#they only last a year until it's back to the same shit

[fairyniceyeah]

💎🐈‍⬛ I’ll always be with you

Title from MAESTRO (SEVENTEEN)

Summary: After everything went wrong on the flight to LA, Seungcheol just wants to sleep. But a call from a very sick Wonwoo shatters his plans.

CW: emeto

Sickie: Wonwoo Caretaker: Seungcheol

Seungcheol threw his phone on the hotel bed and let himself collapse face first onto it as well. With a groan he buried his face in his pillow and swore the next person that wanted something - anything - from him would get a few choice words about sleeping cycles. Even after all those years time zones confused him a bit but he was sure that three at night was a terrible time to be awake whatever place you were.

They had finally arrived in America after a five-hour delay in Incheon, a missed transfer in Tokyo and another two-hours of delay - only to find out that all their bags were somehow in Lagos instead of Los Angeles. Apparently LOS and LAS were too confusing for the people loading the airplanes. 

They had argued with the person at the info point at the airport until they found out the truth and at which point Seungcheol had known they needed to buy a lot of new clothes. All their stage outfits were … not there. Neither were their casual clothes. So he had sent Mingyu, Vernon and Seungkwan to go shopping for everybody. Jihoon had only stopped whining about his lost guitar when Joshua had timidly admitted that he may have put all his prescription migraine medications into his suitcase. Which was now on the opposite site of the world. So Joshua and a manager had tried to find a way to get his medication just in case, after finding out that all the medication he had left with his family, which would have been such an easy solution, was way expired.

So, truth be told, Seungcheol just wanted to sleep. Preferably until the managers had sorted all the problems out. At least they had the next day off to recuperate from the jetlag. Small mercies.

The leader was just contemplating the merits of just falling asleep without changing into sleep clothes or brushing his teeth over making himself get up one last time so he wouldn’t feel disgusting in the morning, when his phone rang.

He could just let it ring, right?

Members could figure their own shit out.

The managers even got paid for that.

But Seungcheol also wasn’t an asshole and he was the leader.

So he accepted the call and put it on speaker without looking at the caller ID.

“Yo?”, he greeted, hoping his voice told the other person that he was in no mood to deal with slightly inopportune problems. 

Of all the people calling the leader he hadn’t expected him.

“Hyung?”, Wonwoo asked, his voice confused but also with an undertone that Seungcheol couldn’t place.

At once all his annoyance slipped away. Wonwoo had that effect on people, especially his hyungs. Well, it wasn’t like them to deny their dongsaeng anything - Wonwoo only spoke up when he really really wanted something so to get a call out of nothing was a bit disconcerting.

“Wonwoo-yah, what’s up?”

“I’m really sorry to disturb you”, Wonwoo mumbled and hesitated.

When he didn’t continue speaking, Seungcheol started to get confused. What was up with the younger rapper?

“Won…”, Seungcheol started at the same time as Wonwoo continued.

“I threw up.”

Seungcheol froze with the rest of his question on his tongue. Great. This was great. There was nothing more Seungcheol wanted now than to look after a sick dongsaeng. Especially one who apparently had issues keeping his bodily fluids inside. 

But it was Wonwoo. 

His quiet, knowledgeable and strong dongsaeng, dependable till the end. And he was sick, in a strange country, in a strange city, in a strange hotel. Alone. 

It wasn’t like Seungcheol wouldn’t have dropped everything for the other members. Of course he would. 

But Wonwoo was the hyung line’s baby in a way. Seungcheol, Jeonghan and Joshua always made sure to pay attention to him so he would not get shoved to the back due to his quietness. He was frail in a way that didn’t fit his tall, broad body but inside there was deep hurt and the need for somebody to hold him every now and then. His past illnesses, his shyness, his grief - it was what made Wonwoo Wonwoo but it was also what made them his hyungs.

Seungcheol must have been a bit too quiet for a bit too long because he was torn out of his thoughts by Wonwoo sounding very apologetic and, despite trying to hide it, even more desperate.

“I’m sorry, I know you have a lot on your plate right now. I’ll be …”

“I’ll be there in a minute”, Seungcheol interrupted him, “don’t worry. What’s your room number again? 

“267”, Wonwoo mumbled, “I’m really sorry, hyung.”

Seungcheol was already up and moving when he said: “Don’t be sorry, Wonwoo-yah. You’re sick. It happens. Sure, it’s an inopportune time but when isn’t it, huh?”

264

265

Wonwoo didn’t reply, the only sounds coming over the speakers were deep, controlled breathing and rapid swallowing. He really sounded sick.

266

267

“Can you open your door for me?”, Seungcheol asked, “I’m here.”

“Yeah”, Wonwoo mumbled, swallowing again after he spoke. He sounded so incredibly nauseated that Seungcheol was a bit worried he would never make it to the door without puking on the floor. 

How long exactly had Wonwoo been feeling like this?

The door was unlocked and opened to the inside. Seungcheol took in the scene for a moment, his concern rising with everything he saw. 

Wonwoo’s glasses were nowhere to be found and his face was so pale it nearly blended in with the white of the wall he was leaning against as if he couldn’t even hold himself up without it - which was likely true. He was wearing sweatpants but no shirt, shivering despite the LA heat. Worst of all, he was clutching the tiny bathroom trash can to his chest, aligned with his chin just in case.

“Hyung…”, he gasped out, the sound ringing double over the phones, breaking off his sentence to retch harshly, a bit of bile spilling from his mouth into the makeshift bucket. Absently Seungcheol ended the call and took a big step towards his dongsaeng. He gently grabbed Wonwoo’s shoulder and steered him further inside the room, kicking the door shut with his foot.

Luckily the bathroom was directly next to the entrance area and with Seungchol's hand on his back, Wonwoo stumbled inside, crashing to his knees in front of the toilet. The leader carefully took the trash can from his grasp, setting it aside. A curious and worried look revealed that Wonwoo had indeed thrown up a bit into it, a small amount of reddish vomit swirling on the bottom. There were some chunks of the pasta he had eaten earlier visible in it and with a sigh, Seungcheol pushed it far away to be dealt with later.

Wonwoo in the meantime had put both elbows on the toilet seat, holding his head over the water. His breathing was shallow as if he was trying not to throw up again. He probably was, considering how much he was trembling and swallowing on top of it all. 

Seungcheol gently rubbed circles on his back, not even caring about the sweat he felt stick to his hand. There was unusual heat radiating from his poor dongsaeng, leaving Seungcheol to worry about how high his fever was. A heave caused Wonwoo’s back to jerk forward with the force of it and another mouthful of vomit splashed into the water, closely followed by gags and a second and third wave. 

The younger was panting in between bouts, his breath hitching as if he was about to cry. Seungcheol couldn’t fault him for it - he’d probably do the same if he even felt close to how sick Wonwoo seemed. 

“Deep breaths”, he whispered into Wonwoo’s ear as another heave, this time at least dry, made Wonwoo whimper. “It’s okay. I got you.”

“‘m so nauseous, hyung”, Wonwoo whispered defeatedly, his voice raw from how badly his throat was probably torn from all the forceful, involuntary spasms. 

“I know, baby”, Seungcheol whispered, feeling more than a little helpless in the face of his dongsaeng’s misery. “Can you take a deep breath for me?”

Wonwoo nodded weakly and breathed in. With Seungcheol’s guidance he took a few more calming breaths before the leader asked: “Let’s lean back a bit now, okay?” 

The younger nodded again, though this time even more reluctantly than before. Seungcheol carefully helped him scoot backwards and propped him up against the bathtub, grabbing a towel from the rack to fold a little pillow for him. Wonwoo let him do as he pleased but he nervously eyed the toilet.

“If you need to be sick again, the bathtub will be cleaned easily enough”, Seungcheol assured but made it his most important task to get the fearful look out of his member’s eyes. After gently brushing Wonwoo’s hair behind his ear, giving him just a moment of adoration and comfort, Seungcheol stood up and grabbed the trash can from earlier. 

He winced as he now for the first time noticed Wonwoo’s abandoned hoodie laying underneath the sink, a splash of vomit on it. So that at least explained why the rapper was shirtless despite obviously freezing. Even if the circumstances were awkward, Seungcheol was glad that he was not cooking to death in it. His fever would only get higher with clothes like that. For now, however, cleaning the hoodie could wait. 

Seungcheol quickly emptied the contents of the trash can into the toilet, internally flinching at the disgusting sound, and flushed it away with whatever else Wonwoo had brought up. He stepped over to the other end of the bathtub and took the hose to wash off the remnants of sick in the can. Sufficiently cleaned for the time being, he knelt down next to Wonwoo and placed it by his side. Wonwoo immediately held onto it - not lifting it in his lap - but keeping a hold of it in case of emergency. 

“Let’s get you cleaned off, hm?”, Seungcheol muttered, not expecting an answer from the drained rapper and not receiving one either. He wetted one of the complimentary wash clothes with cold water and then went to sit cross-legged by Wonwoo’s side. 

Wonwoo had his other arm wrapped around his sour stomach and his head hung low, chin nearly on his chest. It seemed like he was even too exhausted to keep his head up.

“Hey, baby. Can you look at me?”

He didn’t wait for Wonwoo to respond, instead he cupped the younger’s face with one hand and lifted it up. Coming face to face with Wonwoo for the first time, Seungcheol noted the deep bags under his eyes and the way the dark obs looked far away. Tenderly Seungcheol wiped Wonwoo’s whole face, then took extra care to wipe away the dried bile in the corner of his mouth before moving down to clean and cool off Wonwoo’s chest. The moment the cold cloth touched his skin there, a violent shiver ran through Wonwoo’s body.

“Do you think you can try to drink something? Take some meds for that fever and the nausea?”

Wonwoo shook his head, a hiccough but luckily nothing more escaping him. “Feel too sick.”

“How long have you felt sick?”, Seungcheol asked. He was really starting to get worried about his dongsaeng’s health; the fever, the constant nausea and the forceful vomiting were all concerning.

Wonwoo swallowed before he answered quietly: “Didn’t feel well this morning but I hoped I could sleep it off during the flight. I was okay, most of the time, just not hungry. But when I laid down to sleep earlier, I nearly immediately threw up.”

Seungcheol nodded and abandoned the wash cloth to sit next to Wonwoo and wrap his arm around his shoulder, pulling the younger to lean against his shoulder. This morning - assuming this morning as in when he first woke up before the flight - was over twenty-four hours ago. He rubbed the younger’s upper arm a few times before continuing his questions.

“How do you feel now?”

“Nauseous. My stomach hurts. I thought I’d be empty and feeling better by now but I just feel worse.”

“You’re probably dehydrated, baby.”

“Hm. Been throwing up for nearly half an hour constantly before I managed to call you.”

Seungcheol felt his heart sink to his stomach hearing that his dongsaeng had been so sick alone for so long. There was nothing to be done about it now.

“Next time, tell somebody you feel sick before you throw up, okay?”, Seungcheol reminded him, “I know you wanna be strong but you have twelve people with you who care about you a lot. You didn’t have to be alone tonight.”

“We were all so stressed with the delays and then the bags…”, Wonwoo mumbled, “I didn’t want to make everything worse.”

“Your wellbeing matters more than some stress and bags, baby. We’re a team, a family. Most of the guys were just standing around waiting the whole day, it would have been no problem.”

Wonwoo didn’t respond, just turned his face so he was now completely buried in Seungcheol’s neck and twisted his body so that he was splayed over Seungcheol’s chest and lap. It was a cute sight, domestic in a way that Seungcheol had not expected. Like a sick child desperate to be closer to their parents. He held onto Wonwoo tightly, rubbing his spine up and down for a few minutes. 

Pressing a kiss against Wonwoo’s hair, the leader then asked: “Do you want to lie down? You seem done for now and sleep would do you good.”

