#for her i printed it all in white n colored the black parts

[cellgatinbo]

juanaflippa and her weird fucked up uncle

[pucksandpower]

Pollinated

Day 11 → Sex Pollen 💋 Max Verstappen

Warnings: 18+ content and dubious consent

Kinktober Masterlist

“You’ve got a stack waiting for you.” Alan leans on the edge of your desk, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. He’s holding a bundle of envelopes, some thick with scribbled messages, some thin and printed with clean, crisp fonts.

Your PR officer’s eyebrows raise in mock exasperation as he shakes them at you. “How do you even have time to race with all these fans wanting a piece of you?”

You grin, setting down your coffee and wiping your hands on your pants. “That’s the problem of being so popular, Alan. It’s a curse, really.”

“Oh, yeah. It’s a real burden. Everyone loving you.”

“Someone’s gotta do it.”

He drops the stack in front of you with a soft thud. “Take your time. I’ll be back in a bit.” His tone is teasing, but you catch the flicker of something more serious underneath, like he’s reminding you there’s more work to be done after this.

You roll your eyes as he walks off. You love this part of your day — the letters, the drawings, the fan art from kids who see something in you that makes them believe they can be here too. They’re always so personal, full of energy, like they’re rooting for you from their living rooms or school desks.

You flick through the pile, reading the familiar opening lines. Dear Y/N, you’re such an inspiration or I love watching you race! Your heart lifts as you come across a brightly colored drawing from a girl named Chloe, of you standing on a podium, arms raised in victory. It makes you smile so wide your cheeks hurt a little. You can practically hear the little girl’s voice, excitedly telling her parents, “That’s gonna be me one day.”

“This is what it’s about,” you mutter under your breath, running your fingers over the crayon marks.

More letters. More words of encouragement. A scribbled note from a group of university students who drove twelve hours just to see you race last season. A letter from an older woman who says she’s been watching F1 since her husband introduced her to it in the ‘70s and how proud she is to see a woman making waves. You pause at that one, your chest swelling. You’ll have to write her back.

You reach for the next envelope, a bit plainer than the others. No stickers, no hand-drawn doodles in the margins. It’s simple, just your name written on the front in neat black ink. Your gut tugs slightly, but you brush it off. Not every fan is an artist.

You open it, pulling out a card with a printed picture of a car on the front. Your car. You smile, flipping it open to read the message inside.

But your smile fades as you start to read.

You don’t belong here.

The words are bold, black, and stark against the white paper. They stand out like a punch to the gut, each line colder and more hateful than the last. The handwriting is meticulous, like whoever wrote it wanted to be sure you’d understand every word.

Women like you are ruining the sport.

Your throat tightens. Your fingers grip the edges of the card a little harder than before, the edges bending under the pressure.

Go back to doing what you’re good at: nothing.

You try to swallow, but it feels like there’s a knot lodged in your throat. It’s not the first time you’ve seen something like this. Hell, it’s not even the worst thing anyone’s said. But right now, it’s too sharp, too specific, too venomous.

You reach up to close the card, your hand trembling slightly. But before you can fully shut it, something catches your eye — a tiny puff of fine yellow powder shoots from the fold, drifting into the air in front of you.

“What the-” You blink, confused for a split second.

Then, it hits.

A burning sensation spreads through your throat and nose. Your skin tingles, a wave of heat rushing over your face. You gasp, trying to catch your breath, but it feels like you’re inhaling fire. Panic spikes as your vision blurs.

“Alan!” The name barely makes it past your lips before you feel your legs give way beneath you.

“Alan!” You try again, but it comes out weaker this time. Your limbs feel heavy, your chest tight, and the room starts to spin in slow, nauseating circles.

Footsteps pound across the floor. Alan’s voice sounds far away, muffled, like he’s underwater. You catch a glimpse of him sprinting toward you, his face pale, eyes wide. “Y/N?”

Your body jerks uncontrollably, a violent shudder running through you. The room twists, everything turning hazy as you hit the floor hard, your fingers twitching against the cool tile.

“What the hell — Y/N!” Alan’s panic is sharp now, cutting through the fog. You can barely see him through the haze clouding your vision, but you feel him grab your shoulders, shaking you gently.

“Stay with me. Just stay with me, okay?” His voice cracks, fear bleeding through the edges.

Your entire body seizes again, every muscle clamping down painfully. A sharp cry escapes your throat as the convulsions take over, uncontrollable now.

“Help! Somebody, help!” Alan’s voice is frantic, desperate, echoing through the room as the world starts to fade. His hands are on your face now, trying to keep you conscious. You feel his fingers trembling against your skin, hear the panic rising in his voice as he keeps shouting for help.

But you’re slipping, sinking deeper into the darkness as the convulsions wrack your body. You can’t speak. You can’t move.

Alan’s voice is the last thing you hear before everything goes black.

***

The world returns slowly, like surfacing from a deep dive. There’s a ringing in your ears, muffled voices blending into the constant hum of machinery. Your body feels like it’s on fire — each nerve sizzling under your skin, radiating heat. You try to move, but it’s as if you’re bound by weights. The sheets beneath you cling to your body, too warm, too tight, too much.

Someone’s talking nearby, but it’s distant, warped. You can’t make out the words yet. Everything feels heavy — your eyelids, your chest, even your breathing. Your mouth is dry, your tongue like sandpaper against the roof of your mouth.

Slowly, the fog begins to clear, and you catch fragments of conversation.

“… highly illegal substance …” A voice, crisp and professional, filters through. The doctor. “… extreme toxicity … very few cases on record …”

You try to focus, but the burning sensation inside you only intensifies. It’s everywhere — your limbs, your core, your mind. Like you’re being torn apart from the inside out.

You manage a groan, the sound barely escaping your lips.

“She’s waking up,” someone says, closer now. Alan? It sounds like him, but there’s a hitch in his usually confident voice. Panic.

Your eyelids flutter open, and the room comes into blurry focus. Harsh fluorescent lights. Sterile white walls. The sterile smell of antiseptic clogs your senses, a sharp contrast to the heat still coursing through you. You blink slowly, your vision sharpening enough to see Alan standing by your bedside, pale and jittery, his hand running through his hair in nervous strokes.

Across from him is the doctor, his white coat stiff and immaculate. He’s holding a clipboard, and his face is a mask of concern. When he speaks, it feels like each word takes a lifetime to process.

“… the substance she was exposed to … it’s not just any powder,” the doctor is saying, his voice measured but grim. “It’s a synthetic pollen derivative, known as Lust Dust on the black market.”

Lust Dust. The words sink into you, but you don’t recognize them. Your throat feels too tight to ask for clarification. Alan, however, doesn’t hesitate.

“What does that mean? What the hell is that?” Alan’s voice is raw, frayed at the edges.

The doctor sighs, flipping through the notes on his clipboard before answering. “It’s an extremely illegal bio-weapon, developed underground. It was used in several isolated attacks a few years ago, mostly in war zones. The symptoms … well, they’re brutal.”

You don’t like the sound of this. Brutal. Illegal. Bio-weapon. The words swirl around in your head, each one setting off alarm bells, but you can barely move enough to react. You just lie there, heat pulsing through you, your body screaming in agony.

“The pollen attacks the body’s nervous system,” the doctor continues, his tone clinical. “It acts as a stimulant, targeting primal instincts, heightening … certain responses. The most dangerous part is that, if untreated, the body will burn out within hours.”

“Burn out?” Alan echoes, his voice barely more than a whisper. “What does that mean? You mean … she’ll die?”

“Yes,” the doctor replies, his tone darkening. “In most cases, without intervention, the victim’s body will shut down. It’s a highly sexualized toxin. The only way to counteract the effects is through physical release.”

There’s a moment of stunned silence. The words hover in the air, sinking into the room with a weight you can almost feel. Your heart races, your mind struggling to comprehend what’s being said. Physical release? The burning sensation in your body intensifies, like it’s reacting to the very idea of what the doctor’s suggesting.

Alan’s face pales further, his hand gripping the back of his neck in horror. “Wait, are you — are you saying she has to-”

“Sex,” the doctor says bluntly, not sugar-coating anything. “Yes. If she doesn’t have sex soon, she will die. The sooner, the better, to mitigate the damage the pollen’s already caused.”

A cold sweat breaks out across your skin, despite the unbearable heat raging inside you. The fire in your veins is consuming everything, twisting the doctor’s words into cruel irony. This can’t be happening. Not this.

“I … I …“ Alan stammers, clearly at a loss, his eyes flicking to you, desperate and terrified. “There’s got to be another way. Medicine? A procedure? Something?”

The doctor shakes his head. “There’s no antidote. The only option is the one I’ve given you.”

You want to scream. You want to cry. But you can’t do anything except lie there, burning from the inside out, unable to stop the panic surging through you as the realization sinks in.

Alan takes a shaky breath. “What … what do we do now?”

The doctor straightens, his voice calm but commanding. “The most important thing is finding someone who’s willing to … assist.”

Alan’s eyes widen in horror, but before he can say anything, the door bursts open and several members of your team file into the room — engineers, mechanics, staff. Their faces are tight with concern, and they crowd into the small space, murmuring amongst themselves.

“What happened?” Someone asks, their voice tense.

Alan quickly explains, his voice shaking as he goes over the details. The pollen. The bio-weapon. The need for “intervention.” Every word makes your heart pound harder, and you can feel the collective shock ripple through the room as the reality of the situation sets in.

“She needs someone,” Alan says, his voice thick with emotion. “She needs someone to …”

He can’t even finish the sentence.

The room falls into stunned silence. You can hear the soft hum of the machines around you, the ragged breathing of the people in the room. It feels like time has stopped, the weight of the situation pressing down on everyone.

Then, the whispers start.

“I’ll do it,” someone mutters.

“No, I will,” another voice pipes up. You recognize it as one of the engineers, his voice shaky but sincere.

“I mean, she’s our driver, right? We have to help.”

More voices chime in, each one offering, each one willing. The panic in the room turns to a frantic eagerness, as though everyone suddenly realizes what’s at stake. You can barely comprehend it — the idea that your team, your colleagues, are discussing this as though it’s just another task, something to be done to save your life.

Your mind is spinning, your body trembling with the heat still coursing through you. You want to shout at them, tell them to stop, that this isn’t how things should be. But you can’t move, can’t speak. All you can do is listen as the conversation grows more chaotic, more desperate.

Then, the door opens again, and a new voice cuts through the noise.

“Everyone out.”

It’s Max.

The room falls silent instantly, every head turning toward him. He stands in the doorway, his face hard and set, his blue eyes blazing with an intensity you’ve never seen before. He looks around the room, his gaze sharp, taking in the faces of your teammates, the panic, the confusion.

“I said out,” Max repeats, his voice calm but firm.

No one moves at first, too shocked to respond. But then one by one, they start to file out, murmuring to each other in hushed tones as they leave the room. You hear Alan hesitate for a moment, but even he doesn’t argue. The door shuts softly behind them, leaving you alone with Max.

You’re too weak to turn your head, but you can hear him walk closer, his footsteps slow and deliberate. He doesn’t speak right away, and the silence hangs heavy in the air, broken only by the soft beeping of the machines monitoring your condition.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Max’s voice fills the room. “It’s going to be me.”

Your heart skips a beat.

“No one else is touching you,” he says, his tone low, steady. “I’m your teammate. I’m the one who’s going to help you. Not them.”

You can’t see his face, but you can hear the resolve in his voice, the determination. He’s not offering. He’s deciding. There’s no question, no hesitation. It’s going to be him, and no one else.

And as the burning inside you flares again, you realize that part of you is grateful.

***

The air between you and Max is thick with tension, the kind that crackles in the silence, heavy with unspoken words. You lie there, your body still ablaze, the fire under your skin pulsing in waves, but something about his presence — steady, resolute — grounds you, if only just. You can’t move, can barely speak, but your mind races, half-paralyzed with the agony of the pollen and half with the strange anticipation of what’s to come.

Max stands beside the bed, his face framed by the fluorescent lights above, casting shadows that sharpen his features. He doesn’t look afraid, though you can tell there’s something behind his eyes — something that trembles just beneath the surface. His gaze locks onto yours, and it feels like he’s looking past the pain, past the situation, to something deeper.

“This isn’t how I imagined …“ His voice is soft, barely more than a whisper, as though the words aren’t meant to be heard by anyone but you. He reaches for your hand, his fingers brushing yours, tentative at first, like he’s asking permission for what’s about to happen.

You want to respond, to say something, but your throat is too tight, too raw, the burning heat still tearing through you. You manage the faintest of nods, your hand twitching against his, and that’s all he needs.

Max leans over, his face close to yours now, his breath warm against your cheek. His hand trails gently down your arm, his touch soft, careful. “I’m here, okay?” He murmurs, his voice low, soothing. “We’ll get through this.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then, in that same quiet, tender voice, he adds, “Schatje … you’re so strong.”

The endearment rolls off his tongue like honey, and despite everything — despite the fire tearing you apart from the inside out — it brings a strange, aching warmth to your chest. Max has never called you that before. The intimacy of it catches you off guard, though you don’t have the strength to dwell on it for long.

His hands move lower now, brushing across your skin with reverence, as though you might break under his touch. You shiver, not from the cold, but from the intensity of his gaze, the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters.

“You don’t deserve this,” Max whispers, his forehead nearly touching yours. His voice cracks ever so slightly, betraying the calm façade he’s trying to maintain. “I’ve … I’ve wanted this for a long time,” he admits softly, his words a confession, raw and vulnerable. “But not like this. Never like this.”

You close your eyes, focusing on the feel of his hands on your body, the way he’s handling you with such care, as though he’s afraid of hurting you. And somehow, through the pain, you manage to relax just enough to let him in. Just enough to let him take some of the weight from you.

He presses his lips to your temple, a soft, lingering kiss, and you can feel the tremble in his breath. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin. “Just let me take care of you.”

The way he says it sends a shiver down your spine, and for a moment, the burning inside you dims, replaced by something else. Something warm, and tender, and utterly consuming. Max moves with purpose now, his touch becoming more sure, more confident, but never losing that careful tenderness. He’s cooing to you, whispering soft praises in Dutch, his voice like a balm against the fire raging inside you.

“I’ve always wanted you,” Max admits again, his words spilling out like he can’t hold them back any longer. “For so long. I just … I didn’t know how to tell you.”

His hands continue their journey, and despite the circumstances, despite the fire still licking at your insides, your body responds. Every touch feels magnified, every brush of his skin against yours sending a jolt of something deeper through you, something primal and desperate and… needed.

“You’re so strong,” he says again, his voice reverent, almost in awe. “So perfect. I don’t know how you do it.”

Your body trembles beneath him, not just from the fire that’s still coursing through you, but from the way he’s touching you, the way his words wrap around you like a soft embrace. It’s intimate in a way you hadn’t expected, the vulnerability of the moment stripping away any pretense, any barriers you might have once had.

“I’m here, liefje,” Max whispers, his lips brushing against your ear now. “I’ll take care of you. I promise.”

You don’t know how he manages it, how he makes something so painful feel like this, but he does. His hands are everywhere, soothing the burn, coaxing your body to relax, to give in to what you need. And with every touch, every whispered endearment, the fire inside you dims, just a little, just enough to let you breathe.

“I wish it was different,” Max murmurs, his voice thick with emotion now. “I wish this was … just us. Not because of this. Not because of …“ His words trail off, but you understand. You understand perfectly.

He presses his forehead against yours again, his breathing ragged, his body tense with the effort of keeping himself composed. “But I’ll do whatever it takes,” he says, his voice fierce with determination. “I’ll do anything for you.”

Your body reacts to him instinctively now, every nerve ending lighting up in response to his touch, the fire inside you blazing hotter but in a way that feels … different. Less painful. More like an ache, a deep, desperate need that only he can fill.

“Max …“ you manage to whisper, your voice hoarse, barely audible. It’s the first word you’ve spoken since waking up, and it feels like a release, like a crack in the wall you’ve built around yourself. He hears it, though, and his gaze softens, his thumb brushing gently across your cheek.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, his voice full of emotion. “I’ve always got you.”

His movements quicken, and you can feel yourself spiraling, the fire inside you building to a crescendo, but this time it’s not just pain. It’s something more, something overwhelming and all-consuming. You can feel him with you, guiding you, coaxing you toward the edge.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers again, his voice breathless now, his own control slipping. “I’ve wanted you for so long …“

His words send you tumbling over the edge, your body convulsing in a wave of pleasure so intense it nearly takes your breath away. The fire beneath your skin peaks, then suddenly, blessedly, begins to recede. It’s like the flames are being extinguished, one by one, leaving only warmth in their wake.

And Max is there, holding you through it, his arms wrapped around you tightly, his face buried in the crook of your neck. His breathing is ragged, his body trembling with the effort of holding himself together, but he doesn’t let go. He doesn’t move.

As the last of the fire dies down, as your body finally begins to relax, you hear him whisper, so softly you almost miss it.

“I love you.”

The words slip out before he can stop them, unguarded and raw, and for a moment, everything else fades away. The room, the pain, the circumstances that brought you here — it all disappears, leaving only the two of you, tangled together, vulnerable and exposed.

You’re too weak to respond, too exhausted from everything that’s just happened, but Max doesn’t seem to mind. He holds you close, his lips pressing gentle kisses to your hair, your forehead, anywhere he can reach.

“I love you,” he whispers again, like he’s afraid you didn’t hear him the first time. “I’ve always loved you.”

His confession hangs in the air, delicate and fragile, but it feels right. Like it’s been waiting to be said all along.

As the fire beneath your skin finally dies out completely, as your body settles into a state of calm for the first time in hours, you let yourself fall into the safety of his arms, his warmth the only thing keeping the remnants of the fire at bay.

Max doesn’t let go. Not for a long time. And you don’t want him to.

***

Max holds you close, his body pressed against yours, his breath still coming in shallow bursts as the two of you lie in a tangled heap on the bed. The burning fire that had been searing through your body has finally been extinguished, leaving only a lingering warmth that feels manageable now.

But even though the pain is gone, even though your body has found relief, there’s still something… unfinished. A strange, restless feeling that hums beneath your skin, an ache that begs for more.

Max is quiet beside you, his hand brushing gently through your hair as he watches your face, his expression soft but intent, like he’s still worried, still waiting for some sign that you’re okay. But you can see it in his eyes — he knows. He knows it’s not over yet.

You shift beneath him, the subtle movement sending a ripple of sensation through you, and your breath hitches involuntarily. The fire is gone, but that need, that craving — it’s still there, simmering just below the surface. It’s not the urgent, desperate heat of the pollen, but it’s undeniable.

Max’s gaze sharpens, reading the subtle cues in your body. His hand stills in your hair, and you feel him shift beside you, his body tensing slightly as he watches you, waiting for you to say something, to ask for what you need.

You don’t have to.

“Oh liefje,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky. “You still need more, don’t you?”

Your throat tightens, and you nod, unable to form the words. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes — understanding, maybe, or something deeper. He doesn’t ask if you’re sure. He already knows.

Max’s hand trails down your body, his touch feather-light, and it sends a shiver through you, your body responding to him instantly. He presses a kiss to your temple, then to your jaw, his lips warm and soft against your skin. “I’m here,” he whispers, his breath hot against your ear. “Whatever you need.”

His lips travel lower, grazing the sensitive skin of your neck, and you arch into him, your body aching for more. He moves slowly, deliberately, savoring each touch, each kiss, as if he’s committing every inch of you to memory.

You can’t help the small gasp that escapes your lips when he moves lower still, his mouth brushing against your collarbone. He’s taking his time, drawing this out, making sure every second is filled with pleasure, with tenderness. There’s no urgency now, no frantic need to cure the fire. This is something else — something deliberate, something intimate.

Max’s hands slide down your sides, his thumbs brushing lightly over your ribs as he lowers himself down the bed. His mouth follows the path his hands have carved, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. You feel his breath against your skin, warm and teasing, as he moves lower, kissing across your stomach with slow, deliberate care.

Every nerve in your body is on high alert, each touch sending sparks of pleasure coursing through you. Your fingers tangle in the sheets, gripping them tightly as you fight to keep your composure, but Max makes it impossible. His lips are everywhere, soft and warm and completely unrelenting.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice rough with desire. “I don’t think you even realize …”

His words send a thrill through you, and your breath catches as his hands slide lower, his fingers brushing the curve of your hips. He presses a kiss to your navel, and you feel the heat pooling deep inside you, the need building again, stronger this time, more insistent.

“Max …” you whisper, your voice barely audible, but he hears you. He always hears you.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers back, his voice soft, reassuring. “Just relax.”

You try, but it’s impossible with the way he’s touching you, the way he’s kissing you, like every part of you deserves his undivided attention. He’s worshiping you with every movement, and it’s almost too much to bear.

Max’s hands slide up your thighs, and your breath stutters as he spreads your legs wider, his eyes dark with want as he looks up at you. His hands grip your hips, holding you steady as he presses a kiss just below the dip of your waist, teasing you, making you wait.

“You’re perfect,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your skin. “Do you know that?”

You can’t respond, can’t do anything but arch into him, desperate for more. He knows exactly what you need, and he’s giving it to you slowly, carefully, savoring every moment.

Max’s hands grasp your thighs, and he pulls them apart slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. There’s something in his gaze — something raw, something vulnerable. He’s giving himself to you completely, just as much as you’re giving yourself to him.

His lips trail lower, pressing kisses to the sensitive skin there, and your entire body shudders in response. Every nerve is on fire again, but this time it’s not the cruel burn of the pollen.

This is different. This is Max.

He pauses for a moment, his lips hovering just above where you need him most, and he looks up at you, his eyes searching yours. “Tell me what you want,” he whispers, his voice barely more than a breath.

You can’t form the words. All you can do is nod, your body trembling beneath him.

Max smiles, a small, almost shy smile, and then he lowers his head, his mouth finally, blessedly, on you. The sensation is immediate, intense, and you cry out, your fingers digging into the sheets as he works you with a precision that only he seems to know. His tongue moves slowly at first, teasing you, drawing out your pleasure, but it doesn’t take long for him to find the rhythm that makes your entire body sing.

He’s relentless, his mouth and hands working in perfect harmony, driving you higher and higher until you can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but feel. The pleasure builds and builds, coiling tighter and tighter inside you until you’re sure you’re going to break.

“Max!” You gasp, your body arching off the bed. “Please …”

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow down. If anything, he goes faster, his tongue working you with an intensity that leaves you trembling. You’re so close, so impossibly close, and he knows it.

“That’s it,” he whispers against you, his voice thick with need. “Let go, schatje. I’ve got you.”

And then, with one last flick of his tongue, you’re gone, tumbling over the edge into a wave of pleasure so intense it almost hurts. Your entire body convulses, your vision going white as you fall apart beneath him, your fingers gripping the sheets so tightly they burn.

Max doesn’t let up, his mouth still on you, drawing out every last drop of pleasure until you’re nothing but a trembling, panting mess. When he finally pulls away, you’re left gasping for breath, your body slick with sweat, your heart racing in your chest.

He crawls back up the bed, pressing soft kisses to your skin as he goes, his hands soothing over your trembling limbs. When he finally reaches your face, he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, his fingers brushing your hair back from your face.

“You’re okay,” he murmurs, his voice soft, reassuring. “You’re okay.”

You can barely nod, your body still trembling from the aftershocks of your release. Max pulls you into his arms, holding you close, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on your back as you come down from the high. His breath is warm against your ear, and you can feel his heart beating in time with yours.

For a moment, everything is still. Quiet. Perfect.

And then, just as your breathing begins to slow, the door creaks open.

The doctor walks in, clipboard in hand, his expression unreadable as he takes in the sight of you and Max — sweaty, tangled together, your bodies still humming with the afterglow. He doesn’t say anything at first, just glances at his clipboard, then back at you.

“Well,” he says after a moment, his tone entirely too clinical for the situation. “It appears the cure has been administered.”

Max stiffens beside you, but the doctor doesn’t seem to notice — or care. He simply jots down a few notes on his clipboard, his pen scratching loudly in the silence.

“Residual effects of heightened libido may persist,” the doctor adds, almost as an afterthought. He glances up from his notes, his gaze flicking between you and Max, then nods, satisfied. “I’ll be back to check on you later.”

And with that, he turns and walks out of the room, leaving you and Max in stunned silence.

Max lets out a breath, a low, incredulous laugh bubbling up from his chest. “Did he seriously just …”

You nod, still too dazed to form a coherent response.

Max shakes his head, a small smile playing at his lips as he pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around you protectively. “Well, I guess we’re not done yet.”

And with the way your body still hums with need, you know he’s right.

[temporarywelcome]

Leash - Spencer Reid

Words: 2.6k

Summary: Spencer caught his girlfriend cleaning up after a terrible act.

CONTENT WARNINGS: blood, swearing, unsub!reader

A/N: lol I wrote this for a creative writing project and gave Spencer a different name so if there's a typo I missed that's mb

____

The signs his girlfriend was a serial killer were there. 

They were clear, bright as day, he was a profiler for God’s sake of course he saw the signs. Yet he ignored them, practically had a hand over his eyes to block out the issue. Just pretending he didn’t see it. Pretending he didn’t know. 

A part of him tried to rationalize the situation. There was no way his lovely girlfriend was the one doing these heinous crimes. The same lovely girlfriend who listened to his nerdy rambles without getting bored. The same girlfriend who was always ready to comfort him after a traumatizing case, stroking his hair and rubbing his back and telling him everything was going to be okay. The same girl who constantly spoke about the future she saw with him. 

No, she couldn’t be a serial killer. 

But the blood on her hands said otherwise. 

Spencer was supposed to be on a case, but it ended abruptly. The killer had chosen a victim that was able to outsmart him. Less of a victim story, more of a survivor. So Spencer found himself and his team back on an airplane home, FBI duties over. He had planned on surprising his lover at their shared apartment, flowers in hand as he quietly unlocked the door. 

Closing the door, he silently padded through the halls, passing all the photographs on the walls of them together. The photographs Y/N had taken the time to print and put up, many of them being her idea to take. She was so loving. So sweet. No, she was no killer. 

No killer would have surprised him with that dinner date at the beach. No killer would have bought him a new telescope for his birthday. No killer would be the woman photographed throughout these walls with that beautiful smile and big heart. 

Hearing the sound of the faucet in the bedroom, Spencer entered, seeing the bathroom door open. He was expecting to see her hastily doing her hair, working diligently with products laid out throughout the entirety of the marble counters. Or doing her intensive skincare routine after a face mask, scrubbing the colorful clay from her face. 

Yes, he expected something simple and mundane like that. 

So when he stepped through the open doorway and saw the tub, he was in shock. The water was running, it was the tub, not the sink, but the water in the tub was tinted red. His mind immediately tried to rationalize it, she was doing some crazy project. She was dyeing a dress red, right? Yes! Something like that! That must be it!

But no, she was seated on her knees, hands hovering over the water. Red hands. Bloodied hands. No no no, Spencer, not blood! Red dye! Yes yes yes.

No amount of gaslighting could explain the butcher knife balanced on the edge of the tub. The mysterious red (Jesus Christ, Spencer, it was blood, stop trying to play yourself!) that stained the front of her purple shirt.  

“Spencer,” she breathed out. They were staring at each other for a good thirty seconds before she spoke. He stared. She stared back.

He finally spoke, “Who’s blood is that?”

She looked down at her bloodied hands, bottom lip between her teeth, “Um,”

“Who’s blood is that?” he repeated. He should be drawing his gun right now, releasing it from its spot on his belt. But it stayed in its holster, his hands at his sides. 

“I don’t know,” 

“What do you mean you don’t know?!” he felt his palms begin to sweat, eyes darting around the bathroom anxiously.

“I don’t know,” Y/N repeated, dunking her hands into the water, beginning to scrub at them. How could she be so calm right now? 

Because she did nothing wrong, of course (of course she did something wrong, there’s so much blood)!

His eyes went to the floor, checkered tiles. Black and white, now with red splatters. Festive. “Did you kill somebody?” Stupid freaking question. He was a supposed genius, asking his girlfriend who practically painted the walls with blood if she killed somebody. 

“Yes,”

“Were they trying to hurt you?”

“No,”

How the hell was she so calm? Telling her FBI boyfriend she killed someone for no necessary reason? It then occurred to him she was so calm because she knew. She knew he wasn’t going to do shit. He was still standing with his feet planted, hands at his sides, flower bouquet forgotten on the floor. No gun drawn. No cuffs out. Nothing. 

“Why did you do it then?!” he was starting to get frustrated, thin fingers trembling, He brought a hand up, biting his thumbnail in nervousness. His heart was beginning to beat so fast he feared a heart attack coming. 

“I don’t know,” Y/N started scrubbing at her hands faster, sniffling.

His poor heart was telling him to fall to his knees and bring her into his arms, tell her everything was going to be okay as he wiped her tears away. His brain, his rationality kept him unmoving. She was a murderer. His job was to literally catch people like her when the police couldn’t. 

“...how many?”

She stopped the scrubbing to look up at him, “What?”

“How many fucking people have you killed, Y/N?!” his voice rose, quivering as he felt his throat tighten. Tight, scratchy, sore, like when you wake up in the morning and realize you have a cold or fever. 

“This is a third,” she replied. 

Three. She really was a serial killer. 

“You killed three people,” Spencer whispered slowly, finally sinking to his knees, “Oh my God,”

“You don’t believe in God,” she pointed out simply. 

She was right. He didn’t. He was a man of science, he always was. But he was in distress, was he not allowed to say whatever came to his mind? To be fair, he felt there were more important things to discuss than his religious beliefs. Or, well, lack of.

“Does that even matter?” he snapped, fingers tangling into his hair and tugging at the strands in stress. And like always, almost as if it were a reflex, Y/N reached out, pink-tinted hands gripping his.

“Don’t pull your hair,” she said in that stern but loving voice he was so used to, the voice he was honestly craving and needed to hear right now. “I hate seeing you hurt yourself,”

‘I hate seeing you hurt yourself,’ said the killer in front of him. How odd. How ironic and strange. 

Yet he still allowed her to bring his hands to his sides, still gripping them. Yet he still leaned forward and rested his head on her shoulder, breathing in her scent. Her usual assortment of mixed fruits blended into her favorite body spray, with a little mix of blood, which kind of ruined the comfort he was trying to get. 

Everything was kind of ruined. 

