hot day.  

"Well, go ahead," Amy finally says, breaking what could have turned into an awkward silence. "Don't let me stop you! I'm Amy, by the way. What's your name? I’m not sure I caught it." She glances at Cal as she says with a terribly unsubtle wink.  

"Quincy Washington," Quincy says in that same quiet way he told Cal. "It's wonderful to meet you, Amy. I’m a fan of tarot myself and you have an excellent eye for ambiance."  

"Thanks!" Amy beams, and Cal wrenches himself off the couch and ushers Quincy down the hallway before Amy loops him into a conversation about the history of tarot or some shit. Cal loves her to death, but knows she’s practically chomping at the bit. He won’t be surprised if she’s  texting Zara as he speaks. 

"You did me a solid, there, Quincy," Cal says quietly when they're far enough down the hall to be out of Amy’s earshot, hyper-aware of how sluggish he is. "We can just waste a little time and then I'll get you that jump."  

"May I see the room?" Quincy asks, and Cal's heart just about stops entirely. "I'm glad to have done you...a solid, but I do happen to be looking for a room to let." His voice catches strangely and unfamiliarly around the slang.  

Cal stares at him for a second. "Seriously?"  

"I am very serious. If you'll have me, of course," Quincy says then, rushing through the second sentence and looking self-conscious about it.  

"No, I just..." Cal says in something like disbelief, then shakes himself off. "Anyway. I guess I'll show you the room, then?"  

"Please," Quincy says, so Cal leads the way.  

"It's kind of small," he says apologetically, pushing open the door and flicking on the lights. They're Edison bulbs, and they cast the room in buttery yellow. "And obviously we'd move this stuff out of here if you moved in."  

Quincy doesn’t say anything, and Cal turns to see that his face is frozen in genuine, slack-jawed awe. It's more than a little endearing, and Cal tucks his fond little grin away before he speaks. "You're a book guy, huh?" 

"You could say that," Quincy breathes, and moves forward a little. "May I—?"  

"Go for it," Cal says, and Quincy reaches out to touch one of the bookcases.  

The room belonged to Zara until she moved out, the smallest room by far but also the one with the most windows, all against the far wall looking out toward the main road. Pushed against the opposite wall are three wood-paneled curio cabinets that Henry once used as bookshelves, packed tight with the books he cared about most in this world. Many of them are leather-bound and there is more than one special edition, all of them older than Cal's grandparents.  

"They're beautiful," Quincy finally says after a moment, "but why do you have rare books in your apartment?"  

Cal snorts, because it is so contrary to what he was expecting, but also because this is a valid question. "Honestly," he says, "I just couldn't bear to part with them. They were my dad's." The words are out before he realizes he's just dropped the dead dad bomb, so he forges ahead. "Uh, like I said, we'd get them out of here before you moved in."  

"Or you could leave them," Quincy murmurs, eyes darting back and forth as he scans the titles. "God, is that a livre d'artist?" 

On some level, Cal registers that this a very pretentious question, and also that there is just something strange about the way Quincy speaks, like everything he says has been polished beforehand. On another, baser level, he finds it frustratingly hot. "Uh, that sounds like a question I should maybe know the answer to, but honestly, these were my dad's thing. I haven't opened up any of the books since he died. I keep the shelves dusted, but I'm not much of a literature person."   

"Are you a book person?" Quincy asks.   

"Come on, you can be one or the other. People can like books without liking capital L literature," he says, turning to look at Cal with this ridiculously excited expression. It's kind of heartwarming. "You know, people who hate Hemingway but loved Twilight."   

Cal may or may not have the entire saga on the much smaller, far less decorative bookshelf beside his bed, but Quincy doesn't need to know that. "Interesting distinction. Yeah, I guess I am."   

"I knew it. Team Edward or Team Jacob?"   

"Wow I hate this conversation."   

Quincy smirks and turns back to the shelves with a quiet sort of reverence that makes Cal smile. It also makes his heart ache a little because it reminds him so much of his dad, but it's an ache that has dulled with the passage of time.    