“Too nauseous”, Wonwoo whispered, lifting his head and looking at Seungcheol with teary eyes. Briefly the older wondered how much Wonwoo actually could see of his face, considering Wonwoo’s terrible eyesight and the haze the tears would paint. But there was also so much trust in Wonwoo’s gaze, knowing he could depend on Seungcheol. Proudness welled up in Seungcheol’s chest.

“We can bring the bucket and put it by your side”, Seungcheol soothed. He would have done so anyways but it wasn’t what seemed to concern Wonwoo.

“No, I mean…” Wonwoo swallowed heavily. “... I get so nauseous when I lie down. That’s, uh, how the hoodie happened.”

That explained a lot. There was no way Seungcheol would make him lie down if it would make Wonwoo’s situation even worse. Right now his stomach seemed to be ready for a truce which they would not tempt.

Nevertheless, Wonwoo desperately needed sleep.

“Okay, let’s try something”, Seungcheol suggested and when he received the affirmation from his dongsaeng he helped Wonwoo move forward a bit, then slipped behind him so that Wonwoo was sitting between his legs. 

“Lean back”, he whispered and grabbed the abandoned towel to use as a makeshift pillow against his shoulder. Wonwoo, drained to the core, didn’t need to be told twice. He slumped back and his head nearly immediately lolled towards Seungcheol’s, Wonwoo deeply asleep. Seungcheol wrapped his arms around his shivering body and sighed.

He probably should have checked for a fever before Wonwoo fell asleep but he was not about to wake him up again.

It promised to be a long night.

💎

Seungcheol woke achy and sore to the sound of his phone ringing. He was a bit disorientated, his back and head hurting from the bad position he had slept in. He yawned and winced, then became very aware of the heavy weight leaning against him. Wonwoo. The younger had slipped down a bit in sleep, his head now more on Seungcheol’s chest than on his shoulder. 

He was still snoring slightly, totally undisturbed by the sound. 

Wanting it to stay that way, Seungcheol patted his pockets and accepted the call before even fully having moved it to his ear.

“... fucking door”, Jeonghan’s voice came through.

“Good morning, Hannie”, Seungcheol greeted, smiling a bit at his best friend’s antics. Jeonghan couldn’t see him, so doing it now wouldn’t bite him in the ass. “What can I do for you?”

“I’ve been knocking on your door the past ten minutes like an idiot. Open up”, Jeonghan demanded. 

“Why?”, Seungcheol asked, happy to tease him a bit. Deserved him right for the rude wake-up call.

“The manager wants to speak with you. There is an issue with the luggage and …”

“I’m not available to deal with the luggage. Tell the managers they have to figure it out themselves.”

“What do you mean ‘not available’? Open your door, mister. You know they will make me deal with it if you don’t.” Jeonghan sounded like he was whining. “Manager-hyung said I have about two minutes left to come back with you.”

Seungcheol laughed a bit, but the movement of his chest seemed to disturb Wonwoo, who shuffled a bit and sighed in sleep. Carefully, Seungcheol stroked his hair, hoping it would soothe him back to sleep. It did the trick.

“I would. However, I am not in my room”, Seungcheol replied.

That stopped Jeonghan’s tirade. 

“Well, now I feel even more like an idiot”, Jeonghan said after a moment, stunned. “Shua, stop laughing at me.”

“Shua, keep going”, Seungcheol edged the third 95-liner on, sure that Joshua could hear the whole exchange. He should have expected that Joshua would be trailing Jeonghan even that early in the morning. 

“Where are you?”, Joshua asked, coming closer to the speaker. He sounded curious and a bit tired. Seungcheol wondered if Jeonghan had woken him up too.

Seungcheol sighed. As much as he had enjoyed the banter, he could not ignore the situation. Wonwoo had not thrown up in the past - he checked the time on his phone, guesstimating when it had actually been that they had fallen asleep the last time - hour and a half and seemed to have been able to sleep well enough. He had been sick again a few times throughout the night and his fever had been seemingly steady. Still, he would probably need some time to recuperate - if he wasn’t still sick to his stomach and this was just a lull. 

“I’m with Wonwoo-yah”, Seungcheole explained, “he started vomiting earlier and called me. He’s asleep currently and I don’t know how his stomach feels but he is still feverish.”

“Shit”, Jeonghan exclaimed in surprise. “You could have started with that.”

“I could have”, Seungcheol agreed easily, “but I was rudely cursed at by somebody. Shua-yah, could you go and find some fever reducers and some tummy medication? Maybe some crackers and sport drinks? Hannie, I’m sure you’ll find a solution with the luggage.”

He hung up before he could hear Jeonghan’s reply.

💎

When Joshua knocked on the door about fifteen minutes later, Seungcheol had managed to extract himself from the sleeping Wonwoo. The younger had barely stirred when Seungcheol had moved him to lean against the bathtub again, placing the towel back under his head. The hoodie had been deemed a loss, especially since he hadn’t dealt with the stain immediately, so it was bagged in a plastic bag and set to the side. In hopes that Wonwoo would soon be able to go back to bed, Seungcheol placed the clean trash can by the bedside.

“Hey Shua”, Seungcheol greeted tiredly, wincing as he moved his head. His neck hurt from the night on the floor but he was not about to complain. 

Joshua waved at him with one hand,  carrying a medkit - likely borrowed from a medic - and a small bag full of what seemed to be groceries in his other hand. He handed the two items to Seungcheol without a word and tried to step inside. 

Seungcheol blocked his path. “We don’t need anybody else to get infected if he is contagious. It will be bad enough if I am sick in a few days.”

Joshua frowned and protested: “You must be tired, Cheollie. Let me help.”

“No, Shua. I know you want to but consider how bad it will be if this spreads. Let me take care of Wonwoo-yah while you and Hannie wrangle the other kids”, Seungcheol reasoned. He wouldn’t budge on this. There was no way he would let the illness spread in the group if he could help it. Considering how awful Wonwoo felt it would be a disaster. If there was one thing they had learned from Covid it was that isolation was key. “Besides, you already brought me the supplies.”

“... fine”, Joshua finally agreed. “Please take care of yourselves and, Choi Seungcheol, if you get sick before Wonwoo is recovered fully, you call for help or make Wonwoo call for help.”

“I promise”, Seungcheol said, a bit scared of Joshua daring to call him by his full name, “thank you so much.”

After closing the door behind Joshua, Seungcheol turned around to put the groceries away but stopped midway when he realized that Wonwoo was looking up at him through the partially open bathroom door with teary eyes. Setting the bags down, the leader rushed to him and knelt down by his side again.

“Hi”, he greeted with a small smile, “how are you feeling?”

But instead of replying verbally, Wonwoo just shook his head and buried his face in his knees, making himself as small as possible for a man his stature. “I’m sorry I’m causing so many issues. I shouldn’t have called, I’m perfectly able to take care of myself. You don’t have to take care of me.”

He clearly had overheard the conversation but had taken it very wrong.

Seungcheol placed his hand on the back of the younger’s head, ruffling his hair. “You certainly can take care of yourself”, he said cautiously, “that doesn’t mean you have to and we want you too. It’s alright to ask for help especially when you are throwing up and running a fever but even if not, we will always be ready to help you. As I said before, we are a family and we take care of each other. You wouldn’t have left, let’s say, Dino alone if he had called in the same situation, would you?”

Wonwoo lifted his head so quickly he seemed to have made himself a bit dizzy and shook his head. “What? Of course not!”

“See? Why would I act any differently towards you, baby?”

“I don’t want you to get sick, hyung.”

“If I get sick, I get sick”, Seungcheol replied with a shrug, “it’s part of life. I won’t like it but I won’t blame you. It can happen at the most inopportune times and I wouldn’t want to be healthy if I knew that I could have helped you and didn’t. Don’t feel guilty, Wonwoo. That’s not how family works.”

Wonwoo finally seemed to understand and nodded hesitantly. “Thank you, hyung.”

“Of course. Besides, you are saving me from having to deal with the luggage”, Seungcheol added with a wink.

Wonwoo giggled a bit at that, leaving Seungcheol feeling a bit lighter.

“Now, how do you feel?”, he questioned, continuing to play with Wonwoo’s hair.

“Still really queasy”, Wonwoo admitted, “my stomach feels really sore too. Everything does, to be honest. I just wanna sleep.”

“Do you think you could try to drink something and take some meds? Maybe see whatever Joshua brought you to eat?”

Wonwoo seemed to contemplate the answer to this question for a few moments, then nodded. “I am kind of thirsty. I don’t really want to eat but I will decide if I can try something when I know what we have?”, he suggested. “Can I brush my teeth first?”

“That sounds like a plan. Come on, up you get.”

Seungcheol stood up and reached down for Wonwoo to take his hands, pulling him up. Upon standing, Wonwoo swayed a bit, dizzy most likely, and nearly fell against his leader. Before anything could happen, Seungcheol stepped close and hugged him to his chest until the younger was a bit more steady. Once Wonwoo had brushed his teeth a bit faster than he normally would but enough to get the taste out of his mouth, Seungcheol took Wonwoo’s hand in his and tugged him along towards the bedroom, taking the groceries and the medkit with his other hand. 

Wonwoo sat down at the edge of the bed where the blankets were a bit disheveled, likely from his earlier attempt to get to the bathroom in time, careful not to stumble over the trash can.

As he unpacked the plastic bag the leader discovered that Joshua must have gotten ice chips from somewhere. It would have been nice to know, considering that they were already starting to melt and the bag outside had a lot of condensation but they were saved easily enough by putting them in the room’s freezer. Then Seungcheol pulled out a few bottles of water and different sports drinks, ignoring the snacks at the bottom for the moment.

“Which one do you want?”, he asked, gesturing at the multiple bottles shining in different colors against the white table.

“I don’t care. What taste is the orange one?”, Wonwoo asked. “Orange?”

“I’m guessing you mean the fruit not the color”, Seungcheol joked, struggling to make sense of the English word on the bottle, “it’s, uh, what’s tangerine?”

“Isn’t that what the international fans call Kwannie?”, Wonwoo asked, “it’s fine.”

Seungcheol opened the bottle for him and handed it over, sitting beside the younger for the moment. “Take a few sips”, he advised, “see how that stays down, okay?”

Wonwoo nodded and drank a few mouthfuls before putting it to the side, wincing as he swallowed. 

“Okay?”, Seungcheol asked, ready to grab the trash can if needed.

“Hm”, Wonwoo replied, “I don’t know if it tastes weird because I’ve been throwing up or because I just brushed my teeth or because it just tastes weird.” Relieved Wonwoo didn’t seem to be about to be sick, Seungcheol laughed. 

“Do you wanna change into some fresh clothes before we try some food and meds?”

Wonwoo nodded and quickly Seungcheol grabbed the stack of clothes that the other members had bought. It was a matching pajama set of short pants and a t-shirt, with small black cats printed on it. “Mingyu-yah”, Wonwoo groaned when he saw it. Seungcheol just giggled. His own sleep shirt he had received had a cherry printed on it, so he kind of saw where the members' minds had went. 

“It’s cute”, he said casually, “come on, you’ll feel better in clean clothes.”

Wonwoo pouted but did as bid, clearly wanting to be in fresh clothes more than protest their design. “It’s cold”, he commented, pulling up the blanket to his shoulders.

“That’s the fever”, Seungcheol said from where he was standing at the table and sorting through the food they had available. Joshua had been very thorough in his buying - there were plain crackers shaped like animals but plain nevertheless, applesauce and even some instant rice. “Why don’t you think about what you might like to try to eat while I get the thermometer and the medicine?”

Five minutes later they had established that Wonwoo was still running a low fever of 38.0°C and he had eaten a bit of the applesauce with the meds. 

“How do you feel? Ready to sleep some more?”, Seungcheol asked, slightly getting tired of the question. He just wanted Wonwoo to feel better now. The younger was slumped against his shoulder again, not far from nodding off in exhaustion again.

Wonwoo yawned. “Yeah. Stomach feels a bit weird but not too bad. Maybe I’ll be fine when I wake up.”