“You know I would never hurt you, right?” she whispered, releasing his hands so she could wrap her arms around him, rubbing his back in that soothing motion that always made him melt. Oh God did he just want to melt into her and forget this was fucking happening. Forget all she has done. “I love you, and nothing is going to change that. Nothing,”

It didn’t sound like she was lying. He was a profiler, he knew how to catch a liar. However, he didn’t catch when she killed two other people. He didn’t catch that. He didn’t see the signs. So what are the chances she was lying about loving him? 

He never paid attention to how she always was so emotionless with anyone but him. He never paid attention to how she refused to get any pets, and when he brought a stray cat home one day thinking she would love it, it mysteriously vanished. He never paid attention to how possessive she was of him, the amount of times he had to pull her off of girls giving him advances. 

He saw none of the signs. So what did he really know?

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is what broke Spencer Reid’s heart into a million tiny pieces. 

“Hey, look at me,” Y/N pulled away, gripping his chin and forcing him to look into her eyes, “I never even knew what love felt like till I met you. Do you really think I’m going to throw it all away? Throw away everything I’ve built with you?”

“Y-You’re a liar,” he stuttered out, eyes darting over her shoulder, refusing to meet her gaze, “You’re lying to me so I’d let you go,”

“I’m not lying to you,” she sighed, cupping his cheeks, “Arrest me, I don’t care. I just want you to know the truth. You’re the only thing that seems right in my life,” 

“Stop it,” Mustering up the courage, he finally pushed her away, a harsh shove to her shoulders sending them both in opposite directions on the ground, “Stop lying to me!”

Y/N yelped as she fell onto her back, giving him a glare, “Spencer what the hell?!”

“Why are you talking to me like I’m crazy? You killed three people, I’m allowed to act crazy!” his hands balled into fists at his sides, digging into the flesh of his palms in an attempt to calm himself down. Why did it feel so hot in there? He was sweating so hard. It felt like he was going to collapse of heatstroke. He scrambled to his feet, taking deep breaths to calm his breathing.

“Baby…” she stood up as well, “It’s going to be okay-”

“No it’s not!” How could she say something like that? She really thought that after ending three lives, everything was going to be okay? They were screwed.

“Fine,” she groaned, “Let me rephrase that. You’re going to be okay,”

“No, I’m not!” Spencer shook his head, and with that, the first tear fell. Crap. “How am I going to be okay knowing my freaking girlfriend just became a serial killer?!”

“Because you’re going to arrest me, and I’m going to go to prison, and you’re going to move on with your life and find someone better and get married and have a bunch of nerdy, genius babies and live a happy life.” she held out her arms, “Do it.”

“Do what…?” he already knew what. But the thought of it was terrifying to him. It’s what he should do, but he wasn’t sure he had the courage. 

“Cut the bullshit. You know what? Arrest me. Grab the cuffs,” 

Just grab the handcuffs and be done with it. Arrest her. Let her go.

Let her go.

Yes, figuratively. Let her go from your mind, your life.

Let her go…

Yes, be done with her. Handcuff her and let her go… to prison.

“Get out of here,” 

What?

She blinked, looking at him with her arms still outstretched to him, trying to figure out if she had heard wrong. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Spencer turned on his heel, walking out and into the bedroom. Opening the closet, he began yanking her clothes off of their hangers and tossing them onto the bed, “Get out,”

“Um,  no,” she followed after him, pressing her wrists together and raising them to his face, “Cuff me!”

“Get the hell out,” he grabbed a suitcase from the top shelf, bringing it down and placing it on the bed. 

“Why aren’t you arresting me?” Y/N stayed hot at his heels, right behind him through every step he took, “Why aren’t you arresting me?”

“Because you’re going to leave,” Spencer unzipped the suitcase, beginning to fold her clothes messily and tossing them inside in his hurry, “And never come back,”

“...really?” 

“Yes.”

“But-”

“-Y/N,” he stopped his movements, looking at her, “You need to leave,”

“Why aren’t you arresting me?!” she was getting frustrated now, scared he was now playing some game with her. She knew Spencer though, this was not in his personality. Toying with her. Letting a serial killer go, however, was also not in his personality. 

Biting his bottom lip, he replied with: “Because I love you,” 

Letting her go was a mistake. 

He knew that it was going to be a mistake when he had let her go. Yet he still did it. He still had let her go, sent her off with a passionate kiss, then proceeded to cry himself to sleep that night. And every night for the first ten days. 

After that, he still felt terrible, but forced himself to move on with his life in the best way he could. 

Which was hard when every month or so, opening up the P.O. box in the lobby of his apartment complex, he would find letters. Anonymous letters typed out in what he knew was typewriter from the smudges. 

He didn’t need to be an FBI agent to understand who this anonymous person was. 

Letters expressing how much this sender missed him, how they thought of him everyday. How he would always be the love of their life, how they would ever forget about him. The sender was confident they would not be caught, describing which city they were in at that moment, what they were up to.

Spencer never wrote back. This anonymous writer didn’t care. Y/N didn’t care. 

He knew where she was, but never went to her. He noticed the trail of bodies in the media every time he would research any crimes in the areas she was at. He never went to stop her. 

Wouldn’t that make him just as bad as her? Just as much of a killer? Allowing her to continue this? Allowing her to end these lives?

To him, yes, that made him just as bad. 

Yet he never stopped her. 

He created a new profile on Y/N practically every day, trying to make sense of her behavior. Much of it made sense. The urge to kill, not being able to stop herself. The remorse in how she laid out the bodies. A common occurence. Her being a woman threw off the profile slightly, considering usually female serial killers didn’t act on impulse, going for more calculated and purposeful murders. Other than htat, the profile was solid. 

Well, except for one other thing. 

Him. 

Maybe he only thought this way because he wanted it to be true. Maybe he was being delusional and lovesick. But it seemed like she genuinely loved him, genuinely did think of him as the love of her life. 

She shouldn’t be capable of such emotions. 

Yet she wrote to him every week, told him way more than someone on the run should. Yet she would sometimes send little packages for him. 

Yet as there was a knock on the door and he looked through the peephole, she was there. There with her usual smile and a box of whatever goodies she came up with. How dare she show up here after her whole spiel about him moving on and finding someone better? How dare she show up to the home of an FBI agent when she had killed over twelve people at this point? 

Perhaps it was because she was lonely, always moving, always alone. And she knew he would never let her get caught. She was always his priority.

He had tried so hard to let her go, when in reality he was handcuffed to her, bound to her like a dog on a leash. 

Reaching out, his fingers wrapped around the doorknob, twisting it open.

[garciaasfluffypen]

take care of me (like i take care of you) pt. 2

pairing: jemily x adhd!reader word count: 2.3k warnings: reader’s kinda bratty in this one! reader is confused as to why being bratty is making them feel tingly but they like it so they keep doing it, softdom!jj begins to make an appearance, color system usage, the origin of jj refusing to be called mommy (she has a moment™��)

a/n: hi besties!! i wrote this on my phone because i can’t find my laptop charger so please excuse any sort of typos you find! thats also why the beginning of this post currently isn’t formatted like the other ones but soon as i can charge my laptop i’ll be fixing it. there will be a part three to this! i had to find a good place to end or else this would have been a beast to read lol.

ps. when i wrote this i was 100% imagining white tank top!jj and emily in the burgundy lululemon looking sweatshirt from the episode where they’re building the crib for kristy and matt ;)

you couldn’t contain your excitement as you basically tripped over your feet to run up to jj’s audi, jumping up and down in your seat as you waited for your girlfriends to join you. it was five minutes past nine and everyone was ready so naturally you ran to the car. you had been ready for two hours, but that was only because you had gotten up so early. you had everything you could possibly need in your little cross shoulder body bag and had to stop yourself from biting your fingernails to the quip in pure excitement as you waited. emily came out first, slipping you your preferred chewy necklace that was easy to hide under your shirt. as soon as the chewy end of it entered your mouth, emily’s hands reached around you and wrapped the black string around your neck. without realizing it you naturally leaned into her touch, pulling her hand toward your cheek as you fidgeted with the hem of your shirt while you stared at the door leading inside the kitchen. jj came out a few minutes later, her to-go cup of coffee tucked neatly away in the crook of her arm as she started to pull up the directions to the zoo.

jj slid into the drivers seat with ease, smiling at you as she saw the way you were sitting. she grabbed your hand and gave it a squeeze before placing your phone in it, chuckling lightly at the layer of blush that ended up on your cheeks as you sheepishly took it from her. your block blast game was still up on the screen as you left it on the bathroom counter when you started doing your makeup. jj started the car and reversed out the driveway, leaving you to become reimmersed in your game. before you knew it you could just start see the sign for the zoo on the water tower peeking over the houses in the distance, meaning you were just about ten minutes away.

“lovey, besides seeing the giraffes, is there anything you want to do today?”

“um… i haven’t seen the elephants in a long time.” you paused, thinking. “and also the lions, i want to see the lions too.”

“do you think we could fit in a visit to the lemurs?” jj shot a glance to you. “i quite like lemurs.”

you nodded. “we can definitely see the lemurs.”

you made a mental note to yourself that jj liked lemurs, adding it to the little box that you had in your brain with facts about your girlfriends. it was mainly filled with silly little facts that most people wouldn’t normally pay attention to, like the fact emily writes in print script or that jj only eats salt and vinegar chips when she’s high. sure, there were the obvious facts that almost everyone on the team knew, but there were ones that were just your facts. and you wanted to keep them that way.

despite being a fully grown adult, you knew deep down that things like this were needed to help heal your inner child. you didn’t have the best childhood, but you were doing your best to fix it now. you bounced anxiously on the balls of your feet as you waited for the train to take you to the back of the zoo, the wind blowing your hair all around your face as you waited. jj silently pulled you toward her and helped you pull your hair back, putting it in a single braid for you.

by the time you got to the giraffe exhibit you could barely contain your excitement, your hands balling into fits and promptly unballing themselves as you tried to combat the need to stim. your arms stiffened as you tried to hold back your energy, shaking a bit as you focused on staying still as you could. that didn’t last long, seeing as there wasn’t many people around you at the moment and your girlfriends were positioned behind you. you let your hands start flapping, doing your best to keep them close to your sides as possible. a small squeak of noise came out of your mouth as you watched the zoo keepers slowly bring out the stars of the event. the crowd around you started to grow as the people made their way up from the front of the zoo, most of them not paying you any attention and instead looking for the little baby that the zoo was celebrating.

slowly but surely the calf made it's way out of the enclosure, still a little unsteady on it's feet. you watched in awe as it made it's way around the exhibit, noting how small it was compared to it's parents. jj wrapped her arms around you from behind, intertwining her fingers with your hands and placing a kiss on your shoulder. you could tell she was standing on her tip toes to reach your shoulder and made sure to flatten your feet, considering you tended to stay on your tip toes when you got too excited about things.

“how tall do you think he is?”

“i’d guesstimate around 6 feet.” you rocked up and back down to flat feet as you spoke. “giraffes give birth standing up so they fall roughly six feet to the ground but get up on their feet within the hour.”

“you know more about giraffes than i thought.”

“i had a hyperfixation on wild animals and the care of them before i ended up in the academy. i was wanting to double major in zoology and communications before i started to look into paths to go down with a communications degree.” you turned to face jj and emily. “i was going to be an advocate for animal rights but then i started reading about the fbi and decided that would probably be a better path to go down.”

before you could continue your thoughts, the chime that sounded before the giraffe feedings sounded, signaling for everyone who had a ticket to line up. you were closer to the end, whch was fine because it meant you could watch the giraffes for longer. emily and jj made sure to take pictures of you the whole time, smiling and laughing along with you as the giraffe’s tongue tickled your hand while it ate the leaves you held out. by the time you got out of the exhibit, your stomach started to rumble and you pouted towards your girlfriends as you walked past one of the many cafés scattered around the zoo. without a word, emily pulled the three of you inside, telling you to order whatever you wanted. you ended up going for the chicken tenders and fries, knowing that the meal was something you most likely would have gotten when you came as a child. it was hard to remember if you ever came, but you presumed it was what you got because it felt right.

by the time the three of you made it to the halfway point, you started to realize your whole body was beginning to hurt. you weren’t sure if it was from physically stopping yourself from stimming in the bigger crowds, or if it was from all the walking you had done. either way, you found yourself starting to slow down a bit and start to feel like you needed a ten hour nap. it was only when you got toward the lemur exhibit when your body really started to hurt, and you unintentionally started to let it slip into your mind that you were hurting and needed to go home.

jj was the first to notice that you were starting to feel off, clocking the heaviness of your walking and the fact you had started to get a little whiney. there had been approximately three times in the five years she had known you that she had ever seen you this way. and all of those times happened when you were over exerting yourself. most of the times it was because you were stubborn, but this time it didn’t seem that way. within ten minutes you were complaining about how much your feet hurt and how you felt like you were going to die if you didn’t get to sit down within the next five minutes. emily and jj fell a few steps behind you, whispering to each other about how to go about the situation.

“do you think she’s subconsciously wanting us to.. i dunno, take control? lacey mentioned something about that at the support group on saturday.”

jj chewed at the end of her necklace. “it's possible. i’m willing to try it if you are, but the second they push back or show any signs of not going along with it i’m stopping.”

“are you going to take the lead on this?”

“if you don’t mind. we know how easily they’ll react to you, i’m curious what would happen if you didn’t say anything but i did.”

“then do it. i trust you.”

jj squeezed emily’s hand before making her way back over to where you sat on the bench, watching the zebra walk by and graze on the grass in front of you. you definitely looked worse for wear, considering the braid your hair had been in all day was beginning to come undone and you most definitely got sunburned on your shoulders at some point. jj knew you weren’t feeling well, and that you were hiding it in order to appease her and emily. it was something she had noticed multiple times throughout their time with you so far. even if you didn’t feel like doing something, you typically would put on a happy face and go through with it anyway. it hadn’t happened much, but she had started to catch it more and more.

“y/n, it’s time to go.”

“what? no!” you gasped. “we haven’t even been to the polar bears yet!”

“i know, and i know you want to finish it but i’m calling it.” jj stepped closer to you, her voice dropping. “you’re tired and need to go home and rest. i’m giving you til the count of five, and if you don’t get up and come with us to the car we won’t go to dolphin beach this weekend.”

“you wouldn’t!”

“five.”

“jayje- this isn’t fair! em-my, do something!” you whined, staring at the brunette.

“two.” jj raised an eyebrow as you refused to budge. “fine, we stay, but no beach then.”

“i’d listen to her if i were you.” emily replied. “while we haven’t truly gotten into that dynamic with you just yet, i will say that i’d be careful how much you go against her, lovey.” emily gave you a pointed look before clasping her hands together. “that being said, we use the color system. red means hard stop, yellow means i’m uncomfortable and green means go.” emily paused. “color?”

“green.”

“good. if anything changes, tell jj. i’m going to go to the ladies room, i’ll meet you up by the gates.”

emily placed a kiss on jj’s cheek and simply patted you on the shoulder before walking towards the front of the zoo, leaving you alone with the blonde. the logical part of your brain knew she was right. you were tired, your body was aching and you couldn’t walk for more than five minutes without having to sit down. but on the other hand, you were having fun poking the bear. reluctantly you got up, huffing and making a big deal of going home. you didn’t understand much about the way it was making you feel, but you knew it sent a tingle through your body seeing jj getting all worked up. it was amusing to you how red she got from you simply being a brat. and frankly, you liked it.

“you’re being unfair!”

“this attitude stops now, y/n. we’re going home.”

you bit your tongue cheekily, a glint forming in your eyes as you waited to see jj’s reaction. “mommy, you’re being mean to me.”

jj whipped her head to you, balling her hand into a fist at the side of her body. “what did you just call me?”

“… mommy?”

jj stopped walking suddenly, causing you to bump into her. “red.” she swallowed. “i’d like to talk about that later, when we’re home. not right now.”

“i’m sorry.” you looked at the ground, mortified. “it won’t happen again.”

a wave of guilt overtook your body as you two quietly walked to the front of the zoo, emily sensed some tension the second she saw you two, but knew that if she said anything you would probably start to spiral. by the time you got back to the car, all you could do was slip into the backseat and hope that jj wasn’t do mad at you that she was going to end everything. emily, albeit confused, took the front seat, trying to get an accurate read on jj. something happened while she was in the bathroom, but she couldn’t place a finger on what exactly that something was. by the time jj pulled into the driveway, the tension in the car had gotten so thick you couldn’t hold your tears back, letting them fall slowly down your cheeks as you forced yourself not to sob.

“go to our room. i’m going to compose my thoughts, give us a minute to calm down, then i’ll come talk to you.”

“o-okay.”

jj waited until you got out of the car to look at emily. “i called red.”

“what happened?”

“she called me mommy. i didn’t like it. i felt… gross. it was almost… too feminine?” jj looked at emily. “i probably sound crazy but-“

“you’re allowed to not like the way it makes you feel, jay.”

“i just don’t understand why it made my skin crawl.”

“may i.. is that why you don’t like being called beautiful or pretty?”

jj’s head snapped up. “huh?”

“the feminine terms. you don’t like them.”

“not necessarily, no.”

emily nodded. “we don’t have to unravel this now, but we need to put a pin in this. the three of us need to talk about that together so we’re all on the same page.”

“you’re right. can you go check on them? i just need… i need to think about how i’m going to articulate everything.”

“of course.” emily squeezed jj’s hand. “come up when you’re ready.”

“i will. promise.”

taglist: @jayden-prentiss @idkwhatever580 @multifandomlesbianic @softestqueeen

[katyaromanoffpetrova]

What if...they met in college? (1)

Instead of being forced into espionage, Kat and Nat grew up in society like normal kids. But fate always forces them together. As roommates in college this time. One popular girl and one nerdy girl.

• Natasha Romanoff x Fem!OC • Wordcount: 4.7k • Warnings: none • A/N: HAPPY BIRTHDAY @nataliasquote !!! This one is for you. The college AU you are so obsessed with. More parts to follow :) Masterlist

Do not repost my work as your own or translate my work!!

Katya

The hallways of the campus' dormitories were chaos. Bags, suitcases, instruments, and people, lots of people, blocked Katya's way as she tried to navigate her way to room 415. They bumped into her left and right, and screamed things in her ear as she parkoured over their stuff, yanking on the handle of her suitcase aggressively whenever it got stuck. 

Move-in day was busy, really busy. She meant to avoid rush hour by arriving early, but she'd gotten stuck in traffic. For two hours. Now her roommate had gotten to their room before she did and undoubtedly claimed the good side, probably leaving her with very little space and very possibly decorating the floor with the world's ugliest rug. 

Katya stopped halfway down the hall to catch her breath, dropping her heavy sports bag to the floor to give her poor, aching shoulder a break. With the back of her hand, she pushed her glasses up her nose and brushed some hair from her forehead. It would have been great to have some help. At the end of the hall, a girl had a whole team to help her move in. Parents, sister or friend, boyfriend or brother. But Katya didn't have anyone, so she had to take three roundtrips to the parking lot by herself.

With a sigh, she hoisted the bag up again and watched the room numbers climb the further she walked down the hall. The girls in room 410 had their door open, a song from fifteen years ago blasting from a portable speaker on their desks. They must know each other, because both their sides of the room were in coordinating colors. One of them caught Katya's nosy eye and gave her an awkward smile.

411, 412, 413, 414…

The door to room 415 was open. Katya stopped and took one last, deep breath before stepping into the doorway. 

She was right. Her roommate had already decorated her part of the room. Her eye immediately fell on the large rug between the beds. A fluffy, really soft looking beige one that looked very tempting for a nap. It suited the rest of the surprisingly calm decorations. 

White bed sheets with various neutral colored pillows on top, the subtle black and white prints on the wall, the beige colored plant pots, the fairylights that emitted a soft yellow glow, and the beige curtains that Katya also wasn't mad about. The only thing that held some color were the pictures on the corkboard above her headboard.

Whoever this girl was, she had good taste.

Katya dumped her suitcase by the unoccupied bed and threw her duffel bag on top, careful to avoid the rug with her shoes. The knot in her stomach unraveled a little bit. Maybe her worries about her roommate had been invalid. She had definitely been overthinking too much. It even smelled nice in here, like her roommate had lit a vanilla scented candle.

''Oh, you're here!'' A cheerful voice came from behind Katya. ''I went to pick up two muffins from downstairs because I was hungry and I figured you would be too.'' 

Katya turned around… and was met with the most stunning woman she'd ever seen in her entire life. 

The same height as her, lean build, fair skin—but that wasn't what Katya's gaze was drawn to. A pair of full, pink lips framed a beautiful wide smile that reached all the way up to her even more beautiful, sparkling green eyes. Her eyelashes were so long they nearly touched her perfectly defined eyebrows, and when she blinked, they brushed over her sharp cheekbones. Her nose wasn't small or pointy, and had a little bump that would make most people self-conscious, but fit her face so well that everyone would be jealous of it anyway.

But somehow, like that wasn't already enough to turn heads, this all paled in comparison to the long, slightly curly hair that fell down her shoulders. It was that kind of bright, deep red that non-redheads tried to achieve but never could. The kind that naturally looked darker in the winter and lit up slightly orange in the summer sun. Everchanging and unique, and part of the reason why Katya's heart was hammering in her chest. 

''I'm Natasha.''

Oh. My. God. 

Katya could not form a single thought. Her mouth was as dry as the Sahara desert in the middle of the summer. She could only stare. Stare at her roommate while she tried to fight off the gay panic that reduced her to a completely useless human being. 

This could not be happening. The girl she had to live with for a year could not be this excruciatingly attractive. Freshman year would be her end. 

Awkwardly, she cleared her throat when she saw that Natasha was waiting for a response, an amused eyebrow quirked up on her forehead. God, she was already making a fool of herself. ''Katya Petrova,'' she said shortly, her smile filled with embarrassment as she accepted the blueberry muffin Natasha kindly got her. Get yourself together, or she's gonna get tired of your weirdness quickly.

It wasn't physically possible, but Natasha's perfect eyes lit up even more. ''Russian?''

''Yeah.''

Her smile turned into a mysterious smirk that sent tingles down Katya's spine. ''Then we're gonna get along just fine,'' she said, and Katya couldn't help but feel like there was some sort of double meaning she was missing. Natasha looked at her like she was a meal, and her nerves intensified.

''Uh, thank you for the muffin,'' she blurted out.

''You're welcome,'' Natasha mused, totally cool as she leaned back against her desk. It was unfair, how she turned Katya into a complete mess while she remained confident and calm. But it was so attractive. Katya shivered as Natasha's green eyes slowly looked her up and down. ''I think I picked right. You look like a blueberry muffin girl.''

An awkward chuckle slipped past Katya's lips. She wanted to get away from that piercing gaze desperately, anything to think clearly again, but it wouldn't let her move. ''What does that mean?''

''I don't know.'' With a smirk—and intense eye contact—Natasha brought her ring finger to her lips and sucked the muffin crumbs off. Casually, she repeated the motion with her other fingers, her entire thumb disappearing in her mouth.

Katya felt her eyes widen, more gay panic flushing her veins until her heart thudded loudly in her chest. Images, ones she would never say out loud, filled her mind. Her lower stomach turned into knots while a blush covered her cheeks. She turned away, pretending to be really busy with unpacking. She swore she heard a soft chuckle behind her.

''I hope you don't mind the rug and the curtains. I took the liberty to decorate.''

''That's okay," Katya answered, having trouble remembering what the curtains even looked like. They were the very last thing on her mind as she rummaged aimlessly through her bag, hoping Natasha didn't notice that she wasn't doing anything.

''Is that all your stuff?''

Katya shook her head, risking a glance over her shoulder. She was relieved to see that Natasha's flirty expression had turned into something more puzzled. ''No, the rest is in my car.''

It wasn't hard to put two and two together. Natasha's eyes visibly softened. ''Are you here alone?''

''Yes," Katya answered casually, ignoring the stab in her heart.

It stayed quiet a moment longer than normal, painfully so. These silences were nothing new. She'd started to expect them. On Mother's day, on Father's day, on Christmas, on Thanksgiving, but also moments like these, where she didn't know she would be missing parents until she was in the moment. 

''Does your family live far away?'' Natasha asked carefully.

''Sort of.''

She put her muffin down and uncrossed her arms. ''Let me help you carry the rest up. I can't possibly let you walk back and forth countless times while I take a nap,'' she joked lightheartedly.

''Oh, no, it's okay. Really. You don't have to help me," Katya refused, not in the mood for pity. But Natasha stood up straight and tied her beautiful hair into a perfect messy bun.

''Well, I want to," she said with a tone so definitive that Katya lost all her will to protest. "And I'm not taking no for an answer.'' She looked ready to tackle a big job. Hands on her Lululemon shorts-clad hips, sports shoes on her feet. And those lean arms…they could surely carry a few boxes.

Katya considered it for a moment, and then nodded. It would be nice to have some help. ''Okay then.'' Natasha flashed her a big smile.

Somehow, she faced none of the struggles from before—having to parkour her way through the halls. People seemed to get out of their way for Natasha, driven by some invisible force that must have been her confident aura.

Katya felt entirely unworthy to be walking next to her. They attracted lots of eyes, and the reason they looked at them certainly wasn't her red, sweaty face. Nobody noticed a dull brunette next to a redheaded goddess in gym shorts and a crop top. 

Natasha didn't seem to notice anything. She kept talking to Katya, completely comfortable yapping to someone she'd only met five minutes ago, while Katya tried not to let her gay panic turn into real, uncontrollable panic. She only heard half of what her roommate was saying.

''Hey, Nat!''

They were in the quad, a huge field of grass between the main campus buildings. Today, the main path was lined with stalls full of information and help. If someone couldn't find their dorm or there was another problem, they could visit here. 

A guy, looking older than her, had called Natasha's name from one of the stands, his hand in the air to grab her attention. Katya's first instinct was; football player. He had the build for it.

''Jason!" She smiled, not stopping to talk to him. "How are you?''

He was the fourth guy to greet her like that. Like he knew her. They all looked vastly different—though good-looking—and they all looked older. Some closer to twenty-four than eighteen. It was odd. Where did she know all of them from? Katya was starting to gain suspicions that her roommate may be more well-known around here than she thought.

"So, what's your thing?" Natasha asked suddenly. Katya had been brooding over her roommate's popularity so hard that she didn't realize she'd fallen silent. Or that they were close to the parking lot. 

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"What are you here for?" Natasha clarified, smiling when she still saw the confusion on Katya's face. "Law and dance, that's my thing. Studying law, and I'll be trying out for the dance team."

Katya didn't find this surprising at all. Natasha looked like that kind of person who could do it both. Arts and literature. Body and brains. Someone good at absolutely everything. It also explained her subtle muscles and lean figure. Of course, the gorgeous, popular girl was a dancer. What were the chances she was a cheerleader in high school?

"Of course, you are." Katya paled when she realized the words had escaped her.

Natasha smirked amusedly. "What does that mean?"

"Nothing," Katya said quickly. Her roommate's need to fluster her all the time was starting to get on her nerves. She fiddled with her car keys, smiling nervously. "I'm not as interesting as you, I'm afraid."

Natasha tilted her head, her eyes sparkling with something flirty. "You interest me."

Heat rose on Katya's cheeks once more. She kept getting caught off guard by Natasha's simple yet effective smooth-talking. Everything she said seemed to have some sort of double meaning. Her body could not keep up with its reactions.

"History is my thing. History and literature. But the literature is just a hobby," she said awkwardly, trying to hide her red cheeks. Her studies and hobbies always sounded boring to begin with, but next to Natasha's they looked even worse. Katya grimaced. "I told you it's boring."

"No, it's not!" Natasha rushed to reassure her. "I've always envied people who could quote Hemmingway off the top of their heads. Are you one of those people?"

"Kind of." Katya smiled shyly when she realized that Natasha was being genuine. 

"That's cool." The redhead smiled. "Everyone has their own interests, don't be embarrassed of yours."

Katya wasn't used to the conversation going this way. It was a breath of fresh air. "Most people think it's lame," she said as she popped the trunk of her terribly plain and old Honda Civic.

Natasha shrugged, picking up the first box she saw. "People will always have opinions, so you are better off just doing what you like."

"Can't disagree." Katya smiled at her. Would things finally be different? Would she finally fit in somewhere? The day started off with lots of frustration but now the future looked very hopeful. Maybe she would finally feel at home somewhere.

It took the both of them three trips to get everything upstairs, after which Katya bought Natasha an iced coffee to thank her. She was drinking that as she scrolled on her phone and absentmindedly talked to Katya while Katya unpacked her stuff. 

Everything she had was in these boxes, her whole life. She had no family to store anything with, so all of it had to fit within the four walls of this room. There was some odd stuff in some of these boxes. But Natasha didn't ask her about anything. Overall, she had been nothing but considerate and an amazing roommate.

"This campus is full of disgusting boys."

Katya jumped. She had her back turned to the door, and with the business in the hallway hadn't heard someone stop in their doorway. It was a small blonde with her hands in her pockets. She looked annoyed, bored and disgusted all at the same time, like a moody teenager. Questionably, Katya looked at Natasha.

The woman sighed and put her phone down. "Kat, meet my little sister, Yelena. Yelena, this is Katya, my roommate."

As if she was only now realizing there was another person in the room, the blonde—Yelena—looked at Katya. Then she let out the loudest gasp. "Oh my god, they put you with a nerd." She laughed.

Katya blushed and looked away. That's not the first time she's heard that. In fact, people all throughout her life had taken the liberty of calling her that. It wasn't her looks per se—she didn't wear braces, outdated clothes, or thick-rimmed glasses. She was a normal kid, in normal clothes, with a delicate, modern-looking pair of glasses balancing on her nose. And, if Katya might say so herself, she wasn't ugly.

No, it was the things she did and liked that put a sticker on her. First of all, her introvertness and her shyness. It had gotten a lot better with age. She didn't stutter or stumble over her words as much anymore, but her shy nature stayed. It made that she never quite fit in with anyone. She didn't have big friend groups or hang around the popular kids. She usually had one good friend who she could sit in peaceful silence with.

Then there were the books, the literature, the movies she watched. Katya realized very young that she was different from the other girls in her class. She preferred the works of writers long gone, liked her movies black and white, and would rather spend her Friday afternoon reading than going to parties. They bullied her for having her lunch break in the library, reading alone, for getting an A on every test. Her interest lay with history, not with the latest Hollywood gossip. 

It shouldn't get to her, but in their cores, everyone wanted to belong, to be liked. She couldn't simply turn off her human instinct.

Natasha's hands curled into fists, and it looked like she was going to explode on her sister, until an older woman stepped into the room. Her hair was so dark brown it nearly looked black, and her face held a stern expression. She was also incredibly gorgeous. "Yelena Belova! That is not how I raised you!"

