#this is just me thinking out loud ignore this

[dadvans]

when I want to run away (I drive off in my car) [bucktommy]

Chimney comes over with an armful of DVDs. Mandated brother-in-law break-up bonding time. Buck is pretty sure that isn’t a thing, at least not the kind that Chimney seems to be suggesting with what are discernibly all romcom titles. Buck is pretty sure Chimney should be taking him out and getting him wasted and encouraging him to get laid, but then again he’s friends with Tommy too so there might be some allegiance at play here.

He groans when Chimney puts on Say Anything.

“What, you actually know a movie made before 2012?”

“Tommy loves this one,” Buck replies. There had been a showing at repertory cinema in July and Tommy had dragged them both to escape the afternoon heat. It had been… sweet. There had maybe been three other people in the place who ignored them in the back row, making out like teenagers.

“Yeah, he’s always been a secret softie,” Chimney says.

“I’d say you should be over at his place with these,” Buck continues, flipping through the titles. Love Actually. The Proposal. Crazy, Stupid, Love. “These are actually his favorites. Wait, was I your second choice?”

“What? No,” Chimney says, but he sounds kind of cagey about it.

“He’s probably too busy cliff diving or BASE jumping.” Buck drops the DVDs. “He was the one who dumped me, remember? I don’t think he’s too hung up to need a chick flick movie marathon.”

“Now that is not true. Secret softie, remember? He’s hurting as much as I’ve ever seen, he just doesn’t wear it on his sleeve like some people.” Chimney gives him a very pointed look. “I bet he stood outside your door a half hour after he left hoping you’d chase after him, feeling like a total idiot.”

That’s new. “Did he tell you that?”

Chimney shrugs. “Maybe not verbatim, but he may have let something slip in a moment of total weakness.”

Buck snorts. “So, what are you doing over here with me and these then?”

“I was maybe hoping I could inspire you into some of your usual Buck heroics,” Chimney admits, then has the gall to look offended when Buck twists to stare at him, confused. “What? I’m a meddler. I notoriously meddle. C’mon, he said some things he wishes he could take back, but maybe he’s not as confident as you give him credit for. He’s a romcom guy. He could use a little woo-ing too, you know. Someone who makes him feel like he’s worth fighting for. A big gesture! Not—not moving in or anything, but just—you see what I’m saying here?”

Buck stares at young John Cusack paused on his TV screen and smiles to himself. “Yeah, I think I might.”

He spends the rest of the day off his couch driving through half the pawn shops in Glendale before he finds himself, sun setting at his back, outside Tommy’s house. He parks between Tommy’s truck in the drive and walks down the sidewalk where Tommy’s kitchen window is lit up and open.

Tommy comes outside thirty seconds later to the sound of Peter Gabriel blasting out of the second hand stereo Buck’d finally found with an aux input at St. Vincent de Paul’s. His mouth twitches as he crosses his arms before he coughs and tucks his head down, briefly.

“Really?” He asks when he blinks back up at Buck, eyes wet like the last time Buck saw him: hope there, fleeting, wanting so badly to swim to the surface and stay. “Wait, did you plug your phone into that thing?”

“Yeah,” Buck says, loud enough over the music the whole neighborhood can probably hear him. “I don’t know how to burn CDs.”

Tommy’s smile finally cracks through, and he nods before taking several careful steps across his dead lawn, feet bare, so he can get two tentative hands on Buck’s hips. “Well, if you want to come inside,” he says, “I can show you.”

[threeacttragedy]

Entry 4 – The One About the Red Bag of Chaos

One of the things that never ceases to amaze me about this fandom is that Whenever Something Good Happens it ALWAYS torpedoes into Something Bad Happening.

Every.

Single.

Time.

And, that’s why we can never have nice things.

Case in point: “Brb” and the elusive Red Bag.

On October 4, we were graced with Luke’s Instagram story of luggage with the caption “Brb.” His picture included two pieces of luggage, a small metal carryon case, and a red bag. The red bag was interesting because it appeared to be – let’s face it, we all stereotyped this into being – a woman’s tote bag of some leathery sort. Lukola Sleuths tracked Luke’s image down to the first-class lounge for British Airways. I mean, we even got a not-so-blurry reflection of Luke in the corner of the luggage. We should have been ecstatic, right? Luke had posted two days in a row (with the first post being the cutesy “Mean Girls” reference to October 3), and Nicola had been peppering the trail with Lukola-laced yumminess since early August. I mean, we should have been biting our nails in excitement waiting to see what Luke or Nicola posted next.

But, no, that’s not what happened.

Instead, hysteria struck fast and hard. Why? Because at some point in her relatively short life, Antonia had danced in front of a red bag at – oh my God, wait for it – an airport! Oh, how the Conscientiously Stupid seized this tidbit of outdated information to terrorize the Sincerely Ignorant straight into shark infested waters!

The problem with this plotline was that (a) the video of Antonia was old, possibly even a few years old; and (b) there was absolutely no evidence the red bag Antonia was dancing in front of even belonged to her! The argument that this was Antonia’s red bag was simply one being pushed by assholes who enjoyed riling up the weaker parts of the fandom. And, let me tell you, these assholes succeed every time.

But, what was dismissed and ignored was the fact Nicola had a red bag in the background of her June 15, 2024 Tatcha post. If you need to see it for yourself, the video is still up on her Instagram grid. In the video, there is a shelf full of handbags of all sizes, and on the bottom of that shelf is, what appears to be, a large red bag (we can deduce this by acknowledging (a) it is red; (b) it is on a shelf full of other bags; and (c) it appears so large it needs to be tucked into the shelf). Is it THE red bag? Who the fuck knows? That is not the point. The point is, it is a red bag of some sort, and this fact should have outweighed the argument that the red bag belonged to Antonia.

But, it didn’t?

Why?

Because the fandom enjoys hysteria?

No, I don’t think it does. I’ve spoken to too many people on the verge of a meltdown to believe they enjoy spiraling.

So, what is it that causes good things to go bad so quickly in this fandom?

In my opinion, the answer lies somewhere between (a) the fandom believing that Lukola is too good to be true; (b) the fandom questioning their own intelligence and intuition; and (c) the fandom doubting the two people at the heart of this ship – Luke and Nicola. It’s strange to me that we would rather trust online bullies pushing their own deranged narratives than trust, at the very least, ourselves.

Whenever a Conscientiously Stupid tries to derail you, or an adjacent (ugh, there’s that word I hate again) pops up trying to make waves, take a moment to take a deep breath, roll your eyes, and have a good laugh (because I’m not going to lie, some of the shit that gets put out there is laugh-out-loud funny). But, most importantly, trust yourself and your intelligence because, if you're still in this fandom, your deductive reasoning skills are a chef's kiss.

And, to finish this story about the elusive red bag, just remember that Nicola posted an amazingly happy picture of herself the day after Luke, on an airplane, in first class on Aerlingus, an affiliate of British Airways that shares its first-class lounge. If these weren’t coordinated posts, I may as well say, “Screw it all,” and go live on a deserted island. Alone. With no phone. And no mascara.

Oh, and let me just slip in here that the elusive red bag quite possibly made an intentional reappearance in Nicola’s October 11 Olaplex story. But, I’ll leave any further speculation about that for a different day.

[angelofwintersky]

snowy night - oneshot

summary: satoru and you are about to go home after your unsuccessful first date, but the car breaks down, making you stay there on a winter night, with no heat and angry glances.

tags: gojo x reader, fluff, winter fic

warnings: none, just swearing

word count: 1.7K

awkward, painful silence sat in the car as you and gojo were driving home from the unsuccessful date you two just had. outside the snow wasn't just gently falling, but pouring from the sky, clouding the windows too, the sun was setting on the horizon, pinkish light illuminating the landscape before you.

your arms were crossed, your gaze looking through the window with slightly narrowed eyes as you try to ignore the white-haired boy sitting next to you with the wheel in his hands and pout on his lips.

you barely even remembered what exactly started the arguement between you two, but you were certain that it was his fault and without an apology, the date shouldn't continue. him acting like the annoying, stubborn person he is, just continued the bickering further, not thinking it would really end the whole date.

well it did.

"going on a date together was a stupid idea to begin with" you think with a quiet huff as your grip on your coat tightens.

all your friends were nagging you to go on a date already, shoko stating that she could see the 'chemistry' between you. well it seems like she's blind, because even when you all are spending time together, you and gojo just cannot get along. never.

could he make you ever smile? yeah that happened sometimes. did you notice that sometime's he's acting like he wants to catch speifically your attention? of course you did. did some of your conversations live rent-free in your head? perhaps.

but.

does that mean that you have to go on a whole ass date just to continue the endless cycle of pushing eachothers buttons? absolutely not.

"are you thinking about how you want to apologise?" he looked at you from the corner off his eye, a suppressed smile tugging on his lips.

"are you?" you glare back. "because if one should apologise that is you and you only."

he just looked back at the road, not ready to admit defeat, but deep down knowing that maybe he shouldn't have tried to make you jealous. at least not on the first date.

"i have nothing to apologise for" he then answered with a shrug, immediately regretting the descision. why was it so hard to just apologise to you? he didn't understand.

"nothing?" you scoff. "you know-"

before you could continue on with your scolding, a loud, sudden sound comes from the front of the car, making you jump a little. the vehicle started to slow down on the snowy road until it eventually stopped, gojo pulling in over just in time.

"what happened?" you glance at him as he's trying to start the engine again, without any success whatsoever.

"no idea" comes the not so helpful answer before gojo opens his door, getting out of the car. "stay inside."

you watch him open the car hood, looking into the car. you follow him, standing next to him in the ankle-deep snow and staring at the vehicle. you place your hands on your hips and lean forward in the hope of seeing something.

"what are we looking at?" you ask.

"i told you to stay inside, it's cold here" he says grumpily, not answering your question.

"oh, so you're suddenly now worried? or just missing that waitress?" you say with a scoff which makes him grin a little.

"so you did become jealous! i knew it!"

"i did not. now stay silent and fix the car, make yourself useful!"

he hums, looking into the vehicle like he is concentrating on something, then back at you.

"i have no idea how this works" he says.

"are you telling me that we're stuck here?" you say every word slowly, frustration penting up in you.

"exactly!" a big smile spreads on his lips. "don't worry, i already told shoko to come and get us."

you narrow your eyes a little bit. the wind was blowing hard, your hair blowing in your face, you felt like you're about to become a snowman if you stand there for more than two minutes.

"then why are we even standing here gojo??"

a dramatic gasp escapes his lips, hand on his heart theatrically.

"c'mon love, not the last name!! did this date mean nothing to you?" he whines.

"you didn't answer my question!" i cross my arms, looking around. we really are in the middle of nowhere. not even street lights were around, it was starting to get dark.

"it's adorable to watch as your cheeks turn red from the cold" he finally answers, not surprising you the least.

"i can't help but feel like you're still trying so hard!"

"and the problem with that...?" his smirk widened, making you a little angrier. if he could've just apologised for flirting with the waitress, you two would be in a so so much better situation, but no that's where he draws the line!

you just leave him there before he could say anything, you get back into the car on the backseat, shivering as you already feel the temperature of the car lower drastically, windows becoming somewhat icy, the seats feeling hard and cold too.

you look around for any blankets but get interrupted by the white haired annoyance, dropping himself on the seat next to you.

a sigh of frustration leaves your lips, crossing your arms as an attempt to warm yourself up while staring outside through the window once again.

the car was pulled over in a quite pretty area, a forest covered in soft snow, the lonely branches of the trees holding the weight quietly, a few crows sitting on them before all of them opens their wings, flying away and only leaving two behind. the restaurant he brought you to was higher on the mountain, making the landscape from there even more beautiful.

of course he had to fuck it up.

the moments were slow, every second lasting decades as you two sat in silence, cold running on your body, the shivering was now undeniable.

you glanced at him, he didn't make any effort to warm himself up, he even took off his coat. suddenly unwanted thoughts started to invade your mind, talking about how warm his body must be.

"aren't you cold?" you ask after a few minutes.

gojo's blue eyes meet yours, at first, for a teeny tiny second he seems like he'll smile but then just pouted instead, his hands fiddling with his clothes. if he just held your hand in his, that would probably make the cold more bearable.

"why? you worried?"

you huff, turning your head away again. you knew that your worry was exactly what he wanted at that moment.

"you're just crazy" you answer, expecting the conversation to continue but he doesn't say another thing.

you look at him again, but as soon as you do, he wraps his black coat around you, trapping you with it and pulling you into his arms, your head against his chest, a small yelp leaving your lips.

his body felt warm, but yours started to feel a little bit warmer somehow. the stiffness leaves you seconds later, even though you try not to melt into the hug too much.

his arms were holding you close, his head rested on top of yours, his heartbeats seemed to speed up even if just a little bit.

"gojo-"

"don't even start a sentence like that" he interrupts you with an almost childish frown on his face.

"you have three seconds to say that before i push you away and drag you into that forest." your voice is threatening but somehow he still managed to hear the smile in your tone that you tried to hide with every fiber of your body.

"c'mon, don't be cruel!" gojo whined, glancing down at you.

"two..."

his grip around you slightly tightened as if he was afraid that you'd really pull away.

"one-"

"fine, i love you!!" he said as fast as he could, his gaze turned away.

your breath hitches, eyes widen at the sudden confession, you feel like you've been slapped in the face, in the best way possible.

"you what?" you ask, trying to steady your voice.

at least being cold definetly wasn't your number one problem anymore.

"isn't that what you wanted to hear??" he questions dramatically, raising his voice a little.

"i wanted a fucking apology!" disbelief in your voice as you match his tone.

a few moments of silence comes as he is just staring at you, blinking slowly. you had to admit he looked quite adorable like this, big blue eyes looking at you, a small blush creeping on his cheeks.

"oh!"

you can't help but chuckle at his reaction, a grin appearing on your face.

"so you love me?"