"So," Cal says, trying to sound casual, "Are you a student?"  

"Yes," Quincy replies, still scanning book titles with a feverish intensity that skirts perilously close to lunacy. "I'm a senior. Are you?"  

"Yeah," Cal says thinly. There's still a chance, he tells himself, and has to catch his breath as his stomach cramps again. A low rumble has begun deep in his gut, like someone set it to simmer, his stomach doing lazy barrel rolls that make him swallow hard.  "Senior, too. Pre-med."  

"I'm a double major. Classics and Theology. Not the most practical, I know," Quincy says, sheepishly, like he's used to people reacting poorly to it.  

Fuck. God fucking damn it.  

"Oh!" Cal says, forcibly infusing his voice with something akin to enthusiasm. "That's really cool. Um. Side note, just by the way..."  

Quincy looks at him inquiringly. Fuck.  All at once, his stomach cramps harshly enough to have him seeing stars, a cold sweat breaking out across his forehead again, and he can’t quite stifle a pained moan, clutching at his roiling insides, leaning against the doorframe for support. 

“Are you okay, Cal?” Quincy takes a step toward him, evidently not too worried about whatever Cal was going to say, looking more concerned than Cal would expect from someone who avoided the fuck out of him prior to today, and he gives a pained nod, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. Something bubbles in his lower belly painfully, and it hits him all at once. 

“Fuck,” he hisses, noticing all at once how his stomach is puffy, poking out under his shirt and over the waistband of his jeans, how the cramps are accompanied by a near-constant rumble and oppressive waves of nausea. “Sorry, I’m--I  just forgot to ask for—” He swallows again, hardly able to think about the damned chai tea latte, presumably made with full fat milk, churning around inside him. “I’m...lactose intolerant,” he manages, painfully aware that this is happening in front of Sweater Guy of all people. “I forgot to ask for almond milk instead of regular.” 

“Are you alright?” Quincy sounds alarmed, eyes darting from Cal to the door and back again. “Should I get Amy? Is it an allergy, or—?” 

“No, no,” Cal manages, laughing lightly. “You sound just like her, though. It’s just—” He grimaces, clutching at a twinge of nausea— “Just a pretty gnarly tummy ache. I’ll be okay.” He allows himself to rest a hand on his belly, straightening up through immense willpower. “Seriously, let’s just...move on, if that’s alright.” 

“Of course,” Quincy murmurs, still looking rather concerned. It’s endearing, Cal thinks, even  through the fog of nausea and the embarrassment tinging his cheeks red. “I believe you were saying something?” 

“Oh,” Cal remembers, and looks at the floor. "My dad's name was Henry Kline?"  

Quincy freezes. To his credit, he reigns in the incredulous expression relatively quickly.  

"Cal," he says instead, very sincerely, turning to look at him with sad, sad eyes. "Cal, I am so sorry."  

"Don't be," Cal mumbles, looking down, rubbing at the back of his neck. His stomach lets out a loud, angry rumble, and he flushes an even deeper shade of crimson. "I just, uh, wanted you to know from me. 'Cause if you live here, you gotta understand that people are gonna talk. They always do, about us. 'Specially when they hear our last name."  

"Cal Kline," Quincy realizes all at once, and then, with that painful sincerity again, "I wouldn't listen."  

Cal smiles despite himself. "Thanks, Quincy."  

Quincy clears his throat, straightening up from where he's been crouched to pour over the books. Cal is sort of impressed at the sheer muscle tone it must’ve taken to forget he was doing a deep squat. "Cal, I have something to tell you as well."  

This is it, Cal thinks. He doesn't want the room. Doesn't want to live with the bereaved Klines. It's too much. Just give him the jump and go back to never speaking again. The anxiety stirs up his upset stomach, and he clamps down forcibly on a burp that tries to burble up. His stomach lets out a low groan in response to the air being forced back into it.   

