#ur follower count genuinely doesn’t mean shit

[hdmsbsna]

Hello, I saw your post that you uploaded about Paul's writings😭😭😭, so I wanted to ask if you could make one of Paul x actress reader, I don't know, maybe he's going to see it behind the scenes or I don't know

REQUESTED: so i kind of got carried away with this, and i actually kind of love it. i'm deciding on whether or not i should make it a series, never done one before though😭 anyways...let me know what you guys think.

pairing: paul mescal x reader (fluff)

warnings: none

description: close, but not close enough follows two popular actors, you and paul, navigating a close friendship complicated by rumors and paparazzi. after a wild night, you both deal with the fallout of being misinterpreted as a couple, despite only wanting to stay friends. you both navigate your friendship with humor, understanding, and subtle flirtations, ultimately realizing how much you mean to each other.

word count: 2.2k

title: close, but not close enough.

song: lowkey by rochelle jordan

you wake up with a throbbing headache, which reminds you of the things that occurred last night but before you have time to reminisce… you all of a sudden have the urge to vomit. you quickly run to your bathroom and puke your organs out, it feels like never-ending vomit.

you’re about three minutes into just pure retching when you feel a pair of hands on ur shoulders, you’re too out of it to care who’s touching you, you just take the support and continue with your business. eventually the person’s hands pull back your hair, and as they graze over your neck that’s when you realize whose hands those belongs to

“PAUL? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING IN MY HOUSE?” you yell.

“jesus fucking christ, i slept over. do you mind?” he responds back

“do i mind? this is my house.” you respond lowering your voice. “do i mind?” repeating the sentence again wondering where he found the audacity.

“listen, i’m sure you remember we were all drunk. the others were able to get dd’s but i forgot to beforehand and when i tried to call an uber they hung up on me. i slept on the couch, don’t worry.” paul said clearly, trying not to piss you off any more.

“gosh paul, you know you can’t do shit like this. what if the paparazzi catches you leaving my house? i really don’t need another rumor going around.” you say, completely calm now.

“yeah, you’re right i’m sorry but at least we’re saving gas today.” he responds back, clearly not that sorry.

“pfhaha you think we’re driving to set together? you’re out of your mind, you sir are going back to your house and getting your own car.” you say matter-of-factly.

“really? you hate me that much?”

“yes..” you say watching his expression get mad. “now go get your stuff and i’ll see you in a bit.”

“fine whatever, hope you get even sicker.” he says as he walks out of your bedroom.

“FUCK YOU!” you yell back. you hear his laughter from across the house.

“love you too!” he says as the front door opens and closes.

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you and paul are both very popular actors, you guys have worked on a project once before and both of you guys are back to do another. he was one of your best friends and you genuinely enjoyed his presence but unfortunately because of the first film you guys filmed which was a romance, so many people have ‘shipped’ you guys together including fans, directors, writers and even your mutuals. it can be so frustrating when so many people want you together. you and paul of course don’t like each other, only friend feelings there, however you obviously take on more responsibility between the two of you, making sure that what you do doesn’t give people the wrong impression. unfortunately for you, paul doesn’t care at all.

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“i’m saying that we can’t be publicly hanging out, people will get the wrong impression” you say over the phone, currently on facetime with him.”

“who gives a shit? i mean we know exactly what we are and what we aren’t, people are going to come up with their own impressions anyways so we should just be ourselves.” paul responds not understanding your worry.

“yeah, i know but i don’t want to have to always worry about our outings being the headline of the next ‘people’ magazine” you say trying to get him to understand.

“we’re already in the ‘people’ magazine.” pauls retorts.

“okay, well this is my decision whether or not you agree with it. only private hangouts from now on.”

“fine,” pauls says clearly not happy with your decision “maybe we should just fake date and like give them what they want and then we’ll break up and no one will care about us again”

“you’re actually insane for that, tell me that wasn’t an actual thought of yours.” you chuckle.

“i’m just trying to think of ways where i can enjoy the company of one of my best friends.”

“i just told you, private hangouts. there’s no way around it, that’s that.” you say sternly.

“you’re hot when you’re serious.” paul says, expecting a reaction from you.

“okay and that’s where we end this call, talk to you never.”

“mhm, love you too sweetie.”

that conversation happened about three months ago and you must say, paul had done an excellent job making sure you guys were never seen together. that’s one of the things you loved most about him, he may not be happy with your decisions but he’ll always respect and follow them. you know paul loves you and just wants to hang out with his best friend, but you can’t afford the damage of one misinterpreted photo affecting you for months out of your life. paul may not know it now, but this decision is benefiting him a lot.

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you took a shower right after paul left, you definitely needed it especially with all the vomit on you. you took your hangover medications that you’ve had for years. 

after your shower, you got into some comfy clothes and tied your hair up. you didn’t feel like putting in any effort to your appearance today, especially since paul already saw you this rough.  you grab your keys, wallet and phone and head out the door. you walk to a coffee shop and order a matcha latte and have an uber pick you up and take you to set. 

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the uber has dropped you off, and you make your way to set. as you walk past everyone, you’re getting so many awkward looks. the tension is extremely high, you walk past your favorite producer and he just puts his head down. finally, you make it to your chair only to be interrupted.

“hey, umm the director wants to see you…” emily says awkwardly, she’s the director’s assistant.

“okay, where is he?” you ask.

“he’s over by the food.”

“mkay, thanks.” you respond as you start making your way to the food area.

on your way there you bump into paul…he sure knows how to clean up.

“hey, you heading to steve?” he asks.

“what? yeah, are you?” you ask clearly confused.

“yeah, emily told me he wanted to see me. you think we’re in trouble?” he asks.

“i mean we haven’t done anything wrong so he probably just wants to talk about a scene or something.”

“maybe, did you see how people were staring when you walked in?”

“yeah it was super weird, they did it to you too?” you ask him.

“yeah, they did.” 

you arrive at the food area and you see your director, steve. he’s grabbing some grapes and putting them on his plate. you and paul both give each other a stare and start walking towards him. you notice that some people around you were staring as you went up to steve.

“sir, you wanted to see us?” you say as you lightly tap his shoulder.

“ahh, hello guys. yes, i did want to see you both. i just wanted to remind you guys that dating while filming is not my preference, and although we’re almost finished shooting i will not hesitate to replace you guys.”

“i’m sorry…what?” paul asks, clearly upset.

“yeah, where is all of this coming from?” you ask irritated.

“next time you guys sleep together, try to be a little more sneaky.” he says as he throws a phone on the table and walks away.

you and paul both go to look what’s on the phone and to your disdain it’s ‘people’ magazine with the big and bold title of  “actor, paul mescal, was seen leaving co-stars apartment, proving all of the rumors true.” and right below that, is a picture of paul looking straight into the camera, only a block away from your apartment.

“fuuuuuuuuck” paul almost whispers.

“you’ve got to be shitting me. this is fucking ridiculous.” you say.

“listen, i’m so sorry. i really tried to be sneaky.”

“no, it’s not your fault. i knew this would happen eventually, i was just hoping it would be after we wrapped.” you say disappointedly.

“well, i guess we just have to explain ourselves to steve and hope for the best.”

“yeah, i guess so.” you sigh.

you honestly weren’t mad at paul at all, after all it’s not like he was the one who made these pictures surface. but you were however, mad at everyone else for believing that shit. you had assumed that over the year and a half you’ve worked with these people, they would be able to figure out what was false and what wasn’t. of course, you were wrong in that thinking…

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you had just finished wrapping up filming for the day, you were so exhausted and honestly all you wanted to do was go home and get drunk again.

“hey, you did a great job today.” paul says, interrupting your thoughts.

“thank you paul, as did you,” you think for a moment “you wanna come over and have a drink?”

paul laughs. “you’re joking right?”

“what? why would i be joking?”

“well i mean you’re the one that’s always saying we can’t be seen together.” paul says, chuckling.

“well, we’ve already been ‘seen’ together so let’s just enjoy ourselves.” you say, really wanting some company.

“god, if only someone had said that before.” paul says sarcastically.

“are you coming or not?”

“sureee, since you want me sooo bad.” paul says teasingly.

“yeah yeah, fuck you.”

you grab your stuff and walk off set with paul. “did you bring your car?” you ask paul.

“no i got an uber this morning.” he responded.

“mmm okay, well i’ll give you a ride then.” you say.

you open your car door and paul walks over to left side, getting into the passenger seat. you both are in the car and you turn the heater on because of how cold it was. you have paul put on some music and you head back to your apartment. the music honestly became useless considering you guys were chatting the whole time, mostly talking about the rumors going around. 

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you eventually arrive at your apartment, both you and paul get out of the car. you unlock the gate and head inside, taking off your slides once you reach your front door. you unlock your door and let paul shut and lock it.

“i’m going to get in some more comfortable clothes, liquor’s in that cabinet.” you say pointing your finger to a cabinet right above the fridge.”

“alright.” pauls responds.

you quickly go in your room and grab some loose shorts and a hoodie, changing your socks as well. you make your way to the kitchen and find two glasses of wine. you loved wine.

“good choice paul good choice.”

“what can i say? i know you better than you give me credit for.”

“it sure appears that way,” you say in response. “come on let’s go sit on the couch, i’ll put on a movie.”

you and paul head to the couch sitting next to each other, you grab the remote and turn on the tv scrolling through peacock.

“mmm, we should watch ‘speak no evil’ it just came out” you say.

“yep, that’s fine by me.” paul says.

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“why the fuck wouldn’t they just go through the front door?!” you say, upset over the character’s choice.

you’re about an hour into the movie and seven glasses of wine into the night. over the night you and paul had managed to scoot closer to each other, you lay your head on his shoulder as you continue to watch the movie. you’re a lightweight when it comes to alcohol which is why you only ever drink around paul, you find yourself staring at paul as he’s watching the movie. his blue eyes appear darker than they actually are and his skin lighting up with every flash of the movie. paul eventually turns to face you, both of you just staring at each other. you look down at his lips as he looks down at yours, you bite the inside of your cheek. you continue to hold his gaze before finally returning back to the movie.

the movie comes to the end, and you guys both shuffle around. paul stretching and you doing the opposite, you were so tired. all you wanted to do right now was fall asleep. “paul, take me to my room please.” you ask, not even thinking about it.

“yes ma’am” paul responds as he picks you up and carries you to your room, laying you down on your comfortable and unmade bed. as soon as your body hits that mattress, a sense of relaxation clouds your body. you mumble a ‘thank you’ to him as you slowly drift off. 

“i’ll see you tomorrow then,” paul says as he walks to your door, he pauses for a moment before saying 

“i enjoy you so much, you don’t even understand.” 

“me too paul,” you tiredly mumble. “i love you, see you tomorrow.”

“goodnight lovely girl.”

hope you guys liked this, let me know if i should make it a series💕

requests and dms are opened, feel free to get in touch. also just turned on anonymous requests, i wanted to keep your thoughts private. love you guys !!

[gnflorida]

ppl who are coming from twitter: please try to at least learn and respect the way mcyt communities operate on tumblr before getting involved here

[spencersawkward]

i’m so happy ur on tumblr now!! i love between the lines so much, could you write a blurb or one shot about mgg and a younger co-star, but like very spicy if possible 🙃, idk i just love that scenario🥵.

i was literally about to write "omg i love this concept too!" and then i was like “well no fucking shit, sophi.” lol. YES i can 10/10 write you a one-shot with a similar scenario! also thank you for your kind words that was the first fic i ever wrote so it’s very near and dear to my heart!

summary: reader goes to a holiday party with her co-stars and best friend, Matthew... but all the fun happens in the dressing room.

content warnings: this one is quite dirty but i’m also proud of it lol. unprotected penetrative sex, oral (female receiving), degradation, use of the term “little girl,” creampie, age gap. dirty talk?

pairing: Fem!Reader/Matthew

word count: 4.7k

masterlist

"no."

"what do you mean, 'no’?” Matthew laughs, looking between me and the mirror.

"I look like the Ghost of Christmas Past." I lift up the soft white tulle of the dress, watching it float back down to settle over my skin. he's got his eyebrows raised and there's a smirk on his lips like he's holding back a laugh. I resist the urge to reach around and hit him.

"would you rather wear that?" he points to the punch-stained gown that's now laying pathetically over the back of the vanity chair. I genuinely ponder the idea for a moment.

"honestly, the crime scene vibes might work well with the theme of our show."

"seriously, it's not bad, Y/N!" he insists, drawing my attention back to the mirror.

"you're just saying that because you're the one who spilled on me and you don't want people making fun of how clumsy you are." I cross my arms over my chest. he gives me a dubious expression in our reflection on the wall.

"do I seem like I care about that?" he challenges.

"I--" the truth is that no, Matthew is not the type. Matthew is the kind of person to flounder in front of anyone and proceed to crack a joke about himself. he's humble. but I kind of like when we talk like this, our back and forth.

after a year of working together on the same show, he and I have grown incredibly close. I'm friends with all my co-stars, but he and I just have the natural friendship chemistry that makes me want to spend all my time with him. when we're not on set, we're hanging out on his couch or ordering dinner or driving out of town to check out wacky sites around California. we just have fun. pure, clean, honest fun.

of course, in my dreams it isn't pure or honest. frankly, there's a lot of sordid scandal to what goes on in my head when he accidentally touches my arm or brushes his fingers over mine. the amount of times I have gone to cast parties trying to work up the nerve to kiss him are embarrassing. he's older and more experienced and, obviously, he has no interest in me.

but that doesn't matter.

the only reason I'm standing in a dressing room alone with him is because he knew someone on the crew who could hook me up with a replacement for the night. he left while I slipped out of the old one and came back in only after knocking and checking, like, twice to make sure I was decent. he's so respectful that it's almost like he's afraid of making me think the wrong thing-- which makes me feel absolutely stupid for my almost schoolgirl crush.

"come on, you look great. let's go enjoy the party."

"was this a dress one of the victims was wearing?" I ask with a laugh.

"probably. not like we carry a lot of gowns on set." he grabs my hand, makes my heart leap into my throat. he only does it to urge me along, but it still feels intimate as I follow him out of the room, tossing one more evaluative glance at myself in the mirror. I seem terrified.

we continue to do our rounds at the party, Matthew filling my glass of eggnog even though I hate it. I wince and take a sip while we talk to some of our co-stars.

"what's wrong with you?" Shemar chuckles at my expression.

"lost a bet."

"with whom?" he glances between Matthew and me, knowing damn well already from the mischievous grin on the former's face.

"I told you not to take it." Matthew says over the rim of his glass.

"if you mention it one more time, I'm gonna throw up eggnog all over your outfit." I threaten him, but we're both smiling. Shemar frowns.

"what was the bet?"

"you know David-- the guy I was telling you about?" I reply quickly, determined to give my side of the story. Shemar nods; I told him last week when David oh-so-chivalrously danced up on me at a club and asked me out. usually in those situations, guys just want a one-night stand, so I was impressed and agreed. "anyway, Matthew said if it turned out that he was a weirdo, he would get to pick my drinks for the next week whenever we go out."

"your drinks? that's specific."

"she's so picky!" Matthew teases me.

"leave me alone, you dick!" I elbow him and he dodges just in time.

"tell him why he was a weirdo." he grins. the glare I give could kill. but Shemar is waiting expectantly for me to share the information, so I sigh and set my jaw before telling the truth.

"he collects antique dental tools."

"what?" Shemar laughs disbelievingly. I throw my hands up.

"I don't fucking know. we went back to his apartment and he showed me his whole collection."

"you're attracted to weird people, Y/N." Matthew says. I raise my eyebrows and almost say something that dooms me. I hold my tongue, however, and turn back to Shemar with a reserved smile.

"anyway, how are you?"

...

the cast holiday party is actually pretty fun. I tend to leave these functions early in favor of my couch and some ice cream, but something about the bright colors and the smell of wintergreen in the air makes me want to linger in the studio.

I stuff myself with sugar cookies and Matthew mercifully lets me switch from eggnog to Sprite. normally, I'd drink at such an occasion, but I'm a messy drunk and this is one of my first real jobs as an actress. I don't want to even come close to jeopardizing that by breaking some expensive equipment or something.

my throat gets a little sore from all the talking I do-- Paget and I spend about half an hour horribly belting out Christmas carols at the baby grand piano they brought in. they originally had someone hired to play it, but the guy disappeared about an hour ago.

by the time it hits around ten pm, my limbs are tired. I thought people would be leaving (a lot of them have families), but the party is still very much raging when I start to wind down. maybe it's because I'm sober.

"hey." Matthew sidles up next to me as I sit at the piano bench with a slice of lime in my mouth. I like to suck the juice out of them; sour things are my favorite.

"hi." I pluck the fruit out and drop it back into my soda. he sits next to me, his cologne filling my senses with the kind of sensual warmth that it shouldn't be making me feel. he always smells so good.

"ladylike." he gestures to the movement.

"is that why you call me 'princess?'" I smirk, half-joking.

"once-- I called you that once!" he defends. it's not a lie. he used the nickname when he was mocking me for my somewhat selective food preferences. it was sarcastic, but I wish it wasn't. something about the way he said it in the moment made me blush.

"is there a reason you've come to grate my nerves?" I raise an eyebrow and he turns away from me as he bites back a smile. I pout. "what?"

"you're talking like a Jane Austen novel."

"what's wrong with Jane Austen?" I defend, skin heating up. his proximity is doing things to me that it shouldn't.

"nothing," he glances at me before moving his gaze to the ivory keys. "do you play?"

"elementary level, sure." I giggle. he runs his fingers over them, never pressing down hard enough to release a sound. I'm entranced by the delicate nature of his actions, the veins and the curve of his fingertips, the sheer width of his hand. I think about it too much for it to be healthy.

"show me." it's a direct order, one that doesn't feel directive but still ends with me placing both hands on the piano and wracking my brain for something to play. I decide on a piece that Paget and I were doing earlier, "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas."

I've never been quite good at piano, and the nearness of his body is like an anvil on my fingers, but I play anyway. and it feels good. his eyes are on me, drawn to my tracings over the instrument as they press and lift and glide.

"sing." I tell him.

"no!" he protests. I don't stop playing, only now getting into the thick of the tune.

"oh, come on. just the chorus..." I plead, turning my head to beg. "please?"

I bat my lashes playfully, fully intending it as a joke, but Matthew softens a bit. for a fraction of a second, I think he looks at my mouth. he turns his head back to the piano and lets out a quiet "here we are as in olden days... happy golden days of yore..."

"there you go!" I egg him on, and he starts to get more into it. his voice is absolutely off-key; he's no singer, and somehow that makes him even more endearing to me.

Matthew has always been this flawless, intimidating figure in my mind. even when we first met, I was certain that he was hiding something because everything else about him is so... perfect. he's funny, sweet, genuinely kind, handsomer than hell. it didn't make sense. but knowing that he can't carry a tune makes me feel a bit better. it humanizes his beauty.

while he sings, I can't help looking at him. his side profile is even more enchanting; the curve of his features meeting a smooth elegance in his jaw and cheek, especially when his mouth is open. he catches me smiling at him and returns it with his own gleeful face, now totally fine with singing like a fool in front of everyone. nobody is even really looking at us-- they're several drinks in and lost in their own universe of drunken laughter.

there's something kind of magical about that, I think. we're sober. when the song draws to a close, I lift my fingers off the keys and into my lap.

"you're quite the Pavarotti." I joke.

"the who?" he furrows his brow with a smile.

"he's a famous opera singer."

"oh," he laughs, "thanks, Mozart."

I twist my face up as I hide my smile. this is also part of the reason I could never tell Matthew how I feel; we just fit together too well. he almost always gets my references and I understand his, even though there's an age gap between us. he's an old soul with a youthful heart.

"how's your night going?" I ask him softly, changing the subject. he sets his hands on his lap, absent-mindedly toying with his fingers. it's not a nervous tendency at all. he does it whenever we're on set.

"as of right now? pretty damn good." he replies with a smile. I get warm again at the implication. he doesn't mean it like that, but god, do I wish he did.

"very smooth." I compliment appreciatively.

"how about you?"

"it was kind of boring, but then this rando sat next to me and started singing Christmas songs and it got a little better." I say flatly, grabbing my glass off the top of the piano and running my fingertip over the rim. he drops his head in a giggle.

"you're something else."

"insult?" I clarify.

"definitely a compliment."

"I like compliments."

"well, I wasn't lying before. you look really beautiful in that dress."

"the murder dress?" I glance down at it to hide the absolute wideness of my eyes at his words. he's completely flustering me and I'm starting to find it hard to breathe. he said I look beautiful. not "pretty," not "great"-- beautiful.

"yes, the murder dress." he gets a little pink in his cheeks, and that makes me want to explode on the spot.

"well, say goodbye to it because I'm gonna go change back into my plebeian clothes," I stand from the piano bench. "it's past my bedtime."

Matthew looks up at me with an unreadable expression and I feel my heart flutter in my chest. I hate leaving him. "do you wanna come with me? like-- walk with me?"

"sure." he nods, stands, and follows behind. I can feel his presence like a delightful reminder of the emotions surging in my stomach. we wind through the crowd of party-goers until we end up back in the dressing room, away from the party. it's quiet.

Matthew walks in with me, carrying our drinks in his hand, and he's about to stroll back out so I can change when I touch his arm. the door shuts automatically behind him.

"wait," I swallow quickly. "can you unzip me?"

"oh." Matthew looks at me, then at the glasses in his arms, then at the vanity. he sets them down and comes back quickly, his frame behind me while his fingertips locate the little piece at the top of my gown. my breath hitches in my throat when he brushes over my spine by accident, one nail dragging accidentally against my skin as the fabric slowly gives way. I don't know if he hears it-- it's nearly imperceptible-- but he definitely hesitates once he reaches the place where my back starts to curve into my ass. he pauses, doesn't breathe until he reaches the end of the zipper.

"there you go." he mutters. his voice is a little more hoarse than usual, and he clears his throat as he steps away. I know he's going to back out. he's going to back out of the room and wait for me to slip into nothing and I know, somehow, that he's going to be thinking about how I look in here with my clothes off. he's going to wish he stayed.

and I'm going to wish he'd done more than stayed.

before I can lose my nerve and allow the moment to be swallowed up by practicality, I shrug the straps of the dress down my shoulders and let gravity take over. it drops to the floor, leaving me in only my bra and panties. I can sense him behind me; he's silent for a moment.

"Matthew." I say, the name sitting on my tongue like a sugar cube. perfectly formed, slowly dissolving.

"y-yeah?" he stutters for the first time since I've met him.

"are you looking at my ass right now?" I ask, still turned around. the way he's frozen in place tells me that I'm right.

"yeah." he admits.

"you can touch it, if you want." I murmur softly. part of me doesn't think this is real, the way each sentence leaves my throat like it's been pre-planned. truly, I don't understand how my brain is moving so quickly.

"are you... sure?" he's hesitant, but even I can taste the longing.

"yes."

his hand smooths over my butt, softly at first like he's still not believing his own eyes, before moving back to grab it. he squeezes the flesh, and a low exhale from him tells me that he's excited.

"do you want more?" my voice barely carries. my head is almost foggy from how good it is to have his grip on my body, even in such a simple way. I can feel myself getting wet.

"how much more?" his lips brush over my shoulder and I get goosebumps. my mouth opens and closes for a moment, searching for the right words.

