#but it does truly suck to stare at a blank page knowing you could do this better once

[dreamissy]

I should be proud of myself for writing at all and not bash myself for struggling after a long time without writing!

I should be proud of myself for writing at all and not bash myself for struggling after a long time without writing!

I should be…

[jodiie-leighanne]

Sin and Sinuous

Gentle gusts filter through the open bow windows, bringing lustre to the stone keep castle. Pleasing to the eye, strolling the halls you could smell the past it held. Feel the presence of the afterlife.

Hair pinned, curled and sprayed to perfection. Searching for freshly squeezed orange juice with a dash of something bitter to quench my nerve driven thirst. Silk pearl gown, wrapped at the waist. Nothing on underneath except lace matching undergarments.

Tapping of my bare feet on the cobbles was all that sounded, except the gasp that fled my lips as I was whisked backwards into a room by a firm hold on my neck. Spine flat to a torso.

"Boo" the figure whispered as their lips grazed my ear. Pecking it lightly. Spinning around to face them when my eyes met his hollowed havens.

"What the hell are you doing? The ceremony is in an hour", hissing at his foolish way, this is only bound to bring bad luck.

"I know, I just wanted to see you", Pouting as he moved forward forcing me back, trapped against wood and the bare skin of his chest. Nothing but a pair of pressed slacks separating us. Watching tentatively as a hand raised from the left letting two fingers tug open my robe. Groaning inside his mouth as the material unravelled revealing my lingerie.

"You shouldn't- we shouldn't" Barely a whisper as the callous palms smoothed around my stomach to hold my waist. He just stared with soft seductive hues. Those damned silvers almost blank from colour yet they told a story, you could read him page by page with a single glance.

Neck arched to meet me head on, lips so close I could taste the mint. "Please, just one last time before it's official"

How could I ever say no? Nodding in consent he wastes no time. Capturing my mouth with his, it's bitterly sweet. We turned from tame to wild in moments, my right thigh secured at his hip. Lips never parted as I unclasped his belt, dragging in a rush to get it out the loops.

"Are you ready for me? I'm afraid we have no time for foreplay darling", He mumbled against my lips.

Raising a brow pushing down his slacks, thumbs tucked into the band of his Calvin's to tug them too. Sneaking a peak at his hardened length, prickled in pre cum. Licking my lips I grasped it at the shaft earning a tsk from the man.

Using my free hand to remove one of his from my body, travelling together past my navel. Tucking into my knickers grazing my clit with a moan as he sucked in a breath. Eyes meeting, droopy with lust. Pulling back to let him venture alone. I smirk ,"Does that answer your question?"

He runs an index up and down my dripping folds, murmuring a 'fuck' as he inches his lower body toward me. Instinctively I buck forward, underwear shifted to the side as I move his swollen tip back and forth over my opening to lubricate. Perked up on the tips of my toes to better align ourselves. Slowly, slipping him into me. The quiet room became breathless and heavy.

Teeth clamped my collar bone as we sync with one another. He knew my body as if it was his own. Every inch was his, no one could make me feel this way.

"That's it baby, open for me", He uttered as my walls accommodated his powerful intrusion. Dampening the sparse white hairs at the base.

"Fuck" I sighed, as I gripped his shoulder carefully not to leave a mark.

He didn't care if he left any, the flesh bruising under his touch. Peppered kisses melting into my neck.

"You know I love you right?"

"And I you, more than words can claim" I truly did. He is my paradise, I would happily be stranded on forever.

That brings us to the present merely hours after our forbidden entanglement, here we are.

Whispers from relatives dabbing their eyes swollen with tears, as I take steps closer holding his gaze. Dress flowing elegantly adding to the Autumn theme to fit the current season, Forest green not traditional but I was never a stickler for the rules. Pearls of his smile glisten, creased corners of his eyes. Groomsmen at his side, slapping his back as his stance remains dominant faltering with the softening exterior. His features fit a fictional character, no real beginning could be as beautiful. Chiselled to perfection, strands of silver hanging over his colourless hues.

Blush creeps up my skin as I reminisce more about our days together in the beginning when it was sweet and light. Deemed a holiday fling that held much promise, late night swims in the ocean with only moonlight as our guide. Talks of plans and a future, hasty? Sure. Did we mind? Not at all. It was perfect until it wasn't, until the cracks grew in our foundation.

Our gaze tears apart as I make my way to stand beside the other bridesmaids, reminding myself once again, he chose another.

"Just tell me why" , I pleaded as his thrusts quickened, knowing are time was almost up.

"I can't baby, let us just have this moment", Resting my cheek on his chest as he now lifted my other leg to bring us impossibly closer. Heat rising in my abdomen as my emotions iced.

"I don't want it to end", Meaning both the relationship we held in secret and the intimacy.

He was all I had. Knowing as soon as my high hits, this is over. We agreed it would be best for everyone. Tears hitting his flesh as I bit back a sob. Clinging on to this, to us.

"Shh baby, it's ok. The only thing that should cry right now is your pussy", That sentence pushed me over the edge, quaking in his arms as he faltered with me. Still inside me, seeds released without care. "When I'm up there, know I wish it was you"

"Why can't it be?" He huffed as if I had no rights to question him. Allowing himself to slip out of me, beginning to re-dress.

"Because it has to be like this ok? It's for us", Chuckling at the poor excuse "How is marrying her for us?"

"You wouldn't understand", the tension in his jaw obvious as his sights narrowed.

"Prick. You absolute prick", I spat, seething in anger.

"Don't say that. You don't mean it baby", Delicately gripping my cheeks in his palms as I shakily tied my gown in a knot. "I'll see you out there" Then he kissed me. His version of goodbye.

Awakened from my thoughts as the sounds of clapping echoes the marquee, watching him and the blushing bride seal their love with a kiss. That was supposed to be me, my fucking moment. My damn kiss, it was not meant to be stolen or carelessly my rightful title of wife was given away. To the airy flawless honey blonde, beyond gleeful with pride that she was forever his.

Begrudgingly I clapped along slowly.

With the reception in full swing I observe from the side lines, chugging back a rich glass of red. As the newlyweds danced, in their own universe. They couldn't even see us through the mist of matrimony. Drink after drink appears in my grip thank god for magic, ensuring no flute is left empty.

Turning out of the tent, the chill of winters to come slapped my cheeks. Scurrying to find shelter under an oak tree, reaching under my skirt to retrieve a pack of cigarettes I smuggled in, along with my wand secured to a garter belt. Using the tip to light the end of my smoke, instantly inhaling the toxicity, taste differs little from my day to day life. Snap of a twig startled me as i leant fully with my spine biting at the bark. Choosing to brush it off with an idea of who was lurking, my head tilted to the sky filling the natural air with smog. Gasping as a iced palm threaded its fingers around my throat holding me in place, the owner of this brutal action stepped into view, arm extended as the twinkles above highlighted him in godly manner. Bending at the elbow he closed in on me, nose nudging at my chin pecking open mouthed kisses along the line, travelling to the pulse point nibbling gently. Just that one movement made my cigarette fall to the dirt.

"You-you shouldn't be out here, anyone could see you" I huffed, placing a trembling hand on his wrist attempting to pull him off me. Lids closed, it's a dream, this isn't real. He is married, he is not mine.

A warm breath blew on my lips as the drew to my lower was trapped in my teeth, gnawing desperately. .

"You look breath-taking in that dress, I picked well didn't I?" His raspy voice made my thighs rub. The things he stirs inside me.

I whispered back, "So does your wife" Feeling his digits flex around my neck tighter.

"Don't worry about her, I'm here for you"

"You c-cant be, leave." Soft lips peppered the corner of my lips, distracting me. He was good at that. Making me forget and live in the moment, we've said our farewells. Why does he have to keep taunting me?

"Well I am, you know I can't stay away"

“You have to"

His head shook no. As the ring cladded right hand came to hold my chin an ardent kiss pressed on my lips, which didn't reciprocate.

"No, I don't", one more kiss. "and I won't"

Squirming under him, thrashing back and fourth to free myself, "You- you said it was done after earlier, th-that this was over", an invisible object lodged in my throat as I grabbed it scratching for relief. "You promised" ,the last words almost inaudible..

"Well.." He spoke, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "I changed my mind, phi" lips meeting my cheek. "My Ophelia"

With that he scanned me, smirking in triumph and my flustered appearance. Walking away back to the party.

In that moment I knew it was just the beginning for him and I, boy was I right. This isn't me, I'm no homewrecker. For him, I turned into something I didn't recognise.

Whipping out my wand from the garter adorning my thigh. I silenced the area. Breaking down to the ground, holding myself tight.

Wondering how the fuck I got here, how could I have let this happen.

She won. She won. She won. I lost, I always lose.

His wife didn't deserve what we did in the alcoves. Just when you think it couldn't get worse, it does.

Most would say this affair was jealousy driven partly, Yes it is. It's also driven by a deep love for him, I can't help but feel like he should be by my side. Rising from the ground I look at my mascara smudged face smiling through the pain.

Hearing the cheers and obnoxious whistles, fixing my face I strode towards the hustle.

Seeing two lines either side of a path leading to a black Cadillac, 'Just Married' sprayed on the windows in white. Taking my place on the bride's side, sending a gentle simper to the adorable red headed flower girl handing out confetti cones. Flashes of cameras began infiltrating my vision as white paper flew into the air. The couple turned to wave goodbye to their guests, I felt a set of eyes all over me,Biting my cheek as I joined the waving watching them step into the car beyond elation. That's when he flitted his sights around meeting mine, subtly winking as he ducked his head, shutting the door.

My brother-in-law; Draco Malfoy, will be my downfall.

Months upon gruelling months I spent in their presence as husband and wife, subjected to the lustful whispers, longing kisses and embraces. All of it I had to witness, talks with my sister who is my best friend believe it or not, about the latest romantic gesture or how his cock felt as it rammed into her over a balcony. Yes, perhaps fucking her beloved in the dark undected is not the most sisterly thing to do. Resentment is what I felt she had everything, got everything her heart desired. No matter the price it took, mother and father forked out for her countless times. She got the high end fashions, expensive cars never needing to work a day in her life.

Me? I grinded daily for everything I had for the car that broke down to dust if pushed over sixty miles an hour, my sibling generously made sure I dressed the part but that was for status not for anything else.

Knowing why he didnt marry me hurt so much more than watching their relationship flourish as they celebrated buying a home, took numerous trips together. Despite my best efforts, he got to me. Creeping down the hall to my room, tampering with the plumbing system so i had to use the shower in their ensuite railing me up the glass doors. The time he offered to take me to an interview, pulling to the side road to bend me over a bonnet I got that. Filthy degrading sex, she got the gentle type. I was just his dirty little secret. She was his picture perfect wife. Lake is gorgeous, pristine and intelligent, most importantly she is pureblood.

Our parents have been married for thirty years; they have two daughters and a son. I am the youngest at twenty two the others around between four and seven years my seniors. During the time of my conception mother was aware of her love's infidelities resulting in pay back with a muggle man. The result of that was me, Ophelia Jones the half blood disgrace.

I was not meant to find out this was the reason he didn't continue with me. Eavesdropping on a meeting I shouldn't have was how I came to know. Lucuis Malfoy, Draco's father had come to learn about the secret meant to be between family and demanded his heir pick another suitor. Which he did, just a little too close to home for my liking.

We could not bear to be apart, it was the only way to keep each other whilst not having one another. Tragic right? Usually I can shake off most announcements as a solemn observation from my seat at the dining table.

Dinner had been mostly silent, The Malfoys had stepped out to the hall to have a private discussion. Excusing myself, I crept out the door, following the distant whispered voices.

“Why can't we tell them?” The whispers became hushed shouts of frustration.

“Darling, now is just not the right time”

“You keep saying that as if you don't truly want us to have a child draco”

A child? I mean I knew it was going to happen one day. Prickles of tears threaten my eyes, begging to spill to allow myself to sink into the pain I feel. A niece or a nephew is a damn blessing in any other circumstance.

“Lay baby, you know that's all i want is a family with you”, He told me that too.

“Start fucking showing it then” She shrieks, Lake is not one to take shit lightly, the short fuse if you will.

“Lake dont walk away from me”

“Fuck yourself Malfoy”

Dipping back behind the wall as angered steps of my sister march up the stairs, once the slam of her door echoes I move to sight. See a fury filled blonde, pulling fists through his hair. Mumbled curses spilling from his lips.

No chance to stop the heart touching rage I mutter,“When were you going to tell me?”

Spinning round startled the edges closer, toe to toe. Breathing out “Phi, you wasn't meant to hear that”

Scoffing in response as i spit “Of course”

“Come on, you know it's what I have to do” Have to do, not want. Is that going to be his answer to every damn situation?

“It's what you have to do? She deserves better than this we both deserve better than you” Face reddening with each hurtful word i speak. Lunging to slam my back into a wall, lungs restricted and heaving.

“You are mine and I'm yours remember?”

“The fuck you are” Dracos guard soften, using that i push my palms into his broad chest, creating space. “Its time i realised that and move on this” Frantically pointing between us “is fucking unhealthy”

Lifting a brow he chuckles repeating his former action, i'm trapped against the wall, “Move on? You are mine” Growling possessively.

“No, I am not” Snarling his lips part to retort, preparing myself until his hold disappears from me, i choke a gasp as a dark chuckle emits the empty vast corridor. Dracos sprawled on his side hues deadly as he pushes himself up on steady feet, laughing at the harsh footing making its way back to us.

“Been a while hasn't it Malfoy?” Muscles that were strained relaxing at his voice.

“Not long enough Riv, what are you here for now hmm money?”

“Funny? You want to talk about morals whilst you're boning both my sisters” My big brother River, he has a certain way with words i must say. Draco launched towards the solid frame of a man just speaking the truth, He couldn't stand the truth. He enjoyed living in delusion filled fantasies that he was doing no wrong.

Fists flew along with specs of blood, River climbed on top of his rival, throwing punch after punch. “I warned you last time this fucking stops” He barked, Draco winced in reposnse flailing around to gain the upper hand. “Stay away from them”

Calling out to River he froze all actions, leaning down to Malfoys bloodied form, “Now listen to me, pretty boy, I won't let you break them both. Understand?” The boy beneath him nodded, earning a patronising slap, Riv chuckled deep, squeezing the blondes crimsons cheeks between his thumb and forefinger placing a harsh kiss on Dracos lips.

Rising to his feet he made his way to me, engulfing me in a warm hug. “Well thats not the welcome home i excepted, lets go talk shall we”

[works-of-fanfiction]

“He’s the Best.” - 90s!Graham Coxon x Reader

Summary: Graham struggles with his self-esteem within the band and the reader tries to cheer him up.

Requested by: Anon. I hope you like this <3

Warnings: Swearing (literally once).

Word Count: 3.3k - a bit of a longer oneshot from me! I didn’t mean for it to be this long.

A/N: I’ve been writing this and putting it off for days because I just don’t know if I like it, but I don’t want to restart it. Argh… I hope someone enjoys this cheese fest.

* Gif credits to the linked creator

_______________

No one in this life is born ‘better’ than anybody else. It’s not a competition or a game of comparison. Every single human on this planet has their own unique qualities that make them interesting and most importantly, worthy. However, humans sadly aren’t wired to see those qualities in themselves. They spend the majority of their lives obsessing over others; wondering if they’re as talented as the next man, or if they’ll ever look as good as whatshername. Sometimes, it gets to a point where even the deepest of friendships can become strained due to one or more parties comparing themselves to another’s achievements.

And seeing Graham go through exactly that, has been killing me. There was a time when everything Graham and Damon did together, was truly that - together. Every single melody, riff, lyric - it was theirs. Neither one did more work than the other, neither was more musically talented. They were both kids crammed inside a Portakabin with their very first instruments, strumming and plucking and making probably rather bothersome noise. They had no idea what was to become of their lunchtime jam sessions and after school practices. Both were just excited to have a friend that liked the same things as them, and enjoyed the noise the other was making.

But Graham has since become a shadow of who he once was around Damon - he’s become Damon’s shadow. Or so he thinks.

Being in a band with a boisterous frontman like Damon was bound to become hard work for the other members at one point or another, but I never thought it would affect Graham like this. It’s getting harder to communicate with him, and I know it’s not his fault but I’m running out of things to say to fill the silences. There’s only so many times I can ask if he wants a cup of tea, or tell him about the encounter I had at the bus stop earlier that day. I’m sick of hearing my own voice, so I can’t imagine how he must feel. The silence seems to be the only thing he wants; he doesn’t write anymore, he hardly plays guitar outside of work commitments, and he hasn’t picked up his sketchbook in weeks. He just seems to stare at the TV or sit on the sofa with his head buried in a book that’s stuck on the first chapter. I watched him the other day and in forty-five minutes, he turned the page once. I bet if I asked him about the story he wouldn’t be able to recall a single character’s name, never mind the plot.

Watching him struggle with his self-esteem is crushing, and I don’t want him to live another second feeling the way he does. I know it may take a while for him to find himself again, but if I can do anything to help move things along, it’s worth a try. I’d drop everything for Graham in a heartbeat.

“I dropped those music stands off today. Did you get them?” Dave asks, his voice a little crackly on the other end of the phone.

“I did, thank you!” I chime, balancing the phone between my shoulder and ear as I assemble the very same stands.

“Oh, good. I was a little worried about leaving them outside. I thought somebody would take them… What do you need them for anyway?”

“That’s something for me to know and you to find out, Dave.” I laugh, tightening one last knob on the second stand and straightening it out. I stand back and admire my handy work, smiling at the prospect of what they are to become.

“Alright, alright. Well, I hope they come in handy! I’ll see you later.”

“Thanks again. See you next week!”

We both hang up and I grab the stands, climbing up the stairs and into the spare room, placing them in their desired places. Grabbing two pieces of sheet music, I slot them onto the stands neatly and adjust them until they’re perfect. With one last thing to check, I turn on the projector I borrowed from an old university friend and let the film play out on the blank wall opposite. I mess with the sound a little, making sure it’s loud enough before rewinding the footage to the beginning and turning it off until later.

Standing in the middle of the room, I turn around and admire everything on the walls. Everything from lyrics to old album art concepts, to still life paintings from Graham’s time at Goldsmith’s. Beside the music stands, there’s crates filled with records, decorated with lyrics scribbled onto scraps of paper, some in Graham’s handwriting and others in mine. I of course, couldn’t resist writing them out in various colours and covering them in star-shaped stickers. The finishing touch is a large beanbag against the wall for us to sit and watch the projector from. I fluff up the beanbag for the thousandth time before heading downstairs to wait for Graham to get back.

It takes around two hours for Graham to arrive home. As soon as I hear his taxi pull up outside, I jump up from the sofa and head into the kitchen to flick the kettle on. Nerves bubble through me as I anticipate his entry. It’s impossible to predict how Graham’s going to be feeling on any given day. He could come through the door and speak to me as normal, or he could disappear into his studio until he’s tired enough to head to bed. Through the rumbling of the kettle I listen out for the door, fingers impatiently tapping on the counter as my gaze fixates on a magpie outside, shakily balancing on the washing line. A second joins it and I smile, muscle memory taking over as I pour the boiled water into two cups, not taking my eyes off of the birds.

“Hi.” Graham’s voice peeps behind me. Putting the kettle down, I turn around with a warm smile on my face. Despite everything Graham has been going through, seeing him come through that door every day is still my favourite sight. Having him come home to me will simply never get old. I don’t know what I’ll do when he has to go out on tour again in a few months.

“Hey.” I breathe, the sides of my face already beginning to feel sore from the ridiculous grin stuck on it. He smiles back, the expression not quite reaching his eyes but I know he means well. He’s trying. “You go and sit down. I’ll bring these in.” I gesture to the brewing teas on the counter and he nods, hanging his bag on the nearest kitchen chair and leaving the room without another word. I finish the drinks as quickly as possible, grabbing the stack of takeaway menus from the junk drawer and bringing them with me, the pieces of paper clamped between my teeth as I concentrate on carrying the two steaming hot cups in my hands.

Setting the cups down on the coffee table, I toss the menus onto the sofa next to where Graham is very aggressively, trying to pull his Docs off. “Need a little help?” I ask, laughing as I kneel down and bat his hands out of the way. “It would help if you untied them.”

“It’s easier to leave them tied.”

“Oh, really?” I scoff, gesturing to his feet still stuck in the cherry red boots. The laces are a complete mess with three bulky knots in them. I sit down cross-legged on the carpet, carefully plucking and unravelling each knot whilst Graham buries his head in the takeaway menus. “How do you even - “ I struggle, pulling at the frayed shoelace whilst trying not to damage it further, “- get these things on?” With one last tug, the first lace loosens and I’m able to slide the boot off with ease. Graham’s face pops out from behind the menu, a side-smile plastered onto his lips and a cheeky glint in his eyes. I know he wants to laugh.

“Shall we get Indian tonight?” He changes the subject, flipping over the tatty piece of bright orange paper as he squints at the options. He always orders the same thing, yet still insists on reading the whole menu front to back. He does it for every restaurant.

“Indian sounds good.” I nod, pulling the second boot off and shoving them to the side. “I’ll call them now.” Jumping up to grab the phone, I type the number in from memory and hold it up to my ear.

“What’s the rush?” Graham mouths and I hush him when somebody answers. I order the usual along with some extras and give them our address, despite them not even really needing it anymore. The phone call is no longer than a minute and Graham sits staring at me, nose scrunched in confusion. “Are you going to tell me what’s going - “

“Follow me.” I blurt out, stretching my arm towards him and rising onto my tiptoes out of excitement. He stands slowly, shrugging off his jacket and leaving it on the sofa. “I was going to wait until we’d had our food, but I have to show you now.”

“Show me what?” He asks as I grab his wrist and drag him up the stairs. We squeeze up the narrow staircase, almost tripping each other over a couple times until we stop on the landing, feet overlapping one another’s on the small square of carpet.

“I know you haven’t really been yourself lately.” I start, my fingers slipping from Graham’s wrist to entwine with his. He looks down, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth. His eyes watch our hands as I lightly stroke the back of his thumb in an attempt to relax him. He has a habit of tensing up whenever I broach the subject. “So I wanted to remind you just how great you are.”

I watch his face intently, the corners of his mouth twitching and trying to smile. With my free hand, I open the door and flick the light on, pulling Graham into the room with me. His hand slips from my grasp and I back up to stand against the wall, watching as he takes in the room around him and everything in it.

He walks to the music stands first, fingers tracing the notes on the pages, flipping them over then back again. He walks towards the canvas on the back wall - a woodland painting he’d won a prize for back in college - running his hand over the textured patch of paint that forms the trees. I nervously bite the back of my thumb as he kneels down to sift through the records in the large black case below, flicking through every Blur album and single released to this day. My favourite lyrics are scattered on sheets of paper all over the ground, and he picks up the second verse from Coffee & TV. “You’ve always loved this one.” He says, turning to me and smiling.

“I happen to really like the guy who sings it.”

“He must be pretty good then.”

“Oh, he’s the best.” Resting my foot against the wall, I kick my body forward and stand straight, joining Graham beside the projector.

“What’s this for?” He asks, hands hovering near the buttons but not daring to touch anything. I take his hands in mine and give them a loving squeeze.

“Sit down and I’ll show you.” I chirp and he sinks down onto the beanbag. I mess with the projector until the sound starts to creep in, stretching over to switch off the light. Graham shuffles to the side to make some room for me on the beanbag and I flop down beside him, nestling into his side.

The image from the projector is surprisingly clear against the wall, although could’ve been improved had I borrowed a screen from somewhere. A variety of different clips play out in front of us, ranging from Graham performing onstage to snippets of his band members talking and praising their guitarist. I try my hardest to focus on the film in front of me, but I can’t help glancing over at Graham to see his reactions. His brows are furrowed, but not necessarily in a bad way - he’s focused, fully concentrating on everything he’s seeing and hearing.

