#also ‘thrifted’ just means I couldn’t find/remember it

[rottenbubblegum]

[godesssiri]

Thrifting Philosophies 1

Getting the good stuff requires commitment, knowledge, and luck. There’s always going to be an element of luck in thrifting. What are the chances that the perfect item will be donated and put out on the shelves of the very thrift store that you are going to and that you will get your mitts on it before anyone else? There is real kismet in walking out of a thrift store with an item that you’ve dreamed of, I literally daydreamed about one of my best scores (a 2.5-foot-tall ceramic panther) for years before it actually happened – and discovering it actually went almost exactly like my daydream.* Don’t let the luck factor put you off because if you are committed and knowledgeable then luck will come to you more often.

You have to go often. You have to have a circuit and make it routine and scour every inch of the store. Like I said I daydreamed for years before I found my panther, you’re NOT going to just walk into a thrift store and find your dream thing first try, unless you are extraordinarily lucky. I’ve noticed a couple of the Youtubers I watch that have a very specific aesthetic, and know exactly what they want, often mention searching new listings online every single day, they have their list of search terms, and they just keep looking every day until they find exactly what they’re looking for. Thrifting dream items is a hunt, and you have to remember you are a persistence predator so be persistent.

Being knowledgeable about what you are looking for will also increase your luck. The more you learn about the thing you love the more search terms you learn it could be listed under. The more you train your eye the more likely you are to spot the gems. I recently scored a Lisa Larson figurine for $3; her stuff goes for hundreds, and I never thought I would be able to own something of hers. But because I was familiar with her design style when I saw this little dog (on the shelf where my favorite thrift store stashes stuff they think is crap and they just want to sell it cheap) I was able to identify it as something that looked like her other designs and scoop it up. The marking on the base was so faint it was barely readable, and I had to google her mark so I could compare side by side. I then googled ‘Lisa Larson dog’ and checked the image results and sure enough my little guy popped up. Google is your friend in these cases and whenever I’m in a thrift store and think I’ve found something good, but I don’t know enough to tell for sure I’ll put it in my basket and take a seat in one of the armchairs that are for sale, and I’ll google away. Researching on your phone while you’re in store is the best way to decide if the thing in your basket is a bargain or not, today I saw a malachite box in the cabinet at the thrift store but it was a bit pricey, $40, so I googled to see if it was worth that, boxes of a comparable size were popping up for $150-$200 so you bet I snapped it up for $40. If you’re interested in an item, then do your research so when you spot it you instantly know what you’re looking at. Looking at lots of examples of a thing online means that when you come across it in real life it will draw your eye so it’s more likely jump out at you when it otherwise might be lost in among all the other stuff on the shelves – I’ve trained myself to spot antique blue and white china from just seeing the rim of a plate in a stack of random plates. I absolutely cannot emphasize enough that you need to know that you’re looking at something special when you lay eyes on it, there is so much good quality stuff in thrift stores you just have to be able to recognize it when you see it. The more you research and dream about finding your goal items, the more likely you are to stand in a thrift store and squint at something and go: Is that? No couldn’t be. Maybe it is? Then pick it up and turn it over to discover that it’s exactly what you thought it was and you’ve got a treasure in your hands. People talk about manifesting the things you want, and I do believe that you can. But I believe it has less to do with putting mystical vibe out into the universe to bring you those things and more to do with training you brain to spot the opportunity to get those things.

*The panther story for anyone who’s interested. I’ve been drooling over these huge ceramic big cats on Pintrest for years and desperately wanted one, you can get tigers, cheetahs, leopards, panthers, and they’re usually sitting up and are about 2.5 feet tall. They were mid-century and original ones sell for $$$$, you can buy new reproductions from the original molds but even those are in the 1-2 thousand range so yeah, I was never gonna be able to buy one. I daydreamed that someday I would walk into my favorite thrift store and find one. I live in an area with a lot of retirees who had money around the time these were being made so my chances were decent. My favorite store has a fully glass frontage and they put the best stuff where you can see in the windows. I daydreamed that I would be walking up to the store and see it through the window before I’d even gotten through the door, that I would beeline for it and grab it growling “Mine!”, and march it up to the counter without even looking at the price, I dreamed that when I got to the counter I would check the price and it would be incredibly reasonable – like $200 (considering how much even reproductions sell for). The things that went differently from my daydream: It was just after a Covid lock-down and here in New Zealand we used to scan-in to public places using a QR code which registered us on a government app – if someone tested positive everyone who had been in a location they had been to at the same time as them could be warned through the app. I saw my panther through the window just like my daydream and was fumbling to scan in while making loud inarticulate noises that embarrassed my mother and brother who were with me. My brother carried him up to the counter for me because I was shaking with excitement. When I actually stopped to check his price, he was $75!!!!!!!!!!! My brother also found a David Bowie book that day that retails for hundreds and that he’d wanted but never thought he would be able to afford, it was also $75. My mother still talks about my squealing and just about running people over to get to Jayjay the Panther (my honorary nephew, Jayjay then 4-years-old, was the one that named him, and he wanted to name him Jayjay).

My previous thrift post

[aclaywrites]

Oh Lordy this is a saga. For a super duper long time I didn’t care and just wore whatever. Jeans and t-shirts , it was the 70s and early 80s. I remember a pair jeans I had with rainbows on the back pockets, and a long sleeved ocean pacific shirt that everyone made fun of because they said it was a knockoff and not a real OP but it totally was. I had long hair that I didn’t cut and didn’t even pull back and it just hung around my face like Carrie. In 8th grade I got totally into wearing headbands and had 4 or 5 including one that was puffy and red like a ring of Saturn around my forehead. I can only assume this is the costume of a girl who isn’t interested in getting boys to like her, though it wasn’t that conscious in my mind just yet.

The last time I switched schools was 1985, just before my junior year. That’s also the summer I met Jessie and saw the Hunger, so it was time for a change. We went goth/punk 1980s Oklahoma style. I remember three wardrobe standouts: a pair of ballet flats with hieroglyphs on them, a black sweatshirt I cut the collar off, flash dance style and would wear over everything, and a tight, short skirt that was one continuous print of that 50s photo of people watching a 3D movie. I wore that until all the elastic went out and I couldn’t keep it on my ass any more 😂

Jessie and I split up when i went to college. I stopped dying and crimping my hair and let it grow out long again over the course of some years. I stopped trying to hard to be alternative looking, but I still liked black clothes, lots of ruffles and layers. Legit I had a black velvet cloak I wore when it was cold. I had a barrette shaped like a bat and used it to pull my hair back, on the days I didn’t braid it and pin it up Masterpiece Theater style. Dress like this and go sit in a tree and read Jane Eyre with zero irony. WHY DONT LESBIANS WANT TO DATE ME?!! 🤣🤣🤣

When I started teaching in the early 90s I had to go to the (thrift) store and buy adult looking clothes. Lots of jumpers (American meaning) and cardigans. This evolved into dresses and cardigans, I liked short waists, big skirts, no buttons, and a pair of Birkenstock Mary Jane’s which I still own. My off work style was kind of similar. Dresses and skirts and cardigans. I started wearing more colors, but it was still boho chic. Linen, velvet, the occasional Indian find with mirrors embroidered onto it. I cut my hair into the curly bob I wore for the next 20something years and continued to have very few dates.

After my kid was born and I was a stay at home mom, I let my hair grow again and plan to keep it long. It’s easiest for me, and I like the way it looks. I still prefer dresses and skirts, natural fabrics. I still only shop at thrift stores, and am interested only in pleasing myself, so I love to find odd pieces. I started wearing scarves around 2007 and now they’re a part of my look to an almost ridiculous degree (my kid was teasing me about thrift shopping the other day and said ‘yeah you gotta go to every one! What if you miss a scarf!) but I don’t care because they’re gorgeous and warm and dress up an outfit and frame my face while hiding my old-lady wattle 😂

One of the moms on car duty the other day was dropping off her daughter and gave me a long appraising look, then said critically “What does your husband have to say about the way you dress?” I was so shocked all I could say is “Mr Frizzle loves it.”

[shushiyuii]

Atlantic Runaways (Part 7)

A/N: Yaay! Part 7 is out after so long! Took forever but it's here in time! I finished my finals and am ready to write again!

Warnings: Soft vore, Unintentional fear play, Swearing, Fear of death (Kinda?), Violence, Minor injury, Mild angst, Mentions of trauma and neglect and a very exhausted teenager, Also lore

Words: 4.5K+

{…}

“This is absolute bullshit!”, he yelled as he faceplanted into the desk below. Groaning tirelessly, he turned to the nearby cup of coffee that lay on the desk. It was believed to be his fifth cup at this point throughout the night, though he had probably had more.

He gulped down the entire cup, only causing his head to pound as his headache worsened. Everything had become a mess overnight with the amount of research he had been attempting to do.

Pages had been torn and tossed to the floor as Tommy deemed them irrelevant. At this point in time, Tommy had read the entire book at least two or maybe even three times, he couldn’t remember.

‘The relic to turn the tides’, otherwise known as the piece of shit necklace. Tommy spent so long looking into every inch of detail in the words of the book. Only to find nothing.

Notably, though, the artefact was known for its use for “befriending” humans and then luring them into the sea to only betray them and eat them. Pretty terrifying to ask if you were to ask for his opinion, but cool to know anyways.

Besides that, the book also noted that the artefact was ancient in mer history. Which would mean a lot considering the book itself was yellowing at the edges, the pages worn and torn in some places. He could only sigh in annoyance.

The notebook with his “notes” only really had possible theories on possible locations of the artefact and then again, those were based on what Tommy knew (which was practically nothing). To say the least, Tommy felt hopeless.

He had only just found a possible lead, and yet there was absolutely nothing. Even the pointless queries on google didn’t even help. What would Wilbur say? Wouldn’t he be devastated at the possibility of no escape? Tommy couldn’t let that happen, no matter the cost.

Tommy jumped in his seat as the alarm on his phone buzzed to life. He quickly went to investigate as to why; Bringing the blinding light towards his face. Only to find out that it was 6:31 in the morning, which meant he had work.

Tommy forgot it was a work night, didn’t he? Well, wasn’t Tommy a genius staying up all night on a work night of all things! Just had to add salt into the mixture, didn’t they? How was Tommy even supposed to deal with everything currently?

Tommy desperately needed that artefact; he couldn’t let Wilbur down. But what could he do in the meantime? Scuba diving in the afternoon every day until he found one, and use a metal detector on the beach?

No, those wouldn’t work (the second one at least). The best thing he could possibly do was check out every thrift store and antique store he stumbled upon in the meantime. That was the plan anyway.

He stood up from his chair, feeling his bones pop back into place after so long of sitting down and the tension of his shoulders easing. It almost felt like a relief, he definitely wasn’t staying up all night like that again for a while.

Leaving his bedroom towards the bathroom, turned on the lights and looked at himself in the mirror for what felt like forever. To say the least, he wasn’t entirely pleased to see the bags under his eyes and messy hair.

Wilbur would definitely be worried once he saw Tommy. He sighed, shaking his head as he turned on the cold water of the tap, using it to freshen himself up. It was going to be a very long day.

{…}

“Order for Tommy!”, the barista called. Tommy sighed as he approached the counter, finally able to get another intake of caffeine with a less likely chance of falling asleep on the railway. Though he couldn’t help but sympathise with the barista, the poor guy sounded as tired as Tommy.

He thanked the guy for his drink, leaving some change in the tip jar as he walked towards the exit. He just simply had to head to work as normal, nothing bad could possibly go wrong, after all-

“Oh! Apologises fellow human! - I mean person! Sorry!”, the individual put his hands in surrender after stabling Tommy’s balance. Tommy groaned as he rubbed his head from almost colliding with the person, he really couldn’t handle anything at this time of morning.

“It’s okay, just try to be careful next time.”, Tommy reassured the now very suspicious-looking individual. Said individual was wearing a Hawaiian shirt at 8 am with a mask and sunglasses. Honestly though, who wore those kinds of clothes at this time in the morning?

Wait, did he say human or something? He couldn’t remember. Too tired.

“Ranboo! Stop taking advantage of your long legs! You know I can’t run as fast!”, that was a strangely familiar voice… Was that Tubbo?

Said best friend then appeared from around the corner of the building, looking as piper as always. Dressing much more casually compared to his fellow companion, Ranboo was it? Tubbo shared an annoyed glance at Ranboo.

Which then turned into a smile as he turned to look at Tommy.

“Tommy! Hey!”, he greeted Tommy with a hug. Typically, Tubbo wasn’t quite the morning person, quite the opposite. So, count Tommy’s surprise when he saw his best friend awake and happy at 8 am.

“Hey Tubbso”, his voice wasn’t as enthusiastic as it normally would be. And so, he ruffled the shorter one’s hair. Though, it didn’t take long for his best friend to immediately notice what was up.

“You look like shit, what’s up?”, Tubbo asked as he titled his head in concern. Tommy was quick to put up his one hand in surrender. Tubbo’s expression narrowed as he leaned in a bit closer to Tommy’s personal space.

“It’s nothing! Just stayed up all night- for some reason I can’t really say in front of people”, Tommy winked in hopes of Tubbo getting the hint. It took a second as Tubbo became confused before he realised what Tommy was hinting at, nodding in understanding.

The stranger beside them then brought up a finger to question what was going on between the two, only to gain a very tired and annoying glare from Tommy. Only for Tubbo to intervene as he spoke.

“Tommy, this is Ranboo. Ranboo meet Tommy, my best friend! Tommy, please don’t kill Ranboo.”, Tubbo warned Tommy as he was aware of what the boy could do… Ranboo looked as though he was about to question the warning…

Only for Tommy to realise that he was going to be late.

“Shit, I’m gonna be running late for work! I’ll see you guys later!”, Tommy quickly ended the conversation before running full speed ahead towards the train station.

{…}

Gripping the train pole, he couldn’t help but feel frustrated at public transportation. All other seats had been occupied by other passengers, leaving a very tired Tommy to try and keep up his balance as the train zoomed down the railway. 

Maybe he should’ve just asked his father for a ride? But then again, his father had already done so much for him lately, that he didn’t want to annoy him even further (even if his father wouldn’t even mind).

His anxiousness grew with the passing second as he grew closer to the waterpark. He was definitely looking forward to seeing Wilbur again, but then the other day how he treated Wilbur was getting on his nerves.

He was far too selfish that day, pushing Wilbur away like that. Though, he couldn’t help but also feel suspicious of himself; it felt as though two sides of himself were conflicting for whatever reason. It felt odd and confusing.

Which Tommy could only conclude was probably his mer side or something? Ever since he had met Wilbur, a lot of things had changed for Tommy during that time. His emotions to be more specific.

Maybe being around another mer was making him behave much more like a mer?

“Next stop, L’manburg Waterpark”, it appeared it wouldn’t be too long until he arrived to work and had to face the inevitable.

It really didn’t help that Wilbur didn’t really believe Tommy either, simply putting aside his concerns to not agitate himself further. He took another sip of his coffee, only to find that the cup was nearly empty.

Groaning in annoyance, it was going to take up a lot of energy to keep up his usual attitude. As long as Wilbur didn’t get even more worried about him.

The bus came to a sudden halt, causing Tommy to scream as he fell to the ground. Before quickly standing up and getting off the bus, thanking the driver in the process. Maybe he should apologise to Wilbur?

{…}

Closing the enclosure door with a sigh, it was finally time to see Wilbur again. Although anxious, he couldn’t help but feel his excitement build-up at seeing his brother- best friend. Best friend.

As he turned around, only the still water greeted him. Strange, he’s pretty sure he told Wilbur that he was working today, didn’t he? Or was the mer simply still sleeping? That was the more likely solution, Wilbur did prefer to stay underneath the water.

He stepped towards the pool, kneeling as he tried to look down into the depths of the water, hoping to see any sort of shadow from the mer below.

Only for the water to come flying over him. One second, he was dry, the next he was completely drenched in water. He coughed out some water that had gotten caught in his throat, opening his eyes to catch the sight of a brown tail dipping into the water.

Of course, Wilbur had been the one to drench him in water first thing in the morning.

“Wilbur! What the fuck man!”, he cursed out loud. Tommy then dipped his feet into the freezing cold water, how did Wilbur even sleep in there? Speaking of the devil, the mer then emerged from the surface, making his grand entrance.

“Good morning, Toms! Did I scare you?”, the mer smirked as he leaned in closer towards Tommy, casually leaning his elbow to the side. His sharp fangs were on full display with a mischievous grin, what did Wilbur have planned this time?

“Not really, it’s not the first time you’ve done it”, Tommy scoffed playfully. Things were surprisingly okay thus far; it seems Tommy’s act was actually working quite a bit. Wilbur only hissed playfully in response.

“Yeah, okay then. Now hand over the food, gremlin. I’m hungry.”. Tommy rolled his eyes, before standing up and going towards the locker that usually contained a bunch of fish for Wilbur. Finding quite a bit of fish, he picked up what he could in a bucket and brought it to Wilbur.

Wilbur opened up his mouth like routine, his tongue drawing close to Tommy. He couldn’t help but feel a small amount of anxiousness run down his back as he thought he could’ve been eaten for a second.

Tommy sat down on the tiled floor, grabbing a few fish from the bucket and placing it in Wilbur’s mouth. Wilbur’s mouth suddenly snapped shut, causing Tommy to yelp and flinch back by accident. He wasn’t expecting himself to flinch like that.

Wilbur’s expression was quick to turn to one of concern, bringing a claw to shelter Tommy from the outside world as he leaned in closer (It reminded him of when Wilbur had comforted him after the other incident).

He looked as though he was about to speak before his eyes narrowed as he looked over Tommy suspiciously. Tommy’s nerves could be felt crawling up his back as he tried to avoid Wilbur’s concerned look.

“Toms, why do your eyes look so different? Is everything okay? Are you sick?”, Wilbur panicked. Tommy sighed as he put his hands up in surrender, leaning into Wilbur’s touch whilst doing so.

“Sorry Wil, I just stayed up all night. Nothing to worry about!”, Tommy was quick to reassure Wilbur, but he didn’t look too convinced.

“Are you sure there’s nothing’s wrong?”, the guilt from the other day returned. Tommy was quick to try and respond but ultimately came out with nothing. A moment of awkward silence was shared between the two.

“I’m sorry Wil, It’s fine. I’ve just been really worried about the escape plan, if anything were to go wrong or something- I couldn’t- “, Tommy was quick to hold back his own tears. Wilbur was quick to scoop up the boy in his claws.

His clawed thumb was brought towards his cheek, rubbing it soothingly. Tommy made eye contact with Wilbur, meeting his own guilty glance.

“Oh- Little pup… Listen, as much as I’d love to leave this place. I don’t want you to overwork yourself so much, you’re already doing so much for me, and I couldn’t thank you enough. So please, don’t stress yourself out over it, okay?”.

Tommy only responded with a nod, though he made sure Wilbur was able to see the smile on his face. Wilbur was quick to return it with his own shoulder, ruffling Tommy’s hair in the process. Tommy relaxed into the touch, letting out a yawn in the process.

“Sleepy, little pup?”, Wilbur whispered with a hint of tease as he noticed the boy’s eyes droop ever so slightly. The boy responded with a yawn, too tired to give a cohesive response. Wilbur was quick to gently bring the boy closer to his mouth.

Carefully bringing out his tongue to not alert Tommy again (he didn’t want the boy to flinch again), nudging the boy onto it. Tommy finally seemed to realise what the going on as he sat up onto Wilbur’s claw.

“Wil? What are you-“, he cut himself off when he noticed what Wilbur had been attempting to do. Rolling his tired eyes, he reluctantly allowed Wilbur to continue as he leaned back onto the tongue. A grin grew on Wilbur’s face.

Tommy was gently placed onto Wilbur’s tongue as he was brought into his mouth, a couple of licks to prep Tommy for the way down. It wasn’t long until Wilbur had swallowed and stored Tommy in his brooding pouch.

Wilbur brought a hand over his stomach as he felt Tommy leaning into the pouch’s walls, chirping happily. He then dove back into the water.

Before Tommy completely slipped into sleep mode, a buzz from his phone snapped him awake. Quickly bringing out his phone, he read the text message from Tubbo.

‘Hey, big man! Want to hang out with Ranboo and me tomorow?’.

‘Yeah, but why do we have to bring Ranboob?’, Tommy responded. He didn’t quite want a stranger, much less a very suspicious one to come along with them.

‘If Ranboo doesn’t come, then I won’t go’.

‘Fine’, Tommy responded with reluctance as he leaned in closer to the wall. Wilbur was quick to respond with some rubs, Tommy then soon fell asleep.

{…}

“Thanks for the ride, Dad!”, Tommy stretched as he promptly exited the car. His father soon exited the car to join him, looking cheerful whilst also having a somewhat worried glance on his face.

“No problem, mate. You okay after yesterday though?”, his father ruffled his hair. He had told his father everything after he came to pick him up late yesterday. Tommy nodded with a smile to assure his father.

After spending the night with Wilbur, a fair amount of weight had been lifted from his shoulders after Wilbur’s reassurances. And now, he felt as though the plan could be taken a bit lighter, as he had been a bit extreme, to begin with.

Just for now, it was time to have fun as Tommy spotted his friend and suspicious associate known as Ranboob. He wasn’t sure whether he could trust the guy, perhaps today would be the day he could prove himself.

“You’ll be sleeping at Tubbo’s tonight, right?”, that was the arrangement. Hang around town for a while and then head home to Tubbo’s for the night.

“Yep! I’ll see you around, alright Dadza?”, his father couldn’t help but laugh at the nickname, giving a reassuring smile before turning back to the car. He waved as his father drove out of the parking lot.

Then Tommy turned around towards his companions and walked towards them.

“Hey, Tubbo! Hi, Ranboob? Was it?”, Tommy greeted with much more energy than the last time they had encountered. Tubbo simply shook his head in disapproval, annoyed at Tommy’s attempts of harassing Ranboo.

“Hey, Tommy! And it’s Ranboo by the way, not Ranboob”, Tommy only grinned playfully in response. Tubbo could only sigh, it was going to be a long day. A very long day if he was going to have to deal with Tommy acting like this

{…}

“What’s that?”, Ranboo gestured towards a display of socks within a clothes shop. He appeared to be pointing towards a specific pair of fluffy socks, one a bright neon orange, the other a bright green. An odd combination to say the least.

Ranboo looked as if he was in love with the pair of socks. All the while Tubbo looked as though he was pale as a ghost. Tommy could look at Ranboo in pure confusion, confused at the fact that he seemed to be in such awe that he questioned the existence of a pair of socks.

Ranboo looked back towards them in excitement, before turning to realisation as he looked towards Tubbo. Who had a look of ‘we need to talk’ as Tubbo quickly grabbed Ranboo’s hand and dragged him around the corner.

“Be right back, Tommy!”. That was odd.

It wasn’t long before the two of them returned and dragged Tommy into the clothing shop, buying him the pair of socks he wanted. He was quick to change into his pair of socks. Tommy had to admit that Ranboo had a really weird clothing style.

But at the same time, it’s also funny.

The three soon exited the shop and walked along the street, it wasn’t long before Tubbo found a shop he was interested in. Leaving Ranboo and Tommy alone together, in quite a bit of awkwardness.

It was then Tommy spotted an antique shop and dragged Ranboo along with him inside, because if he didn’t, Tubbo would definitely kill him. Ranboo looked confused to be in the antique shop, looking at all sorts of cups, plates and other things.

“Hey Tommy, what are we doing here?”, Ranboo asked as he picked up a fancy looking vase. But Tommy wasn’t paying attention, only searching the displays for the artefact. But as he looked further, nothing was resembling what he saw in the book.

Tommy frowned and let out a sigh of annoyance, Ranboo joined at his side in concern, gently placing a hand on Tommy’s shoulder. Tommy was quick to jump and look at Ranboo with a glare as he went to shout, but he was cut off by Ranboo.

“You okay? Were you looking for something? You look disappointed-“, Ranboo expressed his concerns. Well, that was nice of Ranboo. The entire time that they had been here, he had only been treating Ranboo like shit, but Ranboo was still being nice.

Maybe Ranboo wasn’t as bad as Tommy thought he was. Wait, how was he supposed to respond? Tell Ranboo he needed an ancient mer artefact? He hadn’t even told Tubbo he needed the necklace in the first place!

“Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks for the concern, Ranboo but I just lost something. It got stolen a little while ago, thought I might’ve found it here, so it was worth a try…”, Although a lie, it still held genuine emotion as he was disappointed, there wasn’t an artefact.

But what was he expecting? It was certainly rare after all.

“Oh, I’m sorry it’s not here. And hey! You called me Ranboo! That’s a first”, Tommy was quick to retaliate, spitting out playful insults as they left the store. Only to encounter Tubbo waiting outside for them, with a smile on his face.

“Are you guys finally getting along?”.

{…}

The day went by fairly quickly after that. Ranboo was still quite an oddball, but Tommy was getting used to it at this point. The three of them had some food, caused a bit of chaos like usual and were ready to head home at this point.

It was time to head home as the light skies had turned dark. The streets were unnaturally quiet as everyone had left for the day and all the stores were closed. The three boys waited for the bus to arrive but would be some time before it came.

Tommy and Tubbo kept up a casual conversation to fill up the silence, although Ranboo seemed to be on edge about something. Looking around frantically in what seemed to be a panic.

“Hey Ranboo, everything alright?”, Tommy playfully nudged Ranboo’s shoulder. Ranboo was quick to react as he was quick to grab Tommy’s arm in a tight grip, before quickly letting go with an apology.

