#my second novel playlist

[seungmins-housewife]

Yet Another Seung-min Playlist

POV: Your roommate is an overworked cannibal 🥩

[ofbatsandballads]

please take this. I made myself cry writing it and I have nothing to say except that putting ya’aburnee and darling by halsey on my jason playlist was a brutal choice. also look up flower language if you want additional feelings.

There’s so many things you want for Jason Todd.

You want him to get a good night’s sleep for once. You let him close his pretty seafoam eyes and lay his head in the crook of your neck as you scratch gently at his scalp. It always calms him down, grounds him in the here and now. Your arms around him, your fingers carding through his hair, the rise and fall of your chest that’s synced with his–it all reminds him that he’s safe, that he’s home. You want that feeling to follow him into his dreams, to let him find true rest. So when his body goes tense and his breathing gets labored, you hold him closer and hum gently into his ear until whatever haunts him in his sleep is chased away by the comfort you bring.

You want to make sure he’s protected. You wish you could deflect every hit, blade, and bullet away from his body. You wish he would see his body as something worth protecting. He would stop if you asked, would settle into a normal life as best as he could. You would never ask because to do so would be to deny the part of him you love most: his heart that beats to help others. So you protect him in the ways that you can. You stitch cuts and treat burns, you mend his jackets and help clean his guns. More than anything, you guard his peace of mind like it’s the most valuable thing in the world. You’re never cruel to him, never scream vicious words or toss him out into the cold night. You call Bruce and thank him for the first edition Jane Austen novels that arrived on your doorstep on August 16th when Jason just…can’t. You let him grip your hand brutally tight under the table when you go to the manor for Thanksgiving for the first time. And when it gets really bad? When he feels the burning of green waters that breathed life into him that he didn’t want, when hideous laughter echoes in a place it’s never been? You do something no one has ever done for him. You wait. You stay. You stay by his side until he can breathe again, until dawn breaks and he can see the light again. And always, always you, haloed in it like an angel he doesn’t think he deserves. He does.

You want him to have a good cup of hot chocolate. He told you about it once when he came home after a long winter patrol. Half delirious from exhaustion, he reminisced about how Bruce would make them both a cup of hot chocolate after particularly rough or successful patrols in December. How this specific hot chocolate had no equal—even Alfred couldn’t replicate the richness and warmth. You noticed the fondness in his voice, the longing so intense that it still makes your heart ache for him. So you do some light stalking and hunt down Tim Drake, demand that he give you the information you want or else you’ll disclose how he really lost his spleen to Bruce (why he was dense enough to tell Jason, you’ll never know). And that is how Bruce Wayne, billionaire philanthropist single father and the Batman, receives an email with the subject line “URGENT: Recipe Request” that reads as follows:

To whom it may concern,

I have been made aware that you have a remarkably compelling hot chocolate recipe that is hitherto unparalleled by cafes, franchises, and butlers alike. I am emailing you to inquire about my being sent this recipe post-haste. This is less a request than a demand. I will do my best to ensure that you, at some point in time not specified (it will take great effort on my part), are able to witness the consumption of the hot chocolate by the individual that will be receiving the product of the recipe.

Best regards,

Someone who loves your son.

Bruce sends the recipe the second he receives the email. He has to sneak his phone under the conference table at the Wayne Enterprises board meeting to do it, but he still manages to reply in two minutes and forty-seven seconds. And you make good on your promise. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Jason shine as brightly as he does that Christmas, lit up by the lights on the twelve foot tree as he sips his hot chocolate from the same red mug that’s been sitting in the kitchen cabinet since he last drank from it. The matching black mug is clasped in the hands of the hot chocolate connoisseur himself, who smiles softly like the magic of the season has returned to his life for the first time in ages.

You want him to heal. It’s a big ask; you know that. But you’ve never been one for giving up hope, and if anyone can manage to achieve the impossible, it’s Jason. So you tell him it’s a great idea when he jokes about getting a therapist. You wait for him in the car the first time he goes and you let him open up to you in his own time when he comes out of the appointment body tight as a bowstring and eyes bloodshot. You watch quietly and celebrate the little victories you see him win. He can call his father first now; he doesn’t do it often, but he can. He can talk to his younger brother without hating his hands and the blood that’s been spilled on them, without going out on patrol and intentionally letting all the worst hits make contact. He can go out to lunch with his older brother and his youngest, can laugh with them over that ridiculous thing Bruce did at a gala once to make them all laugh. He can bear his birthday a little bit better now, can accept the cake you bake and actually make a wish when he blows out the candles. But you’ll never know about the moment that you start to get what you want. Jason goes to visit his own grave on the anniversary of his death and finds a bouquet of red carnations, baby’s breath, and honeysuckle with a note in your handwriting that reads “Someone told me once that you were magic, that that was the best thing about you. I think it’s far more important that you were loved. I don’t know what you could’ve been. I don’t wonder about it like those that loved you did because all I know is who you became. He’s wonderful. He’s still magic. I think you’d be proud of him. I’ll do my best to take care of him for you.” He sits there for an hour in tears. Then he takes one bud of each flower and the note, goes home and presses them into the pages of his favorite book. He holds you in his arms in bed that night and feels, for the first time in a long time, a sense of peace down to his very bones.

You want—above all else—Jason Todd to feel loved. You want him to feel so cherished and wanted that he cannot possibly look at himself without realizing that he is something precious, something beloved. So you tell him that you love him and you accept his warm embrace as his way of saying it back. You make him chocolate chip cookies and sneak one into the pocket of his tactical pants when he goes on patrol (they’re soft, they don’t get crunched when he’s thrown from a roof). You read his favorite books to understand what he’s saying when he goes off on tangents about class and social hierarchy and how they governed life in the 19th century. You trace his scars and kiss away his tears when he can’t believe that he could be transformed from a being marred by brutality into a man revered with gentleness. You will love him until the day you both die. You will love him in death, until whatever atoms made up you and him come together again. You will love him until everything that ever is or ever was ceases to be in a supernova of light. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll love him in whatever is born after.

[neil-gaiman]

Hello!!

First of all, THANK YOU!!! The world has been feeling harder and more hopeless to me in recent years, and individuals like yourself help more than I will ever be able to express to bring light and hope back into my world. Loving and obsessing over gems like Good Omens, and American Gods (the novel at least, I must admit I never saw the show 🙈) have always given me motivation, sparked my creativity, and made me feel so much love for this, often unfortunately cruel, world. I can't express the solace it brings to me when the creators of the things I love are thoughtful and decent human beings. So, again, THANK YOU 🫀🫀🫀

I just finished my second viewing of Season 2 and have a question for you (my apologies if it has already been asked and/or answered and I missed it)!! 

How did you select the song "Everyday" by Buddy Holly? It is absolutely perfect on so many different levels, and for so many different threads and characters, all while still encompassing the perfect feelings of this show. I always include playlists with the stories I write, and often agonize over which song is the best choice for certain moments. You had to pick one song to encompass the entirety of it, and it truly blew me away! 

Thank you this Season and for everything you do; it really does mean the world to so many of us 🫀🫀🫀

In February of 1991 (I think) Terry Pratchett and I were staying in the Chateau Marmont hotel in LA. These days it is a very fancy hotel but back then it was pretty manky and run down. We were being put up by a film company and each morning we would fax over an outline for a new version of Good Omens the Movie and each afternoon we'd go to the studio for a meeting and we would realise that nobody had actually read what we had sent over that morning. Then we would go back to the hotel and work on trying to incorporate the studio notes on the outline they hadn't actually read into what we were doing.

We worked up in Terry's room because it had heating, and it was incredibly cold in LA that February, especially cold because I was in a chalet out in the grounds and there weren't heaters or extra blankets or anything in the chalet.

And at some point in there we were talking about music, and I suggested a few scary and ominous songs that might work to signal the end times. And Terry said "What about Buddy Holly's song Everyday? It sounds so upbeat and cheerful. But what if it was about the end of the world?" And I got all excited at the idea of Everyday being the Good Omens theme song.

So it's really just there to make Terry happy.

[yuujispinkhair]

I WANNA BE YOUR ENDGAME – Chapter 03

🏒❤️ A Hockey Romance feat. modern!Sukuna

Pairing: HockeyPlayer!Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: College AU, Hockey AU, fluff + smut Playlist: I wanna be your Endgame Word Count: 3.6k Warnings: 18+, smut. Fuckbuddies to lovers. Mentions of masturbation in this chapter and Reader has some dirty fantasies about our favorite hockey player. Reader is a creative writing student. Sukuna is an ice hockey player + history student. This story will have approximately 10 chapters. Minors don't interact. Header by me. Divider @/benkeibear

MASTERLIST

You are at the Tigers' next home game, too, watching and cheering from the stands, having fun just like the last time, but now you also understand the rules, thanks to your private lesson with Sukuna. You still grin anytime you look at the hockey rules written in his elegant handwriting and the little drawing with the tattooed stick figure.

The Tigers win, thanks to Sukuna scoring several goals. You congratulate him after the game, when he once again skates next to you as you walk past the plexiglass. And Sukuna smiles one of his rare dazzling smiles at you, which makes you feel giddy for the rest of the evening.

But Sukuna isn't just on your mind when you are at one of his hockey games. You catch yourself looking for pink hair anytime you walk over campus. And more often than not, when you eventually spot Sukuna, he is somehow already looking at you with his boyish grin and a raised eyebrow, as if he was looking for you, too.

You run into him in front of the dining hall several times, and he tells you to join him, leading you to his table again. You are surprised to realize that, apparently, it's a regular occurrence for Sukuna to sit on his own, or if someone is with him, it is only his brother or the team's kit manager, Uraume, who somehow seems to be on friendly terms with Sukuna, too.

It makes you wonder because you always assumed the star player would be surrounded by his teammates or admirers, basking in their attention.

It's one of those days when it's only Sukuna and you who have lunch together, when you blurt out,

"Why are you always sitting here alone or with your brother or Uraume? Why don't you sit with your teammates?"

Sukuna huffs at your question,

"Most of my teammates bore me to death or piss me off. They know better than to sit with me. In the beginning, they tried to tell me that the team always shares a table, but I told them to fuck off and not get on my dick. They got the message. They do as I say on the ice, and they also do what I say off the ice."

You don't doubt it. Anyone who seeks a fight with Sukuna must be crazy. This charming version of Sukuna you meet isn't the version he is for most people. He can be an asshole, and you don't doubt for a second that he doesn't hesitate to throw some punches off the ice too.

But the bad boy doesn't seem that bad when he has lunch with you. Sukuna is actually a charming lunch companion and full of surprises.

You put the novel you are currently reading on the table, and Sukuna jerks his chin toward the book, commenting on one of the characters in a way that tells you he knows what he is talking about. You look at him curiously,

"You read it, too?"

Sukuna leans back in his chair, one arm casually resting on the backrest of the chair next to him, his thighs spread under the table, his long legs brushing against yours, and a smug grin spreading over his handsome face.

"Yeah. Believe it or not, princess. I read a lot in my free time and for my classes, too."

And you suddenly realize that you have no idea what Sukuna's major is. You always assumed it was something obvious, like kinesiology or sports management. But his comment about reading makes you curious.

"What is your major, Sukuna?"

You didn't think it was possible, but Sukuna seems to look even more smug when he answers you,

"History."

Your hand that was bringing your spoon to your mouth stops mid-air, and you blink at Sukuna.

"History? Okay, wow, I didn't expect that."

Sukuna's grin is shit-eating by now, his eyes sparkling in amusement.

"Why not? You think I'm some dumb jock? I am offended, princess."

"No... I.. I don't know. I guess I pictured history majors differently. And isn't it kind of boring? All that old stuff?"

Sukuna raises an eyebrow at you,

"I analize past events to see what we can learn from them for modern times. It's about critical thinking and evaluating human actions. What is boring about that?"

"When you put it like that it doesn't sound so bad, I guess."

"Exactly. You are a creative writing major, right princess? You have all your fictional stories that you read or write yourself. They aren't boring to you, right? Now, I, on the other hand, have all those stories that actually happened. And many of them are first-class novel material. All that old stuff, as you call it, is very interesting. All the drama, the betrayal, the political intrigues."

You nod solemnly,

"Yeah, if I want to write a story set in the past I have to do research, too, to see how life worked at that time. How lucky that I have an expert to ask for help now!"

Sukuna grins at you,

"You're such a lucky girl indeed. But don't think I will just share my knowledge for free."

You give Sukuna a blank look,

"What? You gonna charge money for it?"

"Who said anything about money?"

He grins teasingly at you and you roll your eyes, throwing your hands up as you grin back at Sukuna,

"So, what kind of payment do you have in mind?"

"Maybe I am talking about this," Sukuna gestures to the table and your plate, "Keeping me company for lunch, coming to my games, being an enthusiastic enjoyer of my cigarette smoke. By the way, I need one after we are finished eating. You coming with me, princess? Consider it a payment in advance for gaining acess to all the amazing history knowledge in my mind."

Sukuna winks at you, and you can't help but laugh.

"Okay, I think that sounds fair."

You're on your way to your dorm after class when you hear your name getting called by a very familiar, smooth, low voice. You turn around, only to almost drop the stack of books you are carrying in your arms.

Sukuna is jogging toward you, apparently going for a run as part of his daily workout, and there is definitely too much of his tattooed skin and buff muscles on display.

You stare at him, probably looking like a complete fool, as your eyes trail over Sukuna's tall, muscular figure. He's only wearing a black tank top and red shorts with the Tigers logo. It's far too little clothing to cover up how gorgeous he is.

You gulp hard. Sukuna looks so sexy, with his muscles all buff, the veins on his arms standing out from his workout, and a thin layer of glistening sweat coating his tattooed skin and muscles.

He asks you how your day was, and you manage to give him an answer that sounds halfway sane while your gaze travels up and down his body.

You don't know where to look. There is just so much of him, and it makes you feel so flustered! Sukuna makes you feel things you aren't ready to admit, but the fluttery feeling in your stomach grows more intense by the second.

Your heart jumps to your throat when you glimpse a pair of black bands peeking out from under Sukuna's shorts.

Oh my god. Does he have upper thigh tattoos?

You stare at those tempting black lines on Sukuna's muscular thighs a moment too long before you catch yourself, and your head quickly snaps up again, eyes wide, looking at Sukuna's face with an expression that does nothing to hide how affected you are by him and his stupid gorgeous body.

A cocky smirk spreads over Sukuna's tattooed face. The face of someone who knows exactly how sexy he is.

"Do you like my tattoos, princess?"

"Yeah, um... they look very cool," you manage to say, and before you can stop yourself, you add, "How many do you have in total?"

You silently curse yourself the moment the words have left your mouth because you know you just presented Sukuna with an open goal. And, of course, he doesn't even let a second go by before he grins at you with a devilish glint in his eyes, his voice dropping to a seductive timbre,

"I'll let you count them if you want."

You make a sound of complaint, but Sukuna's words send your pulse racing, and you are sure he knows it. You are saved from further embarrassment though by the beeping sound Sukuna's heart rate monitor makes to inform him something is off. He laughs softly and jerks his chin toward you,

"I have to keep going. See you at my game!"

And with that said, Sukuna runs past you, but not without reaching out to ruffle your hair, making you yell after him to stop ruining your hairstyle.

It's a busy weekend for you, with several deadlines for assignments and a birthday party in your dorm that you help organize, so you decide not to go to the hockey game.

You don't even think about it until Monday morning when you get practically cornered by a scowling Sukuna.

You turn around after getting some books from your locker only to gasp because Sukuna is standing in front of you, tall and buff, effectively blocking your way.

He takes a step closer, his tall, broad body blocking out the light and the other people in the hallway, making it seem like it is only you and him. One of his large tattooed hands comes to rest on your locker, right next to your face, and Sukuna leans down so he is on eye-level with you, stopping only centimeters from your face.

"I didn't see you at my game."

You hug the books you just got out of your locker to your chest as you tilt your head to smile nervously up at Sukuna.

"Yeah, I was too busy and couldn't make it."

Sukuna curls his lips, and you feel the need to shrug apologetically and add a soft,

"Sorry."

Sukuna sighs and straightens up again, running his hand through his pink hair, slicking it back while fixing you with a sulky look out of his beautiful maroon eyes. It almost looks like he is pouting.

"You know that's a problem, right, princess? We lost the game."

You blink up at him in slight alarm before you see the mischievous sparkle in Sukuna's maroon eyes and see the corners of his lips twitch.

And so you play along and stare at him with comically big eyes, pressing a hand to your mouth that is opened in a fake shocked expression.

"Oh no! Forgive me, Your Majesty, King Sukuna The First! I wasn't aware that my absence would lead to your men's defeat on the icy battlefield."

Sukuna chuckles softly and leans closer again, both of his large hands placed on each side of your head now, his voice a low whisper, as if he is sharing a secret with you,

"I like it when you are there to watch me play. You are my personal lucky charm, princess. We haven't lost a single game since you started coming. But we lost this Saturday. Call me superstitious, but as a responsible player, I must demand your presence at all future home games."

You look at his beautiful face, so close to you that you can make out every little detail of the second pair of eyes tattooed into his skin. You feel your heart beat faster and a smile spreads over your face as you tilt your head, coming even closer to Sukuna,

"Well, I guess then it's my duty to come to every game. I promise I will take my job as your personal lucky charm seriously from now on."

Your voice has also dropped to a flirty whisper, and your pulse flutters wildly with Sukuna standing so close to you. You can feel the warmth radiating off his tall, muscular body. Can smell his sexy cologne again and a hint of cherry, maybe from his hair gel.

Your gaze meets Sukuna's maroon eyes. A lazy but contented smile spreads over his beautiful face. His voice is still barely a whisper, low and seductive, almost a purr,

"Good girl. That's what I wanted to hear."

You can feel his warm breath on your cheek, and you instinctively feel your lashes flutter and tilt your head back even more, your lips parting slightly as if preparing for a kiss.

For a moment, the two of you are locked in your own little universe, where it's only the star player and his lucky charm. Only Sukuna and you, so close to each other that you feel each other's body heat and your breaths brush over each other's lips.

So close.

You gaze deeply into each other's eyes, and Sukuna leans even closer. You think he is really going to kiss you. Your eyes close as your heart beats like crazy.

But a loud yell of "Sukuna! Coach is looking for you!" interrupts the moment, and both your and Sukuna's eyes fly wide open.

He pulls away, rolling his pretty eyes in annoyance as he yells over his broad shoulder at his teammate,

"And what the fuck is so important? I would have come to his office after class anyway! It's not my fucking fault that we lost!"

Sukuna's maroon eyes snap to yours again, and he huffs and grins, cupping your cheek with his large hand and brushing his thumb over your lower lip, adding in his typical velvety voice,

"Neither your fault, princess. Even though you should have really been in the arena. But you can double the good luck at the next game by cheering extra enthusiastically for me. Will you do that for me?"

You barely manage a nod and murmur a breathless "Okay," making your lips move against Sukuna's thumb, almost like a little kiss, before he pulls his hand away and grabs his backpack to sling it casually over his broad shoulder and wink at you one last time before he leaves to see his coach.

You let your head fall against the locker, hug your books tightly to your chest where your heart is beating like crazy, and stare dumbfounded after Sukuna's tall figure. Your knees feel weak, and there is heat pulsing between your thighs from all the sexual tension that was between you and Sukuna just seconds ago.

You let out a long breath and chuckle softly to yourself.

Sukuna's lucky charm, huh?

You like the sound of that.

You find yourself in the hockey arena sooner than expected. But not for a hockey game. One of the girls from your classic literature class is on the figure skater team, and she asked if you could meet her after her training to do the assignment you have together.

You thought you would leave again and go to the coffee shop to work there, but your assignment partner scrunches her face apologetically,

"I'm so sorry, but I can't leave yet. I have to stay here and wait for my teammate to give me the keys to the team room, but she is still in the back talking to our coach. But we can do the assignment here. We can just get comfy on the stands and work there. Is that okay with you?"

You tell her it's okay and follow her, letting her lead you to the otherwise completely empty stands. Just when you sit down, you hear several voices coming from the direction of the ice, and when you turn your head to look what's going on, you see the hockey team entering the rink now for their training. And, of course, there he is.

Sukuna.

He looks gorgeous as always, smiling broadly about something Yuuji said to him as he skates casually over the ice, his helmet still off and under his arm, unaware that you are here to watch him. He isn't yet wearing his usual hockey jersey but a tight, black, long-sleeved compression shirt and his shoulder pads. It looks sinful on him, accentuating every muscle on his gorgeous body. Even from this distance, you can count his abs.

He looks beautiful. Especially with that genuine smile lighting up his face as he laughs with his brother.

You stare at him, following his every move, while trying to listen to your assignment partner's ideas. But she stops mid-sentence, and when you take it as a clue to look at her, she is grinning at you like the Cheshire Cat.

"So, Sukuna, huh?"

She jerks her chin toward the hockey team down on the ice, and you shake your head quickly, making a dismissive hand gesture.

"No, it's not like that."

She raises a skeptical eyebrow but leaves it at that. For a few minutes, the two of you work on the assignment while you steal the occasional glance at the rink.

The problem with the hockey arena is that it is cold as the ninth circle of hell. You hug yourself and rub your arms, shuddering in the chilly air of the arena. You didn't think you would work on the assignment here, or you would have brought a jacket.

It's right then that you suddenly hear your name called in that familiar, sexy, low voice.

You turn your head, unable to stop the big grin from spreading over your face, as you see Sukuna leaning against the boards beneath your seats, touching the plexiglass that separates the rink from the stands, and looking up at you.

"Are you here to bring me luck during training, too? You really take your job seriously, princess. I approve of that eagerness."

You laugh, playing along and making a salute gesture,

"Of course. I am always on duty, sir!"

Your little salute gets messed up by how violently you tremble from the cold, though. Sukuna raises an eyebrow, and his eyes travel over your body, over the thin t-shirt you are wearing.

"You're not dressed for the job, though. What are you doing, freezing your pretty ass off?"

You laugh,

"I didn't know I would spend an hour in here."

Sukuna huffs, brushing a stray strand of pink hair out of his forehead,

"Wait a sec."

He pushes himself off the boards and casually skates to the other side of the ice. You see him grab something from the bench where his stuff is. And then he glides back over the ice toward you with his sexy smirk on his tattooed face and his white team hoodie in his hand.

The sight makes your stomach flutter. You grin from ear to ear as Sukuna skates over to you, stopping at the boards and grinning up at you.

"Come down here and put that on, princess! I don't want my good luck charm to get a cold!"

You chuckle as you hurry down the stairs to the boards. Sukuna throws his hoodie over the plexiglass, and you catch it and quickly slip into it.

A blissful sigh leaves your lips. Sukuna's hoodie is so soft and warm, and it smells just like him, making your stomach tingle when you smell his fresh, sexy, boyish scent mixed with cigarette smoke and cherries.

You smile gratefully at the star player, who can actually be pretty nice contrary to his bad boy reputaion.

"Thank you, Sukuna."

Sukuna stands there, resting his chin on the back of his hand on his hockey stick as his beautiful maroon eyes slowly wander over you. There is something in his eyes that you haven't seen in his gaze before, but you can't quite name it.

All you know is that Sukuna's gaze lingers a lot longer than necessary on your body, which is now clad in his hoodie. He looks happy somehow, pleased, but there is also something darker in his eyes, almost like some primal hunger.

It makes you lick your lips nervously, but then Sukuna seems to shake himself out of it, and he smirks at you again, just as cocky as always, flirty and sweet-talking like a champ,

"You're welcome, princess. Anything for my lucky charm."

He skates back to where his teammates are doing practice shots, joining them immediately in full hockey star mode.

You feel oddly light-headed from the encounter with Sukuna and the feeling of his warm, comfy hoodie on your body, and his sexy scent in your nose as you walk back to your classmate.

She looks at you with an amused expression on her face and a "see, I told you so" attitude written all over her face.

"Oh yeah, it's clearly not like that at all, huh?"

You leave the arena huddled comfortably into Sukuna's hoodie, your hands shoved deep into the soft front pocket, smiling at how the hoodie looks more like a dress on you because of the height difference between you and Sukuna. It's making your tummy flutter a bit to imagine him wearing it before he gave it to you. Almost like you get an indirect feel of his tall, strong body. You bite your lip and try to chase that thought away. This is dangerous territory.

But the thing is, even when you are back in your dorm, you can't bring yourself to take off Sukuna's hoodie.

It's far too comfy and warm, and so you just stay in it the rest of the evening while preparing dinner and working on your assignment. It also smells so good. You catch yourself bringing the soft fabric up to your nose several times to inhale the fresh and seductive scent that is Itadori Sukuna. Fresh cologne, cigarette smoke, and cherries.

You tell yourself you will take the hoodie off before bed. It will be too warm to sleep in it anyway. Yes, definitely, you will change into one of your usual T-shirts!

Just five more minutes.

In the end, you stay in Sukuna's hoodie. But it is a bad idea, as you soon realize when you lie in your bed, and your mind gets flooded with images of Sukuna's sexy grin and his gorgeous tattooed body. You feel a bit guilty when your hand slips into your panties while you are still wearing the hoodie that smells like Sukuna. You don't want to be into him like that!

But you can't stop yourself, even though it feels kind of wrong to give in to the sudden urge to push your panties down so you can feel Sukuna's hoodie brush over your wet pussy, soaking the soft fabric with your arousal as a needy moan falls from your lips.

You imagine Sukuna lying in his bed with a hand down his pants, too, while he thinks of you in his hoodie and nothing else. And that thought leads to an all too sexy fantasy of you riding Sukuna on his bed while you're wearing his hoodie, and his large hands slip under it and wrap around your waist. And he's smirking at you and calling you princess and his lucky charm while you bounce on his lap until you cum all over his gorgeous cock.

You curse yourself a little for whispering his name when you cum so hard that your vision goes black for a moment.

I would SQUEAL internally if Sukuna gave me his hoodie ❤️❤️ And being his personal lucky charm sounds like the best job ever to me! AAAHH he just drives me insane!

Thank you so much for all the love for this AU!! I hope you enjoyed Chapter 3, too. Comments and reblogs would be very sweet ❤️

In Chapter 4, Reader and Sukuna end up in the locker room together. Let's see what that leads to ;)

[aethelwyneleigh27]

A little something of Simon Riley x Bookworm!Reader

A/n: Did you guys miss this format? So do I, hope you guys are doing well because I would not wish my suffering on my worst enemy, for the first time in a while, school makes me want to self exit. These days have been the busiest for me and I doubt that it will get better from here. I'm just exhausted from life but never from you guys <3

Taglist: @wishesforyou @puff0o0 @simping4konig @simp4konig @blingblong55 @azereus @rustic-guitar-notes @callsignsnowpunisher @anonymuslydumb @skeletalgoats @icarustypicalfall @connorsui @capuccino192 @miss-gms-and-the-rotten-womb @celestialhole @the-second-sage @starryylies @duck-a-doodle @everlastingmoonlightsworld @keiva1000 @iexiam @drewsmusee @konigceo

My CoD Masterlist <3

My Simon "Ghost" Riley Playlist <3

Simon Riley who absolutely adores your reactions when you read, a little bored on a lazy day in bed with him with your reading material in hand. The way you squeal and wiggle your feet made him want to peek onto what you were reading but he didn't need to, the moment you notice him curiously trail on you when you've finished a chapter or a moment you can't help but rant about.

Simon Riley who absolutely adores the way you get passionate about romantic stories, sometimes it motivates him to get a little creative with date ideas although you insist that simple dates are just fine.

Simon Riley who loves sneaking up behind you to peek at what you're reading, to see if you hide it while all flustered or if you bolt so he could playfully chase and pin you down.

Simon Riley who actually picks up an interest in reading because of you, he loved the idea that he's able to be more connected to you, having heated sessions of ranting together, dissing on annoying characters and such.

Simon Riley who was thankful you for introducing him to audiobooks, he was usually busy with some of the repairing and some maintenance of your shared home whenever he comes home after months. It gives him time to catch up while doing something productive so you can have your book review sessions.

Simon Riley who likes it when you look for him in the house after he went to do chores while you immerse yourself in another world. The sound of his name being called over and over by you is the best to him, sometimes waiting for you to say his name a little more before responding.

Simon Riley who builds you your very own bookshelf at your third anniversary, he went through the effort of finding a wood color that he knew you'd like and crafted the intricate bookshelf with a matching ladder that had wheels at the bottom so you could slide down like belle in that scene from beauty and the beast.

Simon Riley who gifts you reading material that you told him you were dying to read, your birthdays and other special occasions, even merch of hyper fixations you have, the same ones you use to decorate the bookshelf he made.

Simon Riley who likes to experiment in the bedroom based on what you've noted and annotated scenes on the spicy romance novels you've kept. He does it in his absolute spare time, sometimes when you aren't home, he likes to see what turns you on, so you'll come home to a surprise.

[ladymoody]

Hiii I recently found your blog and I loved how you wrote the first fanfic could you please please make a story with enzo beekshire where he’s like our brother’s best friend and when he invites him over he sneaks in our room and you know… please make it smut

MY BROTHER'S FRIEND

lorenzo berkshire x fem!reader

warnings: nsfw +18, swearing, explicit language, fingering, p in v penetration, dom!enzo, cum.

word count: 1,5k

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ masterlist ; playlist ; characters list ; my website

I was in my room reading, completely lost in a world of fantasy, until I heard a knock on my door.

"mh... come in." I said, not even taking my eyes off my book. My elder brother theodore opened the door and leaned against the doorframe. "my friend's coming tonight."

"who."

"enzo."

"who?" theo sighed.

"my friend. brown hair, brown eyes... he could be your type, actually." he joked.

"oh shut up, theo."

"just playing, sis... I won't let you lie a single finger on my fellas." he said as he walked out and closed the door behind him.

my brother was so annoying. it was not the first time he had brought his friends over, especially enzo who was often at our house, and it was fine with me as long as they didn't disturb me. I just wanted to stay in my little world in my room, which my brother used to call a "girly cave", and stay unbothered from men's presence.

the clock soon struck 8pm which had always been around the time when theodore welcomed his friends in. in fact, not so many minutes later, I heard my brother talking and an unknown voice answering.

