#another Thursday night ranting about music

[chloroform-e]

Mad sounds in your ears

One thing I love about author Alicia Thompson's newsletter is the way she writes about music : without jargon, nothing but feelings. She can write an entire paragraph about a single line in a song, and why it moves her so. I love reading words that try and capture this elusive feeling : getting so emotional about a few seconds of music, about a couple words and the way they're sung, about a few notes that turn a song into something spectacular.

In honor of that, here are the bits of songs I've been obsessed with lately, the parts that I want to shout out loud when they come on.

It's a dead end, don't overextend / hail the darkness you can befriend (Waxahatchee, crimes of the heart)

Please, don't look at me with those eyes / Va, don't look at me with those eyes (Hinds, coffee)

Is it true / Do the good guys win (Bill Ryder-Jones, nothing to be done)

Don't you tell my mum / Don't play that game (Declan McKenna, elevator hum)

Bet I could fix up my face between 8th and 9th / And I could be what you want (Nation of Language, sightseer)

[belacoded]

okay quick little rant about one of my jobs (the one where i do freelance music production)

i am doing some vocal tuning for a project that my mentor's dad is working on. it is largely as a favor so i am doing it at a HUGELY discounted rate from what i would normally charge (like 50% of discounted) that's fine, whatever it's a lot of vocals anyway (8. 8 vocals. all of them untrained singers and the majority of them under the age of 13.)

bc of the age of the 8 singers, and the fact that they are all untrained, this is actually a lot of work for me to do. i'm starting to realize that maybe i shouldn't have agreed to a discounted rate bc i am actually doing a lot more work than i would usually have to.

and i'm not just doing more work in terms of what i have to tune, no, of course not. i also had to recreate a mix of the instruments to tune the vocals to bc the one they sent me had every last untuned vocal embedded into it. yeah. you would think it would be common sense that the untuned vocals should NOT be mixed in with the instruments as a reference for what is in tune, but no, apparently not.

so i am doing a whole bunch of extra work that i shouldn't have to do and for even less money than i would normally make at that, and also it is all due by tonight. he sent me the files two days ago, even after i told him that i do have a regular 40hr/week job that i had to work both yesterday and the day before and i also had another project that i needed to finish before i could get started on his. he has had these files for a month and he hired me before that. he literally sent me the files and then said "oh yeah, and i also decided that i need this done by wednesday night"

well, he actually said, "and can you get these done for me today?" and i said "as i told you when you hired me, i am unavailable to get started on them until wednesday" and he grudgingly agreed to a deadline of wednesday night, bc he wants them for a session on thursday.

all of this to say i am stressed and tired and in need of a break but unable to take one and i will most definitely not be taking a job from this man ever again. ever.

[oldlaceandpaperflowers]

4th of July Weekend.

Music of the Week: Drew Green - Lotta Bit of You

Well, Happy Birthday, America. Another one around the sun is done. It was weird having a day off in the middle of the week. The beginning of the week went okay, I have no complaints. My machine worked and I got the orders done that I needed to. Thursday I went to my Aunt's for a picnic and was going to go downtown for Fireworks and I did! My town does a little shindig for fireworks with food trucks and carnival games. I got a Bigfoot patch and won a small stuffed animal at a dart game. Buut I punked out before the actual fireworks and came home.

I wish I hadn't.

Yesterday I ended up at my niece's house all day! That little human means a great deal to me and I mean a lot to her. Having her and her parents back in my life has been an absolute blessing. She did my nails while we were waiting for dinner, so I have Sailor Moon and Donald Duck stickers randomly on my fingernails.

Money in the Bank was yesterday as well. (It's a WWE wrestling thing in case no one knows what it is.) The event itself was alright, it wasn't the Royal Rumble or Wrestlemania levels of good - but it was fine. I feel like my experience got ruined though. I watch PLEs with my sister and brother-in-law it's kind of our thing. But he and I are so different. I hate social media a lot for this and how much information is at our fingertips.

Let me explain a bit.

Rant Incoming. You've been warned.

Wrestlers are actors, plain and simple. They are actors who put their bodies on the line for our entertainment. They play a character, it's all scripted just like anything else. But the person behind the character should not be trial. Granted that's not to say that they are all innocent and some of the people behind the wrestlers can be absolute trash. But that's for legal reasons.

Confused? Hang on.

One of the combatants in the Women's ladder match plays a character I don't like. That arrogant, bimbo trope. The "I'm better than you look at me go" trope. But it's the character I was disappointed in that won, not the person. She put herself on the line to win that match while I think a few of the others got really heccin hurt. She deserves her shot to progress in the company.

But the only reason why my brother-in-law didn't want this woman to win was because of her real-life political ideologies. Because she has a different view on things IRL than he does, he basically said she was a piece of crap and she shouldn't even be in the company.

Who honestly cares?

He's still gonna buy her Funko Pops and merch.

He also was making me a giant ball of anxiety and I almost bailed before the event was over. People were shooting fireworks last night which was upsetting their dogs. But rather than try to calm the one down, he was holding her and yelling at her, telling her to be quiet while she was struggling to be let go. I finally took the poor thing off of him. She laid down beside me and - even though she was still upset - I was talking calmly to her and petting her and she didn't ONCE try to get away from me.

He then made a remark "Fourth of July is over, I don't even know why they're celebrating anyway. Probably cause they're redneck idiots." To which I said that it's still Fourth of July weekend, let them do their thing. Then he came back with the snarky, "I care more about my dogs than their damn fireworks."

I was so upset when I came home.

This man is three years older than I am and he acts like a petulant child and my sister married him. He also found out that I unfollowed him from TikTok and told me to "Fix my shit" and follow him again because he wants 10k followers so he can make money. Nah man. I don't social media very often because of people like him, why would I subject myself to it? Because of blind loyalty to my sister? I am very loyal to her, I would die for her. But just because I'd die for her, does not mean I'd die for him.

[dwestfieldblog]

SEE YOU SOON MUM

(This is a quickly written exorcism of the last week, the usual pseudo psychedelic rants (almost written already) will follow next month. Had to get this out, it has been read over only once, not for readability but for honesty.)

February Thursday 16th

Our last actual talk, mum made no sense at all. Long distant memories, cut up sentences and mild hallucinations. I came into the room to find she was curled up with her head at the opposite end of the bed. She had been refusing all pills for a couple of days but I showed her many old photographs of her family and life and got her to sit up on her side enough to feed her orange jelly and some egg custard. Counting down the spoons and praising her like a child. Happy the nurses had brushed and plaited her long hair.

On that day a kind social worker came in and asked her if she could borrow me for a few minutes and mum cried, now in her bedside chair by the garden window. In my mask and blurred eyes, I wept, choking out guilt and questions outside the room. Back in to see mum having her oxycodone pump renewed with stronger dosage as it was obvious she had still not been telling them about her pain levels, however much I explained why she should and begged her to. She was also given more oral morphine. I told her gruffly to stay alive.)

February Saturday 18th

When I returned to this doomed island and found out after two months how ill my mother was, I truly thought I could heal her somehow, just by focusing all attention and using rational methods as well as any ‘gifts’ I had. Failed on every level. After weeks in hospital, I told her I had to get her home and safe. Mum fixed me with a look and said ‘Be careful what you wish for’. So old now it is impossible to imagine a world in which my mother is not. She has always been here. To actually be told the sentence ‘She has days/hours now’ about one you love beyond all others is a shattering thing. Seven and a half hours beside her today without a word spoken or eyes opening while I kissed her, stroked her head and held her hand. Each day, less of her remains. Death as an absolute end is ridiculous but watching a loved one vanishing into decay is just too bloody real. I know better than this but it doesn’t matter now, does not break through the total hurt.

February Monday 20th

Another long visit, without any communication from mum. The nurses had put on Radio Three on the tv and I told them that was how I got into music, because she always played that every morning at breakfast before I went to school. That memory brought tears as one of the main roads which made me. Her loved Puffin, a soft toy from Guernsey was tucked up with her on its side facing her. (I was told later she had urgently rung the nurses one night over and over and when they had got there, she told them Puffin had fallen out of bed. This made them smile but I imagined her desperation.)

I sang a couple of lines to her from a song as sunshine reached her skin. Her nightdress had moved down and her plait was curled in the hollow of her shoulder. Drew a cross on her forehead, down her nose with my finger and kissed the centre . Mum’s breathing was rhythmically gurgling fluid which I was told was rising, not secreted from above and they gave her a shot of some drug to dry it up. She was leaking thick mucus from the side of her mouth and I wiped it away. Left as usual with a hopefully smiling voice saying ‘See you tomorrow’. Knowing.

There is love inside you, love around you, you have always been loved, I have always loved you and will always love you, you came from love and will return to love. This litany repeated on a loop for the final two visits as I held her hand or stroked her head, kissing.

Thank you for giving me life, thank you for raising me.

See you tomorrow mum.

………………………………………………………

Woke up on 21st at 1am. At 7am the phone rang to say mum had left at 1 in the morning. I took a taxi to the hospice, went into her room where curtains were drawn and a quietly humming machine was keeping a hidden blanket cooling. I removed my mask, whispered ‘Told you I would see you today’ and then began weeping again, standing broken, choking sobs wanting to howl like an animal on all fours. I cradled the back of mum’s head, kissed her cold forehead, cheeks and then her open mouth. Went to the other side of the bed and did this again and repeated my litany before I wept again. Left to deal with head nurse, paperwork and phone calls to the cremation company. Returned to see her and renewed my goodbyes.

Even though she had not moved the last two days I had visited, it still didn’t make sense to my brain that there was no reaction to the kisses, I kept expecting her to open her eyes. To move, to wake up as she had at home in the mornings. Could not stop crying. Went back to the glass room beside the big garden with the large stone pond and zen arrangements, walked around looking at the woods. Back inside, walked past an alcove where they had lit a candle for my mother. ‘It stays alight until she has been collected’. Wept again.

Before I returned home, I visited mum for a third time and repeated the ritual of words and kissing. Swear her mouth had changed just a little on the way to a smile. Took photographs, feeling it was wrong but could not leave without a fixed document for memory. Said ‘Goodbye mum, see you soon’ as I always did when the taxi came to take me to the airport and back to Prague, even when I knew it could be six months. Home, wept, howled. Opened the bags of clothes, the smell of her mixed with hospice filled the sitting room and I cried again. And this will just continue until it stops.

Don’t want to see anybody I know, just keeping as busy as possible dealing with all the legal, utility bill, certificated and emotional fallout. Not drinking any more than usual every night but wish I had more Tramadol than I do. Would give all my money, music and life for one more day to see mum alive. This is killing me and I am letting it. Normal shattering human grief. Never felt it this bad before. Will do my own private service on Sunday by candlelight and another on Mothers Day if I get there. At this very moment wish I was not here, can’t do this life nonsense anymore.

 LOVE you mum. LOVE YOU, see you soon.

[p0ssywhippedcream]

Omg a cute L POV where reader is part of the Yagami family and there comes the time when the cameras are put in the house . So L is surveying reader and sees her secretly smoke at night and put on music and start dancing by herself . He finds it endearing and attractive and begins to like her .

I love how you write fluff ❤️

Thank you so much, lovely! This is adorable and I really want to do it justice so I hope you like it :)

~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Justice can get really boring. Being the world’s greatest detective may seem like an exhilarating and rewarding job but most of the time, it’s paperwork and surveillance and more paperwork.

Right now, L was bored out of his mind. Watching Light study and giggle to himself as he wrote down math answers orwatching Sayu squeal at grown idols on the TV was not very entertaining.

The only person in the Yagami household that was relatively interesting was Y/n Yagami, but half of the time she was out with her friends. When she was at the house, it was between the late hours of 10pm and 6am, and she would be sleeping like a normal person.

Tonight was a Thursday. Usually, you would be out at your friend’s house or seeing a film but you were tired of the drama in your friend group and decided to stay home. College was exhausting anyway, and listening to Kami rant about another failed date was not something you wanted to do.

So for a few hours, you’d read some of your favorite book series, rearranged your desk, took down posters, put the same posters up again and laid down on the floor. It was obvious you were nearly as bored as L was.

At about 1:37 in the morning, you pick up your phone and text someone. At about 2:04 in the morning, you slide out your window and grab something from a car that stopped outside. At about 2:16 in the morning, you’d changed into a T-shirt and boyshorts and propped open a window.

You lit and inhaled a poorly-rolled blunt, huffing out the window with a stupid smile. You turned to your old cd player that sat next to you on the window ledge and popped in your City to City Gerry Rafferty album. You skipped a couple songs and found Right Down the Line.

You unfold your legs, rising from your seat and swaying your hips as you hum. The music fills the small, quiet room, spilling out of corners and overflowing when it hits your roof. You tap the lit blunt on the edge of your window as you go, watching the ashes fall out like snow. They drift away like forgotten memories, stars that fade into the sidewalk and street.

The song reaches your favorite part and your lungs taste the distinctive warmth again as you inhale. You exhale in the form of the lyrics, raspy at first. It’s decently loud because of how low the music is playing, they flow out like water in a stream of smoke.

L watches entranced, his heart swells with every spin on your socked toes, every inhale on a smooth hand and every jut of your shoulders and hips. Your hair spills over your body as you move, and it’s not graceful, infact it’s jerky and unstable and you might fall at any moment.

But you look ethereal. Your eyes flicker closed and open through your dance, there’s a soft smile that plays on your lips who surround the blunt that’s now died to merely a stub. You notice a moments later, when your hands travel from your thighs to your torso and feel you up aimlessly.

Flicking it out the window, you run your fingers across your body one last time and collapse on your bed. You shirt comes up to right under your chest and you stare at your ceiling longingly. L’s heart skips a beat when your eyes meet a camera and narrow. He doesn’t want to be on the receiving end of your glare, even if he knows it’s not really directed at him.

Thankfully, you shake your head and let it fall to the duvet softly. Your hair spreads out around your head like a mermaid, and your stupid grin comes back. L thinks you look stunning.

When your hips continue to gently move against your mattress, L grows a smile to match yours. You look cute like that. Really cute. And he really wouldn’t mind seeing you in person.

He discards that thought but it lingers anyway, right next to your knowing eyes that shine when they catch the glint of a camera lens.

[chemmerson]

after work

bartender!nanami x fem!reader, modern au

so i found this wip from. awhile ago. and i thought I would post it just for fun. let me know what you think!

word count: 6.3k

warnings: unwanted advance from a stranger, reader feels panic

“And then she had the audacity to blame me for the mix-up! She is so bitchy.”

Propping your head up with your hand and twirling the ice around your empty glass, you listened to your coworker (and friend) go on and on and on about the work day. You were used to it, of course, because that’s how every Thursday was. When you two had decided to start ending the work week at the nearby bar to destress and rant about your job, you were relieved that you would be able to talk about all the bullshit that transpired throughout the week.

However, your friend was more than happy to take over the conversation herself, so every Thursday, you had to listen to her tell you everything that was on her mind.

Now, you couldn’t blame her. You knew exactly how she felt and all the frustrations she experienced. You were in the boat. There was absolutely nothing she complained about that you didn’t understand or had the same to say yourself.

But after about two drinks, your friend was always ready to dump all of her thoughts out for the entire bar to hear, and you couldn’t get one word in about your own work frustrations.

It wasn’t like it was the biggest deal in the world. You had been told you were a great listener before so you were happy to at least be someone your friend felt like they could talk to. And you knew better than anyone what she was going through.

So every Thursday, you downed some Moscow mules and prepared yourself for the next few hours.

“So then I go up to Kai who I thought was going to be helpful, and I start telling him what that bitch did during the whole spreadsheet debacle. Turns out they’re fucking dating. So that was fucking embarrassing.”

You actually had known that last week when you saw him sneak a kiss on her cheek in the break room. But you just hummed with a nod and kept listening.

“So now I’m like, I can’t trust anyone in this fucking office anymore. Well, except you of course,” she smiled. You shot her a small smile back.

“Anyway, the whole thing was a shit show and I fixed the spreadsheets anyway. Which made me even more pissed since I wasn’t even the one to mess them up…”

Your eyes flicked down to your glass where you were twirling the ice around with your straw thoughtlessly.

“Can I get you both anything?”

You glanced up at the bartender who was leaning on the bar top. Before you could answer, your friend beat you to it.

“Yes, another long island for the love of god,” she said dramatically, finishing with a bat of her eyelashes at the man. You didn’t blame her, though. The bartender that worked on Thursday nights was quite the dreamboat.

He nodded at your friend, then flipped his eyes to you. You smiled and gave him a “sure”. Then, you turned back to your friend to continue listening.

“And I know the whole incident shouldn’t bother me that much, you know? Like it really wouldn’t bother me except the fact that she got the promotion last quarter really sent me over the edge…”

Another Moscow mule was placed in front of you, and you gave the bartender a voiceless thank you while your friend grabbed her long island, continuing her story.

“…so I feel like she’s just been out to get me this whole time! And I’m getting really sick and tired of it. Because did I tell you about the other day in the break room? God, it was really something else…”

You were suddenly distracted by the atmosphere of the bar itself. It was never super crowded around this time on Thursdays, but today was especially quiet. Only a few people scattered here and there, the music loud and echoey as there weren’t any voices to muffle it. Well, except your friend.

Oh, how lovely it would be tomorrow to work from home. Fridays were always “work from home”, a nice break from the hectic office. You always made sure to work ahead during the week so that you could be done early on Fridays. The warm bath, a glass of wine, and cuddly pajamas were so close, yet so far. God, you could hardly wait for the moment you would close your laptop and head to the bathroom, turning on your favorite music and—

“Go ahead and close my tab, please.”

Your friend’s voice broke you out of your running thoughts, and then you watched her as she gathered her coat and purse. She smiled at you, unaware that you had just been completely spacing out and—

“I love these little dates we have,” she grabbed your arm affectionately. “It really is a weight off my chest. Well, anyway, are you going to stay longer?”

She was leaving, you realized, but you had barely touched your Moscow mule. You also needed just a moment to process your day as well, so you nodded. “Yeah, I’m going to stay a bit longer.”

She smiled at you and squeezed your arm. “Okay, get home safe! See you Monday!”

And then she was walking away, and you waved her goodbye.

A much needed sigh fell out of your lips as you turned back to your drink. You loved being the listening ear your friend needed, but some silence to yourself was always nice too.

You just sat with your thoughts for a bit, staring at the grooved bar top wood and bringing your drink up to your lips every so often. Running your fingernail through the grooves of the wood, you began to space out and enjoy the momentary silence.

“Are you alright?”

The surprising, deep voice made you jump slightly, and you flipped your head up to the presence in front of you. It was the handsome bartender, scanning you over with little emotion. He leaned his arms on the edge of the table, rolled up sleeves exposing his forearms. His blonde hair was combed back neatly, and he had rather lovely brown eyes. You made sure not to stare too long.

“Oh, yes I’m alright!” You laughed dryly, looking down at the table. “Just…lost in thought… processing, I guess…”

You probably sounded so awkward, but the bartender had never sparked a conversation before. Scratch that. It wasn’t even a conversation. He was just making sure you weren’t about to pass out at his bar.

Your eyes flipped back up to his, and he kept a deadpan look. “Your friend talks a lot.”

You should’ve been taken aback by his rather blunt comment, but you couldn’t help but actually laugh this time. The bartender picked up a whiskey glass and a towel and started polishing it.

“Um,” you started. “Yeah. She’s great but…she always has a lot to say. I don’t mind it, though.”

You took a sip of your drink that was nearing the end. You usually never went for a third, and you were starting to feel its effects quite quickly.

The bartender just continued to polish the glasses in front of him. “Surprising.”

“How come?” You questioned.

“That you can deal with that every Thursday.”

You opened your mouth, surprised again by the man’s boldness but no words came out. You had no idea what to say, and you just stared at him for a moment.

“You know we come here every Thursday?” was what came out of your mouth eventually.

“Well, not many people are in here at four o’clock on a Thursday,” he said. “And you pair are the only ones who bother to sit at the bar.”

You never noticed it before, but thinking back, you realized that he was right. The bar was always pretty empty when you guys showed up. It was only when you were leaving did it start to get crowded. So it would make sense that the main bartender noticed when the same people came in on the same day every week.

“Right,” you said, looking down into your glass. “I guess I never really noticed. But I did notice you work every Thursday.”

Which was true, but as soon as the words came out of your mouth, you panicked, realizing how the statement sounded. Quickly, you looked up and waved your hand dismissively. “Not that I was looking at you or anything!”

The man paused his cleaning and flipped his eyes to you.

Panicking even more and the influence of alcohol making you too scatterbrained, you waved your hand even more. “Uh, n-not that I wouldn’t want to look at you! I definitely would—“

The man quirked his eyebrow again, and you were a lost cause.

“No!” You stammered. “I…I’m not saying that I would look at you. I mean, I’m looking at you right now but…I just meant I don’t, like, stare at you or anything. I just noticed that…you work…every Thursday…”

You trailed off, heat from embarrassment lighting your body on fire, and you rested your forehead on the palm of your hand with a sigh.

“I’m sorry,” you closed your eyes, hoping the ground would swallow you whole. “I—“

But you were cut off with a chuckle, and you peeked out of your fingers to look at him. He looked amused, setting down the glass and towel and leaning his arms on the bar top again.

“So you do have a lot to say, then,” he joked with a soft smirk.

You blushed even more, but this time from the smile that he was giving you. He really was a dreamboat.

“Um,” you mumbled. “Sometimes, I suppose.”

Just then, a laughing couple walked up to the bar and started sitting down. The bartender glanced at them, starting to move but he glanced back at you, a look in his eye that confused you. He shouldn’t feel like he had to keep talking to you.

“You can close my tab,” you smiled at him, pushing your glass slightly forward. “Thanks.”

You didn’t wait for him to say anything, just hopped off the stool and started putting your coat and mittens on. You heard him start to talk to the couple to get their orders. You just grabbed your purse and you were off.

But holy shit what was in those Moscow mules?

Okay, three was definitely your limit. No more than that from now on for sure. As you tipsily made your way to the door, you made sure to be careful that you walked up the two small steps with grace and concentration. Otherwise, if you tripped, everyone would surely see since there were only, what, five people in the entire place—

Your toe caught on the top step and you were about to catch yourself on the railing when…

“Ah—“

“Careful, there.”

A strong hand grabbed your elbow, steadying you and keeping you from falling flat on your face. Turning around to face your embarrassment, the bartender looked at you with amused eyes.

He pulled you up straight. “Are you okay?”

“Uh,” an embarrassed laugh escaped. “Yeah, I’m okay. Sorry.”

He nodded and let go of your elbow. “I came over to ask if you have a safe ride home.”

Eyebrows shooting up in surprise and panic, you waved your hand back and forth. “O-Oh! Yes, yes I’m all good. I’m going to take a cab.”

“You’re going to wait outside in this cold?” He asked, almost surprised.

Nervousness taking over and quick to reassure him, you smiled. “Yes! See, I have my mittens.”

Before you could stop yourself, you shoved your gloved hands in his face. He didn’t flinch at the action, but something flashed in his eyes.

