#i am THIS close to renting out an office space

[witchstone]

told myself i didn't care how expensive it is to buy data, i was going to buy some and use my phone as a hotspot so i can actually get some damned work done. what do you know. they're having technical issues

[reiderwriter]

Puppet On A String

Chapter One of I Can't Help Myself

Synopsis: Expecting your big promotion any day, you're none too happy to hear about the departments miraculous new hire. You're even less happy when he moves into your office and starts touching things.

Warnings: Shitty office politics, brief allusions to Spencer's time in prison, swearing, reader is understandably bitter.

Masterlist || 5k Celebration Challenge

The day your professional aspirations came to a crashing halt was also the day that you met Doctor Spencer Reid. To say that your view of him was somewhat soured by the unpleasant circumstances of your morning meeting was an understatement and a half.

Sitting in your bosses stuffy work office, you felt your heart stop as the situation was explained.

“You understand, right, Y/N? We really value your work here, so we're really relying on you to help him settle in.” He grinned at you from behind his desk, but all friendliness in the gesture was dampened by the fact that he hadn't even bothered to look up from the papers he was looking through, glasses hanging low on his nose.

“I'm trying to understand, I am. But last week, we discussed me moving onto the tenure track. Are you saying that's out of the picture for me now?”

The smile turned into a grimace as he looked up at you, finally. He removed his glasses and folded them in front of him as you squirmed in your seat. You needed to advocate for yourself, but it wasn't easy when it felt like you were in the principals office being reprimanded.

“Doctor Spencer Reid will be joining us on loan from the FBI. Someone at the Bureau called in a favour with one of the college executives. The decision is above my pay grade - thus it is above yours.”

Your cheeks felt hot as he reprimanded you, and you bit your tongue as best you could.

“He will be with us for the semester, and then we can discuss your promotion again next semester. I will ask again, you understand the situation?”

You nodded, understanding the unspoken - the department wide email introducing your new member of staff and the generous donation from the FBI that came with him. You brought nothing to the department other than a stellar academic record and hard work.

“I'm glad we could both come to an understanding,” he said, aptly dismissing you as you stood to take your leave.

“Ah, one last thing, Y/N,” he said, stopping you in your tracks as you readied yourself to run to the nearest bathroom stall and cry until your first class - roughly 7 and a half minutes.

“Doctor Reid will be sharing your temporary office space. We're strapped for space, and there weren't any other facilities available at the last minute. Since your students always remark on how approachable and welcoming you are, you're the best person to show him around, too.”

The gloom in your heart hardened to anger as the man dismissed you, returning his glasses to his head and not bothering to make eye contact as he added more work to your already heavy load.

“Of course. Thank you.”

You closed the door behind you, willing yourself to not slam it, and stalked down the corridor to your own - now communal - office.

Half of your brain was screaming at you to quit, but with rent in a college town to pay, and the academic year already in session, there was no way you were finding something this lucrative again.

You'd worked your ass off for the last five months. You just had to survive three more with Doctor Spencer Reid.

You had to keep your emotions in control until at least your office, you thought, even as the inescapable tears threatened to fall down your face. You hate that you cried when you were angry, that your emotions couldn't even sort themselves out enough to give appropriate physical responses, but at least you could angry-cry in peace before your new coworker showed up.

You ripped open the door and stomped to your desk, slamming the door shut behind you as you fell down with your head in your hands and let out a frustrated groan.

“Um… hello, can I help you?”

The voice caught you so off guard, you almost jumped from your seat in shock, backing up to the single window in the office.

“Fuck, you scared the hell out of me. What- who are you?” You asked the man you now saw sitting at the sofa opposite your desk, next the door. So close in fact, that you didn't see him walking in.

He was sat down, but you could tell he was tall, slightly older than you, but with big brown eyes that betrayed some experience. He sat comfortably at first, legs crossed, book in hand, but as you spoke, he sat straighter, stiffer, his relaxed expression becoming somewhat colder.

“I'm Doctor Spencer Reid. I was told this is my office from today onwards? If I'm incorrect, I can leave you to your…”

Of course, the very attractive, soft-spoken man in front of you just happened to be the derailment of your career. Temporary, you reminded yourself. Temporary derailment.

“No. Doctor Reid, of course. Hello. I'm Y/N. We'll be sharing the office for the semester, I just didn't know you'd be here today.”

He frowned slightly, like sharing the space was as uncomfortable with him as it was with you.

“If you can excuse me, I have a class to teach in…” You looked to the shelves where your small clock had fallen over once again - the office was cramped and the shelves unstable enough that closing the door meant knocking at least three things over.

“Three minutes, shit. I have to leave, please keep to yourself, I have a lot of important documents in here.”

The words were colder than you would've liked, but you couldn't find the strength to care much about his opinion of you.

You grabbed your laptop and left the room swiftly, abandoning Spencer Reid to your shared office.

Your first meeting may have been sour due to circumstance, but your second was unpleasant on the strength of Spencer Reid's grating personality alone.

In your five months at the college, you'd worked up a system for classwork.

Gather books. Go to class. Pick up coffee. Teach. Leave class. Pick up a second coffee. Go to your office. Host office hours. Work on a research paper. Rinse and repeat for any other classes you had that day.

With such a busy and caffeine fuelled schedule, you kept your office as neat as you could with your rickety shelves.

So, returning to meet Spencer Reid a second time, you almost threw up at the sight that befell you in the office.

“Hey, welcome back.”

The man sat on the one inch of your floor that wasn't taken up by furniture with all of the books in the office stacked up around him, the shelves bare and tipping precariously to one side.

“What the hell did you do to my office?” You blanched, looking around, unable to see the set of books you had organized for your next class.

“The shelves are broken, I put in a request to have them replaced, and I've been organizing the books by topic so-”

“The books were already organized. By class, and week they're to be taught. Fuck, I have a seminar in 30 minutes, I need those books.”

To his credit, Spencer Reid looked panicked as he sat sifting through all the books, even as your anger rolled off of you in waves.

“I can fix this. What shelf was it on?”

“Don't bother, just ruin my day some more. Hey, how about next time, you just throw everything in the trash?”

“I was trying to help, we're going to be sharing the office, and there isn't exactly space for two desks with your current filing system.”

“So you decided to rearrange without telling me? Asking me? I've been here five months, but you strolled in five hours ago and decided to change everything to suit you.”

“That's not - look, I'm sorry.”

“Yeah, well, you can start your apology by footing the bill for whatever improvements you've made. We're not tenured professors. Anything we add to the room or request comes out of our paycheck, and I'm not starving myself for floor to ceiling bookshelves.”

Whatever retort he was about to make was lost as you grabbed your bag from the floor and stormed out, leaving him behind in your dilapidated office.

When you returned to your office later that day, he was nowhere to be found. His new furniture, however, was crowding the room. A clone of your own desk was pushed up against the side of it, the pair forming an L shape. Great. Couldn't have gotten any closer if you tried.

Your couch was still in place by the door, but the old bookshelves were gone. They were replaced by a sturdier looking wooden set that now shelved all the books you'd inherited in the office or were using for class. And some new titles.

He hadn't put them back in the order you needed them in, though you doubted he ever would, but instead had them grouped by topic and within groupings in alphabetical order.

“How very precise,” you said, running your fingers along the book spines as you made your way to your desk.

“Whoops,” you said, pulling out a book you knew wasn't yours and letting it fall to the floor.

Was it petty? Sure. Was it therapeutic?Abso-fucking-lutely.

“Nice. Mature,” a voice said behind you, and for the second time in 12 hours, you jumped at the sound of Spencer Reid's voice.

“Jesus Christ, you need to stop doing that.”

“Doing what, walking into my own office?” He said, leaning against the new bookshelves.

“Our office. Shared. For three months.”

“Oh so you do remember we have to coexist?” He asked, grinning down at you. When did he get so close that he had to look down at you?

“Trust me, your presence is…felt,” you said, gesturing around the cramped space.

“What classes are you teaching?” You sighed, pushing past him to the open door and sitting down at the sofa.

“Profiling and the Criminal Psyche and I'm guest lecturing in Criminology 101. I have a few special lectures on geographical profiles in the next month.”

“And office hours?”

“What?”

“Your office hours, you're going to need to post them soon. Mine are Mondays and Thursdays at 11am, you'll need to be out of the office then so I can consult with the students about any absences or grades. If you haven't decided on your hours yet, my schedule is taped in the first draw of my desk.”

You grabbed your jacket from the hook on the door and pulled it over you like a blanket, laying yourself down on the sofa.

“Why would I need your-”

“Do us both a favour and schedule your hours during my contracted teaching time. It'll be easier.”

“Then why don't you schedule yourself during mine?”

You scoffed as you pulled a couch cushion up to rest your head on, closing your eyes as you drowned him out.

“Gee, you're some kind of genius. Can't you figure that one out yourself?”

You heard his sight of frustration but plugged in your headphones anyway, enjoying your 20-minute power nap as you stubbornly refused to face the day's stress.

A week later, you were deep into a College Cold War.

Spencer had attempted what you'd thought was a truce on his second day, arranging the pile of books you needed for that week's seminars on his desk happily.

Until you went to grab the top of the stack, and his hand held yours down on top of it.

“Sorry, that's for my class,” he said, glancing up at you. He smiled as he noticed the irritation in your eyes as you ground your teeth together.

“I'm teaching a class today based on this text. It was an assigned reading-”

“What a coincidence. It's an assigned reading in my class as well. For all 46 students. You better run over to the library, Y/N.”

You dragged your hand out from under his, brushing off the heat that ran up your arm from his hand as disgust rather than attraction.

His existence was irritating, but his face and body were more distracting than anything.

Storming off, you knew you had to one up him somehow, but you wanted to put some thought into it before doing something impulsive. Your first thought had been slashing his tires, so some perspective was definitely needed.

A week passed, and you found yourself having to endure the man's company on a Friday night for a departmental welcome meal. You'd assumed a week ago when it was scheduled into your outlook calendar that it would be to celebrate your promotion, and now the egg was most definitely on your face.

You'd debated not even turning up, but a warning email had let you know that attendance was compulsory, and the dress code was semi-formal.

So, you begrudgingly forced yourself into the little black dress you'd purchased a lifetime ago for your first graduation and got yourself a taxi over to whatever ridiculously expensive restaurant you have to fast at this time.

“Y/N, you’re here. We weren't sure you'd show up, after… you know!” One of the older professors said as you walked in, pressing an air kiss to either cheek as she handed you a champagne flute.

“Well, attendance was compulsory, so here I am!” You wanted to wipe the pompous smile off the woman's face so badly, but unfortunately, she was a member of the hiring committee. Three more months of sucking up to her was in your future, courtesy of a shitty move by the FBI.

“You say that, but our guest of honor isn't even here yet. Typical, right?”

You downed the drink she gave you and excused yourself to take your seat at the dinner table, needing a place to rest your glass to save yourself from cracking it in your furious grip.

It took another hour for Spencer Reid to show his face, and to your glee, he looked genuinely uncomfortable at the prospect of the night ahead.

“Sorry, I was unpacking some stuff at my apartment.”

“Oh, did you move recently?” A curious voice trailed up the table to ask him as he awkwardly side stepped to his seat. Right beside you, obviously.

“No, just… I had some stuff packed up.”

He held his tongue, not revealing more as the table fell in an awkward silence.

You dragged another glass to your lips and sat back in your chair, doing your best to stay unaddressed as the appetizers finally came out.

“Does the department have dinners often?” Spencer whispered, his hot breath fanning against your neck as he leaned closer to you.

The hot feeling washed over you again as you turned towards him, immediately pulling back and putting some distance between the two of you.

“No. Usually, it is only when welcoming guest lecturers or when someone gains tenure.”

“So who got tenure?”

You scoffed. “Funny. Thanks, Spencer.”

“What?”

You looked back at him again, and his brow furrowed in confusion.

“This meal is to introduce you. Everyone else here has tenure.”

“You don't.”

“Yes, well, there wasn't exactly room in the budget for the hotshot FBI profiler and a steady income for another Professor.” You slammed your glass down again and picked up your bag and things, hoping the table hadn't heard your conversation.

“Please excuse me.” You said smiling at the rest of the table. Some of the women sent you sympathetic glances, but the department dinosaurs simply continued their conversations. You'd think a department of psychologists would be able to figure out they were all absolute narcissists.

You carefully exited the group and took yourself outside for some much needed air.

“Y/N.” He shouted from behind you again, and you had to be honest, you were sick of him following and sneaking up on you.

“God, what now, Spencer? Go back inside and get celebrated or whatever. They probably can't start the self-congratulatory circle jerk without you anyway.”

“I came to apologize. Again. But you don't seem to be able to handle the words ‘I'm sorry,’ at all, do you?”

He looked exasperated, but however he was feeling, you felt worse.

“Look, Spencer. I probably have nothing against you personally. But I've just been conned into another three months of probationary minimum wage because your boss at the Bureau decided he wanted rid of you for a month or two. Some of us didn't get child genius scholarships for multiple PhDs and aren't receiving two paychecks right now.”

“If money is an issue, Y/N, you know I could-”

“No. No, stop butting into my personal problems. We can be civil, but we're not… we're not friends, Spencer.”

You stepped back and let out another sigh as you forced the words to stand between you.

“Okay. I'll stay out of your way.”

“Great. Looking forward to it.”

“Sure. Me too.”

[stuffeddeer]

okay but..... pathetic yearning beast!stalkerzai... he's so quiet abt his obsession with u making up any excuse to have u around for subordinate purposes and when ur not around him he makes sure he can still keep tabs on u AHHH hes so sad and so smitten

"pathetic" i dont need to hear any more. im on board.

The continuous knocking on your apartment door leaves you anxious, quickly pulling on a comfy sweatshirt before answering the door. A breeze flies into the room, causing you to shiver, before you make eye contact with,

"Why aren't you at work today?" Dazai crosses his arms, an angry expression on his face. Though, the pout he wears causes it to be less intimidating than he'd normally be.

You glance into your apartment briefly, still feeling chilly while exposed to the outside air. "Um... I don't work?"

"You always work."

"Right. Which is why I have today off." Awkwardly, you itch your arm. "Am I… needed, Boss?"

Dazai sighs before walking into your apartment (with no invitation) and closes your own door behind him. "You're freezing."

"I'm slightly chilled," you shrug, brushing off the notion. Any other subordinate wouldn't dare correct the boss of the Port Mafia, but he'd always been more lenient with you - supposedly because you ‘aren’t as dumb’ as the rest. "But that's what the hoodie is for."

