#but after some time they mellow out and are buds
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———
By all accounts, Will knows what he’s doing.
He still drives like a godsdamn maniac.
“Do you want us to die?” Nico hollers, cheeks aching from the force of his grin, belly flipping at the peal of Will’s laughter.
The bike is exhilarating, as Will weaves it around cars at unbelievable speeds, working with the bike like it’s a part of him, like it’s not a separate thing he has to move. He steers it with a natural ease Nico’s only really seen in some of the best pegasus riders in camp — he knows the machine intimately enough to anticipate how it moves, how it reacts. It really is an extension of his body.
He left any panic about gripping onto Will somewhere in Long Island — to let go would be suicide. He has to hold on to stay onto the bike, to know to lean when Will leans, to tense when he tenses. Besides that, he’s having fun. He’s not the one driving, so he’s free to rest his helmet on Will’s back and watch as the world whips by — dizzying, really, as the speed of the bike making the green-budding trees melt into the bright blue skies, mix with the tar black asphalt, glow under the sparkling sun. The whole world looks like sidewalk chalk after it rains, a swirling mass of colour and streaks as artistic or more than what it was before it was washed away. The only indication that they’re actually going anywhere rather than standing straight in the middle of a kaleidoscope is the spots of roadside green that pop up every now and again, or a heavy lean to the side and Will switches lanes.
As they pull out of New York, Will starts to slow down. The dizzying mass of colours calms until everything’s at a slow spin, as Will mellows out to a speed that can be registered on a mortal odometer. With less wind whipping all over, Nico can actually hear him.
“Better than a flying chariot?”
Nico grins. “Definitely.”
“Another great thing about this is that it has a CD player. Two-nothing for the sad hunk of wood.”
By great thing Will of course means the same four songs I’ve been obsessed with for a month playing over and over and over until you are ready to launch yourself off the bike and join the dead raccoon at the side of the road, but that still doesn’t manage to ruin it. Something about driving top speeds in the early spring air makes it hard to be annoyed about annoying.
(Or maybe it’s the way Nico can feel Will’s muscles shift every time he moves, or how he winks every time he catches Nico’s eye in the mirrors, or the lowkey kind of sinful the way he straddles the seat. But Nico is quite happy sharing a name with a river in Egypt, so he ignores these fun facts and continues to delude himself, an art in which he is become quite wondrously skilled.)
Somewhere between Jersey and Delaware, the traffic picks up again, so Will shouts for him to hold on and cranks up the speed. Nico clenches tightly around his waist, squeezing his eyes shut, this time, and listens to the roar of air as they shove through it fast enough to rival sound. When they’re drifting, again, Nico can feel an incline, and looks up just in time to watch Will exit off the highway.
“Are we here already?” he shouts, incredulous. He knows his ADHD makes him bad with time, but jeez — it can’t have been more than an hour, an hour and a half.
“Not yet,” Will says, barely having to raise his voice as they come to a stop, heel of his boot clicking on the pavement. He checks both ways and then, once nothing comes around the bend, pushes off and guides them down a winding back road, tipping around curves and speeding down hills. Nico’s stomach bottoms out every drop, and he can’t clamp down the giggle that pushes out his throat, as ridiculous as it is. Luckily, Will’s giggling, too.
In a few minutes, they pull up to an old, rusted gas station, with signs so old they’re hand-painted. Will kills the engine and flicks out the kickstand, pulling off his helmet and shaking out his hair. It’s such a tangled mess that Nico can’t help but reach out and tug on a lopsided curl.
“I didn’t think this thing needed gas.”
“It doesn’t!” He pats a dark piece of glass in between the handlebars. “It’s solar-powered. But I figured you could use a minute to stretch your legs, and frankly, if I don’t eat something soon I genuinely might cook you.”
“You forgot to eat today, didn’t you.”
“…No.”
As soon as he speaks, his eyes start to water. His throat swells. He holds his breath for a noble four seconds, and then starts wheezing.
Nico sighs heavily. “Dumbass.”
Hauling him upright by the collar, Nico drags him towards the little corner store. This, at least, is familiar. Will gets caught up in his work easily, and forgets to do things like eat or move or, on one particularly amusing occasion, breathe. (Just tipped right over, one day, onto the floor, mid-poultice. There is a chip on the side of the stone mortar to this day. Nico, Will’s other friends, and his siblings take shifts bringing it up to dunk on him properly. Last he checked, Lou Ellen commissioned Jake Mason to make a plaque to hang on the infirmary wall, memorializing the incident forever.)
“C’mon, stupid. Let’s get you a sandwich. And Benadryl.”
“I’m honestly fine,” Will wheezes, cheeks swelling slightly.
“Stop talking,” Nico orders. “You’re making it worse.”
Wisely, Will clamps up. That, or his throat is starting to close. Either is likely.
His stubborn determination to continue lying despite being literally allergic to it would be impressive, if it wasn’t so irritating.
A little bell rings by the door when Nico pushes it open, making the person sitting behind the counter look up.
“Ah,” they say sagely, folding up their newspaper. “Demigods.”
Immediately, Nico’s on alert. Before he can draw his sword, though, Will lifts a hive-spotted hand in a wave.
“Hey, Berchio,” he croaks.
The person at the counter — Berchio — smiles ruefully.
“Benadryl?”
Nico nods hesitantly, still a little wary at the stranger, but Will is starting to keen over, now, and Nico didn’t think to bring an Epi-Pen (since the allergy is totally avoidable, William, you are your own worst enemy), so he’s running out of options. “Please.”
Chuckling to themself, Berchio ruffles around a shelf by the checkout counter, locating the familiar bottle after a minute — Will gets himself into these situations a lot, he has a serious twizzler problem and should consider getting his own stash instead of lifting it from the Hermes cabin and then lying about where it went — and rolling towards them. The spokes of their wheelchair have little skull charms on them that make a pleasant tinkling noise as they spin, making Nico trust them instantly. He should get Chiron wheel beads. That’s sick as hell.
“Here, kid. Drink water, too, you’re going to dry yourself out.”
Will garbles out a thank you, choking down the medicine. As all meds do with Apollo’s children, lucky bastards that they are, it works quickly, and in minutes he’s breathing right again.
“Gods, I love oxygen.”
“You are a human disaster,” Nico informs him. “Like, hugely.”
Will takes a sip of his water, pondering that. “Is that more embarrassing for you, or for me?”
“Why the hell would it be embarrassing for me?”
“Well, since you like me so much.” Nico chokes. “I might be a disaster, but at least I don’t have a crush on one.”
“All this wheezing,” Berchio sighs. “This must be Nico?”
“The one and only,” Will says cheerfully. He reaches out and touches a warm hand to Nico’s throat, immediately clearing his airways. Now no longer struggling for breath, Nico darts out and punches him, hard, on the arm.
“Ow! Meanie!”
“You are such a derp-faced dweeb,” Nico hisses, fully aware he’s red in the face. “Why are you — why are you this way.”
“I’m gonna tell Chiron you were bullying me!”
“Tell him! I’ll tell him you were the one to sprinkle instant mashed potatoes all over the grass before it rained, not Cecil!”
Will snaps his mouth shut. “I told you that in confidence.”
Nico smiles smugly. “Well, that’s on you. My loyalties are about as secure as my parent’s relationship.”
“If you two are finished flirting,” interrupts an amused voice, making both of them jump. Berchio watches them with their arms crossed, eyebrow raised in a similar chiding way to Chiron last time he caught Nico attempting to sneak an entire tray of brownies from the kitchen (mark his words — as soon as he can shadow travel again, no other camper will be seeing a brownie as long as they shall live). They shake their head, tutting exaggeratedly. “My, my, Will, I’m beginning to understand why you mentioned him every time you opened your mouth. I figured you liked him, but this is ridiculous.”
For once, Will is the one to flush crimson. He stutters something entirely incomprehensible, gesturing vaguely towards Berchio, and then frantically towards Nico, and finally squawks something about trust and the breaching of it. He goes red to the very roots of his hair, clamping his own mouth shut mid-sentence and scowling something awful.
Suddenly, Nico gets it. This is why no one ever leaves him alone. Oh, he is loathe to give the assholes he’s friends with credit, but…
When does he ever get to see Will — confident, easy Will — go scarlet?
“So you like me,” he says, shit eating grin stretching across his face. “Oh ho ho ho.”
“Oh, shut up,” Will snaps, without any heat. “Last time we played volleyball you got a concussion ‘cause you couldn’t stop staring at my chest and took a ball to the face.”
“That — it was — that hit was malicious,” he sputters. “And how is it my fault you’re always ditching your shirt at the first available opportunity like some kind of whore? I couldn’t not look!”
“Avert your eyes, then, scoundrel!”
“I — don’t call me a scoundrel! You’re a scoundrel!”
“You’re both late, is what you are,” Berchio interrupts again. “Will, I assume you’re running an errand?”
Still a little flushed, Will nods. “Yes. Thanks, Berchio. We’re picking up parts in Roanoke, I just stopped for some food.”
“He forgot to eat this morning,” Nico pipes up. He figures that Berchio seems comfortable enough with Will that they can act as a disappointed authority figure, which will make Mr. Daddy Issues Solace crumple like a castle built on a pillar of sand — he needs the humbling. (Also, Nico will get him on a healthier track or die trying. It’s not fair that he gets to be a big hypocrite about good diet and eating and sleeping habits and then turn around and act a fool. Someone needs to watch out for the idiot, or he’s going to get himself killed, and then Nico is going to have to spend the rest of his life in the Underworld, yelling at him.)
“William.”
Nico’s theory is proven correct. Berchio stares at Will with the perfect mix of disappointment and concern, immediately triggering the scramble-to-please expression on Will’s face. He practically stumbles over himself trying to follow after him and get fed.
“Are you happy with a sandwich, Nico? I know Will’ll eat anything that even remotely looks like food, but most of us have standards,” they tease.
Nico snorts at Will’s offended pout. “Yeah, a sandwich is more than fine. Thanks, Berchio.”
After handing them both a sandwich they pull from one of the many fridges in the little convenience store, they guide them outside, parking their wheelchair next to the curb they sit on and joining them in a little picnic.
“So how do you know each other?” Nico asks, gesturing between the two of them.
Will answers first, because Berchio, who is a polite person with manners, takes the time to swallow their food.
“I stop here all the time,” he says, garbled, making both Nico and Berchio wince. Nico takes the initiative to kick him.
“Stop being disgusting and explain yourself without showing off the contents of your mouth,” Nico threatens, “or I’m going to stab you again.”
Will swallows, sticks out his tongue, and continues.
“First time I used the bike, I got it into my head that I should go visit my mom. Would’ve been fine, except I was thirteen and hadn’t been outside of camp in six years and got chased by a pack of empousai the second I left the city, basically.”
“I was collecting herbs and sensed him coming,” Berchio explains. “He crossed the borders I have set up; I hid him here. Now he stops by whenever he’s travelling to chat.” Berchio smiles warmly. “I appreciate the company.”
Will grins back. “Me too! Plus, I very much appreciate the herb exchange. Speaking of which, I have your goldenrod.”
He digs into his jeans pocket, pulling out a bundle. He hands it over to Berchio, who accepts it gratefully, handing over their own bundle to Will.
“And your witch hazel.”
“Berchio’s an Ipotane,” Will explains, catching sight of Nico’s furrowed brow. “They’ve been doing this healing stuff for centuries. They’re real good with salves.”
Nico shakes his head fondly. “Even when you’re being cool, you’re a nerd.” He gestures to the bike. “Taking your secret motorcycle to visit your secret mentor to learn more about healing. Gods, it’s like Apollo made you in a lab.”
“You take that back! I contain multitudes!”
“And now you’re quoting famous poems, dear gods, try to prove my point better, why don’t you —”
“Blah blah blah!”
Nico grins at him, rolling his eyes, and Will is just as playfully dramatic with his bit lip and hidden smile and the hair he tucks behind his ear like he does when he wants to touch somebody but isn’t sure if it’s invited. Nico answers the question for him, reaching out and flicking his knuckles as an excuse to touch his hands. Will takes it, beaming.
“Thank you for the food, Berchio,” Will says when they finish, leaning down to hug them. “We gotta get going, but I’ll be back in a couple weeks. I had a dream about an outbreak, so no doubt the infirmary will need restocked soon.”
“Bring your boyfriend next time,” Berchio suggests, grinning when Nico goes red at the term. “Watching the two of you was not unlike one of Sterne’s famous productions.”
“I take offence to that,” Will says haughtily.
“Good. You needed humbling.”
“Nobody appreciates me around here!”
Nico bites back the I do that threatens to escape his throat. Gods, he’s so embarrassing. Whoever taught him how to speak should have to pay for their crimes.
They head back to the bike, waving goodbye to the Ipotane and speeding off. The drive the rest of the way down south is much calmer, bellies full and energy somewhat spent, and it helps that there’s no traffic. Will cruises, keeping time with the sun that’s inching across the sky, ignoring Nico’s suggestion to attempt to race his dad. They arrive in Roanoke in good time, following Nyssa’s scrawled directions to the parts shop.
The shop is old, visibly, paint peeling and smelling strongly of car grease. As Nysa predicted, the person they speak to — a mechanic, by the look of her jumpsuit — doesn’t ask so much as a single question at the two teenagers rolling up to her doorstep, heading to the greasy shelves of car parts and grabbing what they need with a shrug.
“Well,” says Will slowly as she piles them on the counter, “that’s…more than I anticipated.”
Nico looks at the stack of twisted metal. He looks at the bike. Finally, he looks at his dumbass friend.
“Solace.”
Will scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah?”
“Solace, tell me you have space to put this stuff.”
“Well, we can try the seat compartment?”
Nico buries his head in his hands. “Solace.”
“What!”
“You know what, lughead! We cannot do the one thing we came here to do! Gods!”
“I usually go on supply runs for the infirmary, okay!” Will cries. “That stuff is way less bulky! I forgot to compensate!”
Nico groans. At this point, they’re going to have to bus back, or something equally as stupid. And what are they gonna do with the bike? Gods, if Nico was here by himself and also maybe possibly with Reyna, who could share her strength, he’d just —
He stills.
“Oh, no,” Will says, pointing a stern finger, “oh, no, di Angelo, I know that look, you have been expressly banned —”
“Relax,” Nico grumbles. “Don’t you trust me?”
“With everything,” Will says automatically, then flushes for the second time that day. “But that is not the point —”
Deciding he will return to that later — and he most certainly will — Nico darts forward. Before Will can stop him, he puts both hands on the pile of parts, lunges towards the nearest shadow, and shoved them in, withdrawing as quickly as he can manage.
“Nico!”
He waits.
“Oh, you fuckin’ — you goddamn son of a mother!”
He checks his hands — still solid.
“I am going to smash you flat an’ feed you through a goddamn juicer! You fuckin’ heart-stopper!”