“Lie down”, Seungcheol requested and helped his dongsaeng climb fully onto the bed. He spread the blanket over him, making sure it covered him fully, before brushing Wonwoo’s hair from his face and planting a kiss on his forehead. “Sleep well. Love you.”

“Love you too”, Wonwoo slurred, mostly asleep, “lay with me?”

Before Seungcheol could answer Wonwoo was already completely down for the count but there was nothing else Seungcheol had to do and he wasn’t about to deny his dongsaeng’s request. So he slipped under the covers with Wonwoo and pulled the younger close before falling asleep himself.

💎

“I’m never eating again”, Wonwoo groaned, finally lifting his head out of the trash can. Seungcheol had been woken by him frantically scrambling for the bucket about ten minutes ago and he had been throwing up ever since. 

“At some point you’ll feel better”, Seungcheol mumbled as he took the bucket from Wonwoo’s hands but it seemed to be the wrong thing to say.

“Well, I want to feel better now”, Wonwoo hissed, clearly annoyed and overwhelmed. His eyes were ablaze with anger and frustration which quickly switched to tears again. “I feel awful. I’ve been feeling awful for I don’t know how long. My stomach hurts. My head hurts. I’m nauseous and exhausted. Don’t tell me stupid platitudes.” 

“Wonwoo-yah”, Seungcheol stuttered, not having expected such a violent reaction from his normally so calm dongsaeng. Granted, maybe his words hadn’t been the most helpful but what else was he supposed to say?

As quickly as the anger had come, it seemed to vanish. 

“I’m so sorry, hyung”, Wonwoo apologized, nearly falling from the bed in his attempt to bow in apology. Only Seungcheol’s outstretched arm was able to stop the fall. He quickly put the bucket down and took Wonwoo’s hands in his.

“Don’t apologize”, he soothed, “you’re sick. I won’t fault you for being in a bad mood due to that. I’m really sorry, I really hoped the meds would help more.”

“Still, I shouldn't have yelled”, Wonwoo whispered, staring down at his lap and blinking tears away. Seungcheol squeezed his hand before wrapping his arm around Wonwoo’s shoulder.

“It’s okay, baby. I don’t think I would have been any nicer in your situation. I just wish I could help you somehow.”

“I think I just want to wash out my mouth and sleep again”, Wonwoo whispered, “maybe my stomach will feel better after being empty for a while.”

“We can do that”, Seungcheol agreed and handed him a water bottle. Wonwoo swished the water around his mouth and spat it into the trash can Seungcheol held for him. He even swallowed a tiny sip of water which the leader took as a win. 

When he returned from washing out the receptacle, Wonwoo was dead asleep again.

💎

By evening Wonwoo hadn’t thrown up again and even admitted to feeling a bit hungry. He had eaten only half of the cup of instant rice but it was better than nothing. He managed to sleep through the night and by the evening of the next day he was deemed healthy again and ready to join the interviews that were scheduled on the day after.

Seungcheol had returned to his own room, happy to sleep through the night without waking up every half an hour to check if everything was okay. He had changed into sleep clothes and buried himself under his blankets when his phone rang.

“Nonie, I was about to go to sleep”, he complained in greeting.

“Sorry, hyung. Seungkwan isn’t feeling …”, Vernon started and then stopped suddenly before rushing footsteps and a sigh sounded through the speakers, “Seungkwan just puked all over himself.”

Masterlist links: Fairy's Full Masterlist Fairy's Masterlist - SEVENTEEN

[stanskissing]

Ford being like "You are getting out of my house. Tonight" and Stan arguing because he needs to stay at least until the kids are gone and he asks what he's supposed to do and Ford's just very quietly like "What about what you did in highschool?" and Mabel listens through the door while Stan gets fucked against a wall lmao

keep these comng hhguys. polease. im having so many totally legal and not innapropriere thoutghts right noew. also i had to steal that thumb off of google cjz i couldnt draw it and it makes it so much funnier

it was the same night that ford came back, previous arguement aover ford kicking stn out was only a handful of hours before, and they were already back at the throats in the kitchen. it was like idfk two am or some shit and they had ran into eachother in the kitchen and stans anger boiled over and he kinda blew up on ford and ford gets so fucking mad because he still holds so much resentment towards stan and idk stan says some shit about how none of this was stans fault to begin with and ford gets so fucking mad because how dare stan say something like that when he hsas no idea what ford went through with bill and he gets so fuckin mad he shoves stan back by his shoulders and snarls that stan is leaving. tonight. and stan gets Equally as mad becausse first of all how dare ford push him and also is he fucking stupid ford cant take care of those fucking kids and also what is stan supposed to do? he's an old man now, he's spent the last thirty years of his life doing nothing but trying to save ford and now he's yelling at ford and fords backed him against the wall gripping his biceps tight and and then ford mutters, just do what you did in highschool. and stan is floored, because what the fuck. no way ford brought that up. but also. holy fuck? that was so fucking hot? and theres a silence between them, chests panting from their yelling and they stared at eachother and for a moment ford thinks fuck. i shouldnt have said that.

but then stan's hands are on him, all over him, and he's kissing him and fuck ford snaps he pushes him back into the wall again and stans head bumps on the wood and lets out a groan and ford uses that to force his tongue into stans mouth and his hands come up to bury in stan's hair and his fists tug roughly and stan moans and jesus fuck they both missed this so much, not that either would admit it. ,,ford spins stan around, crashing himagainst the hard wall as his hand reaches around to yank his pants open and shove them down his mid thighs, his free hand is pressed against the side of stan's head, shoving his cheek intot he wall as his glasses are knocked off his face nd clatter on the floor, the two of them too caught up in eacother to even notice. the room was filled with huffs and puffs and groans and moans as ford shucked his own pants down and pushed into stan, both of them ignoring any need of foreplay because just needed. needed to be inside of stan anf to fuck all 30 years of pent up emotion into the man under him. he slips into stan with ease and he growls at the idea of stan being so loose because of other men (bros just old dude leabe him alobe) he fuckedinot him harder, leaning forward to press his chest to stan's back, biting at his righth shoulder, leaving marks littering the scar there, seeing the marking made his heart hurt but also licked his ego seeing a branding that ford did on his brother that hecould never get rid of. its just plain animalistic hatefuck in the middle of the night in the kitche, ford spitting insults and degrafing words in stans ear, telling him how the only thing he;s ever been good at is this, this is all ford will ever need from him. stan fights back, telling him to piss of and his dick isnt even that good, both brothers biting insults at eachother as they fuck like rabbits

right around the corner, pressed against the wall next to the door way was poor mabel who happened to come down for water at the Worst Timing Ever. her hand was clamped over her mouth as not to be heard as she listened to her grunkles growl and pant like dogs with wide eyes as the wet sounds of sex filled her little ears, one hand pressed against the heat of her undies with the goal for water long, long forgotten

thank you for sending me this anon. hope i did it justice. absolute fire prompt. sorry if i mixed uo their names anytime in this i wrote like half of this during a dizzy spell (prime bee content zone) imm gonaan go take the fattest bee nap ever (stare at the wal and driool for 20 minutes)

part 1! part 2!

[yapperblog]

I wanna see you but you're not mine

Tags: suggestive, 18+ only, angst, cheating

RPF below, don't interact if you are not comfortable with it.

You are melting into each others mouths, soft breathless moans filling the dark room, his beard scratches your chin, but you don't care, not when he tastes so good, his hands so tight around your waist. You haven't been together that long, but you think you love him. Know he loves you, because he says it into your ear, pressing his body against yours, making you lay down further on the bed.

You can hear the sounds of the party downstairs. The noise of glass breaking and a second later your friend's voice scolding someone making you both laugh separating for a split second before his lips meet your neck. You feel his hands start to bunch up your skirt around your hips, his rough hands caressing your soft skin.

You don't hear the door open.

"Oh shit" a familiar voice startles you. Your boyfriend separates from you, turning his head towards the noise, his hand moving to cover your exposed thigh.

The door is slightly open, warm light spilling into the room. You catch a glimpse of blond hair, as you look from behind your boyfriend's shoulder.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt." Joost dramatically covers his eyes with a hand, standing in the doorway. "Promise I didn't see anything."

"Hey. What's up." your boyfriend sits up, adjusting his pants, trying to cover up the evident bulge.

"Chris can't figure out the sound system. He was looking for you. I can tell you are busy-" Joost removes the hand that was covering his eyes, looking at you and your boyfriend.

"No, it's okay. I'll go help." your boyfriend replies. He leans in to place a quick kiss on your lips. "They can't do anything without me." you giggle at his words, wiping your lipstick from his lips, fixing his hair at least a little.

"I'll be downstairs." he says to you and gets up, moving past Joost, patting him on the shoulder.

You turn on a nightstand lamp, the soft light making you squint at the contrast.

"Can I come in?" Joost asks hesitating.

"Sure." You smile at him, as you stand up to check your makeup in the mirror. He comes into the room, closing the door behind him.

"Feels like I haven't seen you in forever." he says leaning against the door.

"Does it?" you look at him through the mirror. "We've seen each other last weekend at dinner."

"Yeah, but I mean just the two of us."

"Oh. I guess it has been awhile." you sit back on the bed rummaging through your purse looking for a lipstick to reapply it. "You are so busy now. Big star." you tease him laughing.

He smiles and sits next to you. "I missed you."

"I missed you too." you say softly, looking up at him. His eyes are filled with so much adoration, but there is also something else underneath. His gaze moving down to your lips, before returning to your eyes. This look would have made your heart race a year ago, but you buried those feelings deep enough.

"He doesn't deserve you." he says suddenly.

"What?" you look at him confused, you must have misheard him.

"I can't stand seeing you with him." he shakes his head.

"Joost, you are drunk." you say with a chuckle, even though you don't find this funny at all.

"I am." he says turning to fully face you now. "But I mean it. It makes my insides twist whenever I see him put his hands around you. Holding you close" he closes his eyes, "when it should be me."

You feel like your blood is boiling, he can't be serious right now. You and Joost have been friends for many years, although his personality and similar interests you share made you develop a crush on him not that long after meeting him. You hid your feelings towards him scared of ruining your friendship, not being sure if he feels the same way towards you. Until one day you spilled it all out to him, and everything changed, at least for you.

"What is wrong with you? Why are you doing this? He doesn't deserve you" you repeat his words. "And you do?" he winces at your words. "Remember what you said after that night?"

That night. The night you twisted your ankle falling off a bike and Joost helped you get to your apartment, his hands holding you so firm yet gentle, brushing away any fallen tears. Cooing at your winces when he was wrapping a bandage around your ankle. When he kissed your knee so softly, it made your breath catch. You ended up drinking wine, watching trash TV shows till the moon shone through your window.

"How is your foot?" he asks when a commercial break starts.

"Still hurts, but I'll live." you say turning to him. "You didn't have to stay with me."

"I wanted to." Joost replies, his hand brushing your hair softly away from your face.

You didn't think about it, you leaned in and kissed him.

"I'm sorry. I-" you pulled away, but before you could finish your sentence, he crashed his lips into yours. His lips felt like everything you imagined and better, you couldn't get enough of him, but scared to be too eager. It makes you moan into his mouth when he takes more initiative, you feel his hand on your cheek, coordinating your moves, deepening the kiss. You have to separate for air far too quick. You look at him, both of you breathing heavily, still processing what just happened.

"I wanted to do this for a while." you confess to him.

"You should have." he kisses you again, pushing you to lay down making sure not to put any pressure on your injured leg. Your mind is racing a hundred miles an hour, this is finally happening, it seems so silly now that you were scared to confess your feelings to him. Your train of thoughts is interrupted when you feel him bite your bottom lip, the feeling making you gasp and open your mouth in surprise. He uses the opportunity to introduce his tongue to yours.

He is kissing you so deep, making you feel like he also wanted you all this time, you wrap your hands around his shoulders pulling him even closer. He smiles into the kiss, making your teeth clash, but you continue making out, not being able to separate from each other. He touches you all over in exploration trying to feel you and at the same time pull more of the delicious sounds from you, which taste so good mixed with your wine stained lips on his mouth.

