#that's not how exponents work

[all-things-fluff-and-stuff]

"That's not how exponents work," lol, just enjoy the sentiment, durn it. XD

This is such a cute piece of art! The lighting definitely helps couple with the adorable expressions these guys are making.

soos was crying behind the camera btw

[common-grackle]

who invented math homework

[foxgirltail]

0^0 being undefined is ridiculous. Someone should define that beast I think

Let's make it -2 just to make everyone mad

[mars-ipan]

haaaghh. brain so tired

[werchezdeeno]

damn who taught yall math

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 4

in which spencer reid and inexperienced fem!reader are interrupted at the most inopportune of times. he calls you on the first night of his case. dirty talk turns into a hard conversation. we get a glimpse into spencer's past, and we finally learn why he's so hesitant to sleep with you.

series masterlist

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: dirty talk, phone sex/mutual masturbation, softdom!spence, obligatory he talks u through it, lots of graphic discussions of sex, established relationship, angst (sorrryyy!) a/n: so remember how i said you'd need the bonus chapter to fully appreciate/understand this part? i was wrong!! it will come in handy probably in the next part tho:) also idk how these parts keep getting so long im sorry! anyway, i love you all so bad. thank you for bearing w/ my craziness. PLEASE let me know your thoughts on this part!! i adore hearing from you!! kisses

(also special thank you to @fliesforeyes who convinced me phone sex w/ spence could be done!! i will link his phone sex blurb here :)) thank u binx!!

“Three million six hundred eighty four thousand three hundred thirty two times fourteen million seven hundred sixty one thousand nine hundred seventy one.”

You’ve lost count of how many stupid math questions you’ve asked your human calculator boyfriend, just to see if he can actually do them. Spencer is silent for a second, and you think you’ve finally stumped him. 

“That one is complicated.”

You sit bolt upright in his bed, looking down at him and pointing an accusatory finger. His brows raise at the manic look in your eye. 

“You don’t know.”

“I do know. I meant it would be hard to explain if you aren’t a math person.”

“Bullshit!” You scoff, “you don’t know!”

“It would display on a calculator as five-point-three-eight-eight-E-thirteen. It’s a really big number.”

“Oh, really big, huh?” you mumble, searching for your phone blindly in the sheets and scrambling to open the calculator app. “Um… what numbers did I say?”

Spencer repeats them back to you and you press the equals sign. 

You look at it. 

And then you set your phone down. 

“I was right, huh?” he smiles up at you, probably reveling in your pouty wrongness. 

Too proud to admit it, you collapse on top of him, burying your face in his shoulder. 

“I don’t like this game anymore. What the fuck even is an e? Why are we doing algebra?”

Spencer laughs, brushing your hair aside. 

“The e stands for exponent. It’s to the power of ten.”

“Ever heard of a rhetorical question?”

“Yes, I have.”

It’s hard not to snort even at his dumbest jokes. 

“You’re annoying. Let’s do something else.”

You roll over onto your back again, letting your head flop over to look at Spencer, whose hair is exactly the right amount of messy after a long day, falling in impossibly soft waves over the perfect lines and contours of his face. Despite lounging, he’s still in his suit from work—he’d left Quantico and immediately picked you up. There were no solid plans for the evening, so after both of you pretended that you wanted to go out for a while, you ended up back at his apartment. 

He looks good. Almost too good. 

“Something like what?” he smiles lazily, reaching over and tracing his fingers over your cheek. 

“Something… naked?”

His grin widens and he shakes his head. 

“Me naked or you naked?”

Pretending to think about it, you roll your bottom lip between your teeth. 

“Mm… why not both?”

“Hm. Why do I feel like I know where this is going?”

The mattress sinks underneath your elbow as you prop yourself up, dropping your head over Spencer’s to kiss him. 

“Because you’re so smart, and you think it’s a great idea.”

He entertains your kiss for a moment. Just a moment.

“You sound sure of yourself.”

“Because I am!” You finally give in to your impulses, tangling your fingers in his hair and looking at him meaningfully. “It doesn’t make any sense for us to have not had sex. I don’t care about any of your weird, cryptic moral reasoning.”

He grabs your wrist carefully. 

“It is not moral,” he scoffs. “We haven’t even talked about it yet.”

“Really? Because I feel like we’ve talked about it a lot.” 

He begins to reply, but you realize you don’t want to get into a debate over whether you’ve technically talked about it yet. “I don’t even care! If that’s all that’s standing in your way, then let’s talk about it. Right now.”

Spencer sighs, his eyes darting between yours as he reaches up to cradle your cheek. 

“Fine. But I have things to say you’re not going to like.”

“So business as usual?”

He rolls his eyes. You allow yourself a tiny self-satisfied smirk, forever relishing in his poorly-hidden soft spot for your constant teasing. Spencer ignores this. Which is probably for the best. 

“I know you probably won’t see it this way, but—sex is different than everything else we’ve done so far. It can be really fun, obviously it feels good, it facilitates deeper feelings of connection—that’s all true. Which is why, in my opinion, it’s incredibly important that you be selective with who you sleep with. Because it’s so easy to do something you regret, and sex is vulnerable. It should always be with someone you trust and—and… care about.”

A pink flush stains his cheeks like watercolor as he stumbles over the last few words. It makes your heart flutter against the confines of your chest.

Maybe best not to think about the absence versus presence of certain four-letter words and what they may or may not mean. You’ll move on to more pressing matters and pretend like it doesn’t ache just a little in your whole body. 

You cover his hand with your own. 

“Are you going to break up with me anytime soon?”

Spencer’s eyes widen, filling with genuine horror and confusion. 

“What? No!”

“Are you going to cheat on me?”

“Absolutely not, I—”

“Then I’m not going to regret it. Issue resolved. Moving on.”

“Honey, I just want you to be 100% sure that I’m what you want.”

“Oh my god,” you groan, flopping onto your back once more. “I have begged you to sleep with me on multiple occasions. We have been dating for months and I liked you even longer before that. I think about it literally every time I see you. I don’t know how to be any surer.”

It’s quiet for a moment as you study the imaginary pattern on the ceiling. The rebuttal you’d been anticipating doesn’t come—instead, the mattress shifts next to you. Spencer enters your field of vision, now leaning over you with a little smile on his face that gives you butterflies. 

“Every time?”

“…yes, every time,” you agree, voice considerably thinner than it had been a moment ago. Spencer glances at your lips as he speaks. 

“Interesting. And what is it that you think about exactly?”

You groan again, attempting to roll facedown, but he pins your shoulder to the bed. The way he’s sweetly kissing down your cheek and jaw is infuriating because you know it’s a false pretense. 

“Ugh, I don’t know! Don’t make me answer that!”

“You said if talking about it was all that was standing in my way, we would talk about it. Now I want to talk about it. Come on,” he says, voice low and cloying against your throat as he attempts to tease the answer out of you. “Tell me what you think about when you think about us having sex.”

You let out a shaky breath at the feeling of his lips skimming your neck, hating how easily he can reduce you to this. 

“I… I always wonder what it will feel like. Sometimes I wonder if it will hurt.”

Spencer sighs, interrogation by way of seduction momentarily forgotten. You silently curse yourself for saying something so un-sexy. 

“It might, sweetheart. That’s one of the reasons we’ve held back. I… really don’t want to hurt you. I don’t even know if I can.”

You grab his face in both hands, forcing him to look at you with more confidence than you feel. 

“Sometimes I worry about it, too. But I like you a lot more than it scares me. I still want to.”

He kisses your palm. 

“You’ll be okay. It doesn’t hurt for everyone, and even if it does, you’re resilient.”

“Exactly. So you have to get over yourself.”

Spencer laughs like he wasn’t expecting to, eyes sparkling as he regards you.  

“Yeah. Yeah, maybe I do.”

He’s smiling again as he leans down and kisses you—a slow, lingering thing which tastes like spearmint as you part your lips for him. 

“Please?” you whisper against him after a long moment. He hums, keeps kissing you. 

“What is it that you think you want? You don’t even know what you’re asking for.”

“Tell me,” you beg, chasing his lips. “Tell me what you’re going to do with me. We can talk about it. This is talking about it.”

Spencer exhales deeply, wedging a thigh between yours. Immediately you clamp around it, trying not to grind against him too overtly. 

“You want to know what I’d do to you?”

“Yes—” you paw at his jacket. Surprisingly, he doesn’t stop you from pushing it off. Your heart pounds. 

“Well… we both know how anxious you get,” he muses, pressing his lips so delicately to your fluttering pulse-point in emphasis, and then back to your mouth. His thigh pushes harder against you to supplant the absence of his lips as he speaks, though he kisses you sporadically and between sentences. “You’re hard to get out of your head when you’re nervous, you know that? I watch it happen. One minute you’re with me, and then you start overthinking, and getting self-conscious. The only thing that seems to relax you is letting me touch you—so first I would touch you like I’ve touched you before. I’d make sure you know how pretty you are and how good you deserve to feel.” You whimper inadvertently at his words, arching into him and grinding against his leg as he pauses to kiss the sensitive soft spot below your jaw. “You’re going to need to be really ready to let me in. Do you know what I mean by that?”

As he asks, he pushes his thigh against you harder. Your body responds immediately, arching into him and seeking more friction. When you squeak, he takes it as a no. 

“I mean I need you relaxed and wet. You’ll excuse my crude language.”

You pull at his tie, breathing heavier now and so turned on it’s almost painful. 

“What are you gonna do after that?”

“What else is there to do but fuck you after that?” he breathes. “You want me to tell you how I’d fuck you?”

Something about it makes you whine salaciously. You’ve heard him curse—you’ve even heard him talk about fucking you. But it feels more real now; when it’s low in your ear and you’re covertly undressing him and he’s pushing your shirt over your stomach promisingly. 

“Yes, please.” 

He hums against your jaw, nipping and brushing his lips over the skin as he considers. Leaves you waiting. 

“I would have to take my time with you. You’ll be overwhelmed. I know you think you won’t, but you will. I’m going to have to be so, so careful with you, angel. It’s going to drive me insane. But it will feel good for you.”

“Why careful? I don’t want that.”

He chuckles. A chill runs down your spine. 

“Yeah, you do. You’re going to want me to be careful when I’m—” he pauses, pressing his thumb to your bare lower tummy and dragging up to a spot below your belly button. He presses down lightly again. “Right here. Approximately.”

The surface of the sun has nothing on the temperature of your skin in this moment, as you writhe underneath him in both arousal and embarrassment. Mostly, burning need. You feel almost sick with it. 

“Please don’t make me wait anymore. Just do it, please, Spencer. I need it to be you, I don’t want it to be anyone else. I promise I’m ready.”

It’s silent for a moment. Your heart quickens. You sense his walls wearing away, his instinct to keep you intact for god knows what reason crumbling. He’s finally going to give you what you’ve been begging for. 

Spencer opens his mouth, eyes glimmering—

And then his phone rings. 

You both freeze—he melts dejectedly before you do, more accustomed to an ill-timed phone call and realizing the finality it can present. 

He’s breathing heavily against your neck, as if maybe whoever it is will just hang up. But the phone keeps ringing. 

“I’m sorry.”

Your stomach sinks as he sits up, grabbing his phone from the side table and rubbing circles on your inner thigh as he answers.

“This is Reid,” he says, lackluster. 

If you wanted, you could hear what Penelope is saying—but you don’t bother listening. It’s going to be a case. Spencer is about to leave. The details are his problem. 

“Okay. I’ll be there in an hour.”

He hangs up, tossing the phone onto the mattress and not speaking for a moment, just continuing to rub your leg apologetically. Watching you almost mournfully—taking in your disheveled hair, your likely blown-out pupils, the shirt pushed almost over your chest. 

“I have to go right now,” he finally manages with a heavy sigh, gently pulling your shirt back into place. 

You sit up, shedding all the hopes that had been building for the evening, and try to sound chipper—though all you feel is bitter disappointment that goes deeper than you understand. 

“I know. Go ahead, I can get a cab home.”

He frowns, running his hand over the back of your hair. 

“I don’t love the idea of you standing on the sidewalk waiting for a car in this part of town so late. Do you just want to stay here for the night and go home tomorrow?”

You force a smile. Great. So you’ll be spending the night in his bed after all—just without him. 

“Sure. Thanks.”

“Yeah.”

Neither of you are feeling particularly grateful. 

Soon you’re walking him to his own door. Both of you come to a stop in front. 

“I’m sorry,” he sighs again. 

“Spencer, it’s fine. It’s your job. You don’t need to apologize. You were very clear about this part when we started dating.”

“I know, but… it’s easier in theory than in practice.”

You smile. If Spencer is a reflection of you, it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. His hair is still messy from your fingers running through it and he’s missing his tie. You hope all his coworkers see and feel bad about taking him away from you. 

But it’s not their fault. You just want someone to blame. 

Instead you mould yourself to his body, wrapping around him like you belong there. He returns your embrace, pressing his lips into the crook of your shoulder and rubbing your back in that way he always does with you. 

In that moment, your affection for him becomes so profound it’s like a chemical reaction—everywhere he touches burns and you love him so fucking much it aches in every inch of your body the way your muscles do when you have a bad fever. Love is the most terrible of afflictions, you realize. It is a fever dream. It’s every fiber of your being screaming to tell him how you feel, to beg him on your knees not to go because you love him like a child loves a parent or a bee loves honeysuckle or the ocean loves the horizon. Pared down to your most basic components, the barest version of yourself, you require him. Your soul needs his soul. 

“Spencer?”

“Hm?” 

It’s nothing more than an absentminded hum against your skin. 

“I…”

Should you be looking him in the eye when you say this? Should you say it right before he has to leave? Just because you say it doesn’t change the fact that he’s about to be gone for several long days. Maybe this is a terrible time to admit something that suddenly feels so true and so consequential. 

He senses your internal conflict, pulling back despite your resistance and holding your face between his hands. 