“Sorry, just something feels off…”. And it appeared that Ranboo’s suspicions were right…

Because as soon as Ranboo and Tommy were to turn a blind eye to Tubbo, some guy had come up from behind them and grabbed Tubbo. Tubbo was quick to scream as he was taken off his feet and held in a tight grip…

Tubbo screamed as he squirmed in the man’s grip, the man attempted to stop Tubbo’s yells by harshly covering his mouth. But Tubbo’s movements caused the man to fail in his attempts, and ultimately resulted in him getting punched in the face…

“Tubbo!”, Tommy called out for him. But Tubbo didn’t respond as he laid limply in the man’s grip, he had been knocked out. In anger, Tommy was quick to run toward the man in Tubbo’s defence, raising his fist as he aimed for his face…

But it appeared the man wasn’t alone as another person appeared from behind Tommy, socking Tommy in the cheek. Tommy collided with the floor, only to be met by a kick to the stomach as the pain quickly rose to his chest…

Tommy wasn’t going to easily give up though, getting up for Tubbo’s defence. But the guy that had taken him down quickly grabbed him as he was too slow to dodge, rendering him practically useless…

Tommy squirmed in the tight hold, but it was no use as he was no match for the guy…

“Ranboo! Behind you!”, Tommy was quick to warn him of the impending danger. Another guy tried to grab Ranboo but luckily, Ranboo was able to dodge as he stumbled onto the floor. Ranboo panickily looked around before his eyes settled on Tubbo.

Ranboo’s panicked face becomes unclear as he stares down Tubbo… Before his expression turned to one of rage… Another guy was about to attack him, but a loud growl caught the guy off guard, causing him to hesitate.

That was enough of an opportunity for Ranboo’s hand that had now turned into a sharp claw and swing at the guy in a fury, the guy screamed as he dodged Ranboo’s attack.

“Quickly! Take him down!”, the guy that held Tubbo yelled out. Ranboo only hissed in response, falling to the ground as his legs morphed into a gigantic tail. Tommy fell to the floor as the guy let Tommy go out of fear.

But Tommy couldn’t help but stare at Ranboo as he was no longer human, he was a mer. Although on land, he swiftly manoeuvred his tail to shelter Tubbo’s unconscious body. Hissing furiously at anyone who approached them.

He wasn’t as big as Wilbur, much smaller than him, about three to four times bigger than Tommy. Still fairly large though. And the men finally seemed caught up as they all panicked, realising it was a dangerous mer in front of them.

They all screamed and ran away like pussies.

After all the men disappeared, Ranboo was quick to scoop up Tubbo; Scanning over him like a frantic mother, chirping worriedly as he looked around for injury. After only finding a bruise on his forehead and seeing him breathing, Ranboo finally calmed down.

Tommy was quick to snap out of his trance, quickly running towards the two to check up on Tubbo himself.

“Holy shit! Tubbo! Ranboo! Are you both okay?”, he soon joined their side. The silts of Ranboo’s eyes narrowed in alert for a moment before realising it was just Tommy, his friend. Ranboo was quick to check over Tommy himself.

“I’m fine, Tubbo is too. Are you okay though? You don’t look too good”, Tommy was quick to give a reassuring smile. Before his eyes turned to shock in realisation at the fact that Ranboo was a mer right in front of him.

And he wore a necklace, it was the artefact. He’d have to talk to Ranboo about the artefact later. Though it seemed Ranboo had just realised that he had just revealed to Tommy that he was a mer.

“Also, I can explain everything-“, Ranboo despite being a giant mer, was acting as though he was in his human form. He was as anxious as always.

“It’s fine Ranboo, we’ll talk later. But, right now, we just gotta head back.”, Ranboo nodded in response as he looked over himself and Tubbo, who was just waking up himself. Groaning as he sat up on Ranboo’s hand.

“Hey guys, is everything okay?-“, he cut himself off as Tubbo looked around. Seeing Ranboo in his mer form and an injured Tommy. He was quick to piece the pieces of the puzzle together, sighing in relief.

“Okay, Ranboo go back to human form, and we’ll head home.”.

{…}

The three of them had settled down after everything that had happened during the long day, with Tubbo being the first to fall asleep, sprawled out all over his bed with a blanket barely covering him. Though, Tommy and Ranboo continued to talk.

“So that’s how you two met? Through a surfing competition?”, Tommy let out a laugh at the context. Quite the story of how the two of them had met.

“Yep! Anyways you want to talk about something? You look like you want to get something off your chest there.”, Tommy's eyes widened as he had been caught red-handed.

“Well… There is something…”, Tommy let out a sigh as he explained practically everything to Ranboo. Once he had finished, Ranboo was quick to sympathise with him.

“Well, you did try to protect me and Tubbo and you barely knew me. Not only that but your friend does need help, and I’d be happy to lend you my necklace, as long as you bring it back.”, Ranboo clutched the artefact to his chest.

“I promise! I’ll bring it back as soon as I can! Tubbo will make sure of it! Thank you! Thank you so much, Ranboo!”, Tommy was quick to hug Ranboo with tears in his eyes. Ranboo hugged him back.

[doll-collecting-aerialist]

Contemporary Characters and their Pajamas

You wanna know what annoys me?? That some of the modern characters don’t have pajamas!! I guess Marisol, Lindsey and Kailey get a pass for being the first editions of the line with an already limited collection, and so does Z, for being a rushed character, but Nikki?!! Does she wear her Gala outfit to bed or something?? And the WBU girls?? Gwen? Sonali?

Anyway, these are my headcannoned pajamas for these girls, plus Gabriela because I don’t like her pajamas. Logan isn’t in this because he smells.

Lindsey~

I immediately thought of these iconic mismatch stripe pajamas for Lindsey!! Did anyone else have these? I could see her in either set of these mismatched pajamas (ignore the red and black ones). And she’s totally a fuzzy socks > slippers girl.

Kailey~

When I found those hatchling pajamas, I was smitten. I want them for myself!! And honestly, those in of themselves give big Kailey vibes, but considering she lives near the coast, it’s going to be way to hot for her to wear long-pants pajamas the majority of the year. So, I found these really cute coral print shorts that she’d totally wear with the hatchling shirt. And the turtle slippers are a given.

Marisol~

They really did a disservice making her other outfits only costumes. She’s definitely the cool girl who wears velvet, zip-up, hoodies in the summer just because she likes when her friends come up to her and try to pet it. And I feel like every kid around that time had hundreds of those yoga pants. They just spawned out of no where. I was hand-me-downed so many.

Nicki~

Nicki has a very cute style, and she’d definitely be a nightgown girl. I’m imagining the print of the two piece pajamas on the style of the nightgown pictured. I think she’d also have a robe set that was very similar to Emily’s!!

Gwen~

Gwen is also a nightgown girl. The butterfly nightgown shows the personality of her doll, while the bee nightgown reminds me of some of her movie fashion (and I would know, considering I drew all her movie looks).

Sonali~

Sonali is both a Joe Boxer and a Uggs girl. She definitely wears holiday pajamas months after said holiday, and gets upset when her mom tells her she can’t wear Uggs to bed. She also gets a cute “positive” graphic tee because she deserves some positivity after dealing with the Mean Bees.

Gabriela~

This is how I’d redesign Gabriela’s pajamas!! Rest be assured, she’d also have a matching blue or purple bonnet. (I might redesign her entire collection at some point, while keeping the same vibes of her original collection.)

Z~

Z would start out wearing smiley pajamas as a joke, but it would quickly become unironic. I also think it would be cool for AG to make a set of pajamas that comes with weekday socks!! I remember the pain of having to wear the wrong day’s socks because I couldn’t find the right ones, and I think we should pass that pain onto the next generation.

Maritza~

I don’t have a complex explanation other than that these pajamas on her would be adorable. Imagine her with a high pony, tied back with one of those scrunchies, in her hoodie and shorts set, on her way to Evette’s for a sleepover!!

Evette~

Speaking of Evette, she’d have some cute vintage ensemble that she thrifted. I also found this cute green to purple reversible bonnet, which matches the print on the romper perfectly!!

(Makena to be added in reblog!)

[ocean-anchored]

Continued.. December 3, 23

I honestly barley remember the rest of this at this point, my mind was so... exhausted. I wasn't ready to have another fight nor did I want to make any more issues. I just know we tried to talk about it, I know how I was in the wrong & that's the problem, I should have just shut up from there on. Instead I tried to explain how it was hard being in that situation because when he's upset, he doesn't want to talk, which usually meant he would give me the silent treatment which was always an incredibly hard place to be in, or depending on where we were, he would walk out. ... then followed by the silent treatment. So I knew & could feel it coming. I remember talking about understanding & validating that he wasn't happy about the situation but he said he had to deal with it because we weren't infact dating & I was allowed to do what I wanted but he clearly wasn't happy. We sat in silence for most of the meal. I cried when we got the truck because he raised his voice again. I just knew at that point it wasn't going to work again. I lost hope. I didn't tell him that, I couldn't speak honestly. & I completely understand how he said if we were to work again that we would have to start over, completely fresh & neither of us could hold anything against each other. I understood that. Doesn't mean it was easy, especially when all I know was how he acted when those times came & I got trigger and scared. Idk what I wanted but he drove me home. He wasn’t happy & neither was I, I was crying. Idk what I wanted but I think I wished to be able to be in each others presence at least & talk it out. He was always just so difficult when he was angry because he couldn’t deal with it, so he’d walk out & take at least 24 hours if not more to get over it & that’s the worse time for me, that’s when I need to be close or try to fix things. I went thrifting with Amber then to her place. We had a really great evening & had a paint night & just really enjoyed each others time, I needed it no matter how much I wanted to lock myself in my room. She got us best friend socks for our friendiversary, I seriously love that girl. She’s so on my level. I’m literally the most blessed to have her. I didn’t hear from Zack that night which just stung a little more so I texted him saying I hope he had a good night. Still didn’t hear from him the next morning till the mid afternoon after I texted him again. Essentially tried to apologize & take responsibility but he was still baffled on how we fought which really didn't seem that big. We didn't really talk much that day I dont think. Went to work monday which I dont think we talked much either he said he wanted to see me before he went to work but he was still heated when I called him after work because I had said it wasn't fair I was still getting the silent treatment from him & hard to make plans with him when he didn't text me back. Anyway that turned into a massive phone call fight were he told me how crazy I was for saying that I felt like I was in the dog house a lot & just went on & on, he was aggressive verbally. I wouldn't put it past him if he had done coke that weekend at some point too & I was getting the tail of it again. I mean he did confess after I asked him that he did do it when we went to Rics that night it all went to the shitter so I'm also still not fucking crazy because I knew. He continued to text me after we hung up & he was pretty rude again. Told me how I was a bad person & he didn't care anymore & wanted to find someone else & again saying "crazy" to imply that I'm crazy. I stopped replying. I haven't talked to him since & i'm really over it this time.

[innytoes]

There were so many good chaotic prompts I couldn’t choose so I’ll let you decide: 14 for Ralex, 41 for Wiggie, and 10 for Wiggie (platonic or romantic)

These are all so good and I might just do the other ones as well but NEVER GONNA GIVE UP A CHANCE TO MAKE FUN OF REGGIE'S DADDY ISSUES. The issue is that they're too hot.

Nobody at school knew Willie was rich. He'd seen the way some people treated the kids in his neighbourhood of mansions and villas and estates. He also saw the way they treated each other, which wasn't very nice either. It probably didn't help that they didn't see Willie as One Of Them, considering he was adopted and him and his dad had only just relocated to Hollywood.

Still, he preferred to be an outsider at the swank parties his dad dragged him to, finding the nearest dog or cat (or one time, really epic snake) to hang out with, than to be an outsider at school. He was still kind of an outsider at his new school, but just because he was the new kid. He could work with that.

So they skated to school, instead of letting Dad's driver drop him off in the town car. He wore cool stuff he'd found in thrift stores all over the world, stuff he altered himself. He didn't go to the Country Club, instead finding new places to skate around town. They blew off invitations to the hottest new clubs from kids who were only trying to Network with him because it was the Done Thing. Instead, he found his own places to go out.

That's how he'd met Sunset Curve, playing in an alley behind some club. Honestly, it was better than anything he'd heard inside, and he gave a whooping, hollering standing ovation when they'd finished the set. Reggie had bounced over to offer him a t-shirt (size beautiful, he'd said with a wink).

They'd cropped it, tie-dyed it in sunset colours, and had worn it to school the next week, only to be accosted by Luke Patterson, because it turned out Sunset Curve went to his school. And the rest was history.

And by history, he meant Luke had more or less dragged him into their friend group by force, introducing him to his boyfriend (Alex, the drummer), Best Bro (Bobby) and ‘I’m sure you remember Reggie’. There had been some very unsubtle winking and nudging, but it wasn’t like he was wrong. Reggie was pretty. And it turned out, when he wasn’t trying to be a suave rock star, he was also funny, and sweet, and lovely.

So now he had a boyfriend who liked them for who they were and not their money, and a built-in friend group. With Sunset Curve also came Julie, and Flynn, and even sometimes Bobby’s cousin Carrie and her Candies, though they kind of scared him a little. They managed to walk in perfect sync in the hallways, even when it was busy.

They were all at their usual table during lunch, trying to figure out their weekend plans. “We could go to the beach,” Willie suggested. Not because he wanted to see Reggie without his shirt or anything. Not like they had fantasies about rubbing sunscreen on Reggie’s back. Nope. The beach was just pure, wholesome fun. Like trying to help Luke dunk Bobby only for them both to be bodyslammed into the surf. Wholesome.

“We would, but some people got soft-banned from the pier after an illegal concert,” Julie said with a pointed look at Sunset Curve.

Luke looked unrepentant. “They didn’t need to call the cops or anything, we would have moved after we finished the set if they’d asked nicely. Besides, those people at the tables outside loved us.”

“You ran from the cops without me?” Willie said, pouting at his boyfriend.

“It was really more of a power-walk, considering we had to get Alex’ drumset out of there as well,” Reggie said, pressing a kiss into his hair. Well, that did make him feel better. “It’s a shame, it’s supposed to be really great out this Sunday. I guess we could-”

“I have a pool,” Willie blurted out. “I mean, the house has a pool. If you... you’d like to come over.” God, what were they doing? It wasn’t like they thought their friends would treat them differently if they found out Willie was rich. But it still felt weird, like maybe they’d judge him for not saying anything?

“All of us?” Flynn asked immediately, apparently seeing straight into his soul. “Or are you just inviting your boyfriend?”

Willie blushed. “Of course you’re all invited,” he said. “But Reggie gets first choice of pool floaties.” He grinned when Reggie pumped his fist dramatically in victory. Guess he’d have to go get some pool floaties. Maybe a pizza shaped one.

His dad didn’t even seem to mind that he’d invited over a ton of people. He honestly seemed kind of pleased. He’d just reminded Willie the pool house fridge was fully stocked, no running and cracking heads open, and to please ‘keep all wet teenagers out of the damn house, let them use the pool house’. And that he’d Be Around. Which Willie figured meant ‘if I so much as smell weed I am shutting this whole thing down young man’. Which, duh, he wasn’t about to mix drugs with swimming.

Okay, so maybe he’d only texted his friends the address at the very last minute. And maybe he hadn’t checked the group chat after that. Either they came, or they didn’t. If they were mean, then, well... he just wouldn’t open the gate and  go up to his room to cry or something.

Except when the intercom rang, they saw at least three faces squished out the window of Bobby’s van, Reggie front and centre. “Hello, hot stuff! The party people have arrived!” he called, beaming when the gate opened up. “Oh man, that’s fancy. Wait, what if they have a butler or something? What if I just sexually harassed the-” his voice trailed off as Bobby drove the van up the driveway.

Willie chuckled, going to open the front door for them. He grinned as all his friends piled out, most of them already in Pool Party Attire. Luke was already shirtless, because he’d use any excuse to go shirtless, the girls had on cute cover ups, and Reggie… well, the black tan ktop and red board shorts were nice, but Willie had Plans for that shirt to come off sooner or later.

He lead them through the house and out the back, wincing as they looked around. Just act normal, he thought, and maybe they wouldn’t say anything. He lead them outside, and immediately winced. Of course, there in the garden, was his dad doing yoga. Because he couldn’t alter his schedule even a tiny bit so Willie wouldn’t be embarrassed. At least he was wearing a pair of short sweatpants and not those awful shiny short-shorts he usually wore.

“Dad,” he said, grabbing and all but dragging the closest person to him along in an effort to get out of there faster.

“William,” Dad said, amused, watching them go before shifting into Reverse Warrior. Julie gave an awkward wave, yelping out a ‘nice to meet you mister Covington!’ before Willie pulled her past the privacy bushes to the pool area. Luckily the others quickly followed.

“Woah, there’s a waterfall!” Luke said, excited.

“And a slide!” Reggie squealed. “And… pizza!” He pointed excitedly at the blow up pizza slice Willie had gotten. There was also a unicorn donut, with drink cup holder for whoever didn’t want to get their hair wet, and some inflatable balls.

The day was awesome. Nobody was mean about how he’d never told them he was rich, everyone enjoyed the pool, and Reggie took his shirt off and let Willie put sunscreen on his back. It was great. Except after a spirited round of ‘trying to drag Bobby under the waterfall’ Willie had pulled themself out of the water, ready to sneak up on Reggie and drip all over him. Except when they got closer, Reggie was sitting with his face in his hands on one of the sunbeds, Alex on the opposite one, leaned over as if to comfort him.

“I know it’s bad,” Reggie was saying. “Just, promise you won’t tell Willie?”

“Aaahmn,” Alex said, staring Willie right in the face. “I think maybe you should tell him.”

“What? No!” Reggie looked up. “I don’t want to upset them!”

Oh god. Reggie was mad at him for lying about being rich. Or maybe because he let Reggie pay for ice-cream last time they went out. They knew Reggie didn’t have as much, but he’d looked so proud to use his tip-money from playing at the park to buy Willie a treat.

He was just about to ask Reggie to tell him, or to just start apologising straight away, when Flynn flopped down next to Reggie, one of the fancy sodas from the pool house (with curly straw, naturally) in her hands. “Ooh, are we dragging Reggie for having the hots for another dad?” she asked.

“Shut up!” Reggie hissed, frantically looking everywhere but behind him.

“I mean it’s bad enough you think Julie’s dad is a smokeshow, but at least you’ve seen him for more than thirty seconds,” Flynn went on, either ignorant of or perfectly fine with the growing look of horror on Alex’ face as he could not stop making eye-contact with Willie. His mouth was moving, helplessly, but no sound was coming out to alert Reggie and Flynn as to who was right behind them.

“It was a very enlightening thirty seconds, okay!” Reggie said. “I mean, with the muscles and the- the hair and the jawline and- and did you see the outline in those sweat-”

“Please stop talking about how you want to bang my dad!” Willie said urgently, wringing out their hair above Reggie to douse him. Reggie gave a little shriek, either from the cold water down his back or because Willie heard him.

“Willie! Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I don’t…” Reggie’s face was on fire, and Alex and Flynn shared one look and hightailed it out of there to the other side of the pool, where the Jacuzzi was. At least they couldn’t eavesdrop over the sound of the bubbles, even though they were probably filling in Luke, Bobby, and Julie. “I’m so sorry. It’s just a stupid little- I mean, I love you more than anything, I’d never try and, not that I think your dad would-” He buried his face in his hands again. “This is why I didn’t want to tell you! It’s stupid and embarrassing. It doesn’t mean anything!”

“You just have the hots for my dad,” Willie said slowly. It wasn’t unusual. Dad had a lot of groupies, both male and female. It wasn’t like he did anything to discourage them. He was in showbiz, it was good for his numbers. The longer Willie thought about it, the more funny it became. Reggie had a thing for dads. Maybe they should buy like, a Hawaiian shirt and start wearing sandals with socks in them. Grill something. Call Reggie slugger.

“I’m so, so sorry,” Reggie whispered. “Please don’t break up with me.”

“Hey, no, never,” Willie said, wrapping an arm around him. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Reggie said, relieved.

“Even though you have awful taste,” Willie said.

“Well, not that awful,” Reggie said, fiddling with Willie’s necklace and smiling smugly. “I mean, I have the hots for you way more.”

And because there was no way to agree with that without sounding incredibly self-centred, instead Willie leaned in to kiss him. From the hot tub, there was a wolf-whistle.  

“Wanna go throw Luke in the pool?” Willie whispered against Reggie’s lips.

Reggie’s smile was beautiful. “Darling, I thought you’d never ask.”

[andromedasummer]

Oh I love both those bookstores!! I had a feeling you were talking about Arty Bees when you mentioned Wellington, but wasn’t so sure. I’m not from Welly so uhhh, thanks for the heads up about it being a dodgy area 😅😅 I make an effort to go to Artys everytime I’m down there, they’re real nice as well and once I bought way too many books so they posted them for me since I couldn’t take them on the plane. I need to check out their Motorsport section tho, I always seem to forget and miss it. Pegasus books I like but I kinda find the store more overwhelming, considering the high shelves and smaller store. I always struggle to find something in there cause of that, but I like the little area it’s in

oh i dont blame, pegasus is tricky to move around in, esp when its packed. if you ask someone to hold the ladders while you use them they'll usually be willing to help out!

and yeah most people dont know courtnays a bit fucked like that! as long as you walk quick and keep to yourself you wont run into trouble. motorsport section is at the top of the shelf 2nd or 3rd from the back of the nonfiction section, the one on the left when you walk in the store. it can be small sometimes, people tend to buy books from there in bulk.

i also dont know when you last were in welly but theres another secondhand store further up cuba! i cant remember its name but ive only been in once. theres also a bookstore called minerva thats not secondhand but is dedicated to books about crafts, ive found some cool stuff to do with quilting and sewing that i ended up noting down to grab on sale so its worth a look! close to my fav craft shop where i get my felt, yarn, buttons and needles, beads and fat quarters for projects, plus thats right next to my fav ice cream place (duck island) and thrift (better than spacesuit which its next to, that place is a rip off), which, if youre into motorsports, is a good place to find vintage racing jackets (i found a signed nascar jacket, bridgestone jacket, 3 leather + patched indycar jackets and some ford racing jackets). emporium (also on cuba) also have 4 vintage ferrari jackets, but of course theyre all $200-$400. Good quality! But something you'd need to save up a whiiile for.

also lmao did you just feel that quake like 5 mins ago? 6.2 but it was 72km deep which means it was bad! mustve been on the main fault because reports from the top of the south island are coming in so it mustve travelled down under the cook strait.

[unknownjpegs]

bracelet

Xavier’s got the nicer place. Screen-windowed front patio. Fancy shit, even if there's a few tears in certain corners. Maran's never had a nice setup like that to watch the sunrise, so it's usually Maran usually spends his Saturday mornings. There’s an old CRT television in the corner that Lark found at the thrift store. It sits on a fold-out table that tilts slightly, retired from a long career of shouldering chaotic beer pong. He isn’t sure how the television stays working with the humidity how it is in the summer. Yet even with the flicker of pixels down its picture’s center, the image is good enough for cartoons. Nostalgic.

Maran lounges back on the cushioned wicker loveseat to take a picture of the open screen, the post-rain blue sky, and the flicker of static across Teen Titans. He opens his message thread with Nomi, grins at the last meme she’s sent, and offers the little peek into his morning. He knows she likes that sort of thing, the aesthetic of it or whatever. 

how did you know i want to do raven for halloween!! o:

Maran stares at the reply, blinks twice, and then sets his phone aside. For sanity’s sake. 

*

He’s about three episodes in when the door to the patio opens. From within the flat float the noises of Benji making breakfast; coffee pot, the blender, buttery something sizzling on the stovetop. 

It’s not Benji’s who peeks his head in, but Benny. 

Maran smiles upside-down at him, feeling strangely tense and awkward all of a sudden. He’s been paying full attention to the show, but only half attention to the woven bracelets he’s been working on. He learned to make them as a kid; now, he can expertly work through an intricate loop stitch and memorize patterns with his eyes closed. Muscle memory, and all that. 

Except when he tips his head back to greet the man, his fingers fumble. He feels the strings, which he’d carefully color separated, lose shape and tangle together. 

“What’re you doing?”

Maran holds up the tangle of strings. “Bracelet.”

Benny dances down the steps, drops to sit next to him with legs kicked out onto the coffee table — also thrifted.

“You s-s-shouldn’t have.” Benny coos, putting both hands to his chest. Maran barely glances then back up immediately, which isn’t much better. His dishwater blond eyebrows tuck in, annoyed. Maran’s never understood that. He gets it, sure,. But he figures Benny might feel a bit better directing that annoyance at the people acting like dickheads about how he talks, rather than at himself

He clutches the bracelet to his own, eyes slitting teasingly. “It’s not for you.”

“Yeah?” He tsks, adds a mean little eye roll that makes Maran’s stomach flip.  “T-Traitor. Who, then?”

He opens his mouth to answer. Navy blue string between thumb and forefinger. Maran realizes: no, actually. He can’t think about Nomi while looking at Benny, for some strange reason. 

The last time he’d been in the same room with both of them, it was the first Benny invited him over for a movie. He hadn’t expected to find Nomi there as well, on her way out (always busy with herself busy, in the lazily introverted way he admired) but fresh from the shower. The smell of her had been dizzying — familiar, too. Benny’s spicy-clean body wash. Up until that exact moment of oh, shit realization, he couldn’t remember a time feeling his face go as warm as it had then.

