#this...is why I’m trying to attend a community college

[fortes-fortuna-iogurtum]

dear Lord please give me humility and an attitude of deference towards your sovereign guidance in the story of my life, but also may I please just ask whAt is GOING ON??

#I am So Confused hhhnnnn #>_< #I’m trying to work things out with the admissions office at the college I want to attend #and wHY do NONE of them act like they aNY IDEA WHAT THEYRE DOING #they don’t communicate effectively or really at all #and it’s so bizarre because none of the other people I’ve interacted with connected to this school are like this??? #I know people who attend there now who’ve had the exact same experience; constant struggles with admissions but no problems #once they’re actually on campus dealing with professors and other faculty #‘all shall be well and all shall be well’ I do believe it but WHAT is HAPPENING in the meantime I am just so confused #mobile #gurt says stuff #college stuff

[wheresarizona]

Learning to Live Part 31

summary: Mondays are Javier’s least favorite day. Add in he has a meeting he’s doing as a favor to the Sheriff that he doesn’t want to do, and the day was destined to be shitty. But things take a turn for the better that morning when he gets a text message from his fiancée that reads: Need u bad. Lunch? ;)

rating: E (18+!! No y/n, alternating POV, age gap (about ten years), explicit smut, Protective Javier Peña, Angry Javier Peña (not at you), Switch Javier Peña (there’s subby Javi as a treat). first smut: masturbation (f), vibrators, accidental voyeurism, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected p in v (wrap it up), creampie, **BREEDING** (an actual attempt at babymaking). second smut: dry humping, coming in pants, semi-public sex? (it happens in a hospital). in both: dirty talk, praise | discussion of pregnancy, dysfunctional family, insults, yelling, arguing, angst with a happy ending, Javier meets your parents for the first time, unhealthy coping mechanisms, emotional hurt/comfort, Javier going off)

pairing: Javier Peña/f!reader (a nurse with no physical descriptions)

word count: 16k

a/n: The dirty talk in this one makes me 🫠🫠🫠. This chapter is something a lot of people have been waiting for. Thank you to everyone who comments and reblogs! I try to reply to them all, and if I miss any, it’s not on purpose and I’m sorry! The love so many people have for this silly story of mine makes me literally 😭😭😭. So, THANK YOU. We’ve got about nine chapters left after this one (could become more). Thank you to the love of my life @juletheghoul for giving this a look over and ensuring my Spanish is correct. I love you.

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs feed me. I’d love to know what you thought!

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The New Year started with Javier’s big hands caressing your face as he kissed you, the Times Square ball having dropped on the nearby television in your best friend’s living room, where you were attending a party. He had tasted like cherry and orange jello from the Tequila Sunrise jello shot you convinced him to take with you a minute before midnight and smelled like his spicy cologne; the familiar scent had made you feel warm and safe—it had made you feel at home.

Javier Peña was your home.

He was your always and forever, the sun shining after it rained, a warm, cozy blanket on a cold day, the bright star that guides you through the darkness, and the greatest love you would ever have.

And he belonged to you as you belonged to him.

The New Year started with a kiss—one full of promises for the months ahead and shared hopes and dreams; your lips pressed together and moving in sync, silently proclaiming to the other your insurmountable love and undying devotion. And when it had ended, you wore matching grins, Javi's cheeks tinted in a lovely pink flush, his perfect full lips glistening under the room's lights from saliva while his beautiful chocolate-colored eyes gazed tenderly into yours, and he said, "Happy New Year, Cielito. I know it's gonna be a great fucking year because I have you—my best friend, the love of my life, and in ten days, my wife.”

Monday, January 4, started like any other Monday—the alarm going off and your fiancé hitting the snooze button so he could pull you into his arms and get nine minutes of uninterrupted cuddling in before the incessant beeping went off again. When your time was up, he sometimes, like this morning, grumbled as he moved to turn it off, "Fucking hate Mondays." This was why his coffee mug had Garfield the cat on it with a speech bubble containing the same sentiment, just without the cursing, but let’s be real, if that orange cartoon cat wasn’t censored, he’d absolutely say ‘fuck.’

In December, Javier’s prima (cousin) Alma—his tío’s (uncle’s) daughter and sister to Sebastián—was home from college and introduced you to something the kids had started doing: texting. You found this new form of communication came in handy when you were busy and didn’t have time to talk, like right this second as you stood in a storage room at work an hour into your shift with a bag of saline in your hand, your cell phone in the other sending Javi a message.

Your thumb punched the numbers on the keypad, typing: Need u bad. Lunch? ;)

The phone went back into your scrub pants pocket, and you started grabbing the other supplies you needed from the shelves. Seconds later, ringing sounded, making you sigh and have to juggle what you held into one arm to fish your cell phone out again, seeing he was calling from his office phone. You pressed the accept button, the device going to your ear as you answered in exasperation, “Why do you always call instead of texting back?”

“Because talking is easier than trying to type shit out with the keypad,” Javier replied. “Why do you send messages when you know I’m just going to call you?”

“My naive hope that you’ll get I’m too busy to talk.”

“I’m sorry, I’ll make it quick—is this a regular lunch quickie, or is it finally time…?” He sounded hopeful.

“With how I’m feeling a little crampy and insanely horny this morning, I’m pretty sure it’s time—like, the horniness is bad enough there’s no way I can wait until work is over.”

There was noticeable excitement in his voice. “Apartment or truck?”

As tempting as the truck was, you weren’t in the mood for the risk.

“Home.”

“Got it, and why is there extra punctuation after the question? Is it code or something? Should I know what it means?”

“Turn the phone sideways, and it looks like a winking face—I was trying to be flirty and cute with my request for dick.”

“Huh, I guess it does kinda look like a face…”

“I have to get back to work, babe. We’re meeting at home on lunch for you to fuck my brains out, got it?”

“Yes, Cielito—home on lunch to fuck a baby into you.”

“Perfect. Love you, bye.”

“Love you, too. Bye, mi amor (my love).”

The device was put away, and you double-checked you got everything you needed for the new patient who’d just been brought to your department to recover from surgery. While in the patient’s room setting up their IV, you felt your pocket vibrate. After ensuring your new occupant was comfortable and not in need of anything, you left the room, looking at your phone as you walked down the hall and finding you had an unread text from Javi that you opened:

I love you and im excited for lunch ;)

It made you smile, and you replied back: Love u too. cant wait to see u <3

A few minutes after getting back to work, you felt the vibration of another message from him that ended up containing a question: What does <3 mean?

Robyn got a rushed 'See you in an hour' as you left for lunch in a hurry.

You didn't have road rage—it was more road annoyance when people were driving below the speed limit, didn't go as soon as the light turned green, or cut you off like that asshole who worked over at the hardware store did; what was his name? Jimmy? Jerry? Terry? It didn’t matter; he got a raised middle finger. When you pulled into your parking space at the apartment complex, Javi's spot beside yours was empty, and you booked it inside, kicking off your shoes once you got through the door, throwing your purse onto the console table in the entryway, along with your keys.

The thought of leaving the front door unlocked for Javi was squashed almost immediately with the reminder of him telling you always to keep it locked when he wasn't home—so you locked it, the deadbolt turning with a click.

When you told him you were insanely horny, it wasn’t an exaggeration—the horniness had your heartbeat pulsating in your cunt and made the scrubs you were wearing feel stifling over your heated skin, needing them off as soon as possible; your mind was consumed with all of the dirty things Javi could do to ease the ache between your legs—his thick fingers pushing into you and crooking them to hit that one spot only he could reach; his hips pounding into you from behind while rubbing your clit just right to make you come around him; his talented tongue and mouth working you over, licking and sucking on your wet heat with the finesse of a man devouring his first meal in weeks; his cock fucking into you nice and slow, feeling the stretch you couldn’t replicate with your fingers or a toy.

All those thoughts had you wanting Javier with every fiber of your being, and each passing second he wasn’t there was driving you crazy.

Walking toward the bedroom, you removed your clothes as you went, shimmying out of your pants, pushing down and off your panties, your blue scrub shirt getting tugged over your head next, followed by your white tank top, and finally, upon entering the room, your bra was unsnapped, and gravity took it to the floor, leaving behind a trail of garments that’d lead your fiancé to you buck naked and wanting.

You crawled onto the bed Javi had made that morning, the navy blue duvet decorated in golden suns, moons, and bright white stars. The burning ache at the apex of your thighs was begging to be assuaged by any means necessary, and with the absence of the person you wanted more than anything, it was up to you to take off the edge until he arrived.

Pulling open your bedside table drawer, you got out your small bullet vibrator and got comfortable lying down with your head on a pillow and slightly spreading your legs—cold air hit the slick-coated skin on your inner thighs and the lips of your sex, making you shiver. The toy hummed to life with the click of a button, your eyes closing as you slid it along your wet folds, the thrumming igniting sparks of arousal in your belly. You were imagining Javi on top of you, his hips pinning you to the mattress with his dick buried inside you, thrusting deep while his tongue was in your mouth—your jaw went slack, and your spine stiffened when you circled the vibe around your swollen clit, the sharp bolt of pleasure shooting to your core causing you to gasp.

The excitement in your pelvis was growing, moving the waves of vibrations side to side over your sensitive nub, fanning the flames of arousal in your center. You were so turned on your orgasm was building quickly, your nipples tightening, the heat in your abdomen spreading out from your groin, and getting hotter by the second. Your heart was pounding in your chest, and sweat was beginning to bead on your forehead, your thighs shaking as you envisioned Javier fucking you.

“Javi,” you moaned.

“I’m here, baby,” came his deep rasp. Your eyes flew open as you gasped, jolting in surprise.

He was standing at the end of the bed in his charcoal grey suit pants and a white dress shirt gaping at the neck from the three or so buttons he’d undone. His jacket and the red-patterned tie he’d left for work wearing were nowhere to be seen—there was a noticeable bulge at the front of his slacks, his pupils blown wide, his hungry gaze feasting on you spread out in front of him while he rolled up his sleeves to reveal the golden skin of his forearms, the overhead light glinting off of the face of the silver Rolex watch on his wrist you’d gotten him for Christmas.

Seeing him there in the flesh had such a strong spike of arousal cutting through you that you were unable to stop your desperate moan of his name. “I need you,” you whined, lifting the vibrator from yourself and turning it off in preference of having him instead. “I need you to fuck me—right now, Javier.”

His big hand was stroking over his straining length beneath his pants, his eyes locked on your glistening center. He licked his lips like he was imagining what you’d taste like. “You weren’t lying about being insanely horny, Cielito,” he said, not moving his gaze from between your thighs. “Look at how wet you are—how needy your pussy is for me. You want my dick, hermosa (beautiful)? You want my come?”

“Yes,” you answered, nodding your head.

“You can have it, Cielito.” You squeaked in surprise when he grabbed your ankles and roughly pulled you toward him to have your ass at the edge of the mattress. “—in a minute,” he continued and dropped to his knees, throwing your legs over his shoulders.

He eagerly dove in, running the flat of his tongue through your slit to gather your wetness with an appreciative hum. It felt so good, your lip was pulled between your teeth, and your fingers curled into his hair, moaning as he lapped at your cunt.

The tip of his beautiful nose rubbed your clit with every drag of his plush mouth along your pussy, causing shocks of electricity to course through your wet core, your eyes rolling back, and the pleasure building inside you. His groans were vibrating against your sensitive skin, his tongue dipping into your opening before moving up to tease your bundle of nerves—flicking at it side to side, over and over again.

Your fists tightened in his hair. “Javi,” you whimpered. “God, it’s so good.”

There was something about someone enthusiastically going down on you that made the act a million times better—your past boyfriends would only do it if you asked, or they felt they had to because you gave them a blow job. But Javier? This man wanted to eat you out. He craved your taste; he loved getting you off with his mouth. You were pretty sure if he could, he’d live with his face shoved in your cunt, and you loved hearing how much he was enjoying himself; his moans making it sound like you were the one pleasuring him.

The horniness and using the vibrator had you so worked up that adding in Javi eating your pussy like it was his favorite meal had you cresting in hardly any time at all—your insides knotting up, winding tighter and tighter until the tension shattered and you came with a gasp of his name, relishing the euphoria that washed over you. His tongue went down to your entrance, licking up every bit of your release he could get, not missing a single drop.

The orgasm was nice, but it was more of an appetizer—it got you into the mood and even more excited for the main course that was getting his cock inside you so you’d finally be relieved of the aching emptiness in your core.

You let go of his hair, your words coming out hoarse, “Can I have your dick now?”

He let your legs fall off his shoulders and rose with a crooked grin, his mustache and the bottom half of his face wet with your juices. He started undoing his belt. “I’m sorry for making you wait,” he said, popping open the button on his slacks and pulling down the zipper. “I wanted to make sure I got you off first.” He shoved the pants and white boxer briefs down his legs, his cock springing free under the hem of his dress shirt.

Sitting up on your elbows, you smiled at him. “A gentleman,” you replied with a wink. “I’ll take it you’re unbelievably excited about possibly getting me pregnant, and you don’t think you’ll be able to last? Which, no shame—it flatters me when you’re so jazzed about fucking me you bust a nut sooner than you wanted.”

He snorted. “Yeah, I’m excited.” He looked down, lifting the bottom of his shirt with one hand and spitting onto the fingers of the other, using them to slick up his throbbing length and making it shine in the lights of the room. “I’m really fucking excited.” He hooked his left arm under your knee and pulled you a little closer as he stepped forward with his dick in his right hand, pumping it a couple of times and pressing the tip to your soaked hole. “I love you,” the last word devolved into a groan as he pushed forward, sliding all the way home inside your cunt until he was balls deep.

The moment he breached your entrance, your mouth fell open at the delicious stretch your tight walls had to make for him to fit; your breaths went ragged, and your fingers clutched the duvet at the fullness. This was what you wanted. This was what you needed, feeling him so deep inside you that you were sure if he went any deeper, he’d nudge your spleen.

Your eyes had closed, and you fell back, the first sound escaping your lips coming out as a trembling whisper of his name. Javi went completely still for some seconds to calm himself down before he got his arms under each of your knees to spread you wide.

His voice was huskier when he spoke. “This what you needed, mi amor?” he asked. “My cock? Need me to fill this perfect pussy with my come? Need me to fuck it so deep I get you pregnant?”

“Yes,” you moaned.

“I’ll make you a mother, Cielito,” he said in a sure tone.

That statement had you clenching around him, Javi hissing. He audibly swallowed.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed. “It’s fucking embarrassing how close I am.”

You huffed in amusement, your mouth dry and sweat forming on your brow. “You riled yourself up while riling me up—you played yourself.”

“Don’t give me shit.”

Opening your eyes, his broad figure was looming over you with a grumpy look on his perfect face, his dark eyes on yours.

“I’m not giving you shit, Javi,” you said. “I love it—now, hurry up and fuck me, so we’ll be parents in nine months.”

That seemed to kick him into gear, Javi pulling out almost all the way and slamming back in hard enough to push the air from your lungs, setting up a hard, fast pace that had your mouth forming a perfect ‘O.’ He was pounding into you, grunting with each thrust, and stuttering your moans—it was so amazing, arousal was seeping from your cunt and down his shaft, hearing him working his dick in and out of your sopping hole and the harsh slap of his balls against your skin.

Heat was growing at the base of your spine, your thoughts consumed with how good he was fucking you and the fact there was a chance he could knock you up—that alone had you speeding toward another orgasm.

Ever since the first time Javier told you he loved you, his preference in sex positions had changed—before, it was backshots, railing you from behind to the point he had you incoherent and drooling. Now, it was anything face to face for the intimacy and wanting to kiss you, which was so unbelievably sweet.

A newer development that you’d noticed not too long ago was he liked having access to your breasts—he was still an ass man, but there’d been an uptick in titty action, like at this moment with him wrapping your legs around his waist so he could lean down to suck your nipple between his lips while he palmed your other breast, his hips never waning from their brutal onslaught.

His tongue laved at your stiff peak, sucking and licking it and causing lightning to shoot straight to your core, the volume of your moans increasing. The hot pleasure curling in your gut made you move your hands into his hair, your legs squeezed tight around his hips.

His cock was pushing in and out of you, filling you over and over again, his mouth moving to your other nipple to give it the same attention while his fingers pinched and rolled the first—he had your pussy weeping for him, your slick escaping where you were joined, dripping down between your asscheeks as he fucked you into the mattress.

You were almost there. The muscles in your stomach were tensing in preparation for your release.

You wanted to kiss, and he got the message when you pulled his head up by the hair, his lips smashing against yours, holding his weight on his arms beside your head. The kiss was messy, with your tongues tangling and teeth clattering, sharing breaths, his body taking up your vision. You were lost in it all and all of him, Javier becoming the only thing you could think about, the two of you in your own little world, where nothing else mattered except each other.

When you needed air, your mouth blazed a sloppy trail of kisses along his jaw to his neck, his breathing getting shallower and rhythm jerky, knowing he was close—you sucked on the taut skin of his throat hard enough to leave a mark, and it made him whine, the sound going straight to your cunt.

“I’m gonna come inside you,” he said in a breathy rumble, the deep timbre of his voice making your scalp tingle. “I’m gonna—shit—I’m gonna fuck a baby into you.” It was your turn to whine. “I’m gonna fill you up, keep you stuffed until it—fuck—until it takes.” He sounded totally and completely wrecked.

Your words were muffled into his neck, “Y-Yes, Javi—give it to me. Fuck a baby into me.”

“I wanna,” he groaned, “I wanna see you pregnant with my child.” He wasn’t going to last much longer; his strokes were getting sloppier, and he’d hit the point of being so close that he rambled. “I wanna see your body change—your tits get bigger with milk.” His dick twitched hard inside you. “You’ll be so fucking beautiful—fuck—so fucking beautiful carrying my baby.” He was panting. “I love you so much—please don’t leave—please don’t ever leave me.”

You grabbed his cheeks and passionately kissed him, saying into his lips, “I’m never gonna leave you—I love you—I love you,” you repeated with more emphasis. “I’m yours—I’ll always be yours. Put a baby in me, Javi—fuck your come deep.”

That did him in.

His groan was ragged as he broke the kiss to shove his face into your neck—his teeth were bared, his hot breaths fanning against your skin, his pace going frantic.

“Yes, yes, yes,” was gasped from your lips, chanting the word like a prayer. “Come in me,” you practically beg.

His hips bucked into you one last time, pushing his cock in as deep as it could go inside you, feeling it thicken and jerk as he came, gushing inside you with a rumbling moan. He sunk his teeth into your shoulder, the pleasurable pain making you gasp, feeling the hot flood of his come painting your insides. His hips were rolling to fuck it deeper, catching you off guard when he suddenly shifted his weight onto one arm to shove his other hand down between your bodies to rub your sensitive clit.

There was a quivering in your belly, a quaking that spread out to make your arms and legs tremble, his fingers circling, stroking, over and over again.

“Come for me,” he murmured against your ear. “Let me have it.”

You hit your tipping point, falling over the edge with an unintelligible cry—the surge of pleasure that bursted from your core had your hips jerking and your pussy spasming around him, Javi’s head falling against your shoulder with a strangled groan of good girl because you were squeezing him like a vice.

Now, this was one of those orgasms that consumed your entire being, taking you apart piece by piece until you were nothing but an incoherent, blissed-out puddle of a person who couldn’t even remember their own name.

A body slumped onto you, welcoming the familiar weight, the only sounds in the room being the hum of the air conditioning and panted breaths of the two inhabitants. It was reflex that had your fingers pressing into his slightly sweat-damp hair and rubbing your fingertips along his scalp—he made a pleased sound in the back of his throat.

Seconds pass, then some minutes, it was Javi who spoke first, grumbling with his face now in the crook of your neck, “I don’t wanna go back to fucking work.”

The reminder that your workday wasn’t over made you whine ‘No’ dramatically.

His hand, not above your head, rubbed along your ribs. “I know, baby—it’s shitty.”

“Why did we think a lunch quickie was a good idea?”

“Was there any thinking…?” he questioned.

“God, you’re so right. We suspected I was ovulating and immediately jumped to ‘We need to fuck right now.’ Zero planning whatsoever. An error was made when we assumed it’d be like our usual sexy lunchtime shenanigans.”

He hummed in agreement. “Was it better than normal for you, too…?”

“Um, yes—apparently, actual babymaking sex is another level of amazing.”

“It really is.” He held up his wrist so you could look at his watch. “How much time do we have?”

“Not enough for you to shower or either of us to eat—we probably should’ve gotten up like five minutes ago.”

“Fuck,” he said. Javi groaned as he pushed himself up to stand, a hiss slipping through his teeth when he pulled himself out of you.

Sitting up on your elbows, his attention was focused on the swollen lips between your thighs, his come starting to dribble from your used hole. You spread your legs a little wider for him to get a better look.

“So fucking pretty,” he mused, his hand moving without a second thought to catch his leaking spend on two fingers and press it back inside you. “Not letting a drop go to waste, mi amor.” His eyes met yours, laying his free hand low on your belly over your womb. He smiled. “A couple of weeks from now, you could be pregnant.”

You shared his happy expression. “We are going to fuck so much that your dick is going to hurt by the end of this week—might even get chafed.”

He grimaced. “Why are you excited about that?”

Reaching, you pressed a palm to his cheek. “Don’t worry, babe, I’ll ice it for you.”

“That doesn’t make it any better…”

“It’s a sacrifice we must make to knock me up.”

He pulled his fingers out. “Sacrifice we have to make? I’m the one making the sacrifice…”

Your eyebrow lifted. “Okay, and what about the sacrifice I have to make with my body growing a tiny human from practically nothing, sharing said body with them for nine months, then having to go through probably the most excruciating pain of my entire life to push them out of my vagina, Javier? Still think you’re the only one making a sacrifice by being uncomfortable for a couple of days after contributing your pleasurable 1% to our group project, that I will be doing 99% of the work on?”

His eyes had rounded, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Right,” he said and cleared his throat. “I’m fine with the dick discomfort—I’m sorry, cariño (sweetheart).” He rubbed your bicep with his clean hand. “Can I get you some water?” He checked his watch. “Fuck it, I’ll go back to the office late. I don’t have a meeting for another half an hour anyway—I’m gonna make you lunch to take to work.” He bent to pull up his underwear and slacks he didn’t bother buttoning up and leaned to give you a quick kiss. “I just need to wash up real fast—I love you. Thank you.” He pecked you on the lips again.

“I love you, too—you don’t have to make me food,” you said as he retreated to the bathroom. “I’m not mad at you.”

“I know you’re not mad,” he replied over his shoulder, “but I’m still making my wife and the future mother of my children food because I love her and appreciate everything she does for me.”

You gasped in pretend shock. “You’re married?!” you exclaimed. “I’m sleeping with a married man?!”

He stopped in the bathroom doorway and turned your way with a look that said he was done with your shit, and it made you grin.

“You will be in seven days,” he replied.

You got up from the mattress on shaky legs, walking toward him.

“Does your wife know that?”

“Cielito?”

“Yes, Javier?”

“I’m fucking you in seven days—mark it on your calendar.”

That made you giggle. “If I scheduled all the times we fuck, there wouldn’t be any empty days on the calendar.”

You were close to him.

“Probably.” He shrugged. “But next Monday is special.”

“Is that so?” you asked, finally in his space and wrapping your arms around his shirt-covered middle. He hugged you back, looking you in the eyes with a smile.

“Yeah,” he answered, “‘cause it’ll be the first time I fuck you as my lawfully wedded wife.”

“Should I expect sex to be different as Mrs. Javier Peña?”

He nodded. “It’ll be better.”

And before the lunch quickie, you’d just had, you would’ve told him that was impossible. However, now, you thought he was right; that as your relationship continued to grow and evolve, so would you both, and it’d affect something like your sex life, hopefully, positively as each year passed. It felt like you won the lottery that this kind, sweet, caring, respectful, incredible man loved you and would no doubt ensure sex with him was nothing less than spectacular.

“Well, Mr. Peña, I’m excited for you to make an honest woman out of me.”

His head moved, hovering his lips over yours, feeling his breath as he spoke in a low husk, “I’m excited to be your husband and share my last name with you, Mrs. Peña—I love you.”

“I love you, too—kiss me,” you whispered.

He nudged his nose against yours. “As you wish, mi amor—I promise to kiss you every day for as long as I live.” He pressed his lips to yours, kissing you tenderly.

Robyn was going to give you so much shit for returning to work late…

Javier didn’t mind Mondays when he was in Colombia.

To be honest, during his first stint trying to get Pablo Escobar, he was working so much his days blended together, and he didn’t know the date until he looked at a calendar in the office or Steve told him. As attaché, Mondays were the start of his week, and if he happened to have Sunday or the whole weekend off, he was still doing work at home and couldn’t wait to get back to the office—Monday mornings were used to plan out and go over his week’s schedule with his staff, the rest of the day he attended required meetings and when he had time, assessing where they were at in their operation and strategizing next steps.

He’d been too consumed with his job to take a break or relax over the weekend. it wasn’t something he would’ve wanted to do anyway because it’d mean he’d be alone with his thoughts, and who’d want that? Thinking about all of the mistakes he’d made, how much he fucked up and let his family down, mulling over how alone and miserable he felt—obsessing about his work meant there wasn’t time to think about those things, so Mondays were always welcome.

His life had changed since then.

Drastically.

Now, he looked forward to the weekend.

It meant a full forty-eight hours he got to spend with the most amazing woman he loved more than anything. It was forty-eight hours full of love, happiness, and contentment. He could actually relax with her, let his guard down, and just be himself.

The weekend was sacred, and he hated waking up on Monday morning, knowing he'd have to be away from his media naranja (soulmate) for at least forty hours over the next five days.

It was safe to say that Javier wasn't the jolliest of people when the alarm clock went off at the start of the week; it was such a common occurrence Cielito often compared him to Garfield, the cat.

He felt he'd done some good work since starting at the Sheriff's office a while back. The narcotics unit, he advised, had managed to do double the busts and arrests than the previous year, the DEA practically frothing at the mouth over the amount of drugs, weapons, and dirty money they’d seized. The agent in charge of their region, who he’d previously butted heads with, had even commended him on their last call. His notoriety was known enough he’d lost count of how many offers he'd gotten to do lectures and the number of agencies in Texas and across the country who had tried to poach him at most or get him to do short-term freelance consulting at minimum.

Basically, there were a lot of people who wanted to pick his brain and/or talk about his time with the DEA.

His, was it, popularity? In the drug enforcement circles and public knowledge of his efforts in Colombia had led to an interesting phenomenon, the Sheriff loved and Javier hated. Philanthropists, sometimes businesses, a lot of the times just individuals, many of whom weren’t even from the area, wanted to donate decent sums of money to the various anti-drug and addiction treatment programs the Sheriff's office and county, in general, ran with the caveat of discussing where their money was going with someone who fought in the War on Drugs.

Him.

Most of the time when he met with these 'philanthropists,' they just wanted to hear stories about Pablo Escobar and the Cali cartel that weren't reported in the mainstream media, or in other words, Javier had to schmooze.

Javier hated schmoozing.

He absolutely fucking hated all the ass kissing he had to do with higher-ups as attaché, and he sure as fuck, didn't like having to do it now with people who had more money than god and a morbid curiosity about two of the biggest, most violent cartels in recent history.

He could decline these meetings if he wanted—Sheriff Arturo told him it was completely his choice if he took them or not. Obviously, his preference would be the latter, but he cared about his community and checked into it to confirm the donations were being used as intended, so he figured it was worth an hour of his time every once in a while.

This morning, he'd been extra annoyed it was Monday because he was scheduled to meet with one of these potential donors who was from Dallas or somewhere else in the state; he wasn't actually paying attention the prior week when Joy, the Sheriff's assistant who also helped out Javier sometimes, was giving him the information due to the fact seconds before she walked into his office he'd gotten a message on his phone from his wi-fiancée that read:

Can I blow u on lunch?

And he’d needed Joy to leave so he could call Cielito to give her an emphatic yes, with the stipulation he could eat her out for his afternoon meal instead of the sandwich she made him. All that’d registered when his, kind of, assistant was talking were the date and time for the meeting he hastily scribbled down on his yellow legal pad.

Since it was the beginning of a new week and having the meeting on his agenda, he didn’t have much hope for it being a good day, and then his phone vibrated with a text message from his soon-to-be wife:

Need u bad. Lunch? ;)

See, in the week after they came home from Miami, they had an in-depth conversation about starting their family—yes, they both had already enthusiastically agreed to try for a baby, but Cielito wanted to manage his expectations and ensure he understood the statistics, risks, and tragic possibilities he didn’t even want to think about, yet needed to be aware of.

That night, he’d gotten out his mother’s rosary for the first time in a while, sat on the edge of the bathtub in the locked bathroom, and had a quiet conversation with her about how happy and ecstatic he was, along with his new fears and worries, making a tearful request for her to please watch over them. He wasn’t religious by any means and didn’t see a point in praying to some all-powerful being that possibly existed and, if so, had more serious matters in the world to attend to, but Javier knew his mom would care if she was listening, and it comforted him, thinking she was, and that she would watch over them.