He grins. “I told you I could do some Underworld magic.”
“Underworld deez fuckin’ nuts!” Will stomps forward, grabbing Nico’s hands to do his own inspection. “What part of doctor’s orders are you missin’, huh? You think I wanna watch you fade again? You think I wanna —” His voice cracks, hands tightening around Nico’s wrists. Nico softens immediately, smug look melting into something gentler.
“Will.”
“You coulda died, Nico, you coulda faded to — to nothin’.”
“Will.” He flips his hands so his palms meet Will’s, and squeezes, smiling gently. “Feel my vitals, dork. Am I fading?”
Will exhales. “No.”
“Am I close?”
“…No.”
He squeezes again. “I’m fine, Will.”
“You scared me.” The anger in his voice has faded into something soft — something afraid. Suddenly the hands on his wrists feel more clingy than anything, and a twinge of guilt goes off in Nico’s stomach.
“I’m sorry.” He squeezes Will’s hands one last time, and when that doesn’t do much, lets go to wrap around his cheeks, instead, forcing him to meet his eyes. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“I don’t mean to restrict you,” Will says softly. “It’s just — I worry, is all.”
Nico taps their foreheads together, smile pulling at his face. This, he can — this he can deal with. This version of Will, soft and nervous and caring, makes it a lot easier to slide his fingers into the mess of Will’s curls, to run his thumbs over his cheekbones and feel him shiver.
“Would that have anything to do with the alleged crush you have on me?”
Will grins. “It might.” One of his hands comes up to rest on top of Nico’s, brushing over his knuckles. “All your moonin’ after me had me looking twice, I guess.”
“You’re such a dick,” Nico scoffs, and yanks him down to meet him in the middle, laughing, swallowing his smile and relishing in the warm press of their bodies. It’s — gods, it’s everything, it’s a thousand times better than he imagined, and at the same time everything he expected. Will smells like wind and sunshine and his lavender shampoo, and his hands are roughened from all the antiseptic he has to use, and his lips are surprisingly chapped, but the press of his cheeks is soft, and the feel of him is overwhelming. It feels, as cliche as it is, like the final burst of a firework after watching the smokey trail of the rocket with bated breath, watching it crest the night sky before exploding, finally, amongst the stars, it’s like —
A cleared throat startled them apart.
“Anytime y’all feel like paying for those parts, it would be great.”
Will grins sheepishly. “Sorry,” he says, pulling out the money Chiron gave him. His grin turns sly, and Nico’s knees turn to jelly. “My boyfriend’s just super distracting.”
#i love blatant flirting without being together for no reason!!!!! it is so fun!!!!#pjo#percy jackson and the olympians#hoo#heroes of olympus#pjo hoo toa#nico di angelo#will solace#nico di angelo & will solace#nico di angelo/will solace#solangelo#getting together#bad flirting#like rly bad#banter#pining nico di angelo#whipped nico di angelo#down bad nico di angelo#fluff#my writing#fic#longpost
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This Kinda Shit
Pairing: Boyfriend's best friend Yeonjun x afab! reader x boyfriend Soobin
Genre: Smut
Content Warnings: Smut; cuckolding; voyeurism; use of the petnames "Doll" and "Princess;" spanking; piv; unprotected sex; pussy eating; fingering; probably some cursing
Word Count: 1k words
Mellow speaks: Yeah so another week went by with me being busy af, but I came up with something quick to keep you guys up till I manage to write an actual fic lol.
Tagging: @sweethyuka @yedammi @enhacolor @axartia @hyunsuksmygod @duolingofanaccount @zurimochi
"Never knew you were into this kinda shit, Binnie," Yeonjun's voice cuts through the air, like ice caressing your supple skin while his hand presses your wrist against the mattress, his breath tickling your clavicle. "Watching me devour what's yours? How filthy. But don't worry, I'll do as you want, I'll ruin your little doll just right."
Your boyfriend's grunt is soon heard across the room, the sound of his zipper being undone almost pressing in on your ears if you weren't already too focused on the way a certain pair of lips feel against your breasts, soft kisses being pressed to your mounds as teeth graze your buds ever so slightly.
It had all been Soobin's idea, but you had been the one to add fuel to it. It had been during the drunken escapade of a particular night, when he had confessed to his fantasy of seeing another man having his way with you. And this sudden confession had in turn prompted you to come clean about your own fantasy, and had told him just how hot you found his best friend.
Yeonjun truly was like a dream, from those stupidly long legs to those plush, pink lips, and you had found yourself wondering what it'd feel like to have those very lips kiss your lower ones, or to have those gorgeous legs trap yours as he thrusted into you. Of course, you never would've thought you'd see the day where you could express what you felt towards the university senior to Choi Soobin, your boyfriend of two years now.
Yet, here you are now, sprawled out on the soft mattress of your queen-sized bed as it dips just a little under the weight of Yeonjun's knees, delicious shivers running down your spine from feeling his tongue glide along the valley of your breasts. "Enjoying the show, Soob?," he drawls almost lazily, wrapping his lips around your nipples as he begins sucking on them, focusing on one at a time.
You can only whimper in response, your body responding before your mouth can form words as you buck your naked hips, pushing your boots closer to his face while seeking some type of friction by grinding against him. "Easy there, doll," Yeonjun grunts, the smirk evident in his voice as his big hand presses down at your abdomen, in a bid to calm you down.
You want to protest, you want to talk back, you want more. But your words are cut off by the sound of a deep groan coming from somewhere near the couch, followed soon after by that of skin aggressively rubbing against skin. "Give me a good show already," Soobin calls from his seat as a spectator, another groan escaping him as he begins to pump himself, wanting a release.
"Eager much?," comes Yeonjun's reply, a slight edge to his words as his fingers run down your body, inching closer and closer to where you want him most. "Tell me what you want me to do, princess," he mumbles against your throat, pressing a soft kiss to the dip as his hand ghosts over your heat, arousal pooling between your legs as you moan and pant. And he hasn't even done anything yet.
"T-touch me, p-please," you whimper somehow, but lucky for you, he doesn't have to be told twice before his fingers push through your puffy lips, entering your wet warmth in a way that leaves you begging for more, though of course, your words fail you yet again. He's meticulous with his movements, and yet, those same movements are also hurried and desperate, like he's trying to prove a point. Having slender digits sure is a plus for him right now, helping him hit your sweet spot with every thrust and every curl.
You've released before you know it, but it doesn't seem like he's planning on stopping anytime soon. Soobin's moans get mingled with your own, Yeonjun's grunts cutting through them like a knife as he goes down on you again, his tongue lapping around your bundle of nerves as your boyfriend angrily jerks off to the sight of you, to the sight of your body squirming and writhing under Yeonjun as he bathes you in another orgasm.
He's just about to push himself into you, ready to go all in, when a voice stops him in his movements. "On all fours baby, you like that, don't you?" It's Soobin of course, his words leaving you a flustered mess at having your bedroom secrets exposed. Yeonjun can't help but chuckle at your state, a smirk on his face as he says, "Aww darling, got caught?," faking concern.
And you know he's faking it because the very next second, he's slapping your buttcheeks, his thick cock pushing through your dripping folds till you're full of him, your arms barely keeping you up while tears stream down your cheeks. He's relentless with his moves, his hips slapping against your own as he shows you just how good he can fuck you.
You can't tell how many times he makes you cum, but with every time he brings you to your climax, you come one step closer to being his doll, the doll he's imagined burying himself inside so many times. By the time you're tired and spent, barely with any energy left inside of you, the only thing your brain can seem to register is the way he flips you over, his slightly rougher hands making way for Soobin's gentler ones, a soft kiss being placed to your forehead just as a duvet covers your naked body.
"Seems like you enjoyed it as much as I did, huh princess?," your boyfriend asks, receiving only a soft hum in response. But that hum is enough to make him smirk as he walks over to the elder, throwing an arm around his shoulders. "Guess we'll have to make Yeonjun a regular inside our bedroom, huh?"
And from the smirk that graces Yeonjun's lips, you would have been able to tell he was more than willing. If you weren't already out cold, that is.
#yeonjun#yeonjun smut#soobin#soobin smut#yeonbin#yeonbin smut#txt smut#txt#tomorrow x together smut#tomorrow x together#yeonjun hard thoughts#soobin hard thoughts#beomgyu#beomgyu smut#taehyun smut#taehyun#huening kai smut#huening kai
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79 for shaymien tyvm - katie (the last one was also me you get it)
79. “i like being close to you. you’re warm.”
linked on ao3 || read under the cut || 4k, rated m
summary:
"Would it be okay if we just sat here?" Shayne asks quietly, the exhale of his speech warm on Damien's shirt. Damien scratches over Shayne's scalp and it's like his best friend turns to liquid in his lap. Damien grins.
"We can sit here as long as you want."
||
Or, Shayne's tired after a workout and it leads to a conversation that's been a long time coming.
It's not like they ever plan on doing stuff like this. This happens every time they're both single, every time neither of them have seen their families in a while, every time one of them needs and the other can provide. Damien unlocks the door of Shayne's apartment without a bit of pause. Shayne is at the gym at this time most days, so Damien isn't exactly surprised to find the flat empty. He smiles at the two stacks of video games already set up on the coffee table, the groups divided by whether the game is multiplayer or single player, all ten of them games they both enjoy. His boy knows him too well. They hadn't even discussed hanging out today.
He's been combing through the snacks in the kitchen for about five minutes when he hears the door being unlocked once again, cracking a smile as he closes the cabinet he was rifling through.
"Hey man, let me get a quick shower and we can game?" Shayne calls from the living room. Damien makes an affirmative sound and begins transferring the snacks he had collected to the coffee table, barely aware of the sound of the bathroom door shutting behind his friend. Despite the fact that Shayne still shops like he and Damien live together, most of what Damien's grabbed are Shayne's favorites- the guy's always starving after working out, and if Damien gets him snacks now, he won't have to hear about it. Not that he even really minds when Shayne does complain.
That was honestly the first thing that made Damien think that maybe his relationship with Shayne was different from all of his other relationships, that maybe this is what people are talking about when they say they have a best friend. It's not that he doesn't know who he would be if he didn't have Shayne. It's that he doesn't know that he became himself til loving Shayne shaped who he is. Who would he be without Shayne's hand over the gearshift, laughter ringing in their ears nearly an hour after the joke had been told, Shayne's smiling face colored pretty by the pink of the setting sun?
He grabs Shayne a bottle of water. He heaves out a breath. He sits on the couch.
He doesn't know how much time he's lost writing a sketch in his head before Shayne walks out of the bathroom, steam rolling out after him like some early aughts Old Spice commercial. Damien can't help but grin at him; Shayne throws the towel he'd been rubbing through his hair at Damien's head. Damien catches it, throwing it back faster than Shayne is apparently prepared for, as it strikes him directly in the chest rather than being caught in his hands. Despite being the one to throw it first, Shayne seems a little out of sorts. He's got that look to him that he gets after live streams sometimes, the one that's half tired and half overwhelmed, though the look is mellowed some by the comfort of being in his own home. Still, Damien leans back against the side of the couch and pulls his legs up as well. He's not even entirely settled, arms wide to hold his best friend and knees apart to accommodate him, before Shayne is diving into his lap, arms wrapped around Damien's waist, face rubbing into the other man's chest affectionately. Like a fucking cat.
A chuckle punches its way out of Damien's chest at the sight. "You alright there, bud?" he asks, settling back into the arm of the couch and running his hand over Shayne's hair. Shayne hums.
"I like being close to you. You’re warm," he says simply, as if that's all there is to it, like being with Damien is the easiest thing in the world. Damien knows it isn't. The way that Shayne has always disagreed with him on that still makes him feel warm after this many years together. No matter how much time he spends with his best friend, he doesn't know that it will ever feel like enough. Sometimes the sheer luck of meeting Shayne, of being on the same set as him at the same time, it hits Damien in the chest. On a universal level, he was so close to never having this. He holds onto Shayne a little tighter just because he can. Shayne hums again, pressing in and nuzzling his face into Damien's chest.
"You wanna play something or you just wanna sit here, baby boy?" Damien asks, his tone making it clear that he doesn't mind either way, even if the words aren't so clear. Shayne makes a noise of protest and starts pushing himself up, but Damien keeps him settled in the cradle of his hips with a gentle hand; it's obvious from his face and posture that Shayne is only trying to remove himself because that's what he thinks he's supposed to want to do. Damien runs his fingers through Shayne's hair, making the other man relax against him nearly instantaneously.
"Would it be okay if we just sat here?" Shayne asks quietly, the exhale of his speech warm on Damien's shirt. Damien scratches over Shayne's scalp and it's like his best friend turns to liquid in his lap. Damien grins.
"We can sit here as long as you want," he says, sliding down a little bit more so that Shayne's face is against his throat and they're settled chest to chest. He pulls the blanket off of the back of the couch, spreading it over Shayne's back.
"Thank you," Shayne murmurs. His mouth is right against Damien's throat, his breath warm and the vibration of his speech something Damien didn't know he found comforting. He should know, as many times as they've done this.
"Any time, bud. You know that," Damien reminds him, pressing a kiss to the side of Shayne's head. That's not new either, a long time habit from when they were so much younger and so much more scared, broke as fuck all the time and never knowing what the fuck to do about it. Shayne tilts his head up to brush a kiss against Damien's jaw, settling back down quickly. If Damien didn't know to look for it, he might miss the proliferation of rose spreading across Shayne's ears. But he does know to look for it. And seeing it always warms him from the inside out. The idea that he can still make Shayne blush is one he'll always be grateful for, and maybe a little winded that he can. He loves this boy so much.
They don't talk for the next little while; Damien couldn't even hazard a guess of how long, his phone left abandoned on the coffee table and his watch missing entirely. He doesn't always put on everything when he's just coming over to Shayne's, leaving off accessories at random just because Shayne is one of the only people in the world that Damien doesn't feel like he has to present himself well around. Sure, he gives some of his best to Shayne, but Shayne has also been the person to handle a lot of his worst, to hold him after breakups and reassure him when he's scared and all of the bullshit that comes with being just a little bit too codependent with your best friend. Damien brushes another kiss on the crown of Shayne's head just for thinking of it. Boredom doesn't pick at him in this quiet place with Shayne as it typically would. The weight against his chest, the warmth of another body, Shayne, it's all very calming.
"I love you, you know," Shayne says quietly, virtually apropos of nothing. Damien hums, rubbing his hand up and down Shayne's back.
"I know, baby boy. I love you too," he replies, natural and easy. Shayne lays a kiss down on Damien's shoulder.
"I mean it," he stresses. Damien raises an eyebrow even if Shayne can't see it, his hand moving from Shayne's back to the back of his head, gentle as he pulls Shayne up to look at him, pushing back to sit up a little himself. Shayne reluctantly moves to support himself so that he can make eye contact. Seeing the question in his gaze, Shayne sighs. "You're my person," he whispers, looking at Damien with so much emotion that Damien has no idea how to pick through it. Instead of trying, he cups Shayne's jaw.
