#guys tip ur fucking people with tip jars

[imaggots]

[plutonianeris]

pick a pile: how you secretly intimidate others ⛓𓌹*♰*𓌺⛓

this is a general reading & for entertainment purposes only, take what resonates and leave what doesn't. scroll through the images & choose based on your inner guidance and gut feeling. ⛓️

♱☾pile one☽

“don’t call me baby! im not your baby!”

you intimidate others with your individuality. There’s something about you that’s very weird or kind of quirky. not in the “oh im not like other gwurls 🤪” cringey way. but rather you’re kind of blunt even when you don’t mean to be other people might think that what you say is too harsh or direct. This seems to be some thing that might throw off men as well but at the same time it’s also make some desire you. That free spirit can be seen as something that other people want in their life but it’s not always with the best intentions. It’s kind of like they want you to fulfill something for them. Kind of like to conquer you in a way. But it seems like that literally never happens because instead, you’re literally a tower moment for other people in their lives.

Just by being you, you unconsciously force other people to reflect on certain things in their life. you guys people specifically to reflect on their insecurities, and also their childhood. You could find that people, especially women project onto you. they could look at you and mumble under their breath or too each other like “what the fuck is their problem” or talk about how you think you “know it all”

it seems like people are just really intimidated by your knowledge and what you have to share with other people. you might have some Aquarius placements. Whether what you share with others is topics about religion or spirituality or “taboo” subjects, other people could be thrown off by your words, while at the same time secretly want to hear more.

this pile, gave off a lot of scorpio and/or aries and/ or libra & taurus energy and 8th house/ pluto aspects energy. when I asked about qualities people associate with you I got “ regeneration, suspicion, passion, beautiful, art, experimentation, intelligent, creativity, wisdom.” 🕯️

🕸️𓆩♡𓆪🕸️ tip jar 🕸️𓆩♡𓆪🕸️

♱☾pile two☽

“no, I’m killing boys.”

people are secretly intimidated by the way you can rise from the ashes and transform completely after going through super traumatic shit. The way you seem to be able to recover from stuff that can be straight out of someone’s nightmare and manage to come out on top is inspiring but also it makes other people feel insecure. pile two, other people seem to think that you somehow just “get lucky” when something really good happens to you. People might think that you didn’t have to work that hard for it. They could secretly send you evil eye and think oh I wish that would’ve happened to me instead..

shit I’m not gonna lie I feel in awe and a little shook reading these cards describing your energy. you are literally an alchemist. You transform everything you touch and you transform after every experience with a lot of grace and harmony. lmfaoo the quote from “what? like its hard” from legally blonde popped up. The thing is that it actually is hard but you’ve been doing it for so long. There’s no other way for you to really function. You manage to continuously strengthen your spirituality over and over again.

and there’s a certain element of privacy that you also keep when it comes to your home life and the space you live in and also in regards to what you’re even thinking. It kind of leaves people in constant speculation of who you are what you actually do or where you even live. but this privacy seems necessary to you, sacred to you actually. Your personality, ego, and the way you view yourself are in a constant state of fluctuation. But never in a way that ends up being super detrimental to you. even when you “mess up” you learn something and get better.

you are someone that is very strong and I don’t wanna say that like in a corny “omg ur saiuuir strong u went through so much :(“ pity way. I literally mean just a very unique kind of perseverance within your spirit where time after time you just can’t be knocked down. And other people wonder about that, but they’re not even close to being able to dissect it & that intimidates them.

You could be someone that has a lot of 12th house or fourth house placements, as well as Jupiter, Sagittarius, or Pluto prominent in the chart. when I asked about qualities/ words that people associate with you, I got “independent, knowledgeable, transformation, roots, subconscious, potential, hope” 🔐

🕸️𓆩♡𓆪🕸️ tip jar 🕸️𓆩♡𓆪🕸️

♱☾pile three☽

“how do you feel about yourself now stupid motherfucker? you couldve had some pussy.”

people are secretly intimidated by the way you run shit. You have a very straightforward and innovative, and out of the box solution for many of the obstacles you face in life. Similar to pile 2 there is resentment in response to the way you succeed. But when it comes to you it’s more because of the way you do things. people might think “oh it’s not fair that they did it that way and won..” but in reality, you have a unique power being able to bounce back really fast from shit. you don’t mind being someone brand new every single day or changing your habits or routines, or the way you connect with people were your resources very quickly.

In fact, you’re constantly flowing in these spaces of rebirth and attatchment and security. and that intimidate people because they wonder well how is it possible that you’re changing your character and your appearance and your own self all the time and YOU dont care if people label it as a fake or weird. Like I’m not gonna lie this piles giving off someone who has such a range of random aesthetics that ppl r like seeing u as someone who dresses up or is wearing a costume when in reality you just feel transformed by your experiences so frequently.

its giving “im not the person who i was yesterday” so don’t try it today energy. it intimidates people that you’re not ashamed of changing your mind and being like “ well actually I used to like that and now I don’t like it anymore, so can you please respect the boundaries I set up now.”

you TRUST yourself. and not only does that intimidate people but it also makes them MAD. chiron aka trauma, wounds, healing, pain etc popped up, so it doesn’t mean that all your life you had this confidence or ability to listen to yourself and your intuition. If anything you suffered a lot and had a period of time (especially in childhood) were you were taught to not listen to yourself or your intuition. where you were told that if you showed leadership and willpower, and if you used your anger and embraces your anger, that bad things would happen.

But then, finally, you did and you realized that you get so much more from life when you show people how to treat you from the start. And other people want to be able to do that. And you securely inspire them to do that but it’s also a mixture of envy as well thats included in those feelings toward you. oh well. protect your peace! you could be someone that has aries, first house, 8th house and 2nd house placements. 888 also popped up if that has any significance to you. when I asked about qualities/ words that people associate with you, I got “secure, possessive, leader, warrior, loyal.”⚖️

🕸️𓆩♡𓆪🕸️ tip jar 🕸️𓆩♡𓆪🕸️

© plutonianeris 🕷

[milfgyuu]

Hey doll! I saw you tagged for more asks like the Seventeen working at Walmart (which I LOVED btw!) and I've come to deliver! I'm at a Casino hotel overnight with The Bestie™️ and we're down at the pool! So...how about SVT working at a public pool??? 😅😅😅

bc there are so many mf's in this group i hope you don't mind me expanding a little into a hotel/water park resort.

choi seungcheol life guard i have no other reasoning behind this other than i want to see him in the cute red swim trunks ok. drowning myself in the deep end so he can give me the kiss of life. he's probably working the wave pool and like actually has to rescue people every time the big wave hits.

jeonghan is the barrtenderrrr *t-pain voice* and he has to wear that cute little formal fancy bartender fit (u know the one) and he is a prof mixologist like he's making you shit that is not even on the menu and it is amazing.

joshua works at the tiki bar in the water park so he's whipping up daiquiris and other frozen delights all day long and gets to enjoy the sunshine. humor me and picture that pretty golden glow and long sandy blonde hair okay i have a specific vision.

junhui is also a lifeguard but specifically for one of the big water slides - it's so shallow that he usually sits there are just watches all day making sure everyone is safe but witnesses hella ass crack when people try to exit the slide. so he's kind of just a glorified water monitor and buttcrack patrol.

hoshi delivers room service and knows all the hot gossip because holy shit he just left room 212 and the married guy who was just here last week was in there with a completely different woman today. besties with the entire housekeeping staff.

wonwoo is also a lifeguard (shhh there is a lot of water ok) but specifically for the lazy river so he just wades around all-day from one shady spot to the next making sure kids aren't blocking up tube-traffic. He does think it's really fun to walk against the current and considers it his workout for the day.

woozi is singing in the resort lounge like zack and cody's mom but he is getting hella hoes. tip jar on the piano is full of room #'s and key cards. he's like ahaha i'm flattered but no thanks but has given in once or twice after a little convincing from jeonghan.

minghao concierge bro he can get you into ANYWHERE because he doesn't take no for an answer. exclusive restaurant with a waitlist a mile long? reservations at 8pm with a complimentary bottle of wine, baby.

mingyu is so a cabana boy. he's got warm towels, he's got drinks, he's got a shrimp cocktail to deliver, and he's got a creepy cougar to escape from bc she won't stop making passes at him and now he's hiding in the laundry room which leaves...

boo seungkwan, the other cabana boy who is always annoyed and cursing under his breath but can turn his customer service face and voice on and off like a switch. will drag mingyu out of hiding by his hair when he notices it getting too busy.

vernon works at the resort guest check-in and has his speech so automated in his head that if someone interrupts him he loses all train of thought and has to start over. calls the bell boy just for funsies when he is bored which really pisses...

chan the bellboy off because he just ran his ass all the way across the resort thinking he was actually needed but it's just vernon fucking around with an empty lobby. fills those carts to the brim like Tetris and refuses to ask for help bc his pride says he can move all 800lbs of luggage himself.

seokmin i’m so sorry i forgot u baby it’s bc he is so busy working that resort valet parking the NIOCE cars. running around in his lil polo looking all fine and handsome like tip the man bc he uses it on his expensive cologne you can still smell when you get in ur car.

[b0nemilk]

I had a really weird dream I was in a collage but I wasn’t sure if I worked there or I was a student but it was my job to like take people out for enrichment time? The ages varied from 8-mid 20s and with the older group I had to take out I brought around the city of New Orleans where we explored then got really really drunk but then it was also New Years so I drunkenly we all were like let’s go get tattoos I ended up slurring to the tattoo artist to give me a full color sleeve of what ever she wanted in liquid confidence , (out of the dream world I would of never chose full color cuz it’s not what I have on my arms ) the tattoos were random and poorly done like the fucking ninja turtle , snoop dog as a lion , random celebrity one was a logo of a gas station , I also had a castle but coming out of the castle was the bee from the bee movie but with 2013 Justin beibers face , and others I can’t really remember but In the dream the next day when I sobered up I saw that I had spend all the money in my account for this tattoo I and started sobbing I cried to all the people I went out with and was like why would u let me do this it’s horrible so to deal with the stress I went to the. Bar we went to and cried to the bar tender about how this horrible thing happend and he made a tip jar fun to get my arm removed ? So I go back to this place I work or somthing and in the lobby two of the girls had a melt down or something and they strapped them in a chair and put a bag over there head and pressed a button releasing a trap door underneath throwing them to a ward . When I went to the job. Counter to see who I had to hang out with today it was the bartender 8 year old son I remember being confused like how the hell am I gonna bring this lil dude all around New Orleans after I caused a seen on New Years after I went to pick him up the bartender realized that I was the one taking his son out and was like hell no your a regular at this bar I’ve seen u black out almost every night I’m not letting u take my son . So he complains to my job about me and said that he felt unsafe leaving his kid with me and sent me back to my job when I go in i sensed tension in the air and I was like hey guys sorry about that and quickly I was cornered by a bunch. Of buff men in scrubs and strapped down and I was fighting so they strapped my neck down causing it being hard to breath after the put the bag over my head . I felt myself drop through a trapdoor and when I got to the ward no one has seen before it was full of heavy machinery and everyone was chained to different ones with metal masked that covered the lower half of ur face but had a opening with a lock so when u were givin meals or meds they unlock it and you can open ur mouth . After all that it became kind of a blur but I do remember having. A conversation with another girl while we. We’re working and she said the big machines that we were pushing powered the city and that what they did to crazy people to make them not be seen in the public

What do u think it means lmfao

[otvlanga]

Teldryn Sero Headcanons 4**

Here I am, creating a whole elaborate sex life for a fictional man again 😌. You may not agree, but this is what it looks like to be at the peak of your life.

I know I said I’d do Miraak before these but I just like Telly too much to wait. Miraak coming soon though. (hehe)

 I’ve given up all motivation to make these sound pretty, they’re unedited and probably sound all over the place but idc. Him sexy anyway. You know what’s below the cut, proceed at ur own risk

I think he’s definitely one of those people that believes there’s a big difference between having sex and ‘making love.’ On days where him and his partner get to indulge in slow, gentle and passionate sex, his entire vibe does a 180. While always appreciative of his partner and their body, during these moments are when he loves to express it the most. Slow, deliberate kisses down every inch of their skin he can reach -- and on every mark, scar or flaw he knows they don’t appreciate as much as he does. He loves to take his time when he has it to spare, and really get them eager while he waits patiently. He teases in a way that makes his partners feel both beautiful and desperate, making them want him while reminding them how much that desire is felt in return. Having him take such a slow and deliberate pace is his way of expressing to his partner what he may not be able to say so articulately with words -- that he loves them and that he’s there for the good and the ‘“bad”’.

You better believe he absolutely loves saying dirty praises into his partner’s ear during foreplay. Likes telling them exactly how good they’re doing and how amazing they’re making him feel. Tells them how great they look sucking his dick, how much he loves the shape of their body and such. His delivery always sounds a bit sarcastic, but it doesn’t mean he’s being any less genuine. ‘If I had known you’d be so good at this, I probably would’ve given you a discount when you hired me.’ Little remarks like that. His partners complimenting and praising him in return will surprisingly make him incredibly bashful, and he’ll likely finish much earlier than he would’ve liked. It may pose a bit of a problem for partners who are very eager in giving praise, but he always makes up for it in other ways. He’ll get a teeny bit frustrated at his partner for messing him up, but it’s never genuine displeasure, and he expresses his appreciation tenfold in return. This mer is always incredibly grateful for some tender care, okay? It’s not often that he gets treated with such gentleness, physically or emotionally. He’s all snark and blades and fire on the outside, but he’s a family-man at heart. He loves his work and staying on the move, but he does have desires to settle down one day, and holds the people he cares for incredibly close and dear to his heart. He may not be the most verbally receptive of compliments, but his partner will certainly know he’s heard them. Compliments relating directly to him get him going much more than compliments about what he’s doing. Telling him he’s going a good job down there doesn’t do much because he knows it and can tell in other ways. But having his partner call him mushy things like beautiful or amazing will make him lose his breath for a moment, and get him blushing like a dork (much to his dismay).

He enjoys risky quickies from time to time, and finds the sight of his partner frantically trying to make themselves look decent afterwards absolutely hilarious. He’s a little bastard, and it’s quite easy to get him all hot and bothered even in less than appropriate places, so it’s not uncommon for him to sneakily pull his partner into some secluded corner to bang one out. “Right now? In a draugr crypt? Eh, why not.” *unzipping sounds* Especially likes to do it right before him and his partner are due to meet with Jarls or other important people, because their ignorance and obliviousness to what him and his partner were just doing in the extravagantly empty library is entertaining to him. Jarl Balgruuf could be drawling on about a bounty or something and Teldryn’s inner monologue is just ‘this moron has no idea I just took my spouse to the cloud district right in his palace lol’

I see him as someone who’s definitely a bit more vocal than most guys. He’s not much for loud or obscene dirty talk outside of foreplay, but he makes a lot of sounds -- especially if his partner decides to kiss or stroke along the edges of his ears.  Likewise he certainly doesn’t mind when his partners crank the volume up a bit, but any sort of excessive yelling or moaning will turn him off. Elves have quite sensitive ears, and he’s more of a visual and touch-based person when it comes to sensory information anyway. He’s much more content with seeing and feeling what effects he has on his partners rather than hearing them. Feeling and seeing his partners quiver above or beneath them, clenching around his cock, grabbing at him and digging their nails into his skin or hair, while he watches them throw their head back -- those are all the best indicators to him that they’re thoroughly enjoying what he’s doing. 

If his partner is someone who has a period, he has no problem with having sex during those days. In fact, he encourages the idea himself. He’s certainly no stranger to blood, and frankly, he doesn’t care that it may be a bit gross and messy. He’s a grown mer, he’s seen quite a few jarring horrors during his life and a bloody towel on the bed certainly isn’t anywhere close to being one. He’s aware that orgasms can help ebb away cramps as well, and would be quite eager to take up the chance to help his partner feel good and relieve their pain. He’s also extra thorough with aftercare afterwards, insistent on helping them get cleaned up and changed -- even helping them bathe if they’d like. If his partner isn’t up sex during their period, he won’t pressure them -- but he’s very clear in expressing the fact that if they change their mind, he’s totally down. 