Another thing his fiancée had done was try and pinpoint when they actually had a chance of conceiving, and that was how he found out she’d begun keeping track of her periods when they started dating, her reasoning:

‘I thought you didn’t want kids, so I made sure I could catch any surprises as quickly as possible to give us time to figure out what we wanted to do, then I found out you’re actually pro-kids and knew the data would come in handy when we decided to go for it, and I was right.”

She was right, she was always right, though, and had marked possible dates their chances were high on the Star Wars-themed wall calendar in the kitchen—January’s picture was a still from the first movie of Darth Vader interrogating Princess Leia in her cell on the Death Star—and Javier had been waiting for the prospective days with almost the same amount of glee as their impending nuptials.

Today was a possibility, and getting her text message and having her confirm over the phone her telling symptoms had him fist pumping with an excited ‘Yes!’ when he hung up.

His day had completely turned around, and he wasn’t even bothered about his afternoon meeting because he was on top of the world and beyond happy about the possibility of becoming a father.

He’d been vibrating with so much excitement he couldn't even focus on his work, and there were some important reports he needed to go over and create; he also had a few files on some recent busts one of the guys on the narcotics team wanted him to look over to see if Javier noticed the same things he did without disclosing what they were—he’d be lying if he said he wasn't intrigued.

Over the months he’d been with the Sheriff’s office, they’d had some leads on how the drugs were crossing the border from Mexico into Laredo, but they all ended up being dead ends. They knew what cartel was supplying; however, they didn’t know the link that was getting them into the US, and it bothered him so fucking much. Every person they caught and interrogated either wouldn’t say anything because they feared what the cartel would do or didn’t know shit, and had the same story that they got a call from an unknown number that gave them a location to pick up what was usually a vehicle with the drugs hidden inside along with their cash payment, and a destination where they needed to take it—generally, random parking lots they’d abandon the cars in. The narcotics team had attempted numerous times to get one of the traffickers to wait for their next call and report the specifics in order to conduct a sting, but once they were arrested, they were never contacted again or, in some cases, mysteriously disappeared; the assumption was they either fled to Mexico, or the sicarios got them.

It also didn't help that the town police department wasn't very forthcoming with their drug arrests and made getting their reports a pain in the ass—apparently, this only became an issue when Javier came on board as a consultant, which told him the person making their life difficult was the Laredo Police Department Chief, who also happened to be Lorraine's uncle.

That fucking family.

Since he'd been too amped to work, the time leading up to the lunch hour was spent going through the catalogs he had delivered to the office he hid in his desk drawer, containing baby stuff—clothes, toys, furniture, and making notes of the things he liked or needed to call Connie about to get her opinion.

The lunchtime quickie that ended up not being very quick was better than he ever could have imagined; it was so fucking fantastic that it easily made his top three Greatest Fucks—the other two were the sex on his birthday last month and the first time they fucked after they confessed their love on the kitchen floor—and it had him itching for the end of the workday to go home, and do it again, and probably again after that. It seemed Cielito wasn’t wrong about the probability of his dick hurting by the end of the week, and after some perspective (her gentle reminder of her sacrifices), it was something he was more than okay with—he was looking forward to it, actually.

He'd made her a cheese quesadilla and cut up some apple slices for her to take back to work and eaten his own before he left the apartment.

Javier had fussed with his clothes and hair to ensure it wasn’t obvious what he’d been doing the past hour and thought he did a pretty good job. He arrived at work ten minutes before his meeting and stopped by Joy’s desk, located outside Sheriff Arturos’s office, to get any messages he may have missed. The Sheriff was standing at his door talking to her in his uniform of a short-sleeved khaki shirt and army green pants, his gold Sheriff star badge gleaming under the overhead lights.

The older man’s dark eyes landed on him as he approached, the expression on his face turning to amusement.

“Parece que tuviste un buen almuerzo (Looks like you had a good lunch),” the Sheriff said.

His eyebrows furrowed. “¿Por qué dices eso (Why do you say that)...?”

Arturo tapped the side of his neck with his finger. “Ella te marcó (She marked you).”

Javier knew the exact spot, his hand instinctively moving to cover it. His attention went to Joy, who looked just as amused as the Sheriff. “How bad is it?” he asked her as he uncovered it.

She peered up at him through her wire-rimmed glasses, examining the spot. “She got you good, but you’ve had worse,” she answered. This was something that had happened many times before. “I can cover it up for your meeting if you want.”

He usually didn’t care about walking around with hickies on his neck—he actually loved that it broadcasted he was with someone. Unfortunately, there were some instances where he needed to look professional, and Joy would help by covering the marks with makeup Cielito had given her.

Checking his watch, the people would be arriving any minute. “There’s no time,” he sighed. “I’ll get my messages after the meeting—thank you!” He started walking to his office down the hall.

He’d made sure his desk didn’t look messy, keeping a legal pad and his pen at the ready, his suit jacket hanging on the back of his chair, and he had some program brochures in case whoever he was meeting with wanted them. He was sitting, absentmindedly thinking about what kind of flowers he’d bring home to his fiancée, leaning towards a bouquet of colorful tulips or there’d been a pink rose and lilies arrangement he saw last week he thought was really pretty, she’d like.

His desk phone rang, and he picked up the receiver, answering, “Peña.”

“Your appointment has arrived, Mr. Peña,” Joy said on the other line. “Are you ready for them?”

“Sure,” he replied. “It’s not like I have anything better to do.” There was a lot he could do instead of regaling people with stories from the worst years of his life.

“We’re on our way.” She hung up, and so did he, Javier standing up from his chair.

Joy appeared at his doorway, holding out her arm to direct the newcomers inside, as she said, “Right this way.”

Three nicely dressed people walked in, two men and a woman, Javier stepped around his desk to shake the first man’s hand—he was much older than Javier, giving him a firm handshake.

“Thank you for meeting with us, Javier,” the man said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes—he had an air about him that he knew he was the richest and most important person in the room; so, snobby. “We’ve heard so much about you.”

“From someone I know?” Javier figured it was an agent at the DEA.

“I believe so,” he answered. “We can talk about that in a minute—this is my wife.” He looked at the woman beside him, and Javier shook her hand. She was probably ten to fifteen years younger than her husband, dressed in clothes and jewelry that had to be worth more than he made in a year—she wasn’t smiling. It was obvious from her expression that she was disappointed in what she was seeing and unimpressed, Javier cringing when her eyes zeroed in on his neck.

This was going to go so well.

Maybe she was expecting someone older who looked more experienced?

“It’s nice to meet you,” Javier said with a polite smile. He let go of her hand. “I didn’t get either of your names?”

The man spoke, “Call us…” he paused. “John,” he finally answered, “and Jane.”

“Okay… John and Jane…?”

“Doe.”

Fake names. “So, you want to be anonymous donors…?”

It had happened before; however, in those instances, they did tell him their names and just requested they be listed as anonymous.

“Precisely—you’re a smart guy, Javier,” John said, with a smile that wasn’t sincere and the comment coming off as condescending, making Javier’s teeth clench.

“Right…”

“Well—” John clapped his hands together once. “—let’s talk business.”

There was still the other man behind them—tall, gangly, balding, probably about John’s age, wearing horn-rimmed glasses and a black suit, holding a briefcase—a lawyer if he had to guess, which wasn’t odd when there were large sums of money involved.

“I’ll take it the gentleman accompanying you is your lawyer?” he asked.

“Yes.”

They obviously weren’t going to introduce the guy to Javier, so he walked around them and held out his hand. “Hi, I’m Javi,” he said, “and you are?”

“Gerald,” he answered, shaking his hand.

He smiled. “Nice to meet you, Gerald.” Javier moved to close his office door. “Please, have a seat,” he told the room as he made his way to his desk. “Sorry, I only have two chairs, but I can have Joy bring in a third.”

He sat down in his, the couple taking seats in the two chairs in front of his desk.

“That won’t be necessary,” John said, waving away his offer. “Jerry is fine standing.”

Javier looked up at the man in question standing behind them. “Would you like a seat, Gerald?”

“I’m fine,” he answered.

Javier nodded and turned his attention to the people in front of him, who now looked annoyed because they apparently didn’t like politeness. He crossed his arms on his desk and gave them a close-lipped smile.

“So,” he started, “I was told you wanted to meet with me specifically. I’ll just say I don’t normally do these kinds of meetings, but if it helps get funding, I will. How can I help you? Would you like me to go over the programs?”

“We had some questions for you,” John replied.

“Okay.” He nodded. “I’m assuming they’re about my work in Colombia?”

“Some,” he answered.

“What university did you go to?” Jane asked.

“Texas A&M.”

“What degree?”

“Criminal justice with a minor in psychology.”

Her nose scrunched as if she smelled something bad, and John sat up straighter in his seat. “Were you really involved with taking down Pablo Escobar?” he asked.

“I helped—spent seven/eight years going after him with my partner. I wasn’t there when he died, but my partner was.”

“That’s a considerable amount of time to hunt someone. Why weren’t you there in the end?”

“I was on leave here in Laredo visiting my family.” Kind of true. “Bad timing, as you can tell.” He humorlessly chuckled.

“Right… And there was another cartel you were involved in dismantling?”

“The Cali cartel,” he answered. “They took over after Escobar.”

“Sounds like a dangerous job. Do you have to worry about their associates or the criminals you put away coming after you?”

“Not really? Many are dead, and I’ve been out of the DEA for a while, so I think if something were going to happen, it would’ve by now.”

“Your achievements are impressive.” He said it, but he didn’t look impressed. “How old are you?”

“Forty.” He felt like he was being interrogated. “Can I tell you about the county’s programs?”

“Right, right,” John said. “Money. We promise you’ll have a check. We’re just interested in learning more about The Great Javier Peña.”

He frowned. “I wouldn’t say I’m great…”

“We wouldn’t either,” Jane mumbled under her breath, not looking at him.

“That’s something we can agree on,” John said so smoothly that Javier was stunned by the rudeness.

What was with these people? They requested this meeting with him and didn’t seem to like him all that much—he was pretty sure the wife hated his guts, and he had no clue what he’d done or who they were. He didn’t have to put up with this shit, no matter who they thought they were or how much they were going to donate, so he let his mask fall along with all the pleasantries.

“So, I’m doing this as a favor for the Sheriff,” Javier said. “I don’t have to talk to you people, especially with you giving me the impression you don’t even like me. I don’t want to waste your time or mine—let’s cut to the chase; how much money are you donating? And I’ll decide if it’s worth answering any more of your questions.”

His shift in demeanor had the couple looking taken aback at his audacity, like they couldn’t believe he’d speak to them in such a way.

“Is that how you talk to people who want to give you money?” Jane asked.

His eyes went to her. “It’s how I talk to people who clearly don’t like or respect me. if you want this meeting to continue, tell me how much.”

“Okay, Javier,” John said. “Is one hundred thousand enough?”

He kept his face neutral, but Javier was shocked. No one had ever donated that much.

“That’ll work,” he responded. “What do you want to know?”

“Is it true you’d pay and sleep with prostitutes to get information while in Colombia?” Jane asked.

Javier jolted as if she’d slapped him, his eyebrows creasing. “Where’d you hear that? What does that have to do with Webb County or my career?”

“It’s a question of your morals,” she answered. “Did you use women for your own personal gain?”

“One hundred thousand,” John reminded him.

Jesus Christ.

His jaw ticked, his fists clenching. He answered, “Yes.”

“Is it true you were fired from the DEA for helping a paramilitary group that killed civilians?” Jane asked.

“I only helped them get a handful of Escobar’s sicarios and told them no civilians were to be harmed.”

“It’s a yes or no question.”

He icily stared. “Yes.”

This was an interrogation.

“Were you engaged to Lorraine Smith seventeen years ago and left her the night before your wedding?”

How the fuck did they know that?

“She was trying to trap me,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Yes or no.”

“Yes.”

John leaned forward, staring him down. “All those deplorable things—do you actually think you’re good enough to marry our daughter?”

There it was.

Everything finally made sense.

He’d only seen a few pictures of her parents since his fiancée didn’t enjoy going through her family photo album, actively avoiding the reminders of how she’d been neglected and shunned, so he hadn’t recognized them. Now that he knew their true identities, he could see the features Cielito had gotten from each of them—eyes, mouth, chin, nose, that crinkle between her eyebrows when they pulled together—if her mother had smiled just once instead of glowering at him the entire time, he would’ve clocked who they were in ten seconds flat.

These fuckers, he knew they were up to something, and to wait and show up a week before their wedding, was fucking diabolical—obviously, they were going to pull some shit to try and stop him from marrying their daughter. A sick part of Javier wished they knew he could still smell Cielito in his mustache and had some of her dried come on his dick; he was happy the mark on his neck stood out since it showed he was with her recently.

His surprise only lasted a second as it quickly turned into burning hot anger, Javier glaring at them.

“Do I think I’m good enough for your daughter? No, but she thinks I am, and her opinion is the only one that matters,” he answered.

Jane rolled her eyes, and John sat back, crossing his arms.

“It used to be common courtesy to ask the Father for permission to marry his daughter,” the other man said.

Javier leaned back, mirroring John with his arms over his chest. “When they considered their daughters property,” he said. “Your daughter is not your property; she’s a person who can do whatever the fuck she wants without your permission—get out of here with that sexist bullshit.”

Jane scoffed.

John jutted a finger at him. “You’re not good enough for our daughter,” he said. “You’re not cut from the same cloth—she’s Cashmere, and you’re a dirty old rag. She’s better than you—she deserves better than you, and you cannot marry her. We won’t allow it. She needs to marry someone from a family of worth or a man in a profession of notoriety who makes good money, like that great surgeon she dated, Dr. Andrews. He’s made a name for himself and would’ve been a great match for her. If she marries you, people will talk, and we’ll be a laughingstock amongst our peers that our daughter was with someone so beneath her—you’d sully her name and all that we’ve built. So, here’s how this is going to go, Javier,” he spat. “We promised you a check, and you’ll get one for one hundred thousand as we agreed for you to put toward whatever menial program you wish. Then you’ll get a second check for the same amount to call off your wedding and leave our daughter. You will never speak to her again, and if she happens to be pregnant with your child—god help us—you will sever your parental rights and have nothing to do with either of them. Am I understood?”

Javier was so fucking angry he thought he was going to explode.

He figured they’d lay into him about his unworthiness to try and make him second guess being with her. He also thought they’d try threatening him with god only knows what to stop their wedding. Trying to pay him off to keep him from marrying their daughter was unexpected and unbelievably insulting. They were out of their minds thinking money would get him to leave her; they were fucking insane thinking money would get him to leave her and their child.

His ears were ringing, his blood was boiling, feeling hot and so full of rage he was seeing red.

His tone was low and menacing, “Get. The fuck. Out.”

John sighed. “Fine. two hundred fifty thousand.”

“I don’t want your fucking money.”

“Everyone has a price,” Jane said.

He looked at her with narrowed eyes, resting his arms back on the desk. “Some people don’t actually give a fuck about money, Jane. So, no, I don’t have a fucking price. You could offer me one million dollars right this second, and I’d still tell you to fuck off. You people are fucking despicable—does she even know you’re here?”

“Of course not,” John said, giving him a look like that should be obvious. “We’re here on business.”

Javier’s attention went to him. “Your daughter’s happiness is ‘business?’ Wanting to ruin our lives is ‘business?’ Do either of you have hearts, or is it purely hatred keeping you alive? You know what, I don’t fucking care—be honest with me, do you even love her?”

“Yes, of course we love her!” Jane replied. “Why do you think we’re doing this? We love her and want what’s best for her!”

“No, you want what’s best for you.” He pointed at her. “If you actually loved her, you wouldn’t be doing this because you’d care about her happiness and not your family’s image. If you loved her, you’d be happy about our marriage.” His voice rose, “If you fucking loved her, you would treat her as such and respect her life choices! You don’t fucking love her, and you never have all because she wasn’t born with a fucking penis and didn’t follow some stupid fucking career tradition! No, you don’t fucking love her!” He stood from his chair so abruptly that it rolled back to ram into a bookcase.

He took a deep breath, his heart pounding, face hot.

His voice brokered no room for argument, “So, here’s how this is going to go. I won’t tell her about this absolutely fucked up conversation and attempted bribe, and you’re going to get the fuck out of our town without another word. You will not see her before leaving, and you will never show your faces here again. If you do not follow any of these instructions, I will tell her everything, and because I genuinely love your daughter—“ He pressed a hand over his heart. “—and know her, I can tell you that you will never hear from her again, and you won’t ever meet our children. Am I understood?”

After this meeting was finished, he was rushing to Cielito’s work to tell her all that had happened—he wouldn’t keep anything from her, especially this.

“One million,” John tried.

“Stop offering me fucking money!” Javier shouted, slamming his hands onto the desk. “You can’t pay me off!” His volume lowered. “Now, are you gonna go straight home, or do I need to call your daughter, my fiancée, on speakerphone so you can tell her what’s happening?”

John looked over his shoulder at the man behind him. “Jerry, the paperwork.” He snapped his fingers.

Gerald used his knee to prop up the briefcase that he popped open. Grabbing a large manila envelope, he passed it to John, who tossed it onto the wooden surface in front of Javier.

“Sign it,” the older man ordered, pointing at it. “Standard prenup—you get divorced, you take what little you brought with you, and don’t get a single cent of our money; if you won’t be reasonable, then you’ll play by our rules. She knows she must either keep her last name or hyphenate when she marries.” Cielito had never mentioned that and planned to take his last name, which her parents definitely wouldn’t like. “The children she has with you will have hyphenated last names, ours first—which shouldn’t be a problem for you.” That was aggressive and not fucking happening with how adamant his future wife was about getting rid of her maiden name. “—and they’ll have trusts set up for them that they can access at the age of eighteen if they pursue a medical degree, if not, then they’ll have to wait until they’re twenty-five.” How fucking rich were these people? And his kids would go to school for whatever they wanted; his fiancée had told him she could afford it. “—you, Javier, are barred from touching any of the money.”

“I don’t want your fucking money, pal,” Javier rolled his eyes. “Stop acting like it matters to me, and pull your head out of your ass—we don’t give a single fuck about you enough to do any of this asinine bullshit.”

“I’m not done,” John’s words were clipped with irritation, and his face showed it. “And you’ll want to hear the rest.”

“I don’t think I do, but please, buddy, keep up this disappointing attempt to intimidate me. Just remember, I spent years with a target on my back and know what it’s like to be at the end of a loaded gun, so your words aren’t gonna do shit.”

“We expect you to visit during the holidays and act civil; that means smiling in the annual family photo.” Javier snorted at this man being so full of himself to think he could get them to play ‘one big happy family.’ “If you don’t sign, then your children will get nothing, we will write our daughter out of our wills, and she will never get any additional financial support from us outside of the money we put aside for her college education—” She had the same stipulation that unless she went to medical school, she wouldn’t have access to her college fund until she was twenty-five. “—and what her grandparents left her; our son will inherit everything.”

Well, shit.

Javier frowned. This just put him between a rock and a goddamn concrete wall of a hard place.

“I’m sure you want your children to have a head start in life,” John continued, looking smug, “so we advise you sign, right Jerry?”

“It’s a substantial amount of money,” Gerald replied. “It would be in your best interest to sign, and that’s just my unbiased opinion.”

Javier was ready to tell them to take the prenup and shove it up their asses, the problem: he couldn’t make an executive decision on Cielito’s behalf that would lose her inheritance. This was something he needed to discuss with her and figure out if she wanted him to abide by the demands—which he would, for her; he wouldn’t like it, but he’d do anything for her. Now he needed to get these assholes to leave, so he could head to the hospital and talk to her.

“Thank you for your unbiased opinion, Gerald,” Javier said. He looked at the man who’d unfortunately be his father-in-law in a week. “Have you listed all of that in here?” He poked the manila envelope.

“Yes.”

“Well, I’m not gonna sign a legally binding document without having my lawyer look it over—I’m a smart guy, after all. You got a card with your fax number on it, Gerald?”

“Yes,” he answered, pulling one out of the inside pocket of his suit jacket and walking around his bosses to hand it to Javier.

“Thanks. I’m going to let my lawyer determine if it really is in my best interest to agree to this, and he’ll be in touch in a couple of days—you probably won’t tell me, but where’d you hear all that shit about me?”

How people in town found out about his history with the informants has been a mystery since he never told anyone. He knew a person could find out about his involvement with Los Pepes from reading an article in a Miami newspaper, and everyone in fucking Laredo was aware of Lorraine.

John looked at him like he was stupid. “Private investigator,” he answered.

“Let me guess, he talked to Lorraine and her family?”

“No comment.”

So, that was a yes.

He sighed. “I’m really fucking curious about where he got the intel on my… relations with the women in Colombia. It had to be someone I worked with—“ He knew it wasn’t Steve. “—or who knew me down there.”

“They contacted us anonymously, so I don’t know.”

It smelled like Stechner, which, now that he was thinking about it, that fucker had been through this area before he arrived unannounced a couple of months ago, working alongside the DEA with what was going on in Mexico. He would’ve loved stirring up trouble by letting it slip about Javier’s relationships with informants.

He nodded once. “Well,” Javier started, “eating a bowl of shattered glass would’ve been more pleasant than this shitshow of a meeting. You folks really know how to make a great first impression,” he said sarcastically. “Now get the fuck out of my office and town.” He gestured toward the door. “You’re not welcome here.”

The couple got up from their chairs.

John checked the time on his Rolex, the gold watch featuring a white dial that easily cost three to four times the amount of the one on Javier’s wrist. “We need to get going anyway,” he said, “I have to be in San Francisco tomorrow for a medical conference, and I can’t miss it since I’m speaking at it—hopefully, I’ll run into Daniel. It’s always nice talking to him.”

Javier’s eyes rolled so hard he thought they might get stuck.

“We’re happy to leave this awful town,” Jane sneered. “One day, she’ll tire of you and realize the mistake she made letting you trap her here. We’ll be there when she finally comes to her senses and returns home to us.”

Javier huffed amusedly. “You’re fucking delusional, lady. You don’t even know her! She loves living here. Especially since it’s so fucking far away from you snobby fuckers.”

The woman raised her nose at him and hmph’d.

“Last chance, Javier,” John said, meeting his eyes. “One million dollars and all you have to do is disappear from her life—you’ve done it before, so do it again, and this time be compensated for it. Someone like you can easily find another woman to love.”

Javier straightened, his hands sitting on his hips, staring daggers at the other man. “I don’t want another woman,” he growled. “You’re not understanding, so let me say it nice and slow, and maybe you’ll get it: I. Love. Your. Daughter. No one else. I will never love anyone else. I love her more than life itself. I would take a bullet for her. I would die for her. I would do anything for her, like signing this fucking document—” He tapped his finger on it. “—that I don’t agree with or want to do 99% of because I love her, and I want her to be happy. She is my entire world, and just the thought of being away from her makes me sick to my stomach. So, unless she tells me to leave, I’m not going anywhere; I am spending the rest of my life with her, and there is no amount of money in the entire fucking universe that could get me to do otherwise.” He took in a big breath and slowly let it out, frowning. “From the way you can’t seem to grasp the love we have and what your daughter means to me, I’m under the impression your marriage is transactional or for appearances only—there was never any love, it was just a way to improve your social standing, or whatever stupid shit you rich people care about, but the fact of the matter is it wasn’t built on love. It’s superficial.” He looked at John. “If you went bankrupt tomorrow, she wouldn’t stay with you.” He pointed at the wife. “There’s no for richer or poorer with you two, and that’s really fucking sad. I pity you.”

The couple were scowling at him. “We don’t need your pity,” the older man said. “You know nothing about our marriage. We’ll be expecting to see the signed papers soon.”

They didn’t wait for him to respond, storming toward the door with Gerald following.

Javier sighed, pressing his fingers to his brow.

He knew eventually he’d have to meet Cielito’s parents. He had thought about what he’d say to them when he did so many times he’d lost count because Javier needed them to know how angry he was with how they’d treated the woman he loved. He needed them to know how they failed her as parents. He needed them to know how much he loved her and that he wouldn’t let them continue hurting her. He finally had his chance, and they’d made him so mad, he couldn’t remember a single fucking thing he said and hoped in his rage he got some of his points across.

They were at a crossroads now. He’d tell her what happened, every detail he could remember, and then it would be up to her—will they cut off complete contact with her family? Or would they have to abide by her parents’ demands? Javier thought he knew which way she’d choose, but money had a way of making people do things they normally wouldn’t, and from the looks of it, there was a lot of money on the line.

He sighed again. Anxiety had his stomach twisting into knots, and he was so fucking worried about what she’d choose that his chest was aching. He’d go along with whatever it was because, in the end, it was her decision, and he’d respect it, even if it was something he didn’t like and, holy shit, did Javier hate the idea of these stuck-up pricks remaining in their lives and having any kind of relationship with their future children.

There was a knock on his office door, and his hand lowered, finding Joy standing in the doorway with worry on her brow. She was a great kid who’d really gotten the hang of the job, which was her first out of college, and she was doing very well—Joy also loved Cielito and hung on her every word when they talked.

“Is everything okay, Javi?” she asked. “I heard yelling.”

“They were my in-laws, and they fucking hate me. I’ve never met them in person; hell, I’ve never even spoken to her dad on the phone, and they flew all the way here to talk to me.”

Her eyes went wide behind her glasses. “It wasn’t to congratulate you on your marriage, was it…?”

He scoffed. “No, they were trying to convince me to call it off.”

“Then why are you still here? Go to the hospital! Don’t worry about your messages.”

“I’m going,” he said, grabbing the large envelope containing the documents and moving toward the door, not even bothering to put on his suit jacket.

“You should know they left this with me.” She held up what looked to be paper as he approached, and he took it, reading what it was.

“You gotta be fuckin’ kidding me,” he said in disbelief. “They donated the fucking hundred grand—we didn’t even talk about the programs. How did they know who to write the check out to?” He met her eyes.

“They asked me which one was my favorite.” She shrugged. “Now, go!” She snagged the check back. “I’ll get this to where it belongs, and you go deal with what you need to—tell her hi from me.”

“I will.” He made his way out of the door. “Thank you!” he said, walking as fast as his legs could go.

Once in his truck and on his way, he’d gotten his cell phone out and speed-dialed a number.

Ring.

“Doctor’s Hospital of Laredo. How may I direct your call?”

“Robyn Thompson, post-op.”

“One moment.”

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

“Hi, this is Robyn,” she answered.

“Hey, it’s Javi.”

“Oh, they paged me to answer the phone. Let me go get her.”

“No!” he quickly said. “I need to talk to you.”

Her tone went serious, “What’s goin’ on, Javi?”

“I’m on my way there right now and need to talk to her about something that happened. Would you be okay if I borrowed her for ten, maybe fifteen minutes?”

“Javier,” she whispered, “are you gettin’ cold feet?”

That being her first assumption stung, and it hurt worse because she knew damn well how head over heels he was for her best friend. It looked like even after all these years since his failed wedding, it didn’t matter if he was madly in love with someone and had a great relationship; people were still going to wonder if he would leave his new bride at the altar.

“What? No! Never! Not with her. Her fucking parents came to town and tried to pay me a fuckton of money to call off the wedding and leave her, I told them to fuck off, but they want me to sign a goddamn prenup with a list of demands that I need to talk to her about.”

“Her parents…? Here in Laredo…?”

“Yeah, I was pretty fucking shocked, too, then so fucking angry I can’t remember what I yelled at them.”

“She can take her break early, and I’ll cover.”

“Please don’t say anything to her.”

“Oh, this is all you.”

“Thank you.”

“No problem. See you soon.”

“Bye.”

He ended the call.

The radio’s volume was down low, and the air conditioner was turned up high, Javier alone with his thoughts as he figured out how he was going to tell her about what happened—he’d tell her the truth, of course, but he didn’t want to upset her. That was the thing, though; she was going to be upset and royally pissed off.

The patient in room three wanted some apple juice; room five was asking for pain meds, but they had an hour before they could have another dose and hated being told ‘no’ so much they wouldn’t stop hitting their call button as if each press would magically make the minutes go by faster; room one was asleep and in—you checked the time on your watch—the next forty-five minutes, an orderly was coming by to take them for a walk to exercise their new hip.

It had been a busy fucking day, and you felt awful about coming back to work a little late after lunch.

You were heading toward the storage room to get the apple juice and just put your hand on the door handle.

“Hey,” Robyn said as she walked up to you. “What are your rooms needin’?”

“Three, apple juice. Five, pain meds, but we have to wait an hour. One is asleep for now.”

She nodded. “Okay, I’m gonna take care of all that for you while you go on break.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, looking at your watch. “It’s way too early for me to take a break. I’ve got another hour, at least.”

Her smile was small, patting your arm. “You’re gonna wanna go now ‘cause Javi’s waitin’ for you over at the desk.”

Your head whipped in that direction, and sure enough, he was standing there in his charcoal-colored slacks, white dress shirt, and red-patterned tie, staring at you with big brown puppy dog eyes and a little smile—and doing a little awkward wave that was both adorable and weirdly out of character from his usual suaveness.

“Uh, why is he here?” you asked, returning his gesture with a small wave of your own. “I was just with him on lunch...”

She turned her attention to him. “Oh, look at him doin’ a lil wave,” she cooed as if she was fawning over a cute baby, waving back. “Isn’t that just adorably weird and a reason you should talk to him right now?”

“You’re really okay if I take my break?” Your face turned her way.