"however much you want."

it's flint and steel, the way he sparks. the air literally leaves my lungs when Matthew grabs my hips and spins me around to face him. my lips part as I peer up at him, at the lust that now darkens those hazel eyes and the way he holds mine. his touch is certain. he pulls our bodies together, tilts my chin up to kiss me.

it's passionate, strong, the kind of kiss that causes me to lean back a bit just to receive the full force of his desire. but I return the affection easily, moaning into his mouth. I've never been held the way that Matthew holds me. like I'm made of sugar glass, like he wants desperately to feel the soft give of my skin and make a home of me.

the heat between our bodies is almost overwhelming, and I sigh when he subtly pushes our hips together. his erection is against my stomach.

"fuck." I mutter when I pull away for air. Matthew doesn't stop his perfect movements, though, tugging my earlobe between his teeth and starting to leave love bites up my skin and over my shoulder. he chuckles against my throat. I shiver.

"you alright, little girl?" he asks.

"just--" I let out a moan at the sensation of his fingers exploring my bare waist. he reaches behind me to unclasp my bra. "just surprised."

"about?" he slides the straps down my shoulders and looks me in the eye. the lack of physical contact makes me whine.

"that you want me."

"how is that surprising?" he smiles, using one index finger to guide me to look at him.

"you don't seem like it."

Matthew raises his eyebrows as if I'm a crazy person. truly dumbstruck. "what?"

"you-- well, I don't know." I frown, but Matthew takes my hand and moves it over his torso until my palm is resting over the considerable bulge in his pants.

"is this enough proof?"

I struggle for words, sputtering. "yeah-- yeah, it is."

he bucks into my hand a little and I bite my lip, eyes moving up to meet his. something passes between us that I don't fully understand, but feel in my bones. I have never, in my life, wanted someone to fuck me as much as I want Matthew to fuck me right now. my jaw clenches.

"I need you." I tell him like this is the most relevant piece of information that will ever pass between us. he smirks.

"yeah?"

"mhmm."

"then lean against the wall and let me give you what you deserve." he orders. for a second, I try to think through what he means. then I look behind me at the open space and back up, him following me closely. his hands move up to cup my breasts, kneading and tweaking my nipples as he kisses my lips. the coolness against my back causes me to gasp, and he swallows the sound with his tongue before moving down my body.

he's torturously slow, taking one of my nipples into his mouth while he shrugs off his suit jacket. he switches to my other peak, one hand splayed over my stomach, and then proceeds southward with his lips. his kisses are delicate, open-mouthed, as they find their way to the waistband of my panties.

he hooks his fingers in them and looks up at me.

"can I eat you out, baby?" he asks. I bite my lip.

"please." like a beg.

"oh, you're polite tonight." he smirks, tugging the garment down my legs and discarding it somewhere in the room. I don't respond, and he doesn't seem to need me to, because he pushes one leg up for better access to my pussy. "let's see if it lasts."

my back curves off of the wall involuntarily when he holds the flat of his tongue against my clit suddenly, trying to roll my hips against his face. my fingers tangle in his hair, one leg resting over his shoulder.

he starts to flick at my clit. I lose grasp of my own language.

"Matthew, that feels so good, I--"

he attaches himself to my bundle of nerves, seemingly turned on by the sounds I'm making for him. he groans as he laps at the wetness between my legs, dipping into my folds and sucking the soul out of me. I whine and use his curls as leverage to gain more friction. he peers up at me.

"needy little girl." he mumbles against my pussy. I shove him back into me.

"make me cum, then." I beg. I can practically feel the devilish smirk on his face as he devours me like he'll never get enough. every twist and lick of his tongue is sending me to new places. I'm panting, chest heaving, while I grab my own tits and buck into his mouth.

he moans. my orgasm hits me like a wave, causing me to nearly thrash with pleasure as I cry out.

"Matthew, keep going, fuck yes!" I feel tears prick the back of my eyes, the culmination almost too much to bear as we hold contact. he stares into my fucking soul as he eats me out, and I want to stay like this forever. it's hard to support myself with my legs going weak, but I love it. the sensations are otherworldly. it's only when I'm about to collapse that I push his face away from me.

"I love your pussy." he tells me, licking his lips as he sets my legs down. I grin and let my head fall back against the wall.

"thanks."

"come here, princess." he takes hold of my hips and guides me over to the mirror, turning me so that he's standing behind my frame. the pet name causes me to smile.

"what?" I reference our reflection. he stares at me, reaching around to squeeze my tits.

"I wanna fuck you in the mirror." such a vulgar thing, said so beautifully. he kisses my cheek. "if that's okay with you."

"I don't care what position we do as long as you're fucking me." I breathe honestly. he chuckles and draws me towards him so his clothed boner is against my ass. I reach behind and work the button on his pants. he undoes the ones on his shirt. we're silent, him watching my naked body move like he's trying to memorize every detail.

when he's finally stripped, he lets me stroke his cock for a couple moments before pushing my upper back forward so I'm holding onto the sides of the mirror. I see him biting his lip as he lines himself up at my entrance.

"you ready?" he checks. I nod and he smiles at me once. pushing in, the smile melts into a jaw-dropped haze, eyes rolling into the back of his head. "Y/N..."

"it's so big." I try to breathe. he's so deep, I grip the mirror until my knuckles turn white. he's going to snap my body in two with the angle of his cock, filling me easily.

"tight little thing." he grunts as he holds himself inside. I can only watch in shock as I try to adjust to the sheer feeling of him. Matthew runs his hands over my sides, my ass, touching whatever he can. "how's that?"

I start to wiggle my hips and he groans at the feeling of my walls desperately swallowing him up. "Matthew, I need it."

"need what?" he thrusts into me and I have to fight a scream.

"need you."

"fuck... yes." he hisses out, sliding into me. "you're so wet I don't even need to try."

I bite my lip to withhold my sounds and he stares me in the eyes in the mirror as he starts to fuck me harder, building a pace with his hips. he growls a little if he hits certain angles, getting ruthless.

"so many times when I wanted to be inside you, princess..." he trails off. I start to play with my clit with one hand, using the other to stabilize myself with the mirror. the idea turns me on.

"when?"

"whenever you have attitude," he pants. "tonight, in that innocent fucking dress. making me wanna pound you like a little slut."

I make a high-pitched sound at the shudder of pleasure that jolts through my stomach at his words, wanting more. I've never heard him talk this way before.

"Matthew, shit--" I rub myself in circles, caught between watching his face and watching the way his hips slam into mine.

"you're begging to be fucked, you know that?"

"am I?" I smile sweetly in the mirror. we're in our own world, locked in a fantasy that I never want to leave. I can feel him in every corner of my body, sinking beneath my skin. he digs his nails into my ass.

"mhmm." he hums. I can feel the familiar weight in my stomach that indicates how close I'm getting. a knot that screams to be undone by his perfect length. I would do anything for more of this. I can taste everything good in the world on my tongue.

"I'm so close." I whine.

"I can tell," he studies my face in the mirror. "so pretty when you're breaking."

"oh--" I feel my thighs tense and my body pulses, the euphoria almost overwhelming. we move steadily, rhythmically, and he pushes my climax to new levels. "faster." I cry.

Matthew is quick to respond, gripping me closer while he plows into me like he's never going to have my body again. the sound of it is filthy, perfect, a mess. he groans at the sensation of my cunt pulsating around his cock.

"cum for me, princess." he moans, losing himself in the embrace of my core. the foggy stare in his eyes is like drowning in the ocean. I sink below, not caring at all about the consequences of him inside me. fuck working together; I need him. "where should I cum?"

"in me." I groan.

"beg." he commands easily, watching my face contort in pleasure. I could pretend to fight it, to give a little attitude, but I don't want to. I love begging for him.

"fill me up, Matthew. please." each word punctuated by the breathlessness of my voice. he gets even more ferocious with me, beating up my pussy until I'm sure he's going to leave me sore.

"right there, right there," he gasps, hitting the same spot that makes me go cross-eyed. "such a good little slut."

his cum shoots into me, deep and warm and erotically twisted, and I nearly collapse. it feels weird, but so good at the same time. full. he groans out my name and withdraws, quick to grab my shoulders and hold me up as I almost fall. I hadn't realized that most of my body weight was supported purely by his thrusts.

"whoa." he lets out a tired laugh, gentle in his touch. I'm heaving air into my lungs.

"sorry." I apologize, my body unstable.

"are you okay?" he seems genuinely concerned and I nod.

"yeah, I'm fine. just a little overwhelmed."

"here," he scoops me into his arms and brings me over to the old love seat in the dressing room, laying his jacket down before putting me on top of it. "can I get you something?"

"Sprite." I gesture to the glass on the vanity, and he smiles as he goes to get it. I gulp down whatever remains of it. "thanks."

"of course." he keeps glancing at my face and the red marks on my hips where he was clutching me like a lifeline. "I'm sorry."

"what?" I set the cup down. "don't ever be sorry for fucking me like that."

"no, I meant--" he laughs, but then he sees my playful expression and realizes that I'm genuinely alright. I think my legs were asleep.

"you're a saint." I tell him. he frowns and shakes his head bashfully. I'm already getting up and collecting my clothes. "or maybe what we just did prevents you from reaching sainthood. I don't know."

he places his hand on my lower back, kisses my forehead tenderly.

"seriously. you're okay?"

"I'm perfectly fine," I assure him. "but I would be better with a milkshake."

Matthew breaks into a slow grin, staring at me like I've done something miraculous.

"how are you so perfect?"

[ah-ga-seven]

Till’ The End of Summer - Chapter 1

>> series masterlist <<

Pairing: Choi Yeonjun x Reader

In a Nutshell: College!AU, Rich Kids, Friends to Lovers, Fuckboy athlete Yeonjun, Overprotective Best friend Soobin, contains all of TXT and other Idol cameos, Omnipresent perspective.

Synopsis: You and Yeonjun are caught up in a cat and mouse game because of unspoken feelings and endless pining for each others’ attention. With the summer break approaching and lots of college parties, will you finally get a chance to explore your feelings for each other even though the world and Yeonjun’s reputation makes things complicated? 

Word count: 3.2K

Genre: Angst, Fluff, 

Warnings: Mentions of sex, alcohol, overall pretty tame. 

A/N: English isn’t my first language, pls don’t come for me ;) Also the first chapter sucks and is more of an introduction so pls give ch 2 a chance lmaoo, it’s juicy, i promise.

You were exhausted.  

Your second year of college had passed like a whirlwind and you didn’t even have the time to realise.

Deadline after deadline after deadline had passed and you finally handed in your last paper of the year.  

You sigh in relief. The pent up tension leaves ur body and the stress seems to fade more and more as the seconds pass. You stare blankly at your laptop screen. Still not quite realising how you managed to write ten thousand words of scientific research just 3 days before the deadline.

You feel two firm hands on your shoulders, massaging you as a way to show comfort “Hey, are you okay? You look like you’re about to cry.”  

The voice and sudden skinship startled you a little but as soon as you realise who it is, you relax in his touch.

You remove your Airpods and look up at your best friend, Soobin, who sat down next to you at your favourite secluded table in the school’s cafeteria. It’s where your friends could always find you if you had work to do.  

“I just might” you sigh throwing your head back. And suddenly a huge grin crept up your face. Which worked contagiously as Soobin instantly started to smile back at you. 

“I did it. I finished all of the work.” You say putting your hand on your forehead dramatically.  

Soobin chuckled nudging your shoulder. “I told you, you’d be fine. You always manage to pull through even though you procrastinate so much.” He says as he high-fives you.

You pout at his statement. Yes. It’s a serious problem. “I just-”

You stop your sentence midway as that god walks into the cafeteria. His confident stride to the soda machine dressed in simple athletic wear made your jaw drop slightly. He was sweaty, probably from basketball practice. His chestnut hair damp, cascading his forehead and prickling his eyes. He blinked a few times before blowing the hair out of his face with his pouty lips.  

You swallow harshly at the sight and Soobin follows your gaze. You hear him chuckle, right before he flicks your forehead.

“Maybe if you stopped drooling over my roommate, you would’ve been able to focus.”  

You send him a glare, kicking his knee under the table, making him yelp out in pain, which caught someone’s attention.

Yeonjun takes out his soda from the machine as his head snaps in your direction. He smiles and approaches your table. Your heart decided to do martial arts in your chest with every step he took towards your table.

You look away from his gaze quickly pretending to be busy with your laptop.

“Hey, what’s up?” Yeonjun said ‘bro-fiving’ Soobin.  

“Nothing much, just the usual abuse from miss thing here,” Soobin says sending you a look as he rubs his knee. 

“Abuse? I didn’t know you were into that.” Yeonjun says giving you a coy smile, and you nearly choked at his words, looking at him wide-eyed.

You try your best to keep your cool, but Yeonjun was leaning against your chair, inching dangerously close, looking over your shoulder.

“Watchu working on?” he asks cutting the tension.

Oh Yeonjun, always so friendly and interested. If only he knew the effect he had on you. Or the effect he had on at least half of the female and male population of your elite college.  

“N-nothing. I mean I just finished it. It’s the paper for Mr. Davis’s class. The last one, so summer can finally start.” You ramble, not sure why you’re telling him all of these details. It’s not like he cares. 

You take a mental note to shut up, stealing a quick glance from Soobin who was awkwardly shifting in his seat.

Yeonjun let out a chuckle, patting your back. “Good job, I knew you could do it. This paper will give you an advantage next year right?”  

You look up in confusion. “How’d you know?”

“Soobinnie here told me that this paper was the reason you bailed on the party two days ago. Such a shame, would’ve been nice to have you there you know…” Yeonjun says a little lost in thought absentmindedly moving a strand of your hair behind your ear.  

Was he? Flirting?  

“I have all the time in the world now, so if you want to see me so badly, just give me a call.” You say confidently crossing your arms. You were testing him, and he seemed amused by your sudden confidence.  

Soobin rolled his eyes at the two of you. Yeonjun is a notorious fuckboy. A star player of the basketball team, rich, handsome, charming but also his best friend and teammate. You were also his best friend that he had known since childhood, which means that the two of you were a recipe for disaster in his books.  

The two of you planned to go to the same college since your parents pushed you to do so, but also because you two are joined at the hip since birth. Oh and did you mention that Soobin was the one with the full basketball scholarship, while you had to rely on your actual brain to get one?

Ever since you started college and were introduced to Choi Yeonjun, you had a meaningless crush on him. But since time passed and you got close to Soobin’s friends and vice versa, your feelings towards him seemed to escalate and you could tell that Yeonjun was into you too. You just didn’t know in what way.

Soobin always tried his best to keep you two apart because he didn’t want you to get hurt. Soobin knew Yeonjun was just going to be in it for the sex and is not ready for a relationship in any way or form.  

But Soobin also knows that if you have set your mind to something, there’s absolutely no way that he can talk you out of it. You have always had a fascination for bad boys, wanting to fix them and then crying to Soobin about it when it didn’t work out. It might be the quality he hates about you the most.

But this time it was different. This time it was between two people that Soobin genuinely cared for. So he was against the two of you having any type of relationship other than friendship.

Soobin cleared his throat, diverting the attention back to him. “That sounds nice and all, but I think y/n will be going back home for summer. Right?”

You’re confused by Soobin’s sudden cock blocking and raise your eyebrow at him.

“No, actually. I’m not. Not this year. My parents are traveling through Europe so there’s nothing for me to go home to.” You say. Soobin knows about this. So why would he mention you going back home?

“Well. That’s great. Then we can finally hang out with the whole squad without any of us bailing because of school work.” Yeonjun says smiling.

“Anyways, I’ve got to go. I guess I’ll…see you around?” Yeonjun asks staring at you intently. You just nod in response giving him a smile, which he returned to you immediately. It was more of a smirk than a smile though and you could swear his eyes wandered to your chest, but you didn’t want to jump to any conclusions.

“See you back home bro” Yeonjun said patting the younger one on his shoulder before walking off.

As Yeonjun was out of sight, your head snaps back to Soobin, who was glaring at you.

“What was that about,” you say crossing your arms, fire spitting from your pupils.

“That’s so NOT happening” Soobin states taking a sip out of his water bottle while keeping eye contact.

“Excuse you?” you say lost for words.

Soobin just shrugs, he’s visibly annoyed and you know not to push his buttons right now but you decide to do so anyway.

“Listen, I know you’re practically my brother and all. But you’re not. So I don’t see why you need to act like you are, I like him Soobin. Let me explore my feelings for him a little.” You say in a hushed tone trying not to sound too bitchy, but Soobin just scoffs in response, rolling his eyes at you.

“It’s your feelings that I’m worried about y/n, cause he certainly doesn’t care. He just wants to fuck. If he actually liked you, he wouldn’t look at you like you’re a meal. He’d look at you with affection.”  

You’re taken aback by his statement and you’re not so sure if you should bite back at him. Instead, you let him explain some more as you wave your hand at him as a sign for him to continue.

“I care about both of you. I just don’t want this y/n, because when worse comes to worst I will have to choose, and then I will choose you and everything will go to shit. I am his captain, we have the same group of friends, we share multiple classes, hell, we share a whole apartment” Soobin sighs massaging his temples.

“Ok…Ok…Jesus” you give in.

“I promise; I won’t engage” you pout.  

“Good,” Soobin says. “Please for once just…listen to me. Trust me, he’s not the type of guy to want a relationship right now.”

“Ok.” You sigh. “But this means you and your girlfriend will be stuck with me all summer then.”

Soobin looks up, confused at how easy it was to talk you out of it. He smiles at you sweetly and his eyes disappear into crescent moons as he does so. “I can’t wait to get mani-pedi’s.” He laughs sarcastically clapping his massive hands together cutely while visibly relaxing in his seat.

Suddenly your heart gets all soft at the sight of the giant baby in front of you.  In a way he is right. He’s telling you all the things that you already knew. And the last thing you wanted was to hurt Soobin for some dumb crush you had on a college boy.  

“Soobin is just the captain cause he’s the tallest” Yeonjun argues.

You giggle at his childish statement. You were at the park off-campus with some of your friends. Soobin had his arm draped around his girlfriend Mia’s shoulder while she leaned into him. They were disgustingly adorable. And every time they displayed a little too much PDA all of your friends would throw snacks at them.

Beomgyu, Taehyun, and Hueningkai had also joined you on the picnic. You were sitting with your legs draped over Beomgyu’s so there would be enough space for everyone on the blanket you brought.  

All of you munched on different types of snacks. And you tried your hardest to keep your distance from Yeonjun without making it obvious.

“Soobin hyung is the captain because he’s not as full of himself as you are” Taehyun said, making everyone but Yeonjun laugh.

He gave Taehyun the glare of death and pouted afterward to show playfulness. “I get no respect in this household” Yeonjun sighs as he throws an M&M at Tae’s head, which he dodged just in time.

Your heart did a jump at the sight of his pout and as if he could sense it, Yeonjun made eye contact with you.

He smirked, looking away when you did.  

Mia looked at you, narrowing her eyes as she saw the way you two were stealing glances from each other like high school kids.  

Mia was one of your closest friends whom you had introduced to Soobin in the first year. They started dating not long after they met. And from time to time you still remind them of the fact that if it weren’t for you, they’d be sad and lonely.

Mia knew you like the back of her hand, just like Soobin did. So keeping a secret from either of them was basically impossible. The two of them tend to gang up on you a lot. Even though you know It’s out of love and concern, it’s still really fucking annoying sometimes. Especially when it comes to your love life.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” you say getting up. Beomgyu reluctantly removed his arm from your leg and uses it as a supporting rod for you to get up.  

You smile and thank him, which made Yeonjun narrow his eyes at the two of you, which Mia also noticed.  

Soobin however was lost in deep conversation with Hueningkai about some Math problems he had.  

Huening was a freshman, just like Tae, but since they were on the basketball team as well, they were all pretty close. And they helped each other out whenever they could.

You admired their friendship and were happy to call them your friends as well.

“I’ll come with you,” Mia says untangling her man's arms from her waist as she tries to get up, earning a sad pout from Soobin in return. “Come back soon,” he said sighing.

“Don’t be disgusting” Yeonjun and you say at the exact same time. Earning chuckles from everyone.

You look at each other surprised and laugh like the two of you were in your own world.

This time, Soobin noticed, and you try your best to avoid his gaze.

“You two are just bitter cause you’re single” Taehyun stated throwing his head back in evil laughter.

“Well so are you, so are all of you except for them so what’s your point exactly” Yeonjun bites back giving Taehyun a beaming smile while stuffing his face with a handful of the chocolates.

“Ehm, shall we?” Mia nudged you and you nodded as the boys’ bickering became background noise while you walked off together.

“Why do chicks always go to the bathroom together” Hueningkai questioned with genuine curiosity.  

“So they can talk shit in private,” Beomgyu said wiggling his eyebrows.

As Mia and you walked further and further from your spot, Mia looks over her shoulder to determine if it’s a safe enough distance to start gossiping.

“Dude” she nudges you while speaking in a hushed tone.

“Why were you and Yeonjun literally eye-fucking each other in front of everyone.”  

Your eyes grow wide and you turn around facing her. “Eye-fucking” you repeat her, suppressing a chuckle while trying to be as nonchalant as possible.  

“I think you’re seeing things.” You say shrugging.

“Am I y/n?” she looks at you with a stern expression, and this time you’ve had about enough.

You sigh in frustration as you open the door to the public bathroom entrance.

“Look, Soobin already gave me the ‘Yeonjun is a fuckboy so stay away’ lecture, I really don’t need to hear it again.”  

“Soobin lectured you about not engaging with Yeonjun?” Mia says surprised.

You raise your eyebrows. “You didn’t know? I thought he told you everything.”  

Mia sighs. “If you like him, who’s Soobin to tell you what to do with those feelings?”  

Your jaw drops, in awe of the fact that she’s siding with you on this one. “But if he hurts you, I’ll break his ankles.” She says determined, with her psycho protective smile.  Ah, there it is.  

“Well. Soobin really gave me an ultimatum. He basically says that if things end badly, he would have to choose between us and that it’d ruin not only his friendship but the team’s teamwork and everything. I don’t want to have that on my conscience just because I’m lusting over Yeonjun.”

Mia nearly busted a lung laughing and you cocked your eyebrow at her in surprise. “What are you laughing about” you try to suppress a smile, amused by her sudden outburst.

“He. Is. So. Dramatic” she says still recovering from her laughing fit.

“He is?” you ask genuinely interested in her point of view.

“Yes, he is. Look I don’t want to be the one to push you into toxicity or anything but we know Yeonjun. He is sweet? And nice. And he has never given me an off vibe. I can tell he has eyes for you, the only problem is that a lot of girls have eyes for him too and that can become a problem. The issue is if YOU can handle that.” Mia fixes your hair while she speaks and you sigh.

She’s right. “But Soobin”

“Oh fuck Soobin, I’ll keep my mouth shut. Just live a little. What’s the worst that could happen.”  

“Did you pee out the whole lake? That took forever.” Soobin states yanking Mia back into his lap.

“I missed you,” he says nuzzling his face in her neck.

“Ok, gross.” Beomgyu rolled his eyes.  

“There was a line” you lie walking over to Yeonjun’s side, sitting down between him and Hueningkai this time. This action earned a look from Soobin, who was basically cursing at you with his eyes, all while Mia smiled at you knowingly. It also earned a look from Yeonjun, he looked at you surprised but content, and he gave you a sweet smile, his facial expression softened immediately when you nudged him playfully as you sat down next to him.