Though he’s willing to try a lot of things at least once, there are certain things he draws the line at. He doesn’t enjoy slapping or hitting his partners much, and especially doesn’t like insulting or degrading them. No amount of begging and insisting will get him to call them offensive names or hurt their feelings, even if they’re into it. Hitting or insulting them on purpose makes him feel shitty regardless of how much they enjoy it. He’ll be alright with using words like ‘slut’ or ‘whore’ if they want it, but refuses to use anything more offensive than that. He doesn’t like smacking his partners in the face, and doesn’t like them doing it to him either. He has a high amount of respect for his partners, and isn’t comfortable harming them with his hands-- he will spank them if they ask, but that’s it. He doesn’t mind biting them or pulling their hair either, or having them do it to him, since it's not as extreme and he does enjoy being a bit intense. He also isn’t entirely opposed to using knives or blades in the bedroom since they’re his specialty, and he trusts himself not to accidentally sever an artery. He might be able to enjoy feeling his partner tense and shudder underneath him, as she runs a faint line up their back with the tip of a dagger -- or cutting their undergarments off them if permitted.

He probably doesn’t fall asleep right after, but he’s also not really one for pillow talk, either. He’ll pack a pipe with tobacco and smokes a bit, and maybe has a cup of Sujamma if there’s any on hand, and he’s more than willing to share with his partner if they’d like. He has an odd habit of impulsively trying to feed his partners after he fucks them, even though he doesn’t really enjoy cooking. He’ll get up to go wash off, and then come back twenty minutes later with a whole platter of food he got at the inn/tavern, or threw together with what they had packed. Probably pulls the old 'you need to keep yourself nourished after vigorous work blah blah blah' line because he’s secretly riddled with some sort of deeply buried maternal instincts that make him insist they stay healthy and nourished at all times. 

[peachyproserpina]

Wickedly Domestic

John Wick x OC

Chapter 3: Meetings and Breakdowns

TW: none

Maria was sweating, not from her run, not from the meeting with the most dazzling person she had ever met. No, she was sweating because she was speeding trying to not be any more late them she already was with her meeting with the fucking CEO of her job. She pulled into a space in the underground parking lot before she threw on her heels and booked it to the elevator leading to the lobby. She could feel her calves complain while her tits were basically bouncing out of her bra. In her rush to get dressed and get out the door she didn't think to even put on tights or a good bra. The drive over had been a mess, she never understood while she bothered driving when she had to go into the city, there was always traffic. If there was something you could count on when it came to New York was traffic and tourists. She had managed to not rear end multiple people on the way into work but that did nothing to help her anxiety, adding the fact she was running late to this meeting and she was almost t-boned at an intersection she was panicking.

She could feel the anxiety build up in her veins and makes her blood run cold despite the fact she could run a hand down the back of her neck and come up with a bucket of sweat. Shifting her weight from foot to foot, tapping her nails on the screen of her phone, she checked the time and winced when she saw it was already half past 7. When the doors to the elevator finally dinged open she bit her lip and huddled in the back corner, there was only one other person she recognized in the elevator out of the 4 people already packed in. She couldn’t place a name to his face but his drab attire screamed ‘accounting’ to her. She let out the breath she didn’t realize she was holding and started to tackle the mess that was her hair.

She was still sweating and nervous and she could tell the other passengers in the car were getting tired of her tapping her toes. So busy freaking out about being late she didn’t notice when someone slid next to her and started picking at her hair with her; taking out the knots she couldn’t reach. She froze, someone was in her space, the elevator was filling up and if another intern thought they could feel her up because she was “new and fat” she was going to have a breakdown. She turned to face the intruder and let out a breath when she saw one of her friends. Arianna was working on getting the knots out of Maria’s hair, worrying her lip between her teeth before meeting Maria’s gaze and smiling.

“How’s it going dollface?” Arianna asked while she was rummaging through her bag to find her hair brush. Maria let out an audible breath before replying.

“Could be better, aren’t we like 30 minutes late to this meeting? As region manager you should be freaking the fuck out?”

“Maria, didn’t you get the email update? It was pushed back to 8 am. I told you to check your work email more often.” Arianna chided her, tugging playfully on Maria’s hair. Maria stuck her tongue out at her and moved onto working on her lipstick while her hair was being dealt with. Arianna fussed with her hair before giving up and dropping it back on her shoulders, she was the sole reason Maria has this job. Arianna was the one who vouched for her during the whole interview process, if it wasn’t for her she probably be washing dishes in a bar. While that isn’t a bad job it isn’t enough to keep up on her car payments.

“That’s good I guess. At least I can get something to eat and coffee before the meeting.” Maria unlocked her phone to a barrage of messages from her various group chats. She could feel her anxiety come back tenfold, usually her groups were quiet this early in the day. If everyone was up and making a ruckus someone was usually hurt, or in trouble. She furrowed her brow while she followed behind Arianna, letting her lead her to the line of the little cafe in the building. Opening her roommate chat she scrolled through the 100 plus messages she managed to miss in the short elevator trip up about 60 floors from the garage.

She started from the top, Tubbs, her cat got out again and hasn’t been home since Maria left for work. She cursed herself for leaving the front door unlocked in her rush to be on time. Tubbs was easily 20 pounds and had a knack for opening doors. She shuffled forward with the line,Bradley, her roommates dog would probably find Tubbs skulking around the property before her shift was done, so she wasn’t too worried. Her other roommate Libbie, who was woken up by the incessant ringing of the doorbell approximately 30 minutes ago had been messaging the chat since.

Libbie: I swear to FUCK Mari if you dont fucking ANSWER THESE I AM GOING TO KILL YOU MYSELF

Cooper: LOLOLOL calm down Libs, she was late to work

Mari: I have no fucking clue what yall are talking about.

Maria was brought back into the world by running into the order counter. She smiled when she saw her favorite barista working behind the counter. She rambled off her order before digging around her purse for her card. She was stopped when Mike, the barista stopped her.

“Don’t worry Mar, it’s on the house, you look like you need it.” Maria gaped like a fish and threw a $5.00 in the tip jar before walking away. Finding Arianna sitting on one of the plush couches she settled in next to her, turning her attention back to her phone. She was barraged by pictures of one of the most breathtaking flower arrangements she had ever seen. Delphiniums, peachy roses, purple hydrangeas, and dainty white bell flowers were all arranged in a huge black speckled vase. From the pictures it looked huge. At least a foot tall and she had no idea how big the round arrangement actually was.

Libbie: look, the guy said these were for you and and these are so fucking expensive. I’m pretty sure this fucking thing weighs 60 pounds. All the delivery guy, who woke me up btw, said it that it was addressed to you and needed to be delivered ASAP.

Mari: okay>>??? It could be like a stalker or something! Maybe it's my mom!

Cooper: We all know your mom is too fucking broke to order this many flowers for you. Maybe it’s your secret sugar daddy??

Mari: Okay Ouch,,,, ur right BUT still. I am not hiding a sugar DADDY from y'all. You think I would still be wearing walmart sports bras if i did have one???

Maria put her phone and silent before she got up and followed Arianna to the meeting room. It was in the executive offices, she they had another elevator ride up approximately 15 floors. Maria nestled herself in the back of the elevator and nursed her coffee.

“Rough morning?” Arianna ghosted her fingers under her own eyes, Maria gently touched her face, wincing when she could feel the bags under them. Maria shrugged, a noncommittal gesture she knew drove Arianna crazy.

“Yeah, my roommate is fucking the twink again and they woke me up at 4 am. I wasn’t able to get back to sleep so I went on a run, then I found this puppy on the trail at the swamp. Then I took her home and the owner was like, so fucking pretty.” Maria took a sip of her coffee before continuing, lowering her voice and the elevator filled with more people heading to the meeting filtered in. “Then Tubbs runs away because I was so fucking blindsided by how beautiful the guy was and I thought I was going to be late for this fucking meeting and apparently a huge fucking bouquet of flowers showed up for me like half an hour ago?” Maria pulled out her phone and unlocked it, shoving the group chat at Arianna. The other woman let out a gasp before she took the phone and scrolled through the chat history.

“Who do you think it was?? I don’t know anyone in the company, or you never told me about anyone you were seeing with the initials ‘J.W.’ and how hot was the guy with the dog?” Arianna handed the phone back before taking a sip of her own coffee. “Because like, your taste in men is trash, ladies you do a good job, but you would fuck a skeleton if it called you pretty.” Stepping out of the elevator, Maria slid it back into her purse before downing the last of her coffee and tossing the cup into the recycle bin by the meeting room door.

“I seriously have no fucking clue about the flowers, and he is like hot, like.” Maria tapped her finger to her chin, “like Adam Driver! But like, classically pretty. Like the kinda pretty you would find in an old painting from like the 1800’s or something.” Maria smiled and stuck her tongue out at Arianna’s shocked face before walking into the office and settling in her designated chair, which was thankfully next to Arianna’s.

“You are the only person who would think a painting from the 1800’s is pretty. Let alone Adam Driver. Him and his goofy fucking ears. So unless you can get a picture I am going to assume he is gross as all the other guys you've crushed on.” Arianna swiveled to look at Maria who was rolling her eyes. It was approaching 8 am. The room fell silent as the doors to the meeting room slammed open, the CEO walked in followed by the rest of the executive team. Arianna snapped her mouth shut before swiveling back to face the front of the meeting room.

[redhawtriot]

Baby Boom (Bakugou x Reader)

Sooo... I think It’s the size of my tag list that was fucking this chapter up so much! Every time I have more than my previous chapter had, this chapter deletes itself from my page/drafts! I’ve contacted Tumblr about it, but don’t cross ur finger’s on that one lol. I am sorry if you weren't able to make the list!

(If you beta read for me you could read the chapters up to an entire day ahead of every else tho! If ur interested in that, just inbox me!)

HnM

Tip Jar ☕- Not expected but always appreciated💞

Month 1, Month 2 , Month 3,

--Month 4--

‘SLAM!’

The front door crashed shut like ammunition through cannon fire. The sharp bang clapped and echoed throughout the small, otherwise quiet living space, and soon, three roommates filed out of their respective rooms. One by one, they inched out to get a glimpse of the oncoming storm: Hurricane Katsuki.

Denki warily removed his gaming headpiece as Bakugou whipped past his bedroom door, “Oh hey, Bakugou! You sure disappeared outta nowhere. We coulda used the backup in squads! Where’d ya go, man!?” 

The others listened carefully for the explosive blond’s answer, but got nothing short of an insult in return,

“None of your business, you damn idiots. GO DIE ALREADY!” and with that, Hurricane Katsuki simply slammed the door shut-- somehow even louder than before.

Kaminari, who had gotten the brunt of the explosion, was left wide eyed,

“Woah…”

Sero gave a low whistle as he shook his head at Bakugou’s shut door, “Looks like a wild Teenage Bakugou has entered the chat.”

Denki gave an abrupt, slightly uncomfortable chuckle at the remark, but soon gulped, giving his roommates a concerned gaze, “So… should we…” he trailed off.

Kirishima fervently nodded, stepping fully out into the hallway, “I’ll go check on him, guys.” He flexed before making his way to Bakugou’s room—a nervous habit he had picked up somewhere along the line to reassure himself before he dived headfirst into rough situations.

He looked back to his other two roommates one last time and threw a pleading glance as if to say “Wish me all of the luck” before giving a few slight knocks to the rage-secreting room, “Bakugou,” he called out, “You okay, buddy? I know that there is something up. There’s no point in hiding it…we can talk?”

No answer.

Kirishima gave a long sigh, “Well, when you finally want to talk about it, you know where to find me...” 

The other roommates sighed as well before both retreating to their rooms and shutting their doors. Kiri turned to make his way back to his room as well, but only made it a few feet before Bakugou’s door sharply yanked open a few inches.

“Where are those other idiots?” Bakugou’s eyes were redder than their usual vermilion as he glared out from the cracked doorway. Kirishima gave a thick blink in surprise. Had he… had he been crying?

“They back in their rooms?” Bakugou said very lowly. His voice had an extra hint of raspiness weighing it down, Kirishima noticed.

“Y-Yeah.” Eijirou quickly replied, startled by the unseemly sight of his best friend, “They’re prolly back on the game by now.” Bakugou did not say another word as he threw his door open a few more inches and marched deeper into his room to stiffly throw himself on the edge of his bed. Kirishima cautiously followed him-- this was as good of an invitation as any in ‘Bakugou language.’

Bakugou sat, glaring seriously at the floor in front of him, as if it offended him, and his leg bounced nervously. The red head uncomfortably cleared his throat. ‘Holy shit, what the hell is going on…?’  Kirishima had never seen him do that before, “You.. uh.. you wanna talk about it, buddy?”

No answer.

Kirishima waited a few beats before releasing another sigh and shutting the door behind him so that he could make his way to the bed. He sat down next to his best friend and simply sat deep in the silence with him. The two waited for what seemed like hours before someone finally spoke up,

“I got a girl pregnant,” Bakugou said very flatly, still glaring at the floor and bouncing his leg.

Kirshima had to stifle the choke that erupted out of his throat as his own saliva sneaked into his larynx, “Ack! Achkaka!” His natural bodily functions were completely forgotten as his brain tried to compute the sudden and drastic information that was just thrown at him.

Bakugou?? Pregnant? He never thought he would hear the words in the same room, let alone the same sentence! The guy hardly ever did anything but work, work out and come home to play video games. He didn’t converse with people. He didn’t get girls pregnant. Girls didn’t even look at him!

In his coughing fit, Kirishima’s speech was also forgone, “I-I- uh.. man that.. wow I…” he tripped and tumbled over his words. He was dreaming. He had to be. Well, either that or he had wandered into some strange episode of the Twilight Zone or something.

Bakugou’s glare at the floor intensified, “I thought she might not be so bad… but I didn’t want to be with her like this,” Kirishima’s eyes widened at the underlying tone of hurt buried under his friend's words, and then they widened even further once he realized what he just said.

Had Bakugou fallen for someone for the first time?? And then his eyes widened the furthest as things finally began to click within his confused mind.

He sucked into a sharp gasp, “You mean that model!?”

Bakugou simply scoffed, finally relieving his glare form the ground and focusing his hot gaze on Kirishima, “Yeah, turns out she’s actually a fucking bitch.”

Kirishima’s jaw dropped, “BAKUGOU! That’s the mother of your child! You shouldn’t—”

“She didn’t remember the night at all. I was just another fuck toy for her,”  Bakugou stood up and clenched his fists over and over again as if they itched to be slammed against something—tears welling up in his red-hot eyes, “Now tell me if the roles were reversed, how shitty it’d be then, huh?” Kirishima immediately shut his mouth from speaking up anymore as he allowed his friend to release his feelings. It wasn’t often that Bakugou built up enough to let things out this way.

Bakugou scoffed again as he began pacing the room, but Kirishima swore that it had the hint of a cry layered within it somewhere, “they might not even be mine since she likes that ‘fuck toy shit’ so much. That night meant nothing to her…” he threw his arm against the wall, effectively tearing a hole into it

Kirishima jumped a bit from the action as his mind briefly wandered to the security deposit on their lease. He pushed these thoughts away as Bakugou stiffly returned to the bed, his leg bouncing even more fervently than before.

Kirishima simply watched for a moment to allow his friend to simmer down before he spoke up very softly, “But you think it is yours though…”

Bakugou’s eyes snapped up to Kirishima’s, whose eyebrows were furrowed deeply into each other as he stared back.

In all his years of knowing Katsuki Bakugou, Kirishima would have never described his best friend with anything even resembling ‘gullible.’ His gut feeling and instinct were as sharp as ever and hardly ever wrong,

“Must be for a reason then…” he tried to look past the tears that filled up within his best friends eyes but they still left his heart feeling a little heavier than usual,  “If you think it’s yours then I’ll have your back no matter what buddy. You’re not alone in this.”

“They.”

“What…” Kirishima eyebrows folded toward the center of his expression.

“She’s having fucking twins.”

“Holy Sh…” Kirishima quickly swallowed his words as he took in the forlorn expression plastered onto his friend’s face. There was no room for him to be shocked right now. He had to be Bakuous ‘rock’ so to speak, “I-I mean congratulations!”

Meanwhile you found yourself studying the woman in the reflection of your mirror. Your eyes trailed every detail of her swollen, red eyes. Then to her hair that was fuller than you had remembered—the beauty of bottled color maybe? You danced over the way that loose strands stuck to the slimy mess of tears and mucosa that had accumulated on your cheeks.

