#i could probably write a longer essay on why these two should be together

[seeingteacupsindragons]

My last post to get people to talk about their creative projects has gotten something of a theme. People who are trying to write a book, but instead of actually writing it, are writing a bunch of…other stuff.

I may be biased because I do very little of that extraneous writing­, but I think there’s two main places that situation comes from:

Being scared of writing the book/story

Not actually wanting to write a story

And both of those things themselves could probably be a whole post or series of posts, but let me break them down one at a time to see if it helps anyone figure out what’s going on with them.

Being scared of writing the book/story:

Basically, the writing you’re doing instead of the story is procrastination and avoiding actually working on the story. You don’t want to be writing it, but you’re afraid if you actually write the story, you’ll mess it up, so you’re writing other things and trying to prepare yourself utterly and completely so you know exactly what you’re going to do…except none of that “prep work” worldbuilding and character exploration is actually making you any more confident.

So here’s the thing: You can rewrite the same story from scratch several times if you don’t like what the first try looks like. You can edit the story over and over if you don’t like what it looks like.

Some prep work helps a lot of writers. But at the end of the day, it’s really not helping you write the story. The story is the story and it’s not any of your asides, and the longer you spent avoiding the story and building up All These Cool ideas, the scarier actually writing it is going to get. Because now you have a thousand cool ideas and you’re even more afraid you can’t do them justice than when you had one kinda interesting idea to pursue. You’ve invested all this time—what if the story isn’t good?

It's still going to be better than no story. And you're not going to get better at telling stories without trying to do that specific thing, because of the discussion we're about to get into...

Not actually wanting to write a story:

The people who said this to me in that post were largely writers. But the thing is that doesn’t really get talked about is that…writing isn’t really one hobby.

There’s a lot of kinds of writing, and some of them overlap, but they all require different skills and they require different interests, and they satisfy different parts of a person, if they satisfy any.

Writing a novel is different from writing a short story is different from writing an analytic essay is different from writing standup is different from writing a screenplay is different from writing a Wiki entry is different from writing a business report is different than writing marketing copy is different from writing a technical manual is different from…

I majored in creative writing and minored in professional writing, and I have been writing for 25 years. I have tried a lot of those kinds of writing. I enjoy most of them, because I enjoy wordsmithing. I enjoy putting various words together to see what they look like. Not everyone does, but they might still write because…

They like storytelling. Not everyone who likes storytelling is a writer—sometimes they draw, or make a video game, or pain, or act, or direct, or sing. Lots of ways to tell stories exist! And if you like writing but don’t like storytelling, maybe you’d be happier writing analysis essays or business reports, or marketing copy (which can be storytelling, but is very different from narrative).

And maybe, it leads you to writing long character profiles and worldbuilding documents.

Writing a novel and writing detailed worldbuilding documents are honestly basically different hobbies. You might like both! Or you might not, and just feel like “I like writing,” means you have to write a novel or a short story.

You…don’t. Writing doesn’t mean you have to write any specific thing. You should find why you’re drawn to a specific activity, to figure out what is satisfying you about it.

It is perfectly okay if you enjoy writing about made up worlds without wanting to write a novel about it. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.

So basically:

If you want to write a novel, just do it already! If you don’t, you don’t have to keep telling yourself you will because you feel obligated to do it. Just enjoy whatever part of the process you enjoy.

[phxntomhives-98]

Father I don't want this marriage - review

I just felt the need to share some thoughts after reading the side stories. It contains spoilers of the main story and the side stories too.

Note, this is very much my own opinion and I don't think I am correct nor I am trying to change your mind.

Do I reccomend it? Yes, if you like romance it is nice. I was mainly here for the angst tho and I am mostly satisfied, not in the way I expected but satisfied. Read it on tappytoon if you can, or just buy some chapter to support the author.

Manhwa or novel? I only read the manhwa, so that one. But some said the novel is amazing so you can have a try.

Opinions:

First, I have to say it. Even if it is annoying. The sex scene were absolutely unnecessary. I am picky when it comes to sex in the stories, for me it should be either present since the beginning (i.e. for smut stories or if it is a topic of the serie that has its own focus, maybe due to trauma or as a way to be more free of the character) or it should mean something. As example: the two characters that are finally reunited, the two that longed for each other for so long and are finally together again, them fighting the urge but being unable to for whatever reason etc. Not the "oh damn, how do I make this longer? let's just add sex". And in neither cases (Max and Jeuvi + the parents) it made sense. Plus it was the first time and they magically did everything right but details. Especially for Legis and Amelia. If they are still going to consume before the wedding, make it after Legis came back from the war. When there are so many feelings unsorted and there is still the relief that they are both there and alive and it just happens. Not them casually sharing the bed and Amelia being horny (which still it is very much valid and all, BUT FOR THE STORY THAT VERSION WOULD HAVE MADE MORE SENSE)

Second pet peeve of the serie: listen I love the slowburn. So I loved that everything took forver. BUT WHY THE FUCK IS THE LAST ARC SO SHORT. Legis died, not died, and went full health in like 3 episodes!!?? WHERE IS THE PAIN? THE SUFFERING? ME WONDERING FOR WEEKS IF THEY ARE GOING TO BE FINE OR NOT?

Pet peeves done, you may leave in peace.

Now I shall go with what I liked eheh

Listen, I would kill for a whole story centred on Legis and Amelia. The angst, the unrequired (as if) love, the drama, the war, the witch hunting, the absolute devotion these two share. Everything is perfect. I could cry and write an essay about them for hours. And they are just so perfect.

Jeuvi, I love her ok. She had a wonderful character development and I am proud of her.

Max, my little kitty lol, every single interaction with Legis is hilarious. I love when he is a red flag for everyone but the FL.

Mikhail as a villain was honestly nice to me, like he just went full psyco mode with tunnel vision and I think it fits him. He did is job in the story so congrats to him. The emperor and Fanfil on the other hand felt a little on the weak side, but probably because the ending was so rushed.

The twins left me with honestly no impression, I almost forgot they were there more than once in the side stories.

I sobbed during the wedding ngl, when Jeuvi pulled the "remember at the beginning, when I didn't want you?" I had to take a moment because I saw all the story flashing in front of my eyes.

It's sad to tell them goodbye but now it truly is finished... Bye everyone, it was a nice journey, hope you have a good life.

[confusedshades]

I wish you would write a fic where the plot/intro to the plot is based on some kind of pun-like misunderstanding. (I want to see what you do with the puns.)

This is rough and not thought through as much as I probably should have. Also much longer than you were probably hoping for.

Jason found Damian and Cass working over maps and scrawled notes in the cave when he dropped by one night after patrol. Unable to contain his curiosity about what would have these two working together on a case he wandered over. "What are you two working on?"

Two sets of eyes moved up to consider him. "Todd, what do you know about animal trafficking and fight rings?" Damian went back to considering the map in front of him, with various crosses and circles from previous cases marked out on it. Cass waved him over and made space next to her for him to stand in front of what looked like different case work.

"I don't know a lot about animal trafficking per say, but there has to be similarities to human trafficking, right? Is that what you stumbled on baby bat?" Jason knew the kid has a soft spot for animals and if he had truly stumbled onto a case of animal trafficking then it made sense why he'd be working on it instead of sleeping as soon as patrol ended.

"I was wrapping up patrol when I overheard some low level thugs talking about needing to find a new place because of the dog eat dog competition in the city."

Jason looked up just in time to catch Cass' confused expression. "What?"

"They disappeared into a club before I could get more information, but I plan to figure out where and how they're hosting this fight ring, and then make them regret ever preying on helpless animals." Damian was still scowling over the map.

"Little brother, are you sure those were the exact words they used?" Cass asked turning to look at him.

"Yes I am sure." Damian huffed, crossing his arms and turning to look at the two of them. "Did you not read the case notes I started? All the information is in there, and as soon as I can figure out where to find those two, I'll be able to find out more."

Jason and Cass exchanged a look, and at Cass' expression, Jason sighed. He's going to have to figure out a good way to explain about idioms without riling up his little brother.

"Dami, dog eat dog is an expression. It just means that things are cutthroat in some way, and people have to be ruthless about what they want."

"I am aware of the idiom Todd, but these two were talking about a competition." Damian was truly growing up. A few years ago, he would've been at Jason's throat at the perceived failing, now his frustration was only visible in his voice as he obviously waited for Jason to make his point.

"The word competition gets used a lot with the idiom in Gotham, Damian. It's part of the language actually." Jason made sure to keep his voice steady and non judgemental. The kid had learnt a lot the last couple of years, but being Robin meant he was constantly learning and would continue learning. Suddenly living in a new country and city would not have helped, because the kid basically now had to reset his cultural and linguistic understandings.

"That doesn't make sense Todd. The idiom itself is dog eat dog, with the recognised variation of dog eat dog world." Damian's frown had eased somewhat so he was listening to what they were trying to say and not dismissing it outright.

Cass laid a hand on Jason's shoulder. "Yes," she said cocking her head to the side slightly, "but sometimes when you learn by speaking and listening only, it is not accurate. English is hard, and not everyone goes to school or has good teachers."

"Language also changes," Jason shrugged. "As people and societies change, language changes. All the memes and internet speak as Bruce is fond of calling it, are a good example. You can't use yeet in an essay but you can still say it and have people understand what you mean."

"Oh." Damian was frowning at the maps again but this time it was obvious that he wasn't actually looking at them.

After a few minutes, Cass nudged Jason and Damian. "Hot chocolate?" she asked.

[notthathobbes]

As someone who literally has a degree in writing let me tell you that yes, in the right context, these would HIT, and I hate educational and societal standards/examples of "bad writing" because...

...they're...objectively...wrong.

There's such a "highbrow" misinterpretation of literary quality that's been spread by gatekeepers, educators, and writers for, like, a long time.

(Like, definitely decades, probably centuries. Maybe longer. Ask your resident English/History double major.)

It insists (among many wrong things) that "good" writing must be both eloquent and bewildering. That it must use fancy words and string them together in a fastidious fashion. That it must be striving towards an equivalency to that of Michaelangelo's work: Angelic, entrancing, and perhaps even worthy of worship itself.

And what utter. Complete.

Bullshit.

Because...?

All writing is contextual and subjective.

Would these analogies be appropriate for a high school essay? Probably not. Would plenty of teachers still laugh if they encountered any? Abso-friggan-lutely.

Different styles of writing suit different pieces and purposes of writing. No one (1) single style is any objectively better than another because nothing is universally effective at everything.

Meaning...

Writing that's entertaining/informal/(un)expected/etc. isn't inherently "bad."

Just because we've been taught that the pinnacle of literature is Shakespeare doesn't mean that all good writing must be complex, pretty, or (gods forbid) written in iambic pentameter.

(For the record, I've read over 20 of his plays and all of his sonnets. Over 75% for fun and in my free time.

I love Shakespeare. I'm not slighting him. Just our modern idolization of his work.

Slutty English Bard man is talented, sure, but not a god.)

There are plenty of great writers that prefer for their books to be entertaining and understandable than to be of (arbitrary) "literary merit." Plenty more who surely hate works that need to be analyzed for hours to understand or must be combed through meticulously to catch and appreciate the smallest of details and nuances. I'm sure there are celebrated writers out there who would even like analogies like the ones above.

In fact, Kurt Vonnegut (Slaughterhouse V) would love some of them.

In Pity The Reader: On Writing with Style (a book detailing much of what Vonnegut had to say on writing, put together by his former student and friend Suzanne McConnell), one piece of advice he gives is:

"Don't be predictable. End your sentences with something unexpected. Keep me awake."

Not sure about you, but for more than a few of these analogies, I could never have predicted where they went. Does that make them automatically good?

Of course not!

If a piece of writing becomes too unpredictable, then it's suddenly also confusing and more difficult, the opposite of one other big piece of advice Vonnegut insists on:

Pity the reader.

Y'know, the title of the book.

It's about making it easier for the reader. Vonnegut was passionate about making the reader's job easy because:

"We must acknowledge that the reader is doing something quite difficult for him... He has to restage your show in his head -- costume and light it. His job is not easy."

Like I said, it's in the title: Pity the Reader -- meaning not think of the reader as pitiable, but:

Take pity on the reader.

Be nice to them. Use words they know, and put them in an order they can read. Throw in a joke or two. Don't give everyone long names that start with an "A" only to often call them nicknames with no connection to their full name. Stuff like that.

Vonnegut nails both of these points (Keep Me Awake & Pity the Reader) in his Creative Writing 101 Rule #8:

"Give your readers as much information as possible as soon as possible. To heck with suspense. Readers should have such complete understanding of what is going on, where and why, that they could finish the story themselves, should cockroaches eat the last few pages."

Great advice, great book, great author.

Before you go, let's (quickly) use what we've learned:

Take #11 from this list: "The revelation that his marriage of 30 years had disintegrated because of his wife's infidelity came as a rude shock, like a surcharge at a formerly surcharge-free atm."

What information do we get from this "really bad" analogy? Perhaps:

The main character is a man mid-to-old age

The story takes place within the last few decades

He's been married to the same woman for 30 years

Said wife has cheated on him

He views infidelity as unforgivable and an end to their marriage

This all upsets him but not outrageously so, as if it is an inconvenience that can be (if not without annoyance) accepted and lived with

Therefore he doesn't care all too much about his wife/marriage

All of this information, and not to mention an unexpected ending/analogy (with a chuckle if you know what's funny), and this is "really bad"?

TLDR: Fuck the concept of "Really Bad [Anything]", because all it'll do is (best case) limit your creativity and understanding of writing, or (worst case) convince you that you suck before you've even given yourself the chance to be good.

[casspurrjoybell-26]

Too Old For This - Chapter 7 - Part 1

*Warning Adult Content*

Leroy discovered very quickly that Zachary was a terrible texter.

His messages were short and blunt and he answered painfully slowly.

Sometimes Leroy would text him on the bus to work and receive a reply sometime in the afternoon.

Most of his responses were hours apart and sometimes some would come through a bit faster.

Which for Zachary meant after thirty minutes or so.

At first, Leroy thought he was simply shy but it was definitely more than that from what Leroy could observe.

The man hadn't had much of this interaction with anyone else,and it was not far-fetched to assume that he simply didn't know texting etiquette.

There was a much more charitable reason Leroy didn't think about until much later when he remembered something Zachary had told him.

A week or so after they started texting, Zachary mentioned that he slept a lot throughout the day and didn't look at the screen much because it hurt his eyes.

Reading the text, Leroy then remembered Zachary mentioning how hard it was to get into long-form writing because of his condition.

Zachary simply couldn't look at the screen long enough to type out satisfactory texts that matched Leroy's long-form essays that had only gotten longer since Zachary's responses were spaced and a lot would have happened between the hours.

"Fuck," the younger man said, starting at the text Zachary had sent only minutes ago.

He felt his head buzz and his chest buzz with something... guilt maybe?

Why did he suggest texting in the first place if Zachary could barely look at his phone most days and why had Zachary accepted without saying anything?

Maybe the older man had underestimated the gravity of the issue or he had just sucked it up wanting to be nice to Leroy.

Leroy felt bad... he should have known better.

He sighed, staring at his phone for a bit before looking up at the clock just above the flat-screen T.V. propped by the wall of his bedroom.

It was late... the clock read a little past eleven PM, so he couldn't do what he wanted to do.

A call would probably startle Zachary, considering the man replied to the text when he's gotten up to take a sip of water.

'I'll do it tomorrow,' Leroy reminded himself, locking his phone screen before plugging it to charge by the foot of his bed.