“How about I call you a cab?” He suggested, taking your hands and moving them down away from his face. “They’re used to coming here, and that way you don’t have to wait in the cold.”

“Oh,” you said, pulling your hands to your side. “Um, you don’t have to. It’s not that cold.”

The bartender started to turn around despite your protest. “Call it a thank you for being a loyal customer.”

He gave you one last look before heading back towards the bar, and you were left shocked.

This guy is really nice, you thought. And extremely handsome—no, no don’t fall for your local bartender. You’re not that desperate.

Desperate was probably not the right word to describe it. Inexperienced and single for life were better terms, but it was rare these days that you found yourself so interested in a man. At this point in your life, when you still have never had a boyfriend or even a date in years, you felt like you had given up looking for a man. Because obviously none of them had been interested in you. So even though the bartender at first glance seemed nice, you could not let yourself daydream and get too attached to an idea that would never happen.

Though as you rode home in the cab, got home, and even as you were falling asleep, his brown eyes and small smile would not get out of your head.

———

Next Thursday, your friend had invited some other co-workers from the office to join in on your de-stress time. Word got around the office fast, and by eight o’ clock, what felt like the entire staff was at the bar.

The bar was crowded with others as well, and the normally quiet bar you thought you knew was filled with loud people and loud music. You sat squished in between your friend and another co-worker, sipping on your Moscow mule and listening to the various conversations that were happening around you.

You didn’t find yourself really going out much lately besides Thursday after work, and this was the first time in a while you were experiencing the nightlife at the bar. Your friend had actually convinced you to wear a proper “night out” outfit too, claiming you needed to let loose. After a few drinks, you were feeling a bit more comfortable in your slightly tighter and more revealing than usual clothing choices.

But you couldn’t say you were focused too much on what was happening at the table. For about the hundredth time that night, your eyes made their way over to the bar where he was, staying busy with the influx of people. His sleeves were pushed up like always, exposing his flexed forearms whenever he shook the cocktail shaker back and forth. He was so focused and sharp, and you would have never expected him to be so mesmerizing from far away.

“Hey, you good?” Your friend nudged you with a smile.

You had been spacing out. “Oh, yeah. I’m good.”

She leaned in with a mischievous smile. “By the way, you look super hot. I’ve seen Hiro look over at you a couple of times—“

“Shut up,” you cut her off with a harsh whisper. “No, he has not. Plus, I’m definitely not interested in Hiro. I can’t date someone who never remembers to zip his fly after he comes out of the bathroom.”

Your friend erupted in loud cackles and then looked down at the table. “Oh, looks like we both need another drink!”

“I got it,” said one of your co-workers who sat across the table. “I need another beer. Anyone else?”

Your friend asked for another drink, and he left to go to the bar. You watched him carefully as he stood and waited for the bartender to walk up. The bartender with lovely eyes and gorgeous everything else.

Stop it, you scolded yourself. Stop staring at him. He’s going to notice sooner or later.

You just sighed out and leaned your cheek on your hand. No matter how many times you told yourself to stop daydreaming about him, you couldn’t. That was just like you. Living out everything in your head and never in reality.

Suddenly, you felt a pair of eyes on you.

You stayed still but glanced over at the bar. The bartender’s brown-eyed gaze was staring at you, and your heart dropped into your stomach. Your co-worker was talking to him and getting the drinks, but his eyes stayed locked with yours. A sudden heat filled your cheeks and before you could glance away, the bartender nodded at your co-worker and walked away.

A breath you didn’t know you were holding released shakily from your nose. He had seen you. He was definitely looking at you. Right? No, no way. He was not looking at you. But wasn’t he? Who else would he have been looking at? Someone behind you? No, there was a wall behind you. Maybe he was looking at the wall very intentionally and intensely.

Because there was no way he could’ve been looking at you.

But you felt them once again. His eyes from across the entire bar were like he was drawing you to look at him. Heart fluttering rapidly in your chest, you glanced over again.

Your co-worker was making his way back, trying to balance three drinks in his hand, but your eyes were on him. And his eyes were on you, that intensity from before but something else too. You couldn’t place it because no one had ever looked at you like that. But through the dim lighting, through all the people, over the heads of those that sat at the bar, he was looking right at you.

Your co-worker was at the table then, standing in front of you and putting down the drinks, thus blocking your view of the bartender. Thankfully, this got you out of your head and back into reality, giving your co-worker a smile as you slid the drink towards you.

Though looking down into the drink, something caught your eye. Two limes.

Normally, there was only one lime in the Moscow mule. As you looked down at your drink still, you felt his eyes again.

“Hey, is something wrong with the drink? You did want a Moscow mule, right?” Your co-worker said across from you as he sat down.

You looked up at him with a quick smile. “No, it’s perfect. Thank you.”

He gave you a smile back before turning to whatever conversation was happening. You turned your eyes to the bar.

The bartender wasn’t looking at you, talking to somebody ordering a drink. But that quickly changed when you saw his eyes dart over to you for just a second, that look still making you feel flush and dizzy.

You brought the drink to your lips and took a sip. He watched you as you did, and even in the dark, you saw his eyes flash with something. But he looked away to give his attention to the busy bar.

You could so easily pass out where you were sitting.

He was…flirting with you. Maybe. Possibly?

You had no idea. All you knew was that he was most definitely looking at you and it was not helping you get over this growing semi-crush you had on him. Was really one conversation and a few glances across the bar really all it took for you to be drawn to him?

But he was looking at you, initiating the eye contact. Did that mean he was drawn to you, too?

“Hey, can you come to the bathroom with me?” Your friend leaned into your ear to talk over the loud music and chattering.

You nodded, and then she was grabbing your hand and leading you out of the mess of people when you realized the hallway to the restrooms was right next to the bar top.

He would definitely see you. Hell, he could be seeing you right now as your friend dragged you through the mess of people. Your heart was pounding loudly in your ears and you were so nervous you didn’t even glance or check to see if he might have been looking at you.

As you walked through the hallway to the restrooms, you noticed the entrance to behind the bar top also opened into the hallway, but you didn’t dare look through.

The restroom was a typical bar restroom, extremely small and cramped, and you and your friend had to wait in a small line. It gave you some time to calm down, to listen to your friend’s tipsy chatter and get away from the intensity of the bar. To calm your fast heart rate and to cool your flushed cheeks. Though that was partly because of the alcohol and definitely not because of your crush.

As you were washing your hands, the bathroom was filled with tipsy, loud chatter and lots of people, so you decided to leave to minimize the crowded area. You squeezed through people and opened the door, but just then you ran into someone walking out of the men’s restroom.

With an oof, you quickly stuttered an apology and tried to move out of the way, but the person moved with you.

Surprised, you looked up at the person through the dark to mutter another apology, but the stranger was smiling down at you.

“I’ve never seen you here before,” he started slurring. “What’s your name?”

Your stomach immediately felt hollow and it became hard to breathe. Where was your friend? You felt frozen, eyes darting around in a panic but he was blocking the entire hallway.

“Aw, don’t be shy,” the stranger took a step towards you. “Just tell me your name.”

Your only escape was the bathroom, so you turned around quickly to dart inside but the man was quick to move you against the wall. Feeling suddenly suffocated and frozen in fear, your voice failed to work.

His hand began to close in on you, making you step back hurriedly but the wall was in the way. “Ah—“

Another arm darted out in front of you, catching the wrist of the stranger. You recognized the arm. Toned forearms, white sleeves pushed up to the elbows. The bartender.

“Beat it,” his low voice growled at the stranger, and the stranger was gone as quickly as he came.

You let out a tense breath, feeling dizzy from the aftermath of the panic. Hell, you were feeling dizzy from so many things. The alcohol, your nervousness, your panic, your strange feelings for the bartender that was currently ducking down to meet your gaze.

“Hey, hey,” his voice floated under the loudness of the bar. “Are you okay?”

You met his concerned brown eyes despite your current frozen state, and you opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

Eyes growing more concerned, the bartender gently placed his hand over your upper arm, causing you to feel more present. The loudness of the bar seemed to fade, and he became the only thing you were focused on.

“Did he touch you?” He asked, eyes darting all around your face. “Did he hurt you?”

His words registered this time, and you quickly shook your head. “No,” you said quietly, almost in a whisper.

You heard him sigh quietly out of his nose, and his hand left your arm. “Where’s your friend?”

“I…don’t know,” the words came out shaky, and you felt slightly embarrassed. You didn’t want to cause anyone worry. The bartender had put an immediate stop to it. Yet apparently, you were still shaken up.

“I need to…” you put a shaky hand up to your forehead and swallowed thickly. “I need—“

The bartender put his hand back up to your upper arm and his other one went to your elbow, ducking down further to meet your wandering, panicky eyes.

“Hey,” he said. “You’re safe now.”

You looked into his eyes, truly this time. They were so serious and honest, and his hold on you made you feel safe. Calmer. Still holding eye contact, you took a deep breath in and out.

“I’m sorry,” you said reflexively. “I didn’t mean to—“

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” the bartender interrupted you. “Nothing at all.”

Your heart swelled with gratitude, allowing another breath to escape you. “Thank you, really, thank you so much…um…”

“Nanami,” he said. “Kento Nanami.”

A small smile shaped your lips. “Thank you, Nanami.”

Just then, the bathroom door opened. “Oh—hey, what’s going on?”

Your friend had finally made her way out of the bathroom, moving to stand in front of her and pushing the bartender to the side. “Are you okay? What’s going on?”

You must have looked shaken up. “I’m okay,” you reassured her, the shakiness of your voice slowly disappearing. “I just—“

You both realized that Nanami had walked away just then, and you both watched as he made his way into the main part of the place where people were drinking and eating. You immediately eyed the man who had tried to make a move on you, laughing and chatting with his table and friends.

The way Nanami stalked over there would have left anyone quaking in their shoes. You started to walk after him, not wanting to cause any trouble and your friend followed. Both of you stopped at the end of the hallway as you watched Nanami grab the man by his collar and bring him up to stand at his feet.

“I thought I told you to beat it,” Nanami said, and even under the loud noise of the bar, you could tell his tone was intimidating as hell.

“H-Hey man, I thought we were cool,” the man stuttered, eyes wide in fear. “I didn’t mean to—“

“I told you to beat it,” Nanami said again, shoving the man backward and making him stumble. “That means get the hell out of my bar.”

His bar?

The man didn’t waste any time grabbing his jacket and stumbling to the exit. Nanami gave all of the man’s friends one look, and they soon stumbled after him, leaving the bar as well. The altercation had caught some people’s attention, but they quickly turned back to their conversations and meals.

“Did that sleazy guy try something with you?” Your friend said with wide eyes as she turned to you.

“Um…yeah. Outside of the bathroom,” you explained. “He was drunk.”

“Oh my god,” your friend breathed out. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t—“

“No, it’s okay,” you smiled, though you still felt slightly shaky. “Nanami—uh, the bartender handled it. I’m okay. But I think…I’m just gonna head home.”

Your friend nodded hurriedly. “Of course. Do you want me to go get your stuff? So you don’t have to explain it to everyone…”

Her thoughtfulness made you grateful as well. “Yeah, that would be good. Thank you.”

She smiled and quickly headed to where your co-workers were sitting towards the edge of the bar. Heading towards you was Nanami, and you felt nervous facing him. You had no idea how to even begin to express your gratitude.

He approached you where you stood in front of the hallway, running a hand through his blonde hair. “I’m sorry for causing a scene like that, but I don’t tolerate anything like that in my bar.”

You nodded. “It’s okay, really. I just…I really don’t know how grateful I am that you were there. Thank you…so, so much. I appreciate it so much.”

Nanami looked down at you with those serious eyes, giving you a nod. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

You nodded again. “Yeah, but I think I’m just going to head home.”

“Let me call you a cab,” Nanami said while walking past you, but not without placing his hand on the small of your back while he did. The tender action made you feel safe again.

He stood in the entrance to behind the bar top, pulling a rather dated landline off the wall and punching in a number. You stood awkwardly as people walked around you to go in and out of the bathrooms, so you decided to go stand next to Nanami while he called.

He eyed you as you nervously walked up next to him to stand in the entranceway, but you averted your eyes. You kept looking out for your friend.

“Hey, it’s Juju’s…yeah, it’s Kento…hello, Kiyo…yeah, can I—yes I’m fine…”

“Psst.”

The sudden voice behind you startled you, and you bumped into Nanami’s side as you turned around to see who had just spoken.

A man with white hair and interesting sunglasses sitting on the bridge of his nose you guessed was a bartender that was working leaned down and looked at you with a striking smile. You pressed further into Nanami’s side.

“Hey,” the man whispered. “Be honest, are you the chick that he’s been going on about—“

The slam of the phone on the wall startled you both, and Nanami’s sharp eyes were glaring down at the white-haired man.

“Get back to work, Gojo,” Nanami gritted through his teeth, obviously annoyed.

The man giggled and went back to making drinks, and Nanami sighed. His annoyance towards his co-worker was quite amusing, but you made sure to hide your small smile.

“The cab is on the way,” Nanami said to you.

“Thank you, really,” you said again. “Thank you so much.”

You were extremely grateful for him and his kindness, but you were so ready to go home. Nothing like that had ever happened to you, and while Nanami had swooped in to save the day, you were still having a hard time processing it all.

Just then, your friend came through the hallway and spotted you. She had your coat and purse in her arms. “Here you go. Everyone was asking what happened but I just told them that you weren’t feeling well.”

Grabbing your things from her, you smiled. “Thank you. I really appreciate it.”

She gave you a smile before going in for a hug. “Take care of yourself, okay? See you Monday.”

You waved her goodbye as she went back into the bar, and then you were standing alone with Nanami once again.

“Here,” he said, and you looked to see him gesturing toward your purse.

“Oh, thanks,” you said, handing it to him to put your coat on.

But when you went to turn around to put it on, Nanami grabbed one of the sleeves and lifted it up to help you get it on easier. The sweet action made you feel flush again, and you turned around to get your purse.

“Aren’t you forgetting your mittens?” Nanami asked deadpan while handing you your purse.

You blinked at him, then burst out laughing. His comment was just what you needed to finally fully relax and break the tension you felt inside. Still laughing, you reached into your pockets and pulled your mittens. “Right here. Thanks for reminding me.”

His brown eyes glittered, but he stayed straight-faced. “I’ll go wait outside with you.”

Before you could protest, Nanami put his hand on the small of your back again and started leading you out of the loud bar. He kept you close, making sure to lead you safely through all of the people, and you made sure to keep close, too.

As he opened the door for you and the cold outside air breezed in, you turned to him while walking out. “Hey, aren’t you working right now?”

“Gojo can handle it,” he said, stopping next to the wall, and you followed. “And I can leave at whatever time I want.”

He paused for a moment before continuing. “Since I’m the owner.”

Your mouth parted slightly in surprise at his words, but Nanami continued again. “And, there should be some more people coming in for their shift soon.”

“I didn’t know you owned the bar,” You stated with interest, breath visible in the cold air as you spoke.

Nanami crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the brick wall, looking straight ahead. “Co-own. With Gojo.”

You had no idea that he was the owner of the bar along with that white-haired guy that had spoken to you. Not knowing what to say and still in slight shock from the new information, you just said, “It’s a really nice bar.”

Nanami laughed through his nose. “Thank you. I would hope you think so, at least. Since you are here every week.”

You smiled and put your hands in your pockets. “Well, you do make the best Moscow mules I’ve ever had.”

Nanami looked down at you at your words, and the look in his eyes made your heart flutter again.

But his forearms that he had crossed over his chest caught your eyes, goosebumps lining them. You gasped, taking a step towards him. “Where is your coat?”

He looked at you, confused for a moment before shrugging. “I’m fine.”

Before you could stop yourself, you grabbed his arms and uncrossed them. You reached for his hands and pressed them together, holding them in between your gloved hands.

“You’re going to catch cold,” you said, staring at his hands in yours.

The reality of what you had just done hit you like a brick. Why in the hell would you grab him like that? Why the hell were you currently holding his hands? The boldness of your actions was so, so unlike you and all you could do was just stare at his hands in between your soft, pink mittens.

Nanami didn’t say anything either. You two stood in silence, the sound of people walking on the sidewalk and traffic zooming by filling the air. But your eyes stayed locked, frozen in a moment of something like intimacy.

“What’s your name?” Nanami blurted out.

It was only now you realized he didn’t even know your name. You told him, and his eyes lit up for a second before breaking eye contact and looking out over your head. “Good to know.”

You smiled then and looked down so he couldn’t see. You felt like you smiled way too much around him.

(Though little did you know, he had glanced down at you, saw the sweet smile on your face, and had to stop his smile, too.)

“Um,” you spoke up, looking at him once again. “Did you always want to own a bar?”

“No,” Nanami said with a straight face. “I was talked into it.”

Confused by his statement, you stared at him to continue. “After I graduated from college, my classmate Gojo, who you saw, convinced me to take on the endeavor with him. So we opened the bar right here and the rest is history.”

A playful grin made it’s way to your face. “So, I guess you owe Gojo your success then?”

Nanami stayed stoic. “I suppose. But I would never say that to him. I would hate to see his ego inflate even more.”

You laughed and nodded in understanding. “I see.”

The sound of a cab slowly pulling up to the curb made both you and Nanami turn.

“There’s Kiyo,” Nanami mumbled, and you let go of his hands and let yours fall to your side.

The window of the cab pulled down and a man leaned over. “Hey there Mr. Nanami!”

Glancing up at Nanami, you let him lead you to the cab with his hand returning to the small of your back again. You noticed the kind-looking cab driver who seemed to know Nanami well.

“How’s the evening going, Mr. Nanami? Busy tonight?” Kiyo peered through the window at Nanami.

Nanami grabbed the handle of the cab door. “Get her home safe, Kiyo. 

Nanami opened the door and you started to make your way in, but you felt an urgency once more. Like you couldn’t just leave him. Not yet.

Nanami’s arm rested on the top of the cab door, but you quickly turned around and opened your mouth to speak, the proximity rather close as you began.

“Nanami, thank you again,” your heart was beating in your ears. “You’re very kind.”

The proximity was a lot closer than you had anticipated, but you just stood there, staring into those brown eyes that you knew you wouldn’t stop thinking about all night. Nanami was staring right back at you too, eyebrows slightly raised.

Then he opened his mouth, closed it, and tore his eyes away. “Of course. Any time.”

Was it just the trick of the streetlights, or was Nanami…blushing?

You felt your cheeks warm too, and then you smiled. “Um, o-okay. Well, have a good night.”

Nanami only met your eyes for a second. “You too. Get home safe.”

You finally ducked under the door frame and settled in the back of the cab. Getting on your seatbelt, Nanami gave you one last look and one last small smile as he shut the door. Then, he poked his head in the passenger window.

“I mean it, Kiyo. Get her home safe.”

“Roger that, Mr. Nanami!”

Then, the cab rolled away, and you had to fight back from turning around in your seat to take one last look at Nanami. Instead, you leaned your head on the window, trying to calm your heart and the feeling in your stomach.

“Are you and Mr. Nanami friends or something?”

The cab driver was asking you a question. Friends? “Uh, no, not really. He just…makes sure I have a ride home sometimes.”

Kiyo made a face you could see in the rearview mirror. “Huh. Funny.”

“What’s funny?” You decided to inquire.

Kiyo laughed lightly. “Oh, nothing. It’s just Mr. Nanami isn’t usually so…concerned about his customers. He must really like you. Anyway, what’s the destination?”

He must really like you. Whatever that meant, it made your heart flutter. You gave Kiyo the directions and leaned your head back on the window, watching the downtown go by.

The feeling of him never left you the entire night.

[daechwitatamic]

Chapter 3: That's Life || KTH

(banner by @itaeewon)

Title: What Was Hidden (Masterpost)

Rating: explicit, minors DNI pls

Genre: college!au, angst, eventual smut, strangers -> friends -> lovers -> idiots -> lovers

Pairings: Taehyung x female reader, MYG x OC

Summary:  This is how it all starts: Taehyung is flunking Western Lit. You’re assigned to tutor him. His paper on Strindberg’s The Ghost Sonata could pass or fail him for the semester. As you and Taehyung slowly become friends, then more, you learn that there’s a lot more to him than you originally assumed. Together, you navigate your own experiences with the play’s themes: one’s “true self” versus one’s “shown self”, darkness behind the facade, and how people can be quite literally haunted - and it has nothing to do with ghosts.

//

In which Taehyung really struggles with Strindberg's themes.

Chapter Warnings: cursing, drinking

Word Count: 5k

I saw the sun and thought I saw what was hidden The Ghost Sonata | Scene III August Strindberg

Chapter 3: That’s Life

Thursday, November 8th

By the time Taehyung’s next tutoring appointment comes - at six o’clock the next evening - you’ve had such a day that you’re about ready to throw in the towel.

For starters, your schedule on Thursdays is so weird - you have a 10 am class and then nothing until 2:30; it’s this odd chunk of time where you’re never really fully able to get much done and you also can’t enjoy yourself because your brain knows your next class is looming. 

Then, your tutoring hour with Rebecca is utterly exhausting. Lord, but that girl can talk. You spend the entire hour trying to get her to focus on her history homework and instead listening to her rant about her roommate drama - lights being left on, loud partying late at night, music without headphones, even some food-stealing. 

(“Sounds egregious,” you murmur. “Speaking of egregious, let’s turn our attention to the start of World War II…”)

When you get to tell her that time is up and you have another appointment waiting, you’re relieved. So when Taehyung approaches your table, pulling his laptop out of a crossbody bag, you’re almost happy to see him. Because at least he’s not Becky.

“Hey,” he says, placing his laptop on the table and moving to hang his back from the back of the chair. 

“Hi,” you say easily, giving a little wave before pulling up his files on your laptop. You’re obligated to provide documentation after each session, you guess to prove that you’re earning what they pay you, and maybe also to prove that the academic probation students are actually making an effort. 

“I recorded Western Lit today,” he tells you, saving you from having to ask. 

“Great!” you tell him. “Have you looked at the homework assignment yet?”

He logs in and pulls up the assignment, and you spend the first half hour going through each question together. You give pointers on where to start for each one, and Taehyung writes down your tips, intending to work on them later. 

“I can work on these with you, if you want,” you offer. “Just in case you get stuck, especially since you didn’t do the reading yet?”

“I think I’ll be okay,” he says. “I really need your help with the paper. It counts as an exam grade.”

“That’s fine,” you say. “What’s the topic?”

He turns to rummage in his bag, coming back up with a tattered blue book, definitely bought second-hand at the school’s bookstore.

You feel your eyebrows skyrocket. “Strindberg? Shit.”

He sighs. “Was that a bad choice? The title looked cool… I started reading it last night… there’s a ghost and a mummy. I like spooky stuff.”

You smile, reaching over to pull the small text closer. The Ghost Sonata. You’d done your paper on it the previous winter, before all the stuff with Davis went down.

“Alright,” you say, looking back up at Taehyung. He’s looking down at your hand on his book, his black hair falling over his eyes, face serious. “So from what you read, did you notice any themes? Symbols? Any kind of pattern?”