You fall asleep cuddled up together on the couch, your back to his chest, his big hand splayed on your stomach. Feeling like the happiest person in the world, tracing the tattoo on his knuckles, his steady breath on your neck. You don't remember falling asleep, but you can't wait to wake up and see him again.

You wake up alone. Memories of last night flood in, for a second you can't decide if it was a dream or reality. You yawn stretching, and hear footsteps coming from the kitchen.

"Hi." you beam up when you see Joost come into the room, a steaming cup in his hand.

"Hi." when you don't hear the same excitement in his voice and a weak smile on his face, a chill runs down your spine, not in a good way.

"I made you coffee." he says placing the cup on the table in front of you.

"Thank you." you look at him.

He sits down on the side of the couch you both slept in, his hair still messy.

"About last night." he is avoiding your eyes. "I think we should stay friends"

You look at him, not being able to find what to say right now.

"I'm sorry if I led you on." he finally looks at you.

"No, no. I am sorry. It was a mistake." you say your voice uncharacteristically flat, drinking the coffee, which is too bitter, not the way you like it.

"I knew you would understand." he feels like a rock has lifted off his shoulders, meanwhile you can barely breathe trying not to cry, all the color has drained from the room.

He promised this wouldn't ruin your friendship and it didn't. You continued being friends ignoring what happened, even though it took you months to heal and your girl friends wiping your tears away. It took even longer to build your confidence to be able to open up to someone again. Bitter taste still in your mouth.

"I regret it so much, you don't even know." his words are full of pain.

"You are right. I don't know." you want to hurt him with your words, but you give up, you still love him, but not in the same way. You sigh. "There wasn't anyone looking for him, was there?"

"No, Chris actually needed help. But it wasn't that urgent, he would have figured it out on his own." He moves to sit closer to you, putting his hand on your knee.

"Joost..." you lean away from his touch, avoiding his eyes.

"I like you." he leans to try to catch your eyes again. "I like you and I'm sorry it took me so long to realise."

"No." you turn to look at him, your voice raising. "No, you don't get to do this. You know how hard it has been seeing you with different girls all these years?"

"I was so stupid" he sighs and you sit in silence for a few moments. "I was looking for you in every one of them." he turns to look you, his knuckles brush your cheek softly.

"I was right there, Joost." you close your eyes. "You didn't have to look far." Tears threaten to spill from your eyes, you think of everything you could have had together, how different it all could have been, if only he made an effort to see you.

"I am so sorry, liefje." he leans closer to you, his lips a breath away from yours. You don't lean away from him this time.

"Can I kiss you?" his voice is barely above a whisper.

You nod and he closes the distance between you. His lips are soft on yours, his hand warm on your cheek. You kiss him back and hear a sigh of relief from him. It is not rushed like that night, both of you not sure, but he deepens the kiss, his head spinning at the thought that he finally has you. He is holding your jaw so tender lips moving against yours, he wants more, wants himself all over you, but doesn't want to push his luck, doesn't want to scare you away.

He starts to kiss your neck, holding you close to his chest. He can smell your boyfriend's cologne lingering on your skin, he groans while placing open mouth wet kisses along your skin. Gripping your waist, he makes a move to put you on his lap. You let him. He hates that he waited so long to finally do this, that he was scared and blind towards his feelings, but maybe he has a chance now.

"Joost." you try to catch your breath. "Joost, wait." you push at his shoulders. He stops, looking up at you with his big blue eyes. "We shouldn't be doing this." you move from his lap, his hand trailing from your waist to your thigh. You take both of his hands in yours.

He knows what is coming next, his head falling on your shoulder. You brush his hair on the back of his head softly.

"We are better as friends." you tell him. You hear let out a chuckle into your neck.

You pull him to face you, holding his face on each side, "I would have let you do anything you wanted back then, you know." you whisper. He closes his eyes and puts his forehead against yours, the pain of realising what could have been too much to bear. "But that time is long gone."

"Schat..." he can't find the right words, maybe there aren't any. Maybe vocabulary hasn't progressed to fix whatever this situation is.

"I really do love him." you move to sit further away on the bed. You wish it didn't hurt that much to leave him here, but it's better for the both of you.

You find your boyfriend downstairs on a couch, enthusiastically telling a story to your group of friends. You touch his shoulder and sit down next to him, a smile spreading across his face as soon as he sees you. He places a kiss on your lips "There you are."

"Missed me?" you tease him, your face still close to his.

"Yeah. Always." he kisses you again.

"Get a room you two." your friend groans in a joking manner.

"We tried!" your boyfriend says laughing. You fall back into the conversation again.

"Jesus.. Slow down, dude." someone calls out from the kitchen. You turn around to see Joost drinking a second shot. He slams down the glass, and heads towards the balcony, pulling out a packet of cigarettes and a lighter from his back pocket.

"What's up with him?" your boyfriend asks pointing in Joost's direction. You shrug your shoulders.

"I'll go for a smoke too, to check on him." he says. "Wanna join?"

"No, I'm okay." you give him a weak smile and watch him open the balcony door.

After a long while, your boyfriend finally comes back joining you on the couch, smelling like smoke.

"How did it go?" you ask.

"Fine, Joost just kept saying how lucky I am. I should treasure you." he puts an arm your shoulders, smell of cigarette enveloping you.

"Well, you should." you laugh, but your heart aches.

It is around 3 am, you feel way too drunk, more than you planned to be today. But time has flown by, you caught up with all your friends at the party, having a drink with each different group, mingling with everyone.

"Should we go home?" you ask your boyfriend.

"Yeah. I am knackered." his head falls dramatically to your shoulder.

As you leave, you see Joost going upstairs, a pretty girl by his side.

[original-punks]

I just noticed how stressed my body becomes when I hear muffled conversations. No matter what level of noise it is, my ptsd turns it into aggression.

[stellewriites]

really fucking grinds my gears how my dad knows just how to make me feel fucking guilty for putting up boundaries and saying no

[dreamlogic]

2024 year of charlie gets a fucking break (hopefully. maybe. tbd.)

[mcybree]

I WAS BORN IN THE MCYT, MOLDED BY IT (I've been a hermitcraft fan since like 2018)

HELP awesome hi lorebird

[the-gay-prometheus]

Do people realize this isn't unique to Disney? Cuz this is not unique to Disney. Other corporations are already doing this and this isn't new. Wish there could've been this big of a reaction about it before someone actually died 🙃

[cuntwrap--supreme]

My cat butted up against my hand and it reminded me of when my childhood cat was starting to go senile and my mom suggested we just have her put down because she doesn't really matter once she's lost it and that she never cared about me besides being a hand that provides food (even though I was the only person in the family she was comfortable around after she'd gone totally feral out of age-induced confusion). My mom never liked that cat, even though she was a really good cat. It's not her fault she got old and couldn't remember shit. To me, that's when she needed the most care. To my mom, she deserved to be locked in the basement for the last two years of her life. And, because my mom seldom let her out and I was both in college and working full time and could only release her for a few hours daily, the basement ended up being where she felt safe, and she would only leave if I picked her up and moved her out. Which is so sad. Imagine treating a dying animal that way.

[therealbeachfox]

Twenty years ago, February 15th, 2004, I got married for the first time.

It was twenty years earlier than I ever expected to.

To celebrate/comemorate the date, I'm sitting down to write out everything I remember as I remember it. No checking all the pictures I took or all the times I've written about this before. I'm not going to turn to my husband (of twenty years, how the f'ing hell) to remember a detail for me.

This is not a 100% accurate recounting of that first wild weekend in San Francisco. But it -is- a 100% accurate recounting of how I remember it today, twenty years after the fact.

Join me below, if you would.

2004 was an election year, and much like conservatives are whipping up anti-trans hysteria and anti-trans bills and propositions to drive out the vote today, in 2004 it was all anti-gay stuff. Specifically, preventing the evil scourge of same-sex marriage from destroying everything good and decent in the world.

Enter Gavin Newstrom. At the time, he was the newly elected mayor of San Francisco. Despite living next door to the city all my life, I hadn’t even heard of the man until Valentines Day 2004 when he announced that gay marriage was legal in San Francisco and started marrying people at city hall.

It was a political stunt. It was very obviously a political stunt. That shit was illegal, after all. But it was a very sweet political stunt. I still remember the front page photo of two ancient women hugging each other forehead to forehead and crying happy tears.

But it was only going to last for as long as it took for the California legal system to come in and make them knock it off.

The next day, we’re on the phone with an acquaintance, and she casually mentions that she’s surprised the two of us aren’t up at San Francisco getting married with everyone else.

“Everyone else?” Goes I, “I thought they would’ve shut that down already?”

“Oh no!” goes she, “The courts aren’t open until Tuesday. Presidents Day on Monday and all. They’re doing them all weekend long!”

We didn’t know because social media wasn’t a thing yet. I only knew as much about it as I’d read on CNN, and most of the blogs I was following were more focused on what bullshit President George W Bush was up to that day.

"Well shit", me and my man go, "do you wanna?" I mean, it’s a political stunt, it wont really mean anything, but we’re not going to get another chance like this for at least 20 years. Why not?

The next day, Sunday, we get up early. We drive north to the southern-most BART station. We load onto Bay Area Rapid Transit, and rattle back and forth all the way to the San Francisco City Hall stop.

We had slightly miscalculated.

Apparently, demand for marriages was far outstripping the staff they had on hand to process them. Who knew. Everyone who’d gotten turned away Saturday had been given tickets with times to show up Sunday to get their marriages done. My babe and I, we could either wait to see if there was a space that opened up, or come back the next day, Monday.

“Isn’t City Hall closed on Monday?” I asked. “It’s a holiday”

“Oh sure,” they reply, “but people are allowed to volunteer their time to come in and work on stuff anyways. And we have a lot of people who want to volunteer their time to have the marriage licensing offices open tomorrow.”

“Oh cool,” we go, “Backup.”

“Make sure you’re here if you do,” they say, “because the California Supreme Court is back in session Tuesday, and will be reviewing the motion that got filed to shut us down.”

And all this shit is super not-legal, so they’ll totally be shutting us down goes unsaid.

00000

We don’t get in Saturday. We wind up hanging out most of the day, though.

It’s… incredible. I can say, without hyperbole, that I have never experienced so much concentrated joy and happiness and celebration of others’ joy and happiness in all my life before or since. My face literally ached from grinning. Every other minute, a new couple was coming out of City Hall, waving their paperwork to the crowd and cheering and leaping and skipping. Two glorious Latina women in full Mariachi band outfits came out, one in the arms of another. A pair of Jewish boys with their families and Rabbi. One couple managed to get a Just Married convertible arranged complete with tin-cans tied to the bumper to drive off in. More than once I was giving some rice to throw at whoever was coming out next.

At some point in the mid-afternoon, there was a sudden wave of extra cheering from the several hundred of us gathered at the steps, even though no one was coming out. There was a group going up the steps to head inside, with some generic black-haired shiny guy at the front. My not-yet-husband nudged me, “That’s Newsom.” He said, because he knew I was hopeless about matching names and people.

Ooooooh, I go. That explains it. Then I joined in the cheers. He waved and ducked inside.

So dusk is starting to fall. It’s February, so it’s only six or so, but it’s getting dark.

“Should we just try getting in line for tomorrow -now-?” we ask.

“Yeah, I’m afraid that’s not going to be possible.” One of the volunteers tells us. “We’re not allowed to have people hang out overnight like this unless there are facilities for them and security. We’d need Porta-Poties for a thousand people and police patrols and the whole lot, and no one had time to get all that organized. Your best bet is to get home, sleep, and then catch the first BART train up at 5am and keep your fingers crossed.

Monday is the last day to do this, after all.

00000

So we go home. We crash out early. We wake up at 4:00. We drive an hour to hit the BART station. We get the first train up. We arrive at City Hall at 6:30AM.

The line stretches around the entirety of San Francisco City Hall. You could toss a can of Coke from the end of the line to the people who’re up to be first through the doors and not have to worry about cracking it open after.