"I was studying under Professor Kline," he says instead, and oh, okay. Which is to say, what the fucking shit, how many motherfucking coincidences can there feasibly be in one 12-hour period, but okay, it's better than what Cal was expecting. "I was a teaching assistant, and I was helping him restore his book collection." He glances back to the shelves. "I should have recognized them immediately, but I never saw them on the shelves..."  

Cal's glad Quincy isn't looking at him anymore, because he can't vouch for what his face is doing. The ache Henry left is healing, dulled with the passage of time, but it still hurts if Cal picks at it. Quincy studied with Henry. Quincy knew him in a way Cal never did, never will, his brain screams, and something about that is just, well. His stomach flips, something cramping low and urgent in his belly. 

Quincy is beautiful, and he is wearing a yellow sweater, and he likes Cal's car, and the only reason he cares that Cal's last name is Kline is because he doesn't want to be inconsiderate to Cal.  

So, fuck.  

"Well, now that we've got the awkward parts out of the way," Cal says, and Quincy flashes him a genuine smile that  is positively blinding. He recovers from his seven consecutive heart attacks before continuing, "I can show you the rest of the apartment."  

“Are you sure?” Quincy glances dubiously at Cal, who still has an arm curled around his belly. “You’re awfully pale.”

“That’s, uh—” Cal laughs nervously, feeling sicker and sicker by the moment. “Yeah. Maybe you could just...show yourself around?” At that moment, a low whine fills the apartment, a sure tell that Amy has gotten into the shower, and Cal’s stomach tightens. “Minus the bathroom, I guess. Sorry, our pipes do that when we use the shower. I’m just gonna, uh, have a seat in the living room.” 

Quincy doesn’t question this, and Cal sends up a silent cry of gratitude to whoever may be listening. He settles into his favorite crease on the sofa, looking furtively over his shoulder to make sure Quincy is occupied with checking out the patio before pressing both hands to his grumbling stomach, feeling irritable movement beneath his palms. Oh, it hurts, cramps squeezing at his lower belly like a vice, a sticky, hot nausea plaguing his tummy.  He tries in vain to soothe the ache, rubbing his hand across his bloated stomach as gently as possible, but the touch only sends up a dangerous belch that leaves him panting, hanging over the edge of the couch, the taste of chai and stomach acid coating his mouth revoltingly. 

Quincy’s self-guided tour doesn't take long; their three-bedroom student apartment doesn't exactly contain multitudes. Cal has thankfully composed himself before Quincy pokes his head into the living room. “I have seen what I need to see, I believe,” he says with that stiff formality that seems to crop up occasionally. 

"Yeah, that's the place! Nice and straightforward,” Cal says brightly, as convincingly as he can without moving around too much. “Any clutter you see is mine because Amy is an android, probably."  

Quincy smiles, and Cal's cardiac health continues to worsen, God those fucking smiles. "Can you prove it?"  

"Irrefutably. Evidence: runs for fun. Consumes spinach, also for fun. Wakes up and goes to bed at the same time every day. Possibly irons her clothes, but I'm still not sure on that one."   

"She sounds...pretty human. Perhaps you're the android."  

"No, I just have depression," Cal says before he can stop himself.  

Quincy throws his head back and laughs, and it makes Cal feel so fucking warm. Has he mentioned recently that he is completely screwed in a way that has nothing to do with his cramping stomach? 

"God, Amy hates when I joke about it. It'll be nice to have someone who understands around here when you move in."  

Quincy straightens up. "When I move in?"   

"What can I say. You sold me. If you want to live here, I want you to live here." He smiles, small.   

It was kind of a done deal when you said you worked with Henry Kline, Cal doesn't say. The way you talk to me like I'm a normal person and the fact that you're fucking gorgeous are just bonuses. 