I fidget with my hands, twiddling my thumbs and quietly cracking my knuckles. Graham notices this and grabs my left hand, squeezing it tightly and bringing it over to rest in his lap. Laying my head on his shoulder, I press a kiss onto his sleeve, rubbing my head against him and breathing in his familiar scent. He lays his head on top of mine, but never looks away from the video playing on the wall. Absentmindedly, his fingertips dance on the back of my hand, the drumming following the beat of Song 2 as it plays from the projector. I too can’t help bopping along to the beat, my foot tapping softly on the carpet.

The video closes with one final clip, a message I recorded for Graham. Too embarrassed to watch myself, my focus stays on him as I squeeze his hand a little tighter and snuggle up as close as possible. The picture begins to fade and the sound plays out until there’s no footage left, and the whirring of the projector becomes background noise in the room. Graham doesn’t say anything at first, but as I try to stand to turn the projector off, he pulls me back down onto the beanbag and rotates his body to face mine.

“Hey.” I whisper, my right hand supporting his cheek as he leans into me, his eyes closed and lips pressed into a line. Our bodies slot into one another’s on the beanbag, the very little space between us growing warmer by the second.

Graham releases a deep breath, his eyes slowly opening again with a small smile spreading across his face. It’s hard to see him properly in the dimly lit room, but I could never mistake those big brown eyes staring at me. “I can’t believe you did all of this for me.” He says, his voice low as he leans in close to speak like we’re the only two people who matter inside a crowded room.

“I wanted to show you how incredible you are. You’ve been so hard on yourself and I just - “ As I speak, tears start to well up in my eyes and I look up to the ceiling to try and stop them from falling. I’d already told myself earlier that I wouldn’t cry, because I don’t want Graham to think he’s upset me. I press at my eyes lightly with my fingertips in an attempt to push the tears away. “I can’t stand seeing you this way because you don’t deserve to feel like this. If it wasn’t for you, Blur wouldn’t exist! Everything you’ve all achieved wouldn’t have happened.” My voice begins to shake and I feel Graham’s hand on my arm, rubbing it gently to try and calm me down.

“Y/N.” He starts, before reaching up to turn on the light. It takes a second for my eyes to adjust, before my gaze falls to the ground to avoid his. If I look at him properly, I know I’ll start bawling. “Look at me. Please.”

“I can’t. I can’t because I’ll cry, and then you’ll get upset and I don’t want to make you feel any worse than wha - “

“You won’t upset me. Y/N, I’m sorry I’ve - “

“No, Graham. Don’t apologise.” I grip onto his shirt tightly, my fingers tangling in the fabric. Graham bows his head and nudges it against mine, edging closer until he pushes my head up with his and our noses are almost touching. We both open our eyes, our faces too close that my vision is distorted and I’m seeing double. I pull back, sniffling once and dabbing at my eyes again, still not allowing any tears to actually emerge.

“I’m sorry,“ he starts and I sigh at his words, but he hushes me by holding his finger up to my face, “for putting you through this. I was so caught up in my own head that I didn’t realise how it was making you feel.”

“Graham, this isn’t about me.”

“But it affects you. Bloody hell, if I had to live with this miserable twat - “ he points to himself and I scoff, slapping the back of his hand playfully. “ - I’d have given up by now.”

“I would never give up on you.” My voice is barely above a whisper, the lump in my throat making it difficult to speak. Graham goes silent again, staring down at our joined hands and moving his thumbs around. I nudge his head with mine in the same way he did previously and he sniffles, his chest rising and immediately falling again. “Graham?” I bring my hand to his chin and push his face up to find his eyes watery, and cheeks significantly more red compared to a moment ago.

“God, look at me. What the hell are you still doing with me, ay? I’m a bleeding mess.” He sniffs, roughly wiping tears off of his cheeks with the backs of his hands.

“Because I wouldn’t want to be with anybody else.”

“Not even - “

“Ah! Stop right there. There’ll be no more of that.” I take his hands away from his face, holding onto them loosely. “Graham Coxon, you are the best thing to ever happen to me. And I’ll give you a free pass to slap me silly for being so cheesy.” I laugh, his grip on my hands tightening as he awkwardly slides closer on the beanbag, his body sinking into it at a strange angle and pulling me with him. “I love you.”

Within a second, Graham’s hands are on both sides of my face, pulling me in for a kiss; the kind of kiss that feels like the person is pouring their entire heart out to you. Like the kiss between the main characters of a movie, when they’ve just ran across a field or a busy road to collide with another at the centre. His lips messily press against mine and I can feel the stray tears running down his face as they dampen my cheeks. My hands rest on his legs, holding on firmly as his thumbs dig into my face a little. It doesn’t hurt, but he soon pulls away and swipes at my face softly as if to apologise for it. He uses his sleeve to dry my face and I do the same for him, small gasps of laughter exchanging between us.

“Thank you for doing this. If you can’t tell, I really love it.” He says sincerely with a genuine smile, the biggest smile I’ve seen from him in weeks. The expression is infectious and I can’t help mimicking him as I grin back like the Cheshire Cat. The faint sound of knocking from downstairs pulls us out of our romance film-esque daydream and we both clamber to our feet.

As we approach the stairs, Graham stops and spins me around, pulling me into him. I land against his chest with a huff, before adjusting my hair and looking up at him. “After we eat, can you show me the film again?” He asks, his hand meeting mine to help me fix the loose hairs falling in my eyes.

“We can watch it as many times as you like.”

[carnationcreation]

Can you do Luke Patterson fanfic where the reader is Alex sister and is in the band who’s been in love with Luke all this time but he never noticed her. And ever since they met Julie she has seen them together has gotten jealous.So she hatches up one finally plan to make him jealous to get him to see her . And Luke realized he had been in love with her and confess to her . Sorry if it’s too much this is my first time asking for a request 🥺

TITLE: Unrequited (Luke Patterson x reader)

✌🏻Masterlist Taglist, Requests, and Works in progress!

Requested: Yes!

Prompt/summary:  Reader does one final attempt at getting Luke to notice her.

Word Count: 1,615

Authors note: appear I just write a lot of angst. Again Where’s my Love by SYML is the vibe lol

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The day we woke up on the floor of the garage in the year 2020 was the worst day of my life.

Or that’s what I decided at least.

Apparently we had spent the past 25 years in a dark room, with Alex crying for most of that time. The girl who found us, Julie, quickly became our only tie to the real world. We could only be seen playing if she was playing with us. We soon found out that we had unfinished business that we needed to attend to before we could properly cross over to the other side. We figured it was simple. Play the Orpheum and we were done. But getting to the Orpheum was going to be a lot harder than we thought.

Slowly we had started to build up a following on a thing called ‘YouTube’ where people share videos, I never thought such a wide library of videos could exist for free every single day. Practices became a daily thing, though I didn’t know if it was a good thing or a bad thing. 

I really shouldn’t be jealous. Luke has chemistry with everyone he sings with. Alex would kill me if he found out that after all these years I was still crushing on his best friend. I couldn’t help the feeling in my throat when I saw Julie and Luke singing together though... the feeling like I couldn’t breathe. Like all the air was being sucked out of me while I tried to keep the feeling of anger from bubbling over.

Why can’t he look at me like that?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I never meant to get him jealous, because I always thought making crushes jealous was unhealthy and only ever worked in the movies. But as soon as I started only talking with Reggie and Alex at practice Luke started to notice how I didn’t go out of my way to talk to him like I used to.

As time went on I started only singing with Reggie on stage for the harmonies. Every time I would look over afterwards I would see Luke staring at me with an almost blank expression.

The next few days were miserable for me.

My only desire then was to go up to him and tell him why I had been avoiding him. That I had seen every glance, smirk, smile, and laugh he and Julie had shared and say it was breaking my heart in two. I just had to watch in silence. The fear of causing drama within the band had taken precedent over my unrequited love. 

I never meant for it to be taken this far. After Caleb branded us I truly began to wonder if my place in the band really meant anything to anyone. My feelings poured out over a page as I explained everything to them in a letter. A stupid letter that I didn’t know if I actually was going to deliver or not. 

My worst fears soon became a reality after I saw their interaction outside of Luke’s house on his birthday.

Tears fell out of my eyes as I slipped the letter into his songwriting notebook and poofed out of the garage. I knew they would find it. I knew my brother would know the first place to look for me, so I avoided it.

I stood in the alleyway behind the Orpheum, tears falling down my face as I held onto my brother’s sweatshirt he had given me a few days prior. Hopefully I could still keep it.

“Are you ready?”

I turned around and saw Caleb standing in all his elaborate glory, “I guess so.”

He smirked, “Why so hesitant little dove?”

“Um,” I mumbled, a shiver went down my spine at his awkward nickname, “I’m just going to miss them.”

“Miss them? You’re going to miss them? Oh (Y/n), they haven’t even noticed you were gone. You’ve got nothing to lose.”

Tears began to form in my eyes. Breathing became hard as I realized I had been sitting here for hours, and no one came yet.

“Poor (Y/n), in love with a boy who doesn’t even notice her. A brother who was rejected by even his parents, and a best friend who doesn’t even notice her feelings. You can leave all that behind, just shake my hand.”

I stood there, debating on if I really wanted to give it all up. Did I really get a choice in this? I slowly lifted my hand, still hesitating.

“(Y/n), look around. They haven’t even come for you yet, and I’m sure that rat Willie already told them what you were doing. They just don’t care-”

“That’s not true!”

I turned around and saw my band running towards me.

“(Y/n) don’t listen to him? He’s manipulating you,” Alex said.

Tears fell down my face as Caleb grabbed my shoulder, “You’re too late. (Y/n) just look at them. They didn’t even notice as you drifted further and further away.”

My eyes flickered up, Luke locked eyes with me. Tears were forming in his eyes, “(Y/n) please don’t do this.”

I looked back down at the ground.

Julie spoke up, “(Y/n), you really don’t realize how much you contribute to this band. We all care about you so much.”

“I doubt she wants to hear from you,” Caleb scoffed, “Seeing as you stole the one thing she most wanted away.”

The boys looked at each other confused but the look on Julie’s face told me that she knew exactly what Caleb meant.

“(Y/n) I promise you, Luke and I are just best friends. I’m so sorry you felt like you weren’t important to us anymore,” Julie said.

Luke looked up at me but I tried not to meet his gaze.

“(Y/n),” Alex said, “You’re my sister. I can’t lose you too. Please.”

Tears ran freely down my face as I pulled myself away from Caleb. Luke ran forward and caught me as I began to fall.

Caleb let out a frustrated yell and disappeared. I didn’t even bother to look up as I sobbed into my hands.

“I’m so sorry,” Luke whispered to me. Alex pulled everyone into a group hug.

“Guys I’m so sorry,” I sobbed.

“This isn’t your fault,” Reggie said.

I brought my hands down to wrap around Luke’s shoulders, “I just didn’t feel good enough. I wanted to know if you guys really cared. I’m so sorry I should have said something.”

“We’re just happy we got here in time,” Alex said, he ran a hand through my hair, “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

My tears came to a slow stop, and eventually we began to walk home.

“Guys, I’m taking (Y/n) somewhere. We’ll catch up.”

The guys waved as Luke grabbed my hand and pulled me in a different direction. It soon became clear where he was taking me. 

“Do you remember this place?” he asked.

“Barely,” I said. I looked around the park I had always gone to, it had changed so much since 1995, “They tore the gazebo down.”

He looked over to where the rickety white structure used to be, a bathroom area was there now.

“I remember, you used to always go there after there was a fight at your house.”

I nodded, “Quiet, secluded, free to go to. Can’t tell you how many songs I wrote here.”

He pulled me over to sit on the benches near the playground. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he said. 

I looked up at the clouds, trying to get the answer straight in my head, “I just… I had seen how you looked at her. I wanted you to look at me like that. Once I started to pull away, no one seemed to notice. Caleb offered me his help, he said I’d be famous…”

“What made you hesitate?”

“I realized… I didn’t want a million admirerors, I just wanted one. Nothing could compare to that.”

I jumped as he reached over to grab my hand, bringing it over to sit in his lap as he covered it in both of his, “I want to be that person.”

“You always were.”

He smiled. He brought my hand up and placed a kiss gently on my knuckles. In a quick moment of bravery I leaned over and kissed his cheek quickly.

He placed both his hands on my cheeks before pulling me into a real kiss. The boy I thought I had lost was kissing me. The kiss I had always dreamed of but thought I could never have. 

We both pulled away breathing heavily. I looked up and giggled at his swollen lips and tousled hair knowing I probably looked the same. 

“I’m sorry it’s taken so long for me to say this. I love you (Y/n). I’ve loved you since the day I met you, I loved you after we died, and I loved you every moment till now. I guess the only reason why I didn’t do anything is I was so scared of you not liking me back, or how your brother would react.”

I sighed as he rubbed his thumb across my cheek, “How do you think he’ll react?”

“He told me while we were looking for you I should’ve asked you out weeks ago. He knows,” He laughed.

The sun had started to set, the light illuminated him making him look ethereal. I pulled him into another quick kiss, “I wish I had done this sooner.”

“What? The kiss or trying to sell your soul to a dead magician?”

I laughed, “Either.”

He smiled and wrapped his arm around me, “Don’t do the second one again anytime soon.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[tulsa-trash]

Book Swap

Request: could you do a modern!pony x reader imagine where you're both in 9th grade and meet at the library, and one day you finally have the guts to ask for his number, so you guys start texting and then you start crushing on him and then you have to figure out how to tell him, so u ask two-bit and johnny for advice

WARNING(S): N/A

You sighed deeply as you began to reread the same sentence in your book for what felt like the twentieth time. It seemed as though you were reading but not even comprehending the words. To be fair, it was impossible to get lost in a book when a familiar cute boy was sitting a table over from you.

Ponyboy Curtis. How does one even begin to describe the amazing human you had the honor of being within five feet of? Unlike most guys in high school, Pony was something special. He was kind and very smart, you knew this because you have English with him. You've never seen someone so into a class before, he also appeared to have an interest in literature, like you. The both of you were nothing but mere acquaintances, and you secretly wished you could change that.

It didn't help that you found him absolutely dreamy. His brown hair was always a little messy, but it still managed to make him even cuter. You always feel your heart skip a beat whenever your eyes would meet his sparkling green ones in the hallways. You'd smile whenever you'd see him laughing with his friends, it showed off his dimples that sunk into his cheeks. Ponyboy Curtis was the boy of your dreams, and the young man was completely oblivious.

Your phone vibrated on the desk you were sitting at. Glancing up from your book, you seen that it was a text from one of your friends. After placing your bookmark in between the pages you unlocked your phone.

Evie: So? Did you talk to him yet?

You rolled your eyes after reading the message, your fingers quickly tapped at the screen as you typed your response.

Y/N: No obviously not. Now leave me alone.

Kathy: Girl go for it! He's a nice kid you said so yourself.

Y/N: Uh nope. Much rather stare at him from afar and not make a fool of myself attempting to talk to him.

Kathy: Well if you don't not only will I embarrass you in front of lover boy, everyone in this library will see me screaming at you and we'll both probably get kicked out.

Y/N: Wait what? How do you know I'm at the library?? Are you here right now???

Kathy: Look over at the fantasy section you nerd. You being you I obviously knew where YOU would be on a Saturday afternoon.

You looked up, eyes widening in shock as you saw your friend hiding behind a bookshelf watching you with a sly grin.

Kathy: Make a move now or I'm coming over there.

With already shaking hands you put your phone in your pocket and grabbed your book. You sent Kathy a pleading look, but all she did was shake her head and point towards Ponyboy violently. Taking in a deep breath, you got up. The chair scraped against the floor, creating a loud noise which made at least five people look up at you... including him.

"Oh god." You mumbled under your breath.

In your peripheral vision you could see Ponyboy's gaze return to his book, taking that as your cue to move you slowly crept to his table. You had made it to the chair directly across from him, he was so caught up in his book he didn't even notice your presence. You smiled softly, his eyebrows were furrowed in concentration while his eyes scanned the pages back and forth. You awkwardly cleared your throat, not too loud to disturb others but just enough for him to tear his attention from his book to notice you.

"Oh, hey." Ponyboy said, "Can I help you with somethin'?"

"Um..." Jesus this was going to be way harder than you thought. "W-Would you mind if I sat with ya?"

"Not at all. Go ahead." He sent you a friendly smile as he gestured to the chair you were at.

His smile. Your legs already feel like jello, you could've sworn you were going to collapse right then in there.

"Y/N, right?" He asked as you sat down.

"That's me. And you're Ponyboy."

"Yep, couldn't forget a name like that if you tried." He joked.

You giggled as you opened your book, Ponyboy returned to his. Curiosity got the better of you when you looked back up to see what he was reading.

"Gone With the Wind." You read aloud.

"Have you read it before?" He asked.

You shook your head, "I haven't, but I've heard only good things about it. I saw the movie about a year ago and thought it was great."

"The book is amazing!" He gushed, only to be shushed by the librarian walking by. "This is my fifth time reading it." He told you in a more hushed tone.

You snickered, "Must be really great."

"What ya got there?"

You lifted up your book from the table to reveal the cover to him, his bright eyes scanned the cover.

"The Boy in Striped Pajamas?"

"I know the title seems a bit odd, but trust me this is a good read." You told him, "This being my third time reading it."

"Well what's it about?" He asked.

You went on to tell him about your book, and he went on to tell you all about his. The both of you began to talk about anything and everything, you were beyond happy that things were going well. You were having so much fun you completely forgot about Kathy spying on you, before either of you could realize it two hours had gone by.

You peaked at your phone and cursed under your breath, the lock screen had a reminder that your shift at work was starting in less than thirty minutes.

"I really hate to end this... but I gotta go." You said.

"That sucks." He said disappointedly.

You couldn't help feeling a little giddy inside to see that he was upset you were leaving. While you got up and gathered your things, you remembered that you wanted to get his phone number badly. You just had to figure out a way to get it without making things awkward.

"Hey, Pone?"

He hummed in response.

"What do ya say we swap books... and numbers? Thats only if you want to. I just figured since we read them already and it was cool talk--"

"I'd like that." He stopped your rambling, only to send you a warm smile while doing so.

You blushed as the both of you swapped phones to put in each others information along with handing each other your books. With a final wave goodbye you left the library, your best friend of course followed after you. She interrogated you with thousands of questions and the both of you walked to work, you gladly answered them all in an almost dazed state. You felt as if you were walking on air for the rest of the day, and you couldn't wait to text him later on.

-

Two weeks had gone by, and let's just say those two weeks have been the best ones of your life. You and Ponyboy had been texting every single day. At first you just talked about each other's books, but then your conversations started evolve to anything and everything. You knew you had liked him before, but your feelings for him have grown drastically. It was beginning to get unbearable holding in how you truly felt, and you weren't sure if you wanted to tell him.

The fear of rejection was one of the main reasons why you've been thinking of just repressing your feelings. Sure, he seemed to like you, but it felt as though he only liked you simply as a friend. Another reason being you were afraid that it would ruin things between the both of you. You had finally become good friends, the last thing you wanted was for everything to end up being awkward all because of you and your silly crush.

After a lot of thinking you decided you needed some advice, and by advice you mean advice thats not only from Kathy. She keeps telling you to go for it, but she doesn't really know Ponyboy well. That's why you got the idea to ask one of his buddies on their opinion. Luckily Pony invited you to watch him and his friends play football. You ceased the opportunity, not only would you be able to watch the boy of your dreams get all sweaty and tuff looking, you could also get one of his friends alone to talk about how you felt.

It was a warm, Sunday morning in Tulsa. The sun was high in the sky and beat down harshly on the group of boys tackling each other in the giant field. You sat under a tree with a notebook in your lap, a cool breeze would rush by every now and then, cooling you off the slightest. You doodled randomness on the blank pages, sketching pictures and honing your writing skills. Every now and then you would glance up and watch the game for a few, sometimes cheering the boys on or laughing when they began to goof off and wrestle each other on the ground.

There was a particular drawing you found yourself enthralled in, as the pencil in your hand smoothly ran across the paper you found yourself sketching a picture of Ponyboy's face. You were so focused you didn't even notice someone come over and take a seat right beside you.

"Nice drawin' you got there." A quiet voice spoke.

You quickly slammed the notebook closed and snapped you head to the right, it was Ponyboy's best friend, Johnny. A tiny smirk was tugging at his lips as he looked at you with one eyebrow raised.

"T-Thanks." You stuttered nervously.

"You like him, huh?" He asked you.

You stood silent as you played with the grass below you, pulling it from the Earth and rubbing it between your fingers. Your gaze was straight ahead watching the game, you were afraid to meet Johnny's gaze that was burning holes into the side of your head.

"Yes..." You hesitated a bit, "I do."

"Does he know?"

"No!" You said hopelessly, "And I'm not sure if I even want him to know."

"Why not?"

"Because he probably doesn't feel the same..." You trailed off.

"Hey now, ya never know." Johnny said.

"What are you two kiddies doin' over here?" A loud voice bellowed.

It was none other than Two-Bit, he staggered over to the both of you before plopping down to your left. He was breathing heavily, sweat dripping down his forehead and trickling down his neck.

"You tryin' to make moves on Pony's girl or somethin', John?" Two asked playfully.

Your heart fluttered, 'Pony's girl.'

"No way, man. Trust me." Johnny chuckled.

"Pony's girl?" You repeated to him questioningly.

"Oh yeah! I see the way y'all look at each other I ain't blind."

You let Two's words sink in, was it that obvious that you liked him? He even said that Pony looks at you a certain way as well. Maybe there was a chance he shared your feelings after all.

"You think he likes me or somethin'?" You asked casually.

"Oh I don't think, I know."

You smiled softly, butterflies erupting in your stomach. In the back of your mind you worried that you were getting your hopes up a little too high, but you couldn't help it.

"I like him too." You admitted.

Two-Bit scoffed, "Tell me somethin' I don't know."

"Well... what should I do?"

"Tell him." Two replied.

"I agree." Johnny piped up.

Both nerves and excitement began to bubble up inside you as you got up and gathered your things.

"Where are you off to?" Johnny asked as you began to jog away from them.

"Gotta head home. Tell Ponyboy I'm sorry I had to leave but I'll text him later!"

"See ya later lover girl!" Two-Bit hollered after you while preceding to make kissing noises.

You laughed to yourself and shook your head, "Idiot."

-

Y/N: Whats up Pone-bone?

Ponyboy: Nothing much lil lady, and yourself?

Y/N: Same. Btw sorry for leaving so soon today, had some things to do.

Ponyboy: It's alright.

Hey what were you, Johnny and Two talking about? They didn't try to tease you or nothin right?

Y/N: Nooo ofc not they were just chattin

But thats actually what I wanted to talk to you about...

Ponyboy: Well... Go on then

Y/N: Okay I'm just gonna say it

I like you

like a lot

Ponyboy: As a friend or?

Y/N: No silly, like more than friends...

Ponyboy: Wait actually?

Y/N: Yes Pony

Ponyboy: Seriously??

Y/N: OMG YES!!

I LIKE YOU A LOT!

... im sorry if it weirds you out

Ponyboy: NO! NO IT DOESN'T.

SORRY

... Just wanted to make sure this isn't a prank or whatever.

But in all seriousness yes, I like you a whole lot.

Y/N: Are you sure?

Ponyboy: Positive doll

Do you wanna grab some milkshakes at the Dingo next weekend?

Y/N: Are you asking me out onna date Curtis?

Ponyboy: Yes, I am ;)

Y/N: Well I would love to :)

[dracosathenaeum]

Great Love Story | Part 2 | D.M.

A/N: I will apologise that this took so long. This is honestly 70% smut but don't worry part 3 will fix all the loose ends and should come out faster than this did lmao

Warnings: cheating, smut, angst

Word Count: 2,858

PART 1

“I thought I told you to keep quiet.”

You stared open mouthed at the sight of Pansy pushing a blonde against the wall of a hidden corridor. Moans poured out of her mouth as Pansy nipped at her neck; fingers underneath the blonde’s skirt moving in motions she recognised all too well.

