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celestie0 · 5 months

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gojo satoru x reader | fake marriage au [18+]

in holy matriphony ch1. he said yes!! congrats!!

ᰔ pairing. fake marriage au - neighbor&realtor!gojo x nurse!reader (ft. choso x reader & suguru x reader)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is your extremely annoying next-door-neighbor who you're pretty sure is the most insufferable man you've ever met. given the fact that you exclusively work the night shift at a chaotic emergency dept, just got broken up with your boyfriend of seven years, n have been taking care of your sick mom ever since her multitude of diagnoses, yet somehow your neighbor is the main source of stress in your life should speak volumes. but when your mother's medical bills start to skyrocket more than you can manage, and you learn that said neighbor of yours has the best private health insurance in the country, you ask him to enter a matrimonial agreement with you for the spousal benefits all in the name of saving a few hundred thousand dollars. but you'll have to see if suffering cohabitation w him is worth any amount of money.

ᰔ genre/tags. fluff, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), annoyances to lovers (that's more like it), small town romance, fake marriage, next door neighbors, lots of bickering, suburban shenanigans, slow burn, mutual pining, gojo likes to play house but you don't, hatred for the american healthcare system, gojo always forgets to mow the lawn, jealousy, an insane amount of profanity; btw gojo in this fic is in his mid 30s n reader is in her late 20s

ᰔ warnings. reader in this fic has a sick mother w alzheimer's & cancer so there is secondary medical angst!!

ᰔ chapter. 1/x (probably 10)

ᰔ words. 7.8k

a/n. hellooo omg welcome to this debut chapter!! tysm to everyone who wanted to be on taglist for this!! i was gagged at the amount of people!! yall are amazing omg n thanks for supporting my works :''') hope you enjoy this chapter and i will see all you lovelies at the bottom <33

nav. ch1 :: ch2 :: ch3 :: ch4 (pending)

Love thy neighbor.

Cherish thy neighbor.

Tolerate thy neighbor.

Peacefully coexist with thy neighbor.

Fuck thy neighbor? No, wait, not that one.

It’s murder thy neighbor. That was the phrase you were looking for.

Murder thy neighbor so gruesomely that you’d leave no trace behind. Murder him and bury him somewhere no one could ever find him, so that even in millions of years from now when some other highly advanced mammalian species overtakes the planet and embarks on journeys to acquire fossils, thy neighbor will still never grace the atmospheric oxygen of the earth ever again. It’s the punishment he’d deserve for thoroughly pissing you off at the worst times possible and in the worst ways possible. The smallest of prices to pay.

“SATORU!!!” you yell, storming up the sudsy driveway of your next-door neighbor’s house at eight in the morning, clad in your dirty scrubs from the hell of a night shift you just endured working at the hospital, glass containers inside the lunchbox you were holding hitting painfully against the poor joint in your knee but you just don’t care. Anger is all you can see right now.

Your neighbor (derogatory) stands there in his pajamas with a spray nozzle in his hands, passively spraying water across the top surface of his car, and when he sees you, he pulls his left airpod out of his ear and looks you up and down once. You’re pretty sure there’s steam coming out of your ears. “Uh, do you mind? I’m trying to wash my car.”

“How many fucking times do I have to tell you not to park your stupid boat in front of my driveway?!” you yell at him, voice hoarse and nails digging into the skin of your palms by the clench of your fists.

“Hm?” he leans back a little to glance past you to his boat. “Oh, you mean my 2023 Boston Whaler 220 Dauntless with low profile bow rail welded stainless steel, Mercury FourStroke hydraulic power steering and, not to mention, a platinum gelcoat hull? That silly old thing? It’s not even parked in front of your driveway.”

“Yes. It is. Are you blind? I can’t move my car into my garage, hence why it’s running idle on the fucking street right now. Your boat’s on my property.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes. It is.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Uh. Yuh-huh.”

“Honey. I’m a real estate agent. You don’t think I’d know where my own property line starts and ends?”

“Park. It. On. Your. Drive. Way.”

“I spent a lot of money on that boat,” he sighs, “I intend to show it off on the street. Stop acting like there isn’t more than enough room for your tiny prius. It’s not my fault you have the motor skills of a toddler and don’t know how to pull into a driveway,” he pauses for a second and tilts his head upwards in thought, “Oh. Motor skills, haha, get it? Fuck, that’s funny. Hold on, I gotta jot that down,” he pulls his phone out of the pocket of his cotton plaid pajama pants, “my niece would love that. She gets all giggly about puns these days. It’s her birthday next weekend, by the way, turning five.”

“Oh, right,” you scratch the top of your head (been too busy to wash your hair), and realize the ponytail you threw your hair up into at the beginning of your shift last night is now barely hanging on for dear life, “I forgot to tell you, but my cousin said he can’t rent that pony out for her birthday party anymore. Apparently it died.”

He stares at you. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Damn.”

“Mm.”

He shrugs. “That’s fine, thanks anyway,” he swipes up on his phone, “they had crazy hair day at my niece’s elementary school yesterday, wanna see a picture?”

“Sure.”

He turns his phone to show you. “My sister let her cut her hair a little shorter this time since she wouldn’t stop asking. I guess all her friends at school were cutting theirs short too so they wanted to be matching.”

“Aww,” you pout with a small smile when you see the picture, “I think it suits her. That’s a lot of glitter though, y’know that stuff’s really bad for the environment.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, turning his phone screen back to face him, “anyway. I was halfway convinced you just came from some crazy hair day when I saw you stomp up my driveway just now.”

“I’m gonna guillotine your head off with the trunk door of my car. Now move your boat.”

“Hold on one sec,” he says, holding a finger right up to your face, and you flinch backwards slightly before going cross-eyed to stare at it, and then you’re glaring at him again. His phone is ringing in his hand. “I gotta take this.”

“Wha–” you try to interrupt him, but he just says shhh and shakes his finger in front of you, which makes you want to bite it off.

“Hi, Donna!” he exclaims into his phone, “so good to hear from you. Oh, no, not at all, you caught me at the perfect time. I’m just washing my car. Nah, you’re not interrupting anything.”

The urge to smack him consumes you.

“Oh okay, cool, I’m glad you took some time to think about it. Let me know when you want to meet again, if you’re still interested in the house, we can make an offer. Uh huh. Yeah. Sorry, what’s that? Oh,” he pulls his phone from his ear to look at the time, “yeah, that’s fine. Is that the one on 6th street? Sure, I’ll see you then. By the way, how was little Tommy’s soccer game yesterday?...Aw, that’s okay, he’ll get the next one. Hm? Yeah, what’s up? Oh, you know that I’d love to, and there’s no one that enjoys your green bean casserole more than I do, but I’m actually busy tonight! I know! Bummer! Maybe some other time? Alright. Yeah, thanks, you too. Take care. Bye.” He presses the end call on his phone, and there’s an awkward silence as he narrows his eyes at the screen in concentration for a moment while typing something onto it, and then the corner of his eye catches sight of something in his periphery, that something being you, and he jumps a little.

“Oh fuck,” he places a hand on his chest and exhales, “I didn’t know you were still standing there.”

“I’m seriously going to whack you across the face with my lunch box right now.”

“That gigantic industrial lunch box you carry around for your 12-hour shifts?” he points at your hand, “you’d have blood on your hands. I’d be dead.”

“Yeah, that’s the goal, idiot.”

“You’re so fucking violent, jeez, I bet the inside of your head looks like the inside of Jeffrey Dahmer’s. How do you sleep at night?”

“With fifteen milligrams of melatonin, blackout curtains, a satin sleeping mask, and in the mornings.”

“...that didn’t make you sound like any less of a serial killer.”

“Whatever, at least I don’t have a complex for elderly divorced women. You know that what you do for work isn’t any better than prostitution, right?”

“Okay. Now I have to hear where you’re going with this.”

You cross your arms across your chest, and your gigantic industrial sized lunch box with the millions of glass containers inside of it hits your hip painfully, enough to warrant a wince, but you keep a straight face as to not show any weakness. “You flirt with vulnerable women who have just gotten out of probably extremely heartbreaking marriages from their cheating country golf club husbands, and pretend to care about all their drama, just so that they’d buy a house from you. I literally heard you say to a lady the other day,” and you do your absolute best to mock him in the most insulting way possible, “‘it’s okay Lorraine. If you’re still struggling to fill your new house with someone new too, then you know where to find me.’”

“Yeah. She wanted to rent out her guest bedroom. I was gonna help her look for tenants.”

“O-Oh,” you stutter, but stand up straighter, “doesn’t matter. You still pimp yourself out for a sale.”

“So what if I do? I’m hot, why wouldn’t I take advantage of that? You could’ve done the same thing too, but you didn’t, and now you’re stuck working miserable nursing shifts that are probably taking years off of your lifespan.”

“You’re the one taking years off of my lifespan. Now move your fucking boat.”

He sighs and slips his phone back into his pocket before walking past you to your car, that still had the driver’s side door open and was idle in the middle of the street.

“W-Where are you going?” you ask.

“I’m gonna park your car in your garage for you,” he says, waving his hand up in the air dismissively because he knows you’re about to protest, and then he ducks his head into your car, reaching his arm in for the lever that moves the seat backwards, and adjusts it all the way back before he’s able to take a seat at the wheel. And your yelling is a pestering he pays no mind to as he shuts the door.

“Wait– I didn’t give you permission to–” you shout as you step into your driveway, holding your arms out because you’re scared he’s gonna chip off your side mirror on the stern of his boat, but he deftly pulls your car into the driveway. He also almost runs you over in the process.

When he gets out of your car inside your garage, you storm right up to him and yank your car keys out of his hand. “You almost flattened me over my own driveway.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have been standing there,” he easily retorts and leans against your car before crossing his arms over his chest. “Also, case proven, there’s more than enough space to pull your car in. You’re just piss poor at parking.”

“I swear to fucking god. If you’re ever in a life-threatening emergency and wind up at my hospital, your emergency isn’t going to be the thing that kills you, it’s gonna be the cocktail of deadly meds I inject straight into your veins. And I’ll have it charted like it was a death of natural causes.”

His brow furrows and he frowns, but it’s in that sarcastic way that tells you he’s not threatened by you, and the idea of using the taser in your purse on him is briefly entertained in your mind, “I’ve got Kaiser, hun,” he says, “I wouldn’t go to just any regional hospital for healthcare. Put some damn decorum on my name, Jesus.”

“How is it you’re stupid, an asshole, have a sick fetish for elderly women, and also somehow classist at the same time? Can you pick a struggle please?”

“Stop saying I have a fetish for elderly women,” he hisses at you, “especially with that loud obnoxious voice of yours. Our neighbors are gonna think I’m a creep.” He pretends to shiver.

“But it’s true. I bet you lost your virginity to a fifty-year-old cougar the day you turned eighteen. And to one that was probably grooming you even before then, too.”

His eyes widen. “Damn. How’d you know.”

“That you’re a victim?” you ask, tone derisive, “your entire personality is living proof. Please seek help.”

He rolls his eyes. “I was never groomed, and I didn’t lose my virginity to an elderly woman,” he corrects you, “...although said woman was a little older than me.”

“I’ve literally got no fucking interest in this conversation anymore. Get the fuck out of my garage,” you practically spat at him, “the last thing I need to deal with after getting off of a 12-hour night shift is coming home to your stupid face out on the street.” You push past him, making sure to nudge him with your shoulder but he hardly budges, and you lose balance from your own attack, and now you’re doubly pissed off before you make it to the door with your keys jingling in your hand to find the right one to unlock it.

“Good night,” he calls out to you, and you click the button on the garage door so that it starts closing, and watch him as he panics before ducking his head underneath it to make it outside before you can essentially lock him to rot inside of your garage, and then you shut the door behind you, finally inside the comfort of your home.

Ah. Silence.

But it was never a comfortable one.

“Mom?” you call out as you open the door out of the laundry room to make it into the living room, and your eyes scan the floor. You don’t see her in the kitchen, or on the couch in front of the TV, sometimes she spends time in the pantry room but she’s not in there today. You round the corner over to where the front entrance of the house is, and you see her standing there, peering out of the window to the other houses on the streets. She holds her hands loosely behind her back, and she’s so still she could be a statue.

“Hey,” you say to her, softly, so as not to startle her. “I’m home.”

She looks over her shoulder at you, and you realize her line of sight was set to next door, where you see Gojo has resumed the wash of his car. “Why are you yelling at that sweet boy across the lawn?” she asks you, “he helped me fix the air conditioning last week.”

Your eyes widen slightly, but then you sigh. Typical Gojo getting involved where he should really just mind his own business. “I’m pretty sure by fix you mean he just pressed a bunch of buttons on the thermostat until it started working again.”

She doesn’t respond as she continues to stare out onto the street, tilting her head slightly while deep in thought, like she’s trying to make sense of what she sees.

“Mom,” you gently tug her sleeve, “I think you should get away from the window and get some rest. You look tired, and I need to take you for chemo in the afternoon.”

She gently pulls her elbow away from your grip of her sleeve and turns to look at you. “Mom?” she repeats after you, “why are you calling me ‘mom’? Who are you?”

Your blood runs cold from her words, but you don’t have the time or the luxury to react in the way that you want to, and so you suck in a deep breath. It was one of those days. But it’s cruel that she’ll remember your neighbor and not her own daughter. “I’m your daughter,” you gently reintroduce yourself, to the woman who gave you life, “I know that might be a little weird to hear right now.”

“No…” she says, “I think that makes sense. I’m sorry, dear, I think I have a bad memory these days.” She looks at you with concentration, studying the features of your face. “My daughter, yes. You look…oh, dear, you look like you should sleep.”

You nod slowly, releasing the breath you were holding. “Yes. You too, mom.”

You place your gigantic industrial lunch box on the kitchen counter, and come back to hold your mom’s hands as you lead her to her bedroom downstairs. By the time you fix her a small meal in the kitchen, bring it to her and make her eat so she can take her pills, she’s ready to take a small nap and you know that you’ve earned some sleep now too.

The upstairs master bathroom beckons you the second you get upstairs, and even though you’ve been using the master bedroom & bathroom in this house ever since moving your mom downstairs four years ago since she had trouble getting up the stairs, it still feels odd to stand in front of the sink without a stool underneath your feet, like what you had to when you were a kid and your mother would braid your hair. You’re a grown woman now, and as you stare at your reflection, you’re not sure if you can recognize yourself anymore. But rather than dwell on if it was because of any profound reason, you figured you just needed a shower and to get some sleep before you have to wake up again in five hours. Exhaustion is evident on your face, and you swipe under your eyes to get the smudge of mascara off before it tattoos your skin forever.

Hot water on your skin does little to help your drowsiness, but at least now you feel clean of your shift, and then you remember there are blood stains on your shoes from the stab wound patient that rolled in at 2AM last night, and you should really let them soak for a few hours while you sleep, but you just can’t bother right now. Instead, you slip into something comfortable, draw your curtains back to mimic the dead of night in your room as best as you can, grab the bottle of melatonin sitting at your nightstand and pop a few tablets, feeling feverish as you slip into your sheets. You pull the comforter up over your eyes, a decision that is less ideal than using a sleeping mask since you’ll be breathing your own carbon dioxide until you fall asleep now, but it’s okay. It’s cozy under your blanket. Just this once. And you count sheep to make you sleepy. At least until the melatonin beats you to it.

—

“You’re looking better,” Dr. Johnson says to your mother as he accesses the port on her chest, “were you able to get a good rest?”

Your mother nods and points to you. “My daughter made me take a nap.”

“That’s good,” he coos, “it’s good to get rest before chemo. Your daughter really cares about you.”

“I know,�� your mother smiles up at you, “I’m so lucky.” You return her smile with one of your own.

Dr. Johnson starts to push the line of chemo into your mother’s port as she sits on the chair in the treatment lounge, and then stands up from his rolling chair before the nurse quickly moves to twiddle with the drip of the IV bag.

“Ready for consult?” he asks you.

You grip your binder to your chest. “Yeah.”

You walk into the doctor’s office, one you’ve more than familiarized yourself with over the past couple of years, then take a seat across from Dr. Johnson’s desk as he clicks through his computer before handing you a copy of your mother’s recent lab work.

“Her tumor markers are rising,” you say as you sift through the papers.

“They are, we’ll likely switch to monitoring them every four weeks going forward. But it’s okay, not to worry,” he says, “tumor markers can raise for all sorts of reasons unrelated to cancer.”

“She had a cold last week,” you say, “maybe it’s the inflammation?”

Dr. Johnson lets out a small laugh. “I’m sorry, y/n, sometimes I forget you’re a nurse.” He hums to himself as he pens down something on the notepad in front of him. “When was your mother’s last PET/CT scan?”

“It was in February,” you say, “she’s due soon. I was going to ask if you could order one for her.”

“Yes, I will, I’ll do it right now,” he says as he types something into the computer. “You still have the standing orders for her routine lab work, correct? Do my MAs need to send you the scripts?”

“No, that’s okay, I got them already. Good for six months,” you reassure him.

“Alright, perfect.”

There’s an awkward silence that settles in the room as you shift in your seat with the binder in your lap, full of all of your mother’s medical information and emergency department discharge packets and recent lab work and imaging. You mess with the plastic cover on top of it nervously.

“It’s good she remembers you today,” Dr. Johnson comments, “I remember last week you were upset she didn’t.”

“Oh,” you say, “yeah, I’m sorry. Sometimes it’s hard.”

His eyes leave his computer screen for a second to look at you. “Are you doing alright?”

You nod slowly. You had to be alright, you had no other choice. “I’m fine, thanks,” you say, “um, actually, doc, I just wanted to share with you that I’ve been keeping track of my mom’s Alzheimer’s progression.” You open your binder in your lap, pulling out a packet of papers and placing them on his desk, turning some of them towards him but he doesn’t really spare a proper enough look. “I’ve just been noticing she’s progressively worsening a bit faster than her neurologist had projected.”

“Okay,” he says, sounding curt, and that nervousness comes back. But goddammit, you’re a nurse, you know how to deal with stubborn doctors. And it’s for your mother. There was no one else left to advocate for her except you.

“I was just wondering if we could also order a brain MRI for her?” you ask, “just to rule out anything…her brain fog has been bad, worse than usual, and I’m just really worried about metastasis, especially if it’s a glioma, I’d just want to catch it as soon as possible.”

You have sympathy for oncologists, really, you do. They must deal with paranoid family members all the time, but how could someone blame another for wanting what’s best for their loved one? You don’t think that’s an empathy that anyone should ever lose, regardless of how long you’ve been practicing medicine.

He sighs. “There’s no indication for that right now, not with her response to treatment as well as her lab work. I’d suggest we just wait on her next PET/CT results, and we can go from there. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, okay?”

“I know,” you say, “but her next scan isn’t for another couple weeks, plus the week it’ll take to have it read, it’ll be far out, so…if we could just order it now?”

He interlocks his fingers and places his hands in front of him on the desk, looking at you with a stern face, but he glances down at the paperwork you’ve sprawled in front of him with scribblings of all the detailed notes you’ve been taking of your mom’s responses to her Alzheimer’s treatments, with time stamps and descriptions of her mental state, and his furrowed brow relaxes slightly. He breathes in deep. “Alright. Fine, I’ll order one. I highly doubt we’ll find anything, though. But since there’s no clear clinical impression warranting a brain MRI right now,” he mentions as he directs his attention back to his computer, “I don’t think insurance will cover it for you with the diagnoses I put in.”

“That’s okay,” you quickly respond, “I’ll pay for it.”

You collect your imaging orders from the medical assistants at the center of the oncology floor. The chemo nurse, Mai, informs you that your mother still has about two hours left before her treatment is done, and she gently suggests you go eat something while you wait. You tell her it’s okay, that you want to wait with her, but she tells you the hospital cafeteria is serving tater tots today for tater tot tuesday, and those tater tots are to die for. But before you go downstairs to the cafeteria, you find a few minutes to cry in a one stall bathroom.

—

“God damn,” you hear your coworker, Hana, dreamily sigh as she leans on the handle on your standing mobile nursing work desk, and you trail her line of sight to the tight asses of the EMT men that walk by while rolling a stretcher. “It’s like being hot is a part of their job requirement.”

“Uh-huh,” you agree mindlessly as you try to catch up on charting for the rounds you just ran on your patients around the emergency department beds.

4/20/2024 0200: patient notified of the importance of taking ibuprofen. Attempted to give pt the medication. Pt responded “suck on this, bitch”, gestured to his general groin area, then threw ibuprofen tablets at RN. pt upset and requests narcotics instead. Informed MD of pt’s behavior and request. MD will not order narcotic pain medication at this time. Will continue to monitor

“How’s your mom doing?” Hana says, interrupting your typing as she turns to face you now.

“She’s okay,” you say, continuing to punch keys as you stare at your monitor, “she has a PET/CT soon. It’s always nerve wracking when the next scan is coming up.”

“Have you given hospice any more thought?” she asks.

You stop typing and stare blankly ahead at your screen as your heart sinks a little. You have given hospice more thought, and you came to the decision about a week ago that you would go through with it. It’s becoming so increasingly difficult taking care of your mom at home, more than you can manage with all of her doctor’s appointments, radiation appointments, chemotherapy appointments, all of which happen during the late mornings or early afternoons so you can’t even properly rest on most days that you come home from night shifts. Even though you only work three shifts a week, you can’t remember the last time you got a full, uninterrupted eight hours of sleep because of how messed up your circardian rhythm has become. You were practically a walking zombie, and you hardly felt like a person anymore. You’re not going to switch to the day shift, because that would make it difficult to take your mom to her appointments, and also because you get paid extra with the night shift differential, and above all other necessities, what you really needed right now the most was money. Forget the fact you’re still in debt from nursing school, but you co-signed on the medical loans your mother had taken out for treatments, and five years of high acuity medical bills was a living nightmare. And you were living that nightmare.

“I did,” you say, “I’ve been looking into hospices, but a lot of them are further away than I’d like.” You glance down at your keyboard. “I…I’m going to miss having my mom home. Even though it’s hard to deal with her mood swings and stuff sometimes, I just think the house would feel really empty without her.”

“Aw, my dear,” Hana sighs and rubs her hand up and down your arm soothingly, “I’m sure you’d love to have her home, but I think it’s becoming too much for you. I say this with love and care, but I can’t remember the last time I saw you genuinely smile.”

Your eyes widen slightly from her words, and you release some of the tension in your shoulders, tension you didn’t even realize you were holding onto during this conversation.

“It’s too much for just one person,” she continues, “while I understand you want to spend more time with your mom, the quality of time you’re spending with her could be so much better if you had some weight lifted off your shoulders, where you’re not worrying about her medication schedule or doctor’s appointments or blood draws and all that.”

You nod slowly and manage to give her a small smile, then place your hand over hers that was still soothing over your arm. “Thanks, Hana. I know, I appreciate you looking out for me. I…I think I’ll look more seriously into hospices. It’s just they’re really expensive, too, so I have that to consider as well.”

“Hmm,” she withdraws her hand from you and juts her bottom lip out as she looks up at fluorescent emergency department lighting. You hear a patient cough in the distance as your senses take in the ambient environment once again. “Y’know, there’s this really great new hospice in town that functions as a general facility and also helps manage a lot of chronic diseases too. They have nurses there that do blood draws and everything, and they also transport patients to their affiliated hospital for treatments, like dialysis and chemo and stuff. My friend’s mom has breast cancer and was recently accepted into that hospice,” she tells you, pulling her phone out and looking through some of her messages, “I think it’s only a fifteen minute drive from your house.”

You tilt your head at her with interest, wondering why it didn’t come up on your provider search through insurance, but regardless, it sounded too good to be true. “It’s probably really expensive. My mom’s under the state insurance right now, but I’ve explored government insurance plans too and they’re still really pricey. I just can’t afford it, not with all of her cancer treatments, and adding her under my insurance isn’t really going to be any better either.”

She groans. “I know. What’s with our healthcare plan? You’d think as a hospital, they’d choose better plans for their employees,” she sighs, and then stops to read some of the messages on her phone, “but my friend said that her husband was able to add her mom as a dependant, and his insurance covers 90% of it. I’m sure it depends on the illness, but they only pay a few thousand per month out of pocket.”

You blink at her. “Really? T-That’s insane…do you know what insurance her husband has?”

“I’m pretty sure it’s a Kaiser facility.”

“Oh,” you sigh, “well, they wouldn’t accept state insurance. That’s a private HMO.”

“Shoot,” Hana looks at you apologetically, “I’m so sorry, love, I forgot about that. Sorry to get your hopes up.”

“That’s okay,” you smile at her, “thanks for trying. I’m glad it worked out for your friend, at least.”

Hana glances at her watch and realizes her break is over, so she heads back to her side of the emergency department, and you’re left standing at the nursing station with thoughts running through your head now, and still catastrophically behind on charting.

Hmm.

Kaiser.

You swear someone mentioned that to you recently.

Or maybe you were just remembering another one of those ads you see on television at night. No, no, you’re pretty sure it came up in conversation with someone, but you can’t remember when or why or what or where or who. Hmmmmm. Kaiser, Kaiser, Kaiser.

Nope. Nothing.

Oh well, maybe it’ll hit you later.

—

It hits you in the form of an intrusive memory when you wake up on a Thursday afternoon in a cold sweat after having a hallucinogenic melatonin dream where you were getting chased by a giant rabbit (don’t ask).

Kaiser.

Gojo said he has Kaiser insurance.

And the idea that comes into your head after that is so ridiculous, so absurd, so positively bonkers that you have to slap the sleepiness off your face for a second to make sure you’re still not in some dream state of living, and the harsh sting on your cheek proves that you’re not. And the idea still persists. And now you’re swinging your legs over the edge of your bed, and grabbing your laptop, and opening it, and inputting your pin, and then spending a good three hours researching if this little idea of yours actually has any good level of merit to it, if it could even succeed, if it was even legal? You even find yourself on the phone with insurance representatives, and you stare at the tens of thousands of dollars of debt on your Excel spreadsheet where you keep track of your finances, and you feel the exhaustion in your bones, and you also remember how fucking annoying Gojo is. And yet still, the idea persists.

And when the pieces of the plan start to unfortunately fall into place, you say, fuck it. What was worse than potentially getting into six figures of debt? It’ll be fine.

But you can only hope he says yes.

[reading commercial break]

hello!! this is ellie, the author. so sorry to interrupt, there is still a bit left for this chapter, but i just wanted to jump in here real quick to explain for some of my readers that may not be american so they may understand reader’s desperation to financially cover the costs of her mother’s healthcare bills. this story is set in suburban america lol, where the healthcare system is so messed up honestly, and this excerpt from the book the body by bill bryson kinda explains:

“Where America really differs from other countries is in the colossal costs of its health care. An angiogram, a survey by The New York Times found, costs an average of $914 in the United States, but only $35 in Canada. Insulin costs about six times as much in America as it does in Europe. The average hip replacement costs $40,364 in America, almost six times the cost in Spain, while an MRI scan in the United States is, at $1,121, four times more than in the Netherlands. The entire system is notoriously unwieldy and cost-heavy.” p360; “...America spends more on health care than any other nation–two and a half times more per person than the average for all other developed nations of the world. One-fifth of all the money Americans earn–$10,209 a year for every citizen, $3.2 trillion altogether–is spent on health care.” p359

unfortunately, a lot of how much you end up spending at the end of the day, depends significantly on the health insurance that you have. it could make the difference of spending a few hundreds to a few thousands to a few tens of thousands and beyond, just based on the insurance plan, even if the illnesses/treatments are exactly the same.

but yeah, just wanted to provide that context lol!! so you must understand reader’s desperation to save a buck!!!

ok back to regularly scheduled broadcasting!! 🧚‍♀️💕✨

[end of reading commercial break]

—

You’re sitting at a table outside your favorite cafe in town, leg bouncing up and down underneath the surface impatiently and nervously, and you glance at the time on your phone for the fifth time within the past five minutes because you’re unable to alleviate any of the anxiety you’re experiencing right now. You hear the jingling of the cafe door behind you and then you’re a little startled when someone emerges in your periphery by your side.

You look up and see Gojo standing next to you, and you see he already went inside and grabbed a coffee to-go for himself.

“Hey,” he greets you.

“Hi,” you say with a small wave.

He takes a seat across from you. “What did you want to talk about?” he asks while he settles in and smooths down the fabric of his suit jacket. He’s not wearing a tie, and has a couple of the top buttons of his shirt undone to reveal some of the skin at his collarbone. Probably to seduce the divorced single moms, you think. “And if you called me here to try and convince me for the millionth time to pitch in for that fence you built six months ago, I’m just gonna say no again. I didn’t even want that fence built in the first place. It fucked up the roots on my avocado tree.”

“It’s a joint fence. Neighbors usually pitch in for that kind of stuff, asshole. At least normal neighbors do. You know I talked shit about you to everyone in the neighborhood when you refused to pay and all of them agree that you’re being a stuck-up prick about it?”

“You know that I also talked shit about you to everyone in the neighborhood and they said the same exact thing about you?”

“Wha–” you gasp, blinking a few times from the betrayal, then mutter “...those two-faced bitches” under your breath.

“So,” he pulls his sleeve back to glance at his watch, “what did you want? I’ve only got thirty minutes to talk before I need to head to an open house.” He brings his cup of coffee to his lips.

“Oh. Right. Just a favor,” you say, “I was wondering if you could marry me.”

He almost spits out his coffee.

“E-Excuse me?” he croaks out, exasperated, and he’s coughing a little bit as he hits his chest with a fist to alleviate the irritation in his throat from some hot coffee that went down the wrong pipe.

“I mean, if it’s not an issue, I’d really appreciate it if you could marry me,” you attempt to clarify, but you realize you probably should’ve thought a little more about how you were going to ask him this, and now you’re too deep to backtrack, so you just hope you’ll find the conversation along the way.

He’s looking at your like you’ve got six heads, brow furrowed and mouth hanging open slightly with that what the fuck? face you see him wear sometimes. But then he sits up a bit straighter, expression morphing into a curious one as he studies your face, head tilting a little in his scrutinization. Then, his face relaxes entirely. He has this knowing look as he nods up and down slowly, like he just figured something out, and then he sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose in some type of faux frustration. And you don’t understand why you’re already seethingly angry about what he’s going to say next.

“Oh god,” he sighs, “I knew this day would come.”

“Huh?” you squeak out.

“Listen,” he says as he crosses his arms, but one of his hands comes out from where it was tucked in his elbow to waive around in the air as he articulates his words, “I know that I’m very charming, and handsome, and chivalrous, one might say the modern knight in shining armor–”

“Satoru.”

“–and yes, I’ve seen the way you look at me,” he dramatically sighs, “when I’m taking the groceries up the driveway…when I’m out mowing the lawn…when I stretch on the sidewalk before I go for a run. I feel your eyes on me like a hawk. Quite frankly, you look at me like I’m a piece of meat, and I feel very violated by it sometimes–”

“What the fuck are you talking about???”