"You're my person, too, Shayne. No one I trust more than you," he assures. It doesn't seem as if this was the response Shayne was looking for, his head listing into Damien's palm and his lips pursed. Damien raises his eyebrow again, asking Shayne to elaborate without asking aloud. Shayne kisses his palm before resettling into his grasp.
"You're my best friend and it still never feels like enough," he says quietly, no longer making eye contact with Damien. A hard feeling settles in Damien's chest, the easy happiness of a moment ago draining from him. Not enough is something that Damien has heard before. It's never been a good thing.
"Did I do something?" he asks, unable to keep the shake out of his voice. Shayne's eyes snap to his and then go soft; immediately, he gets his knees more steadily beneath himself so that he can reach up and cup the back of Damien's head, careful fingers tangled in his hair. Unable to make himself think any better of it, Damien catches his hands on the backs of Shayne's thighs and pulls, shifting Shayne to have his knees spread across Damien's lap. Immediately, there's relief in every place they touch. Reassurance. Peace. Shayne is smiling at him. He looks fucking beautiful.
"Move back in with me." Shayne drops this suddenly, his gaze still soft where Damien can practically feel it against his skin, and it sends Damien blinking in surprise. Of all of the things he might have thought Shayne would say, that wasn't one of them.
"Beg pardon?" he asks. Shayne's smile falls.
"It's- it's just an idea," Shayne says, looking away from Damien and looking like he wants to disappear in his own apartment and Damien can't have that.
"Shayne, you live in a one bedroom apartment," he says gently, putting it ahead of any of the other protests knocking in the back of his mind, addressing the most practical first. Shayne tries again to push himself up and out of Damien's lap, but he's still doing that thing he does. Sometimes, typically when he's showing any emotion at all instead of handling the emotions of most everyone around him, Shayne tries to recede back into himself. He'll pull in all of his tells and shut Damien out and it's so fucking frustrating, not because Damien doesn't want to do the work of loving his best friend, but because Shayne thinks he has to. Because Shayne thinks this is what everyone else wants from him. For him to be easy. Damien has only ever wanted Shayne. Not so interested in easy. He keeps his hands on Shayne's thighs and Shayne isn't trying particularly hard, so in Damien's lap he stays.
"I miss you," Shayne mumbles nonsensically. After a moment, though, it makes a lot of sense to Damien, honestly. He misses those early mornings with Shayne, the nights when Shayne would climb into bed with him just because they were still talking, the reassurance of knowing that no matter what kind of day he had, he'd be coming home to Shayne fucking Topp. Damien lifts one of his hands and holds it to Shayne's chest, fingers brushing his collarbones through his shirt. Shayne looks at him with far too much melancholy for a face like that.
"How about when both of our leases are up? Mark can find a new roommate, you and me can find a two bedroom, we'll live together again, yeah?" he suggests, surprised then when Shayne's expression twists before he catches himself, smoothing it out into a smile. "No, no, I saw that. What's up, Shayne?" he asks, patient and even. Shayne closes his eyes.
"It's stupid," he says. Damien hums, encouraging him to elaborate. Shayne sighs. "I don't want a two bedroom apartment." When he opens his eyes, Damien tilts his head at him, confused.
"Come on, man, you know I don't really get the whole beating around the bush thing. We've gotten as far as you want to live together again, but I don't know what that part means. Tell me what the problem is." He moves the hand on Shayne's chest over to his side, thumb stroking over his oblique. With a deep breath, Shayne seems to steel himself.
"I haven't been sleeping well lately," he says, the words falling out of his mouth like they're the beginning of something, but Shayne pauses once they've hit the air. Damien nods, silently imploring him to continue. "Best sleep I've had in months was when we were sharing that hotel room in Vegas." His voice is thin, and it only takes Damien a second to figure out why. Their room had been scheduled incorrectly in Vegas. Technically, anybody in their party could have shared the room with one bed and let them have one of the rooms with two, but it was the room Damien and Shayne had been given and they hadn't made any sort of fuss about it. He'd woken up with Shayne beautifully sleepsoft, tucked comfortably into his chest all three days they were in that hotel.
"You want to move in together, and you want to share a bed," Damien says; Shayne's face colors a deep red, but he nods in confirmation. A smile creeps its way onto Damien's face. "I guess we're about to have a lot of sleepovers til my lease is up, yeah?" he asks, watching with delight as Shayne's expression goes from that melancholic fear to overwhelmingly pleased. Impulse control completely with the fucking wind, Damien leans up and kisses his best friend on the mouth. Like that's a good idea. He doesn't even realize that Shayne is kinda kissing him back before he reels backwards, putting space between their faces even if they're still touching more than they're not. Shayne makes a soft noise, quiet protest clear as he tugs Damien back into another kiss, harder but no less full of care. He's delicate with the way he holds Damien's face in both hands, his movements deliberate as he tries to tell Damien through touch alone that he wants this too. That this is all he wants.
"Dames," Shayne breathes out against his mouth. Damien leans up to catch him in another kiss. For this being the first time they've done this, it's the easiest this has ever been for Damien, the most comfortable, the only first kisses he's ever had that didn't feel like a hostage negotiation he was having with his brain to wrest enjoyment from the clutches of discomfort. Of course he's comfortable. It's Shayne. There's not a more comfortable place in the world for Damien's hands than on Shayne's skin, no more comfortable weight in his lap than Shayne's warm body. Damien pulls back again and this time Shayne lets him, makes no move to stop him from burying his face in Shayne's shoulder, breathing out his overwhelm as best as he can. His heart is fucking pounding. Still, he can't help grinning when he lifts his head to look at Shayne. It's Shayne. Loving him is the easiest thing he's ever done.
"Are we doing this?" he asks, smile coloring his words with fondness more overtly than he's ever allowed himself to display. Shayne's grin is confident, but when he speaks, his voice is quiet.
"Please," he says, broad hands warm on Damien's face, and this is it. It is different. His relationship with Shayne is different because he fucking loves him, not just the barrage of platonic affection that has bowled him over for nearly half his life, he loves Shayne like cracking his chest open and letting the other man stick his hand in. In that moment, it needs to be said again.
"I love you," he says, turning his head to press a kiss against one of Shayne's palms. At that, Shayne climbs out of his lap. Not expecting the movement, Damien makes no protest, instead raising an eyebrow at Shayne once he's on his own two feet.
"I'm in love with you. I also want to be in bed with you," Shayne says, pulling him up by the hand. Knowing it's not what he means, Damien leers suggestively anyway.
"Very forward, baby boy. Here I thought you were gonna treat me like a gentleman," he teases. Shayne huffs out a laugh and looks down at his socked feet, smiling at the floor.
"Not what I meant, you asshole. I mean- we can do that at whatever pace, like, works for us? But I want-" Shayne cuts himself off, that deep red taking over his face once again, trailing down his neck. Damien knows exactly how far that blush goes, but that doesn't mean he's not thinking about it still. He wants to taste the heat on Shayne's skin. He wants to hold Shayne so he'll sleep well. He leans further into Shayne's space, not quite close enough to kiss but close enough it definitely wouldn't be hard.
"What do you want, Shayne?" he asks, the rasp of his voice sending a visual shiver down Shayne's spine. He leans his forehead against Damien's shoulder.
"I want you to hold me," he whispers, less like he's afraid to say it and more like he's afraid to break this moment. Damien nods, grabbing Shayne by the hand.
"I can do that."
He leads Shayne by the hand to his own bedroom, strips him of his shirt gently, and then of his sweats, even getting Shayne to pick up his feet so that Damien can take of his socks for him, and suddenly he realizes that none of this is new so far. Well, the kissing, that's new. But holding Shayne's hand? Leading him to his own room? Undressing him? He remembers late nights in their shared space, Shayne's tired eyes strained from practice script after practice script, his energy scraped thin. Damien would take his hand then, get him comfortable, tuck him in. Stay if Shayne grabbed for him, which he almost always did. Damien never minded. Divesting himself of his own clothing, Damien has to ignore the way that Shayne's eyes roam over his chest, his stomach, his boxers. He never thought when they were younger that Shayne would ever look at him like this. Looking retrospectively at all of this, he can't imagine he would have done anything differently if he knew then what he knows now. Who knows how long he and Shayne would have lasted if they'd jumped into this young and unsettled? He wouldn't do it any other way.
The chief sound of the two of them getting settled into bed together is laughter; they've never been able to share a bed without getting into some kind of wrestling match. Staring down at Shayne's pretty face with his best friend on his back underneath him, it strikes Damien that perhaps that wasn't always as platonic as it had felt. He leans down to kiss Shayne again, but they end up having to pull away given that they're both still laughing. His heart feels fit to fucking burst. Just looking at Shayne makes something catch in Damien's chest. Fuck, he loves him. Fuck. Shayne pulls Damien down on top of himself, knocking the breath out of Damien in the form of a surprised bark of a laugh. Grinning against his temple, Shayne runs his hands along Damien's back with eager hands, digging in his fingers in a way that feels good, and Damien groans.
"God, magic hands," he mumbles into Shayne's collarbone. The rumble of Shayne's laugh beneath him is probably one of the best things in the world. Right after Shayne's fucking magic hands, his wide fingertips digging into the knots in Damien's back, slight ache of it smoothed out by his broad palms. He's always liked Shayne's hands though. The feel of them, the weight of them, the look of them, the blunts of his nails, the scar between two of his fingers he got breaking a glass when he was thirteen. There's so much story in those hands. So much story in this boy. He kisses his way along Shayne's collarbone, not with any heat really, but just to move his lips across Shayne's skin. One of Shayne's hands moves up from Damien's back, clutching at but not pulling Damien's hair as he guides him up to look at him.
"I love you," he says again, voice laced with awe like he's lucky just to be able to say it, to be able to love Damien aloud. He gets halfway up on his knees between Shayne's thighs, making them fall a little wider to accommodate him. With the way Shayne is looking up at him, he doesn't think he minds.
"I love you so much." With that, Damien dips down and connects their lips. Shayne is pliable under him, soft skin and hard muscle both giving way to being manipulated by Damien's whims. His hands are hungry as he grabs at Shayne, nails skating across the other man's skin. He doesn't know what it would be like to love Shayne without a certain degree of violence. His love for him has never gone quietly, never been something that Damien could pack away into boxes like everything else, reduce the clutter of his mind and move on with his life. Instead, he built the whole world around him, the chaotic life of a performer in Los Angeles moored by the touchstone that is Shayne Topp. Things, in a lot of ways, make a lot more sense with Shayne's tongue in his mouth. Like, at least now he knows why he never really liked any of Shayne's exes. Just thinking of it makes Damien pull away from Shayne's mouth, laughing into his best friend's shoulder. Is that still what he calls Shayne? They should probably talk about that.
"You gonna share with the class?" Shayne asks, teasing in his tone as he nuzzles his face into Damien's hair. Damien kisses the junction of Shayne's throat and shoulder.
"I guess this kinda clears up why I never liked any of your exes," he says wryly, delighting in the bark of Shayne's laughter that immediately follows.
"I mean, yeah." He could have said anything, really, for as much as Damien is paying any mind to it- Shayne has freckles on his shoulders that Damien has always wanted to count, maybe in the back of his mind somewhere always wanted to kiss, and the opportunity begets compulsion.
He traces feather-light kisses from one to the next, counting in his head with his mouth otherwise occupied. When he gets down Shayne's chest someways, he gets a giggle out of Shayne kissing one a few inches below where his armpit hair stops. When he gets to one not far from Shayne's nipple, the touch of his lips brings a gasp out of him. Another compulsion begotten by opportunity, Damien touches his mouth next to that nipple, already pebbled beneath the contact. Not wanting to take things too quickly, he abandons the journey down the route of Shayne's freckles, instead pressing kisses on his way up til he meets again with Shayne's mouth. He just brushes him with a kiss then, rolling off of Shayne and onto his back. Shayne tilts his head in question.
"How do you want to be held?" Damien asks, reminding Shayne of why they had moved to the bedroom in the first place. Half hard in his boxers, Shayne takes the pivot with admirable grace, still grinning as he pushes his way against Damien's chest.
"Like this," he says, tangling their legs together and nudging Damien until he puts his arms around Shayne's shoulders. His grip on Damien's waist is nothing to joke about either, his hands splayed possessively across Damien's lower back. Damien presses a kiss to the side of his head.
"I can do that."
#shaymien#i hope y'all like this i wrote 90% of it today in a fugue state#the hilarity of the fact that i haven't done the prompt in the middle yet so the context this ask was giving just. isn't relevant yet.#sorry katie! hope you like the fic anyway <3#mine#ask answered#prompt filled#smosh fic#rpf
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hii!! i saw that you take requests? i was wondering if i could get a taehyung fluff where they celebrate their birthday! my birthday is Dec 31 and since his is Dec 30th i wanted something along the lines of like celebrating together alone bc my bdays have always been shitty and this year was the same so i want all the fluff you can give me please <3 if your requests r closed then that’s totally fine!!! i also wanted to say ur an amazing writer and i luv ur content so much!!
𝐢𝐧 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐦:
pairing: kim taehyung x f! reader
genre: fluff || non-idol au || best friends to lovers au
summary: it was no secret that you had never been fond of your birthday, and taehyung hated that you always seemed to celebrate alone— your birthdays won’t be the only celebration each year now that taehyung’s flower has finally bloomed.
word count: 3.6k
tags/ warnings: fluff, nothing crazy, mild birthday slander, reader is an over-thinker, he calls her baby way too many times, tearful confessions
notes: I FOOKIN FINISHED ON MY BIRTHDAY LETS GO! this is my gift to all of you, my lovely readers!!
✿ ✿ ✿
Taehyung’s feeling for you were akin to a flower.
The day the two of you met, planting the seed of his budding feelings. Where you acted as the sunlight he needed to grow; wherever you were, he would follow—growing in whichever direction you were. The first signs of his seedling pushing past the surface of the soil had been months into your friendship.
Minutes after midnight and you’d been stood at his front door, cheeks washed red from the bitter winter air, almost hunched over as you catch your breath; clearly having ran, even as the clock struck 12 and a new day began. You hadn’t wavered from your mission, silently hoping that Taehyung was still awake, because even if it technically wasn’t his birthday anymore, you refused to let the magic fizzle out just yet.
“These are for you” you’d thrusted the bouquet into his chest, pretty little white narcissuses and prickly holly wrapped up in brown paper, tied ever so delicately with a white satin ribbon, where the little red berries rivalled the colour of your cheeks. Perhaps just as round, temping enough that Taehyung had to stop himself from asking to sink his teeth into your supple looking flesh.
“I looked online and it’s your birth flower” you’d told him, standing up a little taller, a little more confident when you see his blooming smile.