The whole afternoon was spent laughing and bickering. Listening to the boys’ none sense and Taehyun making snacks disappear and appear with his never-ending magic tricks. All while the six of you were busting your brains trying to solve Hueningkai’s mathematical equations for his engineering class.  

Yeonjun inched closer to you from time to time. The both of you were in charge of the music that was blasting from your portable speaker. You compared your Spotify playlists and noticed how much you have in common with him music-wise. It was fun seeing Yeonjun becoming all passionate about his favourite artists, it certainly didn’t help the fact that you were trying to keep a distance from him. Cause his cute little mannerisms and the way he gets so engrossed in his storytelling made you fall for him even more. Face first to be exact.  

From time to time you would feel Yeonjun’s gaze linger on you. He’d ‘accidentally’ brush his arm against yours or he would touch your thigh, asking you to pass him another can of soda.

It was a lot, but you couldn’t say you hated it.

“It’s getting late” Taehyun says getting up. “We need to prepare for the party tonight”  

his statement earned hums, moans, and groans from everyone.  

“Whose party?” you asked.

“Johnny. That senior from the photography major” Yeonjun answered, looking at you with a hopeful expression. “You’re coming right?”  

You smiled at him, nodding your head. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Dude this is a disaster,” you say rummaging through your clothes while you were on Facetime with Mia. “I don’t have anything to wear”  

Mia rolled her eyes at you. “You trying to impress someone?” she said stuffing her face with seaweed chips.

You stare at her through the screen “Listen, you little shit. Just because you’re in a happy marriage doesn’t mean you get to be all sarcastic and judgy”  

She snorted “Marriage!? Oh please. You’re just trying to impress Yeonjun and that’s fine. Just wear something that covers the least amount of skin, he’ll like it.”  

“You’re a menace to society” you state, Mia shrugs at your choice of words and laughs. “But you’re right.” You give in grabbing a strappy lilac mini dress. “Then I guess this is contestant number one”

“Ooh, yes! Love that, wear that.” Mia enthusiastically exclaims giving you a thumbs up.

“Okay, that was a lot easier than I thought this was going to be, I’m gonna finish getting ready. You and Soobin are picking me up, right?” 

“Yes, we are. Be ready at 11.”  

“Alright, see you, bye”

“Bye.”

You throw your phone on your bed and hold the dress in front of your figure, looking at yourself in the mirror. You sigh, getting a rush of anxiety and butterflies in your stomach as you think of seeing Yeonjun again tonight. 

Let’s see where this goes. 

Chapter 2

[junmail]

What’s ur favourite thing about Jun? :)

it’s hard to pinpoint exactly my ultimate fave thing about him bc him as a whole is truly magnificent , and i’m not saying this totally biased (only partly lol) but i think what really drew me in is his personality and how selfless he is !! i honestly never really got all those people who said he was so “greasy” or a “flirt” like yeah there are moments when he boasts about himself which i think is deserved but ever notice how fast he says those pick up lines or brags ? like he gets shy and just laughs it off — i feel like only just recently he really has came into his own like finally realizing that he is indeed hot shit and should brag about it more (insert that megan thee stallion lyric : “looking in the mirror like ‘damn i don’t brag enough’”) and he genuinely cares about the members . like there are those groups that are close but only bc they’re bound in contract together lol but junhui cares about the members and it’s like the little things he does with them that count — i.e what he said about sharing a meal with them. how he wants to show them his space in the world (shenzhen is dedicated to junhui only apparently lol) by wanting to take them to his hometown and show them around (stop ignoring him plds!!!!!!!) he looks up to them and tries to be there for them (in his own way SEUNGKWAN) it’s so hard bc i feel as tho i’m not good with words or how to properly express just how much i love junhui and not in idolizing way but in a way that i find comfort in that he’s a person he feels the same emotions i do and even tho i feel like he doesn’t know but he inspires a lot of people . it couldn’t have been easy leaving his family to go to korea to follow his dreams and it was not a smooth ride either but he stays positive he’s always there with encouraging words to people and if i had five minutes to talk to him and be able to fully express to him how much he helped me get through things would mean the absolute world

[astringofmadhousefloozies]

Magicam Live

Vil’s guest is a pest. Contains coarse language, people being catty bitches, and more telling than showing.

You want more, check my Twisted Wonderland Fanfiction tag. If you liked it, let me know!

~*~*~*~

Transcript of Last Week's Magicam Live From *schoenheit_official

Vil: Hello my dearest fans! As promised, I will be showing off my newest capsule makeup collection, to be released this Monday exclusively at Feathersweep Cosmetics. However, due to high demand, instead of simply demonstrating on myself, I thought I would show that anyone could be half as beautiful as me with these!

[He holds a hand out to the side.]

V: Please welcome my fellow student at Night's Raven College, Yuu.

Yuu: Yo.

[A girl with short, dark hair and tired eyes sits down beside him. Spotty and plump, with a notable double chin. She's notably underdressed, compared to Vil.]

Y: I am she. I'm *donegotisekaid, if you haven't seen yet. Full of genuine memes from another universe, as well as me figuring this place out, and pictures of my not-cat.

V: She's simply been begging me for a makeover!

Y: He asked me if I'd do it, actually.

[Vil stops and takes a deep breath, clearly irritated.]

V: Yes, well. You've prepared?

Y: I scrubbed my face real good and managed to leave most of my pimples alone, if that's what you mean.

[Vil sighs]

V: As much as you're capable of, clearly. We'll start with the primer.

Y: [with a smile] Didn't you already give me one on how to act in this?

[Vil pinched the bridge of his nose, regret pouring from every cell in his body.]

V: Just lie back and be quiet until I'm done with you.

[Yuu looks at the camera, but says nothing. There's an audible snicker from behind the camera.]

[There are a few quiet minutes where Vil prepares her face, before selecting a foundation.]

V: So, is there a reason you don't wear makeup? You could look quite nice with it.

Y: Few reasons. It's a lot of effort, and I tire easily. I don't really like the feel of it on my face, and I tend to touch my face a lot anyways, so it doesn't last. It's a lot of money, and I break out very easily.

V: I can see that. Don't you use face wash?

Y: You should have seen me when I did use it! Much worse.

V: Ugh. I'll give you something later. And none of these have a good tone for you.

Y: Just pick the closest! I'll end up wrecking it by a few hours from now anyways.

[Vil rolled his eyes.]

V: Rook, any questions from the chat?

[A familiar accented voice from offscreen]

Rook: *stellargems wants to know how Yuu found herself at NRC.

Y: Transdimensional bullshit. I'm here until we figure out how I can get home. It's not bad, I don't miss it much.

V: Yuu even has her own dorm so she doesn't have to bother anyone.

Y: Not that it stops me.

V: [sotto voce] Don't we all know.

Y: If they kept you in a building with four usable rooms total and no electricity, you'd be out and about too. At least the ghosts there are really nice and help me out.

V: Do you kiss these ones too, or was that a one time thing?

Y: If I hadn't kissed her we'd be down a student and you and half the people I hang out with would be paralyzed, so don't make fun.

[Vil stops to regard the camera.]

V: To clarify, there was an incident with a ghost princess causing a lot of trouble at the school a few months ago. Yuu decided to kiss her to fix everything, because she's both stupid and deeply strange.

Y: It was really fun until I started dying.

V: All her blood was on the outside. It was disgusting.

Y: It did work though!

V: Keep telling yourself that, you didn't kiss the one you really wanted to.

[Yuu gives him the finger, and Vil shoves her hand down.]

R: *vilpleasefathermychildren asks-

[Yuu sputters with laughter. Vil just winks at the camera with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes.]

R: They want to know if there'll be a coupon code for the new release.

V: There will! It'll be released via the official fanclub email Sunday night.

Y: It'll be a whole three percent off and you have to pay to access it.

V: Stop that.

Y: [sweetly] No.

Rook: *getterbackback wants to know what your shirt says?

Y: Yeah, hold on.

[She stands and pulls the shirt out to be seen better. It says in large letters, I'M CUTE AND I BITE]

Y: You can do one yourself if you take a dark shirt, tape the parts you want covered, and scorch the area around it with diluted bleach. I've done a few of these, a few designs more than once.

V: Destroyed them?

Y: Nah, Lil wants at least one of every one I do.

V: [to the camera] That would be our fellow student Lilia Vanrouge, from Diasomnia.

Y: He's pretty great. He's *elderbatbrat if you want to look him up.

V: Sit back down so I can figure out which blush to use.

Y: Pinks and corals work best for my skin tone.

V: I thought you didn't wear makeup?

Y: Why do you think I know wearing it tires me out? It's not something I ever did a lot because of the effort.

Y: Except for highlighter. it's basically sparkles and it's light, so I like that.

V: You remember that, but not your proper name?

Y: Ain't life grand.

R: I'm getting several questions about that. Would you care to elabourate for the chat?

Y: Yeah. I don't remember a lot about where I'm from. Culturally? Lots. What I like? What I don't like? Everything. Names and places specific to who I was? No. And don't ask me to think about it too hard, I get the worst fucking headache and I stop seeing right.

V: You've never seen right in your life.

Y: Oh, fuck off, Vil.

[Vil stops blushing one cheek to point.]

V: Stop that.

[Yuu responds by biting at his finger with an audible click when her teeth meet, laughing hysterically as Vil pulls back in shock.]

V: !!! Dreadful little monster!

Y: Yeah, but you're the one who thought you'd get more views if I was here.

R: We indeed just surged another 20,000 views and counting! Excellent work, Yuu.

Y: Thank you, Rook.

[Vil looks ready to explode.]

Y: I won't bite again, that was just too easy. Please continue, I do want to see what magic you can do.

V: This is regular makeup.

Y: Metaphorically, you jackass. 

R: *rosemassacre wants to know if you're always like this.

V: She's always this horrible.

Y: Vil first saw me and called me a dumpy little potato. I told him it's because I'm great all ways and everyone wants a taste, and slapped my ass at him. He's been obsessed with me ever since.

V: I am not obsessed with you.

R: You go into a rage over her at least once a week.

V:  She can't go a week without being a pest.

Y: I went three after you kicked me out of the movie club.

V: You can't just project violence on the walls of Pomfiore because I said we weren't going to watch it!

Y: Vil, it was The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2, and it is art.

V: A man gets sawed in half in the first ten minutes.

Y: To an absolutely bangin' soundtrack. Oh that reminds me. Ad time, hold on.

[She wiggles a little before puting on her best customer service face.]

Y: If you want to access media that is quite literally from another world, please go to MonstroMedia dot com and sign up! There's ebooks, movies, tv, music, and more. Much of it is horror, sci-fi and fantasy, as it's from my person collection of media brought with me on my laptop and backup drives. You can use the code SHOENHEITSAYSWHAT for the first month free!

[She put her hand up and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial tone.]

Y: I completely understand piracy, but I'd appreciate if you paid because this is the only way I get spending money, and I can only bat my eyes at these boys so much before they expect something in return for gifts.

V: How'd Ashengrotto talk you into that one?

Y: He was going to make me start paying for all the food I eat if I didn't.

R: *waterwitchesbetgitches says, and I quote, "so like if ur the only gal at NRC how many boyfs you have"

Y: So many. At least twenty. Even more if there were girls here.

V: That is a gross exaggeration. She has maybe three, if we're being very generous on the definition.

Y: [points] And he's mad he's not one of them.

V: [squinting] You are absolutely dreadful and I can't understand how you're so popular.

Y: I like you too, Vil.

[Vil pauses, visibly taken aback.]

V: ... Thank you.

V: You know you're going to have paparazzi on your tail now, right?

Y: Aw, shit.

R: *insertmagicamhandlehere wants to know what's on your neck.

V: An antique chain with an attached charm specially made for me by Soleil Atelier.

R: I believe that was for Yuu.

[Yuu snickers, as Vil looks for himself. When her collar is pulled down, it fully reveals a vicious set of hickeys with visible toothmarks.]

V: Eww.

Y: You should see the other guy.

V: Eww!

[Vil takes a moment to recover, while Yuu laughs.]

Y: That could be a second part! Everyone needs that tutorial. "Bruise Coverup How-to by Vil Shoenheit: For when you just can't keep them off of you."

[Vil mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like "nerds shouldn't be allowed to fuck"]

Y: Then where would your fans be?

V: At least there's only setting spray after this and then you can leave.

Y: Won't you get bored without me here?

R: One last question! *shroudstreaming has asked... well, there's a lengthy keysmash and an all-caps "why".

Y: Ah. Hi, babe!

Y: Hey, everyone go follow him, he's a total fucking babe and he refuses to take my word for it, no matter what I do to him-

[Vil sprays setting spray directly in her face, leading to Yuu coughing.]

V: No taste at all, and gross to boot. 

Y: Asshole.

[Vil offers a mirror]

V: No. Miracle worker.

[Yuu looks... well, the same, but with an even, well made-up face.]

Y: ... Aww. You remembered I like sparkles.

V: Less likely to scrub it off if you actually like it.

[Yuu's admiring herself for a few moments in silence, with Vil watching, quite pleased.]

Y: Hey, can I do you next?

V: Absolutely not.

Y: Ask the chat.

V: No.

R: Chat says yes.

V: [With a visible eye roll] Ugh, fine. 

Y: Aight. Take your shirt off.

V: What.

[Yuu brings up a case and flips it open. Inside is a magazine with a gory cover, and various things like fake blood and liquid latex.]

Y: Alright kiddies. You wanna learn how to slit a man's throat?

[Vil gets up and walks away without another word.]

Y: You said I could! Get back here!

[Yuu follows. Rook emerges from behind the camera.]

R: That's it for tonight, ma belles. Next time.

[Magicam Live ends, but not before audible yelling and scuffling, quickly cut off.]

[diyeoracha]

fanfic recommendations

for @kittensocute bc i heard “atsukita” and “iwaoi” in reference to fanfiction and i am There

i took your “i love slow burn or slow build fics... so i like relatively shorter burn fics (20-30k). If its a 10k oneshot slow burn hELL SIGN ME UP” and absolutely ran with it.

i listed my fav iwaoi fics (17) with a longer word count (longest is 80k) that are all mostly either canon compliant or divergent with only two straight up AUs. none of them feature heavy nsfw content and most if not all are tagged as friends to lovers lmao. feel free to read the my thoughts or just go into them blind!! and they’re all in order of how much I absolutely adore them :^)

now atsukita is not a big ship *sobs* but here are some of my favorite fics (7) of them! a lot of them are shorter bc i guess that’s just. what happens when it’s a small ship LOL. 

the formatting in this is fucked if you open it from ur dash but if it’s on my actual blog it should be fine!

Iwaoi

the courtship ritual of the hercules beetle

Word count: 66k

thoughts: my absolute absolute absolute favorite iwaoi fic. the characterization, the fact that oikawa’s a bastard but because he and iwaizumi are older (late 20s i believe), it feels more realistic and sad rather than oikawa being a bitch for the sake of it. spoiler alert it’s slow burn and pining and mostly oikawa not realizing his feelings. this world building is pretty cool bc iwaizumi is the professional player while oikawa is an entomology professor! also i love non-linear narratives bc of This fic. there’s mutual pining in this fic but it’s really really really subtle to the point where you dont even know if oikawa likes iwa. this made me cry like twice.

sunset towns

Word count: 33k

Summary: In the summer of 2020, Oikawa Tooru returns home from his first successful stint as captain of Japan’s national volleyball team. In one hand, he holds the undisputed weight of an Olympic medal, and in the other, his unresolved feelings for a childhood best friend.

thoughts: the tone in this is So similar to the courtship ritual that I liken this as an alternate story even though it’s still oikawa’s pov. professional player oikawa and regular guy iwaizumi and oikawa is just. bumming around at iwaizumi’s place and naturally he messes up but things happen.

told before and told again

word count: 4k

thoughts: i looked through literally all the tags i could’ve thought of for this and nearly cried when i found it agian. outsider POV!!

In damp earth my body

Word count: 15k

Summary: Onscreen, the nation’s favorite setter has arranged himself so that he’s bowing, forehead pressed to the court, like he’s thanking everyone for their kindness thus far, like he’s asking for forgiveness. Hajime thinks: shit, it’s really happening

thoughts: oikawa retires and moves in with iwaizumi and they blur the line between roommates/best friends and being fwb. this is an iwaizumi pov and the pining is obvious on his end. as a iwa stan the tone made me feel weird bc it makes it seem like iwa cares more abt oikawa than he cares abt himself but. its a good fic

i grew up, you grew down

word count: 19k

thoughts: this is also SO funny bc basically oikawa retires and moves in with iwaizumi and becomes his stay at home wife and a bunch of shit happens like people think that oikawa is dating ushijima and oikawa basically loses it every time. here’s one of my favorite quotes:

“Oikawa also bought a new ultra-strength vacuum cleaner he’d decided to name Ushiwaka out of sheer spite, because it sucked all the air right out of the room. Iwa-chan didn’t think the joke was that funny when Tooru told him, which was frankly very hurtful and insensitive.”

Mint

Word count: 19k

thoughts: iwaizumi is moving and oikawa planned a perfect last hangout and it goes to shit featuring matsuhana. oikawa pov where he pines more than iwa which is something i can get behind!! and this was written in 2015 and iwa’s moving bc of a sports medicine program so iwaizumi stans know and love him sm ;;

Almost a Stranger

Word count: 16k

thoughts: same premise as mint LOL except they’re on a trip together and there’s more non-linear narrative!! this one is a little more mature in tone than mint i would say (funny how people just like splitting them up and throwing them in different countries huh)

with every second that you could give

Word count: 9k

Summary: The journey of Iwaizumi and Oikawa going for gold.

Quote: He knows they’re too close. Iwaizumi knows it too, and they both decided to move in together anyway.

thoughts: iwaoi roommates and they’re both obviously and really pine-y for each other and everyone sees it but them. srsly. they’re sleeping in the same bed. like my god

Lost in Translation

Word count: 9k

Summary: Because misfortune come in threes, Iwaizumi Hajime starts his Thursday having a screaming fight with Shittykawa, spends his lunch break listening to the UCI women’s volleyball team gossiping about how Ushijima Wakatoshi had gone public about his longtime love affair with Oikawa Tooru, and closes out the day by drunkenly dropping his phone into a sewer grate.

thoughts: so funny. so sososoosso genuinely funny. the tone is so snappy and iwaizumi honestly just sounds like a confused teenager (which he is in this) and it gets extra points for including a lot of american culture that a lot of the other iwaoi college au ones don’t include for like. obvious reasons lol.

Something Borrowed

Word count: 16k

Summary: In which Oikawa and Iwaizumi have always been a foregone conclusion to everyone else, but a massive, unanswered question to one another.

thoughts: iwaoi roommates thats abo but it’s like. mentioned twice. whiny and possessive oikawa makes an appearance in this but it’s done really well

things that change, things that stay the same

Word count: 8k

Summary: Oikawa realizes he’s in love with his best friend; it sucks for a while. (But only for a little while.)

thoughts: high school getting together!! my second iwaoi fic ever and this one is just. so sweet. just an unsure oikawa realizing iwaizumi might be more than someone he wants as a best friend. this fic is honestly really really lovely.

galaxies, within you

Word count: 21k

Summary: Hajime and Tooru move in together at the start of university. Too bad they’re stuck with the two gremlins that haunt their apartment.

thoughts: ok this fic was so funny. theyre uni roommates and matsuhana just come fuck shit up and they all act like idiots together even though they go to different schools. and this really throws me back to university days.

Thirty Years and Change (the Games of the XXXIII Olympiad)

Word count: 19k

thoughts: pro! oikawa and iwaizumi haven’t been close for a while until oikawa invites iwaizumi to go to the games with him. there’s a lot of frustration and pining and actually talking about feelings (aka iwaizumi losing his mind and getting advice from people like akaashi)

when it starts to rain, they go inside

Word count: 33k

Summary: “Where?” starts Iwaizumi.“ My parent’s old lakehouse, silly, didn’t you hear me the first time?” OR: Oikawa takes Iwaizumi to his lakehouse for two weeks, post-graduation.

thoughts: this was actually my first iwaoi fic which is funny bc the author doesn’t even like oikawa much and i didnt even ship anything in haikyuu before i read this fic and now im in iwaoi hell. oikawa is really frustrating in this in that it’s basically a really good character analysis on how oikawa comes off as a Mean person all the time bc he’s manipulative and there’s some explicit content

shiver

Word count: 16k

Summary: Oikawa was always the brave one. Hajime just followed two paces behind.

thoughts: iwaoi roommates with oikawa admitting his feelings first back when they were in middle school and iwaizumi putting that thought on the backburner until. obviously. things happen.

Desperado

word count: 80k

thoughts: one of my favorite aus. it’s all from kyoutani’s perspective and it’s almost so au that they’re original characters (if that makes sense). basically iwaoi matsuhana are ex-grifters except iwaoi are estranged and daishou somehow brings everyone back together. excellent world building and reading the pov from someone not involved with the iwaoi drama was refreshing

sing with me a song of conquest and fate

word count: 26k

thoughts: a mythical kings au that’s just. so pretty. iwaizumi ends up becoming oikawa’s servant for some reason and the world building is a+ because you can feel the trust and frustration from both of them build

Atsukita

dreams of me and you

word count: 10k (incomplete)

my second atsukita fic that rly sent me down atskt hell ;; what is essentially post-break up when atsumu gets signed to msby and he’s just Pining and sad for the most part. but the established relationship pre-break up was written really nicely because it just fits my hc of them just being domestic and atsumu being blatantly head over heels

take me home

word count: 4k

i read this this morning and it wrecked me. domestic relationship atsukita?? sign me up

No time like the rest of my life

word count: 19k

mythology au with kita as a regular person and rest of inarizaki as fox spirits! it’s cute and the world building is absolutely lovely but it is an au so they might seem ooc but their core character values are still there

wild blue yonder

word count: 6k

literally full of similes and metaphors and it’s more of an abstract read i guess? but it’s so beautiful and soft and this is exactly how i imagine their relationship

reap and sow

word count: 8k

atsumu confesses and kita ignores him and it’s a couple years after the fact and it’s mostly just weirdly domestic almost roommate like except for the fact that atsumu makes it clear he likes kita LOL. they’re really in character for this!

weightless souls

word count: 2k

pillow talk before atsumu’s first game! the atsumu pov and voice is amazing

if we were both alone

word count: 7k

now this was actually my first atskt fic that sent me down this rare pair hell. it’s an explicit chat fic (both tropes i usually try to avoid) but atsumu types like me (except for the nsfw parts alksfjd) so i guess i like. feel appreciation LMAO.

if you do read like any of these fics pls let me know so we can discuss

♡＼(￣▽￣)／♡

[imlostinsantacarla]

Hello dear! Might I request some Felix volturi x Reader headcanons where the Reader has a SEVERE phobia of thunderstorms/just bad weather in general, please? It’s been pretty rough around here and I’d really appreciate it! 💗 u and ur writing! And thank you!

(a/n: heya hun! i’m so sorry that i did these so late. i kinda feel like these suck but i hope you like them! i’m also so glad that you like my writing sm, it means the world to me to know that. - admin kat🌙❣)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Felix Volturi with a s/o who has a Phobia of Thunderstorms:

° alright, so first and foremost, felix would sense something was up with you even whilst he was on guard duty, which honestly makes him pretty anxious. he knows that even though you’re his mate, he still has his guard duties to keep up.