I stayed on my cozy bed in my dim-lit room, fully immersed in the intriguing novel in my hands.

margaret's arms were all around jake's neck as they kept making out in the shower. jake was panting heavily and margaret couldn't help but moan every time jake squeezed her ass. she soon broke the kiss and rested her forehead against his - jake's right hand started to wander on her inner thigh expertly, slowly and teasingly touching her clit.

I immediately snapped back to reality, panickingly throwing the book in the air as my bedroom door opened.

"hey sis, just wanted to tell you enzo and I are watching a film in my room." enzo was standing next to him and I couldn't help but check him out a little, taking in his appearance and forgetting to try to look subtle. he had fluffy, almost wavy brown hair — brown eyes, a tall figure, and a slim body. he was wearing a black sweater and a pair of blue jeans, and I couldn't help noticing the earring he was wearing, which I found extremely sexy.

enzo eyed me up back, smirking still from my book-throwing of a few seconds ago.

"hi." I sheepishly said to him. he just kept his gaze on me and stared at my bare thighs longer than necessary.

"if you need me, we're there." he said as they both left my room, shutting the door behind them.

(skip time)

I woke up confused and thirsty, the lights of my room still on, and the book that was previously in my hands was now left on my bed opened to a random page. I rubbed my eyes slowly beginning to register what was going on, and so realizing that I might've fallen asleep.

I looked at the clock on my nightstand and noticed that it was past midnight. I groaned and sat up, still taking a few moments to fully wake up from my quite long nap. I got up and walked out of my room, trying to be as quiet as possible as I didn't know if my family was already sleeping.

as I walked down the corridor, I saw the light of my brother's room cursing under the door chink, which meant that he and enzo were still awake. I knocked on the door.

no one answered. maybe they had fallen asleep forgetting to turn the lights off just like me.

I walked away and headed towards the bathroom to take a shower. I opened the door and looked at myself in the mirror, noticing my eye bags and messy hair.

I started to take my shirt off, then my shorts and my underwear, and in the end I opened the shower curtain to turn on the shower and get the hot water.

I screamed and immediately bent over to collect my clothes and press them against my naked figure, in an attempt to cover my body. there was enzo standing in the bathtub lathering up his body, he was shocked as well, but not as much as me since he didn't even try to cover up his crotch.

"is knocking no longer a trend anymore?" he said, a bit upset and a bit amused.

"I made a lot of noise! you could've let me know you were in here too!"

enzo rolled his eyes and spoke again. "lower your voice, or you'll wake theo up."

"I want to wake him up! he needs to know his friend is a damn pervert!" I was about to leave but he leaned out to grab my arm.

"oh you wouldn't dare."

my eyes widened in shock and almost disgust, but I won't lie saying I hadn't minded seeing his naked body.

"why won't you join me?"

I blushed hard. did he really ask me that? is he crazy? why was I nodding?

he smirked to himself as he saw me agreeing and gestured for me to get in with him.

I hesitantly removed the clothes from my body and let them drop back on the floor. I looked at him to see if he was making eye contact with me, but he wasn't — he was staring at my body in awe.

I made my way into the bathtub and joined him, now his gaze was on my face as he couldn't stop grinning at me, hip bottom lip between his teeth.

he didn't waste any time and immediately grabbed the back of my thighs to lift me up, then he pushed me against the cold and wet wall of the shower and held my legs tight around his waist. I automatically rested my hands on his lower chest, our eyes not leaving each other for one second.

with one of his hands, he reached the tap and turned the water on to muffle the noise we'd have made. and eventually, he pressed his lips against mine.

the kiss was slow at first, our heads often tilting to opposite sides to kiss more easily. I moved my arms around his neck, pulling him closer by the back of his head.

after some time of making out, I felt his hand leaving my thigh and rub against my clit. I gasped and threw my head back on the wall, my eyes shut and my mouth hung open. he soon slipped two fingers inside of me, making me moan in pleasure as he started to pump them in and out.

"enzo..." I moaned, clinging to his back.

"mhh... I've wanted to do this since I first saw you." he moaned back.

I was in complete ecstasy as I felt the hot water running on our bare skin — the noise of it taking over our moans of lovemaking — the feeling of his soft lips against mine, and his slender and long fingers fucking my pussy. he knew what he was doing.

"I'm so close…" I whined, almost begging him to let me release.

"hold on, baby. not like this…" he took his fingers out of me, leaving me a needy mess, and grabbed his now hard erection. he started stroking it a bit, then I felt his tip lining up against my folds.

I screamed as he pushed it inside of me without any warning, he stayed inside to let me adjust to his size, and then he began to thrust.

I could feel my walls wrap around him instantly, his thrusts not gentle at all so I could tell he had wanted this for quite a long time. he buried his face in the crook of my neck, often leaving wet kisses on my shoulder. suddenly we heard a knock on the door.

"enzo?" my brother called out. but enzo didn't bother to stop fucking me.

"it's me! I'm in the shower!" he answered.

"well, hurry up, I have to use the bathroom as well!" theo said back and then we heard his steps growing less and less loud as he walked away.

in the meantime I was completely in another universe — enzo's hand had covered my mouth to not let my brother find out what we were up to, while he kept up with his merciless thrusts.

"you're taking it so well..." he groaned into my ear. I dug my nails into his back, making him moan a little more at the painful pleasure of my gesture, and then I hit my orgasm.

the idea of making me come made enzo come right after me within a few seconds — I felt his thrusts getting faster and faster as he buried himself completely inside of me, and in the end, he pulled out cumming on my lower belly.

he kissed my forehead and put me down on my feet, making me stumble a bit from the intensity of what had just happened.

"don't tell your brother, will you, baby?" he stroked my cheek, then he turned the water off and opened the curtain.

I shook my head and he grinned at me before making his way out of the shower and wrapping a towel around his waist.

[lovegalor333]

Warm December

part three of paigemas

paige bueckers x reader

paige surprises you by staying in storrs for christmas so you’re not alone

⋆꙳❆ ⋆✩°｡꙳❆°⋆ ⋆꙳❆ ⋆✩°｡꙳❆°⋆ ⋆꙳❆ ⋆✩°｡꙳❆°⋆

The holiday season was a weird and complicated time for you. It came with a lot of bad memories since your mom died and home was the last place you wanted to be so the decision to stay in Storrs was an easy one. Your family were unbothered and didn’t have much to say when you broke the news. Your stepmom said she would save money not having to buy you gifts and your dad just grunted down the phone. A few years ago, this would have probably made you cry but you were used to your parents attitude now and you were grateful you went to college so far away from home.

It was December 21st and you had waved your roommates goodbye, cars full with wrapped presents and snacks you had packed for them. They both drove off in the falling snow, with Christmas music blasting from their speakers. Both girls tried to get you to go home with them, insisting their families would be happy to have an extra guest at their table but you weren’t one to impose and besides, you had a long list of books you wanted to read. The thought of bunkering down in your cosy apartment, spiced candles lit, a mug of hot tea in your hand and getting lost in a romance novel appealed to you more than you’d like to admit.

Before meeting your girlfriend, you lived vicariously through the relationships you read about. Fantasising about a love like Elizabeth Bennets and Mr Darcys. After being single your whole life, you were starting to believe that maybe love like that was entirely fictional and then along came Paige. Six foot tall, blonde, blue eyes and pure muscle. You and Paige had the most typical friends to lovers timeline. Having met through mutual friends, you quickly bonded over your Midwest roots and you both found yourselves wanting to spend more and more time together. You were both wildly oblivious to each other’s pining and it took one too many shots and a very calculated game of spin the bottle (thanks Azzi) for you to finally realise that you were on the same page.

Speaking of your girlfriend, she had also travelled home today. You said goodbye with tears in your eyes and one final kiss. “I’ll FaceTime you everyday.” Paige had said, “I want to know what happens at the end of Emma.” Paige loved listening to you talk about your current read, she insisted she cared about the storyline but with the way she looked at you, eyes soft and a small smile on her lips, you knew you could say absolutely anything and she’d listen intently.

The evening was drawing in and you had turned off all the big lights, your apartment lit by fairy lights and candles alone. The Christmas tree in the corner of the room glowed warmly making the space feel like a cosy grotto. The whole place smelled like cinnamon and with your Christmas playlist softly emitting from your Alexa, it softened the blow that you’d be alone at this time of year.

A knock on your apartment door broke through your thoughts and you imagined it was your Post Mates order so you carefully placed your book mark inbetween the pages you were currently reading and went to answer the door. Your door step was empty, nothing or nobody was there and you furrowed your brow in confusion and peeked your head around the door to see who knocked.

It took you a few seconds to process what you saw, “Paige! What are you doing here?” You gasp, seeing your girlfriend, body pressed against the wall, a huge cheesy grin on her face and a red santa hat perched on her head, “Surprise, my love.”

“You’re meant to be on a plane right now!” You say as she pulls you into a hug. Paiges hugs were hands down your favourite thing in this whole world. The way her arms snaked around your waist and squeezed you tight, the way her head nuzzled into your neck as she pressed light kisses to your skin. Your nostrils were filled with her scent, a scent you had prepared yourself to not smell for a few weeks and you breathed in deeply taking in as much of it as you could.

“I’m meant to be right here.” Paige says walking back into your apartment with one arm still wrapped around your waist.

“What are you talking about? I thought you were going back to Minnesota.”

“I was. And then I thought about it. Go there where I’ll just get grilled by my family about shit I cannot be bothered to explain or stay here. With you. Where we can be with each other all day and night. Where I can make you tea while you read and you can cook while…I watch because God knows I’ll burn the place down.” Paige tucks your hair behind your ear and her eyes skim over your face, “You didn’t think I’d let you spend Christmas alone did you?” She asks, her thumb gently stroking your cheek.

“I don’t know. Kinda. But it’s normal, everyone goes home. I wouldn’t have minded.” You mumble looking into Paiges eyes. You wouldn’t have resented Paige for going home for the holidays, it wasn’t her fault your family didn’t know how to act. “You know I love you, right? Like a lot. And Christmas is about being with the people you love. Now come and sit on Santas lap and tell me what’s on your list.” Paige smirked as she pulled you to the couch, positioning you on her lap.

You giggled as Paige did her best Santa impression. Voice deep and gravelly, “Have you been a good girl this year?” You nod playing into her game, “Very good.”

Paige raised a brow, breaking character, her usual accent back, “Good girls arch their back, ass up?” You gasped, lightly slapping her arm, “Paige! Santa would not say that!”

“Oh my bad- Ho ho ho! What’s on your Christmas list?” She regained composure, putting on her Santa voice once again, holding her stomach as she ho’d, really getting into character.

“Didn’t make a list. Everything I need is all right here.” You smile, leaning in and pressing a kiss to your girlfriends lips. “I love you, Paige.” “I love you too.”

The rest of your night was spent cuddled into Paige on your couch. The Christmas lights around your dim apartment twinkled silently as you watched your favourite festive movie - The Holiday. Paige traced delicate shapes into your back and every now and then you would catch her staring at you. The light from the television illuminating her perfect features. She would press soft kisses to your head when a romantic scene played and when you found yourself sniffling as the young characters on screen laid in their fort and spoke about their mom who had passed away, Paige slipped her hand into yours and squeezed it tightly.

The holiday season was a weird and complicated time for you but like always Paige was there to make it less weird and less complicated and for that, you could only let a tear slip out of your eye. Grateful for the girl next to you and her deep, unapologetic love.

two posts in an hour so im back on track 🙂‍↕️ happy christmas eve eve baddies 💋

🏷️: @buecketsnbueckets @rosemariiaa @sierrale8ne @avvwritesstufff @blackbarbie96 @melpthatsme @jnkbueckers @cloclos-posts @onlyhereforpazzi @paigeshirleytemple @mattsmunchkin @bueckersbitch @rizzlerbuckets @numberonepartyanth3m @washing-machine-heart245 @katemartinlvr @girlslovee @taylynbueckers44 @thatonequeer0358 @the-other-half @xxxggggsh @evry1luvzza

[fushiguruuzzzz]

࣪ ִֶָ☾. For Emma

𝄞 “Saw death on a sunny snow || for every life || forgo the parable || seek the light || my knees are cold || … || for Emma, forever ago” — Bon Iver

Playlist — Rainy Day Lovin’ | Moodboard

Satoru Gojo x Fem!Reader

Words — 7.1k

Cw — reader highkey doesn’t fw Gojo at first, why do I always make the reader like this am I projecting (yes), death, angst, grief, brief descriptions of gore(?), use of y/n, I can’t write this stuff for shit I’m so sorry DONT BASE UR OPINION ON MY WRITING OFF OF THIS PLSPLSPLS, mentions/use of alcohol (reader picks up gojo from a party; he’s drunk), what is it with me and drunk stupid men omg, not proofread, lmk if I missed any!!

Working in a quiet little bookshop, your life consists of only crumpled pages of novels and the weight of your classes resting on your shoulders. When a certain white haired man one year your senior comes by, you’ve already decided you don’t like him. Unfortunately, you’ve always had a tendency to rebel against your own wants. You give yourself to what felt like your beginning and was eventually your end, Satoru Gojo. OR Satoru Gojo hates the rain, but he loved you more.

a/n — ughhhhhdhdhh I spent half of my time writing this procrastinating the ending I’m ngl. This was so difficult to write and then I had a random burst of energy and wrote like half of it in one night like hello???? But it’s probably still blegh idk. Um I’m sorry for this please don’t doxx me. No spoilers but aha…!!!!! I lwk teared up I fear. BLAME SIA FOR THIS NOT ME THIS WAS REVENGE

The very moment you set eyes on Satoru Gojo, you knew he was trouble.

It was a brisk autumn day, shades of brown and orange blanketing the streets and casting a warm, cozy mood over the city. Your little book store was in its element, acutely so. The vintage wood and gold accents strewn throughout the shop reflected the dim light seeping in through the windows, surrounding you in a soft glow.

You were immersed in the newest stock of books, placing each one on the shelf with delicate precision when you heard a bell chime. The dainty little bell at the entrance made only a small noise, but one you’d learned to recognize in your months working here. Stepping down from the stool you’d been balancing on, your foot had barely touched the ground when a whiny voice broke through the silence.

“Suguru,” he drawled, all too pitiful for the time and place. “Can’t you come back later? You keep dragging me into these boring places, I just wanna get mochi,” he groaned. That was when you rounded the corner, entering the line of sight of the two men who had just arrived. One of them was a tall, white haired individual whose face was pulled up in what seemed to be dramatic irritation; the other, ravenette man looking all too fed up at his side. You assumed that the former had been the one complaining, considering the stark contrast in how comfortable the other looked compared to him. Suguru, that was his name. At least, that was what the man-child had said (or rather: howled). Suguru was somewhat a regular here, though you hadn’t caught his name until then. You didn’t recognize his companion. Something about him felt familiar, but you couldn’t put your finger on exactly what that was.

It wasn’t an exaggeration to say that your first impression wasn’t positive. Your thoughts of him changed, but not so much for the better, upon meeting his eye. Something in him seemed to shift then. His eyes lit up as they did a once over on you, posture straightening and a crooked grin tugging at his lips.

“Hush, Satoru. You dragged me into like, four different dessert stores today. You’ll survive five minutes of being surrounded by literature,” the other boy, Suguru, grumbled. Satoru Gojo?.. Oh, you got it now. They went to school with you, that’s why they seemed familiar before. You hadn’t recognized them at first glance because while you were only in your first year of university, they’d been in their second. But you knew that name, everyone did. He was rather known around campus, though not for bad reasons, not exactly ones you’d consider great either. You knew little of the blue eyed man, only a few (three, to be exact) traits burrowing into the depths of your mind. 1. Prodigy 2. Charming (disgusting so) 3. Cocky asshole.

So when he was silent for a beat too long, eyes only flickering back to his friend when he turned to him, you knew he was trouble.

That sly smile still residing on his lips, he nodded at Suguru. “Well…” he said. “I guess I’ll let it slide for now.”

Geto glanced at him, then to you, unimpressed. With a small nod, a polite greeting to you, he rolled his eyes. As he grabbed Gojo by the material of his expensive looking jacket, he grumbled.

“Just look at the damn books.”

Situating yourself behind the cash register, you let out a sigh. It was only you on the shift at the moment, your tiny little establishment usually lacking the amount of customers to require more. You tried to make yourself look less bored than you were, mindlessly tapping your fingers against the leather cover of a novel sitting near the cash register. Courtesy of your boss, going on your phone whilst customers were around was strictly forbidden. You were sure that the college kids were too exhausted to care, nor would they anyway, but rules were rules. You could keep yourself busy, the little voice in your head was enough.

You’d only barely begun to let your mind wander when the soft clunk of elbows meeting the structure you leaned on met your ears. You looked up to see Satoru Gojo staring down at you, winter blue eyes sparkling with a determined curiosity.

“Hey there,” he said, snowy hair shifting as he tilted his head. He was leaned forward lazily, as if preparing for a conversation that was yet to happen. You quirked a brow, feeling the effortless charisma roll off of him in waves. You didn’t allow yourself to be tricked, though, you refused to be like the rest of his little fans fawning and kissing his shoes. Five minutes in and you’d already decided you disliked him, and all he’d said was a greeting. You tried not to judge a book by its cover, but inside you was a need to stick out that overran the compassion.

Your reply was short, a simple “Hi,” all that you felt was necessary. It wasn’t like you really knew the guy at all, you owed him nothing but the service given to every customer that had ever stepped into your humble little shop.

His grin seemed to falter for a split second, b it was quickly plastered back onto that face of his. How long had he been smirking like that? It seemed more habit than amusement at this point.

“Do I know you?” he asked.

You let out a hum under your breath, shrugging. “I don’t think so. Do you?”

His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, you were sure he could see right through you. Every bone in your body felt all too exposed to his prying eyes, every concealed bit of you shining through the cracks. But then he smiled, and everything else washed away. “You’re in uni, aren’t you?”

In return to your soft, approving nod, he clicked his tongue as if proud of himself. “Ah, that’s where. I knew I wouldn’t forget a face like yours.”

You were about to ask him to elaborate when a deeper, more annoyed voice cut through. “I leave you alone for five seconds and you’re already trying to charm the employee?” He rolled his eyes, looking between you and Satoru with a quirked brow. Gojo stood up a little straighter, a dorky, sideways grin adorning his face.

“Little ol’ me? Never.”

Amusement hinted at Geto’s face, but he was good at hiding it. He took up the empty space between Gojo and the counter, placing two books down before you. As you gently picked them up and scanned, the soft red glow accompanied by a soft beep echoing through the room, he watched.

“Nice to see you. How’ve you been?” you asked the black haired man standing across the counter, eyes kept on your nimble hands as they bagged up the paperbacks he’d been purchasing. He responded with a polite smile and a nod, radiating an air of nonchalance, far in contrast to the radiant man beside him.

“Likewise. I’ve been well, you?”

You opened your mouth to speak but were swiftly interrupted, Gojo’s mouth agape as he spoke. “Hold on hold on,” he said, picking his jaw off of the floor. Dramatic much? “You didn’t tell me you knew the cashier.”

“Maybe because you whine every time I even utter the word ‘book’,” Suguru rolled his eyes.

“I am the most intellectual person to ever roam the earth, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Watching them go back and forth, you had to suppress a laugh. They argued in a way that radiated ‘I’ve been dealing with him for years too many’, or something of the sort. You chose to ignore Satoru’s dramatic yearning for your attention, handing Suguru his books and bidding them farewell.

Freedom.

Or… for the next two days, at least.

The bell over the door chimed, quick and soft above the door. It only took a quick glance, a split second for you to recognize who exactly that was. His porcelain hair stuck out against the rustic wood bookshelves like a sore thumb, his bright eyes already shining the moment they met yours.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he grinned.

“…I work here?”

He rolled his eyes, brushing off your dismissal of his attempt at being sly. He took the few short strides from the door to the checkout, and the two of you found yourself exactly where you’d been a few days prior. Except this time there was no Suguru to interrupt (aka save you), and he was all the more annoying.

You let out a breath, already anticipating his behaviour. “I don’t take you for much of a reader.” He shrugged in response, a dorky, grossly pretty grin crossing his face.

“Paying that much attention to me?”

“Your whining is pretty hard to ignore.”

“Ouch,” he placed a hand over his heart, feigning hurt. His brows furrowed, a crease deepening between them. If you didn’t know exactly what type of man he was, you might’ve genuinely thought he looked like a kicked puppy. He strode over to you, his long legs stretching over the distance with ease. He was tall, very. Not that it mattered. You didn’t care. You didn’t even bother to notice his long limbs, the way his biceps flexed beneath his long sleeve as he reached down, grabbing a book sitting between you. It wasn’t like your eyes lingered for a moment too long, it wasn’t like you suddenly felt oddly uncomfortable being so close to him. The counter separated you, but it did little to keep the distance. The small width of it was to thank for that, you made a mental note to get a stool or something—anything that was a rightful excuse to scoot away.

He placed the novel down. “So, what’s your name?” he asked. He radiated confidence, like he didn’t mind pushing into your space. The only indication that he knew if your disinterest was the way his eyes flickered over your face, all too observant to miss the way it contorted.

“You gonna buy something?” you moved past his question, making a point to glance down at the disregarded item, now placed gently upon a stack of a few others.

He sniggered. “Yeah, but tell me your name.” He didn’t break eye contact with you as he slid it over the counter, the cover making a rough noise with the friction of the wood.

You gave no response, the only noise in the place being the scanning of his book (which you were sure he hadn’t even read the title of) and the dull sound of the constant chatter along the streets. It seeped in through the cracked windows, like a buzzing hive of bees.

“1700 yen,” you said. Your voice held a sort of boredom, but you didn’t care to actually be rude. You just weren’t going to be pinky pie from my little pony whenever you saw the man, and he surely couldn’t blame you for that.

That stupid damn grin never faltered under the weight of your gaze. He tapped his card against the machine like it was second nature, took the bag from you smoothly, hand brushing against yours. “I’ll be back,” he said. And he fully intended to keep that promise.

⋆

“No name, long time no see!”

You suppressed a groan, the all too energetic voice cutting through the quiet of the store like a knife. By the first word, you’d have known who it was. This guy never gave up, did he? And for the record, it had not been a long time since you last saw him. A day and a half, 34 hours to be exact. Though it wasn’t like you were counting or anything, in fact, you dreaded the moment he’d walk through those doors.

He made it his mission to visit you daily. Every day he’d buy a book you were certain would do nothing but collect dust on his shelf, seemingly never going over his budget. That only pissed you off further. How much money did he have to blow it all just to see you? You hated how endearing it was. You hated him.

“‘Afternoon, Gojo,” you sighed, emerging from the depths of the shelves and into the light. It was a sunny day, at least, compared to the rest of the dull winter grey that had found home in the heart of Tokyo.

“You know, I’m starting to get the impression that you don’t like me,” he said.

You attempted to look surprised, though the both of you knew very well that you weren’t. “Wow, what would ever make you think that?”

“You won’t even tell me your name? Am I really that bad?” he huffed, tossing his head back in an exaggerated show of frustration.

“You want the honest answer?”

“Hush.”

He straightened his neck, now craning it slightly down to gaze at you. He was a little ways away, but he might as well have been one with you with the way his eyes bored into you. It was intense in an anticipating way, if that made sense.

“Go out with me.”

You blinked, a little dumbfounded for a moment before gathering the bits and pieces of your brain that had just been scattered across the country. Be logical. Obviously he was kidding, obviously he didn’t mean it. I mean, he barely knew you. He didn’t even know your name, and it was your coldness to thank for that. Surely he wouldn’t want you, not genuinely at least. “You’re ridiculous,” you rolled your eyes.

“Aw, come on!” he whined, and you could’ve sworn you saw a hint of real disappointment behind those cerulean orbs of his.

You suppressed a grin. Maybe his pestering had some perks, maybe it was even entertaining. That wasn’t to say you appreciated the mockery of him “asking you out,” but you figured it was funny as long as you didn’t allow yourself to be deceived. “You making a purchase or not?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled, lazily snatching a book from the rack nearest to him. He didn’t even look at the cover. “This one.”

It was pride and prejudice.

⋆

Your first time seeing Satoru outside of your workplace other than fleeting glances around campus, you were drinking coffee. You were sat on a barstool, chunky sweater loosely slung over your body as you tried to manage both typing an essay and sipping your drink. You were stuck on the first sentence, the text cursor staring impatiently up at you as you begged your mind to conjure something up.

‘If I could change one thing about my past, I would change…’

And that was it. That was all you could think of, the unfinished phrase being the farthest you could dive into the depths of your conscious. You didn’t know. It felt as though you had no answer, and yet a million all at once. You let out an annoyed groan, shoving your face into your hands. The frustration was a good enough distraction, considering you failed to notice the figure sliding into the seat next to you.

“Lookin’ a little stressed, mystery girl. You okay?” he teased, though there was more to it. An underlying softness, what you might even say is genuine concern.

You wanted to quip back, to keep up that consistently annoyed facade you’d managed to keep for the past few weeks. But everything was so overwhelming, you were running on a few hours of sleep, and you felt like your brain would implode if you tried to pack another thought in there. So instead of groaning or shooing him away, you peeked out over your hands and replied softly. “No.”

His playful grin twitched, threatening to disappear. The moment you opened your mouth and instead of an insult he was met with something near vulnerability. “…what’s up?”

“Stuff,” you replied curtly, before softening. “Right now I just… I don’t know what to do for this stupid assignment.”

“Hm,” he said, a crease forming between his brows. “What’s the question?”

You gently nudged your laptop, rotating it on the countertop so that he could real the half-sentence you’d left off at. He stared at it for a moment, eyes flickering back to you. “What, you don’t have anything you regret?”

Your voice was soft and smooth like butter, but it held a sort of shake, almost fearful. “Quite the opposite.”

A beat of silence passed, understanding swirling through the air as well as the bits and pieces of the layer that he felt he’d broken through. Whether you liked it or not, he knew you. Maybe not your name, but you. He’d promised himself that he would, and he was a man of his word when it mattered.

“How would you answer?” you asked, growing shifty from how exposed you felt.

He paused, contemplating whether to tell you the truth or not. He bit his cheek, eyes unfocused. “I think I would want to be born someone else.”

That shocked you more than anything else. He was Satoru Gojo, smart and charismatic and confident. He was the last person you’d expect to wish he were another. Everyone else wished they were him, so why did he long for the opposite? But every bit of wit was a layer encasing the deeper parts, the ones that hurt to look at. You knew that all too well.

Conversation flowed much better after that, and it was the first time you had allowed yourself to indulge in his presence as much as you wanted to. He was… nice. Nice to talk to, a nice person, generally. You got to see another side of him, not just the silly man who spent disgusting amounts of money to see you and kept begging you to go out with him—which you still thought was derisive. He was just Satoru, laughing and smiling and helping you figure things out in the midst of what seemed to be dark clouds surrounding you. He was the light.

You were just about to part ways, the sun setting over the horizon and casting a warm glow in its wake. You reached out, taking him by the elbow to get his attention. “Y/n,” you said. “My name is y/n.”

You swore his grin couldn’t have gotten any wider. “Nice to meet you y/n, I’m Satoru Gojo.”

⋆

Gojo surrounded you nearly as much as the sky did from then on. It seemed that was the way things were for the next… what was it, month? 30 days, 30 visits from Gojo, save for the occasional day of absence. Unfortunately, you’d caught yourself warming up to him. You longed to deny it, to believe yourself when you did. You just couldn’t. He started popping up everywhere; along the streets as you walked from one class to another, “just passing by” your class (which you still wondered how he knew), he was everywhere. Usually you managed to duck out before he could embarrass you, taking full advantage of knowing your name and choosing to shout it at every possible opportunity.

This was one of those times.

“Y/n!” he shouted, momentarily turning away from his two best friends to get your attention.

You gave him a sidelong glance before looking away, avoiding him in a dramatic, almost cartoonish manner. Before you knew it, he was by your side. He had a way of making sure you couldn’t avoid him even if you wanted to.

“Am I gonna see you tonight?” he asked.

You shrugged. “Considering I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’m going to say no.”

“Come on,” he drawled with a pout, tilting his head to the side. “Party. That big fancy house down the street. You should come.”

“Uh… no.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Just once? For me?”

You hesitated with your next attempt to shut him down, and that was when he knew he’d gotten you. He’d won, yet again. With a wolfish smirk as he retreated, he called back, “I’ll see you there!”

You grumbled under your breath about how you didn’t know why you agreed to these things, and how annoying he was. Deep down, you knew it was all lies. You were sure you’d go anywhere if he asked nicely enough, maybe even the ends of the universe. You just weren’t ready for that conversation, not yet. He was a shining star, proud and bright, and you were nothing but an emotionally stunted mortal basking in his beauty. Him and his disgustingly beautiful eyes, the way people did a double take every time he passed them. He was everything, and he’d only recently learned your name.

That very same night you found yourself feeling utterly ridiculous as you walked up to the front door, wondering whether you should knock or not. It took another group of people walking straight in to give you that answer, pushing through the door and immediately being hit in the face with the sweaty heat of the party. Why were you even doing this for him? Last month, if given the same pleads as you had earlier that day you would’ve shot him down without a second thought. Why did that change? Why had you fallen for his tricks, just as you promised yourself you wouldn’t?

“Y/nnnn,” slurred an all too familiar voice from behind you. You turned to see Satoru Gojo stumbling out from the kitchen, a red solo cup in hand. Some of it sloshed out as he approached you, the liquid falling on the floor and looking like something radioactive.

“Gojo,” you said, instinctively placing a hand under his arm as he almost fell over you. “I see you’ve gotten started.”