He frowns, chewing on his bottom lip as he thinks. “I thought there was an interesting thing where the house looked really fancy from the outside but inside everything was decaying…”

“So that’s a good theme,” you say, pointing at him. “The facade and the reality behind it - that things aren’t as they seem, that they’re darker and grittier underneath it.”

His eyes flick up to yours and then back to the table, lightning quick.

“If you wanted to pick that for your paper,” you tell him, staunchly ignoring the flutter in your stomach, “you totally could.”

“Doesn’t it apply to the characters too?” he asks, frowning. “Like… if the theme is ‘how things are versus how they seem’...” He trails off, having had half the thought but struggling to complete it.

“Well, yeah,” you say, helping him out. “Many of the characters have that going on - what they seem at first, and then what you find out about them as the story continues. Plus, add in there many of them have the ghost or vampire or mummy thing - that’s another level of symbolism.”

“I never see symbolism on my own,” Taehyung admits with a sigh. “Once someone points them out to me, I get it. But I never read something and think ‘Oh, that’s a symbol for something’.”

“That’s fine,” you assure him. “That’s why my researching trick works. Look up what symbols other people found, and then look for the evidence yourself.”

You glance at the time and notice that your hour is almost up. “When’s the due date for this?” you ask.

“Two weeks,” he tells you.

“Okay,” you say, starting to pack up your loose papers. “Go through and highlight every time you see the facade theme, and then take notes about each part you highlighted. We’ll go through the notes on Wednesday when we meet. And feel free to email me if you get stuck on the Ibsen homework.”

He flips his notebook to an empty page and starts to write - your directions, probably. You watch as the glare from the overhead lights moves along the thick, shiny scar on his hand as he moves the pencil across the page. 

“Don’t stare at it,” he murmurs, not taking his eyes off of his paper.

You straighten up, caught. “Sorry - I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to, I was just zoning out-.”

“It’s okay,” he says quietly, looking up at you now. “Just… it makes me feel weird. Don’t worry about it.”

He closes his notebook and his laptop, putting both carefully back in his bag. “You headed up to the caf for dinner?” he asks, eyeing the clock. 

“Yeah,” you say, glancing at your phone to confirm. “My roommate is waiting for me, actually.”

“I’ll walk you,” he says easily, the seriousness that had hung over him for the last hour slipping away with ease as soon as he latches his bag.

“You don’t have to do that,” you say. “It’s a three-minute walk.”

He shrugs. “I have to eat, too,” he says.

So, for the second time, you leave the library together and head towards the concrete steps that lead to the cafeteria. It’s dark this time, and clouds cover what stars you should be able to see. A thin mist hangs around, illuminated by the orange glow of the streetlights that line the paved paths around campus.

You wave goodbye once you’re inside the cafeteria, and you scan for Kiko, who texted you that she was waiting. When you spot her at a two-person table near the back, you give her a little wave before going to get your food.

When you place your plate on the table and sit, she slides her phone into the pocket of her hoodie. She looks exhausted, deep bags under her eyes. You wonder if she’s been letting her courseload get the better of her.

“Hey,” she says, picking up her fork. “How was tutoring?”

You roll your eyes and tell her about Becky. She listens along and laughs at the right moments, but you can tell she’s got one eye on her phone, which lights up a few times while you’re talking.

“You can check that,” you tell her, smiling. “It’s fine. I’m not offended.”

She shoots you a grateful look and grabs the phone with both hands, typing quickly. As she finishes, she glances at you over the top of it.

“What about the second session?” she asks. “Didn’t you have two today?”

“Yeah,” you say, pushing a cherry tomato around your plate. “The second session was normal. We worked on a paper for a lit class with Watanabe. It’s actually one of the guys from Jin’s house - Taehyung? He’s here somewhere, he walked up with me.”

Kiko blinks at you, clearly trying to keep her face impassive. She’s not very good at it. “Oh yeah?” she asks. “Do you guys, like, talk a lot?”

“We talked a lot about Strindberg,” you say, smiling a little. “It’s my job, I’m not there to hang out. Besides, I’ve got him all figured out after that party last weekend. We wouldn’t have anything to talk about outside of the assignments.”

“Oh,” she says, deflating a little. “Gotcha.”

But as the two of you clear your plates and head back towards the dorm, you find yourself wanting to text Nina about tutoring with Taehyung. What for, you’re not sure. What would you even say? You enjoyed your hour of talking about 19th century plays? Of course you did, you loved lit classes. Nina would focus on the Taehyung of it all, and you don’t feel like getting all defensive right now. 

 When you let yourself into the room, Bridget is laying on the floor, watching something on the tv. “Hey babes,” she calls. “You ready for Thirsty Thursday?”

“I’ll have to pass,” you tell her. “I just spent two hours at tutoring, I have to finish a paper before class tomorrow.”

“Booooo,” she says, rolling to look at you both. “Kiko?”

“Why not?” Kiko says. “My homework is done. Unlike some people.”

“My homework isn’t not done because of poor time management,” you say darkly, shooting her a pretend scowl. “I had work. Some of us have jobs.”

She waves you off with a, “Yeah, yeah,” and sits by Bridget. They talk in low voices about the plan for the night as you sit at your desk and turn your laptop on, ready to get to work. 

You’re still typing when they leave an hour later, the door shutting behind them with finality, leaving you with nothing but the sound of your clacking keyboard.

Friday, November 9th

You bail on Kiko and Bridget on Friday night, too, feeling more behind on a bigger project than you’d like to be. Usually it’s you partying with Bridget while Kiko begs off to study, and this switch-around feels strange.

When you whined about having to miss the fun two nights in a row, Bridget promised you’d all go out on Saturday, and you’re banking on her keeping her word. 

You turn off the brighter overhead lights and turn on your twinkle lights and your small desk lamp and turn on some lo-fi music as you sit down with an open notebook. You’re about half an hour in when your phone lights up on the floor beside you, and you pick it up quickly, figuring it’s Kiko complaining.

[10:12 PM] Unknown Number: hey Y/N

[10:13 PM] Unknown Number: this is Taehyung - I got your number from Yoongi, I think he asked your roommate for it

[10:14 PM] Unknown Number: sorry if thats creepy, and also i know you’re off duty right now but I am stuck af on this paper ☹️

[10:15 PM] Unknown Number: do you mind helping me real quick? Like five minutes, i promise

You don’t answer for a minute, just staring at your screen, processing. One, Taehyung in on a Friday night to work on his essay seems very out of character. Two, Kiko and Yoongi are close enough now that Yoongi felt comfortable asking her for your number for Taehyung? It might be time to break your own rule and start asking some personal questions.

[10:19 PM] You: Hi Taehyung. What’s the problem with the paper?

Instead of a new text, your phone buzzes a long buzz, your screen coming alive with an incoming video call. What the fuck.

You swipe to accept the call, but you leave your phone on the floor so Taehyung has a nice view of your ceiling.

“Taehyung?” you inquire. “Is a video call really necessary?”

He laughs. “Sorry,” he says. “I really hate texting and calling. That was the most texts I’ve sent to anyone in weeks.” He’s clearly lounging on a couch in a grey hoodie, the hood scrunched up to cover only the back of his head. He looks… comfy. 

“What are you stuck on?” you ask, wanting to get off this call as soon as you can. 

He groans, rubbing at his face with his free hand, the one not holding the phone. “I typed up everything from my notes on the facade theme and I still need like two and a half pages.”

You nod, even though he can’t see you - he’s still only getting your ceiling. He might be comfortable being on a video call when he’s in comfy mode, but you aren’t. “Okay,” you say slowly, thinking. “I guess you need to talk about one more theme. If I give you a few ideas, can you do the same thing you did already and go back to look for the evidence yourself?”

“Yeah,” he says eagerly, obviously thrilled that you’ll do even that much for him. “That would be amazing.”

You think for a minute, trying to remember what you’d done for your own Strindberg paper, almost a whole year ago. “There are also themes of disillusionment… and also, the idea of hauntings and how we as people are haunted.”

He looks at you flatly. “It’s like you just spoke another language.”

You laugh, and he smiles in response. “Disillusionment is a big one,” you tell him. “Think about the main character from the beginning to the end - what he learns is that life sucks, right? He goes in really positive and by the ending he’s accepted that life is just darkness, there’s no one that gets out unscathed or unaffected.”

He licks his lips, looking away from you, clearly thinking about this. “Right,” he says finally. “And the hauntings?”

“Well,” you say slowly, “I thought about all the things we can be haunted by, as people. Like, in real life. I mean, what haunts you?”

When he doesn’t answer this, you explain. “Mistakes can haunt you… regrets… sometimes even your own expectations, like the future you thought you’d have, the person you thought you’d be. In that sense, you can haunt yourself.”

Taehyung doesn’t answer, just watches you evenly, so you continue. “You can even be haunted by… I don’t know, people you’ve lost? People that aren’t in your life anymore?”

Taehyung clears his throat. “That’s… wow, that’s a lot.”

You shrug, forgetting that he can’t see you. “That’s life.”

He shakes his head. “How does it connect back to the text, though? Beyond that there’s a ghost, I guess.”

You start to tell him, referring back to different characters and their own personal “hauntings”, and he shifts, clearly setting the phone against something to keep himself in the frame, but you can hear the tapping of keys as he types notes on what you’re saying. When you’re done explaining, he looks back at you, brow furrowed. You figure you’ve probably just broken his brain.

“Sorry,” you say with a small laugh. “I know that’s intense. Choose one - the disillusionment or the hauntings, and take your notes. I can look them over with you on Wednesday, that leaves you plenty of time to type it up before it’s due.”

“Yeah,” he says, and his voice sounds strange, a little distant. “Thanks for the help, Y/N. I know you really didn’t have to.”

“I’ll send you the bill,” you joke. 

He thanks you again, and you say goodbye, his face vanishing from your screen.

You lay back, heart pounding for no discernable reason. After a few minutes, you lift up your phone in the air so you can see it, and you save Taehyung’s number.

Saturday, November 10th 

The next night, Saturday night, you finally get to make up for spending Thursday and Friday doing homework. 

“We’re going into town,” Bridget tells you after dinner, her eyes on her phone, where the plans are being made. “You in?”

“Fucking yes,” you tell her. “Jin’s house?”

“No, we’re actually going to one of the bars downtown.”

Kiko is already out, so you text her as you heat up the curling iron to see if she wants to join you guys. She answers quickly, telling you she’s busy. Just you and Bridget tonight, which is fine.

You split a Lyft with two girls who room down the hall that you’re friendly with. The driver gives you girls a grin as she pulls up to the curb across the street from the bar. “Make good choices! Watch each other’s backs!” she calls to you as you all clamber out onto the street.

It’s crowded already, but not as bad as you know it will be in about two more hours. The girls you came with wave goodbye and head to the dancefloor, but you and Bridget push onwards to the bar first, ordering up a few rounds of shots. You two keep your spot at the bar for a long time, talking to groups of guys and other girls as they filter in and out to order their own drinks. You’re not a big dancer, but this feels fun - definitely better than standing around Seokjin’s smelly basement trying not to get splashed with beer.

It’s at least an hour later, your buzz strong and steady, that Bridget leans closer to you, eyes wide and she sees something behind you. 

“Isn’t that Jungkook?” she asks, and starts heading that way, reaching for your hand as she goes. You let her drag you along, not knowing who Jungkook is, but when you get close enough to see the guys you wish you’d stayed back at the bar.

It’s Taehyung’s friend with the piercings and tattoos, and of course Taehyung is with him. So is Jimin, and a fourth guy you’ve never seen before.

Jungkook greets Bridget brightly, and you wait for Taehyung to try and act super chummy with you, but he doesn’t. He lifts his glass as a hello, but says nothing. 

“Have you guys met my roommate?” Bridget asks.

“Most of us met last weekend,” you tell her. 

“Not me,” says the new guy, reaching out to shake your hand. He’s got a nice voice - deep - and a firm grip. “Namjoon.”

You introduce yourself, shaking his hand. Bridget and Jungkook have turned their backs on you guys, heads together as they carry on a conversation. Jimin excuses himself and heads towards the dancefloor, and Taehyung follows him wordlessly, leaving you standing awkwardly with Namjoon.

“Do you live at Jin’s too?” you ask, just to make conversation. You watch Taehyung separate from Jimin and lean against the bar, then you remind yourself to pay attention to the conversation you’re having.

He smiles. “No, I have my own place in town. Close to here, actually. You go to the university?”

“Yeah,” you say. “I’m in my third year. Almost done. How do you know the guys?”

“I’m friends with Yoongi,” he explains. “So I’m at the house a lot. I know your roommates, but I never met you.”

“Oh, I - wait, roommates? You know Kiko too?”

His eyes widen, as if he’s inadvertently given away a secret. “I mean - uh - yeah? She’s been at the house with Yoongi almost every day this week?”

You’re floored, fucking flabbergasted. How had you not noticed? She’d been home every night, and even met you for dinner multiple times this week! When had she had the time to be gallivanting off-campus with Yoongi? And did Bridget know? Were you the only one who didn’t?

You suddenly realize that Yoongi isn’t there with the rest of the guys either. That must be where Kiko is tonight, why she told you she couldn’t go out. 

 “I need another drink,” you tell Namjoon, and you turn to head back to the bar. He follows you, leaving Jungkook and Bridget still talking animatedly about god-knows-what. 

Taehyung is still at the bar, so you head towards his spot. He glances at you, then at Namjoon, and shifts over to make room for you. You catch the bartender’s eye and order three more shots, intending to share. 

Taehyung’s arm is suddenly over your shoulders, heavy, and you realize for the first time that he’s already super drunk.

“This girl, Joon,” he says, shaking his head conspiratorially. “Be careful. She’ll just come out of nowhere and ask you shit like ‘what haunts you’-,” he mimics you in a sultry voice, and you’re not sure how to feel about that detail, “and then carry on like nothing happened. Shit, what haunts you, what the fuck was that?” he demands.

“An essay thesis?” you say, unsure. “It was an idea for an essay thesis?”

“You’ll have to excuse Taehyung,” Namjoon says, smiling, patting his friend on the shoulder. “He’s not his best self tonight.”

“The fuck I’m not,” Taehyung replies hotly, and then his arm is gone from your shoulders. He throws back the shot you bought for him and disappears into the crowd without saying goodbye.

When you and Bridget make it home - sometime after the bar closes at two - Kiko isn’t there. 

[3:01 AM] You: are you safe?

[3:02 AM] Kiko✌️: yes, thanks for checking

[3:03 AM] Kiko✌️: see you tmrw

[3:06 AM] You: hey can you ask Yoongi to make sure Taehyung made it back okay? He was traaaaaaaaaaashed

[3:08 AM] Kiko✌️: …………….who said im w yoongi

[3:09 AM] You: 😇😇😇 ur secrets out babe

[3:12 AM] You: so???? Taehyung???? home safe???

–

[3:20 AM] Taehyung: ur worried about me? thats adorable

[3:22 AM] You: if u die i don’t get a paycheck 🤗🤗

Sunday, November 11th

When you wake up on Sunday, it’s after noon. Kiko’s still asleep (you never heard her come in, and you went to bed sometime around four in the morning) across the room. You can hear Bridget rolling over in the bunk above you, but it’s hard to tell if she’s awake or not. 

You grab your phone from the charger and make sure you haven’t missed any calls or texts (you haven’t). After a few minutes, you get up and get dressed, stopping in the bathroom to pee and brush your teeth. Then, you make your way downstairs and outside.

It’s mid-November, and the weather got the memo. The sky is grouchy grey, the clouds hanging low. The wind nips at your exposed neck, and you pull your jacket tighter around your body as you speed-walk down the steps to the student center, and the cafe inside.

You expect it to be more crowded than it is, so when the barista hands you your coffee, you take it to a small corner booth instead of back to your room. You’re sitting there, spacing out a little, hands wrapped around the hot coffee cup, when your phone lights up on the table.

[12:57 PM] Taehyung: hey

[12:58 PM] Taehyung: Joon says I was a little much last night

[1:00 PM] Taehyung: so i wanted to apologize if i said or did anything out of line

You answer quickly and hit send before really thinking it through -

[1:01 PM] You: no worries, u were cute

You look at what you sent with wide eyes. That was… probably not the best choice of words. You rush to do damage control, adding -

[1:03 PM] You: it was funny, nothing out of line. I appreciate the concern tho

[1:07 PM] Taehyung: okay good. I honestly dont remember a lot of last night 😑

[1:09 PM] Taehyung: i don’t make a habit of doing that… jsyk

[1:12 PM] You: its not really my business 🤷‍♀️ see you wednesday, ok?

[1:19 PM] Taehyung: k.

–

When you return to your room, a hot refill sloshing around your cup, you can see the light from Kiko’s phone illuminating her face. She gives you a sleepy wave. You set your coffee down on her desk and kick off your shoes. You curl yourself into an L on the end of her bed, on top of the comforter, your head resting by her stomach. 

“Hi,” she whispers. Bridget must still be asleep. “How’s the coffee?”

“Magical,” you whisper back, closing your eyes. 

You’re both quiet for a minute, and then you look up at her. “Kiko? Anything you want to talk about?”

“Not really,” she says, apologetically, and it’s this tone that tells you that there are things worth talking about, and she is apologetic for not wanting to talk about them with you. 

“You’ve been hanging at Jin’s a lot?” you ask casually, purposely leaving Yoongi’s name out of it.

“Mhm,” she says. 

You wait. 

Nothing.

“You’re okay, though?” you say finally. “Like, everything is alright?”

“Yeah,” she says softly. “Everything’s… really good.” She smiles down at her hands, and you roll over her legs to vacate her bed. You know a lost cause when you see one. She isn’t going to tell you anything she doesn’t want to, and that’s fine. You look at your side of the room; you really don’t feel like sitting over there in silence while Bridget sleeps and Kiko keeps her secrets. You don’t have homework to do, either, since you knocked it all out on Thursday and Friday night. You decide to take your refilled coffee and go to your favorite spot, cold weather be damned. 

At the end of the trail - the one you take to the train station - you can either stay on the paved trail and continue into town, or you can take a left onto a dirt path and enter a wilderness preserve with a lot of walking paths. There are quite a few of them, but they all loop around to meet in one central spot, kind of like spokes of a wheel. Your favorite spot is a bench at the end of one of these trails, overlooking the water there.

It’s a fifteen-minute walk to even get to the trailhead, and then another fifteen out to Your Bench, and by the time you get there your coffee cup is empty. You barely pass anyone the whole way there, because it’s freezing and all the smart people are inside. 

You sit. You breathe. You watch the edge of the water lap at the muddy banks, rhythmic, like the lake is breathing in and out, steady and sleepy. Branches bob gently overhead, devoid of leaves, bare little arms defenseless against the November winds. Some ducks paddle around aimlessly, waiting to see if you’ll throw bread. It’s even better when the sun is shining, the trees are green, flowers blooming - but you’ll take it this way too. You exhale, feeling at peace again.

Until your phone buzzes against your palm.

[2:06 PM] Briiiiig: kiko thinks ur upset

[2:07 PM] You: i’m not

[2:09 PM] Briiiiig: she’s just private

[2:10 PM] You: i know.

[2:15 PM] You: did u know, tho? 

[2:17 PM] Briiiiig: only bc the guys were gossiping abt it. she didnt tell me.

Well, that’s fair. A little bolstered, you decide to call and check up on Nina. Despite it being well after two o’clock, she answers sleepily.

“Hey,” you say. “What’s new?”

“Nothing,” she says through a yawn. “How about you?”

“Just at my spot by the trail,” you tell her, still watching the hopeful ducks. Nina yawns again. “Big night?” you ask.

“House party,” she tells you, still sounding mostly asleep. 

“Nice,” you saw, toeing the dirt a little. “How was it?”

“It was awesome,” she tells you. “Hey, speaking of house parties… guess who texted me?”

“Who?”

“The guy from your campus? Hoseok?”

“Wow,” you say. “I thought you didn’t get his number.”

“I didn’t, but he found my insta and messaged me.”

“So are you guys talking now?” you ask.

“I don’t know,” she tells you. “I guess a little. I don’t know how into it I am.”

That sounds like Nina.

“Well, on a related note,” you say, “I’ve been talking to his housemate a bit -.” You’re about to add the because I’m tutoring him part, but she doesn’t let you get there.

“The guy from the party?” she interrupts. “Seriously?”

You pause. There’s an edge to her seriously that you’re not sure how to take.

“Is that a problem?” you ask flatly. You and Taehyung aren’t even talking - not the way the conversation implied, anyway - but that isn’t the point. The point is that if you were, this is how’d she’d react, apparently. 

“No,” she says quickly, all innocence. “Just weird for you. You haven’t talked to a guy since Davis. And the guy from the party was so… fratty. Just doesn’t strike me as your type, that’s all.”

“I don’t think I have a type,” you say. 

“Well,” she says lightly, “it’s nice to see you finally moving on from Davis. I’m happy for you. This is a good first step.”

It’s on your walk home, twenty minutes after telling Nina goodbye and heading back towards campus, that you realize you never did explain to her that you and Taehyung weren’t talking talking in the first place.

Next

Thank you so much for being here! I appreciate every single like, reblog, comment, ask, or DM!

A thank you, as always, to my fabulous beta @kookstempo for the beta-ing and for putting up with my complaining all week as I've been sick!😘😘😘

[raebayhc]

Girls Night Out

warnings: implied virgin, fingering, lesbian implied, bi implied, public sex, smut, fluff, angst

word count: 2164

summary: you along with your groups of friends decide to have a girls' night for the first time in a while, things get heated and your friends end up taking turns using your body.

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It was a Thursday night and you along with the other ladies who went to the same college as you decided to go out and have a girls’ night. Yall planned on going to see a movie, going out for drinks, then finally retiring to Sasha’s barn where yall planned to stay up late telling spooky stories trying to freak one another out. Normally you wouldn’t agree to something like this because socially you were a lost cause, you had many friends and were very close to them. However, when it came to hanging out in large groups and even going out in public with the group, that’s when you started to get anxious. Your friends always had your back though and you knew that. Ultimately you decide not to fret too much and just have fun.

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It was the beginning of a very long night, you and pieck were roommates so yall got ready at the same time and left together to meet everyone else at the theatre. On the ride there pieck looked over to you and broke the silence- “if it becomes too much just let me know, I’m good to go home anytime.. Okay darling?” she patted your thigh and you nodded waiting for her warm hand to leave its place. It never did. She kept her hand on your thigh occasionally tapping to the beat of the music she turned on after yall briefly spoke. You felt your cheeks begin to warm as you peered out the window. Nobody within the group of friends knew you swung that way you wouldn’t dare tell them fearing the absolute worst. You knew they would love you no matter what and you never thought they would say anything hurtful but you still kept your little secret to yourself.

Piecks hand remained on you the whole car ride to the theatre. When yall arrived you hopped out of the car with intent... That intent being getting away from under piecks touch as you know you wouldn’t be able to hide your heavy breath for much longer. You played it off as getting “all excited” about seeing the movie when you really just wanted to escape. You waited as pieck slowly gathered her items and met you outside the car, yall then proceeded to walk through the glass doors into the theatre where the rest of the girls were already waiting.