A mixture of embarrassment and anger flooded through you; the same kind you felt watching Draco that day in the great hall. How was this fair? Pansy had taken everything from you, but she didn’t even want him. Had she taken him from you just to prove a point? You weren’t good enough for him and you knew that; but it didn’t mean you didn’t love him any less than he deserved to be loved.

Was she toying with the both of you? You had seen the way he had looked at her in the great hall but when you thought back you hadn’t even bothered to focus on Pansy’s expression or actions through your jealousy tainted vision.

You pulled your eyes away from the two lovers, rushing towards your common room once you realised, you’d probably been stood there a second too long. It would be more than embarrassing to say the least if they had caught you staring at them.

You kept your head down, eyes cast on the floor as you mulled over what you would say to Draco if you decided to say anything at all that was. As it happened you had far less time to deliberate than you had thought, you had been so worried about whether or not to tell him that you didn’t notice him standing in your path.

“Running late to your dick appointment?” A sneer had ripped out of Draco, a side of Draco you were used to seeing but not receiving.

You stopped dead in your tracks and let loose your guilt without a second thought.

“Pansy is cheating on you. With Luna. I’m really sorry.” It doesn’t matter if he didn’t want you back, he deserved to know. You were just being a decent human being; well that’s what you told yourself anyways. He looked at you with a hint anger in his eyes but at least you knew he had believed your words, well, at least you had hoped.

He had quickly schooled his expression into a blank stare, nothing to betray how he truly felt. “Thank you, I’ll speak to her about it.” Curt and to the point, no openings for further conversations. He walked away from you this time and it was clear what this had meant.

As a heavy weight in your stomach overpowered the hammering of your heart, you realise it was hope you had been feeling; hope that had fuelled your heart but maybe now your traitorous heart would realise he was gone for good. How many times would you allow yourself to hope before finally realising he wasn’t coming back to you?

//

You were going to go mad. A 7-page essay due the next week and you couldn’t understand half the divination gibberish laid out onto the pages in front of you. Usually Draco would be sat with you, both teasing and teaching you.

He’d mock Professor Trelawny; impersonating her to the point you had tears in your eyes and stitches in your sides. Though most of his impressions had been meant to be a mockery; half of what you had managed to scribble down plus pages of waffle would usually get you one of the top grades in the class. This would only feed Draco’s ego, so you never told him but as you sit swimming in tea leaves you realise, you’d do anything to hear his stupid words again.

“Uh I don’t mean to interrupt but do you need some help?” You look up, red flushing your cheeks as you remembered you weren’t alone in the library, casually ripping at your own hair.

“That obvious I’m struggling?” Theo only replied with a soft grin before instantly delving into some story from 4th year. Conversation flowed easily between the two of you and you were glad for a change in atmosphere from a friendly face.

That was how Draco had found you; head tilted back, a look of pure enjoyment across your features. He hadn’t heard your laugh in a while, and he hadn’t realised how much he missed it; though his reminiscing only lasted so long before he realised who you were sat with.

Theo Notts. He had the same friendship with Blaise as with Theo and he trusted him. He really did. But it didn’t matter that he had been a lifelong friend, what mattered was the way he looked at you as you laughed. The same way he knew he looked at you. Or so his brain convinced him.

“You’re welcome.”

“Welcome for what?” You wiped the tears from your eyes as you asked, still trying to catch your breathe. You had spoken to Blaise and Theo a hundred times before but never as a friend, only as Draco’s girlfriend. He had made you laugh harder than you had in months with one simple story about your loony professor.

He didn’t have to answer before you found yourself dragged out of the library. You had been so focused on not tripping over your own two feet that you hadn’t seen the wink Theo had thrown at Draco and the scowl Draco had thrown back at him.

You didn’t have to look up to know who had pulled you away, the familiar feel of cool fingers around your hand and the press of his signet ring was enough to know it was Draco.

Once you had steadied your footing (and gathered the courage to look up) you saw the familiar door of the room of requirement opening for the both of you. He slammed the door closed behind you before pushing you up against it, trapping you against it with his body.

“Was he the one you’ve been shagging?”

You laughed. Perhaps even harder than you had with Theo just seconds before hand, laughed so hard Draco had to pull away to give you room to breathe and to clutch your sides as you doubled over. The irony in this was concerning; this was the second time he had acted out, as if returning to the role of jealous boyfriend that was no longer his to fill out.

Your wiped at the tears falling from your eyes for the second time that day; evening out your breathes to reply, “Who does it matter who I shag when you’ve probably gotten every STD out there from Pansy?”

You barely finish your sentence before he has you against the wall again, mouth angrily moving over yours. It was like listening to your favourite childhood song where the lyrics would come back to you without having to even think about it. Your lips moved together the same as they had done a thousand times before, your arms finding themselves linked around his neck whilst his own rested on your waist pulling you flush against his body.

“Draco wait-”

“You don’t get to talk without my permission, understood?”

You nod as his lips move over the column of your neck; you were too far gone to worry over him feeling your pulse practically jumping out of your neck.

“Use words.”

“Yes” you all but moan.

He gathers your wrists in one hand to pin above your head as he brings his mouth back to yours; his free hand gliding up the thigh that’s hiked across his hip, hand dipping under the skirt with ease as he’d done so many times previously.

Just as his fingers reach where you needed him the most they stopped. Your lips stop their movement against his; worried he’d suddenly snap out of what was happening and realise what was happening. Worried that he’d leave you. Again.

His hand leaves your skirt to tilt your chin to face him as he pulls away, a string of saliva connecting your lips. “Do you want to stop now, or do you want to keep going?”

Your heart skipped a beat, consent was the bare minimum and you knew that, but it was the way he had looked at you as he asked, the softness in his tone and in his eyes that made you think the old him had come back to you. That made you want to beg for him not to stop.

You opened your eyes again once his lips started their ministrations back on the column of your neck. You had wanted this for the past month, you had wanted his attention and his love so why is that when you were finally getting it you weren’t so sure anymore.  

“If you’re uncomfortable we can stop but don’t feel guilty about Parkinson.” It was like a bucket of cold water had been thrown over your fevered body. Pansy. How could you have forgotten he was a taken man?

You knew that this was so wrong, knew that in your bones but some sick twisted part of your brain thought that if she could have Draco and throw him away to be with Luna and Merlin knows who else; this was just you claiming back what was rightfully yours. Right?

“Are you going to give me an answer? Consent would be greatly appreciated.”

“Please” your eyes held steady as you answered, this was it, this was you winning him back. You ignored your brain; the thoughts that caused a weight to hang over your brain. And instead you focused on full your heart felt; of how comfortable your body felt to be back in his arms.

“I need a yes or no.”

“Yes.”

The switch was suddenly flicked back on as Draco wasted no time, two fingers dipping into your mouth that you greedily sucked on without a moment’s hesitation.

His other hand had reached down and back up your skirt, you had thought he’d simply pull the cotton to one side, but he instead tore at it, throwing the scrap of fabric carelessly beside you.

“I liked that pair!” Was what you had tried to say but with two fingers caressing your tongue it was more like incoherent dribbling.

Once he was apparently satisfied with you, his coated fingers swiftly moved to part your folds before slipping inside of you. His hand that have previously ruined your favourite pair of underwear drew circles around your clit as his other set a merciless rhythm inside of you, deliberately avoiding that spot inside of you that would have you keening over.

Draco kept his head close to yours, but each time you’d try to reach up to join your lips he’d pull away slightly, “I want to hear you.”

You clenched hard around his fingers at his words, it had been so long since he had touched you in any way and your fingers just weren’t enough for you anymore. Not after getting used to what Draco would give you.

“I’m so close. Please don’t stop.” His fingers kept at their pace, but just as your stomach tensed, just as you were about to fall over the edge. He pulled both hands pull away from you, wrapping around your waist to pick you up instead.

You didn’t have time to be angry at him, half a groan falling from your lips before his mouth claimed yours, hands ripping at the rest of your clothes as you fell backwards onto the bed, Draco falling on top of you. Your own fingers fumbled with his belt and tore at his shirt when the buttons refused to undo.

“Get on your knees and face the mirror.” You didn’t need to be told twice; hands resting on the end of the bed as your knees spread to accommodate him, eyes finding his in the mirror.

You watched his eyes as they traced up and down your bare body, appreciating the view of both sides due to the mirror. He lined the tip of his cock with your entrance; your lips trapped between your own teeth as you waited for him to give you what you had been waiting weeks for.

He slid in with ease, but you winced slightly at the pain that followed the pleasure. He stilled, allowed you to adjust, hands running across your body and mouth at your neck trying to reduce the stretch as he bottomed out.

You clenched around him as a sign he could move but he instead brought your upper body up with him, so your back was to his chest. You could both see everything in the mirror in this position; his hands that cupped your breasts and supported you as well as the place his body joined with yours. You couldn’t feel anything but him; surrounded by the scent, feel and taste of him and there was nowhere else you’d ever want to be.

His first thrust had moans falling from your lips, the same you had heard Luna try to muffle the same morning.

The second had you trying to squeeze your legs together at the pleasure, his tensed thighs not allowing you to move an inch. You had gone so long without this, so long that the pleasure was too much.

The third had you falling apart, head falling forward as you came hard; the build up from weeks on unsatisfactory orgasms and him not letting you over the edge before had you coming in an embarrassingly short amount of time.

Draco had continued his thrusts throughout your orgasm but as you looked into the mirror the cocky smirk on his face gave away his true feelings. Cocky bastard.

“Good girls don’t cum without permission.” You whimpered. You were so sensitive, but you weren’t done yet, not by any means.

“I’m sorry, I’ll be good I promise.” He apparently liked that answer as he shifted his hips slightly to angle his hips to repeatedly hit that one spot he had been avoiding so far. You let out a sound you didn’t know you were capable as his continued his thrusts that had your thighs shaking and thoughts empty.

“No one else could make you feel this good, I’m the only one aren’t I love?” You let out something between a cry and a moan when he stopped his actions, waiting for your answer. You were half delirious, hips shifting against his as you tried to bring back the friction that you needed.

When it was clear he wouldn’t be moving again until he got the response, he wanted you w

racked your brain, “Only you, it’s only ever been you I swear.” If your mind was slightly clearing you might’ve seen the irony in this, the idea that he was it for you, but he had someone else waiting for him in bed.

Sharp teeth nibbled at you ear, warmth breathe washing over it as he whispered, “If you’re good I’ll let you cum again.” If you weren’t so embarrassed from how quickly you had cum before you might not have been so successful in holding back your second orgasm from those words alone. He knew exactly which parts of your body to touch, to kiss or to simply breathe on that would have you shaking from overstimulation.

His hips suddenly snapped back up, quickly regaining the brutal pace before. You threw you head back against his shoulder, if you looked into the mirror again you were worried you’d cum again; the sight of him, thick and hard disappearing into you over and over again as his eyes would find yours, his fingers and mouth marking you as his.

You couldn’t bear to watch yourself anymore, not tonight at least, but you believed you would have an infinite number of opportunities to do so in the future.

“Oh, god-”

One of his fingers had slipped down to your most sensitive part as you got lost in your thoughts, his mouth once again asking you to look in the mirror.

“Cum.” The built-up coil in your abdomen suddenly let go and you couldn’t stop yourself from falling forward, leaving your entire body weight in his arm that wasn’t still on your clit working you through your orgasm.

“Good girl.”

//

He had taken you a further three times, finishing only twice himself compared to your five. Your entire body ached; head clearer than it had been in weeks but so content that you couldn’t stop yourself whispering the three words you had longed to hear from him again.

“I lov-”

“Don’t. Don’t say it.” There would be time to say it again is what you told yourself as you laid beside him. Usually he’d throw an arm around you and bask in the afterglow with you, softly tracing shapes across your back. Instead, you found yourself waiting for the tell-tale signs of his changing breathes before slipping under his arm and resting your cheek on his chest; telling yourself he’d still be there when you woke up.

//

You woke up to cold sheets and a heavy heart.

PART 3

TAGLIST: @bbeauttyybbx @pipppaaaaalouisee @theslytherinprincessworld @fangirl-3d2y @tttyrus @scriptingslytherin @justmimithings @purpleskymalfoy @minigigglybabi @505weasleys @secretaccshh @obbrssession @whatwoulddracodo @thatoneniceslytherin @thehumanistsdiary @mariah-can-dream @futureofanthropology @ccabian @tobarmaidswhodontcount @dray-cookies  @xuckduck @dreamyginny @dracofeltonmalfoy @lord-byron @inglourious-imagines @audreythehufflepuff @beiahadid @moonlightorbit @imonlyherecauseimbored @dracosgoodgirl @dreaming-about-fanfictions @goldenxreid @avengers-end-me @sad-bitch-h0ur @zhangyixingxing1 @yourenotafailureoverall @pastelpuffbar @miso-tang @pixiedustsupplyco @harry-and-draco-loves @tsukibaby @dracoswhore007 @hogwartslut @mischiefisbeingmanaged @raylovessarcasm @drxcomvlfx @dracosballs @standingandstaring @its-chickenwing-450 @iamproudtobeaslytherin @mischiefisbeingmanaged @pxroxide-prinxcesss @slytherinxraven @jinnbie @lunalovegoodsgirlfriend @Utzelh8 @gloryekaterina @capkatie @jquick-18 @imcedricdiggorys @osterfieldnholland @explxsion @big-galaxy-chaos @malfoycrave @softlyqoos @krazykendraisnotinsane @minsuuwu @lumlfy @mllzhxrrs44 @weasleyis0urking @slytherinwh0re @sydnee-kom-spacekru

People who asked for a part 2!: @america0105 @lana-isabelle​ @persephone-archives @tomhollandisabae @dracoxmgg @babydol @youknowiloveyou-so  @swiftingday @joselyn001 @sushiims @fuyumiworld​

[fandomspov]

ANGELS LIKE YOU ꒱ tom riddle

❝SUMMARY❞ you are Tom's girlfriend in 1944

❝WARNINGS❞ fluff; swearing

   YOU WERE talking with your best friend elizabeth about your charms essay "i've done only half of it, the teacher sucks how does he think we'll write that many pages just for an essay" she whined and you giggled "i’m almost done, i've been up all night just to finish It. i swear he doesn't care about us at all" you rolled your eyes and elizabeth agreed by nodding her head suddenly you felt a pair of arms wrap around your waist "sorry 'lizbeth but i'll steal her for a minute" he said and dragged you away, you watched as elizabeth laughed and went to her friends "what are you doing" you giggled as he stopped "what? i want to spend time with my girlfriend" he smiled putting a piece of your hair behind your ear. "well what do you wanna do then?" "go to the lake?" he suggested and you nodded "ok but we still have classes you know?"

   "i know" he placed his hand in yours and pulled you outside and towards the lake, he laid down on the grass and you laid next to him, your head on his arm. you admired his features like his perfectly structured jawline, or his dark curly hair that fell over the side of his face. "i know i'm perfect but it's rude to stare" he joked and you jokingly rolled your eyes. he turned his face towards you noticing the pink in your cheeks "aw is l/n blushing?" he mocked  "fuck off riddle" you smiled and hid your face in his chest he giggled and played with your hair "i love you too".

   in school everyone thought of tom as a monster and a bad person but they didn't give him a chance to get to know him. he was the sweetest boy you've ever met. he would always compliment you and bring you flowers, even after 2 years of dating you still give him butterflies which wasn't always happening in most relationships. being in your last year meant that you graduated in a short amount of time and you were scared to lose him. when it came to his point of view, he would get sad thinking that he would lose you after school but he didn't plan on letting you go "y/n?" he called, distracting you from your daydream "yeah?" "if i asked you to marry me, would you say yes?" You smiled "of course" he leaned in and crashed his lips on yours, you gladly returned the gesture, melting in his arms as he caressed your cheek with his thumb. "i love you.." you said noticing a slight tint of pink in his cheeks "i love you"

   "no no no this can't be happening" you told the nurse "i'm sorry miss l/n but you are pregnant" she gave you a small smile "i have to go" you made your way out of the hospital wing and to tom's dormitory. you knocked on his door, but avery opened it "where's tom?" you questioned "he's asleep , what's wrong you look like you've seen a ghost" you stepped in the dorm "i'm fine i need to talk to him right now, could you please give us a moment?" "sure" he pulled his friends outside with him and you closed the door behind them. you crawled besides Tom in his bed and snuggled into his side holding back your tears "y/n?" he said with a raspy voice "sorry I didn't mean to wake you up" his strong arm wrapped around you and you smiled, taking in his scent "what's wrong you seem sad" he said now fully awake, gently stroking your cheek. “we need to talk" "about?" he looked more worried than curious "did something happen?". "yeah, umm this morning i felt really sick and I went to the nurse. she told me that umm... i-i'm pregnant" you said

   he looked at you with a blank expression "look i understand if you don't want to raise it with me, i know we're too young and things like that but i can’t abort it, i don’t know why" his face softened "baby how could you say that, i'd never let you go through this all alone. i love you and i want to have a child with you. we're graduating in a few months and I'll be more than happy to have a house with you and a baby" he stated “i don't deserve you, you're too sweet" you smiled making him blush "are you kidding me? you're the only one who truly likes me in this school, besides my friends. you were always there for me trough thick and thin. you never judged me when I cried in your arms or when i was clingy around you, you are the kindest person i've ever met" he pulled you closer to him

   "i love soft tom" you pinched his cheek and pulled him into a deep kiss. he obviously returned the kiss "how should we name her if it's a girl?" he asked making you giggle "well..how about madeline? or alicia?" you said "i was thinking about eleanor" he looked down at your smiley face "that's beautiful" you looked up at him in his beautiful eyes as he stared in your sparkling ones "if it's a boy?" he asked

[igirisuhito]

Title: Writing down all the things gone wrong Relationship(s): Komaeda Nagito/Matsuda Yasuke Rating: Teen Summary: Upon receiving a gift from Hinata, Komaeda attempts to learn more about a student who once went to Hope's Peak academy. After a strange nightmare, he contemplates the trustworthiness of his memory. Trigger Warnings: Childhood trauma, Religious discussion (I guess?), Doctor/Patient, Medical angst, regular angst, Treatment refusal, Dementia Notes: Happy birthday Komaeda. I hope you like suffering. 

[Ao3 Link]

『••✎••』

"Hey uh, do you want this?"

Hinata's hand outstretches towards him, holding a thin paperback book between calloused fingers. It appears to be a school notebook; worn, ragged, really in a complete state of disrepair. The once white cover was now a full grey, bearing smudged writing and barely recognisable symbols. If they were symbols from any other organisation, Komaeda probably wouldn't have recognised them and asked why Hinata thought to insult him with this utter piece of trash.

"I know you like Hope's Peak memorabilia, right? This isn't really memorabilia, per say, but…" As he rambles away to himself, Hinata starts to look more and more awkward. Is he embarrassed? Ah, who wouldn't be humiliated, being seen giving such a thoughtful gift to Komaeda in an act of pity.

Before Hinata can try and make some other excuse, Komaeda reaches out, pale digits barely passing over the messy kanji. "Ry…ko… Oto…'s…"

He has to pause, squinting hard at the words. He wonders if there's a chance he's reading it wrong. "Memory notebook? Like a diary?"

Komaeda takes the notebook into his hands, accepting the gift. However, he can't suppress the grin that crosses his face as he looks back up at Hinata, the desire to tease the other just too tempting to resist. "Oh my Hinata-kun… why are you walking around with a girl's diary?"

"I-I got it from the Monomono machine, okay?!" He flushes bright red, beginning to stammer as he shoves his hands back into his pockets. "I-It could be a guy's!"

Doubtful, Komaeda flicks the crinkled pages open, carefully separating each one with his fingers. The way the ink is washed out on every page reminds him of when you would accidentally put a receipt through the wash, full of barely comprehensible writing and doodles. An overuse of love hearts and sparkles, however, proves his theory correct.

"Even if you didn't get it from somewhere weird... I'm not sure if it's really okay for me to accept this!" Sucking in a deep breath, Komaeda grips his elbows in order to calm himself. "There must be some incredibly bad luck waiting for me! For Hinata-kun to go out of his way to give me something so amazing… haha, I feel a little tingly just thinking about it!"

"Seriously, it's no big deal," it seems as though Hinata's face is just getting hotter, he must be truly embarrassed by how much of a fuss Komaeda is making over it. "Just take it, okay? We had a good time today."

"Well, thank you, Hinata-kun. It makes me unbearably happy that you would give me a gift like this!" Smile stretching impossibly wide, Komaeda holds the notebook close to his chest, careful not to crush it.

"Go home, Komaeda."

With an aggressive nod, he says his farewells, "Well then, I'll see you tomorrow, Hinata-kun."

And with that, Hinata turns away, already running off down the beach. He's sprinting like he's trying to escape something, though it wouldn't surprise Komaeda if he was just trying to run away from any possibility of them speaking again. Unfortunately for Hinata, their time on this island isn't nearly over, and he would have to face Komaeda once again tomorrow in Jabberwock Park.

A soft sigh slips past his lips with the thought. He glances towards the horizon, the glowing sea of orange as waves gently roll up on the shoreline. The sun is setting on another perfect day. A cool breeze plays at the strands of Komaeda's hair, knocking it into his eyes. He brings a hand to his face, tucking the loose white locks behind one ear as he glances back down towards the notebook in his hands.

"Memory notebook, huh?"

◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌

Komaeda sits himself down on the edge of the bed with a sigh, placing his gift from Hinata at his side. It has been an unbearably long day, between spending the morning working to collect resources and the afternoon making sandcastles with Hinata, he was worn to the bone.

He leans down to undo the zips on his boots before kicking them off. As he wiggles his toes, he is overcome by the unpleasant sensation of sand sticking between them. With a groan, he begrudgingly pulls off his socks too, all too aware of the sound of the grains hitting the floorboard as he does. A mess to deal with later.

Quickly dusting off his feet, then brings them up onto the bed with him, laying back on the covers. An ache immediately begins to settle in his muscles, and a yawn forces its way out of his mouth. With the warm heat of the evening, it feels as though he could fall asleep right here and now. As pleasant as that would be, he has yet to properly examine Hinata's gift. He'd been brimming with anxious excitement to look at it the whole walk back to his cabin.

Bringing the notebook up to his side, he lays his head against the pillow and flicks it open. The first page is filled with rushed writing done in black pen, ink that has since been washed away. If he squints hard enough, he can just barely make out the characters, fill in some blanks. This is definitely a notebook once belonging to somebody going to Hope's Peak Academy.

How exciting!

He turns the page. There's a two page spread of nothing but blurry sketches and doodles, and from what he can tell, they're incredibly well done. The artist obviously had quite the knack for reproducing realistic details, honing in on fine points such as the eyes and lips.

Carefully flicking to the next page, he finds more hastily scribbled notes and drawings. It's unusual, the subject is the same in almost every occasion, and with each depiction Komaeda finds himself starting to build a better image of that person in his head.

The ballpoint scribbles illustrate a young Japanese man, bearing long shoulder length hair and meticulously detailed eyelashes. His lips are thin, often turned down in a frown, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. The owner of the diary was very clearly infatuated with him, and he could understand why. The man was naturally gorgeous even with such a pouty face.

And somehow, he felt strikingly familiar.

Komaeda turns through a few more pages, carefully poring over the illegible kanji and fuzzy details. No matter how hard he squints, he just can't understand what the words read, as though the information is purposefully taunting him, hanging just out of reach. With a sigh, he closes the notebook and allows his eyelids to flicker shut.

"How despairing."

◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌

"Your dementia is progressing quickly." Crossing one leg over the other, the doctor spun around in his chair to face Komaeda.

His demeanour was… laid-back. Much too laid back for a doctor. And mean, harsh, unnecessarily cruel. It was clear on his face that he thought Komaeda was the most revolting thing he'd seen all day, and he was probably right.

"Ah, such is fate for someone as worthless as me. Perhaps I really am meant to die." He laughed softly to himself, gazing down at his lap.