His lower lip was pushed out into a pout, his eyes heavy and lazy as they looked you over. “I don’t… usually drink,” he swallowed thickly, eyes landing on yours once again. “But you were taking too long… I had to pass the time,” he explained, the corner of his mouth quirked up. You rolled your eyes, letting go of him with an unimpressed glance. He wished you hadn’t, he liked the way your hand felt on him. He wasn’t entirely sure if it was the alcohol or just how much he yearned for your touch, but it was unlike anything he had ever felt before. You made him feel those things rather often, it seemed you were a capsule of new emotions. Ones he hadn’t opened up to prior, ones he wasn’t sure were meant for him. Honestly, he didn’t know what was meant for him, but as he looked at you in the dim yellow lights of the frat party he had a pretty good idea. It was muggy and gross and sweat was already starting to create a soft sheen over your hairline, but to him you’d never looked more beautiful. Because you were here for him, you’d come for him and that was enough.

You glanced around the party, the one you hadn’t wanted to attend in the first place (which definitely had not changed upon arrival), and then at your disgustingly drunk, lightweight loser of a man standing next to you. Your friend? Maybe.

“Did you come with friends?” you asked, but the answer was fairly obvious. Satoru Gojo was rarely found without the people he loved… but now he was with you. Was that a switch up on his end, or was it sticking to his pattern? You couldn’t tell, and that wasn’t something you wanted to work out.

“Mm…” he hummed, as if he’d forgotten. “Yeah, but I don’ wanna be with them… wanna see you…”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart sped up embarrassingly and the face only grew warmer. His friends were nowhere to be found, and you may have seemed like you lacked an ounce of compassion to anyone else, but you couldn’t leave him.

With a sigh and eyes that avoided his all too much, you took him by the hand and led him towards the door. He was all too pleased, barely even bothered asking where you were going. “Let’s get you out of here, yeah? You’ve done enough partying.”

He offered a protesting whine in return, but didn’t dare to pull his hand from yours or even let his steps falter. Well, not voluntarily. He wasn’t the most coordinated drunk.

“Mmh- yeah, there ya’ go.” You guided his arm around your shoulder, and though your hand had parted from his, he didn’t mind the replacement. The nights air was cool in comparison to the interior of the house, refreshing against your flushed skin. It was momentarily silent as you walked down the sidewalk, choosing to save the money you would’ve spent on an uber for the drive two blocks away.

“Y/n?”

You could fill up an entire pad of paper if you tallied every time he said your name. He couldn’t help himself, it tasted so sweet on his tongue.

You responded with a hum, not wasting too much air on what you assumed would be some form of delirious, intoxicated thoughts.

“Why don’t you like me?”

You stopped in your tracks, and you swore your head had never whipped around faster. “What?”

He let out a sigh as if it was a great inconvenience to explain. His arm was still wrapped around you loosely, though there wasn’t much purpose to it now that you’d stopped walking. He glanced at you, and you were met with a rare flicker of something akin to hurt in his eyes.

“I… why don’t you like me? I come ‘round your little shop ‘nd I buy books… I don’t read any of them… and… and I beg you to go out with me, to just look at me, and you don’t. Why?” His voice was surprisingly even for his state. “Somethin’ wrong with me?”

All you could do was stand there and blink for a moment. He’d meant it. All of it. No mockery, nothing. Honestly, in the moment, he couldn’t have phrased it any better? Made it sound like he really wanted you, without that teasing tone underlying his voice? “I… I didn’t think you were being serious, Gojo.”

At the formal name he glared, but he didn’t comment. “I don’t even go for other girls,” he mumbled. “Why would I ask you if I wasn’t?”

Even in his slurred, tipsy condition, he had a point. You had never seen him with a woman, save for Shoko and when the need came, like schoolwork or helping out or anything of the nature. The point was, he didn’t pursue others romantically. You knew this, he knew you knew this, so he didn’t understand why you felt as though he was deceiving you.

“You’re right.”

“So…?” he said, a little more cheeky now.

With a huff and a few begrudging steps forward, you responded. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll go out with you.”

⋆

Your laughter rang out over the half empty streets, loud and unguarded. You’d spent the day visiting various places; the arcade, lunch, sipping hot chocolate as you walked through the park. More than you’d dreamed of, honestly, and to think you’d rejected him so many times. It felt as if your vision had been freed of the foggy lenses you’d been looking at him through before, seeing him for the kind (although a little cocky) man he was. The man he’d been trying to prove was there all this time.

“And then-“ you were cut off, the feeling of a small, wet droplet landing on your face pulling you from the conversation. You brought a finger up, wiping it and examining it for a second, long enough to come to the conclusion that it was raining. You looked upwards, as did he. The clouds were dark and gray, swirling with the threat of thunder and downpour. Your reactions were completely different, to say the least. While your eyes twinkled with awe and subtle anticipation, his nose crinkled in disdain. For once you were the bright eyed one, and he was just as gloomy as the sky above.

“It’s raining!”

“…it’s raining.”

You looked down from the somber atmosphere, met with the picture of his annoyance. “You don’t like the rain?”

He shook his head, meeting your eye. You almost gasped, but the singular nonchalant bone in your body made you refrain. “But it’s the best weather!”

“It’s dark and gloomy and wet,” he said, looking at you like you had spoken another language. He was utterly dumbfounded by your simple opinion.

More raindrops began to fall, decorating the concrete with dark, tiny spots. It was only then that you realized nearly everyone head cleared, leaving only the two of you and a few others as well as the passing vehicles. You smiled, wider than he’d ever seen you smile before. Your head was thrown back as you backed away from him, your arms outstretched at your side as you took in every bit of the rain. “Come on!” you said, a short laugh leaving your lips. Your eyes were closed now, but he was sure they’d be crinkling if they were open. “You can’t tell me this isn’t beautiful.”

“Hmm, yeah… I guess you’re right,” he agreed, but he wasn’t looking at the rain.

Satoru hated the rain, but he figured than the dampness of his bones and the way his vision blurred was all just fine as long as he could make out your foggy figure in the midst of it. Though his body hated the storms, his soul was unaffected, and all it did was long for you. So when your own spirit basked so happily in the wet weather, he couldn’t help but be content.

⋆

Satoru Gojo was a good boyfriend. Had you dared to tell yourself from a few months in the past, she would laugh in your face and send you away. But you were you now, and you knew all too well how good of a man yours was.

He opened doors for you, he cracked cheesy jokes when he knew you needed a laugh (they were so unfunny that you couldn’t even help it, he knew that), he gave you jackets when you were cold and he loved to guess your flavour of lipgloss before dropping you off at class every morning. He opened jars for you and braided your hair on tense, quiet nights when you didn’t have any words left to speak. He loved you more than someone who’s only known you for a handful months should, but you were not planning on complaining about that part. Some may say it was the honeymoon phase, some would argue it was love at first sight. You couldn’t be sure. All you knew was that you were happy, and that couldn’t be changed.

You felt a certain surge of bliss flow through you the moment you woke up, not because it was a particularly great day, but because of the first thing you were blessed with the sight of. Satoru was curled up in your bed, mouth agape as he slept on your chest. His white hair was fuzzy and strewn in gentle spikes surrounding his head, a hint of drool collecting at the corners of his lips. He looked so stupid, yet so absolutely peaceful that you were convinced he was beauty in its highest form. Screw whatever Greek mythology said, nothing blessed the eyes as greatly as the face of Satoru at ease.

A low grumble fell from his lips, though neither of you knew what words they were. His pale lashes blinked open, bleary eyes meeting yours. “Hey there,” he cheesed, mouth already forming into that cocky smirk. You hated it, hated the way you felt like every other one of his crazy fangirls every time he flashed it at you. Except it was just you, only for you.

“Morning, Satoru.”

He snuggled further into your chest, the fabric of your (his?) shirt crinkling beneath his nose as it nudged it. “Dream of me?”

You rolled your eyes, gently flicking him in the side of his head. His head shot up, looking cartoonishly offended. “That’s not nice!”

You grinned. “I’m not nice.”

He moved his face closer to yours, your features level as he looked into your eyes. “But you’re supposed to be nice to me,” he said, though no real emotion lied in the sentence. His were eyes flitting down to your lips, looking almost like some sort of deer in headlights. His head dipped down, just millimetres from you. He barely thought as he pressed his own to yours, lips meeting in a soft, sleepy way.

You parted for breath, a soft “satoruuuu,” tumbling from you before he was shutting you up with another kiss.

“Shh, I didn’t spend weeks begging for you to like me for you to not let me kiss you. Boyfriend privilege,” he tutted against your lips, and any protest you’d begun to shoot back was swallowed by him once again. You sassed, but he felt the way your hands tightened in his hair and your throat bobbed every time his teeth ran over your bottom lip. You loved him, and you hated it. It only made him like it all the much more.

⋆

The day was sunny, beating down on heaps of smiling faces as they took in all its warmth. The sky was clear and blue, you’d made a comment about how it looked similar to his eyes. He liked that, but he hoped you liked looking into his eyes better. The streets were busy, the sound of overlapping conversations and gas engines almost overwhelming. The only thing that grounded you was your hand wrapped around his bicep, his gentle guide through the crowd bringing you back to earth. You liked to act so big and tough, but there were moments like these where you were reminded that you were human too. Sometimes, you needed him. Needed your toru. You smiled bashfully when you came to the realization, to which he only smirked. It was as if he could read your mind, as if you were so in sync that he didn’t need to hear you voice it to know what you were thinking about.

But Satoru didn’t remember any of that. No, not clearly, at least. Looking back felt like trying to watch a video on a scratched disk, like there had been an old cameras lens’s blocking his vision.

All he remembered was screeching wheels and the sound of you being nudged just a little too close to the road, the way you tripped and fell seeming to be in slow motion. He remembered blood, too. A lot of it. It was yours. There were people screaming and the person behind the wheel crying, but by then it had all been tuned out by his ringing ears. He suddenly felt dizzy, all too dizzy. He’d zeroed in on your crumpled figure, hadn’t even noticed himself falling until his knees thudded against the rough road. His hands reached out to you, he was shaking. He nudged you once. A second time. No response.

“Y/n?” he asked weakly, as if a whisper only to you, avoiding the hundreds of eyes crowing around. He could hear distant police sirens, flashing lights bleeding in the corners of his vision. No. No. No no no no no. He could only think of one word then, the stubborn denial that this wasn’t happening. He was dreaming, he would wake up cuddled next to you and you’d wipe his tears, remind him that you weren’t going anywhere. But it wasn’t, the blood that stained his hands as he reached out to you was warm and wet and crimson, equally as real as the love you shared had been. The tears collecting in his eyes were real, too. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t even think, he could barely cry.

He cradled you, and he felt no pulse as he placed his fingers on your neck. Your hair was stained ruby, leaving a trail of haunting colour in its wake as it dragged along his finger. You were being pulled from him, he tried to resist, but his arms felt weak and his mind numb. This couldn’t possibly be happening. You couldn’t go so soon, not when you had so many regrets, not when you’d finally gotten over it all and loved and lived with him. He needed more time, he needed to show you that everything was okay. But now he couldn’t, and he was left sitting on the side of the road as what used to be you was driven away. He lost you twice that day.

Once the road was empty and he was left with nothing but your looming absence, it started raining. Your favourite weather. Usually he’d be delighted, he’d bring you outside by the hand and watch as your heart was filled by every drop of water. Not this time. Now every bit of the liquid was wasted on a soul that could no longer be filled, what would only ever be a leaking shell of a man who loved foolishly. While the rain was what healed you, you were what healed him. Without you he was left a wounded man without aid, filled with cracks and chips that would reside with him forever. It was his fault. His fault for bringing you, his fault for loving you at all. After all, there was no curse more twisted than love.

Satoru Gojo hated the rain. Now and forever.

⋆

He wished you lived to see how much you mattered. He knew you tended to doubt it, didn’t value yourself nearly as much as you should have.

The bookstore you worked at closed not long after your passing. The only other worker there was a good friend of yours, she quit. She couldn’t handle your loss. Nobody could. Every time Gojo passed the empty building he was reminded of you, the old store just as lifeless as your body had been in that casket. You lingered everywhere, in every old book and cup of coffee and stupid philosophical question his professor would ask. You lingered in the sheets of his that you once slept in, your legs tangled with his as you laughed in the piercing bright of the morning. The clothes you’d scattered around his room untouched since the day you died, moving them felt like erasing you. Even washing his sheets was hard. He got a whiff of your perfume in one of his hoodies and he just broke, started ugly sobbing on the floor of his bedroom right then and there. Tears soaked the sweater, and he couldn’t help but notice that they looked like raindrops. Your favourite type of day was the one most similar to the picture of his despair, the way he curled into a ball and wailed to himself as he mourned your death. He figured that wasn’t too much of a surprise. You’d always appreciated the gloomier things, after all.

Sometimes he’d convince himself you were still there. He’d tell himself that you were right beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder and your voice ringing out in what was undoubtedly a sassy quip, but every time he turned to search for you he was met with nothing but a gaping emptiness, the hollow walls you haunted. You were no longer, you wouldn’t come back. You never would. He didn’t even get you tell you he loved you once more, kiss the soft, untouched expanse of your skin, remind you that you were delicate and precious and all his. Every day, the hatred inside of him grew and swallowed every bit of who he used to be. The man you loved was gone, his vessel unrecognizable. Satoru died that day too, but nobody mourned him because he wasn’t the one bleeding.

He sat on the roof of your bookshop, gazing out over the skyline. Buildings stuck up, jagged and irregular as they made tough lines over the horizon. You would’ve liked this view, but you simply hadn’t thought of coming up here before. Only he had, and by then it was far too late.

He looked down at his hand, bottom lip pulled between his teeth. It shouldn’t have been you. It should have been him. Maybe then he’d be reincarnated and born as someone else, hopefully reunited with you in the next lifetime. He had a feeling you would, your souls seemed to dance around each other in that sort of rhythm. But no, it had to be you. Did his suffering ever end? Tears fell and wet his skin, but suddenly, there were too many. Too many, too far.

He looked up, and he didn’t know if it was a cruel reminder or a gift sent by you, but it was raining.

He couldn’t bring himself to get up and go home that time. He embraced it, lying on the ground and imagining that if he closed his eyes tight enough, he’d open them and be able to see you again. When his eyelids parted, he was met with gloomy clouds and dim skies. In the midst of the darkness, he caught a glimpse of what he swore to be your silhouette. You were sly, even in the afterlife.

That day he didn’t lay in the rain; Satoru Gojo would never be caught dead doing that. He lied beneath you, raindrops that soaked into every part of him and sent chills up his spine. He knew you wanted him to. You didn’t come back as a sunset, you didn’t paint the skies with pink and orange. You were a chilly, rainy day that reminded him of your hands in his and your wide smile as you willingly gave yourself a cold, because with the sickness came a moment of joy. There was more truth to that than let on. Yes, now he grieved and lied in a puddle of tears and rainwater, but not long ago he’d been with you. He’d held you and felt the warmth of you on his fingertips, heard your voice ring through his ears, been granted the bliss that was your lips on his. He’d gotten the greatest joy of all, and he knew that if he died in this moment his only regret would be not embracing it more than he had, if that was even possible. He’d loved you, he’d felt your love. He’d been blessed with the softness of your gaze and the twinkle in your smile, seen the soft parts of you that would forever remain a secret between him and the rain. The knowledge of that, the feeling of bits of your soul returning with every rumbling thunder crash and strike of lightning was enough for him to know that you hadn’t died. You never would, because you loved, and nothing that loves ever truly dies. You would live on through him and everyone else you came by, his family for years to come would hear the story of a stubborn girl who healed someone she hated without even knowing it. Even after you were long gone, you healed him, one dollop of water at a time.

For years after that, though begrudgingly, Satoru was never inside during a storm. His opinion of rain hadn’t altered in the slightest, no. Satoru still hated the rain, but he loved you far more.

tags: @anotherwriternamedclara @adoresia @sh0ot1ngst4r @azinniyaa @kashee-h @ruruisru @lizbix

note — why does he never catch a break omds… but on a real note I hate this real bad but wtvvvvvv I promised something and I’m a girl of my word. I don’t know how to write death I fear… and also the ending wasn’t even decided until very late into the story so it might’ve been a little sudden idkkkkkkuhhhhb

[slutforsilverfoxes]

Y’all ate this Hotch x BAU!reader imagine up 👀 Who am I to deny you more when asked so nicely? 🖤

Things remain strictly professional while the case is ongoing, your team and the Seattle division’s sole focus on catching the unsub. But once your resident bad guy gets his one way ticket to a life sentence, Aaron’s former colleague insists on celebrating over drinks…

“I can’t believe you completed the triathlon!” Agent Brandt exclaims with a laugh, her hand coming to rest on Aaron’s arm. From her spot in the booth opposite to you, JJ nudges your leg under the table. Your gaze cuts to hers, and you resist the urge to mime gagging yourself on your straw. Instead, you use it to suck up the last of your second mojito. There are a few appreciative titters around the table and Brandt soldiers on, “Who would’ve thought our nerdy prosecutor turned agent would do something so athletic?”

“Make no mistake, the nerd is still hiding underneath these muscles,” you chime in with a coy smile, the mix of jealousy and rum swimming in your veins giving you the push to overtly squeeze your husband’s bicep for good measure.

Aaron pointedly clears his throat and directs a frown towards Emily whose cellphone camera has made an appearance just over the lip of the table to no doubt document the scene unfolding for Penelope’s benefit. “All the credit goes to my partner here,” he says rather smoothly before draping his arm across your shoulders.

“Oh wow,” Brandt says through a tight-lipped smile, “you did it, too?”

“Sure did,” you respond cheerily while using your straw to swirl the mint leaves around the bottom of your empty glass. Aaron can hear the mischief building in your tone and he pinches your side half-heartedly in warning, but you quietly smack his hand away and continue, “Gotta stay in shape to fight off all the soccer moms vying for this guy’s attention at Jack’s games.” You allow yourself to relish in the flash of recognition in Brandt’s eyes before she slowly retracts her hand from your husband’s arm.

“Goodness,” she laughs and has the grace to blush at her earlier conduct. You feel a twinge of guilt until Aaron’s former colleague looks at him and says, “I didn’t realize you had a girlfriend.”

Derek covers up his laugh with a cough, and Emily mouths a delighted uh oh. Aaron turns to you with a silent plea in his eyes to let the comment go, but your lips are already twisting into a, “Me neither, babe.”

“She’s just teasing,” your husband is quick to soothe all parties’ ruffled feathers as his colleague’s blush grows a shade darker and she studiously avoids making eye contact with you. “We’ve been married for a few years now.”

“And what a wonderful few years it’s been seeing the two of you grow together,” the eldest member of your team adds with a sense of finality. You flash a grateful smile at Dave, and the conversation takes on a more lighthearted tone over the next and final round of drinks.

—————

On the jet back home the next day…

Your novel tumbling out of your hands and onto the floor of the jet has you jolting awake, and Aaron shoots upright in his seat across from you. A quick glance around reveals the rest of the team suspiciously engrossed in their respective activities- Derek’s listening to his post-case playlist, Spencer’s reading yet another book that’s above your pay grade, Emily and Dave are sharing sections of the New York Times, and JJ’s on her phone, likely texting Will- but the fact that no one so much as bats an eye at the startling noise tells you everything you need to know. It doesn’t take a profiler to understand why you and your husband just can’t seem to stay awake on the early morning flight.

In answer to their unspoken question, you offer, “Didn’t sleep well last night,” by way of an explanation, fighting the blush threatening to creep across your guilty cheeks.

With a click of his teeth, Derek laughs out, “My man,” and Emily pipes up, “We’ll chalk it up to a hangover.”

“Behave, all of you,” Aaron counsels in an utterly non-threatening monotone, his voice still thick with sleep. He doesn’t even bother to open his eyes to scold them, just crosses his hands over his chest and settles back in his seat to get some much needed rest. The corner of his mouth ticks upward for the briefest of moments before his features fall back into their emotionless state.

You tap his ankle with your foot and one eye cracks open to find you smirking at him. “I saw that.”

“Get some sleep, Agent Y/L/N,” he orders in lieu of addressing being caught.

Tugging Aaron’s suit jacket higher up on your body, you dutifully close your eyes and hunker down under your makeshift blanket. Already drifting back off to sleep, you murmur, “That’s Agent Hotchner to you, mister.”

Aaron’s answering smile could rival the sun itself.

—————

[A/N: Idk if I like this 🙃 But then again, I go through these mental gymnastics every time I post my writing on here]

AH tags 🖤 @gothwifehotchner

[blondiedae]

dry house, wet clothes (ten)

𓍯𓂃𓂃𓂃 dry house, wet clothes, ten

pairing. johnny suh x afab!reader x jeong jaehyun

genre. angst, fluff, eventual smut, slow burn (for jaehyun), friends to lovers (for johnny)

warnings. swearing, kissing, angst, fluff, miscommunication, angst (again)

word count. 15,915

plot. the four of you have spent years building the world around you, your friendship, your weekends together hidden in jaehyun's loft. you, mark, johnny and jaehyun. shaking the foundation of that by being in love with your best friend, jaehyun, is a risk you've never been confident enough to take. but, johnny suh is confident and johnny suh has been known to shake the world around you.

other's mentioned. kim jungwoo, best friend mark lee, lee taeyong, nakamoto yuta, lee donghyuck (haechan)

author's note. i deleted 5k of johnny/yn smut, because it felt gratuitous. (maybe i’ll release it as a bonus) so, there’s not smut in this, though it is suggestive. how are we feeling y’all?

taglist (open). @xiaojunsdino @yoursyuno @girlisaloser

playlist. here!

“Something happened.”

Haechan was across from you, relaxed in a way that felt like a taunt. You only looked at him, only shook your head, only focused back on your work - his work - and told him, “Nothing happened.”

There was a note in your pocket, tucked in your coat and resting against your leg, that implied otherwise. It burned and burned and singed the lining until you felt it on your skin. Three days had gone by, three days into what sometimes felt like spring, what lingered of winter. Three days of reading and rereading I miss you too and doing nothing about it. Your hand fell to your side, resting on top of Jaehyun’s note. It was simple enough to lie, to let Haechan and his novel and his not-so-new ending be a distraction. Haechan was not a simple person, “You’re really bad at lying.”

“And you’re bad at writing.”

“We both know that’s not true.” He smirked, he lowered his head and smirked, “If you’re going to insult me, make it believable.”

“Nothing happened.”

“Okay. Nothing happened.” You nodded, he nodded. The café around you was still for a moment, a quiet Wednesday mid morning. It was quiet enough to hear your pen scratching, the clink of dishes and knives and forks, the cogs in Haechan’s brain rotating with a screech before he said, “Close your eyes.”

“I’m not doing that.” You tapped the papers in front of him, “Pick your cover.”

“I’m not doing that.” He leaned closer, “Come on. Close your eyes for thirty seconds. Humor me.”

“Why?”

“Because I want you to. Because you’re tense and it’s making me tense. I don’t want to be tense. So breathe, close your eyes and relax for a minute.” Haechan gave a smile, one he didn’t commit to but that you were sure was supposed to be reassuring. Then, he reminded you, “Like I said, mopey you hurts my book.”

You leaned back, shoulder blades sinking into the plush chair behind you. You could feel the shift of it, the weight of a piece of paper folded up three inches by four moving in your pocket and leaving heat behind as it did. Jaehyun, on paper, still leaving you burning. You clicked your tongue, then your pen, and relented, surrendered, closed your eyes to block out Haechan looking smug across from you.

Sighing, you said, “They’re closed.”

“Good. Relax.” More clattering, more clinking. Someone laughed, loud and boisterous, across the room. Haechan let out a breath and you, you kept your eyes closed. You let every sound go through you until it felt right to open your eyes to them, to identify and clarify them. Haechan was quick to stop you, “Not yet.”

“You said thirty seconds.”

“I lied. Keep them closed.” He grabbed something off the table; another sound, of it dragging against the marble, “How is Johnny?”

You smiled, you couldn’t help it. Eyes still shut, you just grinned, “He’s good.” You spent every moment you could with him, “He’s really good.”

You were so wrapped up in him. Haechan made a sound, followed by scratching, followed by another question, “When are you going to see him next?”

That morning, six hours ago, Johnny had kissed your lips, your forehead and pleaded, “Come see me at work.”

You’d told him, “I have a meeting.”

Johnny pouted, lips pushed out and plump from kissing you; from a morning of nothing else but kissing you. He’d spend every morning, every afternoon, every evening like that if you’d, “Just come see me when it’s done.”

“Okay.” With a nod and whisper and the rustling of your sheets, you agreed. With another kiss, a prolonged kiss, one last kiss, he left. So now, with your eyes closed in a café, you told Haechan, “Later. When I leave here.”

“Aw. Why didn’t you invite me?”

“Because I think you two would get along. Too well.” They were too much alike. There was a shift in Johnny, sometime in October. Somewhere between I think I like you and You’re a star, Johnny had morphed into a version of himself you never even considered before. Haechan was like Johnny before, Johnny as he was sometimes still. Johnny who loved to taunt and tease, “Two against one isn’t fair.”

“Oh, I have to meet him, now.” The noise in the café picked up, a crowd coming in and filling the space with new sounds. It felt ridiculous to be sitting with your eyes closed, “Do you miss him?”

“I saw him this morning.

“Doesn’t answer my question.”

You relaxed, then, into the memories of Johnny - Johnny this morning, Johnny last week, Johnny as he is now and how he was before. The same smile crept onto your face and you let it, gave into it, basked in it. It was impossible to fight, “Yeah.”

“Huh. I was wrong.”

“About what?”

Haechan scratched at something, scribbled something new and said, “You really love him.”

Your eyes opened, despite his scolding, “I…yeah, I think I do.” I think I like you echoed in your head. It didn’t feel so strange, only thinking about it. It was a step towards saying it to the one who needed to hear it. It was a step in admiring it. Thinking about it and saying it, out loud, to Haechan, “You didn’t think I did?”

“Not what I said.” He pointed at you with his pen - your pen - then tapped it against the pad of paper in his lap. You could see words scratched quickly, some resting on the line and others missing the mark. Lee Haechan, the café therapist, jotting down notes and asking you, “How is Mark?”

This was a pattern and you knew what came next, “Mark is fine. He’s finishing up school.” You knew who came next in this exact line of questioning. Johnny, Mark and the one setting fire to your skin, still. The one tucked away in your pocket. You warned, “Haechan-”

“How is Jaehyun?” Your face fell, Haechan watched it fumble and plummet, “Any word?”

Burning, burning, burning. Three days. Instinctively your hand rested on top of it, again, pressing the heat further into your skin. You hesitated, you knew that you did and you knew that Haechan did, too. Your eyes were wide open now and, after ten minutes of having them closed, you couldn’t hide what was written in them; pouring out of them. Haechan hummed again, chewed at the end of your pen and hummed.

There wasn’t any use in lying. You couldn’t think of a reason to try, “Yeah. A few days ago.”

“And?”

“He said he missed me.”

“After two weeks?”

You corrected him, “After two months.”

“Right.” It was Haechan’s turn to shift. He adjusted in his seat, pulling one leg up to cross over the other, “I think she was his first love, but I don’t think he was hers.”

“What?”

“I think she was his first love, but I don’t think he was hers.”

“You’re too short to be talking in riddles. People will think you live under a bridge.”

“You have so much bite in you, lately. I kind of like it.” It read on his face, pure amusement when he went on, “I’m talking about the book. Sanghoon. I don’t think he was her first love.”

“Okay.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

Riddles and riddles, Haechan spoke with purpose but it hardly made sense. He wasn’t frustrated when he explained, but he was serious. Maybe stern, “Your first love. Do you think he was the first?”

“I…yes?” Reflecting on Sicheng had gotten easier with time, still you shifted in your own seat, “I loved him. A lot.”

“Right. But was he the first?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” He put his notepad down, placed it in front of your so you could read it clearly; nonsense words, lyrics to a Michael Jackson song, a sloppy drawing of a coffee mug. Nonsensical, as he ever was. He pointed to one of the covers, one of three on a sheet in front of him, “I like this one.”

📻

Your phone rang at 6:43am.

The first ring you didn’t notice, the second one sounded like a melody in your dream. The third time and the song was too familiar, too clear to be a dream, so by the fourth ring you came to. Back to reality, back to your room, blinking yourself awake through the fifth ring until the call was missed.

[1 Missed call from Jae]

The voicemail came a moment later, after you’d sat up, after your stomach dropped. After you’d picked up your phone and felt frozen in time. Your thumbs hovered over the screen, two hands wrapped around something so small - something locked in it that was so, so big. After six minutes, you let the message play.

“Hey. I…I’m - you’re probably sleeping. I just was…can we talk? If you still want space, that’s fine. But, I will, uh, I’m outside and I’ll wait a few minutes if you…if you decide. You - yeah, okay. Bye.”

Six minutes had passed. Six and another two, after you’d pressed play. Jaehyun sounded…you hadn’t heard his voice in two months and he sounded the same, familiar, like something you’d lost. He sounded like your Jaehyun. Your limbs untangled themselves from a mess of sheets, checking the time on your phone once - 6:52am - twice - 6:52am - three times - 6:53am.

Then you were standing at your window, looking down at familiarity; a black car, his black car, parked and running outside of your house. Your fingers moved on your screen again, typing out, 6:54am I’m coming down.

He was leaning against the passenger side door when you finally looked up, staring at you intently with his hands deep in his pockets. Jaehyun was holding his breath, watching every step you took and counting the seconds until you were directly in front of him. A reflection of the past, a replica of Halloween night, time looping and repeating itself.

But the chill was different, from October to March. In October, the cold meant something was ending; summer had come to an end, the sun needed more rest than usual. The breeze that bit your skin in October was a precursor, a preview, an introduction to months of wrapping yourself in something, desperate for warmth. You chose Johnny.

In March, though, the cold was fleeting; the sun started staying in the sky longer, letting its beams kiss the Earth in an attempt to revive it. In March, the cold wasn’t as harsh, it didn’t bite as hard, it was a transition into spring and the promise of warmer days. March, indecisive and unpredictable, was meant for hope. You stood on your front step, your coat pulled tightly around you until spring settled in. Jaehyun let out a breath and you watched it dance in the air, watched it disappear.