“Yo what took yall so long??” Sasha said while stuffing her face full of popcorn. “Yeah, we thought we were gonna miss the movie because of you two” Ymir followed, whilst rolling her eyes. You look around to check everyone out, Historia and Ymir were clinging together, as usual, Sasha and Mikasa playing “hot hands” in the corner. You laughed as Mikasa gagged after Sasha got butter all over her hands. Pieck walked off to go meet hitch at the counter to get some candy. You giggled to yourself and told the girls that the movie was going to start soon and yall should probably head to yalls seats.

Finally, in yalls seats waiting for the movie to begin, you were sat between Sasha and Mikasa. You were definitely closer to these two than you were anyone else. Yall had been a trio since fourth grade and nothing could ever split yall apart. Nothing. All of the ladies were quite touchy with each other, it was all platonic of course. Why wouldn’t it be? Sasha snatched your right hand and hugged your shoulder burying her nose in the crook on your neck as a monster popped out at the screen. “Why would you choose a horror movie when you can't handle them” you whispered to Sasha to which she replied “because I like the way it makes me feel y/n, I get all tingly and itchy” you rolled your eyes holding back a chuckle so you wouldn’t disturb the others during the quiet scene.

You felt a slight tug at your left hand as Mikasa habitually grabs your hand. She tends to do that when she has nothing to do with her hands, it “helps her stay focused” she has explained to you a million times. Between Sashas breath on your neck and Mikasa drawing circles on your hand with her index you couldn’t help but squirm. You go to whisper something about the movie to Mikasa when she goes to do the same, your faces come within an inch of each other, noses barely touching you feel her breath out her nose as it fans across your lips. Your face turns bright pink as you halt in surprise. “I wanted to point out that actor….. Since we’ve spoken about them before…” she spoke softly. You replied with a small “me too…”. Yall have yet to part until you are broken up by screams as the movie takes a turn and Sasha yanks your arm “AHHHHH Y/N HELP!!!!!” Sasha screams in a high-pitched tone. You turn breaking your eye contact with Mikasa “Sasha! Be quiet we arent the only ones here!” you jab at her as you apologetically smile at the others in the theatre. You momentarily forgot about the moment you and Mikasa had until she takes her hand and places it on the back of your neck. Thumb swiping up and down, she pulls you a bit closer to whisper “awfully close weren’t we…” she lets that sentence linger before playfully giggling and removing her hand from your nape.

The movie was finally over and you were one of the last to leave your seat, since you decided to pick up all the popcorn Sasha had dropped after one of the jumpscares, you stand up, lifting your arms towards the ceiling, stretching and letting out a soft moan. You felt hands slither from the small of your back to the front of your hips “wow y/n, you have a hot moan. Whoever sleeps with you must be lucky” Ymir says before shifting you to the side to make way for her and historia. “Ugh, Ymir how many times do I have to tell you it’s not ladylike to talk about such things so casually” “I know I know I’m sorry... But it had to be pointed out” Ymir shrugged “she does have a point y/n.. You have an attractive voice it makes sense your moans would be..” historia pitches in and she looks you up and down before continuing “h o t” she lingers on the t a bit before moving on. You could feel your arousal pooling. The ladies seem different tonight... Maybe it’s just you... Maybe it’s not... They walk out and you follow suit.

You decide to ride with hitch since yall haven’t spoken a lot tonight, you ask her about life and she goes on to rant about her boyfriend noting that he’s not good in bed and she hates his haircut, she finishes her rant off with “ugh maybe I should just switch to girls! You’d date me right y/n?” you pause for a moment then reply with a simple “who wouldn’t!” a simple sentence yet complex at the same time. She turns to you and examines your face “you know I think id be a top if I were with a girl… in fact, you’d make a perfect bottom for me..” her eyes linger a bit too long, your skin crawling whilst illuminated by the red light yall were stopped at. It flashes green and her eyes return to the road “of course if I was single and into girls hahaha” she plays it off.

Yall arrive at the bar shortly after Sasha and Mikasa who had taken the same car and followed by Ymir who carpooled with historia. Mikasa and Sahsa hand out everyone’s paper wristbands, Sasha stops in front of you takes your hand, and putting it on for you. She didn’t do it for anyone else… just you. You decided you were overthinking and you moved on, walking into the club you were bombarded with loud music busybodies and the smell of alcohol. You were stressed, so many people, so many noises, so many smells. It was overwhelming, to say the least. Pieck noticed your uneasiness and placed her hand on the small of your back, she led you to a dark hallway filled with heavy pheromones and kissing partners, past that was a bathroom to which she leads you, pushed you in, followed after you, and locked the door. “Wh-” pieck covered your mouth with a single finger, “I noticed your stress, we can leave if you need y/n” a look of sorrow on her face. “No I’m fine it was just a lot at once I’m sorry, I’m okay now” you push out with a soft smile. Her body moving closer to you she wraps an arm around you pulling you closer “baby… tell me if you need anything, mmkay?” she purrs into your neck giving it a soft peck. Your arousal beginning to pool again you squeeze your thighs.

She excuses herself letting you go and leaving the bathroom. Turning around to face the mirror you scold yourself for acting the way you are when your friends are just being nice, they’d probably feel so grossed out if they knew your cunt was getting all nice and soaked for them, you thought. “Maybe I just need to relieve some stress… yeah that's all it is… built-up stress…” you hiked up the mini skirt that you decided to wear today above your hips and you pulled your new pink lace panties to the side. Beginning to slide your fingers over your unclothed clit the door rattles “hey bear, pieck said you weren’t feeling well so I brought you a dri-” historias sentence is cut short when she looks up to see you sitting on the counter sprawled open like a book. “I’m so so-” you begin before she hurriedly shuts and locks the door behind her.

“I- i- can explain-” she cuts you off before you get a chance to explain “oh bear..” a slight purr in her voice “who knew you had such a perfect pussy?.. All this time you’ve been hiding it from me?” she pouts, you’ve never seen her act this way much less talk this way before. Shocked by her actions you freeze, she steps closer and peers up into your eyes, lifting a hand to show she has her pinky and index slightly bent, she speaks “..may I?” if this was any other night you would freak out, apologize, get dressed quickly and leave, but for some reason you cant. “Please do” a slight whininess in your voice. Taking her ring and middle finger she traces a line from your entrance to your clit making you twitch once she reaches the small bud. She chuckles a bit and continues, pushing her middle finger into you, slowly but surely, you lay your head back resting it on the mirror. A low groan leaves her throat as you tighten around her finger “y/n… can I ask you a question? Hmm?” “nghh yes” you manage to push out through cries and moans. “You’re a virgin aren’t you, bear? Nobody has ever touched this perfect little body. Nobody has ever stuck their fingers in you either, huh?” you nod trying to keep sane while her pace quickens, you squint your eyes shut forcing tears out and down the sides of your face. Your response influenced her as she moved faster prodding another finger at your entrance and pushing it in with her other. “Ahh fuck ‘ri’” RI was a name you’ve called her since yall first met, originally made because you couldn’t remember her full name but it kind of just stuck throughout the years. “I’m gonna- I think I’m g-” cut off by the feeling of her warm tongue prodding your clit, dangerously licking and lapping, boy did she know how to please, and that she did. “RI oh shit” you grab a fistful of her hair as your orgasm hits, continuing to finger fuck you and lightly lick your sensitive bud she helps you ride out your high. “..- first, right?” you couldn’t make out what she said through your hazy mindset “what RI?” she repeats “I was your first, right??” you nod with lazy eyes, she smiles a big smile then gives you a sloppy kiss, you groan into her lips.

She cleans you up then helps you off the counter. Now realizing what had just happened you panic pushing out a quick “oh my goodness ri I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to put you in that position” she chuckles “don’t worry bear there are plenty of other positions I plan to have you in” before you could really digest that she tugs at your wrist leading you out to the main hallway and back to your groups of friends. The night has only begun….

THE END Pt. 1

this is my first fanfic ever so I'm sorry if it's bad!! I will continue to improve trust me! also, this will be a multi-part series so stay updated!

[crownjimin]

☆ ⁄⁄ ★ 030 | day one

coffee — the enemies to lovers social media au where min yoongi refuses to date a cheerleader, but yoon haryun might be able to change that.

( masterlist / prev / next )

☆ ⁄⁄ ★

Yoongi had the mindset of punctuality once he texted Haryun. The clock ticked around to a quarter till one when he decided to head over to Toasty Beans to meet Haryun.

At the time that he was leaving the apartment, Namjoon was returning from his Philosophy class and gave Yoongi a surprised look when he noticed the older guy dressed in attire other than his pajamas, preparing to leave the apartment.

“You going somewhere, hyung,” Namjoon asked as he toed off his shoes by the door.

Everyone knew that unless Yoongi had a mandatory class or basketball practice he’d rather hole himself inside of his room to work on music, and since Namjoon knew Yoongi’s schedule by heart at that point, he was well aware that Yoongi didn’t have anywhere to be at one in the afternoon on a Thursday.

Yoongi bent over to reach for his own shoes, purposely ignoring the way Namjoon tried to catch his gaze. “Just to get some coffee.”

“At one in the afternoon?”

Yoongi hummed as he tied up his black Vans.

A silence echoed for a mere second before Yoongi could hear Namjoon smile and inhale a laugh,”This is for Haryun, isn’t it?”

“None of your business,” Yoongi patted both of his sweatpant pockets to check for his phone and his wallet, which he had both. “I’ll be back soon.”

Just as Yoongi stepped out into the hallway from their apartment, Namjoon shouted,”Please don’t return with any more hickeys on your face!”

“Why don’t you just shut up,” Yoongi retorted with no real conviction in his voice as he reached the elevators and pressed the down button.

The reminder of the large, purple bruise (notice the word bruise, not hickey) caused Yoongi to pull the hood of his sweatshirt over his head, being sure to tighten the strings around it to secure it in place and keep the bruise out of sight.

Once the rumor account on Twitter had posted about the hickey-no, bruise-on his face, Yoongi’s phone had been flooded with direct messages and text messages from his friends and a few girls he had hooked up with in the past. His friends were either making crude jokes or congratulating him on donning a sort of trophy from his “wild night” with whoever gave him the hickey; while the girls from his past hookups ranted about how unfair it was that they hadn’t been able to leave any marks on him. Yoongi found those texts quite funny because he never explicitly told these people to not mark him up, but he never was one for hickeys and such after a one-night stand.

Besides, this was not a hickey or a sign of a “wild night” with someone. Instead it was a bite mark from a wild Haryun, who for some reason didn’t know how to properly bite someone and instead would leave her victims with blooming red hickies in her wake.

Now everyone on campus thinks Yoongi has some clingy mistress or whatever, while only himself, his friends, and Haryun knew the truth. And for some reason it made Yoongi feel mysterious.

from: yoongi

i’m omw to toasty beans

from: the actual devil

oky!

i’m getting ready now

By the time Haryun had texted Yoongi back, he had already reached the coffee shop and perched himself on the barstool at the seating area by the window. From his spot, he would be able to see when Haryun approached the coffee shop, from whichever direction she would appear from.

The time read three minutes past one, and immediately Yoongi knew Haryun was someone who was terrible with time. As he waited, Yoongi people watched--noticing one woman with a baby strapped to her chest as she strolled down the sidewalk. Another man was walking down the sidewalk with his dog on a leash in one hand and a bag of takeout in the other.

Yoongi could go for a good takeout meal for dinner, maybe he should start thinking about what he had a taste for.

But just as he unlocked his phone, it buzzed with another text message from Haryun.

from: the literal devil

[ 1:12 ] okay i just left my apartment

[ 1:13 ] now im in the elevator

[ 1:15 ] it was a long elevator ride but now im in the lobby

[ 1:16 ] now im on the street walking

[ 1:18 ] just passed the phone store, i think i should get another phone case

[ 1:19 ] that really good hot dog place was giving out free samples, so i got one. none for you though :/

[ 1:23 ] there was this man with a dog, i pet it a lot

[ 1:23 ] maybe i should get a dog

[ 1:24 ] oh my gosh there was a lady with a baby, the baby smiled at me so i had to wave and then the baby waved back. i’m going to go talk to the baby

[ 1:26 ] the baby’s name is sohye

[ 1:28 ] sohye just blew me a kiss

[ 1:29 ] aw i love babies

[ 1:31 ] okay i said bye to sohye

[ 1:33 ] im outside the coffee shop

[ 1:33 ] i see you

Yoongi watched as the text messages came through to his phone, intrigued by how easily Haryun got distracted. He watched her excitedly walk into the coffee shop before she bounced over to Yoongi with a bright smile on her face.

“Hey,” She quickly spoke, stopping herself in her tracks before she slammed into Yoongi’s side. “You look all depressed just gazing out the window with sorrow in your eyes.”

“That,” Yoongi locked his phone and slid it into his sweatshirt pocket. “Is not what I was doing, at all.”

Haryun let out a noise of disbelief.

“Oh, by the way. You lose focus very often and ridiculously easy,” Yoongi stood from the stool and made his way over to the line, which was nonexistent when he first arrived at the coffee shop, but now, thirty minutes later, there were quite a few people waiting to have their orders taken.

Haryun wordlessly followed behind him, allowing him to continue speaking. “And you were also thirty minutes late, Haryun-ah.”

“My bad,” Haryun blushed with embarrassment. “Moonhee had me locked in a cuddle sesh.”

“You texted me at two minutes past one saying you were getting ready.”

They moved forward a step in line.

“And that was true,” Haryun nodded.

“It took you thirty minutes to get here.”

“I had an eventful journey.”

Yoongi hummed, unimpressed. “How so?”

“Did you not read my texts?”

“I did-”

The two of them moved up another step, only three more customers between them and the barista taking orders behind the counter.

“Do I have a budget today, Yoongi?” Haryun asked as her eyes scanned the menu.

“A budget,” He repeated slowly as if to compute what exactly Haryun just asked him. “For coffee?”

“Well, I’m not quite sure how your bank account is set up so I don’t want to order something too expensive.”

Yoongi chuckled at how serious Haryun seemed when she spoke. “How broke do you think I am?”

“Well-”

“The most expensive thing on the menu is 11,000 won.”

Haryun paused, scanning her eyes up and down Yoongi’s body with judgment in her eyes. “And do you have eleve-”

“If you want me to buy you anything at all you won’t finish that question,” Yoongi deadpanned, staring at the menu quizzically as he attempted to figure out his own order. “Every time I speak to you my eye twitches in annoyance.”

“Maybe you should see a doctor,” Haryun said. “That doesn’t sound healthy.”

“Or maybe you just shouldn’t talk to me at all,” Yoongi retorted instantly, stepping up to the counter as the person in front of them completed their order.

“Hi, my name is Gaeul, may I have a name for your order?” The barista behind the counter asked, her eyes glued to the register.

“Yoongi.”

Gaeul’s head snapped up at his name, Haryun giggling at how fast her head moved and the stars that erupted in the girl’s eyes.

“Hi,” Gaeul muttered.

Yoongi politely smiled. “Hi, Haryun what are you getting?”

“Well,” A sigh left Haryun’s mouth that gave Yoongi the idea that she was about to make things difficult and he mentally prepared himself to apologize profusely to Gaeul for her actions. “What’s the most expensive thing on the menu, Gaeul-ssi?”

“Uh,” Gaeul’s cheeks burned red. “It depends on what size drink you get and if you add things into the already prepared menu.”

“So if I got a large caramel macchiato, iced with extra caramel pumps?”

Gaeul paused to punch the order into the register. “Uhm, 9,500 won.”

Haryun turned to face Yoongi, a look of shock and contemplation on her face which Yoongi returned with his own look of disdain and a whole lot of displeasure.

“What do you think, Yoongi-ah?”

Yoongi leveled Haryun with a heavy gaze, her taking it as a signal to hurry up and stop playing around.

“That’s it for me, Gaeul-ssi,” Haryun turned to step over to the pick-up area, opting to make distance between herself and Yoongi before she pushed a little too far.

Yoongi apologized to Gaeul before he told her his order, paid the amount due, and stepped off to the side to join Haryun.

“You didn’t have to be so mean, Yoongi-ah,” Haryun began once she felt Yoongi step beside her. She was preoccupied with her phone, seemingly playing a game as she tapped the screen aggressively and sighed disappointedly. “It kind of hurt my feelings.”

“How was I mean,” Yoongi stared at the side of Haryun’s face, taking note of the way her eyes squinted as she focused on her phone screen. “I didn't do anything wrong.”

Haryun didn’t reply, too wrapped up in the game she was playing and Yoongi didn’t mind, he wasn’t in the proper mood to argue with Haryun and win, so if he could avoid an argument altogether then that was what he hoped for. But Haryun seemed like she wanted to continue the conversation as she locked her phone and looked up at Yoongi.

“You gave me a mean look.”

“What look?”

“The one you’re giving me right now,” Haryun pointed her finger right in the middle of Yoongi’s face, gesturing to his expression. “And why is your hood on your head like that, you look dumb.”

Yoongi rolled his eyes. “Geez, and you say I’m being mean.”

The two of them stared at one another for a moment, Yoongi watching as Haryun fell into deep concentration and he knew exactly what she was thinking. As she raised her arms to grasp the strings to his hoodie, Yoongi grabbed her wrists and halted her movement.

“Nuh uh,” He hummed. “Don’t.”

“Why not,” she whined, stomping her right foot as she did so. “Are you cold or somethin’?”

Haryun tried to grab his hoodie strings again and this time Yoongi yanked her arms down to her sides. “Haryun-ah, stop it.”

“Y’know, I never said you could call me Haryun-ah,” She teased. “What if I’m your noona?”

“You aren’t.”

“What year are you?”

“1993.”

“Shit,” Haryun cursed. “I’m ‘94. You’re old, Yoongi-yah.”

That statement made Yoongi chuckle, genuinely. “Shut up.”

“Medium Iced Americano for Ji Hajoon!”

Haryun twisted her wrists to get Yoongi to release his grip on her and stood still for a moment. Yoongi kept himself guarded in case she attempted to remove his hood again, but after a few minutes he relaxed, noticing that Haryun turned her attention elsewhere for the moment.

But just as Yoongi reached into his pocket to occupy himself with his phone until their order was called, Haryun snuck her hand up to the back of his head, grabbed the fabric of his hood and yanked. It left his neck at an awkward angle, but Yoongi was more pissed about Haryun not listening to him than anything else.

“Oh my gosh, Yoon-“ Haryun gasped as she caught sight of what the hood was actually hiding.

“What did I tell you?” Yoongi muttered, not finding the energy in himself to yell at Haryun about her yanking off his hood.

Her eyes remained wide and they glistened with concern as she eyed the bruise on his left cheek, dark and purple like it had been for the last two days.

“Oh, Yoongi-yah, I’m so sorry,” There was an air of sincerity in her voice as she stepped closer and examined the aftermath of her assault closely. She cupped his right cheek softly with her hand, using the leverage to tilt his face in a new angle to examine everything closer. “You should put ice on it.”

“It’s fine.” Yoongi muttered. “Your hands are cold.”

“Sorry,” She dropped her hand quickly, but her eyes never left the bruise. “It doesn’t even look like a hickey.”

Yoongi stayed silent.

“Okay, well maybe it does a little bit,” As Haryun spoke, Yoongi noticed a few people peeking over at him and the side of his face.

That didn’t surprise him seeing as most of the campus followed the SNU Updates account and no doubt they saw the post about the hickey on his face. But that was different than having people actually stare at him and it, and Haryun was practically trying to medicate him in public like she wasn’t the one who did it.

But no one needed to know that.

“Stop looking at it,” Yoongi hissed at Haryun, grabbing her shoulders to turn her away from him. “You’re drawing attention.”

“Well, it’s kind of hard to miss,” She said with her back facing him. “It’s so big and purple. You should name it.”

Yoongi scrunched up his face, his nose curling cutely. “What? No. You name it since you did this to me.”

“Aw really,” Haryun’s voice raised a bit, genuine excitement in her voice. “I think I like the name Farrah.”

“No.”

“Well, why not?”

“It’s ugly.”

Haryun gasped dramatically, her hand flying up to her chest to emphasize the amount of hurt she sarcastically felt. “Take that back!”

“Uh, no.”

“Yoongi,” She spoke, quite loudly, as she whipped around to face him again. “I was going to name my first child Farrah.”

“I thought you were supposed to name your child something that won’t get them bullied?”

“Oh, I’m going to cast-“

“Large Iced Caramel Macchiato with two Caramel Pumps and a Chai Tea for Yoongi!”

Yoongi walked up to the counter before Haryun could dish out her threat, the young barista handing Yoongi his drinks. Haryun quickly followed behind him, snatching her drink from his hand as she said, “I birthed that hickey on your face so I’m naming it!”

“You birthed nothing, Yun-ah, let’s go.”

“Yoongi, that hickey is named Farrah.”

“It has no name, you poor child, now let’s go.”

Yoongi made his way towards the door, watching as Haryun said something to the barista before she followed him out the door and onto the sidewalk.

“Bada agreed with me that Farrah was a cute name,” Haryun said smugly as she stuck her tongue out.

“Who’s Bada?”

“The barista.”

In an attempt to end the conversation there, Yoongi hummed like he finally agreed, but he couldn’t care less about the name for the unwanted bruise on his face. Haryun could think she named it Farrah but it would truly have no name.

“Well,” Yoongi took a sip of his tea. “That concludes day one I guess.”

“What are we about to do now?”

“We,” Yoongi gestured to himself then Haryun. “Aren’t about to do anything. I’m going back to my apartment and I can care less about what you do.”

Haryun pouted at that. “But Yoongi, we’re supposed to bond so I can forgive you.”

“We never agreed on that.”

“It was in the fine print.”

“There is no fine print in text messages,” Yoongi retorted. “I wanna go back to my apartment.”

“Then take me with you,” Haryun smiled, and Yoongi almost considered it, almost.

“No, thank you.”

“How about we just go to the pond over in the courtyard, sit and chat for a bit,” Haryun offered. “You can even read me the rough draft of your apology. Like a peer review before your final grade.”

“I’m getting graded on my apology,” Yoongi asked with a slight chuckle.

“Hell yeah, baby,” Haryun said as she finished taking a sip of her coffee. “Oh, shit, this is good. C’mon, it’ll be fun!”

Yoongi paused for a second, watching Haryun bounce excitedly on her feet as she waited for his answer. He could either go lock himself in his room to attempt to finish a beat he started two weeks ago or he could sit at a pond with Haryun and possibly be annoyed for the next thirty minutes.

While normally, his answer would clearly be music, hanging out with Haryun seemed promising. And for some reason he couldn’t say no to those big brown eyes that were pleading for him to agree.

“Fine,” He let out a big sigh and Haryun squealed. “I guess we can go sit around a mass of water for no reason at all for a while.”

“Not for no reason,” Haryun all but shouted as she excitedly grabbed his hand and pulled him in the direction of the campus courtyard. “It’s to revise your apology, Gi-Gi Bear!”

“Oh, no, that is not going to be a thing.”

“I think it’s cute,” Haryun mischievously giggled. “Gi-Gi Bear.”