“What colors you want?” Maran leans forward to turn the show down, but Benny swipes the remote from him and doubles the volume.

“You mind? I’m invested.”

“Pft. You never seen this a day in your life.” Maran snorts. He lifts the organized little box of thread for Benny to point out his selections; the ugly dirt-orange he never uses, an electric green, and clashing white-mottled teal.

“I swear to fucking God, Maran, if you say —“

“Did they even do cartoons in color when you were growin’ up?” 

He hadn’t even noticed Ben slip a hand over his knee until it rests just at his thigh — until he pinches. Maran yelps and jerks away, flushing hot at the mean laugh his reaction earns.

*

Maran loves that laugh. He loves hearing it — earning it, rather. It’s not the laugh Ben usually offers. Has to be a nasty fucking joke, a comment that shocks that noise out of him. 

It never gets old. 

He watches how it opens Ben’s face up, at least what is visible beneath the tattooed hand splayed over his laughing mouth. It falls back to the mattress with a soft thump. When he turns his head to stare at Maran, eyes softly melted, Maran’s chest compresses like someone has squeezed him right around the center.

“That has got to b-be one of the most fucking unhinged things you have ever said.”

“Well it won’t.” Maran retorts. The laugh creeps in; he’s still regaining his breath, and the next airy giggle undoes all that work. His fingers trace the slightly fraying braid of string around Benny’s wrist;he’s careful with the bracelet, despite its ugly colors having gone uglier over time. 

“And what if it does—“ Benny grunts when he pulls himself upright, crawls across messy sheets to flop over that pale chest like deadweight. “Fall off?”

“We’ll make it work, obvs.” He squirms, knees tucking up to rest either side of Benny’s hips. Every bit of them that he’d like to touch does. Maran muffles a little noise into his neck and then sits up. He waits a beat, because the placement of hands on the small of his back is inevitable this way. Benny’s got tells, but even if he hadn’t Maran would be able to read him. The sly quirk of his mouth betraying the feigned exhaustion, fingers groping around his waist and tacky thighs. 

Thinking about that, pressing closer and tucking arms between warm skin and the sheet, makes him blush even harder than he already is.

“Yeah I’m s-sure you’re fucking full up on ideas.”

Maran snorts and goes to his elbows, touching their noses together. “Actually I did have one.”

“I don’t want to hear it.” Benny warns, although his hands keep up their appreciative sweeps. And when Maran adjusts a bit more, seated comfortable in his lap, he feels how that’s a lie. 

“I wanted to try it like this.”

He blurts it before the words die — no, the confidence. It’s always easier in his imagination, when he’s alone and trying to practice how to be like Benny. Unapologetic about what he wants, never hesitating to say something he knows Maran will want to hear even if it’s nasty. And Maran struggles even with a vague try it like this.

Sitting upright and arching into the next pass of hands over his body seems to get the point across, though. Benny’s eyes do that little switch flip he loves to witness; go dark and liquid, remind him of the awful bitter black coffee he prefers. Except warmer, except there’s depth in that color. It cuts through with a clear ‘this one’s going to make you fucking cry’ edge.

“You say shit like that —“

“Hmmm, I don’t know how.” 

Benny drops his head back and groans, both of his hands leaving Maran to press heels against his eyes. “What did I just fuckin’ say.”

“I don’t.” Maran leans forward, hands braced on his chest, and offers him a slow kiss. He can barely keep the smirk off his face when he speaks next: “I think I can manage it with a little help though?”

“I’m g-going to figure out how to say no to you one day, and you’ll be —“

“I can just copy what Nomi does,” Maran says, continuing as if he hadn’t answered at all. He taps his chin, dramatically innocent, and rolls his hips forward with a bit of showmanship. “She makes it look easy.” 

When he moves again, it brings more of them into contact. Ben’s properly — predictably — hard against his stomach. So despite the flurry of bitten off swears, despite the twisted expression on his stubbly, handsome face: Maran isn’t told no. He’s told a lot of things in the next few moments, most of them nice and nasty in a way that burns a trail down his spine. And when he’s properly seated again, panting already from the sensation of being filled so much, so soon, he finds it’s actually easy. 

The rhythm is unsteady because he feels that way, feels messy and loose but tight all over his body, muscles sore and overworked but still flexing. He’s got to use ones he hasn’t in a long time. His thighs burn from the strain and the rough pace, abdomen sore as he moves. 

“This — s’too much— oh, fuck that’s different.” Maran finds himself whining. The breath is punched out of him with every thrust from below. They’re purposeful and hard the way he likes, but at the angle not quite enough; if he wants that, he has to work for it. He isn’t sure he has it in him. He goes, instead, for the strategic route: “Ben.”

“You’re going to tap, huh?” The words get purred right into his ear. “Act like that, try and take charge. Still end up begging for me to lay you out and fuck you right?”

Maran hides a gasping grin into the sheets, clutching them in either fist. Then he musters whatever he can, severe and determined twist to his mouth, to sit up. Makes a bit of a show about it, maybe; beneath his palms, Benny’s chest heaves with a rough inhale. 

His cheeks might as well be on fire. He imagines steams escapes him like a cartoon character— he releases his lip caging teeth and makes hooded eye contact. It’s not a slow burn, or a coil that starts like a calf cramp. It’s an immediate, sudden slam of the orgasm into his chest. A surprise. His fingers dig into Benny’s bicep, slip up his shoulder and bury between blond strands as he falls forward with a violent shiver. It worsens, becomes full-body, when hands frame his waist and force him to move more, take more. 

And then everything’s nice and soft and cloudy for a long, long moment. 

After Ben’s buried himself deep and properly ensured, with a moan that will live in his head for the next week, that Maran will have more stickiness to be embarrassed about, he slips off and flops to the side. 

“Holy shit,” he laughs deliriously. He glances at Ben, who already has eyes glued to his face. He grins/. “Once I get good at that—“

He gasps as a hand snaps around his jaw, holding him still as Ben nudges a knee between his to push them open. He looks dangerous and angry above Maran, looming so that a cool shadow blocks out the afternoon sun as it pours through the window.  Ben looks incredible, powerful and frightening and handsome, beautiful — Maran can’t decide on a word, faced with that frightening intensity that pours off him in waves.

“Flip over.”

Maran’s breath hitches. He obeys. His eyes cross as a hand lands near his head, planted firmly to the mattress, and then Ben drapes himself across Maran’s back. His other arm bends, journeying down his ribs and around his hip until he has to lift and then it’s — 

He stares at the trio of ugly, awful colors until his vision blurs, eyes rolling and jaw slacking as Benny works him to another one. It aches. It’s almost painful. So fucking good, though. Gets him to a volume he’s never heard from himself before. Whatever noises he usually has the brains to muffle come out unbidden. Mostly because Benny decides (knows, maybe) the ideal companion to three expertly angled fingers fucking into him is that particular brand of mean teasing. 

Nothing else coherent leaves him. If there are words, syllables, Maran’s hoarse cries eat them away.

“Just copy Nomi,” Benny growls against his shoulder, teeth sliding over sweaty skin. The movements of his wrist are snapping and quick. Maran arches away and into the touch, tries to shove himself back but is held firmly in place. “The fuck’s the matter with you?” 

“Harder.”

It’s the singular response he’s capable of, a ragged moan trailing the word. Benny mirrors it, teeth snapping down around flesh. Still doesn’t say no. 

*

Months later, Maran realizes what he misses most about America are the hobby shops. The sprawling, sort-of-scary fluorescent lit aisles. A warehouse. One that he could get happily lost in, preferably with someone, piling his arms full and laughing raucously at the tacky God Bless This Farm mass produced wall art.

He goes to four different shops trying to find that specific orange thread. He pinches his phone screen to zoom in on pictures, spends time scouring hobby forums where weirdos like him value hard to find material. Tucks a hand over his mouth watching videos captured by Nomi and sent to him. Peers at that bracelet on a pale wrist and searches searches searches for a similar shade. He never can find it. And he spirals a bit. Wonders how many of those silly little bracelets he would need to cross the distance. Thousands and thousands of miles, an ugly burnt orange. 

He experiments with hair dye and developer until he finds it the closest match. And when he paints the color carefully onto his scalp (alone, for the first time) he misses a spot. He can see it at the nape of his neck, a stark bleach-yellow splotch. There are tears dripping from his chin when he goes to retrieve his phone. He even forgets to take the gloves off; the little bear phone grip Nomi had bought him will forever have a stain of orange.

He snaps a quick half-face selfie, red brimming eyes and the drama of wet cheeks melting the self pitying sadness by a degree. It takes a second for the photo to send (distance, his mind supplies). 

i missed a spot :(((((( 

The response back is immediate. And the image of Ben carrying his phone around for once, keeping it in a pocket instead of losing it for a week in a pile of clothes or someone’s car or a tucked-away study room..

Maran’s crying starts back up. He forgets the timer — lets the dye sit ten minutes over the recommendation. When he finally rinses it out to assess the damage, the orange is wrong.

[crispycrusadedeer25]

Best Premium Domain Names For Sale!

When you are shopping for  Premium Domains for sale name for your business, it is a bit similar to trying to find a perfect outfit for a fancy business party. Sure, you could spend big money at a name-brand store. You could also go to a thrift store and get an off-brand outfit at a hugely discounted price. Premium domain names are like taking the middle route - finding a slightly used outfit of the highest quality that those around you will recognize while still saving a little bit of money. The reasons many people chose to spend a bit more money on a premium domain name instead of making up their own are quite numerous. First of all, the stock of available names is quickly running out as people buy up as many as they can in order to make money by selling them; much like real estate. Secondly, premium domain names will be easier to remember and much simpler than creating a long and complicated one. I know I've found myself unable to describe what a premium domain was from time to time. I could point out a few examples of the more obvious ones like hardware.com and house.com but couldn't really articulate what made them different from the ordinary run of names. I for one was glad to find this list; now I can really pretend to know what I am talking about! The last time you looked at your domain portfolio, did you see any domains that you are doing nothing with? They are just sitting there collecting dust. We all have them. It's always those domains that we purchased or registered thinking they were going to be the next big thing. Perhaps you thought they were going to be an easy quick flip on the domain market place yet you have yet to even get a nibble nor less a bite. Don't worry, you aren't the only one with this problem. According to the Domain Name Industry Brief from Verisign, there are more than 162 million domain name registrations across all of the Top Level Domain Names at the end of the first quarter of 2008. This means there are a lot less domain availability and more competition. If you want two lettered sequences, sorry to say they've all been taken. You want to shift to three lettered sequence, you're out of luck for that as well. To fulfill the growing demand there are more domain extensions now like .us, .tv, .biz but .com and .net still are still the most widely sought after extensions. Domain name establishment has become obligatory for long term brand sustainability and profit. Here are few things you need to remember to establish a domain portfolio. Who manages the domain names in your company? It always strikes me how random it is, who has been given the task. It is historically a function which is not part of any job description. Through my experience of helping companies for the last 10 years I'm 100% convinced that the ones to manage domain names should be the Marketing dept. In many companies this task has been delegated either to IT or Legal. While these teams are professional and experienced they do face the challenge of understanding the brand as fully as the Marketing dept. Over the years domain portfolios have grown in volume from the first domains to hundreds or thousands. This growth has made the portfolio expensive to manage, but at the same time has added value to the company. It is therefore time for companies, which have registered domains "as it comes" since the start of the millennium to restructure domain name management.

[hufflepuffplums]

The Washing Machine

Summary: what would you do if a man got into a washing machine?

Warnings: basically none but I did use the word hell

Authors note: Now this isn't a fan fic but really like this story I made so I hope you guys like it!

“And I am Iron Man,” Tony said before snapping his fingers.

“Tony, no!” I screamed at the TV, hugging a pillow.

I was sad, watching this movie makes me cry. When Tony’s funeral scene happened I cried, tears down my face. I blew my nose with tissue and wiped my tears with another one.

“You’re watching End Game again,” my friend Abby said, with a hand on her hip.

“Shut up,” I told her, still staring at the screen. Cap just went back in time.

“Well, it’s your turn to go to the laundry mat,” she exhaled as she walked away.

I groaned out in annoyance. “Fine,” I sighed.

After the movie I didn’t want to get up. Two minutes went by until I had to get up and collected every article of clothing I could find. Then shoved both hampers in the back of my car. 

“Why don’t we just buy a washing machine and dryer,” I mumbled to myself, shoving my keys into the ignition.

I drove to the laundry mat we usually go to but it was closed. So, I parked and fished my phone out of my jacket in search of a laundry mat. 

Prefect, that's not too far away.

Arriving at the mat, I saw something strange. A guy was getting in a washing machine? Wait, what?! I watched him press the slow wash and start button, then close the door with a flash of light. What the hell.  

I turned off the car and closed the door, grabbing my book to read in the waiting process. Walking around the car I grabbed my laundry trying to make sense of what just happened. It was a trick, it had to be an illusion. I shook my head, walking up to the door of the mat. 

The bell rang when I entered, no one was in here. Not a soul, you could drop a pin and hear it for miles. It smelled musty here, like a thrift store. I looked at the washer he went into and it was empty. I was weirded out. Though I didn't want to go since I was already here.

"You rang?" A man said, pulling me from my thoughts. He was behind the counter using his arms as a pillow. His blonde his splayed over his shoulders and his blue eyes were lazily looking up at me.

"Uh yes, I would like turn my five into quarters? Also where did you come from?" I asked, perplexed of his sudden appearance.

"What do you mean? I've been here the whole time?" He said, giving me my quarters.

I gave him my five confused and freaked a little.

I couldn’t stop thinking about that man and blonde guy at the counter. Why did he get into the washer? Where did he go? The thought drove me insane while I did the laundry. Once I was done, sitting on a bench was the best thing at the moment. I kept staring at it while reading Twilight, again.

My curiosity got the better me in the end as I stared at the washer. Closing my book I got up to check it out. The washer looked different next to the others; the outside was rusted a little and it had a bit of an odor.

I looked back at the counter and the blonde guy wasn’t there, it was as if he was never there. Weird.

 It smelled of pennies from a dead man's pocket with weirdly enough lavender and lemons. On the washer was a gold encrusted handle with red rubies and diamonds.

This was weird, but so interesting. I wondered what would happen if I got in.

I checked how much time until my laundry would be done. Twenty-seven minutes, there's time to check it out. I tried to remember what he did. Was it the slow wash or fast? Deciding slow I pressed start and got in. it was cramped in here, my knees were to my chest. It was futuristic too, there was a hologram in front of me. I didn’t want to touch it. All of a sudden it lit up light blue and spun wildly making me panic.

Reality felt like it was breaking into a million pieces while I spun around. The light was blinding. Just when I thought my stomach would give out, it stopped. The lights faded and it became very dark. I opened my eyes not realizing I closed them. I swear it was lighter before. The only light source was the hologram in front of me

Maybe I should open the door. That would be the reasonable thing to do. 

Nice going Nat.

Opening the door I noticed something unbelievable. There were trees, shrubs, and forests where the laundry mat was supposed to be.

I was in the woods! How did I get here!

Shocked by the new scene of events, I looked around. The forest went on forever, as far as I could see there was only forest. The scent of fresh rain was all around highlighting every smell to the extreme. Dirt, pine, moss, sweetness from an apple tree, even the sun. The animals were alive with such energy that you would see in a daycare. I looked back at the washer only to find a tree with a door carved into it with the handle on it.

Did I just teleport? Uh oh.

“Hey! Did you follow me from the laundry mat?” I heard as I was grabbed by the arm and twirled around. I gasped being ripped from my own little world.

“Huh?” I was confused by his comment. 

“ Did you follow me,” he said again, staring into my eyes. His eyes were a beautiful shade of light green and he had long dark lashes. 

“Yes,” I said in a hushed voice. looking down, not being able to hold his gaze anymore.

He scoffed and let go of my arm. He mumbled something like ‘Now I’m going to get’ then looked up at me.” Look, you shouldn’t be here, I wasn’t supposed to show anyone that portal, soo you should go back in the portal and get-”

“I’m not getting back in there!” I yelled at him. My eyes were hard and I held my ground.

He closed his eyes, sighing. “You have to go back, you don’t have a license to jump, and you don’t have a translator, not to mention you don’t even have a elsenti,” he told me.

“A what?” I questioned. He pointed at his ring, I just realized he wasn’t wearing normal clothes anymore. He was wearing leather armor with a bow strung over his arm, he had dark brown pants with a forest green long sleeve. He looked like a DnD character. His dark brown hair was tousled perfectly.

He twisted his ring and his clothes changed from a DnD armor to a sweater and jeans and back. I was in awe, I’ve never seen something like it before.

“You two, over there. come here!” a man's voice said behind me.

We both looked at the washer door only to find nothing.

The guy in front of me cursed, grabbed my hand and made a run for it before I could look back. We were running so fast it was hard to keep up with him. I heard the man yell at us to stop but we didn’t. 

“What are you doing?!” I yelled at the brunette holding my hand. He was dodging trees like a vampire.

“Well, do you want to get caught by the queen's Knights?” He yelled back. That doesn’t sound better than being dragged across the forest by a guy wearing leather armor.

“We don’t have time to talk about this, come on,” he yelled. He appeared to be looking for something. All of a sudden there was the gold handle from the washing machine on a large tree. He bolted for that tree still holding my hand.

The guy halted at the tree, opened the door and shoved me in. “Here, how you work this thing is put your hand on the hologram and tell it where you want to go. It will take you there,” he rushed out, closing the door after looking at me.

When the door closed I pressed my hand on the weird hologram thing and said ‘the laundry mat!’ as fast as I could. Once I said that it started to whirl around and lit up, making me sick.

Then It stopped. I immediately popped the door making a run for a garbage can to throw up. Unable to keep everything down in my stomach anymore. Once I could breathe again I realized I was breathing hard and felt flushed.

BEEEEP. My laundry is done.

[one-abuse-survivor]

Hey.

So, I’m kind of having trouble with my roommate. We both rent rooms from my dad. $600/month each. Which, for California, is great. She’s on disability, and works part time at a thrift store, but she has a limit on how much she can make/save up, cause disability. She has a tendency to ask me for money a lot, and she almost always pays me back, and it’s not like I can’t ever afford it, but I have medical bills and shit going on in my own life, but I also make more money than her, and I get full access on my next birthday to the money my grandma left me, so I feel obligated to help her. She also has a tendency to ask me to drive her to the hospital for stuff often enough that it’s kinda frustrating. Those two things, I’ve been dealing with off and on since she moved in. And I do it, cause I have depression, psychosis, and anxiety, and I struggle with certain things around the house, so I feel like I owe her.

It’s the last couple days I’ve been really frustrated. I work two jobs, one of which has a shift on saturdays that goes to 12:30 am Sunday morning. So, I get home late. At 4:30 am on Sunday morning, my roommate texts me asking if I can go get her her soda from the nearby circle k. I get up around 5:30 to go to the bathroom, and she asks me if I’m up, and I say I’m going to the bathroom and right back to bed. Then, later, when I’m up, she asks me if I want to go get her her soda, and I said not really. Then earlier today (Monday) while I was at work, she texts me that she got the money she owes me “no change” whatever the hell that means, and asked me if I was outside. And I replied that I was at work. And then she starts a rambling series of text messages about the neighbor petting “the cat” and watching movies on her phone, none of which I fully understand (is the neighbor on the property, is my cat outside? Etc). She doesn’t talk to me at all when I get home. Later, when I’m doing a quick work out, she comes out and is like “did you stay up all night.” And I explain that it’s only 10:30, and she goes into a whole bit about how she got taken off some sort of medication and is hallucinating, including a fight between me and my dad, but she’s getting it fixed tomorrow. I couldn’t fall asleep, so I was chilling in my bathroom, and she calls out my dad’s name, and I respond, and she talks about a large possum that jumped on the counter, and then gestured to the corner where it was. I’m really not in a good place to deal with this whatever the fuck she has going on, so I made sure she is getting her medication taken care of tomorrow, and I said good. She said that was rude, and I said sorry, but I don’t have the energy to deal with whatever she has going on, and she said she wouldn’t ask me to, the problem is that it’s already affecting me through how she’s acting towards me, with the texts, and the forgetting that I’m not going to be awake at 4:30 am on a Sunday, and when I work in general, and the fact that I had to take time at work to attempt to deal with whatever the fuck she was texting me about. She might not ask me outright, but there are a million different ways that I end up taking on a bunch of emotional labor to deal with her issues. I don’t feel safe with her being in the state she’s in right now, and I’m just tired of constantly loaning her money (I’m the past 3 years, the lowest I lent her was $60, the biggest was $300-and I just remembered that she didn’t give me the last $100 of that). She’s been pretty nice, but the fact that her mental state has made me stressed enough to be up an our and a half after I wanted to go to bed is too much. I already texted my dad that I can’t deal with her, and I don’t feel safe in the house with her in the mental state she’s in. Like I said, I’m not in a place where I can deal with whatever she’s got going on. She’s been living in the house for 6 years, and I don’t want her to be stressed about finding a new place that’s affordable, but this isn’t sustainable for me, and I’m not in a place where I can move out yet.

Nonnie, it really sounds to me like you made the right call acknowledging your needs and boundaries. It's obviously not her fault she's struggling, and from what you've shared here it really sounds like you've been respectful toward her and tried to help when you could. It also sounds to me like you've been having trouble setting boundaries due to your own feelings of obligation, and I think when that happens (where you find yourself repeatedly brushing aside your own boundaries because of how "small" they seem compared to how much you could help someone out, to the point where it starts to take a toll on your mental health) the best thing you can do is set a bigger boundary with that person.

So it's definitely okay to decide that this situation is too much for you right now. It's okay to not be in a place where you can give so much emotional energy to another person, and I honestly think you made the right call deciding to set that boundary, because at the end of the day, the most likely alternative would be to keep straining yourself until you burst, and that would not be good for either of you.

I really hope she can find a good place to live and where she's around safe people! And I also really hope your mental state improves. I hope everything goes (or went) as smoothly as possible for both of you :)

[snackhobi]

pairing: taehyung x reader / word count: 13.3k / genre: fluff, friends to lovers, smut (NSFW, 18+)

summary: you’re used to being in love with taehyung. you’ve had a lot of time to get good at it, after all—by this point you’re the world’s expert at keeping your less-than-platonic feelings hidden from him, what with the amount of practice you’ve had.

but then he signs up for a massage therapy course, because apparently you can never catch a break.

or: the one where taehyung gives you a full body massage and then some.

warnings: sexually explicit content, massage with a happy ending (literally 🤧), cursing, edible massage oil/lube, fingering (f), unprotected sex (be safe when you have sex please), multiple orgasms (f), oral sex (m), cum swallowing, pet names, body worship?, brief mention of shower sex

a/n: I swear this was meant to be pwp. this was literally meant to just be pwp with some massage shenanigans. and then I blinked and it had become a soft 13k fic which honestly… kicked my ass quite a bit. but I hope you enjoy it!! thank you as always to @hobi-gif​ for beta reading this and encouraging me and putting up with me changing this multiple times, what would I do without your support miss hope?

--

Taehyung goes through a lot of different phases.

He just finds so many things interesting. Photography, art, art history, music, fashion, thrift shopping; heck, there was even the time he got weirdly into making tea and became some sort of connoisseur, going through the whole rigmarole of buying the loose leaves and weighing them out, checking the temperature of the water, brewing for a precisely measured amount of time.

You still remember the look on his face when you said it all tasted like hot leaf water to you.

Because, of course, as one of Taehyung’s best friends and his roommate, you’re inevitably swept up in everything he does. You’re used to the weirdly acrid smell of photo development fluid and how cold dark rooms can get. You use phrases like chiaroscuro and sfumato to describe the simplest things after listening to Taehyung do the same for so long. You’ve lost count of the amount of times you’ve tripped over his saxophone case when he leaves it lying around the apartment. You regularly wear the baggy t-shirt with the face that Taehyung had painted on it—even if you still refer to it as the Squidward-House-Shirt despite the fact you know he was inspired by Basquiet and Schiele and not the Easter Island themed stone head that Squidward lives in.

You don’t mind getting dragged along with whatever he does, honestly; you don’t have time to attend every class, but go with him when you can. It’s always good to expand your horizons. You also love watching Tae’s face whenever he learns something new, the various expressions that flit across his features—from wide eyed excitement and eyebrow raising astonishment to the more solemn side that appears whenever he’s taking something in and thinking deeply about it, turning it over in his mind, mulling on it.

(You love watching Tae’s face all the time, actually, but that’s a whole other can of worms you’d rather keep shut.)

However, the latest course he’s signed up for is not one you’d been expecting.

“Massage therapy?” Your face twists in equal parts confusion and surprise.

Taehyung’s dropped this latest nugget of information while you’re cooking, trying to fry some rice while also peering at the phone screen that’s been thrust into your face. You’re not bad at multitasking, per se, but Taehyung’s iPhone is drifting so close that you’re almost cross-eyed and it’s blocking you from seeing what’s going on in the pan. 

“I had a coupon,” he says, as if that explains everything. (It doesn’t.)

“Scooch,” you say, and he immediately moves so you can turn the gas off.

“Jiminie and Jungkookie say that my massages help with dance, and that's just from Youtube tutorials.” Taehyung continues to talk as you bustle around the tiny kitchen. He’s already set the table so now he’s free to watch you finish doing the rest of the work. “And Joon-hyung says I have the perfect hands for it.”