She met your eyes. “Girl, my two patients are passed out, and the next one isn't arrivin’ for another hour, shoo.” She shooed you away with her hands, and you went.

Javi had stopped waving as you approached him, and once you were close enough, you asked, “Is everything okay? What are you doing here?”

The look on his face wasn’t happy; he was clearly worried, and it made you nervous.

“Is there somewhere we can talk privately?”

Alarm bells started going off in your head.

“Javier, is your dad okay? Did something happen to him? Or someone else in the family?”

He grabbed your hand, his thumb rubbing on the skin of the back of it. “Pop’s okay, Cielito—everyone in our family is okay. Take me somewhere we can talk, and I’ll explain.”

You chewed on your lip, not wanting to ask the question but needing to in order to prepare yourself. “Does this have something to do with our wedding…?” your voice was quiet.

“Baby, no,” he reassured. “Mi amor, look at me.” You did. “Us, our family, our friends, are all good—something happened at work, and I can’t talk to you on the phone about it or wait until we get home. I’ll tell you once we’re somewhere alone.”

“Okay.” You nodded, interlacing your fingers with his and leading him down the hall. For privacy’s sake, you took him to the closest on-call room, the small space containing a twin-sized bed and a desk.

The door was locked, and you moved further into the room and stopped, turning to face your fiancé.

Your eyes were on his. “What’s going on, babe?” you asked.

He took in a big lungful of air, saying as he exhaled, “Your parents came to my office today.”

What he stated was so absurd you thought you misheard him. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard you right. It sounded like you said my parents were at your office, like physically, in person at your office, which is just absolute crazyballs because why would they come all the way here and not tell me or visit me…?”

The look on his face was so sad it made your stomach drop to your toes. He slid his hand soothingly along your bicep, up and down, over and over.

His tone was gentle. “You know how we’ve been wondering if they’re up to something?”

“Yes,” you whispered, dreading what he would say.

“They were pretending to like me and support our marriage, so you wouldn’t suspect them of having anything to do with their plan of getting me to leave you the week before our wedding....”

“What are you talking about?”

“They came to my office today to try and pay me a lot of fucking money to disappear from your life.”

Your eyes widened.

“They tried to pay you to leave me…?”

“Yes, and it made me so fucking angry that they’d do such a thing and try to frame it like they were doing it out of love and wanting what was best for you when in reality, it’s what they want—I’m still fucking pissed.” You could tell he was with how upset he was getting as he continued speaking. “I suspected if they were gonna pull some shit, it’d be trying to make me doubt I was good enough for you or threaten me with what? I don’t know, but to try and pay me off? Like our love can be fucking bought? Or to assume money would mean more to me than you?” His eyes were getting watery. “You, my fucking soulmate. I told them no amount of money could get me to leave you. It was so fucked up, and I hate them,” he seethed. “I’m sorry, baby, but I hate your fucking parents, I hate your family, and I lost my cool and yelled at them for not loving you and being so goddamn despicable.”

It took a second for you to process that your parents flew thousands of miles to try and pay Javi to break things off. You knew they didn’t approve of him, but to go so low? It had anger welling up inside you the longer you thought about it, getting madder at how upset they made your sweet, caring, loving fiancé, who you knew absolutely laid into them for trying such a heinous thing.

After your mother’s abrupt change in opinion of him, Javi and you had been suspicious of how out of character it was for her. There was a tiny bit of hope about the size of a grain of sand that she was being sincere with how she called more in the following weeks, wanting to hear about your wedding plans and find out the date. When you thought about it, it wasn’t all that surprising she was just fishing for information to put together her scheme. She never had any intention of helping you when she offered to hire you a wedding planner; it was a ruse to buy her time to figure out how to stop the whole thing, and you threw a wrench in her plotting by getting married so soon.

And this was the final straw.

You’d given your family enough chances, and this time, they went too far—there was no coming back from this. They could never be trusted, and you wouldn’t let them continue treating the man you loved so horribly. This whole thing was confirmation they didn’t love you.

You reached to cradle his smooth cheeks in your hands.

“I’m so sorry, Javi. I’m sorry for what they put you through. I’m sorry for how they treated you. I’m sorry for them, and I’m done. They’ve shown me who they really are, and it’s the nail in the fucking coffin.” Tears didn’t come to your eyes, and you felt no sadness about cutting them out, probably because you’d already spent enough time mourning the loss of a relationship with them and had come to terms with it. “I’ve got you, your dad, your family, Robyn—I don’t need people full of so much hate. I’m done, it’s over. I won’t be answering any of their calls.”

His eyes closed in relief, his breath stuttering on a sob. The emotion was thick when he spoke, “I want that to be true, but there’s more…”

“What do you mean there’s more?”

He looked at you. “Your father gave us an ultimatum—I sign a prenup, and we go along with his terms, or you lose your inheritance; they’ll write you out of their wills, and our kids won’t get any money. They said all you’d have is your college fund and what your grandparents left you.” He held up a large manila envelope. “You can read everything he’ll require us to do, and I’ll sign if that's what you want.”

“Wait, let me guess his terms.”

He looked confused. “What?”

“Did he say I had to keep my maiden name?”

“Yes… or hyphenate it.”

You huffed out a breath. “Typical. God, did he say the shit about our children having my last name first? Which I know you have your dad and mom’s last names, but that’s how it’s ordered: your dad's, then mom’s; it’d be weird if we did mine first.”

“He did…”

“Yeah, I’d prefer our kids just being Peñas. Um, what else? Oh! Was there anything about our babies getting money for medical school?”

“Trusts… They can access at eighteen for medical school, twenty-five if not.”

“Figures.” Your eyes rolled. “Didn’t get access to any of my money until I was twenty-five.”

His free hand caressed your face, his expression still pinched in confusion. “Cielito, what is happening right now? Why aren’t you upset?”

Your eyebrows dipped. “Why would I be upset…? You’re not signing that.” You pointed at the packet. “I don’t want their money. Do you want their money?”

“What? No. I told your father exactly how much I didn’t want his fucking money. I’m not quite getting why you aren’t more upset about no longer speaking to them…”

“Oh! This is probably hard for you to understand because your parents love you unconditionally and are, in general, fantastic people. See, my parents’ love is conditional, which you’re holding proof of, and when you spend the first eighteen years of your life trying to live up to impossible standards for the tiniest scrap of affection, you kinda develop a lot of resentment toward the ones who are supposed to love you no matter what.

“Then there’s the way they think they can dictate my life choices as an adult,” you continued, “and only call me so often to keep tabs on what I’m up to in order to ensure I’m not doing anything that would embarrass them or bring shame to the family name—they’re fucking ridiculous about their traditions and keeping up appearances that their family is perfect.

“So, sure, I love them,” you told him, “but I’ve been tired of their bullshit for a while now and have been clear about my boundaries; plus, they knew they were on thin ice, and Javi, every time I’ve told you I’d choose you over them, I meant it.” You swiped his bangs off his forehead. “Your love is unconditional, and you genuinely love me; what’s better than that? And that’s why I don’t have any issues cutting them out of our lives and don’t care about losing my inheritance.

“You’ve seen firsthand how toxic they are,” you said, “and I won’t have them around us or our children. Our happiness is more important than keeping shitty people in our lives for money, and babe, believe me when I say we don’t need their money.”

His eyes were searching yours. “Are you sure?”

You smiled. “I wouldn’t say it if I wasn’t—yes, Javier, I’m sure, I’m more than sure. You are what matters to me. You and our future babies are what matter to me.” You took the envelope from his hand and looked around the room, finding the small garbage can over by the door. “Swoosh!” you called out and tossed the documents toward it.

—them landing on the floor beside the trash with a thud.

“There goes my NBA career,” you mumbled.

A surprised sound left you when lips crushed against yours hard, Javi’s big, warm hands holding your face—there was a second delay before you started kissing him back just as fervently with your eyes closed, your fingers threading into the soft, thick strands of his hair, pressing your body into his as close as you could get without crawling into his skin.

His palm slid down your back to grab a handful of your ass, his tongue slipping between your lips to massage your own.

Javier could be an imposing figure with the broadness of his shoulders, his wide chest, and tall stature. He had a way of making you feel delicate and safe when he caged you in his arms, something ancient in the back of your mind repeating, 'Protector, protector, protector...' and purring happily.

He could easily get you to move where he wanted, and he walked you back until your legs hit the side of the bed. In the blink of an eye, he had your spine to the mattress with him on top of you, the kissing getting frantic.

"I love you," his sentence muffled against your mouth. "I love you—I need... I need." He sounded desperate, unable to articulate what he wanted, but if you thought about what he went through that day—the excitement of actually trying for the baby, the rage at meeting your parents, the worry at what you'd choose—he felt a lot of big emotions, and you knew his way of coping when he got overwhelmed was losing himself in another person's body.

He needed you.

His hips were cradled in your thighs, feeling him hardening.

Normally, this wouldn’t be a problem. Today, however, there were a couple of issues, the big one being that you were at your place of employment, and the second was you didn’t have time—Robyn was already doing you a solid by covering, and it’d be rude to go over your allotted fifteen minutes of break time.

Javi needed you, though, and you wanted to make him feel better.

With a quick glance at your watch, you had seven minutes to work with, a plan quickly forming in your head.

It wasn’t hard to get him to roll you both to have you on top of him, straddling his hips and shoving his arms above his head, where you held them down. Your mouths were fused together, the kiss becoming needy and hungry, your lips slick, and your tongues moving together with practiced familiarity. With a roll of your hips, you ground yourself against his hardened cock, heat zipping through your belly at the broken whine he made, which only encouraged you to keep going, continuing to grind, rubbing your pussy along his thick shaft.

He wanted to touch you, making an attempt to get his hands out of your hold, but you kept them firmly in place. You spoke quietly into his lips, “You gonna be a good boy and let me make you feel good?” He groaned, his entire body shivering under you.

His length was between the lips of your clothed cunt, grinding yourself against it, the friction to your clit causing sparks to dance in your core. "You gonna come for me?" you asked, keeping your voice low and nipping at his bottom lip, kissing him again, rough sounds rumbling from his chest.

Your mouth broke away from his, pressing your foreheads together. "You gonna think about how I still have you inside me?" you murmured, not slowing your movements, sliding your pussy over him repeatedly.

Occasionally, there were voices or the wheels of hospital beds rolling outside the room’s door as people passed by. Inside, where you and Javier were alone, the sounds filling the air were the mattress springs softly squeaking, his breathy moans, and your panted breaths.

"You gonna think about how you might've gotten me pregnant today?" you asked. That got you a groan and him bucking his hips.

"You gonna think about how you’ll fill me again when we get home? How you're gonna keep me all nice and stuffed so I have your baby in nine months?" A desperate sound left him, and he started thrusting up into you while you kept grinding.

"You gonna think about what I'll look like knocked up with your baby? The big belly and swollen tits? You like that my boobs are gonna get bigger, don't you?" You were reveling in his whimpers and moans, knowing you had him. "Have you imagined what I'll look like riding you when I'm pregnant?"

“Yes,” he answered breathlessly. His hands broke free, pawing at your body and zeroing in on your breasts with the enthusiasm of a man who just got home from war. “Get so fucking hard imagining it.” His fingers dug into your waist as he helped you move faster and pressed you harder against him.

“Are you gonna come thinking about it?”

The question made him gasp out, “Yes.”

You knew he was close when his breaths got shaky.

“Come for me, Javi,” you said. “Come on. Let go.”

Your mouth descended on his, the kiss sloppy and more of a mash of lips to quiet his sounds. He suddenly went still and stiffened with a choked whine, feeling his dick under you pulsing as he fell apart, your movements stopping. It was quiet in the room, save for the heavy breaths. Your mouth left his to kiss his chin, then both of his cheeks, the tip of his nose, and finally, his forehead. You admired his pretty face with his closed eyes, and his reddened lips turned up in the cutest smile you couldn’t help but kiss.

His breathing started to even out. “How are you feeling?” you asked. Checking your watch to see you still had two minutes remaining.

“Better,” he whispered.

“Good.” The bed complained as you got off of him and it, taking a couple of steps to grab the box of tissues from the desk. “You’ll probably want to clean up the mess in your pants,” you said, setting them on the mattress beside him. “Sorry about that.”

“Liar,” he replied, blinking his eyes open all cat-like and turning his head to look at you.

You smiled. “I mean, it’s very hot, and I’m proud of myself. I wish I could stay longer, but I need to get back to work.” Bending down, you quickly pecked him on the lips before straightening. “Bye.”

You started to walk away, and his arm shot out to grab your hand. “Wait,” he said.

Meeting his gaze, you asked, “Yeah?”

His eyes had gone round, and he was looking at you like you hung the moon or painted the sky with stars; there was so much awe and love in his expression that it stole your breath and made you feel as though you were all that mattered to him, and wasn’t that the truth? It was hard to believe that someone loved you so completely and would do anything for you, knowing that had you said you wanted your inheritance, he would’ve gone along with all the shit that came with it—he would’ve hated it a lot, but Javi still would’ve done it for you because he loved you. He loved you more than any other person or thing on the planet, and when you had kids, he’d love them just as much, and that thrilled you.

You knew what he would say before the words left his mouth.

“I love you,” you said at the same time, and he smiled so big it made his eyes crinkle at the edges.

“What am I gonna say next?” he asked.

“Well, you had a day, and now you’re ridiculously happy about never having to deal with the people I’m related to again; add in that you just came and have all those love chemicals floating around in your body, you’re gonna wax poetic about how much you love me very beautifully and probably in Spanish because you tend to reset to your original programming and speak in your first language when you’re extremely lost in the sauce or come really hard.”

He huffed out an amused breath. “Smartass.”

“But am I right?”

“Yes.”

“Then lay it on me.”

“I don’t want to now—you already know what I was gonna say.”

“Okay, then I’m heading back to work,” you said, calling his bluff.

He frowned and squeezed your hand. “Wait, don’t go yet.”

“What’s up?”

“Te amo (I love you),” he replied. “Te amo tanto (I love you so much).”

“Yo sé y yo también te amo (I know and I love you, too).”

“No, cuando digo que te amo, es una promesa de que solo te amaré a ti por toda la eternidad (No, when I say I love you, it’s a promise that I will only love you for all eternity). Cuando digo que te amo, es una promesa de que sólo tú tendrás mi devoción completa (When I say I love you, it’s a promise that only you have my complete devotion). Cuando digo que te amo, las palabras vienen de lo más profundo de mi alma, donde has llenado la parte que me faltaba (When I say I love you, the words are coming from the depths of my soul where you’ve filled in the missing part of me). Cuando digo que te amo, lo siento en cada célula de mi cuerpo (When I say I love you, I feel it in every cell of my body). Cuando digo que te amo, lo digo en serio: te amo y siempre te amaré hasta el fin de los tiempos (When I say I love you, I mean it: I love you, and I’ll always love you until the end of time). Te amo, Cielito (I love you, Cielito).”

He had your eyes feeling a little misty at what he said and how it was apparent he meant every word.

“God, I love you,” you told him, “and I hate that I can’t articulate how much I love you as poetically as you do—just know I love you as much as you love me, and I’m yours forever, and I mean forever. Let me kiss you, and then I really have to go. I’ll lock the door on my way out so you can clean up.”

“Baby, I don’t need you to say sappy bullshit for me to know how fucking much you love me.” He brought your hand to his mouth to kiss the back of it. “I feel it in all the things you do for me. Like throwing away the prenup and knowing I was fucked up about everything today and making me cream my pants like an inexperienced teenager getting his dick touched for the first time to make me feel better. I know you love me, and that’s why I’m marrying you next week and am so fucking excited to start a family with you.”

“Oh, Javi,” you gasped. “You creamed your pants like a besotted grown man getting his dick touched by the woman he’s madly in love with—I’m being honest when I say it’s romantic and very hot.”

He chuckled, pulling you closer by the arm, and you leaned down to press your lips to his, hoping he felt it in your kiss, the all-consuming love you had for him.

“You are the woman I’m madly in love with,” he murmured into your mouth.

“And you’re the man, I’m madly in love with,” came your muffled reply.

There were a lot of ways your life could’ve turned out and many paths you could’ve chosen. What you knew for certain was they all would’ve led you to him. Mistakes weren’t mistakes, all of your choices were right, even if they were wrong, and it didn’t matter where you lived in the past or all of the people you’d met over the years; the invisible string tying you together would’ve somehow, some way pulled you to him in that grocery store on that hot summer day because it was the perfect moment in both of your lives to find one another—you were two lost souls who finally found what you’d been missing: each other.

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#pedro pascal #javier peña #Javier Peña/reader #javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #javier pena x reader #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña smut #wheresarizona writes #learning to live series

[kcsplace]

Steve gets started attending Community College,but he doesn't tell anyone, embarrassed that he might fail, that they'll tease him, that they'll be embarrassed by him.  Nancy is going to go off and change the world, Jonathan's photography talent is gonna get him into art school somewhere, Robin is having colleges trip over themselves to offer her scholarships and Eddie's band is starting to draw crowds that aren't just about "checking out the maybe-possible-kinda-murderer-dude". 

Why would any of them want to hang out with a loser like Steve?

Steve, madly desperately and stupidly in love with Eddie even if he hasn’t said anything thinks that means he can't have kids now, but he knows he's good with them.  He also knows what its like to go from hero to zero and just how easy it is to be a shit in school and how important it is to change.  So he thinks he could be a good guidance counsellor.  He thinks he could help those kids out.  Kids like Max and Eddie that don’t have all the things he had growing up, kids like himself who didn’t have positive role models, kids like Will and Robin that are a little different.

His father shat all over that dream, told him he'd be shit at it, just like everything else he tried - he can’t even win a championship in four years of trying -, and so he's not paying for it.  As a result, sure in his decision, Steve's been working to pay for college (much easier in the 80s admittedly and at CC) but he's burning the candle at both ends, especially working for the credits to transfer as a junior into a four year college. 

Eddie finds him asleep in his car outside his latest job, all his textbooks on the seat next to him.  He lets himself into the car, wakes Steve up, all the textbooks in his lap, flipping through their pages in the dim illumination provided by the dome light.  Steve thinks Eddie's gonna mock him, tell him he's gonna be bad at it, he won’t be able to hack community college let alone a four-year, and even if he could, what school would hire a loser like him to help kids? He’s waiting to hear all about how stupid Steve is to think that just because he kept a couple kids alive, he thinks he can guide them during their most vulnerable times.  Steve tries to steer it off, starts blathering out that its nothing, just y'know, Robin tells him all thetime its good for the brain to learn and his dad’s been riding him to grow up and shit and that it was just an available course, but Eddie isn't actually dumb.

He starts dropping off notebooks to Steve's work, new stationery, he likes the feeling that his gifts help Steve get his grades, that Steve's working toward his future with the pens that Eddie gave him.  Its stupid little shit but seeing the pens that Eddie gave him shoved behind Steve's ear or him chewing on them while he studies...it gives Eddie the warm and fuzzies OKAY? he doesn't wanna talk about it

Seriously, Robin, he doesn’t wanna talk about spending a quarter of his legally obtained paycheck (fuck you so much, Sheriff) on shit from Ink Spot and he isn’t gonna.

after six months of keeping Steve’s secret, Eddie heads over to the Harrington house for some movies and weed - its not a school night after all - only to see Steve’s textbooks sticking out the trash.  He finds a dejected Steve sitting by the pool, and drops them all in his lap.  Turns out, after weeks of work and research, Steve had gotten a C on an important essay. 

“So you just quit?”

“Why not? I clearly can’t handle it.”

“Y’know, maye you should.”

“’Scuse you?”

“The kids deserve better than some iidiot that just quits the moment shit gets tough.”

“Glad you agree.”

“Or, you could let me help you.”

“You. the guy that took three goes to graduate?”

“Just proves I stick to shit until it’s done. And I’m gonna make sure yu do the same.”

One year, countless study sessions, one immense blowout fight over the Oxford comma, and a loyalty card to the Ink Spot later, Steve turns up on Eddie’s doorstep with an envelope that he thrusts at Eddie.  Tearing into the envelope like a gremlin, Eddie stares at the words in front of him.

“Well????!”

“Dear Mister Harrington, we are delighted to inform hmpffff-”

Eddie might not have been prepared for Steve to kiss him, but he got on board real quick.  Literally.  Dropping the letter and its promise of a place at Purdue for Steve to transfer to complete his degree, Eddie wrapped his arms around Steve’s neck, hopped and wrapped his legs around the man’s hips.

“Never made out with a college boy, before.”

#steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie fic #kinda #Caseys steddie fics

[mdr-writings]

Streamer!Eren x reader pt.2

A/n: I'm sorry I took so long to get this part out. I was very busy with my classes, I had relationship problems, family issues, I was a hot mess. But after rewrite after rewrite I can finally put this out. How convenient that its on Final Aot day. Honestly, I'm also glad that I am putting it out today bc I'd rather be hot and bothered rather than sad and sobbing. Btw I am gonna fix the first part because I feel like it lacks a lot of things. If you still want to read it, it’s linked below

wc:4.3k

Part One

Cw: slight teasing of weight, oral ( fem receiving), overstimulation, heavy kissing

” So does Eren behave himself when he talks to you guys,” you ask the chat as you sat down on his lap.

“What? you know I always behave myself,” he cocks his head towards you grinning. “Sure you do,” you said rolling your eyes. You know that he rarely behaves himself when it comes to you. So, you could assume he’s the same in front of an audience. You point your finger towards the camera. “Look, seems like the chat knows you better than yourself.” 

Eren’s attention shifts to the screen to see the chat flooding with comments siding with you. “It’ll be your own people huh?” you let out a quick chuckle while picking at your nails.

“Do you guys have anything you wanna ask her,” he questioned. 

You speak up, “Yeah, you guys can ask me anything “. You didn't know where this sense of comfortability came from. Maybe it was Eren's aura or the way he communicates with his audience. It’s a possible reason as to why he has such a big following.  

Eren has always been transparent about how he feels whether it’s about something or someone. The guy has a hard-on for conflict, but the way he is authentic with himself is admirable. “Anything?” Eren raises his eyebrows in amusement. The sound of a notification alert pops up on the monitor. A monotone robotic voice booms from the computer’s speaker” what is the freakiest thing you've done?” 

 “What do you mean?” you furrowed your eyebrows together. Of course, you were not going to show that side of you. Who do they think they were trying to ask a question like that? Perhaps you do tell them, then what? You become the biggest streamer’s slut? Smart remarks filled your head ready to be spat at the viewers. Though, integrity got the best of you and decided to remain quiet.

 “Aww come on, you can’t let the audience down now” he teases. Eren begins soothingly stroking your thigh. As he strokes, he draws patterns of circles, leaving you to accidentally shudder in his grasp. He then intriguingly raises his eyebrows. 

“Oh my god, I'm literally slipping off of you” you grab on both sides of his thighs to try to push yourself up. “Geez you’re like a fucking slip and slide, what did you do bath in, butter?” you mumbled. Eren looks down to your bottom half and notices your butt touching his knees. “It’s okay, I got you,” he murmured.

“Goddamn, you’re heavy as fuck.” You whipped your head to face him to strike him a glare. He then adjusts himself with you on top, making your bottom rub against his crotch. A low groan escaped his mouth. You felt heat brewing on your face. 

“Uhhh let’s see, is there any more questions?” you ask desperately looking at the screen. “Y/n you didn't even answer the first one” he raised one eyebrow and lowered the other. You stop your internal thoughts as you once again feel a hot sensation on your thigh moving. You try not to acknowledge the hand with clear intentions of riling you up. 

“You gotta toughen it out y/n.”

 “Actually,” you start. Eren eyes shot up in interest. “I can recall, the time I... you know... to a professor in a class,” you stammer over your words. Instantly, a wave of regret crashes into you. Somehow you forgot Eren attends this same college and classes you take. You silently cursed at yourself.

“Oh?” Eren’s lips curled up into a smirk. “And who might that professor be?” he questioned. Learning this fun fact about your sexual deviances aroused Eren's curiosity. In a millisecond, your ear is set ablaze as pressed his Eren's lips against it. “Would that be Professor Erwin or Miche?” His warm breath brazes your ears which ignites a fire in your stomach. “Or maybe Professor Levi?” his hand slithered its way towards your inner thigh. Your legs quickly squeeze together in hopes to stop the throbbing that started between them. Luckily, Eren was just in time to snatch his hand away from the trap. Your face was twisted up in frustration. 

This hasn’t been the first time that Eren has teased you. But this felt different, it’s almost as if you don’t want it to stop. The words he’s throwing at you don’t feel like feathers this time around. His hands on your thighs feel like it’s burning through your skin. The heartbeat in your core seems to pulsate harder and faster. You didn’t want it to stop but you were fighting to not look desperate.

Satisfied in your response, Eren clasped his hands together. “Alright I'm gonna end it right here make sure you share the stream with your friends, follow Y/n on her socials and repent, toodles” he sings. Eren leans over to hit a hotkey on his keyboard which he assumes ends his streams. He then swivels the knobs on the computer’s speaker on mute. He once again lays a hand on your thigh. You let out a short hum clearing your throat. He then leans back to take notice of your stiff position in his lap. Eren lightly squeezes your arm,” You, okay?” 

“I’m fine,” you pull away from his grip. Eren can tell when he goes overboard. He could just make it up to you by buying your favorite food like he always does. But for once in his life, he would rather be mature and talk it through.

“Hey, I know this was your first time on here and I know it was a bit overwhelming,” he breathed. “I do apologize if I made you uncomfortable.” 

“I said I’m fine Eren,” you raised your voice. Eren was taken aback by your sudden attitude towards him. His once loud and lively room was now clouded with silence. “I think we should head down now,” he placed his hands upon your plush waist. Gripping the chair handles, you turn around allowing your legs to lay against Eren’s waist. “I lost my appetite,” you whispered in monotone. 

You couldn’t understand yourself as to why you suddenly opposed his suggestion. Wasn’t your main objection being to take him downstairs? You could just walk away from him and have that same gut-wrenching feeling in your stomach. But your body wouldn’t allow you to move. Something snapped, those times of playful bickering started to build a form of lust and desire. Maybe now was the time to reveal the real reason behind the constant squabbles.

“Y/n, I said I’m s-”

“You know,” you started. “Our little fights always end up leaving me confused,” your gaze pandered between his dark forest green eyes and plump lips.

 From what you could remember, Eren constantly had some girl hooked up on him. Hell, he even got Mikasa wanting to try him out. But for some reason he could never really settle. His mind always seemed to wander to the same person, you. The squabbles could be played off as friendly but the feeling of wanting it to go further lingered. But as a result, it left you reaching for more, wanting him more. 

Eren’s heart pounds loud against his chest. He always felt as if going further wasn’t an option. He had his moments where he just wanted to hold you so close, as if he would die if he let go. Moments where he wanted to make you his. Perhaps if he did the things he thought of doing to you, how would he face the friend group, what about his fans, and Mikasa? He decided that acting upon his true feelings towards you was too risky.

“We’re friends Y/N” he confirms, his eyes soften under your gaze. Your eyes then pondered around his room. “Is that all you want to be?”

He huffs out an air of defeat. The sound of the ventilation buzzing was consuming the room.

“I-I” he stuttered as the pounding of his heart was breaking his sternum. He raises a hand to cover his rose-colored face.” Y/n what’s the point of this,” he audibly muffles. You reach up to pry his hand away from himself and hold it in your palms.

“I’m doing what I feel is right to me,” you reply with reason.

As corny as it felt, you no longer had interest in letting the feeling of desire leave you again.

“So, antagonizing me is what feels right to you? “Yup, that sounds just like you,” he speculated. Your face drops into a frown,” No dumbass.” Your fingers hook in the crevasses of his. Eren scrunches his eyebrows together in uncertainty. “Then what?” You place your intertwined hands over your heart that was protected by your flesh. “Us” you replied in a hush tone. It seems like Eren’s face couldn’t get any redder. Your hands enclosed over his, touching your chest, it felt as if he were in his recurring dream. This time, he was hoping there would be no interruptions to wake him.

“Are you fucking with me,” Eren interrogated in disbelief. Your skin began to spread warmth to your face. “Yes, I mean... no but I want to- if you know what I mean,” you ran over your words frantically. Still not connecting the dots, Eren’s head cranks his head to the side. You inhale a shaky breath” I can’t believe I’m saying this but…”

“Eren, I like you,” you sheepishly state. It was as if you could hear a needle drop on the floor. To make matters worse, the screaming vents were now hushed. “Well?” you quizzed. His eyes darkened as he stared through your soul. Your heart tanked to the lowest part of your stomach. Your confession has left you embarrassed and empty handed with no response.

That same damn feeling.

Your frustration grew as you started to pull your legs away from his waist. A hand jumped out to grasp at your thigh pulling you closer. You jump at the sudden movement. “I want you to say it again.” You could feel your blood pressure rising by the second. He got some nerve to try to humiliate you. “Hey, I finally have the courage to tell you- “

“Y/n, I want you to say it again,” he repeats while his eyes were capturing your psyche. You silence yourself as you can sense his serious demeanor. His eyes were dissecting every part of your face.

“I like you,” you whispered.