Without another word, Dazai plops down onto your couch, making a show of looking around your apartment. It’s tiny - the whole thing barely the size of his office at HQ — and Dazai wonders if you’d rather move in with him. For more space, of course. And he guesses you’d be saving on rent that way, too.

“How do you know where I live?” You ask curiously. Sure, it’s probably somewhere in your files, but your boss never seemed like the type to care.

Shrugging, he murmurs, “It’s my job.”

You want to make this visit quick, but kicking out your boss didn’t seem like a smart idea. “Are you thirsty? Would you like a cup of tea?..”

Yes, Dazai wants to try your tea. Just because you’re his subordinate, and he needs to make sure it’s up to par. What if he needs you to serve tea to some associates in the future? “I’d love one.”

Biting back a sigh, you fill your kettle before placing it on the stove, watching as your old gas stove flickers on. Silence hangs between you two - you had no intention of carrying the conversation when he just barged in uninvited.

Dazai seems to have a similar idea, sitting laxly on your couch and waiting for his tea. You pour one cup, uninterested in making one yourself, before placing it on the coffee table in front of him. “Sugar? Milk?”

“This is fine, thanks.” He takes a sip. Heavenly, he’s sure. Well, all tea tastes the same, but something about it coming from your hands… delectable. It’s as though he can taste the love you must pour into every cup.

Mouth shut, you take a seat on the chair across from him. “May I ask, sir, why are you here? Am I needed?” The question is posed once again as you hope for a quick resolution. Kicking out your boss is wrong, but hopefully he’ll read between the lines and show himself out - the same way he showed himself in.

A long sip of tea permeates the otherwise silent room. He’s doing this on purpose, you’re sure of it.

“…I was worried,” he mumbles into the mug, sound muffled and quiet.

“Sorry?”

“You should be,” he replies, uninterested in repeating himself. “I needed you today, only to find out you vanished into thin air.”

“I didn’t run, if that’s what you’re implying,” your eyes narrow. You would not be mistaken for a traitor.

“No, no,” he grins. You were at your most entertaining when you became combative. Dazai much prefers you like this rather than subservient. “You took today off.”

Correcting the boss of the Port Mafia was risky, but, “You gave me today off. A month ago, after that mission, you told me to pick a day to relax.”

That’s… true. It was a strenuous mission, and while Dazai made sure to keep you out of the fray, he thought a gift like that would make you feel touched and indebted to him. Annoyingly, he’d nearly forgotten, since Dazai had planned on reneging at the last minute to trap you with him. For your work ethtic, of course.

A pout graces his lips, unhappy at your disappearance from his side. And that he had no rebuttal to it. “Well, I still need you. I made dinner reservations for two accidentally, and the restaurant is rather strict. You need to come with. The meal will be comped, of course."

“Sir, I don’t— “

“Don’t want your job?” His eyes narrow, pout vanishing immediately. You had to go along with it. “I’m sure you don’t mean that, over something as silly as a nice dinner.”

“...Of course, sir.” You tug on the strings of your hoodie, wanting to emphasize that you aren't exactly dressed for something 'nice.' "What time am I expected?"

Dazai has to stop himself from swooning. How adorable. Well, it’s not you that’s adorable, of course. It’s the juxtaposition of such n oversized hoodie on you that he finds adorable, not you yourself. Definitely. “We can leave now, actually. Get changed, please. I wouldn't say there's a dress code, but it's not a 'hoodie' establishment."

Rather than lashing out at him for the snide comment, you choose to bite your tongue and head into your bedroom.

Exhausted was too light a word to describe how you felt. Donned in a 'nice' outfit that was rather uncomfortable, you stood outside in the cold air and harsh breeze as Dazai suggested to the host to let him in. This bastard didn't have reservations for one, much less two.

After the manager is called over and recognizes Dazai, you're quickly ushered in beside him. Dazai pulls out a seat at a secluded table in the back, gesturing for you to sit. "Come."

Without a second thought, you sit in the very seat he'd pulled out, stifling a yawn as he pushes you in. You’re Dazai's best employee - he must keep you close at all times. Which is why he takes advantage of your position as his subordinate to orders you waste your day off in a fancy restaurant across from him. If you want time off of work, you’ll have to spend it with him - just so he can keep an eye on you, of course.

[onpointedfeetandbrokendreams]

Day 4 - Painland Week

Day 4 of Painland Week 2024: August 5th - August 11th by @painlandweek

Prompt: Domestic

Tags:  Post-canon, Slice-of-life, Alive Niko Sasaki, Established Relationship

TW: None

--

Solving big cases had its perks. After Port Townsend, the reputation of “The dead boy detectives and their brand new psychic” had caught on, and with more requests came higher prices. In just a couple of months they didn’t need to worry about paying rent in time for their office space anymore. In a year, they could afford to expand to the apartment next door. Crystal and Jenny had a lot of fun throwing down the wall between the two places with a hammer, and Niko spent an entire month drawing different plans for the new space. They had to hire actual construction workers at some point, but they wanted the first part of the renovation to be theirs.

There were many debates about who would get a personal room, since they only had two. Jenny said she would rather die - no offence - than live with them, but both Crystal and Niko wanted one and they were adamant that they needed them more than a ghost, which was exactly the moment when Edwin decided he needed one, being “one of the founders of the Agency”. Charles, on the other hand, was just trying very hard to hide how much it triggered him when the members of his new family fought with each other.

“How about this,” he said, “we split the two rooms, Edwin and I will take one, you two the other, and we buy more of those rollable mattresses to put in the common space when one of you needs more privacy.”

It was, undoubtedly, the best compromise, so the others had to agree - not without one last challenging glare between Crystal and Edwin, but that was to be expected.

“Thank you, Charles, I know it was silly of us to argue on such a matter,” Edwin said when the two of them were left alone.

Charles hugged him around the waist and hooked his chin on his shoulder. “I mean, I didn’t want to say anything before, but it wouldn’t really make sense for them to have two separate rooms in our office, would it?”

“I feel like I am being a bad influence on you, darling,” Edwin chuckled.

With an answering grin, Charles disentangled himself and started walking towards their new room. “I suggest we buy a very large bed, and we use those two walls for libraries,” he pointed at the different parts of the space as he talked.

“We can put the libraries outside, in the shared space, seeing our collections of tomes and artefacts always impresses the potential clients. How about posters?”

Charles’ eyes widened with wonder. “Really? You would let me?”

“Charles, you do not need my permission, it is a personal room, so clients will not see it, you do not have to remain professional in here.”

It felt like it was Christmas’ morning, except better, because he could share it with the best person who had ever existed instead of his asshole father.

–

It took them months to finish the renovation, but it was so worth it. They finally had a waiting room, a functioning toilet for the living, coffee and tea machines, central heater, two desks, one for meeting clients and the other for research, and the almost fully decorated rooms.

“There is only one thing missing,” said Niko, excitedly. She had been looking like that for an entire day, like she was hiding the most juicy secret and she was barely able to stop herself from telling everyone she met.

“Construction workers have officially left, thank god,” Crystal groaned, closing the door behind her to join the others. “Which means, tonight is the first official house party!”

“This is not your house,” Edwin had to point out, earning himself a raised brow. “Also, Niko was about to say something.”

Niko’s grin, if possible, widened even more. “Yes, I have the best gift ever.”

She produced from her bag something that looked like an old polaroid camera, and before anyone could say anything, she explained:

“You know I went to Port Townsend in December, with my mum. Tragic Mick gave this to me, he says it’s enchanted to allow ghosts to appear in pictures!” She jumped in delight.

Edwin was on the item immediately, opening his palm behind him, in a way that Charles knew meant he wanted his book on “Magical Objects for the Day to Day Life”.

“Edwin, mate, before you go all business on this, do you realise what it means?” Charles said, very softly. “We can finally take a picture together.”

Even Crystal was smiling at the idea, despite her usual distaste for their “too explicit sappiness”.

Edwin looked around at them all, then at the object in his palm again, and smiled the biggest smile Charles had ever seen. He hugged Niko, and all four of them piled on before starting to take pictures in different corners of the new space.

At some point, boxes of Chinese food appeared on the floor, followed by a cake Crystal had ordered for the occasion with the icing forming the words: “Happy Agency Reopening Day!”. While Niko and Crystal had dinner, the two ghosts retreated to their room for a moment, still overwhelmed by the pictures they were holding in their hands.

Edwin caressed them with trembling fingers. “Which one should we put on the wall?”

“This one,” Charles said immediately, but instead of pointing to one of the pictures, he pressed a kiss to Edwin’s lips and clicked the button on the polaroid camera. He hadn’t dared do that in front of the girls, but he had desperately wanted to since Niko had shown them the object.

“You are lucky I love you so terribly,” Edwin said in a mock offended tone.

“I know,” Charles replied, putting the camera and the precious picture on one of the shelves.

“Guys! It’s still friendship time, you can go be lovesick idiots later!” called Crystal from outside the door. Quieter - but not enough not to be heard - she added:

“Shouldn’t the honeymoon phase be over after a thousand years?”

Charles chuckled. “Ready to go back there?”

Edwin nodded and entwined their fingers together, walking towards the door. Before they could walk through it, Charles whispered: 

“I forgot to say, I love you too.”

[ewanmitchellconnoisseur]

Mɪᴛᴄʜᴇʟʟ Esᴛᴀᴛᴇs (Chapter 1) "Mᴏᴠɪɴɢ Iɴ"

EwanMitchell Verse x F!Reader

A/N: Hello! This is the first chapter of my Mitchell Estates Series! This chapter is for introduction so not much going on! //Dividers by@firefly-graphics

Summary: You finally arrive at what will be your new home. You hope this fresh start will be able to bring you some peace and less drama in your life.

Tw: Nothing!

Word Count: 1.8k

Masterlist • Next Chapter → (WIP)

The road feels never-ending. Everything moving outside of the car feels like a blur and you feel as if you're driving in a fishbowl.

Your eyelids feel like they're being weighed down. You've gotten to the point where you've imagined taping them open. Constantly feeling the need to shake your head as you try to stay awake.

You've spent the entire day packing, and loading all your belongings to your new apartment all on 2 hours of sleep. The cost of movers was not an expense you were willing to pay, the truck itself was already putting a dent in your wallet.

"Your destination is on the right."

You turn on your signals and carefully pull into the small building complex.

It wasn't an easy find. A friend of yours luckily knew the person who had just moved out and managed to get in contact with the landlord before they could give the space to anyone else.

It was an old Motel that had been renovated into apartments, though, it still looked like it was a motel.

You pull into a random parking spot near a smaller building that looks to be the office. It feels good to finally put the car in park and unbuckle.

"Fucking finally" You lean your head back on the headrest and close your eyes just for a second. You listen to the sounds of the cars passing by and the music coming from your radio on low. You had work until 2 in the morning, a rare occurrence, they needed help and you needed the money. And it was only natural that when you finally got home at 3 your neighbours were having sex loudly followed by someone being a dick revving their engine outside the building. You ended up falling asleep at 5 but had to be up by 7 to start packing.

As you relax in your car someone comes and knocks on the window. You look out it to see a man standing there with a clipboard. Annoyed, you hold the button to roll down the window.

"Yes?" He eyes you for a moment not saying anything simply looking between his clipboard and you. You notice his eyes go to your chest then your lips.

Fucking creep.

"You're late." He stares at you and then looks down at his watch. "You were supposed to be here 5 minutes ago." He sighs angrily and starts flipping through pages on his clipboard.

"Sorry, there was traffic." You apologize to which he just rolls his eyes.

What the fuck is up his ass?

Technically you were 3 minutes late since you spent 2 minutes taking a breather. Either way, 5 minutes is not that big of a deal.

"Are you going to get out of the car or am I supposed to give you the tour from here?" He chews his gum like one of the cocky guys that come up to you in bars who act as if they're walking around with the biggest dicks on the planet. You sigh and glare at him as you press the button to slowly roll up the window while staring into his soul.

Once it's up you take the keys out of the ignition, grab your bag and step out of your car. It belonged to your dad, it had been all banged up so you had to get it repaired but it was worth it. It was probably the most expensive thing you owned.

You look around now that you're out and fully take in the building. They did a pretty good job at not making it look like a motel the vibrant blue and orange colours of the doors paired with the black finishings as well as the white walls just made it all pop. You could tell the trees were just recently planted and the gardens were actually tended to.

For a moment you had been worried the place your friend found would be a dump considering the side of town it was on and the price of the rent. You were in too much of a desperate situation to come to look at the apartment itself so you had no other choice but

"Any day now..." You look over at the man who is glaring daggers at you. You take in his appearance now that you can see him better. He's wearing a pair of dark blue jeans and a red sweater. You notice that just above the neckline you can catch a glimpse of a tattoo on the side of his neck. He's cute you'd give him that, but the cutest thing about him has to be that nose. Your thoughts grew a little lewd as you thought about riding his face. His nose perfectly nuzzling against your clit.

Why are the hot ones always so fucking rude?

You close your door, locking the car a couple times before following him.

"You're in B3. Thats the second floor, unit 3." He walks over to that office-like building you noticed earlier and leads you inside, holding the door open.

At least he has some fucking manners.

You take a seat across from the desk as he walks around and sits down in front of you while going through the desk drawers. "No loud noises past 11pm, no pets if it's not on your lease, no in-unit laundry machines, no renovations without clearance."

He finally finds what he's looking for. He pulls out a lanyard, attached to it are 2 sets of keys, a laminated pass and a plastic card. The lanyard itself is decorated with the building's name Mitchell Estates and two phone numbers.

"You only get two keys. If you lose them you owe me 30$ for a new one. The pass gets hung up in your car. If I see no pass and no paid ticket I tow the car. The plastic card is your laundry card. The lanyard has my phone number, don't call me, I promise whatever it is I don't care enough to answer. There is also the maintenance number, call him." He speaks with a dead look on his face and no emotion.

He stands up and walks over to the door and holds it open waiting for you to get up and follow him out. You grab your bag stand up and follow him out of the building. He begins leading you over to the actual apartment.

"The spot you're parked in now is empty so you can have it. Over there is the laundry rooms." He points to the left side of the building, you see a boy and a child walk out dragging baskets behind them. "There are garbage shutes on every floor. Recycling is at the back of the buildings. Those vending machines work." You look over to the vending machines and see some guy leaning against it while smoking. He gives you a grin before stomping out his cigarette and walking into his unit. You try to keep up with the Landlord but frankly, he's walking so fast like he's trying to get rid of you.