Yelena cringed. "Sorry, Mama," she muttered.

The woman's scowl disappeared as she turned to Katya, a warm, motherly smile appearing on her face instead. "Hello, my dear. I'm Melina, Natasha's mother. Please excuse my rude daughter. I promise I raised them both better than that."

A warm feeling flushed through Katya's body. "It's okay, ma'am. Natasha helped me carry the rest of my stuff up from my car."

"Good girl." Melina smiled proudly at her daughter. Natasha rolled her eyes, clearly not at ease with her family around a stranger. "If you don't need us anymore, Yelena and I will be leaving."

"Yes, please take her out of here." 

Anger flashed across Yelena's face. "I sacrificed my free day for you, you ungrateful—"

"Girls!" Melina sighed, shaking her head. With pity, she looked at Katya. "I wish you luck with her, my dear—"

"What does that mean?" Natasha exclaimed.

"---and be nice to each other. Natasha, if you need me, I'm just a call away."

"And just a town away." She rolled her green eyes again. "No need for emotional goodbyes."

"Well, I am gonna miss you."

"I'm not," Yelena mumbled under her breath, smiling innocently when her mother glared at her.

Natasha sighed and started to walk them out the door. Like a dog herding sheep. Katya tried not to laugh as Melina and Yelena stumbled over each other into the hallway. "Mhm, goodbye now. Thank you for helping me today." Natasha closed the door in their faces, locking it for good measure. A pleasant silence filled the room. "I'm sorry about her."

"It's alright." Katya shrugged, though her brain was still trying to process what just happened. "I'm used to being called a nerd. It's not an insult."

"She meant it as one. She's a dick." Natasha chewed on her lip, clearly ashamed and embarrassed of her sister's behavior. It meant a lot to Katya that it mattered so much to her.

"It's okay, Natasha, really." 

The redhead smiled carefully. "Melina is probably yelling at her now, though."

Katya laughed. "Their faces as you pushed them out the door..."

"If I hadn't, they would still be standing here, arguing." Natasha returned to her bed, falling back into the same position as before they were rudely interrupted. It already felt so domestic, so comfortable. They could exist together and do their own thing without bothering the other.

"Your sister is completely different from you, isn't she?" Katya asked as she continued her unpacking.

"Yes and no. She's more moody, sassy, rude." Katya chuckled when Natasha rolled her eyes. "But she's driven, hard working, and incredibly loyal to the people she loves. She will fight someone for you... Literally… She loves punching people."

Katya laughed. "She sounds like a good sister to have."

"She'll do." Natasha suddenly perked up, like someone flipped the switch of focus in her brain. Smirking, she studied the boxes on Katya's side of the room. "So, in which one of those is your lingerie?"

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

Orientation had broken Katya's brain. She'd gotten so much information at once that she literally had a headache. A bad one. Add that to a bad night of sleep—only four hours in total because of her new surroundings and anxiety—and she was ready to crash.

She unlocked her door and stumbled into the room, not surprised to see it empty. Natasha's shoes were gone and her bed was made. From what Katya learned yesterday, she seemed to know a lot of people, so she was undoubtedly chatting with every person she ran into. Maybe she wouldn't even return until late. At least Katya had her number.

She took advantage of Natasha's absence to take a long shower. Then she drew the curtains closed and laid down for a nap, her headache already subsiding after chugging two glasses of water. Her eyelids were so heavy, sleep tugged on her brain… 

When her phone rang. 

Katya let out the loudest groan, hurting her head in the process. Who dared to interrupt her nap? Ideally, she would have ignored it, but it could be Natasha or somebody else important. Blindly, she felt around until her fingers wrapped around her phone, her eyes squinting against the bright light to read the name on the screen. 

Tony.

Yep, that made sense. That man always had the worst timing. 

"What?" Katya snapped.

"What a way to greet me. Are you busy?" He gasped dramatically, then lowered his voice. "Wait, are you finally getting laid?"

Katya sighed, the tips of her ears burning. Ever since he stopped seeing her as a kid, he was trying to get her laid. Unsuccessfully. "No."

"Then you got time for me. Did you get settled in?" 

"If you were actually here to help me, you would have known," she said accusingly. "But you're too busy slutting yourself out in Miami."

"Going on holidays is important," Tony said casually. Katya rolled her eyes. He wasn't vacationing, he was partying and drinking. Club music boomed in the background of the call. His classes didn't start for another week. "You know what's also important? If your roommate is hot."

Katya groaned, reaching for the curtain to tug it open. She was so glad this was not a FaceTime call, or he would have seen how red her face was. "I'm not entertaining you with an answer."

"So she is." His stupid grin could be heard in his voice. She wanted to slap him. "What's her name?"

Katya hesitated. Whenever she told him about her crushes, Tony would go and mingle. It wouldn't be the first time he scared one away, but if she didn't tell him now, he would show up next week on her doorstep. Even worse. "Natasha," she answered reluctantly. "You wouldn't like her, she's ginger."

"Wait. A Natasha with red hair? Does she have big tits and a great ass?"

As much as Katya wanted to yell at him for objectifying women, she couldn't help but blush. Of course, her gay ass had not been able to resist taking a look at Natasha's body. Subtly and respectfully, of course. Her thoughts had not been subtle or respectful though, but they were safely inside her head so it was okay. She wasn't that kind of person.

"She looks great, yes."

Exactly at that moment, Natasha freaking Romanoff herself burst through the door, looking incredible as always. Denim shorts, tank top, messy ponytail—Katya's heart skipped a beat. Nobody should look that good after a full day of walking around in the late summer heat. God, she was a mess for her. 

"Who looks great?" Natasha smirked, dropping her bag to the ground. "Some girl at orientation already grabbed your attention?"

"Uh—I…no. There's nobody," Katya stammered, watching wide-eyed as Natasha took the hair tie out her hair and shook all those gorgeous curls loose. Her biceps flexed subtly when she fluffed it up.

"Uhu. Better give me a chance too before you set your sights on someone," Natasha teased.

Katya's breath caught in her throat. Was she dreaming? "Y-You?"

"Yeah. Unless you're not into girls." Natasha smiled smugly when she glanced at Katya's stunned expression. "I thought so. Me too."

If this were a cartoon, Katya's eyeballs would have bulged out of her head. Surely, she was dreaming now. There was no way this was reality. "You're gay?"

Natasha shrugged, grabbing a towel from the cabinet. "I'm a little bit of everything. As long as it's hot and kissable, I'm kissing it." She smirked, and then she closed the bathroom door behind her like she hadn't just turned Katya's whole world upside down.

There was an error in her brain. Her brain had flatlined. Open-mouthed, Katya stared at the door her roommate had disappeared through. She was sweating. Did Natasha seriously just say that she is into girls and she wants a shot with her? Was her headache actually a stroke and was she hallucinating? 

"Shut the fuck up. Your roommate is Natasha Romanoff?" 

Katya jumped. She'd completely forgotten that she was on the phone with Tony, and that he just heard everything. Her heart was racing in her chest. "Is that supposed to mean anything to me?"

He sighed. "You're hopeless. You need to get out more. She has a reputation for crashing college parties since she was 15. She's basically a legend."

It all made sense now. The guys who knew her, her popularity, why she knew her way around campus so well. She cuddled up with college guys while she was still in high school. 

How in the world did Katya, a nerd, get matched up with someone like what? Some funny forces were at play here. Someone up there must be laughing very hard.

"Okay, bye now." She just caught the start of Tony's protests when she cut off the call. She loved him, but she needed a moment to process these developments, and his endless yapping in her ear did not let her think clearly. 

He came into her life at a time where she needed someone the most. Orphaned since birth, Katya grew up in orphanages across the country. The last one she lived in, from age thirteen to literally last week, she met him. He'd protected her on the first day, when some older guys bullied her, and from there, he'd become her big brother. She saw him as that, too; family. Did he know Natasha personally?

Katya panicked when the shower turned off in the other room. Like, had a full-on silent panic attack. Not enough time had passed to process anything or to calm down. She couldn't face Natasha again. Not yet. What if she continued the conversation where it left off?

Quickly, she dived for her laptop and headphones, and put on the first TV show she could find. When Natasha came out of the bathroom, she didn't even spare her a glance. It was possibly the best performance of her life, pretending she was interested in her show and her heart wasn't pounding in her ears.

But Katya looked at her from the corner of her eye whenever she could, trying to figure out what the hell she was doing. Natasha seemed to be getting ready for something. She did her makeup and spent at least ten minutes in front of her closet, trying to figure out what to wear. Katya's eyes widened when she came out of the bathroom in a short, tight party dress later. There were curves and skin everywhere.

Frowning, Katya slid her headphones off. "Are you going somewhere?"

Natasha smiled over her shoulder, slipping her earrings in. Her eyes looked incredibly bright with the dark eyeshadow around it. Mesmerizing. "There's a welcome-back party in the Kappa Delta Psi house." 

"Aren't those for older students?"

Amusement flickered across the redhead's face. "I have a fake ID." She grabbed a pair of heels from under her bed and slipped those on too. They made her toned legs look incredible, miles long. Katya tried not to drool. "You should come."

Katya quickly shook her head, her anxiety surging at the thought of a college party. "Oh, no, thank you. Parties are not really my thing."

Natasha chuckled, a beautiful sound that sent the butterflies in Katya's stomach into a frenzy. "Alright. I'll be back late. Don't wait up." She swung her small purse over her shoulder and set out for the door. Her beautiful hair swung left and right over her exposed back, her pale skin glowing in the light of the setting sun. She looked ethereal. Katya called her name before she decided to.

"Nat?"

With her hand hovering above the doorknob, Natasha looked back. "Yes?"

Katya wanted to tell her that she looked beautiful. That her hair was amazing, that her makeup was flawless, that the dress fit her perfectly. That she was the most beautiful woman she'd ever seen. But the moment she opened her mouth, she chickened out. "Have fun."

A bright smile curled on her dark red lips. "Thanks."

[cutieeva]

Snow and Rose

𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐃𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐒𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐫 Female reader

Warnings : Murders. Violence.

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒

❛ 愛 ❜

He was filthy. Made to be discard and dislike and disgust hence the reason he even did not dare utter the pure words of love to the one he grew to not dislike however it all changed when he saved a woman. An peculiar one with taste of adressing herself as a snow and him, a disfigured man—rose

It was the first night of the winter. Crimson petal of rose slowly fell atop of the untainted white snow. To be honest the blush fall on the snow looked breathtaking. So beautifully vast yet together by nature almost seem like the destiny also choose in the harshest winter will bear the most adored rose to be seen.

The first time she saw them, it was unsuited together yet now if this was her last image of the world's beauty before withering away. She is thankful enough, smiling under the cold whiteness where she lay, drenched in her blood surround her and pain numb little by little. Now that her vision fading she wish to indulged the nature of destiny more. She wish to find her own rose in the snow, a lover she meant and perhaps children too. ? How odd of her to even question of her own wish to bear children when she knows no rose is there for her.

As the roses always wirther, unsuited to the snow like she thought, no one likes snow. Even those who believed to like only do for few weeks, months not years, certainly not decades.

Snow as beautiful is cold, far cold she realize after embracing in the ground, blush of her skin drying and tears gather to flow silently.

How she wished to see the sunrise for the last time. One last time before passing to void of nothing, she knew heaven and hell were only words for fear to do good despite being surround by hell. One last tear roll down as she embrace the death when a crunch of foot earned her sight.

Eyes rolling to see the demon, the culprit of her death towering surprise to feel the drop of crimson. Not one from the rose petal rather of blood along stench of someone's death coloring the sliver sword he holds. He who is not the demon her mind knows at least, however an stranger wrapped in black cloth like the void of night and white cloth wrap around his mouth with snake rest upon his neck. His eyes, Unusual she ever seen one teal and another yellow.

His gaze bore at her, laying on the snow and blood circle around her like an painting of death with petals of rose fallen near her forehead almost seem like an crown of farewell flowers. She looks utterly and hauntingly beautiful he is afraid to say the rose suit her with the snow. Even her tears of sorrow paint her beautiful. His eyes locked on those (E/C) eyes that he forgot it's close and pale hue cover her entirity.

Like a bleak of a man his knee bend down, fingers almost curl refuse to taint the body by brushing his filthy touch yet with gentle he never grace one with did he hold her, cold sweep into his warmth and her body in his hand vulnerably he embrace her clothed part more to begin walking the path of his home where many also lives.

Pain greet her awake, her sight met with the white ceiling of a house than the void of nothing she expected. The pain in her body told her the answer of her life. She is alive and the beautiful nature of rose met snow was not her last image of mother earth's beauty nor the man she viewed.

The man in question is none where to seen when the door slide open stand a beautiful woman, smiling gently. "She must like butterfly". (Y/N) judged from the hair pin of butterfly to her dress print.

"Ara, Ara, you are awake. I see". (Y/N) bow to the woman despite the pain in her stomach yet her face remain unchanged. Stoic as before. "Do not distress yourself further. I fear your present state is one of considerable pain." The woman came closer to find indeed the blood taint the white again.

(Y/N) apologize softly.

"No apologies necessary, I assure you." Her laugh was melodies that the man almost slip her mind.

"Oh. A man, with snake around his neck ?" She continue, her eyes as if reliving the time. "Have you seen him ?" The actions of that woman's hand pause and staring at those purple eyes oddly seem empty and lost.

"I do. He is one of the demon slayers". Strange words. Demon slayers and demons. Both belonged to monstrous fairytales she never liked to read and now very real to see, one was eater almost pushed her to the edge of life and another an savior, retrieve her life yet both interwoven with one another.

"Oh. Would you be so kind as to inform me of his whereabouts, that I may pay my respects ?" The woman stare at (Y/N). No human she ever seen so indifferent to the word demon. One must bear some hatred or kindness or any emotions linked. Never indifference. Perhaps the lack is what present her so different however naïve to the laws of world.

"You may, he will be found next door, precisely where the wounded gentlemen resides." Her finger point to near the door of (Y/N)'s right and she nod.

"Thank you". She stood to the woman's surprise and walk with difficulty to the next door, sliding open to find three young lads on the bed with another beautiful woman with pink hair and that man. That man's soften gaze saw her bend her body to bow and utter the words she truly felt from the core of her heart.

"Thank you for saving me" . The tone and the face remained unchanged however those eyes he notice was pure, clearance with courage Obanai swears. Courage he won't be rewarded, not with the blood in his veins.

"It was my duty". He replied, turning away from her and she left quietly. All were too suprise to intervene the tight tension darting from the unknown to the cold demon slayer. He who thought their first words exchange to be the last.

However here she is, sitting beside Tanjiro, applying herbs like the gentle caress of a mother to his wounds he receive from Obanai during their period of training. A furrow appear in his brows, why is she here ? His eyes slide to the stomach cover by her cloth and by movements of her body she appears to be healthy.

Soon he learnt after she recovered did she request to dedicate herself to nursing she was by experience and Shindou welcomed her. What a play of destiny he thought watching intently how with unchanged poise she clean one gruesome wound than previous.

"How calm". He wonders, how can a woman be so devoid of expression ? Even Shinobu plaster a smile and here she is, and was at her last breath crafted the same expression.

"I offer my sincerest gratitude, your expertise is truly remarkable." Tanjior in his cherry voice smiled large and she returned only with a nod. He narrow his eyes, was she also poise in front of the culprit of her death ? Or did she cried, begged or perhaps— .

"The gentleman is cleared to depart." Her words directly to the older demon slayer and he nod, averting gaze with someone first because of how unashamed they were. He took him alongside and wish to never view her.

What a foolish thing to pray when she is at his each sight. One time brooming with the little girls despite them playing, laughing and joining her hands to round each other she only played along unchanged as if her soul was not present while her body was.

Another time dusting and cleaning the injury manor and he was there, yet not once she glanced or tries to word with him. Not that he desired so rather finding her like an puzzle. So locked unlike Mitsuri who is like the sun, bright and bathed in pureness and free like an open book he can read. Even that butterfly demon slayer seem easier to understand than she. A lady with unfamiliar origin, name he didn't care to learn and expression never change.

Upon another occasion, a youthful trainee, gravely injured, was brought forth, his face snarl in pain and half his form scorched by the ravages of fire yet she didn't so little flinch. She beheld the charred flesh, and with unflinching resolve, set about healing the wounds. It made him wonder again would she grasp, be horrified or pity the demon slayer if she shown her the scar in his— shaking such filthy words, he walked down that time.

"(Y/N) hurry, the Serpent Hashira and the Wind Hashira needs help !" She pause in her hurried steps. Her savior was in need and the thought to return the debt come to her mind. Her feet went to the room watching the two strongest demon slayers swallowing pain as they lay on the bed. "One of the demons poisoned them so the little wounds are deadly".

Her trembling hands took the medicines and herbs, as being advised she about to touch the Serpent Hashira, he wield his sharp sword to her chin, little inches away and his snake hiss. "Don't come near me". His words tender yet the sentences chilling sharp and she can not help ponder why.

"What ? we don't have male—".

"Let me do my own". He cut the argue he finds not needed.

"However you have no knowle—". Kanao tries to change his mind for good.

"I can!" he asserted, the crimson-tinted the binding around his mouth and voice bending into whisper with his pale skin whiter. (Y/N) is afraid the poison rushing faster.

"By all means, proceed. But heed my caution: observe my movements, then replicate, lest harm ensues. Do you understood ?" Obanai who never thought her to spoke nod and took the medicines and clothes. (Y/N) note the wounds are in his arm, thigh and shoulder thus she walk beside him to another silent room—she assume his room and sat, turning face away to hear the shuffles of clothes unraveling and she begin to show on her clothed body while he remain silent, save for the occasionally groans and strainted huffs.

"Completed". She nod and he finally turn his eyes at her back, wondering why she is unmoved.

"May I see your work, that I might judge its merit ?" She hoped to have yes however deep inside the answer was spoken in silent already.

"No". No. As she expected and nod to maneuver towards his clothed self and about to stand at her feet when Obanai narrow his eyes in displease. That expression and lack of words. Always of few words, indifference and unafraid. All of the qualities he wished he had within himself. Indifference of other's eyes, unafraid of the past and courageous.

Implused by his deranged thoughts and in daze of his wound. "Would you be scared of this ?" Uncaring he rip the binding of his mouth, the cool breeze brush against the dreadful scar that is still fresh in his memory. His eyes close like the binding was a relieve of pain however he waited. For a strangling scream, disgust grasp, pity words or anything. Save for the errie silence.

Each muscle of his body tense at the feel of an soft touch at the corner of his lips and his hand shoot up holding her wrist and eyes wide to be face at her expression. And indeed it was not in vain.

Alas, the rosy flush that painted her entire visage, and the demure shimmer in those crystalline eyes, told a tale he had not expected to behold. Even her skin blushed from his touch alone.

A hatred twist his inside as he swing her hand and yelled harsh. "Get out !" She flinch and run out. His head buried in his palm, he did not intent to yell, however what could he had done if that bewitching woman's expression did not just brew a hope in his heart. A hope no one did and he himself dare not aknowledge.

"What was that ?" Bewildered he erased her image of blush.

He must have frighten her because the few days later she was none of his sight and it was unknown how he felt so he walked to his room when the moon's shine lighten on the letter slide to the gap of the door. His finger touch the paper and read. 'To the respected Serpent Hashira. From (L/N) (Y/N).'

An name he is unfamiliar could only belonged to that woman. "(Y/N)". The name roll down his flesh, sounding hauntingly pleasant. He grip the paper hard and went inside. First he sit and grab the candle near the paper he almost wish to burn, not read any words behind the paper. Still his curiosity drive him to open and unfold the smooth lines of paper.

'You might have forgetten what had occur to the day of your injury yet I do not and thus the letter was crafted, whether view it as an unworthful letter or cowardly one, it's your choice however I won't delay your time and say the words I had not courage to utter in front of you that the scar you showed me was in my view an scar of loathe, pain and sorrow of the past because the way it's craved could not be done willingly—' Obanai turn away from the paper, unwelcomed memories slit his mind and fill his vision.

"Useless". He deemed the paper and the fire of the candle so close however something, perhaps hope convince him to read further.

"My intention was not to recall your unpleasant memories however I had to because the next words I say might desire you to kill me even hate me I fear, because your wound blossoms red like the petals of rose, breathtakingly beautiful, so beautiful that I was mesmerized. I am wretched for holding dear and falling in love with the sorrow you might have, the very thing I am in love is the one you hate, so please it's not a letter of forgiveness because do not forgive me. Do not forgive me ever".

His hand fell limp as fingers still grip on the paper become tighter than ever and the candle's light illuminate his fiery blush face and the glistening rims of his eyes betrayed a depth of feeling he could hardly grasp.

"Is it not a confession ?" His other palm cover his face and brush upon the binding that for the first time did not evoke feelings of revulsion and disgust rather sentiments he had not felt for anyone, not even the love Hashira. Because the unpleasant memories dissipated the moment his scar made contact, replaced by her passion words, which floated in his vision like ethereal whispers. 

At the early rise of the sun Obanai ran to the butterfly manor to find her not Kanon who raise a eyebrow and continue her duty.

"Might I inquire as to the present location of Miss (L/N) ?" His question made her confuse before sighing.

"Good heavens! You haven't heard ? She resigned, having met my elder sister in person and left a letter for us all, though, alas, it reveals nothing of her destination." Her voice somber reflections on the departure of the benevolent lady, whom she had not had the opportunity to bid farewell, a circumstance that pained her, much like her sister.

The words save for the resigned tune out. The sounds distant and dishonest. H-how could it ? How could it be ? When she confessed her love merely yesterday ? "The letter ? May I see it ?" She hand over the paper he unfold to read and yes, it's her farewell for eternal. How cruel, she left. He almost threw the paper in fit of rage but he knew better and did not.

She is one cowardly woman he ever met.

☯

A red rose.

The first single rose appear at (Y/N)'s doorstep was few weeks later she moved from the demon slayer's corps to a small village little further from the branch and the house she stay was bearable and decent food was nearby to attend. The real reason she left was due to the passion confession her heart forced her hand to give however when she comes to realize the man she was giving and his profession was, she decide to separate herself.

Because the man would never love her back and his profession was oath to death, no sense of life was guaranteed and she swears the heartbreak of future could not stitch the patchs of broken heart.

From childhood she watched her mother obedient like a pet to her father and never replied back and his father always remained gentleman and cold. Very different than the fairytales she dislike yet reads for the sake of befriending others.

Soon growing up she realize because of the unspoken law of marriage. A wife is a doll of his husband who married for the sake of duty. They were not in love instead tied down in duty where she, the child was a bond they had to create by society's pressure and sheding her innocence to adulthood, it's her time to take the role of doll for someone else.

And at first few men did choose her, some even confess their love but after few months they left, giving the ring of their betrothed away.

"Your demeanor is as frigid as the grave. How might I be expected to harbor affection for one so seemingly devoid of vitality?"

"(Y/N), I must confess, it pains me to consider the possibility that you do not return my ardent affections. Your demeanor suggests a certain...indifference towards me."

"Miss (L/N), though I have always held your beauty in the highest esteem and affection however our spent time leads my heart yearns for a deeper connection. I confess, I covet a love that stems from genuine attachment, not mere obligation."

"If your heart truly beats for mine, then demonstrate your affection through tender compassion ! Speak words of endearment, that I might be assured of your love !"

Some were good, some were spoiled and some greedy yet what common in them was their speech of words of how cold she is and like snow she is beautifully admired—not loved. To be honest she hated all the men that left her, even if some were really good she loathe them. Why ? Because none tried to know the dept of her love for them because she did love them, each and every one of them. Yes ! not as deep as the love of Zhi Nü for Niu Lang. Still she did, what she couldn't was to express them. She simply does not know. Words were not easy to utter as she wanted and affections never surface properly.

Also their love was not worth if they left so easily leading her to become spinster and out of roof as for her family's reputation she was a staint so she left, no cries, pleads or any attachment. What prevails her is that quiet tears still roll down.

Leading her at the first night to encounter a hungry demon and that man, she for and realize after viewing his scar. He awoke a whole world inside her she was hidden from and now she can not help wonder if she had known him better could she bear courage to court him.

Red rose on top of the snow. Her sight snap to the ruby hue and turn to the vase inside the house already had seven more red rose rest. Adding this will be seven. It's strange no one comes to mind who would give her flowers like a secret admirer. Like confessing secret love to her.

With steps that softly crunched above the winter's white blanket, she approached the flower, its beauty unmarred by frost's chill grasp. Her fingers enveloped its slender stem free of thorns. The rose errierly remind her of him. His beauty of an rose and sharp gaze of thorn to protect. Perhaps thus she collect the roses.

☯

Slap !

Embracing her new role as a cleaning worker in the village proved daunting for her. As both a woman and alone seen beneath of men after all.

"Your defiance has cost us dearly. You should have layed your body at the customer's whims equals to a king's demands, were left unfulfilled. Your stubbornness has turned gold to dust. You ungrateful witch !" The pain at her cheek throb and she lowered her head, choosing silence, closing eyes to feel the next and next until the wife of the owner hold his hand.

"Oh dearie, this is a noodle shop. Not a brothel, what she had done is right because imagine rumors spreading of our humble restaurant turning into selling women. How bad is it not ?" His wife in tender voice trap him in sprouts of nonsense and he, halting and debating the words.

(Y/N) gratitude the lady in mind and caught sign of her hand twisting towards exit. "Go out". With eyes darting in secretion (Y/N) bow to her and quietly walked away from the unfair abuse and her night shift.

☯

Chirps of bird and noise of hens awake her and ignoring the ache in her cheeks she walk to the door and her eyes wide and mind in confusion.

She blink once, twice and slowly, very slowly walk on the snow to the center where a folded man's cloth is layed above blood with a rose on the side. The eighth rose. Her (E/C) eyes stare at the cloth for moments before walking to the noodle owner's house that is few walks away and not long a cry of agony rip out.

Her walk slow down and she watched the crowd form and the wife's cries in her corpse husband's body that is naked and blood sweeping from the stabs in his stomach and dried blood from the hole of his either cheeks. Pity bleed within (Y/N) for the newly widow— not the man. He deserved it and a happiness bloom thinking how length of love her secret admirer bear.

She went to her yard again and the cloth vanish and blood buried leaving the rose and a letter. "Was he here ?" A shiver ran her spine, glancing around to spot only to be failed and she read the letter.

'I am not good with words however what I am good is at welding swords and that man deserve equally as the demon heads' Demons. Holding the rose at one and letter at another, finally one man comes to her mind. The serpent demon slayer.

And she is unaware what to do and if her thought is even true.

☯

"Leave me !" (Y/N) yelled to the previous customer of the noodle shop who she was beated for and now tormenting her at night of street. "I said leave me !" She screamed attracting heads of the crowd letting the man loose his grip and her chance to escape.

Ninth rose lay beside the cloth of a man painted in blood. She walked out of her yard at the early morning and roam to find his body calmly and the crowd forming told her already. She close the gap, catching glimpse of his naked body layed to be humiliated and stabs in his stomach and holes on his palms where the man grip her by.

And as she expected when she return to her yard, the cloth was erased, blood buried and rose with letter repeating the same words.

☯

"It must be you ! You wretched woman, you got my husband killed ! After being bewitched by you, was he killed ! It must be you". The wife of the man yesterday murdered she was not even aware married came to her doorstep at midnight, screaming and throwing scornful words she does not like.

"I do not, mam". Calmly and unchanged she answered, attempt at closing the door she mistake to open and when the wife caught hint of that, (Y/N) felt a rush of coldness at her face. Numb snow cold her warm body as (Y/N) part her lips to say she was thrown more snow and more and more.

Until a wet slick sound and sudden stop of snow lead her head to turn meeting the scene of a sliver sword pierced the wife's stomach and glide back gushing blood and her body limp at once revealing Obanai, the serpent hashira standing with a blank expression and when met with (Y/N)'s, did it sparkle the beauty of emotions.

Her eyes also saw in his another hand holding the rose. Tenth rose. "At the tenth rose I decided to finally meet you". Loudly he confessed. Both to being the secret admirer and the murderer however not a hint of fear he felt not because he considerate himself powerful rather at the mercy of her love. While he thought he loved the love Hashira, (Y/N) mold the very love to him. While the love hashira was the shining sun, pure and out of his reach stem from pure respect, (Y/N) plant the seed of love from the mere words of his scar he loathe, she turn the hatred and self-disgust of the scar marred his skin into a memory of their sweet love. With the words of her and blushful image of her touched his corner lips brew him the feel of worthy to loved and love. She made him feel human.

Now at each touch of his mouth, rather than ashamed and scared did his heart skip beats at her face, at each touch of his mouth reminds him of her words. The confession of her yearning and passion he never received from one before and she graced him so deep, he could not help fall deeper, running to every village from small to huge at search of her and when found the relieve of bliss remind him once again how unable of her he has no life of his own anymore.

"Forgive me, Miss (L/N). I could not force you to my will defying yours so all I could do was remove the obstacles and wait for your return to me as I have fallen for you deeply". At each step closer to her he said each word and finishing he give her the rose, waiting to see her accepting or throwing.

Fear gripped his heart to be honest a little— no, a lot, the fear of rejection from the woman he holds dearly to his heart will crush him however he will wait, as long as needed and continue removing the filth from her life. Flith that forced his hand and deserved to be united with the demons.

Oh, how sweet. (Y/N) couldn't believe. A man who go length beyond for her and love her to the end without leaving is an heaven. Even more when it's the same man she did not even dare dream of loving her back holding rose for her and bloody sword to others.

How could she resist such love. An love scary and undeserving at other's view is her everything.

Her finger grasp the rose and lean forward to press a kiss the man above his binding who's those unusual beautiful eyes wide only to soften. Her lips parted and said. "Forgive me not I am in love with you".

"Forgiven because I am in too". He returned blooming a smile on her lips. Language of love she heard once, love that not only utter from words alone however also from actions of service for their love. Perhaps this man has that.