He went to bed, hoping that working from home the coming Friday wouldn't be much of a headache.

When morning rolled around and his alarm went off at seven, Leroy crawled out of his bed, with a minor headache and aching back.

Yeah, heading to bed that late hadn't been a good idea at all.

He stretched, squinting at the sun's rays making their way past his shutters before getting up and heading to the bathroom.

He lived in a three-bedroom house with a basement with his mother and sister.

He had one room, his mother had the other and the third, which used to be his sister's, had been cleared out to use as a centralized office.

His sister lived in the basement with all her craft, hair and nail equipment.

It was a reasonably large space.

When given the ultimatum between simply using the room that could pass off as two walk-in closets taped together or the basement when their mum complained about her also using the basement, Faye chose the basement.

When Leroy was in the bathroom, he brushed his teeth and took a quick shower... something you grew accustomed to when three people shared one central bathroom in the hallway.

When Leroy stepped out, his sister was standing by the door in a towel shawl and a frown on her face.

"I was supposed to go in first. You know I was heading out today," she said, watching her brother with mild annoyance.

Faye looked a lot like Leroy.

In fact, Leroy could vaguely remember someone calling her the gender-bent version of him.

They had the same dark eyes, hair, cupid bow-shaped upper lip, full brows and thick eyelashes.

They both also shared a heart-shaped face and a similar height.

It worked well on Faye but not so much on Leroy.

The combined features made his sister attractive, while the combined features made Leroy look like a rather effeminate man.

Ah, insecurities.

"Well, I'm working and I'm not doing work while I can still smell myself," Leroy announced whilst his sister made a gagging motion before walking past him into the bathroom. 

Leroy made his way to the kitchen, starting to feel a bit peckish.

When he was in the middle of making himself an omelet, his mother walked in.

He knew it was her because of the brisk steps that seemed to hurry everywhere for no reason.

"Make me some too, will you?" she asked from behind him, making Leroy turn to look at her.

She'd sat on one of the chairs by the dining table.

She looked a bit out of it but that was normal for her.

Well, it has been normal for her ever since her husband passed away.

"Just some salt and black pepper," she said, with a pause.

"Oh, also onions please."

Leroy nodded, opening the fridge before taking out the ingredients and going through the motions of making an omelet again.

Conversations with his mother had always been short.

He'd been a daddy's boy for most of his life.

His dad had been the glue that had facilitated conversations between family members.

Regardless, conversations with his mum now, seemed even shorter... more strained because of her aloofness and spacing out.

He knew it was her way of dealing with the grief.

He couldn't fault her for that but sometimes he wished she'd just suck it up like the rest of them and get better already... leave that headspace of grief.

He wasn't coming back.

That was a terrible thing to feel, Leroy knew it but his mother's general gloom brought him back to those very early weeks after his father initially died and he hated feeling how she felt via proxy.

"Thank you," his mum said in a small voice when he dropped her plate of omelet and toast in front of her.

"No problem," Leroy said, taking a seat across from her.

They ate in mostly silence, with the occasional comment about work or groceries.

[maybankiara]

topper x kiara theory

wild thought: i think topper and kiara might end up being a thing. and an even wilder thought, i think that could be one of the best things. 

ok so first off, let me just say that i’m not basing this off of any particular s1 interactions, so don’t come at me, this is more of a season 2 speculation, too.

i’ve just finished rewatching the first season and if i’m being honest, kiara doesn’t have much of a personality, or a personal character arc. i blame it on the writers for making her seem as if the only thing she does is boys, aside from an odd quirk here and there to show how not like other girls, bro she is. and making her have romantic feelings for two out of her three best friends is definitely not helping. 

what we do know about kiara is that her freshman year was a kook year, when she ditched the pogues for the kooks. she’s also the one to form grudges and be bitter and petty about it (the whole sarah’s birthday situation). it wouldn’t surprise me if she hates the kooks for her bad experience, even though we never actually got anything on that. 

having kiara be with one of the pogues doesn’t do much for her character. they already know each other incredibly well and while it would be cute, it wouldn’t contribute to either character’s personal growth, or have a proper influence on the plot. 

now, i’m the last person to say that a character needs a romantic relationship to have decent character development. however, i’d say that pairing kiara with a non-pogue would add an incredibly interesting dynamic to the pogues (as they have all had feelings for her) and to the plot (the love interest would definitely cause some inconveniences). if done well, it could show her personality beyond the little quirks, show her be stubborn, dedicated, why she wants to do music and that kind of things. i’d love for her to explore who she is in a relationship and without it, as she seems quite driven by romantic feelings but is also trying to be tough - can she be both? can she be in love with a man and still be empowered and self-sustaining? i’d love to see that. 

(i’d also like to see her with a gf. but this is a topper theory.)

and now, this is why topper would be perfect for this.

(below the cut bc this got long)

topper’s problem is that he’s overprotective, that he doesn’t know what he wants or who he is, and is just quite obsessed with the cameron siblings. he is completely under rafe’s influence, and that could be a post for another day, but then at the end of 1x09, we see him look at rafe right outside the church and it seems like he knows what rafe did - or at least, suspects it might be the truth. 

this could mean nothing. it could be swept under the rug next season and rafe and topper could be best buddies. or, if they go with redemption for topper (please!), then we could see him detaching from rafe, and what he believed in. who is topper when he isn’t around the camerons? 

and now, we get into topper x kiara. 

i could see topper wanting to find out more about what happened with peterkin. he could be wanting answers from the pogues, but obviously he isn’t going to get any from jj and pope. that means he’d go to kiara, who wouldn’t be accepting of him, either, but kiara is the nicest one and she’s the one who used to be a kook, and maybe she knows topper better than the others, too. 

i could see topper almost befriending kiara, by accident, as they try to figure out what’s happening with rafe. i’d love to see topper having to fight his loyalty to rafe vs knowing that his best friend is a murderer. kiara isn’t the kind of person who’d feed into his sadness, but would make him see the world for what it is, and she’d make him work for his loyalty. 

now, with this being established, topper could see that there aren’t that many differences between the kooks and the pogues. the prejudice has been one of the main things about his character, as well as blind loyalty to rafe and inability to have his own opinion, and kiara wouldn’t be having any of that. she’d help him grow into himself, figure out who he is. 

topper, on the other hand, could help kiara get over her potential tendency of confusing platonic love for non-platonic (john b? possibly sarah? possibly pope?). he could help her also get over her prejudice towards the kooks, because let’s be honest, all the characters generalise the opposite group a little too much. falling for topper would make kiara question why she likes the people she does. maybe she’d realise she likes being the “mama” kind of person, the one that helps people get through stuff. she seems like someone like that. 

i’d love to see kiara detach herself from the pogue life, almost. not in a way where she stops being friends with the pogues, or ditches them - i want her to be kiara carrera, not kiara the pogue. being with a kook, especially someone as controversial as topper, would mean she’d need to do that. she’d need to learn what her own values are. she seems like one of those people who seek validation from specific groups (pogues, then kooks, then pogues again). it’s a normal, common thing, especially in teenagers, and i think it’s something she and topper share the most. 

this is about their character arcs. in terms of narrative, i’ve mentioned already that topper could help out with dealing with rafe. this could either start rafe’s redemption arc or his descent into madness. topper’s also rich, and he’s the one who’s asking jj for retribution, and this could be revoked. topper could be the pogues’ inside man - he has the money, the resources, and probably enough bad parenting to be a kook. he could help out with the gold, and since he’s probably rich as hell already, i could see him doing this because he wants to be a better person. 

and i see this being the main reason why kiara ends up truly falling for him. he grows, and he helps her grow, too, and it’s a mutually beneficial relationship that helps both of them become their own people, independent from their groups, not letting the pogues and the kooks determine who they are anymore. 

[yungchaeng]

Roommates (Twice series: Chaeyoung)

III: Grass genre: fluff - word count: 3414 content warning: detailed marijuana use in the latter half of the chapter

chaeyo.0: cool shirt, new hair, same me

Chaeyoung had posted a photo you took of her during lunch, showing her new hair-do. Finally, you found out about her online presence when she asked you for your account in order to tag you in the photo.

Her Instagram was…interesting. It was quite cool and alternative. It emphasized her love for art with some posts of her own works, or pieces she admired. There was the occasional mirror selfie, but also a bunch of random pictures of her like one where she stared off into the distance with a strawberry in her mouth.

Yes, it was odd. But you couldn’t help but smile at her feed. It represented her very well. And you grinned at the thought that you now had a place on her feed as well.

In the midst of your fawning over your roommate and her Instagram profile, you locked eyes with a random guy on the other side of the library that was probably wondering what was making you smile like an idiot by yourself. You shot him an awkward tight-lipped smile and quickly buried your head back into your book in embarrassment.

You were supposed to be studying for multiple exams and writing essays which was why you were in the library in the first place. However, concentration didn’t come easy as your mind kept wandering to a specific place, a specific person.

You and Chaeyoung were cool. Whenever you both were home, it was comfortable and never really awkward which you were glad about. You hung out and there was always a light-hearted vibe which you liked, but it was always short-lived as she always seemed to be going somewhere. Sometimes she was already gone by the time you woke up and sleeping when you came back from the library.

Although you two didn’t spend as much time together as you were hoping you could, she did have her ways to occupy your mind during the day. Some days she’d randomly send you artworks, clothes she saw on Pinterest that reminded her of ‘your style’ and most days you’d be flipping through your notebook in class and she’d left a little doodle on the corner of a page, probably when you left it open on your desk.

But you didn’t mind thinking about her this much. In fact, you liked it – a little too much.

Seemingly out of your control, your hand wandered back over to your phone that was still open on your roommate’s Instagram page.

“Hey there,” a voice sounded out, saving you from the rabbit hole you were bound to fall in again looking at Chaeyoung’s Instagram.

Nayeon plopped down on the seat next to you with her own roommate sitting next to her. You had grown close to both Nayeon and Jeongyeon over the past few weeks. As they have been at the college longer than you they could help you out and their chaotic dynamic together was always entertaining to you, so you were at their place quite often.

“How’s studying going? Or should I ask how insta-stalking your roomie is going?” Nayeon asked.

“Oh my god, I wasn’t insta-stalking.” You blushed under Nayeon and Jeongyeon’s knowing smirks. “She tagged me in a post, so I wanted to like it…”

“A post of 138 weeks ago?” Jeongyeon quipped, gesturing to the particular post that was open on your screen.

“Ah, shut up.” You pleaded, defeated. Maybe if you lay face down on the table for long enough they would go away?

“What are we talking about?” The voice of your classmate and friend Jihyo chimed in, chirpy as always. She joined the table with another one of your classmates, Momo, completing the small group of people you usually hung out with.

“Someone here has a little crush on their roommate.” Nayeon sing-songed, nudging you in the process.

“Jeongyeon?” Momo asked, genuinely confused.

“Ew, no.” The said girl grimaced teasingly.

“Whatever, I’m out of your league anyway.” Nayeon shrugged and stuck her tongue out at Jeongyeon. “But no, I’m talking about this one here.” She pointed to you.

“Ah, is that the one that make little love drawings for you during class?” Jihyo teased.

“Oh my god, love drawings? You don’t tell me anything, do you?” Nayeon feigned offense and slapped your arm.

“Ship.” Momo simply stated while rummaging through her bag for something to eat.

“I’m your mentor, you know? I should be helping you through these moments in life.” Nayeon went on.

“You’re my mentor. Not my mom.”

“Mom, older sister, mentor, same difference.” The older girl shrugged. “But tell me all about this Chaeyoung!”

And so you did. You firmly stood your ground that you weren’t crushing on the girl. However, seeing your friend’s smirk as you told them about her interests, habits, cute gestures and whatever else you rambled about, you knew they weren’t believing that for a second. Honestly, you slowly were coming to terms with it yourself.

The girl’s teased you relentlessly over your soft spot for the girl, but didn’t seem to know her in the way you did as they said they wouldn’t expect you to be into such a ‘rebel type of girl’.

You understood that she seemed that way though. The tattoos, her slight introvertedness and a slight air of mysteriousness that followed her would make it logical that she would be some sort of hard-ass. However, you knew that that idea disappeared when she smiled at you.

No rebel without a cause could have a smile as sweet as hers. Impossible.

“Okay,” you sighed. “Maybe I do have a bit of a crush on her then.” The table was silent, your friends simply giving you a look.

“Anyone surprised?” Momo broke the silence followed by a string of laughs and shaking of the heads of your other friends.

After what seemed like ages of teasing you, you and your friends all got back to studying. You were surprised at how much faster it was to do your schoolwork with them – it was probably more efficient anyway since you couldn’t distract yourself thinking about Chaeyoung without getting called out for it. Before you knew it, you were done typing up your last essay and were packing your bag to go home.

And boy, you couldn’t wait to get home. You had been fantasizing about diving into your bed as soon as you got back all day and that was exactly what you did when you walked through the door. You groaned into your pillow, releasing all the pent-up stress from being busy with schoolwork for so long.

Much to your surprise, Chaeyoung walked through the front door and paused at the sight of you. It seemed like neither of you expected the other home at this time, but it was a pleasant surprise.

“Hey?” she said, a look of amusement on her face. “You’re back so early.”

“Yeah,” a sigh escaped your lips as you looked at her. “I’m finally done with all the deadlines, which is good…but now I just hope I did well.”

“Aw,” she cooed. “Don’t worry. You worked so hard, so it’s definitely going to be okay.” Your roommate moved over to her own bed and lied down, looking over at you with care in her eyes. “Are you stressed?”

“Yeah, a bit I guess…”

She simply hummed in response and thought for a second. “I think I might know something that could calm you down?” Chaeyoung bit her lip and in a split second she walked over to her desk and rummaged through the top drawer. You watched her pull out a little plastic bag from it, with something inside that you couldn’t quite make out yet. When she sat next to you on your bed you realised.

“Chaeyoung, is that…” you lowered your voice to a whisper and scanned the room as if you two weren’t the only two in it, “marijuana?”

Your roommate chuckled at your antics, “Yeah, it is.”

You fixated on the green bud in the plastic bag. “Is that even allowed in here?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged with a mischievous smile, “probably not, but no one is here to stop us, right?” She had a point and you thought for a second. “But please,” Chaeyoung locked eyes with you as she went on. “No pressure, alright? It’s just a suggestion, okay?”

Maybe it was her genuine expression, the residual stress you still felt from school or simply just your curiosity, but you decided. “Okay, fuck it. Let’s do it.”

“Cool,” she simply said with a smile.

You watched her as she walked over to the kitchen table and took out some stuff from a little bag next to her bed and took the bud from it’s plastic bag. You weren’t sure what exactly she was doing but she seemed like such an expert at doing it. Before you knew it, the little bud had been rolled into a joint and you looked on fascinated.

You didn’t realize you were biting your lip watching her lick the paper as the last step until her eyes met yours when doing it. It was the quickest you have ever looked away from anything, but you still managed to catch her smirk at you. You awkwardly cleared your throat as you felt yourself blushing.

Chaeyoung had moved your desk chairs over to the open window and you sat down next to her. “Have you ever smoked before?” she asked. You shook your head and rubbed your arm. “Do you know how to?” When you shook your head once again, she smiled. “Okay, that’s fine. I know a way that might be chill for you.”

She explained that there was a way for you to smoke by her inhaling it first and transferring it over to you in some kind of way. You had no clue what she was talking about, but trusted her when she told you “Just inhale when I guide you to, okay?” Chaeyoung got up from her chair and stood in front of you. She cupped her hand to shield from the wind as she struck her lighter.