"Shut up," the doctor hissed. "Are you taking your medication?"

Komaeda stared out the window, wordless in his thoughts. The sunlight streaming through the glass felt warm on his skin, unlike the chill of metal on the medical bed beneath him. It was a lovely day brimming with hope, a day he would have liked to be out there enjoying.

"It's a nice day isn't it, M̧̩̹̗͕̮̼̆̋͑a̦̮̟̠̓͜ť̇҉̺̙s̪̦̟̋ͤ̽͗͜ŭ̺͉̖̫͍̯̪ͯ̐͠d̷̬̤̹̩̱̫̻̺͊a̵̯͙͖̙̩͇͂͛̓̊-kun?"

"Huh?" The doctor blinked, before looking up from his clipboard and out the window. "What are you talking about? Answer the damn question."

He remained silent, continuing to gaze out the window at the campus below. There were students socialising, exercising, running to class. Blurs of smiling faces amongst a sea of brown, each student filled with a sense of pride. The air is filled with distant laughter and chatter. It's too quiet in the room.

"Why don't you wear the Hope's Peak Uniform?"

There was a loud clatter as the doctor's clipboard hit the floor. Before Komaeda can react, (as if he was going to), he's risen to his feet and practically pounced on the boy. The doctor's pale hands reached for his chest, securing a handful of his sweater. A soft gasp escaped his lips, being pulled forward until he came nose to nose with the doctor, warm erratic breaths coming short and fast on his lips.

His face was difficult to see when he was on the other side of the room, but Komaeda realised that distance was not the issue. Even when he was so close the details were hazy, Komaeda only barely being able to make a deep frown etched beneath his dark bangs. Every time he tried to take in more details, it was as though he were looking too closely at a painting, unable to take in the full image beyond a few brush strokes.

"I knew it. Of course you wouldn't take them." He spit, teeth bared and eyebrows furrowed. "You just think your fucking luck is going to save you, that this is all some big plan for 'hope'."

The doctor let go, allowing Komaeda to slump back into his chair. He looked distressed, unreasonably so to the point of unprofessionalism. The doctor swept back his hair, giving Komaeda a glimpse of glaring blue eyes before he pressed the palms of his hands into his eye sockets.

Komaeda couldn't help but chuckle to himself. And before he knew it, he was laughing. Laughing raucously, in a way that made his whole body shake with dread, his mind spin with despair. His fingers wound their way to his scalp and he gripped and pulled at his hair until he could see the doctor's horrified expression looking back at him.

"Hope?" The word dripped from his mouth like venom. "There is no hope in taking that. The disease is incurable! There's no point in messing with that fact! What hope is there in waking up every day sick as a diseased dog just so I can tack a few extra years of suffering onto my lifespan? Do you want me to suffer, is that it? Does the Ultimate Neurologist truly believe he can play God? That you can cure a terminal illness? It's embarrassing, you truly don't know when to draw the line, to give up on a piece of human garbage like-!"

"What the fuck would you know about God, you demented freak?!"

Komaeda bit his tongue, a sickening grin forming on his face.

"You think some God is going to sweep you away from this? There is no damn God!" The doctor near screams the words. "There's you, me, and a miserable little pile of pills. You're the one who refuses to see an expert, you're the one who insisted on seeing an 'Ultimate', and yet you refuse to do what you've been told. I don't know why I bother, shit, you can rot in that empty skull of yours for all I care."

By the time he was done with his rant, he'd fallen back into his chair, dejected, out of breath. Komaeda didn't miss the flush on his cheeks, the way his nails dug into his thighs. What a brash display of emotion.

"I never knew you felt so strongly about God, Matsuda-kun." Straightening out his sweater, Komaeda shot the other a wide smile. "I guess it makes sense, you are a man of science, after all."

The doctor did not raise his head, remaining in his hunched over position. He was shaking, fists scrunching the fabric of his pants as he tried to regain his composure, probably to stop himself from jumping across the room and choking Komaeda to death. He thought he would have deserved it at this point.

"Do you really not understand how privileged you are? Are you doing this just to mock me, to make me suffer? I shouldn't have expected any less from Komaeda fucking Nagito," his voice trembled and cracked. "Am I the incompetent one? Should I be coming to your dorm every night and forcing the damn things down your throat? I can't fucking listen to you, I can't stand you. Every time you look at me with that stupid fucking grin on your face it feels like you think this is all a joke. What if you do die? What do you think is gonna happen to the people who love and care about you?"

Komaeda opened his mouth to refute him, but quickly snapped it shut again when a scalpel zipped past his head, lodging itself in the wall behind him with a thwunk. The doctor had raised his head, arm poised with another scalpel in hand and eyes filled with deadly intent as he glared at Komaeda.

"Get the fuck out of my office you ugly bastard."

◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌ ◌

Komaeda opens his eyes suddenly, silently.

It's no dramatic waking up from a nightmare, no shooting up out of bed with his lungs burning and chest heaving. Just a sudden realisation that he is awake and that he has been dreaming. Perhaps he was kicked out of Matsuda's office, but how would he know? It was just as possible that he'd risen to his feet and beaten him senseless.

…Matsuda?

It's a familiar name, but not one that belongs to anyone Komaeda knows. "Matsuda-kun. Matsuda… Hope's Peak?"

He mumbles to himself, attempting to make sense of the information thrown at him. They say dreams are pulled from your memories, so why would he have memories from Hope's Peak? Why would he have memories of a person he has never known?

"Matsuda… I called him the Ultimate Neurologist, didn't I?" He asks the question to the darkness of his room. "I wouldn't forget somebody like that, would I?"

Komaeda sits up, pushing his hair back as he brings a hand to his forehead. "Would I?"

Eyes drifting along the covers of his bed, he spots the memory notebook. "I wonder if I should start keeping one too," he chuckles.

[h-sleepingirl]

Scenes from a Hypnotic Skype Call 4/22/20

I text him in the morning like I always do, before I go back to sleep for a little while. He texts back, “Call at noon?” and I get so happy despite not really being awake, replying eagerly before I catch my last hour.

I have been feeling everything incredibly intensely for the past few days. We have been so on. Our long weekend call was so amazing. Afterwards I was completely fucked. The next day I was fucked. The day after that I was fucked. And the day after…

We have talked so much about the potential for truly long-term trance. Days. Waking up into hypnosis in the morning. I never really believed it would be possible without us being in the same place.

But I spent Sunday dumb because he took advantage of me feeling unwell. Monday we had a call. Tuesday afternoon I realized I had been in trance all day.

Now Wednesday. I wasn’t sure in the morning if I was in trance or not. But god, was I excited and needy for him.

We get on and I see myself on the little screen and how bouncy I look, hear how squeaky I sound. Our babble is stupid and flirty and inane. But watching myself, seeing the way I look and hearing the stupid desperation in my voice makes me feel something, like I’m in over my head.

“I keep having this feeling, like, are you proud, are you happy about what you’ve done to this girl?” I ask, and it’s thin, and it feels like I’ve started on this small thread that I have to unravel.

He gives me a big smile and a thumbs up. “Should I not be?” he asks, so high-spirited, reducing my little outburst.

“I feel like you should be a little… sad…”

...Because you’re changing her. Because you’re destroying her original personality...

“Why should I be sad?”

The energy has shifted. This chat is a farce. I know it. But I’m too deep into it, feel a strange confidence that is like there is nothing I have left to lose.

“You’re ruining me,” I say, plainly, almost pleading. “Really…”

It’s a pornographic conversation. Straight out of a story. I feel like a character, like text on a page, but I can’t stop it. I remember other moments like this, a date where I whispered, ‘You’re changing me…’ The way he responded…

“Yeah? And I should be sad about that?” His voice has started lilting, gotten softer, acknowledging the way my eyes have softened.

All I can do is make a tiny noise. I’m slipping…

-- He’s trancing me hard and my consciousness truly feels like it’s slipping away, I’m losing myself, vision swimming, body swaying, can’t express the way that I really feel like I’m going away, really…

I realize that I’ve lost my ability to understand the words he’s saying, I really have no idea… Not suggested, just spontaneous, I feel so confused and at the same time I can’t bring myself to exert any effort to change it. This has been happening more and more often, to varying degrees… It feels futile... Too far gone. So far gone. His words wash over me and all I can do is sink into them and sink into the knowledge that I don’t have enough brain left anymore, like a young child, like an animal.

He wakes me up and I have no idea how long it’s been, no idea what he did to me.

“I really, really couldn’t understand you,” I breathe, and I’m shaking with the force of that. I’m still in trance.

“Yeah?” he asks quietly.

He keeps trancing me, and I keep not being able to comprehend it.

--

He wakes me up. All I can do is blink dumbly at him, burning with obsession, but completely subdued by thick trance, thick pleasure and surrender.

“So is that kind of the topic?” he asks, and his voice is so sweet, dangerously, venomously sweet. “The thing that’s been happening, the feeling of being perpetually caught in this trap, that you walked into like a fucking moron?”

My throat tightens as I try not to cry out in delicious anguish.

--

“Do you remember when you first noticed that I was making it harder for you to understand what I was doing to you?”

“Not exactly,” I whisper. “But I remember the first time I thought that…”

“Yeah,” he says. “And it’s kind of sad, right? You don’t like that you’re not able to analyze it anymore?”

I nod, pained.

“That’s why we record the calls, right?” he says. “To give you some sense that there’s something you can go back to later?”

I’m holding my breath.

“But then what happens when you listen back?” Patronizing. Knowing.

I make a horrible little high-pitched noise.

I go away when I listen back. It doesn’t matter. I’ve tried time and time again, listening and helplessly going into trance, sometimes able to catch things, sometimes they slip away… My memory and my intelligence in this so faulty…

“That’s right,” he says. “It’s awful. Because that was something I took away from you.”

My body tenses hard in the terrible pleasure of that and I remember again my favorite date and the long interrogation of what he could take away from me permanently… Realizing that this is it, that this is a thing that he found that he could, that he kept his promise… How long it took me…

--

“Be porn,” he says, turning away from my screen and focusing on his computer. “I have to do some work.”

My brain short-circuits. I blank out. My body begins moving automatically, far more graceful and erotic than I ever can acheive consciously, my hands delicately moving across my body, fingers over my collarbones, teasing at the front of my shirt. My shoulders cock seductively. I am in control of none of it, but find what’s left of me just observing helplessly what I look like on the screen, and extraordinarily focused on him, absolutely needing him to respond to me, but at the same time having an infinite patience until he does.

He’s busy typing for a moment as I start teasing my tits, pulling at my shirt, and he looks over, and just stops and stares.

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” he says, suddenly ragged, and I know immediately there is no pretense, no show for me, I can hear and see so clearly the way I’m affecting him, so genuine. His response is the hottest thing in the world to me, even as my vision comes in and out, and I feel myself smile, bring a finger to my lips and suck obscenely on it.

I never would be able to do this normally. Not like this, not without shame.

He wrenches his vision away from me to turn back to work, and I feel nothing, no disappointment, no decay in eroticism. I am just porn on his screen. I am just here to get him off. It is my entire purpose and I keep performing even when he is not looking.

I suck two fingers this time, feeling the drool start leaking just a little bit out of my lips, making perverse suction noises, and I notice that that makes him look over at me, and feel myself learning that.

He looks like he is in trance watching me. I love that face, it gets me off so much, and it has been so long… I feel my body adjust with that little thought, how to make my motions more hypnotic, more alluring. I am dynamic, learning porn, programmed for so long to turn him on and hyperfocused on becoming even more totally perfect in every single moment. It uses all of my conscious knowledge to do it.

I feel completely disconnected from my body. I want to stare at the image of myself to see what I look like but I can’t, really. Sometimes I glance. But I imagine she looks like a dolly, totally blank-eyed and docile even as she moves like a seductress. It is impossibly good.

The cycle repeats, over and over, him turning to look, the shift of his feedback, and me being perfectly distracting until he wins the struggle and can look away. He is so, so turned on, it is completely palpable to me, more important than anything in the world.

Sometimes the sucking blanks me out. I’ve been so conditioned for so long to go away when I have fingers in my mouth. It is purely instinct, purely muscle memory. (Now, I think of Pavlovian conditioning and get upset that I didn’t talk about this idea of when a conditioned behavior approaches the same level of base responsiveness as unconditioned behavior...) But I know I must look immensely dumb, immensely mindfucked, vision just nonsubstantial and tongue moving rhythmically.

He loves it. I could talk about it for pages and pages, the back and forth, the true exchange of energy and power that happens in such a casual way, over miles and miles apart. For me, I exist only as a creature of the moment, seconds ago forgotten so easily. At one point, he shifts his focus entirely on me and trances me hard after he pulls himself out of trance.

Finally, he snaps, and it is so jarring, far too instant, far too different than the bliss object that I was.

I breathe heavily. I feel broken and I feel thrilled, like we just did something otherworldly and precious.

He looks about as fucked as I do.

The first thing I am able to say, shaken, but excited, is, “How long was that? Do you know?”

He takes my request seriously. “I can look,” he says. “...Just about ten minutes.”

I look back on the past ten minutes in my memory and find a blur of sexuality, impenetrable when I poke at it.

“Oh, my god.”

We talk about it for a long while.

--

@hypnokinkwithmrdream

[duskroine]

identity.

Who are you?

     “ I am Ophelia Dusk! A heroine of legacy and virtue -- a follower of the stars! ”

And who are you?

    “ You haven’t heard of my name? It is I, Ophelia Dark! The greatest swords-woman in all of ᖇ E ᗪ ᗩ ᑕ T E ᗪ! ”

Then... who are you?

    “ Princess Ophelia Dawn, fairest in all the land no matter where my legend takes the ears of the curious! ”

         Y o u   a r e   n o b o d y.          

. . .

The throne is cold beneath her. Frigid against silk and frills and lace. Her cape is longer -- uniform replaced for a gown. Her circlet crown is tight around her head. The shield to her empty, empty mind. 

     Protection.

               Footsteps echo off the pristine walls. Windows tinted and glass stained with gold ( It’s the gold around her wrist ) and blood ( It’s the blood she coughed up earlier that morning ).

                         Security.

                                   The person stops before her -- a cloak pulled over their head but their lips quiver behind the shadow cast over their face. She can see the way their cheeks hollow and cave in -- as if they didn’t fit their face. Their wrists are small, barely caught in the shackles around them. 

                                             Trust.

                                                       Everything she couldn’t give her people.

. . .

Huh... her people?

    “ Is that all I am to you? ”

She shakes her head -- her body nods instead.

     A scoff falls from their lips. It’s sunken ( like their cheeks ). As if the life had not only been sucked from their body, but their mind, too. Soulless and without shelter. This kingdom isn’t their home. It isn’t hers either.

              “ All you royals are the same... ”

She plants her feet on the ground -- her body forces her to rise. Lightning dances over her palm, fingers, and wrist. She knows the dance before it’s even carried out. Before the curtains, velvet and silk, are pulled back. She knows the song before it’s sung. Pages and pages of blank lyrics -- the incantation burns her throat as it crawls up into her mouth.

    “ A bunch of sick, twisted bastards. ”

               Her hand rises from her side.

                        “ How does the power taste, Princess? Is it fresh, served off a-- ”

                                   Silver platter. She knows their words before they speak them; maybe that’s why the lightning travels so easily through their body. She knows them, and they must know her. They do know her. ( The real her? Or this her? ) Her finger touches their forehead -- it was a mistake to bow to a fake, wasn’t it?

They makes too much noise when they die.

     Tyrant. Tyrant. Tyrant.

               The circlet crown tightens around her head just as her fingers press harder against theirs.

                         Tyrant. Tyrant. TYRANT.

                                   Dusk colors the sky and strikes the stained glass of the throne room’s windows. The person’s eyes glow; Ophelia’s torture is open for all to see. The people see her through the walls of her castle. Through her hundreds of soldiers. Through her own eyes. Through her skin and decisions and her. 

                                             Tyrant. TYRANT. TYRANT.

                                                       She’s a tyrant. Maybe... maybe in another life, she isn’t. The knowledge of royalty will remain a secret to that young, eccentric Ophelia. She’ll be able to practice magic and serve someone -- no more ruling for a dead princess. She’ll die a tyrant.

                                                                 CURSED TYRANT!!

She pulls her hand away when the person stops shaking, almost abruptly. They’re eyes flutter, crimson irises now shine a bright aquamarine. She stares, harder. Stares through him and at the entrance of the throne room. Maybe even farther. Maybe to a new home, one that she could have lived in.

     Her hand is heavy; black stains the back of it. 

               Ophelia does not remember this mark. Tyranny. She does not remember whether she should be afraid or pleased. She does not remember if it is the bane of her existence.

. . .

Her circlet is loose, pressed underneath a headband.

     ...Nina’s.

Lysithea’s fingers weave into her own, hands pressed together as the smaller of the two girls shuffle closer to the other. Ophelia’s exhale sticks in her mouth. Afraid but courageous. Alone but in the company of others. Sensitive to colors but aquamarine continues to glow in the corners of her vision. Here but her body feels light, as if she’ll float out of this reality and into a different one. Maybe her real one.

     Ophelia remembers the mark on her hand. Tyranny. She remembers tears and screaming and hands reaching out for her. She remembers a throne and a meadow and a lost battlefield. She remembers a wedding...

               She remembers that none of those memories are truly hers.

[lifblogs]

#SPNAdventCalendar2020 | Cooking and Baking | @bend-me-shape-me

READ ON AO3

The thick, white pages of the brand-new book sitting on the metal counter in the middle of the bunker’s kitchen rustled as Castiel flipped through them. He thought he’d seen instructions for what he was doing somewhere near the front of the book. He was wearing one of Dean’s T-shirts, and had foolishly chosen a black Metallica shirt. It now had various white powders decorating it. Truly, it hadn’t been Castiel’s fault. How was he supposed to know that dry ingredients didn’t need to be whisked so vigorously? He’d never done this before.

What he was looking for now was what it meant to “cut the butter into the flour mixture.” Surely he would’ve seen Dean do it at some point?

He sighed, thinking maybe this had all been a bad idea. He just didn’t know how to do these kinds of things, even with the cookbook, it would seem.

You’re four-hundred million years old, he chastised himself. There’s no reason you can’t learn.

After finding the instructions he was looking for, he managed to painstakingly teach himself how to do what the recipe said. The eggs decided to be difficult. The shells kept getting in the mixture, and he’d had to hunt them down and remove them. Eggshells did not like being grabbed. Yolk was just such a strange substance, and as he continued with this task, he wondered why humans even liked eggs. Then again, humans liked a lot of strange things.

Dean walked in while Castiel was staring down at the bowl, poised to crack another egg. He’d been attempting to do this in the middle of the night so it would be a surprise for his family, but perhaps he’d been making too much noise.

Dean paused in the entryway closer to the bedrooms, and he stared at him.

“What are you doing?” he asked, voice gruff with sleep. But there was no mistaking the alertness beginning to light up in his eyes.

“Baking.”

Castiel raised the egg, ready to crack it on the side of the bowl, and Dean rushed over, hands outstretched.

“No, don’t!”

“Why not? This is how Sam does it.”

“And that is exactly why you shouldn’t do it. Now put the egg down before you hurt yourself.”

Castiel did as he said, and, intrigued, he watched Dean get a little bowl down from a shelf. Then he grabbed the egg, rinsing it in the sink as he explained, “Eggs are like fruit.” Castiel tilted his head at him. He was about to say that, no, they weren’t, because they didn’t grow on a plant, but Dean went on, “They can get all nasty stuff on them in the store, so you gotta rinse ‘em off.” He came back over to the counter with the clean egg, and the bowl, and then said, “This is how you do it.”

He cracked the egg in the smaller bowl.

“How come?” Castiel asked, seeing as the egg’s innards just ended up in the mix anyway.

“This way,” Dean explained, “you crack them one at a time, and you can pick the bits of shell out — if there are any — without having to go crazy with sticking your hands in the mix. Now, what’s next?”

“We need the vanilla extract.”

Dean leaned down, hands on his hips, peering at the book. He was sucking on his bottom lip in concentration, and he seemed so serious about it all. With the way his pants were twisted about wrong on his body from his sleep, and his hair a subtle mess, Cas couldn’t help staring. Dean Winchester was many things, and cute was definitely one of those things. He didn’t know if he could tell him that though.

“Did you preheat the oven to 375 degrees?” he asked.

Cas gave him a blank look. “What?”

Dean pointed at the first line of instructions. “Here. It says you’re supposed to preheat the oven.”

“I’ve never used the oven before.”

Instead of sighing or seeming tired and exasperated, Dean just led him over to it and showed him how it worked. He let Castiel then finish the work of setting the temperature and hitting start.

Dean guided Cas through the recipe, and in no time at all, they had gotten the sugar cookies in the oven. Cas crouched down to watch, wanting to see the neat circles of dough turn gold.

Dean whacked at him with a towel, and it gently slapped across his ass. Castiel straightened, turned, and glared.

Dean pointed a reprimanding finger at him, “Hey, don’t look at me like that. There’s still more work to do cookie boy.”

“Cookie boy?” Castiel asked with a laugh, going to embrace Dean from behind.

“It was either that or egg man,” Dean reasoned.

Cas shook his head, smiling in amusement.

Dean gently shoved himself out of his arms, and then set about gathering up various items and ingredients from the kitchen. He was so fast that Castiel twirled, and twirled again as he watched him. His boyfriend informed him, “We have to decorate them. So that means icing. I’m thinking we do a border icing, and then a flood icing.”

Castiel had questions about what those words meant, but he knew they’d be answered as they worked. Instead he asked, “Where did you learn all this?”

Dean glanced over his shoulder at him from where he was grabbing some kind of powdery sugar from a shelf. “Taught myself,” he answered.

Castiel grinned, showing his teeth.

“It’s very impressive.”

Dean shrugged and brought the last of the items over. “It’s just baking, sunshine.”

“Yes, but it’s creating something.”

“I mean, lots of people can create.”

Cas let out a sigh he felt in his entire body, and rolled his eyes so hard he ended up tilting his head with it. Dean was glancing at him now, pink lips parted slightly. It was hard to resist kissing him when he looked like that.

“Dean, just let me compliment you.”

Dean’s mouth snapped shut, and a blush filled in his cheeks, making his dusting of freckles pop out.

Then they set to work on the different icings, Dean explaining everything. The cookies apparently had to cool or else the icing would melt right off of them, and Dean got impatient, so he put them in the fridge once they were done. Even with the oven off now turned off, the kitchen was nice and toasty.

Soon, there were a few bowls of icing sitting before them, and in three different colors: white, red, and green.

“First step of decorating,” Dean began, before sharply cutting off, digging a few of his fingers into a bowl of green flood icing, and slapping them to Cas’ face.

Cas retaliated without a thought.

Soon, Cas had a spoon, and Dean a spatula, and they each had their respective bowls and were flinging icing at each other.

Dean slipped on some of his red icing he’d gotten on the floor, and Castiel reached out to help… consequently dropping his bowl. Dean landed first, on his back on the floor, howling with laughter, and then the bowl hit, and icing splattered on Cas.

Ignoring the icing, he rushed over, and knelt by Dean, feeling him over. “Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

Dean just continued cackling, so Castiel took that as a good sign. He grabbed the back of his head and pulled him down into a kiss that Castiel easily returned.

“You know, we have to make more icing now,” Cas pointed out.

Dean shrugged, pushed the upper part of his body up towards Cas, and leaned into him, tongue finding his face.

Cas flinched back in surprise, and Dean growled. “I want the icing on you, god damn it!”

Castiel just responded by wiping icing from Dean’s face and forcing his finger in his mouth.

“There. Icing.”

Castiel stood, and Dean started laughing again.

They laughed until suddenly, Sam was standing in the doorway, arms out in frustrated shock.

“What the hell is happening in here? You’re gonna wake Jack.”

Cas just glanced at Dean, and Dean did the same. They smiled, and immediately, they were moving. Dean grabbed the bowl of white border icing. Cas grabbed the spatula, and they shot a large glob of icing right at Sam. Apparently too tired for this, Sam left, grumbling and swearing. Castiel just sat, pulled Dean into his lap, and fed him what was left in the bowl.