“You what?” He murmurs, soft eyes bouncing back and forth between your own. Fuck—you feel so observed, now. Like he can read your mind. 

“I forget.”

FUUUUUUCK. 

Spencer blinks. Processes. You watch the disbelief crystallizing over his eyes like ice freezing over a lake. 

He knows. 

He knows you didn’t forget, and he probably knows what you were going to say, and he’s going to tell himself he was wrong to spare your dignity. 

Everything hurts when he kisses you. You wonder what regret tastes like. 

“Well, let me know if you remember.”

It’s too gentle and at the same time he can’t hide the edge with all the tenderness in the world. You nod as if in a trance, already looking forward to dissociating as you lie in bed and stare at the dark ceiling.

Two small goodbyes are exchanged, slightly stifled now, as if shared between drunk strangers who have sobered up and are mutually embarrassed about how candidly they’d interacted before. 

You close the door behind him, doing up all the locks, and meticulously flick every light switch in the apartment off before climbing into his bed—though you don’t really feel like you deserve to be there anymore.

But perhaps this is all an overreaction. It’s not like you owe it to him to say I love you, or anything—it was bad timing, anyway. And why can’t he say it? In fact, why hasn’t he said it? 

Maybe you have it all wrong. 

Maybe he doesn’t feel that way about you. 

You fall asleep before you allow these questions to make you sick. 

24 hours go by. 

24 hours go by and you really had meant to leave his apartment—it was just that you woke up late, and your phone was dead so you couldn’t call a car, so you charged it while you made breakfast, and then you ate, and then you decided to take a shower and wash your clothes, and then it was two in the afternoon and you hadn’t left yet and you decided to walk to the store and replenish the groceries you’d used up. 

Maybe you got a bit distracted looking at flowers and other beautiful things at the market and by the time you got home it was 5:00, so you decided to wait until seven to skip rush hour. And then eight, just to be sure. 

Before you know it, it’s midnight, and you’re dozing off in his bed again (teeth cleaned with the brush you’d bought at the store—maybe this whole situation hadn’t been entirely unwitting on your part.)

Throughout the day, you tried to let all your anxiety about the previous night melt away. If it’s something that needs to be addressed, Spencer will address it. Everything will work out in the end. That thought is how you’re able to doze off. 

You’re almost asleep when your phone lights up and begins buzzing on the side table. You wince as your eyes open, not adjusting well to the harsh bright display and unable to discern who’s even calling you at this hour. Stupidly, probably because you’re half asleep, you answer without checking. 

“Hello?”

Your voice is groggy, quiet with sleep. 

“Shit, did I wake you?”

“Spence?” you whisper, stomach flipping at the sound of his voice on the other line. You feel caught, still sleeping in his bed. 

“… yeah,” he chuckles. “Did you not check who was calling before you picked up?”

“I was asleep,” you pout. “Kinda.”

“Okay. Go back to sleep, honey. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

You sit bolt upright, phone balanced between tense fingers and speaking directly into the microphone. 

“No! No, I’m awake. What’s up? Why did you call?”

A longer stretch of silence—you’re too sleepy to comprehend what it might mean, though never too sleepy to worry about it. With a pang of pain, you recall your strange goodbye, the words you hadn’t said. 

“I just needed to hear your voice,” he sighs. You frown, staring at nothing in particular in the pitch black room. 

“Oh. Is everything okay?”

“As much as it can be.”

“Right.”

More quiet. You chew on the inside of your cheek, stricken with a sudden feeling of awkwardness that you haven’t had with Spencer in a while. 

“I’m sorry… I don’t really know what to say.”

“That’s okay,” he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice which makes you feel a bit better, “why don’t you tell me about your day? Or you can absolutely go back to sleep, if you’re too tired.”

“Don’t ask me about my day,” you whisper, flopping down on the bed once more. Shame seeps into your voice. He laughs. 

“What? Why?”

“Because if I tell you you’re going to think I’m super weird and you’re going to break up with me.”

Laughter tapers off into gentler tones. 

“I already think you’re super weird. It’s actually one of your most attractive qualities.”

Blood rushes to your cheeks. 

“But it’s like… borderline crazy.”

Immediately, he replies, “for better or worse, I also frequently find myself attracted to crazy.”

“Thank you for calling me crazy and super weird,” you grumble. 

“I also called you attractive twice. Tell me.”

When his tone takes on that easy, assertive quality, and it’s sort of raspy and low because it’s late and he’s been talking all day, and you can hear the lazy smile on his face—you imagine him laying on his hotel bed, arm slung over his eyes in the dark as he grins into the microphone—you have a very difficult time saying no. 

“Fine. Guess where I am right now.”

“Um, I would hope you’re in bed?”

You smile to yourself, basking in the victory of successfully throwing him off his game even slightly. 

“Guess whose bed.”

Silence. 

“What an interesting question.” That cocky smile, the low drawling is back, and you chew on your lip, ignoring the shiver that runs down your spine. “If it’s not mine or yours, we’re going to have issues.”

“But if it is yours? You’re not going to call the police on me?”

“Why would I call the police? To tell them there’s a pretty girl in my bed and I don’t want her there?”

“To tell them your psychopathic girlfriend broke into your apartment and might be holding hostages there.”

Spencer laughs; a brittle, drawn out thing, flat and quiet as the desert.

“If you were a psychopath, calling the cops would be a waste of time. I would handle you myself.” The idea of being handled has your thighs clenching. “But—yeah, don’t invite anyone else in.” More humor finds its way into his voice, momentarily relieving some tension that had sneakily begun to build. “Having people in my space makes me anxious.”

“But not me?” Your whisper is half flirtatious, half insecure. Spencer’s reply is soft, as if he’s picking up on this from hundreds of miles away.

“No, not you. You are always the exception.”

“Good,” you say, cheeks aching as you half-bury your warm face into his pillow. “Because I made myself really comfortable. You have a nice shower, by the way.”

Spencer groans. 

“You’re killing me.”

“What? What did I do!”

“Don’t talk to me about my bed and my shower. I might start to think you’re intentionally being a brat.”

“You asked me about my day! I’m just telling you what I did!”

But you’re also intentional teasing him for sure.  After a pause, he sighs in defeat. 

“You’re right. I did do that. Tell me what else happened.”

“Well,” you begin, all too eager, “I had to put my clothes in the dryer after I got out, so I borrowed some of yours. But then they were way comfier than mine, so after I went to the store I put them back on, and—”

“Okay.”

“Okay what?” you frown. 

“Tell me what this is.”

“I—I don’t know what you mean.”

Lying to a profiler is usually pointless. 

“I’m not stupid, sweetheart. Tell me why you keep talking about my shower and my bed and my clothes.”

Caught red-handed. Your skin heats up. 

“I don’t know. I miss you.”

He hums in a way that blurs the line between sympathetic and patronizing. Even through the phone you can feel the bass of it in your bones.  It changes the frequency you’re vibrating at. It’s hypnotic. 

“But that’s not really why you’re being intentionally provocative, is it?”

“No,” you admit quietly. “I’m still upset you had to go last night.”

“So you’re frustrated and you’re taking it out on me?”

Your brow furrows. Well, when he puts it like that…

“I’m not taking anything out on you.”

“I think you are. And I don’t appreciate that, because I’m on your side, honey. Do you think I prefer being in a hotel bed by myself or being in my bed with you?”

Somehow, he makes you feel like a scolded child. But he makes it appealing in ways you don’t understand. 

“Your bed with me,” you murmur, skin prickling with the coldness of his absence even as you curl under the blanket. 

“Right. So why don’t you tell me what I can do for you right now, instead of punishing me for things that are beyond my control?”

“I wasn’t punishing you,” you mutter. 

“No? You weren’t intentionally talking about using my shower and sleeping in my bed and putting on my clothes so that I’d have to think about what I can’t have right now?”

“I—”

“Believe me when I tell you I have been thinking about what I can’t have, all day. Your efforts are entirely redundant and you can’t say anything about yourself that is even close to as dirty as the frankly disrespectful thoughts I’ve been having about you for seventeen hours.”

The lack of air is making you so dizzy your vision goes gray at the edges. 

“What… what thoughts?”

“None that you need to concern yourself with.”

“You can’t just say something like that and then not tell me!” you insist. He’s obviously giving you a taste of your own medicine and it’s fair but it doesn’t mean you have to like it. 

“I can do whatever I want,” Spencer corrects cooly in a way that pisses you off beyond belief because he’s right. It triggers some adolescent immaturity within you—a desire to get back at him, so to speak. He wants intentionally provocative? He can have it. 

“Fine. Then so can I. And there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it even if I could.”

“Spencer,” you warn. “If you don’t tell me what you were thinking I’m gonna—” you look around the room for ammo. “I’m gonna look through your nightstand!”

“Go ahead. I’ll warn you, it’s not very interesting.”

“Sounds like what someone who has something hide would say,” you mumble, crawling across the mattress through tangled sheets and using your phone flashlight to open the drawer. 

Spencer is patient and silent as you take in its contents—a small blue leather-bound notebook (full of what looks like Russian), a fountain pen, a glasses case, various kinds of vitamins, and—

“Spencer Reid,” you say, dragging out his name and pretending nothing is fluttering in your stomach, “what are these?”

“I don’t know. I can’t see what you’re referring to.”

“Take a wild guess.”

“Oh, I have one. But I’d like to hear you say it.”

You realize you may have gotten yourself in deeper than you meant to by going through his stuff. Well—they don’t say karma is a bitch for nothing. 

“What are you doing with a box of condoms?” 

He chuckles and you feel it in your whole body, warm as you stretch across his mattress and eye the box like it might jump out at you. 

“Those are years old. I’ve used three since I bought them.”

“Don’t tell me that,” you whine. “I don’t wanna think about all the other women you’ve seduced.”

“You wanted them to be for you, huh?” 

You flush. Honestly you hadn’t even thought about that. 

“I… I don’t know. I kind of just assumed…”

It’s silent for a second and you frown, realizing you hadn’t even considered protection when you’d imagined sleeping with him before. 

“You assumed what, honey?” he asks, voice soft. 

“It’s dumb. I can’t tell you.”

“You can tell me anything. I’m not going to think it’s dumb, I promise.”

You chew on your lip, letting your eyes unfocus on the box as you muster the courage to be honest. 

“Whenever I imagined it… we didn’t… use anything.”

The words make you cringe even as you’re saying them. So does the quiet that follows. 

“When you imagine us sleeping together, we don’t use a condom?”

“Ah!” The phone drops to the mattress as you cover your ears and roll onto your side, curling into yourself once more. “You didn’t have to say it! You make me sound so weird!”

“It’s not weird,” he laughs, because he can probably imagine exactly what you just did, “I just wanted to make sure I was understanding you. That said… we would definitely use protection.”

“Do we have to?”

The quiet words take even you by surprise—and they seem to stun Spencer as well. Several false starts are punctuated by a sigh as he gathers his thoughts. 

“We really should, baby. That’s the kind of thing we need to take seriously.”

“But you’re… you’re good, right?”

Thankfully he picks up on your meaning. 

“I am. I wouldn’t touch you if I weren’t.”

“And I’m good. So...”

“Hm. And has anyone ever explained to you where babies come from?”

You groan in frustration. 

“Spencer, I’m being serious! There are ways to negate that.”

“Honey,” he murmurs, “I understand that. But it would be irresponsible of me to say yes. We can talk about it in the future, but—”

“I’m telling you it’s already dealt with. The chances of an accidental pregnancy are slim to none.”

The new information hangs in the air for a moment until Spencer speaks—to your surprise, his voice is low and humorous. 

“That is… good to know. But even so—I’m setting a dangerous precedent if I always let you get exactly what you want.”

“Is it such a bad thing that I just wanna—I wanna know what it feels like? You don’t want that?”

“That’s not what I said. I want to know exactly what you feel like. I’m just hesitant to give in so quickly because it makes me look weak.”

You laugh breathlessly, caught between being turned on by the first part of his sentence and amused by the sarcastic second half. Your thighs clench and your hand absentmindedly wanders between them. 

“You know what I was thinking about?” you ask. Spencer hums curiously. “I was thinking about when you let me, um… when you let me touch you how you touch me.” He hums again, but you can hear the amused curve of a smile in it now.

“When you had your mouth all full of me and you looked so pretty?”

“When I—yeah,” you agree, too caught up to deny his compliment as your fingers brush your most sensitive spot through clothing. “And  how you got me all messy after. And I was wondering what it would feel like… inside me.”

He sucks in a breath. Your legs brush against each other and you twist slightly as you pretend like you’re not touching yourself just a little bit. 

“You want me to come inside you?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, brain short-circuiting at the way those words sound in his voice. 

—

On the other side of the line, Spencer isn’t doing a fantastic job of thinking clearly either. His dick is half-hard already and it’s only getting worse with each little noise you make that you don’t seem to realize you’re making. 

“Really? That would be very messy, baby. I’m surprised that’s what you want.”

“But I really want it,” you breathe. He’s not even looking as he slips his hand under the waistband of his pajamas and palms himself, his other hand rubbing tiredly over his face as his phone rests on his chest. This was not how he intended for this call to go, believe it or not—but he’s here now. 

“Yeah? Is that why you’re touching yourself right now?”

You go silent—which is more or less exactly the reaction Spencer had been expecting. Patiently he waits for you to deny it, in three, two—

“’M not.”

Now, he could explain how he knows that’s a lie. How your breathing pattern changed, and your voice got softer and airier, and how you started speaking with smaller words in fragmented sentences. But he doesn’t feel like explaining any of that. 

“I know that’s not true,” he murmurs. “You know what? It wasn’t fair to get you all worked up last night and then leave. I don’t want you frustrated, honey. I want you to do whatever you need to do.”

You make a little gasping noise, and Spencer can imagine the way your back would arch when you did it. His own hips buck slightly as his dick twitches under his fingers. 

“Where are you touching?”

“Um—over my clothes.”

Cute. 

“Go under them for me. Tell me how it feels when you’re touching yourself like that.”