“Uh.” We go. “What the fuck is -this-?”

So.

Remember why they weren’t going to be able to have people hang out overnight?

Turns out, enough SF cops were willing to volunteer unpaid time to do patrols to cover security. And some anonymous person delivered over a dozen Porta-Poties that’d gotten dropped off around 8 the night before.

It’s 6:30 am, there are almost a thousand people in front of us in line to get this literal once in a lifetime marriage, the last chance we expect to have for at least 15 more years (it was 2004, gay rights were getting shoved back on every front. It was not looking good. We were just happy we lived in California were we at least weren’t likely to loose job protections any time soon.).

Then it starts to rain.

We had not dressed for rain.

00000

Here is how the next six hours go.

We’re in line. Once the doors open at 7am, it will creep forward at a slow crawl. It’s around 7 when someone shows up with garbage bags for everyone. Cut holes for the head and arms and you’ve got a makeshift raincoat! So you’ve got hundreds of gays and lesbians decked out in the nicest shit they could get on short notice wearing trashbags over it.

Everyone is so happy.

Everyone is so nervous/scared/frantic that we wont be able to get through the doors before they close for the day.

People online start making delivery orders.

Coffee and bagels are ordered in bulk and delivered to City Hall for whoever needs it. We get pizza. We get roses. Random people come by who just want to give hugs to people in line because they’re just so happy for us. The tour busses make detours to go past the lines. Chinese tourists lean out with their cameras and shout GOOD LUCK while car horns honk.

A single sad man holding a Bible tries to talk people out of doing this, tells us all we’re sinning and to please don’t. He gives up after an hour. A nun replaces him with a small sign about how this is against God’s will. She leaves after it disintegrates in the rain.

The day before, when it was sunny, there had been a lot of protestors. Including a large Muslim group with their signs about how “Not even DOGS do such things!” Which… Yes they do.

A lot of snide words are said (by me) about how the fact that we’re willing to come out in the rain to do this while they’re not willing to come out in the rain to protest it proves who actually gives an actual shit about the topic.

Time passes. I measure it based on which side of City Hall we’re on. The doors face East. We start on Northside. Coffee and trashbags are delivered when we’re on the North Side. Pizza first starts showing up when we’re on Westside, which is also where I see Bible Man and Nun. Roses are delivered on Southside. And so forth.

00000

We have Line Neighbors.

Ahead of us are a gay couple a decade or two older than us. They’ve been together for eight years. The older one is a school teacher. He has his coat collar up and turns away from any news cameras that come near while we reposition ourselves between the lenses and him. He’s worried about the parents of one of his students seeing him on the news and getting him fired. The younger one will step away to get interviewed on his own later on. They drove down for the weekend once they heard what was going on. They’d started around the same time we did, coming from the Northeast, and are parked in a nearby garage.

The most perky energetic joyful woman I’ve ever met shows up right after we turned the corner to Southside to tackle the younger of the two into a hug. She’s their local friend who’d just gotten their message about what they’re doing and she will NOT be missing this. She is -so- happy for them. Her friends cry on her shoulders at her unconditional joy.

Behind us are a lesbian couple who’d been up in San Francisco to celebrate their 12th anniversary together. “We met here Valentines Day weekend! We live down in San Diego, now, but we like to come up for the weekend because it’s our first love city.”

“Then they announced -this-,” the other one says, “and we can’t leave until we get married. I called work Sunday and told them I calling in sick until Wednesday.”

“I told them why,” her partner says, “I don’t care if they want to give me trouble for it. This is worth it. Fuck them.”

My husband-to-be and I look at each other. We’ve been together for not even two years at this point. Less than two years. Is it right for us to be here? We’re potentially taking a spot from another couple that’d been together longer, who needed it more, who deserved it more.”

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Says the 40-something gay couple in front of us.

“This is as much for you as it is for us!” says the lesbian couple who’ve been together for over a decade behind us.

“You kids are too cute together,” says the gay couple’s friend. “you -have- to. Someday -you’re- going to be the old gay couple that’s been together for years and years, and you deserve to have been married by then.”

We stay in line.

It’s while we’re on the Southside of City Hall, just about to turn the corner to Eastside at long last that we pick up our own companions. A white woman who reminds me an awful lot of my aunt with a four year old black boy riding on her shoulders. “Can we say we’re with you? His uncles are already inside and they’re not letting anyone in who isn’t with a couple right there.” “Of course!” we say.

The kid is so very confused about what all the big deal is, but there’s free pizza and the busses keep driving by and honking, so he’s having a great time.

We pass by a statue of Lincoln with ‘Marriage for All!’ and "Gay Rights are Human Rights!" flags tucked in the crooks of his arms and hanging off his hat.

It’s about noon, noon-thirty when we finally make it through the doors and out of the rain.

They’ve promised that anyone who’s inside when the doors shut will get married. We made it. We’re safe.

We still have a -long- way to go.

00000

They’re trying to fit as many people into City Hall as possible. Partially to get people out of the rain, mostly to get as many people indoors as possible. The line now stretches down into the basement and up side stairs and through hallways I’m not entirely sure the public should ever be given access to. We crawl along slowly but surely.

It’s after we’ve gone through the low-ceiling basement hallways past offices and storage and back up another set of staircases and are going through a back hallway of low-ranked functionary offices that someone comes along handing out the paperwork. “It’s an hour or so until you hit the office, but take the time to fill these out so you don’t have to do it there!”

We spend our time filling out the paperwork against walls, against backs, on stone floors, on books.

We enter one of the public areas, filled with displays and photos of City Hall Demonstrations of years past.

I take pictures of the big black and white photo of the Abraham Lincoln statue holding banners and signs against segregation and for civil rights.

The four year old boy we helped get inside runs past us around this time, chased by a blond haired girl about his own age, both perused by an exhausted looking teenager helplessly begging them to stop running.

Everyone is wet and exhausted and vibrating with anticipation and the building-wide aura of happiness that infuses everything.

The line goes into the marriage office. A dozen people are at the desk, shoulder to shoulder, far more than it was built to have working it at once.

A Sister of Perpetual Indulgence is directing people to city officials the moment they open up. She’s done up in her nun getup with all her makeup on and her beard is fluffed and be-glittered and on point. “Oh, I was here yesterday getting married myself, but today I’m acting as your guide. Number 4 sweeties, and -Congradulatiooooons!-“

The guy behind the counter has been there since six. It’s now 1:30. He’s still giddy with joy. He counts our money. He takes our paperwork, reviews it, stamps it, sends off the parts he needs to, and hands the rest back to us. “Alright, go to the Rotunda, they’ll direct you to someone who’ll do the ceremony. Then, if you want the certificate, they’ll direct you to -that- line.” “Can’t you just mail it to us?” “Normally, yeah, but the moment the courts shut us down, we’re not going to be allowed to.”

We take our paperwork and join the line to the Rotunda.

If you’ve seen James Bond: A View to a Kill, you’ve seen the San Francisco City Hall Rotunda. There are literally a dozen spots set up along the balconies that overlook the open area where marriage officials and witnesses are gathered and are just processing people through as fast as they can.

That’s for the people who didn’t bring their own wedding officials.

There’s a Catholic-adjacent couple there who seem to have brought their entire families -and- the priest on the main steps. They’re doing the whole damn thing. There’s at least one more Rabbi at work, I can’t remember what else. Just that there was a -lot-.

We get directed to the second story, northside. The San Francisco City Treasurer is one of our two witnesses. Our marriage officient is some other elected official I cannot remember for the life of me (and I'm only writing down what I can actively remember, so I can't turn to my husband next to me and ask, but he'll have remembered because that's what he does.)

I have a wilting lily flower tucked into my shirt pocket. My pants have water stains up to the knees. My hair is still wet from the rain, I am blubbering, and I can’t get the ring on my husband’s finger. The picture is a treat, I tell you.

There really isn’t a word for the mix of emotions I had at that time. Complete disbelief that this was reality and was happening. Relief that we’d made it. Awe at how many dozens of people had personally cheered for us along the way and the hundreds to thousands who’d cheered for us generally.

Then we're married.

Then we get in line to get our license.

It’s another hour. This time, the line goes through the higher stories. Then snakes around and goes past the doorway to the mayor’s office.

Mayor Newsom is not in today. And will be having trouble getting into his office on Tuesday because of the absolute barricade of letters and flowers and folded up notes and stuffed animals and City Hall maps with black marked “THANK YOU!”s that have been piled up against it.

We make it to the marriage records office.

I take a picture of my now husband standing in front of a case of the marriage records for 1902-1912. Numerous kids are curled up in corners sleeping. My own memory is spotty. I just know we got the papers, and then we’re done with lines. We get out, we head to the front entrance, and we walk out onto the City Hall steps.

It's almost 3PM.

00000

There are cheers, there’s rice thrown at us, there are hundreds of people celebrating us with unconditional love and joy and I had never before felt the goodness that exists in humanity to such an extent. It’s no longer raining, just a light sprinkle, but there are still no protestors. There’s barely even any news vans.

We make our way through the gauntlet, we get hands shaked, people with signs reading ”Congratulations!” jump up and down for us. We hit the sidewalks, and we begin to limp our way back to the BART station.

I’m at the BART station, we’re waiting for our train back south, and I’m sitting on the ground leaning against a pillar and in danger of falling asleep when a nondescript young man stops in front of me and shuffles his feet nervously. “Hey. I just- I saw you guys, down at City Hall, and I just… I’m so happy for you. I’m so proud of what you could do. I’m- I’m just really glad, glad you could get to do this.”

He shakes my hand, clasps it with both of his and shakes it. I thank him and he smiles and then hurries away as fast as he can without running.

Our train arrives and the trip south passes in a semilucid blur.

We get back to our car and climb in.

It’s 4:30 and we are starving.

There’s a Carls Jr near the station that we stop off at and have our first official meal as a married couple. We sit by the window and watch people walking past and pick out others who are returning from San Francisco. We're all easy to pick out, what with the combination of giddiness and water damage.

We get home about 6-7. We take the dog out for a good long walk after being left alone for two days in a row. We shower. We bundle ourselves up. We bury ourselves in blankets and curl up and just sort of sit adrift in the surrealness of what we’d just done.

We wake up the next day, Tuesday, to read that the California State Supreme Court has rejected the petition to shut down the San Francisco weddings because the paperwork had a misplaced comma that made the meaning of one phrase unclear.

The State Supreme Court would proceed to play similar bureaucratic tricks to drag the process out for nearly a full month before they have nothing left and finally shut down Mayor Newsom’s marriages.

My parents had been out of state at the time at a convention. They were flying into SFO about the same moment we were walking out of City Hall. I apologized to them later for not waiting and my mom all but shook me by the shoulders. “No! No one knew that they’d go on for so long! You did what you needed to do! I’ll just be there for the next one!”

00000

It was just a piece of paper. Legally, it didn’t even hold any weight thirty days later. My philosophy at the time was “marriage really isn’t that important, aside from the legal benefits. It’s just confirming what you already have.”

But maybe it’s just societal weight, or ingrained culture, or something, but it was different after. The way I described it at the time, and I’ve never really come up with a better metaphor is, “It’s like we were both holding onto each other in the middle of the ocean in the middle of a storm. We were keeping each other above water, we were each other’s support. But then we got this piece of paper. And it was like the ground rose up to meet our feet. We were still in an ocean, still in the middle of a storm, but there was a solid foundation beneath our feet. We still supported each other, but there was this other thing that was also keeping our heads above the water.

It was different. It was better. It made things more solid and real.

I am forever grateful for all the forces and all the people who came together to make it possible. It’s been twenty years and we’re still together and still married.

We did a domestic partnership a year later to get the legal paperwork. We’d done a private ceremony with proper rings (not just ones grabbed out of the husband’s collection hours before) before then. And in 2008, we did a legal marriage again.

Rushed. In a hurry. Because there was Proposition 13 to be voted on which would make them all illegal again if it passed.