Nasty.

A sharp chuckle came out of you, spittle following not too shortly after, but as it reached your ears it resembled more of a cry.

Okay, that’s enough self loathing for one lifetime.

And with that, you moved away from the mirror; however, as you did so, your sight basically smacked the open cabinet of liquor bottles that you were eyeing earlier.

Okay…. Maybe not quite enough self loathing. Your mouth began watering at the delectable sight. It was a desert after a delicious four course meal.  There was always room for more…

With a shake of your head, you brought your hand up to smack these thoughts out of your mind. What was wrong with you? You had been a lot of things in life, but were you really so low to bring yourself to effectively murdering your own children?

That’s what would happen if you drank, right?

You loudly groaned as more tears slipped from your eyes. You really didn’t know shit when it came to this pregnancy thing.

Your mind briefly wondered to Baby Notes Vol 1. You should probably take the time to actually read through it a little. Skimming it wouldn’t kill you.

Physically.

The sudden pounding at your door snapped you almost immediately out of your thoughts.

“Y/N?? Y/N, it’s me!”

With a final pathetic sigh you found yourself gathering up all the alcohol from the cabinets that you could into your arms and placing them in the bathtub before jotting over to the door.

As soon as you opened it Deku barged in and gripped you softly,  “I came as soon as you called! What’s up, what's wrong?! Are you okay??” His eyes frantically danced around your wet eyes and red sockets before he allowed them to roam all over you, checking for injury.

He wouldn’t ever think that Kacchan was the type of guy to put his hands on you, especially with how much he’s grown since high school, but the nagging voice in the back of Izuku’s mind fervently reminded him of all of the bruises and burns and numberless emotional scars he accumulated with he was quirkless from his childhood friend.

And here was a woman he deeply cared about-- quirkless—having to spend time alone with said childhood friend.

“What’s wrong??” Izuku found himself repeating as his hands mindlessly wiped the fluid from your cheeks. As soon as he committed the action, however, his face ran completely red and he quickly released you from his grip, so that he could get a grip of himself.

You didn’t notice his slip up, and if you did you sure as hell didn’t care at the moment. There were more pressing matters at hand. Two to be exact, “Twins,” you simply said to him as tears began flowing down your cheeks more furiously.

“Huh? Oh… Oh.” Izuku’s eyes went wide as your words sunk in. As soon as he threw you an obviously apologetic glance you threw yourself into his chest and sobbed throwing him a bit off guard as he barely caught you in his arms.

Izuku’s eyes nervously roamed around your home as if he were searching for the right thing to say to you, but as he made contact with an open pantry in your kitchen, his jaw dropped-- your alcohol pantry.

It was far less full than it had been the last time that he visited, “Y/N… What’s with the… have you been drinking?” he pulled you away from his chest and looked seriously into your eyes.

The sight honestly kind of scared you a little—like a 15-year-old being caught with their first beer-- that is, until you remembered that you were innocent as fuck, “No,” you gave a slight chuckle through your tears at the sudden surge of intimidation, “I need your help getting rid of it.”

You walked away from Izuku for a moment, leaving him confused and a bit wary of where this was going, until you returned with a hammer—leaving him even more concerned,

You were aiming for bad ass Harley Quinn vibes, but you were sure that with a dried trail of tears on your cheeks and the force smile splitting your face you came across like more of a psycho ass Harley Quinn. Furthermore, the look on Deku’s face screamed that you were correct (also it screamed ‘GET THIS GIRL IN A STRAIGHT JACKET!’).

“What are you gonna do with THAT?” Izuku squealed.

“I need to get my favorite bottles out of the house. Stat. and you're gonna help me.” At your words, Deku gave a gigantic sigh of relief, but still kept his eyes glued on the hammer in your hands. You noticed and shrugged a bit, “Smashing things is also really cathartic. I am sure you of all people can agree with that.”

“Heh… Yeah. But are you sure this is okay? I mean, I don't want to raise your blood pressure or anything because--”

“Deku. Less talk, more smash,” you threw a towel in your tub to make clean up a little easier, and so you didn't knock a chunk of tile on your bathtub. You gave Deku one last glance. He was still looking very uncertain, but you threw him a short smile before bringing the hammer down onto a bottle of tequila. The bottle instantly shattered, sending bits of glass throughout your tub. You looked up to give Deku an excited glance, and surprisingly, he returned one right back.

“See? Not so bad!” 

But you spoke too soon as the scent kicked you in the fucking nose. It was too far to turn back now. You choked down your nausea and handed Deku the Hammer, “You go ahead and get started. I’ll go get another weapon-- I mean… tool,” you corrected yourself after he sent you a terrified stare.

As you made your way back to the after grabbing your second weapon-- I mean tool a sudden thought crossed your mind. Without hesitation, you pulled your phone out and dialed in,

“Hello?”

“Yes. How may I help you today?” Dr. Yamakawa sounded from the other line.

“It’s Y/N…Y/N L/N…” you trailed off, hoping that you wouldn't have to say the ‘p word’ or anything relating to it.

His old ass better take the hint. To your dismay, his old ass did not take the hint, and a long pause of awkward silence filled the air.

You pursed your lips together in annoyance, “Mama Bakugou,” you clarified through gritted teeth, still dancing around the fact that you were a maternity patient of his.

“Ohhhhh!” He exclaimed, causing your face to fall into an expression of disappointment as he continued, “What can I do for you, Mama Bakugou?!”

This mf. You internally ground and fought the urge to facepalm, “Well. I need you to write a doctors note for me.”

“For…?”

“Work?”

“For your pregnancy? Dear, why don’t you just take maternity leave for that?”

“No.” In the moment you shook your head even knowing that he couldn't see you,  “I need a few weeks more before I can tell my job about this… situation. I’m a model. They own me through a contract and I didn't exactly add two roommates to the lease on my body...”

There was a pause on the other line, causing your heart to lurch a bit, but things soon went back to normal when he finally spoke up, “I’ll see what I can do. I’ll email you something.”

You gave one final thanks (and an internal ‘yessss’) before making your way back to the bathroom, “Hey Deku, sorry it took me so long I was just--” you froze at the sight in front of you. The shirt that Izuku wore was completely drenched in liquid and your tub had a gigantic hole on the side.

Your lips fumbled over themselves as you gawked at the spectacle. Deku could only send you a nervous laugh,

“Uh, hahaaa… Can we be done now? This… this burns,” he rapidly blinked the liquid from his eyes as he glances back down to the lot of broken bottles in your tub before throwing your one more pleading glance.

You choked down a laugh, causing it to flee from you in the form of a snort, “Someone had some pent up aggression, huh?”

In response, his face delved into a deep shade of red, “I.. uh..” he had no idea how to answer you when you looked at him like that-- your lips curved into a stunning smirk of a smile. Izuku promptly cleared his throat, “C-can I take a shower?”

“Obviously not that one-- you're totally fixing that by the way Mr. Big Shot Hero,” with a laugh you swiftly made your way to him and carefully grabbed the hammer from his grasp, looking up to see his face dive even deeper into crismon. You flashed a smile at the display. He really was adorable as hell.

You took in his face bit by bit-- his soft, blushed skin, his freckles cheeks, his round eyes. As you digested his expression you swore you could see an entire forest within his stare. Suddenly your heart pinged.

“Uh, Y/N,” Izuku interrupted your thoughts, causing your heart to throb for a different reason as you suddenly realized the proximity of the two of you. You stepped back so fast that your head spun. At least, you hoped that was why your head was spinning,

“You can use my shower.” you said very abruptly as you turned away from him,gesturing him to follow you to your bedroom.

Your bedroom. Your hear throbbed once more. Deep down, you hoped that you were about to have a heart attack or something; however, something  within you told you that that probably was not the case. You swallowed hard.

What the fuck was happening?

‘KNOCK kNOCK KNOCK’

The next morning you found yourself stirring awake to a loud succession of banging. Your eyes fluttered open for a moment only before they snapped back shut. The magnet drawing them together and you closer to sleep was much stronger than whatever noise was trying to wake you up, “Mhmfmfm…” you muttered as you rolled over on the couch and pulled the blanket over your head.

Izuku, however, was not one to ignore such an obvious noise and he found himself trudging off of the other sofa he slept on to answer whoever was banging on the door.

‘KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!’

“Coming!” the green haired man tiredly called out as he launched himself toward the front door and swung it open.

The astounded face on the other side of the entrance soon mirrored his own.

“Kacchan!” Izuku exclaimed.

Bakugou’s shocked expression very quickly contorted into one of pure rage, “What the hell is going on here?!” He screamed causing you to jolt awake as you threw the blanket over your head. You found yourself fumbling up as Bakugou continued to scream pointed to Deku, “The fuck is he here for??”

You made your way over to the two men- one seemingly terrified, and the other obviously enraged. As your head began lifting from the daze of sleep, you crossed your arms and glared at Bakugou, “He spent the night helping me with something,” you shook your head, trying to free yourself from the oncoming headache, “Hey, better question: why are you here?”

Bakugou seemed to swallow his own tongue as his jaw clenched shut, “I wanted to… uh…” he glared at the ground as he tried to find his next words. Shit. why was this so fucking hard? He should have never listened to that Shitty Hair and come over here. Bakugou scoffed to himself before redirecting his stern gaze back toward you, “Come with me.”

You could only blink.

What kind of caveman talk…You tilted your head as you fleetingly threw a confused glance toward Deku, who only shrugged in response.

Bakugou quickly grew tired of yours and Dekus silent conversation, “You wanna hang out or not??” he growled before throwing another heated finger toward Deku,  “And he can’t come.”

“I was just heading out anyways. It’s no big deal really!” Izuku defensively threw his hands up as if to show Bakugou that he was no threat at all. He went to gather a few of his belongings from the sofa he slept on before throwing Bakugou one more gaze-- this one a lot more astute.

A majority of Midoriya’s mind told him that there was nothing to worry about at all, but there was still a small section of him that couldn't shake the memories of how Bakugou treated him as a quirkless child. Izuku knew that he would never hurt you! But… just in case…

“You take care of her Kacchan,” the tone came off pleadingly but the look in his eyes was a  bit stern. You had never seen this portion of Deku before and it almost instantly caused your chest to thud, harshly reminding you of last night’s sensations. Shit.

“Don't tell me what the fuck to do, Deku. Those are my kids in there. Not yours. You just remember that,” Bakugou scoffed, causing Izuku’s expression to falter ever so slightly before he fixed it again.

Your jaw dropped at the sheer bluntness of his statement, “Kacchan, what the f--”

“I guess you’re right, Kacchan,” Izuku began, “Sorry if  I crossed a boundary,” he smiled at Bakugou-- who only huffed in return-- and quickly turned to you, making the tightness in your chest worse, “Bye, Y/N!” Izuku smiled, almost too innocently, considering the raging war in your gut at the moment.

You smiled back-- a feeble attempt at masking the inner turmoil ravaging your insides. “Peace, bb,” you gave him a weak hug before gesturing him out of your home. You threw him one final smile before shutting the door. You instantly whipped your head back around the the blonde brat behind you, “What. The. Fuck!?”

“I already told you. I want to hang out.”

“Are you fucking allergic to texting or some shit??” you yelled, “You just waltz in like you own the damn place and demand me to ‘Ohhh ahhh wo-man! come with me, wo-man’,” you renacthed his prehistoric behavior. 

Bakugou felt his muscles tighten in response to your taunting. Your loud nature, mixed with the confrontational behavior was reminding him way too much of his own mother. He swore on his life that he would never end up with  a woman like her and yet, here he was standing in front of her fucking carbon copy. The thought made him sick as he groaned in frustration,

“Shitty hair was fucking wrong!” Bakugou spat, causing your eyebrows to furrow in confusion as he continued, “The last thing I want to do is hang out with a bitching hag like you!!”

Your jaw dropped, “Excuse me??” You have heard pretty much every other insult in the book hurdled at you, but ‘hag’ was never one of them. You laughed, “I wasn’t a hag when you fucked me all night, huh?!”

“Yeah? I don't know what was wrong with me then. You are way different when I am not pumped full of alcohol, apparently.”

Your laughter immediately ceased, “Whatever. you came up to me and confessed your love like a raging SIMP, and now all of a sudden I’m a bitch?

“Fuck! Well, I got to know you past a pretty, stupid, fucking face!”

You blinked in shock. The unfamiliar feeling of your heart sinking into the pit of your stomach overwhelmed you as hurt surrounded your face. Practically your entire life, being beautiful has been a mask of sorts for your overwhelming failures. Still, here this man was-- practically a stranger-- seeing past your facade, looking directly into the steaming pile of shit that you truly were. Your eyes suddenly became warm as tears filled them,

“Then why the fuck are you even here, asshole?? TO PISS ME OFF?” you shouted, throwing your hands by your side and clenching them so tightly that your nails dug into your skin.

“BECAUSE  I WANTED TO KNOW ALL OF YOU!” he screamed back. The shocking words fled out from under his harsh tone and stunned you as your brain processed them. You felt your fist unfurl a bit as he continued, “I wanted to know you. Good and bad. Bitchy and not. You're carrying my children… I want to know them,” he finished, almost defeated. This tell of emotion was obviously the last thing he wanted to be doing, you could tell.

Still, it meant a  lot for some reason that he felt that he could do this with you “Oh,” you breath out, unable to articulate much else.

“Oh?!” he angrily repeated. Bakugou felt his face shrivel in disgust. He just poured out his being to you once more for you to trample on it like a fucking gymnast mat. However, as Bakugou formed his mouth to say something else, you halted him,

“Go… have a seat,” you gestured to the couch, blinking the accumulating liquid in your eyes away. The blond could only shoot a lone eyebrow up in response, causing you to sigh in exasperation,  “Well, Are you just gonna stand there looking like that, or what?” he gave you one final scoff before making his way to one of your couches and seating himself comfortably, propping one of his feet on your coffee table as he glared at the non functioning television.

“Welcome, I guess. I am sure you’ll have no issue making yourself comfortable,” you deadpanned, eyeing his propped up legs,  “I’ll go make us some… tea?” you suggested , but no answer came from him, “Tea it is.”

You rolled your eyes before trudging away. You always loved green tea, but for some reason the smell had been killing you lately, so you opted for peppermint tea instead. It was inferior by, far, but it matched the inferior, pathetic life that you had adopted recently.

Jeez. How much self deprecation can you fit into one week? Would this have any effect on the babies? If so, they’d probably come out singing RnB or some shit in the maternity ward. They’d have already stressed dyed hair and an entire Tumblr dedicated to sad aesthetics before they reached their first birthday, for god's sake.  

You vehemently shook your head to once again get rid of the oncoming headache that snuck in with these disgusting thoughts, “So Kacchan!” you called out as you walked back to the living room, “What do you wanna know?”

“Don’t call me that,” he simply barked.

“What?”

“Don’t call me that name. I fucking hate it.”

You snorted and took a seat next to his glaring figure. You tried not to notice how he shifted further away from you as you sat down, “I am sure Deku disliked being called worthless his whole life too,” you smirked up at him, “I bet he fucking hated it.”

The atmosphere seemed to once more shift into a much heavier tone after your statement and the room fell quiet for a few beats. Bakugou’s small glare morphed into a much more forced one. It was as if he was trying to use the glare to hide another feeling, you noticed.

Finally, he spoke, “How much do you know.”

You tilted your head into another shrug, “Enough to know that you probably hate the fact that I am quirkless.”

His face contorted into one of pure disgust as the glareful mask he wore faded away like yesterday’s lunch.  “I don’t give a fuck,” he argued, but the look you sent him showed no sign of believing it. Bakugou’s disgust deepened, but he made sure to control it enough to where you didn't know that it was directed towards himself.

“Oh really? Let’s see if you can keep that same energy when one of your kids pops out without that flashy quirk of yours,” Of course his face fell, just as you suspected it would. Just like it had for multiple other men you had told.

Most men’s pride utterly shrivels into dust as soon as the pretty girl in front of them-- the one that they fantasize about having a dream life with-- ends up telling them that they are quirkless. As soon as the words fall out of your mouth, the men's dreamy gaze effectively shatters alongside their hopes and dreams concerning you.

Nobody wants to pass weakness onto their children.