“You did this for me?” he asks, bearing the brunt the frigid December cold as he pulls his door open wider, fingers gentle as they close around your wrist, tugging you into the warmth of his apartment.
You nod, hands cupping around your cheeks to try and warm your face up a little. Radiator in the hall sending waves of mellowed heat your way until you could feel the tips of your toes and fingers, nose no longer icy.
Taehyung couldn’t help but smile, and you couldn’t help but think he had the prettiest smile you’d ever seen.
Always so radiant, always so expressive, always so Taehyung, that you couldn’t help but think your efforts were worth it when he looked down at you like that. The miniscule pain of scouring the city for a flower shop willing to help you late into the night, and winds that had almost knocked you over, it didn’t matter because Taehyung was smiling at you like that. Pretty-pretty Taehyung and his pretty-pretty smile.
“Thank you” he’d laughed, “Thank you so much. How about some hot chocolate to warm you up?” he’d offered, and you’d agreed, how could you not?
The stem of Taehyung’s flower had grown fast, with every free weekend the two of you spent together, the little spark of developing love had burst into rapid flames.
Taehyung didn’t mind, revelled in the fact he felt something so raw about another person, never having felt anything like this before. He’d been unsure, fumbling over himself until he found his footing, worked out what you liked and what you didn’t. A little clumsy with his growing adoration until he sat back and realised the feelings he had for you were very real. A shadow in his mind weighing the consequences of acting on his emotions, because why would he fuck this up if he already had you? Maybe not in the exact way he wanted, but it was better than not having you in his life at all.
He wasn’t above dating, had milled around in high school, experimenting with whoever he pleased but nothing would ever be able to compare to what he had for you. An inexplainable warmth that blossomed throughout his body, where delicate vines weaved around his heart and the most beautiful flowers had started to bloom. Where the more Tae learnt about you, the faster he was falling.
He’d never been a fan of the term ‘falling in love’ something a little too melodramatic for his tastes, the very thought of falling for another person less romantic than it had been painted out to be. Because if his life were to be art, then he never wanted it to be the soppy kind, where you know the end is never good and the characters of the play seemed to always live in impending doom. Where only one will come out on top and get what they want while the rest suffer.
He’d learnt falling didn’t have to be bad, falling—where you’re cushioned by clouds crafted with passion to break the fall. Where kisses taste sweeter and bare skin on skin felt electrifying. Where your mind bubbles over with thoughts of that person until you can’t help the smile that threatens to tug at your lips, and you want to make sure they’re stood by your side. Because as long as you were near, then that’s all he needed.
Taehyung’s favourite type of falling is when you work up the courage to look into his eyes. Always shying away from eye-contact, always a little fidgety when you notice him looking at you for longer than deemed proper for just a friend. He liked your eyes because you’d always been expressive, ever so easy to read, and ever so pretty.
Your outer beauty had only ever been a bonus to Taehyung, and if he had to compare your beauty to any of his favourite things, then surely, he would compare you to a freshly bloomed flower.
✿ ✿ ✿
It was no secret to Taehyung that you hated your birthday.
You’d always seemed to withdraw yourself from everyone the week before the big day, and he’d asked once, why you held so much disdain towards it, and you’d simply shrugged. Telling him you never understood the hype and never felt the need to make it a big event out of it. You never minded celebrating your friends’ birthdays, always going to family parties with well-thought-out gifts and a little skip in your step, but never held the same when it came to you.
“What are you doing here?” you open the door wider when you see its only him, fingers fiddling with handle out of nervous habit— and he watches as you rock back and forth on your heels. Clearly not expecting his arrival, and he would have called, if he didn’t already know you were home.
It’s a little out of character for him to show up to your apartment unannounced, knowing you preferred when he told you at least a few hours in advance that he was coming over, or he wanted to take you out. And as much as you hated the niggling habit of overthinking, it had never put him off, simply moulding his life around your needs as if they were his own.
Because as long as you were happy, so was Taehyung. Another strange side effect of being in love with someone he supposes.
“Can you come with me?” his hands fall out the pockets of his coat, corners of his lips tugging up into a soft smile.
You blink up at him, eyebrows furrowing, “Like— right now?”
“Yeah” he nods, feeble guilt itching under his skin. Like an invisible rash that he couldn’t get rid of, irritable in a way he wants to pull his hair out.
His palm lays flat against your door, pushing it open wider to let himself in. You don’t seem all that worried as you close the door behind him as he slips his shoes off, coat slung over the arm of your couch before he’s making himself comfortable, running a hand through his windswept hair.
He turns to you, “Go get ready, I’ll wait here”
“Where are we going?” you call over your shoulder as you wander into your bedroom, uncaring as you leave the door open.
“My place” he bends forward, trying to catch sight of you as you scuttle around your room. Always fascinated by the way you move, often painfully unaware of your surroundings. Though he doesn’t mind all that much, tips of his fingers tingling each time his hands fall over your shoulders or holding you by the waist has he help guide you, your hand held in his, so you won’t get lost in a crowd, or simply just for the sake of holding you. Your skin like a magnet, drawing him closer whenever he was near, your very existence fascinating to him that he can never seem to get enough.
“Huh?” you pause in the doorway, head tilting, and Taehyung can’t help the smile that stretches onto his face, fondness blossoming around his heart, “Why didn’t you just call me over then?”
“I have a surprise for you” he waves you off, watching as you nod, hesitant, but a small part of his heart swells at the fact you trust him enough to play into his plan even if he can see you itching to ask a million other questions. Questions he would be more than happy to answer, though he doesn’t push. Simply lets you stew in your own thoughts, trusting that you’ll kept your faith in him, stepping forward if you truly needed anything.
“But why?” you throw another sweater over your shoulder, “What should I wear?”
Taehyung pushes himself up off the couch, wandering towards your bedroom—more than equipped in knowing your home, often acting like it was his own.
“Whatever you’re comfortable with, baby”
You flinch, not having expected him to be there when you had turned around, “What are we doing?”
“I told you it’s a surprise” he croons, picking up the clothes strewn across the floor.
He folds them into neat piles at the end of your bed— ready for you to put away later as you continue your search for something to wear. Knowing that if he weren’t to do it, they would be left blanketing your floor until you worked up the motivation to finally clean up. At least this way he’d gotten your least favourite part out of the way.
“But what if I’m overdressed, worse, what if I’m underdressed?” you turn back to look at him, fingers fiddling with the hem of your shirt as Taehyung simply stares; never one to back away from prolonged eye-contact.
“Baby, I told you to wear whatever you’re comfortable with. We’re only going to my place, nowhere else if you don’t want to” he soothes, beckoning you over with a hand. And you follow, always so good for him.
You stand between his legs, looking down at Taehyung where he sits on the edge of your bed, “No matter what you wear, you’re pretty, yeah?”
Taking your hands into his own, fingers laced, Taehyung watches as your mouth opens at the gentle contact, closing abruptly when you can’t seem to find the right words to say. Mind whirring behind your eyes, and he worries he’d pushed you too far.
Hesitantly you nod, “Okay” you whisper, swallowing thickly as his thumb runs over the back of your hand.
“Well done” he squeezes your fingers before he’s nudging you back towards your closet.
He watches as you peek over your shoulder, not very subtle as you try and match what he’s wearing.
“How about we match today?” he suggests, watching the lingering anxiety leave your body as your shoulders deflate, eyes lighting up.
“Really?” you ask, grey sweatpants already held tightly in your hands and Taehyung smiles.
“Of course, baby”
✿ ✿ ✿
“Are your eyes still closed?” Taehyung asks, as he bends down, helping you slip your shoes off.
You hum, hands falling onto his shoulders to keep balance. And he suddenly becomes hyper aware of how close the two of you are, hands gentle as he holds onto your ankle, your warm skin under his fingertips electric as his heartrate picks up.
Your hands slide down his arms when he stands at full height, fingers loosely gripping onto his wrists as he pulls you further into his apartment; careful to tug you around the toys his dog had left strewn across the floor of the living room.
Your feet sink into Taehyung’s plush carpet, pitter patter of Yeontan running into the room at the sound of your giggles, warming Taehyung’s heart. Simple domesticity of the situation maybe something Taehyung had been craving; because when he had you like this, no semi high-end dining, no unobtainable expectations from the eyes of others. Simply you and him, where the world beyond his apartment meant nothing, because it didn’t matter where he was as long as he was with you.
“Here we go” Taehyung pulls his wrists from your hands, picking Tannie up, “Open your eyes, baby”
Taehyung watches as your eyes flutter open. You blink down at his coffee table, head tilting in confusion before you’re turning to him.
“What’s all this?” you ask, eyebrows furrowed.
It hadn’t been much, nothing like he would have truly planned if he didn’t know you had what could only be described as a weird hatred towards your birthday. He’d made sure to get your favourite cake, balloons taped to the walls, all those of your favourite colour—handpicked out of each pack. You eye the platter of sandwiches, and he has to hold onto Yeontan a little tighter as the dog spots whatever other of your favourite snacks he’s picked up that morning. All laid out in little bowls, where confetti had been scattered over the table like the petals of a rose.
“It’s your birthday” he urges, smile still tugging at his lips.
You nod, “I know that but, why—” you gesture to the cake, to the small giftbox, utterly overwhelmed by what you see, and Taehyung wonders briefly if he’d rocked your brain into overdrive.
“I thought we could celebrate together, I know you don’t really like your birthday, but I thought for once I’d do something for you, like you’ve done for me”
“You did all this, for me?”
And although this isn’t his best work, nice restaurant in the middle of the city ready to be called for a late reservation if you hadn’t liked what he’d prepared for you. Wallet tucked away in the pocket of his coat just in case he took you for a walk around the park where he would buy you all the treats your heart desired until your bellies were full, sleepy on the way home; and maybe he would offer to carry you.
“Of course” he nods, letting Yeontan hop onto the couch before he’s tugging you to sit at the coffee table. Knees pressed against one another as you sit adjacent to Taehyung.
You peek into the cake box, “Shut up, you didn’t buy one of those really pretty lunchbox cakes” your look up at Taehyung, eyes wide and he only grins. You stare at it in awe, purple iced flowers climbing the sides of the cake, blooming in shades of lavender and violet in gradient. Where fondant leaves weaved through bunches of flowers like wild vines.
“This is for you” he pushes the wrapped box across the table towards you. Brown paper tied off with a pretty white ribbon—little white daisy pin stuck in the centre of the bow.
He watches as you shake it. Fingers delicate as you pull the ribbon apart, dropped in a small pile beside the box of your cake, and he only expects you plan to save it for later. Scraps of long forgotten art supplies hidden in the depths of your closet for when you really needed it. Always a little bit of a hoarder, though you like to blame it on sentiment.
The tips of your fingers skim over the velvety box, a deep red with little golden stars embroidered into the fabric, “What is it?”
“Open it” his back falls against the couch, fingers thrumming across his thigh, anxious of your reaction.
You lift the lid of the box, bottom lip tucked between your teeth.
“It’s so pretty” you murmur, head lifting to meet Taehyung’s gaze.
You watch him lift his hand; matching ring sat snug on his finger. Your gaze flickers down towards the ring in the box, “They’re matching?”
“Yeah”
The corners of your lips tug up into a smile, “You’re cute” you giggle, gentle as you pull the ring out of the box, sliding it onto your finger, the same one Taehyung had his on.
“You think so?” he leans forwards, eyebrows raising in question, and he watches as you swallow thickly, “Come on, don’t be shy now” his smile is lazy, a little cocky and you can’t seem to help the heat that tickles your cheeks red.
He watches you debate whether to stay silent or not, “Yes” you breathe, tongue slipping past your lips to wet them.
“Yes what?” he urges, revelling in the way you fidget in your spot—fingers itching to pull you closer into him, moulding the two of you into one being until he doesn’t know where you end, and he starts.
“I think you’re cute”
“I think you’re cute too” he smiles, deft fingers tucking his hair behind his ear.
“You what?” you splutter, “That’s not funny, Tae”
“It wasn’t meant to be” you watch as he sits up straight, careful as he takes your hands into his own, “Why would you think I’d joke about that?”
His eyebrows crease as you let out a long sigh, “Because well, you’re—you’re you and I’m just me”
“There’s nothing wrong with you” he shakes his head.
“I’m not perfect like you, Tae” you try to pull your hands from his, no real force behind the gesture, fingers barely slipping from his grasp.
“I’m not perfect” he laughs, leaning forwards like he wanted to tell you a secret, “You are though”
You blink, “I’m not” he watches as tears glaze over your eyes.
“Come on, baby, why’re you crying” he coos, gentle as he pushes your hair out of your face.
“Because I really like you, and I feel stupid” you admit, one hand still held in Taehyung’s as the other comes to wipe your face of the tears that cascade down your cheeks.
“I really like you too” Taehyung stands, manoeuvring his way around the table, falling to his knees beside you.
“No—not that kind of like. I like like you” you cover your face with your hands.
“Hey” he calls, “listen to me”
You snivel, daring peek out from behind your hands, a new wave of fresh tears glazing your cheeks shiny as he smiles, always so soft, always so reassuring.
“I like like you too, my baby” he laughs, barely there, but the puff of breath deflates his chest, “Haven’t I made it obvious enough?”
You shake your head, “Now I feel really stupid” you cry.
“No no no” he shakes his head, cupping your cheeks, “I clearly didn’t realise either”
You hiccup, “I’m sorry”
“What for?” his eyes flit between your own.
You frown, “Crying”
“Don’t apologize for that” his eyebrows crease, fond smile pulling at the corners of his lips, “Can I kiss you?”
He watches as your eyes widen a fraction, “Yes”
His thumb brushes away a lone tear when you close your eyes, watching as a sliver of peace washes over your face. And he understands, of course he does. All the built-up tension, nights of wondering if your feelings were to ever be reciprocated, if this budding love was one sided, if it could be more than friendship—all that doubt had evaporated. Exasperated whispers of how this would never work out, suddenly silent, mind and heart free. Pure unadulterated love soaring the skies like a dove let out of a cage with no plan of ever returning, the feeling of freedom, the freedom to love you, too addicting.
Taehyung feels you smile into the kiss as his lips press against your own. Ever so soft, neither of you rushing.
Your arms slink around his shoulders, pulling his body closer to you as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss. Your lips part, gentle gasp dripping off your tongue, tacky and sweet as his hands skim down your body, pulling you in between his legs.
Albeit reluctant, Taehyung pulls away, chest heaving for air as his heart hammers against his ribcage. Your fingers skim over your bottom lip.
“One more” you whisper, hands falling from Taehyung’s shoulders to cup his cheeks like he had your own.
“Okay” he nods, hands still firmly holding onto your hips as you press your chests together, head tilting. Your thumb brushes over his jaw when your lips meet, both a little surer, a little more confident in yourselves, Taehyung teasing as his tongue prods the seam of your lips.