You fumble with the pan as you’re scooping the steaming rice into a large bowl, only just managing to save food from scattering everywhere. You’ve thought about Taehyung’s hands a lot, about how large and long fingered and beautiful they are, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“Really? Huh. That’s nice.” You stare at the pan, fixated on getting every grain of rice so you can avoid looking at Taehyung’s face. And hands. Which are still cupped around his phone. Which looks so small in his big, pretty grip.

Jesus Christ.

“It means I can give you massages if you ever start to get tense.” Taehyung sounds pleased, lovely grin on his face at the prospect of being able to rub his hands over you. As if that isn’t going to make every single one of your muscles lock up and turn you into some sort of coiled rope of a human being, which is the complete opposite of what a massage is supposed to achieve. 

“Great.” Despite your inner turmoil, your voice is level and steady as you meticulously scrape the last grain of rice into the bowl, chasing the tiny fleck of white around the huge pan. Scrape, scrape, scrape. “Sounds fabulous. Can’t wait.”

Of course Taehyung would sign up to learn something that he could use to help his friends. He’s so big-hearted and loving. Big-hearted and loving and kind and funny and affectionate and beautiful and deep-voiced and so entirely overwhelming in every single way imaginable. 

You do what you always do when confronted yet again with your all-consuming crush—you bottle that shit the fuck up until he’s not in the room.

And then you have a miniature breakdown at Pickles.

“I am going to die,” you whisper-scream. “He’s going to offer to massage me and he’s going to get a bottle of massage oil out and he’s going drizzle it onto his massive hands and I am going to fucking die.”

The bearded dragon cocks his head as he stares at you. Taehyung had come home with the reptile one day, tank and all, saying that someone on Facebook had been giving him away because they were moving house and could they just look after him for a little while, please, pretty please? Until they found a good home for him? Please?

That was over a year ago. (You’ve always been bad at saying no to Taehyung.)

“I hate my life,” you lament to the lizard, but then you hear the noisy flush of the toilet and know that Taehyung is going to emerge from the bathroom soon, so you have to wrap this miniature meltdown up pronto. “I wish I was a bearded dragon too, you know. All you do is get fed and sit under the heat bulb. Your life is so easy. You don’t even know what capitalism is.”

The silence you get from Pickles is far more support than you get from your human friends once you tell them. Yoongi just raises his eyebrows while Seokjin and Hoseok laugh outright in your face, just like they always do when you cry to them about Taehyung.

You need new friends. These ones are defective. (If only you’d kept the receipt so you could return them.)

“We learned how to do neck and shoulder massages today!” Taehyung says brightly after the first session.

You hum in response. You’re rewatching Pacific Rim together, cuddled up against Taehyung’s side, and you don’t have to turn your head to know what expression is on his face. There’ll be that little upturn to his lips, happiness at learning something new. That warmth in his eyes at being able to share it with you, even if you couldn't be there with him. Those little freckles on his face, under his eye, his nose, his lip; the one you’ve imagined kissing more times than you can count.

“My teacher says I have a natural talent with my hands,” he adds, and you’re so grateful that you can blame your sudden intake of breath on the scene that’s playing on the screen, as high stakes as it is. 

“That’s nice,” you say, and mentally pat yourself on the back at keeping the strain out of your voice. You've had a lot of practice at this. “I’m not surprised, though. You’ve always been good at doing things with them.”

That’s not a euphemism. Taehyung’s always so careful when he makes things; you’d learned how to fold different origami patterns together, matching crane for crane, lotus for lotus, and he’d always been so delicate with his fingers. He’s always so careful and considerate with you, too, fingers splayed wide across your shoulder as he squeezes you closer to his side, leaving you breathless.

“I wish you could come too.” Taehyung sounds disappointed. “We always have so much fun together.”

For the first time in your life you’re grateful that your manager at Olive Chicken is such a hardass and won’t let you swap shifts, so you’d had to miss signing up for the massage course with Taehyung—because you know there’s no way you’d be able to keep it together if there was some sort of tandem practice in class or whatever. Your crush on him is filled with equal parts of tenderness and lust and you’re well aware of that. You’d rest your hands on the soft skin of Taehyung’s shoulders and back, the lust would overwhelm you, and you’d immediately burst into flames like some sort of demon stepping over the threshold of a church. 

Why oh why did God have to make Kim Taehyung so hot?

Why oh why did God have to make you so… not?

You know Taehyung doesn’t see you in a romantic light at all. You’re grateful for this deep, platonic relationship you have, and you love him to pieces, but holy hell is it hard to walk around with Kim Taehyung looking the way he does and wanting to jump his bones while simultaneously being aware that it’s never going to happen. Whenever he smiles at you, or touches you, or holds you, it’s in exactly the same way as he treats any of his friends—and as happy as you are to be one of those friends, it also kind of kills you inside. 

(Because you know you don’t have a chance, have never had a chance, and will never have a chance.)

The idea of offering to massage Taehyung is one that makes you want to melt into a puddle of horny goo. But when he offers to massage you, it’s because you’re a convenient practice partner who he’s comfortable with. It’s no big deal. You could strip naked and slather yourself up in oil and stand in front of him with your bosoms heaving and say ‘Have at me, big boy’ and Taehyung would say: ‘Sweet! A chance to practice deep tissue massage! Gee, thanks for being such a great pal!’

The kind of deep tissue you want Taehyung to massage is very different to whatever he’s talking about.

… Anyway.

You manage to avoid Taehyung using his apparently magic fingers on you for a surprising amount of time, though you’re kept up to date with his progress, because he shares everything with you and tells you about everything and you always, always listen. Because, more than being your crush, he’s one of your best friends and you love him.

Which is why you try your best to be gentle, graciously refusing his offer of a shoulder massage after he sees you wincing, even if with anyone else you’d just tell them to back off with zero hesitation.

“It’s fine,” you say, flapping a hand at him. “I just slept on it funny.”

“A massage would help! It won’t take long, I promise. Five minutes? Please?” 

Taehyung’s looking at you with those big puppy eyes of his, pleading. You waver. You’re torn between being steadfast and avoiding a situation you’ve literally had nightmares about (Taehyung had offered to massage you, and you’d said yes, but then you’d fallen over as you were walking to him and suddenly a lasagne had appeared in your hands and you’d spilled it all down your shirt and he’d pointed and laughed and laughed and you’d felt so embarrassed that you’d woken up, cheeks burning), but then he pouts and you give in like the spineless and lovesick fool that you are.

“Five minutes,” you say, and Taehyung nods emphatically, looking pleased.

(You have the backbone of a chocolate éclair.)

You send quiet thanks to whatever God is listening when he doesn’t ask you to take your top off and doesn’t break out a bottle of scented oil. Instead he just asks for you to straddle a chair, clutching a plushie against your chest to cushion where it leans against the backrest, and tells you to get comfy.

“Just relax,” he says, as you desperately try to remember how your body works and coax it to relax like Taehyung wants you to. You fail miserably. You feel like a ball of rubber bands, each muscle a layer of tighter and tighter elastic that’s circled around you. “Lean forwards a little?”

At least Taehyung can’t see your face from this angle. You have no idea what sort of expression is twisting your features; consternation and horrified anticipation, probably. You're basically throttling your plushie, taking out your tension and frustration on the poor thing, Rilakkuma's placid face morphing into a twisted expression of sympathy under your grasping fingers.

“Perfect,” Taehyung says. The sound of praise in his deep voice has your insides turning into overheated syrup, hot and thick, dripping down and pooling between your legs. You hate yourself. Getting turned on by the most innocuous words from your best friend, really? Get it together.

The second you feel Taehyung's warm hands touch the back of your neck, your shoulders hunch up faster than a whiplash, a turtle sucking its head into its shell. Your friend laughs.

“This is the opposite of relaxing,” he says, voice warm with amusement. 

“You surprised me.” You dig your nails into Rilakkuma's soft brown fur. Taehyung just thinks you're not used to being massaged, not that you're being weird because it's him that's touching you. Because he touches you a lot. He’s just never done it like this. “Sorry.”

“It's fine,” he replies, unruffled and oblivious. “Let me try again?”

You bite your lip, desperately trying to quell the mix of arousal and tension that’s churning in your stomach, begging your muscles to unwind. You’ve kept your crush a secret from him for this long, you can keep that energy up. (You have to keep that energy up.) “Um. Okay.”

You’re still tense when Taehyung puts his hands on you again. The touch is warm through your clothes, firm but careful, digging into the sharp line of tension laid across your shoulders; despite the way your heart is threatening to launch itself out of your chest, you start to loosen up, because holy shit that feels nice, actually.

You melt against Rilakkuma and smother the bear's face in your chest. “Your teacher wasn’t kidding when they said that you’re good with your hands,” you mumble. 

You’ve never gotten a proper massage before but it feels so damn good that you can’t help but unwind, turning to jelly at the confident presses of Taehyung’s fingers and palms into the soft skin between your neck and shoulder. A little sigh spills past your lips when Taehyung starts to work at the part that’s been twinging after you lay crookedly on it, limbs akimbo in your sleep after a long night at work. “Oh, right there, Tae.”

Taehyung goes still for just a second before continuing, trailing his fingers over your shirt. “Here?”

Your eyes have drifted shut so you can focus on the sensation of that tension being pulled out of your body. “Yeah, right there,” you repeat, massaged into a state of lazy euphoria. The breath you let out is long and deep, catching in the back of your throat at a particularly firm rub of Taehyung’s hands; if you weren’t so blissed out you might be embarrassed at how much the noise you make is like a moan, but as it is, you don’t even notice. You just let out a little sound of discontent when Taehyung’s fingers stutter in their motions, displeased that he’s stopped even for a second.

By the time the massage is over, you’re so relaxed that you feel like you could melt into the floor, a wobbly puddle of unwound muscles and loose limbs. It’s official. You’re a massage convert.

“Holy shit.” Your eyes flutter open as you lean away from Rilakkuma so you can turn around. They’re the first coherent words you’ve spoken for a while; small sighs and sounds have been dripping from your lips and it’s only now that you’re able to regain your breath. “Tae, that was amazin—”

You’re met with the sight of Taehyung’s back as he power walks away, steps rapid, a little shaky, awkward. Before you can ask what’s wrong, he’s stepping into the bathroom. 

“I need to wash my hands,” he says without looking at you, before the door slams shut.

You don’t remember Tae telling you about how quickly you have to wash your hands after finishing a massage. But, thinking about it, you suppose it makes sense—you know, with massaging multiple clients or whatever—even if it’s surprising exactly how fast he’d hoofed it away from you. It sounds like he’s switched both taps on full blast as well, noisy even through the wooden door, and judging from how long he’s in there, he’s being very thorough. Hand washing must be a lot more important than you’d realised. 

Once Taehyung emerges, his face is a little flushed, cheeks a soft red. You wonder if the hot water tap is playing up again and filling your dinky bathroom with hot steam, and make a mental note to look into it. You smile at Taehyung from your perch on the sofa, Rilakkuma plopped on your lap, smile spread across your features; one that Taehyung returns, as pink-faced as he is.

“How’s your shoulder feeling?”

“So much better, honestly,” you admit. It’s incredible. He hasn’t even finished the course yet and he's already this good. He really does have magic hands.

“I’ll have to give you massages more often,” Taehyung says, though the end of the sentence trembles a little. He must be light-headed after all the steam in the bathroom.

The thought of more massages doesn’t fill you with as much mind-numbing trepidation as it might have earlier, utterly languid as you flop across the sofa, muscles uncoiled after the lovely touch of Taehyung’s even lovelier hands. No wonder people rave about spa days if they leave you feeling like this. Maybe if you’d been staring at Taehyung in the eye when he’d been touching you, then you’d feel a lot more awkward—as it is, it’s no worse than usual. Your crush is still all-encompassing but you also got a massage out of it, so.

“Sounds great.” This time you don’t even have to fake your excitement. “Now come sit your butt down so we can order some takeout and decide what to watch.”

When you bend down to speak to Pickles later, the bearded dragon is lolling on his favourite branch. “There’s still a high chance that I’m going to die,” you say in a low voice, before you flick the lights off so the lizard can sleep. “But he hasn’t broken out the oils yet, so I think I’ll be okay for now.”

--

Your luck doesn’t last.

“Strawberry and champagne, lychee martini, mint mojito, white chocolate, or tropical coconut?”

You look up from where you’re painting your toenails. “Huh?”

Taehyung bundles into the room and throws himself onto your bed, flopping on his belly and ignoring the way the mattress is jostled. You, of course, are used to his antics, which is why you’d swept your open bottle of nail polish up before he could spill it everywhere.

“What do you think sounds best?”

“Well, that depends,” you say, squinting at your toes and carefully sweeping the polish over the freshly buffed nails. “For candles, I think they sound pretty nice. For sauces to pour over a steak, I’d say I’d give them all a hard pass. What’s it for?”

“Massage oils,” Taehyung says blithely, too busy staring at his phone to see you muffle a curse when your hand slips and you paint your entire little toe blue. “I was wondering which you think sounds best.”

“Oh. Uh.” You fumble to clean your toe and salvage the now-terrible pedicure you’re trying to give yourself. It was only a matter of time before massage oils were going to become part of your life. Taehyung never goes into things half-hearted, so of course he’s going to invest in oils, too. God’s sake. You can never catch a break, can you? “Why these ones in particular?”

Taehyung pauses for a suspiciously long time, but it gives you the chance to furiously rub at your toe while he’s distracted. “We get a free bottle from the course,” he says eventually.

Huh. Okay. “That’s pretty neat. What was the last one? Coconut? Stick with the basics, can’t go wrong with that, right?”

“Coconut is always tasty,” Taehyung comments absently, and you glance up from your Smurf toe.

“Agreed, but it’s not like you’re about to eat massage oil, are you?”

Taehyung pauses, and then buries his face into his phone screen—suddenly very intent on rereading the list of ingredients in each bottle, it seems. “No, of course not, you’re right,” he mumbles.

He’s almost finished the course. He’s not going to be an accredited masseuse or anything, but you definitely think he could be, if he wanted to—you’ve never had less tension in your shoulders and neck in your life. Taehyung always eases his way into your personal space anyway, casual and effortless after years of friendship, but now you’re used to his fingers sliding over the back of your neck, a gliding touch, sending tense little goosebumps over your skin while simultaneously making you melt. 

“It’s pretty cool that you get free stuff, though.” Your toe is clean, thankfully, no longer blue. “And not just, like, a generic bottle of oil or something. They all sound really fancy. I didn’t realise that you could get massage oils that were scented like that?”

Taehyung makes a non-committal noise, which is uncharacteristic of him, but you’re too focused on repainting your final nail to pay it too much mind, letting out a loud huff of triumph when you’re done.

“Get me a bag of shrimp crackers, please?” You have a sudden craving but you don’t want to penguin waddle to the kitchen and risk getting anything on your wet nails. “Ya girl is hungry.”

“Got it.” Taehyung rolls off the bed without protest. You’re used to his antics, and he’s used to yours, indulging you whenever you feel lazy or want him to do something for you. “You need me to feed you?”

“I wasn’t going to use my toes to feed myself,” you laugh, but Taehyung ends up feeding them to you anyway.

When you recount the list to Seokjin later, his face crumples in a way that’s equal parts offended and disgusted. “They all sound terrible,” he says. “White chocolate should stay in chocolate form and not be turned into an oil. Why does massage oil even have to smell like anything?”

You’re both holed up in the tiny smoking nook behind Olive Chicken; neither of you smoke, but it’s a good excuse to go outside and get fresh air during longer shifts. 

“Hey, don’t ask me, I’m not the one who’s taking the course. I think lychee martini sounds interesting, though.”

“Agree to disagree.” Seokjin unwraps one of the complimentary chocolates the restaurant gives to diners with their bill, swallowing it whole. “Besides, we all know Taehyung could approach you with dirty, used fryer oil and you’d let him dip you in it.”

You slap the next chocolate out of his hand before it reaches his mouth. He’s unmoved and simply plucks another from his pocket, which is apparently bulging with them.

“Yoongichi,” Jin says, calling to the delivery boy, who’s just appeared from the dark like some tired-eyed spectre of fried chicken. “Tell me this. If I were to ask you what smell of massage oil you’d prefer, what—”

“I would say that I really could not care less.” Yoongi flops down on one of the rickety fold-out chairs before silently accepting a chocolate from Seokjin’s stash. “And then I’d ask why you’re asking me in the first place, seeing as you’re the one using it, not me. If Taehyung’s asking what massage oil you’d prefer, Y/n, it’s because he wants to rub it all over you specifically.” Yoongi munches on the chocolate, already filling in the blanks without needing to be told the context. You really are that transparent, huh. “Please, we’ve been over this.”

Jin pouts. “You ruined my set up. I had a whole speech prepared.”

“Oh no.” Yoongi remains blank-faced. “How terrible.”

“I hate both of you,” you say. “I’m going to tell Pickles how mean you are.”

“I bet if that lizard could talk, he’d tell you how tired he was of you two dancing around each other, just like the rest of us,” Yoongi says.

There’s no dancing around, though, no matter what your friends say. Well. Not on Taehyung’s end anyway. You’re out here doing the fandango, castanets and all, while Taehyung just stands stock still, oblivious.

You let out an incredibly long sigh. Seokjin hands you a sympathetic chocolate.

The massage oil doesn’t make an appearance in your life for a little while, though. The end of the course comes and goes, Taehyung proudly flapping the laminated certificate at you, wobble-wobble-wobble, filling the apartment with the sound of rippling plastic. But no coconut oil.

The scent of ‘tropical coconut’ has started to haunt your dreams, in a way that’s both good and bad; when you wake up in a sweat, heart pounding, it’s not because you’re having nightmares, let’s just put it like that. It’s like there’s an invisible countdown that you can’t trace and it’s only a matter of time before it ticks over and the shoulder massages (that you’ve gotten very comfortable with) edge into something different. Taehyung’s going to innocently offer to give you a backrub and uncap that bottle of scented oil and you’re going to explode into a mess of putty under his hands.

Well… then again… you had been worried about that with all the shoulder rubs. Now look at you. You weather those like a champ. Sure, your skin tingles and you run hot and you think about the sensation of Taehyung’s hands gliding over you whenever you’re alone, but you’re basically fine. Your friend who just so happens to also be the great love of your life remains none the wiser.

You bet a full back rub would feel great after a long week.

Which is why when Taehyung steps into the apartment with a look on his face that you immediately recognise as tiredness, you sort of wish you knew how to massage people, too.

He falls into your arms with little fanfare. It’s been one of those days, one of those ones that everyone gets, even Taehyung—he’s usually so Switched On and Exuberant and Alive, and people don’t seem to realise that even he feels exhausted, sometimes.

“You alright, bubs?” You can’t massage him but you can rub his back soothingly, let him snuffle against your neck. Sometimes you think about that little space between your chin and collarbones as Taehyung’s, a hollow that’s perfect for him to press his face into, hair tickling your chin as he curls up into you. His and his alone. “Did something happen?”

He just shakes his head.

“Okay,” you say.

(Close proximity and skin on skin with Taehyung doesn’t always have your pulse rising and your heart racing. Sometimes it’s just this: quiet and soft, your heart bright with fierce affection for this boy, the only thought in your mind that you want him to be happy, forever.)

The long silence is broken by the sound of Taehyung heaving in a breath before letting out a long, exhausted sigh. 

“Thank you.” His voice is quiet and low, far less energetic than his usual self.

“Nothing to thank me for, Tae,” you reply. “Always here for you. You know that, right?”

He doesn’t respond straight away. He just burrows closer, draped over you, until he murmurs, barely audible. “Why?”

Your face twists. “Why, what? Why am I always here for you?”

“Yeah.” Taehyung squeezes himself impossibly closer, skin warm against yours, forehead pressed to the skin of your neck. You can’t see his expression from this angle.

“Because you’re one of my best friends and I love you,” you answer, immediately. You don’t even have to think about it. “Because you’re important to me and if there’s anything I can do for you, I will. I’ll celebrate the good things in your life with you, and I’ll be at your side during the bad times, just like you are with me. Please don’t ever forget how much I love you, okay?”

There’s a pause, and then it feels like all the tension leaves Taehyung’s body, slumping his whole body weight against you. “Okay,” he murmurs. “I love you too. Thank you,” he says again. You just reply by squeezing his shoulders.

He’s a little quieter for a few days after that. You’re not sure why, because he’d perked up after a lazy evening of lying around and eating too many snacks, flopped against you like an oversized, clinging starfish—but you’re gentle with him nonetheless. 

(Well. You’re always gentle with him. It just takes you half a second to fold in the face of his whims, rather than a whole, full second.)

So when the dreaded bottle of oil finally appears, you’re far less ready to fight off Taehyung’s insistence on a full body massage, caught off guard after days of indulging him. Fuck. 

“You’ve had a long week!” Taehyung insists as you scrabble your way over the sofa’s backrest so you can hide behind it, clutching a cushion to your chest. “You need to relax!”

Without looking you fling the cushion over the sofa. Judging from the fact that Taehyung doesn’t make a sound, you’ve missed. “I was feeling perfectly relaxed until you started yelling at me about it! Why are you so obsessed with the idea of me being relaxed?”

Taehyung doesn’t respond. Oh, crap. Maybe you did hit him with the cushion?

You pop up from behind the sofa. Nope. It's an embarrassing distance away from Taehyung, who’s got that surprisingly large bottle of oil held loosely in his hands. There’s an expression on his face that you can’t decipher; a little crestfallen, a little unsure, but there’s something else there, too, something you can’t put a name to.

“Taehyung?”

“I just… wanted to help,” he says. “You’re always there for me when I’m not feeling great, and you calm me down, and I wanted to do the same for you.”

You immediately feel like the worst human being alive. Take the feeling you get whenever you accidentally step on an animal’s tail, multiply it by infinity, and that’s only just a drop in the ocean of awful, awful guilt that you’re drowning in. 

“Oh, Tae,” you say. Your voice comes out so much softer and sweeter than you mean it to, but you can't help it. “I’m sorry. I was just joking. It’s really nice of you to be so concerned. You just surprised me. You do help me relax and your massages are great.” (You tell him that often enough that he should know it, but it never hurts to repeat a compliment.)

His face lifts. It’s like the sun bursting forth from the clouds after heavy rain, and you have to resist the urge to shield your eyes, blinded by the brightness and beauty. Kim Taehyung is so unfairly gorgeous (but what else is new?). “So I can give you a massage?”

Despite the fact the prospect makes you want to fling yourself into space, when you’re faced with Taehyung’s dark eyes and wide smile and large, warm hands, you cave, because of course you do. If, way back when you’d first been frying up that kimchi rice and letting Taehyung thrust his phone into your face, you’d been told you’d end up in this position, you would have laughed outright. Haha, yeah, sure, like you’d be stupid enough to let yourself be wrangled into such a vulnerable state in front of Taehyung, nowhere to run, helpless under his fingers. Not.

But here you are. Whipped for Kim Taehyung, forever and always.

The pastel blue towels under your stomach and chest are soft as they shield you from the cold, hard floor. You’re incredibly aware of how chilly the apartment feels, air prickling against your bare skin; you shift to try and get comfortable, glancing over your shoulder to fiddle with the towel that’s draped over your hips and ass, making sure it’s covering everything. Taehyung insists on authenticity (as if you’re not lying on the floor of your apartment rather than on a massage table) and he says that it’s normal to be completely naked for a full-body massage, even underneath any towels that are covering you up.

Authenticity is also why he’s in the other room, warming up the massage oil, because that’s apparently a thing?

(You’re going to die.)

It doesn’t matter that Taehyung will only be able to see the back of your head, your shoulder blades, the small of your back, a slip of your thighs, your calves. None of these things are especially scandalous; all the parts of your body that someone might find more interesting are out of sight, pressed against the floor or hidden under a layer of Egyptian cotton microfibres. 

And yet you can’t help but be hyperaware of how you’re entirely unclothed. Even if it doesn’t bother Taehyung—what with, you know, the fact he’s not interested in you like that and doesn’t find you attractive at all (sigh)—embarrassment creeps hot and uncomfortable under your skin.

It just feels so crazy intimate to be laid out like this, even if people do this all the time, happily strip down to let professionals rub the tension out of their body. 

(Then again, most people aren’t best friends with their masseuses and haven’t harboured long, one-sided crushes on them, either.)

Just breathe. You can do this. You love the shoulder massages that Taehyung’s been giving you; just think of this as a shoulder massage. 

… A shoulder massage that involves warm oil, near-nakedness, and Taehyung’s hands sliding all over you.

… You are going to have a very long venting session with Pickles after all this.

You’re so distracted by your own self pity and distress that you don’t register the sound of Taehyung entering the room; the little pause when he steps over the threshold, feet stuttering, just for a moment. It’s only when he’s kneeling down that you notice his presence, body jolting from surprise before you let out a slip of high laughter.

“Jesus, Tae,” you say. In any other circumstance, you’d be clutching your chest. “You scared me.”

“Sorry.” He sounds genuinely apologetic.

Your cheek is pillowed on your arms. When you turn to look at your best friend you immediately regret it; he’s settled back on his ankles, knees spread wide, and you come eye-to-eye with his crotch.

In an effort to look away from his clothed dick, your gaze flies up to his face, which might be even worse. He has this intense look in his eyes, and wow, alright, you’ve never been able to see Taehyung’s face as he’s been massaging you, but you never realised exactly how seriously he seems to take it, judging from his expression.

(Do all massage therapists look like that when they work?)