“You know what? I think I’ll go first,” you snapped him out of the uncomfortable, uncharacteristic silence, and he gave you an irritated, questioning glance, “You wanted to play 20 questions with me, or whatever. No limitations, okay? And I have the first question for you,” you explained before sending him a challenging gaze, “How could someone so full of hate truly aspire to be a hero?”

You expected him to blow up at you-- to scream, and yell and argue that you were wrong.

Yet.

The slightly apologetic, yet stern look on his face threw you for an absolute loop, “I wanted to win.” he simply answered. Somehow his matter of a factness was worse for you than any furious defensive scenario you had conjured in your mind, but as you went to open your mouth with a roll of your eyes, he halted you,

“That was when I was younger, “ he sharply clarified, “I wanted to win more than anything. To be better than everyone else—and that hasn’t changed but there's more to it now. I have to protect the people I care about—like my idiot roommates—I want to make sure we all come home safe by the end of the night.”

Once again he had thrown you off with a surprisingly normal non-caveman response, “That was actually…”

“My turn,” Bakugou abruptly cut you off, “How many men the you fuck this past few months?”

Your jaw dropped. 

And back to Neanderthal you mother fucking guess! “Are you fucking kiddin—”

“You said no limitations,” he gruffly stated.

You bit your tongue and shot him a glare that could match his own before giving a sharp sigh, “Four during the last year. You were the last and the only one during the month I… conceived,” you swallowed as the word left a bitter taste in your mouth, “My turn. What about you?”

“What.”

“How many women the past year?”

“Why the hell does it matter?” Bakugou argued. Your eyes shot down to his body as it shifted around even further from you. From his body language you could tell that his answer was sure to be outrageously high.

He was an extremely attractive guy after all. Those rippling arms were nothing to fuck around with. His red hot eyes could melt steel beams with a passing glance. The chisel of his permanently hardened expression could slice through even the most secured of panties. 

Yes. and there was no denying that he was a sex god in his own right.

It also didn't help that his temperament sucked, so you doubted he had had many long term relationships. He had all of the ingredients of a man whore stirring within him.

“I’m just curious,” you shrugged.

Bakugou threw his glare away from you for a moment as he contemplated on whether or not to answer your stupid question. He had his own questions to ask you still so he guessed that he didn't really have a choice if he wanted his answers,“...One.”

Your jaw dropped, “Seriously?” as his face fell into a furious shade of red you were smacked with a sudden realization,

“Kacchan, did you... lose your virginity to m...?” He glared even further away from you, but you could still see his ears falling even deeper into red-- effectively giving you your answer, “Oh my…” he trailed off. No wonder he was so fucking head over heels for you! Through your discomfort a horribly timed joke flew past your lips, 

“You knocked her up on the first try huh? You’ve got some super swimmers,” you half laughed, but Bakugou obviously didn't find anything funny about it as he snarled angrily as you,

“Shut up!” he barked, throwing a pillow at you, “My turn. What’s up with you and that shitty Deku?”

The pillow hit you, but it was really his question that had smacked you in the face. Your chest thudded, and you prayed to whoever was listening that he couldn't see the racing of your heart, “He’s just a friend! A really good friend to me. Probably my first actual friend ever,” you said this as a joke, but obviously forgot who you were talking to.

“You didn’t make any in high school?” Bakugou’s face twisted up disbelievingly.

“Never went. Couldn’t afford the tuition...” now it was you who was uncomfortably shifting from him. 

“Your parents didn’t help you out?”

“Slow down there, buckaroo,” you laughed, but his face remained as stern as ever as you continued, “That’s like three questions In a row for you. My turn.”

Luckily he caught the hint and didn't press upon the subject any further.

Through the night, you found out a lot of things about him. He was actually younger than you by a few years at twenty years old. His parents were both fashion designers (probably the biggest fucking shock to you considering his choice of black shirts and flannels) and that he was working on making his own hero agency since he had already climbed up the ranks in Japan.

Your game, however, was cut short by the growling of your stomach.

Bakugou almost immediately stood up, surprising you as he walked to your kitchen. Well, you did say ‘make yourself at home’ but this was a little upfront wasn't it? He soon yelled to you from the kitchen as you sat in shock still, “What do you have to eat in this shit hole?!”

Shit hole? You glance around at the decorations and clean atmosphere that you pride yourself on. That jerk. Your house was not a shit hole! “You can eat shit if you want. I’m not hungry.”

“The hell are you talking about? I just heard your stomach growling.”

You shrugged, “Just indigestion. I get a lot of stomach issues with these things inside of me,” the sudden clanging of pots and pan in your kitchen startled you,  “What the hell are you doing??” you called out before marching to your kitchen.

You found him rummaging through your cabinets, stopping momentarily to judgmentally eye your still plentiful liquor cabinet for a moment before moving on, “You can starve yourself all you fucking want, but you're not fucking starving my kids.”

Your breath hitched in your throat at his accusation, “I’m not starving.”

“You think I’m fucking blind?”

“I have to stay in shape for work. Just like you I am sure,” you walked up to him and grabbed a bicep for demonstration, but he quickly threw your hand away from him as his face fell into a bout of shock. He quickly regained himself,

“Whatever,” he grunted before swinging open your refrigerator.

“What are y—Hey!” you yelped as he began haphazardly throwing food onto one of your counters.

“Is all you have in here rabbit food? Jesus fucking Christ,” he ignored your cries and began throwing certain items together and heating up a pot of water.

You couldn't help but blink at the display. He seemed pretty natural in the kitchen and that in itself was unnatural considering his caveman persona, “You... cook?” you felt uneasy.

“You don’t?”

Honestly, your diet consisted of salads and ramen since you were 15, so cooking wasn't a necessity. You reluctantly shook your head at him.

He looked completely disappointed and disgusted with you but, hey, what else is new? Bakugou scoffed, “Well you’re gonna have to learn how now. Pay attention.”

You rolled your eyes at him. If you wanted fucking Gordon Ramsey bitching you around in the kitchen you would have clicked on that stupid ad that always popped up on your Youtube. Then again, Bakugou was more of a Guy Fieri with that spiky hair of his.

Whatever.

You guessed learning how to cook one meal wouldn't be too terrible,  

“What are you stirring the water for if you didn’t put anything in it yet?”

“It helps it heat up faster, idiot.”

“Do you actually throw the noodles on the wall to see if they’re finished?”

Bakugou threw you a frown, “If you’re a fucking dumbass,” he said, moving you aside as he began stirring a saucer filled with vegetables. He completely disregarded your yelp as he moved you as a parade of thoughts bombarded his mind.

He would have to come over more and keep you and his kids fed if you truly didn’t know how to cook. He scoffed and his stirring hand more slightly more erratically with frustration. What kind of grown woman didn't know how to cook pasta?

His thoughts were halted by a loud squelch that sounded through the air. He immediately threw his gaze up to the wall in front of his face and his expression fell at the sight. He growled, snapping his gaze back toward you by the pot of pasta, “WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!” his furious glare danced between you and the wet noodle that stuck to the wall.

“I wanted to see if it would actually stick! Don’t get your balls in a twist, it was one noodle!”

“So damn wasteful,” Bakugou ground his teeth as he frustratedly scrapped the starchy pasta off of your wall. He opened his mouth to tell you just this, but immediately snapped it back shut as he felt something being thrown at his head, “that better not be what I think it is…” he snarled through his teeth as he eyed food dangling from one of the spines of his hair.

“Don’t worry, Kacchan. It’s not a worm,” you laughed, but your giddiness was soon cut off as a hot noodle was thrown back in your direction. You could only blink as it stuck itself on your nose.

“Hmph,” the corners of Bakugou’s lips slowly curled into a smirk, “It’s a good look on you, noodle face,” You laughed but once again was cut off. The brief sound of his laugh coinciding with your own shocked you.

His smile slowly died down as he caught wind of you gawking at him. He cleared his throat, “Are you done being a child? I’m ready to enjoy my good ass cooking.”

However, you didn't answer him as you once again found a smile creeping onto your face. He rolled his eyes and began making himself a plate of food, but he quickly grew tired of you smiling at him like some bimbo,

“What?!” He snapped, “You want another noodle to the face.”

You shook your head as you shuffled past him to serve yourself a plate, “No.. just you have a nice laugh.”

He scoffed, “That all you're eating?” he completely disregarded your comment but you decided to let it die too,

“I don’t see you with any food on your plate,” you shrugged, “I’d be more worried about yourself if I were you,” you winked at him before setting down at the table.

The night went pretty well after that. So well, in fact, that the two of you decided to have “parental meetings” every few days so that Bakugou could teach you how to cook. You ended up learning how to make 10 more dishes within the next three weeks.

Bakugou and you didn't exactly become close, but there were far less screaming matches than there had been in your first few meetings. You still didn't know him very well, but he wasn't necessarily a stranger anymore.

It was… nice.

The next check up came very quickly because of your lack of employment and your dates-- err um… “parental meetings” with Bakugou.

“Your twins should be about the size of avocados now! We’ll check again with a routine ultrasound. We do have the DNA tests in for you all so I’ll just go and run for those real quick.. well walk briskly. You don’t do an awful lot of running at my age.”

“I don’t do an awful lot of running now,” you joked, and Bakugou sent you a stern glare that screamed, ‘don’t encourage him.’ you shrugged as the doctor walked out of the room.

It was silent for what seemed like forever. You and Bakugou still weren't very good at sparking conversations, but eventually he spoke up as you laid back on the exam table, “You're really fucking showing now.”

You brows instantly came together, high fiving each other in your state of being roasted, “Thanks...” you deadpanned.

The look on your face sent a wave of hurt through the blond’s heart.

What the hell. It was like he felt your hurt. For the first time in a long time, Bakugou actually regretted his choice of words. He glared at the ground as he attempted to change the subject, “You’ve been eating, right?”

“How else Would I be sitting here, looking fat and talking to you, Kacchan.”

“I told you don’t call me that,” he paused, as if he were really considering his next statement, “Call me Katsuki,” he finally dragged out.

You rolled your eyes, “Okay, Kacchan.”

Just as Bakugou open his mouth the no doubt scream at you, Dr. Yamakawa entered the room, 

“Mama Bakugou! We have some really good news. Everything seems fine with the twins according to the DNA testing. One is a little small right now, but it’s completely normal for there to be a dominant twin so to speak. No genetic abnormalities or health concerns,” you saw Bakgou visibly stiffen at this before relaxing as the doctor continued, “’Cept for you.”

You shook your head, blinking heavily as if you’d just been punched in the brow, “Me?”

“You do have a concerning BMI—you tend to lean a little towards underweight. I understand you are in the profession of modeling correct,” he said very, curtly, “You need to add more calories to your daily intake. You wont need to ‘eat for three” as they say, but you do need to put on some substantial pounds or you will risk a premature birth..”

You had no fucking idea what to say to that. ‘Nice?’ ‘Cool beans.’ ‘fucking just give me the mother of the year award already!’ You felt your chest tighten and suddenly you realized you hadn't been breathing. You sucked in abruptly, causing the doctor to take a step towards you,

“You're looking a little flushed there, Mama Bakugou.”

“Well how else is she supposed to respond when you tell her like that, old man?!” Bakugou snapped, causing both you and the doctor to gawk at him. 

“Kacchan! What the fuck don’t talk to him like that, jerk!”

Bakugou scoffed, throwing his glare, much more pouty this time-- to the jar of cotton balls on the counter of the office.

“It wouldn't help either of you to sugar coat this, son,” the doctor sighed, “You have made it this far along in her pregnancy. Miscarriage is substantially less likely but if you want to give these babies a better chance, I’d suggest higher caloric intake.”

Needless to say, Bakugou did not leave the doctor's office that day a very pleasant man. He would angrily stalk ahead of you a for a few moments before pausing and grumbling about how ‘fucking slow’ you were as you caught up before the cycle would start all over again. You could only take this for so long, however,

“What!?” you yelled suddenly as the grumbling phase of his cycle began once more, “Will you stop fucking brooding already and speak your mind—”

He instantly snapped his face towards your own to stare into your eyes. You fumbled back a bit as the intense vermilion bore into you. You opened your mouth to speak but his serious expression exclaimed something before yours could,

“I wanna move in with you.”

You paused. You couldn't have fucking heard that right.

He… wants to...

“What…?” you mouthed.

Taglist:  @steggy4ever​ @library-trash​ @watevermelon​ @glimmadora-ble​ @persephones24​ @dragonempress123​ @your-pri-ncess @broken-from-fandoms​ @hot-pocket01​ @tsukineho @bakugousbabydoll​ @bubbzibubbles @ikebukuro-ghoul​ @thehoneycookiecrumbs​ @katsukis-sad-angel​ @dulcetailurophile​ @yukiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii @kanasakura @lonekitsune @pastel-prynce​ @mynameispurple​ @cutest-celestial-princess​ @minfani​ @aurorahoneybuns​ @galacticrosee @orokayagi​ @centerhabit​ @animefan7420 @katsukisposts   @bakugou-is-my-daddy

[sunnytumbies]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alicia cares, he thinks.   

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

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

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

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

And he avoids the fuck out of Cal.  

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

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

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

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

So what the fuck, you know?  

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cal.”  

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

* 

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

I figured out his name!!  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m...I’m sorry?”  

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

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

Well.  

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

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

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

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

“In the ignition.”  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Okay then.  

* 

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

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

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

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

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

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

The kitchen is essentially attached to the living room, the two only separated by a narrow doorway, but Cal shrugs and takes this opportunity to wriggle out of his jacket and grab a soda from the fridge. He has a feeling he’s gonna be here for a while. As he reaches into the fridge, however, that strange little twinge deep in his belly makes itself known again, and he grimaces as a cramp seizes his insides. He closes the refrigerator empty-handed, leaning a suddenly-clammy forehead against the cool stainless steel. This does not bode well. 

“So how do you know Cal, again?” Amy is saying just as he’s composed himself enough to re-enter the living room. Quincy has migrated to the couch, at least, albeit with his back ramrod straight, Amy apparently having been satisfied that Cal is not in any immediate mortal peril. 

“He volunteers at the hospital with me,” Cal says before Quincy can say anything, and when Amy glances over at him, Amy mouths Sweater Guy over Quincy’s head. Amy’s eyes bulge, so Cal forges ahead before she can say something to embarrass him. “His battery died, so I came here for the jumper cables.”  

“Riiight, the hospital,” Amy says, a barely restrained grin in her voice, and God, when Amy tells Zara that Cal brought Sweater Guy home he is never going to hear the end of it.  “Did you put up the fliers, by the way? We’re really gonna struggle this month if we don’t get it figured out soon,” and Cal looks up sharply, idly placing a hand on his stomach when it protests at the movement. Why is Amy bringing up the roommate fliers now?  

“I know,” Cal says slowly, trying to communicate please don’t do this now with just a glance.. He sits on the couch next to Quincy, careful to leave a socially acceptable distance between them. “I know, Amy. But...no, I didn’t.” He wipes sweat from his brow with the back of his sleeve, his stomach starting to churn in earnest. 

“Cal,” Amy chastises, and Cal thinks he would prefer anger to disappointment. “Did you talk to anyone, at least? It’ll be easier if it’s someone we know for, like, negotiating rent and stuff.”  

“Um,” Cal says eloquently, but then Quincy is saying, “Actually, he talked to me,” and alright then, that took a turn.  

“Oh,” Amy says, skeptical, but her face has brightened nonetheless. “Really?”  

“That’s part of why I brought him with me to grab the cables,” Cal says, because he’s rolling with this, apparently. He really is never going to live this down. “To show him the room.”  

“I wanted to see it for myself,” Quincy says sagely.  

“Uh, yeah,” Cal adds lamely.  

Amy is giving him this proud goddamn grin, and Cal is having trouble looking at it, because seriously, it shouldn't be like this. Amy has left this whole roommate search up to him, which is a nice gesture—Amy could live with anyone, with her natural inclination toward small talk and her compulsive baking which is the least unwelcome coping mechanism and her goddamn optimism, but Cal, with his bound chest and testosterone injections, has a lot more to lose here. The thing is, Cal, for all his charm and his mock-flirting and his wolfish grins, has a hard time with people, so him bringing home a coworker (or whatever he's supposed to call Quincy—coworker doesn't feel right, and Cal's trying really hard not to overanalyze that) isn't exactly a common occurrence. Amy is a proud parent smiling at her kid for making friends on the first day of kindergarten, and Cal loves her for it, he does, but it also chafes against him like his chest binder on a hot day.  