You grant him access, embarrassed whine following a moan as his tongue slips into your mouth—any qualms about you not sharing his feelings bubbling into a fizzy confidence.
“Does this mean you’ll say yes to being my girlfriend?” he smiles down at you, lips a little kiss swollen and shiny.
“If that’s okay with you” you nod, eyes falling onto the ring on his finger, your own glinting in the light of the setting sun that spills through the window.
Taehyung’s feelings for you were akin to a flower.
A flower that had been in the budding stage for years, love disguised as vibrance, hidden away from your eyes as to not scare you away, attracting you like a bee only hoping you’d be happy with that he had to offer. A flower that was now in bloom, because really what it was missing was you. Just wholly you who adores Taehyung as much as he does you. Two flowers blooming in the same flower field where your stems intertwine, growth from here on out together rather than alone. Because even if your petals were the same as the rest of the flowers that grew around you, what you had was special; something none of the other flowers had—each other.
“Guess this means we have a reason to celebrate your birthday every year” he leans forward, soft kiss pressed to your forehead.
🌱 feedback is always appreciated <3 and thank you for reading!
permanent tag list: @m1sss1mp @supernoonanyc
#bts fanfic#bts fluff#bts#taehyung fic#taehyung imagine#taehyung x reader#taehyung x y/n#taehyung fluff#taehyung#bts x reader#bts fic#bts taehyung#bts friends to lovers#bts non idol au#bts x female reader
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Feelin kinda down so fuck it- how about some burnt bread hcs if you got any?
If not, how about disco kid?
~ fan-mans
hope u feel better soon bro ! also HELL YEAH BURNT BREAD !!!!!!!! one of my favorites :3
so where does it all begin? well.... (under the cut bc its Long)
aran didnt actually have to use any of dirty tricks to take joe down, so they didn't start off on that bad of a foot, or a bad foot at all. (fighting is par for the course for this sport, of course.)
that being said though, you still see n hear things ab eachother, and have assumptions as a result. Aran initally sees joe as a snobby, wimpy man, and joe aran as a scary, unpredictable brute.
eventually, however, aran starts looking at joe... a little differently. he pranks him a lot because yknow. its funny. but joe doesnt seem to mind it at all... in fact, he takes his pranks really well, and it makes aran see strong joe is in a way and how much of a sense of humor he has.
joe at the other hand, noticed that aran, outside the ring, was actually fairly tame, outside of his pranks of course. it helped a lot with mellowing his perception of him. combine this joe's many hobbies and aran's try-everything attitude, and youve got the start of a click !
news of their little budding relationship spreads around the minor- and world circuit, and kaiser begins to take notice ab how joe talks ab aran, how hed normally b horrified at the prospect of him being anywhere NEAR him.
so one day, in all his eternal german grace, he says...
''well if you love him so much, why don't you two kiss, hm?''
and joe hadnt gotten that thought out of his head since.
as for disco kid hcs, ive already told most of them so ill talk ab how the minor circuit reacted to joe wanting to confess to aran instead !!
disco, albeit kinda scared of aran, is ecstatic for joe, wishes him luck and wants to know EVERYTHING about how it went afterward
i imagine hippo would be pretty whatever about it. guy isnt too concerned ab peoples love lifes. wishes him luck like disco tho.
meanwhile kaiser? ''Eh, it is your funeral''
I imagine the world circuit wouldn't be as close with eachother seeing as how theyre busier n likely more hounded by journalists, but they do know in broad terms what goes on in the lives of eachother.
so macho catches wind of aran's crush, and he basically shittalks joe to arans face
''I know everyone's standards are too high for you, but joe's just a sad bar, even for you.''
Aran, not even reacting to the dig against him, starts ranting to macho about how joe is admirable as all hell for getting back up after 99 losses, and how that must mean he has a real love and respect for the sport. He even boldly exclaims that joe arguably works harder than macho, the victories who seems to come so easily to him.
macho eventually leaves, deciding aran's not worth his precious time.
aran then turns around, and OMG HE SEES JOE STANDING THERE !!!!!
anyway he heard all about what aran said (thats right, overhearing ooc conversations and miscommunication happening is OUT, overhearing conversations and gaining respect for someone is IN), and confesses right there and then. aran, hearing prolly the most romantic speech thats ever been directed to him in his entire life, is at a loss for words. He can't say anything other than ''of course, joey.''
and thats the start of their relationship :3
as for other misc hcs that dont fit anywhere else...
one time, when cleaning out aran's jacket pockets (joe's a bit of a neat freak), he found... a bunch of lint. But also !! he found a ton of crumpled up notes. They included phrases for the ring, comedic poems... but they also had affirmations for himself, about his family, but also about joe. joe, sans the lint, left the pockets as is. ever since then though, he's felt closer to him than ever.
joe will often try to pick up aran like a princess. considering hes still decently muscled, he can do it succesfully.
joe loves baking, especially bread, but aran will ALWAYS manage to set something on fire. think spencer from icarly.
they infodump to eachother ab their respective countries histories and folk tales, joe esp ab the former n aran ab the latter.
one time, joe and aran set out for a night walk. then, they (or rather aran) thought he heard a banshee screech. what they actually heard prolly was a car tire screeching in the distance. aran, however, was never the less scared SHITLESS and ran tf home, screaming highpitched. He had to be comforted by joe all night after they got home.
aran loves going to theme parks. he loves the rush. joe, however, hates the tall rides like the rollercoasters, n prefers the calmer rides like the teacups. They have a ''goes onto the rollercoaster alone'' x ''holds the persons stuff while theyre gone'' dynamic.
they rly like singing duets together, especially after a couple drinks. wine in joe's case and beer in arans case. theyve sang at macho's parties before as well, and needless to say they make for great entertainment.
aran often sends joe cursed memes n selfies that joe just Does Not understand
''aran, i will Not hold feet with you, zat's disgusting''
''come on joey..... do ye love me or not......''
#aran ryan#glass joe#burnt bread#punch out wii#punch out#hope u enjoy charlie !!!! had a lot of fun working on these#these two make my heart warm :3#headcanons#monkey brain typing#asks#glass joe x aran ryan#aran ryan x glass joe
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Contextualizing Akihiko Kaji's 'Spiraling Era'
Falling in love with Haruki and the desire for him that came with it was the reason why Akihiko was spiraling hard after code 11. There are some pretty hard to ignore insinuations about this in the following chapters, the whole vol 3 & 4, let me break em down one by one. 👇🏽
We've seen Akihiko casually touching Haruki, especially his hair, from the moment given started, let's not forget that code 2 cover page is them in a very suggestive pose. So what Kizu's intent was with them was pretty clear from the start.
But it was kept vague until code 10. In code 10 we see Akihiko following Haruki like a lost puppy after Mafuyu's guitar string broke. And we got this sexually charged scene between them where we all were probably cheering for them to just 'kiss'.
This was the first time Ugetsu and Haruki were under the same roof so that explains why Akihiko wanted to be so close to Haruki, but more than that it explains why he wanted to feel a bit powerful by teasing Haruki who reciprocated his feelings (because) being around Ugetsu was unnerving and anxiety inducing for him, as is wont to be around one's abuser.
(Refer to these threads 👇🏽
————————
Anyways… Akihiko was aware of his feelings for Haruki during this time. He couldn't fully recognise it for what it was because of his circumstances but subconsciously he knew. Which was why we got this panel of Haruki looking back and smiling at him with the words "I am in love" etched from his view point during the first performance (like come on! 😭).
And then we got Yayoi confirming it, that she realised the same thing during this performance too, that Akihiko was indeed in love with Haruki. (which finally prompted her to give up on him)
So this was a vital point in AkiHaru budding romance, Akihiko finally somehow realizing his own feelings for Haruki which was followed by him knowing he can't have him, and probably denying the love he felt for Haruki too, or trying to reduce it to only desire or body because that's all he knew or came to think himself as.
(We got the daara daara flirting scene after the performance and Akihiko wanting to do Haruki's hair) But the most important scene during the early chapters after code 11 was the scene from code 13 where Haruki was taking pictures of a sleeping Akihiko and then wishing loudly that he had a girlfriend.
The angle of this panel is very important as the case with given is most of the time. We don't get to see Akihiko at all. We don't know if he was actually asleep or not. There's a chance that he was awake, and knew what was going on. It's kept vague on purpose.
NOW, think of this from Akihiko's point of view. Someone who always flirts back when you do, someone who is taking pics of your sleeping face exclaims loudly that they want a girlfriend insinuating that they are sexually frustrated and your pictures are just their spank bank but they don't want a relationship with you at all.
Combined with how he was treated in his last relationship and generally by most people, how he must had felt. :(
After this, we got Akihiko hooking up with an unnamed random woman and being caught by Mafuyu in code 15. This woman's hair is long and blond, very closely resembling Haruki's hair. And when he kissed this woman he touched her hair tenderly.
(These are all very subtle choices made on Kizu's part)
Then we got Mafuyu even calling him out on not actually getting mellowed out as Haruki had suggested but only keeping up a front before Haruki. And we got Akihiko smiling painfully at this. Now, this gives us pause.
Akihiko neither accepted nor denied Mafuyu's allegations. It could very well be that he actually really stopped fooling around with women because being around Haruki gave him a sense of stability. But after the realization that he was in love with Haruki while Haruki actually didn't want to do anything with him he went back to his previous ways and started choosing women who resembled Haruki in a feat to get Haruki out of his system.
(Remember in code 19 Haruki himself said that Akihiko seemed like he was back to his old self, not only Haruki, even Take Chan noticed that too as is suggested in code 18, so it's probable that Akihiko was trying to quench the desire he felt for Haruki by hooking up with whoever but it wasn't really helping him so he was spiraling pretty hard).
The next chapter(c16) Ugetsu came back and Akihiko hooked up with him too. And this part is VERY interesting. If we ignore Mafuyu's monologue which is projection on his part, then there's only Ugetsu talking, smiling, laughing, making jokes, mocking here, Akihiko is eerily silent. Ugetsu made a sexual joke, and Akihiko reacted to it sharply, as if he snapped.
We know from Akihiko's monologue from code 20 that Ugetsu coming back from tour generally meant they were going to hook up. But this is probably not how it usually happened. It probably needed a bit more coaxing on Ugetsu's part to get a reaction out of Akihiko.
Remember Ugetsu was startled by Akihiko's reaction here. Akihiko was rough with him. He grabbed Ugetsu's face roughly,
(this face grab is important methinks) and went on it almost mechanically. Ugetsu was the one trying to get a reaction out of Akihiko and failing. I think if we contextualize this scene, it's pretty safe to say that Akihiko snapped here and went straight to sex because 1) He knew what their routine was by this time. He knew what Ugetsu wanted and he didn't want to drag things on, but more importantly, 2) he was sexually frustrated with his desire for Haruki and at the end of his rope, hooking up with long haired blondes didn't work, so he tried doing it with Ugetsu. because Ugetsu was a male, was available and allegedly Akihiko was in love with him.
This theory can be further supported by the happenings of the next chapter. Namely, the car scene. This is just the day after the night AkiUge hooked up. Akihiko went to meet Haruki somehow happily (probably because he thought having sex with Ugetsu would've been enough for him to control himself around Haruki) but then, this happened. He went to grab Haruki's face here, reminiscent of how he grabbed Ugetsu's face the night before, but didn't in the end. Because he couldn't, firstly he couldn't ruin the friendship he had with Haruki, secondly, sex had become something dirty for him and he couldn't sully Haruki like that. (What prompted this reaction in Akihiko are so different in Ugetsu and Haruki's case too, Ugetsu bragging that he was so good that would've made Aki hard vs Haruki complaining that he wasn't good enough for anything! But ultimately, Ugetsu's bragging meant nothing, he was just available for Akihiko while for Haruki, it's what Aki said verbally, “everyone wanted Haruki”, everyone here being Akihiko himself, but I digress)
So he restrained himself from touching Haruki here, even Haruki noticed the palpable tension inside the car and freaked out and Akihiko didn't know how to control himself anymore around Haruki.
It was getting harder for him. Hooking up with Ugetsu didn't work either so he went back to hooking up with another long haired blonde, looking bored while he was getting a bj and then taking Haruki's call in the middle of it, probably at the end of his rope already and trying to see if Haruki's voice did something for him getting off, which probably happened.
Seeing that, this panel focusing on Akihiko touching this unnamed girl's hair while talking to Haruki, and the girl suddenly moaning, probably hinting that Akihiko finally did get aroused enough after hearing Haruki's voice.
So that kinda did indicate that the gender of his partner or the hair that he was so fascinated with didn't actually matter to him, he was very specifically yearning for a single person, body and soul, who just happened to be his only real friend, his one comfort person and with whom he couldn't risk his relationship with the most in the entire world.
He was STRESSING!
So then he went on a rampage. He went to Ugetsu first because he needed to break something there first. The one source of his torments. And then he went to Haruki's.
Reminder that the thing that set him off was the word 'girlfriend', the word he probably tormented himself with since the day Haruki mentioned wanting one.
That word had become triggering for Akihiko. And it triggered something in him alright.
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Title: Pillow Talk
Summary: Steven and Connie discuss whether or not their future will involve children.
A new short story/one-shot! I've been meaning to write this one for years now lmao. It's the second-longest short in my Jam Buds and So On collection.
If you hate external links, the short can also be found below the cut:
On the second floor of a bed and breakfast, in a near pitch-black room, two young adults laid motionless, disheveled on a too-small, full-size bed. Not a sound could be heard but the faint snoring of their large, pink-furred friend, who had, much to the pair’s apprehension, insisted upon sleeping in the same room as them.
“Would you ever want kids?” a hoarse, male voice abruptly cut through the silence.
His girlfriend, wide-eyed, glanced his way; she could barely make out his features amidst the darkness. “Where’s this coming from?” she spoke softly, nonjudgmentally, hands clasped over her own, bare chest.
He shrugged nonchalantly. “I guess it just seemed kinda, uh…”—he pursed his lips—“relevant…”
“Huh? What do you …?” she trailed off, eyebrows knitting. “Oh… ohhhh…” She slapped a sweaty palm to her forehead. ”Duh.”
He snickered, playfully brushing a foot against hers beneath the covers. “So… have you ever thought about it, Connie?”
“M-maybe… I, uh …” She searched every crevice of her mind for a clear answer; time and time again, she came up completely empty. Truthfully, she had not been expecting the conversation for another few years at least. She should’ve been more prepared, she should’ve expected this. It’s Steven, after all. “Have, uh, you ever thought about it?” Of course he has!
“Y-yes… a lot, actually,” he murmured with a slight titter. Setting his eyes upon the ceiling, he elaborated, “I have almost every day for the last few years…”
“Hm…” Connie hummed. She felt her cheeks, her everything, redden; how could she not have seen this coming? “Why’s that, biscuit?”