"There is one more thing," he says, steeling himself. Much of his life is spent steeling himself. He pauses, waiting for Quincy to make a joke, to grin another heart-stopping grin, but he just looks at Cal curiously. "I'm trans. I wasn't born a male but I am and always have been a boy. I bind my chest and live as a male and use he/him pronouns. If you don't understand it, that's okay, but I will demand a certain level of respect in my own home, and it'd be preferable if that respect was voluntary." The speech is well-oiled from use, but Cal's voice still shakes.   

"Is that all?" Quincy says, and Cal feels his entire body slump in relief, straightening back up a little when his stomach protests. "I mean, of course, Cal. I'm not ignorant."   

"Oh, yeah, right. Thank you, gentle cis man. I worship at the holy altar of your allyship." He says it like a joke, but it takes effort to get out, because despite everything, it's taken him years to give this speech to a receptive audience and not feel like he's been granted a favor.   

It's taken him years to say I'm here and not have it come out as I'm sorry.   

When he told Zara, it was this whole thing, Zara reaching across the table to clasp one of Cal's hands in both of hers, you know I'm here for you, right? Cal's Facebook messages are full of Zara sending him every post she sees with the word trans in it, and like yeah, Zara, you're very sweet and supportive, but sometimes Cal just wants to be Cal, you know?   

It's just that Cal's known Quincy for all of a few hours and he already feels so goddamn understood.  

"I'm happy to pay whatever Zara’s share was," Quincy says, "And if you would be willing to leave Professor Kline's books, I would be honored."  

"Consider it done," Cal says, smiling a little. He’s almost able to forget about the slow, sinister ache in his stomach. Almost. "Though get ready for Amy to talk about it all the time. She’s really not on board with them being here."  

"I mean...religion isn't my cup of tea either, believe it or not, but I saw an original King James Bible. That alone has to be worth at least twenty grand. Literature person or not, that's...a really valuable thing to be keeping in your rented apartment."   

Cal's eyes flit to the tiled floor, and he can feel Quincy's gaze on him, and he knows he's biting his lip, something he does often enough that one side of it is slightly larger than the other.   

"Oh...Cal, I apologize. I didn't mean to intrude." It's that stiff formality from their almost-collision at the hospital again, and when Cal glances up, Quincy is backing away from him, hands folded behind his back. "I'm sure they're insured, or...even if they're not...I just mean, it's your business, of course. I apologize."   

"No, it's fine." Cal clears his throat nervously. "You're right. Zara and Amy just kind of went a little crazy helping me get rid of his stuff when he died, and they wanted to donate them to the university. I probably should have let them, but..." He shrugs, wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans, presses his lips together around another burp that he forces down, wincing at the added pressure. "It's not like these are even all the books he had. There are probably hundreds in the storage unit. But I'm ridiculous, and they were just his thing, and for some reason the thought of them just sitting in a dusty room with boxes of his old clothes and the lawnmower and literal cobwebs just didn't sit right, so."   

"So you brought them here." Quincy looks at him like he understands, and isn't just that the worst fucking thing? "I get it."   

"I kind of do want to donate them, as it turns out," and wow, okay, Cal didn't realize that until he says it out loud. "I'm just a little worried because I haven't exactly been...maintaining them, or whatever. I wouldn't even know where to start. If I'm going to let the university open up the Henry Kline Memorial Library or whatever the fuck, I don’t want to give them dusty books with cracked spines, you know? He would've hated that."   

Quincy clears his throat, licks his lips a little, and wow, okay, Cal's feeling things again. "I don't know if this is something you'd even be comfortable with, but...I could continue the work I was doing with Professor Kline. We were in the middle of restoring his collection, and I learned his technique well. I still have access to the labs. I could take it one book at a time. With your approval, of course."  

Cal blinks. "Um...yeah. Yeah, okay. That's super cool of you, thank you."  

"Are you kidding?" Quincy blurts, and then scratches the back of his neck a little like he's embarrassed. "I mean, it's just that you're doing me a favor. Henry Kline's book collection...I'll admit that I've missed them."  