It takes a moment, in which all he hears is the rustling of fabric, until you’re whispering, “feels… it feels good. I wish you were here.”

He inhales, freeing his cock and squeezing the base. 

“I know. Just listen to my voice, pretty. I’m right here.”

Spencer allows himself a few slow tugs as he imagines what’s happening in his bed. You make a squeaking noise, like a held-back moan, and his eyes screw shut. 

“I need them inside,” you whine, and he knows you’re referring to his fingers—the ones currently stroking his own leaking cock. 

“You can use your own, just give yourself a minute first. Remember what I said about needing to be ready?”

“I am ready—” judging by the surprised chirp you interrupt yourself with, you’ve proven yourself right. What surprises Spencer is the weak sound of disappointment you make next. “Spence, it doesn’t feel the same.”

“We’re different sizes, honey. Your hands aren’t as big as mine. But you can still make it feel good.” 

He almost says, 90% of the nerves in the vaginal canal are located in the lower third—in other words, within approximately 2.36 inches from the opening, which you can most certainly reach—but he refrains. He’s not sure if that’s good dirty talk. 

“You have a really sensitive spot about three inches up, right in front. It’s going to feel a little different than the rest of you when you touch it. I want you to try and find it for me, okay?”

“Okay,” you breathe, ever-eager to please even from a great distance. There’s a quiet moment. “I can’t—I don’t think I can r—oh,”

The moan is so pretty Spencer can’t help speeding up the motion of his hand, hissing slightly as his fingers brush against the angry tip with every pump. 

“Did you find it?”

“Yeah,” you whine, a weak, high-pitched thing. “Oh my god.”

“Be gentle,” he warns with some effort as his own hips jump slightly. “You’re really sensitive there. If you’re not careful you’ll make yourself sore.”

“I don’t care—holy shit—” the way your voice rises and tightens to a squeak at the end has Spencer moaning as he fucks his fist. A black hole forms and warps time, turning every minute into a second and every second into an infinity until he has no idea how much time is going by. He drags his thumb over the tip, smearing precum over his cock and whining as his jaw drops at the feeling. “Oh my god, Spencer,” in that same strained, high voice. “’M gonna—ah!”

He gets the general sentiment. 

“What, baby? You’re gonna make yourself come all over your fingers? Is that what you wanted to tell me?”

“Mhm!”

“Yeah, I bet you are. It feels good, huh?”

“Yes,” you cry. 

“See? You don’t need my fingers to feel good. Mine barely fit, you know that? I have to hold your fucking hips down whenever I put my fingers in you because you can’t stop squirming. I don’t know how you think you’re going to take my cock.”

“Spencer!” 

He knows. 

“Come, baby. Let me hear you.”

The delicate sounds you make as you bring yourself to orgasm tip him over the edge of his own—grunting as he comes all over his fist. 

“Jesus,” he strains under his breath, the word dragging out into two long syllables as his hips buck involuntarily and cum drips down his knuckles. He’s lightheaded and he’s created a mess and it all happened so quickly. “Fuck,” he breathes, a rasping chuckle as he reaches for the towel he’d dropped on the bed after his shower earlier. “You conscious over there?”

“I’m conscious,” you slur, breathing heavily. “I’ve never had an orgasm by myself before.”

“Are you proud of yourself?” Spencer smiles, wiping his hand off and making sure he’s otherwise clean. “You should be. I am.”

He’s barely kidding. 

“I’ll be proud when I can do it without your help,” you tease. 

“But I’ll always want to help you with that.” His already warm face flushes further as he goes over what he’d said. “Sorry I was so vulgar.”

You laugh. He blushes even more. 

“Are you? I think you secretly love being vulgar.”

“I don’t know why! I have no idea where it comes from. I would never speak that way in any other context. I should probably work on that. Sometimes I look back on the things I say and I’m genuinely appalled.”

“Well, don’t stop on my account. Personally I enjoy it.”

“Yeah, I think I’m corrupting you. You probably shouldn’t enjoy it.”

The truth of it weighs heavy on his mind, but he’s pretty sure his voice alone doesn’t betray that and you can’t sense it through the phone. 

“Oh, my god. Do not do that falling on your sword shit. I like being corrupted by you. If you stop I’ll be very upset.”

“Well god forbid you get upset,” he teases gently. Idly he wonders if the reason he’s suddenly feeling so depressed is because his cortisol levels were already high from the case, and then he jarred his system with an orgasm, spiking his dopamine and ultimately causing it to plummet without the oxytocin release that post-coital physical contact would usually provide. 

Or if it was something else. It could also be something else. 

For the millionth time, he wishes he was with you. Part of him also wants to go to sleep. But mostly he wishes he was with you. 

—

A comfortable silence settles over the conversation. In the ditch between words, you’re mapping constellations in the texture of Spencer’s ceiling. If you squeeze your eyes almost shut, you can imagine it really is the night sky. You can imagine he’s really here. 

You think about what he said—his apparently mindless vulgarity. Did it mean anything? Or was he just rambling to get you off?

“Spencer?” you murmur. 

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you a question?”

He sounds earnest, perhaps a little tired, as he replies, “always,” through the little metal rectangle on your chest. He likes me and my questions are important to him, you repeat to yourself silently as you work up the strength. 

“If Penelope hadn’t called, last night… were you going to have sex with me?” 

Your lip tastes like his toothpaste as you chew it. Spencer sucks in a breath of air like he’s about to speak—and lets it fizzle out like foam on a carbonated drink. 

“I don’t know,” he finally admits, lamely. “That wasn’t my plan, but you can be extremely convincing when you want to be.”

“But why can’t it be your plan?” It’s an almost whine, pouty and childish—but the next words are quiet and pained. “Is it something I’m doing wrong?”

“No, no! It’s not you. You’re perfect. It’s—it’s complicated. It’s a me thing.”

Such trite words—such a ubiquitous, simple excuse sounds almost comical from his mouth when you know he’s capable of all the eloquence in the world. It’s not you, it’s me. It’s ridiculous. 

“Okay. Let me simplify this for you,” you begin with an uncharacteristic assertiveness that surprises even you. “I want to have sex with you. Either we are going to have sex or we’re not. So your future branches in two diverging paths. In one, we have sex, and then we keep having sex. In the other we never have sex ever. If you want to ever have the privilege of fucking me, then we just have to do it. Otherwise it simply will never happen. And I’m not eternally patient, Reid.”

Go me, you think, slightly breathless from your monologue. 

“Watch your mouth,” he says dryly. Something about the chastisement makes your stomach flip and your whole body tingle. “When you talk to me you call me Spencer. I will also accept Doctor Reid.” You wrestle down a smile, refusing to let him change the subject. A delayed sigh from him sobers up the conversation. “You know what I want. I’ve been very clear with you about that. But…”

“But…?”

Another sigh. A deeper, shuddering sigh, like his breath is searching for balance. Like Spencer is in a precarious position for which he was unprepared. 

“But—but to be completely honest… I worry that you’ll regret choosing me. And I know virginity is a social construct and I’m not implying that your worth will somehow be diminished if we have sex but regardless of my views on virginity as a construct, having sex for the first time can be weird and scary and it’s incredibly intimate and I don’t want you to regret your first time like I regret mine because you chose the wrong person.”

The words come at you so rapid-fire it takes you a moment to process them. And aside from all the ways you want to reassure him that you will not regret choosing him—that you could never, ever regret anything about him—one thing stands out. 

“You regret your first time?” 

Something between a scoff and a sigh travels through the line. You can tell he’s not annoyed at you for asking so much as he’s flustered himself with all his own words as he occasionally does. 

“Yeah. Yes. Sometimes I do. The person—she didn’t… like me as much as I liked her. And I was really, really in love with her, and she knew that and she knew she wasn’t in love with me—or maybe she was, I don’t know—but my point is, when one person likes the other more than the other person like them, things get complicated. And however you feel about me—that’s fine. It’s fine. I don’t want you to feel bad if we don’t feel exactly the same way about each other. I understand that this is newer for you, it’s different, I—I just don’t want us to do something we can’t undo because I don’t want to relive that. And I’m not saying it will never happen but I just don’t want you to make this choice when… when right now, I think we’re in different places emotionally. Regardless of that, I want you to choose the right person. I don’t want you to choose me and then find out that we feel differently after we sleep together and leave you feeling like you signed up for something you didn’t understand. I’m sorry. Maybe telling you this is selfish. But I’ve been thinking about it and trying to ignore it and I think I just have to be completely honest.”

Your ears ring like Spencer just fired a blank right into the microphone. Like you just got backhanded across the face and now you have the world’s worst case of whiplash. 

Every finger is numb and your blood is so cold it feels blue as it slithers thick through your veins. 

What you want to do is scream. What you want to do is go back to last night and stop yourself from almost telling him I love you, slap yourself and keep your cards a little closer to your chest. Because now he knows, and he doesn’t feel the same. 

You want to scream bloody murder. 

But when you try, when you unhinge your jaw and part your chapped lips and expect a bellow to come hurdling up the corridor of your throat with so much force it rattles your bones, all that falls out is a small, “oh.”

Maybe that’s worse. 

Spencer doesn’t reply. You hate yourself for feeling obliged to fill the silence. 

“I didn’t realize you…”

I didn’t realize that you don’t love me back. 

I didn’t realize I like you more than you like me. 

I didn’t realize you’d tell me to masturbate in your fucking bed and then drop this not even five minutes later. 

If Spencer Reid was able to talk to you over the phone with the same amount of affection and familiarity as always, like everything was still okay, knowing you love him and he doesn’t love you the whole time, he is not who you thought he was. 

“I’m sorry,” he lamely says again, like it could ever help. 

More silence. Now you can’t bring yourself to speak, so Spencer does. 

“I realize how awkward this is. I really didn’t mean to put you in this position. Especially not over the phone when I—god, I’m stupid. I’m sorry. But can we—can we talk about this in person when I get back? Please?”

Is that what grownups do? Is the proper etiquette for him to take you out to dinner and explain why he’s not in love with you? Is he going to break up with you?

What does one even wear to a breakup date?

“Okay,” you whisper. Your eyes sting, your everything stings, like you’ve been wrapped in a shroud of briar. Sheets that were soft a moment ago feel like sandpaper on open wounds. You feel like an open wound. 

Spencer sighs. It’s a sound of relief that confuses and hurts you even more. 

“Okay. I—okay. Thank you. Um—I’ll let you go back to sleep, now.”

“Okay,” you repeat—as if any of this were okay. But you can’t keep being that stupid girl who feels it all so much harder, who loves easily and begs to be loved in return, too naive to assume that someone who treats her so kindly might not reciprocate her feelings. It has to be okay, because if it’s not, you’re silly and dramatic and you’re just proving him right. 

“Goodnight,” Spencer whispers, and you can’t help but feeling that it’s the last time you’ll ever hear those words from his mouth while you’re in his bed. And he’s not even fucking here.

So you pull the blanket a little higher. You let your tears stain his pillow because they’ll be invisible by the morning. It will be like they were never here. Like you were never here. 

“Goodnight.”

-

part five

[oof-i-did-it-agaaiiin]

In the year of the barbie movie I will not fucking tolerate people on tiktok continuing to make girl math jokes. Girl math is when I joyfully did algebra for fun playing it like it was solitaire throughout early high school. Girl math is the ease with which I can figure out the required materials and measurements for a scaled up version of my artistic endeavors. Girl math is tricking my friends into doing equations with me by showing them my favorite puzzle app game that disguises the exponents as cute little creatures, and girl math is how quickly they get the hang of it when they don’t feel like their intelligence is being tested and they don’t have preconceived notions about how good they are at this kind of conceptualization. Girl math is the want to learn why that rule works that way and the joy when all the moving parts of the world click together and you feel more connected to the fabric of the universe around you. Girl math is when I am fucking intelligent. Because I am. I know this and it cannot be revoked. And no one should allow it to be revoked from themselves either. Much less by themselves.

[yandere-wishes]

⋆ Anomaly ⋆

❤Summary: Reader is an anomaly. A noblewoman of foreign descent. She doesn't belong here. But oh how she wishes to burn the world down just like William.

❤Author's note: A little something for Ana (@yandere-romanticaa) I hope you enjoy it!!

❤Warnings: Reader is traumatized, Yandere behavior, killing and blood, cryptic. I swear I know how math works…I've just been slaking this summer.

There are equations written over your skin. Complex formulas he's yet to solve. Exponents and variables freckle your body, scattered shards that try to tell him something, whispering the world's secrets every time he kisses your hand. You are an anomaly he thinks. Face full of cracks where the stars seep through. You're a mistake in the universe. A perfect doll misplaced. You are something, William is almost sure of it.

At heart, William is and always will be a mathematician. It just so happens that crime and math follow the same principles. Both require diligence and practice. Carefully throughout plans of how one must approach such a conundrum. One may call it a formula or a modus operandi or anything else as jejune. But in the end, a rose by any other name would still smell as sweet.

And yet to Moriarty, you are an equation that refuses to be solved. An enigma he's desperately sought to unravel since your first meeting.

William notices something odd as you stroll down an exquisite exemplar of the golden ratio. Something the lord of crime can't fully place. You're akin to a puzzle missing far too many pieces to properly depict its picture. Maybe it's the setting he ponders as he watches you take careful steps in heeled shoes. Maybe it's the music from the ballroom or the meaningless prattle of the aristocrats that robs your form of all logic. Something is amiss with you and he's frantic to find out what it is.

William introduces himself when you reach the bottom of the staircase. He's never been one to show primary interest in the ladies. Rather he waits in the faint glow of the moonlight until someone approces him. Maybe it's the need to distinguish himself from the other aristocrats, maybe it's the repulsion for their customs and manners that refrains him from ever commencing idle chatter. Yet with you, a girl he's never met before, he finds it fitting to say hello first. To talk, about nothing and everything in the same breath. He mentions his admiration for the staircase in passing. Never expecting you to latch on to the words and morph them into the divine proportion. "My father was a mathematical enthusiast, he's passed that on to me as well." Your words slip into his veins like a narcotic, like the melody of an ancient tune lost to time.