You follow him upstairs below you see someone walk into the complex and look toward you. He's wearing glasses and a burgundy cardigan paired with cargo pants. He notices you but quickly looks away.

"Over here is yours." He walks you over to a unit. As you get to the door he searches for the keys, a man comes up the stairs and goes into the unit next to you. You notice the cases of beer he's carrying and a tattoo of a horse on his bicep.

He finally finds the right key and unlocks the door. "Over there on the counter is a copy of the rental agreement. Sign it and drop it off by tomorrow. Rent is due on the first of every month. I don't make exceptions and I don't care for sob stories. If you can't pay I call the police. I trust we will have no issues?" He eyes you up and down again.

Isn't he just a ray of sunshine ladies and gentlemen?

"No need to worry. I don't plan on causing any problems." He nods his head and turns to leave. "Wait," you call after him and he turns back around with an annoyed look. You put out your hand and introduce yourself. "Your name is?"

He looks down at your hand and then back up at you.

"Ettore." With that, he's out your door slamming it behind him.

An hour later the moving truck arrived. Your friends hopped out and began helping you unload your stuff. Since you couldn't afford it on your own and they needed a truck too, you split the cost.

One of your friends stops to look around quickly before walking back over to the truck.

"Wow. It's actually nice." Boyse blocks the sun from her eyes as she looks up at the building. "And that man up there is hot."

You look to see who she's looking at. You see the man before who lives next to you leaning on the railing while drinking a beer. He takes another sip before turning around and going back into his apartment.

"How...kind...and I wouldn't call it nice. It's...an improvement." Boyse rolled her eyes at Farleigh's statement. "I guess considering how it looked before...I can see the appeal." He lowered and handed down a box from inside the truck.

"For $900 a month. Im just fine with how it looks." When Farleigh told you the price even you were shocked in this day and age you were looking at about $2k for more apartments. "Now come on and help me get these boxes upstairs. Im not paying a late fee for this truck." You grabbed a box.

The three of you spent the next 2 hours unloading the truck and then unpacking your stuff. You didn't have much since you were only renting a bedroom before but luckily you had good friends who would be bringing by furniture to help fill in your new space.

"Fuck that was rough." Farleigh leaned against the wall and fanned himself with his hand.

"You didn't even do anything." Boyse rolled her eyes as she took a swig from her water before putting back on the cap and sitting on the counter. "You spent the entire time talking about fucking Felix and his new boy toy."

"I'm 100% sure that fucker framed me." Farleigh had been boring you and Boyse about his family drama for the whole day. He only came back to see his mother for a day and tell her what happened. "Which reminds me we have to leave if im going to make my flight. I have a party to crash."

He blew a kiss in the air which you pretended to dodge earning you a dramatic heart clutch from him. Boyse laughed and walked over and hugged you.

"At least you're a bit closer to me now." You followed her over to the door. The next-door neighbour walked by Boyse and watched him walk away before turning to you and winking and running off when Farleigh honked the truck. "Bye, babe! Have fun."

You turn around locking the door before eyeing your plain and empty apartment.

"This is going to take some work..."

A/N: This was SUPER short but it was just meant to introduce the story and set the scene. Hopefully, you guys can figure out who some characters are just by my vague descriptions but if not do not fear! We will meet them all in due time! (Also it is not easy to describe them when they all look alike 🤣) The next chapter will be longer and better and we will also get to meet Will!

General Taglist: @thought--bubble, @valeskafics Series Taglist: @slytherincursebreaker, @watercolorskyy, @dixie-elocin, @venmondiese, @briefcollectivepersona

[mayajadewrites]

Stained Red

Chapter One: Routine

Hell's Kitchen. Your home since you were born, the place where you've lived, loved, and will stay for the rest of your days.

New York born and raised is a saying that should be tattooed on your forehead. Your daily routine consists of stopping at your favorite bodega before work, grabbing an iced coffee from your favorite small cafe, going to work, then to the gym. That routine repeats every day without fail - and you like it that way.

"Good morning mija," Pedro, the bodega owner said behind the counter. "Que tu quieres?"

"Hm, I think I'll just get a bagel with veggie cream cheese today. Thanks Pedro." You pulled your beanie down your head and started mindlessly scrolling through your phone.

It's Autumn in New York, your favorite season. While shows like Gossip Girl make the city look picturesque, it's not always what it seems.

You grab your wallet out of your trench coat, handing Pedro a $5.

"Thank you, have a great day at work!" Pedro's smile always brightened your day, he never seemed to have anything else on his face.

Meanwhile, your face was usually a stern RBF (resting bitch face) and people were more likely not to utter a word to you.

Your favorite coffee shop is two blocks down from the bodega. You check your watch for the time - 7:15AM. Right on time, just how you like it.

Routines are very important to you. Without routines, your world would be turned upside down.

Little did you know a man with red glasses was about to turn your world upside down, backwards, and everything in between.

After you grabbed your usual iced coffee, you headed to work. You're a writer, a pretty well established one at that. You're not as big as Colleen Hoover, but you have readers which is all you care about.

You rent out a small office space above a law office, Nelson and Murdock. This is new for you, but you couldn't stand working from home anymore. You've set up your office over the past few days and it's finally the way you wanted it, for now at least.

It's a cozy, bohemian vibe in your office, perfect for you. It's a large room, with plants at every corner and your desk in the middle.

It's around 8AM by the time you get to your office. You look down to take your keys out of your pocket, when you walk right into a stern shoulder that smells like musk and vanilla.

"My bad," You looked up finally, seeing a man with red glasses and a cane. "Fuck, I'm so sorry." You put your palm to your head.

"No need to apologize. Are you the new renter that moved in upstairs?"

"I am. I just finished moving my stuff in over the weekend." You ended with your name, holding out your hand.

"I'm the Murdock half of Nelson and Murdock. Matt." He grabbed your hand and shook it. His hands were soft, yet callused in some areas. "It's nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too, can I buy you a coffee? I've made a terrible first impression, and I bet you'll love my favorite coffee shop."

"Rain check on that. I'm holding you to it too." Matt raised his eyebrows, smirking. "Have a good day." The way he said your name was like he has known you for 1,000 years.

During the walk up to your office, you thought about Matt's face. His eyes behind the red glasses, his nose, and my god - his lips. You shook your head to get rid of these thoughts because... well, you just met him.

Entering your office felt so... good. You set your tote bag down on your chair and slid your laptop out of your bag.

You decided to put off continuing your novel for a bit and did some Googling of your new neighbors.

Nelson and Murdock weren't terribly well known, but they take on cases that truly mean a lot to the community. They don't take cases for fame or money, they do it to help the people of Hell's Kitchen. Very admirable.

Your latest novel, a romance with a hint of darkness, has been a pretty big hit, online at least. Thank god for BookTok, or else your bills might not get paid.

As you're typing away, you hear footsteps close to the door and you see familiar red glasses through the glass of the door.

Matt knocked softly, making sure he didn't startle you. "I'm cashing in on your coffee. The one Karen brought me today was disgusting."

"I'm sorry, who's Karen?" You asked, almost with a little too much attitude. There's no way you felt jealous over a man you met 2 seconds ago.

"Ah, sorry, she's technically our admin, but she does so much more. She's been working in our office for awhile. Anyways, she went on a coffee run and it tasted like shit."

"Sure, let me grab my bag. Come in." You say, motioning with your hand for him to open the door.

"This is... cute."

"How would you know?" You half laugh. Luckily, Matt laughs with you.

"I can sense the positioning of the furniture and I smell the plants. And I know you've cleaned because I'm not sneezing from the dust." He paused, looking down. "But I can also sense that this isn't the biggest spot, but it feels cozy."

"Exactly what I was going for." You smile, pushing a curl behind your ear. "Let me put my jacket on and we can go." You grab your long tan trench coat, looking in the mirror as you do so. Your outfit consisted of an oversized sweater, leggings, combat boots, a beige beanie and your coat.

For whatever reason, you wanted to make sure you looked okay for this little coffee... outing? Date? It's been awhile since a man shared his time with you. You're last relationship was toxic to say the least, so you've been staying clear of the male species for awhile.

That is, until today.

[setsugekka]

『atarashī 』 ; 01

❝ birthday blues ❞ | mlist ｡

student!hongjoong x fem!reader, husband!yeosang x fem!reader — drama, dark romance, mystery, heavy sexual content [4,4k wc] ch cws: unprotected car sex, marital argument, general drama and angst because things suck.

"Happy birthday!"

The sound of bottles popping, your friends, family and colleagues cheering for you in celebration of another milestone—not as pleasant as some of the others, you've got to admit.

What's so happy about it?

Lackluster marriage, uninspiring job, nothing in particular that gives you reason to wake up bright eyed and ready for the day ahead of you each morning. Still, you force a smile; thank everyone for coming out and take a sip of champagne as pressed into your hands by your adoring and well-meaning husband.

"At least try to pretend you're having fun," he says, a murmur kept between the two of you only. "I've got to catch a flight soon, let's have a good end to the evening before I do."

You look up from the floor and towards Yeosang—suit pressed to perfection and long, wavy hair that you remember once upon a time really liking on him—it's not that you don't like it now, it's just that you have a hard time finding joy in much of anything nowadays.

"I am, I'm happy," you lie with a smile, and knowing perfectly well that he knows as much. Your husband won't argue with you on the fact, though. Maybe a few years ago, but not now. "I love you, thank you for putting this together."

"How does it feel to be thirty?" he asks with a glass pressed to his lips, the both of you standing off to the side and gazing out towards the crowd of people—all there for you.

Horrible, terrifying, boring, uneventful. Nothing. All at once, though you don't particularly want to answer with even one of them, so, you don't.

"The same." Not a lie, not really.

"Shall we go celebrate it then? Make it a little bit more special?" Yeosang's lips curl upwards, something mischievous. Birthmark on full display, you're happy that he didn't cover it up tonight—a small gift from him to you.

And you know precisely what he is intending by that. You want to shrug, but it's not the best answer to such a proposition.

Down the stairs and towards the car park the two of you go.

It's late enough in the evening that the garage is largely empty—a rented out office space used for your birthday party and long after hours for the majority of the employees that might otherwise be traversing the grounds. You're thankful for that, with the fog that has now collected upon the windows of your husband's luxury vehicle.

Yeosang's fingers are tightly planted into the flesh of your hips, mouths frequently finding one another in sloppy, poorly-attempted kisses as you grind your hips down against his lap in the backseat of his car. Certainly time better spent than upstairs, easier to forget about all of the things that you hate to acknowledge about this evening—about your life.

"Will you miss me?" he asks in a groan, pulling you down harder against him as best as he can. "I'm going to miss you."

You kiss him again, more intent behind this one than the others, because you will. Yeosang is often gone, it's been like this for years, and while you've mostly become accustomed to sleeping alone in your marital bed, there still lies within it a pang of displeasure that you've long since given up on voicing—having learned years prior that doing so will get you nowhere as far as his time spent home with you.

"Of course I will, I always do."

As if aroused by that fact alone, Yeosang's earnest grip firms even more, drags you along his length faster and with a goal in mind as his lips travel down from yours and instead go to work nipping and sucking small, light marks into the flesh of your neck just below. An airy moan escapes you, whispering to him that you're close, not to stop, that you love him; and Yeosang demands for you to come for him upon feeling the fact that you're reaching the precipice of doing so.

When you do, it's with fingers woven into his long, dark hair and his quiet chant against your skin that comes out as nothing but praise. Yeosang comes shortly thereafter—deep inside of you and with a contented sigh following.

Leaning back ever so slightly, you press a chaste kiss to his lips, and he smiles as a result of it.

"You're going to have to go back inside with quite a parting gift from me," he says, coyly referring to the mess left between your legs.

You frown. "You aren't coming back upstairs with me to say goodbye?"

"I just said goodbye," he answers. You can parse through it well enough a hint of contention despite his attempt in concealing it. Like he's anticipating a fight coming.

Lips straightening thin, you sigh and begin removing yourself from his lap—readjusting your undergarments and skirt in preparation for your walk of shame back up to the party. You don't want this to turn into a fight, not that it would be the first time in relation to situations such as this one.

Yeosang must notice the change in your demeanor in spite of your attempt to conceal it, because he lets out a similarly exasperated sigh; like it's a competition to see which one of you can be more disgruntled by the outcome of this particular happening.

"Don't be like that," he says. "Come on, do you really want to ruin tonight? On your birthday?"

On your birthday, as if that's meant to be some sort of bargaining chip from him to you. As if it's his party, his night, and you're harshing his good time.

"I didn't say anything, if you have to go then you have to go."

"Yeah, I do, so why are you acting like this? Do we have to do this every single time?"

You look back at him from over your shoulder, hand gripping the handle of the door and more than ready to escape the confines of his car now. Suffocating inside of it.

"I've long since given up trying to fight with you about this stuff. About having you around more, about you being more present. I've very much come to terms with the fact that you will come and go as you please, and that I have no other option than to shut up and deal with it."

"And I'm sure you hate the nice apartment, the nice car, the extra funding for the theater and ample, unchecked spending money that comes as a result of my lack of presence."

A couple of beats of silence pass between the two of you after that, you sigh first, then open the door and kick your feet out in order to begin your exit.

"It's not about the money, Yeosang. Not everything is about the money."

You watch him chuckle under his breath, as if the whole thing is exhaustingly comical to him. It probably is, because you've had this very same conversation so many times before. You're finding just as little joy in it as he is, and can't help but wonder if he has even considered as much.

Tucking himself back inside of his pants and tending to the buckle, he glances over at you.

"If you want me around more then we can move into one of the old storage rooms of the theater, clear out some space among the scrap wood and fabrics. Wouldn't that be nice?"

The sarcasm in his voice goes none appreciated by you, and as you stare it him quietly for a few moments’ time, you make peace with the fact that this conversation, like all others—is going nowhere useful.

"Have a good trip."

The car door shuts with an unintentional, but resoundingly loud bang.

You hope for a quiet re-entry, that no one has noticed you're gone or makes any assumptions about why that is. From behind the large door leading inside, you take a deep breath; center yourself so that you can put on a good enough mask, so that no one has to ask what's wrong.

It's been so long that you've been going back and forth with Yeosang about this, part of you is shocked that you even still have the capacity to feel about it at all.

The door pulls open, and with one step inside, your best friend is found awaiting your presence—perched steadfast right beside the opening and with two drinks in hand.

"Welcome back."

There's a particular look of knowing on Seonghwa's face as he says it—which makes sense, all things considered—and you take the glass from him that he gently extends towards you. A large sip follows in the silence that hangs between you, gazing out at the party while it carries on without you.