He paused briefly, concentrating on the vague shape of the steadily spinning ceiling fan. “Well, it’s just… being on the road, I guess,” he shrugged. “It’s given me a lot of time to think about this stuff, about my future…”—he rolled over and desperately, intimately met her eyes—“about our future.”
“Y-yeah?” Connie acknowledged shakily, anxiously… excitedly? She bit her lip with anticipation.
“And, well…” he continued, “it feels like everywhere I go, I see nothing but families. Happy families. Normal families…” he stressed, “two parents ‘n’ all. It makes me think about all the stuff I missed out on as a kid… Like, what kinda person would I be today if I’d just had a normal, human family? If my mom hadn’t secretly been alien royalty?” he tearfully chuckled. “Sure, I wouldn’t be myself, but… well, that doesn’t stop me from thinking about it, y’know?”
“Oh, Steven…” she cooed as she placed a warm, tender hand upon his bare shoulder.
He placed a mellow hand atop hers. “But, uh, anyway, I guess all that is just my long way of saying… some day, Connie, I… I want to start a family with you. I-I’ve never been so sure about something in my entire life." He began running his free hand through her greasy, tangled hair. “Me and you— er, you and I,” he corrected himself, “we could be such amazing parents. Y-you could teach our kids all sorts of interesting stuff, a-and I could heal their wounds if they ever got hurt!” He felt his cheeks flush as a broad grin made its way to his lips. “A-and—best part—they wouldn’t have any magical destinies!” he chuckled. Beads of sweat dripped down his forehead. “They could live completely normal lives. They’d go to school, have friends their age, a-and at least one of us would always be there to cook meals for them!”
Connie felt her mouth fall ever-so-slightly agape as her pupils dilated. She had no idea how she was meant to feel; this was all so new to her. The way her boyfriend described it, the prospect of parenthood sounded so exciting. But… it also sounded like endless responsibility, something which became harder and ever-so-harder to think about as her upcoming exams slipped into her thoughts.
She supposed she had always been open to the idea of having children; she never would’ve even considered dating Steven had she not been. The very idea, though, of bringing new life into the world, of being wholly responsible for said life, had always seemed like a major commitment to her, one which she could never consider lightly.
“And, if you wanted, we could even adopt!” Steven energetically added. “I know a whole lot of people hate the idea of pregnancy; I would never put you through it if you didn’t want me to—well, if I’d even be able to put you through it, biologically ‘n’ all.” His forehead puckered, despite his best efforts to hide his restlessness. “I-I could get that tested, though: I’ve researched it! I’d just have to mail a few samples to a lab and …” he trailed off before shaking away his train of thought. “I, uh, think you get it,” he chuckled breathily, sweatily. He then pulled away from his girlfriend, maintaining eye contact as best as he possibly could. “So, uhm… w-what do you say, Connie? B-be honest with me, please.”
‘Wait for that special someone before you have kids,’ her mom would always tell her, coincidentally starting around the same time she met Steven. She had come around to him over the years, though, even going so far as to make him an ‘honorary member' of the Maheswaran family.
What her mom, what anybody else, thought, though, simply didn’t matter right now. She had to make this decision for herself, and she already knew what her heart of hearts wanted her to say…
As his girlfriend’s silence crept upon two minutes long, Steven felt the last remnants of his smile fall. “Y-you know what,” he muttered, eyebrows lowered, “j-just forget about it. We can talk about it some other time.” It took every ounce of his will to prevent his skin from glowing. “I-I’m really sorr—”
“After I get my bachelor’s at Jayhawk,” Connie abruptly interrupted, “a stable job, a house… and maybe with some help from your dad and my parents…” she diligently laid out, “then… well…” she giggled through a dimpled smile, “there should be some room in the agenda.”
Steven felt his entire body suddenly light up with emotion. His breathing hastened tenfold as he felt himself start bouncing up and down on the mattress. Grabbing his girlfriend’s shoulders, tears pricking at his eyes, he near-shouted “C-Connie, is that a 'yes'!?”
#steven universe#connverse#connie maheswaran#fanfiction#su#steven quartz universe#steven x connie#connie x steven#su fanfiction
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Then Because She Goes
I wake up, love you, so love you, love you
★ Chapter 5 of 15, 4926 words
★ Matty Healy x Original Female Character
★ warnings: alcohol consumption
<< 4
25 December, 2018
The holidays were celebrated peacefully and with tons of food, in the Manansala family. Este’s mum and dad spent the day cooking all of her favourite Filipino food for an early Christmas dinner, then enjoyed a classic roast dinner the next afternoon on Boxing Day.
Well-fed and happy to be back home to hang out with their family dog Dano (a mellow golden retriever, named after Este’s obsession with the film Little Miss Sunshine), she had a relaxing holiday. And, as much as the regressive feeling of staying in her childhood house sort of stressed her out, Este took advantage of her last couple of days off of work by not making many plans.
That was until she got a message from Matty. He always hopped around for Christmas, since his own friends and family were messily dispersed between London and the north countryside. He and the rest of the band were allowed a holiday break from rehearsals, so he spent late December basking in the calm before the storm. Matty knew he’d eventually be in Manchester with some free time. So, he decided to send Este a text.
Their conversation had graduated to iMessage after Matty suggested the idea that night in Kingston. As nice as their budding friendship had been, he found himself thinking of Este with affection. How she could make him laugh both on purpose and by accident, the way her hair sat lazily on the edges of her face, her love for books and her skill for allowing other people to experience what she feels when reading them.
So, he considered maybe asking her on a date. But the idea of that scared Matty—the formality of asking, the possibility of rejection. When trying to assume if she felt the same way, he was coupled with uncertainty, but he reached out anyway.
Este
Tue, 25 Dec at 13:02 PM
Merry Christmas x
Free to grab coffee on the 28th? 6 ish?
I’ll be in town that evening, if u are up for it
Only a couple of messages were sent between them since the album release party. Este, of course, showered him in flattery after first listening to it, whole-heartedly impressed by his work. Since Matty’s drunk words were sober thoughts that night, he really did care about Este’s opinion of him. He bubbled with joy when reading her messages. If she was telling the truth, that is. But Matty didn’t take her as a liar.
It had been busy for both of them; Matty was doing press for the month following A Brief Inquiry’s release and rehearsing for tour, while Este, Sam, and Oliver were dealing with the pre-holiday retail craziness. With that in mind, Matty was surprised to get a fairly quick response from her.
Este
Tue, 25 Dec at 14:10 PM
28th is my first day back to work :( off at 8 as usual
But we can do something afterwards if that's not too late?
And Merry Christmas to you too x hope you’re enjoying a break from the craziness
I am thank you !
I could just come by and hang out while u work bc I love it there Lol
Unless it’ll be busy I can just meet you there after close
That would be lovely! It’s always super slow the week after Christmas anyway
Everyone’s too busy raiding the big shops for the sales
ok cool I’ll probably show around 6:30
I need to chat to ur face about the album too :P
You’ve said enough about the album Este bloody hell
I don’t think I can take another compliment
Ego been fed enough lately?
Yeah actually thanks
Trying to learn how to be humble
Thank god x
✴ 28 December, 2018
A bay of colourful spines stared at Este as she stood in the Teen Fiction section trying to help a middle-aged mum find a book for her daughter. Every fragment of her teenage memories that popped into her mind felt outdated or not the right fit for the customer.
“I find that she’s rarely challenged with the books she reads, you know? I want her to really fall into the trance of a novel, have it leave an effect on her. I don’t think a book has done that for her yet,” the mum explained passionately.
Este thought back to the moments she felt that way for a book. One she read a couple of years ago—when she was definitely too old to do so—came up. Its heavy subject matter and vast symbolism and imagery struck her. Her hands picked the familiarly bright blue book.
“This one’s called Challenger Deep. I read it well into my twenties, but it explores topics I think other teen fiction writers refuse to explore. A little heavy, but for the right purpose. I think your daughter would love it, if she feels really deeply, like me.”
The mother, Orla, spent another 25 minutes chatting with Este about the intensity of being a teenager in the state of the world. A phenomenon the book shop worker never got sick of was getting a peek into the lives of the people of Manchester. Este felt like every time someone new walked into the shop, she got to know her city a bit better.
“Thank you again, Este. You’ve been lovely,” said Orla after checking out the novel for her daughter. Her boots then stepped out of the shop and into the breezy evening air.
The quiet day continued, piles of books slowly getting sorted through and reorganised. Matty, of course, was on her mind. Este watched the clock as 6:30 neared, but no text came through from him yet. She was hoping he wouldn’t catch her while deep in conversation with another customer, or (embarrassingly) struggling to carry a stack of books.
Once 6:50 rolled around, Este finally heard from him.
matty
Fri, 28 Dec at 18:49 PM
Sorry im already late
Just left late tbh
Lol ur fine
Do you like bubble tea??
You realise I’m Asian right???? course I like bubble tea
and you don’t have to bring anything! I’m okay
Omg you’re asian I would have ever guessed
Shut up and tell me your order
Matcha milk tea with pearls pls
Thank you xx
Ok gonna be even more late now but u know why so
Matty didn’t end up walking through the front door until quarter past seven. “There he is,” commented Este.
He held the two bubble tea drinks, one in each hand, raising them both in celebration. “I made it,” he said, handing her the green one. “Only 40 minutes late!”
After thanking him, Este took hers to the counter to set it down and puncture the top with the pointy side of the straw. Matty did the same. She looked at his drink, taking note of its purple colour. “You like taro?”
He looked at her, confused. “Yes? Should I not like taro?”
A laugh escaped from her lips and she shook her head no. “You should. I love taro. Just surprised, that’s all,” she admitted without elaborating.
“You’re surprised because I’m white and uncultured and should be picking, like, strawberry or something, aren’t you?”
“I didn’t say that.”
✴
Matty carried over a metal stool from the back room to set it next to the one Este sat on. Together, they sat behind the counter, sipping on their teas and chewing up the boba.
“Can you let me say one more thing about the album? So I can just get it out and then move on?” asked Este. Matty sat on her left, fidgeting with the spinning seat of his stool, swivelling back and forth over and over; while she sat still and faced him fully.
“Okay, fine. This is your last chance.”
She smiled, happy to be able to get her last point out. “My favourite track isn’t Love It If We Made It, like you’d think.”
“Really? What is it then?”
“I Couldn’t Be More In Love.”
Matty looked back at her for a second, shocked. “Tell me why.”
“It sort of feels like being down on your knees and screaming at the sky. And it sounds really guttural. Your voice carries with so much urgency. I love its composition too, with the twinkly 90s sounding keys and saxophone solo and key change. It has all the elements of a standard, a perfected and refined sound—that almost holds down the rawness of the vocal.”
His swivelling gradually slowed to a halt as Este spoke. She had pointed out every aspect of the song that Matty loved, while her hands gesticulated in front of her, helping her process her own thoughts. Every word she used felt carefully chosen and placed strategically. It was refreshing.
“You know,” Matty started, with a smile of gratitude hanging from his mouth. “I recorded that vocal, like, a day before I went to rehab. So there was this hopelessness to them, and to be honest I sang it better after I got out. But it just felt right, so we left ‘em.”
“That makes me like it even more,” Este replied shortly, chewing more pearls and looking at him with admiration. She sensed he had more to say, so she let him continue.
“And not many people know, but it isn’t about a girl or romantic relationship. I wrote it about the idea of, like, what happens if all of this disappears—when nobody cares. Getting to do this thing, writing music, and having it personally affect people and being able to keep making more. It’s genuinely the one way I make sense of the world. Not even the fact that I have that vehicle to process my emotions but just knowing that it’s there. What happens when I’m not sure it’s there anymore?”
She let the information sit between the two of them for a beat. “Things always make sense when you’re the one explaining them.” They smiled at each other. “It’s comforting. Makes me feel hopeful. Like, if someone understands themself in this way then maybe one day I will too. An understanding deep enough to remain curious.”
He laughed, swishing around the straw in his close to empty bubble tea. Setting it down on the counter, Matty’s feverish hands reached for something else to twiddle with. A stack of sticky notes was in his hands, now ripping the yellow sheets into skinnier strips and connecting them end to end to make one long piece.
“When I listened the first time, I obviously thought it was about a relationship. So it made me think of an ex of mine,” Este mentioned hesitantly, watching Matty toy with the paper, nervous to bring up what she was about to. “It was my first time, like, actually being in love. So after things didn’t work out, it was so hard for me to grasp just not loving her anymore. When all I’d done the whole time was love her. So that whole, ‘What about these feelings I’ve got?’ thing really hit me.”
Matty paused for a second, having a quick panic internally. Is Este gay? I thought Cate was the gay one. It was embarrassing to imagine beginning to pursue someone not interested in him, let alone anyone of his gender. If that was the case, their friendship would be just fine the way it is—but his infatuation felt too far gone to reverse.
“That’s kind of where that line came from. And what I want people to feel when they listen. But when I thought about what it means to me, it wasn’t romantic at all,” he said. “Have you loved anyone since then?”
“No. Not in the same way. The true bisexual experience is having a huge pool of humans you could be attracted to and then not liking any of them. At least for me,” Este responded, bringing a light-heartedness back into her speech. Matty relaxed in reassurance and joined her in laughter. Bi. Good. Phew, even. “Was it easy? Figuring out your sexuality, I mean?”
She got up to walk over to the door and bolt it shut, flipping the sign to read ‘closed’. “In a way. Growing up, I thought the feelings I had for girls weren’t the same as the ones I had for boys, just because I thought they had to be different. Even though I knew they were there. And then I grew up—learning more and more—and things started to make sense. But it was never fully easy, or linear. Or definitive.”
She sat back down, continuing to watch Matty fold up the ripped paper. He brought one end of the strip of paper up and around itself. Using his fingers to flatten it, a small pentagon was formed, and he took the remaining length of paper to resume folding.
“That’s sort of what I find so difficult about it,” he admitted. “So many people over the years have taken what I say about my sexuality and construed it to mean something concrete—when that’s just not how I see it.”
His thumb nail, one by one, made small creases in each side of the flat chunk of paper to create the recognisable five points of a star. Matty set it down, now complete, on the counter and slid it over to Este. She picked it up and rolled it in her fingers, replying while studying it and bringing it close to her face. “It’s for sure frustrating when people think they know you better than you know yourself.”
Matty grabbed another couple of sticky notes to start another star. “I’m kind of envious of people like you, you know. Who have it figured out. I have such a hard time letting myself truly feel things that I find myself coming millimetres close to understanding myself in a different way than before and then I just pull away at the last minute. Just in fear of not liking what I discover, or looking stupid. Which I should stop being scared of.”
“I don’t have it all figured out, not even a little bit.” Este ripped up a few papers to try and copy him but she failed. No words had been shared between them about the technique, since they were busy conversing, so she only had the visual aid of Matty making another in front of her. She gave up, letting him just hand over the second one for her to hold. “You being aware of that fear is enough understanding in itself, in my opinion.”