The sun was just now thinking of rising, preparing to start a new day and Jaehyun was just thinking of speaking, preparing everything he’d thought for the last two months. It would all rush out at once, if he wasn’t careful, if he didn’t move with intention. He cleared his throat, “Hey.”

“Hi.” Your own voice was strained, still tired, still dreaming. You took a step closer, “Hey.”

“Can I…” Jaehyun pointed to your steps, faltered and pointed over his own shoulder, “Or do you want to…?”

“Um, we can talk here.”

Jaehyun came to you, hesitant. Every step was agonizing until he was there, just in front of you, “I’m-”

Two months of time, two months of space, “Don’t say sorry. Please don’t say sorry.”

Jaehyun blinked, “What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know.” You shook your head, you could do everything to fight them off, but you knew tears were coming. They lingered at the corners of your eyes, “Just not that. I’m so tired of it.”

“Me too.” He huffed out a quiet laugh, a rush of anxiety and uncertainty, “I-”

You hugged him. It was simple and it was instinctual, the way your arms wrapped around his neck, the way your face buried into his neck. Breathing him in, pushing away two months to stand on your porch and wait for him to hold you, too. Jaehyun did, simply and instinctually, arms around your waist as tight as they could be. It was silent for so long, never too long. It was comfortably silent and still, five days into March, waiting for the two of you to come back to life.

You stayed like that for ten minutes, letting the sun start rising around you. You stayed like that until your sniffles turned into tired laughs, laughs turned into more silence, shared silence.

The two of you were sitting on your porch when you finally asked, “How have you been?”

“Uh.” Jaehyun thought, honesty weighing on him, “Okay, I guess. Alright.”

“Yeah?” You chose to believe him, “That’s good.”

“You?”

“Good. Really…I mean, I’ve been good.” It was the truth, but you didn’t want to deny it, didn’t want to discount it, “I missed you, Jaehyun.”

“I know. Me too.”

“Mark played messenger.”

“Yeah. Poor kid.” Jaehyun knew he should ask, so he swallowed the lump in his throat before he did, “How is Johnny?”

It took you a moment to say, “He’s good, too.”

Then, Jaehyun gathered his thoughts, his intentions, and said, “I don’t really know…I didn’t think about how this would go. I almost left.”

“Hm.”

“I just wanted to know where we stand. I just wanted to see you. I know two months isn’t that long, but it-”

“It’s an eternity.” Jaehyun turned to you, eyes focused on every move you made, trying to find his way back inside your head, “Two months is too long. I know I said I wanted to take a break-”

“You had every right to.”

“But, I missed you so much.”

You wondered how many times you could say it; I miss you. Jaehyun did, too. I miss you felt like a substitute for I’m sorry. You didn’t know how to stop saying it, how to stop time from looping until you’d run I miss you into the ground. It felt like the only thing left to say, something to ease your way back after time and space and silence.

The sun had come up enough to turn the sky a lighter shade of blue, tickled with hues of orange and pink. Jaehyun’s phone sounded in his pocket, ringing until he pulled it out and checked the time, “I have to go.”

“Sure. Of course.”

He stood up, “Maybe, uh, maybe we can talk more later.”

“We can try.” You stood when he did, hands brushing off dirt at your sides, “I’ll call.”

Jaehyun nodded, “Okay. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Bye, Jae.”

“Bye.” He turned to leave, hands tucking back into his pockets as he moved down three steps. Jaehyun had made it halfway down your path, halfway to his car, when he stopped, “Can I ask something?”

“Yeah.” You nodded, “Anything.”

Jaehyun’s smile was shy, almost playful. He was teetering on the edge of asking or bailing, brushing everything off and leaving you to wonder. He was embarrassed in a way, nervous in another; feeling strange stopping to ask you, “Are we still best friends?”

You laughed, his heart beat faster until you said, “Of course.”

Jaehyun told you, “I’ll see you.”

And then he left.

You waited until you got inside to fall apart, allowing yourself a moment in the quiet of your house. You waited two months for something you started to end, allowing yourself to hope and wish and want for him. For something. You waited two weeks and pretended that everything was fine, as it should be. And in a blink, it was. In a blink, Jaehyun was at your door. In a blink the pieces of you that he’d taken came back, fell into their places like they’d never left.

Like he’d never taken them.

Like you’d never handed them to Jaehyun and pushed him out and out and out.

Your phone was on your bed when you’d crawled back up the stairs. It was instinct to pick it up, to call him and tell him everything you could. He answered on the second ring, “Good morning, beautiful.” Johnny’s voice was like heaven, a perfect sound to your tired mind, “You’re up early.”

“Yeah. Um, yeah.” You sat on the edge of your bed, “Jaehyun was just here.”

Johnny said, under a breath, “Oh.”

“He called and asked if we…if we could talk.”

“Did you guys talk, then?”

“Yes.”

Johnny wanted to be supportive. He was supportive. He knew how the past two months had gone, he knew the way your lips twitched when you told him things were fine, you were fine, everything was fine. Johnny knew how much you’d missed Jaehyun. And, even if he could still hear Yuta and Taeyong in the back of his mind, Johnny pushed it away. If it made you happy, he’d swallow suspicion he wasn’t keen to have and Johnny would ask, “How’d it go?”

“I think well.” You let out a long breath, falling back and sinking into your waiting sheets, “I think it went well.”

And Johnny smiled, knowing you couldn’t see him. He smiled and hoped that it read as relief, that you could hear it in his voice when he told you, “That’s so good, baby. That’s great.”

📻

Johnny kissed your cheeks, your neck, just behind your ear. His lips found unmarked skin and littered it with affection, adoration. The morning had come in slowly, so he was taking all the time he had with you, letting the sun fill his bedroom with light at whatever pace it pleased. You were beside him, beside yourself with that feeling you’d placed but hadn’t said - not to him. His apartment had turned into a habitat for all the butterflies he’d conjured, all the fluttering feelings Johnny inspired.

His fingers pulled at your shirt - at his shirt - where it rested, bunched up, at your waist. Johnny suggested, “Stay here with me. All day.”

“Hm.”

“Hm what?” He kissed down your neck, again, “Do you have plans?”

“I do.”

“Oh yeah?” Johnny pulled back, “What are they?”

Your eyes sparkled, twinkled, filled with light and fueled by mischief when you said, “Whatever we’re doing right now.”

“Oh, so you’re funny now-”

“I always have been-”

“You’re funny and you have jokes.” It was vicious the way his hands dug into your sides, how his fingers tickled at you until you were desperate to be out from underneath him. But you giggled and giggled until you erupted into laughter and Johnny drank in every sound you made, a broad grin ever-present on his face. His lips went back to kissing, his teeth went back to nipping and Johnny was lost in a mess of bliss, “What am I gonna do with you?”

“Kiss me?”

“Been doing that.”

The sun was coming up behind him, his bedroom slowly filled with light. You looked up at him, eyes still sparkling, and brought his fingertips to your lips, “Not here.”

“You want me to kiss you,” Johnny came closer to hover over you, one finger tracing the outline of your lips, “Here?”

“Please.”

And he did. It was slow, just as the morning had started off, then all at once it was so much more. His room was covered in sunlight and you were covered with him. Johnny had you hypnotized, had such a hold on you that you might fall without him. He’d rather you fall with him, Johnny would rather you stay just like this and fall into sync with his heart, his mind.

He thought to say it, again. For him, it had almost been a year and he was bursting with words still unsaid, still patiently waiting for the right time. He knew you felt it, he could just say it and the world would keep spinning; it might spin faster, more smoothly, with purpose. Johnny put everything he had into kissing you, quiet moans and even softer sighs falling into you.

He settled on confessing, “Today isn’t long enough. Need you like this always.”

“You have me.”

“What else should I do with you?”

He knew the answer. Johnny felt the heat coming off your body, heard the way you gasped when his fingers grazed your skin. His mind was reeling, his hands were roaming, doing everything he could to hear you call for him, “Want you.”

“Right here, baby?” His hand pulled at the back of your thigh, draping your leg over his hip and grinding down into you. The sound you made had Johnny gasping for air, pressing breathless kisses into your collarbone, “Louder.”

“Johnny, I-” The way he was positioned, the way the sun decided to rise, had Johnny haloed in a perfect ring of light. It was blinding, looking at him directly, but you couldn’t look away. He was drenched in the light of a new day and - even if the sun was in the room with you, even if it burned everything around you - you didn’t look away. It would be worth it, just to see the light in his hair, in his eyes, the way it burned inside him.

Johnny kissed you, lips hungry for you and thought to say it, again. It was almost every thought he had in his mind, looking at you underneath him. The sun was kind, the way it kissed your skin. Johnny envied it, knowing the rays were covering his own marks, warming you in ways he just couldn’t. The words were so close to coming out when he whispered your name, called you, “Baby, I-”

You said it, “I love you.”

And, like his lips opened into an echo chamber, Johnny said it back, “I love you.” He took a moment, let the words settle, let his heart beat race before he repeated it, again, “Oh my God. I love you.”

It felt like a shock to your system, sending you into overdrive, “I really…Johnny, I love you.”

“My Juliet. Holy shit.” Again, your name fell from his lips, “I love you.”

Your heart burst, the words kept spilling from your lips and his; like a melody, like a canon. If Johnny said it, you did too. If you kissed him and whispered it, he did the same. It was impossible to stop. Johnny grabbed your hand, put it over his heart so you could feel how it beat; just for you, only for you. Every time you kissed him it beat a little faster, when you called his name you could feel it skip.

“That night.” He stuttered, his hips rolled against yours, “The night you saw your star, I wanted - God - I wanted to take things slow.”

You nodded, “I know.”

“I wanted to say it and I couldn’t, it felt too soon.” He was panting above you, trying to explain something you understood. But, for Johnny, leaving something unsaid was like torture, so he explained and he confessed and he waited for the moment to be right be vulnerable say, “I wanted to make love to you.”

It sounded so silly, so Johnny laughed. Admitting something so simple felt ridiculous, but it was a weight off his chest, all the same. You held his heart, held his face with your other hand. Johnny wouldn’t look anywhere but into your eyes, “Will you do that now?”

“I would love to.”

📻

It was quick, the way it happened. How things fell back into place.

Jaehyun called. He told you about his day while the world was quieting down, you’d sit and listen and respond as you should. His voice was a comfort, his voice was like home. Hearing Jaehyun speak - even if it was about something you’d never understand, mergers and deals and meetings you’d never be part of - you would listen. You’d take every moment, hang on every word, press your phone to your ear until it was too hot. Then, you’d put him on speaker and listen to Jaehyun speak; like an old song, a nostalgic song, a song you’d always know.

You would text Jaehyun; send him pictures and paragraphs, links and clips and quips just to remind him that there was still a place for him with you. There was always a space for Jaehyun in your life. You’d ask him to come over, stop by the loft and Jaehyun knew you’d end the night with Johnny, that you were always thinking of him, tiptoeing around mentioning him; Jaehyun’s best friend Johnny. But, he was content to have the time he did with you. If it was fleeting, if it was borrowed. Any time he could have, at all.

“You wanna grab food?” You had called this time, phone cool against your face. Jaehyun had picked up on the third ring, “I’m meeting Johnny at nine.”

He agreed to it, “Yeah, I can make that work.”

It had taken one week for you to fall back into pace with him, fall back into the routine of starting and ending your days with Johnny, making time for Jaehyun in the middle, “Should I invite Mark?”

“You can.” He added, “That would be great.”

The three of you sat around a small table, plates of food taking up every corner. Jaehyun next to Mark next to you next to Jaehyun. It was too early for dinner, much too late for lunch, but it was quiet and it was comfortable. Jaehyun relaxed into it, dipped his toes into the routine of three again, knowing four was coming next. Knowing that avoiding the fourth would only work for so long. Who do you think is hurting her?

He’d circled back to that for two months, wearing out a hole in his bedroom floor from the laps he’d done. Jaehyun would sit and he would dwell and he would wish on every star he saw; for courage or something close enough to it. Close enough to what he needed to make his way back to you. His cowardice ate at him until his birthday, until he saw you on his doorstep and sat frozen in his office; just past the door, just down the hall.

And still he did nothing, not even when he was prompted. Nothing that was significant enough, not for two weeks.

He didn’t think he could stomach it. But what you’d said had been so simple and he could mimic that. Jaehyun could do simple; complexities could destroy him.

Mark grinned around a bite of food, puffing out his cheeks to make room for a mumble, “This is so good.”

“The noodles?”

“Yes.” He nodded, he flipped his hat backward on his head, then Mark went on, “But us being back together. It’s really good.”

Jaehyun agreed, reaching across the table to wrap noodles around his fork, “Yeah. It is.”

Then Mark asked, “Does Johnny know?”

And like the winter had come back, like ice was waiting for a moment to freeze him over, Jaehyun stopped. He looked at you, out of the corner of his eye, and waited, waited, waited for you to move. For you to say something.

You didn’t falter, smiling at Mark and taking another bite, “Yeah, he knows.” Jaehyun didn't know that, a week and a half in and maybe he should’ve assumed, “He was going to try and meet us here.”

Jaehyun picked at his plate, Jaehyun attempted simplicity and nonchalance, “When did you tell him?”

“As soon as you left.” Eyes set on Jaehyun, you swallowed another bite, coughing when it got stuck on your pride. Haechan was right, there was some bite still in you and your teeth were barred when you added, “We don’t keep stuff from each other.”

It was like a cue; you spoke, the doorbell chimes, Johnny walked in. Jaehyun saw him first, Johnny coming around the corner and into view. He watched every step, how Johnny only looked at you until you could see him - tunnel vision for you, eyes only for you. Johnny grinned and said, “Hi babe.”

So, you turned, “Hey, Romeo.”

And Jaehyun swallowed, waiting to be addressed. Johnny clapped a hand on Mark’s back, smiled down at him, then he finally acknowledged Jaehyun. He came around the table with his hand out, Jaehyun got to his feet and accepted it; when Johnny pulled him in, when Johnny held his face, when Johnny pushed Yuta and Taeyong out of his head and said, “It’s good to see you, man.”

“Yeah.” It was. In some ways. It was terrifying and it was good, “You too, John.”

It was quick, the way it happened. How you all ended up back in the loft.

Johnny and you, Mark and Jaehyun. It was Mark’s suggestion, it was by Mark’s urging. It was Mark crying about his midterms in the middle of the night, on the phone with you, on the phone with Johnny, on the phone with Jaehyun.

“Who is getting snacks?”

Mark volunteered, “I will! I dragged you all here.”

“You didn't drag us anywhere, Mark. We want to be here.”

Jaehyun asked, “Who is going with?”

“Baby?” Jaehyun still wasn’t used to hearing Johnny call you that, even your name sounded new when he said it, “I’ll buy you ramen if you go.”

“Not a good enough deal, babe.” It rattled him more, coming from you, “Haechan made me go to a spin class.”

Mark was leaning against Johnny, elbow extended beyond his own height to reach Johnny’s shoulder, “That’s your author, right?”

“Yes.”

“Is that normal?”

Johnny answered for you, “It’s not. But, from what I’ve heard, neither is he. But, I’ve been on my feet all day.”

You challenged, “You sat on FaceTime with me in your office for three hours. Try again.”

“Oh, it’s like that?” Johnny stepped away from Mark, pulling you into him and picking you up. The two of you spun, the two of you laughed and Jaehyun still tried to adjust to the two of you. Johnny put you down, put a kiss to your lips, “Fine. Come on, Mark.”

It was quick, the way Johnny noticed it. How Jaehyun looked at you, how he lingered near you.

He tried not to notice, he tried to brush it off as paranoia; Johnny wanted to blame Yuta and Taeyong and two months of time between you and Jaehyun. It was increasingly difficult to do. Things that Johnny had written off as normal - before New Years, before Christmas, before Halloween - not settled underneath his skin, made him itch. Jaehyun with his eyes on you, only on you. Jaehyun with a dimpled smile whenever you spoke. Jaehyun holding onto every word you said, leaning closer and closer until Johnny felt like he could scream. He couldn’t tell the difference between the exaggerations of a paranoid mind and reality.

Johnny was losing his hold on reality, when it came to Jaehyun and you. It had always been territory he hadn’t touched; if Johnny started picking at layers now, he’d be digging for an eternity. But the way Jaehyun was with you the first night you’d all had dinner made Johnny weary. The way Jaehyun said goodbye when Johnny picked you up - taking you a way to spend another night with him, a night of whispered I love you’s with him - made Johnny nervous.

And the way Jaehyun looked at you, when Mark and Johnny made their way out of the loft, made him suspicious in a concrete way, in a way that urged him to turn to Mark and ask, “What do you think?”

A question halfway through a thought, so Mark was right to be confused, “What? What do I think about what?”

Mid-March was warmer, warning still, but the nights were still cold. Johnny excused his shiver with a breeze when he elaborated, “About them?”

“I’m glad they’re talking again.” Mark mulled over his thoughts, Johnny could see him come to a conclusion, “I didn’t think they would, for a while.”

“Right. Yeah.” Johnny kicked at a pebble, a piece of uprooted asphalt, “I think it would take more than that, don’t you?”

“Probably.”

Johnny was cautious because Mark was right; it was good to have all of you together, again. Johnny would be elated if it weren’t for Yuta and Taeyong and he’s in love with her. He knew it was out of place to ask, he knew that he might raise more questions. But, Johnny wanted to know, “Do you think there’s anything, I don’t know, weird between them?”

Mark ran through his catalogued thoughts, scanned through his memories with careful precision. You and Jaehyun were the same as you’d always been, the only way Mark had ever known you to be. The only thing that was different was you and Johnny; Johnny loving you loudly and you loving him back. So, Mark shook his head, denied it and joked, “Nah. He’s always been weird about her, though. I think things will be okay.”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

“And! Now we can plan the camping trip.”

It was quick, the way your conversation shifted. How Jaehyun stood next to you and watched Mark and Johnny take off down the street.

You’d done it so many times, stood in the exact spot you were with Jaehyun next to you, watching Johnny and Mark run past your house and into the night. So it would never feel out of place, it felt like home. Jaehyun brought you a drink, the ice tapping against the glass. His fingers brushed over yours when he handed it over and you both pulled back, pulled away, pulled apart.

You glanced at him, noticing all the ways he’d changed in two months; his hair was shorter, it looked darker but you wouldn’t be sure. He seemed taller, but you blamed that on optimism - looking up at Jaehyun, looking towards the way things would change. Hoping they would settle into something closer to normal, as soon as possible.

The two of you sat down once they were out of view; looking up, now. Counting and memorizing the stars. Jaehyun told you about his day and you listened. You told Jaehyun about Haechan and his book, his changed ending, how he’d seeped into your life. Haechan had crossed the line between client and friend in the last two months. You didn’t mind at all. He asked about Johnny, so you answered. He tried to be okay with it, tried to be supportive. Jaehyun saw the way you lit up talking about Johnny, even more when you were around him.

So, what Jaehyun said next made sense.

It wasn’t a question, it was a declaration, a realization that tore at him. One that he didn’t want you to confirm; Jaehyun could see it, “You love him.”

You kept your eyes on the stars for a moment longer; on your star, where it should be, where Johnny put you in the sky. Then, you looked at Jaehyun and confessed, agreed, confirmed, “I do.”

There was a pull in your chest, just next to your heart. A fallen piece of you, one Jaehyun had a hold of, had missed its mark. It hadn’t found its place, it hadn’t settled, it was restless.

“That’s good.” He had worked so hard not to lie anymore. It was good, it really was good. You loved Johnny, he was sure Johnny loved you back, “He loves you, too.”

“Yeah. It’s kind of crazy.” You asked him, “Do you know how that feels?”

Jaehyun wanted to beg for the world to end, for the conversation to taper off without him having to answer. He looked down at his hands, at the glass he’d held onto. He counted the melting ice cubes, saw the stars reflecting in his whiskey, and Jaehyun did all he could to say anything other than: God, I wish. That he wished it was you and him, that he always would. It was too much a part of him for Jaehyun to stop.

He looked up at you, finally faced you again and, like he would live vicariously through it, love vicariously, asked you, “Describe it.”

“I think-”

The door opened behind you, “Hey babe?”

You lit up, brighter than the clearest night, shooting across the room like a star, “What’s up?”

“Come help with the bags?”

It was agonizing, the way Jaehyun watched. How time moved in slow motion, when he saw you with Johnny. It was like you had dug your nails into the very fabric of time and held onto it for dear life, pulling everything to a halt. It felt intentional, like you were making sure he saw every glance, every touch, every kiss between the two of you. Every kiss. The way your lips curled into a smile whenever they met Johnny’s; at the thought of him, the sound of him, at the sight.

He was left in your wake, standing with his drink in hand and watching you in slow motion with Johnny.

Mark came in with bottles clinking in his arms, “Johnny said the camping trip is a go.”

📻

Johnny wasn’t a jealous person.

“I thought you knew.” Yuta’s reasoning changes every time Johnny asked, “I thought it was obvious.”

If Johnny had been looking for it before, it might have been, “It wasn’t.”

“To you.” He could tell he was exhausting the subject, he was exhausted on his end. Johnny had locked himself in his office, filling the space with every doubt he had until it became too crowded - much like his mind. He called Yuta, then, “And to her.”

“You don’t think she knows?”

It was a relief. A sickening, nauseating relief to Johnny. It could all crash down when Yuta said, “I can’t answer that.”

It was days later, when Jungwoo stopped by the cafe and Johnny hadn’t seen you since the night before, that he touched the subject again. Johnny made light conversation, comfortable conversation. He listened to the stories Jungwoo told him and sipped on a coffee he’d made; his fourth for the day. Then Johnny leaned forward on his elbows and prompted, “Can I ask you something?”

Jungwoo only nodded.

“Do you think…Jaehyun.” He had no clue how to approach the topic. Johnny stumbled over words he hadn’t thought out, “I talked to Yuta and Taeyong and they think that Jaehyun is-”

Jungwoo let out a breath, eyes focused on the pattern swirling in his cappuccino, “I think you need to ask Jaehyun about it.”

“I don’t know if I can do that.”

“You might have to.” Jungwoo’s shoulders shrugged, “None of us can answer for him.”

Johnny was defeated, he slumped back into his chair and let the nausea take over. Denial felt like confirmation. Jungwoo refusing to answer felt like an answer in itself and Johnny couldn’t accept it. He couldn't avoid it and he couldn’t face it, “Right.”

📻

Jaehyun found his way to your door, the night before your trip. Your duffel bag was on your bed, open and empty, with stacks of clothes around it. He watched you sift through the piles, pull things out and toss them to the side. Jaehyun intervened, “Do you want to go for a drive?”

“Yeah.” You didn’t look away from the state of your room, from the mess you’d made, “Let’s go.”

It was quiet, it was calm, until the rain started. Jaehyun wound up and down streets, weaving through neighborhoods until he’d found his way out. The music he played was low, familiar; I love this boy so much. You had your head pressed to the glass of his window, focusing on the world passing by, the raindrops slipping down. April came in with a shower, starting early on its nurturing, on growth.

Come May, there would be flowers. Come May, the world would have shifted and changed and blossomed into greens and pinks, blues and yellows, vibrant reds, purples, oranges; a rainbow coming to life after the rain.

January and February felt like a lifetime ago. The memory of the first two months felt just as cold as they had, in real time. They were covered in ice, in silence, in unwelcome change. You tried not to dwell on them, tried to sit in this moment, in Jaehyun’s car. His fingers tapped against the steering wheel, rounding a corner with ease.

You wondered how many moments like this you’d have with him, just like the mornings in his kitchen. You couldn’t help but feel like they were still slipping away. The rain could wash him away from you again and it was terrifying. Enough to make you blink back tears, enough to make you clear your throat and tell Jaehyun, “Stop the car.”

He did, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

You unbuckled, opened your door and climbed out. Into the rain, instantly drenched, hoping that the first shower of April would help you to grow. You needed the nurturing back to life after a winter that was so harsh, too harsh.

Jaehyun watched from behind the wheel. He saw every drop that landed on your skin, soaked through your clothes, flattened your hair to your head. Then, Jaehyun unbuckled, leaving the car running and running to you. He didn’t say a word, you didn’t either. The two of you stood in the middle of the street, shoulder to shoulder in the rain. Silent, unmoving.

The rain fell and fell and fell. The sky was too dark for the late afternoon, covered in grey clouds. Jaehyun’s headlights were bright, like a spotlight on the two of you. He stepped back towards his car, “Stay here.”

You did, watching as he ran back to his car, listening as he turned up the music. Jaehyun came back, hands shaking as he reached out, and he offered, “Dance with me?”

“Yeah.”

He held you against him, had your head tucked under his chin. Jaehyun held you as close as he could and moved the two of you in tandem. The music was still quiet, fighting against the rain to be heard. You could only hear it cutting in and out. But, when the stereo failed, Jaehyun made up for it, humming the melody into your ear.

It was in the silence that your mind wandered; just like in his car. You thought about Haechan, scribbling onto a notepad in a cafe. I don’t think he was her first love. Jaehyun’s heart was beating loudly in your ear, thumping evenly.

You’d listened to that same heartbeat so many times before, you could understand how he was feeling just based on how many times it thumped. Jaehyun’s heartbeat was as familiar to you as your own and you’d forgotten how that felt. You’d forgotten what it was like to be silent with him.

You stayed that way, still in the middle of the street, just the two of you and the rain. After a while, you pulled back. Jaehyun watched as you took his hand in yours and lingered next to him.

“Can I tell you something?” The rain fell between you, drenched the two of you. Jaehyun nodded, hand squeezing yours tightly in his, “I’ve been think a lot about - about first loves.”

“You have?”

“Yeah, I…I think I always thought it was Sicheng. It makes sense that it was him, I loved him and it felt like the first time, while it was happening.” He urged you to go on, another squeeze, another nod. You looked at where your hands met, tried to breathe in the downpour. You were brave enough, emboldened enough, maybe embarrassed but determined all the same, to look at him and say, “I don’t think it was him.”

Jaehyun came closer, “What do you mean?”

“I don’t think Sicheng was my first love.”

“Then,” He didn’t want to speak. Jaehyun didn’t want to ask anymore questions. He was fine not knowing, he was fine coming to his own conclusion; Jaehyun was fine with a confession lost in the percussion of a rain storm. He was fine not knowing, but he didn’t stop himself from asking you, stomach twisted in knots, “Who do you think it was?”

The sigh you let out masked your words in a whisper, drowned out by the rain. The rush of air escaped your lungs and swept your thoughts off their feet. You couldn’t stop it, you couldn’t think to stop it, and you didn’t look away when you told him, “You. It was always you.”

Jaehyun didnt breathe for a while. March had ended and you were welcoming April, but it didn’t give way to spring yet; there was still enough bite in the air to see the heat leave his body as he gasped for air. But, he waited too long, again. Jaehyun stood silently until you shook your head and turned away. Your eyes focused on the puddle forming underneath and around your feet, watching as each raindrop fell into it.

You moved, letting your fingers pull from his one by one. Jaehyun moved, too; maybe to run, maybe to speak, maybe to tell you, “Me too.”

But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. Jaehyun only stood still.

You said, “I have to go. Johnny’s coming to help me pack.”

He was reminded, all at once, why he couldn’t speak, “Sure. I- yeah, sure. I’ll take you home.”

You rode silently, drenched in the front seat of his car with your hands flat on your lap. Jaehyun only asking, “Are you cold?” as you came down the hill.

📻

The campsite hadn’t been touched by spring, yet. It was cold shades of brown, pine and beige; gloomy at best. The pine trees around it reached as close to the sky as they could manage, scraped against the lowest clouds and swayed in the strongest breeze.

It hadn’t changed, since the last time you’d been. It was always in the same state. Early April was rain showers and puddles, frosted over mornings and sunny afternoons. The weather was unpredictable, just like in March, changing everything in a blink, in the smallest second.

Everything could change in a second.

“Who is sleeping where?”

Mark positioned himself between the two campers; each with a bed big enough for two, each with little else inside. Johnny poked at the beginnings of a fire, stopping only to lift his eyebrow and ask, “What do you mean?”

It was a reasonable question, to Mark, it made perfect sense, “I mean who is pairing up tonight?”

Johnny looked at you, you looked at Mark. Mark put his hands on his hips and looked at Jaehyun, waiting for someone to answer, “Well, I’m sleeping with my girlfriend.”

“Fine, but we’re rotating tomorrow.”

“Why would we rotate?”

“Because we always do.” The youngest came closer to the fire, “It’s how this works.”

Johnny put the poker into the ground, twisted it until it was stable enough for him to lean on. He looked amused, he looked curious; Johnny had the look on his face that he always did before he would tease Mark, “Do you need a night with Mom, Markie?”

“Shut up, dude.”

“If you have a bad dream, Mark, you can always come into our camper. We’ll leave room for you.”

“Johnny, Jesus.” You laughed, to ease the tension. You laughed to comfort Mark, “We can rotate around, I don’t mind.”

“Again, why would we do that?”

Jaehyun weighed in, “I don’t mind either.”

He’s in love with her. Johnny’s stomach churned, twisted, tied itself in knots. It’s obvious. He watched Jaehyun close the trunk of the car, counted the footsteps he took and the way he faltered on where to go; next to Mark or next to you. When Jaehyun chose, Johnny closed his eyes. It’s obvious. He was reading too much into it, he was spiraling into something he didn’t understand, something Johnny hated.

And Johnny wasn’t a jealous person.

He sighed, exaggerated to cover the way he shook. Johnny heaved a sigh, heaved another log on the fire and he relented, “Fine.” It was only three days, “We’ll rotate.”

Day one was unpacking. It was settling in until midday, gathering around the fire when you were done. It was Mark playing melodies on his guitar and mumbling through lyrics he only half-remembered. He stumbled over chords, fingers chilling on the first night of April. Day one ended with you and Johnny, Mark and Jaehyun.

Day one was simple, easy enough, tame enough for Johnny to wrap himself in you, in the quiet of your camper. He let his mind relax, let his body fold into and mold to the shape of yours; arms and legs in a tangled mess. Johnny pushed back your hair, using what little light he had to look in your eyes and whisper, “I love you.” Like you’d forget if he didn’t remind you. Johnny kissed you and said, “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“Can I touch you?” He buried his face in your neck, “Please baby. Miss the sounds you make. Miss the way you taste.”