☆ ⁄⁄ ★

( masterlist / prev / next )

☆ ⁄⁄ ★

note: lmao, it’s literally 11:45 right now so it’s kind of not even sunday anymore but whatever. sorry, i had a test and a project to do after i got home from work so, anyway. enjoy!

[ifmywishescametrue]

and bc i have no self control. #41 kisses to shut them up for rhodeytony

So this one spiraled so quickly, because I also have no self control! And now it’s a 3.4k words of 5+1 for Rhodey and Tony’s first kisses together. Hope you like it :)

The first time is something of a joke. Tony is doing that rambling thing like always, hands moving around rapidly and coming dangerously close to smacking passersby in the face. He gets more than a few dirty looks for it, but he doesn’t seem to be noticing. Rhodey isn’t even sure what he’s ranting about anymore. Maybe one of his professors, or that annoying guy in his physics class. All he does know is that he wants to get to the cafeteria before they run out of pizza and Tony walks slow when he’s talking. So Rhodey grabs him by the wrist when his hand flies in front of him again, spinning him around and planting his lips firmly against Tony’s for just a moment. It does the job of stunning him into silence, but it also makes him freeze completely on the sidewalk. Rhodey keeps walking, and Tony has to run to catch back up. 

“What was that for?” Tony asks, eyes wide. 

Rhodey shrugs, “Had to shut you up somehow.”

Tony makes an offended squawking sound, hitting Rhodey with the too long sleeve of his sweatshirt. Rhodey’s sweatshirt, technically. 

“That’s rude,” Tony says. “You’re getting me ice cream to make it up to me.”

Rhodey laughs, slinging his arm over Tony’s shoulders to pull him along. “Whatever you want, Tones.”

______________

If the first was a joke, the second is just the repeat performance. Between Rhodey’s basic training and Tony’s recent and sudden rise to CEO, it’s been almost three months since the last time they’ve seen each other. Basic has him questioning everything and feeling like a bit of failure. He should have been able to handle it better. The homesickness, the pressure, the constant grind of work. It’s been the dream for so long that he doesn’t know what to do with the feeling he has now. 

“Maybe I should quit.”

Tony snorts inelegantly, “Pretty sure that’s called deserting and it’s a crime.”

“So I’ll go on the run,” Rhodey argues, like it’s a perfectly reasonable response. “I’ll move to Tahiti or Fiji or one of those other islands. Wait, you have a private island, right? I could go there, and if anyone comes for me, I’ll just take a rowboat out to sea, and they won’t have any jurisdiction on the water to arrest me. I’m pretty sure that’s a thing. Right? It’s -”

Tony’s lips are a little sticky from the beer he’s been drinking, and his hands are warm where they cup Rhodey’s cheeks. He doesn’t understand what’s happening or why, and at first he can’t think enough to react. When he can think again he can’t decide whether to push him off or kiss him back, and he still hasn’t reached a conclusion when Tony pulls away. He doesn’t know if it lasted two seconds or two minutes, and it’s confusing to realize that he isn’t sure which he would prefer. 

“Wow, that is effective,” Tony grins. “Thought maybe it was just me it works on, but I should try that on board members sometime if it’s that good.”

Rhodey gapes at him when he connects the pieces. “Seriously, Tony? That happened two years ago, and I’m in the middle of a crisis right now.”

"No, you were spiralling and now you’re not," Tony says simply. "Situation resolved by not talking about it."

"That's not how that works."

"Of course it is. How do you think most fires get put out? By putting a lid on them until they die."

"Alright, ignoring that that's not even true, what the hell does it even mean?" 

"It's very true, and what it means is that I have put a lid on this irrational fire, so it doesn't have the chance to spread and ignite the rest of your life. Containment, honeybear. It's about containment."

"That's a terrible analogy," Rhodey says, and Tony tosses his hands in the air. 

"What do you want from me on the spot?" 

They spend most of the night trying to come up with something better, laughing and drinking the rest of the beer in Tony's fridge, until Rhodey forgets that he was ever stressed in the first place.

______________

Their third kiss is an accident. It happens somewhere in between Rhodey deciding that he hates Tony's new boyfriend and him realizing exactly why that is. 

He comes back from six months overseas, and it's a few days ahead of what he was expecting. He told Tony Thursday, but his plane touches down in California on Tuesday morning, and he gives the taxi driver Tony's address without a second thought. Tony likes surprises, and he has no reason to think this might be a bad one. 

He uses his key to let himself in, fully knowing that Tony won't be awake yet to answer the door. The first traces of sun are just starting to filter in through the windows, and Rhodey sets his duffle bag down near the door before moving into the kitchen. Tony's refrigerator is nearly barren, but there are a few eggs and a green pepper that would be rotten by tomorrow that he can make due with. He finds an onion, too, and falls into a rhythm while dicing vegetables. 

It's this kind of thing that he misses when he's away. He misses having a kitchen and making what he wants in it, even if this isn't his kitchen or his first choice of food. But he misses the simplicity of it all. Life on the base seems alternate between too fast and too slow, but this is all his own pace. 

He hears footsteps on the stairs a little after the eggs hit the pan, and he glances over his shoulder to watch Tony shuffle into the room while rubbing his tired eyes. If he had stayed turned around a little longer, their third kiss wouldn't have happened at all. By the time Tony opens his eyes, Rhodey's back is to him again. 

Instead of instantly reacting, Tony slowly wanders over and puts his hand on Rhodey's shoulder. The words are mumbled when he says, "You're up way too early," and Rhodey doesn't have time to process how strange the sentence is, because he's being kissed the second his head turns. Not the shut up kind of kiss or even that sort of friendly peck he's seen people do sometimes. It's the kind where Tony's tongue is slipping between his lips, and his hand is wandering lower. The kind that friends don't share, but lovers definitely do. 

Rhodey falls into it without question. 

The spatula clatters to the floor from his hand, and Tony laughs into the kiss before pulling back. There's a grin and a joke on his lips that's quickly replaced by dawning horror. 

"Rhodey?" Tony squeaks out. His hand flies up to cover his mouth, and through it Rhodey hears, "Oh, shit." He looks down at the complete lack of space between their bodies, dropping the hand to raise them both in front of himself like a defense as he backs away a couple of steps. "Fuck, I'm so fucking sorry. I thought - you weren't supposed to be here yet. Thursday. That's - you said Thursday. Didn't you?" 

It's like ice water with how quickly the warmth of that kiss leaves his body. 

Rhodey raises an eyebrow and plays at unaffected. "I did, yeah. Seems like you should attack an intruder instead of kissing them, though." 

Tony's cheeks turn a vibrant shade of red, and he runs a still shaky hand through his hair.

"I thought you were someone else," he sheepishly admits. "It's just that from behind you, um, well you look a lot like Ryan, and he wasn't in bed still when I got up, so I came down here, and, uh, I guess you know the rest of that story." 

Ryan, Rhodey's mind bitterly repeats. The guy Tony's spent the last three months talking about on the phone and in his letters. It's always about him in some way.  He told me the funniest story yesterday, Rhodey or Isn't he so romantic, platypus? But Tony seems happy, so he fakes a laugh at a story that definitely isn't funny retold and agrees that string quartets are romantic instead of horribly cliché. He helps him plan dates when it's Tony's turn, because apparently that's yet another adorable thing they do together. 

He just barely suppresses the sigh before saying, "Don't worry about it, Tones. It's all good."

Tony looks relieved, and after an awkward minute or two they fall back into their normal conversation like it never happened. They talk about the missions Rhodey has flown for and the designs Tony has been working on between bites of burned eggs and coffee. 

Neither of them ever mention that Rhodey kissed him back. 

______________

Tony and Rhodey are both drunk for the fourth. The music is loud at the club, and the air is a smoky haze. It's someone's birthday, he thinks, but he can't really remember anymore by the fifth shot of tequila. 

He leans back against the bar on his elbows, watching in drunken amusement while Tony tries to put the moves on someone to hold up his end of the bet. The guy looks like he isn’t quite sure what’s happening, and Rhodey laughs into the rim of his glass. All he needs is one kiss, and Rhodey will be out the contents of his wallet. He isn't even sure what those contents are, and Tony wouldn't let him check before the handshake. It could be anywhere from a nickel to fifty bucks, he figures, which is worth it to watch this complete trainwreck. 

It takes another ten minutes of flirting before Tony finally gives up and comes back over to the bar. 

“Loser,” Rhodey teases. “What happened to having ‘game so good a straight man would fall to his knees?’”

Tony flips him off and steals the glass from his hand. “He has a girlfriend, which is the only reason it didn’t happen.”

“He didn’t even realize that you were flirting with him, did he?” Rhodey laughs, and Tony pouts pitifully. 

“The no touching rule wasn’t fair.”

“A good bet doesn’t involve actual harassment,” Rhodey reasons, just like he did earlier in the night. “If you can’t get them to kiss you by flirting with just words, they wouldn’t want you touching them in the first place. It’s called consent.”

Tony rolls his eyes, “I do not need to be taught about consent. I am the king of consent. Enthusiastic, resounding consent, even.” He pauses, and there’s a dangerous look in his eyes when he narrows them at Rhodey. “Okay, I know that this about to go against everything I just said, but it’s you, and we don’t have rules, right?”

“What?”

“Just say yes.”

“Yes to what?”

Tony leans in with enough time that if Rhodey really wanted to, he could pull away. He could put his hand over Tony’s mouth or step to the side or simply tell him no and Tony wouldn’t do it. 

But he doesn’t do any of those things. 

He lets Tony cup the back of his neck to tilt his head to the right angle, and he threads his hand into Tony’s hair in return. His lips taste like the vodka and cranberry juice from the stolen glass, until Rhodey has kissed him so thoroughly that he can’t taste it anymore. 

“There,” Tony says, grinning proudly like he’s just done something exceptionally smart. His breath is coming quickly, and Rhodey’s head is spinning with the thought that he’s the one that did that to him. “I got a straight man to kiss me. Pay up.”

Rhodey laughs, full-bodied with his head tilted back. “No, man. You definitely didn’t.”

Tony’s still a little too drunk to fully understand what he means by that, and he takes it as if Rhodey’s saying that he stole the kiss, rather than earned it. He spends most of the night after that trying to get him to kiss him again on his own accord, but Rhodey doesn’t want another one like that. He wants Tony’s soft-eyed gaze on him, and his body held tight in his arms. He wants to hear him say the same words he’s saying right now, but to have him actually mean it when he says the word please. Like he won’t be able to live for another second without Rhodey’s lips on his. 

He doesn’t want the joke anymore, but he knows he won’t ever get to have the real thing. 

______________

Rhodey is half asleep for kiss number five, and he isn’t even quite sure that it actually happens. He’s lying in a hospital bed somewhere in Germany, he thinks, and machines are beeping all around him. He can’t really remember what brought him here as he drifts in and out. There was some kind of fight - that much is obvious. He sees flashes of bullets in the sky, flames, and a rapidly plummeting altitude reading. Was it a mission gone wrong? An attack they weren’t expecting? One of the machines ticks a little faster when he tries to clear his head enough to think about it, and then darkness takes over again. 

When he partially wakes the next time, there’s something warm and solid in his hand. It shifts a little, brushing lightly in circles over his skin, and it takes him a longer amount of time than it should to realize that it’s another hand. But when he does, he knows without a doubt who it belongs to, and the thought sends him back into sleep with a warm feeling in his chest. 

He finds out later that he was unconscious for three days, and Tony hardly leaves his side for a minute of it. Rhodey doesn’t want to say how that makes him feel, so he falls back on what he does know how to say. 

“You should really at least go back to the hotel to take a shower. You’re starting to smell, man,” he says after the doctor leaves the room. 

Tony gives him a weak laugh, running his hand through his hair and grimacing at the oily texture. "Maybe in a little bit. You just woke up."

Rhodey shifts against the pillows, tilting his head to get a good look at him. His clothes might be the same ones he showed up here in, all wrinkled with a coffee stain on one of his sleeves. The circles under his eyes are darker than he's ever quite seen them before, and he looks too pale. 

Tony isn't supposed to look like that. 

He's supposed to be sunlight embodied, all tanned skin and bright eyes and fluid motion. But this Tony is slumped over in his chair, small and fragile looking like the wrong word could destroy him completely. This Tony offers him a brave face and a delicate smile that doesn't reach his eyes, and Rhodey can't stand it. Can't stand that it's his own fault he looks like that. 

Stretching his arm out, he turns over his hand to open his palm. The movement tugs at his injured shoulder, but he grits his teeth to hide the pain and it's worth it to have Tony's hand back in his where it belongs. He squeezes gently, and Tony squeezes back. 

"You almost died," Tony whispers. "You're not allowed to die."

"I won't do it again," Rhodey says, even though they both know he can't make that promise. 

Tony nods, and for now that can be enough. He switches the topic to something else so they don't have to talk about it anymore. So Tony doesn't have to say what the last three days felt like, and Rhodey doesn't have to admit that his last thought before the plane went down was regret that he'd never get to have this again. 

Tony makes him laugh until his battered ribs are aching with it, until they've talked about everything and nothing and sleep is pulling at Rhodey again. It's hard to keep his eyes open, and he fights it until he can't any longer. 

A hand runs over his hair, and down the side of his face to linger on his cheek. Rhodey leans into the touch with closed eyes as Tony murmurs, "I'll come back tomorrow. Don't you dare do anything stupid like dying while I'm gone."

He feels the warmth of Tony's breath on his skin the moment before Tony kisses him. It's a barely there, wisp of a thing, right on the corner of his mouth. There one instant, then gone the next. It's the last thing he feels before slipping into sleep again. 

______________

“I’m so old,” Tony groans, flopping down on the beach chair next to Rhodey’s. “Ancient. Decrepit. On death’s door.”

“You’re thirty,” Rhodey says, and he laughs at the pout on Tony’s face. “I’m a year older than you. What does that make me then?”

“A senior citizen, just like me.”

Rhodey lifts his beer from where the bottle was balancing in the sand and clinks it with the bottle in Tony’s hand. “Welcome to the club then. We’re happy to have you.”

Tony kicks off his shoes and tucks his feet under his thighs as he settles back in the chair. It’s quiet out here on the beach, away from the crowds and noise from the party. The crashing of the waves and the distant thrum of music are the only sounds, and they watch the water in the still of the night for a while. 

“Don’t you want to get back to the party?” Rhodey asks softly, unwilling to break their bubble of peace. “It’s for you.”

Tony shakes his head. “I like it better out here.”

“Want me to kick everyone out for you?”

Tony looks over his shoulder at the house, filled to the brim and lights flashing from every window. He leans over the inch between their chairs and rests his head on Rhodey’s shoulder. “No, they can have their fun in there, and I can have mine here.”

Rhodey cards his hand through Tony’s hair, feeling warm despite the cool breeze. “This is fun for you, huh? Sitting in silence?”

“It’s always good with you,” Tony murmurs, so quiet that Rhodey almost loses it to the ocean. He’ll always be thankful that he didn’t. 

He lets his hand go lower, slipping from his hair to run his thumb along Tony’s jaw, and it would be so easy, he thinks, to kiss him right now. To tilt Tony’s chin up and turn his head to the side just a little. To brush their lips together, slowly at first, then steadily growing more desperate as he gives in to everything he’s wanted for so long. He thinks of the way Tony would sound, if he would sigh or moan or whimper under his mouth. Tony would be sticky sweet from the buttercream on the cupcakes from earlier, and Rhodey would taste sugar on his tongue. 

“Rhodey,” Tony whispers, looking up at him. The moon is reflected in the deep brown of his eyes, and Rhodey wants to keep this image of him in him in his mind forever. “Can I tell you what I wished for?”

“Won’t come true if you do,” Rhodey whispers back. 

“I think it’s the only way it might,” Tony answers, and he seems even closer than he was before. 

“What did you wish for?”

Tony’s cheeks are flushed, and Rhodey thinks for a moment that he’s going to lose his nerve to say whatever it is. He’s ready for the joke instead, but it never comes. 

“For you to kiss me,” Tony says with an unsteady breath. “For it to mean something when you do.”

Rhodey slides his hand a little higher, and he strokes across Tony’s cheekbone. He doesn’t miss the way that Tony’s eyes flicker down to his lips. “And what do you want it to mean?”

“Everything.”

“Everything,” Rhodey repeats, and Tony smiles, soft and unsure. “I think I can manage that.”

______________

Years later, Tony still likes to tease Rhodey about their first kiss, except now it's become their thing. The interrupted sentences sometimes get finished after and sometimes don't because kissing Tony is more important than whatever it was that he had to say in the first place. 

He loses count of what number they’re on. One thousand or one million, it could never be enough. They have all kinds of kisses now. Early morning, sleep-hazed kisses, and quick, little pecks on the way out the door. Good night kisses that turn passionate and desperate as often as they stay innocent and sweet. Reluctant ones when Tony is mad at him for something silly, lingering ones in apology. 

Each one still means everything.

[im-just-a-random-fandom-girl]

having a really hard time rn and just need to rant so i’m posting below the cut

having my worst couple weeks in a good 6 months or so. my anxiety is off the charts, and when my anxiety is bad, so is my depression. i’ve gotten into at least 1 argument per day with my mom, and a couple days ago got into 4. i feel like she’s suffocating me. i love her, but she’s always been overly protective and has strong opinions. college has given me the opportunity to dress how i want and do what’s best for me with my schedule without worrying that she’ll judge me or get angry with me for whatever reason. i’ve cried myself to sleep more nights than not. i’ve only been home a week and a half.

i also just feel very alone and not cared about right now. i’ve barely seen my sisters since getting home, and i was so excited to see them. they still have school, but i hardly spend time with them after they get home or on the weekends. with my youngest, it makes sense. she has final projects and tests right now, so she’s been busy with work. but any down time she has is spent with friends instead. like today, she obviously wasn’t going to do homework on a friday when she has a long weekend. but she invited her friend over to watch stranger things instead. i love stranger things and would have loved to watch it with her, but she chose her friend that she sees every day over me, her sister that she hasn’t seen in months. my middle sister still has to go to school, but she’s done with classes because she’s a senior. she has no homework, and still, i barely see her. she’s either in her room doing god knows what, or hanging out with people from school. mind you, this makes no goddamn sense because she hates her grade. she’s jumped around more friend groups than i can count, and can’t wait to go to college. it doesn’t make sense. i have friends from home, but not everyone is home this summer. everyone who is works, and the distance makes it even more difficult to see anyone. i went to a private school 30 mins away, so my friends live all over the place. i don’t know anyone from my home town really

basically, with my high anxiety and depression, i can’t function well enough to motivate myself to do anything that might help alleviate some stress, like drawing or reading or music. so i sit around, and try not to get into arguments with my mom, which just means doing a shit ton of work around the house. washing dishes, doing laundry, more dishes, walk the dog, make us all lunch, more dishes, talk to my grandma (who berates me about “not speaking spanish well” even though my spanish is very good, despite some mistakes, and claims that my youngest sister speaks better spanish than me even though her spanish is crap, AND says that my cousin can speak and understand spanish even though he doesn’t understand A SINGLE WORD i kid you not), go to the grocery store, pick up my sisters, help make dinner, walk the dog, do more dishes, and then spend the rest of the night alone.

to top it all off, i’m turning 20 on monday and i don’t think we are doing anything to celebrate. a lot of attention has been on my middle sister, and rightly so! she’s graduating high school on saturday, her prom is on thursday, she went to another prom yesterday, today she did the senior 6 flags trip, etc etc. but it also hurts. my senior year of high school was 2020. i didn’t get any of this stuff. i left from spring break and that was the last time i saw my grade. we had a graduation, but it was social distanced, and not everyone could be there. only my parents were allowed to come. i missed all of the senior year traditions that i was so so so looking forward to. i’m not jealous or angry, i just feel a little sad and some longing for what was lost. i’m just feeling very vulnerable and no one seems to notice or care. and the sting is worse because, like i said, it’s my birthday on monday and hardly anyone has given it a single thought.

idk. i feel stupid and lost and alone and i don’t know what to do.

[misha-moose-dean-burger-lover]

Wait For It

Dean stalks out of the Impala agitatedly.

It's a sunny afternoon, and Sam's on the porch, coffee on the table next to him, flipping through his political science handbook. He looks up when he hears the car door being slammed, and his eyes follow Dean as he lands in the other chair around the table.

Then, without warning or premonition, Dean starts to talk.

He's got a new colleague.

Novak, he calls him. With gritted teeth, frowning eyebrows, and feeling.

They don't usually talk about people. So Sam listens.

Considering the amount of time Dean devotes talking about how Novak walked into his office, stride radiating importance as though he'd been summoned by Dean himself - well, he really must be a pain in the ass.

*

Over the next week, Sam's not always outside when Dean comes home from work. When he finally is, on a Thursday, Dean plants himself across him and starts speaking immediately.

Sam closes his book, purses his lips and pays attention.

Castiel, he's become.

Horrible, he's remained.

When Dean's done ranting, the sun's gone down. He gets up, hands on his hips. "He's just a jackass about everything, Sammy. Who's pretentious about eyecolor? Nobody's eyes can be that blue."

Sam nods sympathetically.

Dean goes away to make dinner, satisfied.

*

Midterms are round the corner.

Without really paying attention to it, Sam's stopped flipping through his handbook, and started highlighting in his textbook. He stays up late, and wakes up early, determinedly chipping away at the ginorminous block of syllabus, bit by bit.

He also stops being out on the porch when Dean comes back from work, and Dean tends to not barge into his bedroom to talk about the awful people he works with, so that's that.

But dinner isn't saved.

It's a simple conversation about mashed potatoes, and Dean goes off. "You won't believe how ridiculous Castiel is about honey, dude." Sam asks for a second helping, he also receives an anecdote on Castiel's ungrateful attitude towards Dean.

Sam doesn't even dare to mention his dislike for bacon once, for all the times Dean offers him it - because he's sure he'd get another indepth analysis of how Castiel hates Dean.

But when they settle down to watch Law & Order after dinner that night, Sam gets a chance to think. He wonders, not for the first time, how truly terrible Cas must be, for Dean to talk about him all the frigging time, and by the end of the episode, he's decided to be the pillar of support his brother needs, right now.

So when Dean starts, randomly, about how Castiel doesn't even appreciate good music, Sam whips out his puppy eyes, and listens to the entire tale.

*

Weeks pass.

His first paper is Tuesday, Ethics. Sam spends most hours of the day on his desk, holed up in his room.

It would be unfair to Dean to say he used up all the time Sam did spend around him, to talk about Cas.

(Which Castiel had ended up being, obviously.)

He only used like sixty percent of it.

*

"He's just...a weird, dorky little guy." Dean ends, biting his lip, eyes cast to the floor. His hands play with the hem of his jacket - he's still in work clothes.

Sam sighs.

"You know what?" Dean stands up. "I'm going to make coffee. Do I get you a mug or a thermos?"

"Thermos, please." Sam calls after him, gratefully.

"Okay. Carry on, bitch."

*

Sam feels guilty.

He's been so caught up in college, deadlines and exams, he's hardly talked to Dean except to thank him for all the coffee and sandwiches.