Suddenly, you felt your lower half become weightless. Your arms quickly wrapped around his neck for security. Eren’s arms gripped the back of your thighs as he moved towards his bed. It was like time was strolling through Molasses. You begin to study his face. So, tense and stern as if it was in concentration to finish a task. Just minutes ago, you were just stopping by to send a message from your friends. Now you were in his bed waiting for his next move.

Dropping you onto the bed, he stands in front of you, sighing while his eye sweeps over your face. You bite your lips anxiously not wanting to make any other part of your body move. Once again, the room continues its loud humming.  

 “I try so hard to resist, but you always seem to reel me back in.” You remain still as your thoughts race in your head. “Do you not care about what people will say,” He harshly grips his biceps.

“No”

His jaw clenches tightly. Why couldn’t you understand how risky it is for the both of you? The possible backlash of his viewers that was also used to seeing Mikasa on the stream. Mikasa possibly being jealous that the two of best friends are entangled in each other’s arms. He thought of the many outcomes of the situation which were all negative.

“Why can’t we keep it a secret, nobody has to know,” you crossed your arms against your chest. Eren walks towards you, stopping close as your legs almost touched. He leans over, his face nearing to yours. His minted breath tickles your nose.

 “Because Y/n, being around you, I can’t be secretive.” His closeness has you yearning, you crave him. Your eyes frantically search his, you could almost feel your heart jumping out your chest. Not waiting a second more, you crash your lips into his. Releasing years of tension and desire, you melt as your lips mesh together.

 He loses balance as you pull him on top of you. Regaining his composure, he leans in closer to your face. You hastily reach up to grab a hand full of his locks, enclosing his hair in your fingers. Eren groans as your grip tightens. His groan sends millions of nerve shocks to your core. You let out a soft moan into his mouth. A sudden wave of clarity hits you as it feels like you haven’t gotten his full approval. A quick smack could be heard as you pulled away from his lips.

“Are you okay with this, we can stop,” you inquire trying to steady your breathing. Eren chuckles as if your question were nothing but a joke. “I don’t think now is the right time to start asking questions.” You smile brightly leading him back to your lips. He then pushes harder into the kiss making you needlingly whine.

 He begins tugging at your bottom lip with his teeth. He sweeps his tongue in between your lips, exploring your warm mouth.  You lower your hands towards his pants, rubbing his hard print. Eren quickly pulls away from your mouth while pushing you back flat against his bed.

He now feels the temperature of the room increasing by the minute. He pulls the hem of his shirt over his head. Your eyes scan his toned body as he studies yours. He decides he wasn’t going to be the only one shirtless. “Arms up,” he commands you. You lift your arms over your head as he pulls your shift off. Now bare breasted you cover yourself up. “Don’t be shy now, should I cover mine too,” he joked covering his tanned nipples. You let out a short giggle, rolling your eyes revealing your chest. Eren smiles as he trails his lips down towards your breast.

You shiver as you feel his tongue leave hot kisses on its journey down south. He latches on to your hardened nipple, sucking and licking as he flicks the other in his hand. You jolt up panting from his touch. The sounds of you moaning tighten the grip of print in his pants. “Eren” you whimpered; your core was leaking more of your slick.

“Feels good?” he asked with a labored breath. “Mmhm,” you moaned. His fingers began to run up and down the sides of your legs. Your head grew hot and dazed, the warmth of his touch scorched your skin. He then lowers his head to peck your thighs leading down to your heated core. Your heart rate spiked as you knew these course of events officially change everything about your relationship with him. Eren’s eyes reach yours to ask to continue. You harshly swallow the hard ball of saliva stuck in your throat.

You then nod your head while swiping your tongue on your lips as the heat made them chapped. Your legs felt a strong pull as thighs were raised to the sides of your stomach. Swiftly, your panties were snatched away from your body. Then you look down to see his head ducked below your thighs. A wet long stripe swiped across your lower lips. Your legs quickly try to shut but eren’s reaction time was faster, catching them in his hands.

“You want me to stop?” He asks. You shook your head side to side in desperation for him to continue. “Then keep still, ‘kay?”

“Okay,” you responded.

Settling back in between your thighs, you felt another long stripe now on your folds. “Oh fuck,” you cried. Your breath was hitching, you felt air being sucked out of your lungs. Eren could felt his cock get more sensitive as he rubs it against his pants. He towards the top of your pussy and puckered his lips around your needy bud, giving it several pecks.

“Oh my god, “ you moaned loudly. Your hands were clawing at your chest not having another place to settle. The sensation was overwhelming your body, the heat from the room and his mouth set you aflame. You felt a long intrusion prodded at your sopping hole, entering you slowly. You let a high-pitched squeal as you squeeze your eyes shut. Eren gazed up at your face turning in satisfaction. He lets out groan around your hard bud buzzing it into more pleasure.

“Yes, right there,” you screamed out. Eren works his fingers harder and deeper into your hole. Stretching and curling his long digits. The squelching of your dripping core and screams echoed around the room. Eren began to feel the grip of your walls tighten and loosening, letting him know you were close to your speedy climax.

“Eren, more please,” you needily whined pushing yourself closer to his face. He then removed his fingers and plunged his tongue into your hot core, swirling it around. Once again glancing up, he peeks at your pleasured face, lips falling into a perfect “o”. His fingers start to circle around your clit. Your feet curl up and down over his broad shoulders. While soaking and scavenging your hole, he brushed over a small plush button. Your thick arousal dripped on to his black satin sheets leaving a damp puddle underneath you.

You gasp hard as you arched your back off the bed. He smirks as he hits the sensitive spot over and over. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as your stomach clenched.  “I’m gonna cum,” you panted wearily. You felt his pace on your bud and hole quicken faster than before. He presses deep into you, numbing the spot that weakened your senses.

“Ahhh, yess” you hiss in despair. The band in your stomach begins to ripple harshly. He pinches your clit tightly in between his fingers, yanking the nerves upwards. In an instant, your walls clench and stutter profusely.  Panting and crying out, as Eren decides to rub you through your orgasm making you whine in pain.

“Eren, no more, please!”

He shushes you while enthusiastically applying more pressure on your bud. The sensation of you needing to release again ached you. Fluids suddenly began spurting from your overstimulated cunt. You cry out as drool seeping out your gaping mouth.

“goooood girl,” he praises you, slowly drawing circles on your clit. As your breath settles, he slowly removes his fingers from you. Looking over, he presents his dampen fingers to you. “You might wanna get a- “

Eren slipped the wet digits into his mouth, licking and slurping your juices from his hand. Blood drained from your face as you watched him pop his fingers out of his mouth. He smiles at your astonished reaction.

“You taste good,” he smirked. “Shut up!” you angrily yelled. He then began moving closer towards you. 

“Wanna try?”

“Eren, I swear to god, get away from me,” you shouted grabbing the covers from underneath to protect you. “Come here~” he teases. He quickly makes his way to your side while cackling. You shriek, a gasp of wind grazes you as he rips the blankets away from your bare body.

“NO,” you scream out as his face is inches away from yours. Eren halted his body from moving further. “You actually don’t want to try it?” he questions. You slightly turn your head away from his deep green eyes. 

“Well, I- uhm”, you nervously stammer out. Eren softly smiles at your demeanor in enjoyment, “it’s embarrassing,” he finishes for you.

“It’s embarrassing,” you shyly confirm while nodding your head. His fingertips rest at the bottom of your face, tenderly pushing it back to face him. Your eyes attach to his, occasionally shifting to his plump lips. “Listen, I’m not gonna force you,” he assures.” But it was funny watching you scream,” his dimple forms on his cheeks as he breaks out in laughter. You frown in humiliation but soon, bits of giggles spill from your mouth. Your joined laughter filled your bodies with happiness, neither you nor he wanted it to fade into the abyss.

Eren laughter dies out as he focuses once again on your face. His thumb reaches your lips, gently brushing over them. Your eyes saturated with temptation, inching closer to his warm lips. He understood your command, closing the thin gap between the both of you, your mouths gracefully settled on each other. You could feel your chest twist and twirl in excitement.

 Could it be love? No, no, that’s a tad bit heavy to use the L word on the same day of your confession. It felt too light label it as a crush. Whatever it was, bonded the cracks of your heart that formed each day that came before this one.

Letting the kiss linger a second longer, you could taste a reminisce of a sweet and tangy flavor on his mouth.  You pulled back from him allowing a sigh to slip out, “I wanna try it,” you confessed. Eren’s eyebrows slanted in confusion, “You already did”.

“No, I did- OH!” You shouted covering your mouth. You jokingly smacked your lips together to taste yourself again, “you’re right I don’t taste bad”. Eren smiles at your blatant wittiness, it’s one of the things he most admires about you. The quick jabs you throw at him and the rest of the group, it seems he’s the only one who manages to keep up. 

The mention of the group assisted in his daze to drift to the main purpose of you being here. “Y/n, we should probably head down now, it’s been while since you left them”. You slid your shirt over your head as you hummed in agreement. He follows your lead and begins to put his shirt on.

Time seems to pass on fast, in a span of minutes you were introduced and teased on his stream, let out your confession and allowed the man you have been eyeing out on for years to devour you.

“Dammit,” you stoop down to look under his bed. “What are you looking for”, he inquires also tilting his head down. Your hands blindly wander under his bed frame, “I can’t find my underwear”. The constant slapping of your hand against his floor was tiring and the lack of light in his room didn’t help with your searching.

 “Oh, you mean these”, your head turns up towards the brunette boy. His hands hold the panties, balled up and enclosed under his fingers. You stride towards him quickly as he grins, eyeing your exposed lower parts.

 “Eren, give it to me,” you warned sternly. He backs up raising the panties behind his head, “it was so good you’re begging for more huh?” he taunts.

You angrily step closer to him, “Eren!” you gritted your teeth. “I don’t know I think it’ll kind of be exciting to free ball it, don’t you think”, he laughs still steps backwards. 

“Fuck you,” you angrily retort.

“Ah, we’ll get to that another time, don’t wanna be too needy”.

Finally reaching him, you stare with dagger in your pupils. Not a peep could be heard as he stares back with levity, seeing this as nothing but fun. Your eyes shift between the parallel green ones, fury congests your stomach. Eren fights the urge to grab your face and push your soft lips on his. 

“Whatever”, you huffed out in defeat, going to put your shorts back on. He smiles lightly, retreating his prize into his top dresser drawer. You make your way towards his door ready to exit but something still nagged at your thoughts.

“Eren, what is this now”, you questioned in concern. He slides the band out of his hair, making the brown locks frame his face and shoulders. “You mean, what’s going on between us,” he asks with vagueness. “Mmhm” You hummed wanting him to continue. 

“Oh yeah, your mine for sure”, he carelessly raked his fingers through his tresses. You felt heat flash across your cheeks, flustered by the fact that you were now in his possession. 

Eren then bites the band while gathering his hair into one fist in the back of his head. The back side of his biceps strained; veins flexed as his grip tightened on his hair. You stare at the voluptuous muscles that fought against his flesh. The boy finally places the band in his other hand then ties it into a somewhat presentable bun.

“Even in front of them”, you questioned referring to your joined friend group. The door was now ajar, the light of the hallway bled into his room making the luminesce shine on your body. “We’ll talk more later, let’s eat,” he mumbled nodding his head into the lit-up hall. You whispered a quick “okay” as you made your way out and soon, he follows right after.

Darkness had absorbed every spec of light in the room, except one blinking spot of red on Eren’s desktop.

   ⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢୨୧⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢ ⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢୨୧⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢ 

“And I even got the chance to hold one”, Armin boasted proudly. The other remaining friends gathered around the table excited to hear about Armin’s oceanic studies. Food was placed on the counter waiting to be consumed, mainly waiting to be consumed by Sasha as she anxiously stared at the thinning steam that rose from the pot.

“Don’t you think that’s a bit dangerous to only be for a general research assignment”, Jean asks in genuine concern for the blond. “No, not at all”, Armin answers while swiping between photos on his phone of the sea animal he held. Jean sighs in defeat, what a way to be reckless for an extracurricular class.

Mikasa sat in between the 2 blondes, patiently waiting for you and eren’s arrival. She pondered at clock resting against the wall. It’s ticking reminding her every second and minute goes by without the appearance of her 2 friends up the stairs. 

“It’s going on fifteen minutes now”, she informs the group. “I'm sure they’ll be down in a sec”, armin reassured while glancing at the time on his phone. 

“Yeah whatever, who’s idea was to wait for him anyway”, the food fiend groaned.  Armin and Mikasa accusingly pointed their fingers towards Jean. “ I thought it would be a nice way of gathering together”, his face painted in pink.” “Mama’s boy”, Sasha muttered under her breath. 

“ Hey, I heard that! ”

Connie, too consumed by his phone to engage in conversation decided to do a check up on his socials. Twitter was the first choice, he laughed obnoxiously at a couple of tweets from people he followed closely. Afterwards, he viewed the current top 10 trending topics.

 Elon Musk, a copycat.

Megan thee Stallion, she can step on me.

One Piece Live action, mid.

Jaegermeister exposed, about damn time.

 It wouldn’t be surprising if eren did a tip slip, that wouldn’t be the worst thing he could’ve done. Connie, not anticipating the unexpected, lazily pressed the bolded subhead. Automatically, the top video began to play out, his breathing came to a sudden pause; pupils dilated in shock.

  “No way”

Tagged:

@sofamochi​   @bootlegroach   @nafi-2004  

#eren x reader #eren jaeger x reader #eren yeager x reader #aot x reader #mdrwritings #eren jaeger #eren yeager #eren aot

[mrsaltieri-real]

Partner in Crime (Victim!Mickey Altieri X Ghostface!Reader)

Reader is AFAB

Word count: 5.3k

Warning/s: ghostface!reader, “victim!mickey” (kinda not really though), blood, gore, gruesome murder descriptions, changes to canon scream 2 (obviously), violence, language, smut, p in v, blood kink, riding, choking, slight orgasm denial, teasing, biting, reader is bat shit crazy and so is Mickey, lying, deception, partners in crime (duh), etc

God this took me a long ass time but it’s worth it because I LOVE how it came out. Took a LOT of trial and error from my part trying to capture this just right but we finally got there and I can post this. I am so so excited about this fic.

Once again thank you to the gorgeous @bisexual-horror-fan for beta reading and editing this for me and helping me with ideas to make this come out just right. Could NOT have done this without you Bex <3

On that note, LETS FUCKING GO.

“Who could be doing this?” Sidney mused quietly, elbow propped on the rustic wood of the bench she sat on, hand resting on her forehead. “I mean, how could this possibly be happening again?”

Derek sat beside her, hand rubbing small soothing circles into her back, Hallie looked at her sympathetically and Randy was gently biting at the loose skin of his thumb, eyes scanning the crowd. Mickey seemed to be in his own little world, gazing at the hubbub of cameramen and reporters bustling around the college square, his fingers absentmindedly drumming on your thigh. Your eyes were set on Sidney’s anxious face trying to resist the urge to smile at her fear, everything in her body language was communicating the tension and unease inside her.

All of this was way, way too easy. After discovering last year that the survivors of the Woodsbro massacre were attending Windsor, you’d found yourself intensely curious and decided to transfer there from your previous college. You’d easily managed to fit into their friend group within about a month of being there and eagerly put your plan in motion.

It had been easier than you’d anticipated to get most of them, especially Randy and Mickey to tell you just about everything you didn’t know, making sure to spread your questions over the course of a few weeks rather all at once. You didn’t want suspicion to arise due to overly keen and pressing curiosity, so it was just small things only being spoken about if another member of the group brought it up. So, whenever Randy brought up in a pissed off tone anything about Billy Loomis, you’d casually slide in a question, like “Why would he even do something like that?” or “How did it happen?“ and Randy would eagerly start chatting like a parrot, telling you just about everything you needed to know under the guise of your concerned friend act.

It was almost amusing how easy it all was.

“I don’t know, Sid.” Derek sighed, looking with nothing but undiluted fear at his anxious girlfriend. “But they’ll find the sick fuck.”

“Honestly, it might have nothing to do with you.” Mickey spoke up, dragging his eyes away from the bustling crowd. Sidney’s eyes flickered to Mickey and she frowned, brow creased as she questioned him.

“Two kids who attended our college got carved up by someone in a Ghostface costume and you think it doesn’t have anything to do with what happened to Randy and I?”

Mickey shrugged, stopping the drumming on your thigh and leaned forward on the bench. “I don’t know, Sid. But it was opening night for a movie based on real events. Maybe someone was just playing some kind of sick joke and it just went too far?”

“Wow. You’ve had a lot of time to think about alternatives haven’t you, Mickey?” Randy spoke up, eyes narrowing at him. Your gaze moved from Sidney’s anguished face and focused on Randy’s.

“What are you implying, Randy?” You asked in a clipped tone.

“I’m not implying anything.” He muttered and you felt your nails cut into your palm as your hands clenched into tight fists.

“Calm down, Randy.” Hallie rolled her eyes at him with a scoff, “I saw Mickey in the library last night.”

Randy muttered something that sounded like, “Sure whatever”, under his breath and you had to bite the inside of your cheeks so you didn’t rip him apart right then and there.

You couldn’t begin to describe the sudden unbearable rage you felt when Randy had even hinted at Mickey being the killer. From the day you’d met him, you’d felt yourself utterly drawn to and infatuated with everything about him. There was an all too familiar darkness about him, about his aura that caused you to magnetise yourself to him, refusing to break away no matter what. Did anyone else suspect Mickey? Your eyes scanned the faces of your ‘friends’ but the conversation continued between the four of them, slowly merging into something else entirely and you felt nothing but Mickey’s anxious eyes set on your face.

“You alright, baby?” He asked, feeling his large hand covering your tightly clenched one and you quickly blinked, flashing him a small smile.

“Yeah, of course I am. Why?” You asked as innocently as you could muster, praying that you came off as genuine.

He raised his eyebrows a little and pointedly looked down at your other hand gripping the edge of the bench so hard your nails seemed almost permanently embedded in the cracked wood. You moved your hand quickly and shook it out as you sighed. “I’m fine.” You assured him, lightly pressing your palm against his stubbly cheek. “I’ve got a class in a few so I should get going.” You announced to the group and you felt all of them glance at you.

“I’ll walk you.” Mickey said, standing up from the bench and grabbing his bag and video camera.

“No, no it’s fine.” You placed a hand on his shoulder, lightly pushing him back down onto the bench as you were shaking your head. “I’m a big girl, I can take care of myself. Besides, I’m sure the big bad monster isn’t going to attack me while I walk to class in the middle of the day.”

You lightly pecked him on the lips before turning on your heel and walking to class, feeling suspicious brown eyes watching you all the while.

—————————-————————-————

“So, you gonna tell me what the hell has been going on with you?”

You gasped, jumping as your hand clutched your chest and you glared up at Mickey, who was leaning against the wall outside your lecture hall. “Have you been waiting out here the whole time I was in there?” You asked with a frown.

“No,” Mickey lied and swiftly took your books out of your hands before you could stop him as he began to walk, begrudgingly you begin following after him. “So, are you?”

“Nothing is going on with me.” You insisted, rolling your eyes. “Why would you assume there is?”

“You’re not anywhere near as mysterious as you think, babe.” A smile toyed on his lips as you both walked down the hall, his free hand lightly resting on your hip.

“And you’re not nearly as intuitive as you think you are.” You muttered under your breath. He let out a frustrated groan before tugging you by the loop of your jeans into an empty classroom.

“Seriously, what is with you lately? You seem…” Mickey hesitated a little, teeth sinking into his bottom lip before he spoke again “…Different. You keep brushing me off whenever I ask to hang out and you always seem like you're kind of somewhere else. I’m worried about you.”

“Mick, I’m just really busy.” You sighed, lightly removing his hands from your body. I’ve got a dissertation due in a few days, and-“ you cut yourself off for a second, realisation hitting.

You knew Mickey far too well. As laid back as he was, you knew deep down he worried about you far too much. His analytical and downright clingy behaviour must’ve been down to one thing and one thing only. The murders he had no idea you were committing. You let out some air from your mouth and looked up at him with a sudden fondness.

“Is this because of what happened to those two kids?” You asked, tilting your head at him.

“You’re distracted.” He said simply, shrugging a little. “I don’t want anything bad to happen to you, that’s all.” You couldn’t help the soft smile that lit up your face as you moved to wrap your arms around his neck, pulling yourself up on your toes to affectionately kiss him. You felt him relax a little, relief evident in the way he kissed you back, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your skin from over your shirt.

“Nothing is going to happen to me.” You assured, your voice absolutely certain as you pulled back to look him in the eye. “I promise. And nothings going to happen to you either.”

“I’m not worried about me.” He mumbled insistently pressing his forehead to yours.

You sighed a little, moving your hand down to his and intertwining your fingers together. “I mean it, Mick. You have nothing to worry about. I can practically guarantee it.”

Mickey looked you up and down, confusion evident on his face at the way you’d spoken and you quickly changed the subject. “Are you going to the Delta Lambda party tonight?”

“Of course, why? Are you not?”

“No, no I’ll be there. I’m just making sure you’ll be. I might be a little late though I have some more work to do on my dissertation and call my dad. He’s worried given everything going on, you know?” You internally sighed. Now you’d actually have to fucking call him to stay true to your alibi. Great.

“I can wait with you and we can go together.”

You felt your teeth grind together and you wracked your brain for some kind of excuse.

“Mickey.” You said gently, looking at him sympathetically. “Randy’s suspecting you...” -another situation you’ll no doubt have to deal with sooner rather than later. “- so I think you need to stay within his sights for a while. You know how he gets. No doubt he’ll start stalking you so it’s probably best just to stay on top of that.”

Mickey looked unconvinced by your reasoning and something odd crossed his features but disappeared just as quickly as it came. “Alright, babe. I’ll be there the whole time.”

Mickey’s eyes flickered out toward the sound of a laugh and he rolled his eyes, making you turn to see what he was looking at.

“Why are you looking at Cici Cooper like that?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Just something she said in my film class.” Mickey said dismissively but you pressed, frowning.

“What did she say?“

“In a nutshell? My ideas on film and cinema are stupid. Apparently I’m biased because I believe there are a lot of sequels that are better than their original.” Mickey shrugged a little.

Your frown deepened.

Mickey had always been heavily passionate about films and extremely defensive about the films he loved. It may have been a tiny insult to any other person but anybody talking about Mickey in a way that was even somewhat negative? With the bloodlust you felt right now?

Well, it’s just a fucking recipe for disaster.

—————————-————————-————

“Where’s your girlfriend?” Randy slurred a little as he spoke to Mickey, flopping down beside him with a loud huff. Mickey recoiled slightly at the uncomfortable closeness.

“When I left her dorm she was talking to her dad. He seemed really worried so she might take a while getting here.”

“Hm.” Randy hummed, unamused and unconvinced before taking another sip of his drink.

“What, Randy.” Mickey sighed. “Got any more theories? Think she’s the killer now?”

Randy laughed too loudly and shook his head with a dismissive wave of his hand that wasn’t holding his drink. “Her? The killer? Please.” Randy leaned back. “No way she could’ve taken down a guy as big as Phil Stevens.”

Mickey nodded slightly, completely dissociating after Randy confirmed he didn’t suspect her.

But did Mickey?

He thought for a second about your behaviour leading up to the deaths of those two students. You were erratic, excited and ridiculously horny. Your sex drive had been so high for a week prior that even he was beginning to struggle to keep up. It had been kinkier than ever, and you were oddly dominating in a way Mickey wasn’t at all used to. He was used to being the one in control but recently, it was like you were a completely different person. It would be messy and rough. You’d bite him, scratch him and leave marks all over him just as he enjoyed doing to you. The give and take was a lot more fun than he would’ve anticipated. It never crossed his mind that someone as sweet as you could have this much of a sexually repressed edge.

Of course, he didn’t complain. He liked that you were comfortable enough with him to bring it out. This side to you was just as exciting as it was endearing to him. But then after the murders, it didn’t change. It built up more and more. You’d come back to his dorm after “studying”, eyes bright and almost menacing and practically pounced on him. In all honesty, it was probably the best sex the two of you had ever had.

But after that night, it changed drastically in a very different way. You’d stopped touching him, started avoiding him. You became more on edge and agitated yet ten times more focused.

He would never tell anyone about these changes he’d witnessed in you, but he was pretty sure he was the only one who noticed. He paid so much attention to you day to day that even the slightest change couldn’t go past him. And now? What the fuck were you really doing?

Randy was distracted, leaning over the arm of the couch and chatting to some girl. Mickey almost laughed at his lack of game before standing up, deciding to go and check on you. Something didn’t quite add up in his mind and he was going to find out what it was even if it killed him.

——————-————————-—————————

The undiluted pleasure spreading through you spurred you on as you stabbed Cici in the torso, her feeble attempts to fight you off fading every time the blade in your hand came down and plunged the cold steel deep into her.

Tormenting her via the phone call was fun, but this was ten times better. Perhaps she didn’t deserve this, she was only messing around with Mickey in class. It was a debate about films after all. But that didn’t matter to you. The fact she’d insulted someone that was yours made killing this sweet girl all the more fulfilling. Besides, you needed to kill someone whilst Mickey had an ironclad alibi. You didn’t need him on anyone's suspect list.

You watched in glee as the light in her eyes turned into a blank, glossy stare and brought the knife down once more, directly into her throat. She let out a muffled gargle and her mouth went slack. Cici’s fingers and legs twitched a couple of more times before you heard the release of air burst through her lips and just like that, she was dead. You moved from straddling her to stand over her as you wiped the blood off of the blade with your gloved hand.

“Stupid bitch.” You muttered, eyes quickly scanning your surroundings before removing the mask, sighing and cracking your neck.

You’d caught your first two victims, Phil and Maureen completely off guard, so although it had been fun to kill them, they were almost too easy to overpower and that took away from it a little. It made it almost boring in comparison to this. Cici on the other hand? The slight blonde girl had put up quite the fight. She’d kicked and scratched, she’d screamed and tried her best to fight you off of her to no avail. Your bloodlust made her absolutely no match for you.

You finally understood why Billy Loomis and Stu Macher had called their victims to taunt them first. The taste of satisfaction on your tongue was almost overwhelming, the sight of her crying, begging for you to spare her made you feel a way you’d never felt before.

Whilst you were revelling in your victory you heard the snap of a twig and your head snapped in the direction, the Ghostface mask gripped tight between your fingers.

“Mickey?” You gasped his name as he walked toward you, eyes huge and mouth open while he looked from Cici’s badly mutilated corpse and to your shocked face.

“It’s you? You’re the killer?”

To your surprise, he didn’t sound angry, or surprised. He didn’t look disgusted or even the slightest bit afraid. He looked… Almost curious. His intrigued brown eyes finally focused on your face after they dragged up from the girl lying dead on the ground.

“I..” you couldn’t seem to form a coherent thought as you stuttered. The last thing you wanted was to kill him, not Mickey. Not your Mickey. As he stepped closer, your hands instinctively lifted the knife and pointed it at him defensively and his hands rose, palms up. “You’re not going to fucking tell anyone.”

Mickey’s expression turned from intrigued to almost offended. “You think I would?”

You gave him a doubtful look but didn’t drop your guard, eyes monitoring his every move as he asked, “Baby, why?”

You frowned at him, tilting your head. “Why Cici or why am I doing this?” You felt frustrated, a raise of your hands and a shake of your head as you said, “Whatever, I don’t have time for this. Why the fuck did you leave the party, Mickey? I told you to stay there. That was your goddamn alibi so no one would suspect you.”

“I…I came to look for you,” His finger pointed in the direction of your building that was about a five minute walk from the sorority. “-and I heard screams and I was curious. So I walked up here and saw you stabbing the fuck outta Cici.” His shoulders turned up in a slight shrug.

“How the fuck are you acting so normal?” You hissed at him. It was hard not to be suspicious. Mickey was acting as though he caught you cheating on a damn test. This wasn’t normal behaviour for someone who’d just watched his girlfriend brutally gut somebody right in front of him.

He ignored you, asking once again, “Why?”

You sighed, briefly glancing around at your surroundings before your gaze focused back on your intrigued boyfriend. You hesitated a little, unsure what to do with the knife still pointed at him. It felt wrong pointing a weapon at Mickey. You loved him, but how could you let him live now? He was a witness, a loose end, and there’s nothing you hated more than loose ends.

Mickey watched as your face changed into a look of frustration and he lowered his hands, glancing down at the knife before hesitantly taking another step toward you. You didn’t stop him, suddenly needing to feel him closer. When you felt stress like this, you always needed him around. He made you feel better, normal somehow. Well, as normal as you could feel given who you were.

But can you trust him? The small voice in the back of your head muttered to you and you sighed, the agitated desperation evident on your face.

“Does it matter?“ you asked between gritted teeth.

“Baby, I swear I’m not going to tell anyone.” Mickey spoke gently, as though you were a wild animal he was trying to tame.

“How do I know that?” You snapped, glaring up at him.

“Because I wouldn’t do that.” Mickey looked offended at your comment, a small frown taking over his features. “I love you, and I’d never do anything that would put you at risk. Come on baby, you know that!”

“You promise?” You asked cautiously. One thing about Mickey is that he never lied to you. You always knew he had somewhat of an edge due to the movies he watched to his depraved sense of humour. Maybe that’s why you felt so bonded to him. Maybe that’s why you trusted him so entirely with even the darkest parts of yourself you’d never allow anyone else to see. As you felt his hand gently wrap around the knife in yours, you visibly relaxed as he gently pushed your hand down along with the blade, eyes filled with nothing short of admiration as he whispered, “On my life.”