“That’s alright.” You’re a little breathless, but you’re going to blame that on how your boobs are smooshed into the floor, and not on anything else, nuh uh. Shoulder massage. It’s a shoulder massage. It’s just like a full bodied shoulder massage. (Maybe if you repeat it to yourself often enough then you’ll actually start to believe it.) “Uh. Do you need me to… do anything? Or do I just lie here?”

Taehyung’s expression lightens a little at the uncertainty in your tone, smile curling up the corners of his mouth. “You’re perfect right where you are,” he says, and then he reaches for the bottle of oil.

You turn your head away again, cheeks burning. There’s no way you’ll be able to handle the visual of him slicking his fingers and palms up. “Cool,” you say, voice only a little strained. “Coolcoolcoolcool.”

(It’s not cool.)

You don’t have a visual, but you do get the auditory experience thanks to the relative silence in the apartment. Goosebumps ripple down the back of your neck and trail down your spine at the sound of Tae’s hands sliding against each other, thoroughly coated in the warmed oil, and you’re so glad that you can blame it on the chill in the air.

At first, it’s okay. Taehyung starts at the parts of your body that are used to receiving his attention, though it’s different without the barrier of clothing in the way, not to mention how easily his palms glide over you, the air full of the light scent of coconut. It’s different, but manageable, and you think you just might be okay; as always, his touches are firm but careful, and your body is used to this by now, relaxing.

But. The second you feel Taehyung’s touch between your shoulder blades, you stiffen with a shiver. The oil is the perfect temperature against your skin, but you’ve always had a sensitive back; you can’t help but clench your fists, digging your fingers into your palms. Relax. Just breathe. 

“You’ve got a lot of tension here.” Taehyung’s voice is low as he digs the heel of his palm into the dip of your spine.

It’s because you’re touching me there, you think to yourself, but just let out a non-committal hum of agreement instead. 

You feel Taehyung's hands, a repeated sliding motion between your shoulder blades; the tension starts to leak out of you again, but your breath hitches in your throat at how you're pressed downwards and into the cotton towels beneath you, nipples hardening against them.

Thank God you're on your front so Tae can't see what effect he's having on you.

“Better?”

Taehyung's voice is always deep, but you'd swear it was even deeper in this moment, pitched low. Maybe that’s because the sound of blood pumping is filling your ears so it’s hard to discern. At this point, who even knows? Not you, that’s for sure.

“Yep.” Why are you so breathless? You haven’t moved at all, but you sound like you’ve just run the 100m sprint, winded and weak. “So much better.”

You regret agreeing to this. You are so out of your depth and there’s no way you’re going to be able to hide exactly how much this is affecting you and you want to collapse in on yourself and shrivel up like a sundried tomato, tiny and wrinkly and underwhelming. 

Taehyung shifts to reach more of you and you squeeze your eyes shut so you don’t come face first with his crotch again, shielding yourself from the view of his loose linen trousers stretched almost taut with how wide his knees are. It’s both a blessing and a curse—a blessing because you’re saved from aforementioned view, but a curse because your sensation of touch is heightened, and all you’re aware of is his hands sliding down your sides. You’d swear those fingers were so long he could circle your waist with ease.

(Massages are meant to relax you and yet you’ve never felt so tense in your life.)

Taehyung clicks his tongue against the back of his teeth. “I can’t get a good angle like this,” he mutters.

Before you can think anything or say anything, you become aware of the sound of moving and shifting and—

Your eyes fly open. Taehyung’s straddling your thighs, heavy and warm, and you suck in a breath so sharp and fast you can feel your chest expand, brain full of the screaming clang of warning bells. There’s no way this is a normal masseuse thing. There’s no way. It’s intimate and entirely too physical and there’s absolutely no way that this is something Taehyung learned in class. 

(What is he doing?)

But then any coherent thought in your brain slips when his hands settle on you again.

They so, so lightly brush the hem of the towel that preserves your modesty, and you can’t help the full-body shiver that wracks through you. You suck your lips into your mouth, swallowing down the noise that threatens to bubble up in your throat. There’s the sensation of fingers trailing up the line of your spine, feather light, smoothed by the slide of oil, and you feel like molten lava, burning hot and bright.

“Taehyung.” Your voice is high and faint.

His fingers splay down your ribcage and run down your sides, confident and smooth, warm with that coconut-scented oil, and you’re dying, you’re living; you want to disappear, you never want this to end. 

“Taehyung,” you repeat. Your voice shakes.

He hums, low and indulgent. “Yes?”

“M-my thighs,” you stammer, unable to articulate yourself. Why are you on my thighs, oh God, you’re so warm and heavy on top of me, oh God oh God oh God.

Taehyung completely misunderstands you. “Oh? Of course.” He sounds nonchalant. “I’ll massage those next.”

You can feel the drag of his linen trousers against your skin as he moves down to rest on your calves, and hear the bottle open as Taehyung drizzles more oil over his hands, far more than he could possibly need. His palms feel so broad and warm against the smoothness of your thighs, touches firm and confident as he digs his fingers into the muscle, and, oh, fuck, this is, this is too much—

Your legs jump when Taehyung hitches the towel up, just a little, baring more of your body.

“Fuck.” You can't keep quiet any longer. “Tae, I’m fine, I’m feeling way less tense now.”

He’s still, for a moment, before his hands slide up the back of your thighs. “Are you sure? You want me to stop?”

It’s only then that you realise how deeply Taehyung is breathing, fast and low, voice rough and gravelled. His fingers rest in wait, warm and slick with oil; you’re so close to losing any modicum of modesty, only one motion away from that towel being rucked high enough that there’s nothing protecting you from Taehyung’s touch and eyes.

“I haven’t finished yet, though,” he continues, digging his thumbs into your skin as he pulls his hands down your thighs, mindlessly following the motions he’s been taught. “There’s still more to go.”

You could twist around to look at him but you’re almost afraid to look at his face, afraid of what you’d find there. He sounds as affected as you are, but there’s absolutely no way. There’s no way.

“You don’t need to do the whole massage if I’m feeling relaxed, right?” 

(Because you’re feeling so relaxed right now, of course, and not like you’re about to go supernova and burst into heat and light. Absolutely.)

(But.)

(But. Taehyung’s hands settle at the back of your knees, swiping the sensitive skin with his thumbs. You can’t see his face, but you can feel something in that touch, something more than skin deep, like it’s sinking into you, through skin and muscle and bone, in in in, settling inside you, a flicker of—of—)

“Want to do this perfectly for you,” he murmurs. You clench your hands at the husky note in his voice, nails digging so hard into your palms it hurts. “You deserve the best. I want you to feel good.”

He must be able to see your back rise and fall as you breathe in sharply.

“Taehyung.” Almost pleading. 

“Yes, love?”

You suck in another sharp breath. The pet name sounds so soft and sweet in his mouth, somehow, even with the heated edge to his voice. One that’s definitely there. You’re not imagining it. 

(You’re not.)

“Do you want me to make you feel good?” he continues.

Before you can think, you nod.

“Yes,” you whisper. “Please.”

You’re trembling. Taehyung’s still heavy and warm across the back of your calves, sliding one hand to the inside of a knee and up the soft skin of your inner thighs. You instinctively shift them apart, as far as you can with Taehyung trapping your legs, and, oh, his hand is going higher, oh—

His hand is so big, cupping your overheated sex. It’s hard to tell where the oil ends and your own arousal begins, flushed wet and hot; when he dips his middle finger between your lower lips, long and gentle and firm, you let out a noise you didn’t realise you were capable of. The angle is off, a little awkward, the motions of Taehyung’s fingers stifled by how you’re lying flush to the ground, but God, you’re so turned on it barely matters.

You’re hyperaware of everything. The soft touch of air on the cooling oil across your skin. The fall of the towel, bunched around your waist, slowly slipping to one side. Taehyung’s hand, his fingertips easing through the heat of you, sliding over your clit, over your entrance, slow and soft and amazing. 

“Again,” you plead. “Again, Tae, please.”

“Feels good?” He asks, and you squeeze your eyes shut as you nod, cheek still pillowed against your arm.

“So good,” you say. “But I want more, please, Tae.”

“Anything you want,” he murmurs.

Taehyung’s hand shifts between your legs again, so hot, so big, so reverent. The slide is smooth as his fingers press into your folds, practically gliding. You twist beneath him, letting out a noise of displeasure when he draws his hand away, but then he lifts off your calves. You let him thrust your legs apart before he resettles between them.

Just as you’re distracted with the towel being tugged away from your hips, baring you entirely, Taehyung slides a finger into your weeping cunt.

You whine. It's so long. Now that your calves aren’t trapped, there’s nothing to stop you from rutting back against his fingers. He splays his other hand over the soft flesh of your ass, encouraging the rolling motion of your hips, and you’re gasping, wanton in your noises of desire and pleasure. One finger becomes two, and then three, Taehyung’s voice a low undercurrent to your stuttered moans as he presses them as deep as he can.

“Just like that, angel,” he breathes. “Want you to feel good, keep making those pretty noises, let me know how good it is—”

“Taehyung,” you whine, dragging the syllables of his name out when he curls his fingers inside you, so amazing, hitting you in all the right places.

“Baby.” He sounds wrecked, words sliding together, and you haven’t even touched him yet. “You’re so hot n’ wet, fuck. So perfect. Just like that, keep moving like that.”

You can hear the slick sounds of his thrusts into you. He’s already learned what you like, twisting his fingers in a way that leaves you breathless; they’re so fucking long, sliding into your greedy cunt with ease, reaching so much deeper than your own can. His pretty lovely hands are on you, inside you, and you’re heady at the thought.

“There, Tae, don’t stop, please, p-please.” The coil twists tighter in between your legs, a taut thread that’s ready to snap. He listens, repeating the motion that’s pulling you closer to the edge, eyes wide, staring at the way you’re writhing underneath him; the way the oil on your back and legs shimmers in the light, the evidence of his touch all over you, shining. “Tae, oh, God, right there, yes, yes, yes—”

Your entire body goes tense and then you’re cumming around Taehyung’s fingers, clenching your thighs together, trapping him inside as you buck your hips. You grind back against his hand, a loud moan falling from your lips, drowning out the noise of awe that Taehyung makes when he feels your walls pulsate around him. You're warm and tight and wet, arousal flooding thick against his skin, and he lets out a stuttered groan, fingers buried knuckle deep inside you, feeling every wave of pleasure that rocks through your core.

You’re panting by the time you settle back down and barely make a sound when Taehyung drags his fingers out of you. When he leans down the oil on your skin feels tacky against his clothes, material sticking to you, chest to back, hips to ass. You can feel the hot curve of him through his trousers, his cock heavy, getting harder—and it feels sososo good.

Taehyung’s face is so close, now, chin hooked over your shoulder. Even though you can feel the hardness of his cock pressed against you, the smile on his face is so gentle. Your heart thrums in your chest.

“So cute n' pretty,” he says, and presses his nose to the soft curve of your cheek. Rather than coconut, all you can smell is his shampoo, familiar and homely and heady. “All over. God, I can’t believe you’d let me touch you like this. I’m so lucky. Was that good, baby?”

“Yes,” you say, and then, because you’re still floating in a light haze of disbelief: “I’m the lucky one.” 

Taehyung laughs, low and quiet. It’s a honeyed moment, dripping slow and sweet, even sweeter when he tilts his head forward. His lips are soft against your cheekbone, your jaw, and when you turn towards him, they’re even softer against your mouth. You can feel the shape of his smile, and it tastes so bright, small kisses that turn open mouthed, so perfect. Because you’re kissing Kim Taehyung, your Taehyung, something you’ve been dreaming about for so long, now—even if this entire situation is pretty unbelievable, honestly.

When you pull back, his eyes spark with unadulterated joy. He’s warm and heavy, pinning you down against the towels that are soft against your front; arching your spine, you lean back against the weight of Taehyung’s body, his cock fattening up through the layers of clothes that separate you. He lets out a breath of surprise before he grinds down, pressing that hard heat against you, and your cunt clenches.

“Can I finish the massage?” He asks, sounding almost eager, even with the rasp of lust in his voice. You can’t help but laugh, an affectionate giggle that has you knocking your foreheads together.

“Of course,” you say, and he catches your lips again, swallowing the last of your laughter, sweeping his tongue over your lips, inside your mouth, wet and hot and a little messy, but good. 

“You need to be on your back,” Taehyung continues, slow after the kiss is broken, and, oh, okay, that has you shivering. “If you want to?”

Of course you want to.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Let me move.”

He shifts to give you room, but not before pressing a kiss to the back of your neck, the bump of the top of your spine, lips sliding against the oil that he’d rubbed there earlier, goosebumps erupting over your skin.

“So good to me,” he whispers. You don’t think he even means for you to hear it. 

(It’s said without thought; not thoughtless, no, but a soft little thing that says so much. A thought that’s slipped across his mind and fallen from his lips, warm and tender. Like you’re always good to him, and he sees it, he knows it, he feels it, he thinks it, and he’s almost in disbelief about it, because you’re so good to him.)

You feel warm and languid after cumming, loose-limbed as you flop onto your back. There’s no going back now. There’s no going back from this moment, naked and vulnerable under Taehyung, nothing hidden away any more—the soft fall of your breasts, your stomach, the lines of your hips, your fingers tightening in the towels spread beneath you as Taehyung’s eyes drink you in, wide and overawed at the sight of your flushed cunt, ripe and slick and ready for him.

(There's no more hiding how much you want Taehyung to have you, body and heart alike.)

You can see the shape of your body silhouetted on his clothes, where the oil has seeped into the material from how close he’d been pressed against you. You can see just how affected he is, cock straining against the loose linen of his white trousers, and you bite your lip to try and stifle the sound you make.

“Look at you,” Taehyung breathes, kneeling between your legs. “You’re so perfect.”

Your cheeks burn. “Taehyung, please,” you say, embarrassed. You really aren’t, especially in comparison to model-gorgeous Kim Taehyung, eyes dark and full of heated lust, hair falling in his eyes, effortlessly beautiful, always.

“You are,” he insists. “You have no idea how perfect you are.”

Before he reaches for the massage oil, he sucks the taste of you off his fingers, sloppy and messy. Your pussy throbs at the sight. And—you were also right about the visual being too much to handle, breath catching in your throat as you watch it drip into his broad hands. His palms shine as he rubs them together, interlacing his fingers, so graceful in their motions. You’re so wet from your orgasm, only getting wetter as you stare back at Taehyung, whose gaze has been heavy on you the whole time.

He starts at your collarbones. It’s even slower than before, and you ease underneath him, revelling in the softness of his touch. He sweeps his hands over your shoulders, down your arms, circling his long fingers around your wrists before lifting one of your hands. Your eyelashes flutter as he presses a kiss to your palm, a motion so full of adoration and tenderness it steals your breath away, and you squirm, shy.

“Tae,” you whine. “You can’t just do that.”

Of course he doubles down, lifting your other hand and repeating the motion, letting his lips linger between your head line and your heart line. “I can,” he says, words warm in your cupped palm. 

“I hope you didn’t do this in class.” Your voice is too weak for it to come out as the joke you mean it to be. 

Taehyung just shakes his head, mouth brushing over the tips of your fingers. “Only for you,” he says. “Did the whole class for you. I wanted—wanted an excuse to touch you more,” he admits, and your heart feels like it’s going to launch itself out of your throat.

“Then touch me,” you say, trying to sound confident even if your cheeks burn.

And he does. He lets your hands drop, gliding his touch back up your arms, down your body, over your legs; he massages your thighs and calves, digs his thumbs into the arches of your feet, circling his fingers around your ankles, shackles you don’t want to escape from. You feel so relaxed and lax, somehow, even if every touch has you biting your lip, anticipation roiling  in your stomach for what’s to come, Taehyung laying your legs down softly before he shifts back up, hands held out towards you—

—then he cups your breasts in his big, big hands and your back arches, fingers sliding over your nipples, glistening with coconut oil, circling them with the pads of his thumbs. You let out an embarrassing whine.

“Oh, Tae,” you beg. “More, please.”

“Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

You smile at another soft, unexpected pet name, flustered, but then your eyes slide shut when Taehyung bends down to kiss your neck as he continues to run his hands over the swell of your breasts. He trails his lips over your oiled skin, shifts down, drawing a line from your neck to the valley of your chest, the hard line at the center of your ribcage.

“Tae,” you murmur, and then, feeling bold under the heat of Taehyung’s dark eyes— “Baby.”

He hums before laying another sloppy kiss against your sensitive skin. You can feel the curve of his smile in the kiss. “Yes, love?”

“Is it really okay for you to… you know… get that oil in your mouth? I don’t want you to get sick,” you say, concerned, even through the haze of your arousal. His lips shine with it, at how he’s been trailing his mouth over all the parts of your body that he’s touched.

There’s a short beat, and then Taehyung buries his head against your neck—in that little hollow that’s his, in a motion he’s done dozens of times. Except this time you’re naked and he still has fingers splayed across the soft skin of your chest, nipples dragging underneath his palms.

“You’re always so considerate.” His words are muffled against your skin. “It’s fine. It’s edible.”

“You got edible massage oil from your course?”

Taehyung hesitates. “No,” he admits. “I bought it. It’s edible and, uh. Safe for intimate use.”

You’re silent, just for a moment, and then you can’t help it. You start to laugh. 

“Kim Taehyung,” you say, body shaking with amusement. “Did you buy edible massage oil that you can also use as lube?”

Taehyung pulls his face away from your neck and glances up. You’re giggling at him, and he feels so full of love and affection; he can’t help but join in, both laughing at him, loud and carefree.

“It’s why I asked which one you liked,” he confesses, once he can catch his breath.

“I can’t believe you lied to me,” you say, but you don’t mind, really, and he knows it. You lift a hand to push hair out of his face, running your fingers down his scalp. He leans into your touch with a smile, bright and lovely, before he abruptly shifts one of his hands down so he can lick a hot, wet stripe across the skin of your breast.

That stops your laughter pretty fast, surprised hiccup shifting into a broken moan when he engulfs your nipple in the heat of his mouth. “O-oh,” you gasp. “Oh, Taehyung—”

“Been thinking about this for so long.” Taehyung’s eyes are lidded and dark as he leans back, watching the way you react to his touch, arching up towards him. “Wanted to touch you like this so much.”

“Wanted it too,” you breathe. “Wanted—oh, God, Tae, fuck—”

It’s overwhelming. Not just the way Taehyung is flicking his tongue over each of your nipples, pressing his lips against your skin, no—but the idea that he’s been hoping for this, too. Each wet motion of his tongue over your pebbled skin drags pulls out of you; Taehyung’s cock twitches at a loud keen that’s drawn from your lips, a wet patch of precum seeping through his boxers and trousers, darkening the fabric, even though you haven’t touched him yet.

When you reach out to grasp him through his clothes, his hips jolt forward and he bites off a surprised gasp, cutting through the sound with his teeth. He feels long and heavy as you stroke him, thumbing over the wet patch at his tip, hot, even through all those layers between your skin and his.

“I want to feel you, Tae,” you say, staring at him. “Inside me. Please.”

His breath hitches when you tighten your fingers around his shaft and drag your hand upwards, slow and intent. 

“The oil isn’t condom friendly,” he admits, abashed. 

“Then you can cum in my mouth,” you reply. No hesitation.

Taehyung’s eyes are so wide, but then he smiles, eyes squeezing into crescents, mouth turning up into that lovely, broad grin of his. He looks so sweet and sincere, and you feel like you could explode, stuffed overfull with love for him.

“You really are perfect,” he says.

“Only for you,” you reply, your smile just as bright.

He lays one final kiss to your chest, above your beating heart, before he starts to strip. The oil has obviously soaked through his shirt and onto his skin because it sticks when he peels it off and carelessly throws it aside. 

Just like his heart, Taehyung’s body is soft and lovely. You sit up so you can touch him properly, catching him off guard when you pull him in for a kiss—one he eagerly leans into, and without the shirt in the way you can feel the way your skin slides against his, softened with oil. 

There really is no one as beautiful as Kim Taehyung. You drag your hands over him, so warm and wonderful under your palms; his chest, his cute tummy, his waist, his hips, the soft skin above his red, neglected cock. He’s radiant in his nakedness, every easing line of his body so perfect as he kneels in front of you, the flush of his skin, the heavy weight of his arousal, head shining with precum, so wet it’s practically dripping.

You lean in to kiss his neck and nip at his Adam's apple as his hands slide over your shoulder blades and down your back, the parts that make you shudder.

“Want you, Tae.” You whisper into his mouth, a soft secret that isn’t really a secret at all, not any more. “All of you.”

“Going to give you everything you want.” The words flow out of him with ease. “Everything you want.”

His chest and stomach shine with the massage oil that’s rubbed off from your own skin. You run your hands across him, and when you finally grasp his cock without the barrier of cloth in the way, he’s almost burning under your grasp, thick, his entire body shuddering when you pump his length. So sensitive to your touch.

“I’m goin’ to make you cum again,” he promises, and you love it, the way he talks when he’s losing himself. “Bet you’ll feel so good around my cock, so perfect.”

A shiver skates through your body. Taehyung’s fingers dig into your skin when he feels you trembling under his hands, and all you can think about is how you want him in you.

“Please,” you say. “Please, wanna make you feel good too—”

“Hands and knees, angel,” he rasps, and, God, yes, those words cut straight through you, sharp and electric.

Maybe you should feel embarrassed at how quickly you obey. The towels underneath you, so carefully placed at the start, perfectly flat, become rumpled as you shift into position; you arch your back, wanting to look as good as possible, and glance over your shoulder to see if it works.

Judging from the look on Taehyung’s face, it does. He looks like he’s never seen anything more awe-inspiring, eyes wide and mouth a little slack, dumbstruck. But then his jaw snaps shut and he splays his hands over the soft skin of your hips, your waist, your ass, shuffling closer to you; you feel the curve of his cock slide against your skin and you bite back a noise of need.

“Fuck, so beautiful.” He ruts forward, and you can feel the wetness of his precum slicking against you, a beaded line drawn across the sheen of massage oil. “My beautiful, perfect girl.”

“Tae,” you plead, already overwhelmed with need, heart squeezing at his words.

“Just one more thing, angel, I promise.”

It’s a good thing that the bottle of massage oil is so big, considering how liberal Taehyung is with it. You gasp when he uses one hand to spread your ass and before you can react there’s a drizzle of oil falling onto your skin, down-down-down, over your cunt, dripping over your inner thighs; Taehyung catches the excess with his palms before he slicks himself up, spreading that sweet coconut over his throbbing cock.

(You wonder what it’ll taste like when you lick it off him.)

When you feel the blunt head of his cock nudging at your pussy, your entire body lights up in anticipation, nerve endings on fire, every inch of your body singing under Taehyung’s touch—and when he finally sinks in, it’s almost effortless. He’s thick and long but everything slides so easy; you gasp and he moans, both lost in how your body opens up for him, hot and wet. By the time he’s bottomed out you're a quivering mess, collapsed onto your elbows. You’re so full. You feel split open in all the best ways, wanting to draw him in impossibly deeper even so.

Taehyung is gripping your sides, hands unmoving even with the slick oil underneath them, fingers digging into your skin. He’s breathing so loud, and when you experimentally shift your hips, he bites back a noise that cuts through that breath.

“How’s it feel, love?” His words slur together in arousal, but the hand that strokes your back is slow, thoughtful. “Feel good?”

“Fuck me, Tae, baby, please,” you beg. It’s so, so so much, so good, amazing, hotter and bigger and harder than anything you’d let yourself imagine, your entire body taking Taehyung and holding him in, in, in. “Please, I need it, it feels good but I want more, please.”

When he pulls away it’s slow and torturous and he goes so far he almost slips out, cock nearly sliding out of your folds. You whine, a little shameless, mostly needy, but then—

The snap of his hips drives you forwards, towels shifting underneath as you scrabble for a hold on something. Each sharp motion of Taehyung’s body has you choking for air and letting out whimpers and gasps, drowned out by the slap of skin on skin; his hipbones meet the soft flesh of your ass, again and again, but all you can focus on is the thick heat of his cock inside you, in-out-in-out, the press of his balls against your clit, everything so wet and smooth and slick.

You can feel how you’re losing yourself to that heady place that’s golden bright with feeling, lust and sex, the rest of the world gone, unimportant. There’s nothing but this—Taehyung touching you, filling your body so well, so perfect, helping you chase that high that’s growing faster and faster, that precipice of pleasure that he’s going to throw you over again, intent on it.

One of his hands trails up your back, between that sensitive dip of your shoulder blades and into your hair, locks tangling with coconut oil before he urges you up. He doesn’t yank or pull but his hold is firm and you end up back on your hands, arms trembling as you try to keep your balance, back bowed, overwhelmed. 

“Baby,” he rasps. “Oh, you’re so tight n’ hot, so pretty, fuck. You feel so good, do you feel good?”

Your answer is almost a wail, so overcome with pleasure, sensation, the glide of his hands over your shining skin, the mix of oil and arousal that drips out of you, only getting wetter with each thrust of his hips into you. “So good, o-oh God, Tae, baby, fuck, oh, theretherethere—”

“Here?”

He punctuates this with a roll of his hips, using the hand still on your hip to pull you back onto his cock as he fills you up once more, throbbing heat. He bends over you, and this time, there’s nothing stopping the skin on skin contact, the slide of his chest against your back as he kisses the soft skin behind your ear, nipping at your lobe, and that’s it, you’re gone. Your eyes slide shut and your mouth falls open as another orgasm crashes through you, legs shaking as you cum around Taehyung’s cock, grinding back against him to drag out that pleasure; the only thing holding you up is the hand still in your hair, the lips trailing up the side of your bared neck, the hard cock inside you, keeping you against him, so many points of connection with Taehyung.