Dean may be a jerk all year, but he can get really supportive when Sam needs him to be.

Sam feels bad for not doing the same.

So when Dean puts a peanut butter sandwich in front of him, at one am while Sam panics through his last night revision, he looks up at his brother blankly and asks. "Hey, how's the guy who's been making your life hell? You stopped telling me about him."

"Oh, uh." Dean pauses.

Sam waits, but Dean takes too long, as if he's contemplating, so he takes a bite of his sandwich instead.

"He's not that bad." Dean finally lets out, exhaling into a hint of a smile.

Sam raises his eyebrows.

*

"To you kicking Stanford's ass!" Dean raises his bottle, perhaps the sixth toast of the night, giant grin plastered on his face.

"I keep telling you the results are a far way from being out yet - but hear, fucking hear!" Sam clinks his glass to Dean's beer, smile equally wide. He's finally done. There's finally no more papers, no more tests, no more revision.

He made it through.

"I'm proud of you." Dean mutters lazily, leaning back on the seat.

"Y-yeah. I know." Sam returns joyfully, neither of them really thinking about what they're saying. They've been drinking for hours. "Thank you."

"Yeah, yeah. I know." Dean repeats, and proceeds to chuckle at his words. There's a moment of silence - well, as silent as it ever gets in the Roadhouse. Then Dean speaks up. "Guess what, Sammy?"

Sam doesn't even correct him.

"What?"

"I'm going to ask Cas out today." Dean declares, and Sam's eyebrows go up again, because while he's definitely known his brother's into guys for years, he hadn't expected Dean to come out like this.

But six beers in, and a declaration of pride out, Dean just ups and says it.

"I think I have a crush on him."

*

Many months go by. It's Sam's final year. And he's moving back onto campus.

"I'm going to miss you." Sam tells Dean, after they've finished lugging all of his bags into Jessica's room. Dean's half sitting on Baby's hood, and Sam has his hands shoved in his pockets.

"Shuddup." Dean throws back, and he definitely sounds weird. "I'm like, seven minutes away."

"Still." Sam grins, earnest.

"Yeah, alright. I'm not making you move out, okay?" Dean straightens, scoffing. "Have fun convincing Jessica to make you breakfast food at midnight."

"Yeah but," Sam laughs. "You live like, seven minutes away."

"Like hell I do. Get your ninety-percent peanut butter ass over here." Dean sighs, and Sam walks up to him, letting Dean pull him into a hug.

They hold onto each other, safety in the familiarity. Both of them know that they're probably not going to live together again. Sam has a plan after college, which doesn't involve moving back to Dean's. But they've shared a house for so long, it's going to feel weird.

It's going to be strange.

To lighten the moment, Sam whispers. "So, uh. Cas is moving in after I'm gone, isn't he?"

"He's probably already redecorating the place to get rid of your nerd cooties." Dean thumps him on the back, as they separate. There's a smile lingering on his face.

"What about your nerd cooties?" Sam bitchfaces at him.

"He likes those." Dean defends, crossing his arms on his chest.

"I bet he does." Sam snorts, and Dean reddens, realizing he just walked right into that, and then he just swears under his breath goodnaturedly as Sam walks into his new place.

*

Sam's phone rings.

It's only eight, on a Saturday, and Sam doesn't have to leave for office at nine like everyday, so he's sleeping in. Amelia's next to him, and she elbows him when the annoying ringtone wakes her before it wakes Sam.

"Sorry, babe." Sam tells her, kissing the top of her head distractedly, picking up the phone and sitting up when he hears Dean's voice.

It's trembling with excitement.

"Sam!" Dean gushes, and there's really no other word for it. There seems to be a commotion behind him, but the happy kind. Dean's tone is almost ecstatic.

"Dean?" Sam confirms, groggily.

"Dude, Cas just asked me to marry him!" Dean let out, almost breathless. "And I said yes! Of course, I said yes! We're getting married, Sammy!."

A smile grows on Sam's face. "Dude. You're getting married."

"I'm getting married!" Dean repeats, and proceeds to chuckle at something Cas is saying apparently, because then he tells Sam he's putting him on speaker.

"Hello, Sam." Cas greets him, sounding thoroughly overjoyed.

"Congratulations, Cas." Sam says, beaming now. He's so happy for them both. Cas is amazing, and he gets Dean, and Sam knows Dean loves him so much. "And, uh, Dean? You better fight a good fight for my Bestmanship, versus Castiel's brother, okay?"

Dean laughs, and it's the kind of rare excited laugh which makes everyone around smile too.

Cas answers, instead, his voice just as excited. "Don't worry, I'd rather have Gabriel be the caterer."

Sam chuckles. "Good."

"Give the phone back a minute, Cas," Dean says in the background, and then it's off-speaker, and just Dean, again. "You're not busy being important or anything, are you?"

Sam looks around him. "No?" Dean hesitates for a beat, until Sam catches the gist. "Dude! Of course I'm not busy. Tell me everything!" Dean lets out a sound which is definitely a squeal, though he'd never own up to it. "How did it happen? Why did it happen so early?"

Dean exhales, happily, and Sam can picture the smile on his face.

"Wait, is there a ring? Dean, I need you to show me the ring." Sam adds, just before Dean starts to tell Sam about it all. Just like he had, at the very beginning.

*

Six days to the wedding, Sam sits on the old porch chair, tapping his pen on his notebook.

He needs to write a speech.

There's so much to tell. The two of them are adorable, for god's sake. They tend to be cheesy even in front of him, and so unaware of it - Sam wonders if they turn into mushy marshmallows when his back is turned.

Maybe he should include that in his speech. "Mushy Marshmallows" is a cute alliteration. Huh.

After an entire evening of thinking, he pushes himself off his seat to get a cup of coffee. (He'd try to convince Dean to make some, but him and Cas have an appointment with a florist for the wedding.)

In any case, Sam may not be done with the speech entirely, but he figures he's earned a break. You see, he's already got an unbelievably great title. He can work from there.

"How Dean Is The Worst Judge Of People."

He has a good first line, too. "Exhibit A: Novak-slash-Castiel-slash-Cas."

[justthehiddleswrites]

Follow My Lead | Tom Hiddleston x OFC | Chapter 3 | Hello my sunshine boy

A/N: This will update every Thursday.  There are 13 chapters.  There are all sorts of kinds of D/s relationships.  This is the one I choose to write this time.  

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Vivian Swann)

Summary: Tom and Vivian have both been unlucky in love, searching for something outside of the bounds of a typical relationship.  When the two of them connect via a dating app, Tom is introduced to the idea of being submissive to Vivian.  Which is the one thing he never knew he needed.  Under the firm hand of Vivian, Tom learns what it means to submit and Vivian learns what it means to be in a loving dominant relationship.  But not everyone seems to understand what they have and the best intentions can destroy the strongest relationship.

This Chapter: Tom and Vivian slowly move forward and Tom discovers a thorn in his side named Benedict.

Warnings for story: Dominant/submissive relationship (sub!Tom), lots of smut including but not limited to: vaginal sex, oral sex (male and female receiving), edging, denial, teasing, use of restraints, spanking, multiple orgasm, anal play, use of toys.

Taglists are open!  Please let me know if you wish to be added! Thank you for reading.  

“You are positively glowing, Viv.” Her best friend Ashley commented as they sat down for lunch that Monday. “Don’t tell me you finally got laid. What has been seven, eight months?”

“Twenty-two, but who’s counting?” Vivian snapped back.

“You.” Ashley stabbed her fork at her. “So if it wasn’t sex, then what? Did you find a new esthetician? You have to give me the name. My pores are crying.”

“I found someone, but not an esthetician. A boy.” Vivian responded, coy, not wanting to reveal too much after just one date.

“A boy?” Ashley clapped her hands together in excitement.

Ashley’s perpetual joy could grate on Vivian’s nerves on worse days, but as her best friend throughout law school, she couldn’t imagine her life without Ash. Vivian shot her a glare.

“Yes.” She stabbed at her salad.

Ashley’s eyes widened to the size of saucers. “You mean a boy boy?”

“Possibly. We’ve only been on one date.” She held up a finger. “Before you ask, a normal ‘vanilla’ date. Dinner.”

“But…”

Viv smiled. “But there is a… a… quality about him. So full of life and stinking positive. It’s intoxicating.” She shivered, remembering that kiss.

“Anything else?” Ashley blinked at her, knowing there was more to tell.

“He is also drop dead gorgeous and an amazing kisser.”

“Details, or it didn’t happen. First off, tongue or no tongue?”

“Not telling.”

“Boo.” Ashley pouted. “Give me something. What celebrity does he look like?”

Vivian stopped chewing to stop herself from choking. What a loaded question.

“Tom Hiddleston.”

“Ooooh,” Ashley cooed. “He is so hot.”

“But enough about me,” Vivian changed the subject before Ashley pushed much further. “How are things with Eric?”

Ashley poked at her food. “Things are not. He ghosted me a week ago.”

Vivian’s phone buzzed. It was Tom. She said a silent prayer that she had labeled him in her phone as T and not his full name as Ashley leaned over to read the message.

Thinking about you. Already finished one book you recommended. Thank you for that. They have been most helpful.

She smiled at the message.

“Is that the boy?” Ashley craned her neck. “Let me see.”

Vivian flipped the phone around for her to read.

“Awww. He is just the cutest. When are you seeing him again?”

“He is calling tonight and I imagine we will make plans then.”

Ashley danced a bit in her chair. “I can’t wait to meet him.”

-

Tom ran double his usual miles that Monday morning. His body and brain were a jumble of nervous energy. He felt well… as giddy as a schoolboy. A feeling which had eluded him for quite some time. Once he returned and showered, he settled onto his couch with the second of the books Vivian suggested while listening to some music at a low volume. He ignored the buzz of messages on his phone until he finished the book.

Three missed messages and one phone call from Benedict. That man was like a dog with a bone for meddling and prying into Tom’s personal life. This had only gotten worse since Ben married and had kids. Now that he was coupled up, it seems Benedict was intent on getting Tom to the same status. Tom didn’t have the time, guts, or inclination to explain his desire for a relationship less ordinary. And reading those books only confirmed Tom’s suspicions about what he wanted.

He ignored Benedict and instead typed up a quick text to Vivian. She should be at lunch around now. While he waited for her to respond, Tom grabbed a script from the table and flipped it open. He wasn’t sure how he felt about starring in another period drama, but he promised his agent he would let them know yes or no by the end of the week.

There was a knock at his door. Tom opened the door. Benedict pushed his way into Tom’s home.

“You don’t write. You don’t call.” Benedict’s arms flailed about.

Tom frowned at his face. “Come on in, Ben. I’m not busy at all.” His voice oozed with sarcasm.

“If you answered your phone, I wouldn’t have to barge in like this. Hello.” Benedict continued to pace the floor.

“Hello.” Tom replied. He glanced into the living room and saw his stack of books in plain sight on the sofa. “Now what is so urgent it required you to come to my house in the middle of the day?”

“How did the date go?” Benedict flashed a gigantic smile at Tom.

Tom groaned and walked back into the living room. He shoved the books out of sight under a table. Benedict flopped down in their place.

“I’m not telling you.”

“Come on. I would tell you.” Benedict continued to smile as though he was a maniacal clown.

“Fortunately, I’m not you. Now if you please…” He gestured for the door. “… I have work to do.”

Tom shoved Benedict off the sofa and towards the door.

“Please something. A morsel. A tidbit.”

“Not even a scrap.”

“A name?” Benedict called out, a Hail Mary effort to extract something from his best friend. He can’t ever remember Tom being this tightlipped before.

“Vivian.”

“Last name?”

“None of your business. Goodbye Benedict.” Tom slammed the door in Ben’s face as he opened his mouth to say something.

Tom slumped onto the couch and stared down at the script he was reading. His phone buzzed.

Thinking about you too. Glad to hear about the reading. Talk to you soon.

Tom smiled and double checked to make sure his alarm was set for 10:55 that night. With a sigh, he grabbed the script and continued reading.

-

Vivian didn’t get home until almost 10:30 that night. The paralegal in charge of organizing the documents for her deposition tomorrow had up and quit, and she spent most of the day along with three first-year associates getting everything in order. Her body ached even after a quick shower, her brain was buzzing. It was also like that the day before depositions. She made a cup of tea and then settled into bed. Vivian tried reading, but her brain wouldn’t shut down. She didn’t keep a TV in the bedroom.

Her phone rang. Tom. Right on time.

“Hello?”

“Evening, darling.” His voice smooth and rich. Vivian’s shoulders relaxed. “How was your day?”

“Long. Yours?”

“Boring. Would you like to tell me about yours?”

“I don’t want to burden you.” Vivian pouted.

“I would be happy to listen.”

She perked up a bit and ranted about the kerfuffle that afternoon. Tom listened intently, interjecting words of encouragement along the way.

“It sounds like the whole thing is in your capable hands. I was wondering…” He paused. “Never mind.”

“No, what were you wondering about?”

“I was wondering if you would like to come over to my place and I could cook you dinner on Thursday.”

She smiled. “I would like that.” There was a pregnant pause over the line. She could sense his shyness and nerves through the phone. “Was there something else you wanted?”

Tom sighed into the phone. “Perhaps we could try a few things. Nothing sexual.” He quickly added. His stomach twisted into knots.

“I think that could happen. How about tomorrow I email you a list of some possibles and see what works for you?”

“Thank you. I would like that very much.” The pep in his voice returning. “I don’t want to keep you awake.”

“I wasn’t sleeping. I can’t get my mind to shut down.”

“Have you tried reading?”

“I can’t focus.”

Tom hesitated. “I could read to you.” His voice quiet.

“You would do that for me?”

“Yes. Would you like me to read to you?”

Vivian’s body warmed over. “I would like that very much.”

“Let’s see you’re reading Anna Karenina.” She could overhear shuffling as Tom moved to his bookshelf to find his copy. “What chapter?”

“Thirteen.”

Tom thumbed through the pages until he reached the spot.

He cleared his throat before he began. “After dinner, and till the beginning of the evening, Kitty was feeling a sensation akin to the sensation of a young man before a battle. Her heart throbbed violently, and her thoughts would not rest on anything. She felt…”

Tom got halfway through Chapter 14 before Vivian dozed off, her breath heavy and even over the phone. Tom ended the call and headed to his bedroom to sleep himself.

-

Vivian woke up early the next morning feeling refreshed. Her phone lay next to her on the bed. With a stretch, she rose and set about making breakfast and a cup of coffee. She hadn’t planned on falling asleep during Tom’s phone call, but his voice soothed and slowed down her brain. Which reminded her to open her laptop. She shot off a quick email to Tom giving him some ideas for Thursday.

This is a list of what may happen, not will happen.

Kneeling

Petting/stroking

Kissing

Shirt off (you)

Pants off (you, underwear stays on)

Referring to me as “ma’am”

symbol of ownership (cuffs/collar/leash)

Hair pulling/tugging

Pet name for you (boy, puppy, etc.)

She requested he let her know and to add anything for discussion, and they could talk about it more tonight. She requested he call again at 11. Vivian then clicked send and readied for the day.

-

The first thing Tom did when he woke that morning was check his email. He found Vivian’s and opened it.

His eyes widened as he read the list. He hadn’t thought about the idea of “ownership” yet. He wasn’t sure if he was ready for that just yet. But the kneeling, petting, and titles all sounded exciting. He shot back a response, letting Vivian know his preferences and then headed out for a run.

-

Vivian responded to Tom’s email during the lunch hour, saying they could talk more about it that night. She spent the rest of the afternoon in ongoing meetings on a new corporate fraud case her firm just took on.

Tom read a few scripts that morning, one a drama based on an obscure book he never heard of and another a romantic comedy. After a quick lunch and more pressure from Benedict via text, Tom grabbed for the third book Vivian recommended to him. He glanced at the title Leading and Supportive Love: The Truth about Dominant and Submissive Relationships by Chris Lyon. As he delved in, Tom realized how woefully inadequate his own research had been.

The more he read, the more Tom wanted this. How he wanted to surrender and submit within a lovely romantic relationship. He had always been attracted to strong women. However, Tom found time and time again that his girlfriends looked to him to initiate. And not just sex. And with that, the relationship soured as resentment and disappointment permeated on both sides. He resigned himself to settling, convinced what he wanted didn’t exist. and then he discovered the dominant/submissive relationship community. Too scared to hunt out a pro-domme, Tom settled on the dating profile on a vanilla website.

His alarm rang at 10:55 and he grabbed his copy of Anna Karenina and settled onto the couch to call Vivian.

-

Vivian settled into bed ahead of Tom’s phone call. She planned on asking him to read to her again. He called at exactly 11 again and she wondered if he stared at his phone waiting for the minutes to count down.

“Hello my sunshine boy.” She greeted him.

Tom smiled. “Sunshine boy?” his tone not accusatory but questioning.

“Because you are as golden and bright as the sun.”

“I like that. I enjoy being your warmth and sunshine.”

“Good, because it’s your pet name now. Speaking of…. Thursday.”

“Right.” Tom squirmed. Thursday was a big day. “Tell me how it will work.”

“So we will establish the rules and protocols tonight, and they are in place until I leave. Anything on the list is fair game. I expect you to comply with my requests. If there is anything not on the list we wish to explore, consent and discussion will happen beforehand. If at any point, you feel uncomfortable and wish to disengage, you can use a safety word. What would you like your safety word to be?”

“Sushi.” Tom responded. “That all sounds fine. And I should call you…”

“Ma’am for now.” She smiled. “Now will you read for me again, please?” Her tone gentle but firm.

“Yes, ma’am.” he tried it out. It felt nice. “Where did I leave off?”

“Please.”

Tom grabbed his book and flipped it open to where he marked his spot with a bookmark. “That must be Vronsky, thought Levin, and, to be sure of it, glanced at Kitty. She had already had time to look at Vronsky, and looked round to Levin. And simply from the look in her eyes, that grew unconsciously brighter, Levin knew that she loved that man, knew it as surely as if she had told him so in words.”

Vivian dozed off soon after Tom began, and he ended the call before falling asleep on the couch himself.

-

Wednesday seemed to drag for both of them in anticipation for Thursday night. Tom busied himself with cleaning his house, which had grown cluttered now that he was back living there full time. In between the mopping of the floors and shoving a third load of laundry in the washer, Tom finished up the third and fourth books Vivian told him to read. He had two left. Tom also made a special trip to the store and gathered the ingredients for dinner. He was tempted to make Bolognese but thought Italian two dates in a row might be a bit much and instead settled on a lovely roast dinner with all the fixings. Tom even went so far as to call his mother for tips.

“Trying to impress a girl, I take it?” Diana Hiddleston mused as she explained how to make Yorkshire pudding.

“A woman, Mother.” he corrected her. “She’s not just some girl.”

“Clearly if you are contemplating baking for her. I hope she is worth all this trouble.”

“It’s no trouble.” Tom scribbled down notes in handwriting he was certain to be unable to decipher later. “Now for a pudding…”

Diana chuckled as she listed off a few simple recipes for Tom to try.

-

Vivian left work two hours early on Thursday in order to get and ready and head over to Tom’s in time. He texted her the address that morning. He continued to call her at 11 and read to her every night. It was a small comfort, and she looked forward to it every evening.

Her fingers ran along the clothes hanging in her wardrobe, contemplating how dressy to go. She lighted on a long floral cotton maxi dress with a high slit on the side. Vivian paired with a wedge and a light jacket and grabbed her phone and purse before catching an Uber over to Tom’s.

-

Tom couldn’t remember the last time his palms sweated before a date. But they were and causing him to bobble in the kitchen, nearly dumping all the roasted potatoes on the ground. He was just pulling out the Yorkshire puddings when his doorbell rang.

Tom sprung into action, running to the door, shedding the apron along the way and smoothing down the front of his button-down shirt. He opened the door to find Vivian standing there smiling.

“Evening,” he started, smiling. “ma’am.” he added quickly.

“That’s my sunshine boy.” she responded, stepping into his foyer. She grabbed him by the back of neck and kissed him. Tom’s hand landed on her shoulders. She pulled him forward twice by the neck as they kissed before releasing him.

“Allow me to take your jacket, ma’am.” Tom moved to behind Vivian and waited until she nodded before slipping it off her shoulders and hanging it on a nearby hook.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Care for a tour?” He extended his arm towards the living room.

“Lead the way.” She reached out and held onto the back of his neck before sliding it down to the small of his back. He shivered at her touch. “Okay?” She checked in with him.

“Fine. I just… I’m not used to people touching me there.” he replied, shy and self-conscious.

“If it makes you uncomfortable, use your word.” She used her other hand to smooth down his hair.

“Yes, ma’am. I like it.”

“Then I’ll keep doing it.”

Tom smiled as she smoothed down his hair and he continued with the tour. Vivian took in every inch of Tom’s home. It was clean and well furnished. She enjoyed the large bookcase covering an entire wall in his study, along with an impressive DVD collection. She spied a few family photos in the bedroom on the dresser in front of his king size bed. They returned to the kitchen right as the oven timer went off.

Tom stepped away and grabbed an oven mitt and pulled his tart from the oven. Vivian glanced over his shoulder to see a full roast dinner, Tom had gone all out for her.

“I’m impressed, good job.” She kissed his cheek.

He blushed at her praise. “I may have gone a bit overboard.”

“Nonsense. Now get me a glass of wine please.” She directed before sitting down at the table Tom had set.

“Red, white, or I have champagne, ma’am?” He stood by the fridge, waiting.

Vivian wrinkled her nose. “Champagne makes me sneeze. Red.”

Tom nodded and grabbed a bottle from the counter which he opened and poured them both a glass. He handed Vivian’s hers first before setting his on the table and returning to the kitchen. Vivian slid his glass over to her side of the table and sipped hers. Tom had great taste in wine.

He returned to the table and set her plate down for her and then himself before sitting. Tom glanced around for his glass of wine.

“No wine for you tonight.”

Tom opened his mouth and contemplated his next words as Vivian sipped her wine, staring at him. “Yes, ma’am.” He sounded disappointed but pulled his glass of water close.

Vivian reached out and stroked his arm. “Don’t worry, my sunshine boy, there will still be plenty of fun to be had.” He perked up a bit. “How is your reading going?”

Tom finished chewing before answering. “Great. I am on book number 4. Just two more to go and then my 500 word essay. May I write more than 500 words?”

“Yes, but no more than a 1000.”

Tom nodded and Vivian tucked into the roast. It was juicy and seasoned to perfection. “Whose recipe did you steal?”

“My mother’s.” Tom replied. “Excuse me for a moment.” He stood and left for the kitchen, returning with a gravy boat and the bottle of wine. He held up the gravy. “May I, ma’am?”

“Yes please.” She held up her plate to close the distance. Tom poured a healthy amount of gravy on the plate before serving himself. “And your work? Your scripts?”

Tom sat back down. “Tedious. If I am not playing a spy, they want me to play a stuffed shirt in a cravat and waistcoat.”

“I bet you are dashing in a cravat and waistcoat.” She smirked at him, aware Tom would be dashing in a potato sack and tissue boxes.

“There is one that caught my eye. I wondered if you like to take a look at it.”