FIN

𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐨𝐟 ◸◜𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬 ◞◿

[thatsdemko]

the right man - l.norris & c.leclerc

the other man (part one)

masterlist

pairings: Charles leclerc x reader & lando norris x reader (I know I didn’t do this right)

warnings: mentions of alcohol + Charles being a slight dick + nsfw mentions

a/n: here is part two 😁😁this will be put in both categories of the guys in my masterlist!

you’re forced with a horrible decision to make after an awful drunk incident. it’s your own fault, and you deserve all the consequences that come to it. even if that means losing lando.

it didn’t take long for news to spread that you were seen leaving the Ferrari motorhome. cameras religiously sat outside awaiting for Charles or Carlos. so when you thought the coast was clear, all it took was one flash of a camera to signal others and there became a swarm of flashes.

your face was front and center, Charles behind you closing the door. it was on every social media page, news paper, formula 1 gossip, etc. you couldn’t out run it.

lando was asleep when max hit him in the face with a freshly printed newspaper, “you’re not going to like this.” he says sitting down in the chair across from lando’s bed.

he’s not fully awake, but the picture of you in a quadrant hoodie and Charles behind you takes a hold of his vision. sitting up right, he searches to turn on the light to get a better look at the headlines, and when it comes into focus he wishes he didn’t see it.

“ Y/N Y/L/N CAUGHT LEAVING WRONG MOTORHOME read more on page 4.”

“what the,” he’s flipping every page until he gets to the page with a picture of you and Charles. you’re wearing his quadrant hoodie and grey sweatpants. Charles is behind you, hand on the door of the motorhome, his hair is tussled, and eyes slightly puffy but he can’t tell. the pictures in black and white don’t do justice to the ones in color max was pulling up on his phone.

“didn’t she tell you she was getting a drink with the other girlfriends last night? there’s no pictures of her at the bar. she must’ve went straight to him.” max swipes through the pictures of you heading to the motor home, the caption reading you were only there for no less than fifteen minutes, but it still doesn’t settle well with lando.

“there’s got to be a reason she went to see him, right?” lando looks up from the photos, he can’t stop staring at Charles and comparing himself to him. what did he have that he didn’t? sure, maybe a couple of titles, him being your summer crush, and maybe his looks. but none of that falls even close to the love lando has given and shown you. Charles treated you like shit three summers ago, you knew that and hell he knew that.

“I think you should talk to her.”

and that’s what’s led you to where you were. sat at breakfast with untouched toast, scrambled eggs, and a coffee that were all now unappetizing after lando dropped the news.

“I saw the pictures.” he doesn’t given any context clue, just sits right down in front of you. your eyes pick up from your phone to him. his hair is a mess, bags under his eyes, and the shirt he’s wearing his wrinkled.

“what pictures?” you ask leaning back into your seat, arms crossed watching him raise an eyebrow in challenge.

“you seriously don’t know? the ones of you with Charles last night? ring a bell now?” he scoffs watching your eyes widen, you can feel the pit of your stomach drop as you push the food in front of you away.

“lando, I went to see him and I should’ve told you. I’m sorry.” you swallow the lump in your throat watching him adjust in the seat. he’s uncomfortable because he doesn’t want to ask how you feel, he knows you still like Charles.

every girl still has some sort of love for their summer crush, and he knew despite your promises that you have moved on, Charles leclerc still crept into your mind.

“you can either keep chasing him or realize you have someone who loves you unconditionally. I want an answer by Sunday after the race.”

—

you’re not at the paddock and Charles doesn’t need to ask why. the disgusted glare lando gives him is enough to know everything.

he’s humiliated because it’s not what it looks like. you weren’t there with him for long and nothing happened. the newspapers and social media gossip were only trying to taint the narrative and make you both look like bad people.

“do you think I can talk to lando?” Charles asks, he’s standing in front of the mclaren garage, and to his surprise you’re not there. he shouldn’t have been surprised, the glare lando gave him was enough to know you probably weren’t around anymore.

“he’s not in the mood to talk. especially to you.”

“I just want to talk about last night. you have to let me explain—“

lando’s laugh cuts him off, he comes from behind one of the trainers in his full suit prepared for practice, “explain what? I already know what happened.”

“do you?” Charles challenges, his hand grabs a hold of lando’s arm to stop him from getting in the car so he can say one more thing, “because whatever you think happened didn’t.”

lando yanks his arm from his grip and just pulls on his helmet getting in the car. he wants nothing to do with the Ferrari driver, and quite frankly he doesn’t want to hear it. he’s made up his mind and he’s just hoping you have to.

—

you’re doing your best to avoid the public today, which meant laying in your hotel bed and ordering room service while watching whatever show you could find on the television.

it’s boring not being at the paddock, you want to be with lando, you want to show him you love him and that all of this about Charles was in the past. but you’re not sure lando would even want you there, you’re not even sure lando even wants you in general anymore.

you hear a faint knock, assuming it’s room service, you threw the covers off your body and quickly went to open the door to see Charles standing there.

you swallow the lump in your throat, pushing the door open more and allowing him inside. luckily, no paparazzi was allowed in the hotel, so you were safe from anyone taking pictures or suspecting a thing.

“what happened last night shouldn’t have happened—“

“nothing did happen.” you cut him off, he scoffs in response shaking his head. all of it was a blurry memory to you. the pictures did no justice for your memory, so you’re hoping Charles can jog it.

“really?” he moves forward causing you to take a step back, body being met by the edge of the bed you allow yourself to sit down, “so you’re okay that I don��t care you’re with lando? because what you and I did was summers ago means nothing. I had no feelings for you then.”

you’re not sure why, but the words hurt. they stung because part of you did want him to care. he was the best way to end your summer before going to college. he took something to special of yours that you felt he deserved to have, and maybe he shouldn’t have gotten it. not with how he was acting today.

“then? so what are you saying? you have feelings for me now?” your question stuns him, he didn’t realize what he had said until you’re asking him back.

he licks his lips trying to find words, but he can’t. all he can think about is that final night with you before you left.

“are you sure you want this?” he asks, his grip on your bare ass tightens, you wince at the pain but just nod, your eyes are so full of youth and excitement, he’s eager for a taste.

“you’re the only one I want to do this with.”

you’re staring at him long and hard, you can tell he’s mentally fighting what to say, but you don’t have time. lando gave you until Saturday to figure out who you want, and if Charles can’t make that decision you will.

“I like you Charles, but I don’t think you’re the right man for me.” you can’t look him in the eyes while you say it, your eyes are fixated on the carpet and his tan colored high top sneakers he’s wearing.

“lando most certainly isn’t either. not after what you told me yesterday.”

you sigh, your body collapsing against the bed, “Charles, what would you do?” you ask, and he takes a seat on the edge of the bed. he looks down at you, eyes staring up at the ceiling and hair sprawled across the messy sheets. to him, you look cute and maybe that tells him his true feelings.

“I would pick lando. he clearly loves you and he gives you much more than I think any other man could give.” you know that’s not true, Charles was the perfect boyfriend to Charlotte and it always made you jealous despite your perfectly happy relationship.

“I want what you and Charlotte had.” you whisper hoping he didn’t hear you, but he does. he props his body against his elbow laying on his side, “I promise you don’t. you have something we never had.”

you look over at him and see the sincerity in his eyes, “we fought a lot and at times I don’t even think we actually loved each other. I know you love lando and I know for a fact he loves you.” he brushes the couple strands of hair that were across your face out of your way, “he’s the right man.”

and he’s right, when he leaves the room he catches lando in the lobby, he tells him the choice has been made. when the Brit makes his way into your room he’s greeted to you at the door, smile on your face and he knows.

he knows you chose him.

[brilla-brilla-estrellita]

Snowbaz & Co Barbie Outfits

I was chatting with a few others in discord and we were all in agreement that Simon and Baz would absolutely be going to see Barbie, and would be bringing Mordelia, Petra, and Sophie along.

But what would they wear?

This is how I’ve spent my job hunting free time over the last few weeks.

Pink and nonsense below the cut.

Petra

I feel like she’s a total horse girl. She spends all of her time thinking about horses and drawing horses and riding horses both real and imaginary. When Baz tells her they’re going to dress up for the movie, Petra is ready with her pink accessories to be Equestrian Barbie. There are a few versions of this Barbie, but I wasn’t that into them. Petra can do better. I asked my horse-riding friends how they would Barbie-fy the standard English riding look, and they said pink accessories. So:

Let’s start with our base equestrian look. White top with pink lining on the collar/cuffs, beige or... whatever color that is for the breeches, and field boots (I hear this is what they are called?). Then we add the pink accessories! (Yes, that is a unicorn on the end of that crop). Hot pink breeches optional. I’m foregoing the riding coat because it’s summer and we just don’t need that extra layer, but it does really pull the look together, and I did find a suuuuuper cute pink one. 

I don’t know anything about riding, especially English riding, so don’t come at me if this doesn’t make any sense (I would like to know how you would Barbie-fy your own riding look, though!).

Links: Base Outfit (left), Gloves, Crop, Helmet Cover, Breeches

Sophie

Sophie heard “wear pink” and knew just the dress for the occasion. This was the dress she wore for her most recent birthday party (because they totally have super posh, fancy kid birthdays that require nice new dresses, right?). I’m pretty sure the twins are somewhere around 10 now, and this is definitely something I would have worn as a 10 year old.

My inspiration for Sophie’s look was the 2010 Modern Princess Barbie (left) and the 2011 Cut ‘N Style Princess (right).

Links: Barbie Modern Princess (left), Dress, Barbie Cut ‘N Style Princess (right)

Mordelia

I imagine Mordelia goes immediately to a retro look. She’s around 15 at this point and could totally be into makeup and fashion. I like to imagine she’s kind of artsy, and while she’s the perfect age to be in her emo phase (which I would love for her to have), I understand this is not a “thing” anymore among the youths. Either way, I like to think Mordelia is a bit of a chameleon and floats around to whatever style inspires her at the moment. (Am I projecting? Yes. Yes, I am.)

I think she would prefer to go for the original 1959 Barbie with the black and white swimsuit (bodysuit?) and sunglasses, but Baz insists on pink (or Simon... yeah... it’s definitely all Simon). So they compromise on a modern take on the Flower Power era of the 60s and 70s. The dress has the large-scale, brightly colored floral print and miniskirt of the 60s with the bell sleeves more common in the 70s. I used this 1969 P.J. Talking doll for inspiration.

She goes all-out on the makeup with the recently revived and renovated mod eye look (top left) and sort of clumped, thick bottom lashes (bottom right) (there’s got to be a better way to describe that....). And the knee-high white boots, of course. She’s really just an amalgamation of all the most fun trends of the 1960s.

Can you tell I had the most fun with this one?

Links: Mod-inspired Eye Makeup (top left), Dress, P.J. Talking doll, Boots, Classic Mod Eye Makeup (bottom right)

Simon

I had a really hard time with both of the boys. But here we are. As soon as I saw the 1982 Ken Fashion Jeans, I knew that was my inspiration for Simon. It just felt so right. Though I didn’t use the actual jeans part as the inspiration, I did go with another 80s jean staple: acid wash jeans. And imagine the light pink shirt is actually the most obnoxious hot pink you can think of. 

I like to think Simon already had both of these pieces in his closet. Baz will be ensuring those top buttons stay undone all day, as god intended.

Honorable mention to this shirt that also has a Simon-look-alike for a model (tbh I still think maybe I should pick that one every time I look at it) and this basically mesh shirt.

Links: Soft Pink Knit Shirt (top left), Hot Pink Polo (top right), Acid Wash Jeans, Ken Fashion Jeans doll

Baz

The one that I’m sure you’ve all been waiting for that I’m also sure is going to disappoint... Baz. Boy did I struggle with Baz. What would he wear? A suit? More casual? More costume-y? Ultimately I decided casual since everyone else would be casual, it’s summer, and, more importantly, I couldn’t find any hot pink floral suits for men.

Once I narrowed it down to casual, I still couldn’t decide. I didn’t even have a good reference for inspiration. Nothing felt quite Baz.  Honestly, I need help.

I think I’ve settled on this large-scale floral print on the top left that feels like a very Barbie-esque print, but it’s not quite right. It for sure needs to be a little less boxy and a little more tailored like the slightly more classic Bazzy floral shirts below. The cherry blossoms (top right) are pretty and pink, but not quite Barbie and not quite Baz. The bottom left seems the most... typical? Not a bad choice (aside from the fact that Baz absolutely would not shop at Target or Walmart where I found this shirt). The bottom right is a little more bold and has the hot pink, but... I’m just not sure. 

And of course we need a good “Baz, you’re wearing jeans!” moment. Why is there a picture of Trent Crimm/James Lance instead of jeans on the left, you ask? When is a photo of Trent Crimm not relevant to Baz? He’s wearing jeans, isn’t he?

Links: Beautiful James Lance in Jeans, Large-Print Floral Shirt (top center), Cherry Blossoms Shirt (top right), Small Floral Print Shirt (bottom center), Shiny and Bold Floral Print (bottom right)

What do you all think? Which top is the most Baz x Barbie? Has anyone else thought about what everyone would wear to see Barbie? I’d love to see!

[hernakedmuse]

Fawnskin

A/N: Okay so I'm new to this Tumblr fanfiction posting. This isn't very good but I feel a lot better when I write what my interests and create as an outlet. This hasn't been edited, fair warning.

Furthermore, I'm new to the Timothée Chalamet fan world, I don't pretend to know everything about him. With that said, please be gentle with me.

Themes: Trans OC, POC OC, an original character created by me, allusions to smut, Timothée pining, OC pining. (I think that's all).

Part 1

When I saw her…when I discovered her…it was tonight.

Tonight began at half past eight on sunset boulevard. It started when I entered the back way of the famous and legendary Viper room.

Small, galley-pathed, and obsidian lack of light. Smelled of so much alcohol I wouldn't dare to light a match…or maybe I would. Sweat and a small amount of alluring filth perfumed beneath,  like a scent of sin and rock and roll. This wasn't my usual scene, it's an interesting scene, a respected scene, a scene too cool for me, but not my scene nonetheless. 

I left my friends at LAVO, wandered down the strip aimlessly just needed some air, and I don't know why. Some unknown force just drew me here…to this claustrophobic nightmare drenched in black.

And then I heard it…her…

I heard synthesizers, drums, and guitars and a loud bass, but…I heard her , I heard her dreamy, yet raspy, tightly-reined yet soft, childlike and pouty yet seductive…voice. I never desired to hear a voice more than hers ever, nothing could compare ever. It was a beautiful whiny, powdery , Punk sounding sort of melodic vocals. I excused myself through the crowd of some young yet mainly middle aged and older crowd in band tees and leather and docs, and I wondered if the angel of this voice was older than she sounded.

But I somehow found myself at the front, right in front of the well used stage and came eye to eye with fishnet legs and teal, patent leather,  pointed toe heels with corset tight straps strangling delicate ankles. It made me want to save those exquisitely dainty ankles, and press a thousand and ten kisses to the ankle bone and her fibula…or tibula? Whatever, I want to kiss and suck every bone of her scrumptious feet.

I allowed my eyes to travel up long, clean-limbed, well formed legs, shapely thighs and and a doll‐like, hourglass figure that suffocated in a half zebra print, half cherry red, strapless dress, that was held together and cinched with zebra print string tied in a shoelace bow, the front…a shuddering, tantalizing, deep cut..almost down to the naval, opening greedy eyes to perky, perfectly rounded, visibly bouncy,  dewy, prettily fawn colored cleavage. I had a new favorite color and I think it might be…fawn.

With every bounce those luscious breasts knocked me out and caused embarrassing stirring in my pants. There was a slit in the middle, due to the dress being a wrap with only the string to hold it together, you could almost see the crotch area, but shapely fawn-colored (fuck me), thighs blocked the image beautifully. 

I was greedy suddenly and my eyes needed to see more, I looked up into the most prettiest face I could remember. Heart-shaped, dark espresso hooded eyes and long, dark sweeping lashes, big,full, lolly red painted lips too big for her delicate jawline, you could tell she's mixed with African-American, so damn beautiful.  And white-gold, blown out hair that fell past her shoulders framed her face in layers. 

She looked at me and I saw God.

—

A month later, in between breakups, I couldn't get her out of my head. I had gone back to the Viper Room to see if she would be there again but she wasn't. I asked the booking agent the name of the band, but she just laughed at me.

Why was it impossible to find her? I couldn't get her out of my head, she was like a nymph, a secretive mystery embodied in unknown desire. Fawn-colored skin, clean-limbed legs and white-sugar blonde hair, and that voice…like Nancy Sinatra but naughtier yet more innocent.

I gotta stop this obsession, but there's something about…this wasn't very healthy…

I woke up at two in the morning, wired like I was on something. I pulled on my sweatpants and a hoodie, I slipped on my Adidas and headed out, I just had to have the night (or early morning) air hit my face and wake me from these endless dreams.

I ended up driving around, Cudi's latest on low, the streets were surprisingly alive, but it is L.A. on a Thursday night.

But then I saw her, was I imagining her? Because those legs and that petite height were definitely that of a dream. I did a u-turn to see the front just to confirm that I am indeed losing my mind and it is someone else.

But walking past Mel's drive in, in a long teddy coat falling off her shoulders, a ripped, wine red turtleneck dress that's ripped and ribbed with safety pins in the tears, hugged her body like a pin up, making it painfully obvious she wasn't wearing a bra again. I slowed my bmw 5 series, the windows thankfully tinted. Those shapely legs encased in ripped fishnets again, velour , leopard print platform boots pounded the avenue, giving the illusion of average height. Her elvish blonde hair was up in a pretty, messy updo, held up hazardly by pins, her layered bangs framed her doll face, she had heroin chic smokey eyes and her lips painted a quietly provocative, nude-brown, almost fawn-colored..tone. safety pins adorned her ear as earrings and a black, patent leather, heart shaped bag dangled from her hands. 

Before I could stop myself, I rolled down the window. I looked like a crazy person, but maybe she wouldn't be too scared, I'm famous enough right? God, that sounded arrogant.

"Hey, hi! " I hope my hazardous greeting didn't come out too harsh. 

She stopped abruptly, looking every bit of the word startled. Like a deer in the headlights, her dark chocolate eyes widened and she looked up before looking around then down.

I felt like a creep, I didn't like seeing that expression on her face but…but this was a rare chance to find her again, it's been an entire month! I can't go through that again, I don't even know her goddamn name!

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to scare you, I know this looks weird." I ran a hand through my curls.

She looked up, a hint of recognition flickered in her eyes before she stared down again.

"I saw your show at the Viper Room last month. But I never got your name, I had to meet my friends and left…".

I didn't really know what else to say.

She crossed her legs a little, bending her knee a bit, biting her sensuous full bottom lip, I felt stirring in my sweats and was glad I was still in the car.

"Madison." 

The angel speaks.

Her speaking voice is as beautiful as her singing voice. Raspy and light, sweet and scratchy. I wanted to record it. 

Madison, Madison,  Madison…I've heard the name so many times but never once did it sound so pretty.

"Madison." I repeated.

She nodded. "Madison." She smiled, it was small but it felt like she gave me the rarest and most valuable gift. I couldn't help but stare, she's so pretty and delicate.

"Kelly, Madison Kelly." She finished,  she had a dreamy sort of tone to her voice, accent a little valley, you could tell she was from around here and not one of the many transients.

Her voice and her smile was healing and satisfying.

"What's your name?'' She was now relaxing a little more, her smile didn't look to be going anywhere and I couldn't get enough of it. 

I wondered if she was humoring me, trying to make me feel more comfortable by feigning ignorance of who I am. It's considerate and sweet. I played along with a smirk. "Timothée. "

She giggled, it strangely made me hard. "That's so cute, such a sweet name." 

I smiled and looked at her. "Why are you walking the street so late? It's dangerous. "

She bit her lip like she was caught doing something naughty. "I ran away."

I frowned, she does look young, but I was hoping at least eighteen, but she's wearing so much makeup she could be sixteen under there.

"From home?"

She smiled, "No, my friends."

I nodded, my eyes roamed her form,  I wanted to measure her wide hips with my hands. 

"Are you heading anywhere in particular?" I couldn't stop myself, I wish I would just shut up and act normal, I didn't want to scare away this…fawn.

Looking closer I see an attractive, rhinestone stud in her nostril, I had the urge and necessity to lick it.

I gripped my steering wheel, she noticed the small detail but didn't say anything. She stared at my hands for a long time.

"I just needed to walk…I get overwhelmed sometimes in crowds." She explained as she hugged the lamp post.

I wish it were my body she clung to…great, Tim you've lost it, you're now jealous of a fucking lamp post.

"You did good with them at the Viper Room."

She smiled,it was faraway and dreamy. "I focus on one person, and pretend I'm only singing to one person." She hid her face against the post and giggled.

I was even more enamored with this adorable little creature.

"We could go to Mel's over there, get a milkshake or coffee or fries or a burger, I don't care. I don't want you to freeze out here."

To my fucking luck and surprise, she nodded and timidly walked over to my car. 

I got out of it, she looked up at me a bit wide eyed, noticing our height difference, had to be about five inches,  and she's wearing platform boots. I smirked as I opened my door. The passenger seat was facing the streets, and even though there aren't many drivers out right now. I didn't want to risk her.

She half stepped in and I half helped her up by her waist. Just touching her, smelling her very rosy, sweet smelling shampoo, I knew I had to sit her down before she would feel her effect on me and think I'm some creep.

I buckled her in, and she watched me with a soft smile. I looked up into her dark doe eyes as I latched the seat belt together, it pressed into her stomach.  I smiled a little and she bit those sinful lips and looked away. I eyed one of the holes of the dress that rested on her plump breast and licked my lips before sitting in the driver's seat and starting the car back up.

I drove us across the street to the parking lot of Mel's. There were a good amount of people there for 3am close to 4, but not packed like it was at midnight. I didn't let Madison get out on her own. I got out so fast and opened her door for her,  reached over and unbuckled her seatbelt, before lifting her by her waist and helping her down delicately.  I hadn't  let her go yet, my thumb gently stroking her prettily wide hips. She didn't seem to be upset, she just held onto my shoulders,  she leaned in and looked around , accidentally her cheek brushes against my chest, it was almost like I was holding her.

"Thank you." She said and then before I knew it, she was out of my arms, heading inside, and thanking the security. 

I followed behind her so fast, I was practically on her ass before taking her soft hand and leading her to the booth farthest away from everyone, trying to avoid being noticed.

We were in the corner and immediately a friendly waiter came over asking us what we would like, but saying hi to Madison, tell her it's always nice seeing her. She giggled and asked him how everything was and I was hideously jealous,  she should be looking at me talking to me that way. It was an absolute thing to do but I interrupted.

"Madi, did you want a milkshake?" My voice sounded a little strained, my fingers twitched, they were a stretch away from hers, the nails not too long, and wore black chipped nail polish.

She was delayed in her response, she slowly looked away from the waiter and looked up at me,  her dreamy eyes made my heart stop and speed up at the same time. Her pouty lips parted and then she smiled, it was sweet and genuine, she looked so happy, and I felt ten feet tall because I made her that happy, not the waiter.

"Can I have this one?" She sweetly slid the menu over to me, pointing to what was called the Lana del Rey milkshake, it was an oreo milkshake with chocolate syrup. 

I smiled at her, sweet girl. "You can have anything you want."

She smiled wide before biting her succulent lip.

I ordered her shake and ordered mine, plain chocolate. I also ordered fries.

"You-uh, smell very nice." Wow Timmy, that was lame.

I looked to see if she was smirking unimpressed,  but the angel before me looked elated, her eyes just completely lit up and she was beaming. "Thank you Timothée,  it's basically samples…perfumes are expensive but…I get samples,  I have a friend who works at Sephora um…yeah I forget which, I sprayed a lot of different ones." She giggled, sitting up a little straighter. 

My eyes gently, briefly glanced at her breasts that bounced. I cleared my throat and dragged my gaze to her warm, deep eyes. "Your voice is beautiful, do you sing for a living?"

She was flustered at the compliment, aside she didn't know she was amazing. "I sometimes sing. Like once a month, it's a cover band called Rapture, we always cover Blondie or Anita Lane usually, sometimes others." 

I don't know who Anita Lane is but I'm a little familiar with Blondie, I like what I've heard. Seems like my little fawn is a nostalgic girl, which is very sexy. 

"What do you do when you don't sing like an angel?" Our shakes arrived and I thanked the waiter.

She did too before wrapping those cocksucking lips around the straw, unintentionally so distracting. "My keyboardist, Kyle, he does indie films, they're very artsy, he likes to film me…and he likes me to perform at his art shows too." She ended in a gossamer, shy tone.

I was enthralled, she's an intriguing nymph of a girl, it would make sense someone would capture her beauty and present it as exactly what she is, art.

Time was irrelevant with her, I don't remember her eating my fries but I do remember the moment when my heart decided it was hers.

It was nearly six in the morning when we left the diner. She was rubbing her smokey eyes adorably like a sleepy toddler. I carried her into my car and she tiredly gave me the address to where she lives.

I watched the sun rise on her face until we were at an apartment building in koreatown. I carried her to the fifth floor, she fumbled with her keys and opened the door. With the prettiest sleepy,  doe eyes, gorgeously smudged with makeup, she said goodnight Timmy…I didn't see her for a year.

—---------------------♡♡♡♡♡♡—--------------------

Madison's POV

I called Kyle Kimberley a liar and closed the door in his face when he told me Amazon wanted to pick up his movie. 

We've known each other since special Ed math, at Venice High school. He's the only friend from high school I still had, and I'm very glad. He's always been there for me and has never been toxic.

For as long as I can remember he's had a fascination with film and nostalgia. He likes how they used to do it and looks up to David lynch, Neil Jordan, Joe Schumacher… 

He even uses the same camera as Lost Boys and the company of wolves.

He looks like a mix of 80s Kyle Maclachlan and Cole Sprouse. Everything he wears and owns is from a thrift store and he smells like clove cigarettes and Aramis. 

Sea, Swallow Me, was the film they picked up. It's about a runaway trans teenage girl from Paris, Texas. She named herself Holli Daryl, after Holli Would in Cool world, and Daryl Hannah. The movie starts out at dusk, her parents come home to find the movie Splash playing, a note on pink paper written in violet crayon with Lisa Frank stickers detailing how Holli (her dead name, Connor) made sure their neighbors The Weiss's were watching their Doberman, Billy so he wouldn't witness her becoming a mermaid. They found her drowning herself in the pool, the movie volume on high. They then committed Holli to a mental hospital. After one week at Esperanza Valley Mental Hospital, fifteen year old Holli meets psychologist Dr. Lewis Reed, they have an affair and she loses her virginity to him, he gets her hormones and despite her being too young, he gets his surgeon friend to give her sex reassignment surgery. A year at Esperanza Valley, Dr. Reed's wife, Amanda, shows up, she finds out about her husband's affair. She shoots him in the head and then shoots herself.

Holli is devastated and runs away, Dr. Reed was the only one who protected her from the abuse at the hospital and the main security was always trying to sexually assault her. She hitchhiked, on her way to Los Angeles. In Tucson, at a truck stop at two in the morning, she comes across a handsome, 27 year old drifter named Axel, who's played by my ex boyfriend, Fallon Robbins, and lead singer of our cover band.

They fall in love right away, before having sex, Holli tells Axel that she's trans and he tells her he doesn't care. The movie surrounds their toxic, obsessive love, Holli doesn't shy away from Axel's possessiveness because she's never felt love. 

Kyle paid a lot of money to have the Cocteau twins play music for the soundtrack.

He had one viewing at an AMC in Inglewood, someone saw it and he got a call.

The big Hollywood  premiere is a week after Coachella,  it's incredible. I feel surreal, couldn't believe this was happening to Kyle and that they want interviews with me. Designers have been sending me clothes, I couldn't believe it. Kyle bought a suite at Hotel Marmont like the classics he said. 

The cast and crew of Kyle's film were given tickets to Coachella from Amazon,  like a promotion. 

Coachella never was our thing, we liked mainly music before the 21st century. But it'll be fun, I'm sure of it. There were all expenses paid for staying at the Paloma Resort, which gave me a Palm Springs feel.

Everything has-been so wonderful,  everyone so kind. But when I checked into my room I collapsed onto the bed feeling empty.

A feeling I haven't been able to rid myself of since I met Timothee.

I ended up finding out he's a very famous actor. I don't watch too many new things so I was a little clueless.  But now I know and I have seen some of his projects, I am impressed, I am bewitched and melancholy. 

I miss the man I met once who smelled like weed and laundry detergent, who bought me milkshakes and shared his fries. Anytime I go to Mel's I now sit at that seat.

The morning after I left I lost my phone, I must have left it at the diner in the bathroom. 

I feel so stupid crying right now, on one of the best days of my life.

Kyle knocked on the door. "Madi, get dressed, we're heading over soon."

 Sniffling, I wiped my eyes. "Okay!"

I got up and took off my Edward Scissorhands t-shirt, I stripped out of my split denim shorts and black Vans hi-tops. I reapplied my strawberry and vanilla deodorant. I turned on my Spotify and Love my Way flooded the room. I washed my face with aloe vera cleanser and slapped on a tony moly sheet mask. I washed my vagina always making sure to take extra care, I was careful about what I put in and on my body, so many things could go wrong with my situation. I brushed my teeth and finished prepping, I left my hair in its natural , bleached, ringlets, adding some curl cream and mousse and gel, doing a slight wet look. I recreated Rose McGowans '98 MTV awards dress, chain link, chain mail, dress that left nothing to the imagination. It's Coachella and you gotta dress risqué. 

I'm a little curvy and like any human have a million and one insecurities, but at the same time I have this weird, perverse compulsion to expose my thick thighs, ample backside, and soft stomach. I was proud of my breasts, though, they turned out perfect and they're the only thing on my body that doesn't make me cringe. I zippledup my patent vegan leather, grommet stiletto boots with the Patrick charm, adding some accessories, I decided to wear a lot of eyeliner, black glittery eyes, and deep red lips. I sprayed on Persian rose by Pacifica and grabbed my star-shaped sunglasses and velvet rat-shaped purse.

Kyle and I headed to the festival together, he looked fabulous in silver faux leather overall shorts, and silver docs, black eyeshadow, black eyeliner, lip gloss, and black curtains of hair falling in his face. 

"This entire year has felt like dementia…" he then grinned at me. "But in a good way."

"In the best way, you've worked so hard Kyle, this is all you. I'm so proud of you." I exclaimed.

"Oh please, you gorgeous girl, your looks and uncanny talent of penetrating the audience with your skills got me here, you're like the black Pam Anderson with the talent of Isabella Rosselini!"

"You're dramatic, and Pamela is very skinny remember?"

"You're right her body is nowhere near as great as yours, very Kim Petras."

I laughed and rolled my eyes. Kyle does not allow me to trash myself, I'm very lucky to have him.

"Okay stop talking in celebrity, it's very Gilmore Girls."