"Well, go ahead," Amy finally says, breaking what could have turned into an awkward silence. "Don't let me stop you! I'm Amy, by the way. What's your name? I’m not sure I caught it." She glances at Cal as she says with a terribly unsubtle wink.  

"Quincy Washington," Quincy says in that same quiet way he told Cal. "It's wonderful to meet you, Amy. I’m a fan of tarot myself and you have an excellent eye for ambiance."  

"Thanks!" Amy beams, and Cal wrenches himself off the couch and ushers Quincy down the hallway before Amy loops him into a conversation about the history of tarot or some shit. Cal loves her to death, but knows she’s practically chomping at the bit. He won’t be surprised if she’s  texting Zara as he speaks. 

"You did me a solid, there, Quincy," Cal says quietly when they're far enough down the hall to be out of Amy’s earshot, hyper-aware of how sluggish he is. "We can just waste a little time and then I'll get you that jump."  

"May I see the room?" Quincy asks, and Cal's heart just about stops entirely. "I'm glad to have done you...a solid, but I do happen to be looking for a room to let." His voice catches strangely and unfamiliarly around the slang.  

Cal stares at him for a second. "Seriously?"  

"I am very serious. If you'll have me, of course," Quincy says then, rushing through the second sentence and looking self-conscious about it.  

"No, I just..." Cal says in something like disbelief, then shakes himself off. "Anyway. I guess I'll show you the room, then?"  

"Please," Quincy says, so Cal leads the way.  

"It's kind of small," he says apologetically, pushing open the door and flicking on the lights. They're Edison bulbs, and they cast the room in buttery yellow. "And obviously we'd move this stuff out of here if you moved in."  

Quincy doesn’t say anything, and Cal turns to see that his face is frozen in genuine, slack-jawed awe. It's more than a little endearing, and Cal tucks his fond little grin away before he speaks. "You're a book guy, huh?" 

"You could say that," Quincy breathes, and moves forward a little. "May I—?"  

"Go for it," Cal says, and Quincy reaches out to touch one of the bookcases.  

The room belonged to Zara until she moved out, the smallest room by far but also the one with the most windows, all against the far wall looking out toward the main road. Pushed against the opposite wall are three wood-paneled curio cabinets that Henry once used as bookshelves, packed tight with the books he cared about most in this world. Many of them are leather-bound and there is more than one special edition, all of them older than Cal's grandparents.  

"They're beautiful," Quincy finally says after a moment, "but why do you have rare books in your apartment?"  

Cal snorts, because it is so contrary to what he was expecting, but also because this is a valid question. "Honestly," he says, "I just couldn't bear to part with them. They were my dad's." The words are out before he realizes he's just dropped the dead dad bomb, so he forges ahead. "Uh, like I said, we'd get them out of here before you moved in."  

"Or you could leave them," Quincy murmurs, eyes darting back and forth as he scans the titles. "God, is that a livre d'artist?" 

On some level, Cal registers that this a very pretentious question, and also that there is just something strange about the way Quincy speaks, like everything he says has been polished beforehand. On another, baser level, he finds it frustratingly hot. "Uh, that sounds like a question I should maybe know the answer to, but honestly, these were my dad's thing. I haven't opened up any of the books since he died. I keep the shelves dusted, but I'm not much of a literature person."   

"Are you a book person?" Quincy asks.   

"Come on, you can be one or the other. People can like books without liking capital L literature," he says, turning to look at Cal with this ridiculously excited expression. It's kind of heartwarming. "You know, people who hate Hemingway but loved Twilight."   

Cal may or may not have the entire saga on the much smaller, far less decorative bookshelf beside his bed, but Quincy doesn't need to know that. "Interesting distinction. Yeah, I guess I am."   

"I knew it. Team Edward or Team Jacob?"   

"Wow I hate this conversation."   

Quincy smirks and turns back to the shelves with a quiet sort of reverence that makes Cal smile. It also makes his heart ache a little because it reminds him so much of his dad, but it's an ache that has dulled with the passage of time.    

"So," Cal says, trying to sound casual, "Are you a student?"  

"Yes," Quincy replies, still scanning book titles with a feverish intensity that skirts perilously close to lunacy. "I'm a senior. Are you?"  

"Yeah," Cal says thinly. There's still a chance, he tells himself, and has to catch his breath as his stomach cramps again. A low rumble has begun deep in his gut, like someone set it to simmer, his stomach doing lazy barrel rolls that make him swallow hard.  "Senior, too. Pre-med."  

"I'm a double major. Classics and Theology. Not the most practical, I know," Quincy says, sheepishly, like he's used to people reacting poorly to it.  

Fuck. God fucking damn it.  

"Oh!" Cal says, forcibly infusing his voice with something akin to enthusiasm. "That's really cool. Um. Side note, just by the way..."  

Quincy looks at him inquiringly. Fuck.  All at once, his stomach cramps harshly enough to have him seeing stars, a cold sweat breaking out across his forehead again, and he can’t quite stifle a pained moan, clutching at his roiling insides, leaning against the doorframe for support. 

“Are you okay, Cal?” Quincy takes a step toward him, evidently not too worried about whatever Cal was going to say, looking more concerned than Cal would expect from someone who avoided the fuck out of him prior to today, and he gives a pained nod, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. Something bubbles in his lower belly painfully, and it hits him all at once. 

“Fuck,” he hisses, noticing all at once how his stomach is puffy, poking out under his shirt and over the waistband of his jeans, how the cramps are accompanied by a near-constant rumble and oppressive waves of nausea. “Sorry, I’m--I  just forgot to ask for—” He swallows again, hardly able to think about the damned chai tea latte, presumably made with full fat milk, churning around inside him. “I’m...lactose intolerant,” he manages, painfully aware that this is happening in front of Sweater Guy of all people. “I forgot to ask for almond milk instead of regular.” 

“Are you alright?” Quincy sounds alarmed, eyes darting from Cal to the door and back again. “Should I get Amy? Is it an allergy, or—?” 

“No, no,” Cal manages, laughing lightly. “You sound just like her, though. It’s just—” He grimaces, clutching at a twinge of nausea— “Just a pretty gnarly tummy ache. I’ll be okay.” He allows himself to rest a hand on his belly, straightening up through immense willpower. “Seriously, let’s just...move on, if that’s alright.” 

“Of course,” Quincy murmurs, still looking rather concerned. It’s endearing, Cal thinks, even  through the fog of nausea and the embarrassment tinging his cheeks red. “I believe you were saying something?” 

“Oh,” Cal remembers, and looks at the floor. "My dad's name was Henry Kline?"  

Quincy freezes. To his credit, he reigns in the incredulous expression relatively quickly.  

"Cal," he says instead, very sincerely, turning to look at him with sad, sad eyes. "Cal, I am so sorry."  

"Don't be," Cal mumbles, looking down, rubbing at the back of his neck. His stomach lets out a loud, angry rumble, and he flushes an even deeper shade of crimson. "I just, uh, wanted you to know from me. 'Cause if you live here, you gotta understand that people are gonna talk. They always do, about us. 'Specially when they hear our last name."  

"Cal Kline," Quincy realizes all at once, and then, with that painful sincerity again, "I wouldn't listen."  

Cal smiles despite himself. "Thanks, Quincy."  

Quincy clears his throat, straightening up from where he's been crouched to pour over the books. Cal is sort of impressed at the sheer muscle tone it must’ve taken to forget he was doing a deep squat. "Cal, I have something to tell you as well."  

This is it, Cal thinks. He doesn't want the room. Doesn't want to live with the bereaved Klines. It's too much. Just give him the jump and go back to never speaking again. The anxiety stirs up his upset stomach, and he clamps down forcibly on a burp that tries to burble up. His stomach lets out a low groan in response to the air being forced back into it.   

"I was studying under Professor Kline," he says instead, and oh, okay. Which is to say, what the fucking shit, how many motherfucking coincidences can there feasibly be in one 12-hour period, but okay, it's better than what Cal was expecting. "I was a teaching assistant, and I was helping him restore his book collection." He glances back to the shelves. "I should have recognized them immediately, but I never saw them on the shelves..."  

Cal's glad Quincy isn't looking at him anymore, because he can't vouch for what his face is doing. The ache Henry left is healing, dulled with the passage of time, but it still hurts if Cal picks at it. Quincy studied with Henry. Quincy knew him in a way Cal never did, never will, his brain screams, and something about that is just, well. His stomach flips, something cramping low and urgent in his belly. 

Quincy is beautiful, and he is wearing a yellow sweater, and he likes Cal's car, and the only reason he cares that Cal's last name is Kline is because he doesn't want to be inconsiderate to Cal.  

So, fuck.  

"Well, now that we've got the awkward parts out of the way," Cal says, and Quincy flashes him a genuine smile that  is positively blinding. He recovers from his seven consecutive heart attacks before continuing, "I can show you the rest of the apartment."  

“Are you sure?” Quincy glances dubiously at Cal, who still has an arm curled around his belly. “You’re awfully pale.”

“That’s, uh—” Cal laughs nervously, feeling sicker and sicker by the moment. “Yeah. Maybe you could just...show yourself around?” At that moment, a low whine fills the apartment, a sure tell that Amy has gotten into the shower, and Cal’s stomach tightens. “Minus the bathroom, I guess. Sorry, our pipes do that when we use the shower. I’m just gonna, uh, have a seat in the living room.” 

Quincy doesn’t question this, and Cal sends up a silent cry of gratitude to whoever may be listening. He settles into his favorite crease on the sofa, looking furtively over his shoulder to make sure Quincy is occupied with checking out the patio before pressing both hands to his grumbling stomach, feeling irritable movement beneath his palms. Oh, it hurts, cramps squeezing at his lower belly like a vice, a sticky, hot nausea plaguing his tummy.  He tries in vain to soothe the ache, rubbing his hand across his bloated stomach as gently as possible, but the touch only sends up a dangerous belch that leaves him panting, hanging over the edge of the couch, the taste of chai and stomach acid coating his mouth revoltingly. 

Quincy’s self-guided tour doesn't take long; their three-bedroom student apartment doesn't exactly contain multitudes. Cal has thankfully composed himself before Quincy pokes his head into the living room. “I have seen what I need to see, I believe,” he says with that stiff formality that seems to crop up occasionally. 

"Yeah, that's the place! Nice and straightforward,” Cal says brightly, as convincingly as he can without moving around too much. “Any clutter you see is mine because Amy is an android, probably."  

Quincy smiles, and Cal's cardiac health continues to worsen, God those fucking smiles. "Can you prove it?"  

"Irrefutably. Evidence: runs for fun. Consumes spinach, also for fun. Wakes up and goes to bed at the same time every day. Possibly irons her clothes, but I'm still not sure on that one."   

"She sounds...pretty human. Perhaps you're the android."  

"No, I just have depression," Cal says before he can stop himself.  

Quincy throws his head back and laughs, and it makes Cal feel so fucking warm. Has he mentioned recently that he is completely screwed in a way that has nothing to do with his cramping stomach? 

"God, Amy hates when I joke about it. It'll be nice to have someone who understands around here when you move in."  

Quincy straightens up. "When I move in?"   

"What can I say. You sold me. If you want to live here, I want you to live here." He smiles, small.   

It was kind of a done deal when you said you worked with Henry Kline, Cal doesn't say. The way you talk to me like I'm a normal person and the fact that you're fucking gorgeous are just bonuses. 

"There is one more thing," he says, steeling himself. Much of his life is spent steeling himself. He pauses, waiting for Quincy to make a joke, to grin another heart-stopping grin, but he just looks at Cal curiously. "I'm trans. I wasn't born a male but I am and always have been a boy. I bind my chest and live as a male and use he/him pronouns. If you don't understand it, that's okay, but I will demand a certain level of respect in my own home, and it'd be preferable if that respect was voluntary." The speech is well-oiled from use, but Cal's voice still shakes.   

"Is that all?" Quincy says, and Cal feels his entire body slump in relief, straightening back up a little when his stomach protests. "I mean, of course, Cal. I'm not ignorant."   

"Oh, yeah, right. Thank you, gentle cis man. I worship at the holy altar of your allyship." He says it like a joke, but it takes effort to get out, because despite everything, it's taken him years to give this speech to a receptive audience and not feel like he's been granted a favor.   

It's taken him years to say I'm here and not have it come out as I'm sorry.   

When he told Zara, it was this whole thing, Zara reaching across the table to clasp one of Cal's hands in both of hers, you know I'm here for you, right? Cal's Facebook messages are full of Zara sending him every post she sees with the word trans in it, and like yeah, Zara, you're very sweet and supportive, but sometimes Cal just wants to be Cal, you know?   

It's just that Cal's known Quincy for all of a few hours and he already feels so goddamn understood.  

"I'm happy to pay whatever Zara’s share was," Quincy says, "And if you would be willing to leave Professor Kline's books, I would be honored."  

"Consider it done," Cal says, smiling a little. He’s almost able to forget about the slow, sinister ache in his stomach. Almost. "Though get ready for Amy to talk about it all the time. She’s really not on board with them being here."  

"I mean...religion isn't my cup of tea either, believe it or not, but I saw an original King James Bible. That alone has to be worth at least twenty grand. Literature person or not, that's...a really valuable thing to be keeping in your rented apartment."   

Cal's eyes flit to the tiled floor, and he can feel Quincy's gaze on him, and he knows he's biting his lip, something he does often enough that one side of it is slightly larger than the other.   

"Oh...Cal, I apologize. I didn't mean to intrude." It's that stiff formality from their almost-collision at the hospital again, and when Cal glances up, Quincy is backing away from him, hands folded behind his back. "I'm sure they're insured, or...even if they're not...I just mean, it's your business, of course. I apologize."   

"No, it's fine." Cal clears his throat nervously. "You're right. Zara and Amy just kind of went a little crazy helping me get rid of his stuff when he died, and they wanted to donate them to the university. I probably should have let them, but..." He shrugs, wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans, presses his lips together around another burp that he forces down, wincing at the added pressure. "It's not like these are even all the books he had. There are probably hundreds in the storage unit. But I'm ridiculous, and they were just his thing, and for some reason the thought of them just sitting in a dusty room with boxes of his old clothes and the lawnmower and literal cobwebs just didn't sit right, so."   

"So you brought them here." Quincy looks at him like he understands, and isn't just that the worst fucking thing? "I get it."   

"I kind of do want to donate them, as it turns out," and wow, okay, Cal didn't realize that until he says it out loud. "I'm just a little worried because I haven't exactly been...maintaining them, or whatever. I wouldn't even know where to start. If I'm going to let the university open up the Henry Kline Memorial Library or whatever the fuck, I don’t want to give them dusty books with cracked spines, you know? He would've hated that."   

Quincy clears his throat, licks his lips a little, and wow, okay, Cal's feeling things again. "I don't know if this is something you'd even be comfortable with, but...I could continue the work I was doing with Professor Kline. We were in the middle of restoring his collection, and I learned his technique well. I still have access to the labs. I could take it one book at a time. With your approval, of course."  

Cal blinks. "Um...yeah. Yeah, okay. That's super cool of you, thank you."  

"Are you kidding?" Quincy blurts, and then scratches the back of his neck a little like he's embarrassed. "I mean, it's just that you're doing me a favor. Henry Kline's book collection...I'll admit that I've missed them."  

Cal can't help the little smile that tugs his lips up, and seriously, he has to get these feelings under control, God, the guy hasn't even moved in yet.   

Before he can say anything, Quincy's face softens into that aching sympathy again. "And Cal...I miss him, as well. He was a good man."  

Cal kind of wants to cry, so suddenly and desperately that it takes his breath away for a second. His stomach churns audibly, and Quincy looks at him in alarm. 

"Quincy," he says when he gets his voice back, "How soon can you move in?"  

Quincy beams. "How soon will you have me?"  

* 

When Amy gets out of the shower, Cal is sprawled across the couch, openly groaning, clutching his stomach with both hands.  

"What happened to Quin--Cal?” Amy blurts out as she enters the living room, rushing over to the couch when she takes in Cal’s sickly pallor. 