Cal can't help the little smile that tugs his lips up, and seriously, he has to get these feelings under control, God, the guy hasn't even moved in yet.   

Before he can say anything, Quincy's face softens into that aching sympathy again. "And Cal...I miss him, as well. He was a good man."  

Cal kind of wants to cry, so suddenly and desperately that it takes his breath away for a second. His stomach churns audibly, and Quincy looks at him in alarm. 

"Quincy," he says when he gets his voice back, "How soon can you move in?"  

Quincy beams. "How soon will you have me?"  

* 

When Amy gets out of the shower, Cal is sprawled across the couch, openly groaning, clutching his stomach with both hands.  

"What happened to Quin--Cal?” Amy blurts out as she enters the living room, rushing over to the couch when she takes in Cal’s sickly pallor. 

“Finally drove him back and jumped his car," Cal groans, still marveling that he was able to hold it together long enough. He may or may not have had to pull over on the way back, heaving up a trickle of stomach acid and chai tea latte onto the side of the road, at least as much due to anxiety as it was to lactose intolerance, but Amy doesn’t need to know that. "Says he'll take the room…" 

“Okay, that’s great, we’ll unpack that later,” Amy says, sitting gently at Cal’s feet, “But what’s going on with this?” She doesn’t wait for permission, laying a soft hand on Cal’s bloated belly, kneading gently at a cramp, ushering up a soft burp. Amy is sort of a miracle worker.

"’S gonna pay Zara’s share,” Cal murmurs, leaning into Amy’s touch, grimacing as the pressure ushers up a burp that brings up a wave of stomach acid. He swallows hard.  

"Again, that’s great, but,” Amy says, rubbing his belly in wide arcs, maintaining a steady pressure that does wonders for the cramps. “What the hell?” 

“I got anxious getting my latte,” he mumbles, letting his eyes slide shut. Amy’s ministrations are easing the worst of the nausea, and he is so, so thankful for her. “Forgot to ask for almond milk.” 

“Cal,” Amy says, all faint disapproval and warm concern. “Why didn’t you say anything?” 

“You were showering,” he whines, then whimpers a little at a particularly strong cramp, and Amy moves closer, applying a bit more pressure as she kneads at the cramp, massaging her other hand gently over the burbly places in his lower belly. “I made him show himself around. He didn’t even mind.” 

“Sounds like a dreamboat,” Amy says, her voice light and teasing. 

Cal doesn't know what to say to that that won't be self-incriminating, so he just says, "He really likes yellow."    

"I noticed that,” Amy agrees. "When does he move in?"  

Cal keeps his eyes shut, studiously avoiding eye contact. "Tomorrow."  

"Oh, wow, so soon! I can't wait to get to know him." Amy’s tone is completely genuine, probably working out what she can bake that properly conveys a message of thanks for living with us! She applies a bit of firm pressure unexpectedly to the bloat beneath Cal’s ribs, and he groans, feeling a flutter in his stomach as it tries and fails to expel a rush of trapped air. “Oof--please don’t do that again,” he manages, clutching at his chest. 

“I’m sorry, honey,” Amy says, sounding genuinely sad, and Cal slowly opens his eyes. “Just seems like you’ve got quite a lot of air stuck in there. Would you like some tea? Not chai, I guess...” 

Cal groans, shoving a couch pillow over his face. “I know. I’m an idiot. Oh, my tummy—” 

“Let me make you that tea,” Amy says lightly, giving his tummy a little pat before wrenching herself off the couch, and Cal loves the fuck out of her, has he mentioned? 

"I think you'll like him," Cal calls as Amy moves into the kitchen, deciding to take this opportunity to drop the bomb, adding more quietly, "Oh, and, small world, he worked with my dad."   

The rustling in the kitchen pauses, then starts again almost as suddenly as it stopped. "Does he...?"  

"Yeah, I told him. Didn't seem to bother him. He really likes the books."   