“What if they hear?”

“You’ll have to be quiet for me, baby.” Johnny pleaded, knowing his words held more weight than he’d hand you, “Make sure those sounds are just for me.”

Day one ended with hushed moans, sighs laced with his name and yours and “I love you” chanted like a mantra. Day one ended with you gasping for air, clutching at Johnny’s arms as he rocked his hips slowly into you, panting into your hair, your neck, mouth wrapped around your breast. Day one ended with Johnny’s lips on yours and his cock buried inside you, where he was meant to be.

Day one ended with Mark sleeping soundly and Jaehyun wide awake; hearing everything he shouldn’t, every sound that could break him.

When the sun came up on day two, things had started to shift. The four of you stumbling down trails, the four of you in fits of laughter, the four of you around the fire again and sharing your time. Jaehyun was stiff, Jaehyun hadn’t slept; not as soundly as Mark, not as spent as you, not as satiated as Johnny. Day two was Jaehyun looking away whenever Johnny touched you, whenever you said Johnny’s name. Day two was Jaehyun excusing himself to rest, trying to erase the sound of you coming undone for Johnny from his memory.

Day two ended with you and Mark, Johnny and Jaehyun.

He was still stiff, still tense, sitting on the edge of the bed you’d shared with Johnny. Jaehyun couldn’t stomach it, he couldn’t think of anything else. He was caught in a loop, again, torturing himself with memories that didn’t belong to him, with something he was never meant to hear.

Johnny lingered outside with you for as long as he could; until your head became too heavy to hold up on your own, until your eyes fell closed in extended blinks. He looked at the camper, he passed you off to Mark, and Johnny heard Jungwoo, “You should talk to him about it.”

Day two and Johnny stepped into the shared space, “Hey man.”

Jaehyun tried to smile, “Hey.”

“Can-” He thought back to January, how he didn’t give him the option. But, he was persistent then, he was determined then. He wanted to ease whatever you were going through, so Johnny pushed and pushed and pushed. Now, he gave Jaehyun the option. He gave him an out that Johnny wanted to take himself, to avoid a conversation he didn’t want to have, “Can we talk?”

Jaehyun didn’t hesitate long enough for Johnny to notice, “Yeah, of course.”

“I’m glad we’re all together again.”

“Me too, John.”

Johnny nodded, then he dove head first, “I really love her. I think you should know that, hear it from me. I don’t want…I just think it’s important.”

“Sure. Yeah.” Jawhyun was sweating, “I get it.”

“Do you?”

“Do I?”

He didn’t want to skirt around it, “Do you love her?”

With more hesitation, noticeable hesitation, Jaehyun answered, “Of course I do.”

“Do you understand what I’m asking?” He wanted clarity, he was terrified of it. Jaehyun and Johnny were confined, there was no avoiding it, “Do you…do you love her like I do?”

He couldn’t answer. Truthfully he knew the answer was no. Johnny loved you in a way Jaehyun wasn’t meant to know. Johnny loved you with a ferocity Jaehyun didn't have. The way Johnny loved you was unique to him, so Jaehyun could never love you the same. The answer was no.

Jaehyun loved you in the way he loved coming home; you were warmth, you were familiarity. Jaehyun loved you like he’d lose himself if he ever lost you, again. He loved you in quiet moments, in silent conversations, in glanced and in secrets. Jaehyun would only ever love you in secret, in the lies he told to hide it.

He shook his head, flattening his hands on his knees and wiping off the sweat. Jaehyun prepared himself for another lie, another place to love you quietly, “No, Johnny. I don’t.”

It would’ve been enough to ease his mind. It would’ve been enough to pull Johnny from the edge of jealousy. The two of them settled in, Johnny turned out the light and found his place, his side of the bed.

Jaehyun tried. He could smell you on the sheets, breathing you in slowly and knowing that you’d…you and Johnny. His mind shut off. His lies unraveled. It would’ve been enough to end day two with peace. But, Jaehyun let out his held breath, his inhale of only you and he mumbled, “Even if I did, it wouldn’t ever matter.”

Day three and Johnny was back on the edge. Jaehyun’s words joined Jungwoo’s, wrapped around Yuta’s until he couldn’t even look at his friend; his best friend. The way Jaehyun looked at you, how he lingered near you. Every time Jaehyun came near you, nudged you’d said your name Johnny burned, morphed into something he wasn’t. He wasn’t a jealous person, he wasn’t a jealous person. Johnny was never a jealous person.

Day three was you and Johnny hiking alone, stealing kisses and mumbling “I missed you” like one night away was the end of it all. Johnny spiraled at the thought. He stole you away for day three, he hid you behind trees and kissed you like he did on Halloween, “I love you, my Juliet.”

“I love you, Romeo.” He begged you to call his name, to hear it slip from your lips, “Johnny. Johnny.”

He used your voice to quiet three others, on in particular; Even if I did. Even if. It wouldn’t matter.

I did.

Jaehyun waited with Mark, spent the day with Mark; spent the day lost in his own thoughts. He could still smell you on his skin, on the shirt he’d slept in. It was all he could focus on, when Johnny pulled you away. Mark had said something sensible, something like, “Gotta give the lovebirds time.”

And Jaehyun agreed, like he was supposed to. He found his comfort in lies, again, “Yeah. They deserve it.”

It wasn’t regret that he felt, he knew he made a misstep when Johnny wouldn’t speak to him, wouldn’t look at him. Jaehyun knew it was the wrong thing to say “Even if I did, it wouldn’t ever matter.” It was the only bit of truth he let slip out. Jaehyun didnt regret it, but he was worried.

Everything could change in a second and everything could crumble.

Day three was a final fire on a clear night, the four of you in a perfect stance around the fire. You shivered, arms wrapped around yourself and mumbled, “It’s cold.”

“Here.” Jaehyun pulled at the zipper of his sweatshirt, “I’m getting warm.”

He could feel Johnny’s eyes on him. Jaehyun took the path around the fire that went around Mark, just to get to you. He held open his sweatshirt and let you slip into it, let you pull it closer. Another misstep. Jaehyun took a step back, hand on yours when he tugged at the sleeve. Something stirred in him, seeing how it fell on you, something Jaehyun had stopped trying to control. It was always you.

“Thanks, Jae.”

He wasn’t bold enough to look at Johnny, couldn’t bring himself to look back at you when he said, “No problem.”

Silent conversations, glances, lingering and lingering and the way Jaehyun lingered around you. Johnny wasn’t jealous, he was teetering on an edge he’d never been close to; his laugh got tangled in bitterness, caught in his throat when he said, “This is so fucked.”

It was childish and he could admit that. It was fueled by something he’d never felt and Johnny was terrified of that. Unwavering trust in you clashed so violently with his crumbling trust in Jaehyun and there was no way for Johnny to stop it. The space he took up, the space between you and Jaehyun, wasn’t enough to ease his mind.

Jaehyun spoke, because Jaehyun had heard him and Jaehyun was teetering, too. Trying to keep things from crumbling, trying to hold it together. He thought of January and February, about losing you. He was remembering you in the rain, remembering you pressed against him. He was living in memories, challenging something - someone - he shouldn’t, “What was that?”

Johnny almost jumped, almost threw himself over the edge on principle alone. He want jealous, he was upset, “I said it’s fucked.”

Mark perked up, “What's going on?”

You stood still next to him, hands in the pockets of Jaehyun’s sweatshirt. Johnny was shaking, you could see his hands trembling at his sides, but you didn’t move. Jaehyun looked at Johnny, the two of them locked on to each other. He tried not to tremble when he said, “It’s nothing Mark.”

“Right. It’s nothing.” Johnny’s lip curled, “Fucking liar.”

“Whoa. Hey, Johnny. What the fuck was that?”

Mark tried to laugh, “What just happened?”

“Tell them.”

“Tell us what?” Mark wouldn't let up, you could feel the Earth shaking underneath your feet and Mark was encouraging it, more and more. He didn’t know, Johnny had to remind himself. He’s always been weird about her, but Mark didn’t know, “Did you guys fight last night?

“We can rotate again.” You suggested, “I’ll go with Jaehyun tonight.”

Jaehyun could scream. He stayed silent.

“You’re absolutely not doing that.”

You looked at Johnny, “Why not?”

“Let him tell you.”

Crumbling, crumbling, crumbling. Something was shifting, the plates of the Earth, the foundation the four of you built. You could feel it happening, could see it in front of you. Jaehyun shook his head and Mark got more involved, “Can someone please just say what’s happening. Why can’t she room with Jaehyun? That’s the next rotati-”

Johnny was seething, “Because he’s in love with you!”

The four of you stood like pillars around the fire; Johnny next to Jaehyun, next to Mark, next to you, next to Johnny. Johnny was choking back so much, fighting against himself and the things he wanted to - needed to - say. His hands shook at his sides, only calming when he balled them into fists. And Mark did his best, Mark did too much, Mark didn’t need to be involved at all. He raised his hands, palms angled down and said, “Okay, let’s calm down. That’s not true, right?”

At the same time, you whispered, “What?”

“Say it.” Johnny spoke through gritted teeth, never looking away from Jaehyun. For a moment, the sound of the fire crackling was the only thing you could hear. Jaehyun made no moves; not to speak, not even to blink. You all just stood there until Johnny scoffed and said, “Tell them you’re in love with my girlfriend.”

Jaehyun tried, “Johnny, I-“

“Fucking say it, Jaehyun.” Johnny growled, his words cut with an edge you had never heard from him, “Stop fucking lying to me.”

He tried again, Jaehyun’s eyes threatening to look towards you. He knew it was going to make this worse, but Christ, he just wanted to look at you. Jaehyun wanted to see you, how you were. He wanted to look at you when he said it, whatever came next, “Okay, Johnny.”

Johnny shook his head, “Say it.”

Mark stepped towards Johnny, Mark did too much again. He put himself between you and the fire, then you and Johnny. He didn’t need to be involved, “Johnny, come on. He’s not-“

He tried again, Jaehyun’s eyes threatening to look towards you. He knew it was going to make this worse, but Christ, he just wanted to look at you. Jaehyun wanted to see you, how you were. He wanted to look at you when he said it, whatever came next, “Okay, Johnny.”

Johnny shook his head, “Say it.”

Mark stepped towards Johnny, Mark did too much again. He put himself between you and the fire, then you and Johnny. He didn’t need to be involved, “Johnny, come on. He’s not-“

“He is and he needs to fucking admit it!”

“Johnny, man, please-“

“Fuck off, Mark.” The youngest recoiled, hands dropped. Johnny wanted to scream, “Jaehyun you have five seconds.”

Jaehyun was unreadable, again. Shut off, shutting down. Your focus bounced between the three of them, frozen completely and burning up - from the fire, from the way Johnny shook, from the way Jaehyun swallowed and the way Mark stumbled back. This couldn’t be happening. This shouldn’t be happening. You tried to say something, voice caught and coarse against your throat, “This-I don’t…Johnny.”

He ignored you, he was right to do so. Stumbling over words you couldn’t gather, pulling them off the ground and stringing them together into nonsense. Johnny counted, “One.”

“What do you what me to say, John?” Jaehyun’s voice wavered. He knew the answer. He couldn’t do anything about it.

Johnny kept counting, “Two.”

It was Jaehyun’s turn again, two of five chances Johnny was giving him to just say it. To just fucking be honest with him, with you, with himself. Jaehyun only said, “Stop. We can…let’s talk about it.”

“We’re talking about it. Right now, Jae.” Johnny’s voice raised, it echoed, it consumed everything around the four of you. You thought the trees might bend to it, given the chance; the Earth might quake, shake, crack open from the force of it. Johnny kept shaking, kept counting, “Three.”

Mark took another step back. He looked over his shoulder at you, something like sympathy on his face. He might have seen it coming, he might have known all along. Mark wondered, for a moment, how you didn’t know. Still, he tried his best, he did too much, “Hey.”

You only said, “Mark.”

Jaehyun begged, “Johnny, stop - stop fucking counting!”

For the first time, Johnny moved. For his first move, he stepped towards Jaehyun. He cleared half the space between them and shouted, trees faltering around him, “You’re in love with her. Say it! Four.”

“Johnny.” It was somewhere between pleading, definitely threatened, but strong. Jaehyun didn’t want to be doing this. He just wanted to look at you. Johnny kept his attention, another step before he was as close to Jaehyun as he could be - the two of them shouting over each other and filling the space between chances four and five. Jaehyun tried to urge Johnny back, “Back up, John.”

“Don’t fucking touch me-“

“Back the fuck up-“

“All you have to do is admit it-“

“Johnny, fucking stop for a second and-“

“She’s right there, tell her you sack of-“

“Jesus fucking Christ-“

“Say it!” Johnny shoved at Jaehyun’s shoulders, his last count, his last chance coming out, “Five.”

“Fine! I am, okay?” Jaehyun’s voice was booming and shaking and strained, like he was desperately holding back his words and pouring them out, all at once. You watched his fists ball up and release, watched him square himself towards Johnny.

Your boyfriend, Johnny.

His best friend, Johnny.

“I love her.” The crack in Jaehyun’s voice wasn’t missed. He threw his hands up, stepping back, “I’m in love with her, is that what you want to hear, Johnny?”

Johnny scoffed. It was exactly what he wanted to hear and it was shattering everything in him. Ruin the dynamic he said. Jaehyun, his best friend. Jaehyun, your best friend. Jaehyun, a fucking liar. Johnny saw red and then white, an absolutely illuminating rage filled him, but he didn’t move to hit Jaehyun. His body ached for it, wanting to feel how Jaehyun’s skin would break if he just swung at him. But, Johnny didn’t. He didn’t move, didn’t scream as he had been, he let everything fall silent. Let it all settle.

Johnny let Jaehyun’s words linger for all of you for too long. He let it all go on for too long.

Mark blinked and breathed out, “Jae, man, what the fuck?”

Jaehyun finally looked at you. The way your breathing was frantic, how Johnny’s hat sat on your head, but Jaehyun’s sweatshirt covered you and kept you safe from the cold; protected you from it. He watched your eyes searching for an answer in the flames of the bonfire, the shoe imprints in the dirt where you’d all been standing, in the trees around you but never up; never to the stars. He wanted to go to you, wanted to move. But, Jaehyun could feel the ground starting to swallow him, holding him completely still. He could feel everything stop the moment you looked up. If he hadn’t been looking already, he wouldn’t have heard the way you said his name. A whisper lost in the wind, “Jaehyun.”

Johnny interrupted, looking down and jaw clenched, “How long?”

“John. Let’s just stop for a minute, okay.” You wanted to beg Mark to stop, “Everyone chill out.”

“Years, Johnny.” Jaehyun answered, kept his eyes on you and told Johnny with a quiet confidence, “Years.”

When Johnny looked up, he immediately wished he hadn’t. The way Jaehyun looked at you over the fire, the way you kept your eyes on him with your hands shaking at your sides. He laughed, he couldn’t stop it, “Can’t even say it to my face.”

Jaehyun couldn’t stop himself, he dropped his head and bit back, “And why the fuck would I need to?”

“Because she’s my girlfriend, Jaehyun.”

“Stop.” The word clawed its way out of you, fighting against your mind and your heart to come out, “Stop.”

Johnny looked at you first, Jaehyun wasn’t sure if he could, Mark turned and stepped closer to you, “Hey. It’s okay, alright?”

You said, only to Mark, only for him to hear, “It’s not.”

He looked over his shoulder, back at Johnny and Jaehyun and everything falling out and apart between them. The way they both looked at you, the concern and a silent apology from both of them. He looked around the campsite, expecting to see the proof, the aftermath of the explosion. There was nothing, just silence and a stillness he hated. You all hated it. Mark reached out for you, taking either arm in his hands and pulling you to his chest. He didn’t care if Johnny swung at him, he suspected he wouldn’t. Mark just wanted to stop at least one world from crumbling.

So, he chose yours, “Rotate.”

Johnny spoke first, “Mark, what the hell?”

“Rotate.” It was his only solution, “I’m taking her with me. You two figure out your shit.”

He knew it wasn’t shit. But, Mark was going to put an end to it, if no one else was making a move to do so. He put you in front of him, guiding you to one camper and ignoring anything behind him. Johnny said his name at least three times, yours at least four. You thought you heard Jaehyun say, “I’m going.”

But Mark was in your ear, “Don’t. Don’t look at either one of them. Go on, go inside.”

You did, he followed and closed the door behind you. Mark kept his back against it for a moment and waited for you to move first. He waited until everything caught up to you, waited for it all to slip through the cracks and push into the camper; the safest place he could take you. When it did, Mark watched your shoulders fall, watched you implode in on yourself before he moved closer and pulled you back, again. The aftermath evidence he was looking for fighting not to crumble to the ground in his arms. Mark held you and soothed you and still did too much.

“I’m sorry, Mark.”

“You don’t need to be sorry.” He reminded you, you wished it worked, “You didn’t do anything. They’ll work it out. You just stay in here with me, okay?”

You thought about asking him how he was so calm, how Mark - the youngest, the brightest boy you’d ever know - was so collected in this moment. You wanted to apologize for something you were barely involved in, apologize for the way he’d been dragged into it. Instead, you let out a shaking breath, one mixed with a quiet sob, and you let Mark carry weight that wasn’t his; weight he shouldn’t have to bear.

Mark got you to calm, then he got you to sleep. He stayed with you, next to you, humming something he’d written and drifting away, himself. And, for a while, it worked. For a while you slept and you drifted, as well.

Something pulled you back down, plummeting to the Earth and reality and waking. Mark was still next to you, covered in blankets and the moonlight, sleeping sound. Something like envy, maybe gentler, settled in your chest. Envy that Mark’s mind would let him sleep, that he had that opportunity. There was no anger to it, just the wish to be in that position. You sat up, blankets pooling at your waist and fingers wrapped up in the sleeves of his sweatshirt. Part of you itching to peel it off of you, the other part wanting to drown in it. Either way, your head was aching, your heart, too.

You couldn’t pinpoint a single thing you felt; guilt and anger and confusion and fear and something you’d never know. Something indescribable, something new and all-consuming within you. You wanted to move, you wanted to run until your legs burned, at the very least stretch them out and breathe in fresh air. Suddenly, everything felt too cramped and tight.

You wanted to be wrapped up in him, to have him calm you down, but to have him pull you back down to earth. You wanted to feel his lips on yours, on any part of you. You wanted him to trace patterns against your skin.

You wanted to scream.

As slowly as you could, you pulled yourself out of the bed and the camper, latching the door behind you and slipping into your shoes. April was cold, not as cold as November, but now it felt just as different. The chill that went from the top of your head to your toes shook you enough to close your eyes and collect yourself. You angled your head upward before you opened them, again, wanting to take in the stars; borrow every bit of light they could offer.

They twinkled against the clear, midnight sky. They blinked down as you blinked up, breathing, breathing, trying to breathe. Shaking your head, you looked somewhere neutral; the void between the two campers, the gathering of trees still upright and reaching towards your stars, at embers of a forgotten fire, across the empty campsite.

You saw him then, in the same moonlight that Mark was in but shining, like it was the sun. Jaehyun stared back, from behind his steering wheel, unmoving. So much of you wanted to move to him, let your feet pull you over to him, to tell him….tell him. Anything. Everything.

Years, he had said. Years.

But, you didn’t move. Neither did he. Two opposites across from each other, only breathing, taking each other in and not making a single fucking move. Slowly, you released the breath held hostage in your lungs and wrapped your arms around yourself. Jaehyun’s lips moved, maybe your name slipped out, you’d never know. You crossed the void between campers and pulled your eyes to look away from him, not willing to see any change when you slipped inside and said his name, “Johnny?”

He shot up, your name clear and filling the room. It took half a second for him to claw his way out of the bed and wrap himself around you; just as you wanted. Johnny held you as tightly as he could, mumbling apologies, kissing them into your skin. He was frantic and worried and, for the first time since you’d known him, Johnny’s certainty was wavering. You held him just as tight, just as close, lips pressed into a line to keep yourself from crying.

His cheek was pressed against the top of your head when he said your name once more and his final, “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t.” It was so soft, the way your hands held him and the way you spoke. Johnny held you tighter, scared it meant you were slipping away; terrified of you slipping away from him. You pulled back only to look up at him, “Just talk to me. Tell me what happened.”

Johnny sighed, he wanted to kiss you - he didn’t know if he still could and he wished everything had been different. He wanted to go back and stop himself from exploding, “I don’t know. I…I really don’t know where to start.”

You nodded, eyes on him. He blinked out tears, ones you were quick to wipe away for him, up on your toes to kiss the trail they left behind. Johnny sighed, shaking as he was before but for a completely different reason. He couldn’t describe it, he didn’t want himself to even feel whatever it was. It was unstoppable until you’d come through that door. You pulled him towards the bed, pushing him to sit down and climbing in next to him.

Johnny didn’t let go of you the whole time; in anyway he could touch you, he did. The two of you leaned back together, facing each other and staying silent for a moment before you asked, “How did you know?”

He swallowed, “Taeyong and Yuta. Then Jungwoo.”

“Hm.”

“Yuta said…he said it was obvious. I hated that.” Johnny tried to laugh, the sound was so bitter, “Jungwoo said to ask Jaehyun.”

“When?”

“February, then again last week.” He paused, “I tried to talk to Jaehyun about it. I tried to be subtle and maybe I shouldn’t have, but Yuta was right.”

You scooted closer, hand to Johnny’s cheek, “What do you mean?”

Johnny lifted his hand to cover yours, “It was obvious. And the more I saw it…I just got more and more angry. Everything he did, every time he was near you, I just…God, I’m not a jealous person.”

“I know.”

“But, he was hiding it. It felt like he was playing me, like it was a trick or a joke. I don’t know why he wouldn’t just tell me.” He was right. It made the guilt you felt worse, stronger. He closed his eyes. “Why wouldn’t he have said anything?”

You asked, as carefully as you could, “Would it have changed anything, Johnny?”

He didn’t want to answer, but Johnny would be a hypocrite to lie at this moment, “Yeah. Probably, yeah.”

“Oh.”

“Hey. Not now, okay? Before, maybe. I could’ve gotten over a crush.” He pulled your hand to his lips, pressed his words into them and hoped they’d stay there. Hoped that every time you pressed your fingers to your skin you’d remember his lips there, the things he’d promised against your fingertips, “I love you. I fell in love with you and now…”

“Now, what?”

Johnny had to think for a moment. He had to gather everything he’d felt in the last week, the last six months, everything he’d seen and heard and knew; put it all together into something that made sense. He looked at you for as long as he could, for as long as his heart would let him before it shattered too. Because, “I see how he looks at you.”

“Johnny.”

“And I see how you look at him.”

You froze, blood running cold. You’d never know what he expected you to say to that, how he expected you to react. Johnny could always predict what came next, but today ripped away everything he’d known. He was uncertain.

He let out a breath, “The two of you…”

“There is no two of us, Johnny.” You promised him, you meant it. Your heart was aching in your chest, “There is me and you. Jaehyun-“

“Don’t say his name. Not right now.” Johnny cut you off, he shook his head and rustled the sheets beneath the two of you, “I can’t hear it, right now.”

“We are completely separate. Whatever he feels-“

“What about what you feel?”

“I love you.” It came out desperate, you were desperate. Your fingers wrapped around his tighter and you’d pulled yourself as close to him as you could. Johnny just watched and breathed, you did the same, “I love you, Johnny. That’s what I feel.”

And he told you, “I love you, too.”

Like it was all either of you needed to hear, you fell silent. Like it was everything that needed to be said, neither of you spoke after. You held each other and synchronized your breathing, sharing kisses and breaths and sighs until you fell asleep, pressed together. Even still, even with so little space between the two of you, there was still enough space for the word neither of you could, would, ever wanted to say;

But….

📻

Johnny had stripped you of Jaehyun’s sweatshirt; replaced it with his own, the one he’d been wearing that smelled like him, like smoke, like you. You woke up wrapped in him, twice over, and breathing him in. The sleeve of his t-shirt had rolled up, your fingers found their way to trace the leaves permanently inked on his arm. Johnny was still asleep, but he shifted and shivered and pulled you closer.

You could pretend, like this, that everything was fine. You could close your eyes and breathe him in, breathe against him, just breathe. Anything that had happened the night before couldn't reach you, like this.

You just had to stay.

Johnny’s eyes finally opened, he smiled…he tried to smile, “Hi.”

And you kissed him, without hesitation, having just woken up. You thought back to November, you thought about the times you’d shied away from it. Johnny didn’t think much of anything, lazily kissing you back; slowly, carefully, comfortably. He tried not to think about how many times he’d have you like this, from now on. Johnny wanted to be optimistic, but…

“Hi.” You told him, breathless, “I love you.”

He rolled onto his back, pulling you onto his chest and securing you there, “I know. I love you. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t.” Your breath caught in your throat, choked you and choked back tears you didn’t want to let out. Not yet. Johnny said “I love you” and it sounded like “goodbye.” So, you told him, “Don’t apologize to me. You don’t have a reason to.”

Packing was silent; hopeless and tense. Every sound echoed in the epicenter of Johnny’s explosion, Jaehyun’s as well. You were all standing at ground zero of something unpredictable.

Jaehyun wouldn’t look at you; he is in love with you. He kept his eyes down, he kept his mouth shut, he stayed as far away from you and from Johnny as the campsite would allow. Johnny did the same, avoiding his best friend. It was a dance, a performance, a nightmare that you were wrapped up in.

Mark only did his best.

The car ride was silent; the radio was too low to make out, Jaehyun’s engine rumbling just as low. Mark sat in the passenger seat with his eyes forward, his hands neatly on his lap. He’d look at Jaehyun, he’d look at you, Mark would look at Johnny and then he’d focus forward, again. No one said a word, no one thought to. You didn’t know if any of you would think to speak to each other, again, and it took everything you had to keep the sobs clawing at your chest from breaking through. It took a small smile from Mark, it took looking anywhere but at Jaehyun, it took Johnny holding your hand and resting his head on your lap.

He stayed there for the entire trip; reveling in the way your fingers tugged at his hair, the even breaths you forced yourself to take, the twists and turns of the road. Johnny fell asleep like that, cradled in your lap, face upwards so even if his eyes were open he could only see you. He didn’t know if he could look at Jaehyun, he certainly didn’t want to look at him. Johnny knew. Once Yuta said it, once Jungwoo avoided it, he knew. Hearing Jaehyun confirm it, hearing his best friend outright say he was in love with his girlfriend, Johnny was having a hard time swallowing it.

But you held him. You held Johnny and if he closed his eyes, it was the only thing that felt real; that was real. You and Johnny in the backseat of a car, together.

The hand you had tangled in Johnny’s hair was hot, damp with sweat. You were frantic and if you were hiding it well enough for Johnny not to sense it, for Johnny to fall asleep, you didn’t know how. Every breath you took shook your whole body, every breath was strained. You looked out the window, to Mark, down at Johnny and the peace he found; deserved peace after a restless night. In the mirror, you could feel Jaehyun’s eyes. It made breathing impossible when you caught him, when he caught you. It took the little air you could gasp and rushed it from your lungs.

Jaehyun couldn’t look away from you, in the rear view mirror; for a while, for too long. He was lost in the way your fingers twirled Johnny’s hair, in the way you’d smile down at him. Jaehyun’s hands were wrapped around the steering wheel with such force he thought it might crumble. He could remember Halloween - a similar position, Jungwoo in the front seat and you and Johnny in the back. And Jaehyun couldn’t do anything about it then, just as he couldn’t now.

He was hopeless, tense. And he couldn’t look away.

It was only when Mark yelled, when he grabbed at the wheel and said, “Dude, look out.”

Jaehyun swerved, he adjusted, he looked back at you. You were wide-eyed behind him, hands around Johnny to keep him with you. Keeping Johnny safe, keeping Johnny secure. He looked away from you, then, and focused back on the road; back on something he could control, mumbling a quiet, “I’m sorry.”

To Mark; for the car. To you; for everything else.

To Johnny.

📻

Mark was pissed.

There wasn’t a better word for it or any way around it. He was pissed and he was trying his best not to be. It wasn’t working. He was in the loft with Jaehyun, going back and forth between watching the storm clouds roll in and Jaehyun spiral out of control. They’d dropped you and Johnny off an hour ago and from the moment Jaehyun parked his car in his own driveway, he’d been like this. Mark had the opportunity to leave, but he was in a bitter protest, a war within himself and with the only other person in the room because, “You had the opportunity to tell her.”

“I know, Mark.”

“No, like way before this. Way, way before this.” Mark had his hands clasped, ringing them as a means of comfort - it wasn’t working, “You said years. You had years.”

Jaehyun stopped pacing, only for a moment, “I know, Mark.”

Maybe pissed wasn’t the word he needed. Mark was heated, “Then why now? They’ve been together for almost a year, Jaehyun.”

“I fucking know, Mark.” It came through gritted teeth, forced and booming, “I don’t know what the fuck…I don’t have an answer for you.”

Not heated, Mark was furious, “Don’t yell at me, I’m trying to help you.”

He didn’t mean it, but Jaehyun pushed in a fury, “I don’t need your help.”

Not pissed, not heated, not furious. Mark was livid, “Fine. Figure it out. I’m going to check on her.

That seemed to stop Jaehyun entirely. Mark gathered his things and Jaehyun stopped, looking out the window towards your house. It was almost as if Mark had put the idea into his head, set it into motion and rolling down the street. The storm had started outside, it had leaked through the windows and down into the loft. Now it was inside of Jaehyun and urging him to say, “I need to go talk to her.”

“No you don’t.” Mark didn’t spare him a look, “You need to sort your shit out. Johnny is probably still there.”

They both knew that wasn’t true. Mark knew, Johnny had texted him and asked Mark to make sure you were okay - whenever he had the chance. Jaehyun knew because he watched Johnny leave, watched him sling his bag over his shoulder and make his way towards the bus stop. Your boyfriend, Johnny. His best friend, Johnny. Still, Jaehyun turned on his heel and stomped towards the door. He didn’t say a word, barely heard Mark say, “Fuck.” over the downpour.