“But I get it. Really, I do. There’s no need to be embarrassed about it–”

“I’m not embar–”

“It was really only a matter of time before you would do this. So overcome by your feelings for me that you just had to go against the grain of centuries of matrimonial standards and swallow your gigantic pride to propose to me.”

“Oh my god, what the fuck are you saying–”

“But,” he says, collecting himself now, and taking in a deep breath, “my answer is no. I mean, I shouldn’t have to explain why. But I will. First of all, where the hell is my ring? Secondly, why aren’t you on one knee in front of me right now? Also, in a cafe? Really? I thought you would’ve known I’d have liked something a little bit more romantic than this. Y’know, private, but also where my family’s somewhere around the corner. Maybe by the beach–”

“Can you stop talkin–”

“–while the sun is setting, and I’m wearing a nice dress, and there’s bubbles in the air and rose petals on the sand, and you tell me how enamored you’ve always been of me, and how you can’t wait to spend the rest of your life with me,” he indulgently sighs, “I mean, it’s every guy’s dream. But nooooo, of course you’ve got no taste or sense for romance in any capac–”

“OH MY FUCKING GOD, FORGET THIS,” you stand up out of your chair, fast enough to where it almost falls backwards, and you grab your purse to sling over your shoulder, “I cannot believe I actually thought this plan would ever fucking work.” You’re about to walk away from the table, because you’re realigned with the wisdom of exactly why you can’t stand this man, when his hand reaches out quickly to grasp onto your wrist, to keep you still, and you jump a little from the contact. You look down, his hand unrelenting in its grip as his knuckles flex slightly, and you’re not sure if he’s ever touched you from how foreign the sensation feels.

“Wait,” he says, and when you look at him, his eyes are a little wide like a puppy, “you’re being serious?”

You yank your wrist out of his grip, but the warmth of his touch still lingers, and you wrap your own hand around it to distract yourself from it. “Why would I just ask you to marry me out of nowhere if I wasn’t being serious?”

He gives you a look like the answer to your question is obvious. “Uh, to fuck with me?”

You’re still holding onto your wrist, protectively pressing it against your chest with your back turned away from him slightly, and you look up at the sky for a brief second. Hm, perhaps you could have brought the favor up a bit better, and you realize it might’ve sounded insane on his end, and you’re also still thinking about the tens of thousands of dollars you could save if he said yes, and so you hesitantly open your body language up to him again.

“Just sit,” he sighs.

You take a seat across from him again, hands finding the warm coffee cup in front of you and you purse your lips together before tucking your bottom lip under your front teeth. You take a deep breath before speaking again. “I…I’m being serious. I was wondering if you could marry me as a favor, and not because I think you’re some type of irresistible man candy, god, where do you get your gigantic ego from?”

“I–”

“Rhetorical question, shut it.”

He blinks at you. “What favor are you asking for that’ll be satisfied by me marrying you?”

You twiddle with your thumbs. “I want to put my mom in hospice,” you say, eyes flickering down slightly because you’re worried you’re about to tear up from the words, but when you realize you’ve got enough conviction not to, you look back up at him, and his eyes on you are a little too observant, “most of the hospices in town are further away than I’d like, and really expensive, but I heard there was a Kaiser one nearby…and that a lot of the costs are covered by insurance. So, if you married me, I could send my mom there. And also, under your insurance, the care network would be better, so I could get her a new oncologist and neurologist, and I’d know she’s being taken care of. And…” you clear your throat, “well, it’ll be a lot less expensive, so I can start to catch up on…well, whatever, you get the picture.”

His eyes narrow at you in thought, and he glances at your hands on the table that are nervously fidgeting, and then his eyes meet yours again. “I’m not sure if you can add a…spouse’s parent to a healthcare plan?”

“You can,” you say, “I already called to ask.”

“Oh.”

“Mhm.”

Gojo hums to himself, laying his palms flat on his thighs and rubbing them back and forth on the taut fabric a few times as he thinks with his gaze set off somewhere in the distance. It seems like he’s running through some algorithm of thoughts in his head, and then he slowly nods to himself when he’s made a decision.

“Sure, I’ll do it,” he says.

“Y-You will?” you ask him. You’re uneasy at how easy it was to convince.

“Yeah. I like your mom. She’s a sweet lady, and I want to see her get better.”

His words touch you. And not from the distance of a ten foot pole like you’d usually allow, but more intimate somehow. And you get the feeling you should thank him, but you’re still pissed off from when he almost ran you over on your own driveway earlier this week.

“Really?” you make sure, almost like you’re hoping he’ll change his mind because now you’re suspicious as to why he agreed so quickly. And you realize he’s already making you paranoid.

“Yeah. I’m saying yes to your proposal, y/n,” he says, “I mean, a marriage is just a legal agreement. Not a big deal. I’d want a prenup though, for obvious reasons. In case you’re a gold digger.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re too cheap to even pitch in for a fucking fence. You think I’d believe you’ve got any gold to dig?”

He sighs. “I said in case.”

“Well, anyways, we can work out logistics and paperwork or whatever later,” you say, and you extend your hand out for him to shake it.

He raises an eyebrow at you. “Um. You’re going to make me shake your hand over this?”

“Yeah,” you shrug, “it’s the diplomatic thing to do.”

“Yes,” he says, “for a diplomatic agreement.”

“Precisely,” you say. “That’s exactly what this is.”

He hesitantly brings his hand up to shake yours, but you quickly withdraw yours at the last second. “Nevermind. I don’t want to touch you.”

“Okay,” he easily accepts, “not how I expected to celebrate getting engaged, but whatever. By the way, when’s the wedding? Are we doing, like, a shotgun destination type vibe? Or something a bit more grand?”

“Just be at the courthouse at noon on Sunday.”

“What?! This weekend? That’s too soon,” he panics, “I need time to pick out a dress, and I need to figure out who my bridesmaids are going to be, and–”

“Satoru. Seriously. Just–...just shut the fuck up. Before the headache that you’ve already given me gets worse.”

You two sit in silence for a moment, him just mindlessly staring at a butterfly that landed on the plant at the center of the table, and you just staring off into the void past him while contemplating every life decision you’ve ever made. But that’s how it always was between you two. As much as you hated to admit it, you were jealous of him in a lot of ways. In every way that you were fucked up, he was nonchalant without a care in the world. You wish you knew what that sort of peace felt like, and you wondered if he could show you. Maybe someday when he doesn’t piss you off.

“So,” he interrupts your thoughts, “are you gonna take my last name?”

“Fuck no, I’d rather die.”

“Alright, jeez, I was just asking.”

[end of chapter 1]

a/n. yayy!!! he said yes!! omg congrats on ur engagement!! haha this was a lot of fun to writeee :'') i've got sm fun ideas for this fic. yea this chap was supposed to be longer lol there's still some groundwork to lay w the side quests, but will def cover more of that in the next chapter!!! tysm to everyone that wanted to be on taglist omg i hope that you enjoyed <33 love uuu guysss smmmm also my bad if some stuff doesnt make sense i'm tryna be less perfectionist when i'm editing so that i don't go insane 😍

➸ take me to chapter two!

taglist: @tremendousbouquetflower @cowgirlcujoh @joemama-2 @shinypearlywhites @sykosugu @lovebittenbyevans @luqueam @bloopsstuff @horisdope @alwaysfreakingout @crammingqueen @rideofthevalkyriess @lavender-hvze @gojocock @ceni707 @jxvajxy @catobsessedlady @madaqueue @bbyxxm @gojostit @nixie-19 @cheezitcracker @polarbvnny @cactisjuice @sleepyyammy @lysaray @k4tsukiis @kortanasworld @megumisthirdog @slut-4-gojo @drakenswifeyy @njoxuzi @elernity @jujutsubaby @secretmoneybearvoid @bunny-lily @strawberrygirl0 @httpxxg @bsdicinindirdim @v4mpieres @nanamis-baker @therealestpussyeater @air3922 @13-09-01 @marija4674 @whereflowerswenttodie @geniejunn @bakuhoethotski @ricaliscious @77uchiha77 @hellowoolf @tobaccosunbxrst @possumwho @nvrgojover @kittygrimm88 @samistars @shiin-ye @billiondollarworth @mmeerraa @fjorjestertealeaf @reinam00n @semra4 @st4ryki @new-weather47 @coltsgf @meownuuuu @strawnanamilk @lees-chaotic-brain @ironhottubstranger @spindyl @aise-30 @dunghirse @r0ckst4rjk @44ina @4y3sh4 @lindyloomoo @sweetpo1son @levisfavoriteteashop @delfiiii @fushitoru @gojosimp26 @beabadobeee @astrokenny @horisdope @muchlov3ashley @geniejunn @the-dark-creature @gojonegs @ritzes28 @mo0nforme @drownedpoetss

hope yalls fries never get soggy ever 💕

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eggyrocks · 3 months

Text

static: nishinoya yuu

she hosts a late night radio show and dedicates songs to her roommate. he listens.

main masterlist

status: ongoing

pairing: nishinoya x f! reader

tags/warnings: roommates to lovers, friends to lovers/friends with benefits (no smut), very suggestive tho, university au, slight angst, smau, alcohol, grammatical mistakes probably, everyone probably will be out of character, please note warnings may change as story progresses, and to check each chapter for individual warnings

taglist: closed (50/50)

minors dni & other rules

playlist!

yn style guide

introductions: the most roommates ever | radioheads | losers & virgins

chapter one: forever’s a scary concept

chapter two: hey pretty

chapter three: 3-5 business days

chapter four: what best friends do

chapter five: causing problems and lying

chapter six: speculate

chapter seven: metals in the microwave

chapter eight: coming soon

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #hq x reader #hq x you #haikyuu fluff #hq #haikyuu smau #haikyuu texts #nishinoya yuu x yn #nishinoya yuu x reader #nishinoya yuu #nishinoya yu x reader #nishinoya smau #nishinoya yu x reader smau #nishinoya yu

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reasonsforhope · 2 months

Text

African poverty is partly a consequence of energy poverty. In every other continent the vast majority of people have access to electricity. In Africa 600m people, 43% of the total, cannot readily light their homes or charge their phones. And those who nominally have grid electricity find it as reliable as a Scottish summer. More than three-quarters of African firms experience outages; two-fifths say electricity is the main constraint on their business.

If other sub-Saharan African countries had enjoyed power as reliable as South Africa’s from 1995 to 2007, then the continent’s rate of real GDP growth per person would have been two percentage points higher, more than doubling the actual rate, according to one academic paper. Since then South Africa has also had erratic electricity. So-called “load-shedding” is probably the main reason why the economy has shrunk in four of the past eight quarters.

Solar power is increasingly seen as the solution. Last year Africa installed a record amount of photovoltaic (PV) capacity (though this still made up just 1% of the total added worldwide), notes the African Solar Industry Association (AFSIA), a trade group. Globally most solar PV is built by utilities, but in Africa 65% of new capacity over the past two years has come from large firms contracting directly with developers. These deals are part of a decentralised revolution that could be of huge benefit to African economies.

Ground zero for the revolution is South Africa. Last year saw a record number of blackouts imposed by Eskom, the state-run utility, whose dysfunctional coal-fired power stations regularly break down or operate at far below capacity. Fortunately, as load-shedding was peaking, the costs of solar systems were plummeting.

Between 2019 and 2023 the cost of panels fell by 15%, having already declined by almost 90% in the 2010s. Meanwhile battery storage systems now cost about half as much as five years ago. Industrial users pay 20-40% less per unit when buying electricity from private project developers than on the cheapest Eskom tariff.

In the past two calendar years the amount of solar capacity in South Africa rose from 2.8GW to 7.8GW, notes AFSIA, excluding that installed on the roofs of suburban homes. All together South Africa’s solar capacity could now be almost a fifth of that of Eskom’s coal-fired power stations (albeit those still have a higher “capacity factor”, or ability to produce electricity around the clock). The growth of solar is a key reason why there has been less load-shedding in 2024...

Over the past decade the number of startups providing “distributed renewable energy” (DRE) has grown at a clip. Industry estimates suggest that more than 400m Africans get electricity from solar home systems and that more than ten times as many “mini-grids”, most of which use solar, were built in 2016-20 than in the preceding five years. In Kenya DRE firms employ more than six times as many people as the largest utility. In Nigeria they have created almost as many jobs as the oil and gas industry.

“The future is an extremely distributed system to an extent that people haven’t fully grasped,” argues Matthew Tilleard of CrossBoundary Group, a firm whose customers range from large businesses to hitherto unconnected consumers. “It’s going to happen here in Africa first and most consequentially.”

Ignite, which operates in nine African countries, has products that include a basic panel that powers three light bulbs and a phone charger, as well as solar-powered irrigation pumps, stoves and internet routers, and industrial systems. Customers use mobile money to “unlock” a pay-as-you-go meter.

Yariv Cohen, Ignite’s CEO, reckons that the typical $3 per month spent by consumers is less than what they previously paid for kerosene and at phone-charging kiosks. He describes how farmers are more productive because they do not have to get home before dark and children are getting better test scores because they study under bulbs. One family in Rwanda used to keep their two cows in their house because they feared rustlers might come in the dark; now the cattle snooze al fresco under an outside lamp and the family gets more sleep.

...That is one eye-catching aspect of Africa’s solar revolution. But most of the continent is undergoing a more subtle—and significant—experiment in decentralised, commercially driven solar power. It is a trend that could both transform African economies and offer lessons to the rest of the world."

-via The Economist, June 18, 2024. Paragraph breaks added.

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incognit0slut · 3 months

Text

Much Ado About Nothing (Act II, Scene I: The Suspicious Scheme)

The three times you sense something strange when everyone pairs you with Spencer, and the one time you understand why.

Part warning: Definitely inaccuracy in autopsy procedures and Spencer’s educational background, it’s hard writing a genius Words: 5.6k (not proofread, I’ll do it when I have the time so please excuse me if you see any mistakes) A/n: I tried to make this part shorter but I gave up. I hope you don’t mind reading more😌

SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

I. The Forced Partner

There was usually a system when Hotch paired the team up, a method to his leadership that balanced skills and personalities to get the job done efficiently. But as Spencer and you were directed to the autopsy room together, you couldn’t help but wonder if Hotch was pushing his luck—or preferably yours.

It was weird. Two weeks had gone by since the last case where he had to witness you both sparring, and you would’ve thought he’d keep you apart. Yet here you were, together again, stepping into the cold, sterile room.

The faint smell of antiseptic filled the air as you pulled on your gloves, the latex snapping against your wrists. A woman in blue scrubs, her hair pulled back into a tight bun, turned to greet you and Spencer. She extended a hand.

“I’m Dr. Nina Patel, I’ll be overseeing the autopsy today. You must be from the BAU.”

You nodded, shaking her hand firmly.

“Agent Y/N Y/L/N, and this is Dr. Spencer Reid,” you introduced, gesturing towards Spencer, who offered a brief nod and a tight lip smile in greeting. Dr. Patel returned the gesture and motioned for you both to approach the table.

“Our Jane Doe was found early this morning in an alleyway downtown," she explained, pulling back the sheet to reveal a woman appearing in her late thirties. "There are no apparent injuries, and no ID was found with her.”

Spencer stepped closer. "Any indication of the time of death?"

"Preliminary estimates put the time of death at approximately eight hours before she was found."

You watched as she started pointing to various parts of the body.

"She was also found with her clothes in perfect condition. It’s possible she was placed there post-mortem."

Spencer raised an eyebrow. "Could suggest transportation from another location.”

You moved to the head of the table, examining Jane Doe's hands and nails. "No defensive wounds," you added. "She didn't fight back, or more likely, wasn't conscious during her final moments."

Dr. Patel nodded as she considered your observations. “It’s plausible that a strong sedative was used, which would leave minimal to no struggle marks. We’re running some tests as we speak.”

Spencer chimed in quickly after that. “The Unsub might have used succinylcholine, or even benzodiazepines,” he suggested. Then, turning toward you with a condescending tone as if simplifying it for your benefit, he added, “They’d metabolize quickly and would require a toxicology screen to detect definitively.”

You rolled your eyes.

“That’s impressive, Dr. Reid,” Dr. Patel remarked, her eyes lingering on him a moment longer than seemed strictly professional. You narrowed your eyes at her. “Did you study pharmacology formally, or is this a passion of yours?”

“I actually did a bit of formal study during my Ph.D. programs.”

“Oh, really? What did you study?”

“Chemistry and Engineering. Pharmacology intersects quite a bit with those fields, especially when looking at biochemical reactions.”

Dr. Patel seemed genuinely impressed. “That’s quite a formidable educational background. No wonder you’re so thorough with your analyses.”

You could feel a knot tightening in your stomach. Her admiration was professional, sure, but the way her eyes softened when she looked at him, the way her voice dipped just so—it was a tone you recognized all too well.

She was flirting with him.

You watched them, your gaze sharp and assessing. Although it wasn’t like Spencer to notice her advances; he was smart, yes, but his brilliance often left him oblivious to the layers of personal interaction that didn’t involve textbooks or theories. And Dr. Patel, with her easy smile and obvious interest, seemed to have her focus on him rather than the body lying between you.

You cleared your throat, louder than necessary.

“Can we continue?”

Dr. Patel seemed to catch your eye, her expression shifting back to professional as she nodded. “Of course.”

She resumed her explanation, detailing the various findings and pointing out subtle indicators on the body that might have otherwise gone unnoticed. Spencer listened intently, his gaze shifting between Dr. Patel and you, noticing the subtle tension in the room, but didn’t comment.

It wasn’t until you had all the information you needed—and after you caught one last flirtatious look from Dr. Patel directed at him—that Spencer finally spoke up.

“She seems nice,” he remarked as you both stepped outside the building, heading toward the parking lot.

You shrugged. “Sure, if you say so.”

Spencer glanced at you, a hint of curiosity in his eyes. “Am I missing something?”

You looked over at him, debating whether to explain, before you finally sighed.

“It’s just... she seemed a bit more interested in you than the case,” you said, trying to keep your tone light but failing to hide your slight irritation.

And then he noticed it. The subtle tension in your voice, the way you avoided his gaze, the underlying frustration—it clicked. “Wait, are you... jealous?”

“No, I’m not!” You replied quickly, then softer, “I’m not.”

“You sound like it.”

You scoffed. “No, I sound like a friend trying to remind you that we have a case to focus on.”

“Oh, so now we’re friends?”

“I meant that in the broadest, most professional sense of the word.”

“Right,” Spencer replied sarcastically. “I didn’t realize jealousy was part of professional behavior.”

“I wasn’t jealous,” you snapped. “Stop making it into something it’s not.”

“Sure.”

“Reid.”

“Y/L/N,” he shot back in the same flat tone.

Dear God, why was he so infuriating? How he had this ability, this perfectly annoying talent to get under your skin without seeming to try was beyond you. You both stared at each other for a while, until finally, you broke the silence with an exasperated sigh.

“Let’s just go,” you muttered, brushing past him.

You walked a few steps ahead, trying to shake off his words. It was absurd. The very idea was ridiculous when you were focused on the case, on solving the mystery—nothing more.

You were not jealous.

II. The Unavoidable Flight

“I’m telling you, she was definitely flirting with him,” you said, your voice a mix of disbelief and annoyance as you and Penelope made your way toward the plane. “It was so obvious, the way she kept looking at him, the tone of her voice. I mean, does professional decorum mean nothing anymore?”

“Why are you acting so surprised? Wonder Boy is actually quite the catch,” Penelope responded. “He’s not my type, but he clearly has admirers.”

Your eyes involuntarily drifted toward the man in question, who was walking a few paces behind, engaged in conversation with JJ. He was casually gripping the strap of his satchel bag, laughing at something JJ had just said. You narrowed your eyes.

“Well, I don’t understand what they see in him.”

“It might be that genius brain of his—totally irresistible to some.”

“It’s annoying, is what it is,” you grumbled, quickening your pace as the plane came into view.

Penelope responded with a sly grin. “You know what you sound like?”

“What?”

“Like someone who’s maybe a little jealous.”

You frowned, hating how she was the second person to conclude your irritation with something else. “Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on. You seem unusually focused on how others interact with him.”

“I’m focused on maintaining a professional work environment,” you defended, trying to keep your voice even as you approached the steps of the plane. “Not about… whatever you’re implying.”

“Fine. If Dr. Patel makes her move and actually calls him, what would you do?”

Your eyes widened. “What? Who did you hear that from? Did he tell you? When did she call him?”

“Hypothetically, oh my god,” Penelope laughed, stepping onto the plane as you followed, slightly flustered. “I’m just saying, hypothetically, if it happened, what would you do? How would you react?”

You paused at the entrance, processing her question. “I’d do nothing.”

“Nothing? Really?”

“Yes, I’d do nothing because I’m not jealous.”

“That’s what any jealous person would say.”

You narrowed your eyes at her as you walked past the entrance, and when you caught her making herself comfortable on the long couch by the front, you quickly made your way to the back of the plane.

“Hey! Where are you going?”

“To find a spot where my supposed jealousy isn’t your inflight entertainment,” you replied, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

“I knew you were jealous!”

“Supposed jealousy!”

Her laughter trailed after you, ringing down the narrow aisle as you navigated through the plane, bypassing Rossi, who was typing away on his phone, and Hotch, who sat across from him with his eyes closed, leaning back against his seat. You walked further down the aisle until you spotted an empty spot at the very back of the plane, looking very isolated and inviting.

It was perfect.

“Garcia! That’s my usual spot,” Spencer’s unmistakable voice echoed through the plane as you made yourself comfortable in your chair.

From the corner of your eye, you could see him standing over Penelope, a hand gesturing toward the seat while his other hand clutched his bag.

“But it’s so comfortable,” Penelope responded, settling deeper into the plush seat. “Come on, Reid, I don’t travel as much as you do. Let me have it.”

Spencer paused, his initial protest fading as he took in Penelope’s exaggerated comfort. “Where would I sit?”

“You can sit…”

You quickly closed your eyes. Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t–

“Over there! There’s an empty spot in front of Y/N.”

You were going to kill her.

You sank deeper into your chair, hoping to avoid any forced small talk or, worse, awkward silence with him. Maybe if you were lucky enough, he’d pick another chair—perhaps next to Hotch, or Rossi, or—

A cough interrupted your thoughts.

“I know you’re pretending to sleep.”

Reluctantly, you opened one eye, peeking at him.

"Mind if I sit here?"

For a moment, you considered ignoring him, but the look on his face told you he wasn’t going to let it go. You rolled your shoulders, giving up the pretense, and sat up straighter.

“Actually, yes, I do mind.”

He raised an eyebrow but lowered himself onto the seat anyway, clearly unfazed by your objection.

"Reid,” you warned him. “I’m serious.”

"I know you are.” His eyes briefly swept around the cabin as he settled into the seat across from you, placing his satchel bag on his lap. "But every other seat is taken. Unless you want me to stand in the aisle for the next few hours?"

You rolled your eyes, letting out a resigned sigh as you crossed your arms. "Fine, but I'm reserving the right to nap, and you're reserving the right to not disturb that nap."

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

He leaned forward in his seat. “Do you know that you snore when you sleep?”

You gasped. “I do not!”

“You do. You sound like a little chainsaw.”

You gaped at him. The idea of a rough, grating noise being associated with you was almost laughable, and yet here he was, completely serious. You were unsure whether to be amused or offended.

“A chainsaw? That’s what you’re going with?”

“Well, considering the average chainsaw operates at around 90 decibels, I'd say it's an appropriate comparison."

“Don’t make me throw you off the plane.”

He shrugged, leaning back in his seat. “Just so you know, certain sleep positions can actually help reduce snoring. Maybe you should try—ouch!”

You nudged him with your foot, not hard enough to hurt but enough to make your point clear. He rubbed his leg and glanced up at you with a wry expression.

“Consider that your first and only warning,” you stated firmly before closing your eyes, signaling the end of the conversation.

“See, your position is all wrong, if you slightly elevate your—”

“Good night, Reid.”

There was suddenly a moment of silence, the kind that feels almost tangible, stretching out in the small space between you. Then, you heard it—a slight, barely audible chuckle.

You wondered if your mind was playing tricks on you, the sound so faint that it seemed it could easily be a figment of your imagination. But no, there it was again, a soft, amused sound that had you frowning even with your eyes closed.

“Good night, Y/N.”

Maybe you were already dreaming.

III. The Lock-in Incident

“Y/N,” JJ’s voice chimed from behind you while you were gathering a stack of folders on your desk. “Can you take these down to the filing room? Spencer’s already down there reorganizing some of the older case files.”

You eyed the thick folder in JJ’s hands. When there wasn’t an active case, the team often spent time organizing and maintaining the archives. As tedious as it was, it was a necessary task, and normally, you wouldn’t mind lending a hand.

But the sound of his name made you pause because working with him in a confined space seemed very much unappealing.

“Why are you asking me?”

“Aren’t you going there?” She asked, her gaze shifting to the folders in your hands.

Internally, you groaned. Yes, you were headed there, that had been the plan. But now that you knew Spencer was there, every step towards that cramped, paper-stuffed room felt like walking into a minefield.

“Maybe you should go down there instead.”

“I can’t,” she responded, already adding her folders to your pile. “I’ve got to finish my other reports before the end of the day.”

Your eyes glanced over to Derek’s desk across from you. “Morgan?”

He turned over a page in the file he was reading, not even looking up. “Sorry, Pretty Girl, I got my hands full with this case report.”

“Oh, come on.” You stormed over to him, desperation edging into your voice. “I’ll do you a favor—anything you want.”

Derek glanced up, finally giving you his attention, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

“Anything I want?”

“Within reason.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Sorry, but I really can’t. This report’s due in an hour.”

Frustrated, you glanced over towards Emily’s desk, hoping for a backup, but groaned when you saw it was empty.

You finally sighed, feeling the weight of your options—or lack thereof—settle on your shoulders. You gathered the heavy folders in your arms, the paper edges digging slightly into your skin. It was just a few hours, you reasoned; you could manage Spencer. He could be insufferable, but you had your own ways of being equally annoying.

With a deep breath, you headed toward the filing room, mentally preparing yourself. He was already busy sorting through a pile of disorganized paperwork when you got there, his brow furrowed in concentration.

“I have more work for you,” you announced in a sing-song voice.

Spencer looked up, his eyes scanning the sight of the hefty folders in your arms. “Nope. They’re yours, not mine.”

You paused, leaning on the table filled with sorted files. “Are you sure you want me to do this by myself? Because, you know, I might just rearrange what you’ve already organized here. It would be a shame if all your hard work got… scrambled.”

“Don’t even think about it,” he quickly warned. “Hand them over. I’ll do it myself.”

You moved closer and placed the folders next to his neatly arranged stacks, deliberately nudging them just enough to seem accidental.

“Really?” he said, a hint of exasperation in his tone as he carefully realigned the folders you had nudged. “You know, we could actually get this done much faster if you’re not acting like a child.”

“Oh, please. Like you’re the mature one.”

“At least I’m trying to get the job done, not make it harder.”

“Maybe if you weren’t so uptight about every little detail, it wouldn’t be so hard,” you shot back, grabbing another stack of files to sort.

“I’m not uptight. I’m precise. There’s a difference.”

“Sure there is.”

Spencer opened his mouth to retort, but before he could get the words out, the sudden sound of the door clicking shut echoed through the cramped room. Both of you turned around simultaneously.

“Did that just…?” He began, stepping towards the door and trying the handle. It didn’t budge. He jiggled it again, more forcefully this time. “Great, it’s locked.”

“What?” You walked over, a sinking feeling in your stomach. “Who the hell locked it?”

“I don’t think anyone did. These old doors… they stick. It’s probably just jammed,” Spencer explained, though his voice carried a hint of doubt.

Yeah, right, you thought, your skepticism growing. Despite his logical explanation, you couldn't shake the feeling that this was more than just a coincidence. The timing was just too perfect, and you had a sneaking suspicion that someone might have been behind this.

But then the reality of the situation sank in. Your immediate concern shifted to the fact that you were trapped here, with him, until someone realized you were missing. The prospect was both frustrating and daunting.

“Look, let’s just keep working,” he suggested. “The sooner we finish, the sooner we can figure out how to get out of here.”

You nodded, though a part of you wanted to argue. “Fine. But if we’re still stuck here by the time we’re done, you’re explaining this to Hotch.”

“We’ll get out, don’t worry.”

“Let’s hope you’re right.” You picked up a folder from the pile, flipping it open to look over its contents. “How do I do this?”

“Sort them by case type first, then by date within each type.”

“So, this one would go under…?”

“Unsolved homicides,” Spencer replied, taking a quick peek at the document you held open. “And make sure it’s in chronological order with the others.”

You moved to the designated shelf, sliding the folder into its appropriate spot before returning to grab another. “Wait,” you opened the file, your eyes scanning the page. “I think this was my first case.”

You read through the document and nodded.

“Yes, look, it’s the one where the Unsub was targeting families with children,” you reminisced, your mind going back to the time when you were still new to the job. “That was such a hard case. Remember how I couldn’t stop crying? And how Hotch had to debrief me because I was still shaking even after we made the arrest?”

When you were met with silence, you looked up to see his back facing you, seeming too busy as he organized his files. You closed the document in your hands and walked back toward the shelf.

“Of course, you don’t remember,” you muttered under your breath. “Why would you even remember?”

A twinge of disappointment settled in your chest, even though you hated to admit it. It was stupid, really, to expect him to recall every little detail from the past, especially when it had to do with you. But just as you turned to grab another file, Spencer’s voice stopped you.

“October 19, 2011.”

You paused, turning slowly to face him, your brows furrowing in confusion. “What?”

“The date you started working here,” Spencer said, still focused on his task. “You wore a black blouse and the brightest shade of red on your lips.”

You blinked, trying to understand what he was getting at.

“The case was in St. Louis,” Spencer continued, now looking up to meet your gaze directly. “Your first field assignment. You told Hotch you were ready, but the case really got to your head.”

You found yourself at a loss for words, realizing what he was trying to do.

“You cried when you came back from talking with the victim’s family. You cried when the second victim was found. You cried when we finally caught the Unsub.”

You continued to stare at him, not knowing how to process his words.

“You also cried when I sat beside you on the plane.”

He remembered.

The realization struck you hard, almost like a physical blow. A part of you had convinced yourself that he barely noticed you, that any memory involving you was erased from his mind. But here he was, recalling not just any memory, but your first week when you joined the team, right down to the color of your lips.

“You…” The frown on your face deepened. “You remembered.”

There was a pause as he looked at you, his eyes carefully assessing your reaction. “It’s hard not to."

You held his gaze. Sometimes you wonder what would happen if you were still on good terms. Would you smile at him now? Would you tell him that, yes, you also remembered how he allowed you to lean on his shoulder during that flight back home, despite the awkwardness of your first meeting when it seemed he’d rather keep his distance?