“Okay.” You breathed as you nodded, sweaty hair falling into your eyes. You believed him, but still felt a little tense. Looking at him now, you knew he wouldn’t betray you, he loved you far too much. “I trust you. But Mickey, please go back to the party. I need to make sure you’re not a suspect and it won’t be long before someone stumbles across this.” You gestured down toward the mutilated body about a foot away from the two of you and he nodded thoughtfully.

“I’ll go back. But what do I tell them if they ask where you are?” Mickey frowned again, not liking the thought of them suspecting you. What would he do if you got caught? He’d always needed you but now? He needed you more than ever. He wanted you to tell him everything, how it felt to kill, how you felt when you did it and more importantly why. He’d always had a dark curious side and knowing the woman he loved not only had that too but actively pursued that darkness? No way he could let anything happen to you now. No way you could leave him.

“Try and go back in there without anyone noticing. Call the phone in my dorm and I’ll answer and tell you I fell asleep. That’s the best we can do now if I do become a suspect and they trace my calls.”

Mickey nodded, hands moving to touch the back of your neck with his rough fingers and the other on the small of your back as he pulled you close to him, lips enveloping yours. It was tender and nearly desperate, making you feel weak as he pulled away, a smile on his face as he began hastily walking back in the direction he came.

You watched after him for a few seconds as he slowly disappeared into the black night before pulling off the Ghostface costume, rolling up the mask and knife inside of it, taking one last look at Cici Coopers mangled corpse, smiling in admiration at your work before turning and walking back to your dorm, thinking of all the possibilities that await you now you didn’t have to hide such an enormous part of yourself from the one person you’d never hurt.

—————-————————-—————————

It had been two days since Mickey caught you murdering Cici Cooper, donning the Ghostface costume. Within those two days, he’d been nothing short of bombarding you with questions with the most intense curiosity you’d ever seen. His questions were all about your motive and you told him without hesitation.

“I want to finish what Billy and Stu started-” you’d told him with a small shrug, sitting perched on your countertop as he cleaned the bloody knife you’d used to murder Cici. Watching him do this helps you, he offers to do it for you without prompting and it makes you feel warm, assured in what he said, what he promised, that he wouldn’t tell on you. He is an accomplice now, cleaning your murder weapon, there is a particular domesticity to it that you could really get used to.

“-but I didn’t want to go straight for Sidney and Randy. I knew I needed practice, and how better than to fucking terrify her than to kill people with names of the original victims first and work my way up to them?”

He’d listened intently, utterly fascinated by you and you had to admit, it felt good to be worshipped by someone. Especially Mickey who had zero judgement in him and if anything, desperately wanted to learn more.

You were no longer even slightly uneasy with answering his questions as you’d initially been, willingly responding to each query with heavy detail which he seemed to thrive off, eyes bright and expression keen.

According to Mickey, after he had gone back to the party, it had taken a matter of ten minutes before someone had seen Cici’s dead body and the police had been called. Luckily, nobody had noticed Mickey’s absence, but your small friend group had noticed you were nowhere to be seen. He’d lied smoothly after calling you and quoting what you’d previously told him to say.

The best part of being a woman? Especially one who looked as sweet and innocent as you did? Nobody thought twice about it.

Your original plan to attack Derek and bombard Sidney with hesitation and doubt about her own boyfriend would have to wait for a later date. Mickey’s little discovery had somewhat put a wrench in the works but much to your own surprise, it didn’t bother you. It felt incredible to have someone you could share the darkest parts of yourself with without an ounce of judgement.

And the sex? It had been non-stop since the moment Mickey had walked into your dorm room after he’d been interrogated. It had been intense in ways you’d never imagined. With him knowing everything, you didn’t have to hold back anymore and neither did he. He wanted to fuck you whilst you still had Cici’s blood on your hands and arms, something that did not only catch you by surprise, but instantly turned you on. How could you say no to that? The image of him, smudges of tacky and quickly oxidising scarlet painting his torso, along with hickey’s you left on his neck, shoulders and collarbone, hair a wreck post sex was burned into your brain.

You were straddling Mickey now, both of you stripped completely bare as you had been from the night he found out you were Ghostface, fingers woven through his dark hair as you angled and ground your hips down against him, small sighs falling from your lips as you felt him gliding in and out of your drenched pussy. His head was resting back against the headboard, dark lustful eyes watching your face as you leaned forward and moved your lips against his, his fingers gripping the soft flesh of your hips so hard they were bound to bruise.

“What’s it like?” He asks it softly and you pull back looking down at him, the smile spreads on your face and you ask, “What’s what like?”

Another fall of your hips, enveloping him totally once again, the roll of your body and the rhythm serving you both well, he asks, “What’s, ugh, what’s killing like?”

The laugh breaks out as you slow your pace, “That is what you are thinking about right now?”

You slam yourself down harder and he gasps out, “Yes,” The look in his eyes is practically pleading, “Please, tell me?”

Well how could you deny him?

“You want me to tell you what it feels like to slide cold steel into a warm body?” you whispered to him, one hand sliding from his hair to his throat, finger pressing gently against his racing pulse. “How it feels to see the terror on their face when they realise they’re going to die? Watch the life drain from their eyes?” A small whining sound escaped Mickey’s lips as you moved again, trying to fight the urge to flip you over and fuck you into the mattress as you spoke.

“Yes.” He murmured desperately.

“It’s like sex,” you said gently with another roll of your hips making him groan again as he felt your clit rub against him and your pussy clench around him. The slow, teasing pace you were giving him was driving him crazy, he needed either you to ride him with wreckless abandon, or be able to fuck up into you so hard you’d struggle to take it.

“-there’s something intimate about it. Nothing can compare to the feeling of having someone’s life in your hands and being the one with the power to take it away.” Your hands moved to his throat as you spoke, applying enough pressure so it wouldn’t really hurt him but it would definitely have an impact. He let out nothing short of a growl as you did, fucking up into you even harder.

His rough hands moved from your hips to your ass, kneading the soft flesh and his breath hitched as you began to move faster, eyes watching as your tits bounced in front of his face, thrusting his hips upward to match your pace. He moved one of his hands to slide down your torso, finding your swollen clit and began to move his fingers in small, deliberate circles around your swollen bud, applying the perfect amount of pleasure that he knew teased you in just the right way. You let out a small groan as he did, feeling the pressure begin to build in your stomach for what felt like the hundredth time in the last two days.

“Not yet.” He grunted, fingers slowing to an agonising pace. Even with you straddling him with your hand wrapped around his throat you listened, letting out a small gasp as he gripped your waist, flipping you over so you were on your back with him hoisting your legs around his waist as he started to thrust into you, eyes dark and almost menacing. He liked to be in control and although he knew your secret, it didn’t mean that was going to change.

“I want- fuck- I want to be there next time.” His tone was uneven as he fucked you, pinning your hands above your head with one hand, you groaned into your arm, relishing in the feeling of his cock hitting that perfect spot inside of you and the slight stubble of his trimmed pubes grinding against your clit. The pressure was almost unbearable as you tried to fight the instinct to let the pleasure completely envelop you. “And I want to help you.”

This made you snap back into reality for a moment and you leaned your head back, looking at him in shock. “You- you what?”

He didn’t stop but slowed down, releasing your hands and cupping your cheek. “I want to help you,” he repeated, a smile on his beautiful face. “I don’t want you to do this alone. Besides, Billy and Stu did it together. Why don’t we?”

You couldn’t help but let an almost sadistic grin take over your face. Maybe that could work? It would surely help you, and he was right. Billy and Stu worked together and Mickey was definitely twisted enough to be able to pull this off with you. You’d already killed three people solo and just imagining Mickey being there and helping you…

“I need to injure Derek and kill Randy next.” You breathed, smirking a little as you looked up at your boyfriend, legs still wrapped around his waist. You felt him twitch inside of you, anticipation evident on his face as he moved his hand down between the two of you. “I’ll start you off easy with Derek,” you said, voice cracking a little as you began to circle your clit once again. “Don’t kill him, but make it fucking hurt.”

You could hear the smile in Mickey’s voice as he began to roll his hips again, fingers moving expertly across your clit, a small moan falling from between his lips as he felt your teeth sink into the skin of his shoulder hard enough for you to taste his blood.

“I will, but I want to help you kill Meeks too, I wanna see him gutted.”

God, you loved him.

#damn this is my longest one yet #this is the only way I can picture ‘innocent’ Mickey #so here you go! #god i fucking love him #scream #mickey altieri #scream 2 #mickey altieri x reader #mickey altieri smut #mickey altieri x you

[wooahaes]

singing in the rain

pairing: non-idol!college au!han jisung x gn!reader, slight non-idol!felix x gn!reader

prompt: a stray kids version of enouement.

word count: 12.2k~

warnings: angst with a happy ending. mutual pining that’s fully believed to only be one-sided by both parties. temporary relationship with felix. heartbreak. no communication at one part after jisung ghosts reader for almost three weeks. big brother-figure chan having serious talks with reader. fluff in certain parts, though.

daisy’s notes: haha sorry i rarely write for skz so i’m sure this is bad in terms of like... characterization. i am trying :) (also the fic is named after the golden child song)

By most people’s standards, Chan should be your best friend. The two of you grew up close to each other, Chan’s house right down the road from your own. His family knew you by name and all of your favorites (because Chan knew them first), they watched you follow Chan around like a duckling, and your parents were always making enough food for Chan to have when he inevitably showed up with you for dinner most nights. If anything, Chan was like a brother figure to you (sometimes a bother figure when he was in that affectionate mood). You loved Chan like family. If you had a best friend, Chan would be it...

... If it weren’t for the way you seemed to click with Han Jisung ever since that first day of freshman orientation.

 As close as you were with Chan (who you truly considered to kind-of be your best friend throughout school), he was still a few years older than you. Even though the two of you stayed close after he graduated (and his attendance at your college meant nothing for your own choice of school, as you simply liked the literature program), it put a little strain on your relationships at times. You met Jisung during orientation where both of you were wary of the other students surrounding you. Some of them seemed to not give a shit about school at all; partying was fine, but--fuck, man, partying could come at any stage of life, why not be at least a little serious about school you were spending money on? You noticed Jisung was equally as uncomfortable with the way two of your group-mates were hardcore flirting and ignoring your poor orientation leader, and you decided to strike up conversation with him soon enough. His friends were in another group, and you had parted ways with your former classmates for the most part.

Jisung was sweet. He seemed to be taking on a pretty big course load as a music management and music composition double-major, but he was passionate. His head was in the right place, though, and you trusted he could keep it on straight when things were getting rough. The moment you found out he was into music, you could strike up conversations with him (thank you, Christopher Bang, for being as into music as he was). You’d introduce him to Chan in time. The moment the two of you were freed from your orientation schedule for the day, Jisung had invited you to come along and get coffee off campus with him and his friends.

Which was how you realized how different he was when he was with his friends. Before he had been quieter, yet still sweet; with his friends, he was genuinely funny and loud. Maybe that was why you clicked with him: he was versatile. Quiet until you gently prodded him, passionate when you found common ground, and pretty damn fun when in his comfort zone. You traded numbers with him and his friends (Felix was a sweetheart, Hyunjin seemed pretty charismatic (if not a little sharp-tongued at times), and Seungmin was also pretty damn smart and funny). You ended up liking them all pretty well.

Chan was giddy as hell the day you finally moved into your dorm. He hugged you tight, more excited that you were in school with him than he would be if one of his actual siblings chose to. They had time, he told you, to figure things out. You were right there with him then and there and he was going to be excited over having one of his closest friends there. He promised to look after you. It was sweet, even if you rolled your eyes and groaned at the time. Chan’s laughter told you that he never took it seriously.

Like you said: bother figure when he wasn’t a brother figure, and he knew it pretty damn well. Which was why you agreed to live with the guy when sophomore year rolled around and you did not want to play your chances with getting another shitty roommate. It was premeditated as hell for Chan to just happen to have a room open (his old roommate had been talking for a while about moving out, and Chan admitted he already had someone interested if the guy wanted to go). You met Minho through Chan (he was slightly younger, but in the same class as him, and a dance and literature major). He was sharp and witty, but ended up being soft as hell for you once he found out about your major. He liked your conversations, at least, and made it known that you could call on him if you needed anything. You met Changbin, too, who was a year above you, and seemed sweet, too.

So you decided to introduce Jisung to this friend circle, and things came together from there. Minho recognized Hyunjin and Felix as being two of the new dancers on the team, and Seungmin was pulled into the group via association with the rest of your line. Jeongin, the baby of the group, had been your own pull. He was in one of your general education classes, and you thought he was sweet and invited him to hang out while he was still getting his bearings. Even after he gained friends of his own, he stayed as a key part of the friend group... admittedly because you babied him sometimes. You doted on him more than anyone else did, but you liked having him around. He got along great with everyone, after all. Sometimes the others swore he could be evil, but he’d always be your angelic little brother who could do no wrong... for better or for worse.

He could absolutely do many wrong, but you’d watch out for him. And if you were busy. he had seven other older siblings who’d adopted him that he could go to--and probably more. He was a charmer in his own right.

By some stroke of luck, Hyunjin and Seungmin ended up moving in a few doors down from you and Chan. Despite the complaints (Chan was extremely happy to have people he liked living nearby), both of them seemed glad to have familiar faces nearby. Sometimes you thought it might be nice to live in the same building as all of your friends.

Then that fairy tale idea died immediately when you had to consider the shenanigans there. You might never sleep again. As much as you loved your friend circle, you needed time alone.

You weren’t sure when the feelings started, to be honest. Maybe it was something about the way Felix would always show up to your apartment with something sweet, always considerate of everyone else. You thought you’d always see him as a friend until right before your senior year. It took you longer than you’d expect for you to just... accept it.

Chan had brought it up one Saturday night while the two of you were having dinner, a rare night he had off. “So...” He had been smiling. “You and Felix...”

You rolled your eyes. Your love life was kind of a sore topic between the two of you: you rarely dated after a while for a reason. Relationships simply didn’t work out for you, and you gave up trying for the time being. Maybe once you graduated and got used to working and just... finished straightening everything else out, you’d try again.

“I was just curious!” Chan giggled. “You keep denying feeling anything for Jisung...”

He left a pause there, as if trying to incentivize you to speak up. Your feelings for Jisung were nothing to be discussed, especially not with Chan. Jisung didn’t love you like that, and you weren’t going to jeopardize your friendship with him. Longtime crush be damned. You’d get over it eventually.

“You should just go for it,” Chan said. “I mean... I think he’d be good for you. He’s nothing like the last guy you dated.”

Not this shit again. “Oh my god, Christopher--”

“I mean it,” he said, ignoring your use of his birth name. “He kept pressuring you to move in with him because ‘you shouldn’t live with a guy if you aren’t dating’ or some bullshit.”

Unknowingly to Chan, that wasn’t the only reason you dumped the dude. The guy had hated Jisung because of how close he was to you, and you weren’t going to date some loser who thought he could control who you hung out with. He was “fine” with the rest, but it was always Jisung who he targeted. He was too close to you, or too soft as a person sometimes, or Jisung was obviously in love with you and you were too blind to see it. You had the feeling that Jisung would only be the start of it, and he’d move onto someone else eventually. It’d be Jeongin, and then it’d be Felix, and then Hyunjin... It was just a gateway for him to control your life, and you outright told the guy he needed to grow the fuck up because he’d never allow someone to control who he was friends with. If it was out of insecurity, that was his own problem to cope with.

You told Jisung that same day you broke up with him. He watched you for a moment, waiting to see if you were going to cry or say anything further, but then smiled at you and asked if you wanted to celebrate. He treated you to dinner that night happily, talking about how he was glad you cut it off with someone who clearly didn’t respect you enough to trust you. You left out the part where he said Jisung was in love with you; he didn’t need to know that, and you didn’t want to hear him deny it.

“Felix is a really good guy,” Chan said, bringing you back to reality. He placed more of your favorite food on your plate, pushing you to eat a little more. Was it because you spaced out for a moment? You weren’t sure. He continued on nonetheless, not commenting on it, “You know that, right? He’s like a little brother to me.”

“I thought I was the little sibling,” you teased.

Chan rolled his eyes. “You could always ask Jisung for help. Didn’t you say he met Felix on one of the freshman forums while looking for roommates?”

He did. They actually did room together their freshman year. Anytime you went over to Jisung’s dorm, Felix would typically be there--either studying or about to head out to hang out with his friends. He’d always say hi to you and chat for a bit. You nodded along to the suggestion, saying you’d consider it.

(You wouldn’t know that Chan regretted suggesting it the moment he saw the way Jisung looked at you whenever you weren’t looking. Jisung held his feelings to his chest for three years and let that mask slip once when he thought no one was looking. The soft smile, the tender look in his eyes when you laughed... Chan felt awful realizing that things weren’t so one-sided as you told him.)

So you went to Jisung a few days later and asked him. He agreed easily enough to help you with Felix, saying he heard Felix call you cute a few times. While he didn’t claim to know (which you suspected was a lie), he said he thought Felix might feel something toward you. Feelings in their vaguest form, but still good things.

Minho called Jisung an idiot outright for that. Minho was the only person who knew Jisung’s feelings for you, still surprised that you were either oblivious as hell or Jisung was better at acting than he thought. Jisung hid them well enough that no one really knew, outside of Minho (who he confessed them to during one of your past relationships). He had asked Chan once, just to figure it out. That was how he found out you were denying it, and Minho suspected your denials were to throw people off of badgering you to confess to Jisung already. Minho could see it on your face, plain as day.

Hyunjin called him an idiot, too, and Jisung knew that Minho mentioned it. He wasn’t mad. Hyunjin had asked a few times. Jisung always said no, but he had the feelings Hyunjin knew anyway. Jisung always felt guilty that he fell for you. You were his best friend: was it really fair for him to love you like that when all you saw him as was a friend?

He told Hyunjin to mind his business and that he wasn’t going to sabotage your relationships just because he liked you. Despite the way Hyunjin disliked the idea of pushing you toward Felix, he agreed to keep his mouth shut. Both outcomes were hard to face, in his opinion. Either you broke Felix’s heart, or something sparked and Jisung would be miserable. Someone was going to get hurt either way, and... Jisung, honestly, preferred it to be him.

It wasn’t your fault he had feelings for you. He could deal with them if he knew that you were happy with someone who’d treat you right. Felix was a good guy. Hyunjin understood it in the end, and Jisung was thankful. Felix would treat you the way you deserved. Jisung could deal with one heartbreak in exchange for your happiness.

A month into the semester, Jisung finally brought up the fact that you’d been trying to get into gaming more. You looked over at him, visibly confused until Felix lit up at the topic. The moment he offered to let you join him and his friends, rattling off free MMOs that you could play, you caught on and eased into conversation from there. You’d vaguely mentioned that you used to game when you were younger, but ditched it when you were trying to be a serious college student. All you really had was your Stardew Valley farm with Chan, and Felix immediately said that you should have a farm together, too.

You ended up being invited to the opening night of the show Felix was in, a ticket reserved for you. The group had plans to come see later in the week due to schedules not lining up for opening night, but Jisung agreed to come with you when you asked him to. You needed someone to make sure you didn’t look stupid in front of Felix. Jisung agreed: he was happy to support his friends, after all, and he’d just watch it twice.

That was why he stood inside a flower shop with you, watching you try to make a decision. You were looking between sunflowers and yellow roses while Jisung stared at a bouquet of pale pink peonies.

“He deserves something pretty,” you had said when you walked in.

So did you. That was why Jisung always thought he’d buy you a bouquet if he got the nerve up to confess, yet he never did because it was too much of a gamble. If you took it the wrong way, he could lose your friendship. He’d rather pine on his own than do that. But sometimes, late at night, he’d lie in bed and fantasize about bringing you a bouquet and telling you that he treasured you: even if you didn’t reciprocate, he wanted the flowers to be a symbol that he would always be your best friend.

He looked up at the sound of plastic crumpling, and you stood there with a bouquet of yellow tulips in your hands. “What do you think?” You nodded toward them, a shy smile on your lips. “Roses felt too cliche and like... too forward. I don’t wanna come on too strong.”

JIsung just smiled. “Do you like them?” He stepped forward, fingers brushing against yours as he took them. “I think they’re pretty. Felix will like anything you bring him.”

“Are you sure?”

Jisung couldn’t look at you for a moment, instead toying with a leaf. “Would I lie to you?” He pulled himself together, looking back up to try and give you another reassuring smile.

Other people might. Some people would sabotage their best friend’s happiness. Jisung could never do that to you. He loved you too much as his best friend first to do anything that would destroy your happiness.

“Right,” you said, taking the flowers back. “Thanks, Jisung. I’m gonna go pay--maybe get a little ribbon or something? You can wait outside if you want.”

He did. He took a deep breath once he was outside and alone, trying to ignore the ache in his chest. It shouldn’t hurt this much, should it? But he’d gladly cope with it, shoving aside his own feelings if it meant he could see you smile. You seemed so genuinely happy to be talking to Felix more than you used to, that he invited you to opening night like this. A little voice in the back of Jisung’s head told him to find an excuse to dip out--a forgotten assignment or something. Felix had invited you to come see him tonight. Not him. He was coming later anyway. Why was he even there?

The bell attached to the door chimed and you stepped out, bouquet in hand. It’d been wrapped in white tissue paper and bound with a bright, sparkly gold ribbon. A sunshine-y bouquet fitting of Felix. Jisung had to wonder what you’d buy for him. He had to remind you on the bus ride back to campus to loosen up your grip on the bouquet or the stems would break.

“What if he hates them?” You whispered to him, leg bouncing nervously.

Jisung gave you a gentle pat on the thigh. “He won’t. It’s Felix. Do you think he’d ever hate you for bringing him a gift?”

That seemed to get through to you. The tension in your shoulders eased up, and you nodded. “Right,” you leaned against him a little, “Sorry. I’m just... nervous.”

He could tell. You had dressed up a little nicer for this, and your nerves were written across your face. He’d have to be ignoring you completely to not see how nervous you were. He ended up staying with you for the show, not wanting to abandon you when you needed him there. The two of you sat in the audience, a few rows back. Jisung could see Chan in the front row, beaming with pride whenever Felix was on stage. He always did whenever he could make it to things like this--dance showcases, theatrical performances, art exhibits when Seungmin was in his photography classes... It truly made Jisung appreciate how much Chan cared for everyone, both within the friend circle and outside it.

When the show was over, Jisung watched you gravitate near where the actors would eventually come out. The show went great, and Jisung would pass the responsibility of congratulating Felix onto you so that he could dip and maybe go talk to Chan for a while. Chan had already disappeared backstage, well known by everyone there enough for people to not care that he came back. Despite being out of school for two years, he visited often enough and helped out wherever he could. When Chan found time to sleep, Jisung had no idea. He could admire the confidence to go back, though. It always felt like a line Jisung shouldn’t cross, even if most people knew him because of Felix.

Jisung excused himself from your side to run to the bathroom, and spent a few minutes just staring at himself in the mirror. Fiddling with his hair, adjusting his collar; little things while he tried to pull himself together. Fuck, this was getting harder and harder to deal with. You looked so happy to be seeing Felix soon, and stepping back into the theater drove that knife in deeper. You’d been talking to Felix, and Jisung started searching for Chan. If he could get to Chan, he could excuse it. Say he got caught up. Or he could just leave and text you that something came up last second.

But you looked up, and waved to Jisung, and then Felix smiled at him, too, and he couldn’t just leave. He came back over, told Felix he did great, and noticed how smitten Felix already looked. He smiled down at the flowers in his hands.

“Isn’t this sweet?” He said, tissue paper crumpling in his grasp. “They’re so sweet.”

Jisung didn’t say that he was with you when you bought them. He instead made something up about how you had an eye for these things.

“I know,” Felix said. “They’ve never given a bad present, after all.”

(Jisung also didn’t tell him that it was because you kept a running list in your notes app of things that people say they like, or things they want, or things that they need that you constantly update. You subtly asked about things close to holidays and birthdays, too. No one but him (and Chan, who had caught you editing it) knew about it, after all.)

“I think I saw Chan,” Jisung said after a moment. “I’m gonna go say hi.”

“Oh, I can come, too--” You started, flustered. “I mean, other people want to talk to Felix, y’know?”

“It’s fine,” Felix said. “I like talking to you.”

When Felix wasn’t looking, Jisung gave you a pointed look to stay right there and talk to him like you wanted to. He left Felix with one last congratulations for doing well and went off to join Chan.

Jisung ended up leaving before you ever did. Chan said he’d drive you home--all you had to do was ask for the ride, after all--and that he’d drive Jisung, too. Jisung needed the alone time instead, opting for the bus back to his apartment. When he got home, he shut himself into his room and found his songwriting notebook.

Just to get the feelings down while they were still fresh and gaping.

You texted him later that you were going out with Felix later that week for lunch. He had other shows most nights, but he’d make time for lunch with you anytime. You told him that he said he’d be able to do “later dates” and asked if that meant dinner dates or whatever, and Jisung said that it might.

Jisung said he was happy for you. Even if he couldn’t be in that moment.

When he woke up the next morning, he realized that he fell asleep at his desk. There were ink smudges against his hand and cheek, and messy lyrics written down. He could still make out most of the lyrics, and he’d copy them over after he took a shower.

It was sloppy. Not great, either. But he had time to write it better.

A week later, you were curled up on Jisung’s bed and waiting for him to finish an assignment so the two of you could get dinner. He was sitting at his desk, headphones on while he worked. The two of you had planned to get dinner earlier on, but he wanted to at least get to a certain point before he left--leading you to lay there on your phone, waiting. You had invited Minho to come along, but he took one look at the two of you before saying he was busy.

So you just scrolled through YouTube, watching videos of ducks to pass the time since they kept popping into your feed. All it took was one video to show up on your recommended for you to fall into the rabbithole. The things you did while waiting on friends.

You started reaching out absentmindedly toward Jisung’s desk, hoping to come in contact with the stack of sticky notes he kept there. Jisung didn’t look up, reaching over to push it into your hand and then offer out a pen without thinking. He continued working without a word, bobbing his head along to whatever track he was composing. When he finally glanced over, he saw you doodling the way you usually did. He kept most of them--the ones he could get away with, like the little dogs or fruit, or even the tiny doodle of him that you swore was too bad to keep. But he watched you draw tulips on the paper. Other flowers, too, but you started with tulips.

He pulled off his headphones. “Sorry,” he said, “I’m almost done, I promise.”

“Take your time,” you hummed. “I get it.”

When other people said it, he’d get a little anxious that they were actually annoyed. When you did it, you gave him a little reassuring smile every single time. You meant it. That was something he loved about you.

“I mean it,” you said, just like you always did. “I’ll be right here when you’re done, okay?”

Sometimes that promise resulted in you falling asleep in his bed. He never woke you up: he just pulled the blankets over you and went to sleep on the couch for the night, making it up to you with breakfast in the morning.

He replaced his headphones, leaving one side off so he could hear you. A sign that he was open to conversation and less focused on the work at hand.

“So... Are you gonna show me what you’re working on?”

Jisung liked getting your thoughts on things. He valued Chan’s opinions, as well as Changbin’s, but he liked hearing your thoughts, too. Music could be an intimate part of him, and he appreciated how much attention you’d pay towards his lyrics.

“It’s not ready yet,” he lied. The lyrics were all about you, and you’d realize it too quickly for him to come up with a believable lie.

You merely nodded, drawing a little rose off in a corner of the sticky note. “Okay,” you said, dragging it out for a moment. “Well... When it’s ready, and if you wanna share, I’m happy to listen.”

He smiled. “I’ll let you know if I need you.”

You merely hummed in acknowledgement, continuing to doodle aimlessly. The sticky note with flowers had been stuck to the side of his desk, and now you were drawing little dogs and paw prints and hearts. “We should go out.”

He jerked his head back up, thankful you didn’t notice. “Huh?”

“Felix told me about this really nice restaurant,” you said, praying he couldn’t see how flustered you made yourself. You worded that last thought awfully, and you tugged at the collar of your shirt, skin burning hot. “I just thought we should check it out.”

He looked back at his screen. “Shouldn’t you check it out with him?”

“You know how I am.”

He did. You always liked to scope out places with him first if you knew where someone was taking you. Just so you knew that there was something on the menu you would like. He asked once why you didn’t just look up the menu online and pick from there.

“Han.” You had looked up at him that day. “What if they don’t make it good? What if they add extra stuff I don’t like and it’s gross after I ask them to take it off? Then I feel awful for wasting either my money or my date’s money if they’re paying.”

He could understand that. He always offered to be your test-date, then, since you knew he’d never judge your taste. You usually brought him along, occasionally taking Chan instead if he was too busy. It was nice. He always knew what you were going to pick off the menu.

“I’ll buy you cheesecake after,” you promised.

You knew him. You knew his love of cheesecake. He just kinda smiled and told you to give him a second while he saved his work. The two of you left soon enough, and things went well. Neither of you brought up Felix (a fact Jisung was glad about: it gave him a little more time to get used to the idea of you and Felix as a pair, so maybe it’d stop hurting sooner), and you took a picture of him later on with his slice of cheesecake, happy as can be. Even when the two of you were mistaken for a couple earlier at the new place, you seemed unbothered once things were cleared up.