(His chest pressed against your back, heart beating so hard you can feel it, your own heart moving in tandem, matching him.)

He’s been whispering filth to you, heated praise and love, how good you feel, how beautiful you are, what it’s like to see you like this, touch you like this, have you like this. Lovely, pretty, perfect, gorgeous, hot n’ wet n’ tight, fuck, love, oh.

You’re still shivering, the final pulses of your orgasm curling through you with each unintentional shift of Taehyung’s hips, the drag of his length inside your inner walls. You can feel something dripping out of you; oil, cum, you don't know, but fuck, it feels so so good.

“Oh, God,” you say. Breathless. “Oh, Taehyung, oh.”

“Pretty darling,” he murmurs. He swivels his hips, grinding against you, and your entire body jolts with oversensitivity, clit swollen where his balls press against it. You tighten around him and groan at how hot and big he still feels inside, even as you still shiver from the come down of your second orgasm. “Gonna roll you over so I can see that perfect face.”

And when you’re on your back again, fucked out and mussed and wrecked, he just stares at you. You’ve watched his face for so long, seen so many expressions flit across his features, but never something like this—it’s a mix of amazement and awe and tenderness and lust and love, a lift to his brows and a spark in his eyes and a set to his lips.

And when he leans down to kiss you, that look doesn’t leave. It melts and softens around the edges as you catch each other's mouths, as you kiss and kiss, small tender things interspersed with longer, deeper touches, lips and teeth and tongue—his eyes darken and his mouth flushes darker pink, kiss swollen and so beautiful, but that expression stays. It stays for you. 

Kim Taehyung is beautiful and lovely and unique. Kim Taehyung is so far out of your reach it’s kind of stunning, actually. And yet, here you are, existence of his touch over every part of you, in every part of you, lust driven, love full; the carefully balanced weight of his body splayed over you, pinning you down, keeping you close.

“I wanna see you cum, Tae,” you say. “Please?”

And just like he always does, Taehyung indulges you, just like you indulge him. He presses back inside you, cunt opening up for him so easy, so smooth, like his touch has already been etched into the memory of your body, perfect for him. He stays pressed close, face so near as he rolls into each thrust, sweat and coconut oil painted across your skin as your bodies shift together.

He’s been covering you in his words, both heated and sweet, and now you return the favour. You tell him how good he feels, how beautiful he is, so good, so perfect, so considerate, how much you’ve wanted this. So good, so long and thick, oh, Tae, feels so good, ah-ah-ah, baby, you’re unreal, fuck.

You can see the exact moment he starts to reach his high, the way he sucks in air, the way he lifts his chin, starts to thrust a little harder, a little faster, chasing that thread of pleasure that’s spiralling through him, and you urge him on. You lift your hips and clench so tight it has him gasping, hips stuttering, and you press your nose against his jaw, saying give it to me give it to me give it to me, wanting him to feel the same pleasure he’s given you. 

When he pulls out, you’re too busy moving to pay attention to how empty you feel, settling between his legs and swallowing down his shining cock almost desperately. There’s no coconut. You can only taste yourself and when you lave your tongue across his slit it’s all Taehyung-Taehyung-Taehyung, hot and salt and bitter; he gasps and his hips jump and you take it all, lowering your head as far as you can, the head of his cock at the back of your throat before you pull up, dragging your tongue over the pulsing vein at the underside, messy and wet. You drink down the wetness of his cock, your own arousal, mixed with his, the precum that beads at his head, staring up at him, your hands sliding over the sheen of his stomach, his thighs, cupping his balls, everything slick with oil and sweat.

“Oh, God.” Taehyung’s eyes are blown and his hair is a mess and his mouth is wide open as he pants for air, watching. “Baby, baby, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum.”

You suck hard, dragging your lips up from the base of the cock to the rounded tip, swirling your tongue, bobbing your head faster—

“Oh, fuck—”

—and you swallow down each wave of cum, swallow down the way his cock twitches as he spills the evidence of pleasure into your mouth, swallow down the lovely noises that shudder out of him, watching him the whole time, never wanting to look away.

When you take your mouth off his softening cock, you draw a line of kisses with your mouth, up the soft skin of his body, stomach to chest to neck to mouth. He licks the taste of coconut oil off your lips, the taste of himself off your tongue; you curl up in his lap, settled against him, the apartment’s cool air even sharper against your skin, magnified by the oil that still lingers.

(Even without the oil painted across him, Taehyung would still shine, even under the weak light from the cheap lightbulb that hangs above you.)

You feel soft and warm and small in the circle of Taehyung’s arms, pulled close, and you can hear the words in his chest as he speaks, a resonance that touches against your skin.

“‘M sorry,” he murmurs. 

You pause.

“Baby, love, darling.” The endearments are sugar sweet in your mouth, soft against his skin before you pull back to look at him, confused, concerned. “Sorry for what?”

“I really—I really was just planning to do a massage, but you’re so…” 

You let out a slip of laughter. The room smells of coconut and sex, but when you lay your head against Taehyung’s collarbone all you can smell is the light tinge of his sweat. You breathe in, deep, like you can hold onto that ephemeral part of him. “Oh, Tae. I’m so what?”

“You’re so good,” he says. “So good and kind and lovely and—and so beautiful. I was going to do the massage to make you happy and then… tell you. About how happy you make me.”

You burrow your head into the hollow of his neck, the way he does to you, shy. “I’m not as beautiful as you,” you reply. “Tae, you are literally the most beautiful person alive, and—God, I’ve. I’ve been. So head over heels for you.”

There’s a pause. “Really?”

When you pull back to fix Taehyung with all the surprise in your gaze, you can see that he’s surprised, too. His hair hangs into his eyes, and he looks a little unsure, like he believes you, but finds it impossible to fathom.

You leave massage oil on his cheeks when you cup his face in your hands, staring at him with wide eyes. “Kim Taehyung, I have had daily breakdowns about the intensity of my love for you to Pickles ever since we got him. You’re the first person I think about each morning—usually because we wake each other up—and the last thing I think about at night—well, usually because you end up climbing into my bed more often than not, but, it still counts,” you say. You’re both tangled together in so many ways already. “You’ve had my heart for a long time, you know. I just never thought I had a chance?”

When Taehyung kisses you, it’s brief, a hard press of his lips before he rests his forehead against yours. “You really, really have no idea how perfect you are,” he murmurs. “I’ve wanted—I want to do everything for you to show you how grateful I am for everything you do for me.”

“You don’t have to,” you protest, but he just smiles.

“I don’t have to, but I want to,” he says. “Like you don’t have to look after me, but you do.”

“That’s because I love you,” you say. “Like, capital L love you.”

You’ve been so afraid of confessing, so convinced that it was an unattainable dream; that Kim Taehyung would never, could never, has never seen you as more than a friend. But the way he’s looking at you now, the way he’s touched you, the way your body still echoes with the feeling of him inside you: you’re not scared, any more. You don’t need to be.

Taehyung’s eyes are so dark and warm when he replies, easy and effortless. “I love you, too.”

Your relationship has always been a give and take, is the thing. When you climb in the shower together, he washes the oil from your back while you massage shampoo into his scalp, laughing when he makes devil horns in his hair. He catches you by surprise when he presses you against the tiles, swallowing your moans when he coaxes one final orgasm from your tired body, rubbing tight circles over your clit as you buck against his hand and water cascades over you both. His cock hardens in your hands, sliding between your legs when you press them together, tight-tight-tight, his length rubbing against your cunt as he fucks your thighs until he’s moaning and shaking and cumming again.

(The water’s cold by the time you finally climb out, but that’s okay. You giggle and kiss as you dry yourselves, each other, excuses to keep touching and feeling, driven by affection, not lust.)

When you’re both clean, and dry, Taehyung’s leg thrown over your hip as he tugs you in, flush with his body under the covers, you press your lips against the line of his jaw.

“Taehyung?”

“Yes, angel?”

You smile and hunch up even closer to him, scrunching yourself up as small as you can to plaster yourself against his side. “Thank you for the wonderful massage. Definitely the best massage I’ve ever been given, ten out of ten, would do again.”

Taehyung laughs, pressing his rectangular smile into the kiss he lays against your lips, and you think that nothing tastes better than the happiness curling his mouth.

“Love you,” he murmurs. Always romantic. “I love you love you love you.”

“Tae-honey-hyung.” And it feels so nice to not have to filter your words, to bite back that second layer of meaning, to try and keep things platonic and chaste when you speak. “I love you.”

And it feels so nice to have your Taehyung beside you, your body still aching with the press of him inside you, a good ache, a nice ache. A physical ache from good love, rather than a heartache from a love you didn’t think was reciprocated. But it is, somehow, each of you so bowled over by each other.

--

(“Hey, Pickles.”

The bearded dragon looks up at you, placid as he lounges in his tank.

“Well, you’ll be happy to hear that you won’t have to put up with me ranting at you any more,” you say. “Taehyung did break out the massage oil but it’s all good. I didn’t spontaneously combust or anything, like I thought I would.”

Pickles’ tongue flicks out as he shifts, and you smile.

“Okay, that’s it, I’m done,” you finish. “Thanks, Pickles. You’re a real pal.”

Taehyung nuzzles into your neck. His arms are a tight circle around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder as he looks down at the reptile, too. He’s warm and solid against your back, and you lean into him, happiness tingling through you.

“I wonder how much longer we would have taken if you didn’t get that coupon for a massage therapy course,” you muse, and Taehyung chuckles, warm and lovely.

“We would have gotten there eventually. And we would have had each other until we did, anyway. Right, angel?”

Pickles stays quiet as you both kiss, but you can tell he approves.)

--

taglist: @beyoncesdragon​

[oro-e-diamanti]

Quiet Music: Scherzo (Chapter Six; Part Two)

In collaboration with @bethanysnow

Butterflies getting caught in throats with no words to help explain. Time standing still with a heart breaking. Determination and a willingness to see it through float away in sleep.

Content | Fluff, slight smut warning, tw injury (nothing major, just a wrist injury)

Pairing | fem!Reader x Damiano

Word Count | 6644

Shoutout to @damianodavide​, who was a superb help on this chapter and the real life nurse behind this one ;) 😘

***

Damiano’s head was spinning. As soon as he closed his eyes, Y/n’s face appeared in front of him, eyes hooded, lips plumps from just having kissed him, and an expression that promised a need for more. It left him bothered in a way that he knew would not let him sleep until he took care of it. Trying to pretend it was her feminine hand instead of his own rather undignified touch, he reached into the waistband of his underwear immediately letting out a hiss at the contact. 

He was desperate for her, but if he couldn’t have her, his imagination would have to do. Pictures flashed through his mind as he moved his hand. Her on her knees, looking up at him through long lashes. He had already gotten a taste of the way she reacted when he complimented her, watching her eyes go wide as he called her a good girl. Her being good for him. Her on her back, ready to be devoured by him in any way he pleased. Feeling his hands go into her hair pulling her face up to look at him. Her bent over whatever furniture he could find, willing to let him have his way with her. Deeply, madly, irrefutably, he wanted it all. She was truly making him lose his mind. Her body and the way she moved were infatuating. Her laugh when someone did something dumb. The look in her eyes when she teased him back. He could still feel the kiss she left on his lips. He never wanted that feeling to end. Brava ragazza mia.

He came with an embarrassingly loud groan, unable to hold back or keep quiet. For a moment, in the silence, he wondered if anyone had heard. He was well aware that his room was surrounded by those of bandmates and crew, but he couldn’t remember who it was exactly anyway, and it didn’t bother him for long, his hazy mind drifting around once again. 

***

“Where is your mind at?” Y/n looked up as Victoria pulled her out of her thoughts unexpectedly. Y/n had stopped in Victoria's room after breakfast, trying to keep tabs on what everyone’s plans were on their day off. She had meant to get some work done as Victoria was busying herself getting ready, but it had ended up with her staring into the distance, laptop almost forgotten on her lap.

“Oh, sorry. I’m here, what were you saying?” 

“I asked where your mind is at.” Victoria fell forward laying on the bed. Y/n knew that the blonde was starting to learn to read her like a book and she wasn’t sure if she liked it or not.

“Yeah, um, listen. What would you say to someone that may have absolutely decimated her career, by maybe accidentally kissing her boss while they were all high?” She didn’t dare look at the bassist, bracing herself for whatever negative reaction would potentially come from this.

Victoria sat up in surprise, eyes wide and the hint of a smile playing on her lips. “I’m going to need a lot more information than that.” Without giving in to Y/n’s slight protest, she removed the laptop from the assistant’s legs, closing it shut and putting it away. “Tell me everything.”

“Well, there wasn’t much to it really. We sat on the couch, you know that. And I said something stupid about how his eyes looked like chocolates, or maybe gemstones? I don’t quite remember. Anyway, then he pulled my hair out of the hair-tie. I went to kiss his cheek, but he turned his face. Fuck, it was bad. Not the kiss! He is very good at that! But I shouldn’t have done that. And then he just went ‘it's cool, it happens’. What does that even mean?!” She was talking much too quickly, getting it all out before the rational part of her brain would make her shut up. Make her remember she was talking to someone she’d only just started getting to know a week ago, who she was working for. “Then Thomas crashed and you know how that ended. Now I might be avoiding him. Just a bit.” She looked at Vic with a slight panic in her eyes, unsure if she had said too much.

Victoria, on the other hand, seemed delighted to no end, if a little shocked. “Wait, as if you kissed with all of us there and no one noticed!” She exclaimed, briefly pausing, contemplating, but shaking it off to get back to the conversation. “So… Good kiss, huh? Did you enjoy it then? Wanna do it again?” Her eyebrows raised in curiosity.

“Victoria! That is not what I am worried about here! I could lose my job. I- I could never show my face out there again if people found out. And I really enjoy this job, you know!” Her face scrunched a little bit, calming down with a sigh. “...But also, yes, he was a gentleman, and if he wanted to … kiss me again, I probably wouldn’t say no. But I also wouldn’t say yes. I work for you. This is not the time to be thinking about how much I enjoyed kissing Damiano!”

Her eyes went wide as her voice dropped to a whisper, looking down at her hands. “Ah fuck, I said that out loud.” 

“Okay, let’s look at it from a rational standpoint then.” Victoria turned slightly more serious at seeing her panic. “There is no way you’ll be losing your job over this. Maybe I wouldn’t advise hopping into bed with the whole band and crew, but we always got a tight-knit relationship with people we work with anyway, you know that. None of us would rat you out to management or anything. Plus, if you liked and Damiano liked it… wouldn’t it be a shame to worry about anything else instead of going for it?”

“I don’t know if he liked it. I was busy trying not to pass out, to be honest. I avoided him this morning by going straight to your room. I actually kind of avoided everyone, I’m scared the words of what happened will just come out to anyone who asks… Kind of like they just did with you.” She let out another deep sigh, switching between looking at her nails, picking at them, and out the window. “If he ...you know ... Then maybe. I honestly don’t even know what I would do with that information. On the off chance that he did like it though. And wanted to go for it then I’d consider it.” She tried to remain as put together as possible and, well aware that she was failing miserably. 

“Well, in that case, we have to find out what Damiano wants!” Victoria’s enthusiasm was back with a vengeance. “You should talk to him! Or should I talk to him? Maybe I should lock you in a room like those romcoms and threaten to not let you out again until you kiss.”

“Or you don’t do that because that is entrapment. I think I would be cool with you talking to him. But I still have to do my job. That comes first. Because as far as I am concerned,” Y/n got up and grabbed her laptop again, “it is business as usual. And last night was a fluke. Not to crush your rom-com dreams, love, but if I spoke to him I’d put my foot in my mouth faster than you can play bass.”

The smirk on Vic’s face didn’t promise anything good. “We’ll see about that, we’ll see,” she ominously muttered, before jumping up from the bed. “Now stop trying to pretend you got work to do, we’re going vintage clothes shopping.”

*** 

The thrift store turned out to be a small hole-in-the-wall kind of place, just off a side street - perfect for shopping in peace without getting much attention at all. Y/n hadn’t been all that keen on keeping the band company for this little adventure, but Victoria had insisted, claiming she needed a female perspective in case the boys were being stupid again. It had only taken a serious case of the puppy dog eyes to win her over, and Victoria found herself making a mental note to remember it.

The store was stuffed full of clothes, a kind of chaos that seemed to have an order that only the owner really understood. But it looked like heaven, and within seconds everyone had vanished into some corner or other, dying to find their newest favourite piece. For a moment, Victoria contemplated who she wanted to follow first, feeling the need to talk to at least two different people but also never wanting to miss out on a chance to go crazy with Thomas. Ended up deciding on Damiano. It seemed the more pressing issue. She hadn’t failed to notice how he would try to pretend that everything was normal, yet continuously evading Y/n’s eyes. She had kept her distance all the same. This wasn’t acceptable. She had to do something, Victoria decided.

She found the singer shuffling through some blouses, although much more half-heartedly than he tended to be when it came to vintage clothes. Looking out from the racks Victoria saw Y/n doing the same. She briefly considered how to go on about this - admit that Y/n had told her what had happened? Pretend she had actually seen the kiss last night? - but figured that Damiano would start talking on his own accord sooner or later. Especially if this was affecting him the way it was Y/n, and she was almost hoping it was.

“Okay, spill, what’s up with you today?”

Damiano shrugged, pulling a shirt out from the rack, and holding it against his body, waiting for Victoria's opinion. She raised a brow and put it back wordlessly.

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” he responded rather vaguely.

“Damia, you’ve barely spoken at all today. Normally you can’t shut up. And you know, I’d be thankful for some peace and quiet from you, but you’re actually worrying me. So what’s going on with you?” 

Damiano had a panicked look on his face as he scanned over the racks of clothes, his eyes flickering back and forth, obviously noticing Y/n shuffling through some things and slowly getting closer. Taking Vic by surprise, he dragged her into the dressing rooms. 

“Okay, that’s…. Weirdly intimate, but go on,” Vic mumbled to herself as he closed the curtain behind them, still nervously looking around the small space.

“Rather talk to you in here, than her hear me out there. I may have fucked up, royally.” He crossed his arms over his chest and Victoria was sure he would be burning a hole into the wall with his vision if he possessed that power. He was avoiding looking at her and she knew it.

“Explain,” she simply demanded, sitting down on the tiny stool in the corner and looking up at Damiano. She wanted to hear it from him, hear what had happened in his version of the story, hear what was bothering him so much.

“So we were at that bar, right? Y/n was sitting next to me. I don’t know why I’m telling you this, you were there. Anyway. We were talking. I don’t know if it was the smoking or whatever else, but I looked at her and - I don’t know why I did this but I did. I pulled her hair out of her hair tie.” He leaned on the wall, his head hitting the brick behind him. He groaned but Vic assumed it didn’t have anything to do with the pain. “And… and she was so beautiful. Her hair just all around her. So soft. And at that moment, she was laughing and it sounded heavenly. And I went to look at her again and suddenly my lips were on hers…” His voice softened at the end, losing his train of thought and drifting. She had never quite seen him like this. “Then she was freaking out, and I told her some fucking stupid line like ‘it happens’. I just wanted her to calm down but… Now she must think I’d just...” He groaned, slumping a little and finally looking over at Vic. “Then she ran off to help Thomas.” 

“So, what you’re saying then is that you did enjoy it? Potentially wanna do it again?” She felt transported back to the conversation she’d had with Y/n just hours earlier, posing almost the exact same question. She had never been this involved with any of her friends’ relationships to this extent, but something told her that her help was desperately needed in this case.

He raised a brow at her. “Did you not hear the part where after we kissed she then proceeded to freak out? I doubt that she even wants to see my face right now.” A heavy sigh left him and Victoria found herself laying a hand on his arm. “And of course I want to kiss her again, Vic. I close my eyes and she is there. Hell, she wakes me up every morning! I can’t escape. She is everywhere I go! I turn a corner and she is there. She's the one we go to when wanting to eat, she arranges the cars, she helps us with concerts, she’s doing everything all the time. I don’t know how much more I can take!” 

*** 

Y/n stood in the shoe aisle holding a pair of heels in her hand, contemplating for a second, before putting them on. Turning towards Ethan, who was walking towards her now, she realised it had eliminated all height differences between them. Definitely too high, she thought to herself. Holding onto his shoulders, she clumsily took them back off.

“Hey Ethan, find anything good?” The smile on her face felt forced but she was praying he wouldn’t see it.

He proudly holds up a black, studded belt with an intricate design on it, as well as a pink suede jacket. “How about you? I think I saw some nice trousers over there that might suit you. Wanna check it out?”

Y/n scoffed. She didn’t want to let her mood out on Ethan, trying her hardest to stay diplomatic. “Love the idea, but I doubt any of the clothes in here would go over my thigh. They’d fit you guys just great though. The jacket looks good, by the way.” She tried to distract herself from - well, everything - by putting the shoes away, mindlessly letting her fingers wander over the other pairs standing there.

Ethan looked at her in contemplation for a moment, but seemed to decide against following his train of thought. “At least try on some more shoes. Here, what about these?” He excitedly grabbed a pair of high-heeled boots, very much in the style she could see any of them wearing on stage - much less the one she usually went for when working.

A little intimidated, she took the shoes, if only to humour him. Ethan was nothing but a sweetheart, this was the least she could do. She put them on only with some slight struggle. She once again reached his height, almost amused by the feeling of seeing eye-to-eye with him, but the shoes felt strange. Very far removed from the usual flats, sneakers, boots, or whatever other pair that would allow her to keep running around all day without regretting it in the evening.

“Do I look silly?” 

“You look gorgeous, absolutely gorgeous.” His voice had the most earnest tone to it and it was only supported by the way he studied her, looking her up and down. “Maybe walk a few steps to see if you can get used to it.”

She laughed as she proceeded to strut and partially dance some steps down the aisle to the song playing in the store. “I haven’t worn heels in so long, still got it though!”.” Her small smile grew into a grin, rather proud of herself for still being able to keep up. Going to the mirror near Ethan she looked at the shoes, then at herself in the shoes, then back at Ethan. Still, the insecurity took over for a moment. Her voice seemed small when she asked, “You think so?” 

“I wouldn’t lie to you like that,” he replied, putting a hand over his heart for emphasis. “Want to go and see what the others think? I saw Thomas over there, and Vic and Dami disappeared into that corner a while ago.”

“Right, good idea.” She walked over to the dressing room looking for Damiano and Victoria, figuring they had gone to try on some things. Well, she was mainly looking for Victoria, still uncomfortable at the thought of facing the singer. She was in the middle of calling out for them when Damiano’s voice seeped through the curtain instead. She didn’t mean to listen, only to wait for him to stop so she could interrupt, but the second she realised what he was saying she wished she had never come over.

“Hell, she wakes me up every morning! I can’t escape. She is everywhere I go! I turn a corner and she is there. She's the one we go to when wanting to eat, she arranges the cars, she helps us with concerts, she’s doing everything all the time. I don’t know how much more I can take!”

She stepped back. Frozen in place. Her heart was beating out of her chest, hurting, aching, breaking just that little bit. Processing what he had said seemed to happen not at all and then suddenly all at once. She couldn’t breathe. She needed air. Anything but this suffocation. She needed to leave.

“I need some air.”

The words came out of her mouth much louder than anticipated, but she didn’t care. She didn’t care that people were looking at her now. She didn’t care that was still wearing a pair of shoes that she had definitely not paid for yet. She just needed out, out, out, and away from all this. From him.

She didn’t realise she was walking on cobblestone until she wasn’t anymore, her ankle giving way, arms desperately trying to keep her from falling as she stumbled.

***

Damiano and Victoria stopped in their tracks as they heard someone approach from outside of the dressing room. Both heads turned towards the sound, when Y/n’s voice came through, telling maybe no one in particular that she needed some air. Her voice sounded strange. Damiano was convinced he had never heard that particular tone in it. As he threw back the curtain, he saw her stumble outside, clearly hectic, and he could feel a surge of panic run through him. Something wasn't right here. He forgot all about the conversation he was having, all about Victoria, and made his way outside. Not quite running, but the worry had him out of the door quickly. His heart sank when he saw her, lying on the floor just outside of the shop, holding her arm awkwardly, some scratches already beginning to bleed a little. As she looked up at him, he could see tears pricking at her eyes.

"Fuck, are you okay? What happened? I just saw-" The look on her face - or rather, the way she turned away from him - shut him up instantly. This wasn't the time to bombard her with questions. It didn't matter anyway. Instead of bothering her further, he quickly knelt down beside her, helping her sit up in return. He was acutely aware of the way she pulled away the second he touched her skin. Like she had been burned. ´

"I'm fine, I'm fine. Sorry to ruin the shopping trip, you can go back in if you want to," she mumbled, trying to wipe some tears away but instead spreading some dirt and drying blood onto her cheek instead. Damiano wanted to touch her, clean her up, dry her tears, but the way she had pulled away a minute ago made him not want to try. The last thing he wanted to do was overwhelm her more. He watched as she pulled out her wallet, handing it to him. "Go pay for the shoes please. And stop looking at me like that, I said I’m fine."

Yet, as soon as she moved, she winced in pain, taking a deep breath before getting herself up to a standing position. He found himself holding her arm in support, but she only accepted it for as long as necessary. As he let go, she let out a small cry of pain, obviously holding her hurt wrist the wrong way.