“At least we did decorate something,” Castiel said.

“What?”

“The kitchen.”

Dean leaned against him as he let out a hearty laugh. Cas held him, joining in.

[artificialqueens]

Control, 1/3 (Katya/Manila) - Dartmouth420

Summary: All it took as the deal went south was a split second, a single gunshot, and then the incredibly stupid, impulsive decision to grab all the coke the guy had on the table and run. Now Katya and Manila need to get rid of a dangerous, truly incriminating amount of cocaine as fast as possible, as they rocket towards rock-bottom in Katya’s 1997 Volvo hatchback. Lesbian AU heist tale, Katya/Manila main, past (plot-relevant) Rajila & Trixya.

A/N: It’s darker and sadder than the summary makes it out to be. This story was inspired by the request for Katya/Manila chaos a few weeks ago, and some Lana Del Rey songs, but it got unhinged and angsty so PLEASE heed the content warnings. but other than that enjoy :)

CW: codependent relationship, drug use, drug addiction, off-screen gun violence, smut, semi-clothed sex, strap-ons, past abusive relationships, angst, unreliable narrator

PS: addiction is a very complex issue, and not something to be taken lightly in��real life.

Part 1:

She doesn’t mind I have a flat broke-down life

In fact she says she thinks it’s what she might like about me

Admires me, the way I roll like a rolling stone

-Lana Del Rey, ‘Off To The Races’

It’s the cocaine, obviously.

Katya knows the cocaine is what’s fuelling these decisions. It’s not her fault.

The knowledge hadn’t stopped her from accompanying Manila anyway, as what was supposed to be their deal on enough coke to fuel a big party this weekend had gone sour and scary, and the guy had reached behind him for the gun in his waistband. But Manila had been faster, she’d pulled her piece out of her purse and shot the guy in a sudden explosion of noise.

On the couch in the living room in Manila’s tiny apartment, Katya rubs some coke onto her gums, and presses her fingers to her temples in an attempt to calm herself. Manila paces back and forth in front of the coffee table while Katya tries not to think about the shock in the dealer’s eyes, and his tattooed arm grasping at the bullet wound in his shoulder as he fell back. Is he dead? Maybe. Maybe not.

There are seven single-kilogram bricks of cocaine, one torn open at the corner, sitting in front of them on the coffee table, among the coffee-stained mugs and crumpled McDonald’s bags and the cheap paperback sci-fi novels that Katya likes.

Manila paces with her phone out, and her leather jacket open. She turns on her heel on one end of the stained carpet and makes a call, bringing the phone to her ear.

“Heyyy,” says Manila, drawing out the word.

Someone on the other end shouts Bitch, how did you get this number?! and Manila scrambles, “No wait no, Trinity, hear me out-“

There’s an audible beep, and Manila glares at the phone, angry.

“Okay, okay,” repeats Manila to herself, pacing back and forth, “We can get this under control.”

All the pacing is making Manila’s short dress ride up her thighs, drawing Katya’s eyes. Manila’s legs are easily her best feature. Well, her curly black hair is nice, too. Katya watches her nervously. It isn’t that she’s afraid of her, no, Katya loves her girlfriend. Obviously.

But Manila did just shoot the guy back there.

Katya had shrieked, her hands flying to her mouth, gazing in horror at Manila’s blank, shocked expression. They’d stared at each other for a split second, and then, completely without thinking, Katya had rushed for the drugs that sat on the table next to the man groaning on the floor, shoving the bricks of coke into her purse, Manila had arrived at the table a second later, and they’d rushed out and leapt into Katya’s 1997 Volvo hatchback and sped off as shouts echoed from the abandoned warehouse.

Katya drove like a madwoman back to Manila’s apartment, her scabby knuckles bright white on the steering wheel while in the passenger’s seat next to her Manila dragged in big gulps of air, trembling.

So, yeah. Here they are. Katya had known that Manila had a gun in her purse, just in case, but she hadn’t thought it would… well, come out. Of the purse.

“We need to sell it quick,” says Katya, keeping her voice as calm as possible, despite her rapidly beating heart. In the thrill of panic they’d broken into one of the bricks and done some lines, and were now both a bit twitchy. “We can’t- we can’t sit on this much. Fuck it’s so much money, I could really use it-”

“I know, me too,” replies Manila, taking her phone back out and scrolling. Her movements are rapid, nervous.

Katya glares down at the table, willing her whirring mind to think, and suddenly she misses Trixie. The breakup had been terrible, Katya had yelled and cried and threatened and begged Trixie to stay, but it was well over eight months ago and Katya should be over it. She isn’t. It’s like Trixie took her heart out of her chest when she left, and is still carrying it around with her. Katya has known Manila for a lot longer, from even before she met Trixie, and in the aftermath Manila was well, single (sort of) and there.

Katya has always been incapable of making good decisions. Even alright decisions. But she’s been trying to talk to Trixie again. It’s been going well. She hopes they’ll be back together by the end of the year.

Manila taps her phone, and then hits speaker, and the sound of it ringing echoes around her small apartment. Katya watches her. Manila paces, holding the phone out in her hand.

“Hello?” comes a deep, familiar voice.

“Latrice!” enthuses Manila, all smiles and joviality, “Hey girl, long time no chat!”

“Uh-huh, same to you, what’ve you got going on?”

The mild skepticism in Latrice’s voice is as well-hidden as Manila’s own manic edge. But maybe Latrice would be interested, and she’d buy a chunk of their sudden supply. Katya fidgets on the couch, reaching out and sinking her fingers into one of Manila’s old throw-pillows, the one with the fading print of Bettie Page posing with a whip.

“I’ve got, uh,” says Manila, speaking like she’s consciously trying to slow herself down, still pacing, tossing her hair over her shoulder, “I’ve got something you might like to buy.”

“Oh? And what might that be?”

“Ah, just a little something for a good time.”

“How much have you got?”

Latrice’s voice remains cautious-friendly, and Katya gets her hopes up for a second. Latrice is a local club owner, large-and-in-charge, friendly and easy-going, and primarily a legitimate business woman. But she sometimes dabbles in other kinds of purchases. Like they all do.

“Yeah, uh, a little more than I thought…” says Manila smoothly, with a chuckle, like it’s all a big joke. “Seven kilos.”

Silence on the other end of the line.

“Latrice?”

“I’m still here,” replies Latrice, but her tone is now suspicious, reticent.

“Mm,” says Manila, nodding to herself, “Okay, so you’re interested? Think you want to buy a brick? Or two?”

“Two kilos? Girl.”

“Don’t say it like that, you know how these things happen,” says Manila rapidly, trying to smooth it over.

“Seven kilos of coke doesn’t just happen, Manila.”

“Look we need to sell it fast-“

“You always need something, don’t you.“ Latrice’s tone is unimpressed, annoyed. "How many favours have I done for you over the years, and how many times have you disappeared when I needed you to have my back? See this is your problem-“ They’d all been good friends once, recalls Katya. Champagne and glitter and birthdays and club music and VIP lounges. Perhaps not so much anymore. “I don’t even want to know, I’m not getting involved-“

“Just let me expl- no- don’t you dare hang up on me!”

There’s a beep and the call drops.

Katya stands up, and walks the short few steps to the kitchen, chewing at her lip. Her gums are going numb. Who does she know that could buy this amount of stolen cocaine and very, very fast? She scrolls through her mental list of contacts and stares at the counter, at the crumbs brushed to the backstop.

“Well that sucks, why am I the one calling everybody-” mutters Manila from the living room, and then says louder, “Okay, okay, this isn’t a big deal. We’ve got choices, we’ve got options.”

Manila paces the living room again, tapping at her lips with her finger.

“What if we parcel it out and sell it at the club tonight?” suggests Katya, wriggling her hips as she bends over to look in the fridge, before glancing over her shoulder to see if Manila’s eyeing her ass in her jeans or not. Coke always makes her a little horny, which used to make Trixie unsettled. But Manila likes that about her.

Manila pauses in her pacing, watching Katya’s ass, and a little thrill shoots down Katya’s spine. There isn’t anything of interest in the fridge. Some carrot sticks, old milk, leftover pizza. Slimy spinach from Katya’s attempt to get something green into them both last week. Behind her, there’s a snort as Manila does another bump.

“Maybe- no, the first place they’ll check is the clubs and they’ll probably recognize us, but if we could get someone else to sell for us-“

Katya looks back at her, arching her back with a giggle and wiggling her ass. Her heart is soaring, she can’t help smiling, and there’s a manic edge underneath it. Her gums are numb, and her throat is tingling.

Something changes in Manila’s eyes and a smile spreads across her face.

Manila always makes Katya feel good, of course, but it’s a different kind of good than she’d had with Trixie. Trixie, with her big hair, her flannel shirts in the morning over her those little pink nightdresses, her dry humour. The way she didn’t always realize when she was being funny. Her observations. She used to make up silly songs for Katya, strumming away on her guitar while they sat on the balcony and Katya smiled and laughed and spilled her coffee, kicking her feet with how happy she was.

But Trixie had been able to walk away from it all because she had a goal. Katya and Manila haven’t had real goals in years.

Manila walks the short distance from the living room to the kitchen, eyes on Katya’s ass, hunger on her face. There’s an impulsive, high thrill in the air, that might be from the coke or the crime or both. Katya straightens, shutting the fridge.

Manila grasps her waist from behind, pushing Katya against the fridge and murmuring in her ear, “Gotcha, baby.”

Katya cackles and smiles and pushes her bony ass back into Manila’s body. But she likes it, the way that Manila manhandles her sometimes. It’s thrilling. She’s always had a thing for tall femme chicks with an aggressive streak. Trixie used to do the same thing, playful, until she started refusing to touch her at all.

Manila takes Katya’s upper arms and turns her around, bringing them both from the fridge to push Katya back against the counter and kiss her. Now this is going exactly where Katya wanted it to go, and it’s messy and frantic and maybe they’re both a lot high and a little scared. Lips meet teeth and tongues mingle, delicious.

“Get up on the counter,” orders Manila, breaking the kiss, and Katya obeys, hopping up with the help of her hands. She wraps her legs around Manila’s hips and they make out some more, Manila running her hands up Katya’s muscular back under her T-shirt, and Katya’s heart beats a little faster.

Katya tries her luck sneaking her hand between them and feeling up one of Manila’s not-particularly-impressive tits. Anyone involved with Trixie Mattel, even for a brief period of time, is ruined for all other breasts afterwards.

Manila bites Katya’s bottom lip in response, and the brief shot of pain goes straight to her pussy. Katya whines, and Manila goes from her lips to her neck, sucking the sensitive spot right below Katya’s jaw, and then she pulls back, hands fumbling on the button and fly of Katya’s jeans.

“Are they building jeans more complicated all of a sudden?” mutters Manila impatiently to herself as she works Katya’s fly open and Katya laughs, lifting herself up on her hands like the athlete she is- correction, once was, as Manila finally manages to get the fly down and pulls her jeans and underwear down to her knees.

Sitting back down ass naked on the counter is hilarious and Katya giggles, and then there’s the matter of working the jeans down to her ankles while Manila returns to Katya’s neck with a vengeance, kissing and sucking, and generally sending tingles up and down her spine. Manila roughly shoves Katya’s legs apart and drops to her knees.

And now it’s time for the best part and it’s the best part because, simply put, Manila might not be very smart (Trixie’s smarter than her despite her endless dumb blonde jokes) but Manila’s really fucking good at eating pussy.

Any dyke in Boston will tell you if you ask.

So Katya lets out this strangled gasp as Manila goes in with that fantastic mouth of hers, and Katya tangles her hands in that black curly hair and shivers and whines and tries to open her legs as wide as humanly possible without falling off the counter.

“Yes, god yes, ha, fuck-“ babbles Katya, caught up between gasps of laughter. She’s always been expressive.

The pressure builds as Katya rocks her hips, and Manila pushes fingers inside her and flicks her tongue over her clit in that way that makes Katya’s eyes roll back. Her head falls back and smacks against the cupboard behind her, and Katya throws one hand back to catch herself, scrambling to stay upright, as Manila holds her legs steady, in charge.

“Ow! Uh no, not you- oh fuck yes-”

It feels so good, it’s like a rollercoaster, building building building. Manila does that thing with her tongue again, glancing up to meet Katya’s eyes for a second, and Katya sees stars.

Two or three orgasms later, Manila stands up and leaves Katya gasping through the aftermath of the last one on her own. Wiping her mouth with the back of her wrist, Manila leans in and captures Katya’s lips in a brief kiss.

“You want your turn?” says Katya, as her breath returns to normal. She hops off the counter, brushes the crumbs off her ass and pulls her underwear back up but doesn’t bother with her jeans yet, stepping out of them.

Manila nods. Manila’s turn is usually after Katya’s unless it’s one of those rare nights where Katya doesn’t want anything, doesn’t want to be touched at all, which happens sometimes. Trixie was always understanding, she was so loving, so patient. Manila is less so. But Katya has a lot less patience for her, too.

“Meet you in the bedroom,” says Manila, grabbing a lipstick-stained glass from the pile of dishes by the sink and filling it from the tap. To wash out the taste of pussy, Katya presumes.

Katya picks up her jeans and heads to the bathroom, pausing at the coffee table to cut out another line of blow and put it up her nose, while Manila does the same, except her trajectory is to the bedroom. As Katya washes her hands she stares into the mirror. Dark circles under her manic hazel eyes. Dryish lips. A weird pimple on her jaw that came out of nowhere. Straw-blonde hair up in a greasy top-knot. White T-shirt with Bob Ross on the front. But she’s wearing her favourite earrings, the ones that are dangly little plastic hands. Heh. Katya manages a smile. Those earrings always make her smile.

But what the fuck are they going to do with all that cocaine-

No time for that now, Katya breaks eye contact with herself and dries her hands, because it’s time to fuck Manila and fucking Manila is always an event.

In the bedroom, Manila has taken off her leather jacket but not her dress, and holds her phone in one hand, glaring down at it. She’s pushing forty but she still looks good and for a moment Katya just admires her figure in that short black lace nude illusion dress that hilariously doesn’t match her skin tone, and those long, fantastic legs.

They make eye contact across the room.

“Fuck me.”

It’s an order. Manila is always in control.

Katya crosses the room, leaning in to initiate the kiss. Softer this time, as Katya touches the back of Manila’s neck, and moves her bare legs against Manila’s own and eventually drops her hands down to grip her ass.

They stumble to the bed, and it only takes a quick confirmation for Katya to know what Manila wants. Katya’s on top of her, pressing her arms down, and pushing her thigh between Manila’s legs so she can grind on it. They furiously make out even as Katya’s gut is tightening, is reminding her, hey, you just saw this woman shoot a man-

As Manila’s breath gets heavier, Katya ignores the doubt and sits up and gets off the bed. Manila turns over, and slides herself back so that she’s bent over the edge of the bed, taking in a breath of anticipation. Her dress is riding up, and Katya can see the crotch of Manila’s plain blue cotton underwear. It’s damp.

Katya steps back and digs under the bed for her harness and strap-on, the one that she’s taken to leaving here. Hurriedly, Katya does up the leather harness and puts the dildo in place. It’s purple. Trixie used to wear it, and Katya would get on top and ride it enthusiastically, expressive, words of love and lust tumbling from her while Trixie gripped her thighs and smiled and fucked it up into her, her blonde hair splayed out on the mattress like a halo- Katya clicks it on to vibrate, angles it so that the end rests against her clit through her underwear and then gets down on her knees.

Manila props herself up on her elbows, and peers over her shoulder at Katya, her dark eyes intense and expecting. She licks her lips. It sends a jolt down Katya’s spine.

“Are you wet for me?” asks Katya in a filthy, half-joking tone.

“Why don’t you find out?’ replies Manila.

Katya decisively pushes Manila’s dress up to her waist and pulls her underwear down, and grabs her ass cheeks, squeezing, before running her knuckles across Manila’s pussy, to check. Manila sighs, and shuts her eyes. Katya isn’t sure who Manila’s imagining behind those eyelids, and she doesn’t ask. When Katya shuts her eyes it’s always Trixie.

On her lower back, Manila has a tramp stamp of the gemini symbol with a stylized little tail on the end. It’s ridiculous because as Katya knows well, Manila’s birthday is in October. Manila was getting it covered, redesigned into a monarch butterfly, but it’s half-done so only one side of it hosts a delicate orange wing.

She ran out of money for the other half.

Katya takes a moment to slips fingers into Manila and to stroke her clit and make sure she’s really ready, until Manila practically growls and looks back at her, widening her legs. She hates being teased. Well whatever, Katya’s not going to say no to fucking the pussy before her so she lubes up the gently vibrating strap-on, lines up and, because she’s a softie, slides it in gently, taking care.

She knows Manila doesn’t want her to take care, Manila wants her to slam it in and fuck her like she means it, but Katya learned to take care from Trixie and now she can’t (or won’t) unlearn it. Manila gasps, gripping the tangled, dirty sheets.

Katya snaps her hips forward, filling Manila and thrusting repeatedly, her hands on Manila’s hips, pressing her fingers into the crease where they’re bent.

Manila moans and curses, and Katya sets a good rhythm, because she knows it won’t take long. Manila pushes her ass back against Katya, and the sudden shift in movement makes Katya almost lose her balance again, arm reeling out to the side as she falls back on her heels, the strap-on sliding unceremoniously out of Manila.

“Oops,“ laughs Katya.

“Did you just fall?” says Manila glancing back at her, amused.

Katya giggles and Manila chuckles too, and maybe there’s a moment of love between them, for a split second. Katya gets back up and strokes the curve of Manila’s hip, then grabs it and fucks her hard, and Manila releases a passionate moan. The opposite end of the dildo rubs against Katya, and it feels nice, not enough to make her come again, but-

It’s all over fairly quickly, and as Manila arches her back and curses her way to a messy, satisfying finish.

And then there’s all the post-sex rituals to go though; Manila sitting up, slightly dazed, and pulling her dress down and wandering over to the bathroom. Katya unbuckling the harness, and listening to the water run. Manila returns for fresh underwear from the clean laundry basket by the bed that she hasn’t bothered to fold or put away, and then Katya goes to the bathroom to clean the dildo and comes back and tosses it back into the plastic bin under the bed with the harness, and the problem they’re faced with washes back over them.

They kiss briefly for the look of the thing, just because they’re supposed to afterwards or whatever, but maybe there’s some affection in it. Katya puts her jeans back on and then the fun’s over.

“Okay,” says Manila, pacing her bedroom as Katya sits cross-legged on the end of the bed, slumped, “Okay, who do we know?”

“Adore?”

“Amateur hour, no.”

“Violet?”

“She deals E and molly, she won’t touch coke.”

“Crystal?”

“Methyd? It’s in her fucking name, Katya-”

“Bob?”

“Moved to New York last I heard-“

“Alaska?”

“What? No. Fuck, I can’t believe Latrice is still mad at me-”

Katya’s list is over. Katya stares at the ugly carpet, and watches Manila pace. There’s another option that Katya hasn’t had the guts to bring up, until now.

“Your ex,” says Katya. Manila won’t stand to hear her name spoken aloud. It’s a ridiculous habit that Katya barely has the patience for.

“No-“

“She’s the only one with the buying capacity for this.”

“We’re not going to her.”

Katya throws up her hands, “If we sell this amount to anyone in the city she’ll know about it anyway!”

Manila stares at the dusty window.

“It’s not-“ begins Katya, and the hair stands up on the back of her neck and she releases a nervous giggle as the horrible possibility occurs to her, pointing to the bricks of cocaine on Manila’s coffee table in the other room, “That’s not hers, is it?”

“No,” says Manila abruptly, worry lining her face for a second, turning back to Katya, “No way, those weren’t her guys, she doesn’t hire guys like that. Those guys were fucking idiots. Besides, they'd’ve been ta-”

Katya breathes a sigh of relief, and Manila cuts herself off. There are two major gangs that run Boston’s underbelly, that bring in drugs and keep the crime organized. Katya’s on good terms with the north side guys, she knows a couple of them from way back and they don’t bother her. She works for them occasionally, when she’s gonna be short on rent. But Manila’s ex runs the other gang, and she’s powerful and dangerous.

The Gemini is not to be fucked with.

“Wait!” exclaims Manila, her eyes going wide and expressive for a moment, “What about your friend- your friend, what’s her name…?” Manila snaps her fingers frantically, as if to jog her memory.

Katya just looks at her, skeptical.

“Uh, uh,” says Manila, still snapping. “You know her, uh, she’s Laotian, short, great ass-“

“Jujubee?” says Katya, in complete disbelief.

“Yes!” says Manila, triumphantly. “Her.”

“No,” replies Katya, mouth twisting, “She’s not involved anymore, she said she’s getting sober and getting out-“

“Yeah whatever, everyone says they’re ‘getting sober and getting out.’ You said that.”

The words hurt. Katya looks down, drawing in a breath, the shame crushing her for a moment. Manila indulges all of Katya’s worst sides. Manila parties hard, she disappears and re-appears with new and better stories every time, she’s doesn’t get sad, she never gets tired, she encourages, she enables, she’s always in control, and it’s so, so hard to let go of her. Even when Trixie had given Katya the ultimatum.

Especially when Trixie had given her the ultimatum.

“Fuck,” says Katya, standing up and stalking back into the living room. “Fine, you wanna go hassle a dead end, whatever-“

“She’s not gonna be a dead end,” argues Manila, shrugging her leather jacket back on and following Katya, “I bet she still knows people who’ll buy. We have to shift at least some of this shit and quick, and maybe she’ll take it. We sell it to her on the cheap, she’s happy, we’re happy. Who cares what she does with it?”

Manila’s cynicism is so oddly pragmatic, so heavy. It’s crushing even Katya’s own cynicism, which is a weary weight to drag around. But it’s so hard for Katya to say no to Manila, saying no to Manila always comes with caveats.

“Fine,” agrees Katya, grinding her teeth, taking her phone out and firing off a quick text to Jujubee.

“Great,” replies Manila, and walks over to pick up the duffel bag next to the table, and begins shoving the neatly wrapped bricks of cocaine into it. She dumps some of the opened-up brick into a loose little ziplock baggie for easy access, rubs a bit on her gums, then puts the baggie into the duffel bag too.

There’s a sudden leak of noise as a car goes by outside, blasting music loud enough that Katya can hear the lyrics drift up into the apartment.

“Loving you forever can’t be wrong, even though you’re not here won’t move on-“

As quickly as the song arrives, it fades. Katya picks up her car keys, and wonders what Trixie’s up to right about now.

[neohighwayv]

Good enough

Characters: WayV’s Yangyang x fem reader

Genre: angst, fluff, bff!au

Word count: 4.1k

Description: In which you think you’re never good enough – and Yangyang does not know what to do when the strongest person he’s known breaks down.

------

“Hey, you can put your work aside for now, I got us dinner.” Yangyang announced he enters the shared apartment, closing the door with his foot as his hands were full of plastic bags filled with takeout food. He walked over to place the food on the kitchen’s island counter, right beside your pristine sleek silver laptop. He started unpacking the food from the red and blue plastic bags, making sure to buy your favourite dumpling soup from the stall at the end of the street, even though it took him a good 20 minutes to get there; he’ll do it for you – his best friend and roommate. He knew you’ve been working hard this semester, and whilst he can’t help with lightening your workload, he figured he could at least make you slightly happier by keeping you well fed.

You, however, ignored his presence entirely. Your eyes remained glued to the glaring laptop screen, the pages upon pages of words practically screaming at you to read them, yet the dull throb at the back of your head made it hard to get anything done. You’re reading the words but you’re not processing them. You’ve been going at the snail’s pace for the past 2 hours, only getting through 5 pages of this article. Yet, you’re not even sure if you’ve understood everything from the past 5 pages of it. Could you even tell a difference between Freudian theory and humanistic psychology now? Ask a toddler and they might be able to give a better answer than you can. Still, you’re the stubborn type – you truly never knew when to stop or take a break for your own good – and so you keep going.