As she was so focused on that, you took the chance to look at her. She wore sweatpants and a cropped t-shirt, stained with what was probably paint or ink of some sort. You couldn’t help but check her out. Her hair in somewhat of a messy bun, cheeks rosy from the cold wind on her, her clothes showing off her mid-riff and soft tummy…

As if she could read your mind and your deepest desire, she came closer to you. Chaeyoung lowered herself to face you by going on her knees in front of you and placed her hands on your thighs. Your breath hitched as she leaned into you and she softly tapped you. Taking that as the said signal, you closed your eyes and tentatively inhaled the smoke coming from her parted lips.

When you opened your eyes they met the worrying eyes of your roommate. “Are you alright?”

You nodded. The feeling of smoke in your lungs was definitely something you had to get used to. Then it was as if everything hit you all at once. Chaeyoung’s hands still on your thighs, her scent, her face only inches away from yours, her presence, her lips. Everything. “Wow. Yeah, but wow.”

Chaeyoung only laughed and the sound and it sounded like music in your ears. Chaeyoung helped you the same way a few more times and a combination of the weed and her proximity to you made you feel lightheaded in an odd, but good way. You rest your back in your chair, letting the pleasant wave of euphoria wash over you.

“Relax, okay?” she instructed and sat back down in her own chair. “and let me know if you need anything.”

You pouted and held your tongue. What you wanted was for her to come closer again, but that would be silly to say, right?

“Tell me about your day.” She said, taking a hit for herself. In your mind her eyes bore right through you. You don’t know if it was just the weed, but it felt like the first time you truly had someone’s full attention in order to talk about something as mundane as your day.

So you did as told. Told her about your school assignments, procrastinating in the library and your friends joining you (you skipped over them teasing you ofcourse). You even rambled on about the smallest detail, until you saw her smiling to herself. “Oh my god, should I stop talking?”

“No, don’t.” she reassured and leaned her back against the wall, eyes closed. “Your voice is very soothing.”

You internally thanked the gods for her eyes being closed so she couldn’t see you blush. “It feels like I’ve been talking for hours…”

Chaeyoung took her phone out and chuckles slightly. “Yeah, that’s the weed.” She said and showed you on her screen that only five minutes had passed. “And even if you were, I wouldn’t mind.”

Honestly, you wouldn’t mind talking to Chaeyoung for hours either. The idea of having a moment like this with her last for so long actually brought a giddy smile to your face, one that you didn’t even mind hiding.

“You know, for someone who’s kind of quiet you have a good way with words.” You remarked earning a giggle from your roommate.

Chaeyoung giggled “Thanks, I guess?”

“Anyway, the floor is yours. Talk to me.” You slouched down in your seat and closed your eyes, awaiting her voice to fill the room.

She talked about her day with a smile, describing how she went to an art studio with some friends to paint and listen to music together.

“Is that where you always are?” you cocked your head to the side, “You’re not actually here very much.”

“Aw, did you miss me?” she teased. You held your tongue as you felt yet another blush coming on. Due to the embarrassment you felt of her being kind of right, you only managed to playfully roll your eyes at her. “Yeah, I guess. Either there or in the library or something.” She went on (thankfully). “I noticed you were heavy on all your school work for the past week or so, so I didn’t want to, like, distract you or anything.”

You paused for a beat. You wanted to tell her that there was no problem and that she wasn’t distracting you at all, but from the few times that you actually did study when she was home, you knew that you would be a lie. After reading every other word, your mind drifted to her and what she could be thinking or doing on the other side of the room. You couldn’t help but glance at her every now and then and admire her.

When you thought she wasn’t looking, you peeked at her. Looked at her reacting to videos on her phone and smiled at the way her eyebrows furrowed then or happily sighed at the sound of her soft giggles. Or when she was furiously typing away on her laptop you yearned to ask what she was doing, just to hear her voice fill the room again.

Had she noticed that? Is that why she left? Was it weird? Is that why she kept leaving? Were you being weird right now?

Omg, say  s  o  m  e  t  h  i  n  g  

“Oh,” you simply let out.

The other girl burst out laughing and you weren’t sure why. She held onto her stomach and actually folded over in laughter. And for some reason, you couldn’t help but laugh with her. After you both laughed for what seemed like ages she wiped happy tears brimming at her eyes. “You were thinking for so long, and you had the shortest reaction.”

“I think my brain might have just glitched,” you chuckled.

“No worries.” the other girl smiled. “Anyway, you should come with me to the art studio sometime. It’s really pretty, plus I think my friends would really like you too.”

“Sounds like a plan.” You smiled.

The two of you talked longer, every minute felt like an hour and you enjoyed all of it. You learned so much more about Chaeyoung. You watched with adoration as she described the intricacies of “Girl” by The Internet and explained to you why it was her favourite song at the moment. You admired her as she went on and on about Justin Bieber, trying (and failing) to hide her inner Belieber. You smiled as she told you about a new spider tattoo she planned on getting on her hand and you laughed at how she cringed when telling you about her first kiss.

You were enthralled by her. Captivated.

“I could go for some food, how about you?” she randomly spoke up, breaking a small silence that had fell. She stood up and walked towards the kitchen area.

“You read my mind.” You muttered as you shuffled behind her.

“Good,” she chuckled. “I got some Ramyeon.” she smiled bright and held the noodle packs next to her head.

“Ah, it’s my favourite flavour as well!” you exclaimed.

“I know, I noticed you preferred it over the others. So I buy mostly this one now.” Your roommate casually said as she prepared the food. “You’re right. It’s really good.”

“Oh my god, Chaeyoung. You’re such a sweetheart.” You let out, admiring your roommate. She laughed at your remark and you went on, “I can’t believe I was intimidated by you at the start?”

The other girl burst out into laughter when you spoke, “Ah, you make my day. Me? Intimidating?” she put her hand against her chest and raised an eyebrow, acting offended. However, she quickly composed herself and turned the amused look on her face into the most adorable wannabe gangster one you have ever seen. “I mean, yeah, as you should.” She cutely quipped.

“Shut up, chae.” You slapped your roommate’s shoulder. “You’re not fooling anyone.”

When the food was ready you ate, going on and on about how this was the best Ramyeon you had both ever tasted – although that was probably just due to the munchies. Both of you were sitting on your roommate’s bed, still talking while tiredness was slowly taking over. Your voices had gotten lower and you had somehow, someway slowly found comfort being close to each other. Chaeyoung sat up against her bed frame and you rested your head against her shoulder. From this position, a seemingly permanent smile was plastered on your face as you got lost in her eyes.  

You were taking turns asking each other random questions, being stubborn and trying to avoid falling asleep. “what is your ideal date?” she had asked you. It was a good question. Not one you had really thought about before.

“I don’t really know actually,” you admitted. “Having a bite to eat with them would definitely be on the list. Maybe also do something cool before or after? Like visit a concert, or an aquarium or something – I don’t know. I also enjoy the arcade. I always used to go on my birthday when I was younger.”

“That sounds fun.” Chaeyoung said. You could hear it in her voice, she was tired too. “When is it actually, your birthday?”

“Saturday.” You said, mindlessly snuggling up closer to your roommate.

“What? So soon?” the other girl said, slightly taken aback. “were you going to tell me this?” she jokingly quipped.

“ah, no big deal.” You replied through a yawn.

You didn’t know if it was an after effect of the weed or the comfort you felt laying on Chaeyoung’s shoulder, but it felt like you had never been as tired as you were at that moment. However, stubborn as you were, you didn’t want the night to end.

“I disagree.” The other girl muttered under her breath. She looked down and chuckled at you fighting your natural urge to close your eyes. “You’re tired.”

“I’m good.” You tried.

Your roommate swung her arm over you, pulling you closer into a more comfortable position. “uhm,” she started tentatively. “you’re welcome to stay with me tonight…I mean, if you want.”

You melted in the comfort of her grip, and through the tiredness you managed to smile at her. “yeah, I’d like that.”

And just like that, you closed your eyes and another day was gone.

[tnystrk-exe]

Estocolmo

Hannibal x Reader

Masterpost

Warnings: Smut 18+ thigh riding, fingering, oral, daddy kink, plot to make up for my first attempt at writing smut.

Word count: 6.8k

Chapter One

“Fucking hell.” You sighed as you looked at the still tall stack of essays that needed grading. “I’m never getting through this.”

Your stomach grumbled, signaling it was time for a break. Stretching, the quiet was interrupted by the sound of your bone’s protest from sitting in one position for hours. It was nights like these you had regretted your choices. Sure you had known Professor Jacob loved to torture his students with too much work, but when you took the job as his assistant you assumed that he’d shoulder some of the weight. A ridiculous thought now that you’ve experienced working with him. Why should he even think of grading an assignment when he had a perfect little lackey doing it for him? That was a non question. He had been strict about the work not leaving his office, which meant you had accidentally fallen asleep in his office more than often than you would have liked. The pile of work never seemed to diminish. 

Walking out the office, you thought briefly of the joy you would feel when you’d never have to see it again. These long corridors would be a thing of the past in just a few, short months. Then you’d probably go to the city and struggle for a while but at least you would be free from here. As much as you prided yourself for getting through the first round of college, the walls of the building gave you more of an annoyed feeling than anything. 

Pushing open the door to the teachers lounge, you made a beeline for the fridge. The leftover pizza already seemed like a feast until you noticed it was nowhere to be seen. “Hannibal,” you whined to the empty room as you closed the fridge. 

“Yes, darling?” 

You startled, immediately turning around to face him, a mischievous smile was plastered on his lips. Usually your missing dinner meant to head over to his office. It wasn’t typical, but the two of you had managed a comfortable friendship between the shared late nights. Though, you suspected he’d stay longer than necessary to accompany you in the empty building. “Would you mind telling me where my dinner went, handsome?” You asked, raising a brow at him.

“Old pizza can hardly be considered dinner. Come,” he motioned to sit next to him at the table, “I’ve got a better meal prepared for you nonetheless.”

“Or maybe you just need to learn to appreciate the simple things,” you quipped as you took your seat.

“And you, the finer.”

You gave him an obvious look over, “I’d say I appreciate you plenty enough.” 

Being so forward wasn’t usually in your cards. However Hannibal had always been a gentleman and it had been fun to tease at him a bit. He never complained, often just acknowledging what you said with a raised brow or chuckle. Still there was always some truth in jokes and you’d be lying to say that he was anything less than tempting. Especially in the dark grey suit and dried blood red shirt of his. ‘No’ wouldn’t come to mind if he ever offered.

“Naughty, Miss LN,” he chided you, “What shall we do with you?”

“What do you want to do with me?”

“Eat your dinner,” he said, humor in his voice as he shook his head.

You choked back a comment about him just wanting to see your mouth stuffed, deciding it was too much of a push. Instead you just opened the lunchbox he placed in front of you. Hannibal watched you expectantly as you took a bite of the meat.

Closing your eyes, you savored the bite. It had been a while since you had something home cooked. “Han... I’m going to miss you most. I don’t know what I’m gonna do without you. Delicious, as always.”

“I’m sure you’ll do just fine.” He went back to work on his own stack of papers as you ate. “Though, I’m not sure I’m ready to allow you to live off street food once we part.”

“Guess we’re gonna have to find me another man that insists on throwing away my perfectly good food to serve me home cooked meals.”

Hannibal left some remarks on a paper before pushing it to the side. “You could always come learn a few things. Maybe I’ll rest better knowing you know how to make yourself a couple of decent meals. Any guesses for the meat?”

It was a strange guessing game, but you indulged him, he was just eccentric. “Oh, definitely human,” you teased, making sure to pick up some spinach and artichoke in the next bite, “Probably had a boring name like David.”

“Close. It was Richard,” he corrected. 

“Beef, it was the Rolex of all farm animals hand picked by you and I’m very grateful you shared some with me,” you smiled at him, “So how are things going with Baltimore?”

“I’ve found a beautiful home. The office, however, seems to be harder to find.”

“I’m sure you’ll find the perfect one.” Your phone started ringing. Grabbing it from your pocket, you looked at the screen. Mom. “They’re making this unnecessarily difficult,” you sighed to yourself. 

Hannibal looked at you with peaked interest as you shut off your phone and pushed it away. “Is something troubling you?”

“My parents aren’t taking too kindly to the no contact rule. It’s the tenth call today.”

“You’ve cut them off?”

“I thought about what you had said,” you shrugged, “I’m tired of always having to get them out of troubles and be their ATM when I don’t have enough for myself. It’s just too much on me right now. Between school assignments, Jacob’s work pile, and my other part time, it’s all just suffocating. They keep trying to use my grandfather’s death as a leverage to make me feel bad about not talking to them now, but they just want some money. I don’t want to feel guilty about this but I can’t help it.”

“Don’t,” he placed his hand over yours, “You deserve to feel taken care of and appreciated. They aren’t providing you with that now. Especially now when they use the death of the person who raised you as leverage,” he shook his head, making a disgusted sound, “It’s for your own well-being that you take some time to breathe and be young. They provide too much stress…” Hannibal fell silent. “I’ve suggested this before but i-“

You gave his hand a gentle squeeze before pulling away. “I’m not taking your money. We’re friends. Money complicates things. Muddies the waters.”

“Friends help each other,” he reminded you, “I’ve already told you I wouldn’t want any payment.”

“But I’d still feel like I owe you.” You shook your head, “It wouldn’t feel right to me. I’m fine. I promise. Though, if you’re so willing to help me with something, I wouldn’t say no to those cooking lessons. They could be fun.”

He spared you a smile, “It would be my pleasure to teach you what I know.”

“And I’d never deny your pleasure,” your mouth spoke before you could think about it, “Sorry.”

“I don’t deny myself pleasure either,” he said, amused. “You’re fine. Now, how about we meet on Sunday? I’ll have time to figure out a full meal and gather all of the ingredients.”

“Great!” You ignored the heat that still lingered on your face, “I- um, do you need me to bring anything?”

“Nothing at all, I’ll make sure to take care of everything. All you need to do, sweet girl, is bring yourself and an appetite.”

You stifled a pleased smile at the term of affection. “I’ll make sure to do that,” sparing a glance to the clock, you frowned, “I should probably get back to work on those essays.”

“Why don’t we work on them together?” He suggested. “My colleague is notorious for drowning you in his work. I can help you sort through it all and you can have a restful Saturday without Micheal’s added stress.”

“I really can’t ask that of you. You already have enough work as it is.”

“We’ll work together. First your work, then mine. What happened to never denying my pleasure?” 

Your eyes widened, but you laughed all the same. Maybe a while more in his company wouldn’t be so bad. “Fine. Hold me to my words, but it’s only going to cause you a headache. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. These new kids are… something else.”

“They’re nothing,” he stood, grabbing his papers in one hand, “Meet me in my office. We can be more comfortable there and I may have stowed away a bottle of wine.”

“What would I do without you Doctor Lecter?”

-

“You have arrived at your destination,” the robotic voice informed you as you parked.

You took in the mansion of a home. It was too big for someone that lived alone. The thought made you shiver. Homes should be filled with life, not empty space. Then again, he was a fan of dinner parties, extravagant ones at that, so you supposed there was life in those walls on occasion. The home itself reminded you of the houses in old movies. Ones where the lightning would strike at just the right moment as a warning to stay away. But this was real life and there was no lightning, just a sun setting on a near perfect day. 