° but once he’s able to get some free time he’s already bursting through the door of your shared quarters. he’s thinking the worst bc my boii is a bit dramatic, especially when he senses your anxiety and feels as though you’re in any possible danger.

° felix immediately scans the room to see if one of the newborns or other vampires have come in and harmed you. however, to his astonishment, it’s only just you.

° but then he takes a deeper look at you to find that you’re curled on top of the covers, shivering and clasping your hands over your ears. and his heart genuinely breaks at the sight of you visibly so shaken up.

° he’s by your side immediately, large hands fluttering over your body, assessing whether you have been physically harmed bc he just doesn’t quite comprehend that you could be so scared over anything not physical.

° due to felix being the strong boii™ that he is, his instinct is to physically protect you first and foremost. but he still doesn’t understand because there’s nothing he can pick out.

° “what’s wrong? what has happened?” there’s alarm in his tone which is never usually present and he’s pulling your much smaller frame into his lap.

° “you can’t h-hear it?” you breathe out a whimper, bottom lip jutting out into the most adorable pout, but that wasn’t exactly your intention.

° “what?” felix responds with a perplexed expression and a tilt of his head, his features are scrunched up in confusion.

° “the thunder.”

° and felix feels relief wash over him and he laughs. his laughter is so loud that it causes you to jump as it’s louder than the actual thunder rolling outside.

° “it’s n-not f-funny!”

° and everything just clicks into place for strong boii™ and he realizes what’s created your anxiety. it’s the thunderstorm that’s currently right on top of volterra.

° “you’re frightened of thunder?” it’s almost mocking and you’re not in the mood for that.

° “if you’re gonna be an ass about it i’ll seek comfort from demetri.” you quip.

° that get’s a guttaral growl from him and he holds you in an iron clad grip that you can’t break from, which means he’s now taking you seriously.

° that’s where his softer side comes out. he’ll lay back on the bed with you on top of him as he plays with your hair tenderly and he smiles sweetly into your hair.

° “you don’t need to be afraid of thunder. you’re a vampire now. i don’t believe it will kill you if you got struck by it.”

° “i wasn’t even thinking of that until now!”

° “sorry. i just don’t understand why you’re afraid of it when i’m here with you.”

° and you have to explain to him that you’ve been afraid of thunderstorms even when you were a human, you don’t exactly recall why, it’s extremely fuzzy since you were turned and the memories have faded over the years that you’ve been immortal.

° he listens to you ramble about those fuzzy memories for a little while until a particularly loud clap of thunder causes you to jump out of your skin.

° and honestly, felix is just the best mate ever. he starts smoothing his large hands up and down your back, kissing breathy assurances to your hairline and forehead.

° this man has a sense of humor and you best believe that he’s going to use it to his advantage here bc he’d rather see you crying of laughter than out of fear any day.

° he definitely will spoon you until the whole storm is over. he’ll probably keep spooning you after ngl.

° he may even just initiate small talk to distract you because all storms pass and he’s a pro at distracting you.

° probably says he’d fight the thunder and lightening outside which makes you laugh bc he’s such a huge dork???

° at one point he’ll start counting with you to see how far away the thunder is and after awhile you’ll both realize that it’s passed over volterra, which brings you great relief tbh.

° after the storm has passed you’ve got this dopey grin on your lips that he can’t help kissing your lips several hundred times in a row.

° tells you your smile is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen and it never fails to make you smile.

° “you know that you’re always safe with me, hmm?”

° “i know.”

° “i love you.”

° “i love you too.”

° felix totally teases you about it after, but like you don’t put up with that shit lmaoo

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

please like, reblog and follow for more!

requests: open!

[hrina]

Gone Cold

PAIRING: Harry/Y/N RATING: M for Maybe don’t read this if ur under 18 :-) WORD COUNT: 6.4k REQUESTED: nope, i was just inspired for once

hi everyone. this one-shot is angsty, smutty, and fluffy, and is loosely based on the following prompt from this list:

listen i know i can’t just show up at your apartment at six in the morning but i need coffee and no one makes it like you do

i worked really hard on this piece and i’m pretty happy with how it turned out. with that being said, sending in any feedback and/or reactions you have would mean the absolute world to me, and it provides significant motivation in terms of continuing to write. i know people usually skip over the little author’s note at the beginning, but if you’ve taken the time to read this, i really appreciate you. 

special thanks to @gucciwoodnymph for agreeing to beta and for being so supportive. i love you tans 💕💕

enjoy :-)

[masterlist] [let me know your thoughts]

~*~

Harry’s in the middle of a very exciting, albeit incongruous, dream. He’s in a car chase, hounded by a frighteningly large black SUV, and for some odd reason, he hasn’t been caught despite the measly little golf cart that he’s driving. He’s not quite sure why he’s being pursued, or why the sky is a shade of hot pink, or why he’s only wearing a pair of boxers and nothing else. He whips his head to the side when he feels a tap on his shoulder and comes face-to-face with his sister. She grins at him and opens her mouth to say something, but the only thing that escapes is a noise eerily similar to the ringing of a doorbell.

Harry furrows his brows, and Gemma mimics his expression, utterly confused. Her lips part as she tries to speak again, but that same sound blares out. Her eyes widen in terror and her hands fly to grip her throat. Her mouth opens in what Harry presumes to be a scream, but all he hears is a frantic ringing, the noises blurring together in a steady crescendo.

And then his eyes snap open, and—as though pulled by an invisible string—he sits upright in his bed. He places a palm over his heaving chest, his gaze flitting around his bedroom; there’s a faint grey light spilling in from the window, making it a bit easier to see. Harry chances a glance at the clock on his bedside table; it’s six in the morning.

The sound of the doorbell startles him, and for a moment, he’s afraid that he’s still trapped in that peculiar dream. But then he realizes that the noise is real, and there’s actually someone standing outside on his porch.

Who the fuck would need him at this time?

Rubbing his eyes, Harry stumbles out of bed. He doesn’t bother looking for a pair of pants, opting instead to pull on a plain white t-shirt and tug his briefs down so that they cover a bit more of his thighs. He curses when his shoulder bumps against the wall, not yet awake enough to maintain his balance.

He staggers down the hall, his feet carrying him in choppy, haphazard movements. His sleepy eyes wander to the side, and he stops in his tracks when they land on the door standing slightly ajar a few feet away. He must’ve forgotten to close it properly last night.

Harry approaches the room carefully, as though afraid that it’s haunted. He grips the doorknob with white knuckles, his throat suddenly extremely dry. His eyelids flutter as he tries his best to look everywhere except inside, but the effort proves to be fruitless. The pastel green of the walls draws his gaze almost automatically; from there, he’s a goner.

Through the small opening of the door, he studies the emptiness of the room. Soft, patterned curtains still hang from the window, speckled with a print of stars and teddy bears and crescent moons. A small dresser is shoved off to the side, half-assembled (or rather, disassembled—he’d been working on taking it apart last night). Pressed against the far wall stands a crib, still fully set up. A mobile hovers overtop, tiny stuffed elephants and giraffes and lions hanging from the clips.  Harry hasn’t yet found the strength to even touch it. He thinks that he’d rather set his house aflame.

Swallowing heavily, he closes the door. A beat of silence passes as he stares up at the ceiling, exhaling softly and blinking furiously against the threat of tears.

The doorbell rings again, twice in a row, and the moment is gone. Harry groans, raking his fingers through his hair.

“I’m comin’, for fuck’s sake!”

Once he reaches the front entrance, he grumbles as he undoes the lock and wraps his fist around the knob. He pulls the door open, squinting his eyes when the first dim rays of the sun pierce his face. The blood running through his veins suddenly goes cold.

“Hi.” You’re chewing nervously on your bottom lip and wringing your hands at your sides, like you’re not quite sure what to do with them. Your hair is pinned up in a professional-looking bun, though a single strand seems to have escaped the strict style and has fallen down along the side of your face.

You’re wearing a pair of black dress pants and a baby blue blouse tucked beneath a navy cardigan. The straps of your purse are nestled in the crook of your elbow, and a pair of matching sapphire flats adorn your feet.

And even though you aren’t pregnant anymore, you’re glowing.

Harry watches as your eyes fall from his face and scan over his body for a quick moment. You look away immediately when you register that he’s only in a t-shirt and underwear.

“Good morning,” he replies, the surprise evident in his voice. You shoot him an uneasy smile, trying to mask your anxiety.

“I’m sorry it’s so early,” you say, shaking your head. “I—I was going to head into work an hour ahead of schedule, but I couldn’t get my coffee to taste good, so I kind of just skipped out on it. And then I was about to fall asleep at the wheel because I didn’t have any caffeine in me, and your place was on the way, so I just…”

You’re flustered, Harry can tell. He looks at you with piercing eyes, watching the way you curl up into yourself as each word leaves your mouth. You’re regretting your decision now, it would appear.

“You…,” Harry begins, his brows knitting together. “You want me to make you a cup of coffee?”

You refuse to meet his eyes, and your shoulders vibrate with a weak shrug.

“Nobody makes it like you,” you say meekly, your lips warping into an embarrassed grimace. A warm feeling erupts in Harry’s chest, fanning out and saturating his body with more efficiency than that of the sunbeams peeking over the horizon. He clears his throat, trying to find his voice.

“Come on in.”

~*~

With you sat at the island in his kitchen, Harry bustles around the room, reaching for mugs and a pot and spoons. He’s awake now, anyway; he might as well make enough coffee for two.

He plugs in the machine and rips open a packet of coffee grounds, pouring the entirety of it into a simple white filter. Out of the corner of his eye, he chances a glance at you.

You’re sitting on one of the higher stools, your purse resting on the seat to your left. Your elbows are against the counter, forearms hidden by the cardigan that you’d refused to take off. You’re staring at your clasped hands, thumbs twiddling apprehensively as you fiddle with the rings circling around your fingers. Everything about your position is tense, from the tautness of your shoulders to the rigidity of your neck and the rigor of your spine.

It’s a massive difference from how you used to be when you’d sat in that exact same spot months ago. Then, your smile was infectious, and you would flop all over his kitchen without a care in the world. Harry’s eyes fall to the smooth surface of the counter; despite his best efforts, the memory of him fucking you over the marble emerges in screaming colour. He squeezes his eyes shut, willing the image out of his mind.

“So,” Harry starts, his voice still painfully scratchy from sleep. “How’ve you been?”

You sit up straight. “Good. I, um…I ended up getting the promotion.”

“No way.” Harry looks at you as he finishes preparing the coffee; his grin is nothing but genuine. “That’s great. Congratulations.”

Your lips curl up into a small smile. “Thank you. How about you?”

“I’m alright,” he replies, shrugging. “Same shit, different day, right?”

“Right.”

The conversation tapers off into silence. Harry’s eyes are drawn to how you bite your bottom lip, and though he knows that he’s been staring for far too long, he can’t help it. He eventually tears his gaze away, focussing on the steady drip of coffee into the pot and clenching his jaw at the sight. Why the fuck is it still empty?

“My mum came by the other day,” he says suddenly. He’s fully aware that talking about his mother may not be the best tactic out there, but he can’t stand the awkward quiet hanging in the air. “She asked about you.”

You swallow heavily, trying to keep your voice level. “Oh…what did you say?”

“Said you were doing well,” Harry hums, playing idly with the spoons lying on the counter. The metal clangs when they bump against each other, ringing out loudly in the stillness of the room. “She misses you.”

Your smile is sad. “I miss her, too.”

“Think she likes you more than she likes me, to be honest.” Harry chuckles softly. “Always asks me how I was able to let you go.”

You don’t reply.

Harry peeks over at you, studying your pursed lips and hard eyes. He’s crossed a line, and he knows it. Your fingers begin to fidget again, and your expression gives nothing away. It’s the same countenance you’d worn when the two of you had agreed to end things. Tears had fallen and lips had been kissed. Hands had been grasped and shoulders had trembled with the ugliest sobs imaginable. But still—Harry had watched you walk out of his life, and you’d both turned away without witnessing how the other had looked back.

“Sorry,” Harry says quietly, itching at his nose with two fingers. “I shouldn’t’ve—”

“It’s okay,” you cut him off. He thinks that that’s the end of it, but then you sigh softly and push back from the counter. The legs of the stool creak faintly against the kitchen tiles. “I should go.”

“What?” he blurts, his eyes widening. He watches in bewilderment as you reach for your purse and shoulder it without a second thought. Your gaze is fixated on the floor as you begin to make your way to the front entrance, but Harry’s legs seem to move of their own accord, and then he’s suddenly in front of you, blocking your way.

“What’re you doing?” he asks, breathless. “I—I’m making coffee.”

You press your mouth into a line, but the way your chin wobbles doesn’t go unnoticed.

“H,” you murmur, unable to muster a stronger tone. “Let me go.”

The intimate nickname catches him by surprise. You’re the only one who’s ever called him that. He hasn’t been addressed in such a way for months, and hearing it spill from your lips now breaks something inside of him.

“No,” he tells you firmly. “I can’t do that. Not—not again.”

“Shut up,” you scoff, and the snarky bite of your voice has him taking his tongue between his teeth. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“How so?” he asks, his nostrils flaring.

“You…,” you begin, but then quickly trail off when you discover that you can’t find the right words. You glare at him and make a frustrated noise in the back of your throat, eyes ignited with a fire that he hasn’t been privy to in so long; he’s missed it.

“Don’t do this,” Harry pleads. He risks reaching out to you, half-expecting you to step away; his heart somersaults in his chest when you don’t. His fingers twirl around that one strand of hair that hangs in front of your face, and he tenderly tucks it behind your ear. You gulp when his knuckles brush against your cheek.

“Don’t leave,” he breathes, closing his eyes for a brief moment. “Please.”

“What am I supposed to do?” you ask weakly, tears gathering in your eyes. “It hurts. Being around you hurts.”

“I know.” He nods, trying to keep his own emotions from overwhelming him. “I know, I know. I’m sorry.”

The two of you are in the cruellest of predicaments. How is it possible to be so utterly in love with someone, even though their mere existence serves as an aching reminder of pain? The two of you had been in shambles after the incident. You couldn’t walk through the aisle filled with packaged pregnancy tests at the pharmacy. Harry was unable to look at the section reserved for babies in every clothing outlet. The hurt had been fresh. It had ripped your relationship apart.

“I miss you,” you choke out. “I miss you, but it’s still—what am I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know,” Harry whispers sadly, shaking his head. “But, please. Let’s figure this out together, yeah? Don’t leave.”

He’s got your face cradled in his hands now, and you’re really, truly looking at him for the first time since he’d opened that damned door. Your fingers wrap around his wrists, and you give him a curt, nervous nod. Harry exhales in relief, his shoulders lowering as the tension melts away. His eyes flutter closed again, but then snap open suddenly when he feels you lean up and press a quick peck to the corner of his mouth.

His brows shoot up, and his lips part slightly in shock. His skin is burning; the spot where you’d kissed him is practically aflame. Your eyes hold an array of emotions: fear, anxiety, regret, panic. You release his wrists from your grasp, stepping back.

“I’m sorry,” you say quickly; the words blend together with how fast they exit your mouth. “I’m sorry, I just wanted to—”

Harry cuts you off as quickly as physically possible, closing the distance between the two of you in a single stride and clapping his palm against the back of your neck. A soft gasp escapes you, but the noise is swiftly silenced when he affixes your lips to his.

A watery sob resonates in the back of your throat as you drop your purse and hook your arms beneath his, your fingers scrabbling for purchase against his back. Harry groans quietly when you grip handfuls of his t-shirt in tight fists and press your bodies together. Your lips move frantically, kissing and sucking with the most obscene and frenzied sounds that he’s ever heard. He melts into you, one hand messing up your hair while the other circles around your waist to keep you close.

It proves difficult to pull back from you, but he knows that he has to when he feels your tears smearing onto his cheeks. He rests his forehead against yours, lowering his arm slightly so that he can wipe away the wet trails with his thumb.

“Are you okay?” he breathes, gazing at you with worried eyes.

“Yeah.” Your voice is thick. “Where…where do we go from here?”

You’re the one posing the question, yet as soon as you do, you’re attacking his lips again with short, hard kisses. Harry fights to inhale between each loud smack of your mouth to his, but he’s really not complaining.

“I don’t know,” he manages to get out between kisses. You seal your lips together and resume your previous ministrations. He grips your face with both of his hands, his palms large enough to cover the entirety of your jaw. When you break apart for air, he asks, “Do you want to stop?”

“No.”

“Me neither.”

And with that, he kisses you again. You moan into his mouth when he guides you back against the counter, and you hop up onto the smooth surface when he moulds his fingers to fit around the curve of your thighs. Harry pushes the mugs and spoons out of the way, the action hurried yet careful to avoid any breakage. You giggle at his prudence; he smiles.

“What?” he asks.

You shake your head. “Nothing.”

He leans in and reattaches his lips to yours, his fingers finding the collar of your cardigan and slowly easing the fabric down your shoulders. You help him, flinging the material away once it’s been fully removed. Harry begins to toy with the buttons on your blouse, and you push your chest out in encouragement, nodding silently.

He begins kissing your neck as he undoes the first clasp, savouring the taste of your skin. It’s been so long since he’s touched you. He can feel your breasts heaving with every breath you take, and the thought of you wanting him just as badly as he wants you has his cock growing stiff in his briefs. You sigh happily when he latches onto a particularly sensitive spot beneath your ear, your fingers snaking up to tangle in his hair.

“Shit,” you mutter. Harry chuckles, assuming that you’d cursed at the sensation of his lips against your throat. But then you’re pushing him back slightly, placing one hand over your heart and reaching around with the other to tug your phone from your back pocket. You check the time and swear softly. Your eyes are apologetic when you look back up at him.

“I—I have to go to work.”

He shakes his head, ducking back down to nip at your collarbone. “Call in sick.”

“I can’t!” you moan, tilting your head back to allow him better access. But even as you protest, you’re unlocking the device and pulling up your assistant’s contact information. You pull away, placing a firm hand on Harry’s shoulder to keep him at a distance. He pouts, but when you fix him with a stern glare, his expression melts into a smug smirk.

“Give me a minute,” you tell him before dialling the number. You grunt as you spin yourself around on the counter, falling back so that your head dangles from one edge and your knees from the other.

Harry stares at you with wide, amused eyes. “What the hell are you doing?”

“If my head’s upside down, it’ll make my voice sound more nasally!” you hiss as the phone rings. “I need to sound like I’m fucking congested.”

His shoulders shake in silent laughter; he watches with adoring eyes as you clear your throat when your assistant answers the phone.

“Lena?” you ask, and Harry is shocked to find that you were right—you do sound significantly unwell. “Hey, good morning. I don’t think I’m going to be able to make it in today. I woke up feeling really shitty…”

He’s ashamed to admit that he tunes out the rest of your sentence, his mind wandering to far more vulgar places. He studies the straining of your neck, the rapid rising and falling of your chest, the way your toes curl as you lie straight through your teeth. Your lips cling tightly to every word leaving your mouth. Knowing that it’s all just a trifling invention to stay where you are (and to keep doing what you’re doing) makes Harry’s stomach swoop dangerously low with lust.

You lift your head, observing him carefully as he rounds the corner of the counter and places his palms on your thighs. He can hear your assistant—Lena—babbling through the phone, her voice clamorous yet choppy on the other end of the line. Harry pays her no attention, opting instead to undo the few remaining buttons on your blouse and separate the offending material. He inhales deeply when the rest of your torso becomes exposed to the cool air of his kitchen.

“What are you doing?” you whisper, pulling the device away from your ear and throwing your hand over the microphone.

Harry cocks an eyebrow, offering up a shrug as his reply. Your stomach twitches when he splays his hands flat against your hips and then hooks his fingers into the waistband of your trousers. You shoot him a warning glare, but he just smirks.

“What? Oh, sorry,” you rush out and pretend to cough, bringing the phone back to your ear. “You were cutting out a bit; could you repeat that?”

Harry’s shoulders vibrate with a low chuckle. He doesn’t miss the way your thighs press together at the sound. His nimble fingers find the clasp of your pants, and he pops it open easily. You begin to squirm when he plays with your zipper, pulling it down and then back up before doing it all over again. He knows that he’s being a tease, but he can’t help it. He’d forgotten how amusing it is to watch you melt into a puddle.

Your free hand shoots down to grip his wrist when he begins tugging your trousers down your hips. He peers up at you through his eyelashes, trying to repress the arrogant smile that threatens to make itself known. Your eyes are wide, and you shake your head furiously. Harry abandons his attempt to conceal his glee, a wide grin splitting across his face as he yanks himself free from your grasp. Before you can pull away, he traps your arm against the counter, snickering at the change in dynamic.

You gulp when he leans up and drapes his body over yours. He plants a silent, chaste kiss to your lips before placing his mouth at the ear that isn’t currently pressed against the screen of your phone. His command is soft, but it makes you shiver, nonetheless.

“Don’t move.”

You have to flatten your lips together forcefully to contain the whimper that bubbles up in your throat. Harry’s laugh is completely silent, but his dark eyes tell you everything you need to know. He inches back down your torso, directing his gaze to where your pants sit lopsided on your lower-half.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs, littering kisses over your stomach. You inhale sharply when he takes a patch of skin between his teeth and bites down gently.

In a matter of seconds, he’s got the fabric at your ankles. You’re still on the line with Lena, growing impatient with her incessant prattling.

“Okay, that’s fine,” you affirm. She says something else, and you nod reflexively. “Yeah, if I’m feeling better, I will. Thank you, take care.”

As soon as the call ends, you slap your phone down onto the counter with a bit more force than was probably intended. A loud groan leaves your lips, and you crane your neck so that you can glare daggers at the man standing between your legs.

“I’m going to fucking kill you,” you promise. Harry cackles.

“Why? I thought it was fun.”

He grins as you kick your trousers off completely, hearing them fall to the floor in an airy heap. He nudges them out of the way with his foot, one of his hands creeping up your body so that he can cup your left breast over your bra. You sigh when his palm gives a soft squeeze.

“I missed this,” Harry whispers, but the confession is weak. He’s not quite sure if he should have said it.

His worries are mollified, however, when you hum in agreement and reach out for him. His chest tightens significantly as you lace your fingers together, bringing your clasped hands up so that you can pamper his knuckles with dozens of kisses. A lump forms in his throat, but he pays it no attention. Instead, he pulls you up into a sitting position and fastens your lips to his.

“Mm…help me take this off,” you mumble against his mouth, angling your shoulders backward. Harry grips the collar of your blouse and tugs the thin fabric down your arms, balling it up and tossing it away without a second thought.

“Hey!” you laugh. Your teeth bump against his chin when you grin. “Don’t wrinkle it!”

“Chill out,” he tells you, amusement evident in his tone. “I can get you something of mine to wear.”

“D’you—oh,” you moan softly when he ducks down to pepper kisses along the column of your throat. “Do you still have that blue button-up? The one with the stars on it?”

“’Course.”

“I’ll take that one.”

Harry chuckles at your playful claim. “I see why you got that promotion,” he tells you, his hot breath fanning out onto the underside of your jaw. “Quite the bossy little thing, you are.”

“Shut up and get your shirt off,” you scoff, a crooked smile spreading over your lips.