You shook your head, looking away from him. It was wishful thinking. Letting yourself dwell on what could have been would only lead to another heartbreak. You had learned to protect yourself, to keep your distance, because hoping for a return to those days would only make the present hurt more.

“Right,” you said, trying to keep your composure as you gripped the folder in your hand. “I forgot you have an eidetic memory.”

Spencer didn’t say anything, but you could feel his eyes on you, a quiet, lingering gaze that you felt more than saw. The room suddenly felt incredibly small, the walls seeming to close in around you as your fingers fumbled slightly with the papers, grabbing another file.

You needed to get out of here. You needed to regain control. The faster you finish your work, the sooner you can escape him.

IV. The Table For Two

“You did it on purpose, didn’t you?” You pressed, arms linked with JJ as you both walked down the sidewalk, your stride matching the quick tempo of your rising irritation. The accusation in your voice was clear, but JJ just offered a casual shrug, avoiding direct eye contact.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You expect me to believe it was an accident?” Your skepticism was palpable, and you watched as a small smirk played at the corner of her lips. “That the door coincidentally locked itself when we were both inside?”

“The doors are old,” she said, keeping her gaze forward, her steps even and unhurried. “You know how it is, sometimes if you even just shut them too hard, they jam. Could happen to anyone.”

Her tone was too nonchalant, too practiced, and you tugged on her arm, pulling her to a stop. “Right, and I suppose it was also just chance that the door closed by itself?”

JJ paused, finally facing you with a raised eyebrow. “I didn’t do it.”

“Then somebody did.”

“Y/N,” she replied, her smile broadening in a way that only heightened your irritation. “Nobody did.”

You groaned, resuming your walk as you pulled her along. “You guys are so annoying.”

JJ laughed. “How did you get out of there anyway?”

You sighed, the memory of the escape bringing a frown to your face. The entire time you were locked in that room, you had done everything possible to avoid talking to him, focusing on shuffling through files and pretending to be absorbed in the work.

After what felt like an eternity of awkward silence and strained small talk, you both gave up trying to ignore the situation and started moving around the cramped space, phones held high, desperately trying to find a signal. When you finally managed to get a single bar, you quickly dialed Penelope, who answered with her usual upbeat tone, clearly amused by your predicament.

"We had to call Garcia to let us out,” you said, your tone dry. “She found the whole thing hilarious."

JJ's laughter grew as she imagined the scene. "She would have loved that. Probably made her day to rescue the two of you."

“She’s already teasing us about it.”

Her laughter slowly died down as she gave your arm a light tug. “Did anything happen while you two were in there?”

You hesitated, recalling the awkward silence, the shuffling of papers, and that brief, tensed exchange. “Not really,” you admitted. “We just tried to organize the files without screaming at each other.”

“But did you talk at all? I mean, really talk?”

“Jennifer,” you warned, the tone of your voice hinting that she was treading on uncomfortable territory. The thought of delving deeper into what had—or hadn’t—happened in that room was not something you were eager to talk about.

“I know, I know, it’s complicated,” she conceded. “Just thought it seemed like a good opportunity to maybe clear the air between you two.”

“Well, you thought wrong. There’s nothing to talk about.”

JJ looked at you skeptically, her eyes narrowing slightly as if she could see right through your defenses. She seemed on the verge of pushing further, but then her phone rang, interrupting the moment. She glanced at the screen and sighed, giving you an apologetic look. "Hold on, I need to take this. It's Will."

You nodded and watched as she stepped a few feet away to answer the call. You waited and tried to give her privacy, but it was hard when her words were clear as you listened to her talk, and the more she spoke, the more you narrowed your eyes at her.

“…right now… sure… no, it’s fine… I can be there in ten… of course, honey...”

You crossed your arms when JJ finally ended the call and turned back towards you.

"I need to head home,” she said, a bit too casually. “Will got called into work unexpectedly.”

Suspicion started to creep in as you processed her words. The timing was impeccable—a little too perfect. You both were supposed to meet up with Penelope and Derek for dinner, and it was almost guaranteed that Spencer would be there too, considering Derek had taken it upon himself to drag him along at any given chance under the pretense that ‘the kid needs to go out more’.

But the thought of JJ bailing on you on such short notice seemed out of pocket, even for her.

"Really, right now?" you asked, narrowing your eyes slightly. She shifted on her feet, her smile a bit forced. “Is everything okay?”

JJ nodded, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes—something that looked more like amusement than guilt. "Yeah, I just need to get home to the kids. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

The more she spoke, the more your suspicion grew. Her demeanor seemed too casual, almost rehearsed, as if she was trying to assure you while simultaneously eager to leave. It felt like she was in on some inside joke that you weren't aware of.

“Well, if you really have to go…”

“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.” JJ flashed a quick, almost relieved smile and gave you a hurried kiss on the cheek. “Have a good time tonight, and fill me in on all the details later.”

“Details? What details?” You called after her but she was already walking away. “JJ! Why do I have to fill you in the details?”

She simply waved a hand without turning back, leaving you standing there with a growing sense of unease. You slowly resumed your walk, taking out your phone to call Penelope but stopped in your tracks when you saw a message from her, sent five minutes ago.

Hey, Sweetie, so sorry I can’t make it to dinner tonight! Something urgent came up. Have fun without me :)

Your stomach dropped as you read the message. First JJ, and now Garcia? It was starting to feel like you were being abandoned, or worse, you were being set up. You glanced around, half expecting to see Derek lurking in the shadows with a mischievous grin, orchestrating this whole fiasco.

It wasn’t until you arrived at the restaurant and spotted Spencer alone at the entrance, trying to avoid any immediate contact with the other patrons, that you realized your suspicion was confirmed. The pieces clicked together almost too neatly, and the man seemed as surprised to see you as you were to see him.

His discomfort was evident as he adjusted his stance, gripping the strap of his bag, eyes darting to you as you approached him.

“Morgan’s late,” he announced as a greeting.

“He’s not coming,” you said, unable to keep the annoyance from creeping into your voice. “And neither is JJ or Penny.”

“He told you that?”

“No,” you replied with a sigh. “But it’s pretty obvious now, isn’t it?”

"What is?"

“That we’ve been set up,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “They’re not coming, and I’m willing to bet they never planned to.”

He frowned, his brows knitting together. “You think they did this on purpose? Why would they—”

“Come on, Reid,” you interrupted. “They’ve been nudging us to talk for weeks. What better way than to leave us no choice?”

Spencer’s gaze hardened slightly. “I don’t need to be manipulated into having a conversation,” he said sharply.

“And you think I do?” You retorted. “I’m not exactly thrilled about being tricked into a dinner date either, if that’s what this is supposed to be.”

“It’s not a date,” Spencer replied quickly, almost defensively.

“Well, that’s one thing we agree on,” you snapped, then sighed, trying to rein in your temper. “Look, I don’t want to argue. Let’s just forget this ever happened and go home.”

There was a pause as Spencer looked around, his eyes settling back on you. “You want to go home?”

“You don’t?”

He hesitated, then shrugged. “I mean, we’re already here. Might as well stay and eat. It’s not like I have any better plans.”

You blinked, taken aback by his response. A part of you had expected him to jump at the chance to escape, but here he was, suggesting you to stay.

It seemed like a bad idea. The tension, the potential for awkward silences, the possibility of yet another argument—it all pointed to leaving being the better option. But against our better judgment, you found yourself considering his suggestion more than you wanted to admit.

Maybe it was the hunger gnawing at your stomach, or perhaps it was the realization that leaving now would only make things more awkward the next time you saw each other. Dinner with Spencer was the last option you’d choose, but it was better than coming home to an empty fridge.

“Fine,” you finally said, brushing past him. “But you’re paying.”

Spencer looked momentarily surprised but then nodded. “Fine.”

“Fine.”

You rolled your eyes as you walked into the restaurant, but immediately stopped in your tracks when you took in the setting. This wasn’t just a restaurant, it was a place designed for dates. The realization made you pause as you looked around the room in horror.

The dim lighting cast a soft glow on polished wood and fine china, while a gentle melody played subtly in the background, setting an unmistakable romantic mood. Just as you were taking in the scene, a hostess approached with a warm, inviting smile.

"A table for two?"

You felt a flush rise to your cheeks as you realized how the evening was poised to look. Turning slightly to gauge Spencer's reaction, you found him even more flustered, his face turning a shade redder as he stammered a response. "Uh, yes, that's—um, that will be fine."

The hostess nodded and led you to a small, intimate table near the window. Spencer fidgeted with the strap of his bag as you both sat down, his eyes darting around the room before finally settling on you. "This is... not exactly what I expected.”

You took the menu from the hostess before she left you both alone. “I’m going to kill them,” you muttered, shaking your head.

He raised an eyebrow. “That’s a bit extreme.”

You sighed, flipping through the menu without really seeing it. “They’re always meddling. They don’t know when to stop. I'm also convinced that being locked earlier was also part of their plan. And this—this is just so...”

“Annoying?” He offered.

“Infuriating,” you emphasized, throwing your hands up. “It’s infuriating. And embarrassing. And—”

“And yet, here we are,” he cut in, feeling the same way. Spencer paused for a moment, then leaned in slightly, sending you a pointed look. “You know, maybe we should just give them what they want.”

You blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s a fact that humans are generally satisfied when they get what they want. And since what our friends want is for the two of us to get along, maybe we should just... pretend that we do.”

“Reid,” you pressed, mirroring his posture as you leaned forward. “They don’t want us to just get along. Look around us. They want us to really get along.”

Spencer paused, considering your words, his gaze lingering on the candlelit table and the other couples around, deep in conversation. He seemed to realize the full extent of the setup, the romantic undertone that wasn't simply incidental but intentional.

“You’re right,” he finally responded, leaning back in his seat. “Forget what I said. It was stupid.”

You studied him as he opened the menu, the candlelight casting a soft glow on his face. He was right. Not only was it stupid, it was crazy. Pretending to be civil with him was one thing, pretending that you shared some kind of unspoken, lingering feelings was another thing. The mere thought of it made your heart race, but you couldn’t tell if it was from anxiety or nervousness.

You quickly shook your head. It was ridiculous. How could you even begin to pretend to have feelings for someone with whom you shared such a complicated past? How could you act like there was something more between you when the reality was so different?

The whole idea was far-fetched, almost laughable. You couldn’t imagine yourself romantically involved with him, even if it was just for pretend.

#much ado about nothing #gifwriting #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x fem!reader smut #spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x female reader #spencer reid x fanfiction #spencerreid #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid fluff #Fanfiction

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mostlysignssomeportents · 5 months

Text

Antitrust is a labor issue

I'm touring my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me SATURDAY (Apr 27) in MARIN COUNTY, then Winnipeg (May 2), Calgary (May 3), Vancouver (May 4), and beyond!

This is huge: yesterday, the FTC finalized a rule banning noncompete agreements for every American worker. That means that the person working the register at a Wendy's can switch to the fry-trap at McD's for an extra $0.25/hour, without their boss suing them:

https://www.ftc.gov/news-events/news/press-releases/2024/04/ftc-announces-rule-banning-noncompetes

The median worker laboring under a noncompete is a fast-food worker making close to minimum wage. You know who doesn't have to worry about noncompetes? High tech workers in Silicon Valley, because California already banned noncompetes, as did Colorado, Illinois, Maine, Maryland, New Hampshire, North Dakota, Oklahoma, Oregon, Rhode Island, Virginia and Washington.

The fact that the country's largest economies, encompassing the most "knowledge-intensive" industries, could operate without shitty bosses being able to shackle their best workers to their stupid workplaces for years after those workers told them to shove it shows you what a goddamned lie noncompetes are based on. The idea that companies can't raise capital or thrive if their know-how can walk out the door, secreted away in the skulls of their ungrateful workers, is bullshit:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/02/its-the-economy-stupid/#neofeudal

Remember when OpenAI's board briefly fired founder Sam Altman and Microsoft offered to hire him and 700 of his techies? If "noncompetes block investments" was true, you'd think they'd have a hard time raising money, but no, they're still pulling in billions in investor capital (primarily from Microsoft itself!). This is likewise true of Anthropic, the company's major rival, which was founded by (wait for it), two former OpenAI employees.

Indeed, Silicon Valley couldn't have come into existence without California's ban on noncompetes – the first silicon company, Shockley Semiconductors, was founded by a malignant, delusional eugenicist who also couldn't manage a lemonade stand. His eight most senior employees (the "Traitorous Eight") quit his shitty company to found Fairchild Semiconductor, a rather successful chip shop – but not nearly so successful as the company that two of Fairchild's top employees founded after they quit: Intel:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/10/24/the-traitorous-eight-and-the-battle-of-germanium-valley/

Likewise a lie: the tale that noncompetes raise wages. This theory – beloved of people whose skulls are so filled with Efficient Market Hypothesis Brain-Worms that they've got worms dangling out of their nostrils and eye-sockets – holds that the right to sign a noncompete is an asset that workers can trade to their employers in exchange for better pay. This is absolutely true, provided you ignore reality.

Remember: the median noncompete-bound worker is a fast food employee making near minimum wage. The major application of noncompetes is preventing that worker from getting a raise from a rival fast-food franchisee. Those workers are losing wages due to noncompetes. Meanwhile, the highest paid workers in the country are all clustered in a a couple of cities in northern California, pulling down sky-high salaries in a state where noncompetes have been illegal since the gold rush.

If a capitalist wants to retain their workers, they can compete. Offer your workers get better treatment and better wages. That's how capitalism's alchemy is supposed to work: competition transmogrifies the base metal of a capitalist's greed into the noble gold of public benefit by making success contingent on offering better products to your customers than your rivals – and better jobs to your workers than those rivals are willing to pay. However, capitalists hate capitalism:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/18/in-extremis-veritas/#the-winnah

Capitalists hate capitalism so much that they're suing the FTC, in MAGA's beloved Fifth Circuit, before a Trump-appointed judge. The case was brought by Trump's financial advisors, Ryan LLC, who are using it to drum up business from corporations that hate Biden's new taxes on the wealthy and stepped up IRS enforcement on rich tax-cheats.

Will they win? It's hard to say. Despite what you may have heard, the case against the FTC order is very weak, as Matt Stoller explains here:

https://www.thebignewsletter.com/p/ftc-enrages-corporate-america-by

The FTC's statutory authority to block noncompetes comes from Section 5 of the FTC Act, which bans "unfair methods of competition" (hard to imagine a less fair method than indenturing your workers). Section 6(g) of the Act lets the FTC make rules to enforce Section 5's ban on unfairness. Both are good law – 6(g) has been used many times (26 times in the five years from 1968-73 alone!).

The DC Circuit court upheld the FTC's right to "promulgate rules defining the meaning of the statutory standards of the illegality the Commission is empowered to prevent" in 1973, and in 1974, Congress changed the FTC Act, but left this rulemaking power intact.

The lawyer suing the FTC – Anton Scalia's larvum, a pismire named Eugene Scalia – has some wild theories as to why none of this matters. He says that because the law hasn't been enforced since the ancient days of the (checks notes) 1970s, it no longer applies. He says that the mountain of precedent supporting the FTC's authority "hasn't aged well." He says that other antitrust statutes don't work the same as the FTC Act. Finally, he says that this rule is a big economic move and that it should be up to Congress to make it.

Stoller makes short work of these arguments. The thing that tells you whether a law is good is its text and precedent, "not whether a lawyer thinks a precedent is old and bad." Likewise, the fact that other antitrust laws is irrelevant "because, well, they are other antitrust laws, not this antitrust law." And as to whether this is Congress's job because it's economically significant, "so what?" Congress gave the FTC this power.

Now, none of this matters if the Supreme Court strikes down the rule, and what's more, if they do, they might also neuter the FTC's rulemaking power in the bargain. But again: so what? How is it better for the FTC to do nothing, and preserve a power that it never uses, than it is for the Commission to free the 35-40 million American workers whose bosses get to use the US court system to force them to do a job they hate?

The FTC's rule doesn't just ban noncompetes – it also bans TRAPs ("training repayment agreement provisions"), which require employees to pay their bosses thousands of dollars if they quit, get laid off, or are fired:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/04/its-a-trap/#a-little-on-the-nose

The FTC's job is to protect Americans from businesses that cheat. This is them, doing their job. If the Supreme Court strikes this down, it further delegitimizes the court, and spells out exactly who the GOP works for.

This is part of the long history of antitrust and labor. From its earliest days, antitrust law was "aimed at dollars, not men" – in other words, antitrust law was always designed to smash corporate power in order to protect workers. But over and over again, the courts refused to believe that Congress truly wanted American workers to get legal protection from the wealthy predators who had fastened their mouth-parts on those workers' throats. So over and over – and over and over – Congress passed new antitrust laws that clarified the purpose of antitrust, using words so small that even federal judges could understand them:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/14/aiming-at-dollars/#not-men

After decades of comatose inaction, Biden's FTC has restored its role as a protector of labor, explicitly tackling competition through a worker protection lens. This week, the Commission blocked the merger of Capri Holdings and Tapestry Inc, a pair of giant conglomerates that have, between them, bought up nearly every "affordable luxury" brand (Versace, Jimmy Choo, Michael Kors, Kate Spade, Coach, Stuart Weitzman, etc).

You may not care about "affordable luxury" handbags, but you should care about the basis on which the FTC blocked this merger. As David Dayen explains for The American Prospect: 33,000 workers employed by these two companies would lose the wage-competition that drives them to pay skilled sales-clerks more to cross the mall floor and switch stores:

https://prospect.org/economy/2024-04-24-challenge-fashion-merger-new-antitrust-philosophy/

In other words, the FTC is blocking a $8.5b merger that would turn an oligopoly into a monopoly explicitly to protect workers from the power of bosses to suppress their wages. What's more, the vote was unanimous, include the Commission's freshly appointed (and frankly, pretty terrible) Republican commissioners:

https://www.ftc.gov/news-events/news/press-releases/2024/04/ftc-moves-block-tapestrys-acquisition-capri

A lot of people are (understandably) worried that if Biden doesn't survive the coming election that the raft of excellent rules enacted by his agencies will die along with his presidency. Here we have evidence that the Biden administration's anti-corporate agenda has become institutionalized, acquiring a bipartisan durability.

And while there hasn't been a lot of press about that anti-corporate agenda, it's pretty goddamned huge. Back in 2021, Tim Wu (then working in the White wrote an executive order on competition that identified 72 actions the agencies could take to blunt the power of corporations to harm everyday Americans:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2021/08/party-its-1979-og-antitrust-back-baby

Biden's agency heads took that plan and ran with it, demonstrating the revolutionary power of technical administrative competence and proving that being good at your job is praxis:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/18/administrative-competence/#i-know-stuff

In just the past week, there's been a storm of astoundingly good new rules finalized by the agencies:

A minimum staffing ratio for nursing homes;

The founding of the American Climate Corps;

A guarantee of overtime benefits;

A ban on financial advisors cheating retirement savers;

Medical privacy rules that protect out-of-state abortions;

A ban on junk fees in mortgage servicing;

Conservation for 13m Arctic acres in Alaska;

Classifying "forever chemicals" as hazardous substances;

A requirement for federal agencies to buy sustainable products;

Closing the gun-show loophole.

That's just a partial list, and it's only Thursday.

Why the rush? As Gerard Edic writes for The American Prospect, finalizing these rules now protects them from the Congressional Review Act, a gimmick created by Newt Gingrich in 1996 that lets the next Senate wipe out administrative rules created in the months before a federal election:

https://prospect.org/politics/2024-04-23-biden-administration-regulations-congressional-review-act/

In other words, this is more dazzling administrative competence from the technically brilliant agencies that have labored quietly and effectively since 2020. Even laggards like Pete Buttigieg have gotten in on the act, despite a very poor showing in the early years of the Biden administration:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/11/dinah-wont-you-blow/#ecp

Despite those unpromising beginnings, the DOT has gotten onboard the trains it regulates, and passed a great rule that forces airlines to refund your money if they charge you for services they don't deliver:

https://www.whitehouse.gov/briefing-room/statements-releases/2024/04/24/fact-sheet-biden-harris-administration-announces-rules-to-deliver-automatic-refunds-and-protect-consumers-from-surprise-junk-fees-in-air-travel/

The rule also bans junk fees and forces airlines to compensate you for late flights, finally giving American travelers the same rights their European cousins have enjoyed for two decades.

It's the latest in a string of muscular actions taken by the DOT, a period that coincides with the transfer of Jen Howard from her role as chief of staff to FTC chair Lina Khan to a new gig as the DOT's chief of competition enforcement:

https://prospect.org/infrastructure/transportation/2024-04-25-transportation-departments-new-path/

Under Howard's stewardship, the DOT blocked the merger of Spirit and Jetblue, and presided over the lowest flight cancellation rate in more than decade:

https://www.transportation.gov/briefing-room/2023-numbers-more-flights-fewer-cancellations-more-consumer-protections

All that, along with a suite of protections for fliers, mark a huge turning point in the US aviation industry's long and worsening abusive relationship with the American public. There's more in the offing, too including a ban on charging families extra for adjacent seats, rules to make flying with wheelchairs easier, and a ban on airlines selling passenger's private information to data brokers.

There's plenty going on in the world – and in the Biden administration – that you have every right to be furious and/or depressed about. But these expert agencies, staffed by experts, have brought on a tsunami of rules that will make every working American better off in a myriad of ways. Those material improvements in our lives will, in turn, free us up to fight the bigger, existential fights for a livable planet, free from genocide.

It may not be a good time to be alive, but it's a much better time than it was just last week.

And it's only Thursday.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/25/capri-v-tapestry/#aiming-at-dollars-not-men

#pluralistic #labor #antitrust #trustbusting #noncompetes #indenture #ftc #matt stoller #david dayen #tapestry #luxury fashion #capri

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lovecla · 23 days

Text

IF YOU LOVE ME, LET ME KNOW | jack hughes.

𖧷 ｡ﾟ･ pair: jack hughes x fmc (sophia, sabrina carpenter face claim)

𖧷 ｡ﾟ･ word count: 36.6k

𖧷 ｡ﾟ･ synopsis: singer sophia montenegro and nhl star jack hughes are fuck buddies, and they’re great at it too. but what happens when they start catching feelings for each other, even after saying they never would?

𖧷 ｡ﾟ･ what to expect: nsfw, strangers-to-friends-with-benefits-to-enemies-to-lovers, fuckboy jack, singer fmc, you fell first but jack fell harder, sophia writes songs about jack!!, shitty ex, angst, happy ending.

(!!!) author’s note: this is for everyone who ever thought they’d never be chosen. you will. but you have to be the first person to choose yourself.

main female character:

Sophia Montenegro

— “those real moments where i’m just a 25-year-old girl who’s super horny are as real as when i’m going through a heartbreak and i’m miserable”.

— trust issues? yeah. my middle name!

— secretly a crybaby (maybe not so secretly).

— sometimes a slut, sometimes an angel. but always a lover girl!

— shout out to short dresses and mini-skirts. gotta be one of my favourite genders.

before you read:

00. meet the pop star, sophia montenegro;

00.1. how did you end up in the nhl;

00.2. how did you and jack meet;

00.3. your first one night stand with jack (nsfw);

chapters:

1 | chapter one

2 | chapter two

3 | chapter three

4 | chapter four

5 | chapter five

6 | chapter six

7 | chapter seven

8 | chapter eight

9 | chapter nine

10 | chapter ten

epilogue

#jack hughes #jack hughes x you #jack hughes fic #jack hughes smut #jack hughes x oc #jack hughes x reader #IYLMLMK

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written-in-flowers · 1 year

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A-Tease Lesson: OT8 X Fem!reader

Pairing: OT8 X fem!reader

Genre: smut, so much smut. /AU: sugar baby

Word Count: 16k

Summary: On the first day of shooting your variety show, "YNteez", you're forced to wear a school girl outfit and call all your boyfriends 'Oppa'. With the game's objective being who can make who cum first, you know you're doomed when Yunho walks in with a special bag of surprises.

Disclaimer: These works are completely fictitious and for entertainment purposes only. They are not meant to reflect or label the members of ATEEZ in any way. The events within never took place. Thank you.

Tags: polyamory, established relationship, cringey porn plot, teacher/student roleplay, school roleplay, sexual roleplay, anal sex, vaginal sex, sex toys, dildo, group sex, orgy, voyeurism, protected sex, oral sex (m. and f. giving/receiving) rough oral sex, touching, exhibitionism, corruption kink, virginity kink, spanking, titjobs, nipple play, double penetration, overstimulation, multiple partners, multiple orgasms, classroom sex, restraints, light bondage, light dom/sub themes, degradation, pet names, tickling, facials, bukkake, loads of aftercare, a break in the middle of it.

Previously on Idol Companion

***

Nerves buzzed around your insides as you stood outside the classroom door. You felt like the new kid at school all over again, except you weren't. You're a grown woman acting as a student for the benefit of your first variety show.

It isn’t uncommon for Idol Companions to get their own variety shows or be guest stars in the ones their significant others have, and you’re not an exception. You told the members you’re fine being part of Wanteez, which is their show, but Atinys wanted you to have your own. You’re positive part of this reason is because companion shows tend to be 19+ with lots of suggestive and sometimes blatantly sexual themes. But, you did love their fans who’d accepted you so easily on debut week, that you couldn’t deny them when they tweeted about it in droves.

You talked to your agent and the management team about the different episodes, which they told you would be filmed out of order. Since the school couldn’t be rented outside of the summer months, it'd have to be the first one you shot. YNteez would be premiering right after Wanteez’s current season ended, which gave plenty of time to film everything they needed.

The day’s episode was set at “Ateez High School”. The members pretended to be transfer students, all with their own roles and concepts. You're meant to be the school's first female student; the little underclassman who calls all the boys 'oppa' and acts cute. It made you sick. You cringed thinking about being the school girl archetype and having to call even the younger members 'oppa'. You know you'll never live it down.

The episode’s main ‘mission’ is for one side to make the other orgasm in a certain amount of time. If the boys manage to make you cum before school ends, they win. If you somehow, miraculously bring them all to orgasm before then, you win. It was undoubtedly unfair; the whole point is for the members to win, since fans never like seeing their faves lose at anything. There is only one of you; there are eight of them. What’s worse is that they’re your boyfriends. You’ve been together for six years now. They know your body inside and out, and they clearly have the upperhand in this. You know they won’t hesitate to cheat too.

All for a new ramen cooker.

A part of you isn’t bothered by this fact. The last time you’d done something this strenuous was the gangbang orgy back in the shared dorm. You remembered the aches and sore muscles following the act, and alongside those memories came the members’ gentleness with you. None of them “came after” you for weeks afterwards, since they’d been warned that any sexual penetration might hurt you further. The most they’d asked for were kisses, cuddles and the occasional handjob or fleshlight toy. The thought that you’d be the center of another orgy excited you slightly. You might even lose on purpose so you can let them ruin you all over again. Memories of riding Seonghwa while Wooyoung used your mouth sent shivers down to your core. Of course, you’ll hold your orgasm as long as possible, but you knew you’d fail. You could never edge yourself. You always did it wrong or you stop past the point of no return anyways. Hongjoong tried teaching you once, but you’d cum despite his instructions.

Your episode takes place in the supposed ‘Ateez High School’ where the boys filmed the previous day. You could see the boys through a crack in the window next to the door. They sat in basic school uniforms, listening to the game rules be explained by a producer. Your body turned numb when you realized how screwed you are in this game. You knew you’d have to use your own knowledge of the members’ bodies if you want to win. When you turned to look at them, your eyes met Hongjoong’s through the crack, and he smirked at you smugly. The other members will be easy marks, but Hongjoong…He will be their ace today. He knows your body more than any of them, and he is also an ‘edging master’. Years of practice and self-teaching made it easy for him to maintain total control of his own pleasure. He once told you he practices often, and you regretted not doing the same. Because, they all knew it: You can’t fight off an orgasm to save your life. It wasn’t something you ever needed to do until you met Ateez.

You'd started to think them over when the director snapped you from your thoughts and motioned you to open the sliding door. The moment you did, the members all stared at you in stunned silence. You supposed the director told them to act 'stunned' by your appearance. You wore the white short sleeved button down and the pleated plaid skirt of the typical school uniform. Your pink backpack, and hair done up in buns on top of your head, you radiated the ‘cute, innocent’ schoolgirl concept well. You’d thought it was stupid up until you saw the members’ reactions.

The members, sitting in various parts of the room, did nothing to hide their amazement at you in your costume. Jaws dropped. Eyes widened and glued themselves to you. However, now that you stood in the classroom, you noticed Yunho was missing. You swept over the other members, counting each head, and only found seven. He couldn’t be late since he’d arrived with you. You supposed there is some surprise element you weren’t told to add more shock value. With a sweet grin, you still walked into the room holding the straps of your bookbag and spoke in an innocent tone.

"Hello," you said, bowing to the group, "My name is YLN YN, and I'm a transfer student from Seoul."

"But you're a girl," Yeosang said, still looking you up and down. "This is a boy's school."

"I'm the school's first female student," you answered, twisting your hips cutely and letting them see your skirt sway with it. "I can't wait for us to all be friends."

"I can't wait for us to be friends either," sighed Seonghwa, his eyes focused on the bit of thigh your skirt showed. The rest of the members chuckled but you looked away shyly.

"Oppa…" you internally cringed saying it, despite it being correct to use with Seonghwa who is a year older than you. You saw him bite his bottom lip as you said it. He never made you use formal names with him since you're his girlfriend. But, you knew he liked it sometimes, especially right now. "I don't know where to sit," you followed your next line.

"Sit here!" Wooyoung patted the seat next to him excitedly.

"Sit with me!" San called from the back, waving his arm.

"I have the best seat and I'm the class president," Yeosang said, raising his hand and smiling.

"I'm the strongest student in the class," said Jongho, straightening up to flex muscles. "I can protect you from bullies."

"I'm an idol trainee," Hongjoong said, "That means I'm going to be famous one day and I can sing you songs whenever you want."

"I'm a nice guy, sit with me!" Mingi called out, “We can be friends!”

Seonghwa only stared at you, biting the inside of his cheek. You knew exactly what ran through his mind and you won't lie, it excited you. Especially with how the stylist framed his strong, broad body in his uniform and he wore his black hair in the parted, undercut style you favored immensely. How could you resist that? He's also the sort of senior classman a girl like you would gravitate towards, being older and “wiser” than you. You ignored the other boys and said:

"I think I should sit with the oldest boy," you said, eyeing Seonghwa and walking over to him. "Is it okay if I sit with you, Seonghwa-oppa?"

"Of course," he said, watching you take the seat beside him. "Oppa will look after you," he grinned when you sat down, "Don't worry."