If nothing else, you’d treasure having moments like these with Jisung. He’d always be there with you... even if it hurt your heart to have to get over him one day.

Your date with Felix went pretty well. It was cute to just sit and listen to him talk excitedly about a new recipe he’d been workshopping. He offered to let you taste-test sometime, too: maybe you could bake with him, too...? He’d guide you through it. You’d be a cute assistant, after all.

He held your hand on the walk afterward, and you felt your heart leap straight into your throat at that. Your mind drifted back to the night with Jisung, the dessert place you went to afterward...

But Felix gently bumped into you, just enough to get your attention back. “You okay?” He asked. “You wanna get ice cream?”

You hummed a little, about to nod when your mind turned back to those brownies at the place you and Jisung went to. “Actually... There’s this place I go sometimes--”

“That dessert place you and Jisung go to?” He asked. He didn’t seem jealous or bothered by it in the slightest. “I’ve been wanting to go there, actually,” he squeezed your hand gently. “It just felt like I would be... overstepping, I guess.”

“Huh?”

“You two are close,” he shrugged. “I mean. There’s places I go with my friends that I don’t always go to with other people, y’know? Sometimes you kinda keep stuff for your friends, I think.”

While the shop was you and Jisung’s place, it was never meant to be exclusive for the two of you. Minho had gone with you two a few times, and so had Chan. You only found the place a little over a year ago, and usually you and Jisung would get an order to-go and chill in his apartment. You just liked indulging his sweet tooth from time to time.

“It’s not our place,” you said with a shrug. “If you want ice cream, we can get ice cream. I just started thinking about their brownies--”

He was already intrigued. “Do you wanna go?” He smiled. “We can split one, if you want...?”

You squeezed his hand, smiling. “I’d like that.” You giggled. “They’re huge and they put a scoop of vanilla on top and drizzle it with caramel--you’ll love it.”

And he did: he fed you the first bite, eyes twinkling as he smiled at you. He held your hand tight on the way home, walking you all the way to your door. With a soft “May I...?” he pressed a kiss to your cheek with your consent, already talking about another date. With a promise to text you when he was home, you retreated into your apartment with a sappy smile on your face. You buried your face into your hands, heart beating in your ears.

“Someone had a good time.”

Chan stood near the entryway, two glasses in his hands as he was returning to the living room. He merely just smiled at you, continuing on his trek back to the couch. You slipped out of your shoes quickly, making your way toward your room only to realize Changbin was on the couch with Chan. You decided to spare him any details, calling out to Chan that you’d tell him everything tomorrow.

“Did Felix walk you back?” Chan called out, and you decided to hang back long enough to nod. “You could have invited him in for a minute--”

“Oh, god, fuck no,” you said. “Chan. I love you, you’re great, we don’t need you to embarrass both of us.”

He burst into giggles, knowing it was true (and Felix would agree with you). “I wouldn’t do it too bad!”

“Yes, you absolutely would,” you called back, opening your bedroom door. “But I still love you, you big dork.”

It wasn’t until you turned away that you could hear Changbin speaking up, likely only meaning for Chan to hear him. “I thought they were...” He paused. “... What about Jisung?”

You shut the bedroom door behind you, pressing your back against the door and hoped he didn’t notice you heard it. Was it that obvious that you liked someone that didn’t like you back...?

You texted Felix to get home safe instead, tacking on a yellow heart after it, and then started getting ready for bed. All you could do was move on. When your phone chimed next, over half an hour later, you were greeted with a picture of Felix. He was smiling, dressed for bed with an apology that he didn’t text you sooner. It was followed up with a “sleep well 💛 we’ll talk tomorrow, yeah?”  that left you smiling.

He was cute.

If you could push past your feelings for Jisung, things would work out. Felix... liked you. You just had to let go, and letting go was the hardest part of loving someone who wouldn’t love you back.

Maybe Felix could help you get through that.

A few days later, you decided to swing by Jisung’s apartment with takeout. Minho rolled his eyes when he let you in after you made a comment about how they were both slacking, considering the dirty dishes and the parts of the apartment that were unkempt. He called out to you to text before you came over, pointing out that Jisung had been in his room and hadn’t spoken to him in hours.

So you promised to do so from now on, knocking on Jisung’s door before cracking it open when he never responded. He was staring at his computer, posture slumped as he rested his face in his hand while reading something intensely. With his headphones on, you knew he wouldn’t hear you. You made your way over, slowly approaching and waving to his attention. He looked up, blinking a few times before smiling.

“Why didn’t you text me?” He had already picked up his phone, realizing that you did, and grew sheepish. “Sorry...”

You held up the bag of takeout. “How much do you love me?”

He was already taking it, undoing where the bag handles had been tied into a tight knot. “I don’t deserve you,” he said, pulling off his headphones and setting them aside.

“Minho said you’ve been busy all day,” you reached for the spare chair, pulling it over. “I guess I came at a good time?”

He grew embarrassed, idly fumbling with the plastic. “It’s for class,” he said, “so I’ve been busy.” He pulled one of the handles free, opening up the bag at last. “I think Minho tried to check on me. I don’t really remember.”

It wouldn’t be the first time. “You gonna share this time?”

He pouted at you, “I always share!” He popped open the container of steamed dumplings, placing them where you could easily reach them before handing you a set of chopsticks.

“Not those,” you said. “Well. Yes, those, but,” you nodded toward his computer while snapping your set apart. “Your work. It feels like I haven’t heard any of it this semester.”

“You’ve been with Felix,” he said, slightly quieter. “I mean... you two keep finding reasons to go out, you know?” He handed your food over after glancing at the shorthand written atop it. It was never a question between the two of you: you both knew your usual orders from places.

“Not the entire semester,” you frown. Then you sighed, balancing your food in your lap for a moment. “I get it. You’re taking your time. Nothing wrong with that.” You paused for a moment, though, brows drawing together. “Am I spending too much time with Felix?”

Jisung shook his head. “You’re getting to know each other better,” he said. “I understand--”

“I’m sorry,” you said, and you fully meant it.

“No, I get it,” he pushed. “Don’t feel bad about Felix.”

You pouted. “That’s not an excuse to ignore you. I don’t want to be the kind of friend who dumps their friends entirely when I’m seeing someone. That’s not fair to you.”

Jisung grew a little flustered. “You aren’t--”

“We should go out this weekend,” you said. “Like we usually do. I have to work Saturday morning, but my evening is yours.”

“What about Felix?”

“If he doesn’t understand ‘best friend time,’ then he’s not the one,” you shrugged. “My partner wouldn’t stop me from hanging out with friends. I’m never dating anyone like that.”

Jisung always loved your devotion. Even in your relationships, you found time for friends despite the insistence that they’d understand. You said that there should be a balance after that initial phase of getting close to someone.

He swallowed his own pain. “How are you two?”

“You don’t wanna hear about us.”

“I do,” Jisung said. “I mean... You’re both my friends. Jeongin said he saw you two on a date...”

You immediately buried your face in your hands. “Oh my god. Felix told me he was positive it wasn’t him. I knew it. Holy shit--”

“He didn’t say anything bad!” Jisung panicked, carefully removing the food from your lap. He rolled his chair over, letting you occupy some of his desk space. “He just said you two were holding hands and giggling over something. It was sweet.”

You drew your hands away slowly, fully aware of how hot your face was growing. “He’s... really sweet,” you admitted after a moment. “I don’t know if I’m really feeling it yet, but he’s nice to talk to, and he’s cute... I just don’t want to lead him on if I’m not fully into it, y’know? He’s sweet,” you drew closer, knee bumping against Jisung’s. “Don’t pretend you didn’t change the subject.”

You had caught him, and Jisung just repositioned the dumplings between the two of you in an attempt to distract you. When you gave him a pointed look, he sighed. “I’ll show you when it’s done,” he said. “It’s not good yet.”

“Bullshit.” You shook your head. “Your works’ always good, even when it’s a work in progress. I love how devoted you are to it--and to us, y’know.”

He smiled shyly, running a hand through his hair. “Later,” he promised. “When I’m ready.”

“Okaaay,” you giggle, reaching over and gently squeezing his knee. “Whenever you’re ready,” you reaffirm, “I’ll be here for you.”

Tell you. The voice in the back of Jisung’s mind was nagging him again. He looked up, watching as you grew giddy over dumplings. Tell you so that you can break his heart and get it over with.

Jisung realized something you said a moment later. “You... might not like Felix?”

You avoided his gaze. “I dunno. I like him, but I’m just not sure how far it goes.”

“You should figure it out soon,” he said quietly. “Felix is a really good person. If you want to date him, you should be up front about it. If you don’t, he won’t hold it against you. Choose what will make you happy.”

The moment you looked at him with a soft look in your eyes, Jisung was already gone again. You immediately leaned in to hug him after setting aside your things. It was a little awkward, leaning over the chair and wrapping your arms around him, but he relaxed into your embrace and hugged you back.

“I’m really glad you’re in my life,” you said quietly. “I really, really love you, y’know?”

His heart was racing. “Yeah,” he squeezed you gently, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. He prayed you couldn’t feel how hot his face was getting, or hear how fast his heart was beating. “Love you, too.”

You drew away a moment later, lingering a little too long, and then it clicked. “Oh! I forgot to get us drinks,” you frowned, getting up. “I’ll see what’s in the fridge, alright?”

In all honesty, he should have offered to go. But you were gone before he could stop you, and Jisung let out a long sigh and relaxed into his chair.

He loved you too much, and now it was starting to hurt more.

Felix was... Felix. Felix had always been there as a good friend in your own year. You always thought he was sweet. He was warmer than sunshine and he made you feel like you were on top of the world whenever you were with him.

Yet when you held his hand, when he played with your fingers while talking with that cute, smitten smile on his face... It left you frustrated. It’d been a few weeks since the two of you started going out, no rush to put a label on it. Sometimes you thought about kissing him. He’d kissed you on the cheek a few times, and you did it, too, just to see how cutely flustered he’d get. He sometimes would giggle, too, and that made your heart soar. Felix was sweet. You... liked him, but how much?

Chan sat at one end of the couch, watching the movie the two of you had been wanting to see. It was, unfortunately, a boring slog to get through, and you had found entertainment in scrolling your social media instead.

Chan, however, found it in turning to you with an obvious question on his lips. “So... You and Felix...”

The boring leads were reciting shitty dialogue on the screen that felt like it had been written by someone who didn’t know what love looked like. What did it even look like...? You groaned either way.

“I’m just saying!” Chan frowned. “If you aren’t interested, then you need to cut things off sooner.”

“I kinda wanna kiss him,” you admitted a second later. “To find out. Is that weird?”

Chan watched you for a moment. “I don’t know. It might be, but...” He reached for the bowl of popcorn the two of you had made, barely touched at this point. “It could help you figure things out, but I don’t want you to... y’know, use Felix to figure it out.”

Maybe you’d do it as a last resort, then.

“Not that you’re using him now!” Chan quickly said, turning to fully face you. “You’re dating, but not official. You’re figuring it out. If you think taking another step would help you figure it out, then maybe you should do it.”

You took that to heart. You were dating Felix... maybe kissing him wouldn’t be too bad...

“And?” Chan prodded. “You can tell me what you think. I won’t tell.”

You gave him a suspicious look.

“I mean it,” he said, far more serious that time. “Whatever we talk about stays between us. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

You trusted Chan with your life. “He’s sweet,” you said, hugging your blanket close to your chest. “I like hanging out with him. I just... I don’t know how he feels, and I guess I don’t really know how I feel.”

“Well... You should really tell him soon,” Chan said, and his insistence said more than he meant: Felix had talked to him. No wonder Chan was pushing you to figure it out... He watched you a moment longer, picking up the bowl of popcorn. “I’m going to make more popcorn,” he said, throwing the controller next to you. “Find something good to watch, yeah?”

So you did. Chan settled into the space next to you soon enough, wrapping an arm around you and pressing a kiss onto the top of your head the way he used to when you were an upset (and typically hurt) kid. It comforted you, reminding you of simpler times. You skinned your knee once when you were with Chan as a kid, and he helped take care of it before pressing a kiss against the bandage and then to your forehead--because his parents always told him that it helped heal it faster. The two of you were dumb  kids, but Chan would still do it from time to time when he knew you were struggling: just as a reminder that he would always be right there. He’d always be an older brother to you, even if he kind-of became more of a “dad” at times.

It was sweet. At least you had Chan in your corner, right next to Jisung.

Felix kissed you.

The two of you saw a movie together that night, and he had walked you home, pinkies linked together. You had split the check at dinner afterward, and he was still happily talking to you while you knew you were growing quieter the closer to your apartment you became. He looked at you so sweetly every time he glanced up, sometimes brushing hair back or fixing your jacket so that you were cozy. He asked if he could kiss you when you were in front of your door, and you said yes. A moment after he pressed his lips against yours, you just... realized that Felix wasn’t it.

Part of you thought that there’d be no one like Jisung for you, as shitty as it felt to realize. The other part knew that you couldn’t expect anything from someone who didn’t love you back: it wasn’t his fault you caught feelings.

You heard a door open and shut, and you felt bad for the neighbors who had to see this. Felix pulled away a moment later, because you never reciprocated, and he just... knew. His hands were still holding your face, thumbs running over the apples of your cheeks as you took in a shaky breath, fighting back tears. You hurt him, and you knew it.

“This wasn’t going to go anywhere, was it?”

Felix was gentle with you. If he was angry or upset, you couldn’t tell. He masked it well, smile much more forced that time--but not giving away what he felt underneath in the slightest. He drew his hands back, letting them fall to his sides.

“That’s okay,” he said, much quieter that time. “I had fun.”

“Felix--”

“I mean it,” he said. “I... really hope this doesn’t hurt our friendship. I like talking to you. I... really like being your friend. And you’re kind of good at games, so we could always use you if you want to join us sometime, and...”

He was rambling. All you could do was pull him into your arms and hug him tight. “I’m sorry, Felix,” you said. “I should have said something sooner. I just... didn’t know.”

He shut his eyes, taking in a shaky breath before he hugged you back. “It’s okay,” he said. “You should head in. I’m sure Chan’s worried. I’ll probably get a text from him on my way home to make sure I’m getting back safe...”

You squeezed him tight before you let go, slowly retreating back. All you could do was pretend to be okay as you typed in your apartment’s code, letting yourself back inside. You lingered in the doorway as Felix stood there, giving you one last smile that you knew he forced it.

And then you shut him out, securing the door behind you as you slipped out of your shoes and set them aside. Chan was out, either at work or with some friends--you weren’t sure, and you frankly didn’t care. You were glad to be alone for a while. You didn’t want to field any questions from him, either, and you knew he’d likely hear from Felix soon enough. Felix would probably go to him for comfort. You didn’t want to face how badly you just hurt him.

You opened your phone, hovering over Jisung’s contact and debated calling him. You shut your eyes. Jisung was your best friend, but he was Felix’s friend, first...

You turned off your phone after sending a single text telling Felix to get home safely. All he did was heart the text, and you couldn’t blame him. You went to bed soon enough, chest heavy and achy as you wished things could be different.

Jisung didn’t talk to you for a week.

This wasn’t him burying himself in work and assignments and his music. He told you about those times, the times he needed space, and you’d always give it to him aside from the occasional check-in to make sure he was taking care of himself (whenever your texts to Minho yielded no answer, at least). Felix avoided you, too, but you expected that. He was cordial, sure, and he got along with you pretty fine, but outside of that he’d grown a lot quieter. He came by to see Chan one day and you didn’t even know until Chan offhandedly mentioned it later on.

You started asking everyone separately. Chan claimed he didn’t know anything about what was wrong with Jisung, and Minho told you that he wasn’t sure but that Jisung needed the space. Felix apologized (as did you, for reaching out to begin with, but he understood: you were worried about your best friend) and said he didn’t know anything, and neither did anyone else who responded to you. If Minho knew something, he was holding it close to his chest.

So you waited outside the studio he worked at, teaching kids to dance for right now. It paid well enough that he could support himself, and you thought that he liked it a lot. He was kinda good with kids, after all. He locked up in the evenings because he was the last person out, and he reached the bottom step before he looked up and saw you.

“I’m not telling you anything,” he said, pocketing his keys. “How long have you been out here?”

“Maybe half an hour,” you said, crossing your arms. “Just... tell me what’s going on with Jisung. You don’t have to tell me the details, but I’m worried.”

Minho sighed. “He’s going through a few things on his own,” he stepped down, starting on his way home. “He’s not ready to tell you,” he called back, “so give him space and he’ll talk to you when he’s ready.”

You hurried to catch up. “He could just tell me that. That’s all I want to hear from him.”

Minho stopped, turning back to face you. “Like I said,” he said, patting you on the shoulder, “when he’s ready, he’ll tell you.”

Minho left you behind to stew in your thoughts with only the wish for you to travel home safely. You reached into your pocket, finding Jisung’s contact and your previously unanswered messages. You typed out a new one after a moment of deciding what to say.

I’m here if you need me. Please take care. Love you.

When you checked again before you fell asleep, he had hearted it. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

At least he gave you that.

Jisung didn’t speak to you for another week.

He knew about Felix. He knew you ended things with him. He knew Hyunjin was pissed at you, and that you’d find that out soon enough that it was because of everything going on. Because Jisung had spilled about his feelings, how he sometimes thought you felt the same way. Hyunjin told him that you did. That that had to be why you turned Felix down. He didn’t have proof--no one would unless they got the truth from you, after all--but it was a gut feeling he had.

And then Hyunjin outright told him that he deserved better. That if you genuinely liked him, you should’t have fucked with Felix’s feelings. He liked you enough, but this left a bad taste in his mouth.

Jisung fought back: you wouldn’t have hurt Felix on purpose. You were figuring it out. You had liked Felix and Jisung knew that because he saw the way you’d talk about him. It wasn’t a crime that you ended up not liking Felix like that, and it’d be worse if you dragged it out longer. Hyunjin argued instead that you should have figured it out sooner instead of hurting Felix worse.

Even if Hyunjin was pissed at you, though, he would be there to support Jisung and his complicated feelings about you. Everyone would be, including Felix. Jisung later saw another picture of Felix out with Hyunjin and Changbin, smiling genuinely that time. It was nice to see him getting better. Yet there he was, in his room again with his headphones on as he reworked his song about you for the thousandth time. He looked back on his texts with Felix, consoling him until Felix outright asked if Jisung really did like you. He denied it, and Felix didn’t push. Jisung couldn’t like you now. Not when it’d hurt someone else, especially someone like Felix. Denying his feelings would always hurt him, but pursuing you in any manner felt cruel and selfish of him.

The door opened, and in strolled Minho who made his way to his closet. Jisung pulled off his headphones, about to question him as he pulled open the doors and started looking through them. He scrambled to catch the shirt that was tossed at him, a question on his lips.

“Get dressed. Chan’s five minutes away.”

Jisung furrowed his brows together, looking down at the clean white t-shirt in his hands. “Did something happen?”

“We’re going out,” Minho said, looking further for a clean pair of pants. “You barely leave the apartment now. We’re going to go sing your feelings out.”

Chan showed up before the five minutes were up, and Jisung merely got changed and left with his two friends instead. They paid for an hour of karaoke, got into their room, and Jisung was pushed to go first. He backed down, and Chan instead dragged him into a duet to help lessen the hardship of it all.

And it’s soothing to belt out a ballad. To break down crying with his friends as soon as it was over because it all hurt so much.

His head felt clearer in the end. He already had the lyrics he wanted to fix ready and perfected in the back of his mind, the note progression rewritten to show the meaning clearer. The moment he went back home, he put it down onto paper.

When he finished the song, he could let go. Jisung promised himself that. And then he could let you back in, too.

Two and a half weeks. You were starting to become a mess. You’d been angry, because Jisung wouldn’t just tell you he needed space; worried, because you thought you did something wrong; upset, because what if you had hurt Jisung somehow without even knowing it...

And then you realized Hyunjin never answered your texts. You showed up to his door and Seungmin let you in, clueless at the storm that was about to happen. Hyunjin had been sitting at the dining table, sketchbook open in front of him as he was working.

“What’s wrong with Jisung.”

It wasn’t a question anymore: you were outright demanding his response, because Hyunjin’s silence and general avoidance of you was the only thread you had. He narrowed his eyes as he looked up from his sketchbook, leaning back against his chair.

“You’re being rude.”

“Hyunjin,” you crossed your arms. “I mean it. If you know something, then tell me.”

“That’s none of your business--”

“Bullshit!” You snapped. “It’s been almost three weeks and I haven’t seen Jisung this entire fucking time! If it’s bad, you don’t have to tell me--”

“What do you think is the problem?” He stood up, pushing aside his sketchbook to safety. “You broke Felix’s heart. Did you really think it wouldn’t affect the rest of us?”

“What was I supposed to do? Fucking lie to him and pretend I had feelings?”

“Tell him sooner,” Hyunjin stared at you. “Don’t lead him on when you clearly have feelings for your best friend.”

You sputtered for a moment, taken aback. “I what?”

Hyunjin was pissed, jaw clenched and gaze icy. “You went out with Felix because you didn’t want to admit it, and now Jisung feels bad because he helped set you two up because you asked. Did you ever actually like Felix?”

“I did!” You scowled, and then reined in your temper. “I did. I wouldn’t just mess with him like that. He’s my friend, too,” you hugged yourself. “I think you’re being unfair, Hyunjin.”

Hyunjin said nothing for a moment, fingers grazing the wooden surface of the table beside him. He took a deep breath, calming himself back down. “You need to figure your feelings out. I’m tired of watching my friends hurt.”

“I can’t help how I feel about Felix, Hyunjin,” you balled your fists, crumpling fabric into your palms. “I feel bad for letting it go on as long as it did, but I really didn’t know until we kissed.”

Hyunjin only watched you at first. He licked his lips, swallowing hard. “You really don’t understand, do you?”

You furrowed your brows, watching him carefully. As if maybe he’d give something away if you did. “What?”

Seungmin spoke up, “Didn’t you have to meet up with someone?” He looked between the two of you nervously. “For... that art project...?“

Hyunjin looked over, a little confused, but nodded a second later. “Right,” he said, grabbing his sketchbook. “I need to go.”

You took the chance to apologize for intruding and for getting upset with Hyunjin. You imagined that it couldn’t be easy for anyone close to Felix to watch this go down. It hurt you knowing Jisung was upset for whatever reason, Hyunjin was likely in the same boat as you. It wasn’t until you reached the door that Hyunjin called out your name again.

He hesitated for a moment, but then met your gaze. “You should talk to Jisung.”

You really should.

Jisung was right where you expected him to be whenever he wasn’t home. There was a certain studio that he worked in whenever he wanted to get out of his room, and he was penciled in when you checked the clipboard on the door for sign-up slots. Technically, non-music students weren’t allowed in, but you punched in the code nonetheless. You knew it, after all. Someone had to drag his ass back home when it was getting too late.

“Hey,” you called out, and he looked up.

He ran a hand through his hair, acting casual enough. “Oh. Hey.”

“Everything okay?” You stepped inside, letting the door close behind you. “It’s been a while.”

Jisung nodded, looking away. “Just busy,” he said. “That’s all.”

“Is it?” You pressed, making your way over to the nearby chair. “You can talk to me if you need to, Jisung. I’m still here.” You sank down. “Or... you can tell me to go away. Just tell me, okay?”

“I know,” he said. He toyed with a cable, careful not to bend it. “What would you do if you loved someone you shouldn’t?”

You tilted your head. “Like... forbidden love, or like a friend’s partner...?”

“You’re so dramatic,” he said, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “A friend’s partner,” he clarified, unknowingly making you start running through his friend list mentally for people who you knew were dating. “Like... You don’t want to do anything that’d hurt your friend, but... You can’t help how you feel.”

You said nothing. All you could do was listen.

“It’s just hard,” he admitted. “I look at this person and I can’t help but feel like I’m never going to stop loving them. It hurts. Have you ever loved someone so much it hurt?”

You had. Looking at him reminded you of that feeling all over again.

He turned to face you. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I think I wanted some time to think. Minho will tell you I haven’t been talking to most people lately.”

“Chan said he went out with you two the other day,” you said, slightly turning your chair. ”Did it help?”

He looked up. “You aren’t mad...?”

“No?” You toyed with your sleeve. “I mean... It kinda stung, yeah, but if you needed Chan and Minho... I can’t change that, y’know? All I can do is hope that they were able to help you.”

Jisung firmly believed that he didn’t deserve you. He started shutting down everything instead of answering your question. “Do you want to go get dessert? I’ll buy this time.”

You didn’t press. You merely agreed, following him out of the studio soon enough. His hand brushed against your own, and you wanted to hold it more than ever.

Hyunjin’s words ring in the back of your mind: you should talk to Jisung.

You should tell Jisung.

And then you didn’t. Even when he was eating a slice of cheesecake, brighter than he had been in weeks, you couldn’t tell him. Not yet. Not when you just got him back.

You weren’t ready to lose him again.

“Tell them,” Hyunjin said, standing in the doorway to Jisung’s bedroom. “Soon.”

Minho had been telling him the same thing. If he didn’t want you, then let you go: if he wanted something, then he should talk to you. It’s just not fair to hold onto this dream of loving you when he wouldn’t try. If he wouldn’t let himself do it, then why hold onto it? Why not find a new dream to pursue? It wasn’t fair to either of you, especially when it was hurting both of you.

“I like our friendship,” Jisung said. He didn’t look up.

“They like you,” Hyunjin said outright, arms folded across his chest. “So tell them.”

Jisung shook his head. “It’s okay--”

“I mean it. I wouldn’t tell you to do it if I wasn’t positive. We all see it. Why can’t you?”

Jisung didn’t look away from his song, so close to perfection and yet so far. Hyunjin left him there soon enough, and Jisung shut the world out again.

One step closer, and then he’d be okay.

Chan was an older brother to you. That meant he’d have the hard talks with you sometimes, and when you came home to work to find he’d bought your favorite takeout, you knew what was coming.

“You’ve always loved Jisung,” he said outside, standing next to the table. “And I think we should talk about that.”

You stood in the entryway, just staring at him. “Chan...”

“It’s okay.” He pulled out the other chair for you, before taking his own seat. He gestured for you to come on, to sit across from him, and to dump out your feelings and sort them out right then and there with him. “Let’s talk about it, okay? No more running away.”

You put aside your shoes, wash your hands, and joined him soon enough. He poured your drink before his own, and then waited for you to speak.

When you didn’t, he let out a sigh. “I know you. I know you don’t want to hurt Felix, but... I think you need to put your feelings first instead of everyone else’s.”

“Chan...” You took a deep breath. “It feels too soon.”

“Felix knows. All of us do, now.” Chan didn’t touch his food. All he did was watch you, full attention pinned onto this situation. “You can’t tell me that you don’t want to act because of Felix. Everyone says they thought you’ve liked Jisung for the past few years, but then thought that you two were just... that close.”

“We are.”

“You know Jisung loves you, right?”

It stung to hear, because you did. You realized it after Hyunjin all but spelled it out for you: he was watching his friends hurt, after all.

“So why did you never tell him?”

“I didn’t know before,” you said. “And now... I don’t want to hurt Felix. And I don’t think he does, either.”

“Felix wants you to be happy,” Chan said. “All of us do. If that means pursuing Jisung, then that’s what you should do. Felix is an adult. He was never going to hold anything against you, and I don’t think he’d ever want to be the reason why you didn’t try. He wasn’t the reason before, you know? I don’t think he’s the full reason now.”

You said nothing, staring down at the table for the longest time.

“Talk to me,” he said. “What’s stopping you?”

You took a deep breath. “What if it doesn’t work out? What if it ruins our friendship?”

“It doesn’t have to.”

“I’ve heard horror stories of friends who decided to date and it ruined everything,” you said. “How do you know that wouldn’t happen? Then it makes everyone else feel awkward--”

“You and Jisung wouldn’t let that tear you apart,” Chan said. “You might have to step away for a while, sure, but you’d come back to each other. I think you two are soulmates.”

You grew flustered. “Chan...”

“I mean it! The two of you work so well together as friends...” Chan took a sip from his drink, almost as if he was buying a moment for the words to sink in. The glass clinked against the table. He met your gaze again, eyes soft and caring. “I don’t think a relationship not working out will destroy that.”

All you could do was stare down at your hands, resting them in your lap. “It just feels wrong to go for it when I just dumped Felix almost a month ago.”

“Do you feel ready to tell him?” Chan watched you closely again. “If you’re ready, then you should tell him. It doesn’t mean you have to immediately jump into a relationship. It just means you’re being honest. If you aren’t ready yet, then you should wait until you are. But if you’re waiting only because you think everyone else’s happiness should come first... I think you should go ahead and tell him.”

You gave yourself three days after that conversation. One to make up your mind. The second to figure out how. The third to do it.

On the rooftop of Jisung’s apartment is a community garden. It brought a little greenery into the city, and you always found it cute. You also knew that Jisung would go there when he needed to sit and think sometimes, keeping to himself and gazing off into the city. You always wondered what was going on in his head, yet this time... you felt pretty certain you knew.

Jisung loved you. You loved Jisung. That was what Hyunjin wanted you to figure out. Now it was time for you to string it together and stop holding back.