He did hear Mark’s footsteps trying to match his stride. Jaehyun could hear Mark screaming his name as they ran down the stretch of road to your house.

He could feel Mark reaching out for him, grabbing hold of his soaked-through shirt in an attempt to hold him back. Nothing would’ve stopped Jaehyun; not the rain, not Mark, not his best friend, Johnny. Jaehyun shouted your name first on the street-side of the gate, then once more with every step he took closer to you.

You had to come outside. You had to talk to him. He had to see you.

Mark stood still, like there was a barrier between your property and the sidewalk he couldn’t quite cross. He watched everything unfold before him, still cataloging, still livid, but now worried. Jaehyun was begging you to come out, Mark was silently pleading for you to stay in.

Your door creaked open, silencing Jaehyun’s words and silencing Mark’s thoughts. There you were, face stained with tears, in the same clothes they’d left you in an hour ago. Your arms were crossed over your chest and each breath you took shook your whole body. You didn’t say anything, not one of you did. The three of you stood in complete silence and let the rain overtake you, let it lead the conversation with rhythmic pitter-patters.

Jaehyun spoke first, “Please.”

“Please what, Jae?” His name from your lips could kill him on a good day - this was, decidedly, not a good day. Not even close, “What do you want?”

“I-please just talk to me.” You looked over his shoulder to Mark, drenched in the street waiting for whichever one of you needed him first, “I just want to talk to you. I need to talk to you.”

You echoed what Mark had said to him, it stung more coming from you, “You had years, Jaehyun. That’s what you said. Years.”

“So did you.” He bit.

You and Mark took a step forward at the same time. The rain had yet to touch you, but it taunted the tips of your toes - bare feet freezing in the early fall air, “What did you say?”

“Look at me and tell me you didn’t - that you don’t feel the same way.” Jaehyun squared his shoulder, his tone wavering but demanding all the same, “You’ve had years, too.”

“Jaehyun.”

“Johnny knows it, too. Everyone does. Johnny, Mark, Jungwoo, Taeyong - everyone. Fuck, even that Haechan guy picked up on it. We’ve both had years.”

He stepped closer, you didn’t pull back, Mark came closer, “Stop it.”

“Tell me you don’t feel the same.”

Another step from Mark to combat stillness between you and Jaehyun - years of stillness. Years. It was like the youngest was waiting for a cue, some sort of signal that you needed him, before he intervened.

“I love Johnny.”

Another sting, but not a denial. Jaehyun felt bile swirling up and threatening to spill over. Still, he stood firm, ignoring the chill and ignoring the rain. He was solely focused on you.

“Tell me you don’t love me, too.”

A clap of thunder shook the ground beneath you as you opened your mouth to speak. You startled where you stood, arms tightening around yourself. Jaehyun took another step.

He was on the bottom step, you stood at the top. You remembered Johnny in a similar position nearly a year ago and gnawed at your lip to keep from crying any more. Jaehyun pressed, close enough that you could hear him whisper, “Just say it and I’ll go. This can be done. We can be done.”

He wished his voice didn’t shake with his last words, staring you down and hoping you didn’t notice. Jaehyun was sure being done with you would break him - worse, it would destroy him. His hands were in fists, shaking at his sides from a combination of adrenaline, fear and cold. He was begging.

You looked at Mark again, closer than before but still too far to hear hushed words between you and Jaehyun. You shook your head, “I can’t, Jae. You have to go.”

The two phrases contradicted each other. You couldn’t tell him you didn’t love him, but you needed him to go. Needed to be done. Needed to destroy yourself and the part of you - the biggest part of you - that still held onto him. Shaking your head again, you took your turn to beg, “Please, Jaehyun. Just go. I…I…”

Jaehyun’s voice lowered, shaking but certain, “You lied to me.”

“No. I didn’t. Jaehyun, please.”

“When I kissed you, you lied. You said you didn’t feel it and I know you did. I know you did and I should’ve done something about it, then. I didn’t and I’m sorry.” He was shattering, shards of Jaehyun were chipping away and falling to the ground in front of you, “It shouldn’t be like this. I fucked up. Don���t lie to me again.”

“Jaehyun.”

“Please. Don’t lie to me again.”

Mark was there in a second, pulling at Jaehyun’s shoulder again and urging him backwards, “Come on. You gotta give her space.”

He started pulling Jaehyun backwards, you stood and watched. Every sob that had stored itself in your chest, compressed and pushing to get out, shook you like the thunder shook the ground. Your arms clutched at themselves, pulling at whatever you could to keep yourself grounded. Jaehyun kept you grounded - it was always Jaehyun. Then it was Johnny. Now it was just you, alone on your front stop watching your best friend being dragged from you.

You were floating away and nothing was there to tether you. Jaehyun was shouting over the rain, “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I know I messed up, I did. I should’ve… I can’t…please, I’m so sorry. Don’t.” He pushed at Mark’s hands, “Get the fuck off of me. Fuck!”

A symphony of sounds you wish you could erase from your memory; Jaehyun shouting to you, the scraping and slapping and scuffling from Mark pulling him away, your own sobs and the rain. It was a nightmare and you weren’t waking up.

It took twenty minutes for relative silence to find you - twenty minutes of solitude, of raindrops and sobs that lost their timbre to the thunder. You were freezing, maybe that’s why you couldn’t move - your feet were frozen to the cement beneath them. The world was frozen in time. Until you could hear footsteps, until you could see Mark at your gate, still drenched with his backpack over his shoulder.

You crumbled, then. Mark wasn’t there to catch you when you landed back on Earth, but he scooped you up and brought you back in. Your voice was hoarse when you told him, not for the first time in the last twenty-four hours, “I’m so sorry.”

“I gotta get you inside.” His voice was soft, gentle as took you into your home and shut the door behind you, “You’re okay. It’s okay.”

“Mark, I-“

“It’s fine.” Mark stopped you, “Johnny would’ve killed me if I let that go on any more. Just tell me what you need.”

A knife straight to your heart, you let out a breath from the pressure, “Don’t say their names. Either one of them, for now.”

Mark dropped his bag and pulled off his wet shoes, then his socks, “Done. What else?”

“Can you…” A swirl of guilt and something completely indescribable filled you, starting at your thawing toes and working its way to the top of your head. A voice reminding you that Mark shouldn’t be involved. It ate away at you, “Change into dry clothes Mark.”

“Yeah, I was going to.” He squatted down to sift through his bag, looking for something both clean and dry to put on, “Do you want me to make tea or something? Or like, I don’t know, you could take a warm bath? That might…I think that might help.”

You watched Mark’s eyes dart around, cataloging or searching, something. Mark Lee was just as lost as you were, grasping at anything he could after watching the world implode. It hit you then, even if Mark wasn’t at the center of the implosion, he was still at the site. The flames burned at his skin, the fumes filled his lungs; harsh words were still thrown at Mark like knives.

The most innocent party of the four of you still was part of this, whether he should have been or not.

You stepped towards him, pulling him up and making a point not to let go. Mark just watched you, still trying to list the things he thought might help, “Breathe, Mark.”

“I’m breathing” He nodded his head, rapidly, you think it might have hit him, then. The aftershock, the implosion, “I’m breathing.”

You repeated, holding his hands and holding his gaze, “Mark, breathe with me.”

“I’m…what the fuck?” He shook his head, this time, looking down and letting droplets fall from his hair, “What the fuck is happening?”

“I’m so sorry, Mark,”

“No, you didn’t do it. You don’t need to be sorry.”

You nodded, urged him to go change and made your way into your kitchen. You made the tea he suggested, you ran water so he could take a warm bath. The two of you settled in the living room, kindred and confused spirits, sipping on tea and wrapped up somewhere safe, together. You kept it that way, you kept Mark comfortable and safe until he fell asleep on your couch.

Because there was no way he could know, there was no way you could ever tell him that you weren’t innocent in this, as he was.

Because, even if you loved Johnny - and God, do you love Johnny - Jaehyun was right.

You couldn’t look him in the eye and say he was wrong; you absolutely loved him, too.

previous. masterlist. the end.

[delicatebarness]

i think he knows | chapter four

Summary: Tension rises for the youngest Rogers as she fears Steve knows.

Warnings: A use of 'Y/N' at the beginning. Wanda is a hopeless romantic.

Word Count: 1031

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A/N: I need to slow down, this series is now 4 weeks ahead of the schedule I made. And, I haven't even started writing the next chapter of Winter's Child yet. This chapter is a relatively small one as I'm planning to make chapter five the longest one yet.

Tags: @bigtreefest | @caplanbuckybarnes | @angelbabyyy99 | @mega-kittyglitter-1 | @cjand10

Wanda followed you around the library as you searched the shelves, her eyes widened with excitement as you recounted last night’s ride home with Bucky. She was hanging on your every word.

“You, Y/N Rogers, rode on a motorbike!” She exclaimed in a hushed tone, she could barely be contained. “Tell me everything! How was it? What did Bucky say?” She tried to get you to look her in the eye so she could read what your mouth wasn’t saying. “Wait, what did Steve do? Your dad?” She gasped.

You couldn’t help but chuckle at her excitement, her infectious curiosity. “It was… exhilarating,” you admitted with a gentle sigh, the adrenaline and the way the wind rushed against your skin, you remembered every second of it. “He made me feel so safe, Wanda. He even made sure I was wearing his helmet.” 

Her eyes widened further, you didn’t know she could do that. “He gave you his helmet? Oh my, ugh, that’s so romantic!” She let out a quiet squeal. 

Shrugging her comment off, you tried to downplay the romantic aspect. “I think he was just being a good host, making sure I was safe.” You continued to recount the ride to your best friend, describing the thrill of the moment. How you felt having your arms wrapped around him, clenching his Henley shirt in your hands. You found yourself longing for that feeling again. 

She did continue to ask about Steve and your dad, but you shrugged her off again explaining quickly that Bucky stopped at the corner of the street and watched you walk back from there. 

“Sounds like something out of a romance novel,” She mused whilst leaning against the bookshelf you were searching through. She wore a dreamy smile on her lips as her mind wandered. You were positive that she was thinking about Vision. They had been crushing on each other from the second she moved here. Neither one was confident enough to make the first move, even though they were both aware of the other’s feelings. 

You let out a huffed laugh as you shook your head. “I don’t know about that,” A hint of uncertainty crept into your voice. “It was just a ride home.”

~

As the day progressed, you found yourself sitting at your usual table in the cafeteria with Wanda and Peter. The chatter of your classmates filled the air but your attention was barely focused on your friend's conversation.

“Are you two going to the game on Friday?” Peter’s eyes sparkled with excitement as he nodded towards the banner reminding you and others of the date, time, and which school it was against. 

“I heard it’s going to be a big one,” Wanda replied, picking at the sandwich that was placed on her tray. Her mood had shifted from joyful to disgust the second she realized she had forgotten her lunch and would have to eat the stale bread the cafeteria served. 

“Yeah… Steve’s been practicing nonstop,” Your attention had been drawn to a tense moment at Steve’s usual table. Steve and Sam, his best friend and right-hand man for almost everything, stood in deep conversation. Their expressions were serious, Steve’s frown had his eyebrows knotted together tightly. Sam’s gestures were animated, he was trying to explain something to your brother while he listened intently. “What do you think they’re talking about?”

Wanda and Peter’s attention snapped to where you had been looking, they both shrugged. “The game I’m guessing,” Wanda shrugged as she got back to the sandwich in front of her, ultimately deciding to push the tray away from her. “Yeah, it’s a pretty big one for the both of them,” Peter added.

“Yeah, could be,” you replied as your mind raced with possibilities. Deep down, you had a feeling that there was more to it than a football game. 

You watched Steve and Sam, curiosity tugging at your thoughts. There’s no way this was about the football game, the way they were talking hinted at a deeper issue. Lost in speculation, you barely noticed both Wanda and Peter trying to get your attention. “You good?” Wanda’s voice finally snapped your focus back to them, she gave you an empathic look. She could only imagine what you were thinking after what you confessed to her only a few short hours ago. 

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” you replied with a weak smile. As you reassured your friends, your mind continued to race.

The unanswered questions played on your mind for the rest of the day, you debated on speaking to Steve about it on the drive home or after dinner. You decided against it, you feared the possibility of it being Bucky-related and worried about raising suspicion. 

~

The final bell rang, signaling the end of the school day. As you gathered your belongings from your locker, a movement that didn’t match the patterns of the rest of the hallway caught your attention. It was Bucky, he gestured for you to follow him once he noticed he had you. Blending into the crowd, you made your way down the hallway to the room that Bucky entered. It was empty, he closed the door when you reached him, pulling a blind down to cover the small window in the door. 

“What’s going on?” you asked, as you turned to face him. 

Bucky hesitated as he closed the distance between you, “I wanted to ask you something,” his voice was low, pushing a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. “I was hoping you’d like to go for another ride with me on Friday night?” 

Your heart skipped a beat, was that a date invite? Was he asking you on a date? As much as you wanted to say yes, even if it wasn’t as a date, you couldn’t. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, voice filled with regret. “Steve’s playing on Friday, my whole family will be there.” You dropped your head as the glint in his eyes disappeared as disappointment filled them. 

Bucky nodded. “I understand, Sunshine,” Using his finger, he lifted your chin so you were looking back at him. “You know where I’ll be if you change your mind.”

---

Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[theladyofthevarioussorrows]

Hello everyone! Sorry for the delay...but here it is...

Written in Blood, or the Play in which The Brat Prince Ties the Knot

Part II (of IV)

Part I here! | AO3 link here! | Spotify playlist!

Fandom: The Vampire Chronicles (Gothic horror novel series, 1976-2018); Anne Rice’s Interview with the Vampire (TV series, 2022-present)

Pairing: Lestat de Lioncourt/fem!reader; Lestat de Lioncourt/You

Word count: 3,800+

Characters: Lestat de Lioncourt (Sam Reid, the best version…­­­the only one that matters, obviously); fem!reader; The Vampire Armand (lol ouch); Nicolas de Lenfent (even bigger ouch, RIP); Santiago; Estelle; Celeste; Eglee; Sam; Gustav; Quang Pham; pretty much the entire Theatre des Vampires.

Summary: Fem!reader is the newest addition to the Theatre des Vampires, and Lestat becomes smitten with her (of course he does, the little whore!). Lestat’s allure, charm, beauty, and viciousness are not lost on the reader, and she falls for him (I mean, who wouldn’t, let’s be honest). With fem!reader being the freshest member of the Coven, Santiago “initiates” her (similar to how he brought Claudia in) by casting her as Lestat’s co-star in the next play as his love interest. The play, overseen reluctantly by Armand is about a wedding (in the vein of The Taming of the Shrew, As You Like It, or something similar but accurate to the time period, that is the vibe…Lestat, little miss Lady Macbeth himself, “barely Balthazar” Armand, “too old to play Hamlet, too young to play Polonius” Santiago, and I are all Shakespeare girlies, so I thought it would make sense); fem!reader and Lestat are actually getting legally married, unbeknownst to the mortal audience. Fem!reader and Lestat are to be the bride and groom, Santiago is the Justice of the Peace, and the rest of the TDV are the wedding party. While Armand is still the Coven leader, he “directs” the play and Nicki leads the orchestra. Things do not go the way they were planned to go (in Armand’s case); a story of love, sex, and vampire drama unfolds.

Warnings and additional tags: New/eventual relationship, established relationship, smut (P in V), fluff, mention of sex, mention of masturbation, (F and M), oral sex (F and M receiving), all characters (except the reader, duh) are written to be as close to the way they are in the books as well as the show to the best of my ability, reader-insert, reader-interactive, use of Y/N, Lestat gives the reader pet names in French (this is Lestat, after all), mutual pining, flirting, slight voyeurism, slight exhibitionism (is anything Lestat does really a secret? No, not really), blood drinking, blood sucking, bloodletting, biting, gore, violence, murder (feeding on humans is the only instance of this), both Lestat and fem!reader are bisexual, age gap (fem!reader is younger than Lestat by at least a bit but it doesn’t really matter as much because he himself is a new-ish vampire; Lestat would still be somewhere in his thirties in mortal years by the show’s timeline), Lestat is very seductive and persuasive (fem!reader doesn’t need much persuading, so it’s not a bad thing), a bunch of mentions of Shakespeare, lines from As You Like It are in italics and dialogue from vampires using the Mind Gift are in bold italics.

Notes: This story takes place while Lestat is still performing with the Theatre des Vampires and is newly a vampire himself. Magnus is obviously dead by now (thank God). The events of this fic take place after Lestat breaks up with both Nicki (he is still alive at this point in time) and Armand, but before he meets Louis de Pointe du Lac and later Claudia. I don’t have anything against either character (I adore both greatly!), this is just a “what if?” kind of situation. This is a basic idea I had had for literal years ever since I read the books, but I didn’t do anything with it until the second season of the show started, specifically episode 10. I wasn’t immune to Harlequin Lestat, and I was FERAL about it. Sam Reid only made that worse for me (God, I am so in love with him…that man IS Lestat. He doesn’t just play him, he BECAME him, and no one else has come close. Tom Cruise and Stuart Townsend could NEVER!). The premise of the fic came to me while listening to “Written in Blood” by She Wants Revenge…one thing led to another, and here we are! Also, yes, I KNOW the vampires don’t “have sex” in the novels, but they do in the show (a LOT). I might make references to things that have happened in the books (mostly Interview with the Vampire and The Vampire Lestat, possibly a bit of Queen of the Damned) but might not have been shown in the TV series yet, so reader beware of that. Let this be the spoiler warning if you are not familiar with the books or haven’t watched the show. I am completely ignoring both movies, because they mean absolutely nothing to me now that the (far superior) show exists. The piece that fem!reader uses for her audition comes from Shakespeare’s comedy As You Like It…she is reading as Rosalind while disguised as Ganymede, and Lestat reads with her as Orlando. I thought the parallels were a nice touch. I obviously do not own the rights to As You Like It, I merely used the one scene for Y/N’s audition, and to add romantic and dramatic effect. Special shout out to my best friend @eli-rx for their contribution and ideas!

Language: English (except for a handful of pet names and expressions used by Lestat in French, hopefully I did it correctly. I took 4 years of French in high school, but I am not fluent)

Taglist!: @themorriganisamonster @notsostrangerthing @witcherfilms @inthiseverymoment

Following the performance of the night, everyone in the Coven came backstage to officially welcome Y/N into the Theatre des Vampires. As she joined them in the middle of the room, Y/N was pleasantly nervous, not only because all of this was foreign to her, but also because she was reeling from her encounter with Lestat the night before. Never in her life, before accepting the Dark Gift or since, has she ever felt so enraptured and enamored by anyone as much as Lestat.  He watched her with a sly smile on his face as she sat down in the chair in the middle of the room, and she looked at him with a rosy glow on her cheeks as she beamed back at him.

Look at you…you’re glowing, ma chérie. Absolutely stunning… Y/N heard Lestat’s sensual voice in her mind, and it made her head swim. He winked at her as he moved to stand behind her in her chair. As the rest of the Coven formed a tight circle around Y/N, Armand moved to stand on her left, a large book bound in red leather in his arms. He took a deep breath before he spoke.

“Y/N, before we begin, we have something we would like to give you,” Armand said, his voice proud but his hesitation still evident. Armand turned to the beautiful blonde vampire behind her. “Lestat, I believe it is you who would like to have the honor? It was your idea, after all.” Armand tried his best not to sound bitter.

The violinist Nicki leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest and biting the inside of his cheek, trying to appear as neutral as possible despite being uncomfortable with the events of the past couple of nights. He didn’t have anything against Y/N; there was no reason to, he became numb to the way his former lover operates, and he only hoped that Y/N stayed happy—and safe—with Lestat by her side, should it come to that. But Nicki already knew better, Lestat had his sights set on Y/N, and there was nothing anyone could do to tear her away from him now.

“Of course, how could I forget?” Lestat said in his special syrupy and sultry way, gently caressing Y/N’s cheek before turning to walk over to his vanity in the corner of the room, a deep blush appearing on her face. Lestat opened the drawer and pulled out a gift wrapped in purple paper, shutting the drawer with his hip before walking back over to Y/N. He gently placed the present in her hands. “Thou art wise as thou art beautiful…isn’t that right, darling?” Lestat said, starting to blush himself. “Go on, mon amour, show us what it is.” Y/N, momentarily at a loss for words, smiled again as she gingerly freed the item from its wrapping. Once she realized what it was, her jaw dropped and red tears welled up in her eyes. Finally, she found herself able to speak again. In her hands was a gorgeous tome that housed the entire works of Shakespeare, bound in green leather with gilded edges.

“Oh…my God…it’s incredible…” Y/N said, blood tears starting to fall down her face. “Thank you all so much…” Y/N wiped her face. “Lestat…this was your idea?” Lestat nodded with a charming smile.

“Let’s just say I know more than you’re aware of, sweetheart,” Lestat said as he wiped a tear from her face and brushed some of her hair behind her ear. “When I said you were lovely, chérie, it was not in jest. I meant it wholeheartedly.” Y/N swooned and blushed at his words.

“Thank you, Lestat. This is the most wonderful gift anyone could ever give me.” Y/N said lovingly.

“Oh love, believe me,” Lestat said. “This is only the beginning.” Sensing a change of tone in the air that he wasn’t keen on being present for, Armand spoke up to break up the growing sexual tension between the blonde charmer and his newest possible paramour.

“Alright, dear Y/N…it is time. Will you have us?” Armand said with a small genuine smile, his voice tinged with apprehension.

“Yes maître. I will,” Y/N said as she smiled back at the amber-eyed vampire to her right. “I’m ready.”

“Good then…let’s begin the initiation. Santiago will read you in.” Armand said, trying to sound more confident than he felt in his cold heart. Lestat once again took his position standing behind Y/N’s chair. Armand handed the red book to Santiago as he stood on Y/N’s left, opening it to a page with the title “The Great Commandments Which All Vampires Must Obey.” Santiago moved a bit closer to her and began to speak proudly.

“The Five Laws…law one,” Santiago said. “Each Coven must have its leader, and only he might order the working of the Dark Trick upon a mortal.” Y/N looked up at Santiago as he read her the rites, gasping quietly as she suddenly felt Lestat’s hands brush her hair off her neck and place his hands on her shoulders, holding her to the chair gently. “Will you abide?” Santiago continued, noticing Lestat’s gesture and smiling wickedly. Y/N nodded.

“I will,” Y/N replied, eyes widening as she began to feel the rest of her body begin to flush. Santiago smiled and continued.

“Law two: the Dark Gifts must never be given to the crippled, the maimed, to children, or to those who cannot, even with the Dark Powers, survive on their own,” Santiago continued. “Will you abide?” Armand stifled a small sigh as he looked on. After a few seconds, he placed his hand over Y/N’s heart.

“I will,” Y/N answered again, trembling slightly. Celeste moved in front of Y/N, while the others tightened the circle. Lestat, gripping Y/N’s shoulders only a bit tighter, offered his praise without moving his lips.

My my Y/N, you’re adapting wonderfully, mon ange. Very, very good, darling.

Santiago cleared his throat dramatically before carrying on with the initiation. “Law three,” Santiago resumed. “Never should an old vampire work this magic lest the blood of the fledgling be too strong, for all our gifts increase naturally with age, and the old ones have too much strength to pass on. Will you abide?” Y/N nodded once again.

“I will.” Y/N felt her breath becoming more uneven as she squirmed under Lestat and Armand’s hands. Celeste moved to place her hand over Y/N’s heart as well. Eglee, Estelle, Quang Pham, Gustav, and Sam moved in closer and followed suit. Y/N’s gaze briefly drifted to Nicki, who hesitated for a moment before he placed his hand on hers, offering a friendly but sad smile. Y/N smiled back.

Santiago flashed Y/N another smirk before he began again. “Law four: no vampire may ever destroy another vampire, except that the Coven Master has the power of life and death over all his flock. Will you abide?” Y/N swallowed hard as she shook her head.

“I will.” Y/N took a deep breath before letting it go.

Santiago spoke up again. “Law five,” he continued. Noticing the anxiety in Y/N’s movements but not sensing any hesitation of any kind from her, Santiago chuckled to himself before beginning again. “No vampire shall ever reveal his true nature, or ever reveal the history of the vampire to a mortal and let the mortal live.” Santiago paused as he shot Lestat a knowing look, fully aware of the hunger and want coursing through Lestat’s body as he held Y/N to the chair. Lestat did not break his concentration on Y/N for a second, his attention solely on her. Santiago rolled his eyes. “No vampire must commit to writing the history of the vampires, and a vampire’s name must never be known to mortals, save from his tombstone, and never must any vampire reveal to mortals the location of his or any other vampire’s lair. Will you abide?” Lestat let his fingers drag gently along Y/N’s collarbone, smiling slyly and giggling lowly under his breath as he felt her shiver. Y/N inhaled sharply.

“I will,” Y/N said, a little more breathlessly than she probably intended. She let her head fall back slightly before gingerly shaking her head, as if to shake the feeling off. The other vampires moved closer to her, preparing her for the final phase of the initiation. Santiago clapped the red leather book shut loudly before smiling at Y/N, placing his hand on her as well.

“An outsider no longer,” Santiago beamed. “Welcome to the Coven, little miss Y/N.”

Reluctantly, Armand motioned for Lestat to be the one to offer his blood to her first. Lestat moved one of his hands from her shoulders to her neck and gently tilted it back. He bit a significant gash into his forearm before lowering it to Y/N’s lips. She swallowed softly before gently holding onto his wrist.

“Good girl,” Lestat whispered as she pressed her lips to the dripping wound and eagerly lapped up the blood that oozed from it. “Tres bien fait, Y/N. You’re a natural, my love. Just as I knew you would be.” Y/N’s eyes rolled back into her head as she drank his blood, the flavor of him sweeter than anything she had ever tasted. Lestat moaned softly at the sight, trying in vain to control his need for her. After a few moments, Lestat gently pulled his arm away, smiling as he watched a small trickle of blood fall from the corner of her mouth. He slowly wiped the blood away from her face with his thumb, letting his finger press against her lip and pull it down before letting it go. Never breaking eye contact with her, he took his bloody thumb into his mouth and licked the blood off. Y/N’s eyes widened as he smiled hungrily at her, her head beginning to swirl with love, hunger—and something else entirely. Armand, not at all surprised by Lestat’s bold display of sensuality towards Y/N, shook his head and bit his tongue to keep himself somewhat calm. Lestat stepped out of the way. Next was Celeste, who then offered Y/N her wrist, and she accepted her with gratitude.

“We’re happy to have you, Y/N. Welcome to the Theatre,” Celeste said with a proud smile.

With that, one by one, the other vampires offered their blood to Y/N, and she eagerly accepted each of them as they accepted her as one of their own, thanking them for the gifts they have given her.

After the rituals were over and Y/N was fully initiated into the Theatre des Vampires, she gasped lightly as she felt a soft but firm arm wrap around her waist from behind.

“You are nothing short of magnificent, love. Beautiful work, mon ange. Y/N, you were dazzling as always,” Lestat said with a sly smile. “I am still interested to hear more about you. What do you say we continue our little tête-à-tête from last night?” He smiled a bit wider as she turned to face him as she beamed back at him.

“Yes, Lestat. I’d love to,” Y/N swooned. “What would you like to know?” Lestat gently took her by the hand and led her to the corner of the room. Even as a mortal, no man had ever made her feel the way she did now…it was intoxicating. He was intoxicating.

“Only whatever it is you’re willing to tell me, mon coeur. Anything and everything,” Lestat said with a charming smile as he brought her hand up to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to it. “I find you absolutely enthralling, Y/N.” He reached out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind Y/N’s ear, his fingers gently grazing her skin as he does so. She felt warmth spread across her face under his touch as she leaned into it. “I must say, I’ve been wanting to share a moment with you, ma belle,” he said as he sat down in the chair at the vanity. Lestat gently pulled Y/N onto his lap and wrapped one of his arms around her waist, while his other hand brushed some of her hair over her shoulder. Y/N felt her heart begin to pound against her ribs again as she settled herself in his tender but strong hold. “Why don’t you tell me about yourself, chérie?” Y/N swallowed softly as she gazed at him.

“Well, I’m flattered, truly. I would love to get to know you better, too. You’ve all been very kind and helpful, and I feel very lucky.” Y/N said as she rested one of her hands on his shoulder to anchor herself to him. “I feel especially lucky to have shared the stage with you yesterday.” She giggled quietly as she took a deep breath before beginning again. “But I guess I’ve always loved everything about the theatre, ever since I was a little girl. I never really had the chance to explore or experiment with anything of the sort until I was turned.”

Lestat’s periwinkle gaze never strayed from Y/N’s vampire eyes as she spoke, his attention focused solely on her. He acknowledged her answer for a moment. “Ah, I see. I am sorry to hear that you haven’t been able to embrace your talents until you were Born to Darkness, but I would argue that might be one of the reasons some of us consider our nature to be an honor. You seem to be adjusting exceptionally, ma beauté. Please forgive me for asking, but who was it that bestowed the Dark Gift upon you?” Lestat gently ran his long fingers through her silken hair as he spoke to her, intently listening to her words. He was madly in love with this beautiful young vampire in his arms, and she had fallen just as hard for him. Y/N couldn’t imagine any other place she would rather be than in Lestat’s embrace. She blushed deeper as she answered his question honestly.

“Celeste is my maker. I’m still learning from her, Santiago, Armand, and the rest of the Coven…this is all very new to me.” Y/N caressed Lestat’s face and smiled. “I really am glad to be here.” Y/N gazed at Lestat, delighted to find a blush forming on his face as well. He smiled back at her as she continued. “Lestat…this is the most alive I’ve ever felt.”