“Finally drove him back and jumped his car," Cal groans, still marveling that he was able to hold it together long enough. He may or may not have had to pull over on the way back, heaving up a trickle of stomach acid and chai tea latte onto the side of the road, at least as much due to anxiety as it was to lactose intolerance, but Amy doesn’t need to know that. "Says he'll take the room…" 

“Okay, that’s great, we’ll unpack that later,” Amy says, sitting gently at Cal’s feet, “But what’s going on with this?” She doesn’t wait for permission, laying a soft hand on Cal’s bloated belly, kneading gently at a cramp, ushering up a soft burp. Amy is sort of a miracle worker.

"’S gonna pay Zara’s share,” Cal murmurs, leaning into Amy’s touch, grimacing as the pressure ushers up a burp that brings up a wave of stomach acid. He swallows hard.  

"Again, that’s great, but,” Amy says, rubbing his belly in wide arcs, maintaining a steady pressure that does wonders for the cramps. “What the hell?” 

“I got anxious getting my latte,” he mumbles, letting his eyes slide shut. Amy’s ministrations are easing the worst of the nausea, and he is so, so thankful for her. “Forgot to ask for almond milk.” 

“Cal,” Amy says, all faint disapproval and warm concern. “Why didn’t you say anything?” 

“You were showering,” he whines, then whimpers a little at a particularly strong cramp, and Amy moves closer, applying a bit more pressure as she kneads at the cramp, massaging her other hand gently over the burbly places in his lower belly. “I made him show himself around. He didn’t even mind.” 

“Sounds like a dreamboat,” Amy says, her voice light and teasing. 

Cal doesn't know what to say to that that won't be self-incriminating, so he just says, "He really likes yellow."    

"I noticed that,” Amy agrees. "When does he move in?"  

Cal keeps his eyes shut, studiously avoiding eye contact. "Tomorrow."  

"Oh, wow, so soon! I can't wait to get to know him." Amy’s tone is completely genuine, probably working out what she can bake that properly conveys a message of thanks for living with us! She applies a bit of firm pressure unexpectedly to the bloat beneath Cal’s ribs, and he groans, feeling a flutter in his stomach as it tries and fails to expel a rush of trapped air. “Oof--please don’t do that again,” he manages, clutching at his chest. 

“I’m sorry, honey,” Amy says, sounding genuinely sad, and Cal slowly opens his eyes. “Just seems like you’ve got quite a lot of air stuck in there. Would you like some tea? Not chai, I guess...” 

Cal groans, shoving a couch pillow over his face. “I know. I’m an idiot. Oh, my tummy—” 

“Let me make you that tea,” Amy says lightly, giving his tummy a little pat before wrenching herself off the couch, and Cal loves the fuck out of her, has he mentioned? 

"I think you'll like him," Cal calls as Amy moves into the kitchen, deciding to take this opportunity to drop the bomb, adding more quietly, "Oh, and, small world, he worked with my dad."   

The rustling in the kitchen pauses, then starts again almost as suddenly as it stopped. "Does he...?"  

"Yeah, I told him. Didn't seem to bother him. He really likes the books."   

"The books," Amy murmurs, and oh God, not this again, but Amy is already following up with "Have you thought any more about what you're going to do with them?"   

Cal takes a deep breath and feels it stutter a little in his chest, reminding him he's been binding for a bit too long. "Yeah, actually. They were working on restoring the books when Dad died. He said he'd help me get them back into shape and I think I'll donate them to the university."   

"Oh," Amy says, pleasantly, and Cal reminds himself that Amy is good, that Amy is only doing what she thinks is best, what Zara told her would be best, that most rational people would question the wisdom of having cases of books worth thousands of dollars in an apartment not known for its impenetrable security measures. "That's really cool. He sounds like a really neat guy, Cal."  

Cal thinks of yellow-tinted glasses, of that scar on his face and the way he looked at Cal like he understands him. "Yeah," he says softly. "He really is."   

“Ginger or mint?” Amy calls, and Cal is thankful for the change of subject. 

“Ginger, please,” he calls back, carefully cupping his stomach with his palm, and takes a very deep breath. 

 *

A long while later, Amy has fallen asleep on his shoulder, a hand still splayed across his slightly-less-bloated belly, old episodes of The Twilight Zone streaming at a low volume on the TV. Cal can’t be bothered to move, too comfortable, too deep in thought, the churning of his belly finally soothed by Amy’s ministrations and a few shamefaced trips to the bathroom. 

Cal thinks about his dad every day, and that is no euphemism. He sometimes drifts past the extra room (Quincy's room, he thinks, something blooming in his chest in a way he doesn’t want to deal with right now) and sees his books, or catches sight of the scar on his knee he got the first and last time he and his dad went fishing when they were supposed to be studying for Cal's math test the next day, when a stray hook went straight through and he needed stitches, remembers the ice cream after, I'm not going to say don't tell your mom, but I'm going to say I won't if you won't, and he smiles, just a little (he didn't tell his mother). Every night he lays in a bed across from a desk that's been flush to the wall underneath the window since the day his dad built it, the one they picked out together at IKEA before Cal moved in, the one that had him muttering profanities for three hours on a blisteringly hot day in August while Zara’s mother, Virginia, poked her head in intermittently, how are those PhDs treating you, Dr. Kline?  Cal thinks about his dad all the time.  

It's just that he can't remember the day he died.   

It's just that he knows that he's the one who found the body, that he's the one who, somehow, called 911, who clung to Amy when the ambulance came, but he knows it the way you know stories about your fourth birthday party or your first day of school—more retelling than memory. Something you know because you're told.   

If he tries hard enough, he thinks he can remember what his uncle was wearing that day, what the perfume of the hospital secretary smelled like, but he can't for the life of him remember his dad's face, what the last thing he said to him was. And when it comes down to it, maybe he doesn’t remember what his uncle was wearing at all, maybe he just remembers him saying at the funeral, he bought me this tie, you know.   

You'd be surprised how many people come to a funeral for a professor, how many handshakes and hugs Cal got just for losing someone. How many looks of pity he got (gets) when they hear his name: Cal Kline, the guy who found his dad dead.   

And he can't even remember it.   

Psychogenic amnesia, Dr. Hodge told him in one of their first sessions, because yeah, when you're trans and you find your dad dead and can't fucking remember it, the one thing you spare no expense on is a really badass therapist. His brain couldn't handle what happened. He repressed it. It was the emotional shock, was the trauma, was the pain, yeah, Cal gets it.   

It's just that the one thing you should be allowed to hold onto are lasts, and Cal can't even remember his. He thinks of his dad and sees fishing, sees the lectures he sometimes sat in on, sees a receding hairline and eyes just like his and of course I still love you, sweetheart, daughter or son, you're family, and it aches.   

He wonders if Quincy's lost someone, if that's why he looked at him like that, eyes soft and understanding but not pitying. I get it, he said, and Cal believes him.   

Cal rolls that around in his head like a marble.  

I get it. I get it. I get it.   

Yellow's an awfully pretty color. 

[personagf-moved]

alphabet & soft questions ✨

I was tagged by my bb’s @prksjmiin (alphabet ask) and @joonieblossoms (soft ask) and i didn’t want to make two separate posts so im gonna apologize in advance bc i decided to stick both posts together :’) dkdkkdkd yall aint gotta read everything but if u do ily and im sorry i write novels on novels dlfksdkf

i’ll tag @koyasdad, @1ovegf, @joonlit, @sleepyyyoongs, @constellationstars and @capgi 💘

honestly feel free to do either one or both or none if u want dkkdkdkd i just wanted to tag u guys bc ily

Alphabet ask:

a // age: 21

b // birthplace: new jersey!

c // current time: 1:17 am

d // drink you had last: coffee

e // easiest person to talk to: my brother when he isnt being an absolute fool

f // favorite songs: 

aint it fun - paramore

trivia love 

honey - kehlani

abbey - mitski

moonlight - ariana grande

g // grossest memory: i was in the city one time and a bird shit on my forehead. i think about it at least twice a week 

h // horror yes or horror no:  H O R R O R   Y E S   B A B E E E Y Y Y Y Y Y Y im the absolute worst person i’ll dead ass watch a scary movie/video or read horror stories by myself just bc. 

i // in love: with my whole ass soulmate namjoon. i luv u string bean man

j // jealous of people: im not even gonna try to lie i am a very jealous person and i am so sorry about it but i really cant help it lmfao. blame my scorpio venus i guess

k // kids of your own someday: when i say i have been thinking about this everyday.........! i wanna have it all i want the kids the white picket fence the dream house everything. i cant wait to be a mommy one day and love n support my bb’s :’)

l // love at first sight or should i walk by again: we a whole ass fool on main and believe in love at first sight!!!! i really do believe soulmates are a true thing and if a love is destined to be across an infinite span of lifetimes and universes then it will always find its way back. when you know, you know, and i genuinely believe that. 

m // middle name: padilla

n // number of siblings: 1 older brother, 1 half brother (older), and 1 half sister (older)

o // one wish: to find true love

p // person you last called: my manager bc i had a work question lol

q // question you’re always asked: “why are you like this” (usually friends @ me when i wild out...which is like everyday), “are you mad?”, “how old are you REALLY?”, “how’s your brother?” (bc he ghosts all family n i have to speak on his behalf like always fsdfjksdf)

r // random fact about you: i once used a horrible bootleg copy of the force awakens to make a star wars crack video dubbing the part in shrek when he first meets donkey over the scene when rey first met bb-8 and it went viral and has like 200,000 notes and even had articles written about it. also i had a weird fascination with jar jar binks and danny devito when i was in high school and i had a habit of making either one of them my icon on school accounts so i could make people laugh when they emailed me or saw me in a word document skfkkkfkf

s // song you last sang: “abbey” by mitski :’(

t // time you woke up: exactly 10 this morning and it was weird bc i picked up my phone and it had JUST turned 10 when i looked i was so shook lol 

u // underwear colour: she be black 

v // vacation destination: paris bc im a basic bitch :’) also japan/all asian countries. i wanna connect with my roots more :/

w // worst habit: yeeting the fuck outta people’s lives when i think they’re getting too close/when i get overwhelmed. im sorry im a flighty bitch @ anyone i’ve ever ghosted :( i love anyone who’s ever tried to talk to me and its never ur fault, i just get the urge to escape sometimes and i’m trying to fix it 

x // x-rays: omg @ tori dead ass me too tho, i had x-rays when i broke my arm when i was around 6 :o

y // your favorite food: my mom’s spaghetti! and sushi. also i love any and all filipino food but specifically i like nilaga and kare-kare oooo baby

z // zodiac sign: we’re a proud libra sun 

Soft ask:

What’s the smell of your shampoo?

we got them fruity scents up in here we keep that shit smellin like a goddamn strawberry field take a fuckin whiff babes

What’s your aesthetic?

the moon and stars, soft pink and purple sunsets with a burning red on the horizon, sunrises as well, paintings and generally all art revolving around flowers and the celestial, pretty pastel pink and yellow, the sound and smell of rain falling against the window while being curled up in bed uwu 

What’s your favorite time of the day and why?

lately it’s been night time. i generally get more creative and feel more at home during the night. i miss being a morning person tho. 

What do you most like about the beach?

not a lot fklsjdjfkslkdflksdlkf i usually only go to get a tan and walk the boardwalk with my friends, but if i had it my way i would never step foot in the ocean for the rest of my life sdjdjdjdjsj we dont trust her!!!!!!!!!

What do you worry about constantly?

when i’m gonna figure out what i wanna do with my life lol. i took a year off to think about it but all i ended up doing was working myself to exhaustion and getting comfy in a work only mindset and now i’m only even more confused about what i want to pursue. i’m just glad im going to chicago next week because i feel like a change of setting for even just a week could give me a much needed reset on my mindset going into the next year. i worry about the future but the problem is i worry about the present too lol. oh well, we’ll figure it out!

What is a song you’ve cried to before?

oh boy...

trivia love

moonchild

first love

she used to be mine - waitress soundtrack

20 something - sza

26 - paramore

the letter - kehlani

landslide - fleetwood mac

when you see my friends - mayday parade

and many........many many more...... skskskks music is my main emotional outlet so naturally im gonna cry over anything that reflects my heart

What are some relaxing tips for your followers?

as The World’s Number One Most Stressed Out Human Being™️ i am definitely in no way fit to give advice on how to relax LMFAO 

but i guess something that always works for me is putting on music i KNOW will make me sing a long or make me happy to distract me from the nerves i’m feeling. also putting on my favorite comfort movies to make me feel better (they’re big fish, scott pilgrim vs the world, and spirited away btw lol)

 What are some things that make you tear up?

the ending of coco, seeing my mom cry, or anyone i love cry tbh, when children are neglected/abused, thinking about the world i’ll have to bring my future children into and how i’m going to be able to teach them to stay strong and bright in the face of it, lyrics that hit too close to home, absolutely anything tbh i cry easy

What is your favorite from each sense?

sight - the view of my cherry blossom tree against a pink sunset in the spring of my childhood home, a person’s eyes and how they light up when they smile, especially when they crinkle as they laugh

smell - the earth after rain, a forest in autumn

taste - my mom’s cooking, good coffee on an early morning

sound - beautiful melodies and harmonies to accompany them, a baby cooing, birds chirping at sunrise

touch - my pillow when its nice and cool, a cat’s tummy, a baby’s cheeks, fingers running through my hair

What is an alternative reality you’d like to live in?

one where im married to namjoon n we have a lot of smart musical prodigy babies who have his dopey smile and i live comfortably in our big ass home in korea where i raise our babies n get that good pipe down every night like i should

jk i wanna live in a reality where magic is real and i can cast spells and live my best life as the true witch that i am

What are some troubles you face on a daily basis?

for starters im ugly as shit so theres one

if we mean practically then i have really bad knees and i recently busted them again so its been really hard getting up and down stairs lately and bending over 

but idk theres not really much. emotionally i just tend to get withdrawn and timid in public so it can be hard for me to speak up when i go out

What is one scene from a book that makes you really sad?

unfortunately i haven’t read as many books lately as i did when i was younger...so a lot of my memories are from books that i read like as a kid lol......THAT BEING SAID i think rue and finnick’s death in the hunger games was truly heartbreaking to read, the spine of my copies of both books have cracks on those pages bc i had to read it several times just to really believe it. also i thought it was written so heart wrenchingly well that i had to go back.  also in looking for alaska when pudge, a man who loved to know people’s last words, realized that he would never know alaska’s last words. im also really thankful for that book bc it introduced me to wh auden’s poetry and to this day he’s still one of my favorite poets of all time.  

Say something to your followers:

thank you thank you thank you thank you THANK YOU for following me and for some reason deciding to stay after how many times i act up on the daily. all jokes aside i really appreciate every single one of you no matter the number and i sincerely hope that you always have love and joy in your heart and that 2019 treats you well. i HONESTLY mean it when i say that i am always here if you guys want to talk or send me things or roast me or talk shit seriously i wanna hear it all and talk about it all i think all of you are so interesting and so beautiful and i’d love to get to know more about you!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I LOVE YOU GUYS! yeet!

[j-esbian]

Second First Date

happy holidays to @osobhi​~ it seems like we had each other for the @mlsecretsanta​ exchange! I hope you like this! it’s post-reveal alyabug :3

on ao3

Words: 2.4k

Her parents were hosting a party to celebrate New Year’s Eve, and Alya was bored out of her mind. She was the youngest there; none of her parents’ friends had brought their kids, and Ella and Etta were down for a nap before midnight. Her parents had felt the need to start it six hours before midnight, so everyone could have dinner together, and the party was dragging on forever.

It probably would have been a little more bearable if she could leave and hang out with people she actually knew, but she had nowhere to go. After a while, she resorted to sitting in the corner of the couch, eavesdropping on nearby conversations and texting her friends.

From: Mari <3

How’s the party going??

Babe I’m so boredd are u sure u can’t come over

I wish :(( my parents won’t let me though

FuCk that

Wait bu t

I’m sure my parents wouldn’t mind if ladybug crashed the party

HmmMmMmmMMmmm

Lmao

No but they’re dragging me to church

At midnight

Gross????

Why cant u just go in the Morning

B/c apparently?? We’re still open tomorrow??