"The books," Amy murmurs, and oh God, not this again, but Amy is already following up with "Have you thought any more about what you're going to do with them?"   

Cal takes a deep breath and feels it stutter a little in his chest, reminding him he's been binding for a bit too long. "Yeah, actually. They were working on restoring the books when Dad died. He said he'd help me get them back into shape and I think I'll donate them to the university."   

"Oh," Amy says, pleasantly, and Cal reminds himself that Amy is good, that Amy is only doing what she thinks is best, what Zara told her would be best, that most rational people would question the wisdom of having cases of books worth thousands of dollars in an apartment not known for its impenetrable security measures. "That's really cool. He sounds like a really neat guy, Cal."  

Cal thinks of yellow-tinted glasses, of that scar on his face and the way he looked at Cal like he understands him. "Yeah," he says softly. "He really is."   

“Ginger or mint?” Amy calls, and Cal is thankful for the change of subject. 

“Ginger, please,” he calls back, carefully cupping his stomach with his palm, and takes a very deep breath. 

 *

A long while later, Amy has fallen asleep on his shoulder, a hand still splayed across his slightly-less-bloated belly, old episodes of The Twilight Zone streaming at a low volume on the TV. Cal can’t be bothered to move, too comfortable, too deep in thought, the churning of his belly finally soothed by Amy’s ministrations and a few shamefaced trips to the bathroom. 

Cal thinks about his dad every day, and that is no euphemism. He sometimes drifts past the extra room (Quincy's room, he thinks, something blooming in his chest in a way he doesn’t want to deal with right now) and sees his books, or catches sight of the scar on his knee he got the first and last time he and his dad went fishing when they were supposed to be studying for Cal's math test the next day, when a stray hook went straight through and he needed stitches, remembers the ice cream after, I'm not going to say don't tell your mom, but I'm going to say I won't if you won't, and he smiles, just a little (he didn't tell his mother). Every night he lays in a bed across from a desk that's been flush to the wall underneath the window since the day his dad built it, the one they picked out together at IKEA before Cal moved in, the one that had him muttering profanities for three hours on a blisteringly hot day in August while Zara’s mother, Virginia, poked her head in intermittently, how are those PhDs treating you, Dr. Kline?  Cal thinks about his dad all the time.  

It's just that he can't remember the day he died.   

It's just that he knows that he's the one who found the body, that he's the one who, somehow, called 911, who clung to Amy when the ambulance came, but he knows it the way you know stories about your fourth birthday party or your first day of school—more retelling than memory. Something you know because you're told.   

If he tries hard enough, he thinks he can remember what his uncle was wearing that day, what the perfume of the hospital secretary smelled like, but he can't for the life of him remember his dad's face, what the last thing he said to him was. And when it comes down to it, maybe he doesn’t remember what his uncle was wearing at all, maybe he just remembers him saying at the funeral, he bought me this tie, you know.   

You'd be surprised how many people come to a funeral for a professor, how many handshakes and hugs Cal got just for losing someone. How many looks of pity he got (gets) when they hear his name: Cal Kline, the guy who found his dad dead.   

And he can't even remember it.   

Psychogenic amnesia, Dr. Hodge told him in one of their first sessions, because yeah, when you're trans and you find your dad dead and can't fucking remember it, the one thing you spare no expense on is a really badass therapist. His brain couldn't handle what happened. He repressed it. It was the emotional shock, was the trauma, was the pain, yeah, Cal gets it.   

It's just that the one thing you should be allowed to hold onto are lasts, and Cal can't even remember his. He thinks of his dad and sees fishing, sees the lectures he sometimes sat in on, sees a receding hairline and eyes just like his and of course I still love you, sweetheart, daughter or son, you're family, and it aches.   

He wonders if Quincy's lost someone, if that's why he looked at him like that, eyes soft and understanding but not pitying. I get it, he said, and Cal believes him.   

Cal rolls that around in his head like a marble.  

I get it. I get it. I get it.   

Yellow's an awfully pretty color.