William smiles, easy and bright like the melting rays of the desert sun. "Quite the coincidence, I'm a mathematics professor at Durham University". There's a giggle that bleeds from your rose-tainted lips. Reverberating in the chambers of his heart. "A toast then" you propose "to the lethal magnificence of calculation"

You click your champagne glass against his, as something feral festers within the young nobleman.

It's only days later when he's replaying that night in his head as he sips his afternoon tea. That he realizes your champagne glass was empty that whole time. How strange he pondered, wondering if he'd even seen you touch a single intoxicant all evening.

Four days and three sleepless nights later William finds himself tracing the letters of your name with tender adoration. As if he's engraving prayers upon his bones. He needs to see you again as desperately as he needs to breathe. The letter he writes is aloof, meticulous. Prying on your curiosity, hoping you'll take the bait. One miserable day later Louis delivers a letter bathed in your fragrance. Informing the lord Moriarty of your acceptance of his invitation for tea. William folds the letter with the leniency of a biologist regulating their slides. Tucking it away within his breast pocket.

You wear red when you oblige his invitation. An odd red, one that breaks his perception of the color. It's too vibrant yet too opaque. He's beginning to wonder if everything about you is an irregularity. When he ushers the conversation to your garment you merely laugh and brush it off as having belonged to your mother. There's something wrong with that reply as if the universe weeps at your every word. William watches astonished as if he's been told a secret lost to time.

It becomes a habit, an obsession, an addiction really. Tea thrice a week with the woman who plagues his dreams. He lets his cover slip between sips of tea. Permitting you glances into his dark affairs. There's a moment that breaks the norm. A bizarre instance when you ask him to spare no detail in recounting how a poor tormented man murdered the marquess that raped his wife. William stops the proclean cup mere millimeters from his lips. His voice dies in his throat as his mind races to find an appropriate way to tell a lady such a bloody tale. For a second reality slips away.

Reality has a tendency to slip away unnoticed when he's with you.

You weave William tales of foreign lands that sound like they belong in children's fairytales. You tell him about heroes who've done the impossible and kings whose hearts are as pure as the summer skies.

Something about you reverberates in his subconscious. Oh, how he wishes to engulf you, to pick apart your flesh revealing all those dainty secrets you keep in your pretty little chest.

He asks how you know of such utopic lands. You smile. "Because I once lived there"

One day, as Louis serves black tea with rose petals, you bring up a rather peculiar request. "Permit me to assist you in your quest for equality lord Moriarty." William's beginning to believe he's going mad when he hears you. Albit it may as well be expected. Any sane noble lady would have run away many times over. Yet you remain. Forever poised in your adorned seat. Now more than ever William wishes he knew what you truly are. "I want to help you", you plead. "Allow me to aid you in burning this world down and starting anew". He shouldn't have accepted, he shouldn't have nobbed. He shouldn't have left his seat to trace the side of your face with more love than he knew he possessed.

Sometimes, William wonders if something is haunting you, an apparition nesting within the depths of your heart. He ponders what could drive a brilliant mind such as yours to crave the blood of the rich. You once told him about a heritage disrespected. A legacy buried under sand and water lilies. He's yet to find the true meaning behind those words. Does that make you a threat or an ally? Can either be exalted to a lover?

Moriarty promises you the world. Promise you revenge. He's not sure if he too will burn away in your vendetta. Yet he's willing to take the risk if he can hold you close after every murder case.

"I've tried to kick the habit of strolling around the cemeteries at night. Yet I must admit I rather enjoy this." William smiles at your twisted words as he leads the way. If everything has goes as planned -which is most often the case- then the two of you should be prepared for quite the spectacle. A certain Count - who had shown more interest in you than Moriarty could permit- would be getting knifed by his butler whose life he had ruined. A whole new meaning to the term 'the butler did it'. Quite comedic from William's perspective.

You lean on a withering oak tree, hidden by London's thick fog. William stands by your side, the personification of a grim reaper. You watch the play begin, the cobblestone stage illuminated by the blood-red moon. The confrontation, the knife being thrust into the rich vermin's heart. Again and Again and Again. The butler screams into the bloodstained night. His words quelled by his sobs and screams of agony from his dying tormentor. You only catch half of his reasoning, half of his allegations. And yet that is more than enough to comprehend his motive. You sympathize with the poor man, one whose scars mirror your own.

William's scarlet gaze befalls you, as the performance nears its end.

You pick at your nails in a manner that William finds a little too adorable.

You are an anomaly masquerading as a human. Depression lays heavy over your bones as stardust gathers in the corners of your eyes.

You pray to the creator of the moon, pray for a place long since destroyed.

"I've yet to find someone who truly understands me," you say as the two of you begin the journey back to the Moriarty estate.

"Then we share the same burden, my lady," William says, stopping in his tracks.

He lays a firm hand on your shoulder pulling you backwards into his embrace. Somewhere in the distance, three crows consecrate you with their blessings. Willian's hands rest heavy on your sides. He holds you like a little boy holds his father's arithmatic books. Full of care, full of wonder. "What are you" he whispers into your ear. Leaving a playfully hard bite to the shell. His lips trace yours like one traces a treasure map. Trying to unearth all the riches of the world. "My anomaly" he mutters before he finally commits.

When Moriarty kisses you the whole world melts away.

There's an intriguing lightheadedness that follows. As if the stars themselves have exploded within you. You wonder if basking in his presence will mend your tattered heart.

"My precious little anomaly"

Tag list: @elvyshiarieko @himerurun @latolover @aru-nightmare @guidingstarsstuff @myfancollections

[rd0265667]

Karina x Reader: Extra #2

Permanent Taglist: @cwpiqwon @justme-idle

You are not the main character, not even one of the smaller side characters

It's a blessing, to be frank. In a world where people get caught up in their main character syndrome, thinking that they, not others, are the center of the world and that others are inferior, knowing that you're not a main character is weirdly comforting. A side character who can just live in a small bubble and exists for that 5 seconds at the side of the screen. No cruel twists of fate for 'character development', no weird drama to 'push the plot'. What's worse was that some who think that they're the main character were, obnoxious and stubborn in their belief, hard to handle, but to be honest, there is one main character in your school. Yoo Jimin. Otherwise known as Karina.

You'd be lying if you said you didn't have a small crush on Karina. Small also isn't exactly an accurate descriptor at that too, but hey, she's perfect. The Top Scorer in almost every subject, talented and gorgeous, it wasn't out of the ordinary to see her locker stocked to the brim full of confession letters and flowers from her countless admirers. So, what business does extra #2 have with THE Karina. Well, remember how you said she was the top scorer in almost every subject? Yeh, she had a weakness, math. And as luck would have it, math was your forte. Through countless hours of tuition as a kid, math came relatively naturally to you. You had heard of Karina's ineptitude with mathematics, but you always assumed that she'd find tuition outside of school, or just keep doing it till she got it. So it shook you pretty hard when your mathematics teacher made you stay back to have a chat, as he explained how Karina was failing math and needed help. Desperately.

"No, Karina, you bring the exponent down here, not change it." You explained as you leaned over, using your pencil to trace the workings. Logarithms. The great joy to everyone who goes through it

"Oh right..." Karina softly groaned as she changed her workings, going back to trying the worksheet as you settled back to your resting position, assuming an upright and relatively awkward position.

Pulling out your phone, you looked through the chapters you had to cover with Karina, not going to be any fun, calculus and stats remained the hulking giants in the smoke that threatened to burn the bridge.

Suddenly, you felt a chill go down my spine, feeling eyes on your back. Turning, you saw 3 girls, hiding behind a column as they were seemingly monitoring you.

"Umm, Karina, do you know them?" you asked as you lightly nudged Karina, gesturing to the three girls who instantly tried to duck away

"Ning, Aeri, Min, stop being weird, you're scaring my friend!" She chided as she gestured them over, the three sheepishly walking over

"Sorry about that Ji, this one insisted we watch." Winter explained, gesturing to Giselle, who raised her hands to surrender.

"Y/N, I've got to go, I'll see you here tomorrow, same time?" She asked as she hurriedly shoved her stuff into the bag

"Sure thing Karina, see you!" You waved, smiling awkwardly

"Call me Jimin!" She said, before running off with the 3 other girls

"Jimin" You kept repeating, laying in bed

It's a known fact that Karina was gorgeous, drop dead gorgeous, but now, after seeing her up close, gorgeous was an understatement. No words could convey the true extent of her beauty, and through the entire tutoring session, you couldn't help but glance or even out right stare at her. It's a wonder she didn't think you were weird to be honest

As you laid in bed, your mind began to wander away, to the first time your not so small crush on Karina formed

At that time, she didn't know who you was, and you didn't know who she was. Just two rookies in the volleyball team. While with the knowledge you have now, with Karina being your school's ace spiker, while you left the team after sustaining a serious shoulder injury, you'd scoff at the notion of being better than Karina, you were, well, once was. Being the child of a volleyball player, you had spent hours after finishing homework playing volleyball with your mom, a fun way to bond with her, so you had learned and grown a solid bedrock of skills. Paired up with Karina, you taught her some basic skills, and Karina, the protege she was, picked it all up easily. During the training sessions with her, you found yourself falling for her, her beautiful smile, her laugh and playful nature. Stories don't go that well for side characters however, as the two of you were separated to two different teams, with limited interactions. In those limited interactions however, those slivers of light, you found yourself falling, and falling hard.

As time went on, you actually got closer to Jimin, instead of splitting apart like you did during your volleyball days. With your help, Jimin's math slowly improved, with her grades reflecting that change. Through that time however, your relationship with Jimin never grew greater than friends. Weirdly enough, you got closer to Minjeong than you did Jimin, only now noticing that you shared two classes, Psychology and Economics. Despite being an introvert, Minjeong grew to be good friends with you, showing you a different, more playful side.

Sat in the lecture hall, you tried your best to focus on your economics teacher, Mr Fai's class, as he went on and on about fiscal and monetary policies, pros and cons, such and such. Mr Fai was a great teacher, especially for a relatively dry subject like economics, and usually, you would be paying full attention to him. Well, usually. This time, your eyes were trained onto none other than the girl of your dreams, Jimin. The only one with a free period before a planned hang out, Jimin had opted to do some revision outside the lecture hall, much to the dismay of your grades. Suddenly, you felt a chill up your spine, feeling a presence close to your back.

"Keep looking at Ms Yoo over there instead of Mr Fai's lectures and he's gonna gouge your eyes out."

You quickly turned, seeing Minjeong looking at you with a smirk. Yeh, she knew about your little crush on Jimin too. Well, her and Aeri, the latter having been asleep near you two so long you forgot she was there.

"I'm his favourite student Min, I'm sure he'll let me slack once." You said, going back to admiring Jimin.

"Whatever." Winter said with a chuckle, playfully shoving you before turning back to the lecture, shrugging to Mr Fai who shook his head with a smirk, glancing at Jimin, before continuing his lecture

As time went on, you tried to spend more time with Karina, endear yourself to her, but it was tough. While you were her tutor, other than math, you couldn't really help her with any other subjects, and tended to leave her alone to allow her to study. Time flew in the final year of your schooling life, national exams rushing by too. Before any of you knew it, the National exams all of you had spent so long running towards was finally over, now, the last event of your school life. Grad Night. The piece de resistance of your school life, in your opinion, at least for you. Fidgeting in front of your mirror, you groan at your little sister as she adjusts your attire.

"Han, please, it's been half an hour, it's grad night, not nuclear physics." You exclaimed in frustration

"Well yeh, obviously. You could probably handle nuclear physics, but your fashion blind ass cannot handle grad night." Hanni quipped as you rolled your eyes, her tiny stature getting up on her step stool, then leaning toward your hair, styling it one last time, before letting out a satisfied sigh.

"Okay, all done! Oh, and Karina's been here for the last 10 minutes." Hanni said with a casual tone, but your eyes almost bolted out of your head, causing you to jump, and you ran out of the room, panting as you looked at the living room, then checking the road outside.

The moment your sister's laughter echoed in the small corridor was the moment you calmed down a little, though a little part of you wanted to strangle the little gremlin. You loved her, but boy did she know how to set you off.

"Pham Ngoc Han, I swear to god." You began to talk, but Hanni immediately bolted away.

"Get away from me with that Government name shiiiii!" Hanni shouted back, running as you chuckled.

"Good Luck with Karina! Don't come home if she isn't dating you!" She shouted once again, before locking her door.

"Pham Ngoc Han!" You shouted again, slamming the door before sighing, leaning back on the door.

"It's going to be fine, just go alright?" Hanni whispered through the door, causing you to smile a little. Gremlin she was, but to be fair to her, the little gremlin did love you.

Hearing honking from outside the house, you bid Hanni farewell, before rushing to the door, seeing Minjeong in a limousine she had booked for all of you.

Climbing into the vehicle, you said hello to Minjeong, but it was clearly not the matter on Minjeong's mind, as once the door closed, Minjeong began hurriedly asking you.

"So what's the plan! Today's kinda your last chance you know? To confess to Ji." Winter asked, though you were a little taken aback.

"I'm not going to confess Minjeong, you know just as well as I do that I stand no chance with Jimin. I'm not going to ruin our relationship just because I want to indulge in some stupid fantasy that I could ever be with her."

Immediately, Minjeong's face went a little more somber.

"Y/N, you have to have a little more confide-" Before Minjeong could complete her sentence, you quickly cut her off.

"Where's the rest of the girls?" You asked, avoiding eye contact with Minjeong. A little reluctantly, Minjeong nodded, though a hint of disapproval was apparent on her face.

"Aeri woke up late, Jimin and Yi Zhuo are at her place to help her get ready." Minjeong replied, to which you nodded, before turning to look out of the window, allowing silence to fill the void in the limousine.