You can feel the reluctance wafting off of him from beside you, but with it comes the need to address the elephant in the room. There's no escaping this conversation, much like so many others.

"Yeosang left?"

"Flight to catch."

"Ah," he replies, simple enough. Takes a sip to cut the tension a little bit. "Well, it's the beginning of the school year, that's something to look forward to, isn't it?"

You hum, a nod accompanying it. "I've still got some loose ends to tie up before we start letting students into the theater, there's a leaky pipe backstage that I'm going to have to deal with before it becomes a much larger issue, but beyond that I'm mostly ready to have the place crawling with the usual artistic types. They're nice, sort of a joy to have around with how bright-eyed they are in comparison to me."

A chuckle carries from you at the tail end of the sentence, Seonghwa smiles at it, understands that it's part of the mask.

"Have you ever thought of giving the place up? Moving out of the city with Yeosang somewhere and just...settling down? I can't imagine you need the place all that much considering the hefty inheritance you were left."

You shrug, lifeless.

"We spent a lot of it on the wedding, another lot of it on the apartment—besides, it's the only thing I've really got left from my family. Hard to let go of such an heirloom, ya know? Besides, it keeps me busy when Yeosang is gone."

"Which is most of the time."

"Yeah."

Seonghwa kicks back the remaining liquid in his glass, you follow suit. He nudges towards the balcony as a silent request for him to follow you and you do so without so much as a question. The air is more brisk but clearer up here—far better than the outdoors of a stuffy parking garage.

You watch him take out a cigarette, playfully grimace at the sight of it as he lights it, but he only goes as far as to flash you a look that says don't bother with the dramatics.

"Is this just how it's going to be forever then?" Seonghwa asks plainly, curt. Like now that you're outside he's able to speak freely on the matter in a way that he couldn't before. "Your husband is always gone, you spend all your time tending to a bunch of uni students and a century year old theater hall? That's everything?"

You find yourself wondering much of the same.

He takes a drag of his cigarette before starting up again. "I know you gave up a lot to be with this guy, and I know you love him, but is this what you wanted? Can you live the rest of your life like this?"

"Hwa," you groan, a hand in the air to swat away the smoke that travels towards you, though that's far from the thing that irritates you the most about this interaction. "It's not like that. It's tough now but Yeosang's on track to retire early, and it'll all be worth it then."

"Yeah, if you two make it to then."

That makes you reel, a look of slight disgust towards him for so much as suggesting such a thing, and while Seonghwa tends to be steadfast in his approach, even he is willing to resign himself to perhaps going too far with this one.

"Look, all I'm saying is that this is far from the first time we've had nights like this. I know you want to be happy, but wanting to be happy and actually being happy are two vastly different things, and I worry about how long you're willing to stick it out through the misery in hopes that there's a light at the end of the tunnel. I mean, you already resent him for being absent so much."

That is true.

A strong exhale escapes you and you motion towards your friend for him to give you something. He understands it well enough—hands you his cigarette which you quickly drag from and give right back—make a face of regret at the taste and smell.

"What do you suggest then?" you ask, though not actually expecting to receive anything of merit in doing so. "Divorce my husband, move out of the city, take a two hour commute there and back everyday just so that I can clean up scraps left by the thespian kids?"

"You should tell them to clean up after themselves for one, they're all adults," Seonghwa says seriously. "But no, I'm not suggesting that. I know you won't, though people certainly do have a funny way of creating excitement in their lives where complacency otherwise resides and it is not often felt without its fair share of problems alongside."

"There isn't really any excitement to create," you insist lazily, motioning towards the door to head back inside once and for all. "But who knows, maybe this year one of the classes will do something especially fun, like West Side Story. I like West Side Story."

"Alright everyone, gather 'round!"

The voice comes through loud and somewhat shrill from somewhere in the crowd of people that you can't quite place. It's difficult to pinpoint who, exactly, says what over the murmur of sounds from a large grouping of students as they look at their new surroundings and talk amongst themselves about all of the hopes they anticipate to have play out within these walls over the next however many years that they partake in their programs.

From aspiring actors, to writers, to costume designers—a plethora of students that wish to watch their dreams come alive before them and among their peers with similar goals—for some it might be their first year embarking on such a journey, and for others, somewhere between the middle and end.

Aurelia Hall; renowned amongst many for the years upon years of stunning architecture and plethora of talents that have come and gone from these numerous hallways and stage setups. A reputation to produce only the best—that studying at the Akademiya far from the goal, and rather—it is the ability to be blessed by Aurelia in doing so that has so many hopefuls shuffling in their applications to attend the school.

There is no magic here; though the way in which people speak of it might have one thinking otherwise. If you study at Aurelia, success is sure to find you. Words that you've heard spoken between students over so many years that you've found yourself mouthing along in silence to them.

A gentle laugh to yourself, where is your success then?

So you stand with arms crossed at the very back end of the main theater as everyone says their introductions and puts on something of a performance in doing so. It comes naturally to most, you can imagine; a small pleasure coming from the fact that the group of students appears to be smaller this year despite a mixture of all levels as it always is. First years and fourth years all mingling on the first day as if it's the schoolyard playground.

You smile ever so slightly, until you feel the presence of another body coming up just behind.

"Can I speak to you for a moment?"

One of the professors from some class, you've hardly been able to keep track despite the year after year that you meet them and pretend to remember from the last. Hardly your fault, that's what you tell yourself at least, on account of the fact that this is very likely to be the last time that you speak to this person until the year after this one.

The staff make themselves seldom known within the halls—their craft largely gifted to the students under their care within the walls of the Akademiya, then the underlings are released unto the care of you—something to that effect. A student body comprised of adults who need little to no supervision of any kind and are happy to keep to their own; discussing ideas and sketching out plans in small bubbles of similar minds.

You're not often needed past the first week, once everyone figures out where the smaller theater rooms and the bathrooms are located.

Following the staff member out into the hallway and closing the door behind for just a bit more privacy, your eyes rake over the man as he thumbs through a file, landing on a page and pushing it in front of you for you to glance over yourself.

"There's a fourth year student who will be joining us, though it's his first year at the Akademiya. He's a transfer from elsewhere, and really—"

"This is more like his sixth year," you say, finishing the sentence for him. He nods, knowingly. "Why hasn't he graduated?"

"Difficult to say, I haven't had much time with him, obviously, as the year has only just started. He seems bright from what I can gather in such a short amount of time, but I get the inkling of a feeling that he is largely uninspired, burnt out, having a hard time getting the final pieces together. The transcripts from his last school say that he didn't even bother turning anything in for his final project, and in fact, he disappeared without a trace for weeks until he finally put in a formal request to transfer."

Fascinating, but bizarre. Your eyebrows pull together, a strangeness collecting on your face.

"I'm surprised the Akademiya even accepted him with a track record like that, unlike the governing body."

"His portfolio is good, really impressive, so I assume that's why," the man says with a sigh and a shrug. "I guess it's up to us to drag the last little bit we can from the guy and get him out of here and into the world."

"Us? I'm no teacher, I don't know the first thing about guiding anyone."

Head cocking to the side and gifting you a half-smile, the man closes the file and nods towards the door once again.

"You're in charge when they're here, and I'm in charge when they're with me. You come from a long line of artists, if you hadn't then you wouldn't be running this place. Surely you've picked up something about the arts in your time?"

Yes, though not something you're all that eager to revisit if not necessarily required of you.

The man pulls ahead, opens the door to the theater and saunters inside. You follow him along the way over perfectly steamed red carpet and past numerous students who are none too interested in the fact that either of you are accompanying them within their creative spaces. Up the wooden steps to the side of the stage and then past the navy blue curtain, despite the darkness and the faint scent of moisture that you're certainly going to have to continue to tend to as a result of that damned leaky pipe, you're faced with the sight of one man, by himself, with hands busy at work.

You and the professor stand in place in silence as you look upon the student; messy brown hair and even while sitting on the floor with legs crossed, you can tell he's not especially tall. There's a dress form in front of him, though it's well out of reach as he works with busy hands and a pile of fabric in his lap that keeps all of his attention—none spared for either of you.

"Costuming?" you ask the man beside you in a lean, eyes still fixed onto the sight ahead of you. It feels stupid speaking of him as if he's not within earshot, then compounded by the way his head finally does turn towards where you stand with narrow, questioning eyes.

Your colleague nods, but the person ahead answers aloud for him. "Yes. Costuming."

"Sorry," you say, nearly fumbling even just the single word in response to him. "I—didn't want to interrupt you."

He sighs then, tosses his head back as if reluctantly resigned to having to engage in this whole thing at all. Sets his work aside and crawls to his feet to make his way towards the two of you.

The two of you meet eyes, and it lingers a bit longer than it might normally. Something strange, something intriguing about this student in particular—fascinating.

Extending a hand for pleasantries, he introduces himself. "Kim Hongjoong. Seventh year costuming student, but who's counting?"

"It's six according to your file." The man beside you begins thumbing through again, as if looking for what it is that he missed the first few times.

The student—Hongjoong—smiles. "Did a year at a school off in Hong Kong, bombed out so spectacularly that we agreed to not bother even adding it onto the transcript, so aside from the memories, it's as if I never existed there at all."

You can't help but find yourself stunned at the nonchalance in which he speaks on such things. Schools like these—schools like the Akademiya—are nothing to be scoffed at or played with, entry to them is extremely limited and some people go their whole lives dreaming for a shot at just one; this guy has flown through at least three, and with nothing to show for it, at that.

A feeling of judgment washes over you, catching yourself looking down your nose at him for being such a magnificent failure. It's not who you want to be, and you make an effort to correct the thoughts before they fester any longer in your mind.

The two of you shake hands—soft skin and you can't help but take notice of the single pinky painted black—a statement piece, something to be noticed.

"I take it you're going to be trouble then," you say plainly, wanting it to come off as something of a joke but meaning it just as much as well. Hongjoong huffs out a quiet laugh at the mere mention of it, as if asinine to even assume as much.

"The only person I've ever been trouble for is myself. If you're afraid I'm going to tear this place up or cause any of my peers any kind of harm, then I can put your mind at ease that that's never been the reasoning behind my removals—be it self-imposed or by the administration board."

"Then what is the reason, if you don't mind me asking?" the man besides you pipes up, having given up on the paperwork in hand.

Hongjoong sighs, slips his hands into torn up jean pockets and rocks back onto his heels once or twice before finally resigning himself to simply answering the question as laid out before him. You're curious as well, though you might not have had the gall to ask it so brazenly as your colleague has.

"Suppose I'm my own worst enemy," Hongjoong says, a lazy shrug accompanying the words. "I'm not a psychologist, but a psychologist would probably say that I have self-destructive tendencies."

"Have you ever seen a psychologist?" you ask then, interest piqued by his willingness to self-diagnose in such a shameless way.

"Now that you're not allowed to ask," he says with a playful tone. Uncaring of the question or its privacy to him, but rather using it as a way to chide you effortlessly.

You back down immediately, and your colleague steps up in your stead.

A grin forms on Hongjoong's lips meanwhile.

"Well, back at the Akademiya, I'll be more than happy to do what it takes to finally get you graduated and out onto the next step of your career. File says you're twenty-five, so I can't imagine you're thrilled to be spending your time around a bunch of barely-twenties, either."

"I tend to keep to myself regardless of the age, so it's unimportant to me."

The answer makes you want to roll your eyes, you stifle the desire out of respect.

"If you need anything, don't hesitate to contact me. You have my phone number as well as my email, and for when you're here—"

There's a beat of silence that comes between the three of you, your eyes glancing to the side to meet the man speaking, and then once more falling towards Hongjoong as he stands in front.

"You'll be answering to the groundskeeper, she'll try to accommodate you to the best of her abilities."

Hongjoong's eyebrow perks upwards, seemingly intrigued by that. "Do you act?"

Not what you expected, and it takes you back just a bit, hands flying up in a visual display of putting a stop to the assumption. "No, no! Nothing like that. I've inherited the place from my great grandparents after their passing."

"But you're familiar with the arts."

Persistent, isn't he?

The answer is yes, though it's something you've long since learned to put aside for much more practical engagements and a husband none too keen.

"I'm...familiar, yes." Whatever that means.

Hongjoong doesn't reply further, though his eyes linger on you a bit longer than you'd like for them to. A discomfort in how forward he is, not at all what you might have anticipated when first laying your sights upon him.

"Perfect then," the man beside you says. "We'll be on our way, and I'll see you tomorrow at the Akademiya."

"Yup," Hongjoong says, though you can't help but catch the hint of something hidden within the tone of his voice. You can't put your finger on it, though even after you turn your back to him, you know his gaze remains on your form.

"See you around."

a/n: weeee excited to have this one started! reminder that if you wish to discuss the story with me, the ask box is the best way to do it! another reminder that this story is going to get ugly and dive into some stuff that a lot of people are going to get squicked out about. those things have been clearly warned. until next time, cheers! xo

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

Am I the asshole for bringing my friend to stay for the weekend?

Didn't think I'd ever make this, but here we are. So, I recently moved in with a roommate for this year of college. We never met before and we live in different parts of the country (not USA, it's a country in Europe).

Anyway, things were going great. Then I came to her one night like my friend and I wanted to go see a movie on Saturday in cinema and we'd come here afterwards to watch a show on TV since she doesn't have one in her dorm and she will likely sleep over since it's on the other side of the town and I don't want her to have to go by bus and if she wanted, she could also come with us. She said ok, but she won't join us. She will be in her room with earphones.

So, just as an fyi, the appartment has 2 separate bedrooms, huge ones, a huge bathroom (don't take this lightly, it is fit for a couple with two children and has a bathtub), the living room and dinning room are connected but there is literally space for 6 at the table and the couch can fit 4 people plus there is an armchair, the is also a spacious kitchen and a long hall and small office. When we moved, her idea was that since she has a work table she can bring, she'll take a room close to the door and put it there and I can take the room next to the office and take the office for myself. We split the bills and rent in half and our landlord told us we don't have to pay anything aside from rent the first month as a welcome gift (not unusual here).

So, Saturday, my friend asked me to help move from one dorm from one part of the town to the one in another, since it was the end of the month and everyone is coming back to college and now the one she got opened again. We went there and the lady at the desk told her she couldn't move in without a doctor's note telling them she is alright, essentially meaning she would have no place to stay untill Monday since the doctors that give those notes don't do weekends and she would have to wait. I told her that since she already is staying at my place for Saturday, she can also stay for Sunday since she had nowhere to go. We weren't paying anything except rent that month, so my roommate couldn't argue that she shouldn't pay something she didn't spend or anything. Here, it would be considered rude to say that, but people are colder to others to where she is from, so I wouldn't put it above her.