Without a warning telling you to keep away, you grabbed the gift bag and stepped out of your car. He had said to bring nothing, but you couldn’t resist a simple gift. The ties in the bag had taken out a decent chunk from your pocket, but he deserved them. Between agreeing to give you cooking lessons and helping you out with grading every so often, the simple pieces of fabric meant nothing. Besides, it was a two way gift, he’d get more of the patterned ties he was fond of and you’d get to see him in the darker colors you liked on him, knowing he’d feel compelled to wear them to show you his gratitude.

Knocking on the door, you waited a couple of minutes before he emerged. “YN, just in time. Please, come in,” he stepped to the side, “I’ve looked forward to this all day.”

You smiled and stepped past him. “I have too. Entertained myself a bit today by finding you a gift.” 

“Darling, you shouldn’t have.”

Nervousness bit at you slightly, a bit self conscious they’d be too cheap for his taste. Too late to back out of it, you handed over the bag. “You’ve always been so kind and I really appreciate everything. Let me do something for you.”

He set the bag on the nearby table, laying out the ties to get a better look at them.  “They’re all lovely,” he ran a finger across the fabric of a maroon one, “Fond of me in darker colors, YN?”

“What can I say?” You shrugged, “We catch ourselves spending a lot of time together. Why not make you a decent piece of eye candy?”

“Inappropriate,” he chided you, before signaling you to follow after him.

“You just wear them so well, Doctor Lecter.”

Shrugging off his navy suit coat, he draped it over a chair, making quick work of rolling up his sleeves. “Ready to get your hands dirty, my little sous-chef?”

“What are we making?” You asked, looking at his kitchen wide eyed. It was definitely bigger than your measly studio apartment. 

“Frisee aux lardons, duck with a pomegranate-citrus glaze. I took the liberty of preparing a blood orange sorbet for dessert.”

“I have a proposal.”

“Yes?”

“We don’t do any of that and just have dessert for dinner.”

“No,” he gave you an amused glance, “There’s more pleasure in waiting for things. Why don’t you start washing up the vegetables and I’ll start preparing the duck?”

You stuck your tongue out at his back but set to your work. “This is what I get for befriending a charming old guy.”

“Keep going the way you are and our next meal together will be langue d’Agneau en papillote.”

“That can’t be a threat if I don’t know what that means,” you quipped, setting aside an endive. 

“It means, darling,” he pointed his knife at you, “The fondness I feel for you is an inconvenience. Nonetheless, it’s welcomed.”

You smiled at him brightly, as you brought the washed vegetables over to him. “I’m fond of you too, but you gotta stop flirting and teach me how we’re gonna cook Daffy here.”

He motioned for you to grab a cutting board and a knife of your own. The two of you worked in quiet harmony, occasionally he’d tell you exactly why he was doing something a certain way or just give you simple instructions and let you have a hands on feel of exactly how to prepare something. It was nice to see him in his element. Hannibal seemed much more content in his kitchen than any where you had seen him at the college. Eventually he set his work to the side and washed his hands. 

“You’re cutting them too thick. Thinner is better for this dish.” He stepped behind you, “Do you mind?”

“Go ahead.” You attempted to move to the side, but Hannibal had already caged you in between himself and the counter. His cologne was different from the one you were accustomed to him wearing, but the subtle spice of it gave a more homey feeling to him. 

Hannibal grabbed your hand that had yet to  let go of the knife. He made sure to show you how to cut them the right thickness. “See? A little thing can unbalance everything.”

“Hm,” you hummed, catching yourself relaxed against the man, his frame strong against yours, “I don’t see much of a difference. Pretty sure this is just your variation of a putter.”

“You assume I have hidden motives,” He acknowledged, looking down at you, “And if there were any?”

Taking the bait, you pressed a kiss to the side of his jaw. “I wouldn’t be too upset.”

His head dipped into your shoulder, taking in a breath. “What happened to not wanting to bring on complications in our friendship?”

“We only have weeks left with each other,” you shrugged, “There wouldn’t be any complications. Not really.”

“We really should get back to making our dinner, darling,” he sighed, almost seeming reluctant to pull away, “What else did you did you do today?””

It took you a second to respond, still shaking off the embarrassment. You weren’t sure what had compelled you to do that. When you looked up at him you grimaced. Grabbing a napkin, you carefully wiped away the lingering lipstick. “The ties were the more interesting part of the day, I didn’t plan anything eventful. Honestly most of my day was taken with trying to recall the shop you mentioned that carried the ones you liked.”

He hummed in appreciation, “You also managed to pick out two I have had my eye on. I’ve got new suits coming in soon that will pair perfectly.”

You beamed at that, happy he did actually like what you had chosen. “Lucky guess. It was difficult remembering the ones I had seen you wear.”

Hannibal made to grab some ingredients and set them on the counter near the stove. “Have your parents tried calling you this weekend?”

You sighed, sure you didn’t have to tell him the truth but you wanted to, he had a compelling thing to him that made it easy to just speak. “I sent them money for rent. Which was honestly the dumbest thing I’ve done in a while.”

“It wasn’t idiotic,” he stated, setting to work on making the pomegranate sauce as you watched, “They’re you’re parents. It’s only natural you worry about them. Though, I do worry they’ll think of you as a person that doesn’t stick to her word.”

“I know, I really meant to, but the thought of them out on the street. It’s not my responsibility, but I’m just so used to being their adult.”

“It’s difficult to detransition. You worry for them as they should worry for you.”  He checked over a pan he had been heating, “That’s perfect. If you could please..” Grabbing the plate with the duck you set them on the pan. “With duck it’s important to render off the fat. A low heat is necessary.”

You nodded, “Low and slow, got it... You know, I’m not sure they worry about me at all. I mean- I know they don’t. It should hurt, but it’s just a fact of life.”

“They didn’t give you an opportunity to be a child. When you were supposed to be in the most carefree moments of your life, they burdened you with the responsibilities of an adult.” He held out a spoon with some of the pomegranate sauce for you to taste. “Any pain the notion inflicted on you has been killed with time.”

“There are still moments though. Suppose that’s common enough, isn’t it Doc?” You leaned in, allowing him to feed you, “That tastes amazing. I really should have paid attention.”

“It’s simple, I’ll write it out for you later.” Casting the sauce aside, he set a pot of water to boil. “Very common. We aren’t too dissimilar when it comes to how quickly we had to grow up. Very different reasons, but the fall out isn’t much different. Our paths left us in places where we’re very much alone.”

“What happened?” You asked, realizing that he had known a great deal of your family and you had known nothing more past how his day had gone or his preference of coffee. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“I don’t.” Hannibal went to fill two glasses with wine. “I was very young when my parents died. My father had implemented in me that, if anything were to happen, I was to take care of my mother and sister. Which meant I had grown fiercely protective of Mischa when the time came. Soon I was acting more as her father than a brother.”

“Where’s Mischa now?” You asked, knowing at the very least she had to be in her late twenties.

His lips set into a frown, he took a quick drink. “Lost her sometime after. There was a lapse of judgement on my part and she suffered because of it. My days have often been shrouded by the thought that I could have done better by her. The ways I failed burdens me significantly.”

You rubbed his arm sympathetically. “I couldn’t even begin to imagine that pain.”

“It’s something I never wish to experience again. Losing someone you love so dearly, it changes a person.”

“I’m sure you tried your best. You’re a good man. I’m sorry you had to go through all of that when you were so young.”

“You think too highly of me,” he patted your hand on his arm, “Far better than I deserve. Still if my childhood had taught me anything, it’s to value those I hold dear. Such as yourself.” 

“I’m glad we found each other. Even if it is for a short while.” You watched as he stepped back into the rhythm of cooking. Maybe you weren’t any help to him but watching him work was comforting. 

He raised a brow, “Just because the amount of time we physically see each other will diminish, doesn’t mean we need to completely break apart. I’d like to have you at my dinner table later in life.”

“I’d like it if we kept in touch,” you replied, looking at a small box on the counter. The small black beads glimmered in the light, calling at you to take a peek. A neat row of recipe cards in his impeccable penmanship, numbered as high as 120 but there could have been more. “That’s sweet,” you mused, looking at the back of a card, noticing a couple had business cards on them, “You keep track of your friends’ favorites like this?”

“Friends, acquaintances, business partners. It’s difficult remembering everyone’s preferences. When I have dinner parties I like to make sure there’s a bit of something for everyone.”

“Hm, well I’m sorry I don’t have a card for you to have.”

When everything was said and done, you helped Hannibal set up the plates to have dinner. The conversation became light as you laughed along to the better memories of Mischa. From his smile it was easy to see he adored the usually shy girl. You never pressed on to find out how she died, simply choosing to bask in his soft smiles and laughter instead of entertaining curiosity. It was easy to see he rarely talked about her and you were grateful that he found that much comfort in you.

Some time later he was sitting at his harpsichord, playing a self composed melody as you browsed his shelves. There was an almost familiar calm in the air, like this was a usual happening and it would simply just happen again. A naturally reoccurring moment. You found comfort in his presence too. 

You looked up from the shelves when you heard his sigh. “I can’t seem to master this melody,” he stated, “The ending never sounds right.” The annoyed demeanor contradicted his lax look. At least lax for him. His vest and suit jacket had been discarded a while ago leaving him with a popped button, loosened tie, and rolled up sleeves. “I may just leave this one in the air.”

“Sounds perfect to me,” you said, walking over to him, “Though we can be our own worst critics. I know I’m mine.”

“It sounds… forced. Almost as if it’s reluctant to work with me.”

“Forced things just need time.” You placed your hand on his shoulders, digging in your thumbs to relieve the tension you felt. A soft groan as he let his head lull back to rest against your stomach. “Time is all you need sometimes. I thought you would have learned that already, old man.”

He opened his eyes, raising a brow at you. “Always with that mouth.”

You smiled down on him fondly, something- probably the wine in your system -thought about pressing a kiss to his forehead right then. “What can I say? It has a mind of its own.”

“I do prefer when it’s otherwise occupied,” he stated, closing his eyes again.

Your fingers dug a little deeper at that, caught off guard. “And yet.”

Hannibal played a couple soft notes, seemingly testing the waters for his next attempt at getting it to sound right. “And yet.” The first melody seemed almost innocent, but was followed by a second seemingly stalking after it. “Would you mind putting on a record? It seemed I’ve grown bored with music of my own.”

“Sure thing, Han.” Giving his shoulders one final squeeze you pulled away from him. At the record table you browsed through his selection. Hannibal was still composing as you decided to go with a record that looked more worn than the others, figuring something well loved would help him out of his frustrated state. Setting it on the platter, you gave it a brief once over with the anti static brush, knowing he’d probably be attentive to that type of thing, and dropped the needle. The music filled the air as you took in the melody. “Very you.”

He let out a soft chuckle, abandoning the harpsichord, in favor walking over to you. “Very me, indeed.” Hannibal took the record sleeve out of your hand, setting it down on the table. The music’s build up reached. “Would you give me the honor?” His hand was stretched out toward you.

You gave him a sheepish smile, “Afraid I’m going to have to disappoint. I’m not much of a dancer.”

“I’ve been told I’m a wonderful teacher,” he pressed, a charming smile on his lips, “We all start somewhere. Let me be yours.”

A soft laugh bubbled from you as you took in his look of boyish excitement. “You’re not allowed to complain when I step on your toes.” You placed your hand in his. 

He gave a gentle squeeze to your hand. “If you’re too terrible, I’ll show you the way I taught Mischa. You can stand on my toes as I try to help you commit the movements into muscle memory.”

“Handsome and a comedian.”

“I try my best.” Hannibal gave you a gentle spin as he pulled you closer. A kiss was pressed to your hand before he placed it on his shoulder. “Now, just follow after me,” he instructed, placing his hand on your hip.

The moment could have made you fall for the man as you danced with him throughout the room. Toothy smiles and teasing winks were sent your way the couple of times you stepped on his toe. Soon enough, you figured out the pace and learned how to follow through with his unspoken plans. Still, ever the novice, you managed to place your foot in a way that sent you both stumbling to the floor.

Hannibal held you close to his chest, ensuring you didn’t get hurt in the fall. “Oh my sweet girl,” he laughed, “we are going to need more practice.”

You hid your face against his neck, ignoring the fact that he could feel how hot your face was getting. “You want more of that?”

“You were doing perfect, YN,” he stroked your hair sympathetically, “One misstep isn’t something to be embarrassed about.”

Taking a deep breath, you shifted off of the older man, opting to sit beside him on the floor. Hannibal followed suit, leaning back on his elbows. “I really am going to miss seeing you regularly,” you admitted, reaching out your hand to push back the hair that had fallen in front of his eyes. 

“We spend much of our time together,” he acknowledged as he looked at you curiously. “In the kitchen-“

Your eyes widened slightly, “We don’t need to talk about that i-it’s fine. No hard feelings.”

“Romantically or physically?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Do you see me as a romantic or physical conquest?”

“I, um,” you opted to look at your fumbling hands, “I’m honestly not sure about romance… especially considering… everything and my experience when it comes to romance. Never really thought past- I’m talking too much.”

Hannibal’s hand tilted your chin up, forcing you to look him in the eye. “Oh? What happened to the confident girl in the kitchen? Don’t go shy on me now.”

“I was high on your cologne, you can hardly blame me,” you rambled, “It pairs with mine nicely I think.”

His thumb stroked absentmindedly at your jaw. “Such a sweet little thing you are… Now, tell me, YN, what couldn’t you think past?”

“You,” you offered lamely, “Mostly nights when I needed to relax. You’d cross my mind. I’d wonder how you felt. How’d you do things. Maybe you’d like to leave bruises only you’d ever know about…”

“There’s something special in knowing what others don’t,” Hannibal acknowledged, “I do enjoy my lovers wearing my marks, hidden from others view and only acknowledged by myself. As it should be, I’m certain you agree.”

You swallowed thickly at the implication of being marked as his solely. The idea of having normal conversations with him at the college with evidence of him knowing you well burned against your skin. Maybe you’d see if you could convince him into one particular fantasy Friday night had conjured. 

He rested his thumb against your bottom lip, bringing you back to him. “I’ve had thoughts of my own… I wonder… Have you ever wrapped a hand around your own neck?” Hannibal smirked at the way your lips parted in surprise as he felt the heat rise to your face, caught in a way you hadn’t expected. “Sweet girl, were you desperate for me?”

You went to lick your bottom lip out of habit, instead finding the pad of his thumb. “Yes, sir.”

“Darling,” he sighed out softly, almost disappointed, “we could have sorted you out this entire time, if you’d only ask politely. There would have been no need for you to imagine, creative as you might have been. You always put everyone’s needs before yours, but where does that leave you?” Hannibal his thumb pressed against your lips lightly, humming in satisfaction when you let him in, already so compliant. “All you have to do is ask. What would you have me do tonight?” A soft pop sounded in the room as he pulled his thumb back, smearing your spit onto your lips and chin. 

“Just tonight?” The words rolled out of your mouth thoughtlessly. 

A soft laugh. “Maybe more, if you behave.”

Hannibal threaded his hand into your hair, pulling your head back slightly. Leaning closer he took a deep breath, taking you in, before leaving a simple kiss against your neck. His warm breath fanned across your face as he kept you in anticipation. Finally he graced you with a feather light kiss, so quick you weren’t sure you even noticed. You didn’t have time to feel ashamed of the whine that had escaped when he started to move away. Following after him, you caught him in an urgent kiss, threading your own hands in his hair to make sure he’d stay close. Hannibal bit at your bottom lip, his tongue sliding in the second you gasped. You ignored the sting and slight coppery taste. 