It was a little difficult but we found the Empire Polo club  where the festival takes place. Everyone looked amazing like they were going to a rave in a fairy realm, there was a lot of energy. 

"I am counting the moments to where I'll be beautifully Byroned. " Kyle said as he headed to VIP parking.

"So fucked up?" I giggled.

"Mmm" he responded with a secret smile. "Let's go." He grabbed his fanny pack and we both got out of his white Jeep Gladiator.

He held my hand and we walked together,  phones were out and people were calling our names. I kept my head down, it was surreal, it was wild. I was nobody and now I'm the indie, trans actress from an American art film.

I saw no reason to keep being trans a secret, I'm proud of who I am and my journey, I never desired fame. This was all sudden and while I'm used to being on stage and small clubs, crowds like this made my anxiety spike. Kyle rubbed my back to calm me down as he smiled and said hello.

I wanted to say hi and be nice to all these people being so kind and supportive of me, but it's hard to deal with that much attention at once. I need to gather myself. I felt guilty. 

Once in, I took deep breaths relaxing a little. Kyle rubbed my arm. "Babes, you wait right here, I'll be right back, I'm going to get us tacos and cerveza,  okay? You alright now?"

I nodded with a smile. He smiled back and kissed my head before heading to the food trucks.

I didn't want to immediately go to VIP, Kyle and I discussed that we didn't want to be closed off to people. God, it's so weird that we have to think about that. Last year, we were broke with 3 different jobs in our Koreatown apartment, spending too many nights at the Viper Room, the whiskey, the rainbow, Barneys…we were poor skater kids who went to Venice High School. Now look at us.

I drank some water I brought with me, sipping and feeling a lot better and looked around.

"Madison?"

My heart stopped, hearing the voice that has plagued my dreams every night. I turned around to see Timothée. 

Timothée's POV

I couldn't wait for Coachella, I needed a serious distraction. My friends didn't understand how one girl could have such an effect on my everyday life.

But she was always the only thing, she invoked the passion in my acting, the anger of her not returning my texts and calls, the sadness of losing something someone that could have been, the uncontrollable lust to fuck her so hard she can never walk away from me again, and the pure and utter joy I get tickling in my intestines whenever I think of how her eyes lit up when I got her that strawberry milkshake.  When I kissed when I made love on screen, it was her I was touching, it was her tongue I was sucking, it was her body I was slamming against the wall.

Seeing her buxom figure lazily contained in dripping chains, no effort to disguise any bit of delicious, fawn-colored flesh, just a flimsy, French cut black thong, but sizable, round, Hazel colored nipples bounced on display. Her body is soft and lusty, its statuesque and stacked.  Her ass is thick, ample, and bouncy, a quarter would certainly bounce off of it with no trouble. 

I desired nothing more than to have my head crushed by her luscious thighs. I swallowed as my eyes traveled up her comely form to the ideal face, heart shaped with a wide jaw, hugely plump lips painted in an obscene dessert shade of candied-strawberry red, I wanted to eat them on a plate, cover them and sugar and devour them slowly. Her wide, dark eyes were even bigger due to the smoky paint around them. Her white-gold ringlets bounced in perfect layers around her doll-like face, tickling her shoulders.

She's so little, probably around 5'2 without the stiletto boots that made her legs look long.

I nearly fell to my knees like I was in her cult to worship her at her altar.

I wanted to be angry, to demand a fucking explanation for ghosting me. But she looked so damn happy at the sight of me, her eyes lit up again, her honey skin glistening like gold in the California sun, and maybe it made me an idiot but, I slid over to her.

I caressed my hand up her neck, my other gently claimed her soft hip. If this all goes awry, I'll blame the copious amount of weed I smoked and how soft her silky beige skin feels beneath my fingers, how fucking unfairly good she smells- what is that? Roses? One million and one? I was a goner. Stupidly I focused on her pillowy, blood colored mouth as I just rubbed them with mine, I just had to feel them just a feel…not a kiss…but I broke that promise when she sighed so softly and gossamer, pressing her mouth against mine with starvation. 

[icefrozendeadlyqueen]

Enforcers | Reader-Insert

Warning: being held against one will. Syringes.

Summary: They manage to catch an unbelivable job. They didnt read the small print.

a/n: Sorry for the many mistake. I wrote it on mobile! Hope you enjoy! Setting an introduction.

eye color = (e/c)

your name = (y/n)

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

3 years ago…

When (y/n) open the door, they saw a group of girls, who looked very likely around their age. One girl sat on a chair headset on ignoring her surroundings. She was shorter than the rest, with luscious and long, silver blonde hair, and violet eyes.

One sat on the floor, her legs crossed, her hands shaking nonstop. She has shoulder length, brown hair, and eyes (y/n) tries not to stare at her for too long. It’s the polite thing to do at this point.

The last girl rushed to the door, stopping right in front of them. She has silky waist long hair, and brown eyes, (y/n) jumped back stumbling into something behind them.

(y/n) breaths their face turn back, their heart ring uncontrollably expecting the worst, another girl stood frozen brown eyes locking instantly with theirs. She didn't move; she didn’t seem to breathe either. She has thick brunette hair as black as an enforcers soul or so the rumors say.

"She is the last one, x". The girl behind x loudly calls out clapping her hands in some sort of amusement.

(y/n) stands away from x turning fully to see the other girl. Shoulder length black hair with brown eyes, piercing like a medieval sword, felt her looking into their soul.

"(y/n)". They muttered.

"Taletha. Stop. You will scare the newcomer". x grumbled, majorly annoyed by the tone of her voice. X extends her hands past them, a plastic bag on her hands held merely by one finger, the girl behind (y/n) grabbed it muttering a simple thanks.

"Refreshments are here! Ava catch!".

x grabs them by their shoulders turning them around. The room that hardly held anything but two chairs and a coffee table. The girl with the thin bag, its a miracle it held anything, throws a refreshment to the girl on the floor. A simple, "thanks". Escapes Ava after catching it. She opens her drink not caring about anyone else around.

(y/n) gets pushed forward by the girls behind them. They take another step, they are all wearing the same white gown, they seem to be forced to wear. Except, 3 people.

"lluthra. Headset girl all black gown". x points back to the girl at the back seat. She glances up to acknowledge their back, violet eyes look into her soul, momentarily looking back away. Her refreshments held by her by an invisible force, "what... the... fck...", (y/n) whispers, their eyes most be picking on them right now.

"Redamancy in the middle. She obviously is our personal chaotic witch", x proclaims her fingers guide their face to stare at the long blonde girl. Her feet are crossed above the floor far beyond what any human can do. A scream tries to escape them, no sound comes out. Some red energy her hands like birds flapping their wings like gravity doesn’t exist.

The other girls were not scared by her, neither seemed nervous or even frightened. They seem happy to have been given the opportunity of such inhumanity.

"You missed the sixth round. We were supposed to receive our powers together". x blurts slightly disappointed. They turn their (e/c) clashes with brown eyes for some type of understanding.

"You will understand in a little bit". Her arms lock around her throat and rib cage. (y/n) screams trashing to escape to no vail.

"This will only hurt a bit". Taletha blurts, they felt a sting on their right arm. A syringe on her hand some purple liquid it held. They trash more screaming, swinging their legs and arms to be let go. X hold only tighten as their body lose all consciousness slowly like each part decided now to shut down.

"This is initiation rookie". (y/n) black out after that no longer able to remember much. What the hell did they sign up for? This wasn’t in the job description.

[pastelphantasia]

my religii: past*L

goals of my empyyr [[[past*L]]]:

B00K WUN: UUN!VERSAL PEACE

Zzz. uuniversal peace!!

Zzz. ZERO DEATH

Zzz. ZERO PAIN

Zzz. ZERO SUFFERING

Zzz. MURDER OF MURDERERS IS MURDER TOO.

Zzz. ZERO HELL

Zzz. ZERO WAR

Zzz. ZERO D E A T H ROW. PEACE ROW INSTEAD

B00K TWO: L0CHNESS

Zzz. lochness, narwhal, moon dreamers, stacey™ barbie to with lavender eyes, exotykka stacey™ with lavender eyes, kawaii, wynken &blynken &nod, and fantasia everything and revelations of them [my o w n characters and creatures. invented by moi!!] printed on my klothes and just... o n everything, head*to*toe. plus make them alone the new like polka dot and stuff too. the new pattern. cause polka dots and stripes and all those are like some of the world's most repetitively, annoyingly, uunimaginatively worn things. and i just somehow never see lochness and narwhals in haute fashion magazines in patterns on the clothes or even anywhere at all. it's so stupid. and i bought like allll of the mags for the longest time... so stupid.

Zzz. lochness zippers. S. pastel exotica joseph's coat rose zippers where every part's like a different color.

Zzz. joseph's coat rose everything... barely*there yellow rose everything. barely-there green rose everything. succulent plant everything.

Zzz. go overboard with wearing innovative pajamas out of the house and wearing innovative rompers out of the house....

Zzz. have your stuphh custom*made phor uu by a haute couture designer or haute make it on your own.

Zzz. chinese checkers, string figure games, and stiruup pants everything and revelations of them [moi own ideas again] everything!!!

Zzz. black-eyed peas (the food) everything. cranberry sauce everything. honey wheat bread everything.

Zzz. seaphoam green, teal, and coral everything. seaphoamista. tealista. coralista.

Zzz. bring bakk moondreamers.™

Zzz. i'm making stiruup pants my jeans. then if i d o wear jeans they can be stirrup pant jeans. but only if they're really rare. cause the world will never stop with jeans and I don't like it. yikes. and i wanna make stirrup pant: PJ's, panty hose, thigh-highs, onesies\rompers. and striruup pants of all haute innovative kinds kan be to me what like red lipstick is to gwen stefauni and what jeans are to the boring, boring w o r l d . gwen:redlipstick=me:stiruuppants.

Zzz. ZER0 pockets or peaking pockets or triangular pockets as often as everyone wears plain, same*old pockets… especially on stirrup pants!!

Zzz. stirrup shirts. where stirrups can just go around her hands. or something' like it.

Zzz. lima bean, penne, and water chestnut everything.

Zzz. a lot of barely-there-yellow sprinkled with red, purple, and green... like vegan macaroni salad.

Zzz. blossom print's like one of the only normal prints i wanna keep.

Zzz. white*chocolate*white everything.

Zzz. female lochness and narwhal exotykka chinese checkers board games... eye want to sell them with my fashion lines!!!

Zzz. make string figure game fishnet panty hose in exotykka dusk colors . . .

Zzz. lochness and narwhal *sequined lipgloss!!

Zzz. lochness monster, narwhal, and\or centaurette *sequined, thiKk, exotica pastel false lashes are my black mascara.

Zzz. universal peaceagain. eye*m peaceable. yayy.

Zzz. i'm a people*person and a peacemaker.

Zzz. dye narwhals and lochness into your hair.

B00K THREE: P H A U N *

Zzz. phaun (gwen stephauni) + gog (lady gaga) + catra\shear

Zzz. make your own symbol like Vivienne westwood's 0rb out of like string figure games and the chinese checkers board star and lochness and narwhals or somethin'.

Zzz. dye haire platinum blonde sometimes but:

💛 o n l y as a k a n v a s .

Zzz. try platinum blonde with: a teal underside and a seaphoam green shell pattern on top… z. i want barely*there*yellow square patches on the underside in with the top layer dyed australian shepherd puppii print (all patchy) in pastel dusk colors. i want square dyed patches of different pastel colors: lavender, barely there yello, lilac, periwinkL, and nevereth pink (joseph's coat rose plus lilac!!!) australian shepherd patches of different colors like pastel joseph's coat rose colors… magenta and barely-there yellow giraffe print dyed into it with a lavender underside. etk la la la la la la la.™

...your name will never change...

Zzz. gwen mix and don't match barbie™ infinitii. no one will ever not match. i'd rather friggin like lochness c l a s h . but only iff it's lochness clashing...

Zzz. make the string figure game shapes and the chinese checkers star shape into patterns too.

Zzz. phorm band: the lola's coat roses of past*L.

Zzz. my\our discography rough drafted:

Zzz. go on werld tour.

Zzz. travel werld.

Zzz. ssey(see) everything!!!

Zzz. go to maya.

Zzz. australia.

Zzz. tokyo.

Zzz. paris.

Zzz. everywhere nice in california.

Zzz. back to the b a n d .

Zzz. frontwoman.

Zzz. stage name: past*L Lochness Lola dusk pearLike.

Zzz. past*L= i am so past hell. like, hell's wrong. no one should have ever gone. no one should die. ever. it doesn't defend anyone. 🏵🌺☀🎈

Zzz. to symbolize salvation& peace between heaven, the earth, and hell: devil and demon gone fairytale - {{asymmetrical} (long then short) flouffy pastel exotykka horns [like john galliano's for dior {above and\\ bel0} and red or orange or yellow tiger-striped wuns). devil gone storybook. ({short} flouffy pouffy demon horns in violet, ruby, marigold and emerald). devil gone nursery rhyme (wynken, blynken, nod in partik). demonology gone enchantress (princess hats used as horns). demonology gone fantasia (magenta, yell0 and lavender flouffy, fluffy horns for tails. innovatyvv fashionyysta.) all like the j.g. haute horns in the above and below pictures.

Zzz. make lochness and narwhal chinese checkers and string figure games and sell them with yer fash line...

Zzz. obsessively clean out vivienne westwood!!! have her 0rb everywhere!!!!

Zzz. serendipity should be a more popular phorm of phate than it is.

Zzz. e p h e r v e s c ! k a everything!!! [see lipstick and lipgloss bel0.]

Zzz. be rich and famous like p h a u n * (gwen stefani). and ari m. and riri. and gog. put together.

Zzz. 4 mansions in tahiti. 4 mansions in kentucky. 4 mansions in california.

Zzz. wear bindis as often as people wear black maskara, too. er in p l a c e of blakk maskara. and follow and set bindi and bindi*like trends . . . mookaite bindis, mookaite thigh bands, horse of a different color bindis, face paint, stamps

Zzz. form tribes of rare deities to go on oddysseys and voyages with you and write and perform ballads and odes with you. the dreamlike tribe. the pastimesstruck tribe. the dazestruck crew. the dream*struck tribe. the splendrou tribe. etk.

Zzz. form crews. to go on crusades with...

Zzz. come up with oddysseys and voyages to go on… diversify oddyssey. magnetyyzm oddyssey. oddysseys to save the narwhals. 💜 enigma voyage. dynamic voyage. voyage to phind the lochness monster. etk.

Zzz. come up with crusades for you and your crews to go on.

Zzz. name your daughter(s): tigerlily (lola dusk mcgregor), pearadis (leila mcgregor), stargazely (lilah mcgregor), sighberia (leelee pearlie mcgregor)... they're like my kingston, zuma, and apollo but with girls. the boys (so far) would be: tigra (lynus joseph mcgregor) and horna (lionel howard mcgregor \"howie"). and I don't have the other two figured out yet.

Zzz. so clearly i want 4 kids: girls, boys, or a mix and they'll be my favorite things!!!!!

Zzz. eye hart lipheii!! 💛💛💛

Zzz. make tiger print as popular as cheetah print. and in white and with pastel exotykka stripes. or pastel exotykka with white stripes. phauxii phaux, of course.

Zzz. mookaite everything while everyone else does amethyst:

[mookaite's the purple, orange, and brown beads and it's said moo-kite! hehe...]

Zzz. i wanna invent an even cuter and a zillion times rarer old english text font than there's ever been.

Zzz. iwanna pioneer!!! like amelia ear(air)heart! yay!! like set trends, be inventive, be the first to duu something as cool and legendary as i kan!

Zzz. asymmetry genius.

an eiffel ((eyeful)) horse of a different color is a(') becoming bluugrass state of mind

Zzz. overdo it on supermodel*y stuphh. and beaudy queen stuphh. glow-getter makeup

Zzz. tribal face paint should be the new eyeshad0w. [like v.w.'s - vivienne westwood's bel0w on a model]

Zzz. learn to speak japanese.

Zzz. dye japanese symbols in your hair in phunn colors like pepperoncini color or blueberry tart nyx lipstick color as often as people have their hair au naturale or dyed natural colors . . . like: 虎 (tiger.) and just anything else i might want it to say.

Zzz. mongolian, moroccan, tibetan, czechoslovakian, albanian, aboriginal, lebanese, and turkish fashion made exotykka haute stacey™™™ barbie™ fashionista haute!!

[to be continued...]

[zombiewhor3]

i was wondering if you could make a rick grimes x reader fluff! <33

A FAMILY?

rick grimes x fem reader (season 5 era)

WARNINGS: reader has slight baby fever, young Judith, Alexandria era, cuddly Rick, soft reader/Rick, really just some fluffy stuff,

a/n: sorry for not posting my break ended so i had to go back to school and it's been hectic making up assignments and trying to get everything back in order, i've also been sick all week so enjoy this fluffy request while i try and catch up on more posts and stories to make up for the time i have been gone !!

she hummed softly as she lifted the once whining Judith into her arms, now she was happy as a clam and babbling while she carried a stuffed toy in her hand, y/n smiled as she looked over at the still sleeping Rick who just looked to damn peaceful to wake.

She sat with Judith while pulling off a story book Daryl had found on one of the runs thinking that maybe Judith would've liked it and sure as hell she did, her eyes brightened each time she looked at the bright colored pages and the illustrations, her hand ran over the bunnies that were drawn out on the page.

the light coffee colored pages had small paragraphs of words printed in black ink and a pretty font that y/n had started to read aloud to her, Judith sat back in her arms holding onto the bunny she had while she was focused on the book.

she was just a little over a year old so she was so focused on touching and exploring everything around her, she giggled hearing y/n say the words peter rabbit to her with a bright smile on her face.

Rick had heard the giggle as he flipped around flickering his eyes open to see the two sitting on the love seat in the room, he smiled so bright he thought he was going to explode.

"morning sunshines" he spoke covering himself in the white bed-sheets watching as y/n looked up at him, his daughter to focused on the book to even such as look up at him.

"morning sheriff" y/n teased sitting up with Judith in her arms and placing her down against the bed, she had thought about her own kid with Rick, she thought about giving a sibling to Carl and Judith.

she simply just wanted a family with rick, "what are you thinking about? i can the gears in your brain turning" rick asked propping Judith up against his chest as she fiddled with the book happily content with the pages she couldn't read yet.

"just a family" she spoke rubbing some of Judith's blonde hair from her face while she smiled softly, "the one we have now with all our friends or the family with Judith and Carl?" Rick asked while he rubbed his thumb in circles over the soft skin of her thigh.

"i mean the second one yes, but a new addition to the family would be a better way to put it i guess" she admitted looking down at his hand still rubbing small circles on her.

"like a baby? like Judith?" he asked watching her nod her head she knew it was stupid, she knew it was reckless but somehow someway she just wanted it so damn bad.

"tell you what if things blow over well in the next few months i will give you a baby, hell i'll give you as many as you want" he spoke with a smug smile and a wink referring to the baby making part.

"one little angel will do"

[lethalchiralium]

You Leave Me Wounded And Bleeding | Simon “Ghost” Riley x Wife!Reader

a/n: the long awaited 1940s simon fic!! it’s been done for a while but i just had to tweak a lot so i’m able to write the second part :)

warnings: 1940s-Immediately after the End of WWII. 3RD PERSON - Heartbreak, mourning - let me know if I missed anything!

summary: It’s September 9th, 1945, the trains are running non-stop to bring soldiers home. Wounded, alive, and dead - families wait on the platforms, desperately awaiting the arrival of their family member. Those crowds would include you - Mrs. Simon Riley, awaiting the love of your life who has been deployed as long as the war had been waged.

REMINDER: This is a side-blog, not my main! If you have any questions, feel free to message this blog or reblog! Reblogs are always appreciated - as well as any comments, they keep me motivated to write stuff like this!

Dear Simon,

I am writing to you this in case something happens. Something I cannot think about, something that can very well happen and I don’t wish to dwell upon it. These words are the only way I can express it if I am no longer able to voice them.

There was thunderous applause in the square, surrounding the gray train station. Screaming, crying, cheering - loudness that she’s never heard before in her small town. She was one to steer clear of the loud noises, to sit away from the excitement in a small cafe or bookstore in the town square. Maybe walk around the plaza, take the time to enjoy the sun.

This September day was different - much different. The always fresh air tasted stale, the bright green trees began to grow gray. Her deep blue dress swished against her shins as she struggled through the crowds of cheering women, crying children, and proud and grieving parents. She glanced around the crowd, noticing how most of the people were draped in grays and blacks - mourning colors. She looked away from them, towards a glass encased list of names.

You’ve written me almost every week during this horrible time, about every thought and moment that caused you pain. It hurts me to know that I cannot ease your agony. It pains me that I cannot be by your side, even for a fleeting moment. You have such a kind soul, Simon Riley. I can only imagine how it will all of this affect you after the war.

A kind hand gently grabbed her wrist, the woman in deep blue jumped in her skin before turning to see a familiar face. An elderly woman she had grown to know in the past few years, a woman she often visited as the elderly woman was her neighbor. Her name was Mavis, her husband had died in the first World War and her only two daughters were nurses now. Mavis knew why she had arrived at the plaza today - she was a patient woman, a gentle voice that the woman in blue desperately needed.

“Will I see you when you arrive home tonight?” Mavis inquired, her black shawl draped over her front. She looked frail in the gray dress she wore, her feet buckled in worn gray kitten heels.

The taller woman in deep blue heels shrugged. “It depends, Mavis.” It depends if I will be coming home without him.

“He will come home to you, darling.” The old woman smiled gently, still holding onto her wrist. She gave it a squeeze, the woman in blue gave Mavis a soft smile.

“I’ve been hoping he does.”

Even long after your letters have stopped arriving, no British Army soldiers have appeared upon our doorstep yet - no telegrams have graced my fingers with your name upon them. That must mean something, right? That you are safe, breathing? For the past two and a half years, I’ve waited for your return; not to mention the three years before that. The danger is gone now, Simon, and you’re not here. They’ve been arriving by the train load for the past week, and none of the lists have your name.

Mavis had let go of Mrs. Riley’s hand and let her be, let her gaze at the large white pages with printed names in black ink. She was still too far to read any names, she still pushed though the crowd - getting closer. She watched as women in white walked away sobbing, or women in black excitedly running towards the train platform.

Fear trembled in Mrs. Riley’s blood, the purse that sat in her left hand felt too heavy, the air felt suffocating as the crowd pushed her towards the board. Today was the first day she felt like this, pain in her heart and fear in her lungs. Maybe today was the day she would see his name on the board, written with the same black ink as the rest of the soldiers coming home to Manchester. She was only behind five more people before she would be at the front of the crowd, reading quickly to find his name - maybe the names of his friends too. She’s met Soap and Gaz before, it has been a long time since she’s even seen Price. Maybe the mysterious Alejandro and Rudy will appear, even though their home is across the world - All living and breathing, she hoped.

Another step forwards, closer to the board as an older gentleman and lady both turned away from the board in tears - the young woman beside them with a teenage boy laughed with excitement. They moved away, she grew closer. She could almost read the names on the papers now.

I musn’t worry, I know you will come back to me. You have a habit of keeping promises, my love - as well as secrets.

“Move it along!” The conductor shouted as he came towards the board, shooing away more people as she quickly scanned the names now that she could read them. She started with the Gs, reading quickly.

Gardner, KIA. Garrett, Garrett, Garrett, KIA…

Garrick, Kyle. Sergeant. Gaz.

She felt hope filter into chest, at least one of them made it - she moved to the Ms.

MacDonald, KIA. MacDonald…

MacTavish, John. Sergeant.

Thank God, Soap. She remembered to breathe then, hurriedly going to the Ps as she noticed that the list was much shorter than yesterday. She didn’t dare dwell on it.

Powell, KIA. Powell. Price, Price, KIA…

Price, John. Captain.

Another step forwards, two more people had gone and now she only had the elderly couple ahead of her. They had worn white as a symbol of hope, as have many of the other families awaiting their turn to read the list. She read the Rs, her heart beating out of her chest like a train engine.

I’ve heard stories from wives, whispers among the streets about some soldiers coming home and no longer being themselves. They’re hollow, lifeless - I’ve seen a few myself. It is like the undead have invaded Manchester, they walk about with no emotion in their eye, no care for their family as they walk beside them. I’ve watched them from our bookstore, watching as their small children tug on their father’s hands and he vaguely responds with a lifeless smile, sending them away from himself. Their wives do not give away any note of worry, perfect smiles and small touches to their husbands as if to comfort them in a small way. It’s not hard to recognize the wife’s pain, it’s a pain I hope I will never know.

Radley. KIA. Raines. KIA. Redgrave. Ridley. Ridley. Rigley. KIA. Rivers. KIA. Robbins. KIA.

I’m scared, Simon.

A rougher hand grabbed her arm then, she didn’t look away. She kept rereading the list. Today is the last day for arrivals, she knew that. She has known that for the past week. Where was his name? Where was Lieutenant Simon Riley?

“Mrs. Riley,” A soft voice came from the person pulling her away, she kept staring at the board as it grew smaller. She almost stumbled, tripping over herself before she turned to look at the man who knew her.

Gaz.

“Are you alright?” She asked the man in pea green, he looked bewildered. They were now just outside of the crowd, he rolled his shoulders. “You aren’t harmed?”

“Mrs. Riley, there is no need for you to worry about me.” Gaz placed a hand on the strap of his dufflebag that was across his chest, he had a concerned look on his face. “Have you seen Soap? He had gotten off of the train with me, I’ve been looking for Price-“

Her hand gently pushed Gaz backwards, away from the crowd. The soldier had let her, her hand left his arm as she led him towards a bench. She sat down, smoothing out her dress and crossing her ankles. Her dark shoes were sort of scuffed, she stared at it for a moment before looking back up at her husband’s friend. He looked upon the train station, seeing the crowd began to dissipate slowly.

“Mr. Garrick,” She whispered, hoping he would hear her just like Simon would. But he just kept watching, waiting. “Gaz.”

Gaz turned his head to look at her, his face solemn. “Yes, ma’am?”

“Please, just call me by my name.” She answered, she then patted the bench. “Sit with me.” The wind picked up then, rippling through her straightened and victory rolled hair - the common style that she hated. Her normal hair was beautiful - is what Simon would always say, gently pet it against her head. If she wished hard enough, she could feel his hand touch her cheek. She closed her eyes then, letting the wind breeze her face without the malice of a dull world.

“I haven’t-“

“Is there someone waiting for you, Mr. Garrick?”

Terrified, really. What if you do not step off that train tomorrow? What will I do if I must return home in silence, no longer in your grasp? No longer sleep without the knowledge that you’ll be coming home?

Her eyes fluttered open as the gentleman sat on the bench, a couple of feet away. He didn’t even look at her, his eyes staring at the station. “No, ma’am.”

“I see.” She answered. “You are welcome in my home, just until you’re able to get on your feet.” She looked towards the train station again, her hands sat like stone in her lap, her purse against her shoes. “The invitation is extended to Mr. MacTavish, Mr. Parra and Mr. Price as well, should you see them - even Mr. Vargas if he makes his presence known.”

“Are you leaving?” Gaz asked and the woman didn’t offer an answer, only silence as she watched families in black walk with either their loved one in their arms or a folded flag. She didn’t know what he was asking - was she leaving the plaza or was she leaving Manchester?

“I’m not sure.” She commented to the air, recounting the past week and knowing that Gaz could hear her. “It’s been a very long time since I’ve had company in my home.” She patted her dress again when she changed the subject, a nervous habit. “Many of my own friends in Poland and the Netherlands have perished.” She brushed off invisible dust from her lap, smiling sadly. “I’m afraid I no longer have any friends.”

“Mrs. Riley, you’re my friend.” Gaz commented, looking at her as she still stared at the train station. “Ghost has done all of us well, told us many times that you are a person with a kind heart. I’m very glad you decided not to just ignore me earlier.” He sort of chuckled, then continued. “Look, Mrs. Riley, I haven’t seen Ghost since March. I was moved to a different unit, he was upset with me when I left. Not sure if he’d want to see me-“

“Mrs. Riley!” Came a loud Scottish boom, Gaz’s head swiveled towards the train station as she stood, she would have smiled but the information Gaz gave her sent an arrow into her heart. The Scot slid his bag across the pavement to Gaz before wrapping the woman in a tight embrace, rocking her side to side as he chirped, “Oh, lass, how I have missed you so!” He kissed her cheek, his smile as wide as the moon. “You won’t believe what they’ve fed me!”

Well, I suppose I haven’t had that knowledge since February, but it still feels crushing to say. What will I do if you return to me and you are no longer yourself? I know war must change a man but I’m not sure how I will live if I never see your smile again.

“Soap, you’ll squeeze the poor woman to death.” Gaz’s hand grabbed Soap’s shoulder and the Scot let go of her, his hands held onto her shoulders.

“How are you, bonnie? Still workin’ at that measly book store?” Soap looked like he had not slept in weeks, the poor thing.

She shrugged. “Yes.“

“Gaz, lad, how’re you?” Soap then turned away from her, almost strangling Gaz when he hugged him. Soap then began to babble on to him, while she watched the train station again, seeing how it was now becoming less crowded, yet…

There was a man with a boonie hat on, walking towards them with just a small bag. And it felt like someone had grabbed a hold of her ankle and pulled her underwater, she couldn’t scream, cry- Breathe. Just breathe.

She felt something in her heart then, but it wasn’t confirmation. No, she wouldn’t get confirmation until her fingers brushed his dog tag - the only one she would receive from the British Army would be the red one, the hardened rubber imprinted with his identification number, religion, his first initial and Riley.

“Mr. Price.” Her voice was a whisper, the gentleman raised his head to look at her.

What will I do if you do not return? Will I become like the hundreds of widowed wives, crying forever and waiting for their husband’s remains to return home? Will I be able to go to the plaza everyday, knowing that you’ve touched this place before? Will I be able to stay in our home that you’ve put sweat and blood into, just for us? I can’t think anymore of it.

“Mr. Price, please.” She walked towards him, her steps uneasy. She could feel her heart in her throat as it constricted, the air becoming sour as he came closer. The world began to lose her focus, her hands at her side. The man finally stopped, a few feet from her.

He took off his hat and held out his hand.

“Mrs. Riley.”

Her right hand trembled when she held it up, taking his hand and he shook it.

“Please.” Her request made Soap and Gaz go quiet, she placed her left hand upon Price’s. The Captain merely stared at her. “You have to know something about Simon.”

Price merely whispered your name. “You haven’t seen his name on the boards?”