You giggled when he tapped your nose and butterflies hit your stomach. The rest of the class groaned disappointedly, and the teacher made his entrance. It was Yunho. He wore fake glasses, a white button down and black slacks. As much as you liked his appearance, it was the duffle bag he kept slung over your shoulder. Your stomach twisted into knots at the sight of it. This must be the ‘surprise addition’ the director mentioned. He’d assured you it wasn’t anything extreme, since the members chose the idea themselves, so you hadn’t been worried. Catching Yunho’s eye as he put the bag on the desk, he smirked. Your toy lover. Yunho’s personal toy collection expanded far beyond what the group shared. You knew he kept his stack of containers hidden in his closet, labeled according to type. He’d used most of it on you by this point, so you’re more than familiar with his collection.

You’re sure some of his favorites are in there.

“Good morning, class,” he began, despite the members all stifling their laughter. “My name is Mr. Jeong, and I’ll be your sexual arts teacher this afternoon.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Hongjoong called out, trying to hide his amused smile, “The ‘what’ arts?”

“Sexual arts,” Yunho replied, equally holding back his own blushing laugh. You know once you’re naked and the toys are out, all shyness will disappear. “We here at Ateez High School believe it’s important our male students know how to satisfy their partners. I have brought with me some tools to get you started,” he patted the box, “But first, let’s go with the basics.”

“We’re really just diving in, huh?” chuckled Mingi. “No warm up or anything, sir?”

“He’s eager to get down to it,” Seonghwa joked.

“This teacher doesn’t mess around,” said Jongho from beside you.

“Hey, education is important, okay?” defended Yeosang. “Please, pay attention.”

“Look at Yeosang-hyung,” Wooyoung laughed behind him, poking his shoulder. “He’s blushing already.”

“I’m not blushing-” lied Yeosang, who covered his pink cheeks.

“-Settle down, settle down, please,” Yunho called to the room. “Let’s get the lesson going.”

“Teacher is very serious about learning,” said Hongjoong.

"I've always liked teachers who are serious about teaching their students new things,” you said loud enough for Yunho to hear. You straighten your posture to bring your breast into view when he looks over at you. "I'm always excited about new material."

“Oh,” he breathed, “You’ll learn plenty of new material today.”

You giggled and smiled, which only added to the concept you played. Yunho went to the bag and began pulling out the sex toys he’d brought. He set a small pink dildo and a thicker, longer blue one. Next, he withdrew an anal plug decorated with a pink heart-shaped gem, alongside a rod of beads ranging from large to small. Then, he placed down a handful of lavender colored bullets connected to controllers; a body wand vibrator, a suction vibrator, and a clear sleeve and a flesh-colored one. The members laughed as the amount of toys increased.

“It’s a bottomless bag,” San laughed, seeing Yunho set down a small bag of cockrings.

“It’s like that bag Mary Poppins uses,” joked Hongjoong. Yunho pulled out a chain that had small nipple clamps on each end. “It’s connected to his little cabinet at home, and he’s just reaching in,” he acted out removing things from the bag.

“I like to have the appropriate tools,” excused Yunho, forcing back his laugh as he withdrew handcuffs that matched the gag.

“That’s a lot of tools, sir,” said Mingi, who let out another laugh when Yunho put down the flesh lights.

“What are they for, Mr. Jeong?” you asked innocently, pretending to be oblivious to the implication.

“They’re to have fun with,” answered Seonghwa, whose eyes fell to your lips.

A distinct warmth on your knee made you gasp softly. You looked down to see his hand gently tracing circles on your knee. The delicate touch of his fingers on your bare skin prickled.

“What kind of fun, Oppa?”

“You’ll see,” he said in a low, sultry tone. “Be a good girl and pay attention to the teacher.”

“Okay.”

He put his hand back on your knee, and this time slipped it further upwards, still drawing small patterns as he did so. You squirmed slightly at the hand massaging your inner thigh, nearly caving into the touch easily. Damn him. This show would’ve been fine earlier in your relationship, when they didn’t know you as well. But now after several years of dating, they know every single weak point. Yunho finally finished unpacking his bag, putting down a bottle of lubricant and a variety of condoms. He addressed the classroom.

“The first part of our lesson today will be discussing female anatomy,” he said, putting on a professional front despite his pink cheeks. “Then, we will move onto a few toy demonstrations-”

“-a few?-” interrupted Jongho, shocked by the amount on the table.

“-And finally you’ll get to practice on your own.”

Seonghwa’s hand moved upwards on your thigh, and you bit your lower lip. You made a weak attempt to push him away, but it didn’t work. Yunho turned around and pulled down a diagram of a pair of breasts and a vagina. Your cheeks burned hot.

“This, students, is what people call a ‘pussy’,” Yunho said, gesturing to the photo. “It has a lot of names, but the general term is-”

“-Is that what they look like?” Mingi asked with wide eyes, but this was ruined when he laughed.

“Eh, I’ve seen nicer ones,” smirked Hongjoong, who looked over at you then his brow furrowed at your expression. With a quick glance down, he held back a laugh and looked at Yunho.

“All pussies are pretty,” said Yeosang with a small smile. “Regardless of what they look like.”

“What are the things on the top, sir?” asked Wooyoung, who then bit his lip to not laugh.

“These are called ‘breasts’,” Yunho answered.

Yunho started explaining the various pleasure points on the female body. You tried paying attention, but Seonghwa’s hand made that difficult.

“Oppa,” you whispered, putting your hand on his but not pushing it away.

“I’m sorry. I can’t help it,” he whispered to you, “You look so cute in that uniform.” His hand went far enough that it lifted your skirt over your thighs. “We should ask the stylist if we can take it home. I’ve always wanted to dress you up before I fuck you.”

“Hwa,” you whimpered, putting your thighs together to trap his hand. Your squished thighs did nothing to stop your pussy from throbbing slightly. “We’re supposed to be paying attention. I don’t want to get a bad grade.”

“I think you’ll be fine, YN-ssi,” he replied in your ear. “The teacher likes you a lot.”

Seonghwa grasped your thigh, fingers pressing into the innermost part close to your sex, and you kept yourself staring straight ahead. You tried keeping his hand from going closer, because you knew you’re a goner if he touched your center. But, Seonghwa still managed to press three fingers right against the thin panties.

“-This is the clitoris,” you heard Yunho say. “It’s a small-”

The very tip of Seonghwa’s finger circled around your clit lightly, and the sensations flared up in your body. You shifted from him, but not by much since you’re surrounded by people. You caught the eye of Jongho, who sat at the table on your right, and he smirked knowingly.

“Excuse me, sir,” Jongho raised his hand.

“Yes, Jongho-ssi?”

“I think Seonghwa-hyung and YN-ssi are a few steps ahead of us.”

“Traitor,” Seonghwa hissed at him, removing his hand from your sex.

“Seonghwa-ssi,” Yunho called to him, still playing his ‘teacher’ role despite the age differences, “Where are your hands?”

“Here,” Seonghwa innocently raised them above the desk, “Jongho’s lying.”

“Am not!”

“YN-ssi?”

“Yes?”

“Why don’t you come up here and help me with the next part of our lesson? I think the others will understand better with a demonstration,” he told you.

“Good idea, sir,” Wooyoung gave him an approving thumbs up.

“We’re visual learners,” San nodded.

These comments made the others laugh, but you carefully stood up and tried avoiding the warmth between your thighs. Yunho leaned on the edge of the desk, and guided you to his lap. You heard the deep inhale of breath he took when your body brushed up against his. His dark eyes drank you in for a moment before he looked back to the others.

“The first thing we do when we’re with a partner,” he said, leaning closer and lifting your chin to look at him, “Is kiss them.”

Yunho’s lips tasted like fresh spearmint as they pressed to yours. Holding your chin, he kissed you in soft pecks at first before locking your lips together. His tongue rolled against yours easily, and you couldn’t help letting out a soft moan when they met. You gripped his arm to keep yourself steady, because you’re sure to get weak knees soon, and gently grinded into his lap.

“See,” Yunho broke an inch from your lips, “Just simple touches and kisses are a good start.” His hand left your chin as he recaptured your lips, and went to your thigh, where he lightly rubbed the side up and down. “Sofy, nice touches,” he said between kisses, “Gentle and light…enough for them to feel it.” He gripped at your hamstring, letting his fingers graze your ass as he did it, “How is that, YN-ssi? Good?”

“Yes, Mr. Jeong,” you nodded, your pussy starting to throb again. “Is it only kisses on the mouth, though? Can you kiss your partner in other places?”

“Of course,” he briefly kissed you again. “You can kiss here,” he pecked your cheek, “Here,” he moved to your jawline, “And right here too.”

Your eyes fell shut when he brushed his lips on your neck. His warm breath tickled the flesh there when he started leaving soft kisses on the base. You bit your lip when he started tenderly sucking your neck, even giving small bites before licking over them. When you whimpered, he stopped.

“I’m sorry, YN-ssi,” he said, “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No,” you shook your head. “I liked it.”

“You liked it?” he asked for confirmation.

“Yes,” you nodded.

“Then let’s do the other side, hm?”

You leaned your head back as he continued kissing your neck. His bulge poked you every time you moved against his lap, and his faint groans tickled you. As much as you wanted to reach down to grab him, you maintained your ‘innocent’ concept.

“Once,” Yunho forced himself to pull away from you, “Your partner is ready, you can start removing their clothes.”

He stood you between his legs, your back to his chest, and wrapped his arms around you. When he moved to untuck your shirt from your skirt, you grabbed both his wrists.

“Remove my clothes?” you pouted, wriggling against his crotch still. “Is that part of the lesson?”

“It is,” he replied, putting both your arms behind your back. “You don’t have anything to be shy about,” he assured you, pulling your top from your skirt and starting to unbutton it, “I’m only showing your classmates what it looks like in real life.”

“And who’s a better choice than our cute little dongsaeng, YN?” cooed Seonghwa, who leaned forward on his desk to look at you closely.

“We all want to do well on our test,” said Yeosang, who fixed his eyes on your breasts, which became more and more visible as Yunho finished unbuttoning you. “You’re pretty whether you’re naked or not.”

“But most certainly when you’re naked,” added Wooyoung, though got a glance from Hongjoong.

The group awed collectively once Yunho opened your shirt to reveal your bra. You’d decided to go for the virginal vibe, and chose a white bra with lace patterns along the cleavage hem. Your arousal sparked up once you became exposed to them. Yunho cupped both your breasts and sighed deeply. He didn’t say anything as his fingers danced along the curves and seams of your bra before grasping your tits again. He squished them together and rubbed his thumbs over your nipples, which hardered under the fabric.

“Simple touches,” he repeated, starting to kiss your neck again. “Pinching,” he pinched both your nipples, “And rubbing,” he grazed his tumbs once more, “Is the basics for stimulation. Isn’t that right, YN-ssi?”

“Yes,” you nodded. His touches sent shivers down to your core, where you felt yourself dampening each time. “Sir,” you called meekly, “Is it supposed to throb?”

This drew everyone's attention. “What’s throbbing?” he asked, though he already knew, as he continued rolling your nipples between his fingers. “Your nipples?”

You shook your head, “Down there. That part that’s in the pictures.”

“Yes, sweetie,” he answered, groaning softly at your response. “It’s supposed to. Is it doing that now?” When you nodded, he said, “We’ll get to that part of the lesson in a moment. For now, why don’t we let one of your classmates touch them so they can see how they feel?” His jaw dropped when he tugged down your bra to reveal your bare breasts, a hand taking your nipple between two fingers. “So soft,” he breathed in your ear, “And so nice. They’re the prettiest I’ve ever seen.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” he said, turning your head to kiss you deeply. “And they'll look even prettier by the end of class. Mingi-ssi,” he called over Mingi, “Come and show the class what you learned from the demonstration.”

Mingi, tall and broad, cropped his hair short and dyed it blond for their comeback. It suited him, and you hated that it suited him because that only amplifies your arousal. Mingi stood in front of you, eyes scanning over your face, before he brought you in for a tender kiss. Full lips easily parted yours to let his tongue in, and large hands grasped your breasts. Mingi’s love for your chest would soon become public knowledge, since he did nothing to hide his admiration of them.

“I love your tits, you know that?” he whispered to you, even though you’re sure the microphones around the room will pick it up. He gave them a gentle squeeze that added kindling to the fire, “I can never get enough of them.” Without instruction, he bent down to swipe his tongue over your nipple, and smiled when you whimpered. “And they’re so sensitive,” he said, taking it in his mouth to suckle on.

“Remember the last time you were in between us?” Yunho asked you, breaking his character in this concealed moment. “When you went with us to K-Con and you shared a hotel room with Mingi and I?”

“And we spent so much time teasing each other with just our mouths?” Mingi added, sucking on your other breast now.

“Yes,” you huffed. “Then we fucked once we couldn’t take it anymore.”

The memory came to you vividly. You’d decided to share a room with Yunho and Mingi, which meant gaming and cuddling together. The ‘cuddling’ then led to kissing, and the kissing led to undressing, and that led to being pressed between your tall boys.

“That’s what we’re gonna do today,” Mingi said, pecking your lips and squeezing your breasts. “We’re going to tease you with Yunho’s toys until we can’t hold back anymore. Would you like that?”

“I would,” you whimper, pulling him up by the jaw to kiss him again. “Oh, fuck yes, I’d love that.”

They both chuckled and continued fondling and taking turns kissing you until someone spoke.

“Professor,” Yeosang raised his hand, and you three looked at him, “May I try?”

“Absolutely,” Yunho insisted.

Yeosang took Mingi’s place, and Mingi sat down nearby. The members grew silent as Yeosang grabbed your tits next. He was meant to be the virginal class president, and he kept to this as he kissed you. Every kiss with Yeosang reminds you of the first: a shy kiss stolen in the darkness of a movie theater. It started with timid kisses that quickly turned heated and passionate. He looked down to see your breast in his hand, and he laughed bashfully.

“What is it?” you asked, pushing hair from his face. “You don’t like them, Oppa?”

“I do,” he assured you with a kiss, “They’re so soft and squishy.”

“Pfft, ‘squishy’,” you heard Wooyoung say, but didn’t laugh.

Yunho held back a laugh too, saying instead, “Yes, Yeosang-ssi, they’re supposed to be like that.”

“Will you kiss them too like Mingi-oppa did?” you asked, batting your lashes at him.

“Can I?”

You nodded, and let out a gentle sigh as he kissed the tops of them first. Yeosang kissed down to one nipple and ran the tip of his tongue around each one. “Are there toys, Professor,” he began, “That I could use on these?”

“There are loads,” Yunho answered. He picked up one of the bullet toys on the table and used the controller to turn it on. The light buzzing made you squirm with delight when he put it right to your nipple, “You see, class, this toy is called a ‘bullet’. Mostly called that for its size and shape, it’s the perfect toy for stimulating certain parts of your partner. Like their nipples,” he carefully traced the toy around one. “Try it, Yeosang.”

“Okay.”

Yeosang kissed you once more before taking up the opposite breast to tease. When you moaned and grinded into Yunho again, he smiled, “Am I doing it right? I’m not hurting you, am I?”

“No, no,” you shook your head. You pushed your chest closer to him, “It feels really good.”

“Professor, Professor, Professor, may I give it a try?” asked Wooyoung excitedly, waving his hand in the air.

Yunho beckoned him forward, and handed him his own bullet. Yeosang stepped to the side, but continued teasing your nipple with the toy. Wooyoung pecked your lips a few times, turning on the bullet and running it down to your other nipple. All the stimulation running through you had your pussy pulsating and pushing back into Yunho. You thought you might climax right then if they didn’t stop.

“Is this okay?” Wooyoung asked, pushing the toy directly against your nipple so the vibrations went deeper.

“Yes!”

“Mr. Jeong,” Wooyoung said, “Can we put these in other places too?”

Judging by the smirk he gave your pleading face, Wooyoung had been told to take it a step further.

“You can,” Yunho answered. “I’ll show you.”

Yunho ran his hands from your stomach to your thighs, where he hooked his hands around the hem of your skirt. Your arms squished between his chest and your back, you couldn’t do anything as he lifted your skirt to reveal your panties. Made of white cotton, a wet spot could be seen clearly against the light fabric, which caused the members to groan in unison. Finally getting a view of the room now, you saw they’d all unbuckled their pants and now stroked themselves under their desks. Your horny boys. Not that you complained. You’d agreed to this entire idea because at the end of the day, you’re as horny as they are. Yunho let you slide off his lap, and he guided you to sit on the desk.

“Spread out your legs for me,” Yunho instructed, which you obeyed, “And lean back on this.”

He produced a cushion a staff member must’ve hidden under the desk, and put it down for you to proper yourself on comfortably. Dark blue and wide, you recognized it as the cushion you knelt during the last orgy.

“Someone’s gotten very wet,” Wooyoung sneered, running the tip of his finger over the wet spot. “I heard they get like this when a woman’s turned on. Does that mean YN-ssi is turned on, sir?”

“She is,” Yunho smiled, standing behind you and watching Yeosang and Wooyoung continue teasing your nipples. “You can put your toys on her pussy too,” he told them, “So, it’ll get even wetter.”

Wooyoung stood aside so the rest of the members could see his toy dance down your body to your sex. You instinctively grabbed onto Yunho’s arms, and your thighs tensed as the newest sensation. Wooyoung languidly dragged the bullet up and down your pussy; he sometimes pressed it right between the open lips to where your clit was, but he mainly stuck to his tracing. The vibrations hit right on the bundle between them, and sent waves through your walls. You did your best to stay still as Yunho instructed, but it became more difficult as it went on. You’re glad the school building remained empty, because you’re certain you could be heard outside the classroom. Your boyfriends still sat at their desks, doing nothing to hide the fact that they’re masturbating, and this alone pushed you closer to the edge. Soon, Yeosang joined Wooyoung in the torture, and you cried out.

“Mr. Jeong, Mr. Jeong,” you whimpered, “That throbbing is…is…back.”

“Because you’re about to orgasm,” he said in your ear. “That’s the best part of the whole thing.” He kissed just beneath your ear, and continued, “I like to watch sweet, pretty girls like you cum all over themselves from my toys. But, it’s too early in the lesson for orgasms.”

Wooyoung and Yeosang must’ve heard him, and immediately turned off their bullets. Your whimper of disappointment amused them, but Yunho soothed you with a soft kiss to your temple.

“Shouldn’t we take these off, sir?” Wooyoung asked, playing with your pantyline. "I think YN-ssi might be uncomfortable."

“Yes, we should,” he said. “Go ahead.”

The two members each took a side and peeled off your underwear. Your sex exposed to the room, you heard the members whine, groan and moan at the sight of you. Wooyoung licked his lips as he eyed your wet cunt, and you knew he wanted to put his mouth on it.

“Is that what they look like wet?” asked Mingi, who’d leaned to the side to catch a glimpse of you.

"It is," Yunho answered, a bit breathless from the sight.

"Can they get wetter?" Wooyoung asked, gingerly running his thumb over your pussy. "It looks so pretty all wet like this."

"I think they can get wetter," said Yeosang, who joined in the rubbing so both thumbs spread your juices around. "Mr. Jeong, can we get her wet?"

"We will," he replied, bending down to softly suck and lick your nipple, "But we have more things to cover. Take your seats."

He put his hand between your legs and gently stroked your folds as he sucked your nipples. You were certain he meant to keep you hanging in the limbo between frustration and ecstasy forever. His slender digits traced the very edges of the folds, dancing over them and your clit several times.

"Mr. Jeong," you whimpered, "Shouldn't we keep on with the lesson?"

"In a minute, darling," he said, giving you a soft kiss before bending over to the other side. "I can't keep my hands or my mouth off you for too long. I love the sweet little sounds you make when I touch and kiss you."

"But, if we go further in the lesson," you said, "Maybe you can do more than kissing and touching."

He growled against your neck when you said this, kissing your shoulder as he replied, "Good thinking." He nuzzled your nose with his, "Such a smart girl. You're going to do so well." He kissed you one more time, then returned to the others, "Since we’ve learned about bullet toys, let’s learn about this.”

He picked up the smaller dildo from the table and put your left leg over his lap. He explained what a dildo was and its primary functions, but he didn’t linger on pointless descriptions long. He slid the toy along your clit, giving soft taps that made you whimper, before sliding the head inside you. It didn’t stretch enough to hurt, but you still felt it pushing and pulling your walls.

“You always start slowly,” Yunho explained, “And never go too deep. This toy isn’t very long, so it won’t hurt our YN-ssi too much, but particularly long ones should only go halfway.”

“Sucks for you, Seonghwa-hyung,” Hongjoong snorted, batting Seonghwa’s arm.

“Shut up,” Seonghwa blushed, hitting him back. “It’s not that big.”

“No, no, hyung,” Jongho disagreed, “It is. It really is.”

“I’m still traumatized from when I first saw it,” said San.

“It’s not that big!” repeated Seonghwa, though the tinge on his cheeks gave it away.

“Seonghwa-ssi,” called “Mr. Jeong”, “Why don’t you help me in the demonstration next?”

“Yes, sir.”

Seonghwa tucked himself back into his pants, and you wished he hadn’t. He truly isn’t monstrously or concerningly large. He simply had an inch or two over the other members, but his thickness is what you enjoyed the most. You could enjoy being fucked by him for ages, and never be disappointed. Seonghwa brought your right leg over his lap and he hovered over your pussy. Yunho offered him the pink dildo, and he took over, keeping the same, careful pace. The only difference was while Yunho mainly penetrated you, Seonghwa bent down to swat his tongue over your clitoris. Wrapping one arm underneath you, he started slowly whirling it around while sliding the toy in and out.

“Hey, is he allowed to do that?” asked Wooyoung, pointing at Seonghwa.

“No, I don’t think so?” Yunho replied, looking around at the hidden cameras as if a staff member would somehow answer.

“I can't help it,” Seonghwa said, lifting his head and sliding the toy deep inside you. “I love eating her out. She tastes so damn good,” he mewled as he started hungrily licking and sucking your clit. This put you into a new wave of pleasure that had you pushing into the toy for more.

“Because I held back,” Wooyoung exclaimed. His outburst caused the other members to start laughing again. “I love eating her pussy more than any of you, and I stopped myself because of the skit. That’s not fair-”

“-Wooyoung-ah-”

“-It’s not fair, Professor!”

The members kept laughing, and you chuckled too from Wooyoung’s outrage. Yet, Seonghwa's tongue distracted you right away.

"Oppa," you called out to him, hand slipping into his dark hair, "Mr. Jeong didn't say anything about kissing me there."

"Well, I want to," he said, sliding the toy fully inside and flicking your clit at the same time. "You like it, don't you?" He asked, "Isn't Oppa making you feel good?"

"Ye-yes…" you breathed, grinding into his face, "Yes, yes, Hwa-oppa…don't stop, please. It feels so good. Your mouth feels so-"

At this, Seonghwa quickly swirled his tongue around your clit while pushing and pulling on the toy faster. Yunho and the others watched in amazement as Seonghwa pleasured you. You felt yourself getting dizzy from the pleasure churning inside you. You weren't sure how much longer you could last with the sensation pouring over you. Your sex became more and more sensitive to his tongue and the dildo that you knew you'd crack eventually.

"I want to use that one, sir," Seonghwa stopped completely and nodded to the longer dildo near Yunho. "I think YN-ssi should be stretched out more before we go further, right?"

"That's right," Yunho smirked at him. He took hold of the pink dildo inside you, "Let's pull this one out and let YN-ssi clean it with her mouth, hm?"

The room watched as you sat up as much as possible and let Yunho slide the toy into your mouth. The hard silicone thinly tasted of your own fluids, a thing you didn't mind at all. You kept eye contact with Yunho while he slid the toy in and out of your mouth; you stuck out your tongue to run it over the sides whenever beckoned to do so, entrancing both Yunho and Seonghwa. When you sucked the top and let it out with a small pop, he spoke.

"Look at the others while you do that," he said, still watching you.

You shifted your eyes over to the others, and saw their eyes still trained on you. You batted your lashes innocently and asked, "Am I doing this right?"

"Yes…"

"Oh yes…"

"So right…"

"Keep going. You're doing so well."

"Get this one wet with your mouth too," Seonghwa lifted the blue dildo as Yunho removed the pink one. "We need to get it slippery before we put it in your pussy again. That way, it doesn't hurt so much."

"Okay, Oppa."

You started licking the blue dildo, which really was considerably thicker and longer. Yunho rarely used this toy on you since he worried it might hurt, but you assured him it never did. You shifted your eyes back to the members, licking the underside of the toy before putting the tip in your mouth. To add to the effect, you started playing with your nipples yourself, groping your breasts and teasing yourself while sucking the toy. Yunho held out the pink dildo to your mouth, and you switched over to that one next.

"Try to take as much as you can," said Hongjoong, breathing heavily as he stroked himself in his pants. "I want to see how far you can take it."

"I bet she can take it deep in her throat, if she tried," said San, also rubbing himself in his pants.

"Try it, YN-ssi," Jongho insisted, his cock fully out and throbbing in his hand. "It's okay if you can't, but we want to see you try."

You stayed seated as Yunho slid the toy over your tongue to the back of your throat. Sucking firmly, you bobbed your head forward and backward on the dildo while looking at the rest of the class. Having their eyes on you brought more warmth to your center. Their eyes followed every motion you made as if afraid that they'll miss something. You let the tip rest in the back of your throat a moment, even if it ached slightly, then pulled back for air. Spit dripped from your mouth, though Seonghwa wiped this with his thumb to taste. He gave you a deep kiss before putting his own toy in your mouth. He went a bit faster than Yunho, prodding your throat at a regular pace and even sinking it far enough to gag you. His soft moans of amazement and cooing only stirred the pot inside you more. You wanted to taste them both.

"Why don't you lay back down for me?" Yunho asked, already slowly laying you on the desk, "And we can keep going."

"Can I play with yours, Mr. Jeong?" You asked, groping the obvious bulge in his trousers.

"Yes, you can," he said. "You've been doing so well, you deserve a treat."

Your head nearly at the edge of the table, you tilted your head upwards as he unbuckled himself and withdrew his cock. You opened your mouth to taste salty droplets on your tongue, savoring the bittersweetness when he started gradually sliding in and out. Yunho’s deep groans matched the faint ones going about the room; his dark eyes watched his cock push into your throat each time, his balls centimeters from your face as he did it. The odd angle took getting used to, but once Yunho picked up the rhythm, the needy moans came out in slews. You felt his tip poking into your throat this time, and the air restriction excited you. You gasped for air each time he withdrew to slap the head in your cheeks and chin. Your hips grinded into the air for some sort of friction, desperate for more stimulation before Seonghwa pressed the blue dildo to the entrance. Unable to stop themselves anymore, the other members came to the desk and watched close up. You felt them surround the desk, which you're sure doesn't help with the camera angles.

A warm tongue on your clit had you moaning around Yunho’s length. You knew who it was by the satisfied muffled moans. Wooyoung kept a delicate pace in time with Seonghwa’s toy; you knew you'd cum soon if they kept going.

"Sir," Mingi came up to him, watching him go deep in your mouth, "Can I try it too?"

"Sure," said Yunho, "But first, boys, let's put these on."

He grabbed the bag of black silicone cock rings, and handed them out. When he gave one to Hongjoong, he lifted his hand to decline. He never needed a cock ring, since he held himself back well enough. But, Yumho insisted.

"This is going to be a long lesson, Hongjoong," he put it in his hand, "Put it on."

"I don't need it."

"Put it on before I give you detention." Yunho laughed, but slightly backed away at Hongjoong’s raised eyebrows.

"Put it on, Hongjoong-oppa," you frowned, reaching for both Yunho’s and Mingi’s cocks. "I want you to last for a really long time."

"Alright," he said gently, bending to kiss your lips, "Anything for my cute dongsaeng."

You giggled, knowing how much he liked that, and then guided Mingi back into your mouth once he put on the ring. Seonghwa’s toy went faster and slightly deeper, and you shuddered at the response the others gave. It left you feeling frozen in place as it entered you over and over again. The orgasmic ball building in your stomach rolled to that spot between your thighs each time the toy touched your g-spot. You didn't care if you came now. You needed to. The pressure inside you became too much to handle; with Mingi filling your mouth and nearly your throat, and both Jongho and Hongjoong pinching your nipples while Wooyoung and San took turns flicking your clit, you came in a burst of fire. It tensed your muscles and had you tearing up and muffled by Mingi.

"Oooh, that's it," Yunho groaned, sliding in to take Mingi’s place, "That's a real orgasm there."

They eased up on their teasing once they felt you coming down from your high. You knew there was more. So much more.

"Roll onto your stomach, sweetheart," Yunho instructed, helping you roll over and get as comfortable as possible on the wooden desk.

Your lower half hanging off the edge, the position left you exposed to the room. Seonghwa lifting your skirt over your ass turned your cheeks hot, and you twitched slightly at a pair of hands grasping your buttocks. The usual arousal you'd feel didn't hit you right away, considering you still rode the tails of your orgasm, but you knew it'd come back soon. San, you're sure it's him, gave your ass a light spank and a squeeze that made you squeak. The other members soothed your quaking muscles with gentle caresses and quiet praises, but you knew they had plenty planned for you still.

"If you ever want us to stop," Hongjoong crouched in front of you, wiping your cheeks and chin, "Or want a break, you let us know, okay?"

You only nodded, your throat pinching from before. They always remind you of your safeword, and that you can take breaks. He kissed your lips softly, and smiled at you.

"You're so pretty," he said, pecking your forehead. "I wish I could keep you like this forever."

"You know you can have me this way whenever you want," you told him, "If I get to have you the way I want."

He grinned, "And how would you like me?"

You reached down for the gray fleshlight on the corner of the desk, and said, "Desperate for me."

"Fuck…"

He stood up right away, and held his dick out to you. Wetting it with your mouth for a minute or so, you then slowly slid the toy onto his length. His shirt lifted a few inches from his waist, you saw his stomach muscles begin contracting each time you passed over the head of his cock. Knowing how much he likes it, you bent forward further to lick the sack hanging underneath.

"She looks so hot when she does that," huffed Mingi, who looked on while stroking himself. "I love watching her when she licks my balls like that."

"Me too," breathed Hongjoong, who did his best to not thrust forward towards you. He whined when you tenderly sucked one of them, shifting in place and whining more. "It feels so fucking good."

"It's even better when one of us is eating her out too."

You quivered in a whimper when something wet touched your clit again. Hearing the soft, high moans, you knew it to be Wooyoung once again. The tip of his tongue gingerly rolled the tender bud and slipped to your fluttering hole, then going back down to your clit again.

"You really can't help yourself, can you?" Laughed Yunho.

"I told you I liked eating her out,” said Wooyoung, darting his tongue back inside you. “I could do this all day.”

You made sure Hongjoong felt the vibrations of your moans on the thin skin, a certain weak point of his. Gradually sliding the toy up and down, you realized his precum helped move it along easily, occasionally making a squelch sound each time. You removed the toy to taste his precum yourself, and made him wetter in the process. You loved the way his moans turned into desperate whimpers, and how he couldn't help holding onto some part of you whether it be your hair, shoulder, neck or somewhere close. You loved being the one who made him this way; the strong captain of the team who has to hold everything together all the time. With your mouth and fleshlight working him so easily, you loved hearing him unravel before you. You squealed along with the obscene slurping Wooyoung made when he sucked the juices from you.