"and if i do?" he huffs.

"then, satoru" you start out, already seeing his expression light up when you finally say his first name. he just loved how it left your lips so effortlessly yet with so much kindness. "you're extremely lucky because i may be feeling the same way."

"i knew it!" he says smugly, trying to forget that he ever questioned it. of course you love him. "from day one."

you raise one eyebrow, glancing up at him once again.

"day one i wanted to strangle you."

he pouts again.

"and now?"

"i still want to strangle you" you say. "but now with a little affection."

he chuckles, pulling you so close that you're basically sitting on his lap at this point. he hides his face in the crook of your neck, his hair in his face, arms around your body as he is still trying to warm you up.

big snowflakes started to fall from the sky, the storm quieting down. all you could feel was his body hugging yours warmly, his scent filling your mind, fogging your rational thoughts as you melt into his embrace.

time slowed down but you couldn't been happier.

"say it" he mumbled eventually.

you sigh, eyes closing while a smile is spreading on your lips.

"i love you too."

after those words, you slowly start to feel like your eyelids are becoming heavier, all the adrenaline from the frustration leaving your body. your breathing becomes relaxed and before you drift into sleep, you have to admit, maybe shoko was right about this whole thing after all. maybe it could work out.

haii!! i hope you had a good time reading this, it's the first fanfic i've ever written so sorry if it's not that good! also, english is not my first language so if i made a mistake feel free to correct me (^-^)

[cerusee]

My clever black asshole cat isn’t quite as clever as that, but here’s one he pulled on me when he was a high-energy, very rambunctious kitten!

Pretty early on, he developed a fondness for pulling books out of the bookcases with his paws—partly just because it was fun to do, I think, but also, because he quickly learned it was a great way to get my attention when I was too busy to play with him. (Attention in the form of being scolded, of course, but anyone who’s had a cat knows cats would rather be scolded than be ignored.) Following the scolding, he would scuttle off for a bit while I got up from whatever I was doing at the time, and put the books back on the shelf.

Once, when we were playing out this little game, he decided to come charging up at me while I knelt on the floor to put the books away, and hurled himself with all his kitten strength at my back, his tiny, razor-sharp claws going right through my shirt. I was NOT expecting to be simultaneously full-body thumped and stabbed by twenty little daggers, and I yelped loud enough I’m sure the neighbors heard me. I flung him off (he was fine, he was kitten), and turned around, yelling, “You little shit!” A more gratifying reaction he could not have hoped for, I’m sure. He scuttled off again, and I signed, and finished sorting out the book pile, and then went back to my chair to read.

A few minutes later, he was back at the same bookcase, pulling the same books down again. And I scolded him, and he ran off, and I got up and went back over and knelt by the bookcase to put the books away again…and you betcha, the little asshole jumped me from behind a second time.

At which point I realized: he’d done the book-pulling routine on purpose just to get me sitting on the floor with my unguarded back enticingly open to a flying attack. He baited me! He’d actually set a trap for me, and I walked into it twice.

[knottedhearts]

Argument: M.S

Summary: You and Matt are arguing because he's being awfully loud, and you're on your period.

The evening had started off fine. You’d both been sitting in the living room, enjoying a quiet night in. But that peace quickly shattered as Matt’s loud voice carried through the room like a sledgehammer. He’d been talking non-stop about some random topic, laughing at his own jokes and rambling without noticing how overwhelming it was. You were curled up on the couch, trying to get comfortable despite the aching cramps that came with your period. You wanted nothing more than to curl up and zone out to a movie or even just close your eyes for a few minutes of silence.

But Matt’s energy was impossible to ignore. His laughter echoed off the walls, and his voice cut through the air with each sentence. It didn’t matter how much you tried to focus on the TV screen or ignore the noise—it felt like his presence was all-consuming, drowning you in sound.

You shifted uncomfortably on the couch, your lower back aching, your abdomen throbbing. Every movement made the cramps feel worse, and the constant noise made it harder to focus on anything but the pain.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore. You turned to him, your voice tight with frustration. "Matt, can you keep it down?"

Matt didn’t seem to hear you at first, his energy undeterred by your quiet request. He was too caught up in his own story, too wrapped up in whatever had him so animated. "No, seriously, man, I’m telling you," he laughed loudly, his voice rising as he explained some ridiculous anecdote.

You clenched your jaw, trying to keep your cool. "Matt," you said again, this time louder, but with an edge to it. "I’m not feeling good. I’m on my period, and I have cramps. Can you just… lower your voice a little?"

Matt paused mid-sentence, finally catching your tone, but he didn’t seem to understand the seriousness of it. He shrugged, not noticing how you were holding your stomach, trying to soothe the pain. "What’s the big deal? I’m just talking."

You stared at him, the irritation bubbling up like a volcano. "The big deal, Matt, is that I’m literally cramping in pain, and you’re yelling like you’re hosting a damn podcast! Can you show a little consideration?"

He frowned, clearly taken aback. "It’s not like I’m yelling at you. I’m just talking loud because that’s how I talk, alright? You’re the one overreacting."

You could feel the frustration rising, the way the tension in your body was making everything worse. It was hard enough dealing with your physical pain, but now Matt was being dismissive of your need for quiet.

"Overreacting?" you scoffed, shaking your head. "Matt, I’m literally sitting here in pain, trying to get through this, and all you can do is talk at full volume like it’s a damn comedy show. It’s not about how you talk—it's about you being completely unaware of how you're affecting everyone else in the room!"

Matt’s expression turned defensive, his eyes narrowing. "You seriously want me to apologize for how I talk?" His tone was rising now, getting sharp. "I’m not gonna start whispering just because you’re uncomfortable. That’s not my fault."

You felt your jaw tighten, your hands balling into fists. "It’s not about whispering, Matt! It’s about being mindful of the people around you! You never think about how your loud, obnoxious voice affects others. It’s like you don’t even care!"

Matt didn’t back down. "I care! I’m not trying to piss you off. I’m just being me, alright?"

"Being you?" You could feel your patience snapping, the frustration boiling over. "Being you isn’t the problem, Matt. The problem is that you can’t be bothered to understand that people need quiet sometimes, and right now, I need some damn quiet!"

The words hit him harder than you expected. He took a step back, his eyes flashing with irritation. "You think I don’t understand? You think I don’t know you’re having a rough time? But that doesn’t mean I have to change everything about me just to suit you!"

You stood up then, pacing for a moment, the cramps flaring up as you moved, but the anger took over. "I’m not asking you to change yourself, Matt, I’m asking you to be aware of other people’s needs for once. Is that too much to ask?"

"Yeah, it’s too much!" Matt shot back, his voice louder than ever. "I’m not gonna sit here and apologize for talking! Just because you’re dealing with something doesn’t mean I have to tiptoe around you like you’re fragile!"

You felt the tension in the room growing thicker, your chest tightening with frustration. "I’m not fragile, Matt," you said, your voice wavering with a mix of anger and exhaustion. "I just need some goddamn peace. Can you give me that?"

But Matt wasn’t backing down. His voice was cold now, defensive, as though he couldn’t understand why this was such a big deal. "You think I’m just gonna stop being myself because you’re having a bad day? That’s not how it works."

The words felt like a slap, and you finally snapped. "You know what, Matt? Maybe you should just leave me the hell alone!" You threw your hands up in frustration, the weight of the argument crashing down on you.

Matt’s face reddened with anger, his hands clenched into fists. "Fine! You want me to leave you alone? Maybe you should just deal with it yourself, then!"

His words stung, and before you could even react, you spun on your heel and started walking away. "Where are you going?" Matt called after you, but you didn’t stop, walking straight toward the door.

You grabbed your jacket, throwing it on as you walked out of the room, trying to push away the wave of frustration that threatened to overwhelm you. "I need space," you muttered under your breath. You didn’t even know where you were going at first, just wanting to escape, to get away from the noise and the tension.

"Wait," Matt said, his voice softer now, but you didn’t turn around. "I didn’t mean it like that," he called after you, but you kept walking, your heart pounding in your chest.

You didn’t want to hear apologies right then, not after everything that had been said. You just needed a moment alone, away from the noise, away from the confrontation. You didn’t know when or how the two of you would work through this, but right now, all you could focus on was finding some peace.

You didn't know how long you'd need, but you were sure of one thing—until Matt could truly understand the importance of being considerate, the fighting, the noise, and the misunderstandings weren’t going to stop.

[dreamerdrop]

Oh God, yeah. During the war, Julian is basically going full into survival mode. He's pulling away from people, he's keeping his mouth shut, he's basically letting himself turn into a hollow shell that just looks like him because everything is so exhausting and he doesn't really... have it in him to be himself anymore.

I feel like I personally give kind of a pass to most of the characters on DS9 being jerks about Julian being obviously autistic for the sole reason that... one of the things I like about DS9 is that they're all pretty messed up in one way or another. Miles is allergic to voicing emotions and sentiments out loud (despite Keiko's best efforts, but she's also not great at it herself), Jadzia is shown constantly to have a REALLY inappropriate and poorly timed sense of humour, Kira is... Kira, and her issues mean that Julian's issues basically rub against each other like sandpaper.

Garak is interesting in how his dynamic intersects with Julian being autistic though. Garak seems to delight in Julian doing things like being blunt, infodumping, etc. Garak is someone who would drive ME a little nuts IRL because his specific brand of enigmatic behaviour would wreak hell on my lack of self esteem and inability to trust my judgement...

But for Julian, it seems to be a huge part of the draw. I think, in part, it's because Garak does seem to recognise when he's pushed too far and then, in his own weird way, often... relents a little.

Like in Cardassians, on the shuttlecraft. Julian basically says, very bluntly, "Garak stop talking in riddles this is serious and I don't want to play games anymore" and Garak immediately goes "alright fine here I'll talk as plainly as I am comfortable with".

Or, in an odd way, the scene on the Defiant during... season 6? Where Garak is basically insulting Julian over his augmented status. That scene is a little rough, even with the knowledge that this is effectively flirting for Garak, but. There's something in it that actually stands out to me as Garak trying to relent a little.

Specifically, his comment about Julian being a Vulcan. Julian is sensitive about his augmented status. Garak knows this. Garak insults him over it, and then towards the end of that little spat, saying "you're not genetically engineered, you're a vulcan", it kind of... reads as like, Garak trying to steer the conversation back to something playful, something that isn't actually attacking Julian.

(And there's obviously a lot to be said for how Julian is somewhat smiling to himself at the end of that scene.)

I think there's something similar to that in his dynamic with the others. I don't think any of them really have particularly good social skills, honestly. Jadzia comes closest but her levels of extroversion and enthusiasm mean she's often putting her foot in her mouth too. (... oh that's why she and Julian make good friends, they both have the party autism.)

Thing is, I think if Julian ever actually said to any of them "hey that actually kind of upsets me could we not" and they realized he meant it, they would apologize and mean it, but because everyone on that station is messed up and lacking in social skills, they all kind of constantly end up battering against each other with poorly timed jokes and insensitive remarks and dismissal of trauma and none of them ever figure out how to address any of it.

Narratively, though, Julian's trauma gets brushed over more than almost anyone else's, and that DOES piss me off about the writing. Even before we get to the augmentation aspect (which is taken seriously as traumatic for exactly ONE episode), a lot of the time Julian's issues just... get kind of tossed to one side.

Character wise, I think Julian is the type to focus on other people's issues so he doesn't have to acknowledge his own, but the way the show itself often ignores those issues does REALLY grate on me.

Julian Bashir walks a very fine, maddening line between “self-loathing imposter syndrome who knows almost everyone who speaks to him for more than a minute finds him insufferable” and “incredibly self assured and annoyingly arrogant to the point of a minor god complex”.

He knows he’s attractive, he thinks he’s charming as all hell, he knows he’s the smartest person in the room (while also being acutely aware he’s going to put his foot in his mouth any second now), and he just swings wildly between “I don’t deserve anything I have, none of this is mine, my life is not my own, I am a monster” and “HELL YEAH LOOK HOW COOL AND SMART I AM GUYS ARE YOU LOOKING ARE YOU LOOKING”.

And then there’s episodes that reveal that underneath that annoying arrogance, at the very core of who he is, he really, really just wants to help people, and if he fucks that up he WILL take it personally and hold himself responsible even if there’s no way he could have known and like. Can you imagine what his first patient death was like for him. Can you imagine what a fucking nightmare his brain must be 24/7.

He is somehow as inherently self assured as he is in need of constant validation for his ego because you can SEE him break a little when that ego fails him, even a little, and it’s just.

He’s very fun to write. I hate him. (I love him so much, but oh my god.)

[bidisasterevankinard]

I'm coming for you

For @louscurls bc they said let's crush this Jeep. I did

“Text him text him text him,” that is all Tommy can hear around him because Lucy almost screams it in his ear and all the team, who are on the shift, eat their pizza and repeat this with her between chewing.

“I won’t text him,” Tommy says loud enough so everyone hears him. “It won’t make both of us any good.”

“You don’t know it,” says Milton.

“It might be that you both actually have something to tell each other. At least I’m sure Buckley has,” Lucy says, nodding on his phone, “but if you actually think it's a bad idea then gimme your phone. I’ll block him so you won’t look at your phone like a kicked puppy,” she tries to take his phone, but he is quicker to get it to his other hand. 

“No, no one blocks him either.”

“THEN TEXT HIM,” the chorus of voices makes him jump in his seat. 

“I won’t te…” his phone starts ringing, “OH FUCK! IT’S EVAN! WHAT SHOULD I DO?”

“ANSWER HIM!”

Tommy wants to say no. Again, finding the way to play it won’t give him or Evan really good to start again. But the truth is his weak man and he misses Evan like crazy. He answers the call right before it can disconnect.

“Go for Kinard,” he ignores everyone's rolled eyes, trying to stop his heart from beating too fast when all he hears is Evan’s strange breathing and sounds like some is screaming and moaning in the background. “Evan?”