All color drained from Price’s face, and Soap’s hand touched her shoulder. She looked up to Soap, his friendly excitement was now gone. “He isn’t here?”

I don’t think I could ever understand it, that I would ever want to. We’ve talked about it, but it still doesn’t make the ache in my soul any lighter. I cannot think of you anymore, it feels like my heart is playing a melancholy tune on a piano well beyond its years; playing a song I never knew it had memorized. And it’s like my fingers are stuck to the keys, dancing ever so slowly as if the crescendo in the sheet music keeps darting away. The climax of our story hasn’t even crossed the page yet; I keep playing this haunted tune and I don’t want to anymore.

“Y/N, what do you mean he’s not here?”

I want to rip my fingers from the keys and push myself away from the piano. But I only play this tune as I wait for you, only when you’re away from me. What will I do if this will be the only song I can play for the rest of my life?

Her knees went weak then, she almost collapsed if it wasn’t for Soap grabbing her, quickly placing her on the bench before kneeling in front of her. Price did the same, both men held one of her hands.

“No list has had Ghost on it? At all?” Price questioned, tears didn’t even dare reach her eyes. All she could do was stare at the train station, seeing how the train had gone - only a handful of people remained. She could count on both her hands how many people stayed behind, looking like lost souls, wandering.

Soap’s voice wavered when he spoke your name, “Lass, please answer him,” he squeezed her hand, her eyes looked to his before flickering back to Price.

She took a breath in, trying to calm herself but it was a futile attempt. “No, no.” She took another breath, shuddering. She closed her eyes and her head moved down to face her lap. “I…He has to be here, you have to know something.”

“The last time I saw the LT, shite, would’ve been the start of August. We were headin’ back from Hong Kong.” Soap muttered, his hand still firmly squeezing hers. “He was fine. He was with Alejandro, they were heading back, weren’t they?”

Price hummed in agreement. “Maybe he gave his seat up, maybe he escorted Alejandro to London. It’s okay, we’ll figure it out.” The Captain looked to Soap. “Go check the boards again, maybe they’ve put up the MIA list.”

Soap gave her hand another squeeze before he leapt to his feet, speed walking towards the station while Gaz took his place; Gaz’s hand had a softer grip, much more comforting.

“Mrs. Riley, it will be okay.” Gaz’s voice was soft now, Price was looking over his shoulder. “He’ll be here.”

My mother sent for me. This morning, actually. I was sitting in the study, going through the mail. My father is dying back home in America, and I must go. But I feel that I cannot leave here without knowing. I cannot leave our home without knowing if I get to kiss you or kiss the stone that will lay above your head.

“We should take her home,” Gaz commented to Price, she couldn’t even feel her hands then, her husband’s friends holding her hands tightly. “She needs to go home, Price.”

“Wait.” Price murmured, still watching Soap. She didn’t dare look now, her gaze moved away and to the right. The trees danced with the gentle breeze, leaves twisting and turning on their branches. The lights of the cafe had now burned out, the post office dim too - it seemed everyone had decided to abandon their work today. It made sense.

All she wanted to do now was sit in the bookstore, reading one of those romance books that Simon finds silly in the little reading nook she loved. He’d tell her that reading about romance is not the way to find someone, that all of the romance she’d need would come from him. What a way to woo a woman, she had said. He had smiled.

I’ve wondered what it would be like for you if I leave for America this very moment. You place your key into the lock, twisting it and opening up the front door. The house would be dark, no warmth from the fireplace, nothing to signal that I would be home. Maybe you would think I abandoned you, maybe you would think I had perished. But, I know you. There will be no need to worry, Simon.

“Soap,” Price called, her eyes didn’t move from the bookstore, its lights still on and bright. It was almost like she could see Simon sitting on the window seat across from her, reading A Farewell To Arms by Ernest Hemingway while she read Gone With The Wind by Margaret Mitchell - stealing glances from each other often. They were young then, he was 21 while she was 18, almost 19.

It was their first date. Sitting in the bookstore, stealing glances and being near each other. He had asked her what she was doing here in Manchester, noticing her American accent. She said, “I’m visiting my friends, I’m staying with an aunt.”

Simon sat up, closing his book before looking at her. “And you’re sat here, in a bookstore?”

“You have a much different and bigger selection than home,” She answered, a smile danced on her lips. “But I still love reading my favorite book.” She closed her own book, swinging her legs over the side of the bench, letting her shoes touch the ground. “Say, do you know any good romance books?”

That was the first time she had heard him truly laugh.

I’ve waited so long for you. So long for our life to grow, to spend more than a fleeting moment behind a bookshelf like we did when we were young. I’ve sat in every room of our home, praying and wishing for your safe return. I’ve hoped and wished so hard that I feel that the universe no longer hears me. Oh Simon, I’ve waited centuries in the collective almost six years you have been gone from my side. I’m not sure if I can wait any longer.

She didn’t even hear Soap’s answer. She didn’t even care that Price had pulled her to her feet, asking Soap where she lived. She mindlessly walked beside the soldiers, her ears began to ring.

The sky was gray, whistles of rain fell from it and kissed their heads. She would have normally been walking faster to avoid the rain, her hair taking almost an hour to put up but it felt like her soul had fell free from her chest. It was thrown away on the side of the street, discarded until she decides to find it again.

She was sure she wouldn’t.

The breeze felt bitter now, it was no longer her friend that ebbed by through her hair. It was a dangerous being, whispering in her ear taunts of loneliness, even though her friends walked beside her. Her arms were around both Gaz and Price’s, her hands gently rested on their forearms as they continued through the Manchester streets.

The ring felt heavy now. It felt like someone was pulling on her hand, trying to tear her ring off of her skin; like something was trying to burn it off. She couldn’t do it, couldn’t take it off. It was the only part she had connected to him.

When they finally arrived at her home, she blinked. She refocused her eyes, staring at the black door that seemed to mock her now. Soap fished the key from her purse, opening it - the soldiers pulled her into the house, her dark shoes scraped against the floor, scuffing them. They walked into the living room, gently settling her onto her couch. Their arms left her then, all of the soldiers kneeled before her.

And all she could do was blink, feeling tears burn her cheeks. And none of the men there dared to touch her now, Price’s eyes stayed on hers as Gaz and Soap looked at each other.

“Did you hear him?” Price’s voice was much softer than it was before, kinder - patient. “Did you hear John?”

She shook her head, letting the razor sharp tears slice down her face.

Price held out his hands, to which both of hers settled in. He clutched them gently, as if she was made of porcelain.

“Simon Riley is missing in action.”

I will love you forever. Even if you have left this precious Earth, even if your feet still tread upon it. But I can’t wait for a ghost when I have been waiting for my husband almost our entire marriage. My father is stable enough, they believe. He has two months to live. And because I love you, Simon, I will wait exactly one month after the last train arrives in Manchester with a list of soldiers.

Her tears fell against her dress, louder than anything else in the room. Her hands shook in front of her, she clenched them before she looked up at her husband’s friends.

And if you arrive when I have gone, I am sorry. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to come back to our home empty handed, even if you are there - because you always leave. You always leave and I have always needed you, Simon. Always. You have hurt me in unimaginable ways, my love, even if you always find your way back home to me. So, just this once - I will be the one leaving. I can’t come back. I won’t come back. I won’t come back to a house that is no longer ours. I will not come back to a house that is just mine.

“Please don’t let me be alone.”

I love you, Simon Riley. Don’t ever forget it.

Forever yours,

Y/N.

—

𝔯𝔢𝔟𝔩𝔬𝔤𝔰 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔰 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔤𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔩𝔶 𝔞𝔭𝔭𝔯𝔢𝔠𝔦𝔞𝔱𝔢𝔡! 𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔨𝔢𝔢𝔭𝔰 𝔪𝔢 𝔪𝔬𝔱𝔦𝔳𝔞𝔱𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔬 𝔴𝔯𝔦𝔱𝔢 𝔟𝔢𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔬 𝔴𝔯𝔦𝔱𝔢 𝔪𝔬𝔯𝔢!

———

Copyright © 2022 lethalchiralium. All rights reserved.

[notanettelmao]

The Food Blogger [Colin x reader]

This might have a part two if enough people like it

I actually talked about writing something with Colin about a month ago, but then I went out with some friends and had a family emergency and I somehow forgot about it?? So this is not really what I planned at first, lol

tagging some of the people that sounded really interested in my idea when I posted about it: @vic-top @iputthefaninfanfics @idylio24 (sorry if it isn't what you were expecting hehe)

Fandoms: Not Okay Movie Warnings: weed, me being bad at writing stuff that sounds like Colin, Danni is being Danni... Pairings: future Colin x reader Words: 1,7k

“Okay Y/N, take a picture, post it on Instagram, post the blog post with the recipe and link it to your stories. You’ve done this multiple times, nothing’s scary about it..” The girl mumbled as she moved around her table, trying to get the best angle to take a picture of her creation. The table had a thin white tablecloth thrown over it to cover the multiple paint stains from when the girl tried to be creative. On the tablecloth, in the middle of the table, sat a black plate with pancakes on top of it. The girl managed to sprinkle more powdered sugar on the pancakes as she found the right angle. At first glance, there was nothing special about the pancakes, maybe the three raspberries on top which ended up there after she thought the brown color of the pancakes was a little boring. But if someone would eat the food, they would find out it actually had a secret ingredient. Weed. 

How did the weed end up in the pancakes of a girl who has never even touched a joint? Funny story actually, it started with her getting a new job as a food blogger. On the same day, she bumped into a particular bleached guy, who smelled like weed. Hell, you could smell him from a few meters away, that’s how bad the weed smell was. Noone at work seemed to notice it, or maybe they were just used to it at this point. There wasn’t actually anything that interesting about him, except the good looks, pretty eyes, absolutely tasty-looking lips and- the girl’s phone buzzed next to her. She groaned and turned around to pick it up from the counter to look at who texted her. 

‘U free?’ 

Was what she saw under Danni’s name on her screen. What the hell did Danni want? She hasn’t talked to her since she found out she also had the hots for Colin. They had a fight about who could possibly actually end up dating him. Let’s say Danni didn’t like the idea of him not liking either of them. 

Y/N rolled her eyes as she clicked on the call button and put the phone near her ear, using her other hand to look at the pictures she took with her camera.

“Y/N? Why are you calling me, couldn’t you just text back like a normal person?” Danni’s voice was heard from the phone speaker not even after the first beep. 

“Kinda trying to work here, figured out calling would be quicker,” Y/N mumbled into the phone, still not knowing what to think about the other girl calling her. 

“Anyway, what do you want?” She asked right after and put her camera down on the table next to the plate, walking to her couch so she could sit down. 

“I was wondering if you would want to go out to get some coffee… Talk about boys… You know, all the stuff. You didn’t respond to any of my emails so-”

“Fine, I’ll be down in five.” Y/N hung up before Danni could continue. She was already regretting her decision. But she also didn’t want to let go of one of her only work friends. A stupid fight over a boy should not end a friendship, right? 

☆☆☆☆☆☆

Danni was late. Y/N stood outside in her black sweatpants and a black baggy t-shirt with some random prints all over it. She was regretting putting on her new Vans, as she could already feel the skin on her heels protesting. She was scrolling through her Instagram, liking Colin’s new posts when a pair of white shoes appeared on the ground in front of her. She slowly looked up, noticing the brown pants and lighter-brown hoodie. Finally, she saw Danni’s face framed by two blonde strands of hair on each side, tucked behind her ears. 

“Hiii!” Danni cheered, pulling Y/N into a hug almost making her drop her phone. 

“Uh, hi,” Y/N laughed awkwardly. Danni didn’t seem to notice.

“How have you been? I saw you gained some followers after those yummy-looking weed recipes,” Danni’s eyes sparkled when she mentioned the followers. Y/N slowly blinked, realizing the other girl just wanted to boost her follower count. 

“Oh, I’ve been great, yeah…” Y/N put away her phone as they started walking down the street. Danni started talking about her wanting to get into writing and Y/N was just nodding her head, not really listening. She was mostly looking around wondering where they were going to end up. 

“No way! Je obsessed!” Danni said suddenly, making Y/N stop and look at what she was looking at. They stood in front of a tiny coffee shop called Matcha Baby. A waitress put out a sign and walked back inside.

“Influencers eat free?” Y/N read aloud. She bit her lip, trying not to laugh when she noticed Danni checking her follower count. 

“Not today,” Danni made a face and turned to continue walking when she stopped and just stared. Y/N almost bumped into her as she didn’t notice her just standing there again. 

“What the hell Da-” Y/N started to say. Then she noticed what the other girl was staring at. 

“-nni. Oh, you’ve got to be shittin’ me.” She mumbled under her breath. A few meters away from them there was a black car. They both stared as Colin stepped out of it, smoke surrounding him as he breathed it out, and started walking their way. Y/N was already moving to the side so he could walk by. Danni had other ideas. 

“Colin!” Danni exclaimed loudly, making Y/N wince. Colin stopped right in front of them.

“Oh shit. Waddup honey? Yea I can’t take a pic right now. But-” Colin said, making Y/N snort. She quickly covered her mouth but Colin already turned his attention to her. 

“Oh, I’ve seen you before?” He asked, looking Y/N up and down. She made a surprised noise, trying to ignore Danni who was plotting her murder by the looks she was giving her. 

“Oh, I- Ehm I work in the same building? Make food posts on insta and.. stuff..” Y/N cringed as her voice cracked. 

“Shiit right! You make those lit weed posts!” He looked down at his phone, quickly typing something on the screen, and then turned it to face her.

“Haven’t actually seen yo acc on my insta, just saw an article. Give me your user?” He asked. Y/N’s eyes widened and she took his phone into her shaking hands, quickly typing her Instagram username into the search bar. She then returned his phone with a shy smile on her face. 

“Sick,” he tapped on the screen, few seconds later she felt her phone buzz in her pocket. She had to bite her lip to stop herself from screaming. Was this really happening?

“I work in that building too!” Danni said loudly so the two of them heard her. They both looked at each other and then turned their heads to look at Danni.

“Yeah. Anyway. I’m supposed to be going to-” Colin looked at his screen and then up at the coffee shop, “- there. Matcha Babyy. Plus my plug lives here so two birds one stone.” He waved his hand towards the building. 

“Yeah, I smoke marijuana, like, all the time!” Danni said, smiling. 

“Oh lord,” Y/N mumbled under her breath, deciding to pull out her phone and pretend she is doing something.

“Ever seen one of these?” Colin asked, lighting the weird-looking joint. Y/N quickly turned on her camera and pointed it at Danni when she saw her reaching for the joint. Danni inhaled the smoke and started coughing before she gave the joint back to Colin. Y/N was silently laughing as she sent the video to one of her friends back home. She missed Colin talking to a random fan on the other side of the street because of the spam of laughing emojis she got as a response. 

“So cool that you have a fan!” Danni said in between coughs. Colin shot a quick look at Y/N and then back to Danni.

“Oh yeah, I got a- I got a bunch. That’s just one.” He chuckled.

“So like, what are you? Like, at Depravity? I see she-” he waved his hand towards Y/N, “ is a food blogger. What are you?”

“I’m a- I’m a writer,” Danni said. Y/N rolled her eyes. Writer, sure. Colin completely zoned out taking selfies with his joint as she talked more.

“I wanna develop my work by traveling and stuff. And maybe like, going on one of those writer retreats-” That got Colin’s attention. 

“Oh, you’re going on a retreat?” He zoned out again as he got a notification. Y/N just stood there, staring at the two of them as if she was watching a movie. She only needed popcorn. 

“I’m going to Paris for it,” Danni said out of nowhere and Y/N choked on air, almost falling over. Colin looked up from his phone to Danni. 

“Shit. That’s dope. Hey, get pics,” he was ready to walk away when Danni stepped into his way, making Y/N start choking once again. 

“I’m gonna get lots of pics! Yeah. Throw them all up on the gram!” Danni made a random dance move and Y/N turned to look at the lady that was sitting on the ground next to them this whole time. They both had the same look on their faces, they were completely done with Danni.

“By the way, this was laced with, like, mad wax, so your tolerance must be OD as fuck. Damn, ma. Good luck in Paris, Jenny.” He turned to Y/N.

“Good to meet you both,” he said as he walked away.

“Danni,” Danni said, turning around to look at him walking away.

“What’s up?” He stopped and looked at her.

“My name is Danni.” 

“No, it’s Colin.” He said. Y/N busted out laughing. 

“I’ll see you at work,” Colin said, looking at Y/N. Then he turned to look at Danni.

“Or I guess I won’t.” He then walked away. Danni started laughing loudly, making both the homeless lady and Y/N look at her like at a crazy person.

“Fuck me,” Danni said as she finished laughing. 

“Fuck you indeed,” Y/N mumbled under her breath, making the homeless lady snort. 

[theteasetwrites]

The Beginning Is the End Is the Beginning

Chapter 41: A Hill To Die On

❧ Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader ❧ Era: Season 6 ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: mild swearing ❧ Word Count: 5.4k

❧ In This Chapter: You and Daryl have been enjoying married bliss, but an end to your honeymoon marks the beginning of a relationship with another settlement, which has some problems of their own.

❧ A/N: The world just got a whole lot bigger! The Hilltop, the Saviors, all that jazz... very exciting stuff. Also Daryl is so gosh darn cute in this episode, I had to gif the part where he says, "We want food, medicine, and one of them cows." I'll be a cow for you Daryl if that's what it takes.

It’d been a week since you and Daryl were married.

You wouldn’t consider it a honeymoon per se, but Aaron did insist upon a week’s break from recruiting missions so Daryl could spend time with you, and Bev covered your three classes of that week to do the same.

So, the two of you spent most of the time enjoying each other’s company in your home. It almost felt like things were… normal. No undead monsters trying to take a bite out of you every chance they got, no constant worrying about whether or not you would live to see the next day… well, that is, until you and Daryl went out on a run.

You had been talking a lot about going out to get things for your house. It had all the essentials in it in terms of furniture, but it was sparse in decoration, which you always felt was vital to making a home totally one’s own.

So, in the middle of the week, the two of you took a big pick-up truck to wrangle up some bits and bobs, and some more practical things for the community, as well.

You made it a point to hit up the nearby antique shop. Unsurprisingly, it was essentially untouched. No one had thought to raid a store full of useless old knick knacks, and you were thankful for that, because that was exactly the kind of thing you wanted in your home.

Daryl didn’t care much about what you put in the house, though he did throw a few tiny vintage motorcycle models into his pack, and some other trinkets he thought would look nice.

You, on the other hand, all but cleaned out the place. You found dozens of teacups and tea sets to take home and begin your collection. You used to have a cabinet full of them in your apartment, and you thought it was the perfect time to start collecting again.

Perhaps the most exciting finds were all the artworks you loaded into the truck. You found a few Alphonse Mucha prints that were in mint condition (and you would have never been able to afford them back in the day), some prints by Waterhouse, and several other works by various artists and of different styles and eras. You were particularly partial to the art nouveau and pre-Raphaelite works, but they were all beautiful and would make those plain white walls so much more colorful.

When you finished loading up the paintings, Daryl called you over to look at the giant stash of vinyl records he had found. You looked through them for a while, but ended up taking all of them since it wasn’t like you had a budget. Now that you had a means of playing them, you could play anything you wanted. From what you saw, there was a selection of classical and jazz, as well as several rock records—you were partial to the old Roxy Music and Tim Buckley records, and Daryl made a point to grab anything by Black Sabbath and Motörhead. An eclectic assortment, to be sure.

By the time you finished at the antique shop and the nearby stores, the bed of the truck was stuffed to the brim with odds and ends, including books (and more books), furniture for your study, bike parts (for Daryl), clothes (most of which were yours), and assorted “junk” you wanted to fill your house with. Indeed, it took several trips to get everything back to Alexandria, including the supplies you picked up for the community and the objects for your students you found at a nearby elementary school.

When the sun began to go down, you’d delivered everything.

Now, three days later, everything was in its right place. Your home was finally feeling like your own, and Daryl didn’t seem to mind it either. You often found him looking at the various pieces of art he helped you hang on the walls, or at the books you adorned the built-in bookshelves in the living room with.

“You like it?” you asked as you snuck up from behind him, his eyes locked on the painting of a mermaid combing her hair.

He looked at you, then back at the painting. “Guess so,” he said. “Why did you want a… mermaid in our house anyway?”

You laughed, then shrugged as you admired the beauty of the girl in the painting. “I don’t know, I just like it. I like mermaids, and things like that. It’s by John William Waterhouse. He’s one of my favorites.”

“He paint a lot of girls?”

You nodded. “He did, as did a lot of the pre-Raphaelites. A lot of them had muses, usually their wives… or other men’s wives.”

He scoffed. “Figures… art types.”

You maneuvered yourself in front of him and wrapped your arms around his neck. “What, you don’t consider yourself an artiste?” You added a flair to the French word.

He rested his hands on your hips before giving you a peck on the lips. “Nah,” he said. “Could never paint nothin’ remotely as pretty as you.”

You rolled your eyes, then broke into a big smile you couldn’t hide any longer. “Oh, Daryl…”

He smirked at you before leaning in to press his lips to yours, and rapidly pulling your legs up to wrap around his waist. You giggled into his mouth as he laid you down onto the couch and began leaving sloppy kisses all over your face.

“Daryl!” you cried, giggling all the while. He reached down under your dress and felt around for your underwear to pull it off, but you quickly stopped his hand. “I have class in twenty minutes.”

Daryl looked down at you and sighed. “Can’t ya have Bev cover for you?”

You laughed. “She’s already been doing that for the past week, and having her own classes. I can’t do that to her.”

Daryl dropped his head onto your shoulder, and you cradled it lovingly as you brushed through his hair. “Honeymoon’s over, ain’t it?”

You smiled. “Not necessarily. It doesn’t ever have to be over.”

“Mmm,” Daryl agreed, the reverberation of his chest filling you with warmth. “I love you.”

He’d been saying that so often for the past week. There was a time when he’d only say it when saying goodbye to you or just when he felt particularly affectionate, but now it was just something he said when he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“I love you, too, cutie pie,” you cooed. “But…” You began to sit yourself up, and Daryl reluctantly took his weight off you so you could do so. “The next generation is in my hands,” you said dramatically, “and duty calls.”

You were actually dreading going to class for the first time since the attack from the Wolves and the walkers. Sam, and his mother, Jessie, had died during the invasion. You didn’t know Jessie well, but you knew Sam was a good kid, and one of the more enthusiastic students in your class.

Still, you were eager to see how the other students were doing since you had last seen them.

To your surprise, all of them greeted you with a smile. “Good morning, Mrs. Dixon,” each student said to you as they walked into the garage-turned-classroom.

Bev must’ve put them up to that. There was no other way they would know to call you by your new title.

Even Seth, the troublemaker, seemed happy to see you. Perhaps something changed that day the Wolves attacked. Maybe that instilled a new respect for you. At least, that was what you hoped.

The day went by relatively smoothly. Several students gave their presentations on the books you assigned each of them about a while back, and they all seemed to have a good understanding of the stories.

You were even able to implement the new subject you had been planning for them: self-defense and walker-ology, as you termed it (until you could come up with a better name). It added another hour to the school day, but you felt it vital that the children understand how to defend themselves and how to deal with walkers.

The subject didn’t just instruct them on killing walkers, but also understanding what they were and how they became like that, as well as the grim reality that everyone would become a walker once they died, unless their brain was destroyed before turning.

It was a difficult thing to talk about, especially since some of the students had seen their parents get torn apart by walkers, but you handled the conversation with sensitivity and understanding.

A few weeks passed from that point without incident. The walls had been expanded to include a church and several houses that had previously been cut off by the walls, Carl was progressively healing from losing his eye, and Daryl and Aaron went on frequent day trips to find newcomers.

Though you missed the both of them when they were gone, you found solace in bonding with Eric and helping Maggie plant seeds in the plot that was to be a garden for crops.

Carol kept you busy, too, by inviting you over to bake and cook for the other Alexandrians. Through this, you became friends with several people you didn’t know very well before. One kind elderly man even whittled a wooden sign for you and Daryl as a belated wedding present—The DIXON’s it read.

You were so touched you almost cried, then immediately nailed it to your front picket fence.

Things seemed to be looking up, until Daryl and Rick left one day on a run.

It started out like any other day—you packed Daryl a lunch to take with him, and threw in a few of Rick’s favorite candy bars as well (with the intent that Daryl would share, though he liked the candy bars, too). You doted on him the whole morning in preparation for him to be gone at least a day.

“You’re going to be safe, right?” you asked as you stuffed a few more things into the pack on Daryl’s back, the two of you walking down the street all the while. Daryl only grunted in response as he was fixated on reading the “shopping list” of supplies Denise had given him earlier.

“Daryl?” you asked again, this time giving his ass a squeeze.

He jumped a bit in response and turned to look at you with a mock glare. “I heard ya,” he said before looking around to make sure no one saw you grope him.

You smiled as you walked around him and stopped him in his tracks to fix his hair. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” you said before cupping his face and kissing him sweetly on the lips.

Suddenly, Rick walked past the two of you and slapped Daryl on the shoulder, breaking your kiss abruptly. “Ready to go, Casanova?” Rick asked with a smirk.

Daryl grunted, trying his hardest to look tough with his pink, heated cheeks betraying him. He swallowed hard. “Gotta go,” he said.

Rick threw his pack in the trunk of the car. “Don’t worry, (Y/N),” Rick said to you. “I’ll take care of him.”

You smiled before turning back to Daryl and kissing him on the cheek, though not without his grumbling.

“Should be back ‘fore the end of the day,” he said. “If not, don’t worry.”

You nodded, your face turning serious. You hated when he left, it always made you nervous, and you could never sleep knowing he was gone. “I love you, sweetheart,” you said, holding his hands in yours. “Come back to me. I can’t be without my Daryl for too long, you know.”

You went to bed that night with still no Daryl, but you heard your front door open not long after that.

Running down the stairs, you threw yourself into his arms, to which he huffed in surprise. “Why aren’t ya in bed?” he asked.

You closed your eyes as you swayed in his strong arms, holding you so tight. “I was in bed,” you said. “I couldn’t sleep. Was waiting for you.”

He rested his chin on your shoulder. “Well, I’m back.”

You pulled away to look at him, your hands resting on his shoulders and massaging them. “How’d it go? You bring back any food?”

Daryl lowered his head as if in defeat. “Nah,” he said. “Ran into some trouble.”

Your eyes widened. “What happened?” you asked with concern. You looked all over his body to make sure he was okay. “Are you all right?” You noticed he looked like he had been rolling around in the dirt.

“‘M fine,” he said. “This guy… he jumped us. More than once. Didn’t wanna bring him back, but Rick did.”

“Is—is he here?”

Daryl nodded. “Yeah, tied up and knocked out in the same place we kept Morgan. Don’t want ya goin’ anywhere near him. He’s dangerous.”

You sighed. “Well, Rick obviously thought there was some reason to bring him here.”

He scoffed. “Yeah, bad decision.” Daryl began taking off his muddy boots and hung his vest on the coat rack. “Don’t trust no one who calls himself Jesus.”

“Jesus?” you repeated.

“Mhm,” he mumbled as he bit thumbnail. He walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge to begin chugging down water from the pitcher.

You leaned against the doorframe with crossed arms as you watched the clear liquid drip down his chin and wet his plaid shirt. When he finished, he grunted and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“What?” he asked when he caught you staring at him.

“Nothing,” you said as you tried to keep a straight face. “You’re just so cute, that’s all.”

He stretched his arms over his head and yawned, something he rarely did. You knew he must’ve been really tired, then. You walked over to him and rubbed your hands up and down his chest, the fabric still soaked from the water.

“Let’s get you to bed,” you said.

He raised an eyebrow. “You don’t want me takin’ a shower first?”

It was true—usually you made him take a shower before getting into bed when he went out. “You get one free pass tonight.”

You felt bad about his less than successful run with Rick, and you knew he must’ve been tired. “Fine by me,” he said.

He tore off all his clothes before getting into bed, then allowed you to cuddle into him as always. He fell asleep not long after that, and you stayed awake awhile just to look at his peaceful face in the moonlight cascading through the window.

That, and you loved his little snores and twitches.

Suddenly, a frantic knocking on your door alerted you before you were about to doze off yourself. You sat up quickly, and Daryl was already back on his feet and grabbing his knife from the side table.

He threw his clothes on at lightning speed, and you tossed on your silk robe that matched your nightgown (you wouldn’t be caught dead in unmatching sleepwear, after all).

When you opened the door to a rather shocked looking Glenn and Maggie, you were told that the new detainee, Jesus, had escaped from his confinement.

Daryl bolted out the door, grabbing his gun and his vest. Despite his insistence that you stay home, you followed him with your own gun.

He was in Rick’s house, and by the time the four of you got there, Carl already had a gun pointed at his head. Nevertheless, you, Daryl, Glenn, Maggie, and Abraham all had your guns on him, too. If he made even the slightest move, he’d have six bullet holes in him.

Jesus, a man whose nickname aptly matched his outward appearance, had come to Rick’s house to talk.

When he did talk, he told you all about his own settlement where they grow crops and livestock. He said that he took the truck full of food Daryl and Rick scavenged because his people needed it, and he thought Daryl and Rick looked like trouble.

You were skeptical at first, but if his community really did have crops and livestock, your community could trade. He mentioned they needed guns, and Alexandria had them in spades.

So, that next morning you all saddled up in the same RV you came to Alexandria in. You were happy to finally be involved in something not pertaining to inside-the-walls business. Plus, you could keep an eye on Daryl and make sure he didn’t do anything reckless, as he was wont to do.

Though for most of the ride, you kept your eyes on Maggie’s belly. You were the first one she told that she was pregnant a week ago, aside from Glenn who knew for about a month now.

She wasn’t showing yet, but you were so happy for her and Glenn, and excited to welcome a new addition into the group. It got you thinking a lot about the baby you wanted to have with Daryl at some point in the future.

You weren’t getting any younger, and neither was Daryl. You decided you were ready to have a baby, but you hadn’t told Daryl yet. He still seemed to be stressing about keeping Alexandria safe and fed, so you wanted to wait until this negotiation was over and settled.

Glenn’s hand resting on Maggie’s belly wasn’t the only thing you noticed on that ride; Rick and Michonne were holding hands in the front seat.

It was a very new development, one you didn’t see coming at all. Michonne was sort of Rick’s right hand, after Daryl, but you were surprised to see Michonne and Rick coming out of the same bedroom and half-dressed the night before.

Still, you were happy for them. They seemed good together, and you always liked Michonne. She was family, and so was Rick.