It did, but we were already married at that point, and they couldn’t negate it that time.

Another few years after that, the Supreme Court finally threw up their hands and said "Fine! It's been legal in places and nothing's caught on fire or been devoured by locusts. It's legal everywhere. Shut up about it!"

And that was that.

00000

When I was in highschool, in the late 90s, I didn’t expect to see legal gay marriage until I was in my 50s. I just couldn’t see how the American public as it was would ever be okay with it.

I never expected to be getting married within five years. I never expected it to be legal nationwide before I’d barely started by 30s. I never thought I’d be in my 40s and it’d be such a non-issue that the conservative rabble rousers would’ve had to move onto other wedge issues altogether.

I never thought that I could introduce another man as my husband and absolutely no one involved would so much as blink.

I never thought I’d live in this world.

And it’s twenty years later today. I wonder how our line buddies are doing. Those babies who were running around the wide open rooms playing tag will have graduated college by now. The kids whose parents the one line-buddy was worried would see him are probably married too now. Some of them to others of the same gender.

I don’t have some greater message to make with all this. Other then, culture can shift suddenly in ways you can’t predict. For good or ill. Mainly this is just me remembering the craziest fucking 36 hours of my life twenty years after the fact and sharing them with all of you.

The future we’re resigned to doesn’t have to be the one we live in. Society can shift faster than you think. The unimaginable of twenty years ago is the baseline reality of today.

And always remember that the people who want to get married will show up by the thousands in rain that none of those who’re against it will brave.

[ragnars-tooth]

I should not have been taught so badly for 3 years that i genuinely have to google how to find job postings in my field. "Get a degree!! Get a degree!!" for why. To be laughed at by out of touch tutors and not taught anything? It's certainly not going to help me get a job because i CANT FIND THEM. "People will see you went here and that will give you credibility." Will it roderick. Because I now know not to trust a motherfucker who went here 💀

[lurkiestvoid]

yeahhhhh pretty much, except the only thing is it's less individual investors and more Hedge Funds.

Hedge funds use algorithms to maximize profits by any means necessary, up to and including certain tactics that will deliberately tank a stock. If it's not performing well or if they just don't want it to, they can bet against it and whip out a variety of bullshit of varying legality to push the share price down, which causes other HFs to sell to stay ahead of the market, which leads portfolio managers and accountants and regular folks to sell, and then when the selloffs are done the original HFs make fucking bank off strangling the stock. (This also works in reverse: betting a stock will rise, baiting others to buy in, profit, then bet against it again)

So a "strong" company is one with lots of gains and very few/short losses (harder to break/less room to manipulate, generally Big Name stocks like Disney/Apple/etc) whereas a "weak" company with more losses than gains or lots of volatility is a prime target for the piranhas. The people running companies are terrified of stagnation, let alone losses, because it can very, very easily be taken advantage of and even outright kill the company in just a few weeks or months. Perpetual growth is virtually required to survive the market as it is today.

Individual, casual/hobbyist investors with at most a couple dozen shares in a handful of companies don't have the numbers/margins to seriously affect a stock price. Even hobbyist/semipro "traders" who obsess/hoard and attempt to imitate The Big Guys are comparitively few in number and just don't have the weight to affect much more than their own account balance. But hedge funds do have MASSIVE weight in the market, throwing around thousands of shares at a time, several times a day, for dozens of different tickers, in multiple markets and across multiple industries.

And then there are "market makers." These are giant companies whose SOLE purpose is to manipulate the market ensure "market liquidity," or, "a buy for every sell, a sell for every buy." What this means is that if demand is high but there aren't enough shares available to sell, they make more by "borrowing" them, potentially infinitely. If these market makers feel a stock is too "overvalued," they can dump loads of those borrowed shares to saturate the market and drive the price back down. There is extremely little regulation on this, which leads to situations where the same one share can have dozens or hundreds of "owners."

This can happen because regular everyday investors don't actually "own" stock at all. Like, very literally, their "shares" are 1) not real and 2) can be liquidated by their brokers at any time, because, as the go-between third party, their brokers own the shares "on their behalf," and brokers essentially just "deliver" digital IOUs. All Actual Real Shares are held in the DTCC by a company called Cede & Co, and everything else is traded on credit.

If you buy a "share" in a company through a broker, it's not your name on the company shareholder list, it's your broker's. If you're submitting paperwork to your broker for voting for that company's policies at their annual meeting, your broker is pooling aaaaall the votes and "proportionally" voting "on your behalf." And your broker can decide to lend out your shares without telling you (to their own profit) and you may or may not ever get them back -- this is called "failure to delivers" or FTDs and there is a massive backlog of them that just ... never get addressed.

this is hella over-summarized and sloppy but the tl;dr is that supply and demand economics are beyond broken, the entire stock market is more fake than you ever imagined, it's propped up entirely by computer programs trading IOUs-of-IOUs-of-IOUs, and is easily manipulated at the literal whim of bank-and-billionaire proxies.

companies really have got to be okay with stagnant profits. what is wrong with earning the same amount every year? why does it always have to be more? it's not sustainable. there are only so many people on the planet you can profit from 😭

[gender-euphowrya]

ok ngl galaxy buds 2 kinda fucking rule

[misserabella]

sick love

spencer reid x fem! reader

pt2!!

synopsis;;

you catch your best friend spencer touching himself and far from being embarrassed, it only turns him on even more. if only you knew he had been dreaming about this moment for his entire fucking life and that he has even planned for it to happen…

cw;; (let’s act as if spencer and reader are the same age (consensual 18) in high school

really perv!spencer, dark themes, spencer uses readers body without implicit consent (i don’t know if it counts as cnc since later we find out she doesn’t mind), somnophilia (if you squint), INDECENT use of cum, stalker behavior, use of masculine sex toys, breeding kink, mommy and daddy kink, praise kink, praising, degradation, multiple orgasms, oral sex (f receiving), sub and dom spencer, p in v sex, unprotected sex, cum eating, cream pie, masturbation (m), voyeurism (?), dacryphilia, violence (not towards reader), dirty talking, hair pulling, blood… MINORS DNI OR I’LL COME FOR YOU!

@cafekitsune ‘s separators

Spencer was obsessed with you. Not in a lovely kind of obsessed —that too— but in a really perverted way. His sick infatuation commenced a warm summer, when you and him, best friends since freshman year, had ended up staying up late in your house for a movie night. Your parents were no where to be seen, and being scared of spending the night alone, you invited Spencer for a sleep over.

Everything was perfect. Little snacks, the newest film in D.C in tape and a cozy sofa in which the two of you silently rested as you stared at the tv. That was until you had fallen sleep on the other end of the sofa, loose and extremely short pijama pants letting your lace panties show and nipples erect due to the coldness of the night underneath your tight and white tank top. He found himself stating for far too long, instead of bringing up on your body the blanket that you both had been shared, his eyes taking in just how beautifully exposed you were.

Full honesty? He didn’t even remember how his dick had gotten that hard nor how it had ended on one of his hands, palm slick in precum as he thrusted in it, bottom lip in between his teeth and soft moans and groans scaping his lips. But he didn’t care. He came so hard that night that he swore he saw stars on your living room’s ceiling.

After that, he of course felt awkward and embarrassed of himself around you. Masturbating to his sleeping best friend, and just mere inches away from you? Jesus Christ. Though that remorse quickly went away when he found himself sinking deeper in that sickness under your name.

He relished in that pretty tears of yours when you cried about another stupid boy being mean to you and dumping you against his neck, your tits fully pressed to his chest and whimpers making his cock push against his jeans, even more when that same guys were the ones crying and begging for him to stop as he beat the shit out of them.

He liked to see you cry, but if it wasn’t because of him, he wouldn’t have it. He sent a couple of them to the ER, but they were too scared to get a couple more bones broken if they ever spoke up,— and also, who would believe them if they said that the slender nerd of their class was the one that beat them up— so he always got away with it. In no time, the guys were fucking terrified of even glancing at you, leaving you all to himself. Like it had to be. You were his, or you’ll be.

You were always complaining about things of yours disappearing, “Fuck! I cant found my chapstick.” him shrugging even when he knew that he was, in fact, the thug. Then, he’d go back to his house and open the last drawer of his desk — which he had under key— and take the same chapstick out of his pocket to push it inside along with the other things he had stolen from you: lipgloss, necklaces, bracelets… Panties.

He loved them. He almost had a collection of them, of all types; cotton, lace, thongs… He loved the ones that he stole from the dirty laundry the most, which’s crotch he could push against his nose and lick as he fucked his fist. Getting to taste and smell your slick always drove him crazy.

Another thing Spencer loved to do was take photos of you. He had albums and albums of polaroids for the two of you, being both on the pictures or just you. He loved to watch them from time to time: you smiling, you singing, you dancing, you blowing a kiss to the camera, jumping in the pool, petting a stray cat… Being simply you.

But he also had some photos that were exceptionally and just for him. Some of them were flashes of your body in those little and pretty bikinis you always wore in the warm summers, some other of your naked body —facing away from the door of your bathroom— when you changed, you eating ice cream with cheeks, lips and tongue stained in the vanilla treat, some of you sleeping, some others of the panties and little skirts that you’d wear. He even had one of you resting asleep on his lap, lips parted and against his hard cock. He saved some of them on his wallet in case he ever had to take care of a boner when he hung out with you.

He was in love with you. Sickly in love. Sickly enough to take some of those photos of yours and cut out your face just to tape them to his porn magazines. Some of the pages had even stuck together due to his cum.

And you were just so unbelievably oblivious of his infatuation that you always left the window to your room unlocked in case he ever wanted to sneak in in the middle of the night to stay with you if he ever felt lonely in his empty house. At first, before his infatuation appeared, he would sneak in from time to time when the loneliness became too strong for him to handle, cuddling with you and leaving first hour in the morning. Now? Now he snuck in almost every goddamn night. To cuddle, to watch you sleep, to be able to hold you close and even to take advantage of your heavy slumber. He had licked his cum out of your fingers when he had used your hand to masturbate, having to hold in his moans and whimpers. Other nights, he would get under your covers and part your thighs just to push his head in between them, face against your clothed cunt as his hips buckled against the duvet, tongue flattening against your heat and moaning when your thighs would unconsciously squish his head.

He loved it when you played with his hair, groaning when you’d pull from it when he’d tickle you, and laughing when you’d scream at him for using your good conditioner after a pool day. He was obsessed with your little lotions and expensive shampoos, using them as lube to fuck his hand while he showered in your house, using then his cum to fill the tubes, evening out the difference.

He would steal food from you in the cafeteria, using your own fork or spoons just to be able to have your spit in his mouth. You’d always whine about it, but he never stopped, so you eventually stopped caring, giving him full access to it when you were full.

Spencer considered himself to be a man with clear tastes when it came to sexual preferences. He would love to fuck you to his liking, to sink you into submission and to get you to call him daddy. He thought of himself as a dominant kind of person rather than a submissive one, but that changed when in one of his numerous wet dreams it was you the one who choked him and fucked him, using him like you’d use a fucking toy. He had woke up with a raging orgasm as from his lips fell the word ‘mommy’.

Was he a pervert? Absolutely. Would he ever speak up about his feelings for you? Absolutely not.

He’d prefer to die with a boner than ever telling you he loved you. He was just terrified of the thought of you pushing him away or ever hurting your friendship.

So after a day full of what he thought of ‘teasing’, since it always involved you dressing in one of those incredibly short skirts or staring at him for too long as you sucked on one of the lollipops that he always bought you, he would come to his house and enter his room with a full tent in between his thighs. He would pull out of the back of his closet his fleshlight and spray one of his pillows with those little bottles of your perfume that came as gifts with the bigger version just to bend his other one and push the fleshlight in it, fully lubed and ready for his cock to fuck into, just like that pretty pussy of yours. And that’s what he’d do, fuck his stupid little toy with his face fully buried on the perfumed one as he imagined you under him, ass up and chest pushed against his bedsheets. His pace was needy, harsh and deep, from his mouth, dirty talking spilling. ‘Yeah, take my cock you slut, fucking take it.’ ‘That’s a good girl for daddy.’ Those were always the best orgasms, making him fill the toy to the brim when he couldn’t found himself to stop. Too pussy drunk even when it wasn’t your pussy what he fucked in between whimpers.