“H-hi, Tommy,” the voice is weak. Too weak for Tommy’s liking. 

“Evan? What’s wrong, where are you?” 

Everyone comes closer to him, with faces that make Tommy want to puke.

“C-car accident. Someone T-boned me and then several cars got into me from different sides,” weak voice answers him. “I don’t think you meant this by being my last, but hey, look you were wrong. First and last are the same.”

“Evan, what is your location and how do you feel? And why do you call me and not dispatch.”

“Some-someone already called. Heard it. Wanted to call or text you all week. Why did you s-stopp bubbling me? I-I wanted you to text me. B-baked so many things because of you.”

Tommy listens as well as he can when he begs someone to call dispatch and find out where a massive pile up happened. 

“I love you so much Tom-my why was I not enough? I just wanted to be enough for you,” Tommy’s heart stops when he hears it and he feels the tears on his face. 

“I love you too, baby, that’s why I need you to tell me where you are, please Evan,” he hears only breathing on the line, “Evan? Evan! Please talk to me.”

“I have the address,” Lucy screams, pointing towards the helicopters.

Tommy runs, hoping Evan still can hear him, at least while he still can listen to his breath on the line, he will believe it, “I’m coming for you, Evan.”

[taesanluv3r]

in my daydreams.

han taesan x reader

yn mentally escapes from her physics class, losing herself in the scenarios in her head (in other words, yn is delusional), follow along her train of thoughts as she crushes hard on her classmate. lowercase intended, cuss words. pls ignore any grammar or spelling errors! enjoyy

wc: 1,448

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖

"the law of the conservation of energy states that energy can neither be created nor destroyed. that being said..."

i drowned him out after that - my physics teacher, i mean - i drowned it all out. it wasn't my fault though, it was all on him. it was his fault. no, no! not my physics professor...this is all han taesan's fault.

what did he do exactly? well...nothing. the truth is he never does anything! and that's exactly it. he does absolutely nothing and i still find myself constantly stealing glances at him. at his stupid face, his idiotic light brown eyes, his dumb smile, and his perfectly white pearly teeth...and his honey-like voice...his hair that turned a light brown against the sun...his...ugh!

god fucking dammit

as i sit here, in physics class - which, by the way, i absolutely despise physics class - i can't help but be distracted. just look at him! sitting there, right next to the window...i wouldn't be shocked if a bird distracted itself from it's flock and came flying right through it, if i were a bird i know i would. there was a singular pen in his hand, one of those expensive pens with his name engraved on it - probably a gift from his dad, he's always mentioning his dad. anyways, the pen spun against his fingers, his long and lanky fingers...sometimes i can't help but wonder what they'd feel like between my own; would they warm me up? or would it only feel that way because i'd be blinded by the affection? the pen smacked against his knuckles, they're red now from the friction. then the spinning stopped, and i watched as he began jotting words down in his lined notebook - guess there are notes i should be taking.

my chin rested on the palm of my hands and i look away from him for a moment. i sigh, who turned the air conditioner down? why is it always freezing in physics class? as i pondered, my eyes fell shut - lucky for me, i sat at the very back of the room, a spot the professor's poor eyesight can't reach. i felt my shoulder slouch as i relaxed into the uncomfortable chair, in a second i'm gone.

my mind's blank, but only just for a moment before i'm met with images of him again. seriously, i can't even rest for a moment without his face all up in my business? can't he leave my brain alone? please? i'm saying this like i hate it, but truly i don't - i can't. it's hard for me to hate something i really love more than anything. so, instead of trying to rid of his figure in my mind, my unconscious soul walks towards him.

mmm, i can almost taste him. a sweet smell that i can never put my finger on - i mean, it's woody, like a deep foggy forest...but it almost smells like freshly baked cookies from my grandma's kitchen. it's his scent though, that much i can tell you. he glows in my dreams, like edward cullen - minus the whole vampire thing, my fantasies aren't that weird, he just glowed like one. he looks right at me, this is something that truly only happens in my head. his eyes are so soft, yet there's a cat-like charm to them that makes my stomach turn.

"yn"

he calls out to me, his voice the most hypnotic noise. the figure of myself follows him, an arm linked with mine as he traces his other hand against my face. it wasn't real, but it sure felt like it, i could feel the strange sensation of butterflies in my stomach - it felt so real, i could just throw up. and then he leans in, he never kisses me though. he just pauses there, looking me in the eyes like we were in the middle of some sort of a highly prestigious staring contest. to be honest, if he weren't so insanely gorgeous, i'd think him a creep.

"yn!"

he calls out again, though it's a bit loud for the close proximity that we're in. and he sounded strange...he almost sounds like...my...

physics teacher?

fuck.

"huh? present! um-" i could feel the gazes of my classmates piercing through my skin. "yn, would you like to share with the class what you were daydreaming about?" oh, prof...you know damn fucking well i can't do that...

my teacher said something else, he's probably scolding me or saying something utterly ridiculous to embarrass me in front of my friends, i don't know though, it's not like i listened. i couldn't stop myself from wondering, what if i had just told it straight? what if i had answered my professor's stupid question with an even more dimwitted answer? 'what were you daydreaming about?' and i'd just get up from my seat and scream at the top of my lungs

"taesan"

huh...?

the name that escaped my teacher's tongue brings me back to reality, again. i'm paying full attention now. "taesan...you will be paired with...ah, look at that..." c'mon old man, quit stalling. i don't even know why we're making pairs right now, but i need to know what idiot he has to work with so i can turn them into the enemy in my fantasies and- "our very own daydreamer..." wait, did he say daydreamer? that can only mean one thing...i mean, unless someone else has been referred to as a daydreamer before.

"taesan, your pair is yn. i wish you luck"

ignoring the last bit of the sentence, which was an obvious kick at my lack of physics enthusiasm, i was almost overjoyed. fuck, this might be the actual only time i might like doing something related to this class.

i watched as taesan nodded, his lips were pursed together - i wonder if he was upset...i mean if i were as hot as him, i'd be well over pissed if i was paired with me - no offence. but as i was thinking that, he turned around in his seat to look at me - and i mean actually look at me! and as if this wasn't already a dream come true, he smiled at me! does he know how absolutely insane this drives me?! i mean, quick! somebody pinch me! pinch me and tell me it's fake!

i must've been lost in my head again because the next time i opened my eyes i almost died of shock. low and behold, han taesan right in front of me - like, inches away from me.

"don't know if you know, but we're pairs..." i can't believe it he's actually talking to me! my eyes must've gone wide, and my mouth opened to speak but nothing came out. he laughed at me. he laughed at me. you know that kind of stupid laugh a guy does when he just knows he's causing some sort of chemical reaction in my body right now - or as i like to call it, the absolutely shit-eating asshole laugh.

he's so lucky he's hot.

"lucky for you..." he said, turning the chair from the table in front of mine around to sit and face me. "i actually listened in class, so you don't have to - i know, i know, no need to thank me" asshat, but i can't help the feeling of a fluttering flower blooming in the very depths of my body - lower abdomen, to be specific. i still haven't spoken a word to him - i mean, i'd love to, but i just couldn't seem to.

"so the whole point of this project is to explain everything about motion" i know of other things that could be put into motion...what? ew! yn, get your head out of the gutter! i'm sorry, sir isaac newton definitely did not die for this.

"listen, you're cute and all, but can we save the rest of the daydreaming for later? i kind of need to pass this physics class" he's right, i should stop, this is inappropriate and not very cool of me- wait...did he call me cute?!?!?? ME? CUTE?

"you there?" i finally get myself together. "uh- oh! yeah, sorry about that...what're we doing again?" i just know i looked like an absolute fool. and i swear to whatever being that i was trying to stay professional and calm, but when he laughs and when he smiled at me with that stupid dumbass fucking idiot smile of his, i just can't seem to think straight.

i may not know much about physics, but i know one thing for sure. and it's that for as long as i, yn ln, have to work together with him, han taesan...

i'm completely and utterly so fucking cooked.

the end.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖

i never really write in this pov but i kinda love this 🫢 hope u guys did too!! yn is so me when i have a crush on someone - it's always like i almost hate them so much because of how much i like them lmao 😭 tysm for reading! love, kona.

perm taglist (lmk if u wanna be added)

@en-dream

[robinbuckleyluvr]

⊹˚˖⁺ our childhood is gone - steve harrington

masterlist | requests

pairing: steve harrington x platonic fem!reader

summary: reader and steve end tied up in the secret russian base, where the reader turns to anger and finally confronts steve after he threw out their friendship just for popularity.

warnings: none

notes: i love angst long live angst

word count: 864

⸻⊱༺ 

When she first walked into her new job and saw Steve Harrington, she could not believe it. How could Steve, the most entitled and pretentious guy at Hawkins, end up with a crappy job at an ice cream parlor?

A bit hypocritical to say, seeing as though she had the same job. 

They exchanged a polite ‘Hello’ that first day, but no words were spoken. There was no acknowledgement of their past, of their friendship they once cherished, ever since they were 9 years old. High school had completely turned Steve into a jerk, and she resented him for it. Him and his ‘friends’ would stare and laugh when she’d walk by, just like they did with anyone they deemed ‘uncool’.

What hurt most, was making eye contact with him.

She never once saw an apologetic look from him. Not then, not now, not ever.

Scoops was a dead-end too, as she pretended not to know him, and he did the same.

How they ended up in an underground Russian base, tied to chairs sitting back-to-back with each other, was a question neither could answer. They sat in silence, waiting and fearing whoever was due to come in the room to question them.

“So…” Steve began, attempting to light up the dreary mood.

“So what?” Y/N snapped. Not a single bone in her wanting to be kind to him.

“I just, you know… quite the situation we’re in here.”

“Cut the shit, Harrington. Don’t act like you want to make small talk with me right now.”

Steve sat quiet. They both did for a few minutes. Taking in the gravity of the situation they faced, and the uncomfortable silence that filled the room.

“You know,” Y/N laughed, sarcasm lacing her words, “You really are the same person you were back in high school. When I first saw you here… I cannot believe I really thought you’d changed. But of course, you didn’t. You’re still the same douchebag you used to be… pretending not to know me. You’re an ass.”

Steve was at a loss for words, “Oh, don’t act like you’re a saint,” He snapped, “You ignored me too. I guess you’re a douche too, then.”

“It takes one to know one. I wasn’t the one who went prancing around to the ‘cool’ kids as soon as we entered high school just because I wanted to be ‘someone’.”

“At least I was someone.”

“Harrington, I think you’ll be happy to know, making fun of people doesn’t make you ‘someone’. It just makes you an asshole.” She shot back.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” He muttered under his breath.

“You are fucking unbelievable.”

He rolled his eyes in response, “For the love of God, I’m sorry, okay?” 

“You don’t even know what to be sorry for, Harrington.” She hissed, “A half-assed apology won’t get you anywhere after the hell you made me go through these past 3 years. You know, when I first started high school, I foolishly thought ‘How cool! I have my awesome, cool, friend, Steve Harrington in the grade above me! What could go wrong?’”

Steve laughed, “You did not say that–”

“Of course not, asshole, I was being sarcastic.” She sighed, “I still did not think you and your fucking ‘friends’ would make it hell to walk through those halls. Never had a single day of peace. If you weren’t making fun of the books I carried, it was the way I walked. Or the way I wore my hair. How does doing that to so many people not haunt you, Steve?”

He stared at the floor. His expression dropping with each word she spoke, hurt and sarcasm never leaving her voice.

“Do you not regret it, Harrington?”

They both reflected on the words exchanged, the minutes dragging out before they spoke again. Their minds raced and dwelled in the hurt and regret filling the air.

“I do. I never thought it was going to go that way. I never thought…” He paused, “I never wanted to hurt anyone. But I sat with them on my first day. And suddenly I was part of it, I finally… belonged somewhere. I started playing basketball with them, and before I knew it, I was in too deep. I never planned to make fun of people in the halls, but when you stand there with them, careful not to laugh too loud and… they turn to you and wait for you to make a comment, you just do. ”

“Please,” She huffed, “You’re not getting any pity from me with that fuck-ass story. You threw away years of friendship to make fun of people and shoot balls up at the ceiling? Fuck you.”

“I’m sorry.” Steve responded quietly. “You’re right. I was a coward, an asshole, and a douche. Everything you said,” He sighed, “You are correct about it all. I hurt a lot of people, and I do wish I could un-do that damage. I wish I hadn’t thrown our friendship away either.”

“You were my best friend,” She spoke, her voice breaking, “I wanted to believe in the 9 year old Steve I once met. But you made me feel invisible.”

[keeira2]

OFF LIMITS (PART2)

part 1 >> part 2

s2rafe cameron x barryslittlesister!reader

summary: rafe and y/n meet again, but when barry has to leave them alone together, they just can’t control themselves..

warnings: drugs mentioned, drug use, snorting, smoking, kissing?, smut, more smut, uhh smut, degrading, sort of manipulation if u squint, swearing, dark!rafe and soft!rafe in the same fic!! :O MDNI 18+ ONLY, if i miss any pls lmk!!

a/n: i js realised i messed up the first part smh so ima fix that now but i’m actually rlly enjoying writing this, mayb i’m ass nd nobody’s saying anything but if anyone likes it ily, this ones def smutty so pls viewer discretion!! also if ppl want more parts lmk cs i’m happy to write more :33

weeks went by without even thinking of ur encounter with the not so charming kook..

another boring day at home by yourself once again, so ur snorting lines on ur vanity after dolling urself up with ur perfectly trashy makeup nd freshly washed hair.

ur wearing a thrifted tshirt which ended right at ur belly button, ur fav denim shorts which left nothing to the imagination and ur stripy thigh high socks.

a loud slam of the door and bickering voices interrupt ur lovely high followed by barrys speaker blasting some nasty music “barry!!” you yell out in frustration, he turned it up louder. finally you had enough, storming out to the living room, slamming ur door shut and prepared to go off until your stopped by the sight of barry smoking a j with none other than the kook.

fuck he looked so good with his hair all messy, his eyes glossy nd exhaling the smoke. but he couldn’t know that, you can almost smell is ego, u can’t let yourself feed into it. so you ignore his smirk as he watches you, arms crossed standing there with ur brows furrowed.