When you finally made it to Jesus’ community, the Hilltop, you were surprised to see it was quite different from yours. The only real building they had was a big old historical home, called Barrington House. The leader, Gregory, lived there. The others apparently lived in trailers outside of the house.

What really mattered, though, was their livestock and their produce. As Jesus led you all in, with your guns in tow, you saw chickens, cows, and plenty of crops. They also had a forge for blacksmithing. It was nowhere near as picture-perfect as the suburban landscape of Alexandria, but it was a home to several people, and you respected that.

When Jesus led you all into the house, you were greatly impressed by the historical preservation of the place. It was kept up nicely, and you were nearly in a trance as you looked around the beautiful home, until a door opened and an older man popped out.

“Jesus,” he said. “You’re back.” He looked around at all of you. “With guests.”

Daryl stood a little closer to you with the presence of the new man. “Everyone, this is Gregory,” Jesus said. “He keeps the trains running on time around here.”

“I’m the boss,” Gregory confirmed with a smug smile and a wide gesture of his hands.

You already didn’t like him. Rick would never refer to himself as “the boss.” Maybe “the leader,” but certainly not something so presumptuous as a boss.

Rick began to introduce himself. “Well, I’m Rick. We have a community—”

“Why don’t you all get cleaned up,” Gregory interrupted him.

You swore you heard Daryl growl, and you weren’t far off from doing the same as you narrowed your eyes at him and exchanged a look with Michonne from across the room.

“We’re fine,” Rick said, he, too, irritated by Gregory’s insistence.

“Jesus will show you where you can get washed up,” Gregory said. “Then come back down here when you’re ready.” He walked up to Rick. “It’s hard to keep this place clean.”

“Yeah,” Rick said, biting his tongue as much as possible. “Sure.”

Despite everyone’s impatience to get to negotiating with Gregory and the Hilltop, you all cleaned up as he insisted. When everyone finished, you were the last one to clean up.

Daryl stood in the foyer of the house waiting for you, and Abraham was there with him. “How long do you think Rick and Michonne been ugging bumplies?” Abraham asked Daryl as he paced impatiently.

Daryl shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. And he didn’t care much. As far as Daryl was concerned, other people’s relationships were none of his business. He knew he didn’t like others prying into his and your relationship, so he gave everyone else the same courtesy.

Abraham stood up from the chair he was seated in. “And then there’s Maggie,” he said, shaking his head. “Got a bun in the oven. Still can’t believe that. You gotta have some balls on ya to bring a kid into this shit show.”

Daryl looked down and kicked at the edge of the elaborate rug. “Don’t care. Not my problem.”

Abraham looked at him seriously. “You ever think about it… having a kid, settling down?”

Daryl largely ignored the question. He did, in fact, think about having a child since the two of you had talked about it back at the prison, and even more so since you told him you definitely wanted to have a child with him. So, yes, he did think about it. A lot.

Now that Maggie was pregnant, he knew you would want a baby soon, too. When you and him were on your most recent run together, he caught you looking at baby clothes and holding them up to admire them with a longing smile on your face.

When he first really thought about having a baby with you, he thought he was indifferent to the idea of being a father. He didn’t really care either way, he would just try to be the best father he could be, though he never had a good father figure in his life.

Soon, though, he found that he thought about having a baby with you a lot more, and that the idea of being a father was actually quite exciting. He was intent on spoiling whatever kid the two of you brought into the world as much as he could, in all the ways that his own father couldn’t spoil him. Above all, he wanted to raise a good person.

“You think shit’s settled?”

Shit was, in fact, very, very far from being settled.

After Maggie had a rather uneventful talk with Gregory in which they failed to reach a negotiation, a man bursted in through the front door.

“What’s wrong?” Gregory asked him.

“They’re back,” the man panted.

You all followed Gregory and Jesus out the front door to approach three more people, two men and a woman, who had just come through the gates. “Ethan,” Gregory called to the foremost man, “what happened to everybody else? Where’s Tim and Marsha?”

“They’re dead,” Ethan said matter-of-factly.

“Negan?” Gregory asked.

You and Daryl looked at each other, the name ringing an ominous bell. That was the name of the supposed leader of the men on the motorcycles, the ones Daryl roasted on an open fire.

“Yeah,” Ethan confirmed.

“We had a deal,” Gregory insisted.

“He said it wasn’t enough,” the other man said. “Was the drop light?”

You remembered that Negan’s men that Daryl had run into demanded he hand over his weapons and other things. They must have done this with other people, too—stolen from them. Here, however, it seemed more organized, like the Hilltop had a deal with him. In any case, it was stealing.

“No,” Gregory responded.

“They still have Craig,” the woman said.

“They said they’d keep him alive,” Ethan said, “return him to us… if I delivered a message to you.”

Ethan stepped closer to Gregory.

“So, tell me,” Gregory said.

Ethan rested a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

You were definitely not expecting him to stab Gregory.

When he did, though, a fight ensued. Rick had to restrain Ethan, and he ended up killing him.

Abraham was almost strangled to death by the other man, but Daryl twisted his arm before he could.

Suffice it to say that things were off to a rocky start. The other citizens of the Hilltop looked at Rick in fear when he stood before them covered in Ethan’s blood, but you and your group knew better—he had attempted to kill Gregory, and Rick. He was dangerous, and that was how you handled dangerous people in this world.

Back in the house, the Hilltop’s doctor, Dr. Carson, was able to fix up Gregory. Now, you all wanted an explanation.

“We heard the name Negan,” Rick said to Jesus as you all met in Gregory’s office. “A while back, Daryl and Abraham had a run-in with his men. Who is he?”

“Negan’s the head of a group of people he calls the Saviors,” Jesus said.

Ironic, you thought. They don’t seem like they’re saving anybody but themselves.

“As soon as the walls were built,” Jesus continued, “the Saviors showed up. They met with Gregory on behalf of their boss. They made a lot of demands, even more threats. And he killed one of us—Rory. He was sixteen years old. They beat him to death right in front of us. Said we needed to understand right off the bat. Gregory’s not exactly good at confrontation. He’s not the leader I would have chosen, but he helped make this place what it is, and the people like him.”

“He made the deal,” Maggie said.

“Half of everything,” Jesus confirmed. “Our supplies, our crops, our livestock… it goes to the Saviors.”

“And what do you get in return?” Glenn asked.

“They don’t attack this place,” Jesus answered. “They don’t kill us.”

“Why not just kill them?” asked Daryl.

“Most of the people here don’t even know how to fight,” Jesus said, “even if we had ammo.”

“Well, how many people does Negan have?” Rick asked.

“We don’t know,” answered Jesus. “We’ve seen groups as big as twenty.”

“Now, hold up,” Daryl said. “So, they show up, they kill a kid and you give ‘em half of everything?” Daryl exchanged a look with you. “These dicks just got a good story,” he continued. “The boogeyman, he ain’t shit.”

“Well, how do you know?” Jesus asked.

“A month ago,” Abraham said, “we took his guys out PDQ. Left ‘em in pieces and puddles.”

You looked at Daryl, and he seemed to be getting antsy, as if a whole plan was brewing inside of his head and he was eager to get it out. “You know,” he said, “we’ll do it.”

You raised an eyebrow at him.

“If we go get your man back,” he continued, “kill Negan, take out his boys, will you hook us up?” he asked Jesus pointedly.

You had rarely seen Daryl so determined. It was like a light went off in his head and he couldn’t put it out until this deal was made.

“We want food, medicine, and one of them cows,” he said. Your eyes widened. It was a new side of Daryl, a burst of confidence and leadership welling up in him. He’d been Rick’s right hand for a while now, but he’d never shown this much enthusiasm for a plan. You wondered where it came from.

Rick shrugged when Jesus looked at him for confirmation of Daryl’s eagerness. “Confrontation’s never been something we’ve had trouble with,” he said.

Jesus was silent for a moment. “I’ll take it to Gregory.”

A deal was made. Maggie made it. She was becoming a leader in her own right, and she was good at it, you thought.

The deal was half of their food upfront, and your people would take out the Saviors, and Negan, and bring back their man, Craig. You thought it was a pretty fair deal.

So, you all loaded up the food and headed back home in the rickety old RV.

Maggie and Glenn had gotten an ultrasound done by Dr. Carson while in Hilltop. He was an obstetrician before the turn, and he happened to have the equipment to perform the procedure.

Glenn passed around the scan, and you beamed at them with joy when it got handed to you from Daryl.

You looked up at him with that same smile, and he appeared dejected, but slightly lifting one corner of his mouth to appease you.

Handing the ultrasound to Abraham, you rested your head on Daryl’s shoulder and slept the rest of the ride home.

When you got back, you sat with him on your porch to watch the sunset. It was one of the things you had started doing almost every night he was home. You already felt like an old married couple, and at least half of that was true.

“You did good today,” you said as you rocked back and forth with him on the porch swing. “You were so cute when you made all those demands,” you laughed a little.

He scoffed and nudged you with his elbow. “Stop,” he muttered. “Gotta eat. Feed everyone.”

You nodded as you wrapped your arm around his. “Yeah, and Maggie’s baby.”

Daryl swallowed hard. You noticed, and looked up to him curiously. “What?” you asked.

He shrugged. “Nothin’.”

You knew when it wasn’t nothing.

“It’s not nothing,” you replied. “Tell me.”

He huffed. “You still want a baby?”

You stared at him for a moment, as if trying to study what his reaction would be. “Yes,” you said honestly. “Yes, I do. A lot… why?”

“Just… we don’t got ‘nough food, and now this thing with Negan, it’s gonna start somethin’.”

You nodded. “Well,” you sighed, “we can wait. Till it’s over.”

“What if it never is over? What if this is it, our lives? Just survivin’, like we were on the road. Ain’t much different, ‘cept we got a house. Still gotta deal with assholes, and people still gotta die. That ain’t good to raise a kid in.”

You cupped his cheek with your hand and made him look at you. “Listen to me,” you said sternly but with a tenderness in your voice you reserved wholly for him, “there’s never going to be a good time to have a baby. There never was, not even before this. It just happens, and it’s all about taking a chance. These days, it’s an even riskier chance, but it’s not much more different than it used to be.”

Still, you wanted to wait if that’s what Daryl wanted.

“I’m ready to have a baby,” you said. “But I’m willing to wait until you’re comfortable with it, because I love you and I respect your decision, and you’re a part of this, too.”

Daryl looked at you lovingly, so thankful to have someone so thoughtful and patient in his life. “You sure?” he asked.

You nodded. “Positive.”

“I just want things to be more… safe,” he said. “For you, and the baby. Can’t lose you. Just can’t.”

You snuggled into his shoulder, taking in his tobacco-tinged scent. You knew he had a pack of cigarettes he tried to keep on the down-low from you, but you let him have his vice, though it was another thing you worried about.

“I can’t lose you either,” you said softly. “Sometimes I still can’t believe I found you.”

He smiled at you while rubbing your thigh up and down, gently wrinkling the soft fabric of your dress. He still couldn’t believe you had worn the thing to the Hilltop. Your ability to do anything in a dress or skirt fascinated him.

“Well, ya did,” he said. “Best decision I ever made was killin’ that walker.”

You laughed. “I could have handled it,” you said, mostly joking. You knew you probably would have died that day if it weren’t for Daryl and his clunky crossbow. “But thanks anyway, Robin Hood.”

~

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[luvdsc]

august.

Bad habits are hard to break, and you’ve made a terrible one of loving him.

pairing :: liu yangyang x reader genre :: fluff, angst ⋮ best friend + college au word count :: 10,500 words warnings :: none. playlist :: time lapse (taeyeon) ⋆ 2 kids (taemin) ⋆ daydreams (exes) ⋆ sharing you (lany) ⋆ august (taylor swift) ⋆ too close to love (will hyde) ⋆ sad stripped (lany) ⋆ strangers (taemin) ⋆ the 1 (taylor swift) author’s note :: can you believe that i literally wrote this entire 10k fic in one day aka today ??? whew this gave me the same rush that i got when i wrote my research paper in the class it was due for the day of, printed it out during break, and handed it in at the end of class :’) ↳ part of the almost collaboration series.

Liu Yangyang is jumping fences to escape late night parties, shared laughter over childhood favorite cartoons on February mornings, midnight dancing in the refrigerator light, and November kisses stolen in between the shelves of the nearby 7-Eleven. He is obscure doodles in the margins of your physics notes, good intentions laced in December’s mistakes, strawberry lemonade and broken truths wrapped in summer bliss, and September endings with honest lies.

He is your August, he is your everything, but he isn’t yours.

AUGUST 2018.

August has barely begun to fade away.

You’re eighteen years old, and you’re drunk off of your first taste of freedom, one toe already dipping into the shiny pleasures of adulthood. Your new roommate, Karina, has excitedly told you about the famous beach night themed frat party that kick starts every school year at your university. Everybody who’s anybody would be there, and your heart already races at the thought of going to your very first college party.

“Coral or blue?” Karina holds up a solid colored neon blue bikini and a striped, bright pink one for you to choose between.

“Blue.” You nod towards the first option, and she discards the other one back into the open drawer. You pull out a marigold yellow one and a black one lined with white strings, wordlessly gesturing towards them, and she immediately points to the latter.

“That one is gonna look so cute on you. Well, both would, but I love that one.”

You grin at her, silently thanking whoever decided to pair the two of you together for the random dorming. “Perfect, thanks. Do you know any of the guys hosting the party?”

“Yeah, Dejun? He’s really sweet and a year above us. I met him in the music elective I’m taking.” She turns to take off her shirt and tosses it to the side, pulling on her bikini and wriggling into a pair of ripped jean shorts. “You?”

“Kind of? Jaemin is in my project group in Intro to Engineering. He’s rushing for that frat.” You quickly change out of your outfit and into your chosen swim top and daisy dukes. You make sure to grab a pair of black flip flops from your closet. The bundle of nerves in your stomach grows as you step out of your dorm with your new friend, a bit anxious but also excited to attend your very first party.

Thank goodness for summer weather. It’s still a nice, warm 75 degrees Fahrenheit according to your weather app when you and Karina finally make your way to the frat house. The sun barely begins to set, but the party slash dayger had started earlier and is in full swing. There’s a DJ set up out front, blasting some sort of EDM music, and the lawn is absolutely covered in foam. You see the source of it shakily set up on the roof of the patio along with a couple of boys sitting up there, Hawaiian shirts barely covering their figures. You catch the eye of Jaemin, who happily waves at you from his vantage point, and you wave back at him.

“Oh my god, I love college,” Karina says, grabbing your arm excitedly as the two of you step into the foam. You reach down to pick up some of it before flicking it towards your roommate, who squeals before scooping some up and throwing it in your direction as well.

“Ready for our first shitty college drink?” You pull her through the mass of other students and towards the horribly decorated tiki bar stationed in the corner of the patio.

“Hell yeah, let’s do it.”

The two of you stumble over, still throwing handfuls of foam at each other amidst giggles before making a full stop in front of the bar. The older boy behind the makeshift counter lazily grins at you both, a shell necklace hanging loosely around his neck, and his unbuttoned orange Hawaiian shirt gives you a nice flash of his toned abs.

“Hey, I’m Johnny. What can I get for you two?”

“Two vodka shots, please.”

“Alright, ID?”

You freeze, and Karina’s grip on your arm tightens, and then Johnny laughs, eyes crinkling in the corners. “Relax, I’m just messing with you, freshie. Two vodka shots coming right up.”

He pulls out two small plastic cups and pours out the drinks for you. “How many do you want?”

“This is good for now, thanks.” You and Karina pick up the drinks, smiling a little nervously at him. He flashes another amused smile at you. “Alright, come back anytime if you want another.”

You move away from the patio, and Karina follows close behind. The two of you throw back the drinks and dispose of the empty cups quickly. The burning sensation in your throat disappears after a few seconds, and you turn to your roommate. “Should we find our friends?”

“I think I see Dejun back there! Let’s go say hi, I can introduce you to him.” Karina drags you through the rising foam, the bubbles clinging to your skin, and when you go past the DJ stand, you feel the pounding bass reverberating in your chest harder than ever. You trek past the gate and into the backyard where the foam has risen to your waist, thanks to the enclosed fences. She taps on the shoulder of a boy with the prettiest almond eyes you have ever seen, and you shyly smile at him when he greets you.

“Hey, I’m Dejun.”

Oh my god, even his voice sounds pretty. Older college boys are definitely better and hotter than high school boys. Heck, they’re better than freshman boys. Nobody wants to date a freshman dude, not even the freshman girls.

“Hi, I’m Y/N.” You extend your hand, but then realize how stupid that must be. You hastily start to retract your hand, but he laughs and warmly grasps your hand. Smiling at you, he shakes it firmly, squeezing your hand gently before letting go.

“It’s nice to meet you, Y/N.”

The butterflies in your stomach grow in volume as the conversation goes on, and you’re positively enamored by the end of the night. Karina had given you a look earlier before walking off with Dejun’s friend and joining the dancing crowd. With the addition of his phone number in your pocket and a promise to show you a new song he’s working on with his guitar next Friday, you’re walking on cloud nine.

“Do you want something to drink? I need a refill, and I can go grab you one,” he asks, and you’re about to offer to go with him, but then you remember the teasing upperclassman and simply agree, asking for another shot of vodka.

After he disappears, you look around, eyeing the crowd and wondering if you can spot your roommate anywhere. You bump into someone lightly and turn around to apologize. Your eyes meet a pair of curiously bright ones.

“Sorry about that, I’m looking for my roomie.”

The boy gives you a Cheshire Cat grin. He’s wearing one of those dumb Hawaiian shirts, too, and it’s unbuttoned, but he has a white T-shirt layered underneath it. “No biggie, it’s a massive party and it’s crowded. Who are you looking for?”

“Ah, I don’t know if you know her, but Karina? She went off with this dude, Kunhang, I think?”

His eyes light up at that name. “Oh, I know him! I saw him earlier by the keg stands inside. Your friend might be there, too. I can—”

“THE COPS ARE COMING!” A loud voice bellows, and you freeze up. Suddenly, the music is shut off as everyone starts running away. You start to panic, the terror rising in your chest, and the boy in front of you grabs your hand and pulls you with him. “What are you doing?! Don’t just stand there! We gotta go!”

“Wait, but Kar—” You start to object, but cut yourself off when you bump into his back as he abruptly stops. He scans the backyard, quickly assessing the situation before turning to you.

“There’s way too many people trapped in here, we’re not gonna make it to the gate. We need to climb over the fence. I’ll hoist you up, and you can help me up from there.”

“I don’t even know you,” you protest, and he throws you a look.

“Hi, I’m Yangyang, nice to meet you, I don’t want to get my ass hauled out by the police and continue the icebreakers in jail, so let’s move now. We good?”

“Yeah, okay, we’re good,” you say faintly, mind still whirling around as you try to grasp the situation. “I’m Y/N.”

“Great, now up you go.”

He immediately picks you up without any warning, and you almost fall backwards, arms flailing before you grasp the top of the fence and pull yourself up. Balancing precariously on top of it, you grab his arm, tugging him up until he’s sitting right next to you, too. The both of you swing your legs over the fence and jump down to the other side. You let out a sigh of relief, squatting down as you clutch your heart.

“Oh my god, we made it. I didn’t get arrested at my first party.”

“What an amazing accomplishment.” Yangyang brushes off the back of his shorts. “We aren’t going to jail. Freshman year is gonna be a breeze if your bar is set this low.”

“Hey!” You frown at him, standing up and crossing your arms over your chest. “How do you know I’m a freshman?”

“It’s written all over your face.” You give him a look, and he relents. “Only a freshman would be this scared of getting caught.”

“So are you an upperclassman?”

“Nah, this is my first party, too. I’m rushing for Nu Chi. Hold on, wait here.” He sneaks around the edge of the fence, peering around for a few seconds before jogging back towards you. “Okay, the police are over there. I’m gonna have to wait a while before going back in.”

“You have to go back?”

“Part of tonight’s rush process,” he sighs before turning to you. “Do you live on campus?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna walk back now,” you answer, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “It’s late, and I’m not in a partying mood anymore.”

“I can walk you back,” he offers, and you shoot him a grateful smile.

“That’d be great, thanks.”

The two of you start the trek back, an awkward lull in the conversation making itself known. You wrap your arms around yourself, shivering slightly when a soft breeze picks up. There’s a light rustling noise, and you pay no mind to it until a soft cloth is draped over your shoulders. Eyes widening, you notice the colorful, palm tree-printed button down shirt wrapped around you and the boy next to you, looking straight ahead with his hands shoved into his pockets. Smiling to yourself, you slip on the shirt, loosely buttoning the front of it.

“So, Yangyang,” you casually begin, testing his name on your tongue for the first time. You decide you like it. It’s cute. He turns to you, raising an eyebrow, and you continue, “Since our lives are no longer in jeopardy, we can continue the icebreakers, right?”

His lips curve into a smile. “Alright, shoot. What’s your first question?”

“Captain America or Iron Man?”

“Oh, Iron Man, hands down. He’s so…”

You meet him in August.

FEBRUARY 2019.

“Hey, where’s your cereal? The Reese’s one?”

February marks six months of your relationship with Dejun. It also marks six months of your friendship with Yangyang. It is time for your weekly Sunday rituals of watching old cartoons and eating breakfast, and you could’ve sworn that box was still half full last week. You rummage through the top drawer Yangyang had designated for snacks and other foods in his dorm as he takes out the milk from his mini fridge and carries it over to his desk.

“I ran out a few days ago. There’s Cinnamon Toast Crunch somewhere in there though.”

With a victorious cry, you manage to pull out the slightly crushed box of the aforementioned cereal from underneath the packages of flamin’ hot Cheetos and spicy nacho Doritos and triumphantly bring it over to your best friend. He already pulls out two bowls (which were stolen from the dining hall) and hands over the plastic spoons in his grasp (which was also taken from the dining hall).

“Thanks.” After dropping a spoon into each bowl, you shake out the sugary cereal squares before pouring the milk because you’re not an absolute heathen who puts milk in first, like Sicheng. Yangyang clambers up to his top bunk bed, and you carefully pass over the two bowls of cereal, milk sloshing precariously near the edges. You climb up afterwards, and he gives you your bowl once you settle down.

“So, Scooby Doo or Pokémon?”

“Mm, we watched Pokémon last Sunday already, so let’s do Scooby Doo this time.” He nods in agreement, pulling up the cartoon from the queue in Netflix, and the two of you lean back against the ginormous mound of pillows and stuffed animals of his that occupy nearly half of his bed.

You’re shoveling a spoonful of cereal into your mouth when he casually asks, “So how’re you and Dejun doing?”

Choking slightly, you quickly swallow. “We’re doing good. I think he booked a table at the Italian restaurant down the street for Valentine’s Day. Are you doing anything for Valentine’s?”

“I’m forcing Renjun to come watch that “‘Happy Death Day’ movie with me.” The faint sounds of the Scooby Doo theme song plays in the background as you hum in acknowledgement, mouth twisting into a mischievous smirk.

“That’s so sweet. So who confessed to who? Not gonna lie, I thought you had a crush on Hyuck, not Jun.”

“... I would shove you right now, but I just did my laundry, and rewashing my comforter is expensive and I’m out of quarters.”

You stick your tongue out at him, and he rolls his eyes before lifting his bowl up to sip the best part of having Cinnamon Toast Crunch: the milk infused with all the cinnamony, sugary goodness. You let your spoon fall back into your bowl with a soft clink, a sudden worrying thought popping into your head.

“I bought him some customized guitar picks and a pretty composition book. Do you think he’ll like it?”

“That’s a pretty basic gift, isn’t it? It feels like something Kun would get him,” he teases, but his heart falls when he notices you chewing on your bottom lip, spoon held limply in your hand.

“Hey, I’m just joking, of course he would like it. He’s completely whipped. He’ll love anything from you.” Yangyang’s voice grows softer, and he fiddles with a stray thread on his comforter, avoiding eye contact with you. “I know I would.”

He looks up slightly and sees you smiling gratefully at him, eyes shining bright. He quickly ducks his head, turning away slightly to hide the hues of pink blooming on his cheeks. He feels you leaning over to rest your head on his shoulder with a quiet sigh, and his breath hitches in his throat.

“Thanks, Yang.”

Replaying the sight of your smile in his mind makes his stomach flip flop, and he resists the overwhelming urge to tell you you’re pretty, pushing it back into the farthest crevice of his mind.  Your head on his shoulder makes him feel like he’s carrying the entire world, and he doesn’t know what to do. He paints on a tight smile of his own, silently hoping you can’t hear the way his heart nearly pounds out of his chest.

Yangyang knows that having feelings for his best friend, specifically one of his good friends’ girlfriends, is something he absolutely should not be doing, but he can’t help it. His stupid heart refuses to listen to his brain. For now, all he can do is desperately hope that this dumb crush of his goes away soon because while 99% of his friends are oblivious (including you), Ten and Donghyuck are not. They’ll be able to spot his feelings from a mile away, like how Kun always knows when there’s a good sale going on at the Asian supermarket downtown (This week, it was the 50% off bean sprouts and chili paste).

Letting out an inaudible sigh, Yangyang carefully rests his head on top of yours. Clutching the empty bowl with one hand, he shoves his other one under his thigh to stop himself from reaching over and tangling his fingers with yours. He stares at the screen, watching until the bright colors blur together.

“Anytime.”

He likes you in February.

AUGUST 2019.

The earth spins around the sun for another time, and August makes its presence known once again. It’s Thursday night, and you’re sitting on the countertop in Nu Chi Theta’s kitchen, swinging your legs back and forth as Yangyang struggles to make some scrambled eggs because the half filled carton of eggs the two of you managed to find is the only thing that isn’t expired (besides Jeno’s protein shakes, but neither of you are gonna touch that cardboard tasting monstrosity).

“Maybe I should make it.” You peer over at the frying pan, wincing when you see the full damage of your future meal. “Did you use oil?”

“Of course I did!” he exclaims indignantly before pitifully pushing around the nearly charred mess of yolk and whites around with his spatula. “I’m not Mark.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” you mutter, waving your hand around to dissipate the acrid burning smell, and Yangyang throws you a dirty look. He grabs a fork and stabs a small chunk of the eggs. Picking it up, he brings it closer to his mouth before hesitating. His eyes dart to you, and you raise your eyebrows at him, a silent challenge in your gaze. The sad piece of egg hovers in the air for a few more seconds before he defeatedly drops it back into the pan.

“Okay, what if we just Uber Eats some McDonald’s?” Turning off the stove, he then tosses the remnants of his cooking into the trash and drops the pan into the sink.

“Stellar plan. Best idea you’ve had all night.” You hop off the counter to stand next to him, propping your chin on his shoulder to see him pull up the app. He immediately puts in your usual order along with his before holding it up for you to see it better.

“Looks good?”

“Looks perfect.”

He clicks the confirmation button, and the delivery is set to come in 30 minutes. You’re suddenly hyper aware of how close you are with your chest pressed against his back and hastily move away, warmth spreading across your cheeks.

Glancing over at your best friend, you don't miss the way Yangyang smiles down at something on his phone before his fingers fly across the screen. When he looks up, you immediately turn away, focusing your eyes on anything but him.

“Hey, you’re going to the Alpha Sig formal, right?” Yangyang calls out, and you throw on a teasing grin.

“You mean Alpha Sigma Psi, also known as the sorority I’m in?”

“Ah, right, yeah.” He flushes, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “But you’re going, right?”

You nod, the sudden realization creeping up on you. “Oh yeah, I am, thanks for reminding me. I completely forgot to ask, but do you want t—”

“Ningning just asked me to go with her,” Yangyang blurts out, and you freeze, failing to hide your shock for a split second before you regain your composure.

“Oh wow, that’s great, Yang! I’ll see you there then.” You try to give him a convincing smile. He wrings his hands, biting his bottom lip. Something is on his mind. You can tell. He’s not someone to hold back with his words, but this time, he is.

“I… I don’t know if I’m gonna go,” he says at last. Your heart picks up a little at that. Does that mean he doesn’t want to go to the dance at all? Or does he not want to go with Ningning? If you asked him now, would it make a difference?

“I’ve never slow danced,” he confesses, leaning against the opposite counter, and your heart drops. So that was it. Of course, he wouldn’t reject Ningning. She’s an absolute goddess, heck, you wouldn’t say no if she asked you either. You stamp out that last flicker of hope.

“What if I suck at it?” he continues, absentmindedly carding his fingers through his hair. “Oh god, I bet Yukhei and Kunhang are never gonna let me live it down. I can do choreographed dances, but I’m gonna mess up over a stupid slow dance. But where am I supposed to put my hands?! Like on her shoulders? Her waist? Do I hold her hand?”

Your eyes follow the way his hair ruffles slightly, and you wonder if it’s as soft as it looks. You swallow hard before saying quietly, “I can teach you?”

His hand pauses mid-movement, and your eyes fly down to meet his. His eyes widen, and he contemplates your offer for a split second before nodding excitedly. “Yeah, that’d be great! Can you teach me right now? While we wait for our food to come!”

“S-sure,” you stammer, flustered at the sudden acceptance and his eagerness. “Um, here? In the kitchen?”

“Yeah, why not?” He shrugs before straightening up. “The lights should be dimmed, right? We can kind of mimic that here to set the mood or whatever.”

He goes over and fiddles with the light switch, flicking it on and off, and you laugh, walking over and placing your hand over his. “What are you doing? Some kind of Kevin Nguyen mating call to look for a rave bae?”

“First off, I’m offended that you think I’d be one of them,” Yangyang narrows his eyes at you. “Secondly, I’m trying to make this feel more formal dance-y. Oh, wait!”

He turns off the lights for the last time and reaches over to pull open the refrigerator doors, the artificial fluorescent light pouring out and mixing with the faint beams coming in through the window from the street lamps outside. He grins at you, satisfied. “Romantic, huh?”

You roll your eyes, but the amused smile on your face gives away your true feelings. “Wow, Romeo, you swept me off my feet. The food is gonna go bad, and Kun is gonna kill you for the high electricity bill.”

“What food? Jeno’s protein shakes probably never expire.” He snorts before standing closer to you, his hands resting on either side of you on the counter. You can see the pretty gold flecks in his irises, and your breath gets caught in your throat. “And I guess this means you gotta teach me fast before we waste more electricity, right?”

You place your hands on his chest and lightly push him away, and he laughs, stepping back. You let out a shaky breath, remembering that your lungs need oxygen in order to, you know, continue living.