After about a 10 minutes drive, You noticed Aeri's house around the bend, seeing the three girls adorned in their beautiful gowns waiting by the curb.

"Hey!" Yi Zhuo enthusiastically greeted you and Minjeong before climbing into the limousine, followed closely by Aeri and Jimin, who was wearing a surgical mask, causing your eyebrow to crease in slight worry.

"Sorry about being late, someone was up too late reading Fanfiction." Jimin jokingly said, throwing a playful glance at Aeri who raised her hand in defence.

"Let me guess, there was a meet cute in college, and after some drama, one misunderstanding, maybe a love triangle, maybe even parents disapproval, the two leads finally get together and share a kiss to cap the story. Did I miss anything?" Minjeong playfully asked, Jimin and Yi Zhuo suppressing a chuckle as Aeri's head lowered a little in embarrassment.

"Listen, it's cute alright? It may be cliche, but its nice to think about. That one day, at the end of the rainbow, there'll be someone who truly gets you, loves and accepts you for who you are." Aeri began to retort, causing you to raise an eyebrow.

"That's for the main characters only though..." You muttered, to which Aeri tilted her head in confusion.

"These kind of happy endings aren't for everyone, those are reserved for main characters only isn't it?" You questioned, maybe a little too passionately as all eyes in the limousine turned to you. You could even see the driver's eyebrow raise in the rear view mirror.

"That might be true, but everyone's a main character, be it in their own story or someone else's." Aeri replied, sharing a little glance with the other 3 girls in the limousine, a little worried by your statements.

Just as you were about to reply, Jimin spoke up, "You're a main character in my Story Y/N. All of you are. So don't lose hope alright? I'm sure you'll get together with the one right for you soon. Also, it's prom, lighten up!" Jimin said as she jokingly punched you in the shoulder, causing you to quickly quieten down, a small smile spreading across your face at Jimin's words. As you turned to the window, glancing out as endless scenarios played out in your head, you saw Aeri lean over to Minjeong, whispering something to her, the both of them laughing out as they both smirked at you. You didn't hear what they said, but you could more or less figure it out, proceeding to flip her off, an act she playfully returned.

After what felt like an oddly long time, the 5 of you were dropped off at the hotel where your prom was being held, the 3 girls scattering around to find some of their other friends for photos, though Jimin seemed weirdly reluctant to do so.

Seeing Sakura, a mutual friend, you quickly called her over, asking a favour of her.

"Hey, Sakura, could you help me take a picture with Jimin?" A request that she quickly agreed to, putting her bag down as you walked beside Jimin.

"Hey Ji, let's get a picture together." You asked, to which Jimin seemed a little nervous.

Using her hand to beckon you closer, she tiptoed, leaning towards your ear, whispering in your ear.

Turning to her, you reached your hand to her mask, watching her face be clouded by a veil of insecurity, a look not usual for Jimin.

"You'll look amazing Jimin, it's you, you're always stunning. Anyways, I'm sure it's not even that big anyways." You reassured her, causing her to nod, letting you take the mask off her.

"See, pretty as always." You smiled, causing a smile to spread across Jimin's face as she kept her mask in her bag.

Suddenly realising what you had done, you quickly withdrew away from her a little, confused as to what had possessed you to do something like that.

Turning to face the camera, Jimin looked at you confusedly as she turned to Sakura, who shrugged.

"Why so awkward Y/N, come on!" Jimin said, quickly wrapping her hand around your waist then pulling you closer to her, her other hand guiding you hand over her shoulder.

"I swear you've never taken one of these pictures." Jimin playfully jabbed, to which you wordlessly nodded and forcing a smile, unable to muster any words to be uttered.

After posing for the pictures, you heard the ushers announcing that the doors were open, just as the other girls had came back, now planning to enter the hall together. As Yi Zhuo pulled Jimin towards her, talking about some post she had seen on Instagram, you looked at Aeri and Minjeong, both of whom had seen what had happened between you and Jimin.

"Say, Aeri, in how many of your fanfictions have you read in the last month, did that scene happened, almost moment for moment." Minjeong asked, smirking at you

"Hmm, pretty much all of them." Aeri replied, both girls immediately giggling as you rolled your eyes, but curiously, you could not wipe the smile of your face

Sitting at the banquet tables, your group sat about, consuming fine dining that was not exactly worth the price tag, but hey, you came for the experience, not the food. With the student council's organised performances, many laughs were shared, applauses given, smuggled in whisky shared, though your group made it a point to drink in moderation thankfully. As the evening drew to a close, the event photographer made her way to your table, signalling for you to huddle together. The 5 of you huddled together, and Minjeong looked at Aeri with a playful glint in her eye.

"Get ready." Aeri whispered into your ear, but before you could question what was going on, Minjeong stumbled forward, acting sufficiently drunk to play it off, causing Jimin to tumble forward. Bolting forward, you grabbed Jimin by the hand, steadying her as the two of you shared prolonged eye contact, losing yourself into the galaxies behind her irises.

Proud of what they had done, Minjeong and Aeri high-fived, all smiles while Yi Zhuo went up to the two of you, worried at what had just happened.

Embarrassed, you let out a soft cough, clearing the awkward air that had filled the room, letting go of Karina's hand as she steadied herself, before turning to hide the blush on your face.

"Minjeong I'm going to kill you, I swear." You whispered to Minjeong, who rolled her eyes playfully, pointing to the camera as the group photos were snapped.

While the rest of the group interacted with the rest of their friends, you hung back a little, thinking back on the fall. Maybe you were just imagining things, but was there a spark there? Did Jimin feel the way you did? Could you...?

Trying to compose your thoughts, you heard Minjeong shouting your name, gesturing to the limousine outside the building. Seeing the other 3 girls already having entered the limousine, you walked there with Minjeong, who hurriedly grabbed you.

"Listen, I'm going to be the first to get dropped off later, so I won't be there to push you. This is your best chance to confess to Jimin alright? I don't think you would want to look back on today and regret not asking her. Do it alright?" Minjeong whispered, and by the end of it, the two of you were in the limousine.

Again, the 5 of you were back in the limousine, joking around and discussing how the prom went, slowly, the limousine had reached its destinations. First was Minjeong, who winked at you just before she left the van. Then, Yi Zhuo was dropped off, and finally, Aeri, who whispered a soft "good luck" to you before getting off the limousine.

Now, only two remained, you and Jimin. You knew this was Minjeong's work, but you didn't know whether to thank her or curse her. You and Jimin made small talk, something you both enjoyed, making the rather long ride feel like just another one of your hang out sessions waiting for the other 3 girls after tutoring sessions. Chatting about a possible internship Jimin was chasing, you couldn't help but admire her as she spoke, her elegance and poise amazing you, all that in her amazing dress, she was a Disney Princess, a perfect Princess at that. Eventually, it had to come to an end, as you saw your street approaching, you looked down, contemplating about what to do.

Could you really be a main character in Jimin's story? You thought if Minjeong could be right. Could you really live with yourself if you didn't at least try? Those magical moments at prom had to be a sign, didn't it? Seeing your building in the distance, you realised you didn't have much more time to hesitate.

It was now or never.

Nervously, you turned to Jimin, hesitating for a moment as you saw her beautiful face illuminated in the moonlight. It all seemed perfect, the final moments of a fairy tale.

"Hey, Jimin. Do you think we'll hang out in the future?" You asked, sucking in your breath as you nervously waited for her answer.

"Of course, Aeri's been thinking of getting us to get together to play badminton, and, we're all in the group chat, we ca organise meetups anytime, so yeh, I'm sure we'll hang out in the future." Replied Jimin, a little confused at the question.

"No, I mean, me and you." You replied resolutely, nerves gripping you even tighter.

"Hmm?" Jimin hummed in curiosity.

"What I'm saying is, do you want to grab dinner together some time soon?" You blurted out, trying your best to not turn your head away

Jimin's smile dropped a little, turning to an awkward smile.

"Oh my g-, Y/N. I'm sorry, but I'm not interested. It's not you, bu-" Jimin replied, and you felt your heart shatter.

Not wanting her to continue, you quickly cut her off, "Don't worry about it, it was a stupid question, and I knew what was going to happen anyways. I just didn't want to look back on tonight and regret not asking. "

Jimin smiled at you apologetically, but you couldn't look her in the eye, muttering soft denials under your breath.

"Let's just pretend this didn't happen alright? I don't want things to be awkward with the rest of the girls." Jimin asked, to which you wordlessly nodded.

As you saw your house around the corner, you hurriedly packed your belongings, catching the polaroid you had taken with her earlier, it's very presence seeming to taunt you

"Take care of yourself alright?" You quickly muttered under your breath, turning to the front to thank the taxi driver, then getting out of the taxi.

You heard Jimin mutter a goodbye, an air of tension obvious between you, but you didn't turn, not wanting to break.

Hearing the taxi's engine rev and drive off, you dragged your feet as you walked to your home, turning the lights on and closing the door as quietly as you could, careful not to wake your slumbering parents.

Opening the fridge, it's fluorescent lighting illuminated you in a harsh glow as you pulled out a bottle of corona beer. Popping it open, you took a big gulp before walking towards the balcony.

Taking a seat, you stared out of the house, reality hitting you, causing you to let out a loud and bitter chuckle

You had gotten too comfortable, too stupid.

Only main characters got their happy endings.

You're just extra #2.

[solarwonux]

Business Proposal || knj (8/?)

pairing: namjoon x f!reader || ex friends to lovers!au friends to lovers!au

Genre: fluff, angst, smut, slow burn, fwb!au, non idol!au, unrequited love

Warnings: slow burn, angst, fluff, flirting, semi-edited

Rating: mature, 18+

w.c: 7.0

Synopsis: Namjoon is living on borrowed time, and it’s time to cash in. His father is months from taking his last breathe and his life long dream is to watch his oldest son say “I do.”

A/n: I hope you enjoy, I will add all the extra links later. Please please please let me know your thoughts you have no idea how much it helps me. Enjoy!

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m.list | series m.list | wattpad

10 years ago.

You have circled around Dionysus Lake at least three times, in a failed attempt to calm your nerves. In all honesty you aren’t sure why you’re so nervous, it was a simple tutoring session with your friend's brother. Yet, the hammering in your heart and the pressure around your neck was impossible to ignore.

You know this has nothing to do with you finding him attractive. You can find someone attractive but not be attracted to them. Hence Jungkook. You know it has nothing to do with the fact that his meeting place of choice was the one cafe that was slightly out of the budget you set aside for iced coffees on the weekday.

What you do know is that it has everything to do with the fact that this is something new. A little hiccup in your perfectly curated daily routine. From now on every Tuesday and Thursday you will be meeting up with Kim Namjoon at seven o’clock at Serendipity Cafe. Who by some miracle will hopefully have you understanding the PEMDAS rules that you’re hundred percent sure we’re taught wrong to you. No more will be your days in which you stay at HYBE U’s seven floor library, cranking down on research or polishing essays after math class. No more will be your days that you decide that maybe it was time for some me time, and enjoy a nice long relaxing bath with different bath salts, bath bombs, and candles in an attempt to relax your racing thoughts and aching muscles.

No, now you have to squeeze in a half an hour walk after your algebra class to give yourself a breather. So, you don’t have to face your friend's brother all frazzled and annoyed that you have successfully sat through a math class without understanding a thing. Really, your nerves are really due to the fact that you don’t want to seem incompetent; but is it your fault that you’ve had incompetent math teachers or lack of math teachers throughout your academic year? It’s not your fault they couldn’t explain complex terms in a simple form. Or that they took advantage of the system to get close to younger children. You were cheated out of a decent understanding of math because the academic system simply worked against you.

It’s a thought you have been turning over and over in your head since you woke up this morning. You’ve been trying out every other excuse in the book.

“I’m sorry they had us do flawed computer programs in middle school instead of actually teaching us something.”

“You see I couldn’t really do my math homework growing up because I had ballet class at four until eight.”

“I’m actually really smart I just don’t understand how the fuck I have to apply an exponent when there’s a parenthesis involved.”

All of these excuses were dumb. A mask for the actual truth. Math was uninteresting, impalpable. It stayed constant and lacked excitement because you couldn’t see the puzzles laid out before you. That, and sometimes you sneakily read a book in the back of the class or whispered about the next big boy band with your equally as boy crazed friends Shalimar and Ruth.

Still, after your third wrap around Dionysus lake, you’ve decided that if questioned you’d just come clean.

“I’m stupid and I absolutely have no idea why we have to have letters and numbers mingle with each other.”

Hopefully he'll appreciate your honesty and grow a soft spot for you. At least that’s what you hope for. And you keep hoping for as you steadily approach the large wooden doors of Serendipity. There’s still about ten minutes until seven, but you figured you’d get there a bit early to grab a good seat. One in a section that’s quiet but not too quiet because the last thing you want while you sip on your peppermint tea is to be consumed by your overwhelming thoughts while you wait for your tutor.

You approach the counter, gripping the leather strap of your purse, going over your order in case you stumble upon your words due to pressure.

“Welcome to Serendipity whe—oh hey you’re Kookie’s girl.” The man behind the counter says in awe. While you cringe at the fact that you’re being referred to as Jungkook’s girl. You remember the doe eyed man referring to the man now wearing a button down with what seems to be condoms printed all over it as Hobi. Though his nametag states that his name is Hoseok. You try not to dwell on it for too long because he’s looking at you curiously. Probably wondering why you haven’t greeted him back or placed your order.

You shake your head, circling your moon shaped bag back to the front of your body, attempting to hide your discomfort. “Oh, hi, um, Jungkook’s just a friend.” You swallow, while he smiles in acknowledgement.

“I see, things are complicated. I get that.” He brushes you off before turning to the iPad in front of him. Before you can counteract with a ‘no it’s actually very simple, we share classes and he’s unfortunately picked me to annoy.’ He speaks up and gets right to the point. “What can I get you cutie?” He finishes, looking at you through his bangs.