He laughs quietly into your neck. “I rest my case.”

Despite the light ribbing, though, he does as you ask. It takes everything in him to suppress a smile when he watches you gaze at his bare body in awe. Your touch trails against the dozens of tattoos on his torso and arms. Your hands slide down his narrow hips, ghosting over the slight pudge of skin right above the waistband of his briefs. A shiver rockets down his spine when you delicately slip your fingertips beneath the elastic.

“Is this okay?” you inquire softly, glancing up at him from beneath your eyelashes. Harry nods frantically and gulps. His gaze falls to the thin lace trim that flanks the cups of your baby pink bra. He’s never seen this one before—it must be new.

“Did you just get this recently?” he asks, his thumbs running along the underwire.  He doubts that the question will ruin whatever mood has been built up; you’re standing—or rather, sitting—before him in your undergarments, with your hair spilling out of your bun and your fingers inches away from his cock. He doesn’t know if he’s ever been more turned on than he is right in this moment.

“A few weeks ago.” You nod, peering up at him shyly. “You like it?”

“Love it,” he corrects. “You know how I feel about this colour.”

Your smile is bashful when you tuck your chin against your chest. “Does that mean that you want me to leave it on?”

“Fuck, no.”

You laugh. “That’s what I thought.”

In an instant, he’s removed your bra and attached his lips to one of your nipples. You sigh gently, your head falling back as your fingers braid through his hair. You scratch your nails against his scalp delicately, and the sensation only spurs him on. He nibbles at your skin; a faint giggle tumbles off your tongue.

“What��oh, that feels nice,” you murmur. “What do you wanna do?”

Harry pulls off your chest with a wet smacking sound, licking his lips in anticipation. “What do you wanna do?” he replies, deliberately skirting around your inquiry.

“I asked you first.”

He snickers.

“’F we’re being honest here,” he starts, scratching sheepishly at the back of his neck. “I really just want to make you cum on my tongue.”

You balk at the vulgarity of his sentence. Harry beams haughtily, sweeping his palms down your hips. An obvious shudder wracks your body when he begins fiddling with the hem of your panties. His dimples pop when you gulp violently and give him a terse nod.

“Yeah. Okay,” is all you say, mainly because far more eloquent words have somehow managed to escape you.

“Brilliant.” Harry smirks and watches as you bristle beneath his gaze.

Less than a second later, his knees come into contact with the kitchen tiles. He groans weakly, reaching to his right and snatching up the mat that usually sits on the floor right next to the sink. You laugh when he arranges the fluffy rug beneath him, and once he’s satisfied with its positioning, he shoots you a cheeky smile.

“All good now,” he announces. You fix him with a tender smile as your fingers comb his hair away from his forehead.

“Lovely,” you whisper. Harry feels your muscles tense when he begins trailing kisses up the length of your thigh. His fingers hook into your underwear.

“Lift up for me, darling,” he says, his teeth catching ever-so-slightly against your skin. You exhale shakily and press your hands flat against the counter for leverage. When your bottom rises up from the marble, Harry works quickly to tug your panties down your legs. He flings them away without wavering.

“Christ,” he mumbles, mostly to himself. He sets his elbows onto the counter, helping you spread your thighs for him. Your scent floods his senses as you bare yourself to him entirely; growling lowly, he buries his face between your legs.

“Oh, God,” you squeak, both of your hands latching onto his hair. You tug on the curls as he flicks his tongue feverishly against your clit, remembering exactly how much he likes the dull, thrumming itch of pain. True to your recollection, Harry groans appreciatively against your cunt.

He shoves himself even further into you, and you know that once he’s done, his chin and nose will be just as shiny as his lips. He eats you out like you’re his last meal, like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted this badly. Your toes curl when you feel his lips sponge hot, wet kisses down your slit.

“Fuck,” you sigh, your eyes fluttering shut. “I forgot how good you were at this.”

Harry chuckles. The vibration shoots across your clit and sends electrical surges ricocheting through your veins. You moan softly, but he doesn’t respond, too engrossed in the taste spilling from the apex of your thighs.

He’s not sure how long the two of you stay like that, with his knees on the ground and his mouth on your heat and your fingers in his hair. Despite the fluffy mat below him, his legs begin to grow sore, but he blocks out the ache and commits himself to making you feel good. Your muscles keep twitching beneath his fingers and your stomach heaves gently; you’re close.

He wants you to cum.

“I’m gonna,” you breathe, and only then does Harry realize that he’d spoken the desire out loud. When your words sink in, he doubles his efforts, his lips sucking your clit into his mouth with a newfound sense of passion. A loud, lewd moan tumbles from your lips, and then you’re cumming, your thighs clenching against the sides of his head and your hips bucking up from the counter.

“Beautiful,” Harry mutters, pressing his lips to your stomach. “So fucking beautiful.”

You whimper.

He stands with a groan, his knees pricking with spindles of pain. They’ll probably bruise a bit later, but he really can’t find it in himself to care. His hand snakes down beneath the elastic of his briefs, and he sighs in relief when he makes a fist around his hard cock. You push yourself up onto your elbows, gazing at him with glassy, distant eyes.

“Cum on me,” you plead hoarsely.

“Fuck.” Harry’s head tips back in disbelief. “Yeah? You want that?”

“Please.”

You sit up, wrestling his underwear down his thighs. He hisses when you intentionally scrape your nails along his skin, and his dick twitches in his hand. He pumps himself quickly, his cheeks growing warm when he realizes that he’s not going to last long. There’s a knot forming in the pit of his stomach, and the way you’re begging for him is sending him hurtling toward his release.

As though you can read his thoughts, you slip off of the counter and drop to your knees. Harry bites back a smirk at the reversal of roles. You peer up at him sultrily and knead your own breasts, tempting him as your thumbs skirt over your nipples.

“Cum on them,” you say quietly. “Please, H.”

The nickname—that fucking nickname—is what does him in.

“Bloody Christ.”

His groan is long, drawn-out, and guttural. A shaky exhale leaves his mouth as he watches ropes of his seed dribble down onto your chest. You press your breasts together while the speed of his hand slows. Harry’s eyes nearly roll into the back of his head when you dip a fingertip into the mess on your skin and tuck it into your mouth.

“C’mere,” he orders breathlessly.

His hands grip your elbows as he pulls you up. He doesn’t let you get a single word in before sealing his lips to yours. He licks into you, tasting himself on your tongue. Your hands sweep up his shoulders and neck, trembling profusely.

Disregarding the mess of clothing on the floor, the two of you stumble upstairs and into the shower. Harry tests the temperature of the water with one hand; the other stays locked firmly with yours, fingers intertwined. A small part of him is afraid that if he lets go, you’ll disappear.

Beneath the spray of the shower, he watches as you wash yourself. You take extra care around your face (removing your makeup) and your cleavage (rubbing off his cum). Harry stands against the far wall, the cool tiles of the stall pressing against his back. He’s staring at you intensely, trying to memorize every detail of your body. When you finally open your eyes and glance at him, a timid smile spreads across your lips.

“What?” you ask, curling into yourself.

“Nothing.” He shakes his head. “’M just…admiring you.”

Your throat bobs violently as you swallow. Reaching for his wrist, you tug him beneath the water and chuckle when his hair flattens against his head. The entire time, Harry’s gaze never strays from your face.

“I missed you,” you both say at the same time.

Your eyes widen, and then a shy laugh spills out of your mouth. Harry cups your face with both hands; you look up at him with twinkling eyes and push his wet hair from his forehead with gentle fingers.

“I missed you,” he repeats, staring at you earnestly. “So much.”

You nod in response. Somehow, the brief action is able to convey more than spoken dialogue ever could. Harry chews on his bottom lip, pondering whether he should utter the other three words on the tip of his tongue. After a few milliseconds, he decides against it. He’s not sure how you would react, and he doesn’t want to lose you—not again.

It’s not worth the risk.

The two of you eventually exit the shower, sporting wet eyelashes and pruned fingertips. Wordlessly, Harry wraps a towel around you, pecking your cheek lovingly. He’s about to step back, but then your fingers are on his jaw, guiding him in for a proper kiss. You sigh against his lips.

He wants nothing more than to stay in this moment for the rest of his life.

Back downstairs, he adjusts the towel around his hips and finally pours coffee into the pair of mugs that he’d pulled from the cupboard an hour ago. He prepares it the way you like before offering it to you. Your fingers wrap around the handle daintily, and you both take a sip at the same time.

“Sorry.” Harry grimaces after he swallows. “It’s gone a bit cold.”

“Mm.” You press your lips together and shake your head. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.” You pause before adding, “It’s kind of symbolic, no?”

His brows knit together. “What?” he asks, before it dawns on him. The creases on his forehead deepen. “Like…us?”

You nod, hiding your smirk behind the rim of your mug. Harry’s expression softens when he realizes that you’re only teasing. You lean over the counter, but the towel draped around your body comes loose, and you squeak in surprise when it slips down your chest. He grins.

“Can always just take it off, you know,” Harry informs you, shrugging. “It might be more convenient.”

“Care to test that theory?” you reply, cocking an eyebrow. He sets his mug down and raises his hands in surrender, stepping back before pulling at the material on his waist. It falls to the floor, and your gaze instinctively drops to his pelvis. You look away quickly, evidently flustered.

“Your turn.” Harry’s smile is insufferably cheeky, but he can’t help it.

“I’m alright, thanks,” you say, taking another sip of your coffee.

“I don’t think so.” He shakes his head, rounding the corner of the counter and reaching out for you.

“H!” you squeal, nearly tripping over yourself as you stumble backward. “Stop!”

He catches you easily, though, wrapping his arms around you and gripping fistfuls of your towel. With one quick flourish of his fingers, you’re completely naked. The coffee in your mug sloshes dangerously, nearly spilling onto the kitchen tiles.

“I hate you!” you say, laughter lacing your voice. Harry joins in, giggling to himself.

“No, you don’t,” he says, his palms finding your hips. He holds onto you cautiously, careful not to jostle the hand holding your cup. He leans in, and your eyes flutter shut in anticipation of a kiss. Your nose crinkles up in surprise when you feel his lips land on one of your eyelids, planting a silky, barely-there kiss. He switches over to the other side and does the same thing, his chest swelling with warmth when you release a wobbly breath.

“I don’t,” you agree gently. “Quite the opposite, actually.”

Harry’s heartbeat stutters beneath his ribs. Though your words are quiet, the insinuation is painfully loud; he watches your face fall when it all sinks in.

“Me too,” he says quickly, squeezing your waist in reassurance. You stare up at him gratefully. The moment is charged with unspoken sentences and tacit feelings, but neither of you submit an explanation.

Harry offers up a small smile, hoping to drain some of the tension from the air.

“See?” he prompts, shrugging. “We haven’t gone cold. Not yet.”

“‘Not yet’?” you echo, smirking good-naturedly. “When do you suppose that’s gonna happen, then?”

“Maybe in a few decades.” He plays along and pretends to think over his answer. “When we’re old and grey and we can’t stop bickering.” He chuckles. “And we’re sitting on a porch swing and you’re knitting and I’m reading the paper and we’re waiting for our grandkids to pull into the driveway for tea.”

At the mention of grandchildren, your eyes well up with tears. Because grandchildren will have to come from children. And children will come from you—both of you.

“What d’you think?” Harry murmurs. Your gazes lock.

“I think—,” you swallow heavily, blinking rapidly to keep your emotions controlled. Harry watches you with sober eyes, trying to deduce your response from your expression alone. You shoot him a watery smile, reaching up and caressing his jaw with your free hand.

“I think that’s a wonderful idea,” you say softly, stroking your thumb along his cheek. “A few decades—we can go cold, then.”

~*~

[masterlist] [come yell at me]

if you enjoyed this piece, please consider donating to my ko-fi! thank you bunches <3

[clrkingrm]

hellooooooooo! this is admin envy/holly and i am STUPID excited to kick things off around here..... i luv everyone so much already and i want to plot with All Of You :,) under the cut are some deets about mr. clark ingram: local garbage stoner, taco bell connoisseur, ex-juvie goer, and proud drummer for wet brain. feel free to hmu on d/scord (or on tumblr ims if u prefer) if u wanna plot something out. i also have wanted connections right here for ur perusal!!! <3 <3 <3 

clark was born in new york city via in-vitro fertilization to two wealthy mothers. his formative years were spent in the fast-paced thrum of the city — its where his love for music first developed, and he 100% considered it to be his forever home. that was until he turned 13, and his grandmother falling ill led to his moms hauling them out to the tiny town of dingle to care for her in her final years.

three major factors led to clark absolutely despising his early years in dingle. 1) his ailing grandmother was an actual through and through asshole 2) he had just come out to his moms a few years prior, and transitioning in a tiny town versus the liberal heart of the city was not something he was looking forward to, and 3) compared to the city, it felt like there was absolutely nothing to do. this led to him lashing out, fucking around, and landing himself in trouble with the authorities more times than he could count.

this delinquency eventually caught up with him — his ass was tossed into a correctional facility when he was 15, after he accidentally burned down an abandoned home while getting stoned with his hooligan friends. they all dipped on him, leaving him to deal fully with the wreckage and the punishment.

after this minor wake up call, he got his life… slightly on track. he started actually going to school (and doing his homework!!!) regularly, partied a little less, and got involved with a better group of friends (ie: the esteemed connor roth). he managed to scrape up enough academic motivation to graduate high school, though not enough to even consider attending college once graduation arrived.

his mother (vivien, the mean one) gave him an ultimatum: either get a job, go to community college, or get the hell out. he is now the world’s worst dishwasher at rosie’s diner. though the titular rosie is generally distrustful of this little miscreant, he managed to snag the job because she was good friends with his grandmother. (little does she know, clark actively hates his grandma). he could find another job, yeah, but they always hook him up with free fries.

his grandmother passed away when clark was sixteen, but he only very recently found out that she left him her beachside home in her will. seems like a nice gesture, yeah, but it was mainly just to spite his mother (again, vivien, the mean one). giving a whole ass house to her unmotivated stoner son, where he could basically waste away? truly haunting her post-mortem. he now lives there with connor + TBD (lmk if u wanna live w them)! he still works as a dishwasher, though, for like, groceries… video games... and for weed money…. and for the free fries. gotta love the free fries.

he also does twitch streams as a small side gig, streaming the shittiest possible games. he has a puny cult following on the platform, who consistently send him worse and worse games to try out and yell about, but he makes essentially nothing off of it. he just likes the attention, mostly. (ex: this & this)

the one thing clark takes seriously in his life is drumming. he truly believes to the depth of his soul that he can make it as a professional drummer, and that if he doesn’t, there isn’t much else left for him in terms of occupation. this has led to a palpable desperation as he’s grown older — and to him taking wet brain a lot more seriously with the more time that passes. hence, the battle of the bands is actually kinda a big deal to him, because that spot at the festival could mean a lot for a future career. 

clark truly thrives on being an annoyance. if he can find a way to push someone’s buttons, he will. there’s a disgusting pleasure he gets in messing with people, which has led to many constant citizens of the town to genuinely hate his crusty ass. as long as he can still get gigs, he doesn’t really care. 

recently, he has tried to get into writing deeper lyrics for the group. he’s mainly the go-to guy for stupid and goofy lyricism, but he’s attempting to tap into his… feelings… whatever those are. (he has a lot, really. he just doesn’t wanna talk about them).

his main interests include drumming (obv), weed, taco bell, adam sandler movies (uncut gems literally changed his life), video games, skateboarding, stupid t-shirts, weird thrift store finds, partying, going to gigs, curating playlists, and being a general dumbass.

if you actually read all this shit and STILL want more, i got a nice about page for him right here (with a full bio!), as well as a pin board right here !!! (gotta rep the aesthetic)

[dumbassscout]

i see a lot of 13 yr olds on tumblr these days, so id like to share some advice i wish i had known using tumblr at age 13.

this is also probably not an original idea from me lol, someone has got to have done this before. i would usually put this under a cut but ive decided not to for now

be aware that this site is like NOTORIOUSLY harmful. you may think you’re above it or too mature for it to hurt you, but trust me, you aren’t. since you will probably not be stopped by that warning, maybe take some precautions/keep some stuff in mind to stay safe.

i had tumblr savior for my first experiences with the site. im pretty sure it still works and it’s regularly updated, so take a look into that. it blocks posts with certain keywords from being seen on your radar, and can also push/allow posts with other keywords to always be shown. i would advise getting it or a similar extension to custom block triggering/harmful content.

don’t put other/more popular users in your fandom/community on a pedestal. they’re people behind a blog, just like you are. don’t feel intimidated by the people in your own community, they are just people the same way you are a person. they can mess up at times, and so can you.

making friends is a great thing on this site, but keep an eye on new online friends’ behaviors. it is exciting to meet new people, but you want to be aware of toxic friends. same goes for your mutuals. overall, keep people on this site at an arm’s length until you’ve gotten to know them enough personally to know that they’re genuine people. as you get older you can relax on this, but as a young teen it’s better to be hyperaware than to be blissfully ignorant as you get hurt.

onto more broad things, your theme doesn’t have to be perfect. you dont have to make a custom html/edited html website theme for your blog, you can leave it as tumblr default. if you enjoy organizing that, then by all means go ahead! but don’t feel like it is necessary for your blog, most of the time you will get a new theme set up and check on it on a month and find that it actually looks terrible to you. if you’d rather just have it as a basic/default site, then that is perfectly normal.

your blog’s theme/topic is your choice, and can be uniquely you. some people have many blogs for many things, just a few, or just one with everything. it is up to you how you want to do it! the themes you choose, topics, are up to you. fads and trends are cool but finding what works for you personally is way more fun. your blog is supposed to be fun. you are supposed to enjoy using tumblr. don’t compromise that for a trend. make your blog(s) however you want, however it pleases you. it can feel pressuring to have a perfect blog, but it’s better to just make your appearance the way it would make you happy.

also, tag systems are awesome! but they are not necessary unless you’re tagging trigger warnings. always tag those! but i know a lot of people have personal tagging systems to organize their blog, which is totally cool! but again, personal tag systems are not necessary, and if they feel unnecessary to you, don’t use them. but again, tag triggering content, especially if you are asked to.

archiving/deleting/creating new blogs is a whole other process. some people like to start with a clean slate every time they switch to a new fandom, and let their old user be archived or deleted. this is perfectly respectable (and probably the right thing to do) personally, i just switch my blog over to whatever im feeling that month and people can unfollow if they no longer enjoy my blog (i dont have that big of a following on this blog). it’s really a personal decision, and if you want to restart your blog you will know when to/if you want to.

reblog art, but never “repost” it. aka dont take the image and post it on your own blog, just reblog it from the original poster. its common sense but not everyone knows? idk

if you end up having some or many followers, make sure to check yourself. appreciate your followers, respect them. they are people with blogs. just like you. don’t let a high number inflate your ego way out of proportion, it’s easy to fall into that sense of power.

respect people’s pronouns. even if you for some reason have a disagreement with them, or you don’t understand why/how their identity works, just use the correct pronouns that they ask you to. it costs you zero dollars and zero cents, and is incredibly respectful

as a young teen, don’t get involved/let yourself get buried in tumblr-wide discourse. examples of this include the bi vs pan debate, flag discourse etc. most ppl who i know who were attentive to things similar to that at a young age ended up being affected negatively by it. pay some attention to what pertains to you and also pay attention to what you can identify as right or wrong, but don’t let people’s opinions on your dash influence you in times of discourse. go and look at both sides of those kinds of debates if you’re interested, and form an opinion from there.

speaking of which, sometimes people will just post their takes on literally anything and youll come across it. take everything with a grain of salt unless there is links to proof (if applicable, not always needed). sometimes bad takes just havent had someone to reblog and disprove yet.

speaking of discourse, there is always discourse on this site in every fandom, every community. form your own opinions always, but keep your moral compass in mind. don’t compromise your morals and sense of right and wrong to enjoy certain fan-media. if something seems off, it probably is.

people make mistakes, and if someone did something kind of shitty/had a terrible take/belief (not irredemably shitty, those ppl do not need ur attention) and they genuinely apologize for the shit they did and learn from it, move on. leave some shit in the past, holding grudges isnt good for your mental health and people change. but again, always take things with a grain of salt.

you dont need a high follower count to get traction on your posts. it might help, but you can have a low follower count with high interaction or a high follower count with little to know interaction. the best advice i have is to tag what it is relevant to, whether it’s a fandom, aesthetic, etc and people who regularly check those tags will find it.

if you ever get anon hate for some reason, just delete it from ur inbox n move on. ppl who send anon hate want to see you post it and respond to it. if they said some really really MEAN shit though, it may be best to talk to a friend about it for comfort, or take a break from tumblr for a hot min. most importantly, report it, close your ask box/change it to no anonymous asks.

if at some point you choose to voice your opinion about a highly debated topic at the time, be aware that people who disagree might attack you for it. be aware, and be safe about it.

a lot of people swear by xkit. i have never used it in my life, but from the looks of it, it makes using tumblr so much more bearable. it breaks sometimes with tumblr updates, but apparently it’s worth it. again, look into it, but it’s not necessary to use the site.

do niche shit. start sideblogs without a plan in mind. make aus, make art, make writing, or make nothing at all. reblog the things you love wherever you want them to be reblogged. comment on people’s creations if you love them, they probably would love to hear how much you enjoyed it. appreciate how wonderful the better part of this site is, enjoy the free access to view and appreciate others’ creations and ideas.

i would put a lot more on here, but i feel like 20 is probably too much already. if anyone has anything to add, definitely rb with ur addition

overall, do the things you love on here, keep yourself safe, and be respectful of others.

[sunnytumbies]

just follow my yellow light (and ignore all those big warning signs)

Warning! This fic includes mentions of depression, anxiety, needles (in a medical setting), and dealing with grief/trauma. Please stay safe should you choose to read! 

A/N: This is also a more plot-heavy fic, with most of the fiendery occurring in the very last sections, so please be aware of that!  Word count: 8499 Title: “Yellow Light” by Of Monsters and Men

The thing about hospitals is that they’re all the same.  

Cal understands why people hate them—really, he does—but sitting here on the exam table, the paper crinkling beneath him, a blood pressure cuff tightening around his bicep, he can’t help but feel...safe. Understood.  

He’s biased, he guesses. He grew up in one, doodling on prescription pads with crayons, running his favorite toy car along the floor (weaving around the nurse’s practical clogs on his hands and knees, look, Mom, look at how fast I am!), his mother Marianne bouncing him on her lap as she updated charts on her computer even though he was far too old for that, stray blonde hair that escaped from her tight bun tickling his cheek. Every once in a while, she’d turn to him with a wide, warm smile.  

The whirring of blood pressure machines were his lullaby. The smell of antiseptic was the closest he got to the smell of home, and was in fact the very smell that followed him home from work with Marianne, permeated the whole house along with her tired sighs and her whispered arguments with his father Henry when she thought Cal was sleeping.  

So, yeah. Cal likes hospitals. Don’t overanalyze it.  

The nurse—Alicia, today—gives him a small, tired smile, the expression of someone who genuinely cares but is too busy to do much about it. “Dr. Moore says everything looks good, Cal. Just make sure to keep an eye on your lungs. Don’t bind for too long and keep doing your injections around the same time each week, okay? You know where to find us if you need something.”  