"I love eating her out after she's cummed," groaned Wooyoung, "When she's all messy and slippery and needs me to clean her up."

"And this ass is just as good too," added San, pulling your cheeks apart to see both holes clearly. "Mr. Jeong, is this a toy we can use back here?"

"Oh, yes you can," Yunho nodded, smiling. "It's an anal plug, and it's exactly for that, but I think YN-ssi will like the beads better. They start off small and get bigger in size. Begin with something small, San-ah. We don’t want to hurt YN-ssi.”

“Not right away,” San added, giving your ass a smack.

In a minute or so, a cold substance slipped between your ass cheeks which was then spread with something round. You melted in place from all the stimulation, knowing exactly what your boyfriends had in mind now. Your mind suddenly became fixated on the toy circling the rim of your hole and delicately pushing into it every so often. It tickled something inside you that brought back your arousal; it mingled with Wooyoung’s tongue lapping at your pussy, and made you moan around Hongjoong’s tip whenever it stuck out the other side of the sleeve.

San started with the first bead, which hardly felt like anything, and then slowly pushed further into your ass. You used both hands to work Hongjoong as you let out soft, whimpering moans. The real hit of pleasure came when he reached the last ball, the largest at about an inch, and fully set itself inside you. You let go of Hongjoong and braced yourself on the desk, moving your hips for any kind of friction elsewhere, which amused the members.

“That feels good, doesn’t it?” San asked slyly.

“Ye-yes,” you nodded.

“I know something that’s going to make you feel even better,” said Yunho. "You all return to your seats and Seonghwa can go first."

"Gladly, Professor."

Seonghwa pulled you over to the desk behind you, grabbing a seat and bringing you into his lap. You felt his stiff cock press against the toy in your ass, and his balls graze your sex. The mere bit of friction had you whining pathetically. Rolling your hips against it, Seonghwa gave a low groan that made you throb.

“Seonghwa…” you whimpered, looking over your shoulder at him, “Seonghwa, I want your cock.”

“Say it the right way, YN-ssi.”

“Seonghwa-oppa,” you whined, putting both his hands on your breasts, “May I please have your cock? Please? I want to see if it fits.”

"Then let’s see if it fits," he said in your ear, and you didn't hesitate.

He swiftly entered you with half his length, which still made you gasp loudly. The members around you sighed seeing you being filled by Seonghwa's cock. He kept your skirt over your waist so anyone nearby could see your most intimate area. It didn't help that he occasionally tugged and pushed on your beads, causing another route of pleasure. Yeosang and Hongjoong on your left were the ones with the most perfect view. You locked eyes with Yeosang, and arched your back to show him his favorite part of you. Your tits.

Seonghwa hissed in a low tone when your sex clamped down around him, and gradually started milking him as you bounced. Your tits doing the same, Yeosang exhaled deeply when he saw them out in the open. It was Seonghwa's hands that grasped them, and started rolling your nipples between his fingers. You need to keep a tight hold on your orgasm. You started grinding yourself on his lap, feeling him deep inside you. Yeosang kept his hand in his pants, stroking his whole length gradually. However, it was not Seonghwa who put his hand on you next.

Jongho took your empty seat to lightly brush a bullet toy over your clit again. The light tickling sensation had you nearly crying from the pleasure.

"What a naughty girl you are,” Jongho cooed, putting the toy right to your entrance each time Seonghwa stretched you. “I never thought a sweet girl would be such a slut.”

“A very big slut,” Seonghwa groaned. He left your breasts alone, and grabbed your arms. Pulling them back, he kept you restrained as he bounced you on his cock. The new angle coupled with the two toys brought you closer to the edge. “The class slut,” he said. “Is that what you are, YN-ssi? Are you our slut now?”

“Yes,” you cried out, “Yes, yes, yes.”

“Then say it,” he growled. “Say it, slut.”

“I’m the…the…”

“Go on, say it,” encouraged Jongho. “Say it.”

“I’m…” you breathed, “I’m the class…the class slut!”

They all laughed at this, and you nearly came from it. You leaned forward on the desk and moved quicker. It made your thighs and legs burn slightly, and your elbows pressed into the hard desk, but the pleasure deeply outweighed the pain. Seonghwa wasn’t long enough to do any sort of damage, but you knew you’d be feeling him well after this. You gritted your teeth the moment his tip started hitting your g-spot, the bundle of pressure causing your eyes to roll back. But, then you had to stop yourself. You stayed frozen in place, putting your head down and keeping still. This gave Jongho and Seonghwa an opportunity that they took right away.

You squealed into the crook of your arm when both men began working you rapidly, your clit and g-spot flaring in unison. You’d felt it tickling inside you, inching closer and closer. Your knuckles stretched over the bones thinly into fists, and you couldn’t hold back anymore. The vibrations. Seonghwa’s thickness and length. The members sitting around, jerking their cocks and panting as they watched you. You came hard around Seonghwa, your walls clamping down on him. Seonghwa’s groans turned into grunting as he charged up inside you. He’s close. You could tell by his speed and sounds. His thighs tensed underneath you, and his thrusts became sloppier and sporadic. This alone kept you shuddering and shaking on top of him, your orgasm hitting you hard in the chest and abdomen as Seonghwa pumped it out of you. When you finished, Seonghwa’s own orgasm approached.

“Are you…you going to cum, Oppa?” you asked, not stopping your pace at all.

“Ye-y-yes-s!” he gritted through his teeth.

He pulled out right as he came, yanking off his condom and spraying warm streams on your ass and lower back. You both took deep, slow breaths as your bodies descended and relaxed from the tension. But, you knew you were far from done. Your legs still like jelly, you locked eyes with Yeosang as you removed your shirt completely, tossing it onto Jongho and leaving the table. The members watched you walk around the desk to Yeosang, who wouldn’t meet your eyes as you took off your bra next.

“Yeosangie-oppa,” you knelt down beside him, hands touching his knees so he faced you, “Are you understanding anything about the lesson? I’m feeling a bit lost,” you said, pouting at him as you ran your fingertips up and down his thighs. The dark haired man stared down at your breasts the entire time, occasionally glancing up to your face. You knew keeping to the roleplay character would excite him the most. “Mr. Jeong said we can make each other feel good without the toys too, and the others know how to do it, but I don’t know if I’m doing it right.”

“Um, uh, yes…” he muttered, no longer touching himself but instead watching you. “You’re doing really well. So well…”

“I am?”

“But, I think there’s something that you,” he breathed deeply, “That you could do for me.”

“Like what?”

“You can use your tits on me too. Not just your mouth or your other parts.”

You tugged down the front of his pants and pressed your chest to his bare cock. “You mean like this?” you asked, putting his tip over your nipple.

“Yeah, like that.”

Yeosang coughed to cover up the moan he suppressed. You loosened his tie, and unbuttoned his shirt as you brought him in for a kiss. Deep, your tongues and mouths locked together, Yeosang immediately grabbed your breasts to pinch your hard nipples. It made you moan into his mouth, which he returned with his own. His hands went down your back, where he grasped your bottom tenderly. Each time he kneaded your cheeks, the toy inside you shifted. Yeosang must’ve sensed this, and started gently pushing and pulling on the rod of beads. He’d let it slide out one or two beads before sinking them back inside to where the tip touched the deepest part.

“I want you to use something on me,” he murmured in the kiss. “It’s not fair that you get to have all the toys.”

You giggled, “Like what?”

“Like this one.”

He took out a cock ring from his pocket, clearly one he swiped off the table. A singular black band, you saw the textured ring within the larger one; both remained attached to a bar with a slim bullet vibe inside. You smiled up at him knowingly.

“It’s always the quiet ones,” you sneered at him, kissing him softly before taking the ring from him. “But, what if I put it on wrong?”

“Don’t worry, YN-ssi,” Yunho told you, pushing the head of his cock to your wet pussy, “I’ll observe you to make sure you’re doing it right.”

He put both his hands over yours and helped you put the cock ring on Yeosang. One ring wrapped around his balls underneath, the larger one settled around the base of his cock, with a soft click the vibe came to life. Yeosang nearly jumped out of his seat in a surprised yelp. Clearly the toy proved more effective than he expected. Some of the members cackled and imitated him, but neither of you noticed them.

“Don’t put it too high,” Yunho told you, hands leaving yours to cup your chest. “I’m sure Yeosang-ssi wants to enjoy other parts of you first.”

“Like what?”

“Like these,” Yeosang answered, squeezing your breasts again. “I could cum just playing with them.”

“Only playing with them?” Yunho teased, kissing your neck as he smirked. “I’ve seen something different.”

“What do you mean, sir?” you asked him.

“Yeosang will show you. I’ll be right here to watch…”

You gasped at the sudden intrusion of Yunho’s length into your pussy. He continued the careful motion of using the anal toy in time with his own thrusts. Someone, you’re not sure who, dripped more lubricant between you and Yunho so the slipperiness made it smoother. But, it was Yeosang and his vibrating toy you focused on.

Yeosang’s cock sticking straight up, you grasped it with both hands and stroked languidly. He gripped onto the edge of the desk and the back of his chair as he watched, mesmerized, by the sight of you. You knew the combination between your hands and the toy would be enough to make him burst all over you, but you kept it steady. You wasted no time in licking him from top to bottom after stroking him to full hardness, and making sure to swirl your tongue around the tip every time. When he kept back a moan in his throat, you latched your lips around the sensitive underside. Flicking your tongue over the wrinkled area, Yeosang gasped and cried. The vibe inside the ring tickled your hands and tongue every time you moved over it; you felt it doing the same to Yeosang’s balls, which you couldn’t help licking and sucking on to hear him moan louder.

“You’re doing so well, YN-ssi,” Yunho groaned, fucking both your holes so carefully it drove you mad. “Keep working Yeosang just like that.”

“It’s leaking a lot, Mr. Jeong,” you replied, licking a trickle of precum from Yeosang’s tip, “It tastes really good.”

“Because you’re making me feel good,” Yeosang replied, stomach and chest heaving as you kept going. “It does that when…when…”

“I want more,” you whined, looking up at him as your mouth engulfed his cock all the way to your throat. “How do I get more?”

“Let me fuck your tits,” Yeosang huffed, surprising the members looking on you both. “Please.”

The thing Yeosang liked the most. His dick, flushed red and throbbing in your hands, fit perfectly between your breasts, the tip just barely sticking out of your cleavage. Yeosang bit his lower lip when you spat over the head, and used your tits to wet him somewhat. Then you slowly started lifting and lowering yourself on it, keeping them around his shaft as much as you could. Yunho, still behind you, started picking up his pace so you felt his tip hit your g-spot each time. The sobs he created tickled Yeosang’s tip. Yeosang let out a low groan as he restrained himself from pushing up into you. You upped the ante by putting his hands on your breasts once more and holding them there as his cock slipped between the supple mounds. His hands squeezing and kneading them added to the sensations tensing up inside you, his thumbs grazing over your nipples. As much as you enjoyed it, Yeosang enjoyed it more. His pleasure heightened when you started sucking the head every time he pushed it close to your mouth. The vibrating ring below will keep him from really cumming until you remove it, and you use this to your advantage. The tingling feeling it brought on had Yeosang breathing heavily and getting closer and closer to orgasm.

You suckled the head hard, guiding his hands into kneading your tits, “Am I doing well?”

“Yes,” Yeosang breathed, “God, yes…”

“Am I really, Professor?” you turned to Yunho, purposefully pushing your hips onto his so he groaned.

“You’re doing very…very well,” he sighed. He put his lips to your ear, kissing beneath it as he said, “I would’ve thought you’ve done this before. You’re such a natural. I think you might make Yeosang cum just like you did for Seonghwa.”

"Fuck, I am gonna cum,” Yeosang murmured, biting his lower lip and gripping the desks on either side of him. “I’m gonna cum, fuck, yes. I’m going to…fuck, yes…fuck…”

A few more strokes later and thin streams squirted from his tip. You caught a few in your mouth, but most of them leaked onto your chest. The thicker lines streamed down your skin, decorating your breasts in more and more cum. The smell and taste never bothered you, and you eagerly licked up whatever remained for Yeosang to see. The vibe had him shuddering and wiggling around from the sensitivity, but you didn’t let that stop you. You rubbed his cock over your nipples so his cum smeared over them, then suckled it tenderly.

“Like I said,” Yunho said, pumping deeply into you now, “A natural.”

“Bring her up here.”

You opened your eyes to see Hongjoong standing on the other side of the desk in front of you. Dread filled your chest realizing how quickly this game was going to end. Yeosang, having removed the ring, helped Yunho bring you onto the table. You whimpered when you spotted the handcuffs and ball gag in his hand. Flat on your back, Hongjoong buckled the handcuffs around your wrists so they remained together, and a pang of excitement hit you. Spreading your legs, Hongjoong let his length rest on your sex while he smoothed his hands up and down your sides, bringing you in for a deep kiss. He didn’t mind the strings of cum still on your chin; he licked them up to slide them into your mouth which created more mess.

“Just relax, baby,” Hongjoong whispered to you, hands gently rubbing your waist. “You know if it’s too much, you use your signals and we stop.”

“The show-”

“-I don’t care about the show,” he cut you off. “I care about you. We’ll finish whenever you want, okay? We won’t be mad at you; you know that. You do know that, right?”

“Yes,” you nodded.

He fed you a bit of cum left on your chest, moaning when you sucked it off his thumb. “I’m gonna fuck you now,” he murmured, pecking your lips one more time, “And you’re going to lay there like a good girl and take it. Understand?”

“Yes, Oppa.”

He scoffed as he ran his tip up and around your sex. “No,” he shook his head, “Not ‘Oppa’. I’m the captain,” he groaned, “And that’s what you call me.” He pushed the head against your pulsing entrance, “Got it?”

“Yes, Captain,” you whimpered, keeping your hands above your head as he wanted. Gyrating your hips against him, you said, “Use me however you like.”

“Oh, I will.”

Your body already accustomed to penetration, he had no trouble sliding into you. Holding onto the backs of your knees, Hongjoong started at a steady speed. The anal toy inside you occasionally knocked on the edge of the table, the slight vibration bringing on a trickle of arousal. Your eyes rolled back at the pangs of pleasure throbbing inside you; you became completely blind to everything except Hongjoong's cock. He slid one hand up your body, smearing Yeosang’s cum over your chest before reaching for your throat. A gentle squeeze on either side of your neck weakened your string of moans each time his hips met yours.

“You’re loving this, aren’t you?” he rasped in your ear, biting your earlobe gently as he did. “You love being fucked by all of us one after the other, huh?”

“Yes! Yes, I do!”

“And why is that, hm? Why do you like having so many dicks at one time?”

You knew what he wanted you to say, and you said it. “Because I’m a whore, Captain,” you whimpered, eyes staying open no matter how much pleasure he pumped into your body, “I’m a filthy whore who can’t get enough dick.”

He laughed through gritted teeth, and started pounding you hard. “That’s right,” he chuckled when your moans grew louder, “That’s exactly what you are….a fucking filthy whore…” he grabbed your hips and stood up, his balls hitting your ass each time he went inwards, “And filthy whores need to be reminded of their…their place…” he swatted his hand over one of your breasts, the little sting adding to your pleasure, “You know where your place is, don’t you?”

“I do, sir. I do.”

“And where is it? Say it nice and loud for us to hear you,” his head tilted back as your sex gripped him tightly, “Where is it?”

“On the end of a dick, sir,” you said.

“Louder!” he smacked your breasts again, making you squeak.

“On the end of a dick, sir,” you repeated.

“Eh, I don’t think I heard you,” sneered Jongho, standing near the desk. “Can you repeat that?”

“On the end of a dick, sir.”

“Say it in a complete sentence, slut,” Yunho said into your ear, “You’re still in class.”

“My place is on the end of a dick, sir,” you cried out right as your orgasm approached. “Oh my god, it’s on your dicks.”

“That’s right,” smiled Hongjoong. “Good job. Very good job. You’re going to be the perfect class whore.”

He must’ve felt your climax arriving, since he then immediately pulled out. When you whined in disappointment, he slapped his fingers on your sex. “Now, now, I know you’re a whore and everything, but try to have some patience.” He slapped your pussy again, much to the delight of the members around him. “It’s no fun if you’re cumming every single time your hole gets filled,” he spanked your pussy one more time, the climax receding and the pain emerging, “At least hold on a little bit, okay?”

He held your legs up by the ankles and began spanking your pussy for the others to watch. The sharp stings and occasional brushes on your clit made your teary eyed and sopping wet. Each time his fingers tapped you, you felt your sex throb with the need for release. Soon, Hongjoong stopped spanking and started rubbing it in circles with his tip, occasionally dipping back inside to get you to the edge. It was when he pulled out that you grew closest to the blinding orgasm his teasing created, and it burned.

“How does that feel, YN-ssi?” Yunho then asked you, watching you come down from the edge again. “Does it hurt?”

“A little bit.”

“Do you want your professor to make it better?” he asked you, “And your classmates to make it better?”

“Please.”

“Hongjoong-”

“-But I like this,” he whined, smirking at your pain. “I like teaching sluts how to hold in their orgasms. It’s not fair if she’s cumming before me all the time.” He suddenly picked up the pace, “She’s only a slut. She should be making us cum, not the other way around.”

You tried not to grin at his degrading words. Hongjoong loved you, you knew that, so this statement did not hurt you at all. It excites you more.

“-We’re moving the lesson along, Hongjoong.”

“Hmph, fine,” he frowned. He withdrew from you, but not before kissing you softly. “I’ll teach you properly another time,” he whispered.

You nodded and he pulled away from you. He then joined the others in kissing and caressing you all over. Their touch made everything a million times harder. They knew your body, and all your pleasure points; the lingering twists of pain and pleasure tickled your orgasm once more. The small bits of pleasure they gave when their lips touched a sensitive spot already threatened to topple you. You saw the others come over to you, their eyes drinking in the sight of you, and you shuddered.

You noticed they each held their bullet toys again, and you cried. The collective buzzing coming from the vibrating toys had you squirming in anticipation of the torture. Yunho, the lover of sex toys, pressed his toy to you first. He started at your lower stomach, the gentle tickling making you giggle and wriggled from the touch. Him and the others laughed, joining in the tickling that distracted you from your hot center. They rolled them to your hips, around your ankles to behind your knees and back. The sensation zapped at your ticklish spots that it had you wriggling on the table.

“You’re so cute when you’re ticklish,” Yunho grinned, rolling his toy to your nipple where the gentle vibration stimulated you. You sobbed at the feeling, “But I like it when you’re moaning instead.” He circled your nipple before pressing it right on you, and smiling at your reaction.

When Mingi put his vibe in the opposite spot, you bit down on your lower lip to restrain a cry. “Doesn’t that feel good?” he asked, his deep voice bringing shivers down your spine that it tickled you. “I bet it does, especially with how badly you want to cum,” He took a moment to lick your nipple before using the toy again, “You’re dripping all over the desk.”

“It’s really, really, really wet now,” said Jongho, who ran his toy close to your sex alongside Yeosang’s toy. The low vibration caused you to move around on the table, but he didn’t break away. “I want to make it wetter.”

“Me too.”

Seonghwa placed his toy right against your entrance, the sudden sensation cascading through you. Wooyoung, on the other side, put the very tip of his on your clit, while Yeosang and Jongho pressed their toys to the sides. The coming together of the four toys had your knees shaking and your thighs trembling. The orgasm quickly built itself back up, and your hands clenched into fists wrapped around the edge of the table. You could hardly move away, because that only slightly changed their positions and caused further pleasure. San, finally, started playing with your anal plug once more; he gently tugged and pushed on the rod that prodded your insides, making you desperate. Mingi and Yunho swishing their toys over your nipples pushed you closer and closer. Damn it felt so good. You thought you might go insane from it. You’ll become addicted and want nothing else. Tears started rolling down your temples and into your hair. Hongjoong wiped one side and kissed the spot.

“Go ahead and cum,” Hongjoong said. “Be a good girl and listen to your captain now,” he kissed the bit of neck he could reach. “You want to make your captain happy, don’t you? I’m the captain, so keeping me happy should always be your first priority.”

You knew this wasn’t entirely true, and tried blocking him out. You wished you could give a proper response, but the whirl of pleasure inside you made that difficult. Every nerve in your body told you to let it go. They pleaded with you to end the torture in a burst of blinding bliss. Once they began rolling in unison, your back arched and you screamed into the air. The orgasm did not push you off the edge. It did not nudge or trip you into it. The damn thing flung you off mercilessly, and you felt your walls tighten and your clit become extremely sensitive as your orgasm wracked your body. So much so that the desk underneath you rocked backward and forward before someone took hold of it. The last time you came this way was the last orgy.

Then you realized the silence in the room once you finished.

“Fuck, that was so hot,” Wooyoung breathed out deeply. “I didn’t know she could do that.”

“I think it’s because it’s been a while,” guessed Seonghwa, who bent down to kiss your cheek.

You then noticed a distinct wetness underneath you as you slid on the wooden desk. It hadn’t been powerful enough for you to notice, but you thought you might have squirted a bit. You didn’t know if you liked that, even though it put you on cloud nine afterwards. The sudden disappointment that you’d lost the game came over you, and you felt ashamed of yourself for not lasting long enough. But, the members sensed this change in your mood and rectified it immediately.

Jongho took your hand and guided you over to a chair. He sat down, bringing you into his lap. He glided his throbbing member against your quivering sex, knowing it sent shockwaves throughout your body. Your boyfriend gave gentle, deep kisses while his hands fondled you. Taking deep breaths to relax yourself, Jongho said nothing as he pecked down your neck. Jongho was always sweetest after an orgasm, softly stroking and coaxing you into another one. He put your cuffed hands behind his head, so you remained locked against him while he teased you.

“I want you to ride me,” he muttered between kisses. “Can you do that for me?” When you nodded weakly, he took you by the hips. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” you said, nodding again.

“Silly slut,” he grinned, a gummy smile making your insides squirm. “So eager to please me that you’ll lie through your teeth. If you say you can, then go ahead.”

Jongho did not budge an inch. You’d be doing the work, since you said you could even if your entire body turned to putty. Weakly, you stood up over Jongho’s tip, noticing he’d rolled on a condom for you, and sat on it slowly. Jongho let out a low groan as your encompassed him. Hands on the seat of his chair, he did not hold onto you nor guide you along his length. Grabbing onto the back of the chair, you meekly started riding him. Your burning thighs and legs didn’t do much in the way of lifting you up and down on him as you normally did. He barely pulled out of you.

“I thought you could ride me,” Jongho taunted, smirking at your pathetic attempts to fuck him. “Why aren’t you riding me?”

“I am,” you squeaked.

“Mr. Jeong,” he looked over at Yunho, “Is she really?”

“She’s certainly trying her best.”

“I-I am-m,” you protested, giving a few emphasized bounces before you gave up.

“I don’t think you are,” Jongho said, finally taking hold of your bottom. You murmured when he started grabbing your ass, sliding a finger through the stick of anal beads to gently pull it out and then back in. “Because the ladies in the movies go up and down,” he started moving his hips into yours so you became a mess of moans again, “And you’re not really doing anything.”

“She’s just tired,” argued Mingi from a sideboard nearby. He softened slightly, but you saw him still stroking, “Cut her some slack.”

“But why are you mad?” laughed Seonghwa.

“Because you guys are being mean,” he pouted.

“She likes it when we’re mean,” Jongho smiled, lifting you to stand over him as he thrusted up into you. You fisted the back of his shirt, and moaned when his cock hit the right spot. “She likes being treated this way. Don’t you, YN-ssi?”

“Yes, yes,” was all you could breathe out, more stimulation driving you closer to the end. “I love it when you treat….treat me like this.”

“Good, you should,” he said, grabbing your hair tightly and holding you in place. Your legs cramped slightly from being in a squatted position over him, but the pleasure won out in every thrust upwards. “Because that’s how all slutty girls need…to be treated.” He panted as his pleasure heightened, making his head fall back. You made an attempt to push back into him, but he gripped your waist tightly. “Stay like that, stay like that,” he panted quickly, “Just stay right there like that. Let me…Let me…fuck…”

A few more strokes had Jongho unleashing all the restraint he’d shown before. Lifting you up onto a table behind you, he charged into you feverishly as the members watched. He’d smack your chest every time you tried pushing into him, growling that you remained where you’re meant to be. Soon, Jongho shuddered and squeezed his eyes shut as he came inside you. You didn’t feel anything since he wore a condom, but you liked the thought of him emptying in you instead of in the condom. You wished all of them would.

You knew how much they’d like to see it overflowing.

But, you hadn’t climaxed. Not that your body felt up to it, that is. Jongho’s turn left you quivering in place, burning from the overstimulation and worn out from the constant movement. Last time happened at home where you had comfortable couches and pillows, and there’d been no cameras. You felt the need to be ‘on’ creeping over you. What if fans saw you tapping out early and made fun of you for not taking it? What if the members played this back later and realized they didn’t want a partner who couldn’t handle all eight of them? No. You’re being stupid.

“Come here, angel.”

It was Mingi. He brought you into his arms, holding you up on weakened knees, and carefully removed your anal beads. When he fully removed them, you felt a bit of relief come your way. He took you over to a corner of the room where someone set down the long body pillow from home. No doubt one of the members requested that someone leave it there. Mingi let you rest on the plush pillow, which acted as a mattress to cushion you on the hard floor. He removed your skirt at last, and unbuckled your wrist restraints, then immediately knelt between your thighs. Mingi, eyes full of tenderness, pecked your lips and nuzzled your nose with his. He shushed you when you started whimpering as his cock rested against your sore clit.

“I’m not going to go in yet,” he whispered, kissing you as he rubbed his hands up and down your body. “I want you to take a little water break, okay? Relax this beautiful body of yours for a few minutes-”

“-But the-”

“-Forget the show,” he said. He removed his school shirt, leaving himself in a white t-shirt, and used it to clean whatever remained on your chest. “We care about you,” he said, kissing your neck as he wiped you down. “We can stay like this until you’re ready to keep going. You did so well already,” he kissed you again. “You always try hard to make us feel good. We appreciate that so much.”

“Here, baby,” San appeared beside you with a water bottle, “You must be so thirsty.”

You were. You didn’t realize it until you’d gulped down half the bottle. You’d fall asleep right then if the show didn’t have to continue. “I’m sorry,” you said quietly, hoping to God the cameras and microphones did not pick it up.

“Don’t be,” San insisted, leaning beside you and pushing hair from your face. “We don’t expect you to be the same every time. We’re in a different place, and you’re moving around a lot more than at home.” He let you finish the bottle before putting it aside. He slowly kissed you as Mingi peppered more on your collar bones. “You look so beautiful, baby,” he said with a small smile, “So cute and sweet. I wish we could take this home so you can wear it there.”

“You can be the pretty girl we bring home to help with homework,” Mingi suggested, carefully grinding against you. “And then we get,” he smirked, “A bit distracted.”

“Would you be mean to me?” you pouted at him.

“Never,” he replied, pecking your lips.

“Me either,” San added. “I only like being mean when you’ve been bad, and you’re hardly ever bad,” he awed, nuzzling your neck until you giggled. "You're always such a good girl. I never have to punish you."

“I never like edging you anyways,” Mingi admitted, carefully running his length up and down your slit. His voice became lower as his arousal built up, “I prefer making you cum over and over again. I like knowing I can do that to you.”

You gave weak, small moans as he started at a steady pace. Mingi kept it smooth, not pouding or thrusting too deeply like the other members might. The blond simply held your hips and moved gently. Still tired from your previous orgasms, you couldn’t bring yourself to move into him, and you guessed he did not expect you to do so. He leaned over you, kissing your neck and grabbing your tits like he normally would.

“But watching you squirt even a little bit was so hot,” he said between kisses. “I never thought I’d like that. But I think it’s because it was you doing it. Everything you do turns me on so much,” he kissed you again, completely breaking his character now. “You get me hard doing the simplest things.”

“Like what?” you asked, your own desires starting to stir inside you.

“Eating lollipops,” he answered, eyes closing as pleasure took over him. “Eating ice cream…letting it drip down your chin just a little bit or licking it while looking…looking at me…” he propped himself up on his elbows, and angled his hips to hit deeper. “Just…Just standing in the kitchen, cooking in your cute little pajamas, and making it…it obvious you’re not wearing a bra,” he chuckled at this memory. “Fuck, it turns me on. Why do you make me so fucking horny all the time? I’ve never been like this with anyone but you.”

“Because you’re a pervert,” you giggled, watching him unravel in front of you. You reached underneath the shirt until he knelt up to let you pull it off. Mingi didn’t always show off his defined abdomen, but you wished he would. “But that’s okay,” you pinched one of his nipples gently, earning a soft whine from him, “I am too.” Having this bit of encouragement had Mingi rocking into you fully, but never moving too fast. “There’s a reason I go to the gym when you’re all there,” you grinded yourself against him and he groaned loudly, “Because I like watching you all work out.”

“Maybe we should start going to the gym more often,” San smirked, reaching down between your thighs where he lightly grazed your clit. Seeing you moan at his touch, he continued going around it in small circles. “That way you can look as much as you want,” he said, bringing your lips to his and kissing you, “And get fucked there too.”

“Sannie-ah,” you giggled.

“We’d make sure there was nobody around.”

He traced his fingertips over the space between clitoris and entrance in a U-shape. Shivers made your knees jolt and lift up, and Mingi took the motion to slide deeper inside. You briefly imagined gym sex with either of them: San laying on a bench press while you rode him to climax or Mingi standing behind you while you cycled in place, his cock creating the same pleasure it did now. Mingi’s restrained murmurs told you he wanted to move faster and harder; he wanted to chase down the orgasm he’d been holding in this entire time. It occurred to you that your boyfriends must be aching to finish the shoot already, and cover you in their cum again. Yeosang, Jongho, and Seonghwa already finished, they sat on the sidelines as spectators. For some reason, their indifference to the action going on in front of them made you hornier. Yet, the others still stroked and squeezed themselves. Though, of course, Hongjoong had no problem with this. You rolled your hips lazily against Mingi, which urged him to move his hips faster. Hands gripping your sides, his eyes fell shut as he let his passion take over.

“I’ve always wanted to do public stuff with you,” you told him, knowing the image would send him over soon. “I know you’d love pinning me up against a wall somewhere that people might see us.” You pinched one of his nipples again, rolling it between his fingers. “I wonder if Atinys know what a fucking perv you are. I think they’d be surprised by it, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he breathed, eyes still closed. “Yes, yes, yes.”

“I think he’s about to cum,” said San, who moved down your body to lick your nipple. “He sounds so close, baby.”

“He is close.”