“barry! shut that shit off it’s too loud!” barry just looks at you with half shut eyes and laughs faintly before inhaling again. jesus do i have to do everything myself??

you stomp over to where the speaker is sitting and unplug it, causing very stoned barry to turn around in frustration “HEY! what’d you do that for? we’re js chillin’” hes slurring over his words, yk damn well he’s not gonna listen to you.

you plug the speaker back in, earning cheers from barry and the kook, “yeh yeh whatever barry. js give me some” your tone riddled in sarcasm you drop down on the couch between them, snatching the blunt out of barrys hand, taking a longgg, NEEDED inhale before blowing it out. you lean back into the plushy couch, savouring the feeling.

you can feel the kooks burning gaze as he eyes you up and down, his tongue grazing his lower lip before looking back up again. ‘if i’m gonna sit through this i may as well be fucked up’ you stand up quickly and rush to your room , his eyes following you, you grab ur pink glittery bong from ur vanity which is covered in the cuntiest charms.

you skip back to the living room to see barry heading towards the front door, “where’re u going?” you ask confused.

“gotta go handle some things i’ll be back by tonight. don’t let rafe bother you too much, alright?” he doesn’t even give you a chance to respond before tucking his gun into his shorts and slamming the door behind him.

rafe, huh? cute.. for a kook. you plop down right next to him, bong in hand. while ur packing you hear a groan from behind you. turning around rafe has his head back against the couch, peaking to where your ass meets the pillowy cushions. “eyes are up here rafe” you scoff before the cone piece is full. snatching the lighter out of rafes hand nd ripping the massive cone until your mouth is completly dry nd ur throat starts to burn.

“mmhm, love it when you say my name,” he whispers behind you ,”your rlly pretty, yk that?”your thighs impulsively clench together when he eyes you down once again. the weed is officially taking affect, you rest ur head back into the couch and rafe slips his arm around ur shoulder, scooching closer to you. ‘woww so smooth’ u think to yourself, rolling your eyes.

don’t get me wrong hes got a massive ego, he’s arrogant and he’s cocky. BUT he’s so insanely hot nd u rllyy wanna fuck him. with barry gone you have the perfect opportunity, nd u know he wants it too.

you move ur head to the side to look at him, his lustful eyes already piercing through yours, your thighs noticeably squirming together, you need him so bad.

he leans in until your lips meet his. starting off soft nd slow, quickly turns into tongue and teeth, he’s desperate for you nd u can feel his massive bulge when he takes ur hand to cover it.

“feel how hard you make me, hm?” he groans.

his hands holding ur waist greedily, as if he’s afraid you’ll run away.

“do u wanna fuck me?” you pull back staring at him with doe eyes, ur hands to his chest. impressed with your boldness he eagerly nods before leaning into another hungry kiss, but you pull away.

you snatch his hand and lead him into your room, immediately pushing him onto the bed. you have full control, it’s not usually your preference but it works. ripping off your shirt and shorts, leaving you in ur bra, panties, nd ur thigh highs, coming up to straddle his lap. you hold his jaw in ur hand and kiss him ravenously. u eventually tug at his shirt in attempt to pull it off, finally breaking the kiss he rips it off and pulls u in again.

“ur so fucking hot y/n,” he moans into the kiss, “gonna have you begging for me, princess.”

you feel him suddenly crawl out from under you and throw you into the bed, you can’t help but let out a squeal when he pulls u by your hips and starts ripping ur panties down. “ur a fucking slut, only just learnt my name nd ur already squirming under me, basically begging me to fuck you.” he lands a hard smack to your ass before tugging at his belt, letting his jeans fall, nd pushing his boxers down just enough for his huge veiny cock to sit up hitting his stomach.

ur head turned nd u whimper at the sight of it, u already know he’s gonna stretch you out. he loves the look of fear in ur eyes as u take him in but harshly puts his hand on the back of ur head pushing ur face into the pillows. without any warning at all, he starts ploughing his massive cock into ur soaked tight cunt. you scream at the impact, tears welling in your eyes as he fucks you with no remorse.

“r-rafe, ah fuck PLEASE,” you plead, “s-slower!!” the sound of you making him plough even deeper and harsher into ur desperate cunt.

“ur gonna fucking take it like the filthy whore you are,” he groans, making you instantly wetter, the pleasure and pain making you so so close.

your full on sobbing now, but you fucking love it. another harsh smack to ur ass, “quit fucking crying unless you want me to really hurt you” his degrading words make you squeeze around his cock, ur hands gripping ur sheets as you scream out, “fuckkkkk rafe” your body shaking when ur met with the most mind blowing orgasm of ur life, ur literally seeing stars.

“ah fuck” u hear from rafe, feeling his thrusts get sloppier and his warm come filling ur swollen pussy. the overstimulation making your legs shake uncontrollably.

finally his thrusts stop and he releases his tight grip from ur head, collapsing next to you.

ur sobs are now quiet whimpers, his cum dripping down ur thighs. he turns his body to face yours, his hand cupping your cheek.

“shh, don’t cry beautiful, u took it so fucking well” he comforts you, which surprisingly made you feel so much better. he pulls you onto his bare chest, his hand now playing with your hair.

the warm feeling of ur body sprawled across his makes his heart swell. u are perfect, and he’s gonna fucking ruin you.

[housederiva]

Fantasic yes thank you @mt07131 It should be noted I am taking the hottest bubble bath of my entire life while I'm typing this and my skin is the color of Mr Krabs. (these are all cheeses that I have had before so my opinion of each is extremely biased)

We're starting with Neve. I know what you're thinking 'our dear detective has a food pyramid made solely out of the menu of a back alley chippy, obviously she's Kraft cheese or cheese whiz' and you are incorrect. Sit on the floor beside me while I take my bubble bath, we're going on a cheese discovery hand in soapy hand

Neve is specifically a combination of the two cheeses that are in these bad boys that you can find at Walmart for $15. With enough coffee and distractions you can live off these for an entire week. Each piece of cheese is about the size of a quarter, they're powdery, they don't melt well, and the only reason it's in your fridge is that someone brought it to the potluck and no one else ate any of it. We're ignoring the rest of the platter this is only about cheese.

Harding is a fried halloumi stick. It's squeaky cheese that is sooo good when it's melted and somehow still in stick form. The first time an only time I’ve had it was when I lived in the UK. A little cheeky Nandos with Harding? Come on now she's the one suggesting it. This woman eats ham and jam slams, she's eating cold hallumi (bad salty brick ew ew nasty), Taash's first complaint if they ever lived together that would be that they could hear her eating the leftovers right out of the fridge at 3am cause it's squeaking so damn loud while she's chewing

Bellara is the giant babybel. Pictures don't do it justice and the absolute glee of taking off the little jacket before you bite into it like a peach? Undescribable. There's not a doubt in my mind that this woman would collect the wax and leave it in a clump on her bookshelf where she would repeatedly tell you she's gonna do something with it. And yet it grows ever larger with every giant babybel. She's the small ones too but those are somehow worse because she just eats the entire bag of them the second she gets home (not that I do that every time or anything haha dont look in my trash rn)

Davrin is, without a doubt, apple smoked cheddar either from Wisconsin or Lancashire, there's no in between. Once this cheese is in your life you will be fundamentally changed as a person and you can never go back to the way you were. No other cheese holds the same richness and warmth as apple smoked cheddar (either from Wisconsin or Lancashire) It has like this sweetness from the milk in it that's balanced out with the smokiness of paprika. Davrin's bringing this to the cookout and you're going to thank him for putting it on your burger at least four times

Lucanis is Fulvi Pecorino Romano (yes it is Italian why do you ask) This is some of the most expensive cheese I've ever had which is perfect for the man who's offering to pay Harding 6,000 gold to stand around while he kills somebody and then asks if that's too low of an amount when she's speechless. This Romano is made from milk taken from a single herd of sheep that live just outside the city of Rome. It's got this a grainy, crumbly texture that I don't think I'll have anything like again. (I had it at a preview night for this movie I worked on for redacted, I think there was caviar there too it was insane)

Emmrich my sweet vegetarian (and vegan? idk) is Climax Blue cheese. It's plant-based blue cheese, streaked with a natural and flavorful blue-green veining. It is well-rounded, with a creamy, fudgy texture, and with fruity and earthy notes balanced by a warm peppery finish. It's made out of coconut milk instead of animal milk and it's got pumpkin seeds in it somehow. I'm not vegan but my best friend is and she brought me this one time from her work and I ate it all in about 20 minutes. Excellent with wine and those really thin tiny crackers, makes you feel the good kind of fancy

Taash is ghost pepper and fried onion cheddar cheese. Never been hurt by food the way I was hurt the second this touched my tongue. And the cool thing about it is it's also dairy free, and substitutes milk with hemp. The heat from the ghost peppers builds and mingles with the burst from the fried onions and each wheel is aged in a cheese specific cave before it's packaged. It also has that good glowy classic melty cheese flow when it gets hot. If you're like me and you are white people spicy smelling this alone will hurt you

[starrrcane]

The Underworld Beneath Piltover chapter two: Unspoken Bonds

chapter one is linked on my master list

summary: After a couple of weeks of working with silcos men, you’re tired, one specific night you go home and hear them talking about you in the corridor. And sevika does not like the way they are talking about you.

warnings:drunk men being creepy towards you(don’t worry sevika is your knight in shining armor) and alcohol

notes: maybe I could’ve split this into two separate chapters🤷🏽‍♀️ who knows, chapter one and chapter two were only posted so close to each other cause this has just been sitting in my notes.

But if you want to be apart of my tag list just dm me or comment!

As the days passed, you fell into a rhythm of sorts in the Undercity. You worked tirelessly, patching up the injuries of Silco’s men—bruises, burns, cuts, and broken bones—but there was one person who never seemed to need your help: Sevika. She was always around, yet never injured. She stood on the periphery, watching as you worked with her men, but when it came to her own wounds, she refused your care. It became almost a ritual, this unspoken distance between you and her.

The others, however, were a different story. They’d come in, grinning with all their bravado, eager for your attention. You’d fix them up with quiet professionalism, trying to ignore the constant leers and comments, but it was hard. It was hard because their words, their glances, were a constant reminder that in the eyes of many in the Undercity, you were just another object to be used, a healer with nothing more to offer than your hands and your beauty. The men would speak freely, their voices loud and crude, commenting on how "good" you looked, how they'd love to see more of you, how soft your hands must be...

It made your skin crawl, but you never let it show. You didn’t have the luxury of reacting. You needed to do your job, needed to stay focused.

One night, after a particularly long shift, you found yourself at home, exhausted and alone. The distant noise of the Undercity hummed through your window, but you found no comfort in the quiet. Instead, you were stuck replaying the words of the men. The crude remarks, the way their eyes lingered far too long.

It wasn’t until later that night, when you heard shouting from down the hall, that you realized the bar—the Last Drop—was packed with Silco’s crew. They’d been celebrating some small victory, and the noise spilled out into the hall like a river of chaos. But then, you caught the unmistakable sound of Sevika’s voice rising above the others. It was sharp, commanding—louder than you’d ever heard her before.

“Knock it off," she snapped, the tension in her voice unmistakable. "You think she’s just here for your damn amusement? She’s here to help, not for you to ogle. Keep your mouths shut."

It was the first time you had ever heard Sevika lose her composure. Her voice, usually cold and unflappable, trembled with an anger that was both surprising and—if you were honest—comforting. For the first time, you realized something: Sevika wasn’t indifferent to you. She just... didn’t know how to show it. She was the wall that everyone leaned on in the Undercity, but she hadn’t built the capacity to rely on anyone else. Not until now.

The men muttered, some laughing nervously, others too drunk to care, but Sevika’s command had silenced them. You could hear her footsteps as she approached the door to the bar, her voice cutting through the remaining laughter. She muttered something else you couldn’t quite catch, and then there was silence.

The shift in the air lingered, and you couldn’t help but feel something stir in your chest. It was a strange mix of emotions—gratitude, confusion, and an undeniable pull toward the woman who had always kept her distance. Yet, in that moment, Sevika had done something rare: she'd protected you in her own way, not through words, but through her actions.

You didn’t know where this would go, but you were starting to realize that whatever it was, it wouldn’t be easy. And maybe... maybe that was what made it so compelling.

As the last of the laughter died down, the faint echoes of clinking glass and rowdy shouts drifting off into the night, you stepped into the corridor, your fingers still numb from the long hours spent tending to the wounded. The noise from the Last Drop had only gotten louder, but the thudding of your heartbeat was what kept your thoughts focused. You had barely processed what had just happened when the sound of footsteps from further down the hall drew your attention.

Sevika was alone, standing still at the end of the corridor, her eyes narrowed in your direction. There was no one else with her now—no men, no rowdy backup. Just her. The tension between you seemed to hang heavier in the air than before, the weight of her intervention earlier not fully sinking in until now. Her usually impassive gaze softened, the fierceness that had commanded the room earlier replaced by something unreadable.

You stood there for a moment, unsure whether to stay where you were or to approach her. The quiet seemed to wrap itself around you both, heavy with unspoken words. Finally, you stepped forward, a quiet sigh escaping your lips as you pulled your door open.

“Sevika,” you began, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I just… wanted to say thank you.”

Her gaze flickered to you, and then she looked away, as though suddenly uncomfortable under your attention.

“It’s whatever,” she muttered, her voice rougher than usual. “Don’t make a big deal out of it.” She shifted on her feet, clearly wanting to brush off the moment. But there was an edge to her words—something that betrayed the mask she tried to wear. "I’m not doing it for you."