“Thanks, Alicia,” Cal says, but she’s already whisking out the door. Cal wonders how many patients she has. Alicia oversees the hospital volunteer program, and even though Cal's known her for years, he swears her face is as young and beautiful as it was when he was a child. She’s funny and whip-smart and strong and she likes Cal best, he thinks, but lately she’s looked so tired. 

He wonders if she’s one of the nurses who really cares about all of her patients. He wonders if that kind of thing is sustainable.   

Alicia cares, he thinks.   

He’s walking down the corridor, idly rubbing at the bandage across his forearm—and yeah, okay, if he has to name one part of the hospital experience that he could do without, it’s the blood draws—and he’s so fixated on reaching under the bandage to rub at the stinging skin there that he almost runs directly into Sweater Guy, who reaches out preemptively to steady Cal by the shoulders. 

“Shit, sorry,” Cal mutters reflexively, then looks up to see that it’s him and, well, fuck.  

Cal’s been volunteering at the hospital for six months or so, now, answering call buttons for the nurses and giving directions to confused family members and just grunt work, really, something—nay, anything—for him to put on his resume, and at every single shift he’s volunteered for, he’s seen Sweater Guy.  

He’s Cal’s height but twice as skinny, collarbones jutting out underneath his sweaters (his endless sweaters, usually layered over collared shirts and rolled up to the elbows, no matter how swelteringly hot it gets outside). The sweaters bother Cal more than they should, because they all look expensive, and yeah, sue him, he’s a little bitter, because he buys one new pair of shoes a year and calls it splurging. He’s a candy striper, Cal thinks. He wears a pair of yellow-tinted glasses that Cal cannot for the life of him make sense of, constantly slipping down his nose (and yes the yellow compliments the rich brown of Sweater Guy’s skin beautifully, not that Cal has noticed, thanks). He has what Zara always insisted is sex hair, expression perpetually annoyed, like he always has something better to doing.  

And he avoids the fuck out of Cal.  

“It’s not on purpose,” Zara said one day a few months ago, leaning conspiratorially  over their little table in the hospital cafeteria, mouth full of mediocre tuna fish sandwich, because Zara is a godless heathen who enjoys tuna fish sandwiches. “He’s just...busy, you know? He doesn’t avoid you more than he avoids anyone else.” 

“Except he does,” Cal muttered, toying with the bottle cap from his soda. More than once he’d made eye contact with him in the hall, and then watched him completely switch directions, head ducked down low over his shoulders.  

Not long after that, Zara--who had, until then, occupied the third room in he and Amy’s apartment--left school to attend a community college program for mortuary science, because Zara is, in addition to being a godless heathen, a chiefly ridiculous person, and now Cal doesn’t have anyone to complain to about this.  

It shouldn’t bother him, except...Cal is likeable. He is. He charms nurses as though that’s what he’s getting volunteer credit for. Babies smile at him on the street. He’s likeable.  

So what the fuck, you know?  

“I apologize,” Sweater Guy says now, and Cal is hyper-aware of the guy’s chapped lips, of his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down nervously in his throat. He makes himself look away.  

“You apologize? I’m the one who didn’t see you, dude,” Cal says, and God damn does that yellow sweater he’s wearing look nice on him. It shouldn’t. Yellow is categorically the worst color. Cal’s pissed.  

Sweater Guy actually cracks a smile. “Yes, well. I’m glad we avoided a collision.”  

And just like that, he’s walking off, and Cal doesn’t know what he’s supposed to make of it, if it means anything at all, but surely first contact after six months of silence means something.  

“Hey,” he calls out before he can think better of it. “What’s your name?”  

Sweater Guy stops and blinks, surprised, then pauses for a minute like he has to think about it. “Oh. My name is Quincy Washington.” He swallows. “What’s yours?”  

“Cal.”  

“It’s nice to meet you, Cal,” Quincy says softly, and Cal watches him walk away until he disappears around the corner.  

* 

Cal has a routine. He’s never been particularly organized, never been the type of person with color-coded planners or who lays out his outfits the night before, but he has a routine for check-up days: after picking up his inhaler refills and testosterone from the hospital pharmacy, he’ll treat himself to an iced chai tea latte with almond milk, hot if it’s cold outside or he’s feeling adventurous. He shifts his weight from foot to foot as he waits in line to place his order, his lips flicking up into a small little smile as he pulls out his phone, realizing he finally has an update, deciding to send it to the group chat he still has with Amy and Zara: 

I figured out his name!!  

Amy texts back immediately, and Cal’s little smile splits into a full-blown grin. ???????????

Sweater Guy, Cal types, shifting forward as the line moves. It’s Quincy Washington, apparently. 

Cal grins when he sees a message from Zara appear: r u sure he gave u his real name? that sounds pretty made up ngl :* but hey u finally talked to him!!!! told u it wouldn’t be hard!!!!! <3 <3 <3 <3 

Cal rolls his eyes a little, but good-naturedly. Zara was always convinced that Cal has a crush he’s not addressing, a conspiracy theory that has infected Amy as well, because no one fixates that hard if they DON’T have a crush, Cal, come on. Cal maintains that while he isn’t blind, there are about a million things more interesting about Sweater G--Quincy than how attractive he admittedly is. 

Cal: In my defense, he talked to me first, and it’s only because I ran into him. 

Zara: charming! did u gaze longingly into his eyes? did he gaze longingly into urs?

Cal rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. Well it wasn’t his EYES I was looking at. ;) (I  was looking at his stupid yellow sunglasses.) 

Zara: silly! u should’ve asked him if he needs roomies. it would be an honor if my old room went to The Cause :)))

Cal’s lips droop, the smile sliding off his face as he pockets his phone. He knows Zara meant nothing by it, but he’s been compartmentalizing the roommate situation until now, and it’s not something he can particularly deal with at this moment. He doesn’t have to, as it happens--at that moment, an impatient “--sir? Sir, may I please take your order?” breaks through his mental abstraction, clearly not for the first time, and he shakes his head to clear it, cheeks flushing as he approaches the counter, mumbling apologies. He orders his drink, iced chai tea latte, please,  making sure to leave a hefty tip in the jar. 

Eager to spare himself further social anxiety, Cal grabs his drink as soon as it’s placed on the counter, mumbling another apology as he grabs a straw and walks briskly out of the exit closest to the parking lot, sipping eagerly at the drink (he swears it’s even better than usual) and what do you fucking know. 

“Quincy,” Cal says when he reaches his car, clamping down on the little thrill he gets from knowing the name. He swirls the drink a little like some kind of movie character with a glass of wine. He’s chill. He’s cool. 

“Oh. Hello, Cal,” Quincy says sheepishly. He’s standing at the front of a car—not just a car, the car—its hood propped open in a universal sign of defeat. “I seem to...be having some car trouble.”  

“No fucking way,” Cal breathes out, because some things are too strange to be coincidences.  

“I’m...I’m sorry?”  

Cal shakes himself. “No, you’re good, sorry. It’s just that, uh. This is your car?”  

It’s a Mercedes AMG, and it’s been parked next to Cal’s car every day for a couple months now. Cal’s awe hasn’t dulled with time. He figured it belonged to some paranoid doctor, rich and extravagant and scared enough of car crashes to buy a luxury armored SUV. The fact that it belongs to Quincy isn’t strange all on its own—because sure, whatever, Quincy is well-off, that’s a thing that happens to people—but the odds of the day he realizes it belongs to Quincy being the same day he learns Quincy’s name after months of wondering and silence?  

Well.  

“Yes. It’s practically new,” Quincy says sadly, “but I’m hopeless with cars. It’s probably something rather foolish.”  

And then, because Cal is a masochist, he finds himself saying “Well, I know a thing or two about cars,” and yeah, okay, this is happening, apparently.  

“You do?” Quincy’s expression is nothing short of hopeful. “Cal, I would be incredibly grateful.”  

“Of course,” Cal says, already moving toward the car, because who is he to say no to a beautiful boy in a yellow sweater, to a beautiful car with its hood propped open? “It’s no trouble. Keys?”  

“In the ignition.”  

Cal forces himself to focus on the task at hand, even though sitting in the driver’s seat makes him feel downright giddy. He tells himself it’s the car’s immaculate leather interiors, the sheer novelty of sitting in a ridiculous, extravagant vehicle, and not the boy standing in front of the hood with his arms folded across his chest in defeat. He takes a breath.  

Although, he thinks as he twists the key in the ignition, surely this is an acceptable thing to be intrigued by. Why is unassuming Quincy, who looks no older than Cal, driving an armored SUV—and not just any armored SUV, but one that can sustain machine guns and hand grenades?  

He guesses people could say the same about him and his car, because the upkeep of classic cars is a bit of a bitch, but Cal’s beat-up inherited ‘59 Chevy Apache isn't machine gun proof, and it certainly isn't new. She's valuable, of course, but she was passed down to him, not bought fresh off the lot, and that value is probably tempered by years of dings and scratches. She's not a symptom of extravagance the way this absolute mammoth must be. So. Not the same, actually.  

When he tries to crank up the car, it makes a horrible grinding sound that he knows well, the needles on dashboard instruments shuddering. Cal takes great pains to compose his amused grin into something more sympathetic.  

“Good news and bad news,” he says, slamming the car door behind him reflexively before cringing. This isn’t the Apache, with its squeaky doors and stubborn latches, and that door alone probably cost more than Cal’s college tuition. “The good news is it’s nothing serious. You’ve just got a dead battery.”  

Quincy slumps a little with what Cal assumes is relief. “That seems manageable.”  

“The bad news, though,” Cal says. “Do you have jumper cables?”  

“No,” Quincy replies, ducking his head like he’s embarrassed.  

“See, that’s what I was worried about.” Cal gestures to his own car. He sips at his latte, and is genuinely alarmed to realize it’s almost empty. It’s delicious, but still, he’s only had the drink for twenty minutes at the most. “I don’t have mine either. I--” Cal considers the location of his jumper cables, in a heap in the living room of the apartment, leftover from a Skype debate with Zara centered on a story her classmate insisted was true concerning jumper cables and nipples. Cal doesn’t regret the use of a visual aid--he won the debate, after all, because seriously, have you seen jumper cable clamps, there is no way--but he decides this is not something he needs to share with Sweater Guy. “They’re at home. I can go grab them and come back to give you a jump, though? Our place is literally right around the corner.”  

“I wouldn’t want to impose,” Quincy hedges, a little desperately. Cal sees him battling internally between the need to be polite and the need to get his car running again.  

“You’re not imposing,” Cal says, “because I offered. Seriously. Apologizing to me when I ran into you! Thinking you’re an imposition after I offered you something! You’re too nice for your own good, Quince.” The nickname slips out without Cal’s consent, and he feels the tips of his ears warm.  

Quincy looks at him, tilting his head curiously. “I have an anxiety disorder,” he says after a moment, very plainly, and Cal feels like the biggest asshole in the world. He feels like an even bigger asshole because his knee-jerk reaction is to laugh, because what a mood, really.  

To his abject horror, the laughter actually bubbles out, warm and genuine and fuck, he needed it, but he can also feel himself blushing crimson, because Jesus Christ, Cal, this is not the kind of reaction you should be having to this information. “I’m sorry,” he manages after a too-long moment. “I’m so sorry, oh my God, I promise I’m not laughing at you. It’s just...fuck, we’re not allowed to be that blunt, you know?”  

Quincy inclines his head again, an unspoken question, and yeah, okay, you made this bed, Cal, now lie in it.  

“I just mean, like...okay. Example. I’m chronically ill, right? I have asthma, thanks for that, genetics, but anyway the point is that I tell people I’m sick and they’re like, get well soon! They don’t understand that I don’t...want that. They don’t get that I’m sick, and that it’s okay! That’s fine! If you’re sick, you either have to be dying, or you have to be overcoming it or some shit. I just…I wish I could introduce myself like hi, I’m Cal, I have depression and my lungs don’t work very well. But I can’t, because that’s weird, that makes healthy people feel awkward, and our whole lives are about making healthy people feel better about our fucking lives.” He takes a breath, a little more painfully than he would prefer because it's goddamn cold out. “I just mean...I don’t know. It’s refreshing.”  

Well, okay. Emotional intensity with Sweater Guy is not what Cal banked on happening today, but Sweater Guy is Quincy Washington, and now that he’s looking at him up close, he kind of feels like he’s demystifying him or...or something. The expensive sweater, he sees, is fraying at the sleeve from being picked at nervously. That annoyed expression, the one Cal always interpreted as aloof, is the face Quincy makes when his glasses start slipping down his nose. His sex hair is just...really good hair, perhaps a little mussed at the roots from a tendency to run his hands through it with the air of an exasperated father in a movie, and what’s wrong with that, really? 

Sweater Guy, as it happens, is just a guy.  

Anyway, Cal’s shifting his weight awkwardly from foot to foot, feeling the full force of the straight-up monologue he’s just delivered, but then Quincy is saying “That’s exactly it” in this relieved goddamn voice, so maybe things are okay after all.  “What is that? Why do they make it so weird? It’s not as though it’s contagious.”  

“Right? I don’t know. I’m just kind of exhausted of healthy people.” He inclines his head, toward his car, moving to the driver’s side because, again, it’s cold as shit and his lungs ache and he really should get Quincy that jump. “I’ll go grab those cables.”  Something in the pit of his stomach grumbles at the movement, and he frowns, a reflexive hand coming up to rest on his belly. Weird. 

“Oh, yeah,” Quincy says, like he’s forgotten what the whole point of this was (and doesn’t that just make something warm pool in Cal’s chest, God, he’s so screwed), and casts a withering glance toward the hospital doors. Cal looks at him for a second, shivering underneath his layers in front of his out-of-commission car, and before he can think about it any further than that he’s saying “You can ride with me there and back, if you want? It’s awfully cold out.”  

Quincy positively beams. “I would like that very much, Cal.”  

Okay then.  

* 

Amy is doing an honest-to-God tarot reading in the middle of the living room when Cal gets home, complete with candles and a red cloth draped over their coffee table, and isn’t that just their whole relationship summarized. He throws Quincy a put-upon glance over his shoulder, and Quincy bites his lip to keep from laughing. Has Cal mentioned that Quincy is attractive? God fucking damn it.  

“Permission to enter the divination room?” he says in lieu of a hello, and Amy startles, nearly knocking over one of the candles. 

“Cal!” Amy says, scandalized, staggering to her feet. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming! I would’ve gotten rid of these!” 

Cal can’t help but chuckle. “I’m not going to have an asthma attack from candles, Ames.” 

“You could! Go--go stand in the kitchen or something! Make your friend help me!” 

Cal gives Quincy a look, a sort of see what I have to deal with? shrug, and Quincy responds with an amused smirk. “I’d be happy to help,” he says in a tone that sounds like he’s honest-to-God fucking with Cal. “What tarot deck is that?” 

The kitchen is essentially attached to the living room, the two only separated by a narrow doorway, but Cal shrugs and takes this opportunity to wriggle out of his jacket and grab a soda from the fridge. He has a feeling he’s gonna be here for a while. As he reaches into the fridge, however, that strange little twinge deep in his belly makes itself known again, and he grimaces as a cramp seizes his insides. He closes the refrigerator empty-handed, leaning a suddenly-clammy forehead against the cool stainless steel. This does not bode well. 

“So how do you know Cal, again?” Amy is saying just as he’s composed himself enough to re-enter the living room. Quincy has migrated to the couch, at least, albeit with his back ramrod straight, Amy apparently having been satisfied that Cal is not in any immediate mortal peril. 

“He volunteers at the hospital with me,” Cal says before Quincy can say anything, and when Amy glances over at him, Amy mouths Sweater Guy over Quincy’s head. Amy’s eyes bulge, so Cal forges ahead before she can say something to embarrass him. “His battery died, so I came here for the jumper cables.”  

“Riiight, the hospital,” Amy says, a barely restrained grin in her voice, and God, when Amy tells Zara that Cal brought Sweater Guy home he is never going to hear the end of it.  “Did you put up the fliers, by the way? We’re really gonna struggle this month if we don’t get it figured out soon,” and Cal looks up sharply, idly placing a hand on his stomach when it protests at the movement. Why is Amy bringing up the roommate fliers now?  

“I know,” Cal says slowly, trying to communicate please don’t do this now with just a glance.. He sits on the couch next to Quincy, careful to leave a socially acceptable distance between them. “I know, Amy. But...no, I didn’t.” He wipes sweat from his brow with the back of his sleeve, his stomach starting to churn in earnest. 

“Cal,” Amy chastises, and Cal thinks he would prefer anger to disappointment. “Did you talk to anyone, at least? It’ll be easier if it’s someone we know for, like, negotiating rent and stuff.”  

“Um,” Cal says eloquently, but then Quincy is saying, “Actually, he talked to me,” and alright then, that took a turn.  

“Oh,” Amy says, skeptical, but her face has brightened nonetheless. “Really?”  

“That’s part of why I brought him with me to grab the cables,” Cal says, because he’s rolling with this, apparently. He really is never going to live this down. “To show him the room.”  

“I wanted to see it for myself,” Quincy says sagely.  

“Uh, yeah,” Cal adds lamely.  

Amy is giving him this proud goddamn grin, and Cal is having trouble looking at it, because seriously, it shouldn't be like this. Amy has left this whole roommate search up to him, which is a nice gesture—Amy could live with anyone, with her natural inclination toward small talk and her compulsive baking which is the least unwelcome coping mechanism and her goddamn optimism, but Cal, with his bound chest and testosterone injections, has a lot more to lose here. The thing is, Cal, for all his charm and his mock-flirting and his wolfish grins, has a hard time with people, so him bringing home a coworker (or whatever he's supposed to call Quincy—coworker doesn't feel right, and Cal's trying really hard not to overanalyze that) isn't exactly a common occurrence. Amy is a proud parent smiling at her kid for making friends on the first day of kindergarten, and Cal loves her for it, he does, but it also chafes against him like his chest binder on a hot day.  

"Well, go ahead," Amy finally says, breaking what could have turned into an awkward silence. "Don't let me stop you! I'm Amy, by the way. What's your name? I’m not sure I caught it." She glances at Cal as she says with a terribly unsubtle wink.  

"Quincy Washington," Quincy says in that same quiet way he told Cal. "It's wonderful to meet you, Amy. I’m a fan of tarot myself and you have an excellent eye for ambiance."  

"Thanks!" Amy beams, and Cal wrenches himself off the couch and ushers Quincy down the hallway before Amy loops him into a conversation about the history of tarot or some shit. Cal loves her to death, but knows she’s practically chomping at the bit. He won’t be surprised if she’s  texting Zara as he speaks. 

"You did me a solid, there, Quincy," Cal says quietly when they're far enough down the hall to be out of Amy’s earshot, hyper-aware of how sluggish he is. "We can just waste a little time and then I'll get you that jump."  

"May I see the room?" Quincy asks, and Cal's heart just about stops entirely. "I'm glad to have done you...a solid, but I do happen to be looking for a room to let." His voice catches strangely and unfamiliarly around the slang.  

Cal stares at him for a second. "Seriously?"  

"I am very serious. If you'll have me, of course," Quincy says then, rushing through the second sentence and looking self-conscious about it.  

"No, I just..." Cal says in something like disbelief, then shakes himself off. "Anyway. I guess I'll show you the room, then?"  

"Please," Quincy says, so Cal leads the way.  

"It's kind of small," he says apologetically, pushing open the door and flicking on the lights. They're Edison bulbs, and they cast the room in buttery yellow. "And obviously we'd move this stuff out of here if you moved in."  

Quincy doesn’t say anything, and Cal turns to see that his face is frozen in genuine, slack-jawed awe. It's more than a little endearing, and Cal tucks his fond little grin away before he speaks. "You're a book guy, huh?" 

"You could say that," Quincy breathes, and moves forward a little. "May I—?"  

"Go for it," Cal says, and Quincy reaches out to touch one of the bookcases.  

The room belonged to Zara until she moved out, the smallest room by far but also the one with the most windows, all against the far wall looking out toward the main road. Pushed against the opposite wall are three wood-paneled curio cabinets that Henry once used as bookshelves, packed tight with the books he cared about most in this world. Many of them are leather-bound and there is more than one special edition, all of them older than Cal's grandparents.  

"They're beautiful," Quincy finally says after a moment, "but why do you have rare books in your apartment?"  

Cal snorts, because it is so contrary to what he was expecting, but also because this is a valid question. "Honestly," he says, "I just couldn't bear to part with them. They were my dad's." The words are out before he realizes he's just dropped the dead dad bomb, so he forges ahead. "Uh, like I said, we'd get them out of here before you moved in."  

"Or you could leave them," Quincy murmurs, eyes darting back and forth as he scans the titles. "God, is that a livre d'artist?" 

On some level, Cal registers that this a very pretentious question, and also that there is just something strange about the way Quincy speaks, like everything he says has been polished beforehand. On another, baser level, he finds it frustratingly hot. "Uh, that sounds like a question I should maybe know the answer to, but honestly, these were my dad's thing. I haven't opened up any of the books since he died. I keep the shelves dusted, but I'm not much of a literature person."   

"Are you a book person?" Quincy asks.   

"Come on, you can be one or the other. People can like books without liking capital L literature," he says, turning to look at Cal with this ridiculously excited expression. It's kind of heartwarming. "You know, people who hate Hemingway but loved Twilight."   

Cal may or may not have the entire saga on the much smaller, far less decorative bookshelf beside his bed, but Quincy doesn't need to know that. "Interesting distinction. Yeah, I guess I am."   

"I knew it. Team Edward or Team Jacob?"   

"Wow I hate this conversation."   

Quincy smirks and turns back to the shelves with a quiet sort of reverence that makes Cal smile. It also makes his heart ache a little because it reminds him so much of his dad, but it's an ache that has dulled with the passage of time.    

"So," Cal says, trying to sound casual, "Are you a student?"  

"Yes," Quincy replies, still scanning book titles with a feverish intensity that skirts perilously close to lunacy. "I'm a senior. Are you?"  

"Yeah," Cal says thinly. There's still a chance, he tells himself, and has to catch his breath as his stomach cramps again. A low rumble has begun deep in his gut, like someone set it to simmer, his stomach doing lazy barrel rolls that make him swallow hard.  "Senior, too. Pre-med."  

"I'm a double major. Classics and Theology. Not the most practical, I know," Quincy says, sheepishly, like he's used to people reacting poorly to it.  

Fuck. God fucking damn it.  

"Oh!" Cal says, forcibly infusing his voice with something akin to enthusiasm. "That's really cool. Um. Side note, just by the way..."  

Quincy looks at him inquiringly. Fuck.  All at once, his stomach cramps harshly enough to have him seeing stars, a cold sweat breaking out across his forehead again, and he can’t quite stifle a pained moan, clutching at his roiling insides, leaning against the doorframe for support. 

“Are you okay, Cal?” Quincy takes a step toward him, evidently not too worried about whatever Cal was going to say, looking more concerned than Cal would expect from someone who avoided the fuck out of him prior to today, and he gives a pained nod, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. Something bubbles in his lower belly painfully, and it hits him all at once. 

“Fuck,” he hisses, noticing all at once how his stomach is puffy, poking out under his shirt and over the waistband of his jeans, how the cramps are accompanied by a near-constant rumble and oppressive waves of nausea. “Sorry, I’m--I  just forgot to ask for—” He swallows again, hardly able to think about the damned chai tea latte, presumably made with full fat milk, churning around inside him. “I’m...lactose intolerant,” he manages, painfully aware that this is happening in front of Sweater Guy of all people. “I forgot to ask for almond milk instead of regular.” 