Till the end of this chapter. Just 2 more pages before I take a break and have dinner with Yangyang.

You tune out the noises that Yangyang made beside you, tightening the grip on your mouse and fixing your stare on the screen more firmly. You will your heart rate to go down, torn between not wanting to keep Yangyang waiting versus finishing the chapter.

When all the food has been placed neatly into plates and scooped perfectly into bowls, Yangyang prompted you to take a break again.

“Let’s have dinner together now?”

“I know, Yang. Just 5 more minutes.” You snapped back immediately, tone clipped and tense.

That’s when Yangyang knew that he’s hit a nerve. He wanted to protest against your statement but he knew better than to do that. He’ll just anger you further. Hence, he bit back his remark, opting to chew on his inner cheek instead. Being your best friend for years has its pros and cons. The pro: You’re smart, which meant that he’s always got someone to help him whenever he got stuck with his assignments and a sharp eye to catch his mistake. After all, you’re not a double major in Psychology and Sociology for nothing. Not everyone got to boast about that. The con: Yangyang knew you well. Too well. In fact, better than he knew himself. He knew that you won’t back down from anything you say once it came out from your mouth. He also knew that you’re always determined to finish what you started. So when you said 5 more minutes, he knew that you actually mean “Till you finish that chapter” and that no matter what he said, you would not move from your seat or touch your food until you’re done doing what you’ve set out to accomplish.

Plopping down in his seat diagonally across you, Yangyang had to make do with eating dinner alone again (for 5th night in a row that week) At least this time he got to sit in your presence – the previous nights, you had simply brought your food into your room, typing away on your laptop between mouthfuls for food.

-

Throughout dinner, Yangyang chewed silently so as to minimise disturbance to you. He stole glances at you from time to time, trying to gauge when you’re about done with your article. He knew how to observe when you’re almost done – your eyeballs would move rapidly from side to side, rushing through the last paragraph before closing your laptop shut. But even as he swallowed his last bite of dinner, he knew you’re not done. You’re still stared intently at the screen, eyes unblinking and posture stiff. Your head is propped up on your knuckles as you used your other free hand to move your hair away from your face before resuming its original position against your mousepad, slender fingers moving smoothly across the surface of the pad. Yangyang thought he saw the faint outline of a vein against your temple and the tight clench of your jaw. You’re tense, extremely tense. You clearly need a break.

Gently, he prodded again. But he doesn’t get another word in before you snapped at him again.

“Hey, maybe – ”

“I know, Yang. I know. Just... just give me another 5 minutes...”

He heard the exasperation in your voice, noticed the way you seem to became smaller in stature; your chest collapsing into itself as your voice becomes so incredibly small that he could barely hear you despite the silence in the apartment. Were his eyes playing tricks on him, or were the edges of your eyes red? Something wasn’t right.

“Are you ok?”

“No, Yang. I’m not. I’m not ok.”

You snapped your head up to stare at him dead in the eye so quickly, that Yangyang worried that you might have snapped it into half. Your chest is heaving violently now, the silver necklace on lying on collarbones now glinting as it caught the artificial light from the lightbulb that hung above you. Your eyes got redder and glossier by the second, rare tears pooling around the edges.

“I’m not ok. This semester is going terribly and I just want to be done with it! It’s a groupwork but I’m the only one doing something. If I don’t say a thing, no one else does anything. Work meant for 5 ends up being done by 1. Yet there’s nothing I can do except suck it up because we’re at this stage where no higher authority would care if you can’t work with others. Just submit the work and be done with it! So, I suffer silently and hope I don’t break before I submit the thing.

 Gosh, I feel like I can’t even breathe because once I submit one assignment, I get another message saying that the new one is due at the end of the week! Just great!”

 At this point, you stopped to collect your breath, the first tears streaming down your face, the tinge of saltiness staining the tip of your tongue.

 “Professor Wang is not happy with my paper and she’s ‘extremely disappointed’ with my work. So much for being a damn straight A student when I can’t even submit a satisfactory piece of work. Oh, not to mention. I failed my driving test. For the 3rd time in the row. How pathetic. Went home and I got vindicated about it the entire weekend! ‘Your sister did it in one try. So did the rest of your cousins. Why can’t you?’ Well – it’s just too bad isn’t it? Driving doesn’t come easy to some of us. I’ve been trying so hard and not a word of acknowledgement from them – I just get blamed for wasting money and time.”

 At this point, you stabbed the tip of your pencil down hard on your blank piece of paper, causing the pencil lead to fly across the table top. Your knuckles were red from the vice grip you had on the pencil; your head bowed to prevent Yangyang from seeing the waterworks on your face. This entire time, Yangyang’s heart cracked with each revelation, never knowing how much you were hurting inside from all the pressure others were putting on you. Most importantly, the pressure that you were putting on yourself. He saw you every day... how could he be so blind to all the signs? The late nights, your quieter self, your bloodshot eyes. How could he possibly miss all that? He heard you suck in a deep breath, head still bowed as you place your head against your palm. From beneath the curtain of your hair, he heard your weak voice filled with hurt, voice wavering as you choked on your own words.

“I get it. I get it ok? I get that I’m not good enough. For anyone. For... anything. No matter what I do... what I try... I’ll never be good enough. I could try till I break myself but I’ll just never be good enough. I’ll just never, never, never be good enough and it hurts to be so painfully, aware of that.”

You finally looked up to face him - and Yangyang swears; he sweared on his life that he’s never seen you look so broken before and the sight immediately made tears prick the corner of his eyes.

 And that sight makes you cry even harder.

 You didn’t think that you were capable to producing more tears, not when your eyes were burning and you’re already so physically exhausted – but you do. You hated seeing him sad because he’s worried about you – the thought of making someone worried because of you showing your weakness – brought fresh tears to your eyes. The last thing you wanted to do was to make your friends or family worried for you, and you absolutely hated being the cause of their pain. You had to slap a hand over your mouth to stop your strangled cry from leaving your throat, you didn’t want to make Yangyang anymore worried that he already is.

“Oh, I can’t do this anymore. I need to stop hurting people around me.”

That was the last coherent line that you managed to get out of your throat before you stumbled out of your chair, making a beeline for the bathroom so that you could cry alone. If he saw you break down anymore, you were certain he would start crying too and you didn’t want to be the cause of his pain anymore. You slammed the door shut behind you and proceed to slump down against the door, your weak body not even registering the heavy contact with the floor. The chilling bite of the cold tiles quickly seep through the floor to reach your body and your body shakes violently, but at this point in time, you’re not sure if you’re shaking violently from the cold, or the crying that is currently wrecking your body in waves. Strangled cries bubble in your throat, threatening to escape you but you clamped your lips shut tight, hoping that no sound would escape you. But you're not sure if that does the trick – you can't hear anything else over the wild thumping sound of your heart that currently filled your ears. You cried and cried and cried, the endless tears falling to stain your brown shirt into a darker shade of brown. In the past, you would have fought your tears, hating to show such a weak image in front of others and detesting yourself for doing so. But today, after months of fighting yourself and others, you're finally willing to concede – and for once in your life – you're willing to admit that you're too tired to fight anymore. You let your body does what it has to do to help you feel better – even if that meant crying yourself dry and hoping that all the pressure you've placed on yourself will be expelled through your tears.

 Throughout this entire ordeal, Yangyang sat shell-shocked in his seat, unable to move an inch. He can't really make sense of the mess of emotions he's feeling right now – but one particular emotion does stand out compared to the rest – shock. I mean – what does one do, when the strongest person you've ever known broke down in front of you? In this entire time of his 10 years knowing you, Yangyang might have seen you cry, but he's truly never seen you completely break down and reduced to tears by the pressure. Sure, he's seen you cry – when both of you are watching a particularly sad movie or you're listening to the harrowing history told by war survivors. But Yangyang has never – never ever, ever – seen you broke down from the pressure. That's why this episode was particularly shocking for him, because for you to do so, Yangyang knew that you must be under an immense amount of stress, to the point where you can't cope with it anymore. He thought back to all the times he's spent with you, and he cannot even conjure up an image of him comforting you. In fact, all he seemed to remember is being comforted by you. The countless amount of times he's called you over the phone to rant about someone's stupidity or a particularly infuriating incident – which usually ended with both of you eating dessert as he finished making his complaints between bites of ice cream. The infinite amount of post-it’s you left all over his belongings when you know he's going to have a rough week. He remembered when you showed up at his doorstep without him having to ask, immediately opening your arms to wrap him in a hug as he freely cried into your shoulder – the first time when his dog died from old age, and a couple more times after when he failed important things; tests, auditions and interviews that at that time, meant the world to him. In this friendship, you've always been the strong one, never once admitting that you're having a hard time. But Yangyang knew better now; should have known better earlier, that no one could be a superhuman. No one is truly invincible against the harsh realities of life – not even the strongest person he knew – and Yangyang wished that he had noticed the changes in you earlier. Of course, he knew that he's not fully responsible for you – you're an adult that should know how to manage herself and ask for help when she needed it. But as your best friend, maybe he should have checked up on you sooner. After all, that's what friends do for one another – to remind each other that they're always there should they need it. Maybe things would have been better if he had checked up on you earlier but it's too late to think about that now. Right now, you've locked yourself inside the bathroom to cry your heart out, and Yangyang's main priority as your best friend is to make sure that you're not left alone with your own self-loathing thoughts; to make sure that you're comforted – just like how you've comforted him so many times before. Yet Yangyang still can't seem to move an inch. He does not know exactly how to comfort you, he's never had to do this before.

Come on Yangyang, think. What should you do?

He fumbled over his few options – play you your favourite music, or buy you your favourite peppermint ice cream with bread from the uncle with the pushcart, or crack a joke. In the end, he decided to go with what he knew the best – comforting you like how you comforted him and Step 1 involved not leaving you alone with your own thoughts by having someone from your side.

Yangyang bolted from his seat, pacing quickly towards the bathroom before stopping outside the white door to rap his knuckles against the door, the rattling motion jolting you out of your stupor.

"Open up. Don't stay in there alone ok?"

"No Yang, please just leave. I'll be fine-" You catch yourself at this part. Are you truly fine? Were you ever truly fine? Whenever others asked you how you're doing, your default answer would be that you're doing fine. Even though you were struggling, the answer would be – "I'm fine." or "I'm doing well." You never wanted others to probe or ask too many questions, admitting to your struggles often made you embarrassed. Worse still, you didn't want family and friends to worry about you. "I'm fine" soon became a reflex, something you said without even processing the question that the other party had asked.

Your train of thoughts were broken when you heard Yangyang's voice travel through the door separating the both of you.

"No, you're not fine. I'm not leaving you alone so please open the door now."

"No Yang, I'm fine- I- just give me a few more minutes. I'll be out soon."

You heard Yangyang sigh heavily, his last words reaching your ears followed by the sounds of his footsteps walking away.

"I'm getting the keys."

"No Yang, don't you dare!"

You tried to raise your voice, but it betrayed you instead, cracking from being overused just now. You stomp your feet in frustration, feeling helpless once again. Yangyang was going to see your wrecked self soon, and there was nothing that you could do to stop it.

 Yangyang quickly sifts through the keys hanging by the front door before making his way back to the bathroom, slotting the key into the lock before twisting the door open. Once again, Yangyang was met by the harsh bite of your tone and words, but he brushed it aside. Your cold words directed against him is the least of his worries now. Comforting you, however, was his main priority.

"I said I'll be alright Yang, why-"

"You're clearly not ok. I know now. You're not ok. You haven't been ok for some time now."

You stood still when you heard him say such things, the words feeling foreign to your ears. No one has ever said those words to you because no one has ever saw through the strong front that you've put up before. Or even if they did, no one thought it was important enough to mention it. Someone finally noticed and cared enough to talk about it, and somehow that revelation made you want to cry again. Seeing you standing there unmoving, Yangyang decided to say something to break the silence again.

"You don't have to be ok all the time. So, would you just stop putting up a front for once, admit that you're not alright, and let me in? Come here."

This time round, you no longer resisted, allowing Yangyang to gently draw you into his embrace as he wrapped his arms around your shoulders, rubbing comforting strokes up and down your arms. Fresh tears streamed down your face at Yangyang's gentle gesture; you probably made a mess of his clean shirt but he could care less, that's not important now.

"Cry it out. Cry it out if you have to."

"Stop saying that! You're going to make me cry more."

"And that's completely alright. There's nothing wrong with crying."

"It's so embarrassing to cry – what do you mean there's nothing wrong with crying?"

You heard Yangyang take a deep breath, feel the rise of his chest against your cheek and you mentally prepared yourself for his lecture.

"There really is nothing wrong with needing a good cry to let out all your pent-up frustrations. There's nothing wrong with admitting that you need help, and asking for it. Can you internalize that and remember to come and find me when you're having a hard time? You do the same for me when I'm having a rough time, can you let me do the same for you? Even if you don’t come and find me, make sure you find someone else. Promise me that."

You stayed silent, not sure if you could ever bring yourself to admit being so weak in front of him again.

"Promise me." He shook your shoulders to elicit a response from you and you decided to grace him with a disgruntled muffle; not exactly the response that he was hoping for but he'll take that as a yes for now.

"Good. If you're ready to talk, we can work out how to go about dealing with your assignments and driving ok? Tomorrow we'll go see Professor Wang and get her to elaborate on how to improve your essay. As for driving... maybe take a break first. Like you said, you've been practicing a lot. Maybe too much. Knowing you, you probably went for tons of lessons before your tests. Am I right?"

You nodded weakly against his chest, a wry smile lifting the corners of your lips as memories of your driving lessons are brought to the forefront of your mind.

"Knew it. So, yea... maybe you should take a break. Give yourself time to absorb all that you've learned before you go back for lessons. The break will do you good – trust me on that. I'm only so carefree because I take more breaks than I should." Yangyang chuckled at his own words and you followed suit, your chest rising and falling as you let out soft puffs through your nose.

"Now that we've got a plan out for you, we should do one last thing."

"What is it?"

"We should get ice cream. And then you can rant about your teammates over ice cream. I want to get all that hot piping tea."

For the first time in a long while, you found the heart within yourself to let out a laugh, memories of Yangyang and his animated storytelling of terrible groupmates tickling your sides. Oh, how the tables have turned. It was finally your turn today. 

“So… are we going? Just waiting for your reply now.” 

There was no way that you were going to be able to say no to that, eating ice cream and complaining about people whilst eating was something that you and Yangyang always did; a sacred part of your relationship.

“Alright we can go, but let me wash up first and give my eyes some time to stop being red.” 

“WOOHOO! Ok, we’ll go once you’re ready.”

Both of you fall into comfortable silence again, Yangyang still held onto you in an embrace. 

“Thank you, Yang.”

“You’re welcome. I’m always available if you ever need me. Even if I’m busy, I am going to make time for you so come find me anytime ok?”

“Ok, I’ll remember to come find you next time.”

“There – you said it. You got to promise me. With a pinky swear and stamp.”

Yangyang removed an arm from your shoulder to place his hand in front of your face, his pinky finger sticking out from the rest of his fingers. You lifted your hand to hook onto his pinky before pressing your thumb against his own, using a little more force than usual and Yangyang smiled at that, knowing that it’s your way of saying that “I’m feeling better now. You don’t have to worry so much about me anymore.” 

“Pinky promise is done so you can never break the promise anymore. Oh, we’ll get extra-large scoops of ice cream later, my treat today!” 

“Sounds like a good plan, because I’ve got loads to say about my trashy group mates.”

“Awesome. Been dying to get some gossip lately, and now I’m finally going to get it.” 

You let out another hearty laughter at your best friend’s dramatic self, him following suit but when the laughter finally died down, you got some quiet time to be with your own thoughts again. 

 They often said that your worst enemy is yourself, and maybe that’s true for you. You constantly placed so much pressure on yourself, tearing and beating yourself up when you fell short of your goals because your failure is all that you could see, never the commendable effort that you put in or your perseverance to pull through with all your various responsibilities. You suffered silently by yourself even when the pressure became overwhelming, never one to admit your struggles because you didn’t want to be a burden to others – even when no one ever said you were. But today, you had been proven wrong. No one thought of you as a burden, and no one would say that you’re weak or embarrassing when you asked for help. And that if you did ask for help, those around you would actually come forth to render you their support. That’s what friends are for, to share the good times with, and to pick you up when you fell – and you were extremely lucky to have an understanding friend like Yangyang in your life. After all, no man is an island living in this harsh world alone – it’s easier to get by with help from friends and there will be someone willing to help you, if you’d only just remember to ask. You knew that old habits die hard, and perhaps even after this, you would go back into your shell and old ways. Yet, you’re confident that with a friend like Yangyang, someone would be there to look out for you, and coax you out of your shell whenever you forgot to take care of yourself again.

[debbiechanclub]

Best Two Out of Three, Part 1

So this started out as anon request for a Chuck Taylor or Orange Cassidy fic, and with the help of @hotyeehawman it somehow morphed into a monster 26-part Adam Page and Kenny Omega fic, with a lot of other folks thrown in. So if you’re finding this for the first time, the good news is it’s complete. Enjoy!

Best Two Out of Three

Synopsis: Orange and Chuck both want their friend Alex to accompany them to the ring for their matches at Double or Nothing - so Alex devises a contest.

Part: 1/26

Pairings: None really in this chapter, but hints at Kenny Omega x OFC

Warnings: Alcohol use, some suggestive language

Word Count: 2,512

Find the rest of the fic here.

“Are you sure it’s cool if I come hang out with you guys?”

Alex sent Kris a look like she’d grown a second head. “Of course it’s cool. I adore Chuck, Trent, and James, but sometimes I need to hang out with another girl.”    

They walked into the hotel elevator and Alex hit the button for the fifth floor. It was the night before AEW Double or Nothing 2020, and the Best Friends were having a little get-together in their rooms. It was a much-needed opportunity to cut loose and experience a little normalcy in the midst of the pandemic, and Alex in particular could use a few cold ones to take the edge off. She was still annoyed with Kenny for giving the match against Kris tomorrow night to Penelope Ford instead of her. She rolled her eyes as the elevator doors slid open with a ding. If he wasn’t over at the arena pre-filming the Stadium Stampede match with the rest of The Elite and The Inner Circle, she might have marched up to his room and given him a piece of her mind.

“So who all’s gonna be there?” Kris asked as they stepped off the elevator.

“The usual suspects,” Alex answered. “My knucklehead stablemates, Scorpio, Frankie, Jack, Austin, and you and me.”

“No Maxwell?”

She smirked. “I told him he could only come if he brought Michael, and then we’d be over the 10-person limit for social gatherings.”

She let out a loud laugh. “So you totally invited Michael behind his back, right?”

“I did,” she confirmed. “But he politely declined.”

They arrived at Alex and Chuck’s room, and she slid her key into the electronic lock. “I’m back with an alien and beer!” she proclaimed as she opened the door—but she got no response. Chuck and James were embroiled in a heated debate; well, about as heated as James, a.k.a. the one and only Orange Cassidy, could get.

“Dude! Why would she come out with you for the ladder match?” Chuck charged.

James’s face remained as stoic as ever. “Because she’s my friend.”

Chuck’s eyebrows arched high onto his forehead. “She’s literally my best friend!”

Ever so slightly, James cocked his head. “Penelope’s probably coming out with Kip for it,” he coolly pointed out.

“Penelope is Kip’s girlfriend!”

“And Alex is my friend who’s a girl.”

“Hey!” Alex interjected as she set the case of beer on the floor. Everyone turned to look at her. “I’m right here.”

“Oh, thank God,” Trent breathed. “You need to settle this. They’ve been arguing since you left.”

Her face contorted with a mixture of curiosity and confusion. “About what?”

“About whether you should accompany Chuck and Trent to the ring for their match or Freshly Squeezed for his match tomorrow night,” Jack answered.

Alex blinked. “And why wouldn’t I just do both?”

“It’s the principle of the matter,” Chuck argued.

James didn’t so much as blink. “What he said.”

Kris snorted under her breath. Alex sent her a look. “Do you see what I have to deal with?”

“Seriously, please put us all out of our misery,” Frankie groaned. “And can I get one of those?” He didn’t wait for permission as he eagerly picked up the beer case and tore into it. But Alex couldn’t care less; the wheels in her brain were turning.

She put her hands on her hips. “Well, there’s only one way to settle this, then: a contest for my accompaniment tomorrow night. Best two out of three wins.”

Chuck pressed his lips into a hard line, thinking. And then he said, “You got yourself a deal.”

Alex looked at James. “Orange?”

He shrugged—barely. “Sure.”

She clapped her hands together in excitement. “Then let the games begin, boys.”

* * * * * * * * * *

They couldn’t just play Rock, Paper, Scissors and call it a night; Alex was more creative than that. In order to be graced with her presence during his match, the winner would have to prove both his strength and wit—and round one was a good old fashioned relay.

“Alright!” Alex commanded everyone’s attention, a beer in hand. “These are the rules for round one. First, you must chug a beer. Second, you must complete twenty-five push-ups—real ones, none of that on-your-knees bullshit. Finally, you must braid either Jack or Austin’s hair. The first one to finish is the winner. Obviously.”

“I can’t believe I agreed to this,” Austin muttered.

“But you’ll look so pretty!” Kris proclaimed. He just grunted.

“Alright; Scorpio, I need you to count James’s push-ups,” Alex delegated. “Frankie, you count Chuck’s.”

Frankie laughed to himself. “That won’t be hard.”

“Shut it and give me a beer,” Chuck ordered. He already had his game face on. Alex couldn’t help but admire him for it.

Frankie passed one beer to Chuck and another to James. And then they both looked up at Alex. Waiting.

“On your marks...” she started. “Get set… Go!”

They simultaneously flipped open their drink tabs and started chugging as the room all cheered them on. Alex was genuinely interested to see who would finish first—but she wasn’t surprised when Chuck did. He crushed the can in his fist and tossed it aside just as James finished, and they both got into push-up position. Scorpio and Frankie both started counting; James was going nearly twice as fast as Chuck.

“Twelve, thirteen, fourteen…” Scorpio counted.

“Dude, he’s smoking you,” Trent commented to Chuck.

“Why aren’t you counting out loud?!” Chuck shouted at Frankie.

“Focus!” he returned.

“Twenty! Twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five!”

James jumped up and ran over to where Austin sat on one of the beds. He separated his hair into three parts and started trying to braid.

“Twenty-five!” Frankie shouted. Chuck hurried over to Jack—and stared at his hair in bewilderment.

“How the hell am I supposed to do this? His hair is as big as he is!”

“Thank you,” Jack grinned.

He grabbed a chunk of Jack’s curls and tried to separate it from the rest; but before he could figure it out, Kris let out a shout. “Orange wins!”

“Fuck!” Chuck proclaimed.

Alex walked over to inspect James’s braid. Surprisingly, it wasn’t terrible. “Round one goes to Orange Cassidy,” she confirmed.

“Why do you know how to braid hair?” Chuck shot.

James just shrugged.

* * * * * * * * * *

“Alright, boys; time for round two: trivia.”

Alex paused for dramatic affect. Everyone in the room stared back at her, waiting. They were thoroughly invested in this idiotic competition she’d concocted, and she couldn’t be happier about it. “I’ve given our lovely galactic game show host,” she motioned to Kris, “five questions with their correct answers—all of them about yours truly. She will read each question aloud. If you know the answer, buzz in on your respective cell phones with the convenient buzzer app that Trent found; thank you Trent. If you answer incorrectly, the other person will have a chance to steal. First one to three correct answers wins.”

“Cool, let’s go,” Chuck said, his thumb hovering above the buzzer button on his phone screen. Alex pursed her lips; he was too competitive for his own good.

Kris cleared her throat and stood up straighter. She looked down at the hotel room notepad Alex had given her, and read out the first question. “Alright, we’re starting off with an easy one,” she prefaced. “What’s the name of Alex’s submission finisher?”