“Okay,” you clear your throat before pulling out your phone and putting on a slow song. “Ready?”

“You chose Ed Sheeran? Thinking Out Loud? Really?”

You raise your hands up defensively. “Hey, he’s the king of sappy slow songs that all girls want to be played at their weddings for their first dance.”

When your legs don't work like they used to before,

And I can't sweep you off of your feet,

Will your mouth still remember the taste of my love?

Will your eyes still smile from your cheeks?

“Is this the song you want played at your wedding?” He raises an eyebrow at you, and your face grows warm. You ignore the question, and this time, you’re the one taking a bold step forward, a few centimeters now separating you and your best friend. You see his Adam’s apple bob as he gulps lightly before meeting your eyes.

And darling, I will be loving you 'til we're seventy,

And baby, my heart could still fall as hard at twenty-three,

And I'm thinking 'bout how people fall in love in mysterious ways.

“So, your hands go here.” You take his hands and place them on either side of your waist. His arms freeze up. “Relax, Yang. Precious cargo here.”

He lets out a chuckle, loosening his grip as he starts to relax. You reach up and slide your arms around his neck, interlocking your fingers. You gaze back at him, saying softly, “Now pull me closer.”

He does so.

Maybe just the touch of a hand,

Oh me I fall in love with you every single day,

And I just wanna tell you I am.

“And now follow my lead. We’re going to take one step. And then another. We’re just slowly turning in a circle.”

After a few spins and steps, you stop leading and let yourself be led. Yangyang continues to hold onto you carefully, and you can hear him muttering a 1, 2, 3, 4 count under his breath until he finally gets the hang of it. He grows a little braver, pulling you even closer.

So honey now,

Take me into your loving arms,

Kiss me under the light of a thousand stars.

“Are you going with Dejun?” he asks quietly, and you stiffen at the mention at him before shaking your head.

“No, we broke up in July.”

Yangyang falters in his step before recovering. “Oh. You never told me.”

“Yeah.” You struggle to keep your voice level. “I just… he’s your friend, and I didn’t want to make it weird.”

“You’re my best friend though,” he says firmly, looking you directly in the eyes. His grip on your waist tightens. “It’s his loss. That dumbass just lost the best person who’ll ever come into his life.”

You give him a tired half smile, one that doesn’t quite meet your eyes. He hugs you closer to him, wrapping his arms around your waist and securing you against his chest. You rest your head in the crook of his neck and hope that he doesn’t feel how quickly your heart beats in your chest.

Place your head on my beating heart,

I'm thinking out loud,

Maybe we found love right where we are.

“Thanks, Yang,” you whisper, your breath tickling his skin. He envelops you tightly, and the two of you continue to spin in slow circles, quietly dancing in the refrigerator light as the remaining verses of the song warble in the background.

You think you finally understand what Dejun meant when he said he’s breaking up with you because your heart was already occupied by someone else.

You fall in love with him in August.

NOVEMBER 2019.

[ 12:54 a.m. ] yang 🐏🤪: hey you up?

[ 12:54 a.m. ] yang 🐏🤪: 7/11 in ten mins?

Tiredly rubbing your eyes, you stumble out of your dorm building, one of Jeno’s sweaters draped over your figure. November nights are cold, but this one seems chillier than usual. Yangyang stands near the front steps, and he stiffens up when he notices whose hoodie you’re wearing. He makes no mention of it though when you join him.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” He glances over to you as the two of you walk side by side to the small convenience store just on the edge of campus. You shake your head, shoving your hands into the front pocket of your sweater.

“I was up cramming for midterms. I could use a break anyway,” you shrug. A wisp of your hair falls in your face, and Yangyang starts to reach out to fix it, but forces himself to keep his hand by his side. You reach out to carelessly brush it away, tucking it behind your ear.

“What about you?” You look over at him, noting the bags under his eyes. “Rough night?”

He smiles tiredly at you, shoving his hands into his pockets as he kicks a stray pebble along the sidewalk. “More like rough week. Two more midterms left, and they’re for electromagnetic theory and linear systems.”

“Oh god, good luck. I took linear systems today, and it was absolutely brutal.” You wince, brightening up when you see the familiar neon orange, red, and green lights up ahead.

“Maybe I should just withdraw and take it again next quarter,” your best friend grumbles, kicking the stone as far as he possibly can.

“You really want another quarter with Hwang?”

“You’re right,” he sighs, “I just need to get a C+ to maintain my GPA. C if I’m pushing it.”

The two of you hurry over to the 7-Eleven, quickening your pace, until you reach the store doors, and you pull them open. Entering quickly, you push the door open slightly wider, and Yangyang slips in behind you. The cashier doesn’t even look up, texting away on his phone. You make a beeline towards the chips aisle, grabbing a bag of flamin’ hot Cheetos and a pack of sour gummy worms.

“What are you getting, Yang?” You call out over your shoulder, eyes zeroing in on the Red Bull stand at the end of the aisle. When you hear no response, you halt in your steps, turning around. Yangyang stands in the middle of the aisle, looking dazed under the fluorescent lights.

Putting your items back on the shelf, you approach him, reaching out and touching his arm gently. “Yangyang, what’s wrong?”

He jerks back before silently holding up his phone for you to see. There’s a slew of text messages from Ningning a few hours ago, and a quick scan tells you all you need to know. Your heart weighs heavily in your chest when you look back at him, a forlorn expression on his face.

“She dumped me,” he says quietly, shoving the phone back into his pocket. “She said our relationship was like a friendship. She didn’t feel anything. She said we could still be friends if I wanted to be though.”

He jabs a large bag of Lays potato chips angrily as his voice raises slightly higher. “But I don’t get it. Do friends take each other on dates? Do friends spend the night? Do friends hug each other and hold hands walking to class? Do friends spend three hundred dollars to do a surprise weekend trip for their birthday?”

He whirls around to face you, and he’s so close that you can see those pretty golden sparkles in his eyes again. Suddenly, his hands are cupping your face, and the next thing you know, he’s kissing you. Your eyes widen for a fraction of a second before they flutter shut, and you press your lips against his. The 90s pop station music playing overhead seems to fade away, and all you can focus on is that your best friend tastes like spearmint gum and grape soju. He pulls away abruptly, the realization of what he’s done finally hitting him as his chest heaves up and down.

“Do friends kiss like this?”

His voice is barely a whisper, but it cuts through the silence. You feel like you’re spinning out of control, a split second from careening and crashing.

“No, we—they don’t,” you mumble, and Yangyang sees the starstruck look in your eyes, and he wants to apologize: to say sorry for kissing you. But he doesn’t. Because for some reason, he doesn’t feel sorry. He closes his eyes, curling his hands into fists before exhaling slowly. He sees you looking back at him this time, and he wonders if you feel as equally lost as he does.

Because you’re right. Friends don’t kiss each other like that. Friends don’t feel like this about each other.

He kisses you in November.

AUGUST 2020.

The sun still shines bright late into the day, and August greets you like an old friend. You’re absentmindedly doodling in the margins of your notebook designated for Quantum Mechanics. Yangyang sits next to you in the lecture hall, making a bunch of origami cranes before tossing them at Renjun’s head right in front of him. When the bird reaches its target for the sixth time in a row, the annoyed boy whirls around in his seat, glaring at your best friend.

“Stop that,” he hisses, and Yangyang innocently raises his hands in the air. Renjun angrily frowns at him before turning back around in his seat. After a few minutes, Yangyang flicks another crane towards his friend. If this was a cartoon, you would see steam blowing out of your friend’s ears. You silently watch as he wordlessly picks up his phone, seething as he presses on a particular number.

Suddenly, Travis Scott’s SICKO MODE starts blasting, amplified by the large auditorium-like room. The professor goes silent, and everyone turns to see Yangyang scrambling to pick up his phone. He fumbles around for a few seconds with it before finally shutting it off and putting it on vibrate mode. Cheeks burning red, he meekly puts his phone back in his bag and squeaks out a “sorry” before sinking down in his chair (You can see the culprit grinning like the cat ate the canary right in front of him. Karma’s a bitch who also goes by the name of Renjun).

You pat his arm consolingly as he sulks next to you for a few minutes, mouth jutting out into a pout. You decide to take pity on him and lean closer to him, whispering quietly, “Would it make you feel better if I bought you boba after class?”

Immediately, he brightens up. “One oolong milk tea, half sugar with white pearls and coconut jelly?”

“Yes, I’ll pay for your overpriced drink,” you huff, thinking about how his one seven dollar drink could buy you a whole rotisserie chicken that’ll last you a week. At least the fluffy dog at Cloudy with a Chance of Boba is cute and fun to play with. “I’ll even get the honey waffle fries.”

“Heck yeah!” he whisper-yells, fist pumping quietly before he suddenly deflates. “Wait, I can’t. I promised Lia I’d get lunch with her.”

Ah, right, there’s Lia now. Yangyang’s new girlfriend: the only other student who went to Düsseldorf, Germany to study abroad over the summer, and inevitably, the two of them became close. All you really know about her is that she’s pretty, she’s in Iota Theta Zeta, and she followed you on Instagram a few weeks ago (of course, you followed her back because of the unspoken best friend and girlfriend policy).

Her page looks carefully curated, and there’s a common pink tinted theme going on throughout her feed. She has over a thousand followers, and it seems like Yangyang fits perfectly in her magazine curated life, judging by how he occupies nearly every picture taken in the summer with her or how he’s tagged as the photographer. You can’t deny that they look good together, pointedly shoving the green eyed monster back under the bed.

You take a peek at your messy Instagram page where you only post pictures when you’re half drunk, so there’s no semblance of uniformity anywhere. You shrug at him, pocketing your phone.

“No biggie. I’ll see if Karina is up for some boba. She’s been holed up in the dance studio already, and it’s only week two of classes, can you believe it?”

“I remember Ten was the same way,” Yangyang hums, eyes fixated on his phone and fingers tapping away. He laughs quietly, lips curling into a pretty smile, and you glance over curiously.

“What’s so funny?”

“Hmm?” Yangyang finally tears his eyes away from his screen for a split second to look at you before another buzz takes his attention away. He’s distracted, lovestruck, and you wistfully smile before turning back to your notes.

“Sorry, what’d you say earlier?” he loudly whispers a few minutes later, and you barely glance up from the large bulbasaur doodle you’re in the progress of completing right next to the chart marking the wave functions for a bouncing ball that you had copied down from the blackboard.

“Oh, I just asked what was so funny,” you murmur, coloring in the flowers you drew around the Pokémon with your blue ballpoint pen.

He looks confused for a moment before lighting up. “Oh! It was just a German joke. It’s not really funny if I translate it though.”

“Got it, no worries.” You notice the professor starting a new example problem, and you abandon your drawing, focusing on the formulas rapidly filling up the chalkboards in front of you. A quiet chuckle echoes in your ears, and you pause in your note taking to look over and see your best friend still typing on his phone. You make a mental reminder to create a copy of your notes for him later on when you pass the library on the way to the dining hall.

“Hey, Y/N.” Yangyang nudges you gently. “Rain check on the boba?”

You offer him a soft smile. “Of course. Anytime.”

He gives you a quick grin in return before his attention returns to the device in his hand—or rather, the pretty girl behind those texts. Your best friend is sitting right next to you, but you’ve never felt so far away. You know distance makes the heart grow fonder, but you don’t think it’s possible to be even fonder of him than you are now. Bad habits are hard to break, and you’ve made a terrible one of loving him. No wonder it’s beginning to hurt so much.

You lose him in August.

DECEMBER 2020.

December is the coldest month of the year, yet it is also simultaneously the warmest with all the holiday festivities it brings. If Yangyang were to choose a month to describe you, it’d be this one. You are a walking paradox, a conundrum he might never solve, an oxymoron come to life. He doesn’t understand how you can be his best friend, yet feel like a stranger; a friend who he wants as a lover; someone who has created such an impact in his life, but disappears seamlessly here and there.

He wonders when you’ve gotten so distant. He wonders why he never noticed the way you seemed to slip away through the cracks until it’s now nearing the end of the year, and the last time he’s seen you in person was before the November autumn break.

But you’re here.

You’re standing right next to the punch bowl filled with spiked eggnog, wearing a garish knitted button down jumper with brightly colored Christmas lights decorating it. It’s perfectly in theme with the Ugly Christmas Sweater party Nu Chi is holding, and Yangyang is beyond ecstatic to know that you’re attending. He had texted you an invite two weeks ago, and you merely reacted with a thumbs up.

Yangyang swears he was going to follow up with you on that, but he got so caught up with midterms, then meeting Lia’s family for Thanksgiving, then studying for finals, and then finally, preparing for this party. Buying enough beer for twenty-three keg stands is a lot more difficult than it seems (Donghyuck’s car broke down halfway during one trip, and they all had to carry back the packs of beers to the house in 40 degree weather in their Sperry boat shoes and Patagonia long sleeves that definitely weren’t cut out for this kind of weather).

His girlfriend is somewhere in the room, wearing the other half of the reindeer sweater she forced him to put on, but all he can focus on is you. He hurriedly makes his way over, skidding to a stop in front of you, and you’re startled before a smile spreads across your face.

“Hey, you, I haven’t seen you in a while.” You grin at him, reaching out to poke the reindeer tail sticking out from the front of his itchy sweater (Lia got to wear the head half of the reindeer, while he was stuck with the behind).

“Yeah, how have you been?” He reaches around you to pick up a cup and pour himself some eggnog. He offers you one, but you decline with a small shake of your head.

“I’ve been doing good, a bit tired with finals coming up, but what’s new?” You joke, grabbing one of the sugar cookies from the table. You’re secretly surprised that they actually have real food (No, Hyuck, Jell-O shots do not count as real food). You suspect Jaemin has something to do with it. He always contributes to the annual Greek row bake sale.

“Are you here with someone? Did Karina come?” he asks, curiosity coating every word. He looks around for your roommate, but she’s nowhere to be found.

You shake your head. “No, I actually came with—”

“Me!”

Yukhei bounds over, slipping an arm over your shoulder. He hands you a new cup of apple cider, which you accept gratefully. He grins happily at Yangyang, who freezes up at the sight of his tall friend. “I asked her to be my date for the party, and she agreed. She also made our sweaters! Aren’t they so cool? There’s even lights that spell my name and play Christmas songs. She did a bunch of cool programming tricks to make them work.”

Yangyang realizes with a start that the two of you are indeed wearing matching sweaters, and that leaves a rather sour taste in his mouth (and it definitely wasn’t because of expired eggnog). The corners of his lips tilt downward as he presses his lips together tightly.

“So… you two are together?” He gestures between you and Yukhei with a forced laugh. Jealousy never did look good on anybody, and unfortunately, he’s not an exception.

“We’re just seeing each other and seeing how it goes for now,” you answer quietly, noting the way your best friend reacts. You have always been good at reading him, and you tread carefully now, not wanting to make a scene. Drunk Yangyang never holds anything back, and he’s had quite a few pre-game shots already (It definitely doesn’t help that he’s a lightweight, too).

“I see. How did you guys meet? Or I guess, start talking?” He attempts to look intimidating, staring down at Yukhei, but it’s a difficult feat to accomplish, especially when he’s trying to stare down a six foot guy who’s more like an overgrown puppy and his friend.

“Oh, she came by for one of your boba runs, but you were still out with Lia. So I asked if I could go with her.” Yukhei flashes his pearly whites at you, and you chuckle, leaning your head against his shoulder.

“I said yes, and we hit it off, I guess.”

“You guess? And you took him on our boba runs?”

“You were out with Lia,” you say defensively, and he blanches when he hears his girlfriend’s name come out of your mouth.

“You could’ve waited,” he mutters, but you still hear it, and you give him a scathing look, finally too tired of this push and pull game that’s been going on behind the scenes for nearly three years now.

“I did. I waited over an hour here for you, but you didn’t show up or even text me that you were gonna be late. Yukhei was nice enough to offer to go with me.”

He stays silent, and you gnaw on your bottom lip, unsure of what to say next. Yukhei looks at you in concern, but you reach up and squeeze his hand reassuringly, which your best friend doesn’t fail to notice, his lips pressing into an even thinner line.

“I don’t understand what the deal is,” you finally burst out, startling both boys. “What’s the big deal about me and Yukhei going out?”

Something inside of him finally snaps. “The big deal is that you’re basically sleeping through my list of friends and then breaking up with them! First Dejun, then Jeno, now Yukhei? Who’s next? Should I give Renjun a heads up? Pencil you into his planner? Or Sicheng?  Sungchan? You have a class with him, so you’re bound to flirt with him, too, right? When are you gonna stop fucking around with my frien—”

He gasps, stopping mid-outburst as he stares at you in disbelief. Apple cider slides down from his hair, dripping onto his face and soaking into his sweater, the sticky juice clinging to his skin uncomfortably. You’re absolutely seething, the empty cup crackling in your clenched fist. Shocked, Yukhei carefully tugs the plastic away from you and places it on the table before replacing it with his own hand, his thumb caressing circles on the back of your hand soothingly. Yangyang doesn’t dare to meet his furious gaze, lifting his chin to look at you instead. The entire room has hushed down by now, all eyes staring directly at the three of you in a mixture of surprise and slight terror.

“Screw you, Yangyang,” you say lowly, voice shaking with anger. Tears form on the edge of your waterline, but you blink them away before hastily brushing a stray droplet from your cheek. “They asked me out. I said yes. We went out. It didn’t work out. We move on. Just like how you’ve gone out with my  friends. And they didn’t work out, so you moved on. So what’s so wrong about that? What’s so wrong about trying again to find love?”

He can’t answer you, curling his hands into fists until his fingernails indent miniature crescents in his palms—until the pain overtakes the feelings that are threatening to spill from his heart. Yangyang may not be yours, but he doesn’t like the fact that he can’t call you his either.

Love. That’s what you want, that’s what you crave, but not if it’s from him. So what is he supposed to do with love that’s unwanted? It’s bursting at the seams, and he has nowhere to hide it anymore.

He loves you in December.

AUGUST 2021.

August sneaks up on you this time around, and you find yourself in Kunhang’s apartment. All of your close friends are here, starting the last year of youth with one final first day party. You think back to that day three years ago: when your eyes met a pair of equally bright ones for the first time.

Curled up next to Yukhei on the couch, you look across the room and meet those very same eyes, although they seem hazier this time around. Lia is wrapped around his arm, and you think it’s quite ironic how both your and his relationships remain the same after all this time. Perhaps you both were bad luck for each other, leading to the other’s demise with short lived relationships. He looks away from you.

The rules of truth or dare are simple. You cannot ask the same person again until three other people have been asked first, and no one can be asked more than three times in each round. And, for reasons you can’t understand, everyone seems to take the code of truth seriously.

“I’ll start,” Kunhang announces, leaning back in one of the several beanbags he has in his place. “Goeun, truth or dare?”

Goeun sighs, leaning back on the palms of her hands. “Dare.”

“You and Mark, seven minutes in heaven.” Hendery points towards the coat closet, and the immediate reaction of hoots and wolf whistles has the girl rolling her eyes. With an exasperated huff, she stands up and pulls a red faced Mark along with her.

“Wait, you gotta pick the next person!” Donghyuck calls out, and she stops in her tracks, throwing open the closet door and shrugging. “You can choose for me.”

With that, she and Mark disappear behind the door, and Donghyuck turns toward the rest of the group, eyes glimmering mischievously. You pay no attention to him, absentmindedly playing with Yukhei’s fingers. You tug one of his rings off his finger, and he smiles, plucking it from your grasp carefully before holding your hand. He carefully slides it onto your right ring finger, but it falls off. Grinning, he pretends to try it on every single one of your fingers until finally settling on your thumb. The ring fits snugly there, and you admire it, wriggling your thumb around.

“Well, look at that. It fits you. I think that means we’re meant to be,” Yukhei says, smiling broadly, and you laugh, interlocking your fingers with his again before glancing down at the silver engraved band resting on your finger. The weight of the metal feels heavy resting against your knuckle.

“Yangyang, truth or dare.”

Donghyuck’s voice cuts through your thoughts, and you instinctively perk up in your seat at the sound of his name before freezing up in your spot. Yukhei squeezes your hand softly, and you tighten your grip around his fingers.

“Truth.”

“You’re no fun,” Donghyuck sighs, slouching back against the armrest. Yukhei leans over and whispers something in his ear before settling back next to you, shifting slightly to wrap his arm around you. Donghyuck lifts an eyebrow at your boyfriend before shrugging. “Okay, here’s an easy one. Are you in love…”

“Yes.”  is his immediate response, and you notice how Lia absolutely preens next to him.

“… with Y/N?”

Your breath hitches in your throat, and you immediately turn your head to look at Yukhei, your eyes growing wide in horror. He looks apologetic, shoulders drooping. “I’m sorry, but just the way he looks at you, it’s so obvious, and I had to know.”

You whip around to face the boy in question. With bated breath, you look at him, but Yangyang stares at the center of the floor, struggling internally. Everyone is quiet, and it reminds you of the calm before a storm. At last, he looks up, gazing right at you, and you can almost swear that you see those pretty little gold flecks in his irises from here.

“Yes,” Yangyang confesses quietly.

There’s almost a collective gasp rippling through the room, and Yukhei lets out an inaudible swear under his breath. Your grip on his hand grows slack as you fumble to get a grasp on the entire situation.

He loves you. He loves you. He loves you.

The words echo in your mind like a mantra until it grows so loud that you can’t hear any of your own thoughts anymore. Lia is in absolute hysterics, demanding an explanation from him, but he merely shrugs her off. Standing up, he quickly moves to leave the room, glancing at you one more time before disappearing out the front door.

It’s like your body is on auto-pilot after this. You drop Yukhei’s hand, immediately standing up and rushing after your best friend, paying no mind to the hushed whispers that only seem to increase in volume once you leave. You step out onto the porch, and there he is, sitting on the steps.

You quietly stand behind him, contemplating what to say and carefully choosing your next words. But there’s only one question on your mind.

“Why did you say that?”

He stays silent for a moment, staring out at the moon shining brightly ahead. “Because I meant it.”

Your heart wrenches in your chest. “You shouldn’t.”

He finally turns to look at you, an indescribable look in his eyes. It reminds you of heartbreak. “But I do. And I tried not to for the past three fucking years, but I can’t anymore.”

“Since freshman year?” You feel the tears well up in your eyes, and this time, you let them go. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Yangyang grips onto the edge of the stairs tightly, frustration ringing with every word that falls from his mouth. “Because I was scared. And I thought you never felt the same way. You’re my best friend, and I didn’t want to lose you.”

“Yang…” You whisper, hand reaching out as you let it hover over his shoulder for a few seconds. Then, you pull back, curling your fingers into fists, pressing crescent indentations into the palms of your hands.

He stands up, whirling around to look at you, desperate. “Tell me I’m not too late. Please, Y/N.”

Something inside of you breaks. You open your mouth and start to say something when the door opens behind you. Turning around, you see Yukhei. His eyes widen when he sees the two of you standing there.

You know this is it. This is the moment. This is where you have to decide.

“I, I was just looking for you. I wanted to make sure you’re okay.” Yukhei awkwardly rubs the back of his neck, taking a step back. “I’m sorry, I’m gonna go back in and—”

“No, wait, it’s okay,” you gently interrupt him. You reach out and slip your hand into his, and he relaxes, giving you a relieved smile. You smile softly back at your boyfriend before turning to face him, eyes apologetic.

“I’m sorry, Yangyang.”

He and you are asymptotes: two lines curving towards each other, but never touching; two hands reaching towards each other, but never interlocking; two people tangling their red strings of fate, but never tying.

You give him one last glance before going back inside with Yukhei.

You break his heart in August.

SEPTEMBER 2021.

September is supposed to be a new beginning: the transition from summer to autumn. Yangyang doesn’t think he can let go of you as easily as the trees shed their green for gold and red. Wherever he goes, wherever he looks, little reminders of you bloom in every crevice. You’re absolutely everywhere and nowhere, and it drives him crazy.

He thinks he’s gone completely insane when he hears your laugh while he’s walking to the laundromat one day. He shoves his airpods in and continues on his way until he sees you. Walking across the street, there you are. You’re on the phone with someone, and he contemplates going over to say hello. But suddenly, you’re hanging up the phone and waving eagerly at someone. When he turns his head to look, his heart drops and gets buried six feet under. He hurriedly ducks into a nearby bookstore and watches as you run up to Yukhei, slipping your hand into his like it’s second nature to you now. The two of you walk off together, and Yangyang is left standing at the window of the store until the shop owner politely asks if there’s anything he needs.

He doubts a time machine is something they have in stock, so he silently shakes his head and steps out onto the street once again. It is now silent and empty.

He loses you in September.

AUGUST 2022.

A lot can change in eleven months.

You’re twenty two years old, but you feel like you’re eighteen again. You know you’re going to see him for the first time since September at Kun’s housewarming. You had repeatedly assured Yukhei that you’d be fine. After all, life goes on; the world doesn’t stop just because you had a falling out with your best friend, even if it may have been a little more than that. Nevertheless, a year has nearly passed. Time is known to be the best healer, and perhaps your heart has shed its old skin and habits.

Your hand is safely enveloped in Yukhei’s, and the two of you walk towards your older friend’s new apartment. He playfully swings your interlocked hands back and forth, and you giggle, tightening your grip around his fingers. You stop in front of the door, the muffled sounds of a party slipping through the cracks. You suck in a breath, shoulders tensed. He’s in there.

“Are you okay?”

Yukhei squeezes your hand gently, voice laced with concern. You remember to breathe, exhaling slowly and relaxing before nodding. You smile up at him. “I’m okay.”

“If you want, we can go back home now, have another NCIS marathon, and drink this by ourselves.” Yukhei waves around the nice bottle of wine the two of you had brought for Kun. “We can even stop by the convenience store and get some ramen.”

You laugh quietly, the corners of your lips upturning with mirth. “It’s okay, I’m fine, Yukhei, I promise. Plus, I have you, right?”

He brightens up at that, practically beaming at you, and your heart skips a beat. “Right!”

You reach out and knock on the door. Kun greets the two of you, and you enter his apartment. Yukhei still doesn’t let go of your hand, and you follow behind him as you weave your way through the living room, greeting some of your friends. You hear Kunhang calling out to your boyfriend from the kitchen and feel him hesitate next to you. You squeeze his hand gently before letting go and nudging him in the direction of his friend. Yukhei gives you one last look, but you wave him off, smiling goodnaturedly and silently assuring that you’re okay. He swoops down and leaves behind a soft kiss for you before going.

You walk over to the alcohol table, pouring yourself something to drink. Leaning against the wall, you take a sip of your drink, your eyes flitting over the rim of your cup and slowly scanning the room. It feels like forever, like everything is moving in slow motion, like the world is submerged underwater, but it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds.

You find him easily. After all, it’s hard to forget someone whose features you’ve memorized over the past four years. Your eyes map the delicate outline of his face once more, and for a moment, you wonder if red is still his favorite color, or who he shares a carton of Ben and Jerry’s with nowadays. You wonder if he thinks of you sometimes, too.

But then, you wonder where Yukhei is. You search around until you see your boyfriend still standing in the kitchen, laughing at something your mutual friend said. Your eyes soften when you see him grab your favorite snack. You turn back around, your heart swelling in your chest tenfold, and your lips curl upwards, an endeared expression on your face.

That’s when you notice that he’s looking at you.

You brace yourself, waiting for the tidal wave of emotions to wash over you and the quickening of your heart rate to greet you like an old friend. Because that’s what always happens when you’re around him. After all, he is the biggest what-if in your life. He is someone you almost loved forever, someone you almost stayed for.

And yet, nothing happens. You wait a little longer. The world still goes round, and you’re still breathing. There’s no shortness of breath, no erratic heart palpitations, no sweaty palms, absolutely nothing. Liu Yangyang is a stranger in a familiar body, and your heart remains still.

You give Yangyang a faint smile, nodding towards him, and it feels like a sudden jolt in his heart. Time stops, and all he can see is you. You look beautiful. You have always been beautiful. This is his chance. Whatever higher entity out there has taken pity on him and given him a second try to make it right. He finally takes a step towards you, and the tender, encouraging expression in your eyes gives him the strength to take another one. After all, the eyes are the windows to the soul. Clutching his drink in hand, he pushes his way through the crowd. He’s only eight, seven, six, five steps away from you now. A smile grows on his face as relief curls around his heart like a bandage. You’re standing there, waiting for him, smiling at him.

And suddenly, you’re no longer looking at him.

You stopped looking at him.

Yukhei makes his presence known next to you, excitedly chattering about something and gesturing towards the kitchen as he hands you something to eat. It’s a snickerdoodle cookie. Your favorite. Your eyes are fixated on the tall boy, positively sparkling as you beam at him.

Yangyang feels like he can’t breathe. The bandage is ripped off, and all he can feel is excruciating pain like a thousand pinpricks into his heart before the numbness hits. He freezes, rooting himself in that spot on the scratched hardwood floor as his colleagues and friends continue to jostle around him. As his world crumbles around him, he can’t tear his eyes away from you. They stay on you, the barest traces of nostalgia lingering in the dimmed golden flecks of his irises that you had still admired all those months ago. It’s like he’s trapped in a silent film, stuck in a fish bowl and swimming in circles, and he watches in horror as you outstretch your hand and intertwine your fingers around Yukhei’s, leaning up to press your lips against his tenderly. Your boyfriend looks at you like you hung the stars in the night sky yourself (He would believe it if you said you did).

You don’t look at him like that anymore.

Yangyang remembers when you used to. When you used to love him. When you were almost his. He feels something inside of him break for a second time.

The world continues to spin, and yet, he’s still not moving. He’s stuck in quicksand, sinking deeper and deeper as everyone around him moves on—as you move on. He desperately tries to keep you in his view, and his feet finally pick up as he lurches forward. He’s not fast enough. You’re slipping away, walking away from him, hand in hand with Yukhei, disappearing around the corner of the hallway, and he can’t do anything about it. It’s too late. He’s too late. The sticky remnants of cheap beer run down his wrist, and it finally registers in his mind that he had crushed the flimsy plastic cup in his hand sometime in between now and then. In a crowded room full of people, he’s left standing there, alone and lonely.

Almost is the worst way to love someone, Yangyang bitterly realizes. It hurts to lose someone you almost love. No, it was never an ‘almost’. He most certainly loved—loves—you. And it should be impossible to lose someone who was never his to begin with, yet he has. All this time, he thought he had you, but it had always been the other way around.

He was your August, he was your everything, and he is yours.

But you will never be his.

You let go of him in August.