They sat quietly for a couple of seconds, Este finishing her last few sips of tea and tossing the empty cup into the bin. “Is that what Sincerity Is Scary is about? That fear?”
He looked at her, nodding to confirm her question. “The stupidity of that fear.”
“Wow, I should become a music journalist or something,” she joked, shocked that she got it right.
“Don’t get too ahead of yourself, darling.”
Matty made more stars as their conversation persisted. He varied the width of every strip of paper to make ones of all sizes. A pile of yellow origami accumulated. Este watched, still not understanding how it was done. She found it endearing—and quite cute—to witness the attention and effort he was putting into the mundane craft.
“You hungry?” she asked, finding a lull in their discussions.
He glanced up at the clock, seeing its hands pointing at 10:07pm. “Always,” agreed Matty. “In the mood for something specific?”
Este remembered that she had walked to work that afternoon, after lending her car to Cate for the day while hers was getting serviced. So, she considered places within walking distance from Greenhouse. “Piccadilly Tavern does some good food. Just down the road,” she suggested.
“Sounds good to me.”
They gathered Matty’s collection of stars into the corner of the counter, while Este secretly hoped Sam would leave them there for her to be able to collect them again tomorrow, and then put on their jackets. His bubble tea was now empty and in the bin alongside hers.
Small clicks were heard while the two walked around the shop to turn off the lamps. Then, they were out the door one after the other, Este locking up behind them, and taking off to the pub. Matty extended his arm, bent at the elbow, towards her. She noticed—confused at first—but eventually wrapped her own around it and came close to the warmth of his body. The air sat at a chilly 5°C, but it didn’t feel that way when they had the other so close.
As the pub neared, Matty and Este observed its packed nature from the outside window. They had both forgotten the state of pubs on Friday nights.
“I honestly don’t think we’ll even physically fit inside,” he said as they paused before the door. Their arms were still linked. Este had to stop herself from accidentally stepping on Matty’s foot.
“I’d suggest another place, but they do a great margherita pizza here and it’s kind of all I can think about right now,” she confessed.
He chuckled. “We can takeaway?” Matty pulled the door open, and she went in, approving of his suggestion.
The wait for a pizza to share was only 15 minutes and Este left her number to get a call when they were ready; so they sat on the curb outside to avoid the bustling building. Despite him protesting, she paid for the food. Matty had already bought the drinks from earlier, so Este argued that it only made sense for her to cover dinner. He gave in.
“Oh, I have news for you,” Matty mentioned vaguely.
Este was curious. “News?”
“Yeah. I finished On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous last night.”
“Go on! How do you feel?” she eagerly pushed. Matty dragged out his thoughts with silence to build suspense, making her writhe in impatience. Este shoved his shoulder with hers to try and get his words out faster. “Seriously, if you have anything bad to say about this one I might have to walk away right now. That’s a warning.”
“I think it’s my favourite piece of fiction I’ve read in the past three years.”
✴
The pub rang Este about their ready-to-go pizza in the middle of their conversation about On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous. They talked about Vuong’s words and what made them so poignant, and Matty even claimed that her annotations benefited his reading experience (and embarrassing her by referencing some of her notes verbatim).
Matty offered to go inside to fetch their takeaway and carried it for the entirety of the walk to her flat, after they decided it was more sensible to go there rather than camping out in Greenhouse after hours. Plus, she knew that Cate would be staying over at Georgia’s for the night, so they’d have the place to themselves. By the time they got up to Este’s door, the food was still hot, since her flat was only a short walk from The Piccadilly Tavern.
“Must be nice to live in this area. To be within walking distance to your work and all of the shops around Piccadilly and everything,” commented Matty.
“Yeah. It's busy, though. And it makes it too easy to just stay in my little bubble and never leave.”
She held the door open for Matty and the pizza box to squeeze through, and he set it on the dining room table.
“When I was in my early twenties—living here—I wouldn’t have ever wanted to leave,” he admitted.
Their jackets came off.
“Water okay with you?” she asked, jug in hand. “It’s either that or wine. Choose wisely.”
He opened up their takeaway, positioning the pizza so that they could share it, and then took a seat. “I mean… I’ve got no plans in the morning that a hangover could disturb. Do you?”
Este paused to think and then turned to pull on the handle of the drawer beneath the microwave, pulling out a corkscrew. Matty laughed at her non-verbal answer to his question and graciously accepted the glass of red she poured for him.
Their first bites of pizza hit the spot. Este wasn’t lying when she said the Tavern did a great margherita. They spent a couple of minutes eating, with small portions of conversation squeezing between their mouthfuls of pizza.
“So what’s next year looking like for you? Touring the world?” she asked, stopping at her third slice.
“Yeah, pretty much.” Matty wiped his mouth with a napkin before continuing. “We start with the UK in early January, bit of a break in February. Then, hopefully the Brits—if we’re nominated. Off to South America for some festivals, then Coachella and US tour through to June maybe? Coming back over during the summer for Big Weekend and a bunch of European festivals. Summer Sonic in Japan, Reading and Leeds. Australia and then Asia—I think ending it off with more US dates. All while writing and recording the next album, too.”
Este’s mouth hung open, struggling to conceptualise his crazy schedule. A whole year of travelling? Non-stop? It seemed impossible to her. She realised that it’s Matty’s job and that he’d done it before, so it must not be as scary to him. “Wow,” was all she could mutter out.
“Yeah, I know,” he said with a chuckle.
“I don’t know if I’d survive that.”
“I barely did, last cycle. Did a bunch of smack, and stuff.” He sipped his wine and laughed. The glass was close to empty now. “But it’s worth it in the end."
She dusted the powdery flour accumulating on her fingertips into the corner of the box, considering the fact that it may be the last time she saw Matty for a while. It unexpectedly saddened Este. Conversing over text was fun and friendly, but moments like that first night; sitting on the couch and sipping beers in her flat, or drunkenly shouting at each other over the music in Kingston, and making origami stars behind the counter at Greenhouse, all made her realise how great his company was. Her attachment grew. Would their connection sustain through the year he was away? Does he even want it to sustain? she pondered.
“I’ll have to write down that crazy schedule on paper to break the news to my nan that you can’t attend her party,” Este joked.
“When is it?” Matty asked.
She could see a glimmer in his eye. Oh god. He wants to come, she thought. “No,” denied Este. “You’re not coming.”
A smile grew on his face as he realised she was onto his intent of asking. “Come on. Tell me when it is,” he insisted, playfulness evident in his voice.
“You’ll be on tour, Matty. I’m not going to make you show up to a banquet hall to celebrate my nan and granddad’s anniversary.”
“It’s not ‘making me show up’ if she told you to invite me and if I want to go,” Matty argued.
Este covered her face in embarrassment, with her elbows resting on the table in front of her, in disbelief that he wanted the information out of her. She spoke a ‘no’ but it was muffled by her hands in front of her mouth. He reached forward, pulling them away to reveal her face. In a flustered state, he noticed her mouth twitching up and down to try and stop a smile from showing up. Matty’s eyes found hers. He put on the biggest, corniest smile he could; eyes squinting, cheeks flexed, all teeth on display. Este couldn’t help but let her smile escape, Matty succeeding. She let out a laugh.
“9th of February. Saturday,” she gave in.
Racking his brain for the specifics, he realised that the 9th was when he’d be off, after the UK leg and before South America. Matty couldn’t believe the coincidence, laughing to himself in bewilderment. “I’ll be in London.”
“For a show?”
“No. Home. Off, free. Perfect time to attend a dinner and dance event held in a banquet hall.”
She looked at him in disbelief. “Be serious please, Matty.”
“I am.”
Este shook her head, deciding to avoid the conversation and pouring them both another glass instead. And then she poured another, and another. It neared two o’clock in the morning, the both of them lounging comfortably on the couch together. The bottle of red was empty, a beer sat in front of each of them on the coffee table, and they were passing a now second and half-smoked joint back and forth. Crossed out of their minds, the previously deep and thoughtful conversations from earlier in the night were long gone.
Matty found himself doing things like explaining, in detail, the (objectively, according to him) correct way to put shoelaces into a pair of Converse; which he didn’t know he was so passionate about until he caught himself talking about it for far too many minutes. Este happily listened, equally as tipsy and high as him, shooting back with random tangents of the same minuscule relevance. It was the most fun each of them had all week.
The influence in their system along with the late hour of the night forced any remaining walls between them to falter. Este reached and touched his knee in laughter a few too many times to go unnoticed by Matty. He watched her eyes linger at the ink on his forearms that poked out of his cotton shirt while he blabbered. Her hands constantly reached up to flip the gold dragonfly hanging around her neck, but she always did.
Likewise, she caught sight of him breaking eye contact more than ever before. It looked like he was looking down at her lips, but she wasn’t sure. The curls on Matty’s head were disturbed by his fidgety hands every few seconds. Este thought it looked nice when they were messy so she wouldn’t dare complain.
“I feel like there's wet concrete behind my eyes when I try to close them and open them again,” he said to nobody in particular, obviously tired.
“That was a weirdly descriptive way to say your eyelids are heavy.”
“Yeah I know, but that’s what it feels like.” Matty clicked the power button on his phone and read the time. It was past three now. He flipped it around to show Este. “I think it’s bedtime.”
She stood up, reaching into the basket of miscellaneous throw blankets that sat in the corner of her living room and tossing one to Matty. It landed directly on top of his head and made him giggle. They were both smart enough to know that there was no way Este would let him leave this late, so she didn’t bother even asking him to stay.
“Don’t be alarmed if you hear me get up a million times during the night. Wine makes me wee,” she warned with a slight slur to her speech.
“Noted.” Matty untied his shoes to remove them before pivoting his legs onto the sofa where Este was previously sat, laying flat. “Thank you for the pizza. And wine, and weed. And for letting me stay over.”
“You’re welcome. Now you know what I get up to on Friday nights.” She took a cushion from the opposite end, near his feet, and then walked back to where his head sat. Standing behind the arm of the sofa, Este lifted his head to place it underneath. He looked up at her and uttered a small ‘thank you’.
She smiled back and laughed. “Your face looks silly when it's upside down.”
He wanted to pretend to be offended but he was too tired to carry out the bit.
Este continued to potter around the flat, still wanting to clean up after their night by putting the scattered bottles and glasses near the sink and closing the pizza boxes from the table. When it was tidy, she made her way back over to Matty. “You’re okay with sleeping here? On the sofa?”
He nodded, barely awake. “Of course. Don’t worry about me, I’ll knock out as soon as I close my eyes,” he assured her. Este was about to turn towards her room when Matty grabbed her hand to stop her first. “Wait, before I forget. On Beauty and Being Just.”
She raised her eyebrows. “On beauty and being just what?”
“It’s an essay you should read. Been on my mind all night but I couldn’t remember the title and it’s only just now come back to me.”
Este promised to read it but was unsure if she’d remember what was called in the morning. Walking away, she switched off the big light, before the two of them said a final goodnight. Not bothering to change her clothes, she fell asleep soundly.
6 >>
#matty healy#the 1975#matty healy fanfiction#matty healy x oc#the 1975 fanfiction#matty healy fic#tbsg#Spotify
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Someone sent this ask to a blogger I like and they didn't bite, so I WILL
Gotham dream blunt rotation as rated:
Poison Ivy might seem an obvious choice at first, but she swears she can still hear the plant screaming inside your blunt, so if she isn't already hitting you dead the vibe has been killed: 3/10
Catwoman would steal all your weed and wrap a tighter blunt then you can imagine she would bring out wine spritzers and cheeses as the snack so it's fun but you will have to go buy a new ⅛ as soon as you leave, you will be starting to crush on her but she will talk about batman the whole time: 7/10
Harley Quinn would make those crazy ass joints that are like spider shaped and she would get toasted but youd get so couchlocked it'd be like a million years passed when you come to she's smoking a second spider and you have hyena drool on you: 5/10
Kite Man rips huge beefy clouds of smoke, spends half his evil plan budget on buying a gravity bong, has a shitty hideout in his parents basement, but his mom is really nice and can out-rip her son and she would bring some apple slices and water down for snacking: 6/10
Two-Face would have been a total weenie as Harvey pre accident and never touched the stuff, but after he will occasionally light up because he enjoys how both of his sides will shut up and he can think for a second. Doesn't care if it's shitty buds or premo flower it's whatever the nearest lackey has so you will be hacking up a lung either way. Spends the whole time telling you to be quiet when you try to chat: 4/10
Bruce would suck the only people he might be good in a rotation is wonder woman and superman, anyone else he is just silent the whole time and ignoring everyone to look at his phone, will sometimes double and triple hit before passing: 3/10
Stephanie stole her dad's weed as a teenager and is really bad at rolling blunts, but if you tease her, she will finger taze you, would have a whole set-up for a rotation set up with pillows and candles and bowls of chips, she either gets very mellow or gets really wild so it's a flip for if you're going to watch pirated movies or go roam the aisles of walmart: 8/10
Tim would act like a weed conneisur since Stephanie lit him up, but he'd be the type of guy you could give a weed a fancy name and sell it for $50 extra and he wouldn't even blink, rarely rotates but if he does he is punctual and never double hits, will ramble on and on about computer specs and graphic cards, will give you the last hit even though he wants it: 6/10 but only because sometimes Tim gets weird vibes
Alfred hits weed made for elephants its so strong he does it for muscle and joint pain at night so he won't share ever and if you ask he will act like he has no idea what you're talking about, if somehow you can get him to share it will be in the form of a weed cookie and when I tell you they're strong you will be seeing god: 0/10 or 7/10 depending
Jason tried marijuana but didn't like how it made his head feel and his hands shake and he could barely read so it pisses him off. If the blunt in question was a joint made of more tobacco than weed than he might sit in, but otherwise he is video taping other people being fools for future blackmail: 2/10
Dick smoked major weed with the Teen Titans when they were all a team the first time, he has exquisite taste but won't overpay but gets solid middle of the road shit everytime so you won't be ass blasted, but you will be laughing more which is why he loves rotations the communal act of passing, leaning in close to people, everyone getting loose and happier, he loves it and will totally make everyone custom snack plates: 10/10
Cass would try it with Steph or Dick, but she wouldn't like it in the end, would be a big fan of edibles though she'd like the floatiness and using it for sleep: 0/10 but not for lack of effort
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Your Louis/Armand headcanons my goddd you get them so well 🤌🏼 despite the fact that they built Trinity Gate together and lived there for over a decade I’ve always seen them as more of an Upstate couple yk, the poster boys of cottage core/sad girl autumn, all cozy sweaters and giant scarfs and piles of books and fireplace cuddles. To their Upstste neighbors they’re this impossibly beautiful gay couple with a slight age difference (not the kind of age difference that would really get people talking though). The auburn haired one is a little standoffish at times and the brunette one has to pull him by the arm so they can say hi to the neighbors during their nightly walks. Louis insists they leave housewarming gifts by their neighbors’ doors whenever someone new moves in (it’s usually an apple crumble pie they get at Trader Joe’s, with a little card in Louis’ handwriting). Armand rolls his eyes at first but he secretly loves and craves the attention people give him and Louis together (“see Lestat? You’re not the only one turning heads with him by your side”). People start noticing they don’t really talk to each other a lot and seem to communicate with looks which they think is incredibly romantic but really it’s just them quoting erotic literature bangers back and forth in their heads . It’s the type of thing they don’t have the opportunity to do with their disaster blonds so they make the most of it whenever they’re together. Them getting away from all the noise and the people and the expectations and just having the opportunity to decompress together in a little (ridiculously expensive and meticulously designed ofc) Upstate love nest is my JAM 🥹 xoxo DA 💋
Awww DA, always so nice to see you! 🥰 I apologize for taking a minute—I've been outside roasting like a little lizard now that summertime has arrived here on the East Coast (apparently... I don't question it).