BZZZ! They both buzzed in—but James beat out Chuck by a second. “Orange?” Kris asked.

“Eighty-Eight Sleeper,” he answered.

“Correct!”

Chuck stubbornly sucked his teeth. “I bet you don’t know why it’s called that.”

James sent him a blank look. “Because it’s a Dragon Sleeper and she was born in 1988, the year of the dragon.”

“He should get an extra point for that,” Frankie piped up.

Chuck rounded on him. “Are you trying to sabotage me?”

“Alright, alright,” Alex intervened. “While that is why it’s called that, there will be no extra points awarded. It’s one-nothing James. Next question, please!”

Kris looked back down at the notepad. “How old was Alex when she started training?”

BZZZ! Chuck shouted out the answer before James even had a chance. “Nineteen! And she was trained by Jimmy Valiant in the same class as Adam Page!”

Kris sent her a surprised look. “Really?”

Alex nodded. “Yup. Hangman and I go way back. But like I just said, there’s no extra points, so we’re tied one-one. I appreciate your enthusiasm, though,” she grinned at Chuck. He didn’t acknowledge it; he was still in competition mode.

“Okay, next question,” Kris started. “Who was Alex’s favorite pro wrestler growing up?”

BZZZ! James beat out Chuck by a hair. But then he paused; he didn’t actually know the answer. “Eddie Guerrero?”

“Wrong!” Kris proclaimed. “Chuck, you have a chance—”

“CHRIS JERICHO!” he shouted before she could finish.

She blinked. “That’s correct.”

“How did you get that wrong?!” Scorpio said to James. “Chris teases her about it practically every time he sees her!”

He shook his head in a rare showing of emotion. “I blanked.”

“Okay. For the third and potentially final question,” Kris dramatically announced. She looked down at the notepad and preemptively laughed as she read the question to herself before stating it aloud. “Who does Alex totally want to punch in the face right now?”

“What?” Chuck and James both sent each other looks of confusion.

“I know it,” Trent muttered.

“OH!” It was as if a lightbulb went off above Chuck’s head and he quickly mashed his buzzer. “Kenny!”

“Yes!” Alex proclaimed. She muttered under her breath as she took a sip of beer, “I totally want to punch Kenny in his stupid face right now.”

“Well then, round two goes to Sexy Chuckie T!” Kris announced.

“YES!” Chuck pointed a finger in James’s face. “You suck!”

“We’re tied,” he flatly returned.

“Yes; indeed you are,” Alex returned. “And that means it’s time for round three --sudden death.”

* * * * * * * * * *

“Sudden Death” was nothing more than “Never Have I Ever.” But, quite frankly, Alex was a little nervous. She knew this group of people—and she knew they had little to no shame.

“Okay, these are the rules,” she explained. “We’ll play like normal—but Chuckie and Orange will be the only ones putting down their fingers. The first one to put down all three fingers is the loser of the round.”

“Okay, just to clarify,” Scorpio asked, “so whoever still has fingers up at the end wins the whole thing?”

She nodded. “Correct.”

“I don’t like this,” Chuck said, even as he held up three fingers. “Y’all are gonna say things you know I’ve done to make me lose.”

“Never have I ever been a conspiracy theorist,” Frankie smirked. Chuck didn’t think it was funny.

“Especially you!”

“Alright, he actually has a point,” Alex begrudgingly admitted. “Let’s keep it unbiased. Kris, you start.”

Kris put a finger to her lips in thought. “Hmm… oh, I know,” she smirked. “Never have I ever slid into someone’s DMs.”

Alex let out a loud burst of laughter. “Maybe if Trent was playing,” she commented.

“Jeez, Alex, just put me on blast,” Trent returned.

She just smirked and took another sip of beer.

“So neither of you have done that, either?” Kris asked.

“I’m the Kentucky Gentleman, Kris,” Chuck said as James shook his head.

She arched her eyebrows. “Color me surprised.”

“Alright, all fingers are still up,” Alex said. Let’s go to the right. Scorpio, you’re up.”

Scorpio deviously stroked his chin as he looked back and forth between Chuck and James. “Never have I ever… walked in on people having sex.”

There was an anxious pause—and then Chuck put down a finger.

Alex gasped. “What? Who?!”

He cringed. “Someone at my wrestling school back in Kentucky. It was gross.”

She crinkled her nose in disgust. “Well then. Your turn, Trent.”

He had a statement at the ready. “Never have I ever seen Alex naked.”

“DUDE!” she proclaimed. Meanwhile, Chuck and James both put down a finger.

Jack’s brow furrowed. “Okay. No judgment, but please explain.”

Alex rolled her eyes. “It was an accident, and I was only half-naked. They walked in on me while I was changing earlier.”

“That happened today?” Scorpio asked.

“Hence why I said it,” Trent smirked.

Alex’s cheeks burned. “Next!”

That meant Frankie was up. “Alright. Never have I ever… pissed myself during a match.”

“Oh, gross!” Kris laughed—and James put down a finger.

“What!” Alex proclaimed, wide-eyed. “Okay, now you need to explain.”

 He pursed his lips. “Back when I was Fire Ant, Gran Akuma kicked me right in the bladder during a match. I drank too much water that night and a little came out.”

“Oh shit!” Chuck proclaimed. “I remember that!”

Alex and Kris looked at each other—and burst out laughing. “Okay, okay,” Alex eventually said. “You both only have one finger left. Whoever puts a finger down next is the loser.”

“Pressure’s on,” Jack said as he rubbed his hands together. He smirked. “Never have I ever drunkenly confessed my love for someone.”

“OH COME ON!” Chuck shouted as he put down his last finger. “You said that on purpose!”

Jack shook his head. “Dude, no I didn’t,” he said with a laugh. “I swear to God.”

“Who did you confess your love to?” Kris curiously asked.

Chuck looked sheepishly down at the floor. “Alex,” he muttered.

Kris’s jaw dropped as she turned wide eyes on Alex. “When did this happen?”

“After Double or Nothing last year,” she said.

“I was three sheets to the wind and we were in Vegas, alright?” Chuck explained before anyone else could put in their two cents. “Besides, I didn’t mean love like in love. I meant it like, ‘I love you, you’re my best friend.’”

Trent patted his back. “You keep telling yourself that, bud.”

“I did mean in that way!” he insisted.

“Okay, well however you meant it,” Alex interjected, “you lost the round, which means that Freshly Squeezed here has won the right to my accompaniment tomorrow night.”

Chuck pouted. “Man…”

“BUT.” Alex held up a finger. “We all know I don’t have the final say on that. It’s up to the EVPs and Tony.”

Chuck looked back up at her. “What? Then why the hell did you make us do all that?”

She shrugged. “Because it was fun.”

“It really was,” Kris agreed, and everyone else echoed the sentiment. Everyone, that is, except Chuck and James.

“If I explain to Kenny what happened tonight,” James started, “he’ll probably honor my victory.”

Alex’s eyes widened. “NO!” she proclaimed. “You’re hereby disqualified; I’m going out with Chuck and Trent tomorrow.”

“Yes!” Chuck raised his arms in victory. “You suck, Orange!”

The room erupted as everyone started arguing and talking over each other again. But Alex sat back, a contented smile on her face. The Best Friends really were her best friends and, in that moment, there was nowhere else she’d rather be.

[kvngjoong]

she was a rainbow [one - hwang hyunjin]

→ hwang hyunjin x f!you, university!au, in which hyunjin discovers that his feelings aren’t as easy to understand as he first may have thought → 5.8k+, brief smut halfway through, angst and fluff, nothing that deep

part 1 of 3

“You have a crush on her, Hyunjin,” Minho says, sitting across from him at the table in the library. The elder is responding to a string of compliments directed at you, mostly sick of hearing how amazing Hyunjin though you were. “Please can you tell her that you love her and not me.”

Hyunjin frowns. “Love her?”

“That’s what it is, right?” Minho comments.

“Love?”

“Yeah, you love her.”

Hyunjin shakes his head. “I don’t think I love her. She’s just… a good friend of mine. Love? No. I can’t love someone. I’m only 21.”

“You think your age means you can’t love someone?” Minho questions.

Hyunjin doesn’t like cold winter nights.  

Compared to everything else, he hates them the most, but he finds himself walking down the path with snow crunching beneath his shoes to clear his mind. He hears being at one with nature is beneficial. He hears that spending time alone is also beneficial as you can focus on what you want. 

Hyunjin can’t do that, though. His mind is always filled with things he should be doing. Today he’s thinking about his parents. He works two jobs, you know, to help out with his two younger siblings. No one would know that if they took one look at him - he’s an athlete. He’s given everything on a silver platter. 

He’s only in the soccer league for his university but somehow it gives everyone a quick judgement - he’s easy to dislike. He won’t lie, he knows girls look over at him in classes and it makes him smirk at the time, though he comes home lonely at the end of the day. He wonders if maybe someone will appreciate him for him, because at the moment no one really does. 

No one. 

And do you know how fucking much that sucks?

Hyunjin works two jobs and gets paid barely anything. He had to stick to wearing sports gear because he can’t afford anything else, he isn’t just some obnoxious athlete who wants to show off to everyone how talented he is. He hates it all. He doesn’t even believe his parents, his family, truly appreciate what he does. They don’t see him sleeping three hours a day because he has essays due and books to read. 

His head hurts. He doesn’t realise how much it’s affecting him until he trips on some iced snow, sending him toppling forward and onto his hands which are burnt from how cold the snow and ice is. He stays laying in the snow for a moment, eyes burning but still managing to become glassy. 

He stays there, and he cries. He lets his feelings get to him for the first time in a few months and bawls his eyes out in the middle of the night on a pavement covered in snow. He’s reached his last legs. He doesn’t want to be here anymore. He hates everything here and—

“Hey.” Hyunjin freezes at the feeling of a hand on his shoulder. The feminine voice makes him ponder - he doesn’t know who it belongs to. He remembers voices well, too. He blinks a few times before turning his head towards the voice. “Are you...okay?”

Hyunjin is mesmerised by your eyes for a moment. He notices the colours which are picked up but the streetlights and the moon, the way your hair falls down onto your face and how you show concern for him - a stranger. It’s polite to ask if he’s okay but he’s fallen over on the track before and never seen this look. 

“Yeah,” he says softly. He clears his throat as he pushes himself up. He remains dismissive of you – he’s honestly scared that he has shown emotions to you and that you’ll use it against him. 

You’re shorter than him; he feels like a giant beside you really. A protective stance falls on him for a moment as he wonders why you’re out here on your own, but falls when he’s brought back to the real world. 

“You cut your head,” you tell him. You gesture towards his forehead and take a step closer, but Hyunjin steps back slowly. He brings a hand towards his head and feels the blood dripping from it, which he wipes with his finger tips. “I can help you get home if you want?”

Hyunjin feels stupid for having to rely on you, so he declines your request. He just wants to go home and sleep, really, his head is pounding and he’s close to crying again. “I’m fine.”

A thought occurs to him as he turns around. He shouldn’t leave you without saying thank you - he sounds rude and his parents would scold him for this kind of behaviour. They’d also scold him if they found out he left a girl on her own in the streets when it was late at night and so cold, too. 

He forgets it, he shouldn’t fake being nice. It won’t get him anywhere. He’ll have to fake it for the rest of the night and he can’t do that. Hwang Hyunjin is over being fake and he’d rather walk away from that girl and leave her there, which is exactly what he does. He heads home with a raging headache and vision blurred. He doesn’t know if you made it home okay and he doesn’t really care too much either. 

If it makes you feel any better, Hyunjin didn’t even check his forehead for the damage he’d done before collapsing onto his bed and falling straight asleep, only to wake up the next day with blood all over his pillow. Honestly, he didn’t have the money to wash it so just turned it over and ignored it, placing a plaster on the wound before rushing off to his 10am class. 

His 10am class, based on international relations between America and China, doesn’t go by too easily. He still has a pounding headache and he can’t seem to get the previous night off his mind since it keeps replaying. He has too many questions - the first of which is who are you?

Being in the sports teams means he’s friends with a lot of people. He won’t act like that’s not the case, because it is - he knew too many people to keep up with. He doesn’t recall ever seeing you though, because he swears that he would remember your face. 

You didn’t look new though either. You knew what you were doing out in the cold that night and you knew your way around. You knew that you could approach Hyunjin which meant you must have seen him in a sports event before, since Hyunjin isn’t the most approachable person to exist in the world. His stern look usually drives people away from him, not to him. 

So Hyunjin spends the hour searching for you instead, using every means he can to just work out who you are and why you were walking on his late night/early morning path the same day he was. Privacy issues, you know?

He thinks he’s successful when he comes across a blank profile but soon realises that the gender doesn’t match, nor does the language. He goes through as many society pages he can to solidify some kind of person for you but doesn’t get anywhere with what he does. It makes him almost crazy as he puts down his phone with four minutes to spare, staring down to the professor with wide eyes as he realises the lecture was on coursework. Oh well, he’d do it with a few days to spare from the due date anyway - he has bigger problems on his mind. 

Bigger problems not being the pillow that was covered in blood, nor the shift at work he has later. 

He does try to forget your face for a while, and he thinks that the lecture’s done it for him when he starts to worry about what books he needs to be borrowing from the library before everyone else got their hands on them. He’s focused on a title of a book all the way from his lecture to his dorm, but the second he looks in the mirror and sees the awful looking plaster on his head he’s reminded that you saw him out there last night.

And maybe you didn’t know your way around, or know who he was. 

Hyunjin goes straight back to wondering where you would have disappeared to, peeling off the plaster a little slower than he should have to feel a particular sting on his skin that made up for the dick move he pulled yesterday. 

You were cute. Was that his motive? Was he so deprived of human contact that the second someone who was relatively cute spoke with him, he had to know exactly what they were doing and where they were doing, lest know who they were? Most possibly. He’s straight back on his phone as soon as he can be, forgetting the shower he planned on having and instead scrolling through SNS to try and find someone who vaguely matched your appearance. 

He’s almost late for work, that’s how long he spends on his phone. He forgets to charge it too, and since he had lent his portable charger to Woojin a few weeks ago and Woojin had never given it back to him, Hyunjin was going to have to deal with going to work with 10% battery and the constant frustration that he still couldn’t find you no matter what he did.

He was mad, and the poor drive through customers could see that as much as anyone else.

Hyunjin had run all the way from his dorm to the local McDonald’s that he’d taken a job when he first started here. He arrived a minute before his shift started and went straight to his position at the first window of the drive through, grabbing the headset from the girl who was on the way out. He didn’t want to be there. Every shift he hated with a burning passion. 

He still managed to give every driver a fake smile, hair pushed back under his McDonald’s cap that he also hated with a passion. As usual, he’d have people at the university come through and compliment him on his looks (only to drive away laughing for whatever reason they could find), and each time he’d see another person he recognised his grip on the card machine would only get tighter. 

The only thought that kept him grounded? Well, it was you.

He ignored the complaints from his manager with a roll of his eyes, his boredom occupied by thoughts of you and your pretty face that he was slowly developing a crush on. It was easy to stare at a screen and listen to someone read out an order, even easy to blur out the sound of a middle aged man’s voice that he really didn’t care for. 

The hours go slow nonetheless. By the time it reaches 10pm and the night shift people are starting to arrive, he’s wishing he had a phone to accompany his walk home. He forgot to bring a coat in his rush earlier, so the only relief he has from the bitter wind is his long sleeved shirt that smells like the kitchen grease. It’s lucky that not many people are out on a Thursday when he walks home from work. It’s dead silent on his walk back through the icy paths. 

Hyunjin is careful over the patches of white on the paths this time, keeping an eye on his footsteps despite the pain in his heels and lower back. Thoughts of his bed flood his mind more than you did earlier, and his eyes start to fall shut with each step. 

He’s lucky that the sound of some ice snapping brings him from his tiredness, since he looks up to make sure that whoever was cracking the ice wasn’t going to come at him with an icicle. 

No, they’re not coming at him. He thought it was just him on the lit path, but his eyes fall on the one person he would have hoped to be on the path at this time. Or not. The same protectiveness fills Hyunjin’s senses at the sight of you walking down the path, no hat or scarf to keep you warm, your jacket unbuttoned and hands shoved into your pockets

He’s not seen someone that pretty since technically yesterday, but ever. A smile erupts on his face when he realises this is his opportunity to talk to you and see how you are, find out more about you. He couldn’t care for the time, nor the hairs on his arms which stand on end, he wants to talk to you and he finds a sudden surge of confidence when you look up from the ground and straight to him. 

He doesn’t think you’ll recognise him, though he assumes you caught his eyes because he was the one staring at you before. You carry on walking towards him, like he does with you, and you both meet somewhat in the middle with about a metre between the two of you.

“Hey,” Hyunjin greets, smile still stuck to him though disappearing slightly with his words, “it’s me, from yesterday.”

You hum, gesturing to his forehead. “I don’t believe that you dressed that properly.”

“I put a plaster on it,” Hyunjin tells you.

“You smacked your head on ice and tried to make it better with a plaster? You’re crazy.” Hyunjin is less apprehensive when you reach forward to touch his head this time. He winces when the tips of your fingers reach the edge of the wound, though he watches your eyes intently the whole time. You roll your eyes as you take your hand away. “It’s probably infected. You know how much pain you’re gonna be in if you don’t fix it?”

Hyunjin shrugs, readjusting his cap. He pushes his slightly overgrown hair back under his cap and pulls it down slightly to hide the cut. “It’s just a cut. I’m fine.”

“You’re fine?”

“I hurt myself a lot.” Hyunjin realises his words are a little less descriptive when he sees your brows furrow. He stutters a cover for his words when you start to look a little more concerned. “I mean, I play soccer. I get hurt a lot when I play. This isn’t that bad.”

You nod at his clarification, though still seem skeptical. “Why were you out here so late last night?”

“Why were you?”

“Touche.” 

Hyunjin takes your silence as a defensive mechanism. You may not know who he is after all - if you were really aware of who Hwang Hyungjin was, you’d have been asking him to listen to your stories and make him feel sorry for you so that you could post about it the next day on SNS. He takes your silence, your awkward stare down at the ground, as an opportunity to create something new. 

“I’m Hyunjin,” he tells you, catching your attention from the ground again, “I like walking at night to clear my head. It makes me feel like I have less problems. Plus, I like the cold.”

Your smile is prettier than he could have imagined it to be. “You like the cold?”

“It’s refreshing. It makes me feel like… I have feelings. ‘Cause when I’m cold it reminds me that there’s a whole world around me that I tend to ignore for most of the day.”

“You sound like you need a therapist, Hyunjin.”

“Probably,” Hyunjin replies. He looks behind you, checking to see if anyone else is around. He can only see a bird or two on the grass behind you. The rest of the world isn’t paying attention to him. “Do you wanna... Do something?”

Hyunjin’s heart drops when you don’t answer immediately. Forwardness usually worked on people. He can tell but your blank expression that you were not expecting to hear him say that. He still finds some hope when you check behind you too, then turn back to him with the beginning of a smile. 

Hyunjin will end up having a bit of a complex if you keep giving into him so easily. “We just met.”

“It’s cold,” he counters, “and we’re both out here for absolutely no reason. If you’re out here for the same reason as me then I imagine you want something to take your mind off things, too.”

You’re apprehensive to reply again, though this time Hyunjin’s heart beats a little quicker. You nod once, then again, stepping forward so that you’re next to him. “Sure. Let’s take our minds off things.”

Hyunjin nods, bottom lip pulled between his teeth as you look up to him. He debates linking your arm, though given you’re nothing like the girls he usually talks to, he won’t be doing that any time soon. Instead, he walks beside you at a reasonable pace, waiting for you to speak in case he makes you feel uncomfortable. 

And you do, eventually. A little past the first building as you reach the gates to the main road, you start to tell him that you’re outside so that you can think, too. How you saw him fall yesterday and felt bad that you didn’t do more. That you were new to the university and wanted to explore the grounds whilst you thought through things instead of staring at a blank wall. Eventually he gets to hear what he wanted the entire time. 

“My name is (Y/N), by the way.”

And oh is that a name Hyunjin exhausts with every opportunity that he can. He likes the way it leaves his lips, the sound it makes when he calls it across the room when he notices you from a distance. He even likes the way it looks as a contact on his phone. 

He’ll stare at it for hours as he lays in bed, unsure whether he should text you or call you, or just have another look through your Instagram to see your pretty face again. He’ll find himself looking through your conversations, admiring the pictures you’ve been posting, reading through the comments on your post for longer than he used to spend wondering how much he hated himself. 

He doesn’t walk the paths of the campus under the moonlight anymore, and instead he spends it with your words or your thoughts. 

“You have a crush on her, Hyunjin,” Minho says, sitting across from him at the table in the library. The elder is responding to a string of compliments directed at you, mostly sick of hearing how amazing Hyunjin though you were. “Please can you tell her that you love her and not me.”

Hyunjin frowns. “Love her?”

“That’s what it is, right?” Minho comments. 

“Love?” 

“Yeah, you love her.”

Hyunjin shakes his head. “I don’t think I love her. She’s just… a good friend of mine. Love? No. I can’t love someone. I’m only 21.”

“You think your age means you can’t love someone?” Minho questions. His glare is enough to indicate to Hyunjin that he’s said something wrong, so he panics as he tries to backtrack to a reasonable point in the conversation.

He knew he wasn’t in love, because as much as he would have told himself that he liked the way you looked at him and enjoyed your company, he wouldn’t be in a position to admit that you had his heart and that wasn’t going to change. 

No one had his heart. Hyunjin made sure of that.

It might not have been obvious when he would spend nights with you on the couch, head in your lap, heart beating for you and only you. He would ignore the thoughts going through his head each time you smiled at him, the distant memory of Minho’s words never truly leaving his mind. Each time your skin touched his he would remember that word. 

Love.

Could he love you?

No, that wasn’t right. Everyone had the ability to love someone. Hyunjin knew that. 

Would he love you?

That a decision that he had to make on his own, when he was ready to. But when does anyone actually understand if they are truly ready to love someone?

Hyunjin’s biggest fear, admittedly, is that one day he’ll look at you and the feeling of wholeness will disappear. When he stares up at the ceiling at night, a flurry of possibilities meeting him, Hyunjin’s chest starts to hurt a little. He thinks that there’s a chance his question would already be answered, especially when he sits across from you and has his chin on his hand, listening to the words you sound out so carefully. 

“I got invited to this thing, actually,” you tell him, sat on the corner of his kitchen counter. He looks up to you with a raised brow, urging for you to continue. “You can come, if you like?”

Hyunjin hums, placing the other slice of bread on his half completed sandwich. He picks it up and takes a bite, continuing as he chews with a hand covering his mouth. “What is it?”

“A party. You know, the kinda generic stuff. We just have to show up and talk to some people, stay if it’s okay, then leave if it’s kinda boring.”

“Sounds good,” Hyunjin tells you, feigning his enjoyment of the possibility of going to the one type of party he always tried to avoid. 

He thinks that it might be easier, considering that you’re going to be there and you make things easier for him. It was easy for him to act like he was enjoying himself when you’re by his side and it’s your smile that he’s directing all his attention at. So his agreement is purely on the basis that he’ll be with you.

You’re like his favourite song.

He listens to you on repeat, finding new sounds he didn’t hear before and a twist in the lyrics that make more sense each time he hears them. He starts you again each time you come to an end to savour the way you exhilarate every one of his senses and how his nerves go into overdrive each time they’re graced with your presence. His heart matches yours, every fibre of his being tailored to fit yours perfectly. 

His hands are entwined with yours, eyes full of admiration as you sing along to whatever is playing in the background. He truly forgets about everything around him. The people whispering that he’s with another girl, that he has found someone who will put up with him, that there is someone who can cope with listening to him each and every day. He doesn’t listen to them, only to you. 

He smiles the pain of the words he hears away, attention flickering between how you made him feel better, and you. You made him someone different. You made him feel like Hwang Hyunjin, not soccer player Hyunjin, not athlete Hyunjin, not even employee Hyunjin. Just Hwang Hyunjin without the labels that were plastered all over him. 