The heat in your body erupts. No guy has ever been this forward with you but you’re positive this is just part of his customer service training. If he ever had one. Either way he’s talking you up and making you feel seen, which you assume is a specialty of his and probably why the cafe is crowded with many young adults.

With a grin you say. “Just a hot mint chocolate latte.” You nod in assurance before opening up your purse and taking out your wallet. When you fish your card out and go to swipe it across the reader a hand stops you. Startled, you look up to find Hobi or Hoseok smiling wide at you.

“No need, it’s already paid for.” He takes his hand away and gives you a white buzzer instead.

You furrow your brows in confusion. How has your drink already been paid for when you’ve just entered? You aren’t complaining, you did just save some money, but that small amount of happiness doesn’t mean that you aren’t confused.

The cashier seems to read your confusion and he chuckles, running a hand through his hair. “Namjoon paid for you earlier when he ordered his drink.”

“What?” You glance down at your phone to see the time. Did you get it wrong? The two of you agreed on seven, and you even confirmed it this morning through a quick text just to be sure. So, why does the analog clock on your phone read 6:55, and Namjoon has possibly already been waiting for you.

You curse under your breath and quickly put your wallet in your purse before turning around to look at the almost empty cafe. There’s only a couple of people occupying the circular tables. All of them fully immersed in their books or laptop screens. Namjoon is nowhere in sight. You look back at Hoseok—you’ve decided to refer to him as such since it’s what’s on his nametag—and he laughs at your confusion.

He lifts up a finger signaling up, “he’s on the second floor, got here about an hour ago.”

His statement doesn’t do anything but worsen the panic already coursing through your veins. Maybe you did misinterpret the time, still it wouldn’t make sense because wouldn’t he have texted you by now asking where you were?

“Um thank you…”

“Call me Hobi.” He waves a hand in front of your face. “Any friend or special friend of the boys gets the privilege to call me Hobi. Plus Hoseok—” He points to his nametag with a boney finger. “Sounds too serious.” He shrugs.

You nod your head. “Thank you Hobi.” You rush out the acknowledgement and turn around and speed walk to the industrial style spiral staircase.

It’s a dizzying journey up, but once you make it to the final step you spot the man that has your nerves at an all time high. He’s sitting in the far corner next to a floor to ceiling window. His back is hunched as he types away on his laptop. Today he’s ditched the beanie and you can see his dark brown hair. A few strands of his bangs sneak their way behind the thick rims of his black glasses. He’s wearing a simple gray long sleeve, with black sweatpants. He looks relaxed, the opposite of what you’re feeling because the thing you hate most in the world is keeping people waiting.

With quick steps you approach the table, halting when you get to the front of a chair. “I’m sorry, I thought we agreed on seven.” You rush out instead of a proper greeting. In a quick motion he lifts his head and takes off the earbuds inside his ears, and you feel like more of an idiot than before because of course he would be wearing noise canceling earbuds.

“Hey, you’re here. Did you order something? I told Hobi that I would just pay for what you wanted.” He grins and stands up, extending his hand for you in a handshake.

You put your hand in his and feel a shiver run down your spine when his cold one meets your clammy one. “Am I late?” You tilt your head to the side.

Namjoon shakes his head, and lets go of your hand before sitting down again. “No, you’re right on time. I just got here a bit early to get a head start on an essay due by the end of the week.” He reassures you, and finally you can let out the breath you had been holding in.

You feel calmer now. Relieved. You set down your stuff on an empty chair and take the seat directly in front of him. You place your white buzzer in front of you, tracing the circular ridges. Now, that you’re not in such a panicked state you can finally show your gratitude to his selfless actions. “Thank you for the drink, you didn’t have to pay for it.”

The busy man smiles and waves his hand in front of his face to brush you off. “It’s no big deal, Hobi gives me discounts anyway.”

“So, I’ve heard.” You whisper recalling the first night you met him a week ago. Since then, Jungkook snuck his brother’s phone number to you the next day at the library. He didn’t say anything, he just passed by you with a green drink from the only smoothie place on campus and a sticky note saying:

Text Namjoon, he’s forgetful. -JK

It took the whole day to muster up the courage but finally you sent a simple text regarding your name and the fact that his younger brother had been the one to sneak you his number. In case, he assumed you had gone through multiple deep dives on the internet to retrieve it. Thankfully, Namjoon didn’t question it and just replied with a simple greeting. Then the two of you got into a brief conversation that lasted about two days because you’re also forgetful and forgot to reply to his messages. Basically coordinating a plan further than the one you had discussed the first time you met.

It was strictly business. Yet, a part of you felt a little happy that you were meeting and talking to somebody new.

Just as you’re about to take out your small notebook and pen from your purse your buzzer comes to life, filling the spaces of silence in the air surrounding the two of you. Namjoon’s eyes tear away from his computer screen, and you’re about to stand up when he beats you to it. He quickly grabs a hold of the noisy device saying, “Don’t worry I got it,” and he disappears down the stairs.

You’re now sitting by yourself, wallowing in your over consuming thoughts. Most of them involve the story Jungkook told you about his very eventful weekend while the two of you were walking to your math lecture earlier today. Truly, it was so odd knowing that he had run into Taehyung at a club in the rich part of town. The two of them stayed together the entire night and even brought home two girls to Taehyung’s apartment. Thankfully, he didn’t share further than that, but he did share that he was in love. In which you rolled your eyes so hard it gave you vertigo.

In the few months that you have known the man. He has claimed that he has been in love with every single girl he’s slept with. Which surprisingly, given his flirty nature was not a lot. What was surprising to you was Taehyung being at the club. It’s not out of character for him, but Saturday nights were always spent at Jimin’s one bedroom apartment catching up on life, and binge watching One Piece. When his text message came through on Saturday evening saying that he wasn’t feeling very well and skipping out. You couldn’t help but feel a little sad because you hadn’t seen him in a while.

Taehyung was always out and about, chasing every new adventure he could grasp. He called it inspiration for his art, but you always knew there was another underlying reason. One he never cared to explain because in all honesty it only made sense to him. He was a tough book to get through. Sometimes it keeps you questioning why you even have a soft spot for it. Though, you suppose it is the backstory the two of you share. Still, you couldn’t help but feel a little bit hurt knowing he had chosen to not ditch you but Jimin as well.

The night wasn’t a bust and you managed to finally make a significant breakthrough on the anime. Twenty episodes in one night was something that needed to be awarded. It did feel a bit awkward when it was just the two of you. It was as if there was an invisible ceiling slowly crushing you, because on Saturday for the first time ever the two of you found yourself stuck. Nothing to talk about. No updates on life, only the sound of the anime doing its best to fill the void of Taehyung not being there that the both of you unspokenly felt.

It made you question a lot of things. Like was it maybe time to finally part ways? A chilling thought that sent shivers down your spine and one you pushed so far into the back of your head. One you really don’t want to think about now, especially when you’re about to succumb yourself to a full extra hour of torture. Otherwise known as: College Algebra.

“Hobi says that if you take a picture of his latte art to tag him if you post it.” Namjoon voices, placing a small tray in front of your open notebook. A white mug with a beautiful Jack O'Lantern drawn in white foam decorates the top of your warm decaffeinated latte. It’s impressive, surely puts all those swans and hearts to shame.

“He’s a big fan of Halloween, and he always says that fall time means it's Halloween everyday.” Namjoon finishes with a chuckle, as he takes the seat in front of you again.

You laugh a little, fishing out your phone from the pocket of your jean jacket. “I can get behind that.” You say as you click on the camera app and snap a couple of pictures.

Unbeknownst to you, Namjoon is watching as you rearrange the contents on the table. To get the right aesthetic for your perfect picture. He can’t lie, it's a little endearing, seeing somebody so excited over latte art he has grown accustomed to seeing. It’s something he will definitely spill onto Hoseok before he leaves. His friend was crazy talented in many areas and he hates that instead of sharing all his passions out with the world. He’s stuck running Serendipity because his grandfather wanted the neighborhood's hub to stay in the Jung family. When he should be out in the world sharing his clothing designs with anyone who’s willing to listen.

Namjoon’s thoughts are interrupted by your extended hand, holding out your phone for him. “What’s his instagram?” You grin, and his eyes make their way to the small phone screen. A beautifully taken picture, showing off the spooky pumpkin with a caption reading,

Halloween should be all year round @--

Namjoon lets out an ‘ah’ before taking your phone and quickly typing out his friend's handle. He reads the caption again, double checking to see if he made any mistakes, Halloween should be all year round @uramyhope.

He nods in approval and hands you back your phone. Deep down he feels a surge of something foreign. He can’t necessarily put his finger on it but regarding Hoseok’s statement when he first met you last week, when he asked both his brother and him for your number. He feels a little strange, knowing that he’s basically given the two of you a way to start communicating outside of him and Jungkook. Knowing the aspiring designer, he won’t miss a beat, and that makes him feel a bit odd.

He shrugs it off though, pushes away the churning in his stomach, concluding that it was because he chose to consume caffeine so late in the evening. He looks back at his computer screen, while you type away on your phone. He continues to ignore it, saves the document on his computer two times before closing the lid. He pushes it aside, and clears his throat, catching your attention.

Quickly you lock your phone and stuff it into the pocket of your jacket. You look over at Namjoon, his hands clasped in front of him and a scowl prominent on his face. It resembled the same one he transformed into the first night you met him. When he coldly stated he was done with blind dating thanks to his mother and step brother. Though, this time it does feel less intense, probably due to the fact that he knows you’re just here to be his tutee and not his future wife.

Still, it lets you know that time was ticking and it was finally time to get down to business.

“How have you gone on this long without understanding the basic principles of algebra?”

Namjoon is serious. He means business and you’re about to pull out the hair from your scalp.

“Maybe because I never had a permanent math teacher, they’d all leave in the middle of the year.” You pout, crossing your arms in front of you and slumping down in your seat.

He lets out a sigh before sliding your notebook to his side of the table. The metal spiral scratching against the wooden surface, letting out an unpleasant noise making you cringe.

“That’s a good excuse.” He says, grabbing his red pen and making all sorts of marks along the paper. You don’t need to know what steps you got wrong while solving the math problem. You know exactly where you went wrong. It was the second you signed up for the class even if you didn’t have much of a choice.

You groan, throwing your head back. “It’s not an excuse. My eighth grade teacher left in the middle of the year because she got pregnant, my ninth grade teacher unfortunately was diagnosed with cancer. Then my tenth grade teacher was accused of being a pedophile so he was fired an—“

“Okay,” Namjoon cuts you off, setting down his pen on top of your notebook. “I understand, your school was just shitty at keeping teachers around.” He grins, placing the notebook in front of you again. “But did you ever do your math homework?” He tilts his head to the side in curiosity.

Unfortunately you’ve been caught. “No,” you whisper, dragging your fingernail down the spiral.

The sound he lets out tells you enough. He’s proven his point with the sarcastic hum that escapes his mouth. “In my defense I had dance practice everyday after school from two to four and the ballet from five to eight.” You add but it does little to prove your innocence. Instead, it makes you look guiltier or maybe not you but your parents because who would choose an extracurricular activity over academics. Especially when they knew their daughter was absolute shit at math. They did try though, but even the math tutor they hired back in high school could not get through to you.

“I see,” he puts a pensive hand on his chin leaning back. The look he gives you makes you feel small. You can’t tell if he’s judging your upbringing or the you now who can’t seem to understand the simple PEMDAS rules.

“Your problem isn’t even that bad. It’s easy to fix. You know what each operation does. You just get confused with the order along the way.” He leans forward, picking up the pen and pointing to the problem you just finished doing. “You know to do parenthesis first, but then you forget that parenthesis don’t really go away. That’s your first mistake.”

It’s like a lightbulb has suddenly flicked on inside your head as you watch him solve the problem while thoroughly explaining each step. Writing out every single step even if it was unnecessary, but it helps.

“So the answer should be seventeen and not twenty-two.” He finishes, and the puzzle slowly starts to connect itself before your eyes. The steps are laid out perfectly and neatly. The parenthesis stay until the equation is factored to the lowest it can go. And you’re about to jump across the table to give the man before you the biggest hug. He’s the only one who's been able to point out what you’ve done wrong your whole life and then explain it easily.

You lift your head up, wide eyed and say “oh, that makes sense.”

Namjoon laughs, almost as if he’s relieved but also disbelieved. You start to feel bad because for the past hour he’s been trying to explain to you the basic principles in every way possible. And it was only until he explained it to you in baby terms that you finally understood. You’re about to apologize, but instead you’re left stunned by his next words.

“I’m giving you homework for the next time we see each other on Thursday.” He hums, flipping to the next page. Your eye twitches a little at the thought of math homework. If you never did it while you were in school and getting graded for it, why would you do it now?

“Homework?”

He hums, and begins to write down a bunch of different math problems. He can sense that you’re about to fill him with different complaints, so he speaks up. “Do you want to pass math class?

“Yes, but do you really need to give me homework?”

“How many hours were you in dance class growing up?”

“I don’t remember like five hours, but what does that have to do with you giving me math homework.”

“What were you doing for five hours?” He lifts his head, handing you your notebook. You take it looking down at the ten perfectly curated algebra problems.

You want to throw up.

“Practicing.”

“Exactly, and how are you going to pass math?”

You huff, seeing exactly where his question was heading. Proving a point or whatever. Jungkook did mention his brother was a bit of a smart ass. Now you’re unfortunate enough to be at the receiving end.

With a grunt you close your notebook. “Fine, I'll do the homework.”

Namjoon smirks, tapping his ear, leaning in further into the table. “No, I want to hear you say it please.”

You stuff your small spiral notebook into your purse, snatching your special pink mechanical pencil from his side of the table. You spent too much money on it to let—your stupid math tutor who is now giving you homework to make you suffer—steal it.

“I need to practice math.” You mumble, zipping up your bag, and putting it over your shoulder.

Namjoon laughs, letting his red pen fall against the wooden table with a clank. You roll your eyes before standing up. At least your suffering was amusing to someone.