“Are you alright?” Quincy sounds alarmed, eyes darting from Cal to the door and back again. “Should I get Amy? Is it an allergy, or—?” 

“No, no,” Cal manages, laughing lightly. “You sound just like her, though. It’s just—” He grimaces, clutching at a twinge of nausea— “Just a pretty gnarly tummy ache. I’ll be okay.” He allows himself to rest a hand on his belly, straightening up through immense willpower. “Seriously, let’s just...move on, if that’s alright.” 

“Of course,” Quincy murmurs, still looking rather concerned. It’s endearing, Cal thinks, even  through the fog of nausea and the embarrassment tinging his cheeks red. “I believe you were saying something?” 

“Oh,” Cal remembers, and looks at the floor. "My dad's name was Henry Kline?"  

Quincy freezes. To his credit, he reigns in the incredulous expression relatively quickly.  

"Cal," he says instead, very sincerely, turning to look at him with sad, sad eyes. "Cal, I am so sorry."  

"Don't be," Cal mumbles, looking down, rubbing at the back of his neck. His stomach lets out a loud, angry rumble, and he flushes an even deeper shade of crimson. "I just, uh, wanted you to know from me. 'Cause if you live here, you gotta understand that people are gonna talk. They always do, about us. 'Specially when they hear our last name."  

"Cal Kline," Quincy realizes all at once, and then, with that painful sincerity again, "I wouldn't listen."  

Cal smiles despite himself. "Thanks, Quincy."  

Quincy clears his throat, straightening up from where he's been crouched to pour over the books. Cal is sort of impressed at the sheer muscle tone it must’ve taken to forget he was doing a deep squat. "Cal, I have something to tell you as well."  

This is it, Cal thinks. He doesn't want the room. Doesn't want to live with the bereaved Klines. It's too much. Just give him the jump and go back to never speaking again. The anxiety stirs up his upset stomach, and he clamps down forcibly on a burp that tries to burble up. His stomach lets out a low groan in response to the air being forced back into it.   

"I was studying under Professor Kline," he says instead, and oh, okay. Which is to say, what the fucking shit, how many motherfucking coincidences can there feasibly be in one 12-hour period, but okay, it's better than what Cal was expecting. "I was a teaching assistant, and I was helping him restore his book collection." He glances back to the shelves. "I should have recognized them immediately, but I never saw them on the shelves..."  

Cal's glad Quincy isn't looking at him anymore, because he can't vouch for what his face is doing. The ache Henry left is healing, dulled with the passage of time, but it still hurts if Cal picks at it. Quincy studied with Henry. Quincy knew him in a way Cal never did, never will, his brain screams, and something about that is just, well. His stomach flips, something cramping low and urgent in his belly. 

Quincy is beautiful, and he is wearing a yellow sweater, and he likes Cal's car, and the only reason he cares that Cal's last name is Kline is because he doesn't want to be inconsiderate to Cal.  

So, fuck.  

"Well, now that we've got the awkward parts out of the way," Cal says, and Quincy flashes him a genuine smile that  is positively blinding. He recovers from his seven consecutive heart attacks before continuing, "I can show you the rest of the apartment."  

“Are you sure?” Quincy glances dubiously at Cal, who still has an arm curled around his belly. “You’re awfully pale.”

“That’s, uh—” Cal laughs nervously, feeling sicker and sicker by the moment. “Yeah. Maybe you could just...show yourself around?” At that moment, a low whine fills the apartment, a sure tell that Amy has gotten into the shower, and Cal’s stomach tightens. “Minus the bathroom, I guess. Sorry, our pipes do that when we use the shower. I’m just gonna, uh, have a seat in the living room.” 

Quincy doesn’t question this, and Cal sends up a silent cry of gratitude to whoever may be listening. He settles into his favorite crease on the sofa, looking furtively over his shoulder to make sure Quincy is occupied with checking out the patio before pressing both hands to his grumbling stomach, feeling irritable movement beneath his palms. Oh, it hurts, cramps squeezing at his lower belly like a vice, a sticky, hot nausea plaguing his tummy.  He tries in vain to soothe the ache, rubbing his hand across his bloated stomach as gently as possible, but the touch only sends up a dangerous belch that leaves him panting, hanging over the edge of the couch, the taste of chai and stomach acid coating his mouth revoltingly. 

Quincy’s self-guided tour doesn't take long; their three-bedroom student apartment doesn't exactly contain multitudes. Cal has thankfully composed himself before Quincy pokes his head into the living room. “I have seen what I need to see, I believe,” he says with that stiff formality that seems to crop up occasionally. 

"Yeah, that's the place! Nice and straightforward,” Cal says brightly, as convincingly as he can without moving around too much. “Any clutter you see is mine because Amy is an android, probably."  

Quincy smiles, and Cal's cardiac health continues to worsen, God those fucking smiles. "Can you prove it?"  

"Irrefutably. Evidence: runs for fun. Consumes spinach, also for fun. Wakes up and goes to bed at the same time every day. Possibly irons her clothes, but I'm still not sure on that one."   

"She sounds...pretty human. Perhaps you're the android."  

"No, I just have depression," Cal says before he can stop himself.  

Quincy throws his head back and laughs, and it makes Cal feel so fucking warm. Has he mentioned recently that he is completely screwed in a way that has nothing to do with his cramping stomach? 

"God, Amy hates when I joke about it. It'll be nice to have someone who understands around here when you move in."  

Quincy straightens up. "When I move in?"   

"What can I say. You sold me. If you want to live here, I want you to live here." He smiles, small.   

It was kind of a done deal when you said you worked with Henry Kline, Cal doesn't say. The way you talk to me like I'm a normal person and the fact that you're fucking gorgeous are just bonuses. 

"There is one more thing," he says, steeling himself. Much of his life is spent steeling himself. He pauses, waiting for Quincy to make a joke, to grin another heart-stopping grin, but he just looks at Cal curiously. "I'm trans. I wasn't born a male but I am and always have been a boy. I bind my chest and live as a male and use he/him pronouns. If you don't understand it, that's okay, but I will demand a certain level of respect in my own home, and it'd be preferable if that respect was voluntary." The speech is well-oiled from use, but Cal's voice still shakes.   

"Is that all?" Quincy says, and Cal feels his entire body slump in relief, straightening back up a little when his stomach protests. "I mean, of course, Cal. I'm not ignorant."   

"Oh, yeah, right. Thank you, gentle cis man. I worship at the holy altar of your allyship." He says it like a joke, but it takes effort to get out, because despite everything, it's taken him years to give this speech to a receptive audience and not feel like he's been granted a favor.   

It's taken him years to say I'm here and not have it come out as I'm sorry.   

When he told Zara, it was this whole thing, Zara reaching across the table to clasp one of Cal's hands in both of hers, you know I'm here for you, right? Cal's Facebook messages are full of Zara sending him every post she sees with the word trans in it, and like yeah, Zara, you're very sweet and supportive, but sometimes Cal just wants to be Cal, you know?   

It's just that Cal's known Quincy for all of a few hours and he already feels so goddamn understood.  

"I'm happy to pay whatever Zara’s share was," Quincy says, "And if you would be willing to leave Professor Kline's books, I would be honored."  

"Consider it done," Cal says, smiling a little. He’s almost able to forget about the slow, sinister ache in his stomach. Almost. "Though get ready for Amy to talk about it all the time. She’s really not on board with them being here."  

"I mean...religion isn't my cup of tea either, believe it or not, but I saw an original King James Bible. That alone has to be worth at least twenty grand. Literature person or not, that's...a really valuable thing to be keeping in your rented apartment."   

Cal's eyes flit to the tiled floor, and he can feel Quincy's gaze on him, and he knows he's biting his lip, something he does often enough that one side of it is slightly larger than the other.   

"Oh...Cal, I apologize. I didn't mean to intrude." It's that stiff formality from their almost-collision at the hospital again, and when Cal glances up, Quincy is backing away from him, hands folded behind his back. "I'm sure they're insured, or...even if they're not...I just mean, it's your business, of course. I apologize."   

"No, it's fine." Cal clears his throat nervously. "You're right. Zara and Amy just kind of went a little crazy helping me get rid of his stuff when he died, and they wanted to donate them to the university. I probably should have let them, but..." He shrugs, wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans, presses his lips together around another burp that he forces down, wincing at the added pressure. "It's not like these are even all the books he had. There are probably hundreds in the storage unit. But I'm ridiculous, and they were just his thing, and for some reason the thought of them just sitting in a dusty room with boxes of his old clothes and the lawnmower and literal cobwebs just didn't sit right, so."   

"So you brought them here." Quincy looks at him like he understands, and isn't just that the worst fucking thing? "I get it."   

"I kind of do want to donate them, as it turns out," and wow, okay, Cal didn't realize that until he says it out loud. "I'm just a little worried because I haven't exactly been...maintaining them, or whatever. I wouldn't even know where to start. If I'm going to let the university open up the Henry Kline Memorial Library or whatever the fuck, I don’t want to give them dusty books with cracked spines, you know? He would've hated that."   

Quincy clears his throat, licks his lips a little, and wow, okay, Cal's feeling things again. "I don't know if this is something you'd even be comfortable with, but...I could continue the work I was doing with Professor Kline. We were in the middle of restoring his collection, and I learned his technique well. I still have access to the labs. I could take it one book at a time. With your approval, of course."  

Cal blinks. "Um...yeah. Yeah, okay. That's super cool of you, thank you."  

"Are you kidding?" Quincy blurts, and then scratches the back of his neck a little like he's embarrassed. "I mean, it's just that you're doing me a favor. Henry Kline's book collection...I'll admit that I've missed them."  

Cal can't help the little smile that tugs his lips up, and seriously, he has to get these feelings under control, God, the guy hasn't even moved in yet.   

Before he can say anything, Quincy's face softens into that aching sympathy again. "And Cal...I miss him, as well. He was a good man."  

Cal kind of wants to cry, so suddenly and desperately that it takes his breath away for a second. His stomach churns audibly, and Quincy looks at him in alarm. 

"Quincy," he says when he gets his voice back, "How soon can you move in?"  

Quincy beams. "How soon will you have me?"  

* 

When Amy gets out of the shower, Cal is sprawled across the couch, openly groaning, clutching his stomach with both hands.  

"What happened to Quin--Cal?” Amy blurts out as she enters the living room, rushing over to the couch when she takes in Cal’s sickly pallor. 

“Finally drove him back and jumped his car," Cal groans, still marveling that he was able to hold it together long enough. He may or may not have had to pull over on the way back, heaving up a trickle of stomach acid and chai tea latte onto the side of the road, at least as much due to anxiety as it was to lactose intolerance, but Amy doesn’t need to know that. "Says he'll take the room…" 

“Okay, that’s great, we’ll unpack that later,” Amy says, sitting gently at Cal’s feet, “But what’s going on with this?” She doesn’t wait for permission, laying a soft hand on Cal’s bloated belly, kneading gently at a cramp, ushering up a soft burp. Amy is sort of a miracle worker.

"’S gonna pay Zara’s share,” Cal murmurs, leaning into Amy’s touch, grimacing as the pressure ushers up a burp that brings up a wave of stomach acid. He swallows hard.  

"Again, that’s great, but,” Amy says, rubbing his belly in wide arcs, maintaining a steady pressure that does wonders for the cramps. “What the hell?” 

“I got anxious getting my latte,” he mumbles, letting his eyes slide shut. Amy’s ministrations are easing the worst of the nausea, and he is so, so thankful for her. “Forgot to ask for almond milk.” 

“Cal,” Amy says, all faint disapproval and warm concern. “Why didn’t you say anything?” 

“You were showering,” he whines, then whimpers a little at a particularly strong cramp, and Amy moves closer, applying a bit more pressure as she kneads at the cramp, massaging her other hand gently over the burbly places in his lower belly. “I made him show himself around. He didn’t even mind.” 

“Sounds like a dreamboat,” Amy says, her voice light and teasing. 

Cal doesn't know what to say to that that won't be self-incriminating, so he just says, "He really likes yellow."    

"I noticed that,” Amy agrees. "When does he move in?"  

Cal keeps his eyes shut, studiously avoiding eye contact. "Tomorrow."  

"Oh, wow, so soon! I can't wait to get to know him." Amy’s tone is completely genuine, probably working out what she can bake that properly conveys a message of thanks for living with us! She applies a bit of firm pressure unexpectedly to the bloat beneath Cal’s ribs, and he groans, feeling a flutter in his stomach as it tries and fails to expel a rush of trapped air. “Oof--please don’t do that again,” he manages, clutching at his chest. 

“I’m sorry, honey,” Amy says, sounding genuinely sad, and Cal slowly opens his eyes. “Just seems like you’ve got quite a lot of air stuck in there. Would you like some tea? Not chai, I guess...” 

Cal groans, shoving a couch pillow over his face. “I know. I’m an idiot. Oh, my tummy—” 

“Let me make you that tea,” Amy says lightly, giving his tummy a little pat before wrenching herself off the couch, and Cal loves the fuck out of her, has he mentioned? 

"I think you'll like him," Cal calls as Amy moves into the kitchen, deciding to take this opportunity to drop the bomb, adding more quietly, "Oh, and, small world, he worked with my dad."   

The rustling in the kitchen pauses, then starts again almost as suddenly as it stopped. "Does he...?"  

"Yeah, I told him. Didn't seem to bother him. He really likes the books."   

"The books," Amy murmurs, and oh God, not this again, but Amy is already following up with "Have you thought any more about what you're going to do with them?"   

Cal takes a deep breath and feels it stutter a little in his chest, reminding him he's been binding for a bit too long. "Yeah, actually. They were working on restoring the books when Dad died. He said he'd help me get them back into shape and I think I'll donate them to the university."   

"Oh," Amy says, pleasantly, and Cal reminds himself that Amy is good, that Amy is only doing what she thinks is best, what Zara told her would be best, that most rational people would question the wisdom of having cases of books worth thousands of dollars in an apartment not known for its impenetrable security measures. "That's really cool. He sounds like a really neat guy, Cal."  

Cal thinks of yellow-tinted glasses, of that scar on his face and the way he looked at Cal like he understands him. "Yeah," he says softly. "He really is."   

“Ginger or mint?” Amy calls, and Cal is thankful for the change of subject. 

“Ginger, please,” he calls back, carefully cupping his stomach with his palm, and takes a very deep breath. 

 *

A long while later, Amy has fallen asleep on his shoulder, a hand still splayed across his slightly-less-bloated belly, old episodes of The Twilight Zone streaming at a low volume on the TV. Cal can’t be bothered to move, too comfortable, too deep in thought, the churning of his belly finally soothed by Amy’s ministrations and a few shamefaced trips to the bathroom. 

Cal thinks about his dad every day, and that is no euphemism. He sometimes drifts past the extra room (Quincy's room, he thinks, something blooming in his chest in a way he doesn’t want to deal with right now) and sees his books, or catches sight of the scar on his knee he got the first and last time he and his dad went fishing when they were supposed to be studying for Cal's math test the next day, when a stray hook went straight through and he needed stitches, remembers the ice cream after, I'm not going to say don't tell your mom, but I'm going to say I won't if you won't, and he smiles, just a little (he didn't tell his mother). Every night he lays in a bed across from a desk that's been flush to the wall underneath the window since the day his dad built it, the one they picked out together at IKEA before Cal moved in, the one that had him muttering profanities for three hours on a blisteringly hot day in August while Zara’s mother, Virginia, poked her head in intermittently, how are those PhDs treating you, Dr. Kline?  Cal thinks about his dad all the time.  

It's just that he can't remember the day he died.   

It's just that he knows that he's the one who found the body, that he's the one who, somehow, called 911, who clung to Amy when the ambulance came, but he knows it the way you know stories about your fourth birthday party or your first day of school—more retelling than memory. Something you know because you're told.   

If he tries hard enough, he thinks he can remember what his uncle was wearing that day, what the perfume of the hospital secretary smelled like, but he can't for the life of him remember his dad's face, what the last thing he said to him was. And when it comes down to it, maybe he doesn’t remember what his uncle was wearing at all, maybe he just remembers him saying at the funeral, he bought me this tie, you know.   

You'd be surprised how many people come to a funeral for a professor, how many handshakes and hugs Cal got just for losing someone. How many looks of pity he got (gets) when they hear his name: Cal Kline, the guy who found his dad dead.   

And he can't even remember it.   

Psychogenic amnesia, Dr. Hodge told him in one of their first sessions, because yeah, when you're trans and you find your dad dead and can't fucking remember it, the one thing you spare no expense on is a really badass therapist. His brain couldn't handle what happened. He repressed it. It was the emotional shock, was the trauma, was the pain, yeah, Cal gets it.   

It's just that the one thing you should be allowed to hold onto are lasts, and Cal can't even remember his. He thinks of his dad and sees fishing, sees the lectures he sometimes sat in on, sees a receding hairline and eyes just like his and of course I still love you, sweetheart, daughter or son, you're family, and it aches.   

He wonders if Quincy's lost someone, if that's why he looked at him like that, eyes soft and understanding but not pitying. I get it, he said, and Cal believes him.   

Cal rolls that around in his head like a marble.  

I get it. I get it. I get it.   

Yellow's an awfully pretty color. 

[moondustis]

exhale, 2 (m)

pairing: yuta + reader genre: smut word count: 2,2k summary: when you move to look at yuta again he has a tiny smirk on his face that makes your whole body tingle with want. this is not unusual, him showing you off to his friends, displaying you around only to show them what they could never get. warnings: exhibitionism, voyeurism, poor kink negotiation (talk to ur partners before u try new things my loves!!), a little bit of possessiveness and almost none humiliation kink

it’s saturday again which means you are at johnny’s house. there’s no party this time, just the six of his closest friends spread around the living room area sharing two blunts while some chill song that taeyong would definitely like if he was here too plays in the background. you liked the parties at johnny’s house, liked the free drinks and dancing and everything that came with it but this was much better.

mark says something from the floor that makes everyone laughs at but you don’t quite catch it, mind too cloudy to make up the words. you’re having a good time, already high out of your mind and enjoying the way yuta is drawing little circles on your exposed thigh. he always got too touchy when he smoked and you lived for the attention, for the little touches and for the way he got oh so desperate. you look his way for a kiss but his attention is somewhere else.

you follow the direction to where his eyes are glued and find doyoung sitting on the opposite side of the couch you are at, he has one of the blunts between his lips and his eyes are glued to your thighs, probably getting a glimpse at your baby pink panties. the dress you chose to wear was probably way too short but you liked it, liked the way yuta looked at you when you wore it.

yuta’s hand moves to the hem of the dress, pulling it up at little higher, just enough to tease doyoung and a blush spreads across your face. doyoung shifts slightly on the couch and only looks away when johnny tells him to pass the fucking blunt already.

when you move to look at yuta again he has a tiny smirk on his face that makes your whole body tingle with want. this is not unusual, him showing you off to his friends, displaying you around only to show them what they could never get. he liked when you wore outfits like these not only because you were beautiful but because of the way johnny’s eyes would stay on you just a little longer than usual. because of how mark would stutter when talking to you or how yukhei would offer for the tenth time that you had a threesome with him.

you couldn’t lie, you liked it too. all the attention and yuta’s possessiveness over you made you feel special.

“yutaa” you almost whine, trying to get his attention and when he finally looks at you there’s a smile on his newly pierced lips.

“what do you want baby?” he asks, tattooed hand moving to your cheek and rubbing his thumb softly.

the pout on your lips is childish but you always get like this with a little weed in your system, needy and almost desperate for his attention. by the way he smiles again you know he likes it. “a kiss, please.” is you answer.

“oh, i can do that.” he says, moving so close to you that you can smell his cologne that you love so much and then he’s kissing you.

the kiss starts innocent, just his lips moving slowly against yours but he seems to have different ideas. his hand falls down to your neck as he deepens the kiss, biting on your lower lip slightly to get a reaction out of you. the gasp you let out only makes it easier for him to slide his tongue inside of your mouth and in a second you’re moving yours against his.

a wolf whistle comes from somewhere in the room but you barely pay attention to it, yuta on the other hand smiles in the kiss. it only serves to rile him up even more, hand pressing harder on your neck and the whimper you let out only making him kiss you faster, with more passion.

it probably looks filthy, the way your tongues move together and how your dress must’ve ridden up by the way you tried to move impossibly closer to him. you are kneeling on the couch, one leg between his thigh and when his hands move to your hips, pressing you down so you’re completely sitting down on his thigh you let out a moan that is definitely too loud for the situation. it only makes yuta smirk.

he moves the thigh you are sitting on once and a wave of arousal suddenly goes through your body, making you hide your face on the crook of his neck, whining softly. you know there’s probably a wet patch forming on his black jeans from how thin your panties are. you wonder if he feels it too.

“aaw, is my baby getting shy?” he whispers the question in your ear but it’s loud enough that the whole room probably hears it. “you don’t have to be, the boys are enjoying the show quite a lot.”

you figured that doing this in a room full of straight men would get their attention but knowing for a fact that they were all paying attention makes you blush at the same time it makes another wave of arousal hit you. you turn your face to the side on yuta’s shoulder and you can see doyoung sitting there, his eyes blown out from lust and staring straight into you. you move quickly to hide your face again, the embarrassment too much for you to handle.

yuta runs a hand through your hair, trying to get you to look at him and when you finally do his eyes are soft and full of adoration. he helps you move you around so you’re properly sitting on his lap, your panties coming in on full display for him too see, with the wet patch on it and all.

“do you want to stop?” his question is genuine and you know he would stop everything right now and take you home if you said you wanted to. “we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

you bite your lips and he runs his hand through your hair again, even if there’s other people in the room you feel safe in yuta’s hold. you think about him fucking you right here on this couch while all of your closest friends watch, think about all the filthy things he would say and do to you only to throw a show and let everyone know how well he treats you. the thought makes you clench around nothing and he seems to notice your state, lips moving to press kisses all over your neck.

“do you want it, baby? do you want me to fuck you in front of the boys?” he says between kisses “do you want to show them the slut you really are?”

his words make you shiver and you can only nod before his lips are on yours again, hand gripping your hips so tight that you are sure there’ll be bruises in the morning. you can feel how hard he is through your ruined panties, can feel how much he wants this and you feel a little bit of pride swelling on your chest because you are giving him this.

his hands go to the hem of your dress and he hikes it up so it’s bunching on your waist, leaving your ass on fully display. he kneads it softly a few times before his hand is coming in contact with it on a slap that makes your whole body arch in his hold and a moan fall out of your lips. “holy shit.” you hear mark whispering and you blush again, but this time you can’t help but smirk slightly too.

you move to press kisses along his exposed neck, making him groan slightly when you get a sensitive spot just under his ear. he wastes no time in moving one of his hand inside of your panties, a finger going straight to your entrance and collecting your arousal. “you’re so fucking wet, babyface.” his fingers move upwards, spreading your wetness around before he’s circling your clit in an agonizing slow motion “if i knew you would like this so much i would have done it much earlier. i bet the boys have been dying to see you like this.”

he continues his actions and you wish he would just fuck you already, but you know he won’t until you’ve come at least once so you do your best to get there as quick as possible. he laughs when you start rolling your hips on his hand and attends your quiet pleas by inserting one finger inside of you, but not moving it. “is my little slut desperate to get fucked, huh? are you going to beg for it like a good girl?”