Anyway, we came to the appartment and put all of her stuff (a suitcase and a few bags) into the office only I use and I told my roommate like sorry, but there was a slight change in plans, we didn't anticipate this happening, we won't bother you etc. She said okay. I, like any well raised person here, offered my friend a drink (we had water, tea and coffee, she picked tea, I bought that, no alcohol or anything similar involved) and we went to the movies afterward.

The movie was shorter than we thought so we came back earlier and we decided to watch other stuff on TV to pass time and I made some coffee (it is custom to drink coffee in the afternoon here). Meanwhile, my roommate was showering. After she came out of the bathroom she came to me and said we needed to talk. I was like ok, confused as to what. She came to us, we were sitting on the living room floor since the couch was too far away from the coffee table and she told me that in the future that I need to tell her when my friend is coming since she has stuff to do outside of college (still unclear as to what), that this ruined her plans and that I need to tell our landlord my friend is staying over. I was like, I told you, I remeber that, and I told you she would sleep over, you were fine with it, the plus one night wasn't planned, but I can't let my friend sleep on the street and our contract says nothing about me or her for that matter letting a friend sleep over. She was like, yeah, I understand that you didn't plan that, but I didn't see what you said about her coming here on Saturday as that, and I was like what, I couldn't be clearer and then she just left to go back into her room.

Soon after, my friend and I went for a walk to discuss the situation and to see if it was just me. We came back, watched the show we planned and when to sleep in my room. We got up the next morning and steered clear of the appartment for the day as to not disturb my roommate. We came after she went to bed and went to sleep ourselves.

In the morning, Monday, I got up to get milk and breakfast for me and my friend since my roommate has her own diet because she has a sensitive stomach so I didn't get anything for her, considering that. We said hi and she went to her room. My friend came out of my room and we sat down to eat and when my roommate came out of her room she said hello, but my roommate ignored, picked her breakfast and went back to the room, which is odd considering she usually eats it at the table and that table is fit for six people, maybe more and her spot was still free, on the other side of us. She left without saying goodbye and she didn't say a single word to me after that first good morning.

I wanted to talk to her about the situation this afternoon after we both come back from the classes. I would have done so earlier, but I didn't want to have an audience aka my friend since this is a problem between my roommate and me.

She came back late, but she didn't even try to say a word to me at all since that morning and I don't want to leave this unresolved, but it's late and I have classes so I was thinking about leaving her a letter to read, but I also feel like I did something wrong, I just don't know what.

So, am I the asshole?

What are these acronyms?

[a-forbidden-detective]

Karaoke love

This is written for @flashfictionfridayofficial with the prompt #FFF238 Take my hand and for @fluffbruary February 2 prompt : engagement | scent | jam

—

Beware of manga spoilers for the latest chapter. This is exactly 1000 words. I was totally into it at the end. I hope the ending makes sense. Heh!

Toto takes a shot from his whiskey glass, easing himself up. It’s his turn to sing. The screen monitor shows the song that he’s chosen awhile back. The truth is his singing is only confined to the four corners of the flat and his shower cabin in Asakusa.

Ron mentioned once that his love for singing in the shower is one of the rare times when Toto lets himself go apart from his innate resoluteness. But come to think of it, Ron didn’t say much about the quality of his singing voice, Toto has only been just self-conscious ever since that incident that he never sings anymore whenever he stays at Ron’s apartment.

Who suggested going to the karaoke bar anyway? Ah, it was Kawasemi-san. Today is the last day that he’s going to be in town and coincidentally his birthday that for all intents and purposes, Dr. Mofu asked him what else he wanted to do in Tokyo before going back to Aichi.

They rent a private room at the Karaoke Kan in Shibuya. The shop became famous when it was featured in a Western film in the early 2000s about two Americans, who found each other amidst the backdrop very alien to them: from food to cultural references. The premises have become a Mecca for tourists.

The whole gang is here. Amamiya, who tags along these days, and Dr. Mofu didn’t have the time when they went to Kamakura for sightseeing two days ago. So, they made sure that they were present this time around before sending Kawasemi-kun back to Nagoya. The only one who’s missing is Spitz, who cannot leave London at the moment and is disgruntled with a dash of envy in his body when he finds out their plans.

“Ack, Tototo! I am going to miss your performance. Ron-kun says that he has a rock ‘n’ roll singer living in his house.” Toto laughed when he heard this.

Should Toto stand up?

An arm gathers around him, as if grounding him. While the hand holds his shoulder, firm and yet tender. Toto turns to his left; Ron’s blue eyes confront him. Relax.

“Y-yeah…” Toto has calmed down a bit.

The first notes of a raunchy electric guitar surge, he poses to belt out the text that flashes on the screen.

“I'm an alligator/ I'm a mama-papa comin' for you / I'm the space invader / I'll be a rock 'n' rollin' bitch for you / Keep your mouth shut … Keep your 'lectric eye on me, babe … Press your space face close to mine, love / Freak out in a moonage daydream, oh yeah!”

His friends are fired up, hooting at the way Toto playfully sings a David Bowie song. Chikori-kun’s admiration skyrockets to 200 per cent. Her eyes scream of glowing stars. Kawasemi kun sings along. He knows it by heart and has been a Bowie fan. He’s so glad that Toto made a little research about him. Dr. Mofu’s face breaks into a giggle as she stops conversing with Amamiya, who cannot stop smiling. Toto, gyrating before her very eyes, has transformed into another person. And Ron? He’s looking at Toto with his hungry eyes, his hands won’t stop rubbing his thighs clothed in loose jeans. He then places his right hand into his pocket and reaches for a small box inside, feeling glad that he hasn’t lost the engagement ring.

You deserve all the good things in the world, Toto!

As the Tokyo police officer hits the end notes, Toto bows to the delight of his friends clapping and whistling on his way.

“Thank you so much!”

Ron hands him a glass of water and half-hugs him when he’s already seated.

“You did well, Toto!”

Toto mouths his thanks as he downs another glass when the next song starts to play. Chikori kun can’t stop herself from gushing when he notices that Ron stands up.

Oh, he’s next. Toto is darn curious now. He knows that Ron can sing really well as expected of him.

“Wise men say / Only fools rush in / But I can't help falling in love with you / Shall I stay? / Would it be a sin / If I can't help falling in love with you?”

All of a sudden, the whole room turns quiet. No one claps, nor whistles. As if a magician does his trick enchanting the audience. Everyone is glued watching Ron does his interpretation of a popular Elvis Presley song.

Toto is fastened on his seat, mouth agape. Ron is looking at him, his intentions are clear. His heart beats faster, aware of his surroundings and the four sets of eyes that are focused on them.

“Take my hand / Take my whole life, too / For I can't help falling in love with you…”

Ron sits next to Toto and seizes his hand. He begins to speak.

“I am glad that our friends are here to give me support and witness the promise I will say here today. Too bad that Spitz isn’t around but he already knows my plans.”

Toto’s face is red now not because of the alcohol but specifically because of Ron, who is in front of him, who is now removing an object from his pocket.

“Toto, I know that it is all so sudden. But, after all the things that happened between us, I believe that there is an understanding that we can’t live without each other and instead prepare to die together if we are faced with a choice, are you willing to be my partner for life? Will you marry me?”

Toto’s mouth quiver, why hasn’t he never thought that this day will come? Ah, that’s why he can never be as good as Ron when it comes to sleuthing.

He then grabs Ron’s face and in front of everyone kisses Ron, his fiancé. Without remorse nor embarrassment while their friends say their congratulations.

“Yes!”

~ fin ~

[mercurygray]

Hi Merc! How do you feel about prompt nr 16 (daybreak) for my Clubmobile girls? Doesn't have to be anything romantic if you're not vibing with it, just the girls

Thank you 💜

- your Fred Friend

I hope this works for you, Fred Friend!

Technically, it was Mary's fault.

Mission days were always early starts - 3:00 a.m. to roll out of bed in the old, crumbling mansion the Red Cross was renting for them, and pull the truck out from the shed to be on the road and catch the end of the 5:30 am run on the equipment shed with hot coffee and a mix of yesterday's leftovers and today's starter batch, usually too doughy as the oil came up to temperature.

It was cold out before the sun came up, and they kept the windows of the truck closed while they started the oil and heated the urns for coffee, the small space cramped but warm enough, with the four of them and the fryers going. Moods were infectious, in a small space like this, and Tatty seemed to have slept on the wrong side of the bed the way she was banging pans and slamming doors and grumbling about how she'd like to shoot the man who invented early mornings and gas stoves that wouldn't light.

Anyway, she was a little ridiculous, like early mornings had only just been invented and they hadn't been doing this for months on end, and Mary had started humming, and then Helen was doing it too, and by the time the tune got to Fred it had harmony and a rhythm section with the tongs and a measuring cup until Tatty turned around, blazing, and Fred could only grin.

"Oh, she kicked out my windshield," she started, still drumming along with the tongs, and the rest picked up, "And she hit me over the head She cussed and cried and said I lied And she wished that I was dead! Oh, lay that pistol down, babe, lay that pistol down Pistol packing mama, lay that pistol down."

The coin could have fallen on either side, but Tatty, it seemed, had complained enough for one morning. She rolled her eyes and declared she was going to let the mess hall know they were here, leaving the three of them to open the windows, still laughing about their improvised jam session.

It seemed they already had a customer - or an audience. Captain Brennan was waiting in the half-light of dawn with a cup of coffee already in hand and a clipboard under her arm, uniform beautiful and crisp. (She was always well dressed, whether by habit or practice - all the girls said so. Not too many women could make the green and pinks look chic, but by god, would Marion Brennan try.)

"You're all very chipper this morning," the intelligence officer observed, waiting a respectful distance away as they rolled up the windows and started putting out the doughnut racks.

"Sorry, ma'am," Helen offered quietly. (Brennan intimidated her, for reasons Fred couldn't ever quite understand - but then, perhaps she was a little intimidating, with her beautiful hair and her rank and her surety about her station. And how many other women were walking around air bases with captain's bars and the complete trust of the C.O.? Brennan's word was law and her good opinion gold.)

Brennan chuckled, her smile rare and warm. "Why are you apologizing? It's good to see smiles this early."

"Get you a fresh cup, Captain?" Mary asked, gesturing with the pot she was holding.

"You may, Mary, thank you." Brennan shook the remnants out of her cup and onto the grass, and offered Mary the now-empty mug. "If we're being honest, I like your coffee more than I do the mess hall's."

"Isn't it a little early for you, ma'am?" Fred asked, leaning over the window holding the sugar shaker so the Captain could help herself. It was only the flight officers in the earliest briefings, pilots and bombardiers and navigators, and Brennan certainly wasn't one of them. (Any minute now they'd all be done suiting up, and those doors would open and the whole lot of them would begin the hike out to the trucks that would take them out to the hardstands.)

"You know what they say about early birds and worms. I need to review today's run with Major Bowman, after they've sent them all out so I can brief my team. And we have photos from yesterday's run to review and send on to wing."

"Those worms won't know what hit them," Fred replied with a smile. Another smile from Brennan.

"What worms now?" Colonel Harding appeared from the direction of the briefing hut, hat tucked under his arm, Jack Kidd following close behind him.

"The worms the group's going to bomb today, sir," Mary offered, holding out a fresh mug. "Coffee for you? Major Kidd, some coffee?"

"Thank you, Mary. Mighty kind." Harding took it and drank deeply before anyone could offer powdered milk or sugar, watching as Kidd stepped away to speak with Brennan.

The song was still stuck in Fred's head as she continued setting the mugs and doughnuts out for service, glancing up to see Harding's face in the dim of daybreak, watching the conversation between his XO and his intelligence captain with an expression that Fred thought she would call pride, and, in another space and a different light, perhaps something like love.

Oh, lay that pistol down, babe, lay that pistol down Pistol packing mama, lay that pistol down.

[sirfrogsworth]

Looking Forward

If I trust my brother... and he did my dad's will properly... and set up my trust correctly... then I should be able to stay in the house for roughly 2 years.

If I trust my brother.

Then I can either sell the house and use that money for a small apartment or try to find a roommate situation to help me stay in the house a little longer. The nice thing about paying the mortgage is I can get most of that money back if I ever do sell the house. It's almost like a savings account with all my stuff inside.

Let's just hope the property value doesn't plummet for some reason. Though it has been around the same amount for many years.

I like living in my house. It's what I've known for 30 years. But being alone in the house is going to be a hard adjustment. After two years (or sooner) I may want to move near Katrina or Delling so I am closer to a support system. I wish we could all live next door to each other. Or live on a farm/ranch situation. And instead of chickens it is just a bunch of free range corgis.

I tried convincing Katrina to build a pool house, but she has a small backyard and no pool. HOWEVER... Apparently Florida has a lot of "mother-in-law suites." I had no idea that had a name, but I could be Katrina's mother-in-law. I have the skill set to guilt trip, make passive-aggressive comments, and judge how she raises her future kids. (And any other outdated stereotypes I've learned from 80s comedians.)

But I also like the idea of having a roommate. I could accommodate a single person or a small family. And I'd love to have an animal of some kind around. We have a huge fenced-in area left over from Otis.

I think I could offer someone a pretty sweet living situation. I have a full basement apartment that I reside in and so the entire upstairs is available for people to live in. I could charge cheaper rent than a cheap apartment in exchange for helping with chores that I struggle to do.

There is plenty of furniture and appliances ready to use. Full laundry room. I've got a really nice home theater in the living room so they can watch movies in style. I also have a few hundred TV series and several thousand movies on Plex. They get a full kitchen and bathroom to themselves. Plenty of garage space and a long driveway to park vehicles. They can have up to 5 rooms to do whatever in. They could do 3 bedrooms, a living room, a kitchen, and a small den area. My mom liked the den because she could watch her Judge Judy shows while my dad watched JAG in the living room.

If they don't have a family, they could convert 2 of the bedrooms into office space or craft rooms or S&M dungeons. They can decorate any way they'd like. But they have to keep the sex swing clean so I can use it. Not for sex--I just enjoy centripetal forces. And they'll have great privacy as I will be in the downstairs apartment. They'd only see me if I exit the house or if they invite me to dinner or movie night.

All they would have to pay is whatever I can't cover. I'd estimate in the $600-$800 range once the trust fund runs out. Plus the chores like cleaning and yard duty. That's a good deal, right?