You tightened your walls around him for a better grip, and Mingi’s moans grew louder. He always became more sensitive whenever his orgasm approached. He bent down to kiss you, still pounding inside you, right as he started cumming. His moans vibrated against your lips, filling your mouth along with his tongue. You wrapped yourself around him with as much strength as possible, hand in his blond hair, as you let him go at his own pace. You whined audibly when you felt him slip out of you, the familiar sound of a condom being removed, and warm cum spilling onto your hip. Mingi didn’t touch it as he came, watching his dick twitch and spasm in every groan before finally settling down.

“You didn’t cum,” he frowned, realizing this once it passed. “I’m-”

“-It’s fine,” you said. You didn’t think you really could anyways, but you knew how it might look on camera. “I just wanted to make you feel good,” you sat up to kiss his stomach and chest, finally reaching his lips when he leaned down. “Did it feel good?”

“It did,” he sighed. “Thank you, noona.”

You giggled, “You're welcome.”

San came next, and leaned into your ear. “Can I go next, noona?” he asked, also breaking from that concept role.

You sometimes forget how much younger some of them were, since you never forced honorifics on them. You still liked how it sounded when they did use it, mostly to get their way, which you almost always caved. You smiled, rubbing his nose with yours, “Of course, you can, Sannie-ah.”

“And me too. Come ride me.”

Yunho appeared at your side, Mingi having left you to rest against a desk nearby. He took your place on the faux mattress, and you immediately straddled his hips. Yet, you kept your back arched and Yunho spread your ass cheeks for what San really wanted.

“Can I?” he asked, hope in his eyes as he took position behind you. His covered tip already swirled that ultra-sensitive spot, tapping it while Yunho squeezed your ass.

“Mm-hm,” you nodded, shaking your hips to show your consent.

“It’s why I brought those beads,” Yunho said, his own cock sliding over your slick sex. “I know how much he likes fucking your ass,” he smirked when you whimpered at the touch, “And I didn’t want to make it too difficult for you.”

“So thoughtful of you,” you smiled, kissing him gently, “Mr. Jeong.”

San pressed small kisses up your spine to your shoulder, holding you close to him as he sheathed himself into your ass carefully. He certainly stretched you, but not painfully. Someone dropped more lubricant between the both of you as they’d done before, yet San managed to control himself.

“M-M-Mr. Jeong,” you whined in Yunho’s ear, “It-It feels so good. Is it supposed to feel li-like that?”

“It is,” he replied, “But want to know what will make it extra good?”

“What?”

“Me.”

You gasped, nails digging into the body pillow under Yunho, as he pushed himself into your pussy. Being filled in both ends, your body froze at the sudden explosion of pleasure. Both men started with gradual thrusts, moaning when your holes clenched them both, before going faster. Your eyes rolled back to your head, and you could hardly focus on anything except the cocks deep inside you. Their balls slapped your pussy when they took turns sliding in and out of you, attacking your g-spot from each end. San held your arms behind your back, so your tits bounced right in front of Yunho, who grabbed one.

“How’s that, YN-ssi?” Yunho asked smugly, knowing the exact answer to his question.

You couldn’t answer. Your brain appeared incapable of doing so, and this made the men around you chuckle. The members you hadn’t fully pleasured yet, Hongjoong and Wooyoung, took to either side of you with their cocks in their hands. Wooyoung took one of your limp hands from San to wrap around himself, while Hongjoong guided your head to his leaking tip.

“Look at her,” Hongjoong hissed when you began firmly sucking him, “The class slut taking all of our cocks so well. I think I’m going to enjoy this class.”

“I might take her home,” Wooyoung added, pushing his wet cock between your fingers. Wooyoung never needed the “entire package”, as he called it. He could be content with the top half just as much as your bottom half. Your hand, squeezing and pumping him, was enough to get him close to the edge. “I can’t imagine what she could do once I get her alone.”

“If anyone’s taking YN-ssi anywhere,” grunted Yunho, who pumped into you deeply, “It’s her teacher. I have so much tutoring material to g-go over with her.”

“I could use some tutoring too, sir,” said Hongjoong, who shoved himself deep into your throat so you gagged. He kept forcing himself in and out, not caring about the amount of drool coming out. “I want to know other ways I can use our slut to cum.”

“There are so many ways,” he replied.

“She feels so good, sir,” San groaned, matching Yunho’s speed. “Her ass is amazing and tight. She’s gonna milk every drop at this rate.”

“And that’s exactly what she wants,” Hongjoong withdrew his cock and rubbed it over your lips and chin to slide more saliva into your mouth, “Isn’t that right, YN? You want every bit of cum you can get out of us, huh?”

He chuckled when you only nodded, far too gone and fucked out to respond properly. Your newest orgasm slowly approached, and you thought you might lose your mind from how good it felt. Wooyoung muffled your constant string of cries with his own length, your free hand working Hongjoong as easily. Your pussy began clenching tightly around Yunho, who slowed down when he sensee this.

“No, no, no, YN-ssi,” Yunho said, staying inside and rolling his hips into yours, “You haven’t made your classmates cum yet. It’s not fair to cum before they do. A proper slut would pleasure us first, and herself second.” Not a thing any of them really believed in, but God, it turned you on. “You stay right there and let us use your pretty holes to cum.”

“Then, we’ll see about you cumming after,” smirked Hongjoong, who gripped your hand to make you squeeze his cock.

The four men continued using you how they wished. Hongjoong and Wooyoung took turns abusing your throat, the pain burning there and choking you at repeated intervals, while San and Yunho stretched your sex and ass over and over again. Soon enough, their heated orgasms came. Hongjoong held back your head as he and Wooyoung shot their loads into your mouth, letting the streams hit parts of your face and chest as they jerked themselves over you. Feeling Yunho and San unload inside you almost distracts you from swallowing, causing some to leak out of your mouth, but once they finished, Yunho spoke.

“Go ahead, YN-ssi,” he said, slamming into you while San rested his head on your shoulder, nestled inside you still. “Go ahead and cum now. That’s it…just like that…”

You came harder than you did the last time, nearly screaming from the pleasure. Tears streamed down your face at the overwhelming sensation tightening your body, almost constricting your breathing and hurting your jaw from being open so long. Your nails scratched down Yunho’s chest, which made him wince but not in displeasure, and you felt everything in your body aching when your muscles tensed again. The men surrounding you praised and soothed you with kisses anywhere they could put them as you came down in heavy shaky breaths. You’d black out right then if the cameras didn’t remain on. You knew you’d have to clean up, get dressed again, and go home in a van before getting comfortable. But, you didn’t see how that’d be possible with the absolute wringer your boyfriend put you through. Your body fell forward onto Yunho, and everything felt hot. Very hot. Almost making you dizzy and suffocating you. You couldn't stop yourself from trembling.

“Baby?” Yunho said, all bravado from before dropping like a hat. "Are you okay?"

“Bu-Bu-Butter-Cup,” you managed to get out, struggling for breath.

He and San swiftly withdrew and let you lay down. With a big amount of space, you take big gulps of air and let the cool air wash over you. You saw the concerned faces around you, and felt hands gently caressing you.

“Just breathe, babe,” Hongjoong said. How did he soothe you so easily? How did he calm you when nobody else could? “You’re okay. It’s over now. Just breathe and let us take care of you, alright?”

“I’m…I’m…”

“Don’t speak,” Yunho came up next to you. Another one whose gentle, big-puppy energy relaxed you into the pillow under you. “We’ll take care of everything else. You rest up now, okay?”

You became a puddle of mush. You knew you wouldn’t be able to move for a few hours at least. How’d they get you home if you didn’t move? You didn’t care. Something cold and wet touched your face and began wiping the cum from you. The salty taste in your mouth left you desperately thirsty, but it became hard to convey that verbally. Thankfully, years of sex and intimacy gave the members experience in your aftercare. A straw came up to your lips, and you gulped like you’d gone through the desert. You laid back into someone’s arms. You’re not sure who. Seonghwa? Mingi? Someone broad, for sure. They and someone else helped you into a fluffy robe, which you recognized as yours from home. They tied it at your waist, and you felt instant comfort and warmth. You heard a bit of conversation over you before they agreed on something; you didn’t know what, though. A few minutes later, your body was lifted off the floor and you knew by the swiftness it was Yeosang. The Doberman in him triggered the need to show you how strong he is, even when you couldn’t really comprehend it.

After a bit of movement throughout the school, you ended up outside. Hongjoong must’ve climbed into the van before you, since it was his lap you slid onto. Your head rested on his shoulder, he wrapped his arm around you and kissed the top of your head. No doubt he tried fighting to carry you, but he’s not the strongest of the group. Another figure took up your legs, and by the expert massaging you knew it was Wooyoung. Yet, this touch carried nothing sensual behind it. He only sought to comfort your aching muscles. The gentle movement of the car soon had you falling asleep in Hongjoong and Wooyoung’s laps.

****

He honestly did not know how you did it. Hongjoong looked down at you, soundlessly sleeping in his arms, and wondered how you hadn’t tapped out in the very middle of it. The orgy at home differed seriously in that it happened at home, where you’d been more comfortable. The directors said it’d look good if you went to them, instead of them ganging up on you like before. Hongjoong disagreed. He’d been sure you’d end the whole thing with Mingi, but when you let San and Yunho double penetrate you, he thought you could handle one more orgasm. He’ll admit he liked fucking you dumb, but when you said your safe word, he couldn’t help the small panic that set in. You’d said it so faintly and he could tell you struggled to breathe with the cum sticking in your throat. He couldn’t help feeling slightly guilty about it.

“She’s so cute afterwards,” Seonghwa said from behind him. The eldest member leaned over the back of the van seats, gazing down at you lovingly. “When she’s sleeping like that.”

He wasn’t wrong. You always seem so peaceful when you’re asleep. Hongjoong grinned softly, nuzzling your nose even if you didn’t feel it. “She really is,” Wooyoung agreed. “I honestly thought she’d say her safe word sooner. She looked so out of it when she was on top of Jongho.”

“I thought so too,” said Jongho from his seat in the back. “She looked so tired.”

“I hope people aren’t mean about it,” mused San. “They’re always so critical of her.”

“No, Atiny wouldn’t be like that.”

Hongjoong agreed with San. Because she’s their girlfriend, and therefore more intimate with them, some fans tend to be harsh towards you. He knew they’d judge you far more than any of them. The editing team would cut out most of the sex, and blur out whatever they did keep, but it still bothered him. No doubt someone will say something to hurt you, because people can be cruel, especially towards Companions. Though, he'd be there to comfort you as always.

Idol Companion shows are usually more provocative than normal ones and basically softcore porn at times. He wasn’t sure how to feel when fans first started bringing it up; some members aren’t comfortable showing too much of their bodies, and he didn’t know if you’d want to do it either. Yet, the producers insisted the males kept most of their clothes on, and they severely edited each episode. Hearing their idols cum and seeing their naked torsos is the most anyone would see. They’d all promised they’d dial back the kinky things, since they did want to keep some intimacy between you and them. Yet, the raging arousals and hormones threw all that out. Hongjoong might have gone a little overboard with his dirty talk and how he fucked you, but it was nothing he hadn’t done before. He only worried about the physical toll on you, not what Atinys might think later. Now on the way home, he knew Yunho and Yeosang would take good care of you. Since they all moved into separate dorms, you didn’t live with him anymore, so he couldn’t oversee your aftercare himself.

“Do you think they’ll let her keep the uniform?” asked Wooyoung, trying to hide his smile. “She looked so cute in it.”

“I don’t think so,” answered Seonghwa. “I asked the stylist and she didn’t really say anything.”

“Oh my god, you asked?!” Wooyoung laughed, eyes wide.

“I was curious,” he shrugged, “Since they didn’t let us put her back in it.”

“It doesn’t matter anyways,” said Yunho.

“Why?”

He opened the toy bag on his lap, and pulled out the uniform skirt with a mischievous smile. He worried the group’s cheers and laughter might wake you, but you’d become dead to the world.

“I hope not every episode is going to be a gangbang,” Hongjoong said, pushing hair from your face and covering you up more, “I don’t think she can handle another one so soon afterwards.”

“They told me most of the episodes are going to just be suggestive,” Seonghwa said. “I asked about that, since I wouldn’t feel right making her go through it at every shoot.”

“YN mentioned there’s one episode with a photoshoot contest,” San told them. “Because I noticed she’d bought all this really sexy lingerie, and she told me it was for an episode.”

“What does the winner get? Do you know?” asked Wooyoung.

“Oh, that I don’t know. She wouldn’t tell me anything else.”

“I’m just happy this isn’t the first episode,” said Yeosang. “I feel it’s way too much for a first.”

“It’s not the first?” asked Mingi, surprised. “I thought it was.”

“No, they’re shooting them out of order,” Yeosang shook his head. “Something about the locations not reserving one after the other.”

“Then at least we got this one out of the way.”

Yes, at least the hardest one is over. He kissed your forehead, and rested against the window. He felt so content there, holding you and falling into his own exhaustion. It always took so much energy to edge himself, since you brought him to the brink so easily. Maybe he’d go home with you, just to keep you in his arms like this. He’d originally wanted you to live with him, but Yunho and Yeosang lived closer to the dance studio where you volunteered. He guessed it was for the best.

If you lived with him, Wooyoung and Jongho, you’d never know a moment of peace.

***

A/N: damn, that was a lot lol this is another part of my idol companion series, which I hope you guys are enjoying as much as I enjoy writing them lol please reblog and like this <3

#ateez #ateez x reader #ateez smut #ateez fanfiction #ateez fanfic #kim hongjoong #park seonghwa #jeong yunho #kang yeosang #choi san #song mingi #jung wooyoung #choi jongho

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zoropookie · 2 months

Text

SWEET MELODY

☆ chapter eight — i don't care abt the homeless 🎂

You unlocked the key to your home after returning that night, presence in the air riddled with the absence of your brother.

The door creaked open, being greeted by the familiar scent of old books and a hint of maple in the air, meeting with the faint trace of the cinnamon scented candle you keep buying just because he did.

The silence was oppressing you, especially with how rough the reception was for you. You took slow steps through the corridor, your steps echoing slowly on the floorboards, creaking at every turn. Rancor poured into your eyes like a glass, the main room of the home left exactly how it was for years.

Every article of clothing on the floor, every knickknack and miscellaneous object wasn't moved. You hardly found the strength to go in there yourself, knowing that you wanted it to be a snapshot in time. The blanket you both snuggled into was laying there on the floor, in a halfhearted attempt beforehand to be folded neatly by your brother.

You sighed deeply after taking it in again, feeling your shoulders wrack in defeat, the tears pooling relentlessly. Enveloped in grief, you took a sharp breath in and shook your head, immediately heading towards your room to find the letter.

You panicked to find the letter again, going through every box and every single faded out picture that you could find. Nothing ever worked as well as it did with that letter, a flicker of warmth crashing on your body as anxiety made it's way to your lungs, forcing you to manually breathe.

"Where... where??" You murmured to yourself, almost in whimpers.

In haste, you pulled open drawers, scattered old postcards, flipped through dusty photo albums, taking in a lot of things that just made your heart ache more, but you couldn't stop looking for it. You needed that letter, the only thing you knew could momentarily connect to his thoughts.

Your breathing grew more labored once you trashed your entire floor with the past, each inhalation feeling like a struggle against you. Like there was 8 tons pressing down on your chest, the tears ruthlessly burning against the ducts of your eyes. "Where is it...?" You sobbed out, voice cracking with desperation.

You fell asleep that night, failing to soothe the raw edges of your pain. You were now left with both the painful night you've been through, and a lack of drive for your own profession. You couldn't say which one of those were benefitting you.

It was time for Mona to go herself, if your employees weren't going to bring it up.

She learned a long time ago that if anything was going to be done on her terms, she was going to have it do it herself. The bitter thought of your employees betraying you like this in terms of a business proposal is tragic to her.

She gazed whimsically at the cute setup that the bakery had been decorated with — fairy lights to wrap neatly around the hedge bush for the strays that were left on the floor after taking care of the surrounding foliage. Their soft glow accompanied with the first light of dawn.

Mona sat there in her car with newfound resolve, getting out after taking procedure to hide her face. She opened the doors to the bakery, the golden lights of the early morning sun streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long and wide shadows across every seating.

As she noticed two of the workers bustling behind the counter talking about something she had no knowledge about, one of them was arranging a tray of freshly baked cinnamon rolls. The other was decorating a cake.

One of them, with beaming golden eyes, looked up at Mona as he wiped his hands on his apron. "Can I help you?"

She immediately cleared her throat, offering a gentle smile as she candidly lowered the mask below her lips to hover forward. "If you could tell me where (Y/N) (L/N) is, that would be lovely."

At first, the two seemed ready to comply. Until the one with the lighter blue hair raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms to his chest skeptically. "What do you need them for?" He asked, his tone cautious.

Her smile didn't waver. "I have an oncoming appointment with them that hasn't yet been finalized. I figure I come here myself and make sure everything's taken care of. Oh," She looked in between the two, holding a hand out, "I'm sorry for not introducing myself. Mona."

Suddenly, the golden-eyed worker's eyes squinted as if he knew who she was. He was quiet, inspecting her with little intention on pressing her further. "Like from the girl group?"

After a confirming nod from her, he hummed and nodded himself slowly. "Get me an autograph from Xiangling, and I'll tell you government secrets too."

"Deal."

The other's eyes narrowed. "You're such a sellout, Gaming. They're... just prepping banana bread right now."

Gaming's expression softened up, and he nodded. It looked like there were almost hearts in his eyes, easily swayed by yet another temptress. "Sorry for the precaution, Miss Mona~ We'll get our boss right away."

As he left to go fetch you, the other smiled apologetically at Mona. "Sorry...we have to be careful now. Last time we went to go get them for a customer, they started throwing things in their face and shouting for a refund. I told that guy not to get the peanut brittle because of his peanut allergy."

"No worries." She nodded, a small chuckle coming from her lips. "I understand, you guys do great work it seems."

Moments later, you came out from the kitchen, curiosity striking you as you made eye contact with the soon to be client. "What's going on?" You asked softly, eyebrows furrowing. "Were the cupcakes too dense yesterday? I knew they were a little off, but I sold them anyway...I'm so sorry—"

"No!" Mona shot her hands up, "No, no. It's not that. I have some business to do with you. I wanted to come here to discuss it with you, since that's one of the only ways I can get ahold of you directly."

"Oh..." You perked up again, smiling. "Of course...follow me!"

previous ☆ masterlist ☆ next

THERE ARE not many things that can sway your interest ever since the "incident", but in spite of that, you pushed forward. you are now the owner of the biggest bakery chain in your city, consistently seeing couples and catering to them as such. you've been a big host at weddings, events for celebrities, and even a big support for your friends and family. you've even earned yourself a niche following as well by how sweet you are to everybody around you. but, even with your kindness, you don't have a particular spark that keeps you going anymore these days. that is until one of your employees starts suggesting you write love letters to customers who request your services. at first you thought it was a horrible idea that could easily turn into trouble, but that was until you were tasked with writing one to your own (very very famous) ex-boyfriend.

taglist ☆ — @seternic @chemiru @coquettemaiden @1kio0o @emiixuu

@agaygothicmushroom @yomishen @jingyuan-wife-real @toruscorpse @whoooismkeee

@sketcheeee @st4r4ngel @xionri @scaradooche @lightyagamifan

@pwushizz @alatusorrow @eutopiastar @magica-ren @slu7

@vaxmpi @theyluvkatt @kyon-cherri @suzydarling @mimi3lover

@auroratumbles @vxcmx @yourfavoritefreakyhan @kunimylovee

@czerwka @little-honey-the-third @featuredtofu @simonisferal @justpeachyteastea

@liuaneee @skyoverkill1 @mellowberrie @lalalaloveallmydays @mostlymoth

@mtndewbajablasted @vernith @lovekeychains @danhenglovebot @elizshade

@balladeersflower @kazumiku @bananasquash @neversore @yevurin

@franaby @vicslz @kamiboo @thegalaxyisunfolding @morgyyyyyyy

@feikyuu @tamikahoshiko @kissingkzuha @bbysatoruuu @rvoulte

@kinvasions @kukikoooo @adriannauodi @pumpkincitrus

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bethanythebogwitch · 8 months

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Wet Beast Wednesday: remoras

Sometimes you just want to go with the flow and let someone else do the work. That's the mindset of a remora, this week's topic. Remoras are eight species of the family Echeneidae, divided into three genera. These fish are famous for suctioning onto a larger animal and going for a ride.

(Image id: a remora attached to the shell of a sea turtle. It is a long, slender fish with a black stripe going down its sides. Its lower jaw is pointed and facing upwards. End id)

Remoras differ in size depending on species, with the largest reaching 110 cm (43 in) in length. Their most famous feature is the disc on their backs. This disc is a heavily modified dorsal fin that consists of flexible membranes. When pressing the disc up against a surface, the membranes can be flexed to create a vacuum and provide suction in a similar manner to a suction cup. The Remora can then scoot backwards to increase suction or swim forward to release the suction and detach from its host. Remoras also lack a swim bladder, forcing them to actively swim to maintain their position on the water column. Fortunately, remoras don't really need swim bladders where they're going. While they can swim and survive on their own, remoras prefer to attach to a larger animal like a bigger fish, shark, ray, or cetacean. When there is a close interaction between two organisms it's called symbiosis. There are three types of symbiosis: mutualism (both benefit), commensalism (one benefits, the other is not positively or negatively affected), and parasitism (one benefits, the other suffers). The relationship between a remora and its host is likely either mutualistic or commensal as the host appears to suffer no downsides.

(Image id: a remora seen from above to emphasize its disc. The disc is oval and takes up about 30% of the upper body, starting just behind the mouth. The disc has many rows of darker stripes where the folds are visible)

A remora gets several benefits from being attached to a host. Being in close proximity to a larger animal protects it from predators closer to its own size and gets it a free ride. The ride also helps force air over its gills, keeping the remora well-oxygenated. There are two main methods fish use to keep water flowing over their gills. Ram ventilation occurs when a fish is swimming and their motion through the water forced the water over the gills. Active ventilation requires the fish to actively move water over its gills, often by repeatedly opening and closing its mouth. Both methods require the fish to expend energy, but tests on remoras determined that active ventilation is more energy intensive than ram ventilation. A remora on a fast-moving host can get the best option, using ram ventilation while letting someone else expend the energy of moving forward. Multiple remoras can live on a large enough host and it is speculated that sometimes mated pairs will share a host. It was previously believed that remoras would feed on scraps of food from the hosts meals, but it is now known that they derive most of their nutrition by eating the hosts feces. They also consume bits of dead skin and parasites from the host, which is a lot less gross. This cleaning of skin and parasites is why remora relationships with their hosts are considered mutualistic rather than commensal. There have been reports of hosts attempting to dislodge their remoras through methods such as breaching, so its possible there are situations where the relationship is unfavorable to the host, such as too many remoras attaching. While remoras are very streamlines, too many of them would produce drag, which would be a bad thing for the host.

(Image id: a manta ray or similar species seen from above , with two remoras attached to it just behind the cephalic fins. End id)

While remoras are most famous for attaching to a host, they are capable of living on their own. Juveniles are known to live in shallow coastal or reef areas, sometimes acting as cleaner fish. As adults, they move out into the deeper waters, in search of hosts. Most knowledge of remoras come from their behavior when attached to a host, so there isn't a lot we know about how they behave on their own. They are believed to have different diets, being more active hunters who feed on small crustaceans, squid, and fish. We don't know a lot about non-attached remoras, but we know even less about their reproduction. While remoras attached to the same host might become mated pairs, their mating season, mating habits, and what happens to their offspring is not known. All we know is that eventually juvenile remoras will turn up in coastal areas, but what happens between then and spawning is a mystery.

(Image id: a manta ray seen from below with many remoras attached to it. End id)

Remoras popped up in roman folklore as the echeneis, a small fish that could attach to boats and slow them down. Pliny the Elder blamed the echeneis for Mark Antony's loss in the battle of Actium, where poor maneuverability was one factor in his loss. A use for remoras has been in fishing, where a remora is caught, has a line tied to it, and then released. When the remora attaches to a host, the angler can pull in the line, pulling the larger animal in with the remora. The IUCN classifies all species of remora as least concern, except for one, which is data deficient. The largest threat to remoras seems to be threats to their hosts, so conservation of hosts like sharks, whales, and sea turtles will help conserve remoras by default.

(Image id: a remora that attached itself to a diver's leg. End id)

This was a shorter and less intensive WBW than most of my posts. What can I say, I felt lazy and decided to put in little effort, instead coasting on larger, more successful posts. If only there was an animal I could use as a metaphor for this situation. Can't think of anything, though.

#wet beast wednesday #i had to research roman naval battles for this post about fish #remora #suckerfish #shark sucker #fish #fishblr #fishposting #marine biology #biology #ecology #zoology #animal facts

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seriesxwriting · 2 years

Note

rafe x maybank!reader where she goes to rafe after luke beat her up, but they’re not actually dating, just friends with benefits and he gets so worried cuz he doesn’t know about how luke treats her and jj and he just takes care of her

Thank you so much, I appreciate the request!! This sounds so fun to write I hope I can capture your idea for you<3.

He’s my safe haven

Rafe x reader (jjs sister)

Series- Outer banks

Warnings- swearing, domestic abuse (fighting), degrading words, sort of kissing. Main character putting herself down.

Summary- Request 💗

-requests are open for any characters 🫶

“Where are you going bitch?” Luke scowled from the sofa. He had another beer in his hand now after I’d kicked the other one all over the floor trying to get away from him.

“Somewhere your not” I sniffed through the pain my body was going through. “And where are you going to go” he laughed out loud throwing his head bad. “No one wants you, you don’t matter to anyone” my dad spat at me before taking another slip. He slapped his lips together and put the glass on the table, getting up.

“She’s had enough!” JJ stormed out of his room to stand in front of me. “J don’t” I winced but he put his arm out to block me. “I decide when she’s had enough” luke chuckled getting closer to us. He violently grabbed JJ by the neck and threw him on the floor.

I tried to get out of the door but Luke gripped my ponytail pulling it backwards hard. I grunted as he slammed me into the wall. A second after he landed a gnarly punch to my stomach.

Repeating his actions from an half an hour ago. “You do it to yourself you know that, by just talking you do it to yourself” he screwed up his face before his fist drove back again. Using my knee I pushed him backwards before kicking him in between the legs.

He cried out in pain and I ran for the door. “You’ll get what’s coming for you one day” I slammed the door in his face and bolted from the house. Of course it was raining. In fact it was pouring down. I did hear something about a storm on the news earlier.

As much as I hated to admit it luke was technically right. I had no place to go, no safe haven. But running through the rain, crying my eyes out and being in so much fucking pain led me to one idea. It was a long shot but it was the only idea I had. And off to figure eight I went.

-<3-

I knocked on Rafe’s window after climbing up biting back the screams from the intense pain all across my body. He was laying on his bed when he rolled his head over to sus out the noise. When he saw me sitting on the seal he grinned and bounced up tossing his phone on the bed.

“Well Well Well, look who it is showing up at my window” he swung his arms smugly walking towards the window to open it for me. He lifted the glass up and I climbed in.

“Hi” I breathed awkwardly looking at him, as I did his face dropped. “What the fuck happened?” He strode forward like we were magnets and held my face in his hands. Softly his thumb ran over a bruise that was forming on my cheek. He turned my face to the other side seeing another on my jawline. “You never seen a bruise before?” I smirked leaning forward into a kiss.

Rafe softly planted a quick kiss on my lips before pulling away from my face shaking his head.

“Just help me forget it rafe” I stepped closer to him again. “Not this time y/n- sit down” Rafe ordered pointing to his bed letting go of me.

He wondered off into his on-sweet while I didn’t know what to do with myself. “You going to tell me what happened?” He asked when coming back out. “I fell” my Shoulders shrugged awkwardly.

“Well your clearly lying, will you sit down please?” He asked again with a small medial kit under his arm. “Rafe this is not necessary, it don’t matter! I don’t matter!” I raised my voice slightly feeling my eyes prick with tears again.

“Y/n” he whispered shaking his head coming over to hug me as my chin wobbled. As soon as he did I broke down crying into his shirt balling it up in my fist just to keep him close. Rafe guided me to the bed where he sat and pulled me onto his lap. “You matter to me” he whispered squeezing me gently.

“Ive seen bruises on your body before- i think I was scared to ask in all honesty, but never on your face y/n never this bad”. I pulled away from his chest to look up at him wiping my face. “This isn’t your shit to deal with Rafe” I shook my head vigorously.

“Does it really look like I mind?” Rafe interrogated raising his eyebrow up. “Why is it so hard to believe I just want to help you” “I’ve told you how to help” I whispered moving my hand up to his face. “Don’t be stupid your clearly hurt, you need to rest” Rafe took my hand off his face holding it.

“And you need to change out of these wet clothes I can’t believe your dad let you out there in a storm”. My face dropped when Rafe mentioned my dads name and he picked up on it.

“I’m going to get you some of Sarah’s clothes from the utility room- your welcome to use the shower there’s towels in there” Rafe kissed my hand before getting up and leaving the room. It was tempting, rafes shower was the best feeling in the world. “Fuck it” I shrugged and headed to the kooks shower.

I was only in there for ten or fifteen minutes before coming back into rafes room with a green towel wrapped around me. My hair was brushed out now too so I looked less of a mess. “Hey” I smiled weakly, Rafe watched the bruising on my chest and on my thighs as I walked round to him.

He didn’t say anything just got up and put his arm out to hold my face. I flinched. I don’t know why I didn’t mean to I know Rafe wouldn’t ever hurt me. “I’m sorry I…�� “…Is it luke?” He whispered pulling back and cutting me off, looking into my eyes. Now I didn’t say anything, just stared up at him.

“I’m going to get changed now” I shut down the conversation and reached over picking up the pile of clothes rafe laid out for me, walking back into the bathroom. My heart pounded against my chest. Rafe had gotten me some grey jogging bottoms, a white crop top and a matching grey jumper for over the top which I didn’t put on because I was boiling, unfortunately that left on show the worst bruise that Luke landed on me before I left.

When I came back into rafes room he was laying in bed with the TV on. He patted the other side not looking at me.

Hesitantly, I walked over and climbed in under the warm covers next to him. The boy scooped me up landing my head on his chest while his arms were wrapped tightly around me.

“He’s a piece of shit” rafe whispered to me after a second, almost like he couldn’t hold it back. “I know” I replied with a minimal response. “And so Is JJ for letting that happen” “don’t say that” I snapped shaking my head. “JJ gets it worse because he’s always protecting me”, Rafe hummed watching the tv but not listening to it. He was thinking.

“You can’t go back there y/n” he exhaled sounding worried. “I have to go back rafe there’s no where else for me to go”

“You can crash here” rafe suggested clinging onto me tighter. “He’s my dad Rafe, i cant avoid him forever and I can’t stay here forever” I rubbed his hand with my thumb. “But it’s cute you care” I smiled to myself. “of course I care” he replied quickly, “you just need to know that your welcome here when ever you need- AND that you do matter y/n, you do”.