“What kind of movie?”

“Romantic comedy.”

Vivian giggled. “Do they still make those?”

Tom narrowed his eyes for a moment. “Yes. Would you like to take a look? Ma’am?”

“Maybe later.” She sipped her wine. Tom held the bottle up. “No, thank you. I have work tomorrow.”

Tom nodded and set the bottle down. “How are the depositions going?”

“As well as can be expected, but this case isn’t won or lost through depositions.”

“How is it then?”

“By who blinks first.” She deadpanned. “And I am a world class champion in staring contests.”

Tom shook his head, taking his last bite of potato before standing to clear the plates. “Remind me never to cross you.”

Vivian leaned back in her chair. “I guarantee in six months you will beg me to punish you.”

She chuckled as the plates clattered in the sink before he turned on the water to let them soak during dessert. Vivian enjoyed pushing when the mood suited her. And Tom suited her just fine.

He returned with his Bakewell tart, two plates and forks. “I noticed you didn’t eat much of the chocolate dessert on Sunday.”

“It was fine, but not my favorite. Thank you for noticing.”

Tom cut up the tart and served up a small slice to Vivian and took a larger piece for himself.

“Don’t you worry about gaining weight?” she questioned.

“I run at least three miles a day, although since I met you that has doubled. And I have a fast metabolism. It is very hard for me to put on muscle mass. Ask my trainer.”

“I just might.” She took a bite and moaned. “Delicious.”

Tom licked his lips and took a bite, moaning. “That is delicious.” he mumbled, his mouth full.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.” She pointed a finger at him.

“Yes, ma’am. Sorry.” He covered his mouth and swallowed.

“You don’t need to apologize, Tom.” Vivian reached out and rubbed his arm. “Fix it the next time.”

Tom leaned into her hand. “Yes, ma’am.”

Vivian ate most of her dessert while Tom polished his off.

“All done?”

She wiped her mouth and finished up her wine. “Yes, thank you. That was delicious. I need you to cook for me more often.”

Tom chuckled as he cleared the plates. “I’ll keep that in mind. If you like, you can take a seat in the living room while I clean up.”

“I’d rather stay in here with you.”

“Of course.” He hustled over to the sink and turned on the water. He rinsed the plates and utensils while Vivian sat at the table and watched. She took the sight of his backside in the jeans he selected for the evening. Very nice. She couldn’t wait to redden those cheeks when the time came.

She stood and joined him after Tom put away the leftovers and turned his attention to the pans. As he scrubbed, Vivian came up behind him and petted the back of his head and neck. He leaned against her hand and Vivian swore he purred.

“That feels nice, ma’am.” he hummed, but not stopping his washing.

“Finish up and come to the living room, sunshine boy.”

She tugged his hair once before releasing his hair and walking out of the kitchen. Vivian surveyed his DVDs while Tom finished up. She could hear the water turn off and the pans clanging together as he put them away. Vivian remained standing.

Tom walked into his own living room as though he were a stranger. His hands fidgeting in front of him.

“I won’t bite, Thomas.” she smirked. “At least I won’t bite tonight.”

Tom gulped and shifted his weight. “Yes, ma’am.”

She circled him like an animal on the prowl. Her fingers ran along the width of his shoulders. He shivered again. Vivian stopped and took a step back.

“Are you still doing okay?”

“I’m fine.” He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Please don’t stop.” His blue eyes begged her to touch him again.

She nodded and slid her hand down his back before bringing it up his neck and into his hair.

“Take off your shirt.”

Tom hesitated for a moment before unbuttoning his shirt. He pulled it off and tossed it onto a nearby chair.

“Fold it and place it on the table.”

Tom’s mouth dropped open, and he stood still. Vivian walked in front of him.

“I don’t enjoy repeating myself, sunshine.”

Tom scrambled into action. “Yes, ma’am.” He folded the shirt like they would in a retail store and then spun in place. There were three tables in the room.

“The small one with the lamp, please.” Tom sighed in relief and placed his shirt down.

“On the couch, on your back, hands behind your head.”

Vivian leaned down to unbuckle her wedges, slipping them off and placing them by the armchair. Tom positioned himself on the couch, taking up the entire length. Vivian licked her lips at the sight of Tom. The hint of chest hair. His Adonis belt and treasure trail. She made a mental list of things to do in the future to Tom.

She hitched her skirt up to straddle Tom’s torso. “No touching.”

Tom nodded eagerly. “Yes, ma’am.”

Vivian leaned down to his face, her hands slid up his bare chest to his neck. One hand pressed Tom’s shoulder into the cushions while the other cupped his cheeks. Her thumbs ran along his sharp cheekbones before reaching the temples. Vivian’s fingers laced into Tom’s hair and then she tugged him into her.

Tom’s lips sighed into her. Vivian took the opportunity to slip her tongue into his mouth. He wiggled underneath her but his hands stayed behind his head. She pulled back and Tom leaned forward, wanting more.

“Do you want more?” she teased. Her hand firmly in his hair.

“Yes, ma’am.” He panted.

“Beg.” She tugged his head towards her, stopping just short.

“Please!” He begged not only with his words but his eyes too. “Please kiss me, ma’am.”

She tugged his head around again and pressed her lips against his. He breathed into her and she slipped her tongue in again. Tom did the same. He wiggled underneath her again. Vivian stopped, and shifted her position, her knees on Tom’s chest, her toes teasing along his crotch. His pants tenting from the feel of things.

They continued kissing like that for some time and Tom stopped wiggling. She pulled away, Tom leaned forward, wanting more.

“More, please, ma’am.” he pleaded.

Vivian pushed off of him. Her hand skimmed along his cock. It twitched under her touch and Tom moaned.

“No, not tonight. Sit up, please.” Vivian stood. Tom sat up, his lips swollen. His eyes glassy.

Vivian sat down at one end of the couch and settled in. “Kneel.”

“Yes ma’am.” He slid down the couch to kneel on the carpet by Vivian’s leg. “Never imagined anyone would say that to me.” he commented.

“Get used to it, sunshine.” She smoothed down his rumpled hair. He leaned against her legs at her touch, pressing his side against him. Vivian smiled as Tom hummed while Vivian continued to stroke and pet his hair and neck. She scratched his scalp, and he gasped.

“You’re such a good boy, sunshine.” Vivian purred. “My good boy.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Vivian looked around the room and spied a small bookcase stuffed to the brim with books.

“Read to me, Thomas. Please”

He stood, not ready to miss out on Vivian touching him. He reached for Anna Karenina. Vivian touched his arm.

“No, something from your bookcase. Surprise me.”

Tom walked over to the bookcase and examined the shelves before selecting a small notebook.

“It’s a collection of poems.” he offered, he ran his finger along the spine.

“Perfect.” Vivian beckoned him back. “Kneel and read to me, please.”

Tom’s face lit up, and he resumed his position, head leaning against Vivian’s lap.

Tom cleared his throat and Vivian’s hand laced back through his hair and his shoulders relaxed. “Leda and the Swan by William Butler Yeats.”

“Interesting choice.”

“A sudden blow: the great wings beating still Above the staggering girl, her thighs caressed By the dark webs, her nape caught in his bill, He holds her helpless breast upon his breast.”

After he finished the first poem, Vivian asked him to read another and then a third. His eyes closed as her hands continued to smooth and stroke his head. Tom’s body hummed. He felt… safe. Like he was home and everything would be alright.

Vivian feared he had fallen asleep. “Thomas?” she whispered.

“Yes, ma’am?” He turned his head.

“You okay?”

He nodded. “Better than okay.”

“Stand up, please.” Tom stood. “It’s time for me to go home. Walk me to the door.”

Tom’s head dropped but nodded. Vivian lingered by the front door. Her finger drawing intricate circles on his chest.

“That was…” Tom’s chest heaved as he put Vivian’s jacket on her. His body ached as though he ran fifty miles. Tom’s brain felt fuzzy and heavy. His heart full and content.

“Yeah,” Vivian finished his sentence. “For me too, sunshine boy.” She reached up and cupped his cheek with one hand, he leaned his head into her, wanting to kiss her palm but not daring to do so.

With her shoes back on her feet, she stood almost as tall as Thomas. She pecked his lips, soft and sweet and Tom returned the kiss in kind. Her stomach fluttered.

“I would like to do this again.” Tom commented as they parted.

“I was hoping you would. How would you feel about having a kissing date on Saturday night? I’m afraid I’m busy tomorrow.”

“What’s a kissing date?”

Vivian pecked his lips and rubbed his neck one more time before opening the door. Tom stumbled forward, craving her skin on his.

“I’ll text you the protocols tomorrow morning. Sleep well, sunshine.” One more kiss and then the door shut behind her.

Tom leaned against the wall, clutching his chest. He didn’t know if he would last until Saturday.

[tangledstarlight]

julie’s ready for a year away from home, studying and trying to refind the magic in music. luke’s about to start on a summer tour around europe opening for a band. they meet one night, sparks fly and emotions run hight. now they’ve just got to try and see if they can maintain a long distance friendship.

days go by and seasons change (lets try again next winter)

trigger warnings!! alcohol and swearing and mentions of blood via food

also on ao3 –– [ 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | extras 1 & 2 ]

spring

“I still can’t believe you didn’t kiss him,” Flynn’s voice echoes through her phone where it’s propped against a book of Shakespeare’s poems and being stopped from sliding down her desk by her half eaten sandwich. Which hadn't been her best plan, because she was starving and now her sandwich was employed elsewhere.

“I’m not just going to kiss a random guy a met once,” she can see Flynn opening her mouth with a retort so jumps in to add, “I like him, yes, but I’d rather have him as a friend then an awkward one night stand situation that’s made even more awkward when I eventually run into him again because one of his bandmates is Carrie’s cousin.”

It all seems perfectly logical to her. Luke was cute, yes. And sure, she’d wanted to kiss him, but if it came down to one kiss or a new friendship? She was going to choose friendship. They’d connected more in one night then she’d connected with anyone in years. They got each other.

(What Julie hadn’t told Flynn or Carrie or anyone, was about the deal they had made. About how if by December, when she was wrapping up her year in England and they were finishing with their album and they were still talking, still felt the same, they’d try.

Julie didn’t mention it to anyone, barely even liked to think about it herself because she didn’t want to jinx it, didn’t want to spend time wondering what might happen when they tried. What trying even meant.)

“So you’re going to be friends?”

It’s pretty impressive, Julie thinks, how Flynn can convey her utter disbelief and amusement via a single eyebrow raise on a slightly blurry and pixelated facetime call. Maybe it’s the years of friendship that means Julie knows what she’s not saying or maybe it’s just Flynn’s power. Either way it has her pushing her laptop away with a sigh and picking up her phone. Scooping her sandwich up with her other hand. 

“Yes, we’re going to be friends. We can be friends. Do you not think we can be friends?” Julie furrows her brows, both in concern and how many times she’s said the word ‘friends’ in one breath.

“Of course I think you can be friends! He’d be lucky to be your friend, you’re amazing,” Flynn is quick with her reassurance, but Julie can tell there’s a ‘but’ coming and braces herself for impact. “But. The two of you spent practically the whole night together and have spent pretty much every day since talking. Plus, you’d have to be pretty blind to miss the way he was looking at you in the least friend way possible.”

Julie really hoped that the wifi connection was bad enough to hide the blush she could feel heating her cheeks at the reminder of the way Luke had looked at her. She had never really understood what books meant by ‘intensity of their stare’ before, but she was pretty sure it was whatever Luke was doing with his face and his eyes, somehow he could even do it through a facetime call. Personally, she thinks it should be illegal. His whole face. Banned. Fined every time he looked like he looked.

“Yeah, well,” Julie swallowed, tucking hair behind her ear for something to do while she tried to gather her thoughts and control her face. “We’re still going to be friends. And anyway, we’ll probably slowly stop talking before we ever meet again and he’ll find some extremely pretty girl on tour and fall madly in love and forget all about me.”

As long as she was telling herself that it meant she couldn’t be too disappointed when it came true. No point getting her hopes up.

“If you say so,” Flynn didn’t sound convinced and Julie rolled her eyes at her friend, sticking her tongue out childishly, to be rewarded with Flynn laughing.

“Now come on, enough about me and my awful love life. Tell me about this thing you're working on!”

// 

//

“Ow, crap.”

It’s not really the first thing you want to hear when you accept a phone call at 8am. Julie blinks at her phone as she pulls it away from her ear to double check the caller id and that she hadn’t imagined it ringing. But there’s Luke’s name and his slightly blurry photo staring back at her.

“Luke?” She asks, hears the sounds of a scuffle on the other end like someone juggling too many objects at once.

“Julie! Hey! Sorry, just spilt one of my coffees. Is black pudding made with blood?” Luke’s question catches her off guard. Her mind is still trying to process the mention of multiple coffees that it takes her a moment to register what he’s asking her. And it just causes more confusion to her half asleep mind.

“Are you really calling me at 8am to ask about black pudding? Why are you even awake?” She groans, collapsing back against her pillows and pulling the covers back up to her chin. It was Friday, she didn’t have class until 1pm, she was supposed to get to sleep late and he’d woken her up.

To talk about black pudding. Idly, she wondered if it was too early in their friendship to just hang up without it seeming too rude.

“Last night Reg said it was like haggis, but that doesn’t make sense, does it? Because I swear haggis is like, sheep. And you’d think blood pudding would be, y’know, blood. Given its name.” He kept talking away, apparently not at all discouraged by her lack of response.

Julie let her eyes fall shut as she listened to him talk, to his voice and not really what he was saying. He had a very nice voice, it was kind of soothing, letting his excitement and enthusiasm wash over her. How could someone be so enthused about a random food at 8am? Julie struggles to follow his train of thought and why she was his chosen person to call about the matter. But she doesn't think he really wants her input anyway. Just an excuse to call her.

She’d been guilty of a similar thing. Calling him for no real reason other than the fact she’d wanted to talk to him. At least when she’d called it had been at a reasonable hour and about something more interesting than a weird food dish.

“How long have you been up?” Julie cuts through his rant on weird British dishes, stifling a yawn against her covers.

“Er…” there’s a pause, phone line crackling as he seems to think, “Like an hour? I went out to get the boys coffee, because I’m super nice like that, but they were still asleep when I got back and I tried to wake ‘em up but Alex threatened to throw my guitar out the window so I wandered around the hotel for a while, drank my coffee, then I drank Alex’s as revenge, and then I got bored of walking around so now I’m sat in a park and talking to you. And drinking Reggie’s coffee. It’s the worst one. I hate oat milk.”

Julie can almost picture him, sitting on a random bench in a random park somewhere in Edinburgh, notebook and tangled headphones and three empty coffee cups next to him, all jittery caffeinated energy. It makes her smile and huff out a small laugh.

“You’re going to be so insufferable after all that coffee. They might kick you out of the band, abandon you somewhere in the highlands,” she teases.

“I’d just keep showing back up. Every time they tried to lose me I’d just show up again at the next venue with no explanation,” there’s a smile in his voice and Julie takes a moment to appreciate that she can tell. That they’ve talked enough now that she knows what he sounds like when he’s smiling, when he’s joking.

“Luke?”

“Yeah?”

“Go eat something with your fourth coffee please. I’m going back to sleep.”

“Shit, did I wake you up again? I thought you had a 9am on Thursdays.” He sounds so genuinely confused and concerned that Julie tries really hard not to laugh.

“I do. But it’s actually Friday, not Thursday.”

There’s a silence on the other end of the line and for a moment Julie thinks that maybe he’s hung up on her, but then he’s letting out a breathy laugh and she relaxes back against her mattress.

“Well fuck. That explains why they guys are still asleep and got pissed when I tried to wake ‘em up then.”

“Tour life is really messing with your days of the week, huh?”

“You’ve no idea,” There’s another pause and she hears rustling and footsteps and then, “I’ll let you go back to sleep. Talk later?”

There’s a note of hesitation in his voice and it makes Julie want to smile, so she does. “Yeah, talk later. Bye Luke.”

//

Julie spins around and around underneath a streetlight, her eyes locked above her as she watches the streams of light turn with her and make stars dance across her vision. A slight breeze blows her hair around her face and Julie lets out a laugh, light and airy like how she pictures all the bubbles in the drinks she's had tonight. 

She closes her eyes against a wave of dizziness and tries to imagine the stars.

There’s too many clouds in the sky for her to see the actual stars when she opens her eyes and it makes her pout, just a little. She likes to see the stars, to try and find constellations, and when she couldn’t do that, to make up her own.

Her phone makes a chiming sound in her hands and she whips her head down to look at it, Luke’s face filling her screen with a small frown, his eyebrows drawn together and a hair sticking up. A wide smile breaks out across her face and Julie raises her phone so it’s level with her face, even as she still spins around.

“Luke! Why are you on my phone?” Distantly, Julie knows she must be almost shouting, but she’s too happy and too drunk to really care.

“Er, you called me?” Luke sounds confused, but as Julie blows hair out of her face a small understanding smile tugs at Luke’s lips and Julie’s momentarily distracted by watching as the smile spreads across his face, reaching his eyes, one of his hands appearing in frame to push his hair out of his face. She stumbles to a stop, feeling a little dizzy from all her spinning and pounding heart.

“I did?” She doesn’t remember doing that, for a moment Julie frowns, lips pulling to the side as her eyes look at the ground before she blows out a breath and shrugs, looking back at Luke’s face on her phone. “Well, hi! We went out for drinks!"

Julie watches as Luke sits up in his bed, a light flicking on next to him and lighting up the room.

(In the morning, when she remembers this, she’ll probably feel bad about waking him, knowing his sleep schedule is already a mess. But right now, standing in the street halfway back to her dorm, two of her friends chatting a short distance away and a cute guy looking at her from her phone, she can’t really find it in her to feel bad. Just a giddy type of happiness.)

“You having a good night?” His voice is a little rough with sleep she notices, adds a gravely note to it that’s not normally there. Julie really wishes she could hear him talk like this all the time, first thing in the morning, in the middle of the night when one of them wakes up, after a nap in the middle of the day.

“The best! It would be more fun if you were here, though,” the words stumble past her lips without her even realising what she’s said. And she doesn’t notice the way Luke’s breath seems to catch through the speaker or the way his eyes widen a fraction or the way his smile turns more into a smirk. Whatever he’s about to respond with is cut off by Julie’s mind returning to her original disappointment of the night.

“You can’t see the stars here.”

Luke frowns a little and Julie tilts her phone so the camera is facing up and only the top of her head and her curls are in frame.

“See? No stars, only streetlights.” She pouts, tilting the phone back towards her with an exaggerated pout on her face that makes Luke laugh and Julie pout more. “Why are you laughing!? That’s mean! I miss the stars and you’re laughing!”

“Jules, it’s not like you can really see the stars all that much back home either,” he says it gently, but there’s still that teasing tone in his voice and hearing him call her ‘Jules’ makes butterflies form in her stomach.

“I still miss them.” She mutters, blowing out a breath and conceding the point. She’s honestly too drunk to even fight it and for a moment she sways slightly in place, her eyes staring just above her phone as she gets lost in her thoughts.

About stars and cute boys with calloused fingers and her friends who made her laugh and her mom who had taught her about constellations and how tired she suddenly feels.

“When we’re both back in LA I’ll take you somewhere you can see all the stars,” Luke says softly, so softly she almost misses it, but her eyes flicker down to the screen and lets a soft smile pull at her lips.

“I’d like that.”

[xanderwithanx]

Chloe does night-time diary posts on HER tumblr, so I'm going to start doing them here, sometimes. It would be nice if you read it, but, please, don't feel obligated! This is more for me to write.

(I got tired of my normal journal, I guess. It's full of bad poetry anyway. Besides, where's the thrill of losing anonymity in a physical notebook?)

I've basically been asleep and depressed for several days, because I had withdrawal after not being able to get my adhd meds. But, I got it today, and DID THINGS. (This is SO much better than before!)

Today, I went to a small café or restaurant (focused on tea) called Alice's Teacup that was Alice in Wonderland themed! My long-standing obsession with Alice in Wonderland knows no bounds. It was a really cute place. I got pumpkin pancakes, and some really good iced tea. Like... REALLY good iced tea.

Still, it seemed like the entire place was geared towards having a pot of tea and snacks with your friends, which left me a bit lonely. The person I asked couldn't come, and by the time I heard back, I was more than halfway there. Still, I read Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead and watched Monty Python on my phone, so I still had a good time!

I dressed pretty eccentricly and effeminately all day, but, with my facial hair, I was ALWAYS coded as a man, even by people on the street! Pastels, a stupid hat, a crop top, and facial hair was a winning combination.

On my way, I was stopped by some guys soliciting for charity. I don't make a habit of stopping for strangers on the streets of Manhattan. What if it's a scam? What if I'm being pressured to buy something? What if it's a strange political rant? But, I had already taken my earbuds off, I wasn't in a hurry, and I'm terminally polite. The first guy said he liked my energy, which seemed to come from a genuine place, because I liked his too!

They were asking for donations for a breast cancer charity, the United Breast Cancer Foundation. After a discussion, it seems like the charity helps pay medical debt, medical bills, and other practical needs, which is much better than *some* others I could name. I regretted not being able to give their minimum there, as it was pretty high, but told them I'd give what I could when I got on the website.

I... did not. Money is tight, because I'm bad and irresponsible with money, even though this is more than a worthy cause. I didn't NEED to go to that tea place, and I don't NEED to spend so much money on food. Sure, I can justify it: I wanted to go to that place for so long, and it was near the college anyway! But, if I was responsible with money, you KNOW my friends direct fundraising drives would go first, worthy charities second. Still, I feel bad about it.

Then, I went to the college library, to get books to start my thesis research. I have literally been unable to go to the college itself, aside from getting my ID, so this was great! There just wasn't a reason. It was... very empty. I went to the library stacks, which was deathly quiet and deeply haunted by the old books. I half expected something to pop out at me, as I turned the stacks, but I wasn't even paranoid or anxious. It was like I was in something else's house. I was welcome, but on thin ice.

I picked up an irrelevant psychology book on the "schizophrenia problem" from the 1930s, out of morbid fascination, and quickly put it down when it threatened to shatter in my hands.

Some students walked past (which was a suprise in those monastic basement library stacks), and I added something to their conversation, in a totally natural and casual way. But, omg the poor girls, I made them jump! Luckily, I'm the least threatening person on earth, and we laughed it off.

After a lot of hunting, I got 5 out of my 10 books (for the most part)! (The rest are, sadly, online. I like to read physical copies.) Strangely, I only came in with a list to get 3 books out of 6.

Most of the books I got are about art in the AIDS crisis, which is the core of my thesis, I think, all with different value. One about exhibitions, one about the larger narrative of those gay artists, and another contradicting the larger narrative.

I also got a book about "Art and Homosexuality". Just, the parallel construction of both "art" and "homosexuality" across cultures and times, from earliest history to the modern age. It wasn't on my initial list, but I'm really excited to read it.

Finally, I got a book called "The Thief, the Cross and the Wheel", about the pain and spectacle of punishment in Medieval and Renaissance European art. I'm mainly interested in Italian Renaissance art of the crucifixion--and its masochism--for the second quarter of my thesis.