Double Gross

Its ok I will send u a cyber smooch at midnight

Aww <3

Me too

Ugh gtg

Love you Alya

Ily2 mari

I’ll see if I can come by tomorrow

Gotta get me some sugar u know

Oh my goD

Uhh I mean ur dads pain au chocolat

Like ur cute but

Not everything is about u smh

YEAH OK SURE

;)

“Ooh, are you texting a boy ?” someone near Alya giggled tipsily. She looked up, the smile rapidly evaporating off her face.

“My girlfriend, actually,” she said tersely.

“Oh.” He didn’t seem to know what to say, and went to take a gulp of wine instead. He looked down at the empty glass in his hand, then back at Alya, eyebrows raised. He tipped it towards her with a shamefaced smile and sauntered away in search of a refill.

Alya rolled her eyes. She got up and went into the kitchen, where her mother was preparing a round of hors d'oeuvres.

“Oh, Alya. Can you get me the horseradish out of the fridge?” Marlena asked.

“Yeah.” She grabbed the little glass jar from the refrigerator and, while she was in there, nicked a bottle of the twins’ apple juice. She handed the condiment to her mother and surveyed the plates that were already prepared. “Are any of these ready to go out?”

Marlena looked up. “Hmm. Yeah, the vol-au-vents,” she said, pointing. Alya picked them up and headed back out of the kitchen. “Thank you!” her mother called after her.

Alya, however, didn’t return to the party, but took a detour to her room. She closed the door behind her, resisting the urge to lock it, and shucked off her sweater and shoes. She set an alarm on her cell phone--5 minutes to midnight ought to be enough of a head’s up to rejoin the party in time for champagne.

Then she slouched over to her desk and kicked back in front of her laptop. She could still hear the wine-laced chatter and laughter of the party, and slipped on her headphones. Soon, she was engrossed in her computer, and behind her back the hours melted together. She was only pulled out of it, eventually, by two nearly simultaneous events.

The first was that she suddenly realized she was out of food, and when she looked up to confirm that her empty fingers were indeed only chasing crumbs around the plate, she caught a glimpse of her phone screen lighting up in her peripheral vision.

Alya sighed, and scooted in her chair to grab her phone from the pile of blankets it had nested in. To her surprise, it was now a little over half an hour until midnight.

From: Nono

Hey Alya

Wyd

Playing stardew valley wbu

Chillin

U decent?

Like morally or

Pants

Uh why lol

I mean yea but

U got sth planned?

W h a t

No

Thing

What are you hiding

Nano my man

Ur terrible with secrets

Just come hang out

Ivan’s here

And Alix

Kim’s maybe on his way

Where are u

We’ll come pick you up

Damn thanks

Maybe the real squad goals was the friends we made along the way

Be there in 10

Alya found her shoes and touched up her makeup, humming to herself. She gathered up the remains of her snack and headed to the kitchen. Her mom wasn’t in there anymore, and as she placed her plate in the sink, she heard her parents’ voices in the din of the party.

Her cell phone buzzed with a new text.

From: Alix K.

We’re here!!!

Come otu

im gay

Bitch me too

Come outsid e

Alya ran for her coat, shouting at her parents as she passed through the hallway. “I’m going to hang out with Nino!”

No response. She paused with her hand on the front doorknob and yelled again. “I’m gonna go out with some friends!”

Her mom poked her head around the corner. “Be quiet,” she said in a stage whisper. “The girls are still asleep.”

“Sorry,” Alya muttered. She lifted her hand from the knob and pointed at the door. “I’m going out, though.”

Marlena squinted at her watch in the dim light. “Be back by one,” was all she said. She headed back to the party, and called over her shoulder, “Have fun, sweetie!”

Alya raced down the stairs, and the moment she set foot outside, she was hit by a snowball. She coughed and swiped at her face, trying to see who threw it through the splotches on her glasses.

She heard Alix and Nino laughing, and Ivan said, “Ooh, nice shot.” She finally cleared off her lenses, and saw Ladybug, standing with her friends, and brushing her hands against her legs to hide the evidence of her crime.

“M--Uh, what are you doing here, Ladybug?” Alya asked incredulously.

Ladybug spread her arms wide. “Celebrating!”

Though Alya was bewildered, she couldn’t stop the smile that spread across her face. “Don’t you have, like, other things to do tonight?”

“Honestly? No,” Ladybug said, shrugging. “I can’t think of anyplace else I’d rather be right now.”

“Hell yeah,” Nino agreed. “Marinette said you were bored at your house, so we got a crew together. Sucks that she couldn’t come, though.”

“Oh, well,” Ladybug smirked. “Guess she’s missing out.”

Alya stifled a laugh, and changed the subject before it burst out. “I thought you said Kim was coming?”

“Nah,” Alix said. “Turns out he and Max are at a LAN party, so, you know, they might never leave.”

“That’s fair, though.” Ivan scratched his nose. “Did, uh, they say where they were?” Alix glared at him. “What?”

“Never mind them!” Alya said cheerfully, linking one arm with him and the other with Ladybug. She turned to Nino. “Where are we off to?”

He shrugged. “I didn’t think that far ahead, honestly.”

They wandered to the end of Alya’s street, looking around. There were people everywhere, and the air around them was full of the sounds of Reveillon in full swing.

“Isn’t your friend’s dad putting on his show at the Eiffel Tower?” Ladybug asked.

Ivan shook his head. “Nah, Mylène’s in Canada visiting family. It’s her dad’s understudy.”

“Still, it could be fun,” Nino said. “Anybody got other ideas?”

They didn’t, so they set off.

Ivan fell back, separating from Alya and falling into step with Alix, and Alya leaned in to Ladybug. “I thought you said you were busy,” she whispered.

Ladybug smirked knowingly. “Come on, Alya, we’re never open on New Year’s.”

“But, then…?”

“I thought we could do something different.” Ladybug leaned into Alya, pressing against her side for a brief second before pulling away again, a coy look slipping onto her face. “You know, something exciting.”

“That sounds just fine to me,” Alya replied.

“Can I just say?” Nino interrupted. “You guys are the worst.”

The others turned around and realized that they had fallen into two lines and Nino, being the odd man out, was left to trail along behind them, alone.

“Aw, c’mere,” Alya said. Nino came up to join her and Ladybug, and she slung her free arm around his shoulder. “There. I got my two favorite people with me.”

“I’m surprised I made the list before Marinette,” Nino commented wryly.

“Your favorite, out of the people here?” Ladybug suggested.

“Okay,” Alix interjected. “That just seems needlessly rude. I mean, we’re right here.”

“Well, shit, man, she’s only got two arms,” Ivan retorted.

“I’m just saying,” Alix grumbled.

“And the sidewalk’s hardly wide enough for five people,” Alya added. “I mean, there’s barely enough space for three of us.”

“I could always carry you if it gets too crowded,” Ladybug suggested.

Alya winked. “Maybe some other time.”

The streets got more congested as they went on, and soon they were forced to walk single-file. Alya led the line, holding tightly onto Ladybug’s hand behind her so they wouldn’t be separated. Alix brought up the rear, but she was tired of trailing behind and jumped onto Ivan’s back instead.

With more people around, Ladybug had expected they would be able to blend in more easily, but just the opposite was true. She kept getting stopped, and people would hand their phone to Alya so they could get a picture. It was infuriating, and after a few blocks they stopped to build Ladybug a disguise.

Alix shed her hat and sweatshirt, while Nino held Ivan’s jacket for him so he could offer Ladybug his flannel.

“It’s definitely too big to fit you,” he said apologetically. “But I figure you can tie it around your waist, because none of us are going to give up our pants.”

Ladybug looked down at her conspicuously crimson legs. “Good call,” she replied, zipping Alix’s hoodie over her suit.

Alya stepped forward and unwrapped her scarf, winding it around Ladybug’s neck. “It’s not much by way of a disguise,” she murmured. “But it really helps pull your whole outfit together, I think.”

Ladybug nuzzled into it. “Mmm. Soft.”

“And you’d better take good care of this,” Alya said sternly. “My girlfriend made it for me, got it?”

“Well, it’s nice.” Ladybug winked. “She’s got great taste.”

Alya crossed her arms and smirked. “Uh, hell yeah , she does.”

“Anyway,” Nino interrupted, glaring pointedly at Alya. “I don’t have anything to give you, because apparently I’m a delinquent. Best I could do is a hat, but you’ve already got that covered, so… We should keep going if we want to get good seats.”

They forged on, although the icy sidewalks and tightly-knit crowds seemed to want to separate them at every opportunity. Alix jumped back up on Ivan’s back, and used her perch to peer over all the people and find a clear path. Ladybug jumped and reached for Alya’s hand when someone spoke, but they weren’t addressing her.

“Hey, kids, it’s cold out. Where are your coats?” a stranger called out.

“Your mom’s house,” Nino and Alix shouted in unison. He reached out behind him, and she high-fived him.

“You know,” Alya whispered to Ladybug, “I think Nino’s upset with us for flirting with each other.”

“What? Why?”

Alya tapped her thumb against the big black spot on the back of Ladybug’s hand. “Gee, I don’t know.”

Ladybug wrinkled her nose. “Oh! Aw. He’s trying to defend my honor.”

“Yeah, and he thinks I’m a slut,” Alya pouted. “Oh, well. I guess I do have a type.”

“Hmm,” Ladybug agreed. “Or, everyone just loves you.” She leaned in to kiss Alya on the cheek.

Alya snickered and danced away, as far as she could without letting go of Ladybug’s hand. “Sorry, Ladybug,” she said, clutching dramatically at her chest with her free hand. “But my heart only belongs to one girl.”

“I, however, am incredibly single,” Alix piped up.

Nino rolled his eyes. “Anyway,” he said loudly, “I’m not sure we can snag enough seats next to each other. We might have to split into a few rows.”

Alya looked up in surprise. “Oh, wow. We’re here.”

“That, my friend, is the beauty of the travel montage,” Nino replied.

The show was in mid-act when they arrived, and was much more than a one-man performance. While the mime was there, and he was center-stage on the ground, the air behind him was full of twisting acrobats, on invisible wires and banners of purple and gold, suspended from the Tower itself.

Ladybug kept Alix’s hoodie and Alya’s scarf, but returned the other pieces of her disguise to their owners. They managed to find a cluster of seats, and Alya and Ladybug were finally--relatively--alone. Ladybug rested her head on Alya’s shoulder and laced their fingers together.

“Hey, Marinette?” Alya whispered after a few minutes. “Don’t you think this is maybe a little… I don’t know, dramatic?”

“I think that’s the point,” Ladybug whispered back, watching the mime wrestle with an acrobat some 10 meters above him.

“No, I mean.” Alya waved her hand, trying to encompass the whole convoluted scheme. “Why was Ladybug out tonight? Why did Marinette pretend to be busy? Why not just come hang out without all the fuss?”

“Honestly?” Ladybug looked up at Alya, wincing slightly. “It’s kind of a publicity stunt.”

“Huh?”

Ladybug was quick to amend her statement. “That is to say, we’re just showing people we’re around even when there’s nothing really going on. Like, you know, we’re people, too.”

“In like a ‘don’t do crime because we’re always watching’ way?” Alya asked.

“More like a ‘friendly neighborhood superhero’ thing,” Ladybug suggested. “Chat’s off somewhere too, probably hanging out with his friends. Anyway, I get to do my civic duty and take you on an awesome first date.”

“I’ve literally lost track of how many dates we’ve had,” Alya said. “But this is definitely not the first.”

“You’ve never been on a date with Ladybug before.”

Alya laughed. “It seems like you’re just splitting hairs.”

“Listen, our real first date was just a study date,” Ladybug countered. “I think it’s natural to want a second shot at that.”

Alya hummed in agreement. “Well, then, this is absolutely an improvement.”

“Yeah?”

As if in confirmation, a spray of fireworks shot out behind the Tower, framing all the performers with a backdrop of red and gold sparks as they launched into their grand finale routine. In the distance, the bells of some unseen church chimed midnight.

“Yeah.” Alya slipped her hand under Ladybug’s chin and rubbed her thumb across her cheek.

Ladybug leaned up to peck Alya on the cheek. “Happy New Year, Alya,” she murmured.

“Happy New Year, Marinette.”

[fevers-and-flus-blog]

Prompt fill for @toosicktoocare​ – my typical party line of “sorry this took so long” definitely applies here. I am apparently incapable of writing a quick fic. It deviates a liiiiitle from the prompt, but hope you like it bb! Your fics always inspire me so I literally loved writing this for you. 

⚠️: Brief mention of panic attacks, Alcohol mention (nothing crazy, Hunk just had Too Much Fun). 

There’s an alarm going off. There’s an alarm going off and it’s getting louder and harder to ignore. Keith forces his eyes open - they’re gummy with sleep and he has to blink away blurriness. He reaches out to silence his phone, but accidentally knocks it to the floor instead. It clatters against the tile and he winces. 

Keith’s never been more exhausted.

Every inch of him feels leaden and uncomfortable. He coughs weakly into his pillow. The alarm is still playing, and it’s making Keith’s skin crawl. He finally manages to reach down and turn it off.

He squints at the lock-screen. It’s 2am - officially time for rounds.

Keith pulls himself out of bed and dresses sloppily, throwing on a long sleeve and a sweatshirt over his leggings. All he has to do is check the halls, make sure no one is throwing up in the bathroom, and he can go back to sleep.

This was his always his favorite part of the night or, at least, it should have been: Keith loved walking through the empty dorm. The quiet never bothered him. He’d run his hands along the beige concrete walls which were textured and bumpy from too many coats of paint, and walk down each hall meticulously. Up and down the stairs, checking the bathrooms, and all the while knowing – this is safe. This is warm, and safe, and dry. 

If someone was yelling, Keith could stop it. If someone was hurting, Keith could help.

Tonight though, tonight the concrete walls and empty stairwells only made him feel worse. 

Please, Keith thinks, please don’t let there be an emergency tonight.

He starts his rounds on the first floor, like always. His footsteps scrape, but he doesn’t notice. All he can hear is the badum, badum, badum of his heartbeat. His head aches along with it.

He checks the first floor and then the second and the third, and on his final walkthrough on 4, he hears the stairwell doors slam shut. There’s a laugh, clear and familiar.

Keith groans and steps out into the stairwell himself. From below, he hears voices.

“Hunk, buddy, you have to help me out, I can’t carry you upstairs by myself.”

“Mmm well I always carry you.” Hunk is slurring a little. Keith’s surprised, he’s never had to worry about Hunk. In fact, Keith secretly thinks of Hunk as his favorite resident, the only responsible Sophomore on the 3rd floor (amidst what is a group of frequent, and often frantic, partiers).

You have to cut them some slack, Shiro always said, they’re learning their limits. 

That’s exactly why Keith doesn’t drink. He knows that people never really learn their limits. Some people drink and drink and drink until they pass out on the grass, or vomit all over the bathroom floor. Some people drink until their blood boils - drink until their knuckles go numb enough to hit anything that moves or breathes or stares too long.

So, Keith doesn’t drink. He doesn’t understand the appeal, anyway, and the thought of going to parties makes his throat itch. He’s tried, but every time Shiro drags him out, Keith ends up in a corner, sipping water from a red solo cup and trying to ignore the heavy and familiar loneliness of being adrift in a room full of other people.

“Hunk!! Don’t - stop that - you can’t sleep on the stairs. You already have a bad back.”

Keith takes a deep breath in. Instead of settling his agitation, it wheezes through his chest and he ends up doubled over, hands on his knees with a cough that echoes through the stairwell.

“Well, that sounds terrible.” Lance says.

Keith takes a few shallow breaths and steels himself to move. And to deal with Lance. Mostly, to deal with Lance. 

If Hunk is Keith’s favorite, Lance is Keith’s personal pain in the ass. He’s been written up twice this year already, mostly because he’s always loud and open about everything and never lets Keith look the other way.

Also, Lance has a way of being someplace at exactly the worst possible time. Like now.

Keith makes his way downstairs and crosses his arms when he gets to the landing right above Lance and Hunk.

“Step up. Perfect. Step up again. You got it!! Step…” Lance looks up and catches sight of Keith, who is standing ramrod straight and frowning. 

“Fu–uuuck.”

“Bad word!” Hunk says gleefully. “You owe a dollar to the jar.”

“Uh, not right now buddy, we got company.”

Hunk looks up and sees Keith. He smiles widely and waves, stumbling on the next stair. “Keith! Hi Keith!”

“Hi Hunk,” Keith says. It’s the first time he’s spoken since dinner, and his voice is low and full of gravel. “Did you have fun tonight?”