You didn’t know whether to believe her or not, but you nodded, taking her words at face value. She didn’t seem like the type to wear a facade for long, and even though she was trying to make light of it, the way she'd stood up for you—no one else had ever done that. Not here.

“Well, thanks anyway,” you said, the warmth of the words surprising even you. “I appreciate it.”

Her shoulders stiffened for a moment, and she gave a short nod before turning away. Her retreating footsteps echoed down the hall, but the sting of the silence seemed to carry her presence with you still.

The next day at work, it felt like things had shifted in a way you couldn’t fully understand. The usual crude remarks from the others—loud and persistent as ever—seemed to bounce off you in a way they hadn’t before. And though Sevika remained as stoic as ever, you noticed a few lingering glances. One of those, when your paths crossed near the supply room, made your heart skip a beat.

You’d brought something with you that day. A bottle you’d managed to find tucked away in a dim corner of the bar. Old Deloux scotch—an obscure but highly sought-after bottle that everyone in the Undercity had heard about but few had actually seen. You knew it was a rare treat, and you’d caught Sevika eyeing it in the past, her face betraying the barest trace of longing when she mentioned it.

You slid the bottle across the counter toward her when she was in the middle of patching up a man with a nasty burn.

“Here,” you said, offering the bottle like an unspoken truce. “For you. I know you’ve been wanting to try this.”

Her brow furrowed, but she didn’t hesitate to take it, her fingers brushing yours just long enough for you to notice how unexpectedly warm they felt. She glanced at the label, her lips curling into something of an appreciative smirk.

“Where’d you get this?” Sevika’s voice was low, curious, the edges of her usual tough exterior softening.

You leaned back, crossing your arms and giving her a sly smile. “Well, being from Piltover has its advantages,” you said, leaning in just enough for the words to sink in.

She chuckled—a low, almost begrudging sound that was as rare as it was unexpected. “Always full of surprises, aren’t you?” she muttered, but there was something almost... grateful in her tone.

“You owe me nothing,” you said, your words laced with a quiet challenge. “But I figured you could use a bit of a break.”

Her gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary, and then, with a nod, she uncorked the bottle. "Don’t expect me to share," she said, but the playful glint in her eyes made it clear she wasn’t as serious as her words suggested.

For a moment, you could almost forget the tension, the lines between you, the things left unsaid. For just a moment, it felt like a step toward something uncharted, something unspoken, something rare.

And maybe, just maybe, it would be worth exploring—whatever it was.

[laviefantasie]

Video 4

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The sun is setting over the jujutsu high compound, casting warm hues across the courtyard. Inside one of the quieter rooms, Y/N is setting up a small easel, your canvas ready for the first stroke. Brushes, tubes of paint, and a small ceramic bowl of water are neatly arranged beside you. Suguru is already there, sleeves rolled up, looking as if he’s about to become the next world renowned artist. His hair is a little more disheveled than usual, but the slight smirk on his face tells you he is comfortable.

“Alright, the camera is on and focused and I’m setting up my canvas for real this time. You sure you want to join me, Suguru? You’re not really the type to sit still for long”

Suguru chuckles softly, picking up a brush and dipping it into a warm shade of blue.

“It’s called expanding my horizons, Y/N. Plus, I thought you could use a little company”

You nod, smiling as you adjust your canvas, although a teasing twink appears in your bright E/C eyes.

“If we’re doing this, though, don’t turn it into a competition” you remind him, “No ‘who can paint better’ nonsense”

Suguru gives you a lazy, amused grim, clearly enjoying the thought of teasing you while painting.

“No promises” he smirks “But I’ll try my best to make something that doesn’t end in chaos”

Both of you dip your brushes into your chosen colors and start painting. But just as the two of you start getting into the flow of it—Suguru’s brush strokes deliberate and calm, yours more spontaneous and bright—a loud crash interrupts the settled peace.

The door flies open and Gojo Satoru enters with an exaggerated flourish, sunglasses on, and a pout plastered on his face.

“Hey, hey! What is this? You two started a painting party without me!” He whines, “I thought we were friends, Y/N!”

Suguru raises an eyebrow as Satoru dramatically collapses on the floor, looking up to the ceiling with a hand over his heart.

“Did you just… fall in through the door for dramatic effect?” Suguru asks.

Satoru grins widely, “I’m just adding some flair, Suguru. How else do you think I should enter? Also, where’s my invite? I thought we were the three musketeers”

You stifled a laugh, trying to focus on your work, but the camera didn’t forget to capture the small smile tugging at your lips.

“Sorry not sorry, Satoru” you say, “Didn’t think you were the type to sit still and paint. I figured you’d be too busy doing something… important, like annoying people or emptying another dessert shop”

Satoru sats up immediately, and dramatically, throwing his arms out as if wounded.

“Ouch! Is that how you see me? That hurts. I’m offended! I’m a man of taste and class, I’d totally be amazing at painting”

Suguru shakes his head with an amused smile, muttering knowingly to himself as he mixes some paint.

“You wouldn’t last five minutes without making a mess”

Satoru ignores him, “You know, I’m actually artistic. I’m like… a modern-day Picasso. Or Van Gogh—except I have my ears intact”

You turn to glance a him, skepticism on your face.

“Sure. And you’ve definitely read all kinds of art history books, right?”

Satoru winks at her playfully, “Well, I don’t read, but I’m sure I could paint circles around both of you”

Suguru rolls his eyes but, apparently done with Satoru’s antics, offers him a brush.

“Fine. If you’re so confident, you can join us” he relents, “But I’m warning you, we’re professionals here”

The three of them get to work, and immediately, Satoru begins to disrupt everything. You are trying to focus on a landscape with some subtle blending, while Suguru’s painting a more intricate figure. Meanwhile, Satoru is working on his own ‘masterpiece’, which mostly involves scribbling random, chaotic shapes with his brush, his colors clashing wildly with everyone else’s.

Satoru holds up his canvas proudly, “Look, I’m totally channeling my inner abstract genius! It’s a representation of freedom, of rebellion! What do you think?”

You stares at the chaotic mess in front of you, the blue and red clashing violently. You snort, holding back a laugh.

“You’re an actual disaster. It looks like a toddler dipped a paintbrush in a jar of chaos and went wild”

“It’s art” he states, grinning widely.

Suguru chuckles, setting his brush down for a second as he glances over.

“It’s definitely something. Not sure if it’s art, though”

Satoru sticks his tongue out at him before turning back to you, his expression suddenly shifting to something more playful. He walks over to your easel, leaning casually over your shoulder, his face close enough that you can feel the heat of his body.

“But, you know, you’re missing one thing in your painting, Y/N”

You raise an eyebrow, not sure whether you should be annoyed or entertained.

“Oh? And what’s that?”

Satoru leans in just a little closer, his voice lowering to a teasing tone.

“A little bit of me. A masterpiece can’t be complete without a dash of perfection”

You roll your eyes, but your cheeks turn a light pink against your better judgement. You can never tell if he’s being serious or just trying to get under your skin.

You grab a paintbrush, quickly flicking a spot of green paint onto Satoru’s shirt.

“There. Now it’s perfect” you smirk.

Satoru stares at the green stain, his mouth falling open in mock horror.

“You’ve ruined me. Ruined my shirt. My image. I’m a tragic artist now”

Suguru laughs from his corner of the room, shaking his head at the two of you.

“You both are insufferable. Seriously, how do you guys even manage to get anything done together?” Suguru asks.

You let out a laugh, “It’s called balance, Suguru. I paint, and Satoru provides chaos”

Satoru dramatically flops onto the floor again, spreading his arms out as if he’s defeated.

“You know, this could’ve been a perfect group activity if it weren’t for you two conspiring against my genius”

Suguru raises a brow, amused, “You are a genius—just not in the way you think you are”

After a few more hours of chaotic painting, in which a lot of paint ended up in both Satoru’s and your clothes, the three of you step back and admire each of your works.

Satoru’s piece now has a mix of random scribbles and strange shapes, while Suguru’s work is meticulously detailed, with deep serene colored forming a landscape. Yours is a bright piece, a playful interpretation of the sky, with clouds hues of purple and pink—vibrant and dreamy.

You stare at the painting for a few minutes before turning to look at yourself… covered in paint. You frown.

“Well… this was a disaster” a smile tugs at your lips, “Although, I kinda fun one”

Satoru grins, throwing a playful wink your way.

“What can I say? I bring the fun wherever I go” he brags.

Suguru shakes his head but smiles quiestly, glancing at both of them with something akin to fondness in his eyes.

“Somehow we made it out. It was fun, though I kinda wished Shoko had been here” he sighs, “Would’ve helped me deal with you two”

You send him an offended look while Satoru simply grins widely. Suddenly, Satoru pulls out his phone, snapping a picture of the three pieces.

“Perfect!” He smiles, “This is going straight into my ‘masterpieces’ collection”

“It’s not masterpieces if it’s just an album of your selfies” you remind him, amused.

“Masterpieces, Y/N, masterpieces”

Holding back a laugh, you move to grab the videocamera recording the whole process, closing it so the screen goes black.

The recording ending.

taglist: @gumiiiiezzzz @reagan707

FOR SOME REASON TUMBLR ISNT ALLOWING ME TO LINK SOME OF MY PARTS. I’M SORRY

[knottedhearts]

Argument Pt 2: M.S

The cold air hit your face as you stepped outside, the quiet of the night wrapping around you like a blanket. The tension in your chest began to loosen, but the knot in your stomach remained. The whole argument with Matt had left you feeling exhausted, like your body was at war with itself between the physical pain and the emotional toll of the fight. You hadn’t meant to storm out like that, but you didn’t know how else to handle it.

You didn’t even know where you were going, just walking, letting the cool night air clear your mind. The city was quiet, the streets empty save for a few passing cars and distant voices, nothing but the occasional sound of your footsteps against the pavement.

You found yourself at the nearby park, sitting on a bench beneath a streetlamp. It wasn’t much, but it was a place to breathe, a space to think. Your phone buzzed in your pocket, and for a moment, you considered ignoring it. But you couldn’t. It was Matt.

You hesitated before pulling it out. There was a message: "I'm sorry. I didn’t mean it. Can we talk?"

You stared at the screen for a moment, the apology almost feeling too little too late, but something inside of you softened. You knew Matt’s pride was as big as his voice, so for him to admit that much meant something. The frustration in your chest ebbed a little, replaced by a mix of confusion and the tiniest shred of hope.

You typed out a quick reply: "I need space right now. I can’t talk."

You sat there for a while, the screen of your phone glowing in the dim light as you waited for a response. When the buzz came again, you opened it to find a single sentence: "I understand. I just want you to be okay."

For a moment, you just stared at the words, not knowing how to feel. Was it genuine? Did he really understand? You wanted to believe it, but your heart was still heavy with everything that had been said. You couldn’t shake the feeling that this fight had dug a deeper divide between the two of you.

You exhaled slowly and looked up at the stars, letting the chill of the night ground you. The silence was a comfort, though it didn’t completely take away the lingering tension. You weren’t sure how to fix things right now, but you knew you couldn’t stay angry forever.

After a while, you felt your phone buzz once more, this time with a call. It was Matt.

You debated for a moment before answering, your thumb hovering over the screen before finally accepting. "Hey," you said, your voice quieter than before, the tension still not fully gone.

"Hey," Matt’s voice came through, softer than usual, almost hesitant. "I know you’re pissed, and I know I messed up. I shouldn’t have been so loud, and I should’ve listened when you said you weren’t feeling well. I… I get it now."

You sighed, rubbing your forehead as you leaned back against the bench. "Matt, it’s not just about the noise. It’s about not feeling heard. I need you to see when I’m struggling, not just assume I’ll get over it."

He was quiet for a moment, the sound of his breathing coming through the phone. "I’m sorry. I really am. I didn’t realize how bad it was for you. I just… I didn’t know how to tone it down, you know? It’s like I’m stuck in my own head sometimes, and I forget that there are people around me who need something different."

"Yeah, well," you paused, your voice steady but tired, "maybe it’s time you start noticing."

Another silence passed, but this time, it wasn’t heavy. It felt like he was reflecting, trying to understand, really trying.

"I get that," he said eventually, his voice quieter than before. "I don’t want to hurt you, and I don’t want to make it worse. I’ll do better. I just… I care about you, and I didn’t mean to make you feel like your needs didn’t matter."

There was something in his words that made the anger in your chest loosen a little more. It wasn’t perfect, and the fight was still fresh in your mind, but you knew this was the start of something. The start of him learning how to be more considerate, how to see when you were struggling instead of barreling through with his own world.

"I know you didn’t," you said softly, your fingers tracing the edge of your phone. "But you have to hear me next time, Matt. I don’t want to be the one always having to ask for peace. I need you to understand that."

"I do," he replied quietly. "I’ll make sure of it."

You leaned back, your shoulders loosening just a little, the tension still present but not as overwhelming. "Thanks," you said, your voice a little more even now. "I just… need a little time to cool down."

"I get it. Take all the time you need," Matt said, his voice gentle. "I’ll be here when you’re ready."

The conversation ended shortly after, and as you sat there in the quiet park, the cold air wrapping around you, you realized that maybe this wasn’t the end. Maybe this was the start of a bigger change, one where both of you learned to meet in the middle, to understand each other better.

You didn’t know when you’d be ready to go back, but for the first time that evening, the idea of heading home didn’t seem so daunting. There was still work to do, but things would get better. You had to believe that.

As you stood up from the bench, the weight on your chest felt lighter. With each step, you felt a little more like yourself, a little more hopeful that the space and time would help Matt understand, and that maybe, just maybe, you could find a way to make things work between you two.