The rest are online, and Should mostly focus on Bacchus in the Italian Renaissance (especially through art) and what I call the art of "gay liberation", concurrent with the AIDS crisis (i.e. The Cockettes). These two topics make up the last half of my thesis.

I'm SO excited to get started!!

I even got to cross the college's sky-bridges! (The college is a few skyscrapers.) Still, the loneliness and novelty were kind of the same thought. Imagine if I had been here before COVID, or, if COVID hadn't happened. Who would I have been able to meet? What would the college buildings mean to me? Because, for now, they're just buildings. But, I got to see the street from above, and that was amazing!

Just walking through New York--the Upper East Side--on a cool, sunny day was beautiful. It takes 20-30 minutes to get from my place to the college (and the tea place), but it was great being able to listen to my music (a lot of They Might Be Giants on the playlist today) and see the city. You know, people, super cool old architecture being pushed out by terrible new architecture, and pigeons.

Oh my god, the pigeons. I took pictures, but none of them are good. I kept thinking about how pigeons and doves are functionally the same. We domesticated pigeons, which is why they're here, and no one is stopping to notice them? Even the ones that were splotched with pure white, like doves? There's only so many pigeons you can take until they're just white noise and a nuisance, I know, so don't think I'm blaming anyone! But it's so hard to look away from these quirky little birds.

Also, at one point my walk, I was vaping very strategicly. The mental task of searching through library stacks will do that to you, when you already have an addiction to nicotine. I made sure no one was around, and no one would be affected. I stopped on a corner next to an old, ornate Catholic church while the traffic light changed, and I almost juuled right next to a priest! I'm glad I stopped. I don't believe in Hell, but, I would have walked down there myself had I vaped at a priest. Still, the church advertised itself as LGBT+ friendly, so maybe they aren't so trigger happy on the damnation. Either way, I DIDN'T vape at a priest today, which is good.

Once I got back, I spent a few hours watching things with my amazing girlfriend Chloe, who you may know here as @cisphobiccommunistopinions. She is so beautiful, and I love her more every day, every time I see her. God, it's almost been 5 years!

I just wish I could spend more time with her. She's in Virginia, and I'm in New York. Like she said to me earlier, I'm flighty at the best of times, and, with my lack of object permanence for the digital world, I find myself not giving her the attention I deserve, or, the full connection I long to have with her. We used to live together. Luckily, someday we will live together again! All these problems won't be forever, and we can live together again.

We watched a lot of things, but we're pretty deep into Serial Experiments Lain right now. It's a postmodern anime from the 90s, and, wow, do I have no idea what's going on in it. It's about the internet, and potentially schizophrenia as well. However, I'm obsessed! One day I'll be able to crack this artistic code, and it's unreality, thematic knots, and double-meanings. I will probably understand it better on the second watch. I don't see myself in Lain, but I see my 14 year old self in her, when I had just developed schizophrenia. Her cyberpunk fate seems like it's railroaded towards tragedy, but I want to save her, even if it's silly and irrational.

I told Chloe that I was scared about spilling apple cider on my library books, and she referred to it as "The Great Apple Juice Disaster of September 11, 2021." To which I said that it was the second worst thing to happen in New York on that date. It was funnier if you were there, and also were in my brain at the time.

Anyway, tomorrow I'm meeting some online acquaintances from the college's "Queer Srudent Union" at a Japanese Culture Fair in a park. (I do not know which park.) It emphasizes "fun"! I don't know them very well, but they're friends with the one person I know irl, so it should be good.

Tomorrow night, I should Probably head downtown to check out a gallery show by MFA (masters of fine arts) students at Hunter! After all, I was in a group project with one of them, and they're absolutely brilliant. I missed the Thursday gallery opening by a landslide, because of the aforementioned lack of adhd meds and Being Asleep, which I infinitely regret. I could have listened to all the artists and curators talk about their art and exhibition! Maybe I could have even talked with the artists and curators. But, it's best for me to go sooner, rather than later, so I don't forget. And, I REALLY want to go.

It's "This dialogue which happened to be present in all other dialogues" at the Alyssa Davis Gallery. From the email I got, "Each of these works observes a threshold of transition. [...] [These] intimations [are] of a frame of mind shared by the artists. These works perform, record, access, engage, document, and entrap, embalming the viewer within the gallery space."

sgp is a really good artist, by the way. Their work is just next-level. Be sure to check out their art, if you have a chance. Let me link their portfolio: https://saragracepowell.com/

(I highly suspect spg and the other member of my group project ghosted me afterwards, but I understand. I was really in over my head. Still, they're both really sweet and kind people, don't get it twisted!)

I ALSO really want to see The Cake Boys. They're performing at the 3 Dollar Bill in Brooklyn on September 26th. (It's only $15!) They're the only all drag king collective in NYC! (Are... there any Other all drag king collectives out there?) Other than the fact that a lot of them are trans or nonbinary, which I love, this show is a totally non-judgmental competition for over 40 drag kings! I've heard their shows are hilarious and unique.

I just have to wait until I have $15 to spare. I... didn't eat dinner tonight, because I'm irresponsible with my money and don't want to ask my parents for money... again. Don't worry, it's literally fine, and I don't make a habit of doing this!

Which reminds me! For my birthday, my parents gave me a gift card to Lush! I'm definitely going to Lush tomorrow, which will be great. I would describe my personality as "Lush store employee acosting you about a bath bomb demonstration", so I'll fit right in.

I also made a transition timeline, to show how much I've changed on testosterone. For the better, I hope! I really believe I'm becoming, if not Have Become, the man I was always meant to be. It's so strange to look back at who I was not too long ago, and to know the absolute pain I was in. It's also strange, in a good way, to see the man looking back at me in the selfies. I'm so much happier now! Much more candid in my pictures, at least. But, I know that I'm so much more comfortable as myself than I was even 6 months ago. It's strange. Sometimes I think to myself, "I don't pass yet; I'm not who I Need To Be yet." Then, I look at my selfie from today, and... I'm THERE. My mind just hasn't caught up with my amazing, natural, normal reality.

The end. I have to get ready for bed, (even though I could be partying on a Saturday night in the city. I'm lame.) If you actually read this, I am kissing you on the mouth right now. I hope it made you calm down tonight, like a terrible bedtime story. If you didn't read it and just skipped to the end, don't worry: you did the rational thing.

[komahinasecretexchange]

Title: The Flowers That Had Torn Them Apart

Author: @gravestone-monarch (Grave)

For: @creepioz

Pairings/Characters: Established Hinanami, Komahina

Ratings/Warnings: Major character death, blood, angst, unrequited love

Prompt: 1) Coffee Shop AU 2) Any Angst 3) Hanahaki’s Disease

Author’s Notes: So, hello there! I’ve never written Komahina or hanahaki before, so I’m sorry if some things seem out of place! (It also doesn’t help I haven’t played SDR2) (this probably isn’t very reassuring huh)

I know I was probably just supposed to pick one prompt, but I looked at the list and the story just clicked in my head

So now you have this!

I really hope you enjoy it! I did *shudders*

rEseArCh

For this so hopefully it’s up to standard!

Also I know it says Hinanami in the tags, it makes sense in the story (this isn’t a hinanami centered story I swear)

Once more, enjoy!! ^^

Komaeda had been getting his lunches at the Jabberwock for as long as he could remember. He practically lived in it at this point. Each day he’d come in, order, sit for an hour and leave. Day in, day out. He was lucky the little coffee shop hadn’t closed yet. Usually he has rotten luck.

But one day, something changed.

The something that would inevitably be the death of him.

He walked in one day and noticed someone new at the counter. Short brown hair, heterochromia, well toned…

Well, he was certainly attractive, Nagito would give him that.

He walked up and stood in the queue, checking his phone for the time. He was here a bit earlier than usual.

“Next!”

His head snapped up as he realised the relatively short queue had depleted.

“Ah, so sorry!” He said to the man.

“No problem. What can we get you today?” The person said.

“Mm… I’ll have the usual.” He said. The cashier raised an eyebrow, then sighed.

“Sir, this is my first day. What’s ‘the usual’?”

“Oh!” Nagito chuckled nervously. “Sorry about that…” he looked down at the person’s nametag. “…Hajime.”

“Mhm, it’s fine. Honestly, it’s already happened three times this morning.”

“Really? That’s almost impressive.”

“Almost, yeah.” Hajime grinned slightly. “Now, what’d you say you wanted?”

“Oh, right! Well…"

He gave Hajime his order, and seeing as there was nobody in the queue behind him, he stood talking to him for a few minutes.

He learned a lot about Hajime in the time he had. He was the same age as Nagito, and actually went to the same college, despite being in different courses. Nagito told him he wasn’t sure what he was planning on doing with his future. Hajime agreed.

"Yeah, not sure either, really. It’s a writing course, so it could really go anywhere. Journalist, author, scriptwriter… you get the point.” Hajime said, Nagito nodding.

“I see! Sure does give a lot of hope, doesn’t it? Knowing you’re not stuck on one path… it’s great!”

Hajime looked at him. “Yeah, probably. Oh, your order’s ready.” Hajime told him, writing Nagito’s name on the cup.

“Oh! Thank you so much, Hajime.”

“No problem. That’ll be ¥360.”

Nagito passed over the money as Hajime passed him his coffee. Their fingers brushed for just a moment. Neither said anything, but Nagito felt his pale cheeks flush slightly.

“Well, I’ll be sitting over there now. Bye, Hajime.” Nagito said, waving. Why was he waving? Was he on waving terms with this guy?

He was being awkward.

Hajime laughed, shaking his head. “See ya, Nagito.”

Nagito smiled back at him, almost a bit too wide, as he sat down, taking a sip out of his coffee. It tasted slightly different today, but… not in a bad way. It almost tasted better, actually.

“Huh…”

He didn’t pay it much mind, just enjoying the taste as he pulled out his laptop. He had decided to get a bit of work done while he was at the Jabberwock today. His next paper was supposed to be about lesser known or folklore diseases. After a bit of research, he had decided on a certain disease that had caught his attention.

“Now, how do I start this..?” He wondered to himself. After a moment, he opened his document and started typing.

The hanahaki (ha-na-ha-ki) is a fictional disease that affects people with unrequited love.

As he finished his coffee, he saved his work, closing his laptop. As he was about to throw out the cup, something caught his eye. Where he thought his name was, a series of numbers had been scribbled.

You seem cool. Call me, if you want

xxx-xxxx-xxxx

-Hajime

Nagito’s breath hitched. That was Hajime’s number, right? He couldn’t believe it. Hajime gave someone like him his number?

Woah.

He looked back over at the counter, where Hajime had started serving another customer. As he turned around to start his customer’s order, he caught Nagito’s eye. He gave one last smile before turning away.

Nagito smiled, putting the empty cup in his bag. With one last glance back, he left. Until the next day, at least.

Hajime and Nagito got to talking over the next few weeks. Hajime told Nagito his schedule (Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays) and Nagito made sure to come in on those days, if he couldn’t make it on the others.

They learned a bit more about each other over the weeks. Hajime was born on New Year’s, leading to parties doubling as New Year’s and birthday parties (despite him not always enjoying them.) Nagito was born on April 28; his birth month representing death, sorrow and horrid luck, but his birth date representing increased luck and fortune. As such, he’s always had a weird mix of luck, which Hajime just found kinda funny.

Nagito started getting staff discounts, which was great. Both were born into rich families though, so it didn’t make much difference to either.

Nagito did end up asking why he started working at the Jabberwock if he already had enough money to last him a lifetime. Hajime responded with I’m not really sure. I suppose I just… had a feeling. Besides, what harm could a bit of extra pocket change do?

Nagito got his paper submitted on time. Hajime helped him out at parts, knowing a surprising amount about the disease. Once he finished, Hajime congratulated him with a free meal.

Honestly, Nagito didn’t feel like he deserved it. Hajime’s friendship, he means. Sure, he was kind of frank at times, almost vaguely rude to people he doesn’t like, but he was able to put up with Nagito’s rants about whatever was on his mind, which wasn’t easy, considering his random theories and such.

He was nice.

Nagito knew he was falling for the man. He’d be a fool not to. The man was attractive, nice, understanding… yeah, Nagito definitely had a crush.

The days when Hajime wasn’t in work were the lonely days, as Nagito called them. They just felt emptier, since he started talking to Hajime.

Nagito wasn’t entirely sure what to do about his feelings. Becuase, let’s be honest here. 'Why would Hajime ever like someone like me? Besides, he’s probably straight.’

But he knew he couldn’t keep it in forever. It’d get too much to handle at some point. He was getting distracted in his classes for thoughts of Hajime. So one day, he decided.

He’d just tell Hajime so he could reject him. Get it over with. If he was lucky, maybe Hajime wouldn’t be totally repulsed. Maybe he’d still want to maintain a friendship! Wouldn’t that be great?

So that Saturday, he decided he’d say it.

Now, he was just counting down the days.

Saturday rolled around, and Nagito made his way to the Jabberwock. He probably wouldn’t stay too long today; he’d just say it and leave. But when he walked in, he noticed something.

Hajime wasn’t there.

“Huh..?”

Wasn’t that just his luck?

The day he finally decides to be honest, the object of his affections isn’t even there.

Well, that’s fine too. He can just come back in a few weeks. Maybe a year. Perhaps a century or two. Not too long, right?

He sighed, turning to leave. As he turned though, he slammed right into someone.

“Ah, sorry! I- Nagito?”

Nagito looked up at Hajime, who he had just slammed into.

“Oh, hello Hajime! I’m so sorry about that, I had no right to touch you like that, I-”

“Hey, hey Ko. What’d we say about the self-deprication?” Hajime said, raising an eyebrow.

“R-right. Sorry.”

“It’s fine. Actually, I’m glad I ran into you. I wanted you to meet someone.”

“Ah, has Hajime made a new friend? How wonderful!”

“Haha, you could… yeah, you could say that.” He gestured to the girl beside him, who Nagito hadn’t even registered until now. She had pale pink hair and was wearing a navy hoodie, holding her phone. He could hear faint Tetris music coming from it.

“Nagito, I’d like you to meet Chiaki Nanami, my… my girlfriend.”

Nagito could’ve swore his world just broke.

The floor felt like it was crumbling apart, the walls falling beneath their own weight.

“Hey.” The girl greeted. Both smiled at him like they hadn’t just broken his heart.

Well, they didn’t know, did they?

“A-ah… n-nice to meet you, Nanami… I’m- I’m so sorry, but I really must go. I- I don’t feel the best.” Nagito spit out that lame excuse as he advanced to the door.

“Oh, you need a lift? I could-”

“No-! ahem, I mean… no thanks, Hinata. Thanks for the offer. Bye.”

He pushed the glass door open and walked out, quicker than he had ever walked before. He didn’t live too far away, luckily enough, so he walked home quick enough, just desperate to get away from it all.

“Hm.” Hajime hummed.

“What’s up with him?”

“Not sure… a-anyways, what would you like?”

That night, the flowers started.

It was only a petal at first. He was sitting at his desk, booting up his laptop to take another look at his paper. Something had been bugging him about it, he just wasn’t sure what.

This wasn’t the first thing he’d done when he got home. His pillow was definitely tear-stained and he’d run his box of tissues dry. He wouldn’t admit that to anyone, though.

He had finally gotten over the throbbing in his head the crying had given him and sat down to re-read it when he felt a tickle in his throat. He tried clearing his throat, which turned to a full on coughing fit. At the end of it, he finally coughed it up.

A small daffodil petal, a bit smaller than his thumb.

Nagito froze, staring at the petal.

He just coughed that up, didn’t he..?

He looked from the petal to the computer screen in horror, not taking long to put it all together.

He thought the disease was fictional… but he had most definitely just coughed this up.

Nagito had the hanahaki disease.

He wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. Lucky for him, he’d already done his research, so he knew the deal. Flowers blossom in the victim’s lungs, eventually rendering them unable to breathe and suffocating them. The only cure was for the victim’s feelings to be romantically requited. You could also get surgery, but that results in you being incapable of romantic love, and Nagito couldn’t bear that. Despite knowing he didn’t have a chance with most anyone, especially Hajime, he’d like to make himself believe he still has.

Now, here was the kicker.

In most of the stories he’d read, the victim simply believed their love interest didn’t like them. But not in his story, oh no. Hajime was already romantically involved. That meant he most certainly didn’t feel how Nagito did. And if Nagito was going to avoid the surgery…

“I’m going to die.” He concluded, putting his head in his hands. He didn’t have enough energy or tears to cry anymore, so he just sat there, letting the cold truth set in.

It already felt harder to breathe.

It only got worse over the next few weeks.

After only three days a full daffodil head had come up, while he was in the Jabberwock, no less. It was getting increasingly harder to hide it in front of others.

Especially Hajime.

Hajime was usually very observant. He usually knew when someone was lying or hiding something from him, so he had to pull out his best acting skills.

Which, admittedly, were those of a teenager.

While he sat there, he was constantly clearing his throat, trying to force down the seemingly harmless flowers clawing their way up.

Luckily for him, the same person that put him in this situation was his unaware cover.

Chiaki.

As much as Nagito hated it, Hajime was now a lot more preoccupied with his girlfriend, which meant if Nagito needed to slip away to choke up a flower or two, he could do just that.

He didn’t know how to feel about Nanami. Sure, on one hand, she was basically the reason he was walking up Death’s driveway. But on the other hand, it wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault but his own for having these feelings

How does that one song go?

How could I hate her? She’s such an angel.

But then again, kinda wish she were dead.

Not to that extent, but that basically sums up his feelings about her.

Feelings very unlike those for Hajime.

He did a bit of research when he could. Why daffodils? Turns out, a meaning for daffodils was unrequited love.

And wasn’t that fitting?

He was marking the days. Appreciating each day he still got to wake up, not having been smothered in his sleep. In all honesty, though?

He’d rather be killed in his sleep than choked to death at a coffee shop table.

He was also trying to appreciate his time with Hajime. He knew he would never have that sort of relationship with him, not now. So he tried to make the most of their friendship with him.

It was nice, for a while.

But all good things come to an end, as they say.

He was coughing up flowers multiple times a day, now. He’d noted to himself that when he saw blood, his time was almost up.

Terrifying, right?

It really was.

He’d just come home from a walk. He’d started going on them a while ago, when he’d just got it. He hoped the fresh air would do him some sort of good.

It’s funny, really. A while ago, Nagito wouldn’t have cared if he was killed. We practically would have welcomed it.

But now? Now he’d met someone. And because he’d met someone, he was dying. Because he’d met someone, he didn’t want to die.

But it’s not like he got a say in the matter, did he?

His lungs were being overgrown by weeds that call themselves flowers. Horrid things that were worming their way up his throat every. Single. Day.

And eventually, blood would come with them.

So here he was, sitting down after his walk. He sat down at his desk, his throat wheezing as he did. It had been three weeks and four days, and each day suffocated him just that bit more. And right now, he was dizzy. Probably from the lack of oxygen.

Right on cue, his next coughing fit started. It lasted as long as all the others, felt like all the others… but afterwards, it didn’t look like all the others.

He opened his eyes to see what he’d been dreading. A horrible stain of blood splattered across his desk, almost looking pink in the lamp light. He saw two daffodils laying in the midst. Some would call this poetic.

What would Nagito call it?

A death sentence.

He could barely breathe. The flowers crushed his lungs as he scrambled to get his phone out.

Logically, he should call an ambulance. Emergency services, anything that would help.

However, Nagito wasn’t thinking logically.

And that’s not what he did.

He looked over at the old cup, tapping in the number scribbled on it.

He’d never see that handwriting again.

He’d never see him again.

His hands shook as he pressed dial, holding it up to his ear. He also pulled up his paper on his laptop, scanning over it.

Now he knew what he was going to add.

“Hello?”

“Ah, h-hello, Hajime! S-so sorry to bother you th-this late.”

“Mm, no problem. Something up?”

“N-no, nothing at all..!” He scrolled to the bottom of the document, typing quickly. “I just wanted to ch-chat, is all… you g-got a minute?”

“Ahh, sorry Ko. I’m with Chiaki right now. Mind if I call you back tomorrow?”

“…sure. That’s no problem, Hajime. Hajime Hinata…”

“Huh? Ko, you ok?”

He saved the document, plugging in the laptop to charge shakily. He wanted to say his usual; Yep, I’m fine! No need to worry yourself, Hajime. See you tomorrow, hm?

That’s what he would’ve said had his throat not closed up.

Instead, he fought for his breath. He fought a battle that he’d inevitably lose. Hands shaking, chest wheezing, he spoke into the phone.

One last time.

“H-Hajime…”

“Yeah Ko?”

“I-I think I’m dying.”

He dropped his phone to the table, his head following suit not long after. In his last moments of consciousness, he heard Hajime yelling through the phone.

“What?! Nagito, did you say you’re dying?!”

“Nagito, answer me!”

“Nagito Komaede, talk to me!”

“C'mon, c'mon! Answer already!”

“I- Chiaki, call emergency services to this address. I’m sending help, Nagito. Just… just hang in there, please.”

A pool of blood drying on the table.

A final call ended.

A bleach white head of hair stained.

A final message on his computer.

In conclusion, the hanahaki disease is a very terrifying prospect, and now that I have experienced its effects first hand, I can confirm.

The hanahaki is deadly. I, Nagito Komaeda, have been killed at its hands.

March 11th.

They just didn’t get there quick enough.

Emergency services got there moments after Hajime did, who had sprinted up the stairs to where Nagito once resided.

He was shocked to find the scene in front of him.

He ran over to Nagito, trying to shake him awake. But no amount of shaking could uproot the flowers that had torn them apart.

He was brought off to a hospital, but he was already dead when they arrived. It didn’t take long to put together what had happened, despite nobody quite believing it. With the document Nagito had left, the blood and flowers and the tangle in his lungs, it was determined he most definitely had the disease, and just managed to keep it a secret.

Hajime.

He just couldn’t believe it.

Nagito was just… gone.

That phone call was the last time he’d ever hear the poor man’s voice. See him smile or laugh, despite how unnerving it could be at times.

All of that… gone.

Just because he loved someone.

Nagito had never talked about having a crush on anyone. But only people with unrequited feelings got the disease, right?

So whoever he liked just didn’t like him back.

And there was just the smallest, miniscule part of Hajime that had a feeling he knew who it was.

He prayed to whatever gods were up there that he was wrong.

Years later, Hajime still can’t look at daffodils.

For all they mean respect, chivalry… rebirth, eternal life, new beginnings, all of which Komaeda didn’t receive…

They also meant unrequited love. The cruel mistress that took his life.

He used to like Spring. Now he can’t stand it. That’s when daffodils bloom.

That’s when Nagito died.

He still lays awake some nights, thinking about the man he used to know. What would have happened had they not met? Had Hajime never taken that job, would Nagito still be alive?

A question that would never be answered.

He quit his job right after, not wanting to be reminded of the man. Despite that, he wouldn’t let him be forgotten.

So now, all he could do was heal. Mourn him, and heal.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever like daffodils again. After all, they’re the flowers that tore them apart.

-End-