“Yeah, it was so great. Lance is the best. I love him, he’s my best friend. Lance, you know you’re my best person right?”

“Yeah, of course, and you’re totally my best person too,” Lance says, because it’s Hunk, and because it’s true. “But also, shhhhhh.”

“Why shhhh? You said only shhhhh because we would wake up Keith but he’s already awake. He’s right here.”

“I’m right here,” Keith says. It’s hard to be annoyed with Hunk in general, but especially now. Keith wants to let them go, rules be damned. But he can’t make exceptions, not when Hunk is so clearly drunk, and not when Lance is so clearly…Lance.  

“Oh boy.” Lance says. “Here we go.”

This is when Keith would normally offer up a dry response, Lance would come back with some sort of dumb insult, and they would volley back and forth until Keith got fed up and either gave a warning or walked away. Except Keith barely feels well enough to be standing, and he can’t find the strength (or the clarity of thought) to play that game tonight.

Instead, Keith just sighs. “I’m sorry Hunk, I’ll have to write you up.”

“It’s okay,” Hunk says. “I know everyone thinks you’re a jerk but you’re just trying to be the best RA, right? I think you’re the best.”

Keith’s throat goes tight.

“Thanks Hunk,” he says, quiet.

Lance doesn’t let it go so easily.

“Really? You can’t let him off with a warning? He never gets this drunk. It’s literally one time.”

Keith sighs. He agrees with Lance, actually, but he can’t bend the rules just because he likes someone. He goes to say just that but his chest seizes, and he has to lean against the railing while a few barking coughs claw their way out of his throat.

“Oh shit.” Lance says, eyes wide. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Keith pushes away from the railing, and blinks away black spots from the edges of his vision.

“Are you…sure?”

“Yes,” Keith says again, tone brittle.

“Okay, well. If you’re gunna write him up, can you at least help us back to our room?”

There’s one long, startling moment where Keith isn’t sure he has the strength.

You can do anything for a minute, Keith thinks. This is what Shiro says to him when everything gets too much, when he can’t breathe, when he finds himself at his brother’s door panting and pale and hopeless. You can do anything for a minute, and that minute builds into two minutes, then five, then 10 and on and on.

“Of course.” Keith says, walking downstairs and grabbing under Hunk’s other arm. “Ready?”

“Yup! Hunk, we’re on the move. You good?”

“So good,” Hunk says. And he is, with one person on each side, he’s good to finish most of the climb on his own. When they get to the third floor, Keith has to brace himself on the railing with his other hand.

He’s dizzy. It feels like the floor is tipping, just slightly, just enough to make him feel like he could stumble and fall.

“Uh, Keith?”

“What,” he snaps, blinking furiously, trying to clear his vision.

“You just - stopped.”

Fuck.

“Sorry. Let’s keep going.”

“Okay,” Lance says, drawing out the word like he’s lodging a complaint.

Keith let’s it pass, and they get Hunk down the hall. Lance pulls out his keys, and swings open the dorm door. There are a few neatly arranged clothes piles, and a garden of post it notes growing out behind Hunk’s bed like a makeshift headboard. They say things like, “ur the actual best!” and “hey sexy” and “bet u get 1 million percent on ur test tmw.”  

Lance has polaroid pictures taped across the walls, big groups of people, all with wide, bright smiles. They look like Lance. Keith has never noticed the room before, not really. But it feels like theirs, not like any other dorm room. It feels like they’ve made it a home.

“Thanks guys,” Hunk says, crawling into bed and making a soft, contented noise as he burrows under the covers. “Is it gross I’m not brushing my teeth?”

“Nah,” Lance says, pulling out a bottle of water from the minifridge and placing it next to Hunk on the bed.

“Cool,” Hunk yawns. 

“We can,” Keith clears his throat and does his best not to wince. “We can go over write up details in the morning, okay Hunk? But you should get some sleep”

“Okie dokie Keith,” Hunk says. He’s asleep almost immediately after. 

Lance, on the other hand, watches Keith with narrowing eyes. “Are you alright?”

“What?”

“You’re sick.”

“I’m - fine.” Keith says.

“Well you sound really sick.”

“Go to bed, Lance.” Keith turns around and walks out into the hallway.

“Hey, wait up!” Lance follows him out.

“What.”

Now that they’ve gotten Hunk in bed, Keith feels everything acutely again. He leans back against the wall and tries to breathe. In through his nose, out through his mouth. It’s not working, and he wants Lance to leave him alone in case he has to sit down. Keith feels his heartbeat in his ears and his fingertips and his throat and his head.

“I just – hey, you’re really pale, are you –”

Keith is unmoored. The hallway tilts and his knees buckle and the ground rushes up.

“Woah!” Lance’s voice sounds tinny and far away. Keith suddenly and desperately misses the usual richness of Lance’s voice. Keith loves listening to Lance talk, he’ll pretend he’s not paying attention, but he always is. There’s something about the warmth, the clarity of Lance’s tone, that calms some of the anxiety roped in Keith’s chest.

“Keith! Keith?!” There are cool hands on his face and Keith’s vision snaps back to focus in one nauseating blink.

“Am I - on the floor?” It’s hard to string words together, but he knows something’s wrong, he knows he’s not where he’s supposed to be.

“You passed out for a second, you scared the hell out of me.” Lance feels for Keith’s pulse. “Jeez, you’re burning.”

“I’m…?”

Keith’s not burning, he’s cold. He’s freezing, actually. But Lance’s hands feel like heaven against his skin.

“Can you sit up?”

Sit up, Keith tells himself. But his limbs don’t listen. Something feels very strange and wrong and unreal. Like knowing you’re in a dream, Keith thinks.

Lance has to help Keith sit up against the hallway wall. In an instant he realizes where he is and what’s happened and Keith scrambles to his feet.

“Hey what are you, what are you doing?” Lance yelps, grabbing Keith’s arm.

“Sorry, I’m fine, just needed a - a second.”

“You’re not fine. Like, at all.”

“Lance, you should go to bed.” Keith says, and wants more than anything to be somewhere else.  

“Are you insane? You just passed out in the hallway, I’m not going to leave you alone.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“I mean, maybe, but I’m not a monster.” Lance grabs Keith’s arm to steady him. Keith makes a noise – he hadn’t even realized he was listing to the side.

“I can’t believe you helped carry Hunk upstairs. I can’t believe you’re even out of bed. What are you doing?”

“I was doing my job,” Keith says.

“I know but that’s - someone else could’ve done this tonight, right?”

“Uhm,” Keith wishes he had a conversational map. He’s not quite sure how they got here or what he’s supposed to say.

Lance tugs at Keith’s arm until they’re walking back toward Keith’s room. The door isn’t locked, and Lance pulls Keith inside and presses on his shoulders until he sits on the edge of the bed.

“Have you taken anything?” Lance asks, looking around.

“For what?”

Lance squints down at Keith. “Are you fucking with me right now, or are you really this out of it?”

 “I’m –” Keith puts his head in his hands, because he can’t make his eyes stay focused. “Just confused about what you’re doing here.”

“Making sure you don’t die, apparently. Do you know how high your fever is?”

“No.”

“You’re an idiot.” Lance says, mostly to himself. “How are you at the top of our class when you’re such an idiot?”

“Oh my god,” Keith groans into his hands. “Please shut up.”

“Do you even have a thermometer?” Lance doesn’t wait for an answer. “Nevermind, I should know better. Stay here.”

“Where ‘m I gunna go,” Keith mutters under his breath, but doesn’t move until Lance gets back.

“Don’t even try to argue with me,” Lance says, hands full with a thermometer and a packet of blue pills and a bottle of water. He holds out the thermometer. Keith just stares, so Lance shoves it under Keith’s tongue.

Keith feels like he’s completely lost control of the situation. 

The thermometer beeps shrilly, and Lance takes it back with a sharp breath. “Keith, what the fuck. You have a crazy high fever.”

The numbers 103.5 blink up at him.

“Is there someone I can call?”

Keith’s gotten that question a lot: after a high school fight that left him with a split lip and an expulsion warning, after his first panic attack, gasping and clutching his chest at a bus stop. After the first time he ran away and woke up on a park bench with two cops peering over him.

“No,” Keith says, prying the words from his throat. The answer is always no.

“What about Shiro?”

That get’s Keith’s attention. “How do you know Shiro?”

“Everyone knows Shiro.” Lance says. “And he’s your brother.”

“How did you - how do you know that?” Keith squeezes his eyes shut for a minute, trying to clear some of the haze in his head.

“It’s not exactly a secret, he talks about you a lot.”

“Oh,” Keith says, after a beat.

“Do you want me to call him?”

“No.” Keith says. “No. Don’t wake him up. I’m just gunna sleep.”

Lance rocks on his heels and frowns down at Keith. “I kind of feel like I can’t leave you alone.”

“You can,” Keith says, but his words are immediately thwarted by a deep, crackling cough.

“See! That sounds terrifying.”

“It’s just a cough.”

“You’re wheezing!”

“I am not.”

“You are, it sounds painful.”

“Lance…”

Lance bounces his weight from foot to foot. “What?”

“I’m supposed to be the one looking out for you, not the other way around.”

“Why not?!” Lance says, lips twisting. “You clearly need someone.”

“It’s unprofessional.”

“You’re my RA not my Professor, we’re the same age. And anyway who cares! You’re sick.”

Before Keith can argue, Lance shoves the packet of blue pills and the water at him. “Take these.”

“What is it?”

“NyQuil. Should knock you right out.”

At this point, Keith feels too terrible to argue. He claws the pills from the plastic packet and follows them with water. It stings to swallow at all, and swallowing the pills makes him gag. He manages to get them down, but he’s left panting.

He’s never felt this sick before. It’s an effort to even keep his eyes open. Each blink tugs him farther and farther into a fever fog. His thoughts dart like minnows, he can’t catch them all through the swamp in his head.

“Thanks Lance,” Keith says, his voice low and raspy.

“No problem.”

“You should go back to bed.”

“But –”

“I’m just going to pass out. You don’t have to watch me sleep.”

“But what if you get worse,” Lance asks, crossing his arms.

“I promise I’ll be fine.” Keith says, as evenly as he can. Lance can’t stand still. He’s worried, Keith thinks, he looks worried. 

“Okay…” Lance says. “But I’m coming over to check on you first thing in the morning. Deal?”

“I have to talk to Hunk, so you’ll see me either way.”

“Oh my god, Keith!”

“I’m sorry,” Keith says, head spinning. “I have to.”

“Not about that, Hunk’ll be okay. But you shouldn’t be out of bed tomorrow! Like, at all”  

Keith doesn’t know what to say.

“You look so sick, oh my god. Lay down.”

And Keith does. It’s about as surprising for Keith as it is for Lance.

Keith tugs his comforter up. It’s a silent, intimate moment. Lance watches with wide eyes.

Keith doesn’t have the energy to be ashamed.

“G’night,” he says, forcing his eyes back open. His eyelids are weighing him down. Each blink whispers sleep sleep sleep sleep.

“Night,” Lance says, voice low and gentle. “Feel better.”

Keith tries to answer, but he’s slipping deeper and deeper into the black, where it’s warm and quiet and still.

He feels someone push his hair back. Cool hands press against his face. It’s okay, he thinks, right before he fades to sleep. It’s okay.

[mintyeggs]

ftm things that happen

so ive noticed some things that the doctors dont necessarily tell you when you go on testosterone, so here’s a helpful list from your not-so-friendly neighborhood trans guy so you know what to expect.  under a readmore bc its a lot, also if you have any other questions feel free to shoot me an ask/message

BODY STUFF

-acne will be more in the nose/chin area rather than the t-zone that going through female puberty causes

-you will cry a lot less, which isnt necessarily a good thing, sometimes it can feel like you dont have an outlet for your feelings which sucks.

-your clit will get bigger and start to uncomfortably chafe against your panties.  invest in boxers or other men’s underwear.

-speaking of clits, they get erect and yes its weird as hell the first few times you experience it but its perfectly normal.

-you will sweat so much more.  get an antiperspirant deodorant, and if ur pits start to stink, use rubbing alcohol to clean the area then put on a fresh layer of deodorant.  the dove brand is what i use, smells nice and is fine for sensitive skin.

-as your shoulders get wider you will find yourself bumping into things a lot more as you get used to it.  be careful going through doors.

-binders are hot and itchy in the summer.  feel free to put a swipe of deodorant under and between your boobs, it helps.  also don’t wear your binder for longer than necessary.

SOCIAL STUFF

-guys will slowly start to give you the chest bump handshake.  it’s jarring the first time you go in for a friendly greeting and you’re pulled in to bump shoulders.  just go with it, you’ll get used to it.

-if you haven’t seen a person for a while, they probably wont recognize your voice.  it drops dramatically, i went from high pitched femme to almost bullfrog deep.  

-people will expect you to hold doors and other manly duties.  

-you can make a lot of dick jokes.  specifically “i don’t have a dick” jokes.  it’s a good way to judge who you can come out to or not.

-you might start to idolize toxic masculinity.  it’s ok to have those thoughts, but keep in mind what you want to be, and if it will harm you or people around you.

-make sure your sexual/romantic partner views you as a man.  some people will try and reduce you to your genitals and justify that “its not gay/straight because you have a vagina” or smth stupid like that.  set clear boundaries and make sure you trust your partner.  don’t be afraid to rudely cut someone out of your life if they don’t respect who you are.

OTHER TRANSITION STUFF

-you will have to fight with insurance to get surgery covered.  they will try and weasel out of it and have you jump through an absurd number of hoops.  have your therapist/psychiatrist write a letter saying that it’s medically necessary to have transitional surgery and be prepared to be on hold for hours.  keep pestering the insurance company no matter how annoying you think you’re being.

-injections can be hard to give to yourself.  if you take the testosterone subcutaneously, be prepared to stab a needle into your stomach flab.  i was deadly afraid of it until about half a year ago.  don’t be discouraged, you’ll get it eventually.

-speaking of injections, here’s the method i use: 

1. buy your syringes and sharps (try and search for 25 gauge 5/8″ needles. the product code of the ones i use is AH+2516, nipro brand.) in bulk online, it’s much cheaper and its one less thing that you’ll have to wrestle insurance to cover. also buy bulk of the alcohol swab pads.

2. WASH YOUR HANDS.  then, after opening the testosterone vial (pop off the plastic cover) swab the grey metal/silicon bit underneath with the alcohol pad.

3. prepare your needle.  carefully and tightly attach the syringe to the needle (don’t take off the plastic cover over the needle yet) while trying not to touch the tip of the syringe or the blue part of the needle with your hands.  draw the needle to your specified dosage, filling it with air.

4.  take off the cover over the needle (don’t touch the actual needle part, you want it to stay sterile) and plunge it into the rubbery part of the testosterone vial.  push the air in the syringe out into the vial.

5. holding the needle and vial so the vial is above the syringe, slowly draw up the fluid into the syringe.  there will be bubbles and air inside the syringe at first, push those out and keep re-drawing the fluid until you have no air bubbles.

6.  take the needle out of the vial and re-cap it.  careful not to stab yourself yet.  Put the vial back in the box it came in and mark it so you know which one you’re using next time.  

7. swab the section of ur stomach that you wanna inject into.  don’t go too close to the belly button, there’s veins there.  try about an inch and a half away from the belly button on each side.

8.  slap that area of the skin as hard as you can.  this will make the needle hurt less bc your body is going “wtf the hell you just slap me for”

9. uncap your needle, stick it into the skin (doesn’t have to be fast, you can put it in slowly too) and SLOWLY push the injector down.

10.  quickly take the needle out, recap it, and use a tissue to press the area for a little bit so none of the testosterone seeps back out.  it’s ok if you bleed a lot fyi, that just means you hit a vein, and while it hurts, you wont die.

11. make sure you have a sharps container to put the needle into.  you can put the syringe part into the regular trash.  old plastic water bottles make great sharps containers.  to remove the needle from the syringe, twist the needle and pull at the same time.  

congrats you just gave yourself a shot.  it gets easier as you do it more.

P.S.: never reuse your needles because thats how you get gross nasty shit in your body.  if you fuck up an injection just toss the needle and attach a new one onto the syringe (get the air bubbles out afterwards)

that’s all from me now folks have fun be safe dont die