The only downside is the house is in a deteriorating neighborhood. Businesses are closing and people are moving away. Our street is pretty isolated so there isn't much danger or crime. But we are adjacent to a dangerous neighborhood and the schools aren't great. That said, while there isn't much around here, in St. Louis you are always ~25 minutes from anything you need. The highway is literally down the street so driving to anywhere is fairly hassle free.

Also, I'd be happy to lend out the car for transport to a job. I'll only need it to get groceries every few weeks. They'd have to get added to my insurance and help with gas and maintenance.

Soooo... yeah, I think I have a lot to offer with my house.

They do have to be okay with my big subwoofer rattling things. The sound doesn't really travel through the floor, but the vibrations can. I can tone it down if they are sleeping though.

Oh! We also have a huge workshop on the property too. It could be used for working on cars or woodworking or an art space. It has electricity, lighting, heating and is perfect for anything that requires getting dirty. If that makes sense.

One idea I have been considering is seeking out an unhoused queer individual who was kicked out or is struggling to afford a decent place. If their parents don't want them, maybe I could provide a safe place. Things are so scary for LGBTQ+ folks right now. Especially in Missouri. St. Louis is a pretty blue city, but Missouri is a blood red state. If I could do something small for someone like that, I would be happy to help. Could be mutually beneficial.

So those are all of my thoughts and ideas as of now.

Again, if I trust my brother, I should have a decent amount of time to figure things out.

If things go sideways, I might be screwed.

So far he seems to be doing all the things he should be doing to get me sorted.

I'm going to choose to trust him.

With my life.

Oof.

[atranswomansdiary]

Day 1

It happened in the worst possible moment...

Today's June 5th, 2020. It’s a Friday and I once again had trouble getting out to bed to go to work.

I’ve suspected for a while that I’m very depressed, for the umpteenth time. I had a painful breakup almost a year ago and, after that, I rebounced rather quickly because of many reasons, one of the most important being that I started a new job, perhaps for the first time in my life, under my conditions. In short: (sort of) a full salary plus benefits in exchange for working only 4 hours a day, from Monday to Friday. 20 hours a week. 80 hours a month.

In spite of this great situation (unique, in many senses) I've been having issues waking up and getting to work on time. Although I had the opportunity to take a company transfer and avoid any commute hassles (fee included), I almost never got there in time. And even though the company offices were only half an hour or so away, even on public transportation, I was still getting there late almost everyday—sometimes by a lot. I was also failing to show up to work a couple of days a month.

I was deadly afraid of losing this incredibly comfortable job in the first few months. If I did, I probably wouldn’t have enough money to make rent with my freelance stuff, so I’d have to return to live with my parents, in a house that literally has no space for me anymore.

I asked A.P. (he/him) to help me. After some back and forth, he prescibed me an “introductory” antidepressant and some mild sleeping pills, but it has been 9 months or so since then and my mood has improved a little (it’s true), but I’m still struggling with going to the office five days a week, let alone getting there on time.

Even more so once the pandemic broke out.

It’s been a couple of months now since the world basically went to shit and, although I’ve pushed and struggled and pleaded to be allowed to work from home—doing the same job I do at the office, but without having to struggle to get out of my apartment every single fucking day—my boss has been adamant that I still need to go at least some days to the office every week. According to him, it’s for my own good, to “protect my reputation in the eyes of my coworkers”. Picture my eyes rolling so hard that I can actually see my brain.

So: today’s Friday. As everybody else in the world, I didn’t feel any desire to go to the office, even less so given the current situation. I once again cursed my boss and took enough time to finally get up from bed that I left the small apartment I rent already late.

As with any time I go to the office (the company transfer is no longer an option, so I have to commute), Cheap Trick’s hit Ghost Town sounds in my head; the city looks deserted and abandoned. The few who are forced to leave their homes, as I am, move and act like specters, shadows of once-people—as do I, to be honest. We move slowly and fearfully through the streets, unwillingly risking our lives because, well, that’s the fucked up world we live in.

Or at least that’s how I feel.

I’d love to think that I’m just like everybody. Or, in reality, that everybody else feels just like I do.

I went out, almost running, and I already had a major decision to make: subway or bus. The bus is slow and unreliable, but there’s definitely less people in it and, what’s best, I get to sit down and read or just listen to music through the whole commute, mostly undisturbed. The subway, on the other hand, is fast and runs on a tight schedule but is a) filled with people and b) it gets me close to the office, but not exactly there. I have to walk around 15 minutes from the subway station to the office proper, through alleways and streets that are mostly deserted at this early hour and, what’s worse, have a reputation of being dangerous at any time of day.

Taking everything into consideration—and more on a whim than anything else, really—I chose the subway.

The journey was short and uneventful. I got out of the train station and I don’t remember what music was playing on my ears, but I do remember being tired and bored. Then, a remnant image of last night’s dream hit me, the one that I privately blame for being late this morning.

I don’t usually remember my dreams. When they’re emotionally charged I sometimes wake up with what I call “emotional waste”, the afterimage of the intense feelings that I experienced onirically but, apart from that, I just don’t remember many concrete details about them. Mostly sensations and blurry images, that’s all.

Last night I once again dreamed that I was a woman.

It was a throwback to the time when I was still in a relationship with perhaps the greatest partner I’ve ever had: L.M. (she/her). In the dream we were living together in the tiny apartment that was our love nest, laughing and talking about something I can’t recall. We were just standing there, having a nice conversation and loving each other deeply, as we did. But, in this dream, I was a woman.

As far as I’m aware, L.M. never had any experience with or interest in any women in their life. That’s kind of a new thing for me, since most of my previous (or posterior) partners had an “attraction for women’s phase” in their lives (their words, not mine) or were decidedly bisexual. So this dream is all kinds of impossible and, still, the joy of being a woman comes back with such strength—even just being the recollection of a half-forgotten oniric experience—that I openly smile for the first time in the day.

I change the music to an energetic track and start walking with something resembling the happiness or joy of doing so with a purpose. My heart aches a little bit: if only! I have this weird feeling—I’ve been conscious of it for a while now—that I would’ve been much happier if I had been born a woman. That maybe I wouldn’t be such a failure at 34 if, when my parents made me, my dad’s contribution to the whole affair had been an “X” instead of a “Y”. But, alas! It didn’t.

It’s too late for me.

Plus, I’ve never had any homosexual experiences or even any hint of erotic attraction towards men. Men are controversial figures in my life; I have few male friends and most of them are cis heterosexuals. I consider myself one as well. Cis and heterosexual.

I follow a number of trans women YouTubers, it’s true, and I consider myself an ally of the feminist cause (4th wave and intersectional, thank you very much!). I’ve read Beauvoir, Cisneros, and Butler. Woolf, Plath, Pizarnik, and Storni are among my favorite writers. Le Guin and Rice are my (seelie and unseelie) queens.

I’ve never felt as much of a “man”, except during that weird period in my life a couple of years ago when I tried to become a “manly man” after reading too many of Howard’s Conan stories one after the other while being extremely lonely and suicidal (as one does, of course). I’ve actually thought about tattooing a quote from those stories in my body. The quote reads,

"I know this: if life is illusion, then I am no less an illusion, and being thus, the illusion is real to me. I live, I burn with life, I love, I slay, and am content."

My only problem is with the “slay” part. I don’t think I could ever kill any human being. I have a hard time eating meat and I try to save spiders and other abhorred creatures whenever I can. I love Death—especially Sandman's version of her—but I don’t think I could deal in such violence.

It doesn’t really matter. It’s already too late.

I was crossing one of the streets and then an idea flashed through my mind. It’s OK: it is late. No one’s arguing that. I’ll never do anything about it. But, but… Is there any problem if I imagined a different reality? If I, excuse the mundane use of the word, fantasized with a world in which I was born a woman? No one would ever know about it. It’d be my little secret.

And then, it happened.

I was walking down these dangerous and deserted streets, the same I’ve traveled many times during the past year, but this time, it was different. I was immensely, indescribably, ridiculously happy. I couldn't stop smiling. I felt each step, I breathed in the chill morning air, and I was content. Yes, like the Conan quote above. I felt like myself, if only for those infinitely long in the memory—but painfully brief in reality—ten to fifteen minutes. During that time, I was me. I was a woman.

I was complete.

I got to work and reality crushed me. My name—the one I was given at birth—slapped me in the face as a friendly guard at the company’s door gave me a warm welcome.

The sensation faded away during the morning. Little by little, it disappeared completely… Or so I thought. It was fantasy and imagination, that’s all. I consider myself to be pretty good at those. But it was just that: a fancy, a whim, as concrete and real and solid as a fragment of a dream can be. Maybe one day I’ll remember what it was to be truly happy, thanks to no reason or excuse greater than just imagining what it would be like to be born in a body with a different sex and a whole lot of different expectations and experiences than my own.

But that is in a future I can’t even imagine and this was today.

Until then, with love,

ZZ

[myassbrokethefall]

xf rewatch: ice/space/fallen angel

one thing about me is I know how important it is to stick to a consistent posting schedule. anyway here’s 3 more XF rewatch writeups after weeks of silence

ice

Ice doesn’t deserve to be just lumped in here, but I watched it forever ago and I’ve seen it a million times and no one needs my thoughts on it anyway. Biggest Ice takeaways this time through:

this is M&S’s, and our, first truly grownup episode. M&S have been faffing around in their shoulder pads debating about whether aliens are real and if a jersey devil could be a girl and and certainly getting in scrapes/close calls, but this shit is SERIOUS. like they could die. and they know it. and this ep feels it. they are scared, they are wild-eyed and sweaty in their casual thermals and this is not just investigating a Case or intellectual sparring. there is no remove. no one is wearing a suit or renting a car or buying an office sandwich from the cart. they keep getting in deeper and deeper and it is out of control and scary and real as shit

that exterior shot with the extremely fake Rudolph snowflakes is used, I believe my final count was, 472 times. and was hilarious to me each and every time.

ice is a magnificent ep, no notes. we knew this

space

Space is… not good, which is not news but allow me to attempt to pinpoint why:

pacing so bad. like in the beginning some stuff (conveyed mostly through stock footage) is happening and then suddenly mulder and scully are there and it’s like, a case I guess? this lady walks up to them and shows them this photo that looks like nothing and spends like an hour explaining it to them and is like the fbi has to investigate this! and mulder and scully are like oh, well we’re the fbi so we can do that. then they go to nasa and just stand around

listen I love, LOVE a good nerd infodump but even for me it was all getting deeply tedious and I ceased being able to, or having the will to, follow what was going on. And I just read and enjoyed all 864 pages of Seveneves. Having scully stand next to mulder and he has to keep explaining to her every space thing as it happens just adds this extra layer of shellac over everything. it’s like when you’re on a plane and you kind of half-voluntarily watch a movie in the row ahead of you through the seat backs. primo chris carter “tell don’t show.”

the whole car accident sequence is a facepalm from beginning to end. the car literally FLIPS OVER, michelle is in there yelling and sounding mostly just mildly pissed off, mulder keeps chirping “y’all right?” like she tumbled into a snowbank in a hallmark movie, then bodily drags her out from her flipped-over car that she is trapped under, and THEN scully goes “now, don’t try to move.” thanks doc! then michelle just goes back to NASA, with blood dripping down her face (which continues actively dripping throughout the scene, with no trace of a scar the next day). couldn’t hitting a tree have conveyed the sense of “a malevolent space monster made me lose control of my driving” just as well? presumably the car explodes as soon as they leave. and no one minds.

I realize this is not an easy thing to replicate on a budget, but my god “mission control” is sad-looking. it looks like it was filmed inside the janitor’s closet at a puppet theater. and the only person who works there is that one guy who I am informed was a canadian vj on MuchMusic and who has literally all the dialogue. (counterpoint: hard for me not to compare to For All Mankind, which does all this a million times better, but deeply unfair to do so since that's not only 25 years later but the theme on which this episode is kind of the saddest crackerjackiest variation is their show's entire job and budget.)

Mulder And Scully At The (NASA) Library: Approved. Love how they just leave the file they spent hours searching for when they run out.

what even was the motivation of the space/mars guy. to get back to space? to kill everyone? to kill everyone but only after getting back to space first? to bring down more space/mars guys to cause dramatically bad car accidents where everyone is fine? yes I know the REAL motivation is "give mulder and scully a semi-plausible paranormal reason to go to nasa and stand around"

the “everyone cheers in mission control because a scary/tense space thing was accomplished and everyone is ok” moment happened I think 3 separate times?? chris come on

this episode is still like 5x as coherent and watchable as any of CC’s revival episodes (other than Plus One).

one good thing is the space face morphing or whatever was super cool/creepy and holds up quite decently as an effect. also scully saw it!! well that’s cool! she doesn’t really seem to have any particular thoughts about that or anything though. you might think Mulder would bring that up more in the future. (morgan & wong: “well scully can’t SEE the paranormal thing so let’s have her juuuust miss it! twice!” chris carter: *file not found*)

I get that CC wanted to make a tense NASA episode, I like that genre of thing, and I appreciate that they took a stab at it but in the end, the execution was not the greatest. nor was the concept. ah well.

fallen angel

fallen angel was a friggin breath of fresh air after space, and I remembered NOTHING about it beyond a bit of Max and “the enigmatic Dr. Scully.”

the gordon/gansa ripping off of scifi classics continues apace as the whole evacuating for a “toxic spill” that is really a UFO is of course straight out of Close Encounters.

although I (correctly) complained about this in Space, I actually liked how we got sort of sideways-pulled into this one, with the scenario setup first and then we see Mulder (only Mulder) skulking around while we are flashing back to Deep Throat giving him the lowdown. immediately understandable that this is kind of an off-book adventure for him (leather jacket for forest hiking, perfect). And super satisfying when Scully gets her hero’s entrance to bail him out (and yell at him).

it was fun getting an idea of mulder as UFO Celebrity. always mobbed by fans while in air force jail. rough. (also funny to see his sheepishness at getting called out for writing an article in Omni about UFO sightings under a fake name)

Loved Scully getting pulled into some clutch doctoring. Just some great dimension for her as well/a reminder that she has her own areas of expertise and this FBI sidekick situation is not all she can do. (she is also still heartbreakingly in her "the government cannot do that! you are entitled to the truth!" phase.) I also loved when she marches glassy-eyed into Mulder’s motel room after a long rough night and wordlessly opens the fridge.