You made your way up the steps late one night, opening the door to the rooftop to see Jisung with his headphones on. He sat at the small picnic table that was set up there, one that the two of you had shared drinks at once or twice and been rained on another time. His brows were drawn together, eyes shut as he lightly bobbed his head along to the music. You saw the lyrics of his last song. Was that what he was listening to? His laptop was open in front of him. You weren’t sure what composition was open, but you didn’t need to know.

He opened his eyes a moment later, looking up to see you. He quickly paused his music, pulling his headphones down and around his neck. “I didn’t know you were here.”

You hadn’t planned this in the slightest. “We need to talk about us.”

He tensed up, fingers fumbling for the top of his laptop as he pulled it shut. “Us...?”

“It’s nothing bad,” you promised, making your way over. You straddle the bench,  drumming your knuckles against the wood. “I just.. realized a couple things.”

Jisung threw one leg over the bench, facing you fully this time. If it was awkward, he didn’t say. “Which are...?”

“I’m in love with you. You’re in love with me. And... I don’t know why neither of us said anything sooner.”

Jisung stared at you. “I don’t... I’m not...”

“Han.” You looked him in the eyes. “If you don’t want to be with me, that’s okay. I just... I wanted to tell you, and I figured out why Hyunjin was so pissed at me. He thought I was using Felix to get over you. And... I don’t blame him for thinking that,” you looked away. “I wasn’t--I really, really did think I liked Felix. I just... I didn’t know it’d always be you until after I kissed him.”

“Always be... me?” He furrowed his brows, fingers curled around the edges of the bench. “I don’t understand.”

“I think... I’ve been looking for you in every person I’ve tried dating, and that’s why it never worked out. If you didn’t love me back, I would have moved on eventually,” you admitted. “But... If you don’t, then just say right now, okay? And I won’t hold it against you, and we can go back to being best friends.”

“I can’t love you,” he said outright. “Not when Felix--”

You met his gaze again. “Jisung. If Felix didn’t like me, would you hesitate?”

He said nothing for a while. “I didn’t think you’d love me. Everyone kept telling me to tell you, and... I couldn’t. I didn’t want to do it while Felix was hurting.”

“I get that,” you dragged your fingers against the painted wood, noticing the way blue chips stuck to your skin. “I didn’t want to, either. But... Chan said that we shouldn’t let other people stop us. He said Felix wanted us to be happy.” You paused for a moment. “Which... really sounds like him. It kinda sounds like all of us: wanting everyone else to be happy even if it hurts us.”

“I feel bad,” he said. “I don’t want him to get hurt.”

You scooted a little closer, cautiously taking Jisung’s hands into your own. “I think... Someone’s going to come into Felix’s life and they’re going to love him the way he deserves to be loved. I wasn’t that person. I’ll always love Felix the way I love the rest of our friends,” you reached up, caressing Jisung’s face. He  leaned into your touch, eyes fluttering shut. “But... I love you more. I know it’s early to say it, but... I really think it’s you.”

Jisung opened his eyes, watching you for a moment. “Can I kiss you?”

You said yes. He leaned in, nose brushing against yours for a second before he kissed you. His lips were soft, and his hands found a home at your waist soon enough. You were gentle with him, eyes fluttering shut as the two of you lost yourself in that moment.

Kissing you felt like he could breathe again. Jisung had heard the cliches of having your breath stolen away by someone before. Yet when he kissed you, he felt like he had finally come up for air after drowning in self doubt and fear for far too long. If he was given the choice, though, to drown in you, he’d do it without a second thought. You gave him life, filling his lungs with air, and he’d listen to your siren song and drown again just to taste that feeling again. He was already intoxicated by the way you ran a hand through his hair, his body yearning for your touch far more than it had ever before.

Something in him broke, and he drew away. He let out that broken, stuttered breath that oft served as a precursor for crying, and mumbled an apology as he turned away, wiping at his face already.

“Sorry,” he stammered out, wiping at his tears. “I just... It’s a lot to take in.”

“It’s okay,” you said quietly. “I’m right here.”

You always would be. He laid his hand over your own, squeezing it tight.

“I’m here, too,” he promised. Jisung had never been so glad he left a song unfinished before. “I love you,” he said, voice lowered so it stayed between the two of you. “I think it’s you for me, too.”

It had been too late to go home, Jisung not wanting you to travel the city late at night--and Chan had been asleep, leading neither of you to want to disturb him during that rare moment. Despite your insistence that you could take the couch for the night, Jisung gave up his bed for you the way he had done time and time again. Kissing you was moving fast, as was saying those three little words he’d always wanted to hear you say. Maybe one day he would fall asleep next to you after studying every line and blemish on your face and committing them to lovestruck memory. Instead, he drew the blankets up over you and kissed you gently before retiring to the couch for the night. 

You had told him to dream of you. So he would if it meant he could wake up to you, too. That night was the end of strife and stress and strain from not telling. Now Jisung had to make up for not telling you for so long.

If that meant, starting tomorrow, he would tell you every single day that he loved you, then so be it. That was what you deserved, after all, and what he did, too.

#skz imagines #han jisung x reader #han jisung x you #stray kids angst #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids x you #skz x you #stray kids imagine #skz fics #stray kids fics #han x reader #han x you #skz angst #wooahaes.fic

[mundanemoongirl]

WIP Introductions

I’ve been posting about my wips for a while, but I never formally introduced them. So here they are!

Spiritwalker

Genre: YA fantasy, dark fantasy

Tag: spiritwalker wip

Status: Second draft

Triggers: Death, murder, suicide, self-mutilation

Summary

Lady Daron Spiritwalker lives in a world of witches, plague, and war. She is the seemingly perfect heir to her clan and is known across Serenta, the country of witches, for her beauty, intelligence, leadership, and ability to bridge spirits, which only her clan can see and communicate with.

When she is sent to an academy that only the most elite witches attend, she expects a normal education, but instead receives a deadly fortune and discovers secrets within the walls that reshapes the way she sees her world.

Daron is not the type to make friends, but when faced with this problem much bigger than herself, she learns to rely on and even love a group of her schoolmates.

Snippet

Ann Marie, Maya, and I all looked at each other. From their blank faces I could tell that they were just as confused as I was. “What does that mean?” asked Maya. “I presume it means that pressing the hand on the wall opens something. A passageway maybe.” “I already checked the other mosaics and none of them have runes. Who would defile a depiction of our goddess like this?” Ann Marie asked with as much indignation as her soft voice could muster. “There is only one way to find out,” I said, placing my hand atop my goddess’. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” Maya asked. “It could be a trap.” “That is why you are here. You know what to do if something happens to me.” I knew how to read the signs. Someone was calling out for a Spiritwalker’s attention, and no matter who it was or how many warnings I received, I was not going to ignore the call. I would be a failure as a primary lady if I did.  The icy tiles warmed beneath my skin, letting me know that I was taking too long. I pushed and the section of wall behind the mosaic shuttered, but I still needed more force. I pressed my other hand to the wall and pushed harder, straining the muscles in my back and shoulders. The wall moved inwards this time, rotating like a cog. When it was just a sliver centered between two gaps, I gestured to Maya. “Are you coming?” The younger witch, ever loyal, followed me into the pitch black that awaited us. The smell of mold slapped me in the face, and I had to resist the urge to cover my nose in order to keep my grip on the wall. I stretched my foot as far as it would go, trying to gauge how far the passage went, but only felt emptiness. This vast, dark, unknown space should have frightened me, but instead I was struck with a strange familiarity. I had been here before—in my dreams.

We Faceless Folk

Genre: Mystery

Tag: we faceless folk wip

Status: First draft

Triggers: Racism, kidnapping

Summary

Rachel is a second-year Black college student and loves nothing more than watching movies from her comfy bed and hanging out with her photogrophy-loving girlfriend, Chinwe. But one day Chinwe goes to a concert and never returns. When Rachel gets no answers from the police and is sure they aren’t even looking, she takes to finding Chinwe herself.

Rachel finds clues in Chinwe’s Instagram and even enlists the help of Chinwe’s unhinged ex girlfriend. In her search, she discovers more about Chinwe than she’s ever known, including where Chinwe’s really from.

Snippet

Sometimes when I lay still long enough for my mind to lose control over where my thoughts roam, and the late summer heat blurs the lines between reality and imagination, I swear I can hear her voice. Her lips just shy of my ear, whispering something unintelligible. I turn to hear her better, but of course she’s not there. Chinwe’s been missing for two weeks. The door clicks as my roommate enters the room. We hardly ever talk. I don’t hate her, and I don’t think she hates me, but she lost interest in me pretty quickly after she discovered I’m a homebody. She’s been talking to me more ever since Chinwe disappeared. Not starting actual conversations, but reminding me of things I needed to do. When she walks in and still sees me in bed when I’m usually heading out the door, she asks, “Don’t you have class soon?” I do, but I don’t want to go. I don’t want to sit in that room that feels too large and yet suffocating with Chinwe’s empty seat next to mine. I groan and run my hands over my braids. Just one class and then I can get out of here. I can do that.

#writeblr #spiritwalker wip #we faceless folk wip #wip #wip intro #writers on tumblr #writing #creative writing #fantasy #dark fantasy #fantasy writing #mystery #black writers

[ericleo108]

FarmingHumans.com 2023 American Inequality

05/19/2023 Click here for Spotify, Apple Music, or Youtube. “American Inequality” is my 44th official release. This song is edutainment, or educational entertainment which is music that teaches you. The song is intellectual rap about American economic inequality. The song was self-recorded, and mixed and mastered by Keyano. The beat is from Tantu, and the cover art is made by ArtworkGang from Fiverr.

Links:

FarmingHumans.com YouTube Shorts Playlist

2022 American Inequality YouTube video blog post monologue

2022 American Inequality Blog Post 

“American Inequality” rap song

“Had Enough” rap song

“The Villian” rap song

Intro

I made a post about American inequality last year and the blog post for it on EricLeo108.com was the demo of this song and then a treatise about the problem. I planned on updating it every year I’m in graduate school or write a book with the original post’s themes. You can find the latest edition of my take on American Inequality at FarmingHumans.com or click here for the 2022 edition.

This (release) is the 2023 edition. Since I’m not in graduate school yet I haven’t added much to the plot/details but the concept is still there. This will be an abridged version with new revelations. I will discuss the main points of the American Inequality 2022 post and give an explanation that will clarify the lyrics. The video shown immediately below is the FarmingHumsns.com 2023 American Inequality 2023 monologue

YouTube Shorts

You can get the information presented here through shortform video from various creators by watching my “FarmingHumans.com” YouTube shorts playlist which will better detail and explain the information presented here. Most of the points I make here and reference can be found and enunciated in the YouTube playlist. 

Qualifications 

Why should you listen to me? I graduated magna cum laude with a degree in sociology from Eastern Michigan University. I took a class and received an A in college on a course about writing history. I keep up with current events and I have a reputation to build and uphold. Even if I don’t make it to graduate school this year, I’ll keep trying and I need to stay correct, intuitive, and current to make an impression in academia. I really can’t wait to apply sociological theory to the issues I discuss here. I have been accepted to a masters program in sociology at Western, but it’s still unknown whether I’ll be able to afford to attend seeing as I don’t have housing and I need to be awarded my fasfa which hasn’t come in yet. I also self-published my book “108 The Story of Discovering Earth’s Consciousness” which is non-fiction and autobiographical.

Who Rules America?

First of all, have you ever wondered “Who rules America?” Well, that very question is answered by William G. Domhoff a leading social structure sociological researcher at the University of California Santa Cruz. His experience and conclusions are more valuable than mine and worth looking into. But to summarize, corporations rule. To be more specific, corporate CEOs wield immense power. I say it best in my song “Had Enough,” it’s a “CEO fraternity, the CFR (council on foreign relations) logistically.” Although America is a democratic republic it functions as an oligarchy where a group of wealthy individuals rule.

Basically how our government functions is a coporporation wants something done so they fund a politician and write bills. Those politicians are then sympathetic to corporate wishes because that’s where there donations and livelihood comes from. The corporation then writes a bill that is presented by their politician, they fund a public relations campaign to get support, and if it doesn’t work the first ten times, they’ll keep trying until they succeed.

Sure special interest groups and communities do get laws passed, but this is the exception and not the rule. If you look at 2022’s post you’ll find a graph showing the average individual, economic elites, and interests groups effectiveness on government policy. The average individual have a flat effect where the wealthy and special interest groups have kind of a linear effect where the more support you have the more likely it is to get passed. Like George Carlin said, it’s a group of powerful individuals working in their self interest which creates a conspiracy of interests. Adam Conover discusses this in his content talking about corporate consolidation and the power it gives to inidividual CEOs. 

It seems that the effects of corporate consolidation are being recognized, thwarted, and attacked. This can be seen with the protests in France right now which are happening because their government wanted to raise the retirement age. The French people have taken to ransaking Blackrock’s headquarters in France because the people are saying they are responsible for the policy change. Blackrock and Vanguard are the largest corporations in the world. 

Buckley v. Valeo

Ever since the court decision Buckley v. Valeo wages haven’t kept up with productivity and the minimum wage has remained stagnant while costs have skyrocketed. To recap, America is so entrenched in corporate rule healthcare is privatized and we spend ⅕ of all spending on defense because it makes corporations a whole lot of money. Corporations and the wealthy can buy elections because money is speech. There’s a direct relationship between how much marketing a candidate does and their likelihood for winning. Those that can pay to familirarize themselves with the public win, and corporations have the money to make that connection between the politician and the voter happen. Read Noam Chomsky’s “Manufacturing Consent” for more. 

Socialism 

Capitalist have to blame socialism for economic problems because recognizing how capitalism really functions would show it’s flawed, based on luck and inherited wealth, and not based on merit. Socialism is simple, it’s “workers right over production,” which capitalist snear at because it mimimizes their control and importance. Capitlaist claim it’s the poor who don’t work hard but it’s the exact opposite that is true. The wealthy don’t have to work period, let alone hard. All you have to do is make wise decisions with your money; and by that I’m mean decisions that will make you more money. Like I say in my song “The Villian” they “claim it’s hard work when it’s leverage and a mindset.”

This can be seen with Marx’s “surplus value.” For a business to work you need labor and capital. The capitalist purchases the labor and capital goods (i.e. employees to run the machines). The money the business makes minus labor and the cost of goods goes to the owner, that’s called surplus value, and the owner does not have to work for it, all he needs is money to buy the labor and capital goods.

If you watch a season of shark tank you’ll see how the capitalist really think and act. They say all the time “I make my money work for me,” because the truth is you don’t get wealthy from working. You can get rich from you’re labor, but Elon Musk and Jeff Bezos didn’t get where they are through “earned income.” They made their money through captial gains which the American government literally calls unearned income. You work to make a living, and America doesn’t have a labor shortage, it has a living wage shortage.

Real Capitalism 

Capitalist have to say that it’s socialism because otherwise it’s the reality that it’s the current capitalist system that doesn’t allow the individual to live (let alone thrive) and creates rampant inequality. The truth is from Adam West to Mark Cuban (as you will find in the Youtube shorts playlist) the reality is capitalism requires government intervention from wealth becoming too consolidated. 

It’s literally the job of the government to break up monopolies, and raise the minimum wage. But things like that don’t happen, and capitalism goes unchecked and out of control because corporations can basically control the government through lobbying and because money is speech. This is why we desperately need to get money out of politics. There’s hope, for example, AOC has recently introduced a bill to prevent congress from trading stocks.

The truth is what the right and Fox News calls socialism is really the opposite of what it means. First of all, they think socialism is giving poor people money, which it isn’t, it’s workers rights over production. As MLK said "This country has socialism for the rich, and rugged individualism for the poor.” And by the right’s explanation of socialism, giving money to the entitled, corporations and the wealthy are socialists. You the taxpayer, give way more to corporations in taxes than any wealthfare program. If this country want’s to be in a rage about people getting money that they don’t deserve and feel entitled, you should be mad about corporate welfare (which is considered socialism by the right’s wrong definition).

Corporate Rule: Examples and Results

Some examples of the result of corporate rule are human rights around abortion (otherwise known as women’s healthcare) and gun laws. It’s clear we have such a problem with mass shootings because America is a militaristic nation and the gun manufatures (again) want to make more money so they have lobbied the government through the NRA to make guns so available they are the leading cause of death in children. 

Another example is the East Palestine Ohio train derailment. The truth is this is endemic to the way the industry works. The union tried to warn Norfok Southern and other train companies that rails were unsafe and suggested new rail and braking system. Norfolk never upgrade their breaks or rails resulting in the derailment due to negligence because they were trying to cut costs. Again, this is what every corporation does, it’s to make the surplus value for the shareholders. And again with the conspiracy, working in their own self interests to make more money a train corporation has caused a enviromental disaster, just like working in their self interests corporations have created economic despotism in America.

White Nationalism

Leaning into the conspiracy aspect and how self-interested groups merge to serve their self interests, there is a very real christian white nationalist agenda in the Republican party because corporate rule has becomed so powerful and unhinged. If you’re looking for me to point fingers at who are the conspirators, look no future than the Alliance Defending Freedom (ADF) and the Council for National Policy (CNP). These organization have ideals that many corporations support because it gives them more power. The ADF and CNP are responsible for propagating hate through society and the government with banning books, attack on women’s healthcare and reproductive rights, and the current genicide against the transgendered. Look to the Youtube Shorts Playlist for more information.

Personal

In this “American Inequality” song I say “The government exploits my labor power for healthcare” because I’m only allowed around $800 in earned income per month before I go into a trial work period which could cause me to loose my healthcare. That’s not labor exploitation but rather labor-power exploitation. The government is literally limiting me being able to leverage my labor power to create economic prosperity for healthcare. 

To explain further, the government sees income in two categories: “earned income” from employment or contract or “unearned income” from capital gains, profits, or royalties. I can make unlimited unearned income but only $800 per month from earned. Although I live on disability I got a job for a year for the seed money to start my music business.

I’m glad the system is the way it is with unlimited unearned income, but it should be better, it should be unlnimited earned income as well. It’s almost designed so you have to have money to make it out of poverty. You won’t get on the disability system in the first place unless your economically depraved. And you can only use your labor to make so much money. This is why I call disability a poverty trap. And again, it wouldn’t be this way if not for corporate rule. The pharmaceutical lobby is the biggest lobby in the US.  If we had universal healthcare I wouldn’t have a cap on my labor power to keep healthcare. 

The Real Question

Corporations are farming you for labor (employment) and money (consumerism). The real question is “How do we want to be farmed?” Because the truth is corporations are answering that question and ruling the farm and they are not considering the wellbeing of the animals, they are only doing what will extract profit. The reality is the American dream no longer exists. The dream of a house with a white picket fence, car, two kids, and a college degree off one income is a fallacy. That used to make us great. But because of rulings like Buckley v. Valeo we no longer have that standard of living. It’s George Orwell’s “Animal Farm,” where the pigs are changing the rules and can control the farm, but are you just going to give power to them (which [eg oil] corporations would be the pigs in this senario), or do you wanna be self governed?

If you want to take back control there are some ways you can help make a more Democratic government and economy. You should support a graduated tax code. It used to be the poorest Americans paid 10% or less while the wealthiest paid 90% before Regan, now with the Bush and Trump tax cuts the average American pays a higher tax rate than billionaires. If you want things to get better you should be supporting only candidates that support universal healthcare. You can join, start, support, or help build a union. And Support bills that get money out of politics and continually make the internet more free and open.

In conclusion

Labor and subsequently the people have lost power because money is speech. Not only does the American dream not exist, the average American can’t afford to live because Capitalism isn’t being regulated like it should. There's a merger between the political and economic elites while the republicans are slowly fighting and winning for their Christio-fascist agenda.

Lyrics:

American Inequality Taught by Eric Leo 108

America’s an oligarchy One labor exploitation party While they rest and pop Bacardi  We work full-time and still are starving The American dream Is just a marketing scheme For the oligarchy So we don’t question their greed And that money is speech You can buy elections for a fee Just lobby the seat And advertise to the sheep  We have socialism for the rich Capitalism for the poor If you don’t acknowledge this Then you’re ignorant for sure

That’s a Martin Luther King quote  You really need to read more Use your mind, dissent, scold  Learn to debunk the lies told It was once the American dream To be able to afford the house and a property deed Healthcare and a scientific degree While today is hard to afford an apartment for three On minimum wage, you can’t make ends meet That used to make us great, but now the population’s asleep It’s policy that stratified the nation's books Gave tax breaks to the wealthiest when 90% is what they took Now we have a nation of debtors that can’t make it, but work  You can thank the decisions of Trump, Reagan, and Bush As the pigs slowly change the rules the horse screams work harder Just another fascist tactic of the people in charge here Only those who think can understand what they are You should be alarmed because It’s “Animal Farm” and

America’s an oligarchy One labor exploitation party While they rest and pop Bacardi  We work full-time and still are starving The American dream Is just a marketing scheme For the oligarchy So we don’t question their greed And that money is speech You can buy elections for a fee Just lobby the seat And advertise to the sheep  We have socialism for the rich Capitalism for the poor If you don’t acknowledge this Then you’re ignorant for sure

The Supreme Court let corporations overreach Into the coffers of democracy When Citizens United gave unlimited head  To how they equated money to speech I get paid $12 an hour and have a college degree It’s really interesting Americas like you ignorantly Not question the society that seemingly free And Is silent to the oppression economically  The government exploits my labor power for healthcare The systems of poverty trap for the disabled on welfare I worked for a year to make ten grand So I could start my music business and make two albums You can make enough money to not be considered disabled  And still not have enough money to afford your medication I expect at the very least you support this with a click And make sure everyone knows Eric Leo taught you this

America’s an oligarchy One labor exploitation party While they rest and pop Bacardi  We work full-time and still are starving The American dream Is just a marketing scheme For the oligarchy So we don’t question their greed And that money is speech You can buy elections for a fee Just lobby the seat And advertise to the sheep  We have socialism for the rich Capitalism for the poor If you don’t acknowledge this Then you’re ignorant for sure

America’s an oligarchy One labor exploitation party While they rest and pop Bacardi  We work full-time and still are starving The American dream Is just a marketing scheme For the oligarchy So we don’t question their greed And that money is speech You can buy elections for a fee Just lobby the seat And advertise to the sheep  We have socialism for the rich Capitalism for the poor If you don’t acknowledge this Then you’re ignorant for sure

#rap #hiphop #new music #firday #american inequality #america #michigan #rapper #edutainment

[drbennedict-writingadvice]

hello! any advice to get out of your head for someone who hasn’t picked up writing since they were a teenager? for some reason, in my head, i view writing on my own time for fun as “embarrassing” or “cringy” simply because i’m getting older and view it as a immature hobby…

…which is obviously not true! i have a lot of respect for writers and i know you can write at any age, but whenever i open a page, i feel out of place and can’t read my old writing in fear people would look at me as immature. the same goes for creating detailed characters and storylines.

i’m not even old either (19) but i mainly wrote a lot in middle school—maybe that’s why? idk.

tdlr; any advice on writing for myself again without fear of judgement?

Hi anon,

Thanks for writing in! This is something a lot of creators struggle with especially if it’s something they did when they were younger and during a time they considered themselves to be “immature” or “cringey”. The brain is great at linking things and creating patterns, and because you wrote a lot when you were in middle school, a time period that I think is universally accepted as the worst and cringiest part of life lol, your mind linked the hobbies you did during that time to the feeling of immaturity and cringiness. The great news is that most people grow out of this phase naturally! I know it’s not exactly the same but I remember when I was just starting college I felt embarrassed to talk about the bands I liked in high school (and secretly still liked) but as I got older and became more self confident and sure of myself, I learned to unabashedly embrace those parts of myself. And nobody cared! In fact a lot of people felt the same way as I did.

But don’t worry, I’m not saying that you just have to wait it out! There are definitely things you can do to speed up this process. My first suggestion is that if you’re worried that people will think writing for fun is immature (which as a 29 year-old with a writing themed blog I promise you it’s not!) , then for right now, just don’t tell anyone! It can be your secret hobby while you learn to be more confident and rewire the way your brain thinks about this.

I’d also suggest trying to find other people who also enjoy writing either as a hobby or as a hopeful profession so you have a safe community you can explore your writing in. Surrounding yourself with like minded people can be really helpful! I remember the first time I attended a writing workshop it felt so amazing and freeing to be surrounded by people who I knew also loved writing and were never going to judge me for my passion. It’s currently national novel writing month and even if you don’t feel up to trying to write an entire novel in one month, there are still plenty of NaNoWriMo activities you can take part in. There are tons of discord channels, forums, virtual events, and in person events you could join.

A lot of it will just be reminding yourself that it’s not immature or cringey. This won’t change you knee jerk reaction overnight, but just like how positive affirmations work (at first you think it’s dumb, then it’s kind of neutral, and then you start to believe what you’re saying to yourself) after a while you’ll find that the way you think about writing has changed. Think of writers you love and admire and how you don’t think they’re immature or cringey for writing, and neither do most people! Think of Tolkien who created incredibly detailed story lines and characters, and even went so far as to create multiple fake languages that many people now genuinely learn for fun. Even if fantasy isn’t your preferred genre I have yet to meet someone who considers what he did anything less than impressive. Not once have I heard someone call what he did immature or cringey. So I think just recognizing that you have this thought pattern that your logical brain knows isn’t true, and for now just accepting that you have this cognitive dissonance and not feeling bad about it, but taking these small steps to work towards changing that thought pattern.

And finally, just write anyway! Like I said you can keep it a secret for now if you want to, there is absolutely nothing wrong with that! But try to write anyway. The more you write now then the more examples your brain has to rewire writing not as something you did when you were younger and therefore something immature but as something you do now as a young adult. And don’t put too much pressure on yourself as you’re getting back into writing for the first time in a while. Do not expect that your first attempt is going to be a masterpiece, but just have fun with it! Get into the habit or writing regularly, whatever that means for you. It could be once a week, it could be every day, just do what works for your life and your schedule right now. The more you practice the more normal it’ll feel and like anything, the better you’ll get at it, which will help you feel less cringey about your writing.

I’ll leave you with one small anecdote. Any time I tell people that I’m writing a novel they are always immediately impressed. I have never had someone say anything negative about it or anyone act like it was a dumb thing to spend time on. And most of the time I hear things like “Oh I wish I could do that, but I just don’t have the dedication.” Or “Oh I always wanted to write a novel, maybe I’ll give it a try now” or “Oh me too! What writing software do you use?”

I know this was a long answer but I wanted to try and ensure I was actually helpful! Please always feel free to reach out if you have other questions, or if you ever just need another reminder that there is nothing immature or cringey about wanting to write in your free time.

#writing advice #how to start writing again #anon

[nsk96]

Personal rant

This morning the conversation came up how I’m unhappy about pharmacy school and I said “it’s too late to drop out of pharmacy school but that’s okay because I can use my pharmacist money for therapy”. And my mom was like “you don’t need therapy, all you need is god.”

I said, “I have god and I’m still going insane.” And said “I might as well keep going even if I lose my mind.”

My mom was like “well, at year one of pharmacy school I told you that you can do something else”…..so after manipulating me into going into pharmacy since 2011 back when I got to high school, you think after spending my whole time in high school (+pharmacy tech vocational program) and college working up to getting into pharmacy school, that I’ll suddenly change my mind in 2021? And she wants to say that I’m trying to blame it all on her, as if she didn’t play any part in it (after admitting not too long ago, that she chose this career path for me)

Years of blood sweat and emotional breakdowns, working towards a goal that she made me believe was the only career choice for me, that I would just suddenly change my mind? I had no other option at this point in time except to be a pharmacy tech all my life and spend my free time working a second job. Neck deep in student debt at this point, going back to college to try for a different career would have buried me. I have a bachelor’s in biology but not a useful degree for high earning unless you go to grad school.

She was like “what else did you want to do then?” I’ve told her so many times what I wanted to do. She just didn’t listen because she wanted me to do what she wanted. She didn’t listen then so I don’t know why she thinks she’ll listen now.

Sure she’ll let me talk, but then say I’m wrong and say that she knows better, but also admitted today that she knows nothing about how college works. I told her that I didn’t deserve to pass my classes in undergrad because of grade curves and homework/attendance grades literally saving me in some classes.

And she was like “you haven’t been telling me anything, all you told me is that you passed these classes.” 💀 I always told her every excruciating detail from the exams I failed, classes I had to retake, lecturers I didn’t understand, classes I was about to fail and literally told her back then whenever a homework grade or grade curve saved my overall grade. I even told her how I had difficulty focusing on studying, difficulty getting assignments done, having to pull all nighters three days straight (never went to bed), the emotional breakdowns I’ve had because the goal she had me working towards seemed so far away when ever I came close to failing a class. I told her all of this back then and continue communicating these things to her about my current experience in pharmacy school.

It’s clear that all she hears is “I passed” and everything else just goes out the window. Then she’s surprised when I talk about wanting to drop out or how my mental health has deteriorated so much because of this program and everything around me.

All she sees is that I’m getting through it but refuses to see the damage. Of course, because she doesn’t have to live through it. Doesn’t matter how much I talk about it, but yet she has the audacity to say I don’t communicate.

She has a problem when I walk away from our current conversations about these things. I only walk away now because I realize that talking no longer works.