You cross your arms in front you waiting for his laughter to die down. When it does he looks at you, watery eyes from joy and you feel a slight tug in the inside of your chest. You push it to the side, convince yourself that it’s just the irritation bubbling up inside of you.

“Are you done?”

He nods, shuffles around the table to put his stuff away. “How are you getting home?” He questions, standing up and hoisting his vintage messenger bag over his shoulder.

You shrug, “the bus.” You state, pulling up your phone to check the bus schedule. If you can catch the next bus that comes in ten minutes then you’ll still be able to get home with a couple of seconds left of daylight.

“I’ll go with you then.” He states firmly, standing up abruptly and walking past you. It leaves you no room to argue against him.

You’re quickly starting to realize that once he says something firmly enough to be believed as the truth. There is absolutely no room left for a final say.

And they call you stubborn…as if.

The bus arrived a minute late. A minute that felt longer than what it should’ve felt. The two of you were the only ones standing side by side under the dim light of the bus stop.

It’s one thing to be in the same room as your tutor while the only thing the two of you talk about is math. It’s another thing to have him offer to walk you home. There’s no conversation. There’s no way to start a conversation. The only thing you really know about him is that he’s still studying, he is Jungkook’s step brother and he’s a philosophy major. The only philosophers you knew off were the ones from Ancient Greece. All the readings for your Introduction to Modern Rhetorics course that you were assigned to do were somewhere buried in the back of your mind.

You don’t want to start up a conversation in which you know you won’t be able to keep up. You remember very little about the readings and somehow the things you do remember blend into one another. So you can’t differentiate between what one philosopher said and what the other said.

Instead, Namjoon and you walk in silence. At a safe distance but close enough to still feel the presence of the other. Then you stand in the bus stop. Neither of you sit on the cold metal bench because it’s still not cold enough for them to turn on the bench warmers. And when you see that the bus is a minute late, you start to feel the slightly awkward air around the two of you get thicker.

You’re about to bite the bullet, take the embarrassing moment for some sort of small talk when the bright blue bus turns the corner. You watch it approach the stop fast. At least that’s what it feels like and soon enough the driver opens the double doors to welcome the two of you.

Surprisingly it’s not full. There are a few people occupying the seats, but there’s enough room to not feel like you’re being squished upon one another. Namjoon lets you enter first. Once you click your transit card against the reader you scan the rows for an empty seat. And of course, there’s two left in the far back. You walk to it quickly. Pass the exhausted bystanders and take the seat against the window.

After all, you will be here for the next twenty five minutes. Though, it’s not only occurred to you that you don’t know where Namjoon lives, until he takes up the seat next to yours. You want to ask if he’s going out of his way or if his place is along this route. But you don’t want to pry too much. You’ve only just met him officially. You also don’t know what you would do with yourself if it does turn out that his place is out of the way. Probably, apologize profusely for being such an inconvenience.

To save yourself from the discomfort you sights upon the buildings outside the window. Your daydreaming only lasts a few seconds when you feel a light tap against your shoulder. In a quick motion you turn your head to face the man sitting next to you. You tilt your head in question and he opens his mouth to speak.

“What’s the deal with you and Jungkook?”

The question feels like you’ve been hit by whiplash. It’s not the first time you get asked about it. Your longtime friend Jina has brought it up a few times, but you always reply with the same exact answer. “I guess we’re friends.” You shrug.

Namjoon hums in acknowledgment, nodding his head. He looks ahead for a few minutes before looking back at you. “Are you sure?”

Now, this question takes you aback. Nobody’s ever questioned your honesty. At least until now.

You quirk a brow and nod. “Yes, we share a few classes and sometimes we study together. But it always feels like I’m there to study and he’s just there to talk because he never shuts up.” You rant.

“Ah,” he chuckles, moving his head in confirmation. “That sounds like him, when he was younger he never talked, but then he turned fifteen got a little confident because he found out a few people found him cute and he just never stopped talking then.” Namjoon reveals, making you smile. “He also talks in his sleep.” He adds, smiling when he hears you let out a giggle.

Suddenly, it doesn’t feel as awkward as before. It feels a bit simpler. And you find yourself leaning into his aura a little more.

“I think he likes you though.” He adds, making your eyes grow wide in surprise. Maybe you’re dumb or you just don’t understand flirting thanks to the two very unserious relationships you had between the transition of high school and college. But from what you do know is that Jungkook holds no romantic feelings or a liking towards you. That’s something you’re very confident in.

“I don’t think so.” You scoff. “He would be stupid if he did.” You wave him off, and look out the window. You catch his reflection in the glass. He’s looking down at you, smiling in amusement. It somehow makes your cheeks get a bit hot and you divert your gaze down to the metal border of the window.

“He sat me down on our couch last night and laid down some ground rules.” He speaks up, looking ahead again. He lifts his hand and starts, “I’m not allowed to let you out of my sight, I have to be nice to you, and Hobi is not allowed under any circumstances get your number, which somehow I failed at doing.” He shrugs and counts with his fingers as if that proves his statement.

You stare at his hand before looking up at him again, you’re at a loss for words. Your thoughts are all jumbled up. Somehow you know tonight you won’t be able to sleep. You will now be questioning every single interaction you’ve had with Jungkook in the past few months.

Clearing your throat you say, “that doesn’t mean he like…has feelings for me.”

He lifts his hands up in defense. Your tone is harsh and he finds it amusing. He continues, “don’t shoot the messenger, I’m just relaying information on something I’ve observed.”

You finally turn to look at him. Your eyebrows are drawn together in a scowl. “No offense but your observation is stupid.” You cross your arms in a huff, pouting like a child. It makes Namjoon laugh loud enough to turn heads, causing you to look at him alarmed. It only makes him laugh harder and when you’re about to reprimand him, the automatic voice sounds in the speakers of the bus. It announces your stop and you scramble quickly to press the bright red button to stop the bus.

This shuts Namjoon up, he looks around, biting the inside of his cheek before nodding his head in confirmation. “This is your stop,” he voices just as the bus comes to a halt.

You nod, taking out your bus card from your purse and standing up. He copies your movements, makes his way to the card scanner and places his card against it. He doesn’t wait for you to exit he simply does and stands outside on the sidewalk, hands in his pocket. You scan your card and take the leap of faith from the bus stairs to the sidewalk. You land next to him, thanking your lucky stars for catching you and finally you voice out the question that’s been dying in the back of your throat.

“This is not your stop is it?”

“It’s not but, I promised Jungkook you would get home safely.” With that he turns on his heels and escapes the light of the stop, appearing again a few feet ahead underneath the street light. “Are you coming?”

“Do you do everything Jungkook says?” You grumble. The argument in which you state that you’re a big girl who is more than capable of walking home by herself escapes you. Only because when you’re finally standing in front of him. His head towering just a few inches above yours, it finally hits you. The jolt that springs in the pit of your stomach. The tug inside your heart that will have you up all night because it feels like a terrible case of heartburn. And the seed, his soft gaze plants inside of your mind.

It’s a mistake, a big one and you’re now regretting taking up Jungkook’s offer to have his brother tutor you. This wasn’t what was supposed to happen at all. The slow cascade down the wall you’ve built surrounding your emotions. You can feel it crumble already, ready to run down a dead end street, because that’s what it feels like. Whatever you’re feeling inside.

“I don’t.” The soft timbre of his voice brings out, you’re thankful it helps you find your way back down to the ground, but you’re not a fan of the way it paints goosebumps across your arms.

He continues, “I don’t want him to lecture me for not looking out after his friend.” He emphasizes the last part, combining it with a wink. You know what he is implying and you can’t help but feel a bit of the drink you had an hour ago threatening to make its way up your throat.

“You’re not going to give up are you?” You walk past him. It’s best to have him a few feet behind than right next to you. The space gives you time to regain yourself, yet it doesn’t last because in seconds he’s right next to you. His arm is so close. It almost brushes against yours. Thankfully it doesn’t but you can smell his cologne. It’s soft, and warm. Like fresh laundry on a sunday morning. It makes your insides burn and you know that from now on you will be looking for that scent everywhere so you can call it yours.

Namjoon shakes his head. “I’ve never seen him this protective over someone apart from his mom.” He whispers now, and the lower his voice gets the lower it sinks inside of you. “You must be special to him.” He concludes.

“I think I’m just the first girl who's never kissed his toes and finds him annoying.” You halt in front of a street light, and he stops with you. The little man signals red—do not go. You turn your head from side to side questioning your safety. If you run now, you will likely still be alive but most importantly away from the man next to you. Honestly, you’re a bit confused. When he was talking about algebra the only thing you could focus on was how to get from point a to point b while solving the problem.

Now that the moon is dim and the streets are emptying out. The only thing you can think about is how soft and ethereal he looks. Nothing like how when you first met him, but something straight out of a modernized fairy tale. It’s hitting you unexpectedly and you begin to wonder if it’s because your exhaustion is finally settling in, making you delusional.

“That could be true, but I think that you’re here to stay for a long time.” He chuckles. The little man switches to green and he takes the step.

“Why do you say that?” You walk fast to catch up to him. You realize that he is blindly following you and you to him. Sure, you’re almost home, but he’s leading the way as if he knows where he’s going. As if he’s done this before with you and has been doing this with you his entire life. It doesn’t do anything to calm your beating heart.

He stays quiet. He keeps on walking, stealing secret glances your way to see if he’s still at the same pace as you. It stays this way until you stop in front of a cute town house. The door is decorated with an autumn reef. The worlds ‘welcome fall,’ take up the entire circumference. There’s a red bell on the handle, to signal when someone is home since the doorbell has been broken ever since you could remember.

You’re home. But for some reason it had already felt like you were home.

“If it’s not Kook then it’s Hobi. Plus I need to make sure you pass math.” He voices.

You look at him, tilting your head in confusion. Until your mouth widens in a silent ‘oh’ recalling the question he had failed to answer a minute ago.

“I think your brain has been corrupted by reading into things while you do your research.”

He chuckles, “again don’t shoot the messenger, it’s not surprising though.” He shrugs, “My brother never shuts up about you, and Hobi hasn’t stopped asking for your contact information since you first walked into Serendipity a week ago.”

You roll your eyes, turning away from him and pressing your palm against the keypad of your house. It lights up, showing numbers and you quickly enter the code, wait for the little lock to signal it has been unlocked and you turn the knob.

Before you walk in you turn to face him again. “I won’t argue with you against the whole Hobi thing. But I know Jungkook doesn’t have feelings for me. If he did he wouldn’t tell me about all the dates he’s gone on and ask for advice whenever he has relationship or situationship problems. Plus he says he’s in love with someone he met this weekend.” You reason.

Namjoon takes his hands out of his pockets, raising his hands in defeat again. “Fine I’ll drop it, but I do think he finds you special. That’s all.” He states firmly and once again you’re reminded of that tone. He’s gotten the last word and you won’t bring up another one because if not then you’d be walking a tight circle around each other.

“Agree to disagree.” You smile, taking one step inside your house. “I’ll take your word for now. Thank you for walking me home. You didn’t have to even if Jungkook asked you to.”

He buries his hands into his pockets and grins. “I also wanted to.” He takes one step back. “Good night, I’ll see you on Thursday.” And with that he turns around, starts his way down the same path that led the two of you here.

Home.

You’re left astounded. In a rush to feel comfort once again, you hurry through the door, slamming it behind you, pressing your back against it. For a moment you’re scared your parents might find you in this state, wallowing in feelings you can’t begin to understand. Then you remember that they were at dinner with their friends, and you’re thankful that you still have some time to regain yourself.

Namjoon’s words cut deep. Not what he said about Jungkook. You know as well as you know your name that romantic feelings between the two of you are nonexistent. But you also know that he said he wanted to walk you home.

Chivalry might not be dead but the bar is low, because he wanted…he wanted…he wanted to wa—

Beep.

Your phone goes off signaling a message. With all the ditzyness a girl with a school girl crush can have. You fish out your phone with a haste, what if it’s him.

Though, that thought dies as quickly as it was conjured. It’s not him, but it’s a notification that in the same right births a little flame inside of you. Maybe not as bright as the one Namjoon left behind, but it has the potential to grow into something more.

uarmyhope wants to send you a message.

Your smile gets wide when you swipe across the notification. It opens up to your Instagram and it quickly directs you to your DMS.

You open it, and you feel a spark when you read the few choice words that were chosen. They’re simple but they’re enough. And they’re the start of a long night of getting to know someone else.

Your next latte is on me cutie.xx

[desmos-calculator]

oooooh, i^(i^(i^(i^(i^(i^(i^i...)))))) converges, pretty cool

but to what.... Well,

What we're looking for is the point at which applying i^x again doesn't move it any further, so when x=i^x, hey, wait, where have I heard of famous equation that involves imaginary numbers and exponents?

Oh, right, Euler's equation, so, with x=(pi/2)

We can get i=e^(iπ/2), and then reapply it to our original equation to get

x=(e^(iπ/2))^x

x=e^((iπ/2)*x)

Now, it was at this point, I got stuck (which seems relatively quick, I know, but I had done a bunch of other stuff that brought me nowhere closer to results), so, I went to wikipedia and looked for anything involving infinite exponents, and turns out, there was! it's called an infinite power tower, which is just a great name tbh. But either way, it leads us to

which seems kinda out of nowhere. Why don't we check what the Lambert's W function even is instead

hmmm, ah, I see, it's the inverse function of we^w (meaning it does the exact opposite of what it does, so W(ze^z)=z)

so, if we can get the left side in the form of we^w, we can get our answer, and we already have a e^((iπ/2)*x), we just need to multiply that by x(iπ/2), right? Well,

Yeah, there's a problem with that, the x's are still separated, we need to move both to the same side,

which makes it negative now, huh, but it also now has an x already next to e, meaning we just gotta multiply both sides by -iπ/2 and we can finally apply W(x)

also, I should mention, W(x) doesn't have an easy way for calculating that I could find, so I just used wolfram alpha

and after all of that...