YES you get it, they're such an autumn couple! A 'season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, close bosom-friend of the maturing sun' (Keats; Louis would approve imo).
Armand and Daniel to me are much more summer, with humid late nights, beaches, and just the exciting highs of life. Lestat and Armand are spring, I think... renewal, rebirth, and hope (literally if we think about what Lestat represents to Armand).
It's so funny to consider how much practice Louis and Armand must have blending in, like I wonder what their neighbors on the Upper East Side think of them... what's the cover story there?
Louis is such a gentleman, he would so be the one introducing himself to the entire village! (Because rumors get started real quick in those sleepy little towns where not much happens, best to nip it in the bud). LMAO at the age difference 😭 Louis probably skates right under the radar at an entire twenty-five years old (RIP, Danny). Armand deserves to have Louis be his trophy husband from time-to-time, and in a childish sort of way, it soothes some of his insecurities that must stem from knowing their kind sees Louis as Lestat's consort first and foremost.
PLEASE tell me more about this erotic telepathic foreplay. 👀 I'm not ready or maybe I am for Louis to go all James Joyce on Armand (iykyk, otherwise shush) but he must've made him blush at least once right over the Headless Horseman Bridge. 🥹
*btw thought you might be into the L/A/D snippet I posted last week 💖 I'm a disgrace and don't have anything new to share since, but I hope to get back to it after banging out a kink meme prompt rip
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Because I'm stoned and horny and lonely:
Bucky has just moved into the compound, he's working on himself.
Your entire living quarters is to the opposite of his. However, you can still hear him at night. His nightmares.
One night you're mellowing out, smoking some super good bud you were able to get on your last mission out of country, when you hear him.
Youve built a bit of a friendship with him. You found him so damn attractive, even when Youd witnessed him lose control. So it isn't odd of you to check on him. You decide to try to offer a remedy to his issue, so you bring your bong and bud with you.
Fast forward to him having you straddling him, his fingers resting on your hips. You press your lips gently above his, a barley there kind of kiss, and exhale everything into his mouth.
Bucky doesn't get it as quickly, but after a few bowls he's feeling it, and you're completely roasted, making you way too familiar.
And then Bucky is kissing you without needing anything. He's just doing it to do it. A proper kiss.
And he's humping against you, nipping and sucking at your jaw. You're both so torturously in need of each other.
Maybe it doesn't end as sex the first time. Each encounter going farther.
However these nights become more frequent, bucky does sleep after. Quite well actually.
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Arian discusses with Dijon her discomfort of seeing her future father-in-law with no clothes on.
ARIAN: I mean, is this a thing? Or...
DIJON: Honestly? I dunno, he’s not been living here for long so, I have no clue!
DIJON: Look, do you want me to have a talk with him?
ARIAN: Would you? I’m not a prude Deej, but that is just kind of icky, you know?
DIJON: Oh I totally know! It’s not pleasant seeing your dad wandering around butt naked either!
ARIAN: It’s pleasant when it might be you...for me I mean! *giggle*
DIJON: Maybe when we’re all alone, my parents still live here, but that won’t be forever! *wink*
Meanwhile Scarlet takes a different view of Mellow letting it all hang out...
SCARLET: My my, you are happy to see me! But please will you cover up? Our son lives here!
...but she has a reputation to uphold, and a son to appease! So she’s nipping this in the bud!
MELLOW: Okay, all you had to do was ask!
MELLOW: But first...
MELLOW: ...zzzzzzzZZZZZ!!!
DIJON: Dad? We need to...talk-just great! *sigh*
After his nap, Mellow let’s his little guy feel the breeze once more...
...he has every intention of putting on some clothes...
...but being naked makes him sleepy, it would seem, and nap time is far more important than underpants!
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#notsoberry#ts4 not so berry challenge#ts4 not so berry#ts4 nsb#sims 4 not so berry challenge#sims 4 not so berry#sims 4 nsb#the sims 4 not so berry challenge#the sims 4 not so berry#the sims 4 nsb#not so berry challenge#not so berry#nsb#nsb Rose#nsb gen 2#Scarlet Rouge#Mellow Dior#Dijon Dior#Arian Ash
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wait i meant to ask 5 and 6
5 and 6; How do they/often do they argue, and how do they make up?
They butt heads and bicker, but rarely is there actual anger, heat. Gage and Florence think too similarly and have the same principles, so it's rare they fight.
An angry Gage is a louder, foul-mouthed, moron. An angry Florence is cold, condescending, venomous. They hit below the belt. Gage insults with painful honesty, Florence critiques with nasty, nasty accuracy.
I've said before a few times that Gage is smart and self-aware enough to know when he's angry, and to know that him being angry is not productive. So he will, at some point, realize what he's doing, shut up, and walk away. Florence doesn't go after him.
Florence might not be cooled off by the time Gage is, but when he's ready, skulks back to her and...God, it's like watching someone pull their own teeth out with a spoon, but Gage does the damn thing. He says sorry, he's an idiot, she has a point, she always does.
Gage is the one who apologizes first not because Florence thinks she doesn't have to, but because part of her backstory/their getting-together involved her incredibly abusive husband. Florence has been through much nastier shit, but she just...going after an angry man who was terrible to her is not something she can do, not anymore. Gage gets that. Its why he feels like shit.
They try again with more care after mellowing out, going back to normal.
After a few arguments like this, Florence starts picking up on when Gage is getting heated, and backs down, tells him nope, this isn't going anywhere. Nips that shit in the bud. Gage walks off not because he's fuming, but to take a breather, think productively. So,, their first few arguments are the worst, and then things just get easier and healthier from there. Gage tunnel-visions on working on his temper, because God knows he is not going to be anything like her dirtbag ex. He's already gone way too fucking far as is. He'd never hurt her, but Gage doesn't trust himself. He wouldn't, couldn't, but he refuses to bet on that. Flora knows he's nothing like that; she wouldn't argue with him if he was.
But Gage works on his shit, develops as a person (hallelujah), even uses fucking coping mechanisms that Curie always pesters him about.
As for making up...honestly, they just need to chill. Make dinner, go to bed, back to normal. If it was really bad, Florence will cling to him, hide under his chin and rub his shoulders. He lets her because she needs it, too. Plays with her hair, traces shapes with the freckles on her back. Fighting exhausts the hell out of them, and afterwards, they're just...done with it? Okay, that was crap, throw all that away, we'll try again later. They both get so annoyed with themselves and each other that it unites them. Its paradoxical but they make it work. They even laugh about it sometimes. "I can't believe I compared you to your parents. I've never even met them!" "I can't believe I fell for it!"
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For the ask game, orchid and chamomile?
Hi! I was hoping someone would say orchid, purely because the one I bought back in October has been blooming since New Year’s!! (It’s got three flowers!!! and one bud still to open!!!)
Orchid ⇢ What’s a song you consider to be perfect?
I’ve got to say ‘Spanish Train’ by Chris de Burgh, who’s the only artist I’ve ever seen live (a friend and I went to see him in uni, were the only 20-something-olds in a horde of 50-and-older, and we had a fantastic time). ‘Spanish Train’ is one of those songs dad and I would blast in the living room after midnight, when we were home alone, or in the car when the speakers were working, and I absolutely love the alternations between the mellow spoken parts and the parts where de Burgh just goes all out.
The answer to the second question got kind of long, so I’ve hidden it in the ‘Keep reading’.
Chamomile ⇢ What were you like when you were younger? Do you think you’ve changed a lot?
I don’t know how much I’ve talked about it here, but I’ve for a long time been fascinated by how people change. You see it in my own fanfics (Arn’s arc in Just Close Your Eyes) and in some of my favourite novels (Apollo in The Trials of Apollo by Rick Riordan). I’ve also grown up with a gestalt psychotherapist for a parent, which ... yeah. I suspect I was a bit of a lab rat growing up. At least mum used to tell me she studied psychotherapy to Help Me. (In her book, queerness and autism require Help.)
My own fascinating with change comes from, I think, putting a lot of effort into changing myself during my years in uni. For about four years, about fifty percent of my time was spent observing myself, reflecting on my behaviour, and figuring out Who I Was. What I discovered was that Baby Me (0–4) and Young Adult Me (20–25) were surprisingly similar (excited by everyday things, enjoyed crafts and baking, and loved music and aesthetic designs). Baby Me grew up on a small seaside farm above the Polar Circle, and in those four years, I realised I wanted to return to that farm — to live there, nurture it, and run writing retreats there. It’ll take a lot of work to get the finances to do so, but as long as the farm stands, I’ll return there.
But. Change.
Between Baby Me and Young Adult Me, there’s Teenage Me (5–19, technically ‘Child & Teenage Me’, but ‘Teenage Me’ for ease), and Teenage Me was not a good person. You know the idea of the Narcissistic Family? It’s the closest description I’ve found to explain the dynamics within my family. Teenage Me had an unfortunate obsession with wanting to make mum proud. As a result, I put others down in passive-aggressive ways and sought to make friends with “the right people” (as implicitly defined by mum: rich cis-het people, ideally white Christian). I was the Golden Child who achieved As and A*s in the majority of my subjects in school, I was always right, I was going to write novels, I was going to become a Professor and an artist, and I was going to have a brilliant future. (Ha. Ha ha. /s)
I’m still not sure how much of that was me and how much was mum, and I think that’s the rule for a lot of Teenage Me’s life: I had no idea where I ended and mum started, in terms of dreams, wants, and hopes. Honestly, it’s something I’m still struggling to untangle.
I like to think I’m moving away from my passive-aggressive ways, and that realising that I myself am not one of “the right people” has done wonders towards learning to value people for who they are rather than what they do and what they have. Setting boundaries is another new experience, and good gods it’s hard. Actually learning my own boundaries and being kind to myself is also really goddamn hard, and I’m still trying to figure out where the lines are between trauma bonding and info-dumping and just talking (is this info-dumping? or am I just talking? I’m answering a question and I have no idea). An unholy combination of depression and anxiety hasn’t made it any better.
That said, writing this today, I’m looking forward to the future. It’s raining outside, but I’ve had a clementine, I’m listening to ‘Champions’ by Kurt Hugo Schneider, and in a few hours I’ve got my first ballet class for beginners — something I’ve only recently worked up the courage to attend. I know I’m in my mid-twenties and that I’ve got years to grow and learn ahead of me. One day, I’ll reach a point of grounded self-assuredness. The depression and anxiety might never go away completely, and there are people I doubt will completely forgive me, but that’s part of growing and learning. It is for me to remember that every tree can be transplanted into better soil, and that there’s a sun above.
#kalh answers#cw narcissism#i'm honestly not even sure if i actually answered the question?#or if i talked in circles?#maybe it's an upward spiral and it feels like i'm in the same place where i started because i'm working through layers and it takes time#because i need to revisit thoughts and events again and again to fully process them#at least my partner thinks i'm a good person and i trust he wouldn't say that if he didn't genuinely believe so#so that's something to hold on to#thank you for the ask <3
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Tumblr state mandated reminder “It is just a game“
Hey Champ hear about the new event coming soon
Gonna get some new characters to pull for
All look cool and fun to play with
Not going to hold you up just do keep in mind this is still gacha so please don’t send yourself into the negative financially just to get shiny new character
If you get them you get them. if you don’t well don’t worry about it
The characters aren’t going anywhere. After the event is over they will still be there, you’re not missing out on anything so it’s not like you have to spend all your money right now to get them
We’re here for a good time not a “I MUST collect all the things even if it I go into debt for it“ time
so let’s just keep it mellow alright
Stay safe Bud
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full name — jonathan vincent graham
nickname(s) — johnny
age — twenty-four
date of birth — november 1st
place of birth — havenhill
current location — havenhill
gender — cis man
pronouns — he/him
sexual orientation — heterosexual
religion — lol
occupation — struggling musician. johnny just returned to town after being gone for two years on the road. he got a few good gigs, but nothing that put him on the map.
education level — he was expelled from high school during his senior year. he was going to go back and get his GED, but never bothered.
residence — for now he’s staying at the local havenhill inn, which is probably just as terrible as it sounds.
family — catherine ‘kitty’ graham, who he loves with every fiber of his being. even when she went by cathy, he called her kitty. or kitkat. he was raised by his grandparents, but they have a strained relationship because of how much trouble he got in as a kid. some of that mellowed out as he got older, but his reputation still followed him.
finances — they aren’t great, but he always finds a way to get by.
languages — english
faceclaim / voiceclaim — thomas doherty
misc. —
he has a bad reputation with the locals. if a convenience store gets robbed, the cops are guaranteed to show up on his doorstep.
as a kid, he did everything you weren’t supposed to do just to see if he could get away with it. his juvenile record is pages long, but most of the charges have been expunged. at this point he assumes the cops are so bored they just follow him around town. once he was even arrested for jaywalking. he doesn’t trust cops (or people in general) because of this. havenhill made him feel like he was under a microscope.
he has a bad temper and it’s typically what gets him in trouble. the fights he got into at school weren’t the typical fights. he once sent a kid to the ER for slapping his sister’s ass. generally he’s laid back, but there are certain things that will set him off.
a lot of that has to do with internalized anger that he carries around after they went to live with their grandparents. he was older than kitty at the time and it impacted him significantly.
developed an unlikely friendship with julia collins. it lasted until her parents found out about it. given his reputation, they immediately put an end to what had rapidly turned into a budding crush - but not before he got one kiss.
he’s expecting plenty of people to be mad at him for taking off, kitty especially, and he’s not looking forward to police scrutiny.
he plays guitar and has a decent voice
on the road he developed a lot of bad habits that he’s still trying to shake, with little success. he returned to havenhill for a lot of reasons, but it was also the last place he ever felt happy
he’s socal, but has a dry affect and demeanor that tends to piss people off. he pushes boundaries and can go too far at times.
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