I’m 27 now and it took the hell of pharmacy school (or at least this specific pharmacy school) for me to break free of her conditioning. Or at least some of it. I still can’t be myself around her and can’t be open about the things I know because she’s so willfully ignorant.

My mom is so bad at listening that I bet if I was to take my own life tomorrow (which I don’t want to) she would be surprised and be one of those people to say they never saw it coming and then advocate for mental health…despite the fact that I’ve been telling her for the past two years, that I wanted to see a therapist and her convincing me that I didn’t need to or that I shouldn’t see one until I get a pharmacist job. But alas, her sense of time is really bad and she’ll think it was only a few months ago. I’ve been bringing this up to her since the beginning of P2 year.

#personal #tw mom mention #pharmacy school adventures #tw suicide mention #not suicidal #tw sui talk #personal rant

[coochiequeens]

A Canadian college invited a trans-identified male to speak on violence against women in observation of the 33rd anniversary of an act of mass femicide.

Fae Johnstone, a trans-identified male, gave a keynote address today at Durham College in North Oshawa, Ontario as part of the school’s National Day of Remembrance Ceremony marking the anniversary of a massacre that left 14 women dead.

Johnstone, who describes himself as “trans feminine and non-binary,” is the Executive Director at Wisdom2Action, an LGBT-focused consulting firm. Johnstone’s website lists him as a “public speaker, consultant, educator and community organizer on unceded, unsurrended Algonquin territory.”

On Twitter, Johnstone announced his speech was part of the school’s “16 Days of Activism” to end “GBV [gender-based violence].”

The event Johnstone spoke at today is described on the Durham College website as commemorating the National Day of Remembrance and Action on Violence against Women in Canada.

The Day was first inaugurated by Parliament in 1991 as a way to honor the lives lost during the École Polytechnique massacre, which took place on December 6, 1989 in Montreal, Quebec. On the campus of the scientific university, a man identifying as an “anti-feminist” targeted female students for slaughter. 

Prior to shooting all of the women in a mechanical engineering class, Marc Lépine, born Gamil Rodrigue Liass Gharbi, told the male students to leave the room. He then told the women he was “fighting feminism” and expressed a hatred of women’s rights to an education.

“You’re women, you’re going to be engineers. You’re all a bunch of feminists. I hate feminists,” Lépine said, before opening fire on the female students. Lépine later committed suicide on the campus after taking 14 women’s lives, and injuring 10 more people.

In total, Lépine murdered 14 women in an act that has since been recognized an act of terrorism.

After his speech at Durham College tonight, Johnstone was confronted by Jennifer Anne, a Canadian women’s rights advocate who has been working to secure the release of the analysis that was done on gender self-identification legislation in Canada. 

Anne attended the event and recorded some of Johnstone’s address before proposing a question when given the opportunity by the event’s host. 

“Today is the day we mark 14 women who were killed in Montreal by a man who subjected them simply because they were female. It is sex-based violence, not gender based violence. I am a female,” Anne is heard saying, before listing off examples where self-identification lead to the victimization of women.

“I am wondering why, on this day, we would have a man dressed in women’s garb to talk to us about sex-based violence and keeping women safe? How can women stay safe in this environment?”

Johnstone replies curtly: “Thank you. Next question!”

“Really? So you’re not going to answer it because you know I’m right?” Anne responds. The host of the event, as well as other administrators, are then heard trying to discourage Anne from continuing to assert her question.

Anne uploaded the recordings to her Twitter account.

Johnstone’s consulting firm, Wisdom2Action, marked the anniversary of the women’s deaths by posting an infographic titled “Queering GBV,” which asserted that “gender based violence disproportionately impacts 2SLGBTQ+ people who are BIPOC, transfeminine, bisexual, youth, newcomers, disabled, homeless, and/or involved in sex work.”

For Canadian Women’s History Month in October, Johnstone was “honored” by a Government ministry for his work with “2SLGBTQI+” people.

Johnstone had previously slammed the Canadian Femicide Observatory for “retweeting TERF and TERF rhetoric.” TERF is a derogatory term most frequently applied to women who acknowledge two distinct sex groups.

He also claimed the Declaration on Women’s Sex Based Rights was a “roadmap for erasing trans people from public life, denying our rights and restricting our healthcare.”

Johnstone is not the first trans-identified male be given a platform to speak on the National Day of Remembrance and Action on Violence against Women. 

Last year on December 6, the Prince Edward Island Advisory Council on the Status of Women invited Anastasia Preston, a biological male who identifies as a woman, to speak on “gender-based violence” at a vigil honoring the women murdered in the École Polytechnique massacre.

Preston, a “trans community outreach coordinator” at a sexually transmitted disease resource service, became the subject of widespread outrage on social media after he was interviewed by the Prince Edward Island branch of the CBC and claimed that trans-identified males were not given enough opportunities to speak on violence against women.

“For decades, trans women have been kept out of the conversation around gender-based violence,” Preston was quoted as saying, going on to assert that he intended to “speak about some of [his] experiences of harassment on P.E.I.” at the event memorializing the 14 women who were murdered.

After the article began to circulate, CBC P.E.I was so inundated with backlash they had to turn off their Twitter comment section. Johnstone defended Preston at the time, calling him a “hero and a champion.”

By Jennifer Seiland Jennifer is a founding member of the Reduxx team, writing with a focus on crimes against women and sex-based rights advocacy. She is located in the American south where she is a passionate animal welfare advocate and avid coffee drinker.

#Canada #Montreal massacre #december 6 #Durham College #North Oshawa #Ontario #National Day of Remembrance Ceremony #Fae Johnstone is a man #Wisdom2Action #École Polytechnique massacre #14 women killed by male violence #Jennifer Anne is a heroine #Queering sex based violence is just men making any issue about themselves #Canadian Femicide Observatory

[enthusispastic]

so what do you teach? why did you choose it? how did you get there? what do you love/hate about it? i’m also a teacher (preschool) trying to figure out my path

I currently teach mostly middle school science, though I have also taught high school biology and other life/earth sciences and high school theater and speech. I chose these subjects because I love them deeply. I chose to teach middle school and high school because teenagers are really cool people and working with them is very rewarding to me. They can connect with the subject on a deep and amazing level and can connect between subjects in a really cool way. Plus they're just cool and fun and funny.

I got into teaching in a really conventional way. I went to college for education and got my BS in secondary ed in my subjects. I was already planning to do science, but I got into theater during college and added that one later in my college career. Since I went to a religious school and started my career in religious private school, they had a call/placement program and that's how I got my first job. After stuff at my first school got shitty and we moved back to my wife's hometown, I applied to my current school and got the job because my arts background set me apart for their program (arts integration focus).

I LOVE working with kids. It's an energy drain to be sure, but the everyday functions of teaching lessons, organizing labs, working with students, and heck even grading are all somewhere between fine and awesome. If that was all there was I'd love it. My current school has a huge community of neurodiverse kids and nerds of every stripe and staying connected to a community of young neurodiverse, queer, and artsy nerd kids by default of the job is heartwarming to say the least. I love seeing kids grow, and the "lightbulb" moments almost make me feel like maybe I don't want to quit at the end of this year. But...

I CANNOT continue teaching though, because that's not all there is. Important and necessary functions of the job that are extraneous to classroom teaching pull me down so bad. I can't keep up with lesson plan documentation, differentiation documentation, constant staff meetings, IEP/504 meetings that pull me out of class, curriculum development, politely kissing admin ass (moreso at my last school than current) to keep my job safe, dealing with parent demands and complaints, keeping up school communication culture, preparing materials for various conferences and showcases, attending school events to "support a culture of school spirit" and every other thing that teaching does to eat your life whole. My disability (ADHD) definitely plays a part here, but even if I did have a typical brain, teaching is a career where you have to give up your own life and individuality, and do it for an audience of people who are VERY often not remotely grateful for it, or only performatively grateful one/two weeks per year. Admin and parents all want to tell teachers how to do their jobs despite limited or no experience, and that's another kind of exhausting. Kids may be cool, but they're also people who are learning their social stuff, and a lot of times that means that they don't know how to be kind or respectful or decent to teachers. I try to be patient and respectful about it and guide them to understanding, but through no fault of the kids' that is not something that a teacher can do 5 days a week for months and not feel like we're dying.

Anyway I hope that helps you. It certainly helped me to put it all out there.

#teacher

[the25thviolence]

Writer Interview Thing

So this weekend I--- Lets roll this back a tad. So the beginning of this week I got super motivated to be creative but I work 4 day weeks of 10 hour shifts.  So I didn’t really time to do anything till now.  I want to finish 3 bits of writing this weekend and this is one of them. 

1. When did you start writing?

Actually writing in this form?  I’m not sure honestly.  I remember as like a teen writing poetry a little and writing my mom like a nice mothers day poem I made up.  She was convinced I took it from somewhere.  

Early writing was based on just too many feelings and or emotions inside of me and just needing a release.  Writing after that was because I could write to someone I cared about.  Which led to the early stages of this kind of writing.  

I actually pushed more into this because way back in the day when people rode around on dinosaurs a guy found some of my very first stories on a blog website.  He thought they were funny which is why some of my stories are the way they are today.  He also hosted my original website and writing for a few years back than. 

2. Favorite story you’ve written?

As the person who picked most these questions I don’t know why I fucking picked this one.  

I’m not sure, I really enjoyed writing the Summer Time Madness part with (Captain) Sean and the Kraken.  I have a huge soft spot for any part of a story where I use the ocean as symbolism for washing someone away.  

3. Favorite character?

I don’t think I remember all my characters to be honest.  It would be an insult to my own creation to not say Sean and the Girl/Princess/Ashley.  They’ve been in my head for over a decade now. 

Currently I really do enjoy Claire and the Baristas though. 

4. Best hidden message in a story you’ve written?

Hidden seems to be an abstract thought to me.  When I feel something is hidden it is apparently very obvious.  And when I feel something is obvious it is not noticed at all.  I think for now my favorite hidden.... You know I haven’t really fleshed this part out, written it, or come to a concrete thought on the matter.  But a certain character mite have connections to the girl from the star character from a very old story of mine.  Well Claire mite have that connection.  I’m not sure yet.  But the stars themselves mite be coming back to my stories. 

5. Why so many spelling and grammer errors? 

Short, because I can.

Long, hmmmm.  I didn’t like grow up smart.  I didn’t really start reading till like the 4th grade but than by the 5th grade I was devouring books.  Do to many personal issues in life (people dying and being extremely poor etc) I didn’t really try to do anything in school.  I graduated high school with one of the lowest possible GPAs because I thought I was going work at mcdonalds after I graduated.  Turns out I was so poor the government gave me money for college and I was able to attend community college and get an associates for free because of that.  The only and most depressing silver lining to having a parent die when your 12 years old. 

Basically I have no real education on the matter of writing.  

Also I can’t draw for shit. 

I can’t sing or make music for shit.  

I can’t paint. 

I can write, anyone can write.  I view writing much like someone would view painting.  Each word but a stroke on the canvas.  And every error or mistake but a drop of paint misplaced.  Now apart of something greater and beyond my control. 

I know its wrong but I heavily prefer my writing be a one shot.  Written once and released into the world.  I have slowly, very slowly, come to terms with editing and proof reading and all that nerd shit.  Its a process I am still heavily refusing to this day. 

Yes, grammer is spelt wrong on purpose you heathens. 

6. Any sneak peaks or future plans for writing?

Hmm

If the Moon can be apart of the story.  

A vessel of power. 

A weapon. 

A dramatic bit of symbolism. 

What of the sun than? 

7. Can you explain “The Void” and “Post Void”? 

Many parts of my life have shoved there whole hand into my chest and squeezed.  Every time it happens it feels worse than the time before.  I would call my high school years a void and everything after a post void.  I would call some years after losing someone I cared about in my twenties a void than post void.  And this rehash of loving people and losing people another void than post void.  Depression is crippling.  Depression has ruined every single tooth inside my mouth.  To the scars on my body to the tattoo on my wrist.  

Simply a void is when life wraps its cold star ridden hands around my neck and holds me still till I either die or stand back up. 

And post void is everything that happens after.  Consequences and all.  Standing back up always comes at a price and I pay it greedily each time. 

8. Does anyone in your family know that you write?

No? I guess some know I scribbled at one point as a hobby.  But no one for sure knows about Once Was A Stranger.  

If anyone is curious as to why.  I don’t trust my family with the deep bits of my existence.  As the youngest of 6 kids nothing I do will ever have a strong meaning. 

9.  “Why am I not a main character?”

I can’t tell if this a question from my good friend twchh or from Sean himself.  Sir, I could never capture your essence in simple words.  God could give me the canopy of the night sky and I still wouldn’t be able to put you into mere words with all that space. 

10. “How much of Once Was A Stranger is actually inspired by/based on reality and how much of it is me misreading it as that.”

Warning: A friend/peer/tortured proof reader asked me this question so I up chucked a metric ton of words on the subject.  This is the last question here and its full of non-organized words. 

This is going to be a really really really long answer and I will try my best to make it as coherent as possible.  I’ve reread this story multiple times to better answer this. 

Its so hard to explain everything without shoving 86 links with 86 different stories down your throat.  Once Was A Stranger was every bit of writing I ever tried to write in my life.  I was finally able to reign in my scatter brain and write a complete story in the style I desired.  I have some small regrets still on some parts.  I had really big expectations for the market scene where the Stranger gives his big speech.  I tried for a really long time to write that part and just couldn’t do it.  Which is why the scene is so.... off center and cuts off.   It works just well enough to fit its role in the story but I wanted so much more from that section of the story. 

I am already off track. 

I’ll start with the characters. 

Sean

Sean for all intensive purposes is my first character.  Like my first character ever.  Sean is a major carry over from my first stories I’ve written.  Why the name? Because I liked it.  Sometimes it reminds me of the Shawn meme from that one video game (SHAWN!).  Sean’s shtick is that he was a thought, a happy little day dream, a fantasy trapped in some girls head.  And he was used by the girl to make herself happy.  But one day he started slowly growing free will and becoming alive.  He would turn against the girl in her dreams trying to escape.  The girl would often “reset” him back to a basic little fantasy but suddenly it didn’t work.  I never finished this story, I knew how it was going to end, but I never finished it.  

Princess

Princess is just the---the girl---every single girl from every story.  Most precisely the girl from Beads that used Sean as an escape inside her own head.  I used to know a person a lifetime ago.  A very very very long lifetime ago.  This character was based off of them and the relationship I had with them. 

Jim

Now this one is funny.  While rereading the story I didn’t realize that this mite be read as a problematic name for people who knew me.  I’m not sure if this was a separate story or a part of Beads (Beads was my first too much for me to handle large scale failed story attempt).  

But Jim is named after an old one off character.  His full name was Jim the goldfish.  Jim the goldfish lived on an alien planet full of goldfish.  Jim’s wife left him and he was drafted into the army to fight in non copyright infringing battle suits (much like gundams but totally not gundams).  In this story the ruling class, the Kardashians (yes, those ones) were battling revolutionaries to keep there power.   They got this power  by abusing the exchange rates between there planet and earth.  And they used that money to get amazing plastic surgery and become famous on earth.   The “Sean” character, a guy in a pair of white nikes drifting thru space (was and still am a huge kid cudi fan) was drifting past this scene in the story.  

Stranger

Once Was A Stranger.   Not much in the story really takes inspiration from my life till the end.  But the title.  The act of writing this story.  The life I breathed into it and the immortal bit of lightning it threw back at me.   The title is very strongly based on events from my life.  Thus he was titled.  For he was a stranger.  Much like myself. 

List of all the references:

Stars: I have a great personal desire to escape life, all of it.  And stars are about as far away as you can get.  I once wrote a story about a fallen star who met a strange boy.  Boy and girl.  Sean and princess, etc.  Boy obviously had problems at home.  Girl was a star exploding with life not wanting to go back to the night sky.  Not that bad of a story I think this still exists and is readable somewhere.

Succulent plants:  A small reference to a person someone tried to make me friends with and the interaction of wanting to own plants but not being capable of keeping them alive so they were suggested to me.  I thought they best fit the character for this story.  Kind of like a foreshadow to Jim having a darker bit of torment inside of him. 

The Actual Moon

Honestly, I have no real clue.  I wanted something great to destroy.  I have more to explore and write about in future stories so I won’t get into too much detail.  Big kid cudi fan (man on the moon).  Its in space and away from here.  Big and bright and in the sky.   Also completely crazy concept to try and fight it.  

King/Princess/Royalty

The girl is referred to as Princess as like an emotional show of importance.  The way the girl from the star story was a star.  And in that same story her father was the morning star always searching for her till the last moment each morning.  The princess had a king.  Someone of authority who did not like the stranger.  What? A girl with a father who didn’t like the boy.  Crazy.  That’s totally never happened to anyone before.  

The napkins in the end scene.

Unicorn/Bear/Mysterious monster

These are all references to old bit of writing pieces or short stories I’ve written.  Sean even notes his white sneakers aka the white nikes story. And this is all a deeper reference to the fact all those stories have long been deleted.  I had a...

I had a. 

A blackhole void consumed my life.  

An irl friend had to come grab me out my house one day to make me move.  

I deleted almost every single part of my online presence because of that.  

Many references in Once Was A Stranger are from long deleted stories. I think I wanted to acknowledge them and pay my respects even though I was the one that deleted those stories.

Repeated phrases/bits

Because I find them entertaining and this was my story.  The telling time by the stars or sun.  Repeated phrases.  Etc etc etc.  My favorite part of Once Was A Stranger was slightly noting the writer was apparent to the characters.   It wasn’t breaking the 4th wall in my opinion because the writer, myself, was in fact also a character in this story.  

Sliding between Sean and Jim and different parts of the story

This was a major shoutout to Beads and to what that story could of been if I was a better writer at the time.  To make it seem like the Princess was trapped between stories.  A turn on the original Beads where Sean was strapped between stories.  

Sean/Jim 

Were they the same?  Different sides of the same coin.  Not to spoil future stories yet to be written too much.  They represented the split between my long time main character. I’m not sure if there any really parallels between nice Jim becoming angry and angry Sean becoming nice.  I think I was in too deep of an emotional space at the time of writing to really know. 

Baristas

I have no idea.  That just sprouted in my brain.  They became apart of the story than proceeded to get there own “spinoff” story.  

Late game writing

Yeah yeah yeah yeah

Yep

You read these parts

I guess I should spell this out. 

Knife.

The void

This all hurts to talk about honestly. 

I’ve been kicking the words for this around in my head lately.  Hoping to write something that would relieve the pain a little.  

I was in love with someone.  It was unrequited.  And it caused a forest of stars to sprout and take root in my heart.  And it made someone very very very close to me hate me.  Hate me so much.  It felt like they stabbed me in my chest with a knife.  Trying to kill the forest of stars inside my heart.  To kill that love.  That unrequited love.  A deep bit of selfishness shared all around.  All because we loved the same person.  

As far as the story is concerned.  Sean, The Stranger, twisted and turned.  And now the knife was in there hand.  New name and all.   

The Ocean

As far back as Beads I have always used the ocean as a way to cleanse.  Clean.  Restart.  Change.  Give birth to.  The ocean is as much life as it is monstrous and uncontrollable.  The ocean cleansed this story and gave a rebirth to the boy and the girl.  Or a death.  They walked purposely into the open arms of the ocean.  

Ashley

This is the shortest answer.  Big fan of Halsey. 

I’m not very good at putting things in order.  Jesus H Christ that much is obvious.  I hope they shined random bits of light on some things. 

This is the end of this bit of writing.  And I am completely open to follow up questions.  I know only one person mite have them but you know how to contact me and scream insanity into my ear. 

[bubblesbenson]

College professors: Please let us know about your needs and accommodations! We’ll help you the best we can!

Me: Oh, good. I want to tell you that not only I’m autistic but I have a very hard time socializing with other people in my age group, 18 to 25, because of a few incidents in high school. A community college made my social anxiety worse, and now I can only mostly relate to people over 30 because I felt as if I was being picked on in that community college. I get very anxious with group projects. Is it possible if I can work on certain assignments/projects by myself?

College professors: Sorry, this is the real world, so you’re going to have to suck it up and be around the classmates I picked for you to work with for your projects. And if you still can’t get over your anxiety around your classmates, well, that’s not our fault.

Me: …

My fall college semester summed up in this post. I wish I didn’t have a hard time with an online class in 2016 (or 2017?) and kept up with the schedule, because if I would have known in hindsight, I would have spent the rest of my time in college online. I genuinely don’t care if I would have socially isolated myself for 5 years. I’m sorry to bring up 2020 and COVID, but being socially distant from my college was my best moment in college.

This semester has been a disaster. I’m supposed to graduate less than a month now, but I have straight Cs on top of stressing out over my group projects. I tried to get accommodated from the group projects, but it genuinely seemed like my professors wouldn’t try and find something else for me to do.

I don’t understand why teachers or professors don’t understand that there are people who just can’t work with other people and can be too overwhelmed by others.

On top of this semester being too stressful, I was trying to plan a graduation party, and a lot of people I invited aren’t even able to attend. That party was the one thing I wanted to go right, and that’s not going to happen. I already don’t have friends in college, so I just wanted to be around people who I consider my friends.

Thank you for letting me rant.

#actually autistic #actuallyautistic #autistic #autism #asd #college life #college student #college stress #stress #stressful #i hate this #ranting and rambling

[thetracksatchristieroad]

How I Became a Swiftie in 7 Days

I’m going to keep leaning into this Taylor Swift stuff right now because between the release of Midnights and this whole Eras Tour fiasco, Taylor has been a predominant thing on my brain. In light of that, this is a blog post I wrote going on 2 years ago now, back when I was super convinced TikTok was going to be my THING. While I’ve sort of stepped away from TikTok for the time being, I still feel like some magic was created when I made my “How to Become a Swiftie in 7 Days” series and was completely overwhelmed by the attention and support from the swiftie community. Since I originally wrote this piece, my blog where it lived has become no more, and I’ve been pretty sad for awhile that this piece has stayed hidden away in my drive folder, so I’m resurrecting it here:

Right now I’m sitting in my room with a still steaming mug of chamomile lavender tea. Waiting in dim candlelight hoping to summon a moment of solace after an impossibly stressful few weeks. The last time I found myself in this place was the summer night I first listened to Folklore by Taylor Swift. Heart full of desperation, curiosity, sadness, and just under all the anxiety, hope. That was where Taylor Swift’s music found me.

In the winter with a tired mind, body, and soul, I found just enough creativity and courage to give TikTok a try. That’s where Taylor Swift’s fans found me.

I was a sophomore in high school when I first heard of Taylor Swift. We had a substitute teacher in my health class that day and he’d just attended the concert of a young, up-and-coming country singer. He raved about the young girl’s songwriting talent: “She said she wrote that song when she was thirteen, and you know what, that song was good too”. Too bad I didn’t listen to country music.

A few months later, I went with my older cousin to watch her get tattooed. We rode in her boyfriend's truck and she told me she loved the song currently playing through the speakers. Our song is a slamming screen door, sneaking out late, tapping on your window. I simply nodded and smiled because I didn’t like country music.

In my junior year of high school I watched the music video for “You Belong With Me” all the way through more than once, but I’d never tell a soul because my friends knew I didn’t care for country music.

In college I could hear the girls down the hall of my dorm building jamming out to Speak Now and reminding myself that I wasn’t like them. 

As a college graduate in 2014 I watched music writers I knew place 1989 near and even at the top of their favorite albums lists knowing that I didn’t like Taylor Swift but sometimes finding myself mumbling the words to “Blank Space” and wondering if I was missing something.

I was.

My first realization was that summer night of 2020, listening to Folklore by candlelight. Swift’s narrative driven lyrics woven together by gentle and enticing melodies. Did I really ignore such beauty for more than a decade? I had to fix it.

So at the beginning of 2021 I spent seven days listening to the seven Taylor Swift albums that I had yet to listen to, and I decided to bring TikTok along for the ride. I posted a video on New Year’s Day explaining this dive into Taylor’s discography, not sure what to expect. I definitely didn’t expect thousands of likes and views and around a thousand new followers. Clearly when it came to Taylor Swift I’d missed quite a lot.

In seven days I listened to all seven albums, from the beginning of her career to just before Folklore. I listened to Taylor's stories of love and heartbreak and growing up. I listened as Taylor learned that love is real, but it’s not a fairytale. I felt with Taylor as she took her deepest lows and turned them into her greatest strengths. All the while, her fans told me what her songs meant to them, about the drives they took, the tears they cried, and the hope they’d found.

After experiencing Taylor’s introspective and poetic storytelling for myself, I understand why so many people are drawn to her as an artist. There’s something so magnetic about the world she paints for herself and it’s hard not to get sucked into the force field.

Turns out I like country music, and I love Taylor Swift. I wish I could go back to that truck ride with my cousin and turn the volume up on “Our Song”. I wish I could tell my college-age self that I’m exactly like those girls down the hall. I wish Taylor Swift could’ve landed in my favorite albums well before Folklore. I wish I could’ve let myself love Taylor sooner, but I’m glad I’m here now.

*Photos are taken by me, quotes are from TikTok

#taylor swift #swifties #taylor swift tumblr #swifttok #tiktok #new swiftie #growth #character development #music #music blog #favorite music #pop muisc #country #taylor nation #personal blog #personal narrative

[matmarrash]

Gatekeeping

Why’s this showing up on your feed? It’s because we need to talk. This is an issue in the large format community, but pervasive among most photography and any technology-based visual arts. I’m talking about gatekeeping. You know the thing where you make other people sharing your hobby feel bad about participating? Yeah it sucks, and if it doesn’t stop, our hobby will. 

Gatekeeping comes in all shapes and sizes, but really seems to thrive in niche communities that celebrate activities and practices that haven’t always been in the mainstream. The more popular the hobby becomes, the harder long-time users will start attacking newcomers as if it’s their job to hold the gate for those truly “worthy” of the title. This isn’t me accusing you, but sharing a decade’s worth of observation. 

There’s other hobbies that I’ve been into longer than photography, and the further I got into them, the more I noticed how toxic some the hardcore fans were. If you don’t know me as a person outside of a screen, it may come to surprise you (or not) that I’m a giant nerd that loves anime, cosplay, and rhythm-based video games. I’ve been into all of these for at least twenty years, and each new platform that fans have migrated to has created larger fan bases, but also larger push-back to that same progress. Of my non-photographic hobbies, anime has got to be the most polarizing of them all. 

Every 5 years or so a new animation will come out of Japan that will set the world of anime ablaze. It will hit a new audience that’s in that target demographic of early to mid teens, and a slew of new fans will discover the wide world of anime fandom. As quickly as new fans can join social media groups and start attending conventions, they’re greeted with the vitriol and outrage of veteran anime watchers quick to dismiss them as “not true fans”. Excited newcomers will share how much they love their new hobby and their new shows while old timers will stop at nothing to make them feel lesser and unwelcome. I noticed this happening when I was in college, again immediately following college, and a couple more iterations since. Admittedly, I was on the wrong side of it the first few times, but once I became a newcomer in photography, my perspective shifted. 

I was a beginner at something again. I had no knowledge, little experience, and I was grasping for ways to feel like a “real” photographer everywhere I looked. All at the same time there was a battle raging as digital photography was taking over the world of film and camera systems from the 20th century were being abandoned at record pace. When I found film photography, there was a rapidly shrinking community, and I was fortunate to have a supportive pair of college professors that fostered my growing interest. One granted me darkroom access, while the other loaned me his 8x10 camera as long as I promised to learn. If I had started by going onto an online forum or social media to ask questions, I definitely would not have made it as far into my photographic journey. 

The lesson here is nobody is picking up these big, heavy cameras and shooting expensive pieces of film just to ruin your hobby for you. More often than not, they’re just interested in this weird type of photography and maybe you should offer a helping hand. At some point you and I were beginners too. If you had a rough go of things, try and make it easier for those that come after. Don’t be someone holding the gate, be like that helpful docent at a museum. If people have questions, use your time, talents, and position to offer guidance and enhance the newcomer’s experience. 

For me personally, that’s why I started the Large Format Friday series.. I had the support and access when starting and am doing my best to make sure I’m extending that to photographers where they are at. Each week hundreds of new folks from around the world stop by to watch a video. Some will click that like and subscribe button,and  a few others will write a comment or question. And a very special group of you find this content helpful enough to become LFF Sustaining Members. Starting at $1/month, your contributions help to keep the content coming here on the channel. To all of you LFF members out there, thank you!

And if you’re still here with me at this point in the post, I have a homework assignment for you. Pay it forward to someone starting out in large format. If you haven’t been shooting for that long, share what you’re up to with friends and answer their questions, no matter how trivial they might seem to you. If you’re comfortable enough with your large format setup that you’re getting bored, reach out to local students or offer assistance to those in your area that want to start shooting. If you’re an old-school large format shooter, is there something maybe the new-school kids haven’t seen? Maybe there’s a need in the market that you can point out or help create a new product to fill? 

Pay-it-forward, be the change you wish to see, and like my buddy Michael Raso says, keep it “Super Positive”. Remember, the longer you stand there keeping the gate, the less time you have to be making pictures! 

#gatekeeping #anime #cosplay #film photography #fpp #large format #large format friday #lff #mat marrash