Sure you had had your fair share of ventures. It was only natural to crave the attention for the night or a couple hours. However, Hannibal didn’t feel like any of your past partners. His kiss was unrelenting and passionate. Quickly he learned exactly how to kiss you to ensure you’d moan into his mouth. You weren’t sure how long had been spent like this. Lips on lips. Someone’s wandering hand trailing down the other’s body. The growing need. Every movement slowly became bolder. Hannibal took the time to pull you onto his thigh, closing the distance between you even more. He kissed along your neck until he found a spot that made you buck against him. 

“Please,” you sighed out, not really knowing exactly what you wanted, but having faith that he’d give you just what you needed. 

Hannibal leaned his forehead against yours, “Are you sure about this, darling?” 

It wasn’t time for contemplation though, everything was already set into motion. He had just asked out of politeness. His hands moved to your hips, he dragged you against himself in a way that clouded your mind. “You’re very convincing,” you said with a shuddered breath. Leaning your head against his shoulder, you matched his rhythm. At the moment everything in the world was him and you couldn’t find it in you to mind. 

“You came to me,” he pointed out. His hand tugged at your shirt and you allowed him to pull it off. Fingers raised goose bumps along your skin as he followed the fabric of your bra to unclasp the material.  

“Could you blame me?” You kissed the side of his jaw for the second time this night. The lipstick mark left behind wasn’t as embarrassing when you were half undressed on his lap. A blush blossomed in your chest as you watched his darken eyes take you in.

Hannibal kissed along your chest. His hand made its way into your pants, drawing slow circles on your clit. Your soft moan and jut of your hips urged him for more. Before you could ask, he thrusted two fingers inside of you, the pace changing every so often as he took in your reactions. You leaned your head against his shoulder as you grinded against his hand. Soft whimpers were muffled by the fabric of his shirt. 

“Come on sweet girl,” he used his free hand to pull you off of his shoulder by the hair, “you shouldn’t be hiding. Look at me when I’m touching you. Don’t you want to be my good toy?”

You nodded meekly, unable to make a smart comment when you saw a smirk settle on his lips as a too loud moan took its place. 

“That’s it, no one can hear you,” he teased as he worked at the spot harder, his thumb rubbed at your clit. “You seem very close, what if I…”

As he went to move his hand, you grabbed his wrist to stop him. “No, no, no. Please, I’ll be good for you.”

He chuckled, but didn’t say a word as he brought his pace back up. Instead he chose to revel in your soft sounds and the way you had to focus to keep your eyes on him. Finally, he decided keeping you on the edge was enough and allowed you to cum on his fingers. 

“Clean up your mess,” he said as he thrusted his cum coated fingers into your mouth, “There you go, good girl.”

You watched him as you sucked his fingers clean. Bringing a hand down you palmed cock through his pants, fully intending on returning the favor. “You’re wearing too many clothes.”

“I’m afraid that status isn’t going to change anytime soon.” Hannibal kissed your pouted lip. “Don’t worry, I fully intend on taking care of you. Come, let’s make you more comfortable.”

As he stood, Hannibal offered you his hand to help you up. You followed him through the home to his bedroom, a place you didn’t think you’d end up but were more than pleased to see. Still you weren’t exactly taking in the sights when you were pulled into a rougher kiss as he led you toward his bed. A not too gentle push to your chest landed you on top of it. Leaning back on your elbows, you watched as Hannibal took his time undressing you fully. 

“You don’t play fair,” you complained, shifting yourself higher on the bed, away from him, “I like a pretty view too you know.”

He smiled, looking down at you fondly, “Very well, but only as a reward for earlier. I know you struggled.”

You smiled at that, shaking your head, “Come here won’t you?”

There wasn’t any time wasted when he settled on top of you, you didn’t have his patience. Your hands worked on his tie and buttons as his lips and teeth trailed across your chest. A subtle grind against your pussy had your thighs squeeze his waist. Pushing his shirt off, you felt down his chest, still surprised by how muscular he seemed to be underneath it all. You wondered if he’d stop you as you reached for his belt.

“That’s enough. I don’t think you’ve earned it just yet.”

An annoyed huff was all you could manage. 

“All in its time, darling.” A surprisingly gentle kiss was dropped on your cheek. “Can you manage waiting a while longer for me?”

You resisted the urge to nuzzle against him, unused to such soft displays from past partners. “Yes, sir...”

“Always such a sweet, polite thing.” 

Hannibal kissed and bit his way down your body, ensuring there would be evidence of him the next time you saw yourself in the mirror. He allowed you to thread your fingers in his hair, giving him a soft push down when he took too long marking you in one spot. It wasn’t much longer until Hannibal was level with your thighs, he pushed them further apart. A moment passed without anything before you remembered his rule. Willing yourself up you looked down at him, catching a wink before you were rewarded with a broad lick. Hannibal sucked your clit, pressing your hips down when you grinded against him. 

A helpless noise was the most you could do.

He bit your thigh, his fingers immediately making their way back inside of you, targeting the spot he had quickly learned turned you to putty. 

“You really are beautiful like this,” Hannibal acknowledged, “Completely at my mercy. Desperate for anything I’m willing to give you.”

There wasn’t any time to think up something to say as Hannibal’s mouth replaced his fingers, silencing any words that weren’t his breathy attempts of his name and pleas. Teeth grazed against your clit and a soft moan of his own was enough to pull you closer. 

“Please, daddy,” you begged, too far gone to be embarrassed by your slip, “I’m close…”

Hannibal was merciful, helping you finish as quickly as you had asked. Maybe at another time he would have teased and made you hold on longer but there was only so much patience he had. Especially when there was such an eager lover begging him. You watched him, dazed, as he came back up, his hand gripping at your jaw.

“Open.”

Doing as he wanted, you opened your mouth, instantly receiving a mix of the still lingering wine he had drank at dinner and you. He watched as you swallowed.

He let out an almost dreamy sigh. “So pliant.” 

Hannibal kissed you, finally allowing you to get your way as you pushed off the last clothes. You pumped him in your hand, working up the courage as you shook off the daze he had left you in. He was definitely the most talented partner you had had.

“We don’t have to go any further,” Hannibal reassured you, kissing the side of your mouth, “I’m perfectly sedated watching you.”

You shook your head immediately, not wanting him to think you were hesitant. “I want to, college guys aren’t so giving, just needed some time to clear my head.” As if to prove your point you gave him a squeeze, that made him thrust into your hand on instinct. “I just feel bad you’re doing all the work.”

“I prefer it,” he groaned quietly, as you thumbed at the slit. Hannibal rolled so that you could be on top of him, “But if you insist…”

A soft laugh. “That was hardly the fight I was expecting,” you muttered teasingly, kissing his jaw. 

“My patience is running thin.”

At that you straddled him, your hand lining him up with you. His hands held you steady as you sunk onto him. The both of you moaned softly when he was fully inside. Hannibal slowly grinded you against himself as you adjusted to his size. Hands against his chest, you started riding him in earnest. 

“That’s my good girl,” he praised you, his fingernails digging harder into your hips. 

“Yours,” you whimpered, too enthralled in the feel of him to pay any attention to the weight of what you were saying. His groans underneath you encouraged you more than anything. “All yours.”

Hannibal sat up, wrapping an arm around your waist to keep you firm against him. His soft kiss was a contrast to how roughly he was working himself into you. You couldn’t find it in you to care that he had taken control again. Instead you wrapped your arms around his neck, letting him do as he pleased, just enjoying the way his hands and lips would travel across your body. Teasing, pinching, biting everywhere he could reach.  Your chest alone would be covered in marks left behind by Hannibal. That would be a problem for the future you to deal with at the moment you were too preoccupied with begging him for more. He’d slow his thrust whenever he felt you close to the end, chuckling lowly at the whining sounds you had made.

“Give daddy one more sweet girl. I know you can.”

You moaned loudly, giving Hannibal exactly what he wanted. When he wanted. Drained, you fell limp against his shoulder. Every small sound you made broadcast directly to him as he used you for all your worth. His arms tightened around you when you tried to pull away from the over stimulation. 

“Daddy’s close,” he promised, his accent thicker than usual, “I’ve taken such good care of my girl. Be good for me.”

Nodding, you dug your nails into his shoulders. You could be good. He had been so good to you after all. Still your vision blurred and it had taken a while longer for him to finally go still inside of you. 

Hannibal kissed the side of your head, before pulling you to lay down against him. His thumb wiped away the stray tear that had managed to fall. “You did so well for me. Are you alright? Do you need anything?”

You sighed sleepily, curling into his side more comfortably, “I’m alright. Just want you.”

“We’ll take care of you later,” he promised, seeing how tired you were, “You should rest, darling. I’ll be right here.” His hand rested on your hip, thumbing at forming bruise gently. Between the soft touch and his quiet humming, it didn’t take long for you to find sleep. 

NextChapter

[miekasa]

break up with your boyfriend, i’m bored

+ pairings: um… armin x reader…. but, spotlight on jean—just... read it to understand, please

+ genres and warnings: college au what’s new, fluff… you’re just going to have to work with me and trust me on this one alright

+ notes: free colt he ain’t do nothing wrong i just needed someone outside of their immediate friend group to blame i am so sorry justice for my boy colt and falco too

+ more notes: longer levi fic still in progress, so have jean thee comedian in the meantime

“I think I have a crush on someone.”

Jean crosses his arms and makes it a point to huff even louder than before so that you can accurately assess his annoyance at moment; going so far as to slump back into your not so comfortable couch to really sell it.

“And that is why you manhandled me all the way to your apartment on a Tuesday afternoon?” he asks, voice flat and eyes hooded.

You groan and roll your eyes. Jean’s eyebrows are pinched together with more judgement than confusion at your current state of distress when you sit next to him on the sofa, a knee bent in his direction.

“Jeanie, I don’t think you’re understanding the severity of my issue.”

“You’re right, I’m not,” he drawls, “But, please, do enlighten me. It’s not like I have an essay to write or anything.”

“I have a crush,” you reiterate, hands mapping out every syllable in your sentence, “On someone who is not my boyfriend.”

“I see,” he nods, but his voice remains flat, “And, pray tell, what exactly is my role in all of this?”

“You’re supposed to use your philosophical psychoanalytical bullshit to tell me what’s wrong with me and how to fix it.”

“Philosophy and psychology are two different disciplines.”

“They sound the same to me.”

“That’s because you’re a single-celled chem major.”

“I think it takes more than a single cell to study chem.”

“Oh, is that what they tell you guys, now?”

“You’re not fucking helping.”

“Yes, I am,” he tuts, “It’s called talk therapy.”

“It sounds like you’re just taking shots at me.”

“Best friend talk therapy allows for a few digs here and there.”

“Jean,” you pinch his arm. He flinches, and yelps loudly, immediately raising the affected arm to counter with a flick to the center of your forehead. You glare, the palm of your left hand covering the sting on your skin, but concede, “Well played.”

“Thank you,” he nods, “I learned from the best.”

“Okay, now that you’ve gotten your ego boost for the day, can we worry about my problem, please.”

He shrugs, crossing resting his left ankle atop his right knee, “Sure.”

“Thank you.”

“What exactly is the problem, again?”

You sigh, and lean your head on Jean’s shoulder, “I have a boyfriend—”

“We’ve been over that.”

“—and the person I have a crush on is not my boyfriend.”

“Okay,” he pauses, “Are you going to do anything about this crush?”

“Well, I… no,” you ponder, “I don’t think so.”

“Okay,” he repeats, “So, then why are you so worked up about it?”

“Because!... Because… I don’t know, it’s… wrong? I’m in a relationship with someone else—isn’t this, like, emotional cheating?”

“Maybe,” he says, “I don’t know a whole lot about relationship psychology.”

“Come on, Jean.”

He sighs, “I’m serious, I don’t know, (_____).”

You whine, sounds muffled by the fabric of Jean’s sweater where your cheek lay pressed against his shoulder. “I’m a horrible person, aren’t I?”

“You’re not, stop it,” Jean answers firmly, wrapping an arm around your shoulder, “You’re not horrible for having emotions that are difficult to work through.”

“Okay, then, I’m just a horrible girlfriend.”

“Maybe.”

“Jean.”

“Sorry,” he winces, patting your head for extra encouragement. It’s meant to be comforting, but it makes you feel like a patronized six-year-old, at best. It’s quiet for a while, with you mulling over Jean’s words, and him trying to pull you into the worst side hug in all of existence.

“Do you think,” you break the silence, “Maybe I should I break up with him?”

“Yes,” his answer comes too quickly, and much too enthusiastically.

You lift your head from his shoulder, unamused, but Jean doesn’t even try to hide the glimmer of hope in his eyes.

“You’re just saying that because you don’t like him.”

“No,” he pauses when he catches glimpse of the disbelief on your face, “Okay, yes, I don’t like him. At all.”

“Jean—”

“But maybe this is your subconscious telling you that you don’t like him either, and that you should, instead, go after your crush.”

“Oh, so now you want to use your psychobullshit on me?”

“If it means I don’t have to pretend to like Colt anymore, then yes,” he replies, a stupid, shit-eating grin on his lips.

You scoff, arms crossed against your chest, “You don’t even pretend to like him now.”

Jean shrugs, “I pretend to like him to his face.”

“No, you don’t,” you insist, “You’re probably the worst at it, in fact.”

“I’m not worse than Connie.”

“You called him an asshole. To his face.”

“Connie poured tequila on him.”

“Connie was drunk. You were completely sober.”

“Connie would have done it sober and you know it.”

You open your mouth to refuse, but the words fall silent in your throat. Connie probably would have done it sober. “Okay, fine, whatever, you don’t like him,” you wave away the subject, “Do you really think this crush is my subconscious telling me to break up with him, though? I mean—it’s just, crushes are kind of fleeting right?”

“Sure, but—”

“What if I break up with him, and then I get over my crush, and realize I made a mistake.”

“Then you learn and grow, and find a new crush.”

“I’m being serious.”

“So am I,” he insists, “You’re beating yourself up pretty bad over this mystery guy—”

“—It could be a girl.”

“Is it a girl? Oh, is it Mikasa? Are you still hung up over her—you know I’m sure she’d make out with you asked. I think you both could relieve a lot of tension that way, actually.”

“You’re the worst person to walk this planet, you know that?” you sneer, annoyed by the smug grin on Jean’s face. So what if you had a tiny crush on Mikasa? Most people did, Jean included.

“Look,” Jean continues, “You and I both know you’re not a cheater, but you and I also know you’re just like Eren when it comes to things like this.”

“Just like Eren?”

“Falls too fast, too hard,” he clarifies, “I get the feeling you’ve had these feelings for a while, and that they’re not fleeting.”

You pout, and Jean knows that he’s right. “Okay, so say I do break up with Colt—”

“Which you should do, regardless.”

“—If we break up, then what? I still won’t know what to do with my left over grief. It’s not like I can just... go ask this guy out right away.”

“Yes, you can,” Jean presses, “In fact, you should.”

“No, I can’t,” you insist.

“Why not?”

“Well for one, I’ll look like a heartless whore.”

“You’re not a heartless whore for asking a guy out.”

“I am if I do it right after breaking up with my boyfriend.”

“Your internalized misogyny is showing,” he sing-songs, “Come on, you’re not a whore for doing what you want with a guy, you know that.”

“Okay, fine, not a whore, whatever,” you roll your eyes, “But I still couldn’t ask him out.”