He sometimes would leave his house’s and bedroom door open with the dream of you someday catching him red handed.

But they were all just dreams, they weren’t supposed to fucking happen in real life. Yet, there he was, and so were you.

That day he had come with a really painful bonner in between his thighs. You’d been sitting on his lap for a whole goddamn hour since your classmates from class B had borrowed most of your chairs to hang prom signals, leaving you without a place to sit and using your best friend as a chair. The problem was not only that, it was the fact that you’d be adjusting every five minutes and the fact that he had found himself being completely ignored by you as you talked with your best friends, laughing with them and jumping on his lap when the jokes were too good. Well, he was not being completely ignored, since one of your hands, had found his hair and slowly massaged his scalp, every now and then pulling at his hair when you played with his locks, his hands trembling on your thighs —which spread sideways across from his — thumbs circling your soft skin.

The fact that you were using him. The fact that he felt used by you and only you, was what had him gritting his teeth and fighting the urge to buckle against your ass. But Spencer was a good boy, so he just stood sit and went through that delirious torture with not a word coming out of his mouth. He felt like breathing once again when you got up from his lap when the bell rang, notifying the students that the day had ended, but still choking when he no longer could smell your cologne or felt you flush against him.

“Fuck…” he whimpered when he plopped on his bed, his palm pushing hardly against his pulsing and leaking cock, precum staining his jeans and underwear. He had pulled out from his closet his fleshlight, since he felt that his hand would not be enough today. He had to fuck himself. “Please, fuck me, please…” he was a babbling mess when his tip pushed inside the lubed toy. “Use my cock, baby… Use me…” he found himself whimpering at his mind scenario, in which you would ride him relentlessly, his dick reaching deep enough to hit that sweet spot that you’d torture to make yourself cum all over his cock. “Fuck, mommy, fuck, feels so good… Ah, faster.” he was a babbling mess, his hips rutting upwards against his hand movements to fuck his cock deeper in his toy.

“Spence!!!” you had called from downstairs as you opened his unlocked front door. Spencer always left it that way for you to come and go as you pleased. You were smiling, in between your hands a copy of a book he had been dying to read for months and for which he had cried after finding out that it had been sold out. After seeing just how badly he wanted it, you had been fighting with sharp nails to get a hold on one of the limited edition copies that had gone on sale in the city’s center, where you had rushed just as classes finished and where you had killed your savings in the dib. “I have a surprise for you!!” you chanted, locking the door behind you and jumping excitedly, frowning when you didn’t hear and answer from him. “Spencer?” you called out again, the soft sound of his voice reaching you from upstairs. You took off your shoes, a smirk growing on your lips when the idea of giving him a scare came to mind. Up the staircase, you were like a ghost, slowly approaching his room and mumbling, though you froze when a moan got to your ears. Your skin went pale and your cheeks heated up when needy whimpers followed up right after, as if all the blood under your skin had ended up pooling there.

“Fuck, just like that. Faster, please…” was he with someone? Your chest heaved at the thought of Spencer fucking with some random girl that wasn’t you. You’ve liked him for years on end, since the first time that he held you as you cried your heart out after your first breakup. But he never seemed to look at you in any other way that wasn’t friendly, so, at the end, —being too scared to speak up about your feelings in fear that it would break your friendship— you had decided to bury them as deep as you could inside you, believing that he had to be just what he was; your best friend.

Even though you knew it was wrong, you slowly approached his slightly open door, peeking in in need to see who was he fucking, promising yourself that you’d leave once you’ve taken a glance. But all that went to hell when you found out he was not fucking anyone but himself, back against the mattress, bare chest rising and lowering slowly as his hips fucked upwards, inside his clear flesh light. Your eyes widened and your legs trembled when from his lips new groans and moans fell. Spencer was fucking touching himself. Fuck, fuck, fuck… You needed to get away from there. Yeah, that’s what you’d do. You’d go back to your house and forget all about it… Or that’s what you thought, instead finding your feet glued to the floor as you watched.

He looked so hot and pretty all needy… Eyes closed shut and mouth agape in gasps, glasses crooked, eyebrows pushed together as his head fell back against his pillow, hair messy all over it. His hand was slow, pushing the toy down on his cock in deep and harsh strokes. You could almost perfectly see his long and thick dick, his thrusts making the lube’s wet sounds fill the room. “Ah, fuck…” his voice was low and so broken you felt your panties damp in your slick, you were so turned on that your free hand cupped your cunt, making you almost moan if you hadn’t bit down on your bottom lip.

Your fingers had started to push against the lace of your panties underneath your plaid skirt, freezing on your clit when a new babble came from inside the room and your best friend’s lips. “Fuck, y/n…, mommy…, please, fuck, fuck, fuck…” your eyes widened, not only because…, fuck, Spencer was fucking that goddamn fleshlight with you in mind doing so, but because he had called you mommy too. Surprisingly enough that only turned you on even more, a needy moan tearing your throat before you could push it down to your chest. Spencer’s movements stopped, his gaze moving to his opening door just to see you standing there, flushed cheeks, heavy breathing and book in hand.

He quickly pushed away the toy, cursing under his breath when he sat up, a pillow hiding his hard and leaking cock, which was twitching at the sight of your trembling legs. “Fuck, y/n, I…” he didn’t even know what to say. You had caught him, caught him fucking himself with his goddamn fleshlight, and even worse, caught him moaning your name. He felt sick to the stomach, but at the same, so turned on too. You had caught him… Finally. And who knows how much time you had been listening and peeking at him while he pleasured himself. He had to hold back a whimper at the thought of it. “How much did you hear?” he cursed when you didn’t answer, cheeks reddening and cock twitching under the pillow, leaking against his thigh.

“Mommy.” you said, making his head snap back to you, a frown on his face, eyes widening when you let the book fall from your hands as you stepped in, closer to his bed.

“W…What?” fuck.

“ ‘Mommy’. That’s what you called me.” you smirked, eyes falling to his lap when he pushed the pillow further down. “Who would think that Spencer, the Genius Spencer Reid, would be so goddamn dirty to even leave the door unlocked for anyone to see as he fucks himself. And even worse, have a mommy kink.” he stuttered as he shook his head.

“It’s not what it seems like, I…”

“You what?” you pushed, thumb and index gripping his chin so his eyes would find yours. “Are you gonna deny that you were touching yourself while thinking about me? That you were calling me mommy and whimpering for me to fuck you faster?” he moaned at your words, half-lidded eyes full of lust staring at your full and rosy lips. “Mmh? Answer me.” you ordered and he whimpered, your pussy clenching when he shook his head and cried out a ‘no’. “ ‘No’ what?” your lips brushed against his, teasing him to get out of him what you wanted.

“No, mommy.” you pulled his hair when he tried to kiss you, making him groan against your lips as you clicked your tongue. “Please…” he pleaded, hands rocking the pillow on his lap.

“Only good boys get a kiss, Spence.”

“I’m a good boy…” he was so gone that you almost laughed, so needy for pussy…

“Oh yeah?” he nodded, his tongue dampening his lips, hips thrusting upwards towards the pillow that covered his naked body. “The why don’t you show me?” he shivered when your lips latched to his neck, your tongue pressing against his skin in open mouth kisses that led to his ear. “Why don’t you show me how good you are and let me watch you fuck that pretty toy of yours, hm?” he moaned, muttering a ‘fuck’ as he nodded, making you smirk. “Then go ahead, baby, let me see.” you pulled away as he pushed the pillow off his lap, dick twitching below a pool of precum that dripped from his tip.

In the state he was… He would do anything for you. He would even fuck himself stupid if you said the word. Anything you asked, anything you wanted. Anything for you.

He moaned when you sat down on his desk’s chair, skirt rolling up and letting more of your soft and beautiful thighs show. His hands were shaking when his fingers gripped around the clear silicone or his toy, whimpering when he noticed your eyes on his twitching dick.

You had seen dicks before, but none of them was as beautiful as Spencer’s. It was big, with a great large and just the perfect girth, large and thick enough to have you limping for a few days after a good fuck. And you knew he could give it to you, that he would fuck your hard and needy, deep enough to have you drooling over yourself as you came over and over again. You would love to drool and choke on it too, outline the veins on his shaft with your tongue and take him so deep on your throat you’d need to swallow when he came in your mouth. “Aw, poor Spence…” you cooed at his twitching cock, red tip and tight balls. “Caught about to cum. It must really hurt, doesn’t it baby?” he nodded, tears on his eyes due to your teasing, chest rising in heavy breaths. “Are you gonna cum on that cup for me to drink, hm? Want me to drink your cum, Spencer?” he moaned a breathy gasp, and you smirked to his reaction. He liked that.

Dirty talking. Mommy kink. Praise kink. Notes taken.

“Yes, yes, yes…” he muttered, almost begging for it. The thought of you swallowing his cum making him go crazy. He whined when his leaking tip brushed against the artificial hole, his lip being tortured by his teeth when you parted your thighs, panties exposed and damped lace for him to see. “Fuck…” he cursed, bottoming out into the wetness of the fleshlight in a deep and large stroke, almost cumming at the sight. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” your hands came down your body, your left resting on your breasts— hard nipples pushing against your shirt, which you pulled and pinched in between your fingers— and your right sneaking in between your thighs and below your underwear, whining when you felt just how wet you were. “Shit, y/n.”

His dick was twitching like crazy with every new and fast thrust of his hips, pleads falling of his lips. ‘I need you. Need you so bad…’ ‘Please mommy…’ ‘I’m gonna cum, i’m gonna cum…’

“Oh yeah? You gonna cum?” You clicked your tongue when he nodded, chuckling at his behavior. “Look at how pathetic you look.” he whimpered when you had made your way back to his side, standing in front of him and making his head fall backwards when you harshly pulled on his hair, making his hips stutter and breathy whines rip his throat. “Hold it. I haven’t even told you where to cum yet.” he cried when you pushed down your thighs your panties. “Fuck, you are too fucking loud.” you said and he had to squeeze his dick to not come when you pushed your damped panties into his mouth, slicked crotch flat against his tongue. His muffled begging only made your pussy wetter, his eyes full of tears that seemed about to fall when he could take a taste on just how sweet you were. He choked on the lace when you startled his legs. His eyes fell just as your free hand did, straight to your core, where your fingers dug on your wet folds and parted them for him to see thin strips of slick connect them and just how swollen your little pink bud was, hidden under its hood. “Here. Cum on my pussy.” you said, leaning on the skin of his neck to suck a hard hickey on his flesh.

You didn’t even had to say it twice, his hand quickly throwing away the fleshlight to cum all over your folds and clit, muffled groans and moans filling the room when his white and heavy gropes painted your core in white, his mind all foggy and pussy drunk just by the simple contact of your cunt on his tip. You hummed as you stroked his hair, open mouth kisses being splattered across his chest. He was still fucking hard. “Good boy…” you cooed, loving just how fucked out he seemed, moaning when you sat on his cock, his length in between your wet folds and his tip bumping against your clit.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck….” he cried out with your panties on his mouth when you rocked your hips against his. That’s all it took for him to cum for a second time, right after his first orgasm.

You moaned, feeling his dick twitch and nails dig on your ass, your pussy sliding too easy due to the amount of his cum that coated it. “You came again, baby?” he nodded, his cock quickly getting hard again to your humping. “Fuck, Spencer…” you pulled your panties away from his mouth, wanting to hear his groans. “Look at you, making a mess of my cunt.”