“You’re obviously not fine,” Damiano sighed. He desperately wanted to reach out to her, but she was already in tears, turning away, and it simply didn’t seem like a sensible option. He looked around at the others as they gathered around Y/n. Only Thomas was missing, probably still blissfully unaware inside the shop and browsing for clothes. He tossed the wallet to Ethan. “Would you mind paying for her shoes real quick?” Ethan nodded, walking back into the store. Y/n was still standing between them, holding her arm close to her body in a protective gesture. Almost a similar expression to the one she had had on her face on the plane all those days ago. He wondered if something was scaring her the way the turbulence did back then. 

“I am and will be fine, Damiano.” Her voice was stern. “I cry at a lot of things, this is no different. I wrap it up, put ice on it for a while and I’m golden.” 

He watched as Victoria put a tentative hand on Y/n’s shoulder. She didn’t pull away from her touch, he noticed. “Y/n, that really doesn’t look like nothing. Look, it’s starting to swell up already.” 

"What do you want me to do then?" She almost sounded resigned now as she looked back and forth between Damiano and Victoria. "We are in Amsterdam. I don't exactly have a GP on speed dial here. Now, where is Ethan with my wallet?"

She started walking towards the door of the shop, but Damiano defiantly held out his arm to stop her. "We are taking you to A&E."

Her face seemed to drain of all colour, and this time it was not because of the pain. "You are not taking me to a hospital."

Damiano looked at her, determination in his eyes, trying to make her understand that this was non-negotiable. Just for now,  he would forget about the way she was brushing him off, the way she was evading his touch, the way she did not even want to look at him. Because right now she needed him and he would be there for her, if she wanted him to be or not.

"Yes, I am. Final decision. You would do the same for us if we got hurt. But we're responsible for you too, you're part of our crew, and right now, being responsible means getting this checked out. Besides, you're not getting your wallet back until you agree."

As soon as Ethan stepped outside again, this time with a slightly confused-looking Thomas in tow, Damiano snatched the wallet from his hands only to put it in his own jeans pocket. She was mad, obviously turning whatever was bothering her into anger, but Damiano was having none of it and he hoped the look in his eyes told her so.

"Fine! Take me to the hospital. But know that I am not happy about this."

"I don't need you to be. I just need you to come with me."

***

A quick refresher of her rudimentary Dutch verified that she was indeed looking for "spoedeisende hulp", another search on the internet confirmed that there was a hospital nearby, and before she knew it, she had been whisked into a taxi with Damiano. The others had decided to make their way back to the hotel, no point in clogging up the waiting room. Damiano promised to call with any news immediately.

Y/n wouldn't tell him, certainly not right then and there but she was happy that Damiano seemed to take the lead for once. She wouldn't have had any problems had any of the others needed medical help - but having people fuss about her? Making her the center of attention in a way she did not intend to be and having to accept help from others?... It was a completely different story. Still she appreciated the way he handled the situation, making sure she got registered with the administration straight away, listening attentively for further instructions, and leading her into the waiting area. She was also glad that it seemed to be quiet, not only because it would result in less of a wait, but also because the bustling would have made her all the more nervous.

This was out of her comfort zone. She had managed to avoid hospitals for the majority of her life, and yet here she was, because she panicked and couldn't handle her shoes. Looking down at them, she wanted to curse them. Curse the fact that they made her walk over to Damiano and Victoria in the first place, curse the fact that she had heard Damiano speak about her that way, curse the fact that they carried her out the door but not much further. She didn't even know where her actual shoes were. Hopefully, Ethan had kept his head and collected them on the way out after paying.

A few seats down, someone coughed loudly, reminding her exactly of where she was. It wasn't the worst hospital she had ever been in, that much was true, but she would rather not see one from the inside at all. She was dying for some comfort, some soothing words, a gentle touch, but as soon as Damiano made any attempt at reaching out to her she pulled back. His words were still heavily playing on her mind, the swelling of her wrist and the heat that seemed to seep from it a painful reminder. There was no way she was going to let herself fall, be reassured and consoled by him when he was so obviously sick of her presence. She wouldn't do that to either of them. Victoria with all her good intentions be damned. At least right now. 

“Why are they not calling you in, it doesn’t even look like they’re doing anything,” Damiano grumbled next to her, eyes on the nurse’s station where a few of them were sitting. A few eyes were on them, something that looked like an excited discussion.

“Stop it, I’m sure they’re busy at work. Just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean they aren’t”, she bit back, slightly harsher than intended. He shot her a look, eyebrows raised, but she turned away, not looking to have a deeper conversation.

It left Damiano sitting in silence. Leaving both of them in the same situation, again. Y/n and him alone. Well, alone enough. Alone enough to not have anyone distract her from the uncomfortable feeling that settled over them. No Thomas being silly, no Victoria making a dumb comment, no calming presence of Ethan. Through this whole process, Y/n had basically crawled back into herself. She wished she could disappear.

She didn't know how much time had passed when they were finally called, too preoccupied with her own thoughts and the pain in her wrist. The nurse that beckoned them over had the warmest smile on her face, albeit tired eyes and it surprised Y/n how much comfort she found in the soft expression of the woman. White slacks, rolled up sleeves, pockets so full it looked like they were bursting at the seams, dark hair up in a bun. She found herself looking over at Damiano, wondering if he was aware of how gorgeous this woman was, how kind and calming her aura was, but his eyes were trained solely on her. She didn't allow herself to get lost in his gaze, quickly dropping hers and following the nurse into an examination room.

“Hi, I’m Ana, I’m going to be your nurse for today. You only speak English, am I correct?” She asked, gesturing for both of them to sit down, Y/n on the examination table and Damiano on a chair next to it. There was a slight twinge of an accent in her speech, but it was clear that she was fluent, which was a relief. Y/n didn’t even want to think about trying to get this done with the few words she knew in Dutch. She nodded, gratefully. “We’re going to go over what happened, and then I’ll do a physical examination, and the doctor will see you after as well.”

Y/n watched as the nurse fumbled with the computer, seemingly already typing things before Y/n had even said anything. “So, what exactly happened?”

“I, uh, tried on some heels and tripped on the cobblestone outside,” Y/n explained, taking a moment to glare at the offending shoes still on her feet. “Fell forwards, tried to soften the blow with my hands and now my wrist looks like this.” She held up the offending arm, gathering that the sight would speak for itself. The dried blood of the little scrapes on the palms of her hand did its best to make it look more dramatic than it felt.

“Oh, yeah that looks quite painful,” the nurse winced. “I see you’ve scraped your knee as well.”

Y/n looked down, slightly confused, only to realise her jeans had torn, revealing a beat-up knee underneath. Crap, she hadn’t even noticed, too occupied with… well, everything else. This felt like it was getting worse by the second, she never wanted to get back to a hotel room this badly. She felt like crying, but letting Damiano see her composure waver was the last thing she would allow.

“It’s nothing,” she sighed, moving her legs as if it gave her a chance of hiding her bruises.

“It’s not nothing, Y/n,” Damiano sighed next to her, before turning towards the nurse. “I think it’s more serious than she’s letting on.” In the same determined tone from before. 

The nurse looked back and forth between the two of them. “It’s probably the shock of it.”

Oh yeah, the shock. Mainly that of finding out that Damiano didn’t want her around, apparently.

The nurse asked a few more questions, time of the accident, previous medical history, medication she was taking regularly, but they barely reached her. She found herself answering curtly, with Damiano filling in where he could. She wouldn’t tell him she was thankful for it. Even though the idea of him taking care of her made her emotional. 

“Right, let’s get that wrist looked at then.” Y/n had feared it would be painful but as soon as the nurse started handling her? She knew it was her job to feel the joints, test her range of motion, move her arm. But unwelcome tears emerged in the corners of her eyes. She didn’t have the energy to push Damiano’s hand away, as she almost reveled in the comforting touch on her back. The small talk didn’t even begin to make for a distraction. Yet, something was nagging at the back of Y/n’s head as she watched the nurse interact with Damiano. There was a familiarity in her eyes… Did she know who he was? Surely not.

“This will need an X-Ray to make sure it’s not broken,” the nurse concluded, finally letting go of her wrist. Damiano whispered a quiet ‘You okay?’ over to her, but she couldn’t do anything but nod. “I will bandage the scrapes a bit while we wait for a doctor. So, what brings you to Amsterdam today?”

“Work,” Y/n answered, trying to keep some degree of privacy, but Damiano didn’t seem to mind butting in immediately.

“I’m in a band, we’re on tour. She’s our assistant and overall angel.” She wanted to shoot him a look, both at the unnecessary honesty and the over-the-top way he was describing her, but a touch to her banged-up knee distracted her.

A doctor popped into the room quickly verified everything the nurse had told him And before she knew it she was being led down a hallway to get an X-Ray. Damiano stayed behind in the room.

“Cute couple, the two of you,” the nurse piped up next to her.

“Um, yeah, no. Not a couple. Just a working relationship.”

“You sure about that?”

Y/n almost wanted to stop dead in her tracks, ask the nurse what on earth had given her that idea, but she also knew she was here to get examined and the last thing she wanted to do was annoy the person responsible.

“Very. He doesn’t like me like that, he’s made that crystal clear.”

“Well, he certainly doesn’t look like you in a way that suggests he doesn’t like you. If anything, I would have guessed he was head-over-heels for you.”

Y/n was stumped for a reply. Was this woman making fun of her? She didn’t look like someone who would. So why would she say these things? With a deep sigh and a heavy heart, Y/n decided she would have to talk to Damiano at some point. Have him either stand by his statement and back off, or explain what the hell he was doing. Because she was starting to lack comprehension about any of it.

She was glad the rest of the appointment seemed to fly by in a hurry, or maybe Y/n’s brain had simply gone into power-saving mode, not really taking it what as happening around her anymore. Her exhaustion was tangible. The X-Ray was done quickly enough, someone sent her back to the  examination room, and before she knew it, the doctor had announced that it was, in fact, not broken. A quick wrap around her wrist, some instructions on how to care for it (that Damiano seemed to listen to more closely than she did), and she was almost out the door. She was sure she would have fallen asleep on the examination table.  It was only the nurse quickly saying her goodbye and adding another comment that almost threw her off balance again.

“Bye, guys. And by the way, nice show yesterday. I promise I wasn’t the one who threw the bra.”

***

It was dark out by the time Y/n and Damiano made it back to the hotel. He had made sure to text the others, telling them to go for dinner without them, they’d be fine, and he figured she would need some rest. The hotel restaurant was quiet enough and he motioned towards it, but Y/n shook her head.

“I’ve got a few snacks in my room, but honestly, I’m not hungry at all. I just want to go to bed.”

Yet, tired as she was, it only took one pointed look for her to shut him up, so he simply nodded and led her towards the elevators.

“At least let me bring you to your room and see if you need any more help. And I can give you your wallet back.”

He could tell in the way she stiffened next to him, the way she barely reacted to his words, that she wasn’t keen on the idea, but he wouldn’t let her get away with it. He was desperate to find out what was bothering her and why she was so distant, but he couldn’t figure it out. Was the kiss still playing on her mind? Was she uncomfortable with him? It was the last thing he wanted. He needed to show her he was willing to be there for her.

Closing the door of her room behind him, a shout rang through the room.

“These fucking things, I hate them!” She was loud and angry while trying to get her shoes off, but her voice was wavering and if he watched her in just the right light he was convinced he was seeing the beginning of tears forming in her eyes.

“Shh, shh, it’s fine,” he tried to soothe, unsure if he was going about it the wrong way, but quickly bending in front of where she was sitting on the bed. She kicked her heels once more in frustration, obviously unable to get them off with her wrist still compromised.

“Don’t shush me when it’s all your fault,” she whispered and he almost stopped dead in his tracks, but he figured she hadn’t meant for him to hear. He stayed quiet, against everything in his heart telling him to find out what she was talking about. Instead, he focused on removing her shoes, gentle touches against her bare skin. Looking up at her, he realised that she was studying him, watching his every move, and he concentrated even harder on being the perfect gentleman. Yet, when he pulled the second shoe off her, he couldn’t help letting his hand rest on her calf a little longer than necessary.

“Come on, let’s get you into some pyjamas,” he decided, getting up and putting some distance between them. Too afraid of getting ahead of himself, of letting his hands wander more than appropriate places, of saying something he shouldn’t. He threw what he gathered to be her sleepwear in her general directions. “If you need any help changing because of your wrist, let me know.”

He hoped his smile was as sincere as he meant it. Either way, she didn’t give him much of a reaction, grabbing the clothes and disappearing into the bathroom. A few sharp hisses reached him through the door, but he knew better than to offer his help again.

He wasn’t sure what the acceptable place for him to sit was, but since the room didn’t offer anything but a worn-out armchair and the bed, he decided that choosing the far side of the mattress wasn’t too bad. He didn’t even realise she had left the en-suite until her voice reached him.

“We really need to talk, Damiano.” She sounded resigned and tired and he wished he could wrap her in his arms and tell her everything was alright, but it didn’t seem like the right time. As soon as she reached the side of the bed opposite him, she all but collapsed on it. She sleepily grabbed one of the many unnecessary hotel pillows they placed on the bed and nuzzled her face into it. 

“There will be more than enough time for that tomorrow,” he replied, grabbing the blanket and making sure she was fully covered by it. “It’s been a long day, try to get some rest.” 

She didn’t even manage to argue anymore, eyes already fluttering closed, breathing slowly becoming more steady. She was gorgeous like this. A soft calm overtaking the scene. No wall up that kept everyone else from her inner thoughts. No front that she put up in desperate attempts to remain professional. Just a softness etched into her features that highlighted her natural divine beauty.

He wanted to take her worries away. He hoped that whenever they did get to talk tomorrow, it would yield some clarity. The last thing he wanted was for her to ever feel this way. He had grown so attached to her, so obsessed with the idea of having her around, that he already feared the end of the tour. If she would give him any option to stay in her life, he would take it, whatever way it was.

Damiano barely noticed the way he was slipping down on the mattress, his fingers softly patting her head, eyelids getting heavy. The last thing on his mind was Y/n, sleeping soundly next to him and wishing for nothing but to make her happy.

***

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[witchlyboo]

Definitely, maybe.

Part five: The one who belongs to someone else.

Introduction. Part one. Part two. Part three. Part four.

Paring: Latina!reader x Logan Lerman x Tom Holland x Ben Hardy x Timothee Chalamet x Pedro Pascal x Michael B. Jordan

Warnings: Swearing, angst, misspellings, some Spanish, me learning how to write properly, and NY stuff that I've learned from movies that we all agree to pretend are real.

Word count: 6.4 k

a/n: You been asking for smut, I know, I know, I just wanted to introduce you to all the boys first, and we're getting there, just one more ahead. Also, I'm working on a masterlist because we are getting too many parts already.

All body types and skin tones friendly. You can also enjoy it as a no Hispanic reader. Constructive feedback and misspellings correction is always welcome.

Red and blue lights flash the driving mirror.

—No, no, no, por favor que no sea a mi—You beg to the sky looking at the patrol that is asking you to park, or someone else, there's a lot of cars in this part of the city, there's a big chance is the panic who's controlling your senses.—Dios, mi abuela fue a la iglesia cada domingo de su vida y nunca te pidió nada, please let me have some of her divina recompensa.—But that's not how it works, you end up parking with just a few seconds to think what to say. There's a perfect explication of why you are driving a car that is not yours in the middle of the night and smelling like a minibar.

Then this ridiculous thought comes to your mind, you look expensive, you've never seen the daughter of a senator but you must be close to it, it would make you less of a feminist if you just use your attributes? Ugh, you feel sick just to think about it but don't have enough money to pay a fine, and the constant paranoia of being chased all the time as an immigrant will only get stronger.

You pull down your dress a little so your neckline can do its job but you regret it immediately, and you're pretty sure you look more like an expensive prostitute who stole the car of his lover than some influential men's daughter.

—License and registration.—You hear him say when he approaches your window. You don't like this but you have to play the dumb tourist, the pretty foreign girl that is too stupid to be dangerous, with the look you have tonight it shouldn't be hard. But damn you hate cops, any uniformed man that works for the government is your eternal enemy, and you don't know how long you could keep the nice dumb Latina game before spit on his face.

—There's something wrong, officer? ...You?!—Your sexy and fake high voice is ruined when you see the face of the man who stopped you. This night couldn't get worse.

—Wait, what happened with the party?—Evan interrupts you while you finish some notes for work, little remainders for later when you don't have an eleven years old kid running around you, he's not usually this energic and you have to blame yourself for that, you're describing a life of excess and eccentric fun, something you let behind so many years ago that your own son doesn't know even a bit of it.

—Ugh, a nightmare doesn't worth telling.—You remember vaguely most of it but what keeps fresh in your mind is bad enough to don't want to bring it back.

—But if Timothée is my dad I have to know the important things, including the bad stuff.—Sounds perfectly reasonable and that's what makes you groan at him. Sometimes you feel blessed that your kid is better than you in any possible way, and sometimes you want to kill his brain with video games and reality shows like the rest of the parents.

—Ok, cool, but I'll keep all the +18 content for myself, so this part of the story might be blurry for you.—It kinda is for you anyway.

You should’ve known this night was cursed, you had a feeling because a) your earring fell off at the same time Timothée texted you to give you the party address and say he can't pick you up. And b) he won’t pick you up. Your mother would say that’s reason enough to not go, a real gentleman wouldn’t make you go to an unknown place in the middle of the night on your own in a city like this. But you decide to ignore it because you are a modern woman and because it’s worth it. It better be.

The outfit must be something special. You always take your time to choose what to wear, even if just another regular day, and since this isn't the case you thought about it for hours, that made your mind busy enough to not thinking about Tom and the whole love confession. He texted you saying he'll come for you to go to class together on Monday, which is completely impractical because he's way closer than you but is progress and you're going to take it.

You wanted to ask for Sheep's opinion but you thought she might not care, has been a few days since she started acting strange like she's bothered just to see you breathe. You want to blame his boyfriend to take all her time and attention from you but is probably just her new job, she got a small role in a Netflix show, and even when you're so happy for her, that's the event that has changed her into someone completely different. But you give her time, stress can do bad things to people.

The winner is the exact copy you made of the black and white striped dress Cameron Diaz wore in "The Mask" beautiful, classy, and sexy enough without being too scandalous, not that you have any problem with that, but this isn't the occasion, you don't want to feel like you're being too much or too little, just enough, it's supposed to be easy, right? you were born for this. Just adding some big shiny earrings you got on a thrift shop that look like real diamonds and you're ready, not that you own any to compare. Red lipstick, dark eyes, and a messy bun to get that disinterested pitch every look needs.

Getting there wasn't a problem, you were in the rich part of the city, everyone know who, where and what just to brag about it. The excitement is growing with every second, you check your makeup like thirty times in the elevator and send texts to your mom just to let her know where you are, and because you have to share that moment with someone and you are limited of friends these days.

Timothée opens the door with red eyes, drunk, high, or somewhere in between, you know then you were right about the bad feeling. He jumps on you to kiss you and no matter how much you try to explain the delicacy of your lipstick, he does it anyway, leaving a taste of alcohol and shrimps in your mouth. Taking you by the waist he walks you to a group of people you don't know while you're trying harder to fix the red color of your mouth without a mirror.

—Here is the companion I bought, look at her, that's how five grand per hour look like.—They laughed but you were too disoriented to process all the things he said, it was supposed to be a joke? if it is, why isn't he correcting? Instead, his hand goes straight to your ass and presses it to get you closer to him.

—I'm actually an intern in the costume designer department of the new version of "Sense and Sensibility".—You wanted to mention your recent promotion to hairstylist and makeup artist but that might be too pretentious. Anyway, they don't seem to care what you are or not, in fact, they don't even see you, all eyes are on Timothée

—Oh, well, is easy to forget when you're paying them—All laughs again. Who is this person? Who are all these people, actually? You recognize some influencers, a few cast members but there's no sign of the director, other main actors, not even his co-star. You feel like an extra in a movie where someone will be killed in a luxury party, hopefully not you. You take his hand from your body and clear your throat.—I'm just joking my love, she looks stunning, isn't she? I’ll get you a drink.

He leaves and the group of people surrounding you suddenly dissipated like boiling water, you were on your own again and despite some judgmental gazes is like you’re not there, you’re sure you could just take your dress off and throw it to someone’s face and unless Tim says something about it, no one would care. You’re there as his companion, an ornament, and that’s not enough to earn their attention because it’s too obvious you’re the one in turn.

You walk to the only window no one is smoking and check your phone, you know, the thing you do when you pretend you have important issues to attend, but no, you end reading some old messages, pictures, texting your mom of how much fun you’re having at the party, and somehow you check your filed Facebook messages to find Logan’s name. You cover the screen so fast you hurt your nail, his name is enough to make you tremble like a Chihuahua, you haven’t talked to him since that night, you know from his sister he lives in the house he bought for you two and he’s having the happiest life without you. You want to believe that because that means you took the right decision but deep inside… no, you can’t be that person, you want him to be happier than ever.

You find the guts to open the message, and you read as slowly as is humanly possible. “My angel, I hope this finds you in perfect health…” Dios, just Logan could start a message like that, your smile is almost too big to fit in your face so you bit your nail to cover it a little. “I recently found one of the human body drawings you made for me to study, you’ll be happy to know…”

—That’s a fucking long-ass message.—Tim appears behind you and takes your phone from your hand, spilling some of his drink on your dress in the process. Apparently, he's been there long enough to read part of the message.

—Give it back.—You command in the most severe voice you have, your magical moment got ruined and you remember the hole of hell you are.

—"My angel, I hope this finds you in perfect health. I recently found one of the human body drawings you made for me to study, you must know I still use them now and then"—Timothée starts reading the message, and even when no one is close enough to hear it and you don’t really care about this people’s opinion, that’s not for anyone to read, that’s one of the few parts of your life you treasure the most and you’re not ready to get over it.—You little slut, are you cheating on me with a med student?

—Give it to me.—You repeat trying to take the phone from his hand but he’s faster and walks away putting it out of your reach.

—"I meticulously preserve them, I certainly know any piece of art made by you will be priceless in the near future"—You don’t want to hear it coming from his drunk mocking voice, so you try to ignore what he’s saying and put more effort on chasing the phone.—Should I had kept the jeans where you left the wet spot on? I didn’t know you were an artist, my love.

—Timothée, por el amor de Dios.—Now you're trying to climb him, it wouldn't be that hard to take him down, he's skinny and you're fierce. That's what you thought but he's not moving even with you are on top of his shoulder and his opposite long arm keeps the phone away from you.

—Who is this guy and why is he talking to my girl like this?—You see the olive eyes getting darker and the tone of his voice went deeper than you thought he could do. You desist from taking the phone, you know the bullies love the attention, maybe that's exactly what he wants and give it to him just makes it worse.

—I'm not your girl.—You claim fixing up your dress having enough of games, and you have no reason to keep worrying about losing your job, the filming is done, and apparently your relationship with him too. You don't care about any of that anymore, just want to read Logan's text.

Even behind all the alcohol and the eyes injected in blood thanks for who knows what kind of drug, you can see the disappointment and anger, but it's not a broken heart, Is the hissy fit of a child that loses his balloon and now everyone will pay for it, especially you.

—Are you sure about that?—You can see him swallow hard, almost looking vulnerable, but his voice is defiant and threatening to prove you wrong. He just has to stretch out his arm to reach the open window with your phone in hand, his intentions are clear and the only thing you can do is raise your hands as a reflex.—You were mine the moment you put a foot on my trailer, and I don't fucking share my stuff.—Before you can say a word he drops the phone from the fourth floor.

You know is senseless but you find yourself running out of the party and going to search the device, using it also as an excuse to get away from that place. This is the first time someone makes you feel meaningless, you know the famous' world is cold and lacking in empathy but this is ridiculous, they're a bunch of parasites fed by attention and power. By Timothée.

The screen is crashed and the rest of it is probably beyond repair, not that you're surprised, its life is longer than you've been in the country and you admit you should have replaced it much earlier but you're not the kind to throw away things that still work. However, is not the phone you are worried about, not as much as what it contains.

—That was obsolete anyway, I'll get you a better one.—You didn't know he was following you, his voice interrupts your self-wailing. He sounds calmer and a little embarrassed, but not enough to say sorry, you don't think he's capable of saying it.

You shake your head and start to walk away without a word, you don't want anything from him, not materially, at least.

—Don't make a scandal out of it, it's just a phone!—He yells erasing any trace of regret in his voice. He doesn't see the reaction he expected and that's when he runs after you and with a hand on your upper arm pulls you back, you gasped for the sudden bluntness.—That annoying habit you have of leaving when I'm talking to you.

You push him away with all the strength you have, which resulted in him almost falling on the ground.

—I don't care about the stupid phone!—You finally break, but sadly is not as satisfactory as you thought it would be.—You are mean, vain, arrogant and the worst part is that you enjoy being this despicable human because you have absolutely no consequences to it. Everyone around you just accepts it and I feel so sorry for you because the only possible way for you to fill the void inside is to be surrounded by that crowd of mules licking your steps—To your surprise, he has nothing to say, he's just standing there with no facial expression, whatever he feels is easily covered by his years of experience acting, even drunk.—I can't give you that and it's obvious they don't want me either. What am I even doing here?—You ask yourself thinking where would be the best way of getting a cab, is a rich zone, must be easy.