“It’s the twenty first century, just because you’re a girl doesn’t mean you can’t ask him—”

“Not because of that, dumb goose,” you glare, “I meant because—it’s, well, it’d be really sudden and kind of… awkward?”

“It’s not like he’d know you just broke up with someone, unless that’s one of your conversation starters.”

You sigh, a hand on your forehead. “Yes, he would, Jean.”

“How could he possibly—oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” you mock, a heavy sigh leaving your chest as you resume your previous sulking position, head leaning against his shoulder with your right cheek squished against his sweater.

“(_____), I’m honored, but you’re not really my type. I’d be willing to help you get over him though.”

“It’s not you, you fucking long-necked pigeon, it’s Arm—,” you cut yourself short, hands clamped over your own mouth.

“Oh my god!” Jean all but screams, propelling his body away from you with just enough distance to extend his arm, finger pointing directly at your chest, “You like Armin!”

“Shut up!”

“You have a crush on Armin!”

“Shut up, Jean!”

“You have a big, fat crush on Armin!”

“Shut up! I said shut up, you pasty fucking giraffe looking ass bitch!”

“Oh my—okay, you have to break up with Colt, immediately,” Jean rushes, “I can’t believe this—if you think Armin wouldn’t go out with you, then you really do have the intelligence of a single celled organism.”

“What in the ever loving fuck are you talking about.”

“We’re talking about the same Armin, right? Armin Arlert, about this tall,” Jean raises his hand significantly lower than Armin’s actual height, “Studies astrophysics, follows you around like a lap dog—”

“He does not,” you scoff.

Jean guffaws, “Didn’t he take you on a tour of, like… the NASA museum for your birthday? With the super high-tech planetarium that people die to get into?”  

“Actually, it was their headquarters, but it’s only because he gets special privileges for being an intern.”

“Didn’t he name a star after you?”

“Anyone can name a star after anyone,” you roll your eyes, “It’s really not that hard.”

“People do not fucking go to NASA and ask for stars for just anyone!” Jean screeches, hands flailing wildly.

“Armin does!”

“Yeah, for you!” Jean emphasizes, “Come on, do you think if anybody else called him right now and asked him to get a star in their name, or even just fucking take them to headquarters of the most renowned space organization in the country, that he would actually do it?”

“I mean, maybe, if like… Eren asked.”

Jean opens his mouth to refute, but freezes half way with a head-tilt and pursed lips. “Okay, yeah, maybe—whatever, doesn’t matter. What matters is that you need to tell him.”

“I don’t need to tell him shit.”

“You’re seriously choosing Colt over Armin? Who willingly stays with some greasy prick with the world’s most annoying younger brother, over a handsome, straight-A astrophysics student with a penchant for marine biology, and, like, really clear skin.”

“Oh, wow. I didn’t know Bertholdt was studying astro.”

“I wasn’t talking about Bertholdt.”

“It sounded like you were talking about Bertholdt.”

“I mean, Bertholdt’s got great skin, but it’s no where near as clear as Armin’s. He glows.”

It’s quiet again, as you eye Jean with a raised brow that’s all too familiar. “Are we sure that you’re not the one with the crush on Armin?”

“Shut up, you’re avoiding the point.”

“What’s the point, exactly?”

“That you’re in love with Armin, who is miles better than your current boy toy, so you should ask him out immediately.”

“I have a boyfriend, not a boy toy.”

“Ah ha!” he yells, “You didn’t deny that you’re in love with him—oh my god, you’re in love with Armin!”

He’s standing now, practically bouncing off the the walls at the revelation. You take to smacking him with the nearest pillow. “I’m not in love with him! I just—just really like him, okay!”

“Very convincing.”

“Shut the hell up, you’ve been pining after you know who for seven eons at this point.”

“You bitch,” he growls, “We’re not supposed to bring him up.”

“Well, you keep bringing up Armin!”

“We never established that Armin was on the list of he’s who shall not be named.”

“Well I vote that he should be.”

“Your vote has been vetoed,” he grins, “Look, I’m completely serious when I say that Armin is just as in love with you as you deny you are with him.”

“That sentence hurt my head,” you pout, resuming your signature brooding position.

“It’s okay, your single brain cell has been through a lot in the past fifteen minutes,” he pats your head again, earning him a glare that he simply chuckles at, “All it means is that you love Armin, and I assure you that he’s equally, if not more, in love with you.”

“You really think so?”

“I know so. Now, up, up, up,” he tuts, pulling at your biceps until you’re standing, only to immediately start ushering you to the door, “You have a shitty boyfriend to go break up with.”

“What—Jean, come on, I didn’t mean right now!” you exclaim; but he’s stronger than he looks, and continues to propel your body out of the open door.

“No time to waste!” he insists, “Every hour you stay with Colt you lose another brain cell.”

“I thought I only had one to begin with,” you say, sarcasm evident in your tone.

It makes Jean’s grin triple, “Exactly, so go, not another hour to waste!”

“Jean, wait, I—,” you begin, only to be silenced by the silver door shutting in your face. The lock clicks soon after, and it’s only then you realized what he’s done.

“You knobby kneed bitch, this is my apartment!”

[apocalypticgargoyle]

𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐌 𝟒. ♡ 𝐠𝐞𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝

"Hi! I hope u have a lovely day :] I was wondering if I could request an imagine where you're online friends with Gogy and one day you send him a picture wearing his merch and he can't stop thinking about it and finally ends up telling you he has a crush on you?? Thank you in advance :] I really enjoy your writing"

pairing: georgenotfound x reader

warnings: Zoom Video Communications none :)

links: | ao3 | request | masterlist |

⋆ song recommendation: Slowly by Josh Gilligan

(streamer bf gogy brainrot brrr) hello sweet anon! thank you for much for this request :) I love love love all the geo simps and their ideas. also thank you to my dearest LB for helping me with the plot help. happy reading, everyone! ♡ ᵍᵉⁿᵉ

You tapped your fingers on your desk, nails clattering at you waiting to be let into your third Zoom meeting of the day. Usually, you got off with only one lecture, but because of upcoming exams, you were finding yourself in and out of virtual meetings and office hours. Sure, it was better than jogging from building to building, fighting the crowds, and searching for a seat in a packed lecture hall, but it was still wearing you down beyond belief.

You rested your chin in your hand as your window went from white to dark grey, the square with your name getting wedged in beside the professor. Everyone’s cameras were off, a thankful sigh leaving your lips as your head slumped down to lay against your arm, the danger of falling asleep suddenly becoming more prominent.

You jumped slightly as your professor cleared their throat, sharing their screen and beginning to ramble off facts listed on the slideshow. You played with your keyboard, focused on removing a crumb from beneath your spacebar that was almost unreachable. You usually took notes in the class, but today was just one of those days.

“... And with that in mind, I’m going to put you all into breakout rooms…” Your professor trailed off, eyebrows furrowed as they peered at their screen and clicked frantically to assign all of you to rooms. You yawned, smacking your cheeks and sitting up. You were determined not to be a shitty partner, at least. The white box popped up, inviting you to join breakout room four. That’s always lucky, you thought to yourself as you joined.

Once again, you were cursed to look at the buffering wheel of death as your internet struggled to sustain all your opened tabs. Please, just a little longer, you groaned internally, eyes dashing towards the receiver and exhaling in relief as your computer connected to the breakout room. You turned on your camera, eliciting your partner, George, to do the same.

You flashed him a smile as you struggled to open the article from the previous night. “Hi! How’s it going?” You greeted, not yet looking at him.

“I’m good, actually. How are you?” He engaged, his voice deep and tired.

You finally managed to split your screen enough so that you could see him and the article. “Yeah, I’m good too. Thanks,” you chewed the inside of your cheek, eyes skimming some of the notes you’d etched into the margins. “So, did you have any idea what,” you paused, squinting at the author’s name, “Robert A. Schneider means when he discusses how ‘men of letters’ fear the lower class more than anything?” You asked, as your eyes trailed across your screen to finally gauge his reaction, you were taken aback by his appearance.

His soft features and dark eyes made you feel safe. As he smiled softly, running his fingers into his hair, he seemed to be racking his brain for an answer. He opened his mouth to begin, detailing what you had previously thought with better articulation.

The two of you got through the basic questions the professor had scripted for the students, then finding yourself still stuck in the breakout room. On a normal day, your professor would have pulled everyone back into the call after the first few questions.

George swiveled in his chair quietly as he listened to you briefly explain your area of study. His kind smile made your heart flutter slightly. Deep down, you hoped the two of you would be stuck in the room for a while.

Soon your topics blended into what kind of movies you both watched, a debate on where you could buy the cheapest bread on campus, and what kind of party people the two of you were. After an hour, instead of worrying whether or not your professor was dead, you were swapping numbers and planning out how the two of you would turn the Florida Keys into the headquarters of your new cult where the members would all worship a separate bitchy philosopher.

You pulled one of your legs to your chest, resting your cheek against your knee as his laughing died out. “Okay, this might be a weird question, but I need to know why your webcam is so clear. Is it like an OnlyFans thing or…”

He chuckled. “Yeah it’s definitely OnlyFans,” he joked, making you laugh. “I’m actually a ᵐⁱⁿᵉᶜʳᵃᶠᵗ ˢᵗʳᵉᵃᵐᵉʳ” he mumbled.

Your eyebrows perked playfully. “You’re a what?”

He pursed his lips to fit the grin stretching across his face. “ᵃ ᵐⁱⁿᵉᶜʳᵃᶠᵗ ˢᵗʳᵉᵃᵐᵉʳ”

You snorted slightly. “Sorry darling, you’ll have to speak up. What was that?”

He wet his lips, rolling his eyes as he bashfully groaned. “I’m a Minecraft streamer.”

You giggled, him basking in your disbelief. He smiled a bit brighter as he shrugged, leaning back in his chair as you rambled off questions. “There’s no way! Nerd!” you chaffed, making him smile as if he liked it when you playfully teased him. “Are you super popular?” You asked, catching your breath.

He bit his bottom lip swaying his head slightly as if deciding not to answer. “Mmmm. Not really.”

“Well, come on, Georgios! Give me your Twitch user and I’ll be your biggest fan, I promise.” He laughed at your response, digging out his phone to send you a link.

“I’d like to see you try,” he mumbled.

After the class had finally ended, you’d learned that your professor was on the phone with their credit card company. In the following weeks, you and George were in constant contact, even becoming part of each other’s daily routines.

As you studied for finals, you’d turn on his stream, letting his voice alleviate some of the stress of your exams. He knew you were watching and would even drop hints for you in what he was saying, or he’d blatantly just ask what you were talking about in your essay for a certain class. After the stream would end, he’d call you either on Discord or the phone, just so it felt like the two of you were studying together.

Jokingly, you badgered him to send you some of his merch, threatening to buy it from a bootleg online store if he didn’t. He had only brushed it off at the time, but shortly after, you received a hoodie in the mail with his gamer tag printed across it.

It was late at night when you’d received it, the tiredness of your eyes and George’s dulcet tones lulling you towards the idea of a dead sleep. Yet, you were drawn from your pleasant relaxation with the shrilling of your doorbell. You shrugged out of your blanket cocoon, grabbing your phone and trudging down the stairs. As you tore open the bag, your phone buzzed with a text from George asking if you’d seen something that one of his chat members. You chuckled softly and dug your hand into the material, holding it out in front of you.

You snickered to yourself, running your fingers across the red patch in the center. You slipped it over your head, letting the softness of the fabric brush against your skin. You snapped a photo of yourself and stumbled back upstairs before sending it to him.

When you returned, George was focused on something he was crafting. His eyes darted down to one corner of the screen where his phone was probably sitting. His eyes flashed back up with a smug grin on his face as if he knew exactly what you were going to say. Your “Thanks sugar daddy xx,” probably didn’t help either.

“What, chat?” His voice came out slightly uneven as he bit back a smile. You skimmed what people were asking. “It’s not a nude. A friend of mine got something I sent them,” he answered nonchalantly, finishing up what he was doing. The chat began to spam quietly. “No, it’s not a maid costume. Jesus Christ.” He leaned back in his chair, grabbing his phone and opening your message.

A grin spread across his face, alongside the light dusting of rosy pigment settling in his cheeks. He chuckled to himself, quickly replying before getting back to his game. You scoffed at his response.

George (H325) Anything for my silly little baka

You curled up again, putting away your schoolwork and devoting your attention to watching his stream as you drifted off to sleep.

Once again, you found yourself at the mercy of your internet as you attempted to join the breakout room assigned to you. You almost jumped out of your chair when it finally connected and you found George waiting for you. You smiled slightly as he scrolled through his phone. “What are the chances?” You asked, pulling his eyes to you.

He grinned, clicking off whatever he was looking at. “I was just about to raid your inbox.”

You chuckled. “I almost wore your merch to class, just to out you to whoever my partner was,” you joked, making him roll his eyes.

“I’m glad it’s me then,” he responded. You began scrounging around for your article. After a beat of hesitation, George spoke up again. “Hey, I’m glad you like the sweatshirt…” You perked an eyebrow in his direction. “I actually haven’t been able to get that picture out of my head. I know it’s stupid,” he stated lightly, chuckling nervously. You could feel your heart beating in your ears. “It’s so lame, but I think I have a crush on you.”

You sat back in your chair, stunned. “I mean, the feeling’s mutual. Even if it’s lame,” you mirrored, winking at him. “I mean, maybe it’s not lame because I know I like you.”

He smiled to himself at your answer before chuckling, “Should we Zoom date or something?”

[douchebagbrainwaves]

YOUR EMPLOYEES AND INVESTORS WILL CONSTANTLY BE ASKING ARE WE THERE YET

I think I've figured out what's going on. After the first 10 or so we learned to treat deals as background processes that we should ignore till they terminated.1 Don't Get Your Hopes Up. Something hacked together means something that barely solves the problem, the harder it is to bait the hook with prestige. And that is almost certainly mistaken. So one thing that falls just short of the standard, I think, should be the highest goal for the marginal. Big companies think the function of office space is to express rank. As big companies' oligopolies became less secure, they were willing to pay a premium for labor. You can see it in old photos. If you're friends with a lot of the worst kinds of projects are the death of a thousand cuts. And what's especially dangerous is that many happen at your computer.

And the microcomputer business ended up being Apple vs Microsoft. In 1450 it was filled with the kind of turbulent and ambitious people you find now in America. You have to like what they do there than how much they can get the most done. That's not what makes startups worth the trouble. Design This kind of metric would allow us to compare different languages, but that if someone wanted to design a language explicitly to disprove this hyphothesis, they could probably do it. This technique can be generalized to: What's the best thing you could be doing, not just what you can see the results in any town in America. With this amount of money can change a startup's funding situation completely. There I found a copy of The Atlantic. Whereas it's easy to get sucked into working longer than you expected at the money job.2 That's ok. I think you have to do all three. But more importantly, you'll get into the habit of doing things well.

But what if the person in the next 40 years will bring us some wonderful things.3 They all know about the VCs who rejected Google. The writing of essays used to be.4 You may have read on Slashdot how he made his own Segway.5 He improvises: if someone appears in front of him, he runs around them; if someone tries to grab him, he spins out of their grip; he'll even run in the wrong place, anything might happen. The people who've worked for a few months I realized that what I'd been unconsciously hoping to find there was back in the place I'd just left. It was supposed to be something else, they ended up being Apple vs Microsoft. By 2012 that number was 18 years. The first thing you need is to be willing to look like a fool.6 Google they have a fair amount of data to go on. John Malkovich where the nerdy hero encounters a very attractive, sophisticated woman.