“Oh, ma chérie …” Lestat traced the curve of her jaw with his hand as his voice dropped to a low and loving tone. “I want you to know that I am happy to see you bloom and flourish here with us…” He caressed her cheek and jaw with the back of his hand, maintaining eye contact with her. Lestat watched her blush and tremble slightly as he touched her, making mental notes of what she seemed to enjoy the most before he broke the brief pause. “…with me.” Y/N’s eyes widened as her jaw dropped slightly; a look Lestat came to know very well. She gulped silently.

“Do you really mean that, Lestat? I…I don’t know what to say…” Y/N, smiling, began to feel overwhelmed by his clear love for her, and it made her feel dizzy. Lestat was aware of this, and he held her closer to him, his grip on her hips tightening slightly, silently promising her he would catch her if she were to fall.

“You don’t have to say anything, mon amour. I meant every word. I have been entranced by you from the very second I laid my eyes upon you.” Lestat’s hand travelled down to find Y/N’s and tangled his fingers with hers. “You have me utterly spellbound, Y/N.”

Lestat hooked his thumb and forefinger under Y/N’s chin and gently moved her head so that their eyes were locked in each other’s gaze again. Slowly, Lestat leaned in closer as he closed his eyes, resting his forehead against hers. She smiled and blushed as she moved down to meet him, her eyes fluttering shut once their lips met. Lestat kissed her softly at first, taking his time with her. She kissed him back gingerly, allowing herself to savor everything he offered her.

As Lestat and Y/N shared their tender but increasingly intense kiss, someone was lurking across the room, only barely out of sight.

Santiago could not help himself. He stared at the two vampires at the vanity, so lost in the throes of their hungry passion that they weren’t aware that he was watching them, or for how long. Santiago ran his fingers through his slicked back bottle-blonde hair as he watched Lestat practically devour the new Coven member whole, smirking once he became aware that there was no holding back on Y/N’s end either. Y/N kissed Lestat back as if she would disappear into thin air if she stopped, and she knew well enough by now that Lestat would not let her go if she tried. Whatever Lestat gave her, she returned to him with equal vigor and thirst. Santiago could not decide if the sight unfolding in front of him thrilled him or sickened him. All he knew was that, for whatever reason, he needed to alert Armand. Is Y/N a threat to the Theatre? She doesn’t seem like it. Is she a victim? If she was, she wouldn’t be so quick to give herself to Lestat…right? What if she’s doing all of this of her own will? Santiago wasn’t sure, but he could not tear his eyes away from Y/N and Lestat’s hungry embrace, no matter how hard he tried.

Completely oblivious to Santiago’s spying—or, more likely, aware and unbothered—Lestat carried on with his discovery of Y/N’s mouth with his tongue, her ministrations matching his. Lestat’s hands made their way from the back of Y/N’s head and down her neck, dragging his fingers gently all the way down until he reached her hips. He gripped her and held her in his lap, not hard enough to hurt her but firmly enough to leave light handprints on her skin through her clothes. As Lestat moved his lips from hers to trail light kisses along her jawline, his hands found the hem of Y/N’s blouse and lifted it up slightly to let his fingers graze her skin beneath it, making her whimper softly and shiver under his touch. He let his long fingers dance along her sides and spine, up and down her ribs and chest, then back around again, his movements agonizingly measured. Immediately loving the effect he had on Y/N, Lestat chuckled lowly.

“Such beautiful sounds you make, mon ange,” Lestat whispered lowly between kisses. “I wonder how many more I can coax out of you…” his voice trailed off as his lips continued their exploration along Y/N’s jaw and neck, gently nipping at her collarbone before moving back up to capture her mouth in another searing kiss. Lestat helped her change her position in his lap, so that her thighs were around his waist, pulling her closer against him in the chair as he leaned back. He let his hands travel lower as he tightened his grip. Y/N showed her approval by moaning against his lips, wrapping her arms around his shoulders to stabilize herself. Lestat chuckled slyly again. “Shh, ma chérie…” Lestat whispered, his voice sultry. “Sois une gentille fille et tais-toi... tout le monde peut entendre...”

Y/N answered him breathlessly, completely caught up under Lestat’s spell. She knew some French but wasn’t fluent; she wasn’t entirely sure what Lestat said to her, but whatever it was sounded absolutely sinful. “What…? What did you say?” Lestat chuckled and smiled wickedly once more.

“Oh, my love…I said…” Lestat trailed off as he let his fangs softly scrape against the skin between her ear and her neck before speaking again. “Be a good girl and keep quiet…anyone can hear…” Lestat said, making Y/N gasp. “But it wouldn’t make any difference who hears us, now would it, darling?” Lestat’s words made Y/N’s breath catch in her throat before she whimpered a bit louder. Lestat let out a low growl. “I suspected as much, mon petit monstre.” Lestat bit her neck ever so gently, hard enough to cause a small bead of blood to drip down her neck. He quickly lapped it up and kissed her again before she could speak, making her yelp against his mouth and twitch in his arms.

Santiago was both so stunned and so morbidly entertained by this display of lustful longing that he nearly forgot his own mission. Maître…there has been an occurrence. A sort of…expected occurrence, shall we say? I have eyes on them now and…it seems it’s serious already. Very serious in fact.

Armand, also painfully aware of the steamy romance brewing between the Theatre’s founder and the Coven’s newest addition, answered Santiago with an annoyed snarl. I know, Santiago. Leave them be. There isn’t much we can do now. And don’t give Lestat the satisfaction…you know he revels in it. Don’t encourage him. He knows what he’s doing.

Santiago answered his master, deciding he should let these two vampires have their little moment. As much as he wanted to keep watching them, he knew that Lestat would catch on soon, if he hadn’t already. Yes maître. They’ll wear themselves out soon. Though I reckon it could be a while—

Armand winced and interrupted him. Enough, Santiago. Coffin, now.

As the two riled-up vampires explored their newfound love—and lust—for each other, Lestat broke the kiss softly, resting his forehead against hers, both trying to catch their breath and come back down to Earth. Lestat sighed and chuckled lightly.

“Mmm, mon petit chaton…you are insatiable,” Lestat breathed. “But it seems we’ve attracted some attention.” Y/N whimpered as Lestat felt her quiver in his arms, giggling as he held her harder, stopping her from falling backwards. She wrapped her arms around his neck tighter.

“We did…? Where…?” Y/N answered breathlessly, resting her head in the crook of his neck. Lestat smiled slyly.

“No need to concern yourself with that, my darling.” Lestat said, trailing soft kisses along her neck before moving to whisper into her ear. “What do you say we continue this tomorrow, hmm? I don’t want you thinking I’m anywhere finished with you yet…” Lestat growled. He gently patted her hips, signaling for her to stand up from his lap. He held her hand as she stood up, chuckling to himself as he watched her wobble as she stood. He stood up with her and held her hand. “Come on, my love,” Lestat said with a sly smile. “I’ll walk you to your coffin, you look tired. We’ll meet again here after rehearsal tomorrow, yes?” Y/N nodded and followed Lestat out of the room. She could have sworn she floated beside him, and Lestat knew that he was dangerously in love with her. He knew he had her in is clutches now, but he wanted to drag this out as long as he could.

[lskisms]

eat my love, c. berzatto

syn. carmen berzatto is a childhood best friend, your protector in everything. when he leaves for new york, he leaves you behind and in his absence, you realize just how deep your love for him runs. his return to chicago is just what you need.

gen. romance, angst (if you squint).

warnings. none.

word count. 1.8k.

playlist. restless, bibi. love scene, baekhyun. seasons, wave to earth. asleep, the smiths. wasteland baby, hozier.

forget religion, forget deities, forget all of it; you have been a devout follower of carmen berzatto for years. he’s the childhood best friend with just a few years and even more inches on you, the one who protected you in the schoolyard in elementary school, the one who showed up to the movie theater after you’d been stood up in high school, the one who made sure your college mini fridge was stocked all the time with food you only had to eat up in your microwave.

he’s been everything to you, protector and savior all in one go. so while you’re not quite sure when your feelings shifted from platonic to romantic (though it was definitely between his time in new york and his return to chicago), you’re not surprised that they have. maybe it’s the “obscene amount” (richie’s words, not yours) of contemporary romance novels you read, plenty of titles with a friends to lovers arc, that put this in your head and maybe that constantly riled up man has a point, but still, something about it feels inevitable.

when carmy left for new york, you worried about him, more than was probably necessary. it was the first time in your whole life that you’d be away from him and it wasn’t that either of you needed one another to look out, but having grown up with him as a constant presence in your life made it difficult to adjust to life without him. where he used to be a phone call and a trip on the l away, now he was a phone call and a plane ride, too many miles to fathom.

but you waited: waited for him to come home, waited for him to notice you, waited for him to reciprocate. it feels like your entire life all you’ve done is wait for him and you’ve been content with that, even if it is your own personal brand of psychological torment. because you know him like it’s etched into your very genetics, the ability to know him for who he is in a way that you can’t know anyone else.

and so when he returns to chicago, to home, to you, it feels monumental, even if it is under less than desired circumstances. he starts working his ass off almost the very second he gets off his flight; you don’t see him for the first few weeks he’s back in chicago. it’s through no fault of your own, of course, because you text him plenty and he responds, but they aren’t hitting the same beats they used to, and you worry.

but here he stands now, flannel coat and baseball cap and all, at your doorstep unannounced. it surprises you, seeing him here like this, because he hadn’t so much as even suggested the idea, but you can’t complain, not when this is the first time you’re seeing him in what feels like a lifetime.

“carmy,” you practically exhale, not even hesitating to step forward, wrap your arms around his neck, press yourself close against him. your nose buries into the collar of his coat and when you inhale, the scent is so entirely carmen berzatto; you hadn’t realized you could miss a smell this much, let alone a person.

you’re elated when his arms wind their way around your waist, both hands warm against your lower back. you stand just like this for moments that feel like they stretch into hours, taking in the fact that he’s back, he’s home.

“i missed you, loser,” you say into the thick fabric of his coat.

he scoffs against your shoulder, patting your back and pulling away from you to look you dead in the eye. “yeah, yeah, i missed you too.”

you share a small laugh, an even gentler smile, and you step aside to let him in. it’s the first place of yours that he’s never experienced. sure, he’d seen it in photos and facetime calls, but he’s never been here in person, the first place that is wholly you: no family, no friends, no college roommates. the essence of the apartment belongs solely to you.

and he sees that, sees you everywhere he looks. it’s in the way your shoes are organized by the front door, in the way that you keep one of his old jackets (stolen months before he left for new york) hung up on the coat rack, in the way that the photograph centered on your endtable isn’t one of your family but one of you two; it was snapped on senior prom night, which he hadn’t been able to attend due to his bad grades, but he’d gotten dressed up all nice for you anyways, so that you’d have nice pictures of the two of you together, even if he couldn’t be your date like you’d planned.

“nice place,” he remarks, looking around and taking in the parts of you he doesn’t know; books lined up on the shelves of your tv console, record player next to it, the succulents on the window sill. “better than that shithole you were living in when i left.”

you let out a breathy laugh, roll your eyes, close the front door behind you. “you mean the dorms? anything is better than that.”

you follow him deeper into your space, watching the way he watches everything else, takes everything in, like he’s relearning you from scratch. almost every second of the day, carmen is on, burner cranked up to high, one of the most intense people you’ve ever met, but here, you can tell he’s set to simmer, introspective in a way he’s not when he’s at work. it’s nice to see him with his guard down like this, cerulean eyes wide and searching.

the silence stretches out between you, but it doesn’t snap like a rubber band like you thought it would. quiet used to be easy with him and you’d been worried that the distance and time apart would change that, but it hasn’t; it’s still just as comforting as it had been.

but you have to break it, clearing your throat and looking away out the window. the sun is setting behind tall buildings, casting the sky a burnt orange (terracotta, maybe, you think). and with your string lights that glow soft, flaxen gold over your equally as soft sheer curtains, quiet music playing from spotify on your tv, this could not be a more romantic moment, at least in your mind.

“i worried about you, y’know… when you were in new york,” you say quietly, eyes trained on some point beyond the horizon. “i never really knew what you were up to over there and you were so far away… i don’t know, i guess i just missed being able to make sure you were taking care of yourself.”

his sneakers move gentle against the floorboards as he turns his whole body to face you. when you glance at him, he has an expectant look on his face like he knows you have more you want to say; whatever piece of you that knows him better than anything else, he has it too, he’s always been able to anticipate anything from you.

you shrug, look down at the floor. “i thought i’d be able to stop worrying when you came back ‘cause if you needed me, you’d be a train ride away again, but… carmy, you’ve been back for weeks and i think i’m worrying about you more than i did when you were gone.”

“you don’t gotta worry ‘bout me; sugar does enough of that for the both of ya,” he replies, voice soft in a way that he’s always reserved for you, special and one of a kind.

with a nod, you look back up at him, meet him with another shrug. “no, i know. just can’t help it, i guess… think i’ll always worry about you, one way or another.”

his hands fidget in the pockets of his coat, flexing and unflexing, rustling against the material. he lets out a sigh, looks out that same window, the sun lower than before. “i worried about you too. you can take care’a yourself, but… i was worried nobody’d have your back the way i do.”

“i mean… i have sugar and fak and them, i had mikey, but… they aren’t you. nobody could replace you.”

and when he looks back at you, you think he realizes that you mean it in more than one way. he’s not just your defender in everything, some self-appointed knight in shining armor; he’s the love of your life, has been for years probably. he stands here in the middle of your apartment that is every bit him as it is you and he sees you. his eyes lay you bare, roll out your psyche, understand you in a way that no potential romantic interest from the past few years has been able to because he has his own brand of knowing you, one that you’re so used to that it feels wrong coming from anyone else.

and he knows that just from staring at you. the inches between you feel like miles and your fingers twitch with unsnapped tension; you swear his do too because like clockwork, his feet scuff against your hardwood floor and he closes the distance, hands out of his pockets to cradle your face in them.

“you mean that?” he questions, his breath hot against your lips. his palms are calloused and warm, and you’re learning the feel of them in a way you’ve never had them before because this is new, but it’s what you’ve wanted for ages.

you nod, your eyelids fluttering and breath shallow. this close to him, you can make out all of the imperfections in his skin, the little dips and freckles. “wouldn’t lie about somethin’ like that, carmy. you know that.”

“just wanted to hear you say it, sweetheart.”

when he kisses you, it is unpracticed and unrefined but perfect in all the important ways: it’s him and he tastes like cigarettes covered up with spearmint gum and he is so warm. you kiss him back like you’re trying to make sure he knows the taste of your love, like a fine wine aged for years; you think he notices it.

“don’t worry about me no more,” he says against you without pulling away.

“that’s kinda my job,” you reply with a short, breathy laugh, your hands curling into the rough fabric of his coat.

“doesn’t need to be. i’ll take care of us.”

the words cut deep into a part of you that has gone untouched for years, something reserved for carmy and carmy alone. and he knows it’s there now, treats it with all the delicateness in the world as he kisses you again, apologizes for not realizing sooner, promises to make up for lost time. his touch, new and exciting, sets you alight everywhere and you are born again like phoenix out of ashes. to be loved like this by him is something you’ve dreamt of for years and now it’s yours and you don’t plan on letting go.

i’ll take care of us. you believe him.

© lskisms 2023. do not translate, copy, or repost my work on any site.

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again 1/14/2024

"surely this will be the worst book i read as part of this gay and lesbian erotica project," i say with faint hope. while i was discussing it with my bestie via facetime mackintosh completely gave up killing mr cactus so i can only assume she was KO'd by this book too

patch notes: split up the reading section into "article" and "not an article" for easier navigation

listening

another one for the "SOMEBODY COME FUCK THIS (GAY)" playlist. just fun horny pop with some sick riffs. thank you spotify weekly recs.

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reading (article)

sometimes i think i've found a completely new type of guy, and then i find out what flavor of engineering he's retired from (metallurgical) and it suddenly makes him a known and cataloged typed of guy and i know where to shelve him. very charming home website, very charming writeup about buying out failing pinball businesses, the difficulties of production, and just like the love of the game? as a loving maintainer of things myself, i am fascinated by other loving maintainers.

i also had some very loose thoughts about cycles of games in various categories of play in general but then looked up some stuff to make sure i knew what the fuck i was talking about and guess what! i don't.

"There's a cycle of pinball. It's like a seven-year cycle, ups and downs and so forth," Young said. "Peak might have been about 1992 if you look at the number of games produced. It was like 120,000 games." But, from there, Young said, it was a steady decline of roughly 10 percent per year. ... Young eventually bought out Gottlieb's backlog of parts and numerous pieces of manufacturing equipment, operating a revenue share with the company for a time before taking outright control of the inventory. That's how The Pinball Resource became the de facto source for all things Gottlieb, but it wouldn't end there. "We've picked up all these pieces as the pinball business has shrunk and fallen apart," Young said. "I sat down once with a yellow pad, and I started writing down the number of distributors that I bought their stock, right? And I filled the side of the page and turned the page over before I got done." ... "This is probably one of the world's largest collections of schematics," Young said. "Every Gottlieb schematic in the world is in that filing cabinet." Schematics from other manufacturers sit nearby, along with endless manuals covering games from many brands and eras. I told him that the 1986 Williams machine High Speed was my favorite. Ten seconds later, he had the original manual in hand.

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reading (not an article)

and now for the erotica. this has four stars on goodreads and i have zero fucking clue why.

this is published in 2010 by Intaglio and is the author's eleventh novel. it is difficult to believe this is her eleventh novel and that she had beta readers (who she thanks) bc there is very little internal consistency. unpleasant paper texture also.

Professor Tess Rawlins spent the last twelve years teaching agriculture in California, away from Montana and her heart. When she’s called back to the sprawling Double R cattle ranch and her ailing father, Tess is thrown back into the world she had nearly forgotten since the death of her brother two years earlier. Unsettling memories boil to the surface for Tess, and her only pleasant distraction is the new cook Claire Redman and her son Jack. However, there is more facing Professor Rawlins than dealing with the memory of her brother or her attraction to Claire. Tess must figure a way to save the Rawlins’s five thousand acres of rich grassland. It has thrived for five generations, when her great-grandfather started the dynasty in the 1880s; now she may lose it all to an unscrupulous land developer. Set in the foothills of the Bitterroots, Tess and Claire find themselves in the fight of their lives—for love and the sea of grass.

the only fun bit of construction is the beginning, with a prologue starring Tess's beloved great-uncle at the university he teaches at, and then a time skip to his great-niece in the same room teaching at the same university worrying about a lot of the same things. other than that, not a well constructed book, from a technical standpoint. in the first eighteen pages: seventeen laughs, ten grins, seven smiles, four cheek kisses, and three regular kisses. and a partridge in a pear tree. this will continue throughout the book. sometimes people will laugh more than once in a sentence. sometimes three people will laugh as a dialogue tag back to back. it has a very Go Dog Go early reader feel at times. it is difficult to believe real alive humans would say some of this dialogue. erotic. EROTIC. extremely erotic!!!

not a lot of internal consistency either: they get very worried about how they lost more calves than they thought they would and then ten pages later they are like actually we lost almost none! there are abrupt seasonal changes from what is established to be early April with snow on the ground to a blazingly hot afternoon necessitating dunking your whole head in a water trough within a (again, established! In the text!) week. one chapter it’s September and the next chapter they’re talking about the Fourth of July rodeo next month. i had to reread a page three times to figure out how they teleported to the middle of the pasture from the middle of the kitchen and not in a “and they found themselves outside” way. someone goes from leaning on a counter to leaning on a fence post.

the murder mystery resolves by someone going to jail but we never actually find out what happened. like ever. there is a fade to black after a fight in the street bc Tess has a hunch and suddenly the guy is in jail. how did her brother die? and why? who knows! the romantic progression also makes wild stuttering leaps forward. there is a very halfhearted jealousy subplot with a man. there is a third act breakup for no plausible reason, and the love interest is essentially kidnapped off a train, dragged back to the ranch, and everyone claps. literally claps.

not very coherent or detail-oriented. some of the most lackluster sex scenes i have ever read. not really sure why this one is sandwiched between two fade to black scenes.

this made me appreciate last week's book way more bc while it was not for me, it was at least coherent and had interesting progressions of both characters and events.

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watching

Night Train to Munich (1940, dir. Reed).

Carol Reed’s Night Train to Munich is a twisting, turning, cloak-and-dagger delight, combining comedy, romance, and thrills with the greatest of ease. Paced like an out-of-control locomotive, Night Train takes viewers on a journey from Prague to England to the Swiss Alps as Nazis pursue a Czech scientist and his daughter (Margaret Lockwood), who are being aided by a debonair British undercover agent, played by Rex Harrison. This captivating, long-overlooked adventure—which features Paul Henreid and a clever screenplay by Frank Launder and Sidney Gilliat, best known for writing Alfred Hitchcock’s The Lady Vanishes—is a deftly concocted spy game that could give the Master of Suspense a run for his money.

i don't think it's as briskly paced as the criterion collection (above) thinks it is, but it was a good, tense watch. darkly, dryly funny-- there's a copy of Gone With The Wind on a newsstand between copies of Mein Kampf.

THE most high-stakes fake dating ever devised. they are constantly swooning over each other and the instant they are alone they are hissing at each other about how if you could FIND it in your HEART to find me ANYWHERE IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD OF ATTRACTIVE, maybewecanwiggleoutofthispickle!!! i do not typically like fake dating but this fucked, thank u carol reed director of my heart

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playing

i have been playing genshin impact since 1.0 and this week have discovered one chest in each of the two earliest areas. do i have eyes at all. do i know how to use them. the first case i had to pick every carrot in a patch, in the second case i had to kick some medium-strong enemies to the curb before accidentally knocking over an archery target. and apparently i have not done either of those things for four fucking years! it's kind of wild how much the game has moved away from hidden chests and puzzles like that.

one other annoyance: this game Does Not Want to let me climb on balloons. this is in the teapot, a place where you can stash furnishings and companions and make little scenes, but can i go to the cool balloon? no. fuck you.

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making

my allergies have been acting up even after diligent cleaning and filter changing and vigorous cat brushing and letting the debri from all that die back down. have YOU ever taken all the little glass shades off all your ceiling fans and bathroom light fixtures and put them through the dishwasher? i don't think anyone had ever cleaned the fans in this apartment. ever.

[goodbyeyellowbrickcloset]

Midnights in Wonderland: Follow ME! Down The Rabbit Hole

“If I had a world of my own, everything would be nonsense. Nothing would be what it is because everything would be what it isn’t. And contrary-wise, what it is, it wouldn’t be, and what it wouldn’t be, it would. You see?” – Alice in Wonderland (1951)

I want to be clear: I didn’t discover this sync. But when I first heard whispers of Midnights in Wonderland nearly two years ago, I knew I had to sit with it, comb through every detail, and try to understand why Taylor Swift would structure an album to align with Alice in Wonderland (1951).

What I found was something more layered than I ever expected.

This is not Dark Side of the Rainbow (The Wizard of Oz + Dark Side of the Moon). This is not about Taylor simply being inspired by Alice in Wonderland. This is about time, disillusionment, queerness, waking up from illusion, and realizing the fantasy isn’t real.

If you want to experience Midnights in Wonderland for yourself, here’s how:

How To Watch Midnights In Wonderland

1. Start the 1951 Alice in Wonderland movie and wait until 3 minutes and 31 seconds in. (31 is 13, backwards).

2. Press play on Midnights (3AM Edition) – in reverse order (starting with “Dear Reader” and working backward to “Lavender Haze”). Midnights in Wonderland Playlist

3. You'll notice track 3 (“Anti-Hero”) and track 8 (“Vigilante Shit”) are switched, the theory here is that we believe Taylor foreshadowed this by flipping the phone upside down in Midnights Mayhem With Me (8/3, of course).

4. The sync will end right before the movie concludes at 1 hour and 13 minutes (1:13, of course).

→ I like to have the volume on for the movie until the music starts and to turn the movie volume back on so you can hear the conclusion to the movie.

What you’ll witness is an eerie, stunning, startlingly perfect alignment of music and visual storytelling.

So the question is—why Alice? Why would Taylor choose to layer Midnights over this particular fantasy? Why not The Wizard of Oz, given how deep her Oz references run? Why this story of a girl lost in nonsense, trying to find her way back to reality?

That’s what we’re about to unpack.

Follow The White Rabbit: What Is Midnights in Wonderland Really Saying?

“If you don’t know where you want to go, then it doesn’t matter which path you take.” – The Cheshire Cat

This theory isn’t just about visual syncs. It’s about what the story of Alice means in contrast to what Midnights is trying to say.

Here’s what I discovered while analyzing this theory—a series of questions I asked myself, followed by my own answers.

1. The Intention Behind The Sync

"Never take advice from someone who's falling apart" - Taylor Swift

Q: If this sync is real, why Alice in Wonderland? Why not The Wizard of Oz itself, given how deep Taylor’s Oz references run? A: Maybe because Dark Side of Oz is already a phenomenon, and she wouldn’t repeat it. Midnights is obsessed with clocks, time, and spirals, which aligns with the Alice in Wonderland narrative.

Q: What is she trying to convey by layering Midnights over this particular film? Is it about disillusionment? Escapism? The loss of childhood wonder? A: I think all of the above. Beginning with Dear Reader sets a very sobering tone to the fantastical journey that we embark on throughout Wonderland. The fact that Taylor refers to the audience of the song as ‘readers’, sure it could be about reading her lyrics, but regardless it's a wonderful way to visually introduce the story of a historic fantasy novel. So, yes, I believe that the layering from there on out explores escapism, loss of childhood wonder, and disillusionment.

Q: Could this be a commentary on looking back at your past self and realizing how naive you once were? (Much like Alice waking up from Wonderland.) A: Totally. In the beginning of the movie, before you start the soundtrack, Alice is hanging out with her cat, listening to her older sister read a book while daydreaming about her own fantasy world. As she starts the journey that leads her to the rabbit hole (into what is ultimately a dream), the music begins and we take the journey throughout the movie and album. As Lavender Haze concluding (remember we are listening to the album backwards), the caterpillar blows a puff of purple smoke into Alice's face and asks, "Who are you?" Alice runs into a spiral haze of purple and then wakes up to her sister saying, "Alice?! Will you kindly pay attention and recite your lesson?" bringing her back to reality. Taylor herself recognizes Midnights is a reflection of sleepless nights, and the visual journey ends with her in the same place she started.

Q: Is this a reflection of how Taylor views her past eras? Has she been living in a Wonderland-like dream state, and now she’s waking up? A: Absolutely. Midnights feels like a retrospective album, with each song revisiting a different chapter of her life—almost like flipping through a dream journal filled with past versions of herself. Tracks like Question...?, You’re On Your Own, Kid, and Karma allude to distinct personal experiences, much like a collection of memories pieced together from her different eras. When paired with Alice in Wonderland, the visual alignment becomes striking. Dear Reader sets the introspective tone as Alice enters the unknown, The Great War plays as the animated flowers sing about memories and growth, and Anti-Hero overlays the Mad Hatter’s chaotic tea party, reinforcing themes of identity struggles and self-perception. These moments suggest that Taylor isn’t just reflecting—she’s exploring the dreamlike nature of her past and whether she’s finally waking up from it.

Q: Dark Side of Oz works because The Wizard of Oz has such an intense emotional journey—does Alice in Wonderland have the same impact, or is this sync meant to show how detached or disoriented Taylor feels in this era?

A: Alice in Wonderland doesn’t follow the same emotional structure as The Wizard of Oz—instead of a clear beginning, middle, and resolution, it’s a series of strange encounters that leave Alice more confused than when she started. Syncing Midnights with Alice in Wonderland feels like an intentional way to mirror that sense of disorientation.

Taylor’s songwriting on Midnights is deeply personal, structured like pages from a diary rather than a linear narrative. The album is full of self-examination, contradictions, and fragmented emotions—just like Alice’s journey through Wonderland. Pairing these introspective lyrics with the chaotic visuals of Alice in Wonderland adds depth to both; it makes Wonderland feel less like a whimsical escape and more like a metaphor for the confusion, loneliness, and exhaustion of adulthood. In this way, Midnights feels like a grown-up’s reflection on the instability of Wonderland—what once felt magical now feels overwhelming, and waking up might be just as painful as the dream itself.

2. Alice As A Stand-In For Taylor

"Who...are...you?" – Caterpillar

Q: Alice follows the White Rabbit into Wonderland—was there a “rabbit hole” moment for Taylor that changed everything for her? A: Taylor’s “rabbit hole” moment seems to be the decision to turn her life into art—to use her personal experiences as the foundation of her songwriting. From the moment she started writing about her own emotions, relationships, and struggles, she set herself on a path where reality and storytelling would always be intertwined.

In Midnights, "Dear Reader" feels like the moment she acknowledges just how deep she’s gone. It’s not just about where she is now—it’s about the entire journey that led her here. She’s addressing the listener (the “reader”) as if we’ve been following the story all along, warning us that she’s reached a place she can’t easily escape from. The narrative and visual storytelling of Alice in Wonderland parallels this perfectly. Just like Alice falls further and further into an unpredictable, surreal world, Taylor’s career has been a continuous descent into deeper layers of meaning, performance, and coded storytelling. The deeper she goes, the harder it becomes to separate reality from the mythos she’s created around herself.

Q: Alice constantly shrinks and grows. Does this reflect Taylor’s experiences in fame—sometimes feeling larger than life, other times feeling small and powerless? A: Absolutely. Taylor has spoken often about the duality of being a global superstar while still feeling deeply human. The Anti-Hero music video directly plays with this idea—Taylor appears as a giant at a small, intimate tea party, struggling to fit into a world that suddenly feels too small for her. It’s a visual metaphor for the way fame has made her larger than life, yet unable to fully belong in ordinary spaces.

In the Midnights in Wonderland sync, Alice’s rapid shrinking and growing mirrors this tension perfectly. The first time Alice shrinks to a tiny size happens during Would’ve, Could’ve, Should’ve—a song heavy with themes of regret, power imbalance, and vulnerability. The constant fluctuations in size throughout the film reflect Taylor’s own struggle with navigating the extremes of her existence—being idolized and scrutinized, feeling untouchable yet incredibly exposed. The world either makes her feel too big, like an overwhelming force, or too small, like she has no real control. Alice’s disorienting experience in Wonderland serves as a powerful parallel to Taylor’s own battle with identity under the weight of fame.