I liked the bit where mulder is talking about Max being an abductee and scully is all, mulder he's unreliable and he might be psychotic blah blah and mulder goes, scully you don’t get it, HE doesn’t think he’s an abductee, I think it. Also brings back a bit of what I liked so much in the pilot and earliest eps: scully being like mulder your crazy alien voodoo isn't gonna work on me!!! a martian didn't eat those livers!!! and mulder being like, scully, all I am asking is that you look at a scar and give me your medical opinion. he's not trying to talk her into anything and that's how he GETS YA

Interesting to see how they're still throwing out whatever alien concepts at this point. they are benevolent and send reassuring messages through the tv to loved ones? sure. they are evil spirits that possess astronauts' faces before killing them? got it. they're invisible/use cloaking devices to pass through lasers? duly noted.

I’m not sure the ending worked great but that’s ok. Gotta end it somehow. I found myself glad to know that we will be seeing Max again.

On a scale between Ice where Mulder and Scully are believably layered humans, frightened but determined, shakily wielding their authority one minute and losing their shit in realistically overlapping off-camera arguments in the next, and Space where they are sidelined Mary Sues in a half-baked NASA fanfic that could have used another beta, Fallen Angel is somewhere in the middle. Good ep, not great. But that yearning feeling that XF was so good at is present here. Something big is happening and it's JUST beyond where we can see. gotta see it. gotta keep searching. it's out there (the truth)

[ladylooch]

i can see nico being distracted and not helping around the house and they argue

or nico snapping one day at lexi cause of hockey. we know he never takes it out on them but i’m there have been a time or two where he has

or maybe one of them keeps saying no to sex and the other isn’t sure why and they just get into an argument about being disconnected or something

A/N: I’m going to go with the first one here with a spin. 

As gently as he possibly can, Nico Hischier lays his youngest, Sophie, down into her crib. 

The transfer is seamless. She barely notices she is on her mattress instead of her father’s chest. Nico carefully balances the bottle in his hand, not wanting to drop it and wake her. Tonight has been a pretty easy night, which Nico has needed. He has team related things he needs to get to, so he is thankful all the girls went down without a fight. It helps that they had a fun day at an amusement park with the Meier’s, so all three were extremely tired. Even their almost one year old had fun watching the older kids play games and experience the rides. 

Nico carefully closes the door, then double checks the monitor is working before he joins his wife downstairs. She sits at the kitchen table with her laptop, scrolling through Pinterest. Bright purple, pink and teal images cover the screen. He smiles, knowing what she is working on.

“For Soph’s party?” Nico asks after kissing her. Then he heads to the sink, rinsing out the used bottle and putting the separated parts into the dishwasher. He puts in a detergent pack, then runs the machine on a normal cycle. 

“Yeah! Do you have any thoughts on a theme?”

“Whatever you want, sweets.” 

“She isn’t just my child.” Lexi jokes. 

“I know.” Nico laughs, thinking about the huge dimples that were out in her cheeks all day. “I’m sure you’ll come up with a great theme, baby.”

“Well… I was hoping we could…”

“You don’t need me. Pinterest is way more creative.” He shrugs. “Plus I really need to get working on our pre-season team outing. I gotta reach out to a few places and ask about renting out their spaces.” 

Lexi doesn’t respond. Across the room, she watches him clean the kitchen counter. He doesn’t seem to notice her silence. Her eyes drift back to her computer screen and she continues her scrolling. Fine. I guess she is doing this whole party on her own. He clearly has bigger priorities than their daughter’s first birthday. Her shoulders tense and a deep frown pulls her lips down.

“What did you decide we are getting her?” Nico asks as he moves to the sink, starting to scrub the inside. “She really is liking the bubble machine the twins have. You should consider that.” Lexi purses her lips, feeling her body get heavy with the burden of responsibility Nico is pushing back onto her. Why does she have to come up with the gifts for Sophie? This was another thing she assumed they would decide together.

“Sure.” 

“Alright.” Nico murmurs as he tosses the used sponge in it’s holder. “I’m going to go to my office and get some stuff done.” He kisses her cheek, then leaves the room. Lexi rolls her eyes as he strolls down the hall to his office.

“Thanks for the help.” She mumbles after him. 

They reunite in bed a few hours later. Lexi comes out of the bathroom after removing her calming face mask. It may have soothed her irritated skin, but it hasn’t cured her mood or frustration with her husband.

“Can we talk?” Lexi asks as Nico folds open the covers on her side for her to get in. He drops his phone, turning his attention solely on her.

“Of course. What’s up?” He murmurs. He reaches for her hand, folding their fingers together. 

“I am feeling… frustrated.” She settles on.

“Okay? What can I do?”

“I need you to help me with Soph’s party.” Nico’s eyebrows furrow and he tilts her head at her.

“You have never wanted my input before on the girls’ party.”

“Yeah, I know. But I really need your support for this one. I am feeling overwhelmed and, like, overburdened with responsibility in our family already. I’m concerned about that because the season hasn’t started yet. I think if I could have your support right now, that would really help.”

“Okay. Absolutely. What can I do?” 

“Can you sit with me tomorrow night and help decide some key details?”

“Yes. We could drop the girls with Timo and Emma, make a whole night of it just me and you?” Lexi smiles, then leans into him. Her arms weave around his body, relaxing into his chest at how sweet and wonderful he is being about this.

“That would be amazing. More than I asked for.” She murmurs. 

“I know. But I want you to know you’re a priority to me too. If you’re feeling like this, I want to step up and help. You do a great job around here, baby. Sometimes I think that means you always have it handled. That isn’t fair.” He kisses her forehead. 

“Goodness, Nico. You’re so damn sweet, I’m getting a cavity.” Lexi chuckles, feeling so relieved and heard by him.

Perfect Nico Hischier always knows exactly what she needs to hear.

[scifrey]

I am the only employee in my firm who must work from the office. This is because somebody has to handle all the physical mail that goes in and out, and that somebody is me.

Literally everyone else in the office has the option of working from home. Even the people who work in the same city as the head office. I have colleagues that I've worked with for nearly 3 years and I've never met. Some people try to work in the office quite frequently because it helps their concentration, or there home life isn't conducive to having a workspace. Some of the upper management come at least once every week or two just to make paying rent on this ridiculously large space worthwhile, I assume.

But I must stress that no one is compelled to come to our office if they don't need to.

Last week the big boss flew in from Florida and dropped by for 45 minutes for reasons. He went into one of the upper management's office, they had a conversation, and then he left. I have no idea why he came. I don't particularly like it when he visits us because he's a bit of an anti-vaxer freedom convoy Republican nut. Super nice guy, but our politics do not align.

But after he leaves, my colleague who was locked in the room with him for nearly an hour, gets the sniffles. Says it's just allergies, just a cold it's nothing, etc. Ask him if he tested for covid, he says yes and it's negative. He spends next couple days not feeling very well and I avoid him because even if it's not covid I don't want to get sick.

Today he comes into work and he's just wretched. Ask why he's not at a home in bed, he's clearly very sick and even if it's not covid he shouldn't be at the office. He tells me he's actually not sure it's not covid.

Maskless, he goes down to the pharmacy, picks up a testing kit, goes back into his office and closes the door. Half an hour later he tells me to avoid him today and not to open his door.

Bro!!

My dude!!!

I am still working the same office, breathing the same recycled air as you! I asked when he was heading home so I could help reschedule some of his meetings and he said he's not!

So I guess I'm just supposed to sit at the desk outside of his door in my mask and pray?

The thing about all of this is if I get covid and I can't come into work for a week, this place will explode. They literally cannot do without me for a week.

Of course I don't want to get sick. Luckily I've had five vaccinations. But you're literally endangering the operations of your firm. We are currently in the "fuck around" phase of things...

WTF, boss. Go home!!

[queerfootfella]

Drew and Joshua 2.0:

——————————————————————————

Drew Anderson raced into the parking lot adjacent to his first class of the day, the first class of his second-to-last semester of college, with only three minutes to get there. He adjusted the collar of his rib knit white polo as he scanned the lot for spaces. After whipping into the first empty stall he saw, Drew had hardly put his car in park before he was sprinting toward room 143. Slaps of firm rubber on tile reverberated off the walls of the hallway rang out and slowed as he approached his classroom. Once he took a few moments to quiet his breathing, he entered.

“And you might be?” Drew hadn’t even taken a step into the room before he was given the attention of the entire class.

“Drew Anderson,” he replied, hand still on the doorknob. The professor looked down at his class list, muttering the name to himself.

“Drew Anderson. I know many classes begin at five after the hour, but mine begins at 10 am on the dot. I presume today was a misunderstanding?” Drew couldn’t tell if the joke was meant to be lighthearted or embarrassing.

“Yes sir,” said Drew, reflexively lowering his head. A laugh was muffled from somewhere in the room, turning him bright red.

“Well, close the door and find a seat, though you’re not exactly spoiled for choice at this hour.” To Drew’s chagrin, the only open seat was in the direction of the giggling he heard. Humiliation became relief when Drew recognized Joshua grinning at him beside the open seat.

Drew and Joshua ‘met’ in high school, though the two rarely spoke. They graduated with a class of over 1000 students, so it was easy to avoid one another. Drew was 5’10” and slightly chubby in high school with short, curly hair. Though he was shy and friendless in middle school, he discovered musical theater in high school, came out, and formed a personality. By the time he graduated, Drew had decided on an engineering degree over studying theater. He was nervous he’d go back to having no friends in college.

Joshua Addams was different. 6’3”, size 13 feet and athletic, he was the premier point guard not only at his own school, but in the whole conference. In high school, he was at every party Drew made fun of while smoking weed with his theater friends. He consistently dated the prettiest girls in the school and elicited more attention shooting a free throw than Drew could have if he threw himself a parade.

However, this adolescent hierarchy never stopped Joshua from being nice to Drew, or any other ‘weird’ kid, if they ever interacted in school. That kindness got Drew’s attention — in more ways than one. A shared gym class and the blessing of alphabetical order cast Joshua as a series regular in Drew’s jack-off fantasies, which generally centered around Joshua’s feet, and what they might feel like covering his face. Counter to the ideas Drew came up with alone in bed, the two graduated having exchanged nothing more than occasional pleasantries.

On his first day of college at the U of M, Drew was surprised to see Joshua sitting near the front his Calculus II lecture. He had never taken Joshua for an idiot, but Drew didn’t figure he would test into the same math class, either. By the same alphabetic grace that brought the boys in gym locker proximity, Drew and Joshua sat next to each other for a semester of Calc II.

The longtime acquaintances first connected over a shared tendency to be late. Soon after, Drew found that Joshua, too, would kiss up to his teachers to make up for it. Their professor nicknamed them “The Tardy Boys” during one of their many run-ins late into his office hours, where they learned they were both engineering majors. Walking to their cars together after class became studying together, which became eating lunch together, which became going to parties together; by Christmas break, they hung out at each others’ childhood houses as much as they could. They rented a house with mutual friends – another guy and two girls – their sophomore year. Junior year, and now into Senior year, Joshua lived with a couple of his teammates, and Drew stayed in a three-bedroom apartment with the two girls. Blessed with the biggest room, Drew’s couch became a fourth bedroom in the apartment, reserved for Joshua if the two up late studying, or if Joshua was sick of doing jock things.

Drew had more or less grown out of his fixation on Joshua’s feet. They’d gotten far too close for Drew to feel comfortable fantasizing about it. Though he knew better than to let his mind wander too far, he would sneak glances when he could, and always appreciated a beach trip in the summer. One night, both boys drunk and probably high, Joshua demanded a foot massage. Drew made sure to make a grand showing of his reluctance before complying, casually putting a pillow on his lap and silently allowing himself to make an exception on his masturbation fantasy rule for this. Maybe several.

As Drew sat and the attention of the other students toward him faded, Joshua muttered, “Sick entrance,”

“Fuck you. Wanna come over tonight? Empty house, so you don’t have to watch The Bachelor with the girls and the gay,”

“Hell yes. The roomies are going to the bars, and I don’t feel like hunting for pussy all night,”

“Good. I would like to get too stoned to move,”

“Awww. Did Dwew get a widdwe stwessed fwom being late?” teased Joshua in an exaggerated toddler voice, a years old inside joke between them.

“Dwew is stiw sweating,” His baby voice was less enthusiastic; he leered at the professor to make sure he wasn’t in for more criticism.

“I think you should be calling me ‘Sir’?” Joshua whispered, sneering.

“I think you should suck my fucking balls and stop talking to me,” Drew replied. They laughed and started paying attention to the lecture they’d surely need to follow up on in office hours together.

Three heavy raps on the front door startled Drew while he was studying the craftsmanship of the joint he rolled. Joshua told Drew he would be over at 7:30. At 8:30, Drew set the joint down and walked out of his room toward the front door, opening it to the smiling face of his friend.

“Hey! Sorry I took so long,” Joshua claimed, though Drew knew he was the only one of them who felt any guilt about his chronic tardiness.

“It’s all good. Make yourself at home,” he assured his friend as they walked back into his room.

“I will. It looks like you were just on my bed,” said Joshua, gesturing to the couch Drew had gotten up from.

“Shit. I forgot to make it,”

“It’s fine. As long as you tuck me in tonight,”

“It would be my honor,” replied Drew with mock adulation. Drew sometimes wondered if these types of playful, lightly domineering jokes meant anything. Regardless, he always played along. “Do you want a beer?”

“I thought we were smoking weeeeeeed, bro,” Joshua cried in a voice out of a surfing move.

“I don’t wanna, like, get hammered, bro,” Drew said, mimicking the voice, “but I got some sick brewski’s from Hannah for my birthday and we should, like, have one,” he said, and left for the kitchen as Joshua said something about how, like, actually, that sounded pretty tubular.

When Drew returned to his room, two uncapped beers in his left hand, Joshua had his shoes off and was scrolling through his phone with his back against the armrest of the couch, legs placed straight in front of him, feet a half a cushion away from where Drew had left his phone. Drew picked up the phone and sat back where he had been, the soles of Joshua’s socked feet inches from his left thigh. Briefly noting an unwanted notification from some foot dom he had been talking with, he made a mental note to change those settings and placed both beers on the table, exchanging them with the tightly packed joint and a Bic. Placing the filter between his lips, he flicked the lighter, inhaled and passed the gateway drug to Joshua. As they smoked, they talked about what to watch, and by the time the filter was smoldering in the ashtray, both boys were deeply engrossed in a YouTube playlist of music videos. Drew kicked his own shoes off and propped his feet on the coffee table, reclining at an angle which allowed him to sneak a peek or two at the feet beside him when he checked his phone. Dull lamp light crept out from under the door of his bedroom, but the T.V. provided the only other illumination, aside from occasional text message notifications and replies.