As you pull him into the spare bedroom of your friends place, he starts to forget everything he heard and returns just to you once more. 

“You’re pretty cute, Hyunjin,” you tell him, lips pressed to the corner of his. Your hands reach for the inside of the leather jacket he was wearing, peeling it from his chest and down to his arms. He catches what you’re trying to do and helps you out, pulling off his jacket and throwing it to the side. 

“Cute?” he repeats, fingers twisted in your hair. He gently pulls you back from him, eyes narrowed in response. “Only cute? I’m more than that.”

He’s so infatuated by your giggle that he lets you push him back against the door, fingers running through his own hair whilst your hips push as close to his as possible. “So fucking cute.”

Hyunjin rolls his eyes, reaching down to press a kiss to your lips this time. He stops just before your skin touches, revealing in the slight whine you give him in response. “And you’re so fucking beautiful.”

He wonders why he never kissed you before. His whole body is on fire with each of your little touches, and somewhere in between he manages to get his hands on the door to lock it behind him. He’d have happily continued to kiss you through the night, but he realises just after you that your bodies are both asking for something more. 

You tug at his belt, fingers undoing it with ease and following with his button and zipper. Hyunjin is surprised to see you spit on your hand once your done; he hisses when your hand slips through the waistband of his boxers, taking him fully into your hand beneath the black material. You look back up to his face, studying his features for all of a second before pulling him back onto you and leaving him with too many things to concentrate on. 

He did not think, in any way, shape, or form, that he would be locked in a random bedroom with you, making out with you as you jacked him off and relieved an unknown sexual desire he had in the back of his head this whole time. 

“You’re big,” you mumble against his lips breaking your contact for the briefest of seconds to build up his ego that had been deflated for so long. He tries to cut off his responsive moan but you’re too aware of it. “Do you want me to get you off, Hyunjin?”

Hyunjin nods rapidly. He should have told you that he’d have done anything for you to let him reciprocate it, but it slips from his mind when your hand slides down his length, your thumb flicking over his tip before you return down to his shaft. Even he was surprised how hard he was already. 

But it was you, so he really should have seen it coming.

He tried his very best to be quiet but the way you made him feel was too much. It wasn’t that you were any better than others, he thought you really didn’t have that much experience anyway, it was just that it was you doing it to him. Stroking his cock up and down, telling him that it would feel good if he filled you up, asking him if next time you could use your mouth. 

Hyunjin can barely move past the one occasion he’s got here, yet alone think to a next time. He’s hung up over the slight twists of your hand and effortless touches, he can feel his vision slowly turning whiter and whiter until he sees a light and he’s cumming over your hand and the inside of his boxers. 

If he wasn’t living on the end of liquid confidence and so enthralled by you, he’d would never have asked you pushed you back against the door and reciprocated it, like he was meant to tell you he wanted to earlier. 

His dreams would forever be flooded with the look you gave him from above, one of your legs over his shoulder as he nipped at the inside of your thighs and moved on to do the exact same to your clit. He never expected you to taste so sweet. No one else had done before. 

So every time he closed his eyes he was stuck with the lock you gave him as he laid his tongue flat against you, every time he was met with radio silence he heard your moans, and he never found anything which matched your taste.

And part of him hoped it was the same for you, too.

Though he couldn’t guarantee anything. He walked home with you under the stars, arm around your shoulder, people around the completely oblivious to the world they were living in. Hyunjin can only look at you and smile, and wonder if he’s the only thought running through your head too. He’s not shy to kiss you a few more times on the way home, nor when he crawls into bed next to you and passes out from tiredness with his head on your shoulder. 

His thoughts of you only get more intense when he wakes up beside you and you’re cuddled up to him like you were the one with all the love for him. His heart almost melts, though he’s forced to leave early when he remembers he has a day shift at the reception for a bridal shop in town, his other job that pays him a little better but offers worse hours for him. 

Does he hope you’ll be there when he gets home? Yes. 

Is he left disappointed when you text call him twenty minutes before he’s meant to be home and tell him that you had an emergency thing to attend to, but you’d probably be free later? Kinda.

Hyunjin lets it go because he believes you when you say you’ll be free later, and he believes you when you text him and tell him that instead of that evening you’ll meet him for lunch the next day. It gives him an opportunity for some planning which he hasn’t been able to do for a while. 

“Do you think she’ll like them?” Hyunjin asks Minho, shoving the bouquet in his friend’s face so he has to smell it. He ignore Minho’s dirty look at carries on anyway. “I’m going to tell her that I like her.”

Minho frowns. “You haven’t told her yet?”

“I thought it was too soon.”

“You thought it was too soon?” Minho repeats, brows furrowed. He looks around the half empty library, then leans closer to Hyunjin so that he hears every word clearly. “You, my friend, are a fucking idiot.”

Hyunjin reenacts Minho’s previous look. The flowers are placed down onto the table and his lips turn downwards. “Why? Did I do something wrong?”

“You are going to tell her you like her when you clear do more than like her,” Minho says, “you have to be honest with her. Don’t tell her you like her when you love her.”

“I don’t.”

“Huh?”

Hyunjin shrugs. “I don’t love her. It would be impossible for me to love her. I think she’s hot, I like spending time with her, and she’s my best friend. I like her.”

“If you’re going to confess to her like that, then she’s gonna be pretty hurt.”

“I’m not going to lie to her.” Hyunjin means what he says, but not in the way he says it. “I don’t love her. It would take me more time. I want her to know how I feel now, though. I like her. I want to confess that to her.”

Because you are his favourite song, after all. 

He wants everyone to know about it. He wanted everyone to see him sit you down at a table in a small cafe in town, hand you a bouquet of flowers that he picked out based on how pretty they were. He picked the yellow carnations over white, the snapdragons with their different buds of flowers, and orange roses that stood out in the store. 

He can’t help but smile when your hands are pulled over your mouth, nor encourage you to show him your pretty face so he could admire you, too. He knew people were watching, especially when you walked out with your hand in his for a reason other than desire. 

His honesty, however, didn’t go as far as telling you that the love he felt for you would change. 

Hyunjin can’t help but spend each day at your side. Exhausting you like a trust with a purpose, making sure you understood that he liked you, not loved you, but felt towards you he felt for no others. You were who he turned to in darkness, you were who brought sunshine to rainy days and warmth to the coldest nights. 

“I could stay here forever,” he’d whisper against your skin, looking up to meet your eyes with a smile. He’d push the hair back from your face, admiring you for a second longer. “I don’t want you to leave me.”

You smile and shake your head, returning his touches by running your thumb over his bottom lip. “Why would I leave you, Hyunjin?”

He can’t answer your question without a lecture, so he always chooses not to. He’d keep his thoughts to himself. Though everyone knew deep down that a guilty conscience would lead others to ask the questions they wanted answered for themselves. Why would he leave you?

Why wouldn’t he love you?

Why couldn’t he love you?

“Because you’re scared,” Minho says to Hyunjin, passing him a can of sprite across his kitchen table. The younger is pouting, unsure of what he’s supposed to do. “You can’t tell her the truth because you’re worried what she will say.”

Hyunjin hums. Maybe Minho is right. “I want to tell her, but every time I try to my body freezes and I can’t talk. It’s like something doesn’t want me to tell her.”

“Then don’t tell her yet,” Minho suggests. 

“Won’t that make things worse?”

Minho shrugs, his expertise ending. “You told me before you confessed to her that you didn’t want to lie to her, so you either do love her and you tell her, or you don’t love her and you don’t tell her. Whatever you do, there’s a reason you don’t do the opposite.”

“So I’m not just nervous?” Hyunjin asks. He looks down to the unopened text on his phone and signs. “You don’t think I love her?”

“I can’t tell you if you love her yet. You’ll know yourself when you do. Just be honest with her.”

Hyunjin isn’t lying when he tries to tell Minho that that is his problem, though Minho thinks he means the love part and goes on a rant about how everyone can love someone and time will show the true feelings behind everything. 

And Hyunjin does care about you deeply, that has never ever changed. 

Because you always like your favourite song. Once it’s been played over and over, and you don’t listen to it for a while, you go back to it and remember the vocals or musical quirks that attracted you to it in the first place. 

But once you’ve moved on, that feeling never comes back. 

His favourite song doesn’t change, he just stops listening to it after a while. He stops the admiration, the tune in his head when there’s radio silence, the thoughts of it when he closes his eyes. 

It’s no longer sweet to him, and he’s no longer a slave to the thought of it. Of you. 

And as he finds him walking out in the cold nights as he finds something else to occupy his mind, he realises that he could never appreciate you for who, for all you truly were.

It was never a case of would he love you. 

Hyunjin could love you. He could open his heart to someone and trust that they could do the same, yet he never had it in him to even approach the topic with a clear head. 

A walk down the path with the bitter wind rattling his bones, the light shining down on him as tears fell down his cheeks and froze the skin beneath, much like the ice that crunched under his feet with each step. 

You filled his world with the colours that radiated from you, painting the skies blue and orange; the days yellow and punk; the nights black and purple. You made him see what was beautiful, yet he could never have seen it the way you did.

You were a rainbow in the dull world he built around him, but he was colourblind.

[lalahbug]

Hidden Emotions - Levi x Reader

Fandom: Attack on Titan Word Count: 2,888

My Masterlist

Warnings/disclaim: general I wrote this before I knew about the lifespan of a Titan shifter, so that doesn’t exist in this certain fanfic, okay? Okay.

Author’s Note: continued under story Originally posted on DeviantArt, same username, on 03/05/2017. Revamped/edited in 2020.

___ is a blank for your name/oc/whatever you prefer Written in 3rd person

Line/header is to separate paragraphs to indicate time skips, as Tumblr hates my formatting. I do not own it, found it as a free vector to use though.

Story under cut

          “State your name and business.” Levi droned as someone knocked at his door.

          “___, Erwin told me you wanted to see me.”

          “Enter.”

          ___ pushed the door open and closed it lightly, she walked up to his desk and stood, until Levi glanced up at her and gestured to her to sit.

          “Erwin said you had something you needed to tell me.”

          “Yes.” Levi kept writing for a moment until he was done with his sentence. Oh, how he loved her patience. He put down his pen then leaned back crossing his arms across his chest. “You’ve been in the Scout Regiment, for about 4 years, correct?” She nodded. “You haven’t died but you haven’t really done anything notable,” she nodded in agreement.

          ’She talks less than I do. She always does her job, keeps to herself.’ Levi thought to himself.

          “Erwin and I believe you have more potential. We need you to be better. Starting Monday, you’ll be a Squad Leader. Our new recruits will be under you until they die or are put into another squad.”

          “Thank you very much for this opportunity,” Levi was about to say, you’re welcome. “But, I would like to decline if I can. I do not believe I would be a good leader. I’m a pawn, maybe a rook. I’m no knight such as yourself and Hange. I do not believe I could be better. I apologize.”

          Levi just stared at her. He was not expecting this at all. Her eyes were as deadpanned as his. He never knew she had self-doubt like this, is this why she never did anything notable? Because she figured she can’t do more?

          “You are a Squad Leader as of Monday. It has already been decided. If you have issues, you may ask any Squad Leader or Erwin. You will meet your squad Monday morning in the mess hall.”

          “Yes, sir.” He saw a glint in her eyes, it was either worry or fear, it was too fast for him to tell.

          “Then you’re dismissed,“ she nodded and stood up, pushed in her chair.

          “Levi!” Hange busted into his room. “Oh, ___!” Hange hugged her, causing her to stiffen.

          “Afternoon, Hange. Please let go.”

 ��        “I’m your best friend, who you tell everything to and I can’t even hug you!” Hange whined.

          “We can talk later, I would like to go to my room.”

          “Did Shorty say something weird? Like he loves you?”

          “Oi!”

          “Hange, even if Captain did. Nothing would happen, you know that.” ___ pulled herself out of Hange’s arm. “I’m a Squad Leader as of Monday. So I would like to get some materials. I will see you later.”

          “Oh! That’s awesome! Let me know if you need anything!”

          Levi’s eyes widened a bit. ___ actually smiled full-heartedly at Hange.

          “Of course, Hange. I always go to you,” with that, she left. As much as Levi hates Hange, he liked having her around when he was with ___. Hange brought a side to her that Levi never saw.

          “What the fuck was that about me loving her?” Levi spat at Hange.

          “Well, you do. You need to start dropping hints. She’s so clueless. You’ve loved her for like three years, you always stare at her! Come on, Shorty!”

          “Shut up, Shitty Glasses! God, I regret you ever figuring that out,” Levi pinched the bridge of his nose. “What did she mean, nothing would happen, even if I told her?”

          “Oh that. Well, she doesn’t want a relationship. She doesn’t see a point since she’s in the Regiment. Knowing that she’ll die and leave her lover behind.” Hange paused and looked down. “The thought of it, makes her almost cry. It’s the first time I ever saw her eyes water.”

          “I doubt she’ll die anytime soon. She’s the only one who ever survives when her squad dies. She’s outlived many of her Squad Leaders.”

          “It’s a bit strange if you think about it. How does she always survive? It’s like she’s a titan like Eren.” Hange chuckled a bit, before realizing that wasn’t actually too bad of an explanation.

          “If she is, why would she be here for so long? You’ve known her since you were both young adults.”

          “Huh.” Hange tapped her chin. “I want to ask her now. I wonder if she’ll lie or not. Her eyes do a weird shake like thing when she lies or is nervous.”

          “Let me know how that goes, now get out,” Levi grumbled while getting back to his paperwork. Hange left his office, closing the door. “How would I drop hints when she’s so impervious with her emotions?” he mumbled to himself.

          Levi was walking towards ___’s room. Not that he would ever admit it to anyone, but he had been going to her room every night. To check on her, make sure she was okay. Sometimes he would sit in her room if she was tossing and turning.

          Cracking her door open to see if she was in bed, for once in the past 5 weeks, she wasn’t. Also, a first, her room was a mess, papers and books were everywhere. Confused, Levi walked into her room, picking up one of the books, it was about leadership.

          “She is actually freaking out. That’s cute,” Levi placed the book back where it was, ignoring the mess, he went to go find her. It’s not his mess to clean, he’d make her clean it instead.

          She was pacing outside with a book in her hand, she flipping through the pages. She made a small groan before leaning back on a tree and sliding down it to sit. Staring up at the canopy, stars peeping through the leaves.

          “Why aren’t you in bed?” ___ snapped her gaze over to Levi.

          “Evening, Heichou.” Levi paused as he noticed a slight blush on her cheeks before she looked back up. “The sky is beautiful tonight, it’s been awhile since I’ve been outside this late,“ she mainly whispered to herself.

          “You haven’t answered my question.” Levi stood in front of her, she looked from the sky to him.

          “I know, as I am now. I can’t be a Squad Leader. I don’t have the confidence, the only time I can be aggressive is when I notice someone about to die. I do everything I can. I even lost my foot that one time. I can’t do this on my own. Hange is going to help me more tomorrow, but I figured I could do my own studying and research in the meantime. I got upset at myself, so I came outside to read.”

          Levi stared at her, as she rambled, this is the most he had ever heard her talk in one go. Maybe this is the side that Hange always got to see. The one Hange said he’d love. Her sweet and worrying, a bit scared but wanting to fight side.

          “Why?” she looked at Levi.

          “What?”

          “What do you guys see in me? Just because I can stay alive, doesn’t mean I am worth anything.”

          “___.” Levi squatted down in front of her. “Being able to stay alive out there, is a rare thing. You’ve got something that makes it so you fight harder. Erwin wants you to pass that one to others. So we can keep more people.”

          “What if I can’t?”

          “Then we’ll keep losing people. You can make great split decisions, many which have saved us before. You’ll be a fine leader.”

          “Do you really think so, Levi?” ___ sat up more, looking into his eyes, trying to read him. 

          Levi was so happy to hear his name roll off her tongue, for the first time. His heart twinged at her cute, sad, worried (e/c) eyes.

          “Yes,” he gave her a small smirk, which caused her to blush, lean back and look back up. Levi noticed this. Oh, how he wanted to kiss her.

          “Thank you,” she whispered.

          As Levi leaned towards her, before something clicked in his mind. “Early, you said you lost a foot. Which one?”

          She looked back at him, her eyes shook slightly. “My right, I meant almost lost. Sorry about the confusion.” Her normal tone was back, she was closing back up. Levi studied her for a moment, she was lying.

          “You suck at lying.”

          “If I lost a foot, it wouldn’t be in my boot, right now.”

          Levi put a hand on her arm, in case she tried to escape. “Unless you’re a titan, like Eren.”

          She glared at him for a moment. “You’re being stupid,“ she smacked his hand and stood up. “I’m going to bed.” Levi pushed her up against the tree, pinning her by her wrist. “Get off me.”

          “Stop lying to me.”

          “What difference does it make to you? Whether I am a titan or not? I’m still ___.”

          “If you’re a titan, you’ve been deceiving us all, you could have helped. You have let all of us down, by letting hundreds die.” Levi spat at her. Her eyes widened. “Plus, you’ve outlived everyone in your squads. How have you been doing that? What are you hiding?” Levi growled at her when she didn’t answer him. “You’re a fucking disgrace,” Levi gripped her by the front of her shirt, starting to walk and dragging her.

          “What are you doing?”

          “We’re going to Erwin. Now.”

          “I’m sorry.” Levi turned his head to look at her, meeting her fist.

          By the time he opened his eyes. She was gone.

          Levi burst into Hange’s room. “___’s gone!” Hange jumped out of bed.

          “What do you mean gone?!”

          “I confronted her. She’s a titan. When dragging her to Erwin. She punched me and disappeared.”

          “Why didn’t you just talk to her about it? You’ve scared her off, Shorty! We could have talked it out then talked to Erwin!” Hange was shaking Levi by the shoulders. Before letting go and quickly pulling on some shoes.

          “Where are you going?!” Levi chased after her.

          “To find, ___! She’s my best friend; titan, and lair, but she’s still my dearest friend! And if you truly loved her, you wouldn’t have been such an ass!” Hange ran out of the building. Levi groaned as his heart ached and chased after Hange. 

          ___ was sitting on top of the Rose Wall. Staring down at the titans below, out in the distance. The wind was blowing her hair around. She wanted to jump down and transform, run far away. But at the same time, she wanted to run into Hange’s arms, cling to her. She put her hands over her ears and curled up, trying to not cry. She had no right to cry, she had lied to everyone for almost 15 years. She brought this upon herself, she just wanted to be a human and live and die among them. She had never thought of helping them, there wasn’t an urge until 5 years ago. But even if she would have tried to help, she probably would have been killed. That is what she had always thought until Eren came along. She always tried to help, only transforming when she knew there was no other choice. 

          Screams of her fallen comrades flooded her mind, she broke down crying. Curling up even tighter, rocking back and forth. Then she felt a hand on her shoulder. Hange was kneeling next to her, with a small smile.

          ___ nearly jumped on Hange, crying and clinging to her. Of course, Hange just held ___. Hange knew all of her hiding spots. Now that Hange knew her best friend was a titan, this certain hiding spot, made a lot more sense. 

          Levi stared at ___, he had never seen her cry, saw her broken looks but never a tear. He could hear her gasping for air as she clung to Hange, mumbling sorry over and over. She’s beautiful, even while crying.

          ___ pushed away from Hange, sitting on her knees and rubbing her eyes, trying to stop crying. “I’m sorry I never told you. I could have helped you. I could have helped humanity. I’m so sorry. I lied to you for nearly 15 years. I don’t deserve a friend like you,” she was starting to hiccup from crying so much. Hange threw a glare over her shoulder to Levi, who looked away from her glare.

          “You’re my best friend. I understand why you never told me or anyone. If you would have when our world wasn’t getting worse. They likely would have killed you.” Hange looked at ___, who was still trying to stop herself from crying. “Until everything with Eren, even if you would have told me. I would have kept it secret with you, in fear of you being killed. You’ve never hurt anyone that didn’t attack you first. Even titans. You’re the sweetest girl I’ve ever known. In fear of letting anyone down, you’ve held back and been under the radar in fear of having to explain yourself.” Hange hugged ___ as the tears finally stopped.

          “I can’t get their screams out of my head. My last squad. An abnormal attacked, I didn’t want to lose them. After two got ate, I transformed. But they ran from me in fear, which made them die. Even at my strongest, I fail. I’m such a disgrace, I can’t do this Hange. I should have never entered the city.”

          “I know the screams won’t stop. You’ve always had them, since your first expedition. You’ve been telling me that for years.” Hange rubbed her back. Levi just stared at her. Feeling guilty for the words he had spat at his love beforehand.

          “Hange, I want to die now.”

          Hange smack ___ across the face. “Don’t you say that shit!” ___ laughed a bit, Hange smiled. ___ then noticed Levi and crawled behind Hange so he could no longer see her. Levi clicked his tongue before walking over and gripping ___ by the arm. Pulling her to her feet, his tight grip making her squeak a bit.

          “You punched me really hard you know.”

          “You were dragging me off. I claim self-defense.”

          “You still have to pay for the pain you did to my head.”

          “Fine, I’ll clean the stables.”

          “No.” With one tug, he crashed his lips onto hers. She squeaked and pushed him away. Hange clapped.

          “Finally!” Hange cheered.

          “Shut up!”

          “What?” ___ looked at both of them.

          Hange popped up and kissed ___ on the cheek. “When you’re done. I want to talk before you see Erwin. I’ll leave you to lover boy, for now,“  Hange walked off.

          “I am very confused.” ___ glanced at Hange walking away then at Levi’s hand on her arm. “Can you let go?”

          “Will you stay?” she gave him a small nod and he let go of her arm. They looked into each other’s eyes for a moment. They were basically the same height, so Levi just leaned forward and pressed his lips softly to hers for a small second. 

          “I thought you hated me.”

          “Because of what I said earlier?” she looked away. “I’m not good with my emotions. I’ve loved you for 3 years. I was about to kiss you before my fucking brain clicked what you said.” Levi put a hand on her face, pressing his cooling hand against her warm cheek that Hange had smacked. “I’m sorry. Let’s head back,” she nodded, staring at him for a moment before heading down the wall.

          While walking back, Levi wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

          ___ looked at Levi, with a confused look.

          “Would you fucking say something instead of just staring at me? You’re starting to piss me off.”

          “You love me?”

          He clicked his tongue. “That’s why I kissed you.”

          “I thought you knew about me being a titan and no longer trusted me. That’s why you were checking on me every night.” Levi started blushing a bit. “But you did that because you love me?”

          Levi coughed. “So you knew? And yes that’s why.” He stopped and stood in front of her. Putting a hand on her cheek again, running a thumb over her cheekbone and smirked as she started blushing. She glanced at his lips then back at his eyes. “Oi, brat.” She raised an eyebrow at him.

          “Brat? You’re like 5 years older than me,“ she scoffed at him.

          Levi rolled his eyes before kissing her, moving his hand to the back of her neck, to deepen the kiss. ___ bowed her body into his, wrapping her arms around his neck. Levi pulled away a bit. 

          “You still haven’t really replied to my confession.”

          “I like you.”

          Levi clicked his tongue in frustration. “Fucking brat.”

          She gave him a small smirk before giving him a light kiss. “Old perv.”

          “Tch.” picked her up, throwing her over his shoulder. “I’ll teach you how to respect your elders.”

          “Put me down!” She ordered him.

          “I don’t take orders from you, bitch.” Levi smacked her ass, earning a small yelp.

          “I have a feeling my lesson, isn’t going to be something I would ever learn in school.”

          “Your lesson is only to be taught by me. The lesson you need to learn right now, can’t be taught with words… only with action.” A small smirk pulled at the corner of his lips as he heard the female make a loud gulp.

Author’s Note: continued Also Levi is a bit OOC. I really disliked this fanfic when I wrote it. But it got positive feedback years ago, so I guess it’s decent but still. I am sorry for this shit.