Q: Alice is lost, trying to navigate a nonsensical world. Is Midnights Taylor’s way of expressing the experience of feeling lost, disoriented, or manipulated by the industry? A: Throughout Midnights, Taylor explores the disillusionment that comes with fame, power, and the entertainment industry’s ever-shifting rules. In the Midnights in Wonderland sync, Alice’s journey mirrors this experience—she trusts figures along the way, only to be misled, trapped, or forced into bizarre situations that make no logical sense. This feels like an allegory for Taylor’s navigation of the music industry, where she’s had to decipher who truly has her best interests at heart and who is simply playing a game.

The Mad Hatter’s tea party is one of the most striking parallels. Alice arrives at what seems to be a lively, welcoming space, but the rules of the conversation keep shifting, and nothing she says is ever quite right. This could represent Taylor’s experience in an industry that expects her to constantly reinvent herself, answer to critics, and adhere to standards that change at the whims of those in power.

The Queen of Hearts scene is another moment that aligns with Taylor’s industry struggles. The Queen changes the rules of the game on a whim, unfairly winning the croquet match and demanding absolute loyalty. She disposes of anyone who doesn’t comply. This could reflect Taylor’s past experiences with executives, critics, or media figures who have manipulated narratives, tried to control her career, or written her off when she didn’t play by their expectations.

Through Midnights, Taylor tells a story of trying to make sense of a world that often feels absurd and unfair—just like Alice, who must navigate Wonderland’s chaos while clinging to her own sense of reality.

Q: The Cheshire Cat is known for leading Alice astray while acting like a guide. Are there figures in Taylor’s life who have done the same? A: The Cheshire Cat is one of the most cryptic figures in Alice in Wonderland, constantly appearing and disappearing, offering guidance that is both enlightening and misleading. In the context of Midnights in Wonderland, this character could symbolize figures in Taylor’s life who have influenced her, whether positively or manipulatively, leaving her questioning what is real and what is an illusion.

One possible interpretation is that the Cheshire Cat represents Taylor’s evolving understanding of her own identity—particularly her queerness. The cat’s distinct color palette aligns with the bi-pride flag, and its tendency to appear at moments of confusion or transition mirrors the way queer identity can feel both liberating and disorienting in a world that demands clear labels. If Taylor has spent years navigating an industry and a society that forces her to compartmentalize her public image and private truth, then the Cheshire Cat’s elusive nature could reflect that inner struggle—the push and pull between visibility and secrecy.

On a broader level, the Cheshire Cat might also represent people in Taylor’s life who have played dual roles as mentors, enablers, or even deceivers. Whether industry figures, former friends, or relationships that left her feeling lost, there’s an undeniable theme in Midnights of being led astray while searching for answers.

As the Cheshire Cat tells Alice: “We’re all mad here.” Perhaps Taylor, like Alice, has spent years trying to make sense of a world that thrives on contradiction, only to realize that sometimes, the only way forward is to embrace the uncertainty.

Q: The Queen of Hearts rules through chaos and irrationality—does Taylor see herself as someone who has to play along with the madness to survive? A: The Queen of Hearts is the ultimate symbol of erratic power—ruling through fear, demanding blind loyalty, and punishing those who step out of line. In Alice in Wonderland, her commands make little sense, yet everyone scrambles to obey, terrified of her infamous “Off with their heads!” decree. This kind of oppressive authority feels eerily familiar when thinking about the power structures in the music industry, where one wrong move can result in an artist being blacklisted, misrepresented, or turned into a villain overnight.

Taylor, like Alice, has had to navigate an industry full of unpredictable rulers—whether they be executives, critics, or even public opinion itself. To survive, she has often had to “play the game,” strategically choosing when to comply and when to push back. But much like Alice in the court scene, there have been moments where Taylor has grown in stature, asserting her influence in ways that challenge the power structures around her. The most obvious example is her Lover-era battle for her masters, where she stood up to the music industry’s own version of the Queen of Hearts and refused to be silenced.

However, just as Alice realizes the Queen's power is ultimately flimsy—built on intimidation rather than real strength—Taylor seems to understand that her true power isn’t in conforming, but in outlasting. By staying in control of her narrative, she continues to grow larger in the industry, becoming an entity even the so-called rulers can’t ignore. The Queen of Hearts thrives on absolute control, but Taylor has proven that she can thrive by doing the opposite—reinventing herself, adapting, and refusing to let anyone dictate her path.

In the end, just as Alice wakes up and leaves Wonderland behind, perhaps Taylor is working toward a future where she no longer has to play along with the madness to survive.

3. Midnights As The Anti-Wonderland

“I can’t go back to yesterday because I was a different person then.” – Alice

Q: Wonderland is a place of nonsense, fantasy, and illusion. Is Midnights an anti-fantasy, the realization of hard truths in the cold light of reality? A: Yes. If Alice in Wonderland represents the whimsical, unpredictable dream-state of Taylor’s past eras—where love, fame, and identity were experienced in larger-than-life, surreal terms—then Midnights is the stark moment of waking up. It’s the cold, quiet hours spent reflecting on everything that once seemed magical, only to realize how distorted and deceptive it might have been.

Unlike past albums that *supposedly* leaned into storytelling and character work (Folklore, Evermore), Midnights is intensely biographical. The emotions are raw, the self-reflection is sharp, and the illusions have shattered. Where Wonderland thrives on the nonsensical—contradictions, paradoxes, and a world where rules change on a whim—Midnights is structured, intentional, and brutally honest. It takes the experiences that once seemed like fairytales and holds them up against reality, forcing Taylor (and the listener) to acknowledge what was real and what was merely a fantasy she wanted to believe in.

A key lyrical choice in Midnights is her frequent use of “you” instead of specific pronouns or names. This technique makes the songs feel personal yet universal, almost like a diary written in code. It mirrors the feeling of waking up from a dream where the details are blurry, but the emotions linger. We don’t always know exactly who she’s talking to—but that’s part of the point. In Wonderland, identities shift, characters contradict themselves, and meanings are fluid. In Midnights, the themes of secrecy, longing, and disillusionment take center stage, but the details remain just out of reach—mirroring Taylor’s own experience of grappling with a reality that doesn’t always match the fantasy she once lived in.

So if Wonderland was the dream, Midnights is the reckoning. It’s the moment of realization that some fantasies were just that—fantasies. But instead of running from the truth, she lingers in it, analyzing every sleepless thought and making peace with the chaos of both the dream and the awakening.

Q: Is Midnights Taylor waking up from the dream of the past—whether that’s fame, a relationship, or her own illusions about life? A: Midnights feels like a reckoning with the illusions Taylor has carried—whether about love, fame, or even her own identity. The album is deeply introspective, filled with moments of clarity that cut through the haze of past experiences. If Wonderland represents the fantasy—the whirlwind of romance, success, and the world she built around her—then Midnights is her stepping back and asking, Was any of it real?

As I've said, “Dear Reader” sets the tone right from the start of the sync, as Alice falls down the rabbit hole. The song itself acts as a cautionary letter to both the listener and Taylor’s younger self, warning that nothing is ever as it seems. It’s a significant opening because it frames the entire journey as one of reflection—looking back on past choices, past relationships, and past personas with a more critical, perhaps even cynical, lens.

Watching Midnights in Wonderland with the tracklist played in reverse order is particularly striking. The final song becomes “Lavender Haze,” where Taylor pleads to stay in the fog of illusion, resisting the pressures of reality. This mirrors Alice’s own journey: after all the chaos and confusion of Wonderland, she finally wakes up to the mundane reality of everyday life. The dream ends, but what comes next?

That’s the lingering question. Midnights doesn’t necessarily resolve the tension—it sits in the space between the dream and the wake-up call, between nostalgia and hard truths. If this album is Taylor coming to terms with what was real and what wasn’t, then the real story lies in what she chooses to do with that knowledge. Does she stay in the Lavender Haze, or does she finally step into a world of screaming color? That’s the question she leaves us with, and only time will tell how she chooses to answer it.

Q: In Alice in Wonderland, time is chaotic, controlled by external forces (The White Rabbit is obsessed with being late). Does this mirror Taylor’s own struggles with time—her career milestones, aging in the public eye, or the pressure to keep moving? A: Absolutely. Time, both as a theme and a source of anxiety, is central to Midnights. Taylor has always been hyper-aware of time—whether it’s the ticking clock of her career, the way the public fixates on her age, or the fleeting nature of relationships. In Alice in Wonderland, the White Rabbit is frantically running, always worried about being late, much like how Taylor has expressed feeling the pressure to evolve, reinvent, and stay ahead in an industry that demands constant motion.

Throughout Midnights in Wonderland, this theme is reinforced visually and musically. In Bigger Than The Whole Sky, which plays during a moment of reflection and loss, the White Rabbit bursts in, disrupting the moment with his panic—just as Taylor often finds herself forced to move forward before she’s ready. This aligns with how she’s spoken about the relentless pace of fame, where there’s rarely a moment to grieve, process, or simply exist.

One of the most significant moments in the sync happens during the tea party scene, where Bejeweled and Anti-Hero play. Here, the chaotic, nonsensical nature of Wonderland reaches a peak, and the clock—representing control, structure, and the passage of time—is destroyed. This feels like a turning point, both in Alice’s journey and in Taylor’s storytelling. If time is shattered, if the rules no longer apply, what happens next?

Taylor has never been one to let time dictate her narrative—she’s constantly rewriting her own story, reclaiming eras, and challenging the expectations placed on her. But Midnights acknowledges the weight of those expectations, the exhaustion of keeping up, and the moments where she just wants to stop the clock entirely. The sync with Alice in Wonderland only reinforces how deeply ingrained this struggle is in her music, her life, and the world she’s built around her.

Q: If Midnights is about sleepless nights and spirals, does that make Wonderland the dream state she’s waking up from? A: Rather than Midnights being the moment of waking up, it feels like the journey through the dream itself—each song a different chapter of a long, disorienting night.

So, what happens when the dream ends? On The Lavender Edition of the album, Taylor includes Hits Different, where she explicitly sings about waking up—unsure if the person at her door is the one she longs for or someone coming to take her away. It’s a jarring shift, a sudden snap back to reality. If Wonderland represents the escapism of Midnights, then Hits Different is the moment Alice opens her eyes and realizes the fantasy is over.

What makes this even more striking is what follows. In The Tortured Poets Department, Taylor trades the rich, whimsical color palette of Midnights for stark black-and-white imagery, positioning herself in an asylum—one of the most extreme visual representations of being trapped in her own mind. If Midnights in Wonderland is her subconscious spinning through illusions, Tortured Poets seems to be the aftermath—where the magic is gone, and she’s left with nothing but cold, harsh reality.

Just as Kansas and Oz exist in striking contrast, so do Midnights and Tortured Poets. It begs the question: is Taylor waking up to clarity, or just a different kind of illusion?

4. The Soundtrack Choice

“It's me, hi, I'm the problem, it's me At tea time, everybody agrees” – Taylor Swift

Q: Why would Taylor specifically create an auditory sync rather than a visual or lyrical one? A: Before Midnights was released, Taylor hinted it was a “visual album,” but instead of traditional music videos for every song, what if the visuals were hidden in something deeper—like Alice in Wonderland?

An auditory sync makes Midnights an immersive experience, aligning with Taylor’s love of layered storytelling. Alice in Wonderland is all about perception vs. reality, and syncing her album to the film could be a way of making us see Midnights in a whole new way—one that questions time, identity, and illusion, much like Alice’s journey itself.

Q: Does she want us to feel the emotional journey rather than just see it? A: The contrast between Alice in Wonderland’s whimsical, colorful world and Midnights’ raw, introspective lyrics is striking. Taylor has always balanced fantasy and reality in her storytelling, and this sync feels like an extension of that—using Wonderland’s playful visuals to heighten the weight of her sleepless-night confessions. It’s not just about seeing the parallels; it’s about feeling the dissonance between escapism and harsh truth.

Q: Is there something about Midnights that lends itself to being experienced alongside a story of confusion, whimsy, and eeriness? A: Absolutely. While Midnights isn't about Alice in Wonderland, its themes of disorientation, self-reflection, and emotional turbulence align seamlessly with the film’s chaotic, dreamlike world. Taylor masterfully intertwines her personal storytelling with Wonderland’s surrealism, making the sync feel almost inevitable—like she used its whimsical setting as a backdrop to amplify the complexity of her own narrative.

Q: Does the reversed track list + song swaps suggest a deliberate restructuring of the Midnights narrative to better fit Wonderland’s progression? A: Listening to Midnights in reverse order undeniably shifts the storytelling arc, especially with how it begins and ends. Reversing the tracklist mirrors Wonderland’s logic-defying nature, creating a sense of disorientation that aligns with the film’s surreal, dreamlike progression. The choice to swap Anti-Hero and Vigilante Shit suggests an intentional reordering, reinforcing the idea of reality unraveling and shifting perspectives.

Alice’s own words—“If I had a world of my own, everything would be nonsense. Nothing would be what it is because everything would be what it isn't”—are spoken just before Dear Reader begins, a song that reads like a warning to question everything. Taylor’s life and career have often been a balancing act between public perception and hidden truths, making this backward sequencing feel like a direct nod to the “two Taylors”—the one the world sees and the one she keeps for herself. As you watch you'll see alllllll the other alignments that show up. It's truly quiet mind blowing.

5. Lyrical Parallels

“Within that world of my own I could listen to a babbling brook And hear a song that I could understand I keep wishing it could be that way Because my world would be a wonderland” – Alice

Q: In a World of My Own is about creating a world where everything makes sense—does Dear Reader contrast this by saying, “Actually, reality is cruel, so stop looking for a fantasy”?

A: Dear Reader is the antithesis of In a World of My Own. Alice dreams of a whimsical place where the world bends to her desires, but Dear Reader warns against that kind of escapism. Taylor’s lyrics feel like a wake-up call, suggesting that what seems idealized or romanticized is often an illusion. The song hints that the comforting, dreamlike version of reality people create for themselves is a performance masking something far more difficult beneath the surface. Wonderland is a fantasy world of talking flowers and friendly creatures, but Taylor’s Midnights rewrites that story into something sharper and more sobering, where the "rabbit hole" might lead somewhere much darker.

Q: The Mad Hatter’s tea party is chaotic and nonsensical—does this align with Karma’s playful but slightly manic tone?

A: While Karma doesn’t play during the tea party scene, the sentiment fits. In the sync, the tea party unfolds to Bejeweled and Anti-Hero, both of which tap into themes of performance and instability. The Mad Hatter’s world operates on erratic, surreal logic—much like Bejeweled, where Taylor sparkles through the chaos, and Anti-Hero, where she confronts her own demons in a theatrical, exaggerated way. The energy of the tea party, with its dizzying conversations and unpredictable shifts, echoes the hyper-aware, slightly unhinged mood that runs through these songs. It’s the moment Alice realizes she’s truly surrounded by nonsense—just as Taylor grapples with the performative, often absurd nature of fame and self-image.

Q: The Queen of Hearts is a tyrant who demands blind loyalty—does Vigilante Shit speak to taking power back from a controlling force?

A: I think so. The Queen of Hearts rules through fear, demanding obedience and using public executions as a spectacle of control. The fact that Vigilante Shit syncs with this moment in the film feels almost too perfect—this is the final confrontation, the moment of rebellion. The Queen, much like oppressive forces in Taylor’s own narrative, holds power by manipulating the game in her favor, making the rules up as she goes. But Alice, much like Taylor in Vigilante Shit, refuses to play along. The upside-down track list theory that led to Vigilante Shit aligning with this scene suggests an intentional mirroring—this is the battle, the moment of taking back agency from someone who thrives on control.

Q: The White Rabbit is obsessed with time running out—does You’re on Your Own, Kid capture that same sense of fleeting opportunity and loneliness?

A: You’re on Your Own, Kid is drenched in the panic of running out of time, a feeling that mirrors the White Rabbit’s desperate urgency. He constantly reminds Alice that she’s late, pulling her deeper into the chaotic world of Wonderland. In the same way, Taylor’s song wrestles with the pressure of fleeting moments—of youth, of relationships, of self-discovery. The song builds with the realization that time doesn’t wait for anyone, that you have to carve your own path even if it means doing it alone. Much like Alice chasing the White Rabbit through Wonderland, Taylor chases something elusive, only to realize that in the end, she’s entirely on her own.

Q: Alice in Wonderland is a trip—both figuratively and literally. Does Midnights explore the comedown from an era of delusion or idealism?

A: Midnights feels like a self-aware reflection on the illusions Taylor has lived through. It’s an album that acknowledges the high of believing in something, only to later recognize its flaws. Alice tumbles into Wonderland expecting adventure, only to face confusion, absurdity, and power struggles. Similarly, Midnights revisits Taylor’s past through a more jaded, self-critical lens. It’s a journey through memory, through idealized pasts that don’t quite hold up upon closer examination. The album arrived at a moment in her career when she was actively revisiting her own mythology—re-recording her albums, performing The Eras Tour, and, perhaps, realizing that the fairy tale wasn’t always what it seemed.

6. Queerness in Wonderland

“Curiouser and curiouser!" – Alice

Q: Alice in Wonderland has been analyzed as a queer-coded text, much like The Wizard of Oz. Is Midnights engaging with that same queer lens?

A: AB-SO-FREAKING-LUTELY. Midnights is deeply queer-coded, just as Alice in Wonderland has long been interpreted through a queer lens. The themes of disorientation, identity struggles, and hidden meaning that run through Alice are strikingly similar to the way Taylor constructs Midnights. Many of the songs on the album carry layers of queer storytelling, particularly when examined in the broader context of her work. The album plays with secrecy, longing, and a sense of having to navigate the world under a carefully curated image—sentiments that resonate heavily with queer experiences. And when you start mapping Midnights onto Alice in Wonderland, the connections become even harder to ignore.

Q: Wonderland is a world where nothing is what it seems, and identity is fluid—does this resonate with Taylor’s own relationship with self-expression and queerness?

A: Without a doubt. Alice in Wonderland thrives on contradictions—things aren’t what they appear, words don’t mean what they should, and identity is constantly shifting. Taylor’s work, especially Midnights, leans into these same themes. She blurs reality and illusion, weaving coded references into her music and public image. The dreamlike quality of Alice mirrors Taylor’s own career—where what we see on the surface may not reflect the truth underneath. There’s a deep longing in Midnights for a reality that’s different from the one she’s been confined to. The sync with Alice in Wonderland only emphasizes the idea that she exists in a world of contradictions, caught between what’s real and what’s a performance.

Q: The phrase “down the rabbit hole” is often used to describe falling into a new way of seeing the world. Did Taylor have a moment where she “woke up” to a new understanding of herself?

A: Taylor’s entire career has been a long journey through the rabbit hole—one where she has hidden, revealed, and rewritten parts of herself through storytelling. If Midnights represents the descent, then every coded Easter egg she’s left behind is part of that journey. And really, what’s more fitting than the idea of Taylor Swift—queen of Easter eggs—laying metaphorical “eggs” throughout her career as she navigates the world? A rabbit hole isn’t just a place you fall into—it’s a maze, full of twists, illusions, and revelations. The day Taylor stops leaving breadcrumbs for us to follow might be the day she finally climbs out of it. But does she even want to leave? Wonderland is full of color, hidden meaning, and magic. Maybe she’s exactly where she wants to be.

7. The Eras Tour Clock + Time Motif

“If you knew Time as well as I do, you wouldn’t talk about wasting it. It’s him!” – The Mad Hatter

Q: The giant ticking clock in the Eras Tour is reminiscent of the White Rabbit’s obsession with time—does this suggest Midnights and Alice in Wonderland are deeply connected?

A: Almost assuredly. The White Rabbit’s frantic anxiety about time slipping away mirrors the way Midnights fixates on late nights, nostalgia, and the haunting passage of time. Taylor’s use of a massive, looming clock in the Eras Tour stage design reinforces this parallel—it’s as if she’s acknowledging that time has always been one of her biggest struggles, both personally and professionally. The ticking clock in Alice in Wonderland isn’t just about running late; it’s about being controlled by time, about feeling like you’re constantly chasing something you may never catch. Midnights shares that same sentiment—reflecting on past moments, lost opportunities, and the relentless forward march of life in the spotlight.

Q: Taylor references time CONSTANTLY in Midnights. Does this parallel Wonderland’s distorted perception of time?

A: Without a doubt. In Alice in Wonderland, time bends, halts, and warps—it’s unreliable, dictated by forces beyond Alice’s control. Midnights operates the same way. The album is non-linear, jumping through past heartbreaks, regrets, and moments of clarity as if Taylor is unstuck in time, revisiting versions of herself that still haunt her. The imagery of clocks, sleepless nights, and “moments that turned into something bigger” all contribute to this sense that she is grappling with time as an illusion—just like Alice. The Eras Tour clock only cements this idea further.

8. If This Was Her Plan, What Comes Next?

“Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?” – Alice

Q: If Taylor deliberately created this sync, what’s her endgame?

A: Taylor has built her career on storytelling, symbolism, and an almost obsessive attention to detail. She knows her audience thrives on unraveling hidden meanings, and this sync feels like another puzzle she’s left for those who are willing to look deeper. If Midnights truly aligns with Alice in Wonderland, then perhaps the next step is not just waking up from the dream but understanding why she needed the dream in the first place. While some theories suggest The Tortured Poets Department might sync with Dead Poets Society, I haven’t analyzed that theory in depth yet. But what I do know is that Alice in Wonderland is a journey into the unknown, and Midnights is Taylor’s most self-reflective album yet—so wherever she’s taking us next, it will likely continue peeling back the layers of performance and illusion she’s been building for years.

Q: Is Midnights her realization era—her breaking free from Wonderland?

A: I think it’s a turning point, but not the end of the journey. Midnights is deeply introspective, but it doesn’t feel like complete liberation—it feels like a reckoning. The album is full of hindsight, regret, and the desire to rewrite history. If Alice in Wonderland represents a dream state, Midnights could be the moment before waking—where you’re half-conscious, aware that you’re dreaming but not quite ready to leave. She’s still tangled in nostalgia, secrets, and the tension between fantasy and reality.

Q: If she’s leaving clues about waking up from the fantasy, what is she waking up to?

A: I think she has shown us that she’s waking up to The Tortured Poets Department. If Midnights was about navigating the disorienting haze of fame, love, and secrecy, Tortured Poets seems to be the stark, raw aftermath. The color has been drained, the whimsical illusions have faded, and she’s confronting the reality that she still isn’t living freely. The shift from Midnights to Tortured Poets feels like going from a surreal, dreamlike place to a stark, clinical reality—almost like waking up in an asylum after falling through the rabbit hole. She’s still dealing with secrecy and heartbreak, still writing about hidden love and longing, but now the magic is gone.

Q: Does this mean The Tortured Poets Department is her post-Wonderland album—more stripped back, raw, and grounded?

A: Yes, but in a way that still feels unresolved. She’s no longer in Wonderland, but she’s not in “screaming color” either. Instead, she’s in black and white. The shift from the whimsical, metaphor-heavy world of Midnights to the grayscale, sterile aesthetic of Tortured Poets suggests she’s still trapped—just in a different way. Instead of navigating the illusions of Wonderland, she’s now sitting with the consequences of waking up. And the question remains: does she want to stay awake, or does she want to dream again?

Conclusion: Are You Ready To Wake Up?

The Midnights in Wonderland sync isn’t just a coincidence. It’s a conversation. A visual, musical, and thematic experiment in how we interpret Taylor’s work.

It’s her Wonderland, but it’s also ours.

So—have you watched the sync? Did anything stand out to you? What are your thoughts on the connections? And more importantly—if Taylor is waking up, what is she waking up to?

Let’s discuss.

(P.S. If you’ve spotted any especially queer-coded moments in the sync, drop them below. I’d love to hear them.) ✨

[dynamic-swap-au-archive]

I'd like to offer gorillaz fans (and Potential gorillaz fans) another resource that I've spent over a year creating and perfecting.

The Gorillaz !

This playlist is, to the best of my ability, Every Single piece of gorillaz content that can be found on youtube in story order.

all of the music videos, all of the indents, all of the interviews, animations, radio shows, news specials, podcasts, audio books, tiktoks, Everything.

on top of that ! I made the decision to include select fan content! because Frankly the gorillaz fandom is unimaginably talented and creative. this includes Fully animating several music videos that were cancelled, but given to us in animatic form, original animations, animatics, and storyboards, fan visualizers and recreations of live visuals, even voice fan dubs for written material like the interviews and novels.

and more than that, with the (incredible) fan content that was available I've Also been able to flesh out the stories of each phase! a decision I made due to the plastic beach, the third album, never getting to finish the story officially (leading to the band breaking up and coming back 7 years later).

I'm so proud of what I've been able to do with it ! and even happier to share the picture I've been able to make as a whole :>

below the cut I'm going to include several other playlists that are based on this one, but made to be more digestible and less intimidating for newcomers ! as well as many other resources to fill in the gaps that this playlist can't ! (namely the written material)

thank you ! and I hope I can share something I love with all of you !

First is the simplest ! all of the music videos in order ! (plus a Few indents, because I can't help myself): [Link]

this obviously means that you lose out on quite a bit of context, as much of who the characters are as People and their relationships together are in the extra material (especially the shorts and interviews). BUT

this is the most Accessible, and also really convenient if you just want to vibe to the music. if you're not sure if you want to commit this kind of time to a cartoon band, consider checking this out! you may find yourself interested enough to learn more, or you may just have a good time and feel satisfied with what you've seen ! either way I'd be honored to have helped :>

Second, the Midpoint between these two extremes !: Phase 1-3 [Link] Phase 4-7 [Link]

these Include extra material like the shorts and animation, but Cuts Out some of the longer content like the podcasts and interviews! you can still get a pretty good idea about what happens in the story of each phase watching this, but it's not bogged down by videos that are hours long.

it'll give you a clearer picture of what's going on, include fun side content, while being less intimidating than the Full playlist. this is what I use to show my friends gorillaz !

alright, so you've got just the music videos and just the short stuff, now lets try just the Long stuff. all of the interviews, radio shows, podcasts, Etc: [Link]

maybe you've used my last playlists and now you'd like to listen to some of those long form videos you missed out on. maybe you just want to listen to these characters talk because it's Nice. either way, it's all here :> (I know, because I had to upload some of them myself)

Pirate Radio: [Link]

it's all here with One technical exception. pirate radio was the serial radio show for plastic beach/phase 3, that gave us insight into murdoc's frame of mind as a character. it Also used copywriten music. the reuploads on youtube cut the music out (likely because they wouldn't be available otherwise), while this google drive has the full unedited audio files if anyone would be interested!

this one may seem redundant, but I promise it isn't. All of the gorillaz albums in order: [Link]

this playlist (for the most part) doesn't Have any visuals, it's Only the music.

likewise, all of the music in the previous playlists are only those songs that Have visuals (official or fan made), which means not all of gorillaz's music is present! which is exactly what this is for :>

you have every album in order, filling in the gaps of what's been missed, As Well As special albums that are Associated with gorillaz, and gorillaz' guest appearances in other people's music !

now we're out of my playlists and into other resources :>

Lobotomy Pop: [Link]

this is a website that's worked for years to preserve and organize Every Single written interview gorillaz has ever done ! it's an invaluable resource and really just very cool.

it also categorizes several other things ! such as listing out all of the personal playlists the gorillaz members have put out over the years, or every profile that's ever been written for the characters ! it's very much so worth checking out as a fan.

Gorillaz Art Archive: [Link]

exactly what is says on the tin ! this is a google drive that's attempting to archive Every Single piece of official gorillaz art that was released from phase 1 in 2001, to phase 5 in 2018. it is Massive and it's such a joy to have access to

The Kong Files: [Link]

if you were wondering why the art archive stopped at 2018, this would be why ! the kong files has much the same goal, but instead picking up at phase 6 and continuing on Theoretically forever ! or at least it's kept up with all of phase 7

that said ! the kong files is attempting to document Everything relating to those phases. so all of the social media, all of the music videos, all of the written text, Everything !

I wouldn't try to Only use this for watching phase 6 and 7, but it's an Excellent resource for everything that could fall between the cracks

Rise of the Ogre on Archive dot Com: [Link]

rise of the ogre was an official novel released at the end of demon days (the second album/phase 2), that covered the entire history of the band up until that point! their backstories, how they met each other, what they'd gotten up to in the 10 years they'd known each other, and the shocking event that happened at the very end of the phase and the band's reaction to it. all leading in to plastic beach, (arguably) the Most story heavy phase of them all.

as I understand it, this novel has been out of print for a very long time and is quite expensive to buy second hand. so ! it's been scanned and uploaded here to the archive! there's actually several more scans available in the gorillaz art archive, but this is the most recent (having been uploaded just earlier this year).

Dawn of the Ogre: [Link]

dawn of the ogre is the fanmade sequel to rise of the ogre, attempting to fill in the gaps of what happened at the end of phase 3, the 7 year gap, and up to the (then) newest point of canon.

this is, of course, unofficial. so this is essentially fancy fanfiction. But it's extremely well done fanfiction that happens to be novel length, attempting to emulate the style of the original novel, and is fully illustrated. along with being available completely for free!

I'd definitely give it a shot, if you're the type of person who's already read rise of the ogre

the gorillaz wiki !: [Link]

I have no clue what the fandom thinks about it, but it was absolutely invaluable both in making my playlist, and becoming a fan at all. with all the work I've done my hope is that people won't need to go digging for themselves, but the Option is certainly always nice !

I'd Especially like to highlight this page [Link] which has transcriptions for all of the pirate radio show episodes !

I feel like there's a lot to find here :>

and of course, my own dynamic swap au archive! [Link]

if you've fallen in love with gorillaz and are desperate for more to sink your teeth into, then I couldn't recommend this enough !

keep in mind that these resources will continue updating ! as new music is created and new fan content is made! I'm keeping my eyes out on a fan project for a fully animated mv right now that I'm sure will make it to my playlists one day :>