[asvtrials]

Let me show you how sorry I am

Bjorn x Fem!Reader

minors dni!

summary: Bjorn made you cry and he's very sorry about it. So sorry that he buries his head between your legs... warnings: smut, oral (fem! receiving), toxic relationship, plot? what plot?, ooc maybe?, not proof-read a/n: Guess who's back?! I wrote this in like two hours so if it's shit yk why. Bjorn eating his gf out after he fucked up is very real to me this man will avoid the consequences of being a dick like it's the plague. ANYWAYS, something small for you! w/c: 819

Bjorn is always saying shit he doesn’t mean. It’s just how he is.

In the heat of the moment, he will say the most outrageous shit and cause you to storm out in tears.

At first, he thinks you’re being dramatic until he calms down and realizes what a dickhead he was. And that’s when the guilt comes and he’s calling you, texting you, begging you to hear him out.

When you ignore him, he goes to your trailer. When you open the door and send him a venomous look, he looks all desperate, like a kicked puppy.

He cups your face, keeps saying how sorry he is and how much of an asshole he is all the time and you let him, because you know what comes next.

You’re weak, so weak you hated it. Especially when he starts kissing your cheeks, testing the waters, seeing if you’ll push him away. You never do, always melting in his arms as he slowly kisses your jaw and neck.

His lips move with yours in a slow, deep rhythm, leading you to your bedroom.

You fall on the bed with a soft groan, pulling him on top of you.

You don’t stop him when he takes off your pants. Why would you? 

Oh right, you’re mad at him…

Then he starts whispering “You know I don’t mean all’at shit, right?” and “I love you, I dunno what I was sayin’, baby.” between kisses. 

You barely hear him, too drunk on the taste of his tongue yet you nodded, no longer caring about the fight. Hell, you barely remember it.

And he knows it.

A small smirk tugs at his lips when you chase his lips after he pulls away.

“My perfect girl deserves better.” He purrs against your neck whilst leaving a trail of red marks from your neck to your collarbone.

You reach for his soft hair when he reaches your panties, lips inches away from where you desperately need him.

His finger lightly grazes the wet spot on the fabric as he looks up at you through his lashes and asks you “Lemme show ya how sorry I am, yeah?”

It’s embarrassing how fast you nod.

He drags the underwear down your legs, torturously slow to the point where you whine for him to hurry up.

Bjorn is rarely patient. He usually fucks you fast and hard, like a starved man. But not tonight.

Tonight he wanted to show you how sorry he is. And why you always end up forgiving him.

Watching him position himself between your spread legs is enough to knock the air out of your lungs.

You watched the spit abandon his lips and fall on your core, mixing with your juices. 

His eyes meet yours once again as he flattens his tongue against your pussy, sending shivers down your spine.

His name falls from your lips in desperate, pathetic moans as he dives between your legs.

He sucked and slurped on your essence, spreading your folds with his fingers. He didn’t stop even when your thighs were squeezing his head, not even when he felt like his lungs were going to explode from the lack of oxygen.

How could he? When his girl was begging him to ‘not stop’ when she was so sweet to let him show her how remorseful he was.

Almost as sweet as her juices that drive him crazy with every lick. 

“Ah! Fuck!” You moan, thighs trembling with the sensation of your nearing release.

He threw your legs over his shoulders and lifted your hips to bring you closer, needing to be as close as possible, to lick every last drop you had to offer him.

His tongue feverishly lapped your soaked cunt, your loud moans only fueling him to go faster, to ruin you completely so that the only thing you can remember is the feeling of your tongue between your folds.

The last straw was Bjorn’s moan against your clit. You come with a scream, not caring about your neighbors.

You squeezed his head with your quivering thighs, the earthshattering orgasm you just experienced left you a shaking, breathless mess.

And you swear you almost came again when Bjorn finally pulled his head back, admiring his work before meeting your hazy gaze. His slick-coated lips moved but you didn’t hear him.

You nod regardless.

“You really forgive me, baby?” He asks again, his smile turning into a smirk when you weakly reply ‘yeah’.

You were sure you’d feel at least a little pathetic with how easy it was for him but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

Especially with the way he looked right now. Chin glistening with your taste, a small victorious grin tugging at his bruised lips as he looked at you.

You knew this wouldn’t be your last orgasm, it never was. After all, Bjorn was very sorry and you were very weak.

[aerynwrites]

Black Paint

Vessel x Fem!Reader

A/N: After almost a week of more i FINALLY finished this omg. sorry for all the teasing it just turned into way more of a beast to write this than i anticipated lol. Now that this is done though I have more of a horror oriented idea surrounding Vessel the character that I want to work on next. Hope you all enjoy! Word Count: 8.4k (oops) Warnings: none

--------------------------

The bar is busier than normal. You have to push the door rather roughly to not so politely get someone blocking it to move, and when you finally do make it inside, the air is thick with the smell of beer and warm bodies. 

Great.

You grumble quietly to yourself as you wade through the mass of bodies, laughter and the loud din of conversation assaulting your ears as you approach the bar, a glimmer of hope flickering in your chest when you see your usual seat at the end is open.  The bartender, Ryland, spots you immediately smiling at you as he gestures to the seat that is tipped forward onto the bar to signal its reservation.

He reaches forward as you finally reach your destination, tipping the chair back so it lands on all four legs and you slide into the well worn wooden seat. The patron to your left glances at you, eyes flitting from you, to the seat that you occupied, back to Ryland before dropping back to his glass. 

You smile warmly at the bartender as you pull your scarf from around your neck. 

“Thanks for saving it for me,” you say, talking about the seat. “I hope I didn’t put anyone out.” 

Ryland shrugs already mixing your drink as his eyes flicking to your neighbor for just a brief moment before they return to you.

“Couldn’t leave my best customer without her seat,” he says kindly, his words making you feign an exaggerated wince. 

“Ugh, Ry,” you groan, “you can’t keep calling me your best customer…it makes me sound like an alcoholic.”

Ryland laughs as he slides your already finished drink across the waxed wood bar top. 

“Well…” you chuckle as you take the drink. “Maybe this is sign enough.”

Your friend shakes his head. “You’re not an alchoholic love, trust me,” he emphasizes. “You might be one of the most regulars, but having one drink a visit doesn’t mean that much. No AA for you yet.”

You raise your glass as you laugh, “Cheers to that.”

Ryland opens his mouth to respond but a shout from the end of the bar cuts him off and he rolls his eyes before sending you an apologetic look. “Duty calls, sorry.”

“I get it, go do your job. I’ll be here,” you assure him.

“Oh, I know.”

His words make you chuckle again as he rushes off to tend to more customers.  Usually you spend most of your nights here at the pub after work talking to Ryland. It’s usually just you and maybe a handful of other people, also regulars. Tonight is different though, much busier, and you find yourself slightly disappointed you won’t get to chat much with him. 

You shrug to yourself, reaching down to retrieve the book you’ve been reading from your bag. Might as well pass the time somehow, you drove all the way down here - no point in wasting the trip.

However, as you turn in your seat to reach your bag hanging on the back of your seat, you see a set of eyes on you. Your bar neighbor. 

You ignore it at first, but then remember how he���d looked when Ryland revealed the seat he’d saved had been for you. Without thinking, you grab your book and lean over slightly to be heard over the loud atmosphere of the room. 

“I hope I didn’t take this seat from someone who needed it,” you say quickly, “Did you need it for someone?” 

The man shakes his head at your question, swirling the glass in his hand around idly. 

“You’re good.” 

His words are short, but you immediately take notice of the deep timbre of his voice.

You nod, taking his curt response as ‘back off’ and move to lean back into your bubble when he speaks again. 

“You must be pretty important to have the bartender save your seat though,” he says, lips quirked up slightly. “Especially if you only ever get one drink.”

You let out a small scoff, waving him off. “Nobody important, trust me,” you say. “I’ve just been coming here for a while, and between you and me, I’m a generous tipper - I think that’s the only reason Ryland puts up with me.”

He smiles at that, closed lips pulling rather upward before he tilts his head back to finish off his drink. “That will do it,” he tells you before falling silent as he lifts up a hand to signal for another drink. 

You follow the natural flow of conversation and let it end there as Ryland comes over to take the mans order, you turn back to your book. 

You get through a few pages of your book, successfully able to tune out the noise around you but unsuccessfully able to turn out the stranger next to you. For whatever reason, you find your eyes flitting over to him more often then they should. 

He’s handsome in a mysterious kind of way. You know you’ve never seen him in here before, so he’s not a regular. He’s not here with anyone either, just silently sipping his drink of choice and occasionally flicking through his phone. But otherwise he just seems to be…existing here. Head bobbing to whatever rock music is playing through the speakers eyes glancing around the room. 

However, the one thing that seems to catch your eye most of all are his hands. He’s constantly fiddling with his glass, the several silver rings that adorn his fingers, clinking softly against the sides. But what piques your curiosity is the small flecks and smears of black on his knuckles and staining the ridges around his nails. 

It looks like paint. 

And before you can stop yourself, you find yourself asking,

“Are you an artist?”

This seems to pull the man from his reverie, eyes turning to meet yours in slight surprise. 

You gesture to his hands when he doesn’t answer. “Sorry I just - It looks like paint. on your hands…”

He looks down at his hands, brows raising slightly as he lets go of his glass to absentmindedly pick at the stains. He chuckles as he does, the sound sending a pleasant flutter through your chest. 

“You could say that,” he says vaugly. 

“That’s cool,” you offer a bit lamely, your mind anxiously reeling for a way to continue. 

You hold up your book. “I’m more of a consumer myself. You know…instead of the creator.” 

God, what the fuck is wrong with you?

The man shakes his head, “I doubt that,” he says kindly. “Most people I know who read are the most creative out there.”

You shrug, “I guess that makes sense...” You trail off for a moment. 

He obviously didn’t seem comfortable talking about what exactly he does since he avoided your question so you try to dance around it. 

“How did you get into your…art?”

The man shrugs, starting to fiddle with his glass again. “I think…It started as a way to express myself I suppose. Most art does. Then I just never stopped. I think of it as an escape if that makes sense.”

You nod firmly, once again thumbing through your book. 

“It does. I think that’s why I love reading so much…”

The conversation continues smoothly after that, the strangers seeming more open to talk as you both ramble on about everything and nothing. He asks you about what book you’re reading and you tell him, surprised to find he’s familiar with the author. You both just ramble on from things as simple as interests to eventually arguing about drinks of choice. 

Soon enough you’re on your fourth drink - a first for you really - and laughing about some story he had told you about a friend of his. 

“No way!” You exclaim through broken laughter, cheeks warm from both the alcohol and the sound of his laughter.  “I don’t believe it.”

He shakes his head hand placed over his chest, “I swear it.”

“Oh my god that is…” your words devolve into more laughter as you take another sip of your drink. 

Your new friend goes to speak again but cuts himself off as his phone buzzes on the bar top. His smile falls, only slightly, as his eyes scan the screen before he lets out a small sigh, Turing the screen off and tapping the phone against the solid wood beneath it.

“Duty calls,” he says ruefully, moving to stand as he pulls a pen from his pocket and scribbles something onto a dry drink napkin. 

You sit up straighter now, fighting off the pang of disappointment as he starts to pull his jack on. 

“Work?” 

He shrugs, sending you another one of those half smiles. “Something like that,” he says before pulling out what is obviously way too much money for his two drinks and tucks it and the napkin beneath his glass. 

“Get home safe,” he says, before turning to push his way through the mass of bodies. 

“You too!” You call after him, hoping he heard you over the din of the room. 

A low whistle catches your attention from where you watch the him exit the bar, and you turn to see Ryland has joined you once again. His eyes are bright as he looks at the empty place beside you, the cash and napkin in his hand as his eyes scan over it. 

“What?” You ask, leaning forward to get a peek at the note.

Ryland sends you a wicked grin. “Seems like someone made a good impression,” he chuckles, shwoing you the napkin. “Your tab is payed for, love.”

‘For the lady’s drinks as well. keep the rest.’

The handwriting was surprisingly neat, a mix between print and cursive as it flows across the delicate paper. You glance back up at Ryland as he whistles again. 

“Damn good tipper too, at that,” he admires. “Hope he comes back.”

It’s then, as your friend is drooling over his tip and you glance back down at the note in you hand that your realize it. 

You never even learned his name.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

It’s several types typical days at the bar before you see him again, and to say you’re surprised is an understatement. It had been almost a week since the night you met him, and you had resigned yourself to the fact that you’d probably never see him again. 

So, when you walk into the much calmer bar tonight, your eyes don’t search the room. Instead you make a beeline to your usual seat, waving at Ryland as you do. You hand barely meets the wooden back of the tall chair before a high pitched whistle sounds from behind you, turning several heads in the pub, including yours. 

You csilently curse the way your heart leaps in your chest as you find the source, a familiar face raises a glass from a booth in the back before waving you over. However, unlike last time, he’s not alone. There are three other guys sitting with him at the table, all eyes on you as you glance from them, back to your usual seat, before falling to Ryland. 

Your friend, who stands in front of you now gives you a scathing look. “Girl if you sit down in the chair I just might kick you out. Go,” he points to the table before walking off. 

You can’t stop the chuckle that leaves your lips as you listen to him, hand falling from your familiar place in order to walk towards the back table. 

The stranger from before assess you as you approach, eyes trailing from your face to your feet then back up again, and you can’t stop the shiver that runs up your spine at the action. 

“Didn’t think I’d see you again,” he says, taking a sip of his drink. 

You give him a confused look. “I did tell you I was a regular here right?” You ask. “I should be the one saying that about you.” 

He smiles, “Oh I didn’t forget,” he assures you. “How could I forget this place’s best customer?” 

“Oi, quit flirting and let the lady sit down!” One of the other guys at the table interrupts, leaning over from his place next to you to push out the last free chair as he looks at your strange companion. “You haven’t even introduced us.”

At the mention of an introduction, the man seems to freeze, as if he too realizes just like you did last time, that you never exchanged names. 

“Well…Uh, this is-”

You interject quickly with your name, sticking your hand out to the one who had pulled out the chair for you. He laughs at your formal greeting and playfully swats your hand away as he stands. 