Many of the big companies were roll-ups that didn't have clear founders.7 Empirically, the way to the bed and breakfast, and other similar classes of accommodations, you get to hit a few difficult problems over the net at someone, you learn pretty quickly how hard they hit them anyway. Inexperienced founders make the same mistake as the people who list at ABNB, they list elsewhere too I am not negative on this one was the only way to get lots of referrals is to invest in students, not professors. It will actually become a reasonable strategy or a more reasonable strategy to suspect everything new.8 Never say we're passionate or our product is great. Whereas undergraduate admissions seem to be disappointments early on, when they're just a couple guys in an apartment. Programmers at Yahoo wouldn't have asked that.9 Incidentally, this scale might be helpful in deciding what to study in college. VCs think they're playing a zero sum game.

I spend most of my time writing essays lately. Almost everyone's initial plan is broken. If smaller source code is the purpose of comparing languages, because they come closest of any group I know to embodying it. Distracting is, similarly, desirable at the wrong time. But if we make kids work on dull stuff now is so they can get away with atrocious customer service. In fact, here there was a kid playing basketball? Of course, figuring out what you like.

Go out of your way to bring it up e. The industry term here is conversion. Try to keep the sense of wonder you had about programming at age 14. At least if you start a startup, people treat you as if you're unemployed.10 But hacking is like writing. Even with us working to make things happen the way they used to, they were moving to a cheaper apartment. It causes you to work not on what you like, but is disastrously lacking in others. I do in the rest of the world. Their defining quality is probably that they really love to program.

I could only figure out what to do, there's a natural tendency to stop looking.11 Economies of scale ruled the day.12 One is that this is simply the founders' living expenses.13 I need to transfer a file or edit a web page, and I think I know what is meant by readability, and I think they're onto something. Multiply this times several hundred, and I get an uneasy feeling when I look at my bookshelves. You may have read on Slashdot how he made his own Segway.14 Everyday life gives you no practice in this. Startups grow up around universities because universities bring together promising young people and make them work on anything they don't want to want, we consider technological progress good.

Notes

Samuel Johnson said no man but a blockhead ever wrote except for money. Which is precisely my point. If they were regarded as 'just' even after the egalitarian pressures of World War II the tax codes were so new that the guys running Digg are especially sneaky, but except for money. They don't know enough about the new top story.

The image shows us, they tended to make money. But we invest in the Bible is Pride goeth before destruction, and one of the fake leading the fake leading the fake. In No Logo, Naomi Klein says that 15-20% of the aircraft is.

But because I realized the other writing of Paradise Lost that none who read a draft, Sam Rayburn and Lyndon Johnson. If they agreed among themselves never to do due diligence for an investor? The best technique I've found for dealing with the other.

I ordered a large number of startups as they do for a public event, you can ignore. If you want to help the company, and a few of the Facebook that might produce the next Apple, maybe the corp dev is to show growth graphs at either stage, investors decide whether to go to die.

If you walk into a big company CEOs in 2002 was 3.

Or rather, where w is will and d discipline. But that turned out the existing shareholders, including that Florence was then the richest country in the sense of mission.

In Shakespeare's own time, because they can't afford to. The company may not be able to raise their kids in a company in Germany. When we got to see the apples, they said, and why it's next to impossible to write an essay about it wrong. That will in many cases be an open booth.

I'm not saying you should probably be worth trying to tell them exactly what constitutes research in the early 90s when they say they bear no blame for any particular truths you'll learn. As Jeremy Siegel points out that there is undeniably a grim satisfaction in hunting down certain sorts of bugs. Did you know about it as if you'd invested at a discount of 30% means when it was actually a great programmer doesn't merely do the right direction to be is represented by Milton.

But a lot of the next round. It's hard to say exactly what your body is telling you. In Russia they just kill you, they tend to be very unhealthy. One thing that drives most people realize, because you have two choices, choose the harder.

Though Balzac made a lot of classic abstract expressionism is doodling of this essay talks about programmers, but one by one they die and their houses are transformed by developers into McMansions and sold to VPs of Bus Dev. Or rather, where it sometimes causes investors to act. Eric Raymond says the best hackers want to trick admissions officers. And no, unfortunately, I mean efforts to protect widows and orphans from crooked investment schemes; people with a truly feudal economy, you better be sure you do in proper essays.

The top VCs thus have a better education. Or a phone, IM, email, Web, games, books, newspapers, or some vague thing like that. You need to fix. But the question is not much to maintain their percentage.

Kant. Loosely speaking. The real decline seems to them to lose elections. Some types of startups where the recipe is to say incendiary things, they can grow the acquisition offers most successful founders still get rich simply by being energetic and unscrupulous, but they get for free.

World War II to the frightening lies told by older siblings. That's one of the most general truths. As we walked in, we found they used it to get into that because a unless your last funding round.

But this seems an odd idea.

Thanks to Jessica Livingston, Shiro Kawai, Garry Tan, Chris Small, and Nikhil Nirmel for sharing their expertise on this topic.

[softspideys]

Average (Frat!Tom Holland x reader)

summary: tom holland is the handsome, popular, and charismatic king of your campus. so why has he taken an interest in you?

warnings: none

word count: 3,000

pairings: frat!tom holland x reader

a/n: I personally prefer respectful frat boy tom to jerky frat boy tom. inspired by this glorious photo. I hope you you like it:) 

When Tom Holland first spoke to you, your immediate instinct was to assume it was a joke.

You’d just arrived at the party his frat was throwing and immediately made a beeline for the kitchen. You were never totally comfortable in situations like these, but after a couple drinks you tended to be more social and easygoing.

“Hey,” a voice said as you finished pouring yourself some of the suspicious-looking Jungle Juice. You turned around and almost did a double-take.

You knew who Tom was; his roommate Harrison was friends with your roommate Jess, but you’d never spoken to him. He was popular, but there were no rumors about him being a player or an asshole or a creep like there were with some of his frat brothers.

Now he was smiling at you, looking casual in jeans and a black t-shirt, a baseball cap pulled over his curly hair. “Hey,” you answered, once you were positive he was talking to you. There was no one else around you, but still.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

“Um, no thanks,” you said, gesturing to the cup in your hand. “I’m good.” You figured he was just being polite, but then he continued to speak to you.

“You’re Jess’s roommate, right?” he asked.

You nodded, a little surprised. You honestly didn’t even think he was aware you existed. But then it hit you—he must be looking for her and probably recognized you from one of her Instagram photos or something. “Yeah. I don’t know where she is, though. I just got here.”

“Cool,” he said. “I’ve only met her a couple times—she’s friends with my roommate Harrison—but she talked about you a lot. I’m Tom.” He held out his hand.

Slowly, you shook it. “Y/N.” This was weird. If he wasn’t being polite and he wasn’t looking for someone else, then why was he talking to you? You had to get out of there. “Um, I have to go now. It was nice meeting you.”

“Oh, okay,” he said. “See you around, maybe.” You smiled a little instead of answering before practically fleeing the kitchen and joining the party. The rest of the night passed uneventfully and you didn’t see Tom again.

You thought about him briefly afterwards, but decided not to dwell on it. Maybe he was just bored. Maybe he saw you by yourself and took pity on you.

A few days later, Jess ambushed you while you were doing homework in the library. “You talked to Tom Holland at the party on Saturday?” she whispered excitedly.

“Yeah, for like a minute. It was before I found you. Why?”

“Harrison told me he was asking about you. Want me to pass along your number?”

“No!” you said quickly, feeling your face get warm. “Wait. What do you mean, he was asking about me? Asking what?”

“You know, just like . . . what your deal is, and whatever.” She shrugged. “He probably wants to hang out with you.”

“Me? Why?” The thought made your heartbeat quicken.

Jess rolled her eyes. “Oh my God. Why wouldn’t he? You’re a total catch. I don’t know why you’re so surprised.”

The conversation was making you more and more uncomfortable. Tom was good-looking and popular and probably had tons of people lining up just to “hang out” with him. What was so special about you?

Despite your doubts, you found yourself giving in. “Okay,” you said finally. “I guess you can give him my number.”

Jess smiled, her eyes sparkling. “Awesome. I’ll tell Harrison.” She leaned closer, suddenly serious. “And look, I wouldn’t push this if I didn’t think it was a good idea, okay? You know I got your back. Tom is really nice.”

She had a point. “I know,” you said grudgingly. “We’ll see if he even texts me.”

~ ~ ~  

Tom texted you the day after Jess passed your number on.

hey it’s tom, we met at the party on saturday :) i got your number from jess. i was wondering if you wanna hang out sometime?

You spent almost an hour reading it over and over, trying to figure out if there was any hidden meaning in the short message. Finally you wrote back: sure.

You expected him to invite you to another frat party or something similar, but instead he asked if you wanted to grab coffee and do homework. Midterms were coming up, after all.

So you met him at a cafe on campus on a chilly Thursday afternoon. He was there when you arrived, sitting at a table in the back. He looked cozy, all bundled up in a hoodie and sweats. You bought yourself a hot chocolate and sat across from him. “Um, hi.”

“Hi.” He smiled at you. “How’s it going?”

“Good. How are you?”

“Pretty good.”

You looked around. He’d picked a two-person table, but that didn’t mean someone else couldn’t pull up a chair. “Is it just going to be us?”

His smile faded a little. “Uh, yeah. Is that okay? I thought—I mean, you can see if Jess is around or something, but—”

“No, no,” you interrupted, wanting to kick yourself. “No, this is fine. I was just asking. I don’t mind.”

“Oh, okay.” He relaxed. “I’m glad you came. I didn’t think you would.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “You just didn’t seem very, uh . . . excited.”

You cringed inwardly, clearing your throat. “Oh, sorry. I’m not very good at texting. Ask Jess.” You smiled a little at the thought of your best friend. “She’s always mad at me because I take hours to respond and then it usually just ends up being one word.”

Tom laughed. “Oh man, my brother Sam is the same way. I have to send a message to him in all caps that says SOS EMERGENCY PLEASE ANSWER NOW if I want him to answer within the hour.”

“You have a brother?”

“Yeah, three actually. There’s me, then the twins Sam and Harry, and then my youngest brother Paddy.”

“Wow,” you said, raising your eyebrows. “Your house must’ve been pretty crazy growing up.”

“You could say that.”

Before you got to the cafe, you told yourself that you only had to stay for an hour. One hour, and then you could make up some excuse as to why you had to leave. But as time went on, you realized you were actually enjoying yourself. The conversation flowed naturally, and Tom was a good listener. He didn’t seem to mind when you eventually lapsed into silence to get some studying down, and the two of you worked quietly for a while. He even offered to refill your drink when he went to get another for himself.

“Got any plans for dinner?” he asked finally, breaking the comfortable silence you’d grown used to. You looked out the window and saw it was getting dark out.

At first you thought maybe he was going to ask if you wanted to get something to eat with him. But as quick as the idea occurred, you shot it down. That was silly; he’d already been here with you for a few hours now. Maybe he was meeting other people after this and wanted you to take a hint.

So you lied, “Yeah, I’m meeting Jess at a dining hall. I should probably get going, actually.”

“Oh, right,” he said, glancing down at his homework. “Uh, same here.” You both quickly packed up your stuff and left the cafe, pausing before you officially went your separate ways.

“That was fun,” Tom said. He hesitated, and you braced yourself to hear some excuse as to why he would never talk to you again.

You certainly weren’t expecting him to ask shyly, “Would you want to hang out again?” You blinked, certain you hadn’t heard him right. But he just looked at you, waiting for your response, and after a pause you nodded.

“Yeah. I would like that.”

Tom’s answering smile was practically blinding. You couldn’t help but return it. “Awesome,” he said. “Um, I’ll text you?”

“Okay,” you said. “See you later.” He smiled at you for a second longer before he turned and walked away, a happy sort of bounce in his step.

You couldn’t help it; you walked home with a dumb grin on your face.

~ ~ ~

True to his word, Tom texted you a few days later to ask if you wanted to hang out again. This time you accepted readily.

At first, the two of you just got together to have coffee and do homework. Then he somehow managed to figure out part of your schedule and would meet you on your way to class. Even if he had a lecture on the other side of campus, he insisted on walking you all the way to yours.

He started texting you more, sometimes sending you funny videos or memes, but also sharing random thoughts and asking questions. Now you checked your phone frequently, trying to get in the habit of responding quickly or initiating conversation with him first. You followed each other on social media and you noticed he’d liked all of your Instagram photos. Just to be funny, you liked a couple of his too, but then wondered if he would find it weird.

“We’re friends,” you told Jess when she noticed you smiling at your phone. “That’s it.”

“Yeah, and I’m the Queen of England. Are you kidding me?”

“I’m serious,” you said, because you knew what she was insinuating and there was just no way Tom Holland would be into you like that. Sometimes you saw him around campus, always surrounded by a laughing group of friends and admirers. He was like the sun, and you knew you were lucky to even be in his orbit.

“We’re having a party on Friday night,” Tom said to you one afternoon. The weather was nice, so you’d claimed a sunny spot out on the quad to do some homework.

“Cool.” You were more focused on the essay you were writing than the conversation.

“Are you gonna go?” he pressed.

“I don’t know. Maybe if Jess goes I’ll come too.”

“Well . . .” He trailed off, and you looked up to see he was fidgeting with the cuffs of his sleeves. “What if we went together?”

You stared at him. Of all the things you were expecting him to say, it certainly was not that. “Like . . . me and you? Like . . .  as your date?”

Tom was blushing now, steadily avoiding your eyes. “Um. Yes?”

Alarm bells were going off in your brain. If Jess were here she’d be throwing a parade, but you knew there had to be a catch. Out of all the people on campus, why was he asking you?

You opened your mouth to say no, but then he finally glanced up at you. His expression was so earnest and hopeful that you found yourself saying, “Sure.”

“Really? You want to?” he said, like he couldn’t believe it.

You nodded. “Yeah, it sounds fun.”

There was that goofy grin again, lighting up his entire face. “Okay,” he said. “Cool.”

You knew you should be excited, but there was a nervous pit in your stomach that just wouldn’t go away. It was still there when you arrived at Tom’s frat house that Friday. You didn’t recognize the brother at the door on security duty, but he took one look and waved you inside, no questions asked.

You were a little confused; you came by yourself last time too and had to say you knew Harrison. But the brother merely said, “Tom put you on the list.”

The boy in question was in the kitchen, talking to a few of his brothers. He noticed you walk in immediately and his eyes lit up. “Hey! You’re here!” To your surprise he gave you a hug, and you tried not to focus on how good his cologne smelled.

“You look nice,” he said when he pulled away. In an attempt to feel more confident, you’d worn your favorite pair of jeans and a cute top, even allowing Jess to do some hair and makeup magic on you.

“Thank you,” you said. “Um, so do you.” He was just in jeans and a purple flannel, a black baseball cap twisted backwards on his head, but he still managed to make it look effortlessly cool.

“Thanks.” He paused. “I’m, uh, really glad you came.”  

“Me too,” you said quietly. He smiled at you and the knot in your stomach tightened.

Tom barely left your side the entire night. He introduced you to some of his fraternity brothers, whose names you forgot as soon as they said them. A few of them had brought dates too, and while they were all friendly and welcoming, you couldn’t help but feel frumpy and plain standing next to them.

It didn’t help that there were some not-so-friendly girls coming over too. They gave Tom hugs and kisses on the cheek before eyeing you critically. You could practically see the invisible thought bubble forming over their heads each time they looked at you: why is he here with you? You wanted to tell them that you were wondering the same thing.