—Everything is better when you're around—His voice is thin and fragile, you have to process what he said three times in your head to understand his words. You're not willing to look at him yet.—You're not like the others.

—Pure bullshit. You love to repeat that misogynist discourse of girls being in a certain way because is easier than be responsible for the people you choose to be—You were hugging yourself the whole time, is a cold night, but not enough to be bothersome, you enjoy Fall weather—You got me for a moment, I give you that, you fooled me but I'm too tired of guessing what version of you is real—When you return your gaze at him, he doesn't try to hide the guilt anymore, but there's still haughtiness in there.—Now, if you don't mind Mr. Chalamet, I need to get a cab.

—No, you came with me, you leave with me.—There's no trace of alcohol in his voice anymore, a good scolding is enough to put you sober, you know that thanks to your mom. Oh god, you're becoming her.

—You didn't bring me here, gigantic head—You look at him and put your hand in front of him with the palm up. He stares at it for several seconds before put his own on it—Not that!—You shake it and start looking inside his jeans pockets until you feel the metal of his key car.—You can't drive and I have to get home. You'll find it in the studio tomorrow.

That's how you ended with a car way more luxurious than you expected, driving so slowly and carefully that the police stopped you. What a night, but at this point, you couldn't care less about anything that is not that message, is been months and you can't get over it, over him. Not even Ben moans, Tom's comforting arms, or fight with a movie star at 3:00 am. is enough to get him out of your mind.

—So is true, you don't wear anything that hasn't appeared in a movie, huh?—Michael B. Jordan is leaning on the car window with a mocking smile and a sparkle of satisfaction that you would love to punch but his uniform keeps you in line, where you come from police is not equal to justice, most of the times is oppression.

—You know where it's from?—That was kind of comforting, no one at the party noticed. Not that you care.

—Is The Mask, not some Adam Hitchcock's blurb.—He smiles and even when you really don't like him, it's nice to be with a familiar face, you are really tired of running away, scaping for problems that are a result of your null capacity to deal with emotions. Ugh, what a word.

—Is Alfred Hitchcock, actually.—You didn't want to sound priggish, but you correct him with no time to stop yourself, an old habit.

—You got me, smarty, you know more than movies than me. Where did you get this car?—You feel really nervous even when you got this legally, you have your documents and license on time and he's being nice enough to not want to run away in a car that you technically borrowed for yourself.

—It's not mine.—No shit, Sherlock.

—No shit, Sherlock, I was asking where did you steal it.—You wanted to laugh but there's something with the uniform that just doesn't allow you to be yourself.—Are you drunk?

—No, no, fuck, no, it's just, I don't feel comfortable with cops—He raises his eyebrows but that is his only reaction.—Listen, is my boss' car, I'm doing the favor to take it to the studio, and I'm really nervous because is fucking expensive, he's an asshole, I haven't drive un almost a year because you people only use cars if you're rich or your work and lives depend on it. I'm starving.—The last part came out of nowhere, you haven't eaten anything in almost 13 hours, maybe that's the actual reason why you are that moody.

He doesn't answer right away, takes his time to look at you, what makes you blush, he's really close, closer than he's ever been. Does he smell like green apples? Not the actual apples, the artificial smell they had given to them.

—Get out of the car.—Oh no, is he arresting you? Is he finally taking revenge for every time you make fun of his Hawaiian-type shirts? You know you have too much karma accumulated and a cop making you pay for it when you don’t believe in their sense of justice is kinda poetic, and evil.

You don’t want to discuss with someone with a taser, gun, pepper spray, or who knows what else. So you take your bag, the key car, and get off defeated.

—My turn is almost over, I’ll take you to eat something, c’mon.—He walks back to his patrol and you stay still for a few seconds still processing his words, you must look totally devastated for him to offer that. How you see it you have two options, go with him and spend an awkward hour with a person you don’t like or risk getting a fine, Tim can pay it, it’s not a big deal but you don’t want to owe him even the minimal thing.

You get in the car holding on to your bag to feel calmer, this is the first time you’re fully alone with him since you found him half-naked in your kitchen. Those defined abs may never leave your brain.

—Are you cold?—He interrupts your thoughts with his question, you didn’t notice you were shaking. He looks for something under his seat and gives you an NYPD hoodie, you hold it doubting your next move, is not like you don’t appreciate the gesture but it’d be easier to take if it doesn’t get that words printed—Is clean.—He says chuckling when he sees the way you’re looking at it.

—Is not that, just, you know, fuck the police, defund the NYPD, demilitarize the pigs and that stuff.—You say putting on the hoodie anyway, is a cold night and you won't help the institution wearing their propaganda.

—Yeah, I get it, but you can't change the system just from within.—You decide is not the right moment to have a political conversation so you shrug your shoulders and discreetly smell the hoodie, a mix of cologne, green apples, and cheap soap, you know is cheap because you buy the exact same, do its job.

—I'm in the mood for pizza.—You say casually, making a deal to yourself to try to be his friend, he is a small part of your life anyway.—Domino's is open at this time of the night?

—Tell me you're not consuming that shit, dear Lord, you been here for how long, two years? I can't believe your idea of a good pizza is Domino's. Stella hasn't taught you anything?—You're surprised by the level of condescension with a pizza and you mirror his smile, suddenly feeling embarrassed. Your school program includes people from all around the world so you don't have that much experience with actual new yorkers. Logan is rich, so he doesn't really count.

—What's wrong with Domino's? I don't buy much street food, is cheaper to buy things on the food market. Besides, all pizza is good.—The mention of Sheep makes you a little tense, so you don't say anything about it, is not a conversation to have with him.

—Don't blaspheme in the patrol, I just washed it—You laugh, finally, after a terrible weekend. You can see why she likes him, there is something about his voice, smile, and his eyes that feel... calm, like watching Friends after a marathon of Lord of the Rings.—There are rules to survive this city, and I'm surprised you have made it this far without a proper guide.

—Chill out Mr. Miyagi, I'm not from the jungle, and I've learned a lot by myself.—He gives you a lopsided grin as a request, and you put your fingers up ready to enlist your acquired knowledge.—Walk fast, like you're about to be stabbed, something that actually happened to me, with an umbrella—He nods and laughs being related to it.—Number two, no small talk, no one cares, even if they ask. Number three, if you look a stranger in the eye, especially a homeless person, you have essentially invited them to approach you.

—Number four, we never eat from Domino's, Papa John's, Pizza hut, or any other chain restaurant, only trucks and local places are allowed.—You roll your eyes but you get the point, is just, again, you're not much into street food, it doesn't taste like home and the only way to eat food like that is preparing it yourself.

—Fine, fuck capitalism, let's support local places—You make an obvious fake enthusiastic tone but he nods proudly.—Number five, you don't need a car to live here, not even know how to drive. I would have successfully avoided this police brutality if I had followed that rule.

—For someone who is about to eat for free, you whine too much.—He parks the car and gives you a sign to go with him. You see him go to a pizza truck and order, you realize at the moment how ridiculous you look, so before chasing him you let your hair down, take your huge earrings off, and roll up the skirt of your dress until your mid-thighs letting the hoodie cover the rest, and clean the red lipstick with a Kleenex from your bag. Now you look more like a college person and not a rich girl who just got seized.

—Here you go.—He says giving you a slice as big as your head, looks oily and spreading cheese everywhere. Perfect.

—Is it vegan?—You ask receiving the food with an obnoxious face. His kind grind turned into a dread expression and you give him your second laugh of the day.—I'm kidding.

You are about to give it a bite when you see passing next to you a huge rat with the exact same slice as yours in its mouth, running into the dark of the night happy to have obtained the food for its family. They use to scare you when you just moved out but now they're like any other pigeon in the sky.

—Rule... whatever, a rat with a slice of pizza is a symbol for good luck, congratulations.—He pets your head awkwardly, not sure if you're ok with the physical contact, which, surprisingly, you are.

—I see rats with bagels all the time.—Pizza and bagels, that's the main culinary wonders of the city, you like it, not much to object but is hard not to compare it with your home's food.

—Is easy to confuse a rough diamond with a simple rock.—You both eat in silence, enjoying the mixed sounds of the city and all the different smells, the whole situation feels like one of those lofi music videos. You remember thinking about moments like this before getting the scholarship, what would it be like to feel normal in the city of your dreams.

—How do you know that much about movies?—He asks after a few minutes when you take a break to drink something, that pizza is not easy to take.

—When I was a kid a spent much time on my own, so my dad bought me a used DVD reproducer, and at the corner of my neighborhood was this movie store where you could buy 5 pirate movies for one dollar. They were blurred, with a terrible sound, and most of the time with the wrong movie inside but they helped me to not feel lonely. Eventually, the store closed but I've watched everything in it by then—He gives you a warm smile, you never told that story to anyone, not because is too intimate to share, but because no one asked, it doesn't sound like a question with a complex answer.—Anyway, I watched Marie Antoinette when I was like eight, and I decided at that moment that however is done I wanted to be part of that magic.

—You hear all kind of people chasing dreams in this city but is hard to find someone who actually deserves it.—You blush and you cover it with your hair but the smile on your voice is impossible to hide.

—Is that a compliment? You must really want me to like you to date Sheep.—You laugh but you can see his face tense, so you can guess your friend has been busy breaking everyone’s hearts.

—She hasn’t returned my calls in three days so I don’t think there’s much you can do—You nod, all this time you thought he was the reason she is ignoring you but apparently you are both in the same boat.—But yeah, I don’t know what I was thinking, what I should have said is, Marie Antoinette at eight? I can see where all the damage started.

You gasp and throw your napkin at his head, he easily catches it without even looking at it and laughs; that was unexpectedly attractive.

—Why a cop?—You ask, not sure where that question came from, maybe you authentically want to know more about him, he just bought you food, and honestly, that's the easiest way to win your trust.

—I wanted to be an actor when I was a child. This is the city of opportunities so you may think that if you want to chase the big wonder, this is the perfect place to do it. But I grow up surrounded by these people giving their entire lives to get something just given to one in a million so I decided is not worth it. For many years I wondered what I wanted to do with my life and the answer was really clear, my dad was a cop, a good one, or that’s what people say. I don’t remember much because he died when I was seven—Conversations about death are not your strength, everything can turn out uncomfortable if you choose the wrong words.—It might not be that glamorous but if my father died for it, it surely worth it.

—For the good ones.—You raise your almost empty can of Coke and he does the same with a grin that warms the cold weather of the night.

—For the good ones.

The next two hours passed like minutes talking about anything and everything. It just felt right to talk freely with him, you didn’t feel judged for your awkward family moments or your random thoughts, not even once because he told you his too. At some point of the night he borrowed you his gym sweatpants, any of you could just suggest going home but that was off the table, end that peace just for weather reasons would have been a tragedy.

—I read Timothée Chalamet is a dick. Is that true?—The mention of his name remains you of your life and everything that comes with it, including the middle semester project that you must dedicate your entire day, one that is about to start.—What, you can’t talk about it?

—He is a complete dick with no sense of privacy or human decency—And when he interrupts a deep kiss to look at your eyes, smile, and caress your chin, you feel like a character of his Victorian movies. But he didn’t ask that.—But the next week he’ll be no longer my problem.

—That’s why we have rule twenty-three, don’t ask for a picture of a celebrity unless they are local—You have heard about it before but you haven’t got the opportunity to decide if you like that rule because the only celebrities you have seen are from work and that club’s party opening.—That means you’ll be free to go to the Stephen Kings’ movie projection there will be for Halloween.

You don’t know if that was a proposition, a suggestion, or just a simple recommendation, and whatever it is, you noticed he was nervous to ask. Is it wrong? It feels wrong like you were betraying your friend accepting to hang out with his boyfriend without her consent. But he didn’t ask you to go with him so is safe to answer.

—Yeah, I guess—You get a moment, four seconds top, where you shared innocent, curious, and tenting gazes like three graders in the playground. And that’s the further you will allow yourself to go.—We better leave, if the sunlight touch me I’ll turn into dust.

You get off the car hood and go to the side door, but this time he opens it for you. You give him a “seriously?” Look, receiving a little push in your arm as a response.

↬☀︎︎

A distant voice asks you to wake up, softly whispers that turn into caresses on your cheek, your eyes feel so heavy, even when you are well aware of your environment your eyelids keep closed.

—Good morning, Princess—This is the first time Tom calls you that way, the change from silly nicknames to Princess is enough to get you out of hibernation. He is squatting beside your bed, his smile is the promise of a better day, and chasing that idea you give him one small back.—Your mom has been texting me desperately all day, she said you're not answering her calls and is worried.

—Fuck, my phone broke last night, can I call her from yours?—That’s an oversimplification but in the search for a better story, that's what you decide to believe and tell. Tom nods and gives it to you, he looks happy, beyond that, this is the first time you see that subtle blush on his cheeks and the eyes sparkling. You sit on the bed next to his body looking for your mom's number, slowly he moves between your legs, you have shorts and an oversized Back To The Future t-shirt, you got took the time to prepare yourself to bed last night and keep Michael’s clothes inside your closet to wash them, like The Tell-Tale Heart, a little innocent secret who feels dirty somehow

The conversations with your mom are always long, nostalgic and the tears are hard to hold for both parts; after a long life sharing almost every day with her, her absence never feels smaller. But this time is different, Tom is exploring the bare skin under your knee with his warm hands, asking for permission with curious eyes, and when you don’t object to the touch the British boy keeps his exploring mission cautiously, giving special attention to see your eyes in case something change. Is time to hang up when he gives a long and loving kiss to your knee, the less erotic kiss you could think of but so intimate to bristle your skin.

—Not nice to touch someone's daughter when is talking to her mom.—The protest of your voice loses strength at every word, he heard that and just straight his back to reach your face, the gap is almost extinct.

—We're okay, she likes me.—He assures holding your hips and pulling you a bit to him. Tom looks very comfortable with the new closeness authorization, you like it but are not very sure about it yet, most of you still think of him as your best friend.

—Did she tell you that? Are you talking with my mom behind my back?—You laugh when he does, almost like nothing changed.

—She adores me, I swear, I'm invited to Christmas, you know?—You're not surprised, she invites everyone, Logan was too but the first time he got family plans and didn't make it to the second.

—You should go, maybe we can do...—His lips touch yours in a peak at the middle phrase and makes you forget what you were about to say.—Man, the audacity to interrupt...—Then he kisses you again, deeply, using his tongue to taste your inner lip and his hands holding your shirt in fists. That's a twist of events.

—Is that ok?—You hear a weak whisper coming out of his voice but you got so mesmerized on his lips that decided to ignore it and kiss him back instead. He responds to your touch and starts to lean over you to make you lay on the bed.

Jesucristo bendito, is this happening? like, actually happening? you must look like trash, you barely took all the makeup from the night before and didn't take a shower, you start to get so worried about smells, feelings, and what that'll mean to your already too much-spoiled friendship.

However, the time of doubts is done when Sheep starts yelling in the living room, you both reacted running to the sound and looking for your blonde friend. Michael is there but doesn't look like the same as a few hours ago, is annoyed and tired for the lack of sleep, a look that doesn't match him at all.—What did you do?—You ask him fast assuming she's mad for something he did.

—Just in time, the star of the movie, I was wondering how much it will take you to be the protagonist of this.—That is Sheep's voice talking about you and what must be your heart breaking from her words.

—Excuse me?—You wish your tone would be less savage but you can't help respond the same way she did.

—Logan wasn't enough, then you got the drummer, fucking Timothée Chalamet, Tom and now my boyfriend. I'm so glad I didn't leave you alone with my dad or I'd be calling you mom now.—You have no words to that, Michael doesn't even dare to look at you, he must have told her something she misunderstood, but Sheep, or well, Stella is saying things she actually thinks and keep to herself. Tom walks in front of you whispering things to her to calm her down but she is not looking at him, you didn't tell her anything about Tom either so he's taking responsibility this time.—Go ahead and fuck the whole city, Michael if that please you but you're crossing the line with Tom and you know that, you're going to ruin him as you ruin every man that enters in your life.—She has a very you moment having the last word of the dispute and getting out of the apartment with Michael going after her but not putting much effort in it.

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Taglist:

@eridanuswave @cjand10 @deluxeplanteater @rorodendra @navs-bhat @coxxxxxpi @leviosatothestars

Thanks for all the love and support, if you have opinions, suggestions, or want to be part of the tag list (Or don’t want to be part anymore) let me know, I appreciate every message.

[pennylanewrites]

I got seven different asks about the College AU so here are some headcanons I have about them! (imagine aiura is in the picture I couldn’t find a good one with all of them)

I definitely didn’t mean to make this so long but I can’t help it I love them all so much<3

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Saiki Kusuo

→ marine!!!biology!!!major!!!!!!!!

→ doesn’t need to study but he still does bc he finds marine life so fascinating

→ read all of his textbooks on the first day bc he was so excited eeeek

→ always wears his germanium ring in class so he can stay hashtag focused

→ him and aiura have to bail toritsuka(didn’t go to college) out of jail once a month

→ speaking of aiura, she somehow has convinced him to go on a date on five different occasions

→ i think after high-school he realised he didn’t mind a kind of casual not-relationship with her

→ lets her hug him to greet him and sometimes he hugs back bc college boys stare a lot and he is just worried for her okay?

→ maybe I’m just projecting bc I kin aiura

→ does not go to parties unless he absolutely has to

→ if he does go to a party he’ll drink something quietly in a corner, just watching the crowd

→ a perv laced Teruhashi’s drink and almost lured her up the stairs so of fucking course Kusuo sprinted to help her, holding her on the way home bc men are drawn to her like bees to honey

→ she didn’t let him live it down ever

→ he rented a studio apartment and keeps it super clean, minimum clutter but enough to look lived in

→ cooks amazing food that Nendo smells from upstairs and next thing you know, they’re all bringing chairs to Kusuo’s apartment and have dinner

→ nothing excuses the fact he makes at least eight servings every time–

→ such a dad to everyone honestly

→ usually studies at a library or teleports back home if there’s a big test

→ mrs. saiki was banned from visiting every two days but she still ends up there somehow

→ not that he minds bc he’s the biggest mama’s boy ever

→ probably graduates a year early

→ doesn’t move away even though he got a job at the aquarium at the other side of the city help–

Kaidou Shun

→ fine arts major you can NOT change my mind

→ doesn’t do good in theoretical subjects but mans can draw some good bowls of fruit

→ wears those stained from the paints t-shirts all the time bc ‘no they’re not dirty it’s art!’

→ him and aren have small designated spaces in their apartment so they can focus on their hobbies/studying

→ his corner at the living room has newspapers on the floor to protect it from the splattering paint, some canvases propped up on the wall and a lot of unfinished projects

→ hides all of them when Nendou comes over

→ can not cook or clean to save his life

→ so he calls his mum to help clean up when Aren is at work

→ got over his 8th grader syndrome at some point

→ still wears red bandages bc he’s edgy

→ volunteers at the neighborhood exhibit centre

→ got asked to showcase his own works for a night and hasn’t shut up about it since

→ goes to yumehara for relationship advice and braids her hair as a thank you

→ couples sleepovers with Yumehara and Teruhashi (yes they’re dating shut up)

→ always makes something for Aren at special occasions (birthdays, anniversaries etc)

→ at first he went back home every saturday bc he missed his family :(

→ Aren helps him get over it though!!!!

Nendou Riki

→ got in on a sports scholarship

→ we already know he couldn’t be accepted in a college otherwise

→ in the chiropractic major bc he wants to be one of those athlete doctors

→ has failed way too many exams and classes

→ Hairo helps him so much though!!!

→ the last one in the group to graduate but somehow gets a job first (excluding Saiki)

→ him and hairo get up at 5 am for jogging or to hit the gym

→ and then he goes and gets noodles bc ‘if noodles aren’t for breakfast why do shops open at 6 am?’

→ hasn’t stepped foot in class in months

→ he gets decent grades after failing the first semester and it’s totally not Saiki’s doing

→ he ends up signing up for way too many clubs

→ attends all of the meetings and has so many friends through them

→ I would be his friend too in college honestly

→ a fraternity wanted to get him bc he’s so good at sports

→ he declined bc he does not understand how fraternities even work

→ is the life of EVERY SINGLE PARTY change my mind you can’t

→ whatever you do don’t imagine nendo surprising his boyfriend with flowers after every practice

→ *dies cutely*

Kuboyasu Aren

→ SOCIOLOGY MAJOR

→ idk I just think he would enjoy Marx’s Capital

→ debate club? hell yeah

→ gets in philosophical conversations at the school yard for HOURS

→ kaidou has to drag him away

→ only shops at thrift stores and makes coffee at home bc “capitalism is not accepted in this household”

→ rides his motorcycle to college even though he lives five minutes away

→ grew his hair out in a mullet again and he looks *chef’s kiss*

→ thought he would be moving too fast if he asked Kaidou to rent an apartment together

→ aiura convinced him it was fine

→ cooks kaidou’s favorite foods every day

→ participates in student rallies, human rights protests etc etc

→ comes home with bruises and kaidou thinks he looks so hot but still yells at him

→ Aren’s favorite place to study is his balcony or at a coffee shop

→ always with kaidou! cute boyfriends who do everything together!!

→ gets so drunk when they go out

→ drunk karaoke with kokomi yes yes yes

Hairo Kineshi

→ did someone say Athletic Training?

→ does every single sport and is amazing at it

→ will cheer for his bf if they have a game at the same time though

�� it was his idea to move in together bc ‘hey we’ve been dating for three years now might as well’

→ volunteers at a nearby elementary as a coach for the kids

→ SO GOOD WITH KIDS

→ wants to be a P.E. Teacher and he’s going to be great at it

→ does everything he can at campus

→ helping random clubs, making posters, cleaning up the hallways, helping the cheer squad with their new routine

→ dances ballet as a hobby even though he’s so good at it that he could be a professional

→ makes everything a competition with Nendo so they never get bored

→ once made everyone get up to jog with them and they ended up sleeping on random benches while Hairo and Nendo were halfway across town

→ will punch someone if he sees them catcalling a girl

→ doesn’t drink at all and eats super healthy

→ designated driver for the group’s outings downtown

Aiura Mikoto

→ THEATER MAJOR

→ is so good at stage acting it’s unreal

→ lands the lead role almost every time

→ is also an amazing singer so she gets great roles in musicals as well

→ doesn’t have to get a job bc she gets all her money from doing readings on campus

→ gets coffees and pastries from all the coffee shops around campus and sits Kusuo down so he can taste them

→ they have a little taste-testing date in his apartment until they decide none of them are as good as the ones at Cafe Mami

→ she totally doesn’t make him teleport there every morning and he totally doesn’t listen to her

→ moved in with chiyo bc they wanted a nice place that they couldn’t afford on their own

→ teruhashi told them to move in with her but they already loved their little place

→ aiura’s bedroom is the most comfortable and cozy room ever

→ their apartment is also the hang out spot for the group bc it’s just so homey

→ hangs out with her theatre group a lot, especially after class

→ they can’t compare to her friends though:(

→ everyone goes to her when they’re worried and she loves it bc she’s the mummy of the group

→ she makes everyone coffee and their comfort food before big exams:)

Yumehara Chiyo

→ psychology major one thousand percent

→ you know how they say that people choose psychology bc they don’t know what major they want?

→ that’s exactly what happened except she fell in love with it immediately

→ such a good student!!!

→ always does her assignments on time and still manages to have a social life

→ teruhashi asked her out at the end of their first semester and that’s the first time chiyo missed a deadline

→ practically lives with teruhashi, insisting it’s just to leave aiura alone

→ she’s just IN LOVE OKAY?????

→ would want to be a sorority girl at first

→ changed her mind when she realized how much shit they all talked

→ her and kaidou drink wine and talk about their relationships and studies

→ she’s so sleep deprived it’s unreal

→ she doesn’t need sleep anymore though

→ coffee is her best friend

→ makes asks Aiura for readings twice a week

→ brings all her psychology friends home and they analyze their textbooks

→ once she got the hang of it, she decided to examine Kusuo

→ she told him he needs actual medical evaluation

→ he almost threw her out the window when she offered some Xanax for his nerves

→ chiyo is a neat freak one hundred percent

→ hates when Aiura throws everything on the floor, but she loves cleaning

→ opens her own office after school

Teruhashi Kokomi

→ PRE-MED

→ lesbian doctor :)

→ just wanted to get away from her perv brother at first

→ she always wanted to be a doctor though, preferably a neurosurgeon

→ she’s super duper smart and hates when she gets good grades bc of her good looks:(

→ makes it her goal to show her professors that she’s more than a beautiful girl

→ hasn’t failed a single exam

→ helps everyone with their studies even though she’s drowning in work

→ drops the perfect girl image at college and decides she should try and aim for something normal

→ gets invited to every single party

→ in a knitting club bc it would get disbanded without one more member

→ knits!!!matching!!!sweaters!!!for all of her friends!!!

→ asked Chiyopipi out while drunk

→ never regretted it though

→ her and aren get so drunk when they go out with the group

→ it’s honestly unreal how much they can drink before passing out

→ has to get carried home

→ wakes up after getting drunk and runs to her class before remembering it’s Sunday

→ her penthouse has the perfect view of the sunset and sunrise and is all she could ask for in life

→ does get lonely so she’s practically living with Chiyo and Aiura

→ once she realized she didn’t like boys she made it her goal to get Saiki and Aiura together

→ people wonder how she has so much time to play matchmaker and volunteer while she’s in premed

→ does her internship at a hospital

→ ends up working there as a neurosurgeon after her Doctorate degree

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