“We’re the hugging type I’m afraid, but-” he pulls you into a quick hug before ushering you into your seat, “It’s nice to meet you. I’m iv”

You look at him puzzled for a moment, as you take your seat, spotting closer to the table. 

“Four like… like the number?” You ask, unable to keep the surprise out of your voice. 

The man laughs, as if he expected that reaction and nods. 

“You heard right. I’m iv,” he gestures to the man to his right, who has shorter white hair, “This here’s iii, and that-” he points to the man sitting next to your friend, “is ii. And well, you already know Ves.”

Your slight confusion must show on your face as laughter erupts from the table, the boys nudging one another as they all pause to take sips from their various drinks. The one named iii waves his hand in a dismissive manner, shaking his head. 

“It’s a bit of an…inside joke I guess. Nicknames we gave each other that just kind of stuck,” he explains.

You nod at his explanation, still perplexed but accept it nonetheless. And plus, now you know the name of the mystery man from last visit. 

Ves. 

You wonder if that is some sort of nickname too. 

However, you don’t dwell too long on that fact before the conversation last time with Ves comes to the front of your mind. With brows drawn together, you lean over slightly towards Ves, pointing a wandering finger towards the other three guys. 

“Wait, so was one of them the one that went streaking through the park after a night of drinking?”

The grin that splits Ves’ face is all you need to know the answer as a cacophony of groans and loud protests erupt from the table. But it’s not until iii slaps his hands on the table as he leans forward with a betrayed look on his face. 

“Ves, really man? We promised we’d take that shit to the grave! Why are you out here dissing me like that?”

The only response iii gets is a laugh from Ves and soon the other guys follow, elbowing their friend and tossing teases across the table, and before you know it, you join in too. 

***

The night goes on much like that, more stories of their wild times together coming to light, and they even get you to spill some more embarrassing, albeit funny, memories from your college days. Its through these conversations that you determine the must have been friends for a while, and you smile at the thought of what other antics they could get up too. 

This time, and idle chatter also reveals something else to you. 

More black paint. 

It’s still apparent on Ves’ hands like last time, although it looked like he tried to do a better job of scrubbing it away. The same couldn’t be said be said for the other guys. The dark pigment adorns their skin in small amounts much the same way as it did Ves’ the first time you met him. It’s mainly prominent on the ridges of their knuckles and fingernails, sometimes on their wrists when you can see the skin form where their shirts or jackets ride up. You even notice a particularly larger smear on the side of ii’s neck when he lens back to laugh particularly hard at some lame joke you said. 

It’s probably nothing, they probably all work together, it would make sense. But no matter how many times you try to ignore it, your curiosity won’t let it slide. 

And ii notices. Probably from when you let your eyes linger on him a bit too long when you noticed the paint. 

He takes a swing of his beer before gesturing to you with the glass. “Alright, out with it,” he says casually, “I know I’m attractive but nobody stares at me like that.”

iii reaches across the table and swats at his shoulder. “Oi, don’t be so full of yourself mate-”

iv joins in on the banter. “Yeah, we all know I’m the best looking-”

Playful banter breaks out at this, the lot of them seeming to forget about the question ii even asked you, and in the break from the spotlight, you eye drift over to Ves. 

Only to see him already looking at you, a pensive look on his face. 

Heat rushes to your cheeks and you look away quickly, reaching for your glass to take another drink as your eyes fall to your watch. 

Holy shit, it’s late. 

You let out a small huff, quickly downing the last of your drink before setting the glass back on the table with a soft thunk. 

“I have to head out,” you say, turning to gather your purse before moving to stand. 

The announcement brings out a chorus of protests and pleas to stay but you shake your head. 

“I don’t know what you all do for work but I have to be up in...” You look exaggeratedly at your watch, “oh five hours, so with that-” you reach into your purse and pull out several larger bills, laying them on the table, “Drinks are on me tonight as a thank you for a lovely evening.”

More protest follow, but you wave them off and before you know it the three guys you met earlier are out of their seats and giving you hugs as if you’ve known them for years, murmurs of ‘see you around’ and ‘drive safe’ meeting your ears before they back off. 

Then, Ves’ is in front of you before you can blink, and it’s only now that you seem to realize just how huge he is. Well, in reality, he’s not the tallest person you’ve ever seen but he still towers over you and has a…presses about him you can’t seem to place. 

You look up at him and smile as he holds your coat up in his hands, having retrieved it from the back of your seat before you could. He helps you as you slip your arms through the sleeves, and you turn back to him, smile still tugging at your lips. 

“Thanks.”

Ves nods, shoving his hands in his pockets. 

“I can walk you to your car,” he offers, nodding to the windows. “It’s dark.”

You shake your head in an automatic response, “You don’t have to do that-”

Ves’ is steering you towards the door before you can finish, “I insist.”

The boys call out their goodbyes as you leave, and Ves just chuckles as you make for the door. 

“They liked you,” he says as he pushes open the door, holding it for you until you’re both out in the crisp night air. 

You laugh, turning right to head towards your car parked just down the street. 

“I liked them too, they’re a riot,” you say fondly. “I can see why you’re all friends. They seem like good people.”

Ves smiles softly at this, nodding his agreement. “They are - basically saved my life a time or two.”

A silence falls over you too then, neither of you sure what to say as you lead him further down the sidewalk, your car now in view. The only sound is the soft thudding of shoes on concrete and your own breathing. 

Your over active mind races for something to fill the silence, but you reach your destination before you can think of anything, and you try to swallow the disappointment you feel as your night draws to a close. 

“Well,” you say, pulling out your keys, “this is me.” 

You turn to face Ves, your back to your car as he stops just a few steps from you, closer than would be considered normally appropriate. 

Not that you’re complaining. 

He looks down at you again, features obscured by the shadows casted by the street lamps. But he seems to be studying you, that curious tilt to his head making your heart stutter slightly. 

“It was nice to see you again,” he says finally, voice gentle in the quiet night.

“It was nice to see you too,” you say, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth in a moment of contemplation. “I had been looking for you. Before tonight.” You admit. 

His brows raise at that, slight surprise painting his features. 

“Really?” 

You chuckle, “Yeah. I remembered after you left that we never even learned each others names and…it was silly. But I’m glad I got to see you again.”

Ves smiles at your words just a small gust of wind blows though, sending a shiver through you as part of your scarf falls down from around your neck. He reaches up instinctively to adjust the fabric, his knuckles brushing the underside of your jaw as he tugs it back into place. 

“Well,” he breathes, “Maybe we’ll see each other again.”

You’re looking up at him again, closer than ever and you can barely muster the weak ‘yeah’ that falls from your lips, before his hand drops back to his side. 

“Have a good night, love.” 

And then he’s walking back towards the pub. 

Your mind is racing again, and like a total dumbass you blurt the first thing that comes to your mind. 

“Baby oil!” You call out, stopping the tall man in his tracks as he turns to send you a very confused look. 

“For the paint,” you clarify, gesturing to your own hands. “Baby oil gets paint off pretty good. Better than soap and water.”

Ves smiles, and just nods turning back to continue his journey.

But even from this far away, the silent night allows you to hear that deep laughter slip from his lips. 

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Today was one of the bad days.

Everyone has them, you know they do, today is just your turn, you suppose. You don’t have many of them, or at least - you don’t go to the pub when you do. But even Ryland notices your dour mood, noticing right away when you by pass your usual seat without so much as a wave in favor of picking the tiny booth at the very back of the establishment. 

He only offers a small pat on the shoulder as he drops off your usual drink, muttering a quiet offering of solidarity before walking back off.

It feels stupid. To be this upset when nothing even really happened. Your car didn’t break down, you didn’t have a partner dump you, you didn’t get laid off, it’s just-

The tears seem to come without warning. Burning at the back of your eyes, lower lip wobbling in an attempt to stop the onslaught of tears and the sob clawing at your chest. 

Get it together!! You scream at yourself, frustration further fueling the tears. 

Life just sucks sometimes for no particular reason it seems. 

Work is overwhelming, your hobbies aren’t interesting, your house too quiet it seemed to scream at you instead of comfort you. 

You take a sip of your drink, wiping furiously at the tears that escape as you do so. 

You’re thankful you chose the booth seat facing away from everyone. How embarrassing to be a caught in a pub crying  over -

“Fancy seeing you here.”

The all to familiar voice shocks you from your own mind and you jump in your seat, making the mistake of looking over your shoulder to see none other than Ves. 

“Oh my god,” you mutter wiping hastily at your cheeks as you watch his lips turn downwards in concern. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks, coming closer despite your inner desire for him to leave. 

You shake your head, wiping your nose for good measure as you stare down into your drink. 

“Nothing,” you say, voice clogged with emotion. “Don’t worry about it.”

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself when you realize he’s sliding in the booth across form you. Plastering on a watery smile you clutch your glass between your hands as you look at him. 

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” you try to say casually, but fail miserably. 

Ves just shakes his head, eyes soft as he rests his clasped hands on the table before him. 

“You don’t have to do that,” he tells you, “not with me.”

“Do what?” You say, lip trembling again as your tears bubble up once more. 

“Pretend you’re okay, when you’re not.”

The laugh you let out is a bitter thing, small and broken by the tears that drip from your eyes that you wipe away again and again. 

Ves doesn’t say anything as you try to compose yourself again, but you find yourself unable to, and he eventually stops you from fruitlessly wiping away tears by reaching up to take one of them in his own. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks again, somehow even gentler than before. 

All you can do is shrug, tears salty against your tongue as you lick your lips. 

“Nothing, really,” you say again, continuing when he looks like he’s going to argue. 

“I’m just…sad. Don’t know why.”

Ves nods understandingly, thumb swiping comfortingly over your knuckles. He doesn’t say anything. Maybe because he doesn’t know what to say or maybe because he knows it won’t really matter. Either way you appreciate his presence - it’s nice to know someone is here, even if no words are shared. 

After a few quiet moments, he grabs a drink napkin with his free hand, offering it to you. 

You take it, fingers brushing his own and notice something that takes your mind off of your own turmoil. 

“The paint’s gone,” you say softly, turning his hand over to inspect it. 

You glance up only to see Ves’ lips twitch upwards ever so slightly. 

“Baby oil,” he says, “who knew?”

His words make you let out a soft chuckle, and he joins in, his hand never leaving yours. 

And suddenly, you’re not so sad anymore. 

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

Laughter bubbles up from your chest as you and the boys spill out of the bar into the cold night air.  Your breaths materializing in front of you in puffs of white steam. iii is hanging of off iv’s shoulder, doubled over in laughter at something that someone said - you can’t even keep track of the conversation anymore, laughter cutting most of it off anyways. 

However, after a few more long moments of racouys laughter, iii perks up brows raised slightly as he looks to you. 

“Holy shit I almost forgot,” he says, letting got go iv to address you now. “You’re coming tomorrow night right?”

You send him a quizzical look before looking over to Ves where he stands next to you, only to see him waving his hand in front of his throat in a ‘cut it out’ motion, stopping abruptly when you catch him. 

“Go where?” You ask, curiosity piqued. 

You watch as ii rolls his eye, “Come on Ves,” he groans. “We already decided to extend the invitation.”

You hear Ves let out a huff, running a hand through his hair as you speak up again, confusion turning into annoyance. 

“What are you guys talking about?” You ask, exasperation lacing your words. 

It’s iv who speaks up this time, wrapping an arm around iii.

“There’s a concert tomorrow,” he says grinning. “We have an extra ticket and wanted you to come.”

“A concert?” You ask, turning to Ves only to see an almost imperceptible blush tinging his cheeks. “Why are you so worked up about a concert?”

Ves huffs again, shaking his head as he digs around the inside of his jacket for something. “I’m not worked up,” he grumbles, finally finding what he was searching for and pulling it out. “I just-”

II interrupts Ves with a clap on the shoulder and a shit eating grin on his face. “He’s just mad because he wanted to be the one to ask you.”

Ves shrugs his hand off his shoulder and lands a playful punch to his friends arm, mumbling something about being a prick and he’d pay for that later, before he turns to you, offering you what you realize now is a small badge attached to a lanyard. 

“Here,” he says, softer than when he addressed iv. “It’s VIP, just show up an hour before show time and they’ll tell you where to go.”

You take it from him, the black lanyard soft beneath your fingers as you examine the item. The badge is sturdier than you expected, seeming to be made of metal instead of plastic. it’s all black with a red symbol you’ve never seen before printed on both sides the name of the band printed just beneath it with the words ‘VIP PASS’ below that. The lanyard itself is black with white lettering echoing the same as the badge. 

Sleep Token.

Huh. You’ve never heard of them before, but that doesn’t surprise you as you haven’t been a huge music buff most of your life. Then, as if Ves’ words finally register with you, you look up at him again, brows pinched in confusion once more. 

“Wait. They’ll show me where to go - are you guys not coming with me?” You ask, “Because this ticket it wasted on me if you guys don’t come, I don’t even know the band-”

“Oh we’ll be there,” iii laughs from his place next to iv.

The boys all laugh at his words, leaving you feeling utterly left out of some inside joke they have. But before you can get to worked up about it, a warm hand reaches out to take your own that holds the pass. 

“Don’t worry about them,” Ves says, rolling his eyes. “Give me your phone.”

You comply without really thinking about it, watching as the much taller man takes it from you and types something into it before handing it back. 

“There. I put in my number, just text me when you get there tomorrow and we’ll find each other.”

You nod, stomach fluttering as your fingers brush his when you take your phone back and pocket it. 

“Sounds good.”

ii claps his hands together, seemingly satisfied with tonights events. “Alight, now that’s settled we probably need to get going. Big day tomorrow boys!”

The rest of the group whoops in agreement, grouping together as they head down the sidewalk, only Ves lingering behind at your side. Only when he gestures towards your car down the street do you realize he wants to walk you there. 