We see that it works!

I recommend y'all go look into the lambert W function yourselves, cuz I'm in no way knowledgeable enough to talk about how or why it works.

[getonite]

KURO SATURDAYYYYY ( EP 6 )

fine ahh man ( he is a certified asshole though, id punch him then and there )

CUTIE!! HE PROBABLY CHEATED!!!

...i think we know where ciel got his scheming from lmao

WHERE DID YALL COME FROM??? HELLO??? ITS NICE TO SEE ( i js got major deja vu ) YOU BUT WHERE DID YALL COME FROM???

"CERTIFIED LOVERBOY, CERTIFIED PEDOPHILE WOP, WOP, WOP, WOP, WOP, DOT, FUCK ’EM UP WOP, WOP, WOP, WOP, WOP, I’MA DO MY STUFF, WHY YOU TOLLIN’ LIKE A BITCH? AIN'T YOU TIRED? TRINA STRIKE A CHORD AND IT’S PROBABLY A MINORRRRRRR"

just sighed the biggest sigh ever known to man

no words can describe how much i love these two so fucking much.

GET IT SEXY, GET IT SEXY, GET IT SEXY 🗣🗣🗣

CAME. I WANT IT ALLLLL OVER ME. FUCK ME PLS

bro saw the head master and said 'it's time to work.' red eyes out and everything omg. look at me like that maybe???

no lube, no protection, all night, all day, from the kitchen floor to the toilet seat, from the dining table to the bedroom, from the bathroom sink to the shower, from the front porch to the balcony, vertically, horizontally, quadratic, exponent al, logarithmic, while i gasp for air, scream and see the light, missionary, cowgirl, reverse cow girl, doggy, backwards, forwards, sideways, upside down, on the floor, in the bed, on the couch— ( he keeps throwing off his clothing like that, nigga somebody gon find u out u keep doin that shit 😭 )

bonus: he looks so damn mad lol 😭

[felixcloud6288]

Second-most audacious thing I did in my academic career happened in a cryptography exam. One question gave us a message to encrypt, the method we had to use, and some of the numbers that would be used. We were allowed to choose the remaining values for the encryption algorithm. We had to choose values that would be appropriate and show the process needed to calculate the encryption and decryption keys and show the encryption and decryption process.

The encryption method used exponents and modulo in the encryption and decryption process and instead of actually doing any math on it, I realized I could exploit Fermat's (pronounced fair-ma) little theorem (which the professor had taught earlier that semester) using the numbers the professor gave to make the encryption key equal to 1. As a result, I was able to skip the entire process of showing the encryption process, determining the decryption key, and decrypting the message, because the encryption key I made literally didn't change the message at all.

When I got the exam back, the professor made it very clear how annoyed he was with my answer but gave me full points because I did technically demonstrate how the algorithm works. I'm glad too cause that question was 20% of the exam grade.

He even called me out for my shenanigans when he went over the exam later and modified the question for future semesters to stop others from using my exploit.

[bubbipond]

As promised (because I genuinely didn't do my analysis phases justice for tldhlb since it's airing) here is my companion analysis of the KluerXOab stand-off. As well as all Oab's actions specifically. To read Kluer's click here. Remember, if you have not watched the show or the finale don't read this! Spoilers ahead! a/n: anything with ** and an exponent are notes at the end where I explain something further. Mainly because I do not want that paragraph to get off-topic. Enjoy...this is a long one!

As I discussed in Kluer's post, Kluer's last dish is a means to an end for our fave foodie couple. In his post, I highlighted the significance of Kluer forfeiting the competition and why that was important. What I did not speak about is how important it was for Oab and Wan too. So let's get into Oab's feelings and actions.

I am not going to lie, I watch so many dramas that I do not remember if they added this bit into the series but; Oab does not like long beans in the novel. Kua Suay being allergic is a major reason for the restaurant but he also does not enjoy them. That is an important aspect of the story because Oab doesn't like them, KS is allergic to them, and *¹*Wan likes his basil dish without them as well. That is, quite literally, how the show begins and plays a significant role in Wan meeting Oab and Kluer. As I said in the Kluer post, Kluer has been working with Oab for years and they have always had a great rapport with each other. They do not fight and it's pretty obvious that outside of Wan, Kluer gets the best treatment in the competition. He rarely gets yelled at and yes, a part of that is his skill, but it's also because Oab and Kluer respect each other. That's why last week Oab was worried about Kluer being upset with him. Logically, if he did not want Kluer to be in his life he could say who cares because he is giving up the restaurant but, he deeply cares about him so this is uncharted territory for the pair.

This circles me back to Kluer's final proverbial act, giving Oab long beans. I'll say it once, and I'll say it again, you cannot get me to hate Kluer, at least not in this aspect. He knows exactly what is happening and now, he sees there is truly nothing worth fighting for. Not Wan, not his friendship, and now not even the restaurant. Oab was obviously shocked but not because Kluer pretty much forfeited the competition, but that he was harsh doing it. Not only that, but, he did it knowing it was humiliating. A quiet stand-off between them that has been building for months.

That being said, Oab's reasoning for everything he does is not as black and white as Kluer see's it. I want to start off by reminding everyone that Oab has lost his love and passion for cooking. It was a mixture of many things. KS had left him and she was the only reason for the shop to exist. She not only helped pay for it but also helped run it and gave Oab a deeper passion for cooking. But now all that is gone and even with the return of KS, nothing changed. Except one thing did change and that was with the help of Wan. Unbeknownst to him he was reviving the love of cooking in Oab and creating a resurgence of passion in Oab (Oab was also doing this for Wan but I will speak on that when I talk about what I did not enjoy about novel vs show Wan). Oab knew that on some level Wan was lying to him. But like I said in one of my original posts, why would a billionaire plant someone who burns eggs on a cooking show? Right? For this reason and many others, Oab let his guard down. Whatever Wan was keeping from him, Oab gave chances to spill.

The thing is, him being a Methas plant is not the biggest problem here. It is his lack of full accountability for what all of that means to Oab. Two things are obvious during the last competition, both boys throw it. But for different reasons. In Wan's mind, throwing the competition resolves all their issues (it doesn't but that is one of the main things JJ berates him about, not being realistic). The issue isn't working for Methas. Anyone in that situation would understand that Wan, at the time of taking the deal, had no relationship with Oab or the restaurant. What is the problem for both Oab and Kluer is now you do and you can't forfeit your way out of still lying to them all. Losing on purpose does not resolve your sins; because that does not answer the most important question, was any of the attention, love, and care for Oab, Kluer, the other boys, and the restaurant real?

It's truly the only thing Oab wants to know. If all this was about money then, here, the restaurant is yours. But if you love me, tell me. Make me believe you weren't using my feelings for you to get what you wanted. But he doesn't and loses everything in return. He brought back Oab's passion and love for cooking but now he has to wonder if any of it was real. When the world he loved was slowly pulling him back in, Wan was at the center of it. But now he's back where he started. He's lost the person he loves in the shop they built (kua suay) and hopefully would *² *rebuild (Wan) together, but his passion is gone. There is nothing left to do. He is not thinking about Kluer or the integrity of the restaurant because now, what's the point? He tried so hard to keep it and give it to someone who would love and care for it. But the winner of all of that, and his heart, is also the one plotting to drag it down. Where Kluer thinks they should squash everything and tell Wan they know, Oab sees no point in any of it. If all he wants is money, he can have the shop. Nothing matters now because everything he thought he knew was a lie. So what exactly is the point of keeping the shop? Who cares if it becomes an apartment?

Everyone he has made food for, run this shop for, and given his all for, has let him down. He has made many choices in his life for other people, constantly putting others first. And both times it has bitten him in the ass. If the money means that much to him, enough to brutally break Oab's heart, take it. Because now, the shop really doesn't have a point. The shop's first great love left him and now his greatest love broke him. So what is the point of fighting for any of it?

Final Notes: ¹ Wan not liking long beans is an important thing to remember because it brings meaning back to the shop. Initially, KS's allergy is the main reason for its name and menu but now Oab has another reason to keep long beans off. It's both literal and theoretical. He literally has his greatest passion in the name and on the menu. So now, his passion (KS) is gone but a new one (Wan) arrives. It gave new meaning to the restaurant and even gave Oab a new lease on life. Which just added to the blow in the end. ² This is debatable because Oab did ask him to just lose so they could move on. As I said in Kleur's post, he does not believe Wan can run the shop or (at least) be the chef of it. It's nothing personal because Wan has a lot of business sense but he is not a chef, that much is obvious.

a/n: Anyway...I am sad the show is over. I loved their chaos! Guess I will just have to wait for PB2 for more SailubPon! I miss ALanJeff so come onnnnn (I say knowing it won't air til 2025 and it will inevitably give me anxiety).

[sterakraffulz78]

The non-existent gray scale

A work needs characters who move the plot, both protagonists and Antagonists, they can be heroes or villains, but who must have a certain gray scale, so as not to see them as the protagonist is the protagonist is good and the Antagonist is antagonist why he is bad, both have a valuable role in the plot which is based on their actions in the world around them that can hurt for better or worse, what must be taken into account is that there must be a gray morality between both

why do I tell you this?

Well, in Helluva Boss there is no such thing as a gray scale, everything is based on black and white.

Let me explain, the protagonist is Blitz and Stolas, and the Antagonists are Stella and Striker, right?

In the first season of the series we are seen as characters with gray qualities, Striker and Stella were right because of the porboemas they have, while Blitz and Stolas, who are the protagonists, have flaws... By the second season that ceases to exist to put us next to these two idiots just because they suffered and are the good guys (when in reality they continue to act shitty) while Striker and Stella are the bad guys because they treat our soft uwu badly guys 🥺

This cannot be like that, why are you promoting hatred towards the two characters who were right just because they harm our soft protagonists 🥺, and that falls on the fans of these two, a story exists so that you like their characters, its plot, its themes that it covers, a work that does not exist to please fans, divide the characters into good and bad (which ones you may like and which ones you may not), and promote extremely toxic things

Vivziepop turned Stolas and Blitzo into what they are now just because they thought they were cute together and more so for the fans, and put against those characters with a brutally wasted potential because they only treat our boys badly, soft shit and uwuwuwuw. That's why Helluva Boss is increasingly going downhill due to the decisions of an overexploiting rich cis-heterosexual white girl, who just wants to see how her two demons made of her on devianart fuck as if she were a fanfic from the 2000s

And now that I'm publishing this, I can publish a work that some may know and it is the greatest exponent that you can like and take the side of any character regardless of whether they are white or black why this archetype does not exist and it's like no, Hunter xHunter

This is an anime that not only handles gray scales very well without the villains or protagonists getting into black and white, why doesn't it exist? The protagonists change two of them in a bad way, while the Antagonists are more humanized as if they were not chosen to be very bad bad guys, they have their lives, their beliefs, their relationships with the Phantom Brigade, an antagonistic team, who see themselves as murderers and beyond that they are characters who treat each other like family

Other Antagonists that are good, there is King Meruem and his royal guards, with Meruem he starts off as a ruthless monster but when a girl comes into his life he begins to see life differently, a redemption. with his royal guards they still start out being evil but slowly the situations at the end of the arc change them a lot around protecting their king

Ironically, Hunter x Hunter is a Shonen (Shonen is the meaning of youth or adolescent, that is, for all ages.) anime which touches on overly serious themes such as human nature, revenge, life and death.

while other works that boast of being """adult""" only show how the characters say peepeepopo penis haha ​​sexual jokes, while everything is filled with unnecessary gore and blood (Cof Cof helluva boss cough Cof Hazbin Hotel cough Cof)

Conclusion

If you want to see something good, something that makes you feel good in the community without fear of being harassed just for your tastes, then watch Hunter x Hunter, a work that does not seek to victimize or villainize its characters for the convenience of the script or for mere creator's whim

[germanpostwarmodern]

During the 1950s and 1960s the German Ruhr region was a hotbed of abstract art: artists like Emil Schumacher, Heinrich Siepmann and Gustav Deppe rekindled with the avant-garde and sought to make up for the anti-modern times of National Socialism and war. A lesser-known exponent of abstract art was Hans Kaiser (1914-1982), born in Bochum, autodidact and since 1950 residing in Soest, a middle-sized town on the outskirts of the Ruhr region. Up until his death Soest remained the center of his life and it is also here that he inscribed himself in many ways into the town’s face, most prominently in the form of different stained glass windows for the St. Patrokli church.

Stylistically Kaiser went through a number of changes but one aspect of his style remained persistent, namely a calligraphic, writing-like fastidiousness that is present in both his abstract works and in his portrait drawings.

In 2014 the Kunstmuseum Bochum under the title „Hans Kaiser - Imaginäre Räume“ dedicated an exhibition to Kaiser’s so-named „Losschreibung“, i.e. the development of his specific artistic language: as a result of the disentanglement from the image and the simultaneous discovery of writing as the form of conveying the meaning of words Kaiser created imaginary spaces that point beyond language and meaning. The accompanying catalogue in an impressive selection of works from the 1960s up until the 1980s documents Kaiser’s development of imaginary spaces on canvas and paper and demonstrates how the writing-like elements gradually give way to ever deeper spaces made up of colors alone.

In his portrait drawings, as shown in Erich Franz’s catalogue from 2003, Kaiser in turn dissolves the seeming contradiction of abstraction and object by letting the pen „write“ itself into the drawing, a modus operandi that creates obvious parallels between the portraits and abstract works: in both cases writing-like structures provide a self-determined dynamic that is unique to Kaiser’s post 1957 works. At the same time the drawings, unlike the paintings, incorporate the white of the sheet paper and activate them as integrative to the overall dynamic of the portrait and show that Kaiser was in no way afraid of the blank space.

Against the background of the previously discussed qualities and characteristics discussed of Hans Kaiser’s art it is irritating that he is still relatively unknown beyond Soest and the Ruhr region…