“thank you Rafe” I whispered looking up at him. His face was so close to mine. All I had to do was close the two centimetre gap between our lips. It was tempting, have you seen that man? Of course it was tempting.

He looked down at me with his piercing blue eyes and smirked after a few seconds. “Get it out your head it’s not happening yet, your still hurt” “yet is the key word there Cameron” I grinned shrugging. Rafe chuckled hugging me tighter.

I found my safe haven. It wasn’t a place after all, it was a person. It was Rafe Cameron.

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vervainandspritz · 11 days

Text

Lost On You

Robert Fischer x Reader

PART 1

6.5k words

A/N: sorry it took so long but it's here, life's been busy! The story will be written in a little different style, as I got inspired by old English novels. The point of view will be switching frequently to give a bigger outlook. Let me know what you think!

Money. They say it's something acquired and that it doesn't bring happiness, but ninety eight percent of your living doesn't come from nowhere, right? We don't get to choose workplaces based on wellbeing or fun, at least not everyone has the privilege to do so. Money. Nothing else would keep me here for so long, Y/N thought.

She couldn't help but ponder on her choices, driving in an automatic state of mind, doing it out of habit and barely paying attention. It's a surprise that I never crashed, the woman thought to herself chuckling under her breath.

Glancing at the buildings and, still sitting behind the wheel of her car - a white, six-year-old Honda Civic, as she asks herself every morning: Why do I still work here? Why do I get out of bed every morning, ten minutes before my alarm, when I'm already losing to time every single day, stuck in traffic jams and still being late almost everyday? Why have I been doing this for three years instead of two.. at most?

For money and practice, that's obvious, her own, bitter at times mind replies with slight annoyance.

This is the third year of her toiling at Fischer Morrow and Y/N had no idea how time has flown by so quickly. At the age of twenty-three years old and since she started college, FM has been her first and last place of employment. She got a paid internship in October of her first year, which seemed too good to be true. Yet here she was. Honestly? It wasn't a feat or success at all, and Y/N only understood that with time. Her raging headache was slowly growing with each thought crossing her mind. It was.. a daily thing for her, her mind being on overdrive.

For centuries, there has been a belief at all types of universities that freshmen never get internships, however, this is just not true, not entirely because the truth lies somewhere else. They don't get internships because they DON'T WANT them. Yes, they don't. It's a pain in the ass. First, you have to prove yourself to get one, and then you have to immediately approach everything very seriously and for little to no money.

You have to be responsible: don't waste your weekends partying. Your mind needs to always be focused on studying and working. That's why it's better to start later. There's time for everything in life, and instead of partying, meeting people, and enjoying student life, I got busy working. I take it seriously. SERIOUSLY.

However, not everything is so bad. Over time, such actions bring tangible benefits. I have more experience than other students and I know that I will have no problems finding a job. But I also have a good salary: better than if I interned at any competitor company. FM pays me more than students are usually paid, and the salary increases with the duration of the internship, so after almost three years… I was fine. Just fine.

I'm renting an apartment of my own, I have my own “almost new” car, and well. I never need to borrow any money from anyone. It's a bad habit that I absolutely don't want to ever have.

So what keeps me going here is fucking money, Y/N eventually decides as she gets out of the car, shutting the door close and wrapping the coat around herself a little tighter, since the weather wasn't the dreamiest. It was autumn after all.

Walking through the company parking lot, she made her way towards the main entrance. Her clicking heels were the only sound around besides the raging wind. As she passed through the door, she saw a very familiar woman.

Vicky, was sitting by the receptionist desk writing something down until she heard the door swinging open.

Vicky looked up to see Y/N as she lightly smiled. Her makeup was a little too intense for the workplace, but it had become what she was known for. People liked to talk about Vicky in less flattering ways than necessary, which… maybe was another reason why Y/N grew to like her so much. Going with the flow tended to feel like an itch and, well, who liked that damn nagging sensation? Nobody. Clearly.

“Early as ever” The redhead said with a chuckle, her bold-red lips stretching into a smirk.

Y/N rolled her eyes with a sigh, raising an eyebrow.

“...and good morning to you too. I guess” She replied, smoothing out her hair, which of course didn't want to fully lay down, slightly waving at the ends. Y/N leaned slightly over the desk. “Is the witch here already?” she asked in a quiet tone, looking around to make sure nobody caught her words.

“Which one? There's plenty” Vicky whispered back with a chuckle, seeing the unimpressed look.

Unable to contain her laughter, Y/N covered her mouth to make the snort she let out as inaudible as possible.

“The Italian one” She replied.

The Fischer Morrow company is owned by Italian-American entrepreneur Maurice Fischer. In order to work there, you need to constantly improve your language skills. Knowledge of Italian was one of the criteria to receive the internship. Even though I'm only an intern and my Italian is at a high level, I also have to attend lessons once a week. They are paid for by Fischer himself. This is another bonus of interning or working for this company in my opinion.

Free Italian language lessons. If only the Italian teacher wasn’t so terrible.

“Girl, I'm a receptionist. How am I supposed to know?” Vicky says with a sigh, followed by a shrug. Obviously she was disappointed with how little people in the company communicated with her despite being the first point of contact for anyone who entered Fischer Morrow. She was a little nosey by nature.

Y/N sighed deeply before straightening her back, grabbing her purse, and heading to the elevator with a heart pounding in her chest. She loved the Italian language, but simply despised the current teacher.

She's demanding and bitter, plus treats me like a fucking ten year old. She tends to leave us homework, which I rarely get on time because of the amount of work I have. She's thrilled every single time, needless to say.

“Y/N!” Vicky yelled out, as she rushed towards the closing elevator doors, managing to stop them on time with her arm. “You-know-who is calling us to the conference room. Not only us but most departments.” She said, trying to catch her breath in the meantime.

“What for?” Y/N asked with surprise.

Mr. Fischer was not someone who'd usually make announcements. He was demanding and reasonably kind but his expectations towards his workers were always high. Whether anyone liked it or not, he'd make a drastic change and expect people to get used to it immediately.

“Who knows, but… I'm telling you in case.” She said, giving Y/N THE look.

She immediately understood, nodding gracefully and letting out a deep breath as the door closed.

Walking through the corridor, Y/N noticed several workers heading IMMEDIATELY to the conference room.

That's sooner than expected, she thought with a sarcastic chuckle.

Caroline, the head of advertising, walked like she owned the whole building in her obscenely high heels, barely keeping from breaking her ankles as her hips swayed beneath the tight skirt.

Oh my fucking god, please not her. Anyone but her.

“Hey, Y/N” She said in a fake sweet tone that made Y/N contain an eyeroll. “Did you hear that we all have a meeting? I wonder why. Maybe something happened? Maybe I will get a promotion?!” She started babbling without giving her colleague a chance to speak at all. It wasn't anything new about her, that's just the way Caroline was.

“What's that?” Y/N asked, pointing at the hard cover in Caroline's hand, trying to smoothly change the topic.

The taller woman glanced at her own grip, like she didn't know herself before smiling once again.

“Oh, it's a calendar. I thought that I should look, you know, busy and smart since Fischer will be there.” She explained with such pride, causing Y/N to internally cringe.

Oh god, I sighed inwardly. Not that I consider myself an expert on human behaviour, but this is probably way beneath my dignity, or I haven't soaked the corporate dress code in yet.

“He'll probably start whining again and ask obvious questions.” Y/N murmured under her breath, barely listening to Caroline and Marie, another department head, who suddenly appeared by her side.

With a fucking calendar tucked under her armpit.

They immediately started talking about Vicky from the reception, feeling the need to comment on everything about her, apparently.

The boss always asks strangely simple and at the same time uncomfortable questions. He is an old-school man and often does not understand what we do. You need to explain to him the mechanisms of how some of the departments function and, despite appearances, this can be difficult. Caroline can't recall the details in her head, and Marie, in turn, can't explain how it works. That's probably why they work together. They must complement each other. But this is not a reason to discredit the boss. He wouldn't be where he is today if he weren't smart in some way? Right? Or maybe it's just my naivete, because when I look at my colleagues who pretend to be professional, hold old calendars in their hands and call the reception girl a plastic doll while holding high positions, I start to doubt it. I have the impression that the higher the position in this company, the worse the intellect and intelligence.

“But you like her, right Y/N? Can't blame you though, coming in late so often and knowing the receptionist well enough to make sure she doesn't tell on you must come in handy.” Marie said in such a fake kind way that well that annoyed Y/N more than she'd like it to.

It was supposed to sting and it did, but Marie is not my boss and all she can do is talk. I have nothing against her, but her fanatical approach to work can be tiring. Marie doesn't understand that not everyone finds her job the love of his life. By the way, I wonder how her husband feels in this arrangement, knowing that she is cheating on him with her job

Even our boss, whom I hate as much as the Italian teacher, isn't that fanatical. Another witch. My nemesis.

Katherina

She is mean and annoying, but at the same time has a lot of knowledge and experience. Sometimes a nice word will slip from her lips but it barely comes out of her throat, accompanied by THAT grimace and her praise sounds artificial from ANY distance. She doesn't have a sense of humour and is a cunning bitch. Calculating like no other and often ruthless. She always gets what she wants, and is one of the people who have the ability to approach the CEO and talk about budget in such a way ensuring she will always get the largest of all departments. Katherina is a real business bitch.

“Let's just get going” Y/N said, ripping herself out of the thoughts, turning around and slowly walking into the conference room which was by now filled with people.

We took our places by the humongous table in the middle, impatiently waiting on what was to come.

Everyone wonders what this meeting is for and quiet whispers fill the room. However, when Mr. Fischer appears with a serious face, everyone falls silent. We know right away that what he wants to tell us will not be pleasant.

Our boss is an older and slightly mannered man, with a specific sense of humour. Always dressed in a suit and a white shirt, he creates an aura of inaccessibility around him and immediately, at first glance, commands respect.

I don't like talking to him in private, although he once mentioned that he likes me and even loves my work style. To this day, I don't know how he knows what I'm doing, but it’s not important. I guess he wanted to let me know that he still has his finger on the pulse of even the smallest details.

I must admit, it's very encouraging to hear such praise from the CEO himself, but I still don't like talking to him.

The older man sits down in his usual seat and opens his notes. He looks up at all of us and sighs.

“Ladies and gentlemen” He begins almost like he was starting a holy mass in a church, and as if by an innate reflex I want to fold my hands in a prayer, even though I am not a Christian by any means. “...because I wanted to inform you that I will soon be planning to retire…” he finishes the first sentence in a weak tone, and the whole room is filled with a murmur of quiet conversations and surprised voices.

“Yes, yes, I'm so old that it's time to get going..” he adds and laughs briefly, while no one else has the courage to do so. “...and you're probably wondering who will take over the position in our company after me, well... “ He makes an appropriate pause to build tension.

“My older son Robert is coming back to us.” he finishes, and the room begins to boil, but not from words, but from employees squirming in their chairs.

They all look at each other as one and hear single words of surprise. The faces of some of them are not very optimistic, not to mention disgusted, but the boss quickly silences the noise with a loud clearing of his throat.

“...and although I know the circumstances in which he disappeared from the company, the most important thing now is that he returns and will take my position, but only in a few months, when I will re-implement and improve his training" he adds, and my thoughts wander towards my first days at work.

Despite the lack of interest Y/N had in the topic of Mr. Fishers’ son, she got an earful of it on her way back to the office.

Quiet conversations filled the corridor as people whispered about Robert Fischer, who apparently got kicked out a little time before Y/N got the job, so they never met. Not that she regretted such a sequence of events, as he sounded like an immature person lacking professional approach in work, and having more interest in women. Not the best colleague to have around.

Not long after, Maurice Fischer sighed deeply, gesturing to us that we could leave, so without waiting, Y/N made her way out of the crowded room. Ignoring Caroline's voice calling her name, she made her way through the corridor and chose the stairs instead of the elevator this time. It was faster.

Closing the door behind her back, Y/N closed her eyes for a second with a sigh, feeling relieved. Finally peace.

Sitting in her chair, she fixed her hair with a swift movement, putting it in a neat ponytail as her phone rang.

Deep sigh pushed past her lips once again, as she saw Maurice Fischer's name on the screen.

“Yes, Sir?” She responded in a professional tone without missing a beat.

“Y/N can you swing by my office in twenty minutes? I'd like to discuss something.” His voice was tense, and it didn't sound very promising.

God, I hope I didn't fuck something up, she thought.

“Of course. I'll be there, Mr. Fischer.” Her eyes shifted around the desk as she nodded unknowingly, before putting the phone down with a click.

Now, she was stressed, but it didn't mean that she could get away with the work that was waiting.

Without wasting another minute, her fingers started pressing on the keyboard at a quick pace, filling up the documents from her files, making sure no mistakes were made.

Twenty minutes passed sooner than she'd wished for them to, and soon enough Y/N was quickly walking through the corridor, holding tightly onto the file and her phone, typing away email after email before a certain impact caused her to almost drop the phone on the ground.

With a gasp she looked up, seeing a… young man with brown, neat hair and piercing blue irises.

His eyes widened for some reason as he let out a gasp.

“Katherina?” He said in a low, raspy voice which was filled with… something that Y/N couldn't quite put her finger on.

Quickly fixing up her facial expression, she cleared her throat, slightly shaking her head.

“No, no… I'm Y/N. You must have taken me for someone else.” Her voice was confident, not showing the confusion in the tiniest bit. Chin raised proudly, as she didn't shy away from eye contact, bravely grazing into his eyes.

The man blinked a couple times, sizing her up before letting out a breath as he nodded, smoothing out his suit jacket.

“Forgive me, it's… my first day today. I must have been a little confused.” He said slowly, carefully choosing his words as he straightened his back. Buttoning his jacket up one button higher, he stretched out his hand towards Y/N.

“I'm Enzo” His voice was smooth like butter, which already caused Y/N to… dislike the man in front of her.

Nevertheless, it was only proper to shake his hand in such circumstances.

“Y/N” Her voice came off kind but distanced, showing off how disinterested she was in having any longer conversations. “Unfortunately I'm in a rush, so I must go. I hope the rest of your day will pass with… less confusion.”

After the words left her mouth, she passed by him like a wind, leaving behind a trail of perfumes in the air and smirk on his lips. She seemed… challenging.

***

When I reached my floor after meeting the boss and went into my office, the girls almost immediately showed up right after me.

“So what did he want? What did he want?” They asked one after another.

“Nothing, he asked about my Italian classes.” I shrugged and they looked at me like I'm an alien.

“About Italian?” Caroline asked, slightly… deflated and confused.

“No way,” Marie murmured with annoyance.

Of course they immediately sniff out gossip.

“Yep, he asked how my teacher is and that's it.” My voice slightly bored as I looked at them, silently wanting them both to leave.

They fell silent and glanced at me and then at each other.

“Weird” said Caroline, and began to think hard about something. Still in my office, if I may add.

“Weird,” Marie repeated after her.

“So, what do you think about this Robert guy coming back?” I'm asked, because Marie and Caroline have been working here longer and probably knew him.

“Oh come on, did you see how all the girls started drooling?” Caroline asked with a smirk followed by a chuckle.

“Well, I saw what a stir it caused.” replied, sorting out the paper sheets on my desk before looking up. “That's why I'm asking.”

“He’s a womaniser, a rake, and quite the seducer,” Marie said confidently.

“Not you saying that! I thought you two were friends!” Caroline imitated her and nudged Marie in the arm with a loud giggle, covering her mouth like a schoolgirl.

“Oh come on, we had lunch together in the community kitchen because he happened to come by, and now you're saying we were friends.” Marie said indignantly with her brows furrowed in annoyance.

“Admit it, he was hitting on you” Caroline laughed at her.

"You're stupid," Marie continued grumbling and stuck out her tongue, laughing teasingly, "Admit it, you were the one who had your eye on him."

“Stupid, I've already been with Tyler, come on, stop talking nonsense, I don't want such insinuations” Caroline said, becoming more serious as her eyes widened, shifting between me and Marie.

“Okay” I said to end the argument. “I still don't understand the Robert phenomenon, can you explain it to me?”

“The Robert Fischer phenomenon cannot be explained, you have to see it yourself” Caroline stated and waved her hand at me with a smirk. “It was enough for the boss to say his name and you saw what was happening in the room?” She pushed further, proving her point.

I just nodded my head in the affirmative and Marie quickly filled in the rest.

“All the girls get wet when they see him, at least the ones who remember him.” Marie said quieter, leaning towards me with her eyes widening.

“Well, he's that handsome? Charming?” I ask further, getting slightly frustrated with not understanding the big deal. There were plenty of handsome men working in Fischer Morrow.

They nodded affirmatively, shrugging lightly. “The CEO mentioned that he's his older son, which means he has a younger one too, right?” I asked.

“Oh, yes” Caroline sighed and waved her hand dismissively “Enzo is even more of a freeloader than Robert. He studied at the Academy of Fine Arts.” She responded, and… that was all I needed to know.

“Oh no” I dramatically stuck my hand out with a chuckle.

“I guess I don't have to tell you what kind of guy it is” Caroline winked before starting to laugh.

“No, no, thanks,” I shook my head disapprovingly.

My brother also studied at the Academy of Fine Arts and although I love him more than anything in my life, I know exactly what kind of person he is. He lives for alcohol, parties and has no principles. He gets up when he's had enough sleep, talks to people when he thinks he needs it and doesn't care who he sleeps with. Only art resides in his heart and next to it there is no room for any woman or man - if he were gay, which he isn't - but there is plenty of that room in his bed. Every night. For any pretty girl he sets his mind to. A typical visual person. He likes big tits, blonde hair and a bit of weirdness. The last girl he spent the night with in my apartment had half of her body tattooed. He is fascinated by tattoos.

In one word: Artist.

Caroline and Marie laughed loudly, leaving my office, and I sat down at my desk, the topic of Robert Fischer and his little brother no longer interested me.

I turned on my computer and started replying to a dozen or so emails and that's how I spent the rest of my shift.

***

Coming in another day wasn't easier at all, the weather getting WORSE, causing Y/N to give up on wearing heels that day, as she preferred to keep her legs intact rather than get hurt.

Walking into the building, like always, she looked around for Vicky who was sitting by the desk.

“Y/N!” She hissed suddenly.

"What?" I asked surprised, coming up closer to the desk as I set my purse down, looking for a hand balm.

“Witch” Vickie replied and grimaced as she did so, letting Y/N know that the teacher was already impatient and annoyed because of her being late and that Vicky had no idea what the other woman was doing here.

When sudden realisation hit, she barely restrained herself from hitting herself in the forehead.

“God! Wednesday!” A panicked whisper pushed past her lips. “I have Monday's Italian lesson due today. I completely forgot. Please, occupy her for a second.” She whispered pleadingly and still almost silently, knowing that the door to the room where the teacher was was open and that she could probably hear the conversation if she tried hard enough.

“Okay” after a minute of silence Vicky gave her a nod “...but hurry up. I don't want her to turn me into a frog.” She snorted a short laugh and covered her mouth with her hand.

“I'll just take my jacket off, and open my office. Then I'm ready.” Y/N replied again quietly and ran towards the right office wing.

She quickly stripped off her coat and grabbed the notebook and pen, hurrying back to the reception desk. Just before the door to the hall, she smoothed down her black dress, hair and entered quietly.

“Buongiorno” She greeted, but to her surprise, there was no one inside. Looking around and coming in deeper only did I notice them.

At a small conference table she was sitting accompanied by the guy I bumped into outside a few days ago. The handsome, very much my type, weird Enzo.

Taking advantage of the fact she was still not visible to them, Y/N smiled lightly to herself, a shiver running down her spine.

I wonder what he's doing here? She thought.

Both of them, busy talking, barely noticed Y/N’s entrance, especially… older teacher. If she could, she would melt under the pressure of his gaze, like ice cream in the sun.

It wasn't surprising seeing the effect he had on most women, but the situation was embarrassing to say the least, because she was about twenty years older than him.

They only stopped their oh-so-nice chat when Y/N cleared her throat and sat down at the table.

They both looked at her, the woman with distaste, and Fischer in a way that made Y/N feel like she was completely naked.

“God, Mother Nature or other creator of all existence, what a look!” She thought to herself before wondering more and more intensely what the boss’ younger son was doing here.

“Buongiorno,” the teacher greeted finally, while Enzo only started looking at the younger woman even more insistently. Sigh.

I glanced at him. He was dressed in a navy suit, white shirt, sitting squarely across from me, with his legs crossed, his ankle resting on his knee. He was looking straight at me the whole time. A shiver ran down my spine again and I couldn't stop or resist it in any way. His gaze so insistent, but also… intriguing. He was clearly the type who knows exactly how to look at a woman to intimidate her. My gaze shifted at my notes, as I started trying not to glance at him again.

I felt a little embarrassed and completely intimidated. I immediately remember the warmth of his hand and his smooth voice as I saw him the last time I saw him. It was a nice thought.

No matter how hard I tried, I could still feel his eyes on me. I knew he was staring at me, but I almost never let myself get provoked so I tried not to glance or show him that his gaze had any effect on me.

Turned out that the teacher noticed it as well and was.. probably jealous of his attention? This whole situation was so odd, that I had no idea what to do.

The older woman straightened her back, clearing her throat like I did a couple moments ago and ostentatiously shoved the attendance list under his nose so that he wouldn't stare at me anymore.

"Please sign," she said to him sweetly.

Interesting. Are they on first name terms? Yeah, right. Who wouldn't want to be on first name terms with a guy like that?

I glanced at him again, starting to secretly observe what he was doing, and without taking his eyes off me, he picked up a pen and casually signed the list, followed by pushing it away from him as if it were something unnecessary.

I looked away again, pretending to look for something in my notebook, and he rested his elbows on the conference table and leaned toward me.

“Buongiorno, Y/N. I didn't know I'd have the honor of taking classes with you.” He spoke in pure Italian with an accent that his teacher probably envied.

I stared at him in surprise for a moment.

But how? Is he going to attend classes with me? Will the CEO's younger son also work in the company? The CEO didn't mention anything!

“Oh, so you know each other?” The teacher asked pleasantly, but her artificiality gave her away quickly, trying to mask her displeasure at the fact that he knew me and on top of that, said it was an honor.

“Yes, we met a few days ago.” I answered her briefly, which was enough to cause the displeased grimace on her face, as she failed to cover it with a fake smile.

…Which made her look like a frog that got run over.

“Robert will be attending the classes with you, the CEO asked for it.” Mrs Conner explained, seeing the questioning look in my eyes.

In the meantime Robert pulled out the worksheets and started arranging them into two piles. One for me, one for him.

…and that's when I realised.

Wait, who? What Robert? My mind raced to the moment he walked in on me earlier, and I could swear that he introduced himself as Enzo, right?

I wondered, my eyes narrowed before I swiftly pulled the list of names closer to me a bit too quickly. He introduced himself as Enzo!

That's when I heard his soft snort and for some reason I just knew he was making fun of me.

Under the date of today's class I was listed and of course not any Enzo, but… Robert Fischer.

A womaniser, a pick-up artist, and... as it turns out, also a liar.

The Boss' elder son.

The man who was supposed to become my boss so very soon, already fucking up the first impression.

Why do I immediately judge him very badly and assume that he has a nasty character? Well, after what I heard from Caroline and Marie and after how he charmed me, pretending to be someone else.. I can't lie, it's a HORRIBLE first expression!

Even seeing him makes my assumptions clear, it was visible to the naked eye for what pleasures of life he was brought into this world. With such beauty and manner, you don't sit in an office, you lie in bed with women who push themselves there, one after another.

At that moment I immediately understood the ‘Robert Fischer phenomenon’ my colleagues told me about.

I sighed and signed the list without a word, because I didn't even know what to say to him. Thank you? Besides, I had zero intentions for pleasantries after he decided to lie to me after seeing me for the first time. That's what I hated the most, dishonest people.

It annoyed me that he is a man who is absolutely my type, in terms of looks, I couldn’t deny that, but in terms of character, well, he leaves A LOT to be desired, and that's probably why his behaviour intimidated me so much. I felt like an idiot.

“Have you been learning Italian for a long time?” he asked in Italian with a sly smile. Piercing blue eyes scanning my face, looking for… a reaction perhaps.

I glanced at him and he was still staring at me. He was doing it in a way that he knew was making me feel uncomfortable. He was being pushy and rude. A caveman-like show off in a rather unsophisticated way, that I've caught his eye and that he was interested in me for a reason. It was awful.

“It depends,” I answered, also in Italian, looking down at my notes.

“On what?” He pressed further, making me want to roll my eyes so hard they'd just roll out of my damn skull.

“How long is ‘long’ for you?” I answered the question with a question and glanced at the teacher.

Still arranging worksheets.

"How long have you been studying?" His voice became more.. annoyed which gave me some unknown satisfaction. Smiling sweetly, I looked into his eyes with my chin turned up.

“Ten years” I’ve said with honesty in my tone, remembering how, when I was a little girl, I forced my parents to teach me my first lesson.

Italian was not a popular language in the States.

“Ten years?” Robert repeats with a surprise.

I didn't answer, not understanding what was so strange about it, and I had zero will to dwell on why HE was surprised. “After so many years you should already speak with an accent and be above C1.” He added arrogantly, leaning back in his chair which made me scoff.

“And you? How much do you study?” I asked in response without soaring him a single glance.

“Me?” He asked, raising his eyebrows in surprise. Well, technically it was obvious for most of the people here, but why would I give him the satisfaction?

From birth, I assumed.

“So what? Only C1? After forty years?” I mocked with a snort, causing the teacher to open her wrinkly eyes slightly wider at the exchange, as I insinuated that he was not only stupid, but also a forty year old man.

Obviously, he wasn't that age and I was fully aware. If he was thirty, I'd be surprised. I also knew that there are C2 level lessons with a native speaker in the company, but it still made me scoff.

A couple seconds of silence got interrupted as he snorted derisively. I glanced at Robert, catching him staring at me with a stupid smile on his pink lips. He was clearly showing me that he, in fact, did enjoy the little stand off we just had. He was impressed.

God, what have I done?

I quickly became annoyed at myself for losing my cool so fast, and at him for even making me lose it at all. I should have bit my tongue earlier or told him off, but I didn't know how. What would I tell him? To stop staring at me, or to stop picking on me? He'd probably pretend I was imagining things. Because that's how it goes. He only asked about the lessons, but he kept staring at me, and I couldn’t make him understand not to. Besides, I quickly grew worried about what the teacher thought. The last thing I needed was for any gossip to spread around the company, and I knew that the teacher is close friends with the girls from the Accounting Department. She also has lessons with them and they're on first-name terms, because they're about the same age and apparently she studied Italian Philology with one of them. I already could hear them talking shit.

The rest of the lesson passed on me trying to JUST survive. I didn't enjoy it much, as they took their sweet time bragging about their posh lives and places they've been to. Of course in a fluent Italian. I wasn't sure whether he was trying to impress her or anything, but this behaviour made me cringe internally. I couldn't help but count down every minute until the very end.

When the clock finally hit ten, I got up and packed my stuff immediately, rushing to leave the classroom before my head would explode. Passing through the doorway I said goodbye to Robert and the Witch with a short "addio". Right outside the door I quickened my pace as I could hear Robert leaving right behind me. I sneaked away, quickly entering the girls' restroom.

I got to the sink and turned on the water to wash my hands, at the same moment as my eyes caught in a mirror image of Robert walking into the bathroom behind me.

For a second I froze, rooted to the spot. Has he gone mad?

I stared at him for a moment and wondered how I should address him. He was not much older than me. Maybe five years at most, but he was my soon-to-be-boss. He lied about his name and FOLLOWED ME INTO THE TOILET!

“Mr. Fischer, you should leave. It's inappropriate.” I addressed him formally, wanting to emphasise the distance between us.

Even though it was my right to demand it from him, I still felt nervous. Maybe scared even.

A guy followed me into the ladies' room and I know he didn't come here by accident. If he had, he would have come out, apologising, but he was still standing there and looking at me like I'm... In the wrong place.

No, more like prey.

“Why?” He asked stupidly, furrowing his eyebrows in a fake incomprehension as he smiled mockingly.

.. leaning on his shoulder against the wall with arms crossed on his torso.

“Because it's a women's restroom?” I replied in a sharp tone and a fair bit of sarcasm, mirroring his stupid expression.

"So what?" he asked arrogantly, shrugging.

His response took me aback and surprised by his directness. Other women said he was unpredictable, but this bordered on harassment, yet I pushed this thought away. He's just a womaniser and a flirt. I guess he stopped developing in high school.

Eyeing him for a second I straighten my back, keeping my composure.

“Actually, nothing, you can stay here, after all, even the women's toilet is yours in this company, I forgot, but I'm leaving.” I said in a professional tone and without even wiping my hands, headed towards the door as if I had been scalded.

Suddenly he stopped me by pressing his back against the door, cutting off my escape route. I'm trapped, my thoughts racing. I bet someone's going to try to get in here in a minute and find me in the WOMEN'S ROOM WITH THE CEO’S SON! The one whose reputation isn't exactly spotless.

As I look up, his eyes shift around my face and I can see something new in his expression. A glimpse of awkwardness or maybe even… shame?

“I didn't want you to take it that way.” Robert said quickly, raising his hands in surrender as he saw the fear in my eyes. “I wanted to apologise for lying about my name.” He said, as if with regret, and if we weren't in the ladies' room, I might have believed him.

“I’m not angry, but please let me out immediately!” I raised my voice at him, and he looked me in the eyes for a couple seconds, before moving to the side and moving away from the door. He left me enough space to pass through, which I did, as my shoulder brushed against his chest in the meantime.

“It was good to see you, Miss Y/L/N” he added as I passed by before the door shut, still very confident and smiling like the devil.

I left the bathroom as if I was being chased and almost ran to my office. Entering the room, I shut the door closed and let out a deep breath.

I was absolutely outraged and shocked!

What a jerk! How dare he!

Taglist:

@lau219 @4ria790 @sasha28x @xsweetcatastrophe @betty21rose @aashika1908

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x reader #raymond leon x reader #cillian x fem!reader #in time #jackson rippner #raymond leon #robert fischer x y/n #Robert Fischer #robert fischer smut #robert fischer x reader #robert fischer #inception #robert fischer x oc

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mooredanxieties · 5 months

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It takes one to know one

Article: The FBI isn't just hunting psychopaths, they're head-hunting them too, offering competitive pay and benefits in the hopes of using one demented mind to catch another. Sure, we're familiar with the stereotype of the FBI profiler, swaggering onto a crime scene, fitting the pieces together like a master puzzler with his 1000-piece jigsaw. In reality, these profilers should be likened to harridans reading a cup of spent tealeaves- passing off their active imagination as incisive fact.