“Fuck, y/n…” your name sounded so wonderful falling from his lips… “Please, can I… Can I clean it for you? Let me clean it for you, pleasepleaseplease. I’ll make you feel good, I promise, I’ll be good…” you pulled his bottom lip with your thumb, warm skin under your fingertips. “I promise. I promise mommy…” your thumb brushed your own lips when he leaned in, pupils blown and need on his hazel thin irises. He looked high. And he was, high on his favorite drug: you.

You nodded, giving in, and gasped when he had your back pressed against the mattress in just a matter of seconds, lips all over the skin of your neck and exposed collarbones, his hands leaving your hips to bump against the bottom of your tank top, fingers so desperate to see your tits that dug too hard on the piece of clothing enough to tear it up. You moaned when you felt the fabric give out, his hands cupping your exposed breast and biting hickeys on its flesh in between groans, muttering a ‘The prettiest tits I’ve ever seen, fuck.’. You were tugging on his hair as he played with your tits, biting your nipples and teasing you for a couple of minutes before slowly lowering his lips further down on your stomach, bumping with your skirt, which he quickly discarded it away on his bedroom floor. He pulled away to look to your fully naked body, hair messily spread on his pillow —the same he had fucked multiple times while thinking about you—, lips swollen due to constant biting, half-lidded eyes and flushed skin. He moaned, dick twitching, ‘cause you were so goddamn perfect. Perfect for him.

He didn’t waste time in parting your thighs —which he took his time with, and of course he would, he had been dreaming about making them bleed for years now—, leaving open mouth kisses and sucking hard on the skin, making you whimper and tug on his hair. “Spencer…” you whined when he bit down on your flesh, making your back arch at the incredible pleasure the pain inflicted made you feel. He was so drunk on your skin… He could spend his whole life kissing it that he would never get fucking tired of it. But his teasing was making your pussy clench and tingle. You needed his mouth on it now. And he seemed to get it when you pushed him further against it, his hands taking your now fully marked thighs to pull them above his shoulders as he sunk on the mattress, stomach flat against it and fingers gripping at your flesh. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head when his tongue pushed in between your covered in cum folds, flattening in a long strip and bumping against your clit. Both of you moaned, him due to just how much he had dreamed about the taste of your pussy —which he had tasted before, but only clothed— and you to how many times you had touched yourself with his mouth in mind. His name falling off your lips on a whimper had his hips rocking against the duvet as he ate you out sweet and slow.

It was only when his fingers found their way to your entrance that he started to eat you just like you needed and he always dreamed of: rough, needy and hungry. You were screaming his name when his fingers pushed inside you, quickly fucking the shit out of you and curving to hit your g spot as his tongue circled your clit. Spencer knew how to use it, really well. So well that he had you tipping the edge in less than ten minutes. He was like a starved man, burying his face in between your thighs unable to get enough of you and your sweet taste, of the mix of the two of you in his tongue. “Fuck, Spencer, I…” you babbled, thighs twitching as you pulled harder on his hair. He knew you were close by how moans fell of those pretty lips of yours over and over again. “I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum…” you cried out, Spencer crushing your sweet spot with every harsh thrust of his fingers.

He moaned, begging for it. “Please cum on my mouth, mommy. Please, let me have it, please mommy, please…” you whined when his tongue gave just one last stroke to your clit, dissolving in the hardest orgasm you’ve ever had, whimpers against your cunt as Spencer drank every last drop of it all, helping you ride out your orgasm as your sweet moans filled his bedroom.

You mewled when once you’ve come down from your high, his tongue licking you clean as hips rutted on his wet sheets, seconds away from coming when you called from him. He whimpered when you tugged on his hair, pulling him away from your pussy as you sat up. He looked completely gone. Half-lidded eyes unfocused, messy hair due to your tugging, swollen lips and wet chin. “Please, just a little bit more, mommy…” he begged, needing to go back in between your thighs. Needing to taste you and make you cum again on his mouth. “Please, I need it…” your eyes fell to his twitching and leaking cock, and then, to the dampness of the sheets where he had been rocking against. You clicked your tongue as you took him in your hand, making him gasp.

“I’ll let you choose where to cum next, Spencer.” you said, your other hand coming to his cheek to rub the flush on his skin. “I could let you eat me out again and let you cum all over the sheets all by yourself…” his balls tightened to the thought of it, feeling cold when the hand that cupped his face left him to fall in between your thighs, spreading you open for him to see. “Or you could cum inside of me.” his eyes rolled to the back of his head, hips thrusting into your hand in anticipation. “What do you say, Spence? Where do you want to cum, baby?” he was almost hyperventilating, whimpers falling of his lips as he leaned on you, eyes on your own.

“Inside.” he found himself to mutter, unable to think, not when you were offering him the chance to fuck you raw and fill you up. Just the thought of it had him reeling.

“Oh yeah?” you whispered against his lips, him nodding slightly, bewitched by your minty breath connecting with his own. “You wanna cum inside, hm? Gonna let me use your cock too?” you gave him a sweet smile when he moaned, furiously nodding. Leaving a little peck on the corner of his mouth, you fell backwards on your back once again. “Then come here, Spence.” he was fast to top you, your thighs parting to receive him there, hands on his neck when he leaned in, eyes asking for permission to kiss you, which he didn’t even need since you were now entering your tongue in his mouth, making him groan. Fuck, he could come just with that. With your tongue on his mouth, your body against him and the thought that you were only letting him fuck you to seek your own release. He moaned on your open mouth when you took his dick to align it with your entrance, which twitched at the feeling of his tip. You needed him, and you needed him now. “Fuck, baby, please fuck me Spencer, please, please…” you whimpered, and he didn’t wait to push inside in a deep and fast stroke. You both moaned, foreheads against the other’s as he bottomed out.

“Fuck, so tight, mommy, so tight… Shit. I’m gonna cum.” your head had fallen backwards in gasps, giving him full access to your neck, which he kissed and sucked, leaving new marks. He was so big you felt like splitting in half, but not in a painful way. His stretch had you delirious, his tip brushing against that sweet spot that would make you come in a matter of seconds. Your nails dug on the skin of his back, making him groan. The two of you were taking your time, him getting used to the feeling of your tight and warm walls trying to milk his twitching dick and you to the feeling of his heavy and big cock sitting inside your wet cunt, spreading you to edges you’d only dreamed of getting to. He groaned against your neck when you started to unconsciously rock against him. “Please y/n, can I fuck you now? Let me fuck you mommy, please? I need to… I need to…”

“Go ahead, baby. Be a good boy for me and let me use your cock, alright?” he whimpered at your words, and in less than one second he had you gripping to his back for dear life and losing yourself in between moans. “Oh fuck, yeah Spencer, just like that baby, shit, fuck me, fuck me…”

He was just feral. Thrusting in you with just cumming in mind. His hips were pushing against yours in a hurry, hitting that spot inside of you that had you whimpering as you thrusted yourself on his cock, just as desperate as him. He was too pussy drunk to even kiss you straight, spit dripping down your chin at the messy made out. “Fuck, y/n, mommy, shit, so good, feels so good, fuck, I love it, love your pussy, ah shit, love you mommy, loveyouloveyouloveyou…” he was a mess. Both of you were. His thrusts had you drooling on the pillow, back arched and eyes squeezed shut, too lost in the pleasure, in him. You could feel yourself getting closer and closer to your release with every new deep and harsh thrust, making your nails dig up on his back, probably leaving marks.

“Fuck, Spencer, fuck, I’m close, shit, I’m gonna cum…” you whimpered on his ear, making him fuck you harder.

“Cum on my cock, mommy, please, please… Use me. Use me…” he begged, and then you could only feel yourself cumming over and over again. It was all too much, but too good at the same time. So good that had your soaked cunt gushing all over his dick as he fucked you dumb, his hands pulling on your nipples and teeth digging so hard on your neck that draw blood. You were seeing fucking stars in the ceiling.

The only thing that you seemed able to coherently form was his name, which you chanted like you sang your favorite summer song. “Spencer, Spencer, Spencer…”

“Shit, Imma cum, I’m cumming so fucking hard… Gonna fill your pussy mommy, gonna…, fuck!” his thrusts became sloppier. “Im gonna cum, i’mcummingi’mcummingi’mcumming.”hips thrusted one, two, three more times before his dick twitched inside of you, filling you so full you choked on air, your eyes rolling to the back of your head when some of it spilled out. He was whimpering ‘mommy’ over and over again in between cries against your neck, thick gropes of cum painting your insides in the purest white.

“Shit, fuck, Spencer. So good…” you moaned, rolling your hips at the feeling of fullness. You were fucked out, brain dead on the cock that had just gave the best sex of your life. You were trying really hard to come down from your high and calm down your breathing. “Spencer!” Though you really couldn’t even do that, since you found your head being hardly pushed against his pillows and back arched with your chest against the duvet when he pulled you up from your ass, his newly hard cock ramming inside of your full of cum pussy. You cried out when his hand came down on one of your cheeks in a hard spank that had you whimpering.

“You didn’t think I was done with you, were you, ‘mommy’?” you could hear the teasing in his voice. “I’m sure you really enjoyed having your way with me, didn’t you?” you couldn’t really comprehend how his mentality had switched so drastically fast, but you were no one to whine about it. If a submissive Spencer had you cumming so hard on his cock, how would a dominant fuck you out? You felt your pussy clench around his dick in anticipation. “Well, I hope you did, ‘cause now is my fucking turn.”

-

i needed to.

[salemlunaa]

"OH WELL, IM NOT GONNA BE HERE FOR LONG, IM GONNA SHIFT ANYWAY" girl...

let's break down why this mindset, although very common, isn't super healthy...

I saw a post earlier where op talks about how they are un phased about all the bad things happening to them because they "won't be here for much longer”, which is so real and it honestly made me laugh so hard but, i must admit, this way of thinking can also have an unhealthy side.

I, personally, have also been victim to this mindset, and honestly i can tell you nothing good comes from thinking like this. You experience something bad, hurtful, embarrassing, slightly traumatic (which, bear in mind, you wouldn't have experienced if you hadn't procrastinated and tapped in to the void) and you tell yourself "it's okay, i'm not here for long anyway", you abandon responsibilities (that, again, wouldn't be your responsibility if you would ve stayed disciplined and tapped in) and you tell yourself "it's fine, i'm gonna shift anyway" "i'm probably gonna get into the void tonight so it doesn't matter"

NO NO and NO

of course it's good to have the mindset of knowing, knowing that it's your last day here and knowing that the void is the only outcome for you, because that type of thinking is what allows you to shift consciousness and tap in to the void, but a lot of you say that shit without even properly applying your knowledge, a lot of you are gonna remain sounding like broken records, repeating this shit for years, i swear it will be 2028 and yall will still be saying "it's okay i won't be here for long", "im gonna shift anyway"

don't wait for shit to hit the fan for you to get serious about your desires, don't wait for your circumstances to get horrible for you to finally fix up and actually do something. If you really knew you were a god, you wouldn't be here reading this, you would be as pretty as you wanna be, and as rich and happy as you wanna be enjoying your dream life. Don't fall into a comfortable routine with your current reality, (which is really just your old story) because it's not worth it. I even see you guys making and scripting for a "better current reality" (another excuse to remain comfortable with procrastination), when you could have your DREAM life, you guys get swept up in your old story, just because it can be "alright" sometimes. And then when something bad happens, you repeat the same phrase "oh well, i'm gonna shift anyway", and then when things go back to being "alright", you get comfortable again, further procrastinating, when you could have ANYTHING. Who cares about your "alright", "mediocre" reality when you could have the best and more!!

like girl, don't stay comfortable until you're forced to get uncomfortable with a negative change in circumstances. You should be determined to shift consciousness ALL THE TIME, not just when things get tough or responsibilities pile up. Because again, if you had that consistent mindset you wouldn't be here.

get uncomfortable with what you have to achieve what you want, so that all you want becomes all you have

GET UNCOMFORTABLE NOW SO YOU CAN LIVE COMFORTABLY FOR ETERNITY, DONT WAIT FOR SHIT TO HIT THE FAN ᥫ᭡💋

[ramza-beoulverit]