Following some ten minutes of silence, Joshua lifted his left foot and started to peel his sock off. Drew was having a hard enough time with his socks on; he strained to get a glimpse without turning his head. The right sock was methodically stripped as well, and Joshua tossed them both on the floor beside the couch.

“Hope you don’t mind,” said Joshua, absentmindedly wiggling and scrunching his toes, “but it’s so fucking hot outside, and we practiced for like three hours today.”

Drew jumped. He was starting to stare. “It’s all good, bro. It still smells more like weed than anything in here,” he replied with a laugh, shifting his feet to the edge of the coffee table to conceal an escalating situation.

“Are you positive? I can smell my socks from here,” he said matter-of-factly. “If you want, I can wash my feet quick,”

“It’s legitimately fine, dude,” replied Drew indifferently, or so he hoped, “I can’t smell anything.”

“Well, in that case,” Joshua said, trailing off, “Look over there!” he called, pointing in the opposite direction. Drew rolled his eyes and rolled his head away from Joshua and immediately felt the soft thud of a balled-up sock against the back of his head. He turned back and picked up the sock, pump-faked it, and threw it back. It his Joshua square in the nose: right on target. Joshua ripped the sock off his face and threw it on the floor with a mix of faux and genuine disgust. “There’s no way you ‘don’t mind’ that, dog, seriously,” said Joshua.

“I don’t know what to tell ya,” said Drew, emphasizing his exasperation. He knew he should just say something about the show they were watching, or about school, or anything. ‘Oh, I forgot to tell you: something something something,’ was as much as his brain could muster. The only coherent thing that came to mind was, “I mean, I can smell them, but it’s not, like, bad enough that you need to get away from me or go wash your feet or anything,”

Joshua thought for a few seconds. “Okay. Well. I did say I had a long, grueling, practice today…”

“What about it?” Drew was pretty certain Joshua was teasing him, now. However, he wanted to salvage his foot fetish deniability for as long as possible.

“When you’re running around a lot, not only do your feet get smelly,” Joshua said, “even if they’re not bad enough to go wash your feet or anything-” Drew rolled his eyes again at that, “they also get sore,”

“Ah,” said Drew. The last time this happened they were both drunk, and Drew thought (hoped) Joshua didn't remember the incident. He had begged for a foot massage in the joke baby voice for minutes, what felt like hours to his foot obsessed friend. Even if he did remember, Drew always assumed it would be as the joke he pretended it was. This time, he would only insinuate that he wanted a foot rub. Suddenly, Drew's face flushed a deep red. 'The fucking notification,' he thought.

“Yeah,”

“That’s a problem,”

“Sure is,” Joshua was too confident for this not to be a game and Drew was too nervous to end it. A silence fell. The deep toe stretches and foot fidgeting Joshua had been doing were driving Drew insane.

“Do you want a foot rub?” Drew felt like his mouth alone formed the words and hurled them out before his brain had a say.

“Oh man, that would be awesome,” Joshua said. Sinking further into the couch, he extended his feet into Drew’s lap before he could find a pillow to put there. Joshua’s feet were side-by-side, now resting on his inner-left thigh. Up to this point, the nerves had kept his dick more or less at bay. Now with Joshua’s heels on his leg, soles right pointed toward it, he knew he would have to proceed with caution.

“No problem, man, we’re just sitting here anyway,” Joshua let out a giggle at Drew continuing to front like he wasn't into this. Already, Drew was too entranced to notice. To give him easier access to the feet in his lap, he lowered his legs to the floor. In the same motion he shifting his growing cock between his stomach and waistband. He hoped Joshua didn’t notice the maneuver as he began massaging his left foot. From his vantage point, he was able to watch the sole of Joshua’s right foot as it scrunched and rotated while he massaged the left. He kneaded his thumbs into the warm, soft flesh of Joshua’s sole in strong and deliberate circles on his arches. He maintained the motion down the length of his feet to his heel. After he dug extra hard into his heel, Drew worked his fingers back up the gorgeous sole. Below the long, succulent toes his tongue craved, he pressed his thumbs deeply into the balls of his feet as he had the heel. Just the texture had him mesmerized. The way his soles melted into his hands. He finally reached Joshua’s toes, rolling each toe generously between his fingers. Satisfied with his toes for the time being, he ran his thumbs and hands repeatedly up the length of Joshua’s foot. An occasional sigh from the other end of the couch told Drew he was doing well.

Now massaging his right foot, the top of his left one was no longer hidden behind Drew's arm. He noted how beautiful the veins were, how they were perfectly pronounced. He liked how Joshua’s big toe had a small tuft of hair on it, and how his toes wiggled too slightly to tell if it was intentional. He thought the arch of Joshua’s foot was perfect. It wasn’t incredibly high, but it was pronounced. His toes were long and stunning, with nails cut short. Of course, Drew lied through his teeth about the smell. The aroma of a three-hour basketball practice was unavoidable, and Drew delighted in every breath.

“Enjoying yourself?” For the second time that night, Drew was startled out of a trance. This time though, he had no idea how long he had been staring. Joshua waited for a reply, and Drew tried his hardest to stammer out anything, but all he could do was stare back at Joshua, his feet still in his hands. Joshua continued, “I thought you might take a drink or two of your beer or make some conversation, but you’ve been transfixed,”

“Um, I’m, um, sorry…” muttered Drew, dropping Joshua’s gaze.

“I don’t know what you’re sorry about, it feels fucking phenomenal,” replied Joshua.

“Oh, uh, I don’t, uh…”

“It’s cool that you’re into feet, man. It’s been fun teasing you, though. Could I have gone longer? Sure. Could I have just never brought this up again? That would have been pretty funny, yeah. But clearly you love this somehow even more than I do,”

“How do you know?”

“Know what?”

“Fuck you,”

“I saw your phone when you went to the kitchen. I thought it would be fun to just get you to rub my feet and see if you ever balls-ed up and told me. But… I also know that foot worship is a thing, and since you’re clearly super into feet,” Joshua playfully tapped Drew’s nose to accentuate the point, “I’m extremely curious what it feels like,”

“You want me to worship your feet?” Drew clarified in disbelief. Drew had so effectively eliminated Joshua from his sexual fantasies. Now, he would be a staple, and Drew didn’t know what to feel. A lot of Drew’s guilt hinged on the assumption that Joshua would be creeped out by sexual interest from a friend. That line might be more flexible than he had imagined. He took a deep breath and told himself to let Joshua lead the way.

“I think more accurately, you want to worship my feet,” said Joshua, again tapping his nose for emphasis.

“What makes you think your feet are so special?” said Drew, leaning into the teasing.

“Other than the hypnosis that just happened? Maybe this?” Joshua said, as he took his foot and lightly slapped Drew’s erection through his waistband.

“You got me there,” said Drew, snatching the foot back into his hand.

“Well? Get started then,” Drew didn’t need any more direction. Feeling emboldened, he lifted Joshua’s left foot by the ankle with his right hand, bringing the heel to his mouth. He extended his tongue and licked slowly up the length of Joshua’s still sweaty foot until he reached his toes. He kissed his big toe before gobbling it all the way into his mouth. Bobbing up and down, he swirled his tongue around the diameter, noting every detail. With a pop, he let the toe out of his mouth and shifted his lips and tongue to the ball of his foot. Planting a kiss in that area, he savored the salty sole with his tongue before moving his attention elsewhere. Slurping kisses led him down the sole of Joshua's foot and to his heel. Once his lips arrived, he took all that he could between them and licked the surface. When he deemed the heel had been given its due, he ran his mouth up the side of his foot and took Joshua’s pinkie toe in his mouth. He sucked on it, took it out, stuck his tongue out and swirled it around the toe. Although he had not been instructed to do so, he was intent on making sure his feet would be sparkling when he was done. Drew repeated this action with all of Joshua’s toes, taking care to give each one an equal amount of attention and to clean between each toe, before engulfing them all at once. His tongue darted between toes and glided over each well-polished digit, which Joshua would wiggle from time to time. Once he had spent enough time on the toes, he took his tongue back to Joshua’s soles, alternating between kisses and firm strokes of the tongue.

Most of the time, Drew’s gaze was fixed on one of the beautiful feet in front of him. When he would glance up, he caught Joshua adjusting himself a couple times, eyes trained on Drew. His face would alternate between a cocky smirk and an expression of pleasure. After Drew felt he had spent enough time on the left foot – he wondered if he had spent more time massaging or worshipping the foot – he moved to the right foot. While Drew had never worshipped Joshua’s feet before, the same couldn’t be said of many Minneapolis area gay men. Drew took pride in his ability to worship feet. It wasn’t exactly something for a dating profile, but he had learned that he was charismatic enough to get partners to try it, and good enough that he wouldn’t have to be the one to bring it up a second time. Clearly the effect wasn’t limited to gay men. Judging from the frequent glances down at Drew, Joshua liked the power dynamic as well as the physical sensation of having his feet worshipped. Drew was ecstatic about that. While he would have been over the moon to simply get the opportunity to worship Joshua’s feet, the fact that he also got off on dominating Drew was almost too much to bear.

Drew was certain it had been longer than the massage when Joshua spoke again. This time, there was a more serious tone to his voice. Not angry, but expectant. “Get down on the floor,”

“What for?” said Drew, not quite sure how to respond to this shift from mischief to assertiveness.

“For because I said so,” said Joshua. He winked with the cocky, assertive smile he had worn proudly over the past couple hours.

Drew nodded, resisted the urge to call him ‘sir’, and silently got down on the ground. From there, he saw Joshua swing his feet off the couch and onto his face. Once Drew was in the requested position, Joshua leaned forward to grab the grinder and the pipe Drew had left on the table and began to rub his feet back and forth across Drew’s face, pressing firmly. He began packing a bowl, or at least, that's what Drew figured. It was difficult to see anything from below Joshua’s spit-coated feet. His suspicions were confirmed when he heard the flick of a lighter. He almost pinched himself to see if he was dreaming, but thought any stimulation anywhere else on his body might cause him to cum spontaneously. He began kissing and licking the feet being wiped on his face, his eyes rolled back in ecstasy.

After the bowl was finished, Joshua set down the pipe. He adjusted himself slightly on the couch before he lifted up his left foot and moved it to Drew’s crotch. For the first time that night, Drew audibly gasped. Joshua let out the sexiest snicker Drew had heard in his life as Joshua began rubbing his hard-on with his foot. Most of it was still in his pants, but about an inch was poking out of the top. Once Joshua started stroking, Drew took his right foot in both of his hands and devoured his sole.

Before long, Drew couldn’t take it any longer. With one hand, he pressed Joshua’s right foot into his face. With the other, he pushed his left foot more firmly into his crotch and began to hump along with the motion of Joshua’s stroke. Not a minute later, he shot rope after rope from out the top of his waistband, leaving his shirt soaked in cum. After some time, he realized he was panting and worked to even his breath.

“That was so fucking hot,” said Drew, voice muffled by the foot still on his face, his other foot now playing withthe jizz near his dick. Drew started to form an apology in his head about boundaries as he removed the foot from his face, only to see Joshua’s dick busted out of his unzipped jeans.

Looking down and slowly stroking himself, Joshua said, “I’ve never even thought about guys before, but I fucking agree. We can talk about it later, but I need to cum right now,” Joshua bent down and put his hand behind Drew’s back, pulling him up toward his dick. Drew grabbed the hard shaft with his right hand and took the balls in his left. He leaned over and put Joshua’s balls into his mouth, one by one, swirling each around with his tongue. He then slowly licked up the length of Joshua’s cock, tasting precum as he neared the head. Breaking eye contact for the first time since he took Joshua’s balls out of his mouth, Drew went down on Joshua’s dick. At first, he moved up and down on only the first two or three inches of what was at least a seven-inch cock, his hand doing the rest of the work. He swirled his tongue around the head. Joshua's toes had been good practice. When he was satisfied with his teasing, the first time Drew had been the one with an opportunity to tease his friend that night, he began taking Joshua’s cock further and further into his throat at a faster and faster pace. Eventually, Drew only needed his forefinger and thumb around the base of Joshua’s cock as he bobbed his head up and down, feeling it in the back of his throat with each thrust.

Not long after Drew increased his pace did Joshua’s hands find their way to Drew’s head. At first, he let his hands go with the rhythm Drew had established, idly playing with his hair. Soon, Joshua began to thrust his hips. Subtle at first, then harder, then vigorously. His hands had found the appropriate patches of hair to latch onto, and Drew's only task became keeping his throat open and his teeth covered. As Joshua grew closer, a new moan came with each thrust, and with each thrust the moans became louder.

“I’m coming,” Joshua gasped, and Drew used the warning to shove his cock even deeper into his throat. True to his word, Joshua buried Drew's nose in his pubes and lined his throat with cum. The motion of his hips slowed as Drew swallowed his reward.

With one final suck, Drew withdrew from Joshua’s softening dick. Both guys sat in silence for a moment before the start of a fresh music video on the long-forgotten T.V. snapped them out of their foot sweat and jizz haze.

“Well, I hope that was as fun for you as it was for me,” said Drew, beginning to remove his soiled clothes. Joshua looked on in silence, searching for words. “I hope it’s fine to change in front of you.” He began toward his closet and added with a smirk, “Feels like we crossed that threshold at least one orgasm ago.”

“Yeah, no, we did,” said Joshua, silent for a moment before he let out a short chuckle. “That. Was wild,”

“It sure was! I won’t tell anybody if you don’t,”

Joshua considered that. “Cool,” More silence. “I would do that again if you would,” he said, uncharacteristically apprehensive.

Drew laughed. Making Joshua cum had relived any remaining reservations he had about the night. “How’s it feel to be the awkward one?”

“Fuck off! You have a bit more experience, foot boy,”

“And soon you will, too. I usually get a good reaction, but damn. I don’t know if I’ll need to eat breakfast tomorrow after that load,” Joshua blushed. “I’m available for foot service at any time, sir,” Drew said with a wink.

Laughing, Joshua threw a pillow at Drew, hitting his bare butt before he could pull a new pair of underwear over the area. With a sigh, Joshua admitted, “I guess you have a point. That felt incredible,”

“Couldn’t agree more! Now, if you would be so kind as to pack me another bowl, I would like to destroy somebody in Rocket League,”

——————————————————————————

Still no brand new story, but this was a quicker way to get back into the foot erotica spirit. I wrote this back in November 2021 for the Free Stories contest on MyFriendsFeet. I wanted to give the writing a bit of a touch-up and scrub my archives for visuals to accompany the story. No, the lighting doesn't match what I describe in the story. Yes, the pictures are of my feet on two different couches. Fuck you for noticing. Mind your business.