Fact Check: Drunk Iowa Driver's Alcohol Level Was Nearly Eight Times Legal Limit Article: Florida Woman Busted For DUI Tells Cop, "This Is What I Get For being a bridesmaid" Press Pass: South Carolina Man Attacked Grandmother Over Bizarre Chick Salad Mix-Up Press Pass: Open Gown, A Universal Hospital Indignity, Leads To Indiana Man's [unreadable]

Another Shrike In the Nest?

by Frederica Lounds

As reported before by Tattlecrime, the FBI maintains jurisdiction in the case of Garret Jacob Hobbs, the Minnesota Shrike. But as days turn to weeks, desperation has begun to take hold amongst the investigators. An embarrassing truth is beginning to emerge: There are no new leads on the whereabouts of the Shrike's seven missing victims. As families await any word at all about their lost daughters, the case looks as though it has stalled. Tip lines are open, but they have so far yielded little to nothing. Where lie these poor women who deserve a proper funeral? When approached for comment on the investigation, things with Graham took a surprising and dark turn. Upset at the probity of the questions at hand, Graham threatened, "It's not very smart to piss of a guy who thinks about killing people for a living." A statement like this calls into question the very mind and method of Will Graham and his FBI apologists. This is a man who skirted normal FBI... Read More

It Takes One To Catch One?

PHOTO EXLUSIVE - INSIDE THE LEEDS HOME

Exclusive photos of house where the Jacobi family was slaughtered.

The Jacobi home nestled in a sleepy suburb of Chicago that was startled awake by the shocking murder that has changed the area forever. Residents that have lived in the area for almost twenty years have said that they will now consider moving. See the disturbing exclusive photos inside.

Insane Fiend Consulted in Mass Murders by Agent He Tried To Kill

by Freddie Lounds

FEDERAL MANHUNTERS, stymied in their search for the Tooth Fairy, have turned to the most savage killer in captivity for help. Hannibal the Cannibal has gotten a call from a very special visitor- none other than Will Graham himself. I saw it with my own eyes, Graham coming form the main entrance to the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane on a recent afternoon. This mysterious visit had this reporter curious to its nature. What could Graham, who was almost a victim of Lecter himself, have to discuss with the Mad Doctor? A bit more digging lead me to face to face discussion with Will Graham. Needless to say he was evasive. But I was able to suss out that Graham has begun working for the FBI again on the Tooth Fairy investigation. And he was in fact visiting Lecter to help him get information on the Tooth Fairy murders. Is this really where to FBI has sunk? Hiring a man with questionable stability to get information form a clinically insane psychotic? If this is where the FBI has been able to take this investigation, this reporter is worried. Worried for the family left behind by the Leeds and Jacobi murders. And worried for the next family on whatever deranged list the Tooth Fairy has made. For surely there will be a next family. There have been three so far the the Tooth Fairy shows no sign of stopping. And frankly- what's to stop him? Certainly no local police agencies. Certainly no the FBI who have done nothing to further the investigations since they took over several months ago.

CANNIBAL KILLER FEEDS THE FEDS

[alt] FBI IN BED WITH THE DEVIL

[alt] TOOTH FAIRY INVESTIGATION BUNGLED BY FEDS?

Desperation Leads to Partnership with Cannibalistic Killer The recent apparent partnership between the FBI and Hannibal Lecter has this reporter wondering if there is anyone with whom the FBI won't partner. One wonders the validity of whatever information can be gleaned from someone who is so clinically insane as to devour those around him. How much can Lecter be trusted not to give misleading information to protect perhaps a fraternity of killers with whom he would most definitely be a member. And what does Lecter get from all this? Special privileges? Or maybe just the excitement of getting inside information on the violent nature of the Tooth Fairy crimes. This would no doubt a source of great pleasure for someone so diabolical in nature. I wonder how this makes the families of the victims feel. To know that Hannibal the Cannibal is drooling over the bloody remains of the lost loved ones. Is whatever little information can be provided by this this 'expert' killer worth making the victim's families continue to suffer?

#nbc hannibal #freddie lounds #will graham #hannibal lecter #freddie lounds articles #tattlecrime #tattle crime #Hannibal details

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ckret2 · 11 months

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Chapter 25 of human Bill is the Mystery Shack's prisoner and somehow befriended Mabel: in which Bill and Mabel make friendship bracelets. It's heartwarming. Bill is not, I repeat, not secretly up to anything nefarious.

Meanwhile, elsewhere in the chapter, Bill is secretly up to something nefarious.

####

"I'll be back in exactly one hour," Ford said. "Be finished showering by then. You've got everything you need, as well as..." He looked disdainfully at a baggie of shampoo and conditioner sample bottles, "your gift from the Northwests."

Bill eyed the Northwests' little care package skeptically. Four entire separate products that were supposed to be used all in one shower. He was drowning in mammal-cleaning slimes. What a waste of his time. "You don't expect me to use allthis junk, do you?"

"Frankly, as long as you aren't bald and don't smell like gnome urine in an hour, I don't care what happens between now and then."

"You're the most merciful warden I've ever had, Stanford."

Ford wasn't sure if that was supposed to be sarcasm or an awkward glimpse into Bill's sordid history, so he just shut the bathroom door. "One hour."

"One hour!" Bill waited until he couldn't hear Ford's footsteps; and then he turned on the shower, fished a crushed cider can and eight candles out of his hoodie, and stood on the wooden crate by the window.

Over the last few days, he'd spent every spare private moment using toothpaste and toilet paper to polish the bottom of the can into a perfect, shining, concave mirror. Now, he held it up to the window with one of the candles, using the mirror to focus the sun into a point on the wick of the candle... and...

It took a couple minutes of agonizing patience, but finally the wick smoked and then ignited. Yes. Moving carefully so he wouldn't douse the flame, he used the burning candle to melt the bottoms of the other candles just enough to stick them to the floor, lit them in turn, and in the middle Bill quickly made a (frankly terrible) drawing of Kryptos by finger painting with a tube of toothpaste.

And then he knelt in front of the candle circle, and—quietly enough that the shower covered the sound—he started chanting.

Some humans called Bill a dream demon. It wasn't exactly wrong, even if calling him a dream demon was kind of like naming the entire human race "the mountain bikers."

Which was to say, if Bill was a "dream demon," then so were the rest of his people. The other surviving shapes could cast themselves like shadows onto the walls and floors of other dimensions, slip through the cracks in reality that were too thin to accommodate the depths of three-dimensional creatures, and wander through the higher dimensions' mindscapes.

It was just that it was only one of their many side hobbies rather than their main pursuit as a species—and not a particularly popular hobby, at that. Most shapes weren't into taking safaris through aliens' dreams.

Out of the shapes Bill still hung out with, Hectorgon wouldn't do it; he appreciated why Bill went on his psychic excursions for the everyone's benefit, but skulking in a higher plane's second dimension made Hectorgon feel voyeuristic—and he'd only gotten more uncomfortable with the idea since his three-dimensional makeover. Bill could wheedle a majority of Amorphous Shape into a sightseeing trip once a millennium or so, but they were just a passive tour group who would be lost without Bill as their tour guide. Kryptos alone had taken enough of an interest in alien mindscapes to make the leap from "occasional tourist" to "frequent traveler." He was the only one other than Bill who spent enough time on Earth to network with the locals; and he was the only one other than Bill who had bothered to set up a summoning ritual, in case an earthbound buddy wanted to ring him up for a party.

Kryptos's party line was going to be Bill's salvation.

Which was a shame, because Bill just knew Kryptos would be annoying about this for the next million years. He'd worry about finding a way to bully Krypt into not lording it over him after he was safely back home in the Quadrangle of Qonfusion.

But when Bill called, nothing happened.

That wasn't right. Nothing wasn't supposed to happen. Even if Krypt didn't pick up, Bill should feel the spell working. The sound of the shower should pause. The air should go still and cool. Everything should be gray.

Bill opened his eyes. Nothing was gray. He checked each candle to make sure they were all lit, checked his drawing to make sure it looked right—it wasn't exactly flattering, but the lines were straight and the angles were correct, and anyway it was recognizable enough to work for the summoning. He remembered the words, he knew he remembered the words.

Try again. He shut his eyes. "Rhombus sapphirinus. Fraternitas, caritas, veritas. Te invoco, te invito." And then, not because it was necessary but because he was getting mad, he tacked on, "Responde mihi, quadrum defututum! Culum tuum calcitrabo!"

Nothing. The world went on un-paused. Bill remained awake. He opened his eyes to the vibrant, colorful, tragically real world around him.

It didn't make sense. Even without his powers, he should be able to reach Kryptos. Any human could do this ritual, and Bill knew a whole lot more than any human. Either Kryptos was dead (unlikely; but without Bill there...), or something was blocking Bill. The block could be inside him—maybe the Axolotl was sealing off even this paltry little magic—or outside, some sort of shield blocking the mindscape. But whatever the source, the result was the same:

He couldn't get a call out. Nobody, not even his oldest friends, could hear him.

He stared at Kryptos's ugly mug for a long moment; then blew out the candles, hid them and the crushed can back in his hoodie, used toilet paper to wipe the toothpaste and wax off the floor, and got in the shower.

If he wanted to get out, he had to make new friends. He'd been making some good progress lately, particularly with Mabel. Perhaps it was time to test just how far her compassion could get him.

####

Prisma the Rainbow Fairy said, "Gee, Sunny Cat, I haven't seen you spending time with Teddy Tender lately. What happened?"

"He's a killjoy," Bill said, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the TV. "He's a wet blanket."

A sunshine-yellow bipedal cat said, "Teddy's so sad today, and it's making me sad. I don't want to hang out with him when he's like this!"

"That's what I said," Bill said. Heckling the characters helped distract him from the urge to scratch the exposed skin on his arms until he scraped it off his bones. After showering, his hoodie had been confiscated for a round of emergency post-eye-bat-repellant laundry, and he was temporarily back in a reject gift shop t-shirt. He felt exposed.

Prisma said, "Sometimes when our friends are sad, all they need is another friend to give them a hug or tell them they care. It'll help them feel happier."

"I don't know," Sunny said. "When I feel sad, being around other people makes me feel worse."

"Everyone's a little different, Sunny. Why don't you offer to hold his hand and see if that makes him happier?"

"I guess I could try."

"Nah, it's too late for Teddy," Bill told the TV. With some glee, he added, "The most caring thing you could do is put him out of his misery."

Mabel, sitting up on the couch with three colors of embroidery floss tangled around her fingers, lightly kicked the back of Bill's head. He grinned wider. Mabel said, "Bill, I don't think you're taking this seriously."

"Was I supposed to?"

"It's a beautiful June day and I'm inside with you, so you could at least pretend to. I thought you were a good liar."

"I've never told a lie in my life," lied Bill. "But okay, fine. I've seen the error of my ruthless ways. Maybe there's hope for Teddy yet."

Mabel nodded, mollified. She set aside her current project and rummaged through her bag of embroidery floss. "Hey Bill, what's your favorite color?"

"Gold!"

"Why did I ask. What's your next favorite color?"

"Every color simultaneously superimposed over each other, instantly blinding you!"

Mabel tried to picture that. She imagined a rainbow that was also a laser that was also iridescent. Her mental image looked a lot like Prisma's combat magic. "You have such good taste."

"It takes good taste to recognize good taste!" Bill mentally reviewed the last couple minutes of conversation, saw an opportunity to bolster the "reforming monster" image he was trying to sell to Mabel, and added, "By the way—thanks for sticking around just to keep me entertained!" (See: he can say thank you unprompted.) "This sure isn't where I'd want to spend my afternoon," he laughed wryly, "but unlike me, you have a choice in the matter."

"Yeah," Mabel sighed. "It stinks. I wish you could go outside with me."

Bill quietly, smugly filed that statement away for later use.

Mabel pulled a couple fresh rolls of embroidery floss out of her bag and got to work with them. "We can't set off fireworks inside the shack. Or play with Soos's paintball guns."

Bill's smugness vanished, leaving behind only the hollow feeling of missing out on a lot of fun. Fireworks and paintball guns. Those were three of his favorite things: explosions, colors, and interpersonal violence.

Mabel went on, "And Candy's saved up three years of Magic Vision Poster calendars to wallpaper the inside of her closet. She read online that if you cross your eyes just right to make them all look 3D at the same time, you can hallucinate going inside them! We're gonna try it out tomorrow. That seems like something you'd like."

"What!" Bill groaned. "I've always wanted to see an autostereogram poster with two eyes! Now here I am, stuck in a stupid meat body, and I don't even get to enjoy the only thing binocular vision is good for?"

Mabel patted his shoulder.

"Back home I've got a chair with autostereogram detailing. I've never actually seen it work. And where is it when I've got two eyes?"

"I think they've got Magic Vision books in the kids' section at the library," Mabel said. "Do you want me to check one out for you?"

Bill glared at the TV, silently fuming. Then he muttered, "Yeah. I'd like that. Thanks."

The low-stakes drama on Color Critters was resolved when Sunny asked Teddy Tender if he wanted to maybe hug or hold hands until he felt less sad, and Teddy revealed he felt bad because he was lonely when he hadn't had a play date with a friend in a while. Sunny and Teddy went to the playground together, the gray swings and slide and seesaw blooming orange and yellow as they played. Crisis of the day concluded. Prisma watched proudly, before joining in the play herself. Bill was not jealous of their freedom to go to the playground.

As the credits rolled, Mabel said, "There! Give me your hand!"

Bill stuck his right arm straight out to his side. "Why—?"

Mabel wrapped something thin around his wrist, and there was a quick tug as she tied it off. "Bam! You just got friendshipped!"

"What?" Bill pulled back his wrist to examine Mabel's handiwork. It was a bracelet made out of embroidery floss knotted together into a flat band as wide as his thumb. "What is this?" Stupid question.

"A friendship bracelet!" (Of course it was a friendship bracelet; he was passingly familiar with the art form, he'd seen it centuries before they were called "friendship" bracelets.) "Make a wish."

He wished to get his body back.

"You've gotta wear the bracelet until it breaks, and then the wish'll come true."

And if he believed that, he'd already be chewing through the knot. "And, why am I getting this?"

"Because we're friends!"

"Oh." Well. Yes. Obviously.

He examined the bracelet more closely. The band formed a zig-zag pattern of black and metallic gold triangles; and Mabel had tied glass beads that looked like eyes over several of the gold triangles.

"I didn't have every color simultaneously, but I thought the black would make the gold pop." Mabel pointed at the triangles. "Look! It's you."

"I can see that." She'd used nazar beads for the eyes—a dot of black ringed in blue and white. A little eye-shaped lucky charm humans had been using to ward off the evil eye for millennia. Cute. He laughed, pointing at the beads. "So is this supposed to protect me from the evil eye, or am I the evil eye you're protecting everyone else from?"

Mabel was thirteen. Mabel hadn't put any deeper thought into it than these look like eyes. All the same, Mabel didn't hesitate before replying: "I'm turning your face into a protective charm! Now you've got to keep everyone safe!"

"Oh." And that, too, Bill quietly filed away.

"I expect you to take your new job seriously," Mabel said, pointing at him. "Don't let me down!"

"You give me a gift with my face on it and then tack on a bunch of extra terms and conditions. Very slick, kid." He admired the bracelet. It really was a pretty fine offering. He hadn't been gifted textiles in a while. "But all right! I've never gone back on a deal before," lied Bill.

Though it galled him to get something without a way to pay back the favor. It felt uneven. People don't want a god who grants miracles worth less than the tribute he'd been offered. He ran down his usual list of tricks—he couldn't snap his fingers and summon up a dream gift, he didn't have any useful info he could offer without prompting an interrogation session with his jailers, right now he couldn't even call somebody else to pull some strings on her behalf... His gaze drifted over to Mabel's bag of embroidery threads. He could see beads and a couple more friendship bracelets inside. "How many of these are you making?"

"A bunch! I'm giving one out to each new friend I make this summer."

That'd do. "Teach me."

"You what?"

"Teach me." He turned around to face the couch and pointed toward the bag. "You're making them anyway, right? Just show me as you go."

Mabel stared at him in disbelief. Was he serious? She thought he was serious.

A broad smile stretched across her face. "Okay!" She dug beneath her supplies for a little dog-eared friendship bracelet pattern book. "What kind of jewelry making experience do you have? Especially involving beads or knots."

"I can tie a living creature's blood vessels into quipu knots that spell my name—all without breaking the skin!"

"That's great! Can you do it with embroidery floss instead of blood vessels."

Bill eyed the bundle of floss Mabel held out. "Yes."

"Perfect!" She shoved four thread colors in his hands, a pair of scissors, a jar of pony beads, thought better and quickly took back the scissors, and added a roll of parachute cord. "I'll teach you everything I know. Even my secret trick to keep the edges from going all wobbly! We'll start you on chevrons and then move up to teardrop loops and triangle ends." She put her hands on Bill's shoulders, looked him in his uncovered eye, and said, "I'm gonna make you a friendship bracelet master."

Solemnly, Bill said, "I'm ready."

####

Ford squinted blearily into the living room.

Sitting alone on the far side of the room, Bill was bent over the living room table, fussing with several multicolored strings and a few beads.

Bill glanced at Ford from the corner of his eye, and then—with a faint smirk—turned back to his project without a word. Oh, he wanted Ford to ask. He was dying for Ford to ask.

It was too early for this. Ford wasn't dealing with it before coffee. He shook his head and shuffled onward to the kitchen.

Stan was already up, eating eggs with some unidentified liquid meat poured over them. Over the past year, typically Ford had been the earlier riser; but this summer Stan had gotten used to Ford pulling late nights downstairs as he worked on his research, so he didn't comment on Ford's sleeping in as he poured himself a mug of coffee.

But Stan did look at Ford's face and immediately ask, "Okay. What's the latest Bill bullsh... soup? Bullsoup."

"He's..." Ford tried to figure out what Bill was doing. "Making jewelry in the living room, I think."

Stan grunted and nodded. "Yeah, he was doing that yesterday with Mabel."

"Well, now he's doing it by himself."

Stan raised a brow.

The Stans leaned around the living room doorway to watch Bill.

Bill was engrossed with picking out a mis-tied knot, frowning deeply in concentration, one eye squeezed shut and the other squinted. He smoothed out the thread, his face relaxed; and then he glanced at the doorway, did a double take, and his shoulders went up around his ears. "What am I, a zoo attraction? Shoo! Scat!" He waved them away. "I'll throw salt at you!"

Ford raised his palms defensively. Stan said, "Okay okay, we're going."

They retreated to the kitchen.

"Well?" Stan pressed. "Is he up to dangerous voodoo stuff?"

"I'm fairy certain Bill doesn't practice Vodou."

"Answer the question, smart aleck."

Ford ran through every form of magic incorporating strings or knots he could think of. It was a pretty short list, and most of it was used for protection or binding separate things together. "Not that I know of," he said dubiously. "But it's more likely he's up to something I don't know about than it is that he's doing arts and crafts. Don't you think?"

Stan considered that. He shrugged. "Eh," he said. "It can wait 'til after coffee."

Eh. Ford was tired. He didn't want to go to red alert over some string and plastic beads. He sat down with his mug.

####

"I'm home!" Mabel called. "Biiill, I couldn't get you a Magic Vision book! The pictures in Candy's closet started moving, and I don't know if we were hallucinating or if we accidentally summoned an invisible holographic horse you can only see when you cross your eyes, so we decided to burn the posters and library books to be safe! Do you know if Magic Vision Posters summon things...?"

"I wish," Bill said. "But hey, I've got something better. Gimme your hand."

Mabel held out her hand, half pulled it back, and said, "Why?"

"Relax." Bill grabbed her wrist, tied on a bracelet, and said, "Make a wish!" He grinned. "You're impressed, admit it. Tell me you're impressed."

Mabel studied the bracelet. "Whoa." Purple, green, and orange threads formed lacy loops around a central thread, forming an endless wave that rolled up and down. The threads passed through several star-shaped pony beads, making the wave look like the tails of shooting stars. "A Peruvian wave with a perfectly straight center cord. That takes crazy precise string tension." She looked at Bill. "I have nothing more to teach you."

"Thank you, teacher."

"Is this supposed to look like my sweater?" Mabel asked, studying the pink in the tassels tying the bracelet on. "The one on your zodiac thing?"

"Sure! You gave me one that looks like me, I gave you one that represents you. Friendship's supposed to go both ways, right?"

"Bill! Is this why you wanted to learn to make friendship bracelets?"

"Am I that obvious?"

"Biiill! You're being so nice!" Mabel flung her arms around him. "I love it!" And then she took off, running laps around the living room, cackling madly and waving her braceleted arm in the air. Abuelita, who'd been watching TV, calmly turned to watch Mabel zoom around.

Oh, this was great. Look at this, Bill was the best at being a friend. Everyone who'd ever ditched him was a moron who didn't know what they were missing out on. They could've gotten personalized friendship bracelets. Maybe he should have offered Ford a friendship bracelet? No, that was stupid, why would Ford prefer a friendship bracelet over unimaginable cosmic power. But then it didn't have to be either-or, did it? Ford's favorite color was red, what went with red?

When Mabel had gotten the enthusiasm out of her system, she trotted back out to the entryway and hugged Bill again. He endured it. "You won't stop making friendship bracelets now that you've made this, will you?" Mabel asked. "You're such a natural at it! And you need more hobbies that are constructive instead of destructive."

"Ouch, kid. I'll have you know I have plenty of constructive hobbies."

"I don't believe it. Name one thing you like creating."

"Weirdness bubbles."

"Name one thing you like creating that doesn't terrify people."

Bill pursed his lips. "Agree to disagree. Anyway, I'm not getting out of the friendship bracelet game just yet. In fact, I've already got another few projects in mind."

####

Bill plopped down at the kitchen table across from Mabel. "Hey star girl. Guess what."

She looked up from her cereal at the dark rings under Bill's eyes. He had one eye squeezed shut; he could usually keep both open when he'd just woken up. "Were you up all night?"

"Doesn't matter. Time is an illusion and I can see the projector. I'm counting that as your guess. Look." Bill tossed two matching bracelets down on the table between them, deep watermelon pink and minty green, shaped like macrame chains with hearts where each link of the chain met.

"Aww, little hearts."

"Thought you'd like the hearts."

Mabel picked up one end of the bracelet and slipped it on—and then noticed the long coil of embroidery floss connecting the end of one bracelet to the other. "Bill? What's this for?"

"Didn't you say a few days ago that you wished we could go outside together? I thought up a perfect solution!"

With a sudden sense of dread, Mabel realized that the chain pattern and the string connecting the bracelets made them look like an extremely long pair of handcuffs; but before she could take off her half, Bill picked up the other bracelet and said, "There's a little magic in these, look. When both ends are being worn—" He slipped on the bracelet, and Mabel felt its matching pair gently tighten around her wrist. The string connecting them vanished into thin air.

Mabel gasped. "What—?"

"Poof! It's like a ghost: still there, but invisible to human eyes. We could even go into separate rooms and it'll connect us through the walls." He demonstrated by waving his hand under the table. "But we can't get farther apart than the length of the thread. I gave it about ten yards." He plucked up something invisible and gave it a tug, and Mabel felt the bracelet go taut against her wrist. There was no force, no matter how hard Bill tugged she didn't feel like the bracelet was pulling her; rather, it felt like the other end of the thread was tied to an immobile boulder preventing her from moving further away, until she moved her hand closer to Bill's to give the thread a little slack. "And..."

Mabel tried to jerk the bracelet off her wrist; it stuck around her hand. "How do I get it off?! Bill—!"

Bill put a finger on her hand, stopping her. He said, "Neither of us can take our end off until we both decide we're ready. Like... now." He winked; and the bracelet suddenly loosened again.

Mabel pulled it off with a sigh of relief.

"Unless one of us dies or something, I guess," Bill said thoughtfully. "That'd deactivate the magic. It'd be pretty gristly to have to keep sharing a friendship bracelet with a corpse!" He laughed. "Anyway—"

Mabel chucked the bracelet in his face. "That was mean!"

Bill blinked in surprise. "What was?"

"You tricked me!" She cradled her wrist against her chest, heart still pounding from the brief unexpected captivity.

"I did not!" He took the bracelets back and started coiling up the thread between them. "You put yours on before I even said anything."

"But you could have warned me before you got us stuck together!"

"Sure, I could have, but would you have kept it on then?"

"No, you jerk. That's the point!" She looked around for something else to chuck at Bill's face, plucked a dry piece of cereal from her bowl, and flicked it at his nose.

Bill endured his punishment without flinching. "Well, sorry, but I had to demonstrate how they work somehow." He twirled the bracelets around one fingertip. "This solves your whole 'can't let the big scary triangle out unsupervised' problem! Slap these bad boys on, and I've got automatic supervision that I can't escape! Maybe this'll convince the adults that I can be trusted outside, right?" He ate the piece of cereal. "So? What do you think?"

She thought he was still a jerk. All the same, she studied the chain bracelets. "Did you just make me a gift that's actually a gift for yourself?"

He didn't even look a little bit ashamed. "I prefer to think of it as something we'll both benefit from!"

"Bill."

"C'mooon. You know you want me out there." He lowered his voice. "Who else in this town will help you break into the pet shop to dye the dogs' fur?"

Oooh. Mabel should not have told Bill about that ambition. "Well..."

"Or help you grill hamburgers with sprinkles. You know Stanley's never gonna do that for us again," Bill said. "Or what if you need a drive somewhere, huh? The guys with licenses are gonna get tired of trips to the craft store eventually."

"You can't drive!"

"Of course I can drive, didn't you see me during—?" Bill's eyes widened. "Oh no, you didn't see! I can't believe you didn't see my car. You, you would have loved it."

He seemed serious. Maybe he could drive. "You... shouldn't get to drive."

"What if it's an emergency and I'm the only one who can do it. Do you want me in the driver's seat with or without a leash?" He spread his hands in a shrug. "And anyway... think of everything else we could be doing together outside. Purple poodles and pink pugs are just the start, my friend."

Mabel hated when she knew she was being manipulated but Bill still made a good point. She bit her lip and glanced at the clock over the sink. A tour had just started; the gift shop should be empty and the vending machine safe to use.

She got out of her seat, taking her cereal with her. "I'm gonna run this by the household magic expert."

Bill rolled his eye. "Fine. Tell Sixer we're out of apple cider."

####

"Tell Bill we got three packs last time," Ford said. "If that's not enough to hold him one week between grocery trips, then he has a drinking problem."

"Okay, but what about the bracelets?"

Ford set aside the book he'd been reading and studied the bracelets. He slipped one on his wrist. "Mabel, would you mind putting on the other side?"

"Sure!" She pulled on the bracelet. It tightened around Ford's wrist and the thread between them disappeared. Fascinating.

After a few minutes of experimenting to see how they worked, Ford was fairly sure this was a spell he'd learned about years ago, although he'd lost the details when he tossed his second journal in the bottomless pit. Usually it was done with metal chains—but the spell should make the bracelets nigh on indestructible while the magic was active, so, as promised, it would contain Bill. As long as he didn't murder the person on the other end of the spell.

"So can I take Bill outside?" Mabel asked, hands laced together and eyes wide. "Please please please?"

"You did hear what I just said about murder, right?"

"We'll bring someone else along! Bill wouldn't try to kill me if someone else is standing guard!" (At least she still recognized that there were circumstances where Bill would try to kill her.) "He's been stuck inside for weeks. That's not healthy! He needs to stretch his legs, get some sunshine!" She smacked Ford's desk as a thought occurred to her, "And we need to take him clothes shopping. I can tell he's uncomfortable in gift shop t-shirts and Abuelita's skirts. Does he even like skirts?" She dropped her voice to a whisper. "Does he even have underwear, or is he still wearing Soos's old swim trunks?"

Ford winced. "Melody was kind enough to pick some up a few days ago." But he could admit it had taken them longer than it should have.

"What about the rest of his clothes? Does he have a bra?"

"Wh—" Ford sputtered. "Does he want one?"

"I don't know, I haven't asked. It might be more comfortable. He has a lot of chest."

Lord. Ford closed his eyes. He did not want to think about bras.

"Pleeease?" Mabel said. "I wanna take him clothes shopping. He's probably never explored human fashion before! He's got to find his style. I can be his style consultant."

Aha. So that was what Mabel was getting out of all this: a person-sized dress-up doll.

Truth be told, they probably should take Bill outside. Depending on how Fiddleford's research proceeded, destroying Bill could take weeks, if not months. If there were ever an emergency, they might need to relocate Bill quickly—so it was better to ensure the bracelets worked as advertised before they became necessary.

"Fine. But this won't be a regular thing," Ford said. "Ask Stan when he can go. And your brother—I'd rather Bill know the numbers are stacked against him. And he's not allowed to talk to anybody outside the shack. You, Dipper, and Stan will have to intercept anybody he might speak to."

"Don't worry about that! I've got the perfect solution," Mabel said. "What if Grunkle Stan doesn't want to go?"

"Ask him to talk to me. I think I can convey the importance."

"You don't want to come? Are you too busy figuring out how to kill him?" Mabel's gaze moved to the books Ford had been reading.

Ford suppressed the urge to shut the books and hide the papers beside them. Mabel wouldn't be able to understand the books anyway: it was an ancient Roman historian's description of augury—fortunetelling with birds—and a Latin reference dictionary he was consulting to help him translate. He was more afraid Mabel's gaze would fall on the pages next to the books, where a few vocabulary words from the mystical, mythical language of the birds had been scrawled out in Bill's distinctive chicken scratch.

No, Ford wasn't busy figuring out how to kill Bill. He was still waiting to hear back from Fiddleford about the feasibility of synthesizing or replacing the quantum destabilizer's Dontium; and, in the meantime, he'd allowed himself to believe there was nothing else he could do on his own... and by now, he'd gotten thoroughly distracted. Going through Bill's notes, verifying his claims, following up on the leads he'd subtly slid in. Bill's miniature grimoire was the most dense magical text since the Emerald Tablet. Opening it up was like a cryptography puzzle mixed with a dissertation research project, and each sentence was a fractal flower of information, a bud that bloomed into a dozen more buds that each bloomed into a dozen more.

It was amazing. Enthralling. This was the kind of research Ford was made for. He was the most relaxed he'd been in weeks.

He hadn't told anybody what he was doing while Fiddleford worked.

"No, not that," he told Mabel, "I just don't want to spend time around Bill. Especially on what's essentially a social trip. Stanley can... handle it better."

"Oh," Mabel said. "That makes sense, I guess."

Ford glanced uneasily at Bill's papers, then looked away before Mabel could see.

He was so caught up in his own shame at getting caught toeing at one of Bill's traps, he didn't notice the quick shameful look on Mabel's face for the same reason.

####

(Thanks for reading! Please drop a comment or reblog if you enjoyed, y'all's commentary is what helps keep me writing. ❤️

Also I feel like Google translate can handle the Latin pretty well if you wanna see what Bill's saying at the start, but it's important to me that you know Google is wrong about "quadrum defututum" and it can actually be more accurately translated as "you square slut.")

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #mabel pines #gravity falls #gravity falls fanart #gravity falls fic #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher

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