“yes, please.” you stare into his eyes, pressing desperate kisses on his lips as he starts moving his finger with quick motions. “i want you to fuck me, daddy.”

you almost don’t use that name and you know yuta doesn’t care too much about it, preferring to hear you scream his name over something made up. but he knows you do it to throw on a show, to show the boys how filthy you really are, and that serves to make him want to drop you down this couch and fuck you like a madman, to show everyone who you belong to. but he maintains his composure and just inserts one more fingers inside of you and starts moving them so quick that your head starts spinning. it doesn’t take you long to come undone, vision going white as you throw your head back.  

you come back to yourself when you hear the metal noise of his belt being undone and in a blink of your eyes he’s pressing himself inside of you, stretching you so well that you both can’t help but sigh at the feeling. he moves to get your dress out and you lift your arms up to help him do it, only the small feeling of shame setting over you for being left in only your lingerie. he doesn’t press your further, being content with holding your breasts over your bra.

“come on, baby” he says, slapping your ass softly with his free hand “fuck yourself on my cock like the little slut you are.”

you start moving at his command, hands grabbing at his shirt and moans leaving your lips at how well he’s filling you up. you love feeling him fuck you raw, your pussy so full as you move up and down on his lap.

he keeps his hand on your ass, watching you as you fuck yourself on him, your eyes closed and lips reds from the kisses. you still look angelic to him, like you’re still the virgin he fucked for the first time a year ago, pussy so tight and too shy to ask for what you wanted. he loves how there’s a blush on your cheeks, like you are too embarrassed to be doing this, like you’re too pure and he’s corrupting you once again.

he mutters a low fuck when you sink down and he presses deep inside of you. your eyes open at his word and when you look at him he feels like he could come right there. he’s hit with a wave of adoration that’s unusual for the moment but he supposes it’s because of the memory of taking your virginity and because of what you’re doing for him right now. he thinks to himself that he would never want to lose you, that he couldn’t stand even the thought of being separated from you.

his hand move to the back of you head and he brings you closer so he can press his lips to yours, swallowing the moan that was about do come out of your mouth. “i love you so much, baby. you know this right?” he whispers, this time quiet enough that only you can hear it.

“i love you too, yuta.” you whisper back, forehead pressing against his. “so fucking much.”

that’s enough for him to grip you by the hip and start pounding into you so fast that in no time you’re coming all around him, clenching so tight that he grunts loudly at the feel of it. you come so hard that you see stars.

“please, come inside of me.” you beg him as he continues to pound into you and after that it doesn't take him long to reach his end too, head going to the crook of your neck as he whines your name, spilling hot cum inside of you.

it takes you a moment to get back to your body and remember where you are. yuta removes himself from you and you whine at empty feeling you’re left with. he gets your dress for you and helps you get back into it. “come on, let’s go to the bathroom so i can clean you up and you can pee.”

you avoid the other boys eyes as yuta helps you get out of the couch and guides you to the bathroom.

after you’ve cleaned up he asks if you want to go back to the living room or just head home. you choose the last option, too embarrassed to face your friends after what just happened and he understands, kissing your nose softly before you move to his car.

doyoung dreams about you and your baby pink panties for a week straight.  

[unicyclehippo]

Gosh, you’re so inspiring. I’ve been reading your work and following your blog for a while now. You’ve been helping keep me on track for NaNoWriMo with your posts too haha. I was wondering, do you have any tips for writing dialogue? I’ve done research on how to write it and reread my fav books for inspiration but I always feel my characters are so bland at the end? And then the thought of that is so overwhelming lol. Thank you for listening either way. :)

oh hell Yeah nano buddy !!!

uhh dialogue is wildly difficult for me, i find not-dialogue to be so much easier ! that being said, it’s smth im keen to develop so the two things i usually keep in mind is:

a) people very rarely talk to what they actually want to say.

we have secrets & tact & habits & rituals & messy incomplete knowledge & in jokes with people close to us & history & all of that & people say a lot of stuff by bringing up things they “just thought of” or by inching sideways toward a topic or by making pointed digs about someone being untrustworthy/an asshole/etc but never actually saying too much about what they did (rmbr the time they slashed your brothers bicycle tire? - gd, who does that to a nine year old? - he’s genuinely a horrible horrible man).

& b) this isn’t advice on writing dialogue per se, it’s just smth i keep in mind: listen to people around you. eavesdrop. go to a cafe & listen to two friends talk, or people on a date, or someone skype calling their mum. listen to urself when u talk - what are u leaving out? what are u talking around? why do u do it?

humans arent perfect or even necessarily good at talking. a lot of people don’t talk perfectly. a lot of people don’t talk in the same way & especially it is dependant on who we are talking to & in what context. we um & ah & forget words & drop words we don’t need & make jokes & over describe things we really like or that we think the other person would like. maybe they have a stutter or are very shy or it’s not their first language, etc

//

so take this conversation:

“hey, you awake?”

“no.”

“hm. didn’t realise you were a sleep talker.”

(yawn) “runs in the family.”

“... you know rachael, from the store?”

“... i do know rachael from the store. she’s very pretty.”

“oh yes, i definitely would talk about how pretty another woman is in my marriage bed, that’s what i always think really makes my wife happy. all i was gonna say is that she’s a sleepwalker.”

“know that from personal experience, do you?”

“jesus fuckin—she told me it stopped when her husband of nine years whom she loves very much sleeps in the same bed with her every night but it still happens every time he goes away on trips. and yknow they got a kid,”

“just got one outta the store.”

“picked up a brand spankin’ new laddy.”

“for the low low price of seventeen ninety five you too can have a bouncing baby boy. they eat, shit, and sleep and with new features appearing randomly on the daily like crawling frighteningly fast and babbling like they’re talking to someone but there’s no one there and it makes you think your place is haunted, you’ll never know what happens next!”

“no two babies are the same! this one comes pre-installed with a sensitivity to bees, nature’s hardest worker, and enjoys mischief mayhem and smearing his mushy food all over the walls.”

(laugh) “ok what about their bundle of poopy joy? rachael’s, I mean”

“Hmm? oh yeah, hes just learned to walk, yknow, and he’s started to sleep walk too. they’ve found him all over the place. bathroom. staircase. now that actually runs in the family.”

“Huh. cool, I guess?”

“...are you going back to sleep?”

“i was going to try but i guess it depends on if you’re gonna let me. ... anna?”

“yeah. yeah, go to sleep. sorry.”

“are you going to sleep?”

“of course, yeah.” (a Look.) “im fine, love. it’s not like last time. i just...there are a lot of thoughts in my head right now.”

“you? an over thinker? never would’ve guessed.”

“well i try to dumb myself down for you, y’see”

“you do an incredible job of it.”

“cheers.”

“like, a real bang up job”

“you can stop at any time”

“sometimes i think oh boy this lady has nothing in her head at all”

“you are such an asshole” (laugh) “go to sleep”

“you gonna join me?”

“i think I’m gonna go to the study, actually. read through a boring case and try to fall asleep on the couch, okay?”

“...okay. i love you”

//

so forgive me bc it’s early & i don’t actually have a story for this but the subtext of the conversation is that she has insomnia maybe or she’s too anxious to sleep & her wife is trying to sleep & trying to help her to sleep. but there’s no point in talking about things like “have u tried counting sheep” etc bc this is clearly (hopefully) smth that has happened before & they already know those things don’t work. gentle teasing in place of advice to let her wife know that she knows what is going on, to let her know that it’s okay. because she doesn’t know how to rly help her or what to do

so yeah hopefully this was fun to read & maybe helped? it’s by no means perfect advice, just some stuff i have heard & that i use for my own stories. i also find it helps sometimes if im stuck in a scene to write a stripped down version where they aren’t talking around their problem or secret & see what they might want to say. it helps for getting character motivation clear in ur head so it comes through in the proper dialogue. for the previous convo it might be smth like:

“I can’t sleep”

“What do you need?”

“I don’t know”

“I can’t help you and I’m sorry. I love you”

“I know. I’m going to go somewhere else to not sleep so I don’t disturb you”

//

anyway! have fun nano buddy!! may your dialogue flow easily ! may your characters not fight Too Much as you set them on the page !

[gontagokuhara]

you should tell us abt ur fangan kids!

ive been meaning to answer this but itz long so i wanted to put it under a cut!!

hibiki (he/they) is the ultimate demolitionist! i cant draw but his design and whole aesthetic is literally just. minecraft creepercore. they’re 4′10″, they wear full-eye black contacts bc Crepper Aesthetic, and he just. likes to blow shit up. he’s the rival in my group killing game and i love him SO much

yuri (he/him) is 100% my kinnie oc as the ultimate camp counselor. despite being very good at what he does (duh), he hates it. the responsibility of having to maintain the fun and safety of a bunch of kids is shaving years off his lifespan. and, amazingly for him, he immediately gets assigned Group Dad against his will during the killing game. he also carries at least four fanny packs at all times, each containing snacks and capri suns, first aid supplies, arts and craft supplies, and a fucking tazer (which he usually threatens to use against hibiki). 

kimi (she/her) is the ultimate candy maker! her entire aesthetic is cotton candy, in which her hair is dyed blue and pink, she likes soft, puffy clothing, and she’s just a really sweet (ha) person in general! she gets along with most all of her classmates bar a few. she has lesbian disease also

miyah (she/her) is the ultimate witch, which sounds really cool, until she opens her mouth and you realize she’s the crystal-wielding, essential oil-drinking, anti vax queen you were warned about. she’s very sweet and very soft spoken, and genuinely tries to be kind to everyone, but she’s very much a you love her or hate her kind of personality.

koya (they/them) is the ultimate swashbuckler! swashbucklers are a hero archetype defined by flamboyant movement, sword-wielding, chivalry, and daring adventures. koya is a sea-faring spirit, and they fill their time in the killing game enthralling the others with stories of grandeur and convincing all of their classmates that they are a legit pirate. koya is a liar, they exaggerate…a lot, but their intentions are not malicious and their tales just come out a bit more romantic than they actually happened. they’re very charming and laid back, and they’re definitely the sort of heartthrob character that everyone wants to smooch. 

chieko (they/them) is the ultimate girl gang leader, and they are also ultimate lesbian. they’re sort of isolated from the rest of the group due to their talent being considered scary, and their very intense and intimidating appearance and personality. they’re major concern is to escape the killing game and find their way back to their girls (they say as much, which makes everyone VERY suspicious!) but they wouldnt hurt anyone and they end up becoming best friends with yuri and masako (who i’ve lovingly dubbed the parent squad of this class)

speaking of masako (she/they), she is the ultimate investigative journalist, and this killing game’s trial helper! she is very well traveled, and takes what she does very seriously. they are completely and utterly devoted to the truth, good or bad, they will find the truth. they absolutely detest koya for this reason; even little lies absolutely grind masako’s gears. she also is very distrustful, and she doesn’t trust anyone at the onset of the killing game. it takes her a long time to warm up enough to the protag to share her findings during investigations, and she often comes across as somewhat of a rival during trials due to her critical nature and the way she very blatantly does not trust those around her. nevertheless, later on she is (against her will) forced into the Parent Squad with chieko and yuri, and though she doesn’t trust anyone else, she will do everything in her power to keep more killings from happening. 

daichi (he/him) is the ultimate superhero, and he was the first dr oc i actually made!! he’s very much a pretty boy (fluffy blonde hair, pink eyes, freckles, he’s just Cute) and he and hibiki start dating during the killing game! he’s sort of a bastard and won’t give anyone a straight answer on what his superpowers actually are, but despite his kind, cheeky nature, he feels a deep sense of responsibility and guilt over not being able to do anything about the killing game. he is one of the more likely people to go snooping for the mastermind, and he’s gotten in physical fights more than once with people he deems suspicious. 

hirohito (he/him) is the ultimate joggler and he’s the greatest character of all time. what is joggling, you ask? don’t worry, he’ll tell you. i came across this while looking for talent ideas, and i laughed so hard i cried when i conceptualized this fiend. he’s very much the token joke character, he’s a hot head, and he’s kind of a dick, but the idea of hope’s peak allowing the ultimate person who can juggle and jog at the same time into their doors is just too hilarious to pass up. protag joggler 4 life

speaking of people who are kind of dicks, meet yuuto (he/him), the ultimate dancer. he’s such a hot head. he hates the most of his classmates out of any other character, including the mastermind. he’s dating the protag, who is one of like…four people he actually likes in his class. yuuto takes his talent very seriously, and spends hours every day working to maintain his status as the best of the best. his talent comes before everything else (or, at least, it did), but if his talent comes first, then the people he cares about take up every other place on the list. he doesn’t tolerate many people, but those he does, he is fiercely loyal towards. he would kill and die for the people he cares about. he is 5′2″ of pure kickass, and he will throw everything he has into defending the people he loves. i lvoe him.

michiko (she/her) is the ultimate influencer (yeah. i know). she’s an internet personality who has followings on instagram, twitter, youtube, tiktok, et cetera. she is also one of my earlier oc designs, and i’m kind of attached to her lol. she’s very naturally magnetic and has a lot of friends among her classmates, but she does have a tendency to get hung up on things like follower counts, conventional beauty, and wealth. she has a huge (mutual!) crush on koya, she’s best friends with hibiki, and she has an intense fear of swimming pools (her hair is dyed, and chlorine is way bad for dyed hair)

leeanne (she/her) is the only non-japanese character, and i. she’s a mess. she’s the ultimate theatre kid, and she’s basically every broadway tumblr user when h*milton was super popular. she complains about musical bootlegs, becries her classmates for not knowing anything about the musicals she stans, and she’s just. lord. obviously she’s a joke character, and she’s honestly a caricature of the kind of shit i got up to (to a degree! don’t call me out sdkjdsjbd) when i was 15 years old. suffice to say, none of her classmates like her very much

tomoya (he/him) is the obligatory ultimate ???, and also our trial ruiner! he earns the distrust of his entire class by keeping his talent a secret and then having it revealed by masako, and as a result he is very outcasted and lonely among his peers. he’s a naturally very reserved person, and his situation lends him to feeling very lonely. most of the class suspect him to be the mastermind – whether they’re right or not, only time will tell. 

katsumi (she/her) is 1/3 of what i’ve dubbed the Showbiz Squad as the ultimate pageant queen! she’s been participating in and winning beauty pageants since she was very young, and she’s won all the way up through the pageant ranks. as one would expect she’s very beautiful, and she’s also very bright and charismatic, which lends itself well to gaining allies in the killing game. she is by and large very fake, though, and she operates as a mini antagonist for various reasons. 

hikaru (he/him) is another third of the Showbiz Squad, as the ultimate game show host! he’s very ostentatious and charismatic; he’s always ‘on,’ always playing the gracious, enthusiastic host. there’s always a smile and a flashy, charming quip in his mouth, so he can wear very gratingly on the less enthusiastic and personable kids. he definitely would be a tumblr sexyman if he were an actual dr character {sweating emoji]. despite the crowd he seems to gather wherever he goes, no one knows much about him; and he likes to keep it that way. 

and finally, the last third of the Showbiz Squad, and also the protagonist: hachi (he/they), the ultimate child star! as their talent would indicate, hachi was a child star, and he absolutely detests the showbusiness world as a result. he really dislike pretty much…everyone who represents that part of his past (katsumi, hikaru, and michiko are prime examples) and his least favorite thing is getting the question: “omg where you in ___?” they’re very emotionally and physically fatigued by all the bullshit going on around them, so they come across as fairly apathetic to most people. but in actuality, hachi is someone who craves stability and kindness, and their extremely blunt, extremely annoyed exterior hides a very soft, compassionate interior. i absolutely adore this character :D

and umm thats it for my kids! i (for the most part?) have all of the killers/victims worked out, i have my mastermind all planned, but i’m still working on a setting/obligatory extra mono-creature/how this group falls within the dr canon. i love talking about these guys so if ur interest in them pwease send me asks/messages about them 🥺

[kae-karo]

Can you do an analysis on the last dan vs phil video?

hell yeah i can in the beginning…

nerds nerds nerds ‘in the beginning…..there was a tree…..’ cue phil’s lil laugh smh cowards release the footage of y’all recording this bit i would Die for it i wanna see y’all being cute-ass dorks together thanks

dan’s voice cracking tone when he’s trying to stop phil

‘n they didn’t tell anybody’ dumbasses u told three million people smh

the fucking dvp montage god this whole intro is just a testament to what dorks they are

‘emotional stability’ what the Fuck

we’re the only ones fighting for emotional stability here jfc

‘after,,,,,d- after da long ass time’ dan u spork

they pulled up the first clip of the dvp board i’m not sobbing ur sobbing

phil recognizing he’s doing the same intro voice i’m Soft

cute

dan forgetting what he was gonna say after his big ol dramatic ‘that is right everybody’ we stan a mess

“bitch there’s no space” did u mean

ahem anyway

phil ruining all dan’s dramatic storytelling gives me Life

how did i not know just dance 2 was one of their most popular vids???? it has 7.4m views??? (for anyone as curious as me, sims #1 has 8.2m and is the most popular, followed by just dance, then fnaf #1 with 7.2m then akinator of all things with 6.4m?)

phil liked yasuhati???? i stan immensely i loved yasuhati as y’all know

it’s a grand finale u spoons stop saying grand ‘final’ that just. sounds wrong lmao

dan spent an hour making that crown i’m crying he’s so cute as is phil’s reaction giggling at him 

they ran out of kitchen foil why did i need to know this

they literally fucking kept the present they crushed what’s wrong with them

‘look at what his ass did to this’ as if we don’t know what that ass do

dan keeping up the ‘i’ll ebay this’ joke i think someone’s catching the capita£ester

i love their adorable editing making each other disappear n phil chopping dan’s head off it’s endearing

cereal eating contest at least dan knows he’s lost (dan is the Actual psychic)

‘y’all fricken want us touching each other??? do you????? here ya fuckin go u animals enjoy’

me when dan makes bad innuendo puns

why does phil look so pleased with himself????

hi i know i say it every video but there is nothing more beautiful than phil looking at dan while he’s talking it just makes me weak????

he tongue

also important dan eye roll content

dnp each picking a game they think they can win and then they do win amazing

dan’s confused ‘should’ve put some in??? oh yeah i should’ve cheated’ immediately followed by his oh fuck yeah i probably should’ve

i would just like to point out that at this point we’re literally watching two dorks with their eyes shut psyching each other out for an entire thirty seconds

‘i’m getting so moist right now’ dan we already know ur kink is staring at phil okay we got it

phil looks like he knows he’s gonna win and i love him

why are they such dorks phil trying to make dan lose i’m being thrown violently back to pinof 4

also ofc dan has a strategy to win this of course he does of course i expect nothing less

i think dan,,,,,,broke the sound barrier there ;)

oi hi there lil rosy patch welcome back

caption this

‘it was the longest i’ve ever had my eyes open in my entire life’ dan is such a dramatic gay i love him like babe,,,,,,,u don’t have to hyperbolize everything okay

‘i don’t know why but i stared at u for like a minute’ ‘yeah’ 

dan screaming when phil touched the crown dan,,,,,,,do u have even one (1) ounce of chill

look i’ve never seen dan fixate so much on anything except phil

‘stop enjoying these rolling chairs so much’ hi daniel do u recall not a month ago when u wheeled ur bf around the flat bc i do recall u having a bit of fun there 

phil knowing he has noodly arms and dan immediately going ‘don’t u dare say that abt my husband’ is a mood

buster howell

dnp being terrified of snapping their arms in an arm wrestling contest is such a mood literally that’s like my reason for never ever wanting to arm wrestle

‘when i literally snap phil in half’ try not to look so pleased abt that dan

‘i’m not very good at fighting talk am i’ why did this immediately translate in my head to dirty talk katie u need to Stop with the phanfiction

oh my god they put the board down and my first concern was all the stickers were gonna get moved off or fall off or w.e

disappearing chins

sorry ik it’s been there but the cactus has fairy lights on it

nerds fighting over who moved who’s limbs

dan u can’t call phil out for leaning when ur leaning urself okay 

he looks exactly like he did in the dk vid

rosy patch, rosy patch, we love u lil rosy patch

hi phil’s lips look particularly pretty here

what’s wrong with them who gave them permission to be this cute n domestic

dan u can’t look that offended when u offered to play that game

(offended but fond is dan’s only mood toward phil)

doesn’t count what bloody doesn’t count daniel u dork

hi why are u so giggly looking at phil okay that’s not Legal

very dry eyes and an aching left arm, that’s how you know you’ve had a good time thanks dan thanks didn’t want that didn’t need it goodbye

the way he trails off into a laugh though that’s some good shit right there

“we said it at the same time” of course u did 

okay so pika @wlwphil​ said that dnp exist in a feedback loop of stupid bc they don’t talk to anyone but themselves i think this vid exemplifies that idea quite well tbh especially the rock paper scissors bit these nerds are so isolated in this lil loop that they massively psyche each other out over rock paper scissors i’m crying

“we know each other so well” hi yeah we know

i think it’s quite interesting that dan’s not interrupting phil like he usually would n talking over him? he’s letting phil talk? & waiting for a moment to interject?

dan puts in lil mind sneks does he phil does he really

dan having no plan which is his plan while phil’s got his first eight moves planned out 

dan’s lil shut up

okay okay okay hold up here i wanna talk abt this (hi anon who said i just like to talk abt everything u right son u right) these idiots are staring at each other n dan says ‘you should admit to them right now that i win most rock paper scissors’ and phil, whilst still staring at dan, says ‘he does’

phil. phil ur talking to ur audience. but ur staring at ur man. i’m just. this shook me. this truly genuinely shook me and idk i don’t even have a good explanation it’s just so,,,,,,,unlike them???? i guess??

phil nobody consented to this stop

i’m living for dan not realizing this

what,,,,,what

phil wins: face #1

face #2

break for the weird heartbeat in the background

phil trying to psyche dan out i love him

face #3:

if u notice we have a careful progression of dan going from slightly fond to more fond (but offended) to horrified but fond. phil goes from victorious to massively victorious to ‘i think the universe is about to explode from how victorious he is’

dan shouldn’t be allowed to sound so fond abt losing that’s illegal people can’t do that

the return of cannot believe

bow to me biatch

jiggly camera

i’ve invited ur mum ‘no u haven’t’ i find it super cute that literally every time there’s a ur mum joke directed at kath phil has to deny it?

dan’s sweatpants n slippers

dan pulling out the catti/bratty voices from undertale i love it

philip michael lester, with this…

oi don’t touch it!

now prance, king

dan’s cheeky lil grin

this guy

dan waiting patiently to be thanked

excuse me daniel and philip what did u cut out we went from y’all’s hands being down below shot and then they’re up next to ur face???? excuse me

hi we missed a lot that’s not allowed

cutes

sorry i love when dan does this with his lips it cute

phil has this incredible ability to deliver jokes with such seriousness i mean honestly it’s a genuine skill like???? when dan delivers jokes u Know it’s a joke but phil man,,,,,he could be completely serious if taken out of context

hi i just like that dnp called each other philip and daniel in this vid good content

yes phil all or nothings are valid

i’m here for them like indicating the other has to say some Significant thing at the end of the vids it’s real cute