“Oh, right,” you say, chuckling softly as warmth rushes to your cheeks. 

You’ve been getting unusually flustered around him lately, unable to control the fluttering in your chest when he’s around. 

It’s silent for a moment before you break it, gesturing with the pass to the guys ahead. 

“This must be some band for them to be this excited about it.”

Ves laughs at that, an actual laugh deep from his chest instead of the usual soft chuckles he gives you. 

“Yeah, they…You could say it’s a huge part of our lives,” he says.

You hum softly, looking back down at the pass. 

“Well then, I’m sure I’ll like them if you all enjoy them this much. Ill try to listen to some of their songs on the way home-”

“No!” Ves interjects, voice loud on the quiet street as you both come to a stop in front of your car.

He clears his throat when you give him a withering look, caught off guard by his outburst. 

“I just…” he begins, “they’re best live,” he tells you, rubbing the back of his neck. “Promise you won’t listen to them before the concert tomorrow.”

His eyes seem to be pleading with you, and you can’t find it in you to deny him despite your curiosity. 

“Okay…I’ll wait until tomorrow.”

Ves sighs, relief evident in the way his shoulders drop ever so slightly, and before you can even blink his face is right next to your own, warm lips pressing quickly to your cheek before he’s back out of your space, grinning like a fool.

“Good. See you tomorrow night.”

And all you can do is stare, stunned silly, as he jogs to catch up with his friends. 

You only realize when you pull into your driveway that you never got the location of the concert, or the start time at the same exact moment your phone pings with a message. It’s from an unknown number but lists an address and a time, followed quickly by a second less cryptic message. 

Hope you got home safe. See you tomorrow.

-V

* * * *

Even though you get to the concert venue an hour early like Ves told you too, it’s already packed. You almost don’t find parking until you get lucky with a street spot a few blocks over. When you finally make it to the entrance the line is down the block and seems to keep going. You look around for a line labelled for VIP, anything to tell you where to go, but all you see is the sign pointing to the long line for general admission. 

You pull your phone from your pocket, pulling up Ves’ number to shoot him a quick text. 

‘Hey! I’m here but I don’t see a sign for VIP…where are you guys?’

You wait less than a minute before a response comes through.

‘V: We’re running way later than expected. Find an attendant, they should be able to point you in the right direction.’

You huff at the message anxiety gnawing at your mind as you bit your lip. Late? You don’t know anything about this band or this venue, you don’t really want to go in without them-

“Miss?” 

A voice behind you makes you jump, turning to see a younger looking man with tattoos put his hands up in mock surrender as he chuckles. He’s wearing a t-shirt with the same logo as your lanyard.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to frighten you,” he says kindly, gesturing to your lanyard. “You’ve got a VIP pass. I can get you to where you need to go.”

“Oh,” you say, looking down to the pass hanging around your neck. “Yeah I was just texting my friend about where to go I don’t…” you hesitate for a moment. “I’ve never been to one of these before.”

The man smiles, holding a hand out as he gestures for you to follow him towards a side entrance to the venue. 

“That’s alright. In your defense we don’t have the best signage for VIP’s,” he chuckles. “We don’t get many of them.”

Surprise tugs at your chest at his words.

“You don’t?” You ask, “My friends are supposed to meet me here, will they know where to go?”

The man chuckles at this, eyes glimmering with mischief as he looks over to you before opening the door to head inside.

“I think they’ll be fine.”

You follow him inside the venue and marvel at the gargantuan space as he shows you around. The stage is set up, lights on but not moving and the bands logo projected onto the back wall of the stage. The venue looks big enough to hold thousands of people. The floor closest to the stage is void of seats, allowing for people to stand up close to the stage while stadium like seats art up about half way back and up all around the room. 

“So this is it,” He says as he brings you up to the side of the front of the stage on the floor, right next to the barricade in a small roped off section separating you from the rest of the open floor seating. “They’re going to be letting GA in here in a few minutes and concert starts soon after that,” he extends his hand to you. “My name’s Sam by the way, if you need anything don’t hesitate to ask someone.”

You smile, your nerves from earlier dissipating slightly at the thought of knowing someone here as you take his hand.

“Thanks, Sam.”

He smiles back, before his phone buzzes in his hand. He looks down at it before waving it in the air slightly. 

“Duty calls. Enjoy the concert!”

And then he’s gone, leaving you alone in the big empty room waiting for your friends.

* * *

‘Ves, where are you guys???’

Your text has gone unread for several minutes, but your nerves are at an all time high as the room around you continues to fill with excited concert goers. The doors had opened half an hour ago and the room was already packed to the brim, people who had floor seats rushing in to be the first at the barricades as the start time drew closer. 

You send another hurried text, looking around you in hopes that Ves and the guys would show up any second. 

‘The concert is about to start!’

For a brief moment, dread settles in the pit of your stomach. What if this is some cruel joke being played on you. What if they bailed last minute and decided not to come, leaving you here by yourself. An ache settles in your chest as the fleeting memory of lips agasint your chilled cheek flashes before your eyes and you go to send another text. 

‘Ves…please tell me you guys are coming.’

As if on command, the room around you goes pitch black, the crowed around you erupting into a deafening roar as the stage lights slowly come to life with the sounds of harsh guitar strings flooding through the speakers. 

You phone lights up with a text message. 

‘V: We’re right here’

The crowds roar around you continues to crescendo as the music flows from the speakers, the blue lights on the stage illuminating a sole figure emerging in the center of the stage to greet the adoring crowd as the drums behind him explode in a rhythmic beat. 

You don’t have time to try to direct Ves’s message, your attention draw and held captive by the presence now on stage. 

They approach the front of the stage, just mere yards from you where a microphone stand sits, and you’re immediatly observing the sight in front of you. It’s a man, that you’re now sure of. He moves to the beat, the black cloak he wears billowing out behind him. He’s not wearing a shirt but any skin that would be showing is covered in black paint - from the portion of his face not hidden by a hood and face mask to his chest and right down to the fingers now wrapping around the microphone.  

The mask is obviously the most striking thing. White with a red symbol of the band painted on the front, missing the lower half to leave his mouth free to sing. 

Which he does. 

The vocalist starts to sing into the microphone, a song unfamiliar to you, but no less enchanting as a streak of familiarity zings though you. His voice sounds familiar in a far off distant way - and for a moment you wonder if you have heard this band before somewhere. 

Without really thinking, you find yourself swaying to the beat, foot tapping against the ground as the bas reverberates through the room. Your eyes flit from the lead singer to another figure you see drifting across the stage, guitar slung over his shoulders as he plays. 

He’s also masked, visible skin inked in black and the suit jacket he wears having a hood pulled up over his head. 

In fact, all the members of the band wear masks with any visible skin painted black. From the drummer to the back up singers to the other bass guitarist now waltzing along the stage towards the section your standing in. You notice as he get’s closer that he’s the only one not wearing a hood, his ash white hair flipping this way and that as he moves to the beat. 

As if sensing your specific gaze on him, the bass player looks up from his guitar strings to where you stand, and sends you a playful wink before turning back the way he came, all but swaggering off. 

It all seems to click into place in an instant, your eyes going wide as they flick from the shock of white hair back up to the lead singer, who’s now pulled the microphone from the stand and walking to your side of the stage, never missing a single word of the song. 

He stops right in front of where you stand, an the crowd behind you goes wild as he reaches out towards them, before bringing just slightly to look directly at you, sending you an almost imperceptible smile before he’s up and back the way he came. 

You can’t stop the laughter that erupts from your lips as realization sets in, you finally push past your confusion to join the crowd in jumping and clapping and trying your best to sing along to songs you’ve never heard before. 

It feels like you blink and the entire time passes by going from upbeat high energy songs to slower more emotionally charged ones. You find yourself completely drawn into the whole experience, especially on the soft songs, and you can tell that parts of himself were poured into them when they were written.

In no time the concert is drawing to a closer the last notes of the set flowing through the speakers as the crowd erupts into more deafening screams and cheering as Ves’ bows thankfully to the arena. You just barely manage to catch it as he looks over to you, turning and placing his hands together in a ‘thank you’ motion before you feel a gentle hand on your elbow. You turn to find Sam, the one who lead you in earlier, gesturing off to the side of the stage. 

“Come with me!” He calls, struggling to be heard over the crowd. 

You nod, casting one last glance over your shoulder before you’re lead out of the main arena to the backstage area. 

“So, what did you think?” Sam asks, genuine curiosity lacing his words. 

You smile wide, adrenaline still coursing through you from the excitement. 

“It was amazing! I’m just sad I didn’t know the songs…”

Sam let out a small laugh, “Well, I’m sure you’ll have plenty of time to learn them all someday,” he says before coming to a stop in front of a door towards the back of the backstage area. “You can wait in here. Vessel and the others should be by shortly.”

Vessel…

You don’t have time to dwell on the name reveal as Sam opens the door and ushers you inside and barely has time to close it behind you before a round of raucous laughter and cheers assault you as three of your four friends all but jump you as you enter. 

You laugh and hug them all, noticing that their masks are now gone, replaced with the familiar faces you recognize, just streaked with black paint. 

“I can’t believe you guys!” You exclaim once the noise dies down a little bit. “Why didn’t you just tell me you were in a band?”

iii waves a dismissive hand at you, moving to plop back into the couch in the center of the room. “Where’s the fun in that?” He teases, taking a water bottle that iv hand him. 

“Yeah,” iv agrees, taking a seat by iii, “it’s all part of the fun, love.”

You roll your eyes, turning youthful attention to ii who has yet to say anything from his place propped agains the edge of the couch. When he notices your eyes on him, he throws his hands up in surrender. 

“Don’t look at me, I was the one who wanted to tell you. These blokes,” his eyes shift to look at something behind you, “and him - outvoted me.”

You turn to face the object of ii’s attention, only to be met with a familiar towering form, the white and red mask still in place. Now that you’re able to see him up close, you can’t help the way your eyes roam. He truly is imposing like this - not in a bad way - but he seems to take on a different persona adorned in the costume. You take note of the paint still on his skin, but noticeably patchier from where it rubbed off or has dripped away due to the thin sheen of perspiration coming through. And from this close, you’re able to fully see the mask he wears, the intricate details and the way the eye holes are formed to create the illusion of there being 3 sets of eyes instead of just two. 

There’s so many thoughts running through your head, yet the only thing that you’re brain manages to verbalize is a very simple, and quiet - 

“Hi.”

Ves chuckles at this, the sound low and deep as it reverberates through his chest.

“Hi,” he mimics before casting a glance behind you. 

He must have silently communicated with the other guys because you soon hear rustling behind you as the al stand and start to move towards you, and thus the exit. They all murmur quick goodbyes to you, telling you and Ves to come find them later and you al can go out for drinks again, until eventually it’s just you and Ves alone in the room.

Neither of you have moved and you can feel a certain tension in the air that either of you have left to break. Until you finally work up the courage to speak. 

“So…Vessel?” 

The word comes out as a question, and you watch silently as he lets out a small huff, lips quirking upward in a small smile. 

“I figured ‘Ves’ was a more socially acceptable way of introducing myself,” he jokes, reaching up to tap the mask. “Despite what you might think, I don’t try to scare people away.”

He pauses for a moment, hands clenching at his sides slightly before he speaks again.

“So…what do you think?”

You can’t help but perk up at his question, flashes of the concert coming back to you immediately as you practically bounce on your toes. 

“What do I think?” You repeat, exasperated. “Ves, that was amazing! I might not have known the songs that well but it was phenomenal…”

Your words come out faster than you can really control, rambling on about everything you loved about the concert and their music. You’re so caught up in recalling the recent events that you fail to notice as Ves moves ever closer to you, eliminating the space between you both.

“And then when you were on the piano and singing that song I could just tell that you poured your heart into it and it reminded me of that night at the bar when I was upset and you -”

Your words are cut off before you can continue, large calloused hands cradling your cheeks as warm lips capture your own in a kiss that takes your breath away. You barely even notice the way the mask he wears presses into your cheek until one of his hands leave your skin in order to pry the offending article up and off his head, lips breaking from yours only momentarily before kissing you once more. 

You hands fall to his sides instinctively, skin warm beneath your palms as your try to pull him closer.  He obliges your request by moving to wrap an arm around your waist, holding you too him until he eventually breaks the kiss, resting his forehead against your own as you both struggle for breath. 

“You are truly amazing,” he says softly, brushing a stray piece of hair from your face. 

You pull away from him then, just enough to look up and capture his gaze with your own, heat flooding your cheeks. 

“You’re one to talk,” you jest lightly, reaching up to wipe at the pain smudged on his cheeks. 

“Never in a million years would I have guessed you literally cover yourself in paint. I thought you were a painter!” You exclaim.

Vessel laughs at that, eyes crinkling at the corners as he does so. 

“Well, I guess technically I am a painter-”

“Not what I meant,” you argue, reaching up to wipe at something tickling your cheek. 

Vessel reaches up and grabs your hand before you can wipe your cheek again, eyes widened slightly. 

“Stop, you’ve got paint…” 

You glance at your hand in his, only to see black paint smeared over your palms from where you’d touched him earlier. 

“Here,” he says, reaching up to wipe at the smudge you assume is now on your face.

However, his nose scrunches up as he does so. “Oh…” he tries to wipe it again. “I - I’m just not helping at all really-”

You dissolve into a fit of giggles as you imagine him just smearing more paint around in an effort to clean it up, and he soon joins in before reaching grabbing the corner of his cloak to use instead. 

He takes your chin between his fingers, tilting your head to one side as he used the piece of fabric to delicately wipe away the traces of paint. His eyes trial over your features as he works, taking you in until he eventually drops the fabric back to his side in favor of cradling your face in his hands once more. 

“I really want to kiss you again,” he whispers, eyes shimmering with mischief.

You smile.

“Then what are you waiting for?”

And then his lips are on yours, and you couldn’t be happier for that busy night at the bar all those weeks ago.