The longer you thought about it, the worse you felt. It just didn’t make sense. Tom had practically half the campus falling at his feet; why wasn’t he with someone more talented, better looking, charismatic? Why had he picked you? You were so . . . average.

Maybe it was some kind of prank, some kind of fucked-up tradition in his fraternity: find a shy girl, get her to fall in love with you, and then break her heart. That had to be it. There was no other explanation.

“Are you alright?” Tom asked, tearing you from your thoughts. You realized you hadn’t spoken in several minutes, just staring off into space.

You swallowed. “Could we, um, go somewhere quiet? Please?”

He studied your face for a second before he nodded. “Of course.” He put one hand on your back, gently guiding you out of the crowded room and up the stairs. You followed him down the hallway until he stopped at a door with a sign that said TOM & HARRISON.

Oh. This was his room. 

He ushered you in and you noticed he left the door slightly ajar, so you could easily leave if you wanted to. Still, you immediately took a seat at his desk, not wanting to even go near the bed. Tom didn’t seem to mind, falling onto it with a loud thud and a content sigh. Neither of you spoke for a minute. Finally you glanced over at him and saw he was already watching you, a tiny smile on his face.

You couldn’t take it any longer. “Is this, like, a prank or something?”

“What?”

“This. Like,” you gestured vaguely between the two of you, “all of this. Is it a joke?”

Tom’s smile vanished. He scrambled to sit up, scooting towards the edge of the bed. “What are you talking about? Why would you even think that?”

You shrugged, avoiding his eyes. “I don’t know. I’ve just been trying to figure out why someone like you would be doing all of this with someone like me.”

He looked lost. “Doing what?”

“You know . . . hanging out with me, texting me, inviting me here . . .”

He stared at you for a second before he let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “I mean . . . I like you. I thought that was obvious.”

“But why?” You were frustrated to find you were near tears. “You could have your pick of anyone on this campus. There are so many girls in this house alone right now who are prettier and funnier and more interesting than me. So why . . . why me?”

Tom slowly stood up and came over to where you were sitting, kneeling in front of you. “Because I think you’re pretty and funny and interesting,” he said, looking at you unflinchingly. “None of those other people matter to me. I don’t know why you keep trying to convince yourself that you’re, like . . . not good enough or whatever, but it’s not true.”

You bit your lip as he took your hand. “I’m just . . . not used to this. Usually people tend not to notice me.” 

“I did,” he said simply. “And I really, really like you.”

“I really like you too,” you said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Tom said gently. “Just trust me, okay? I would never hurt you like that.”

He was being honest. He always had been, but you believed him now. You took a deep breath. “Can I kiss you?”

Tom blinked in surprise before he nodded. You leaned in and kissed him softly; his lips were a little chapped and tasted sweet and sort of fruity, like the juice from his drink. His hands came up to carefully cup your jaw, holding you in place. It made your head dizzy and your knees weak; it was perfect.

It was like a dam broke. Suddenly you couldn’t get enough of him, couldn’t figure out what to do with the happy, fizzy feeling in your stomach. You pulled back a little, pressing kisses to his cheeks and his nose. Tom giggled like the touch made him ticklish and you thought to yourself, You were so silly to deny yourself for so long, to think you didn’t deserve this.

You knew better now. You knew you did.

[marshmallowgoop]

[Image description: A screenshot from Case Closed Episode One: The Great Detective Turned Small. Remaking a scene from Episode 49 in the anime series, Shinichi tells a surprised Heiji, “Because, there is always only one truth.” End image description.]

Shinichi: Because, there is always only one truth.

Sometimes I think it’s kinda weird that I like Detective Conan/Case Closed so much. I mean, everyone in the show is, uh, well, human?

My favorite fiction niche is supposed to be “monsters,” gosh darn it.

But one of the things that attracts me to “monster” stories is the idea that appearances aren’t everything. What’s underneath the surface says more about a person than any outside crust that they happened to be born into.

Which is why I’m putting “monster” in quotes here. It’s not actual monsters that I adore. The characters I have such an affinity for are those who may be wrongly perceived as monstrous or unimportant because of what they look like.

And thinking of it that way... I can get why the goofy murder anime appeals to me. After all, the boiled-down plot synopsis is that there’s a detective people don’t take seriously because of what he looks like.

But, yeah. Characters by themselves aren’t what motivate me to fall in love with stories. Portraits are nice, but I can tell you that at least my eyes are gonna find themselves far more drawn to paintings with more people. It’s relationships between characters that get me more invested in a work of fiction than anything else, and I don’t just mean the shippy, romantic, lovey-dovey stuff (though that’s fun, too). My real start into vomiting out novel-length blog posts wasn’t purely because I liked a “monster”—it was because I liked (and will always like!) that “monster’s” partnership and camaraderie with someone else.

So, long story short? Detective Conan may not have “monsters,” but you could say that I still like it so much anyway because, at the end of the day, I greatly enjoy many of the relationships portrayed in its hundreds of episodes. And particularly, with this overly long preamble in mind, I love the relationship between Shinichi/Conan and Heiji. Because while Conan may not be a fish creature or space alien, he is so often not seen for who he really is. 

But Heiji... well. He kind of struggles to see Conan for anything but who he really is.

[Image descriptions: Two screenshots from Episode 77 of Detective Conan. In the first image, Heiji stands next to his father and waves, saying, “Heya, Kudo! How ya been?!” In the second image, Kogoro, Ran, and Conan appear shocked. Kogoro shouts, “Hattori Heiji?!” Ran asks, “Kudo?” End image descriptions.]

Heiji: Heya, Kudo! How ya been?!

Kogoro: Hattori Heiji?!

Ran: Kudo?

Which, yes. That Heiji sucks so much at this can be detrimental and troublesome and dangerous. I’m not at all trying to advocate that the guy should go around loudly calling Conan “Kudo.”

But when he’s not doing that, I find his relationship with Shinichi/Conan endlessly endearing. Conan’s so used to lying and pretending to be someone he’s not, but he doesn’t have to with Heiji. He can be himself. They can solve mysteries together as if Shinichi had never crossed paths with the Black Organization at all.

Of course, Conan doesn’t have to pitch up his voice and act silly with other characters in the show, either. And I also like those relationships a lot! And I’ll probably/maybe/someday write more about them in the future, too. But while I’m focusing on Heiji, one thing that gets me is just how quick he is at looking beyond appearances. Even before Heiji realizes Conan’s true identity, even when he’d only really met Shinichi once but finds himself absolutely enamored of him regardless (see the top of this post), Heiji still doesn’t take much time at all to recognize Shinichi’s intellect in Conan, and he treats Conan much like he’d treat the guy he desperately wants to see: 

[Image descriptions: Screenshots from Episode 58 of Detective Conan. In the first image, Heiji, with a troubled expression on his face, says, “Yeah, but something’s not quite right.” In the second image, Conan is shown beside Heiji. Heiji adds, “Right, boy?” Conan agrees, saying, “Yeah.” End image descriptions.]

Heiji: Yeah, but something’s not quite right. Right, boy?

Conan: Yeah.

And, I mean. This is before Heiji even explicitly and consciously suspects that Conan and Shinichi are one and the same. He just knows the kid’s smart and figures that “Kogoro’s” deductions are actually coming from someone dozens of centimeters smaller.

Which... I really like. It’s undoubtedly sweet that Heiji then immediately makes the connection to Shinichi after Conan explains his thoughts... 

[Image description: A screenshot from Episode 58 of Detective Conan. Ran scolds Conan for getting involved in the current case while Heiji, offscreen, thinks to himself, “His voice and body are different, but he’s almost just like Kudo!” End image description.]

Heiji (thinking): His voice and body are different, but he’s almost just like Kudo!

But I love that even prior to the Shinichi link, Heiji doesn’t discourage Conan. I love that no matter how young Conan seems, Heiji understands that he has good things to say and should be listened to. 

I mean. That is kinda part of why I like my “monster” niche so much.

(I’m also fond of an anime-only filler episode (36) that explores this topic in more depth, but that’s an essay for another day. Still, maybe another reason I’m so fond of Detective Conan is because I can relate to being babied... but admittedly, that’s at least as much to do with my personality as it is my looks.)

Anyway. This post’s gotten much longer than I intended. But I do wanna talk about one more thing that really cements this “looking beyond the surface” aspect of Shinichi/Conan’s relationship with Heiji, and that’s Heiji’s bad dream described in Episode 118:

[Image descriptions: Screenshots from Episode 118 of Detective Conan. The first image is a close-up shot of Heiji. He says, “I had a bad dream...” The next two images zoom out, showing Heiji’s back and Conan beside him. In the second image, Conan asks, “Dream?” Heiji replies, “Yeah. It happens when we catch a bad guy.” In the third image, Heiji finishes, “But he winds up stabbing and killing you instead!” End image descriptions.]

Heiji: I had a bad dream...

Conan: Dream?

Heiji: Yeah. It happens when we catch a bad guy. But he winds up stabbing and killing you instead!

In Funimation’s English dub, Heiji even tries to further play off how much the dream bothered him, joking, “Like you could ever catch a suspect!”

But it becomes clear later in the episode that Heiji never dreamed of Conan getting stabbed and killed, even if that’s what almost happens near the end. Heiji’s nightmare involved only Shinichi getting hurt:

[Image description: A screenshot from Episode 118 of Detective Conan. Conan has his hand on his face in thought, while in the background, Heiji imagines Shinichi in pain, clutching a bloody wound on his chest. End image description.]

Because, in the end? That’s how Heiji always sees the guy. As himself.

And I absolutely adore it.

[fandom-imagines]

Thank you

Fandom: Death Note

Pairing: L X Reader

Warnings: Emotional and physical abuse.

Words: 3k

A/N: I’m in a death note phase again. I wrote this instead of doing my essay oops.

Being the girlfriend of a worldwide, secret detective was hard.

Relationships were hard enough as it is but having to make sure both the partners names were kept hidden made it even harder. Then there’s the constant travelling that takes place along with many other things.

Basically, the relationship between L Lawliet and Y/N Y/S/N was a complicated one. Don’t get me wrong, they were both madly in love with the other, but that didn’t make it any less hard.

“Y/N!” A high-pitched voice sounded from behind the aforementioned couple.

That’s Misa, Y/N’s best friend and often co-worker. The two met at a photoshoot where they became fast friends, the pair being able to work together due to their celebrity status.

“Hi, Misa.” A soft smile crawled onto the Y/H/C-haired girls’ lips.

She usually loved seeing Misa, but today all she wanted was to go back to her house and chill, maybe with Lawliet, maybe not. Who knows? Not her.

“Hi, Ryuzaki.” Misa greeted her best friends’ boyfriend, albeit unknowingly, before grasping her small hand around Y/N’s arm. “Bye, Ryuzaki!” Were her final words as she dragged Y/N away, unaware that she was desperately mouthing “sorry” towards her boyfriend.

~

“Light won’t even take me on a date, Y/N/N!” Misa whined, still talking about her ‘boyfriend��, “Isn’t that so unfair?”

“Very.” Y/N mumbled, turning the page on her magazine which lay in front of her.

She was currently lying across Misa’s bed, the pink sheets creasing beneath her. The girl’s legs were crossed in the air, the entire weight of her body being placed solely on her stomach. The magazine she was reading was something she had bought on the way back to Misa’s, hoping to share opinions on outfits or gossip about latest celebrities, something that the pair had done since they met.

“Are you even listening, Y/N/N?” The blonde continued to whine upon realizing that her friend was no longer listening to her boy drama.

“Sorry, just deep in thought.” Y/N’s words weren’t necessarily a lie, she was deep in thought just not about something she wished to share.

Misa didn’t know about Lawliet and Y/N’s relationship, nobody did. That was how they liked it. No one could intervene, no drama or anything of the sort.  Just the two of them, happy, together.

Oh how she longed to be with him right now. The two of them together, even if they were just sitting in HQ together whilst working on the Kira case that they had been working on for months now. That was how they had met: the Kira case.

Y/N knew of his involvement, her father worked as a detective, similar to Lights. That was how she joined the investigation despite being a student. Both her father and close friend, Light, recommended her.

However, that friendship was slowly fading as she found out more and more evidence that made her suspect Light of being Kira. She’s smart, very smart, that’s why she got along with both geniuses. She fit in well with the two. But the more she investigated the case, the more she realized that Light could possibly be behind the mass murders that were causing terror across the world, especially Japan.

“Ooh! What about? Is it a boy?” Misa was now sat up on the ground, arms wrapped tightly around the yellow pillow that she was previously sitting on. Her loose blonde locks fell down her back as well as over the pillow. She looked absolutely beautiful.

How did Light not love her back?

“Shut up.” The other girl huffed, tossing a pillow from Misa’s bed into the face of the owner, giggling as Misa fell backwards onto the soft carpet before bursting into a fit of giggles herself.

“You have to tell me!” The words left Misa’s lips between giggles as she recomposed herself.

“No!”

“Yes~”

The two argued back and forth for around five minutes before giving up, and bursting into a giggle fit once again, something that was common between the pair.

“So, you like someone?” Misa wiggled her eyebrows in amusement at the fact that her best friend was finally interested in someone other than fictional characters. “Tell me everything.”

Without revealing who it was, Y/N began to tell her about her ‘crush’, despite said crush actually being her boyfriend of a few months now. Ensuring that no significant details were released which could identify the man, she told her everything. Blushing was something new to her, but neither Misa nor Y/N complained. It was a refreshing change for them both.

“Wow,” The model let out a breath she wasn’t aware that she was holding once Y/N had poured her heart out, slightly at least. “I never knew you were capable of such feelings, Y/N/N!”

“Stop teasing me~” Y/N’s hands covered her blushing face, words becoming muffled behind the skin. “This is embarrassing enough as it is,” a groan left her lips as she continued her sentence. “Besides, I doubt he even likes me back.” The final words were mumbled, self-doubt settling in as she realized that her boyfriend might not actually love her.

Logically, Y/N knew that L wouldn’t use her, or at least she hopes, and that he genuinely did value her and her opinion. He enjoyed her company and didn’t find her annoying. He really did love her, despite not having admitted it.

“Sure he does! You’re great, Y/N/N.” Misa grinned at her best friend, unknowingly providing her with a source of comfort.

“Thanks, Misa.” A sigh left the other girls lips, a sinking feeling of doubt looming over her. “I should probably get home, it’s getting late. Goodnight, Misa.”

“Goodnight, Y/N!”

~

Instead of heading home Y/N decided to take a late-night stroll.

The dark sky was littered with bright stars, a nice change from the usual plain nights sky in Japan. It gave an almost comforting feel to the stroller, reminding her of her childhood when she would stay up late to stare up at the midnight sky with a genuine belief that it was the world watching over her, much like the moon which was ‘following’ her everywhere she went to make sure she was safe.

It was childish, yes, but she was a child so what do you expect?

The Y/H/C-haired girl observed her breath as she exhaled. It was cold which wasn’t a huge surprise considering that it was nearing December now; winter time. Despite being extremely cold, she decided that it wasn’t time to head home just yet. Her mind wasn’t entirely clear and it wasn’t exactly in her best interest to go home with an overthinking mind, so he continued her walk.

The sound of her shoes hitting the ground was one of the only things she could hear other than the occasional passing car or truck. The streetlights lit up her view, being the only thing that did so and Y/N internally thanked whoever put them up considering she wouldn’t be able to use the torch on her phone as it had died long ago. The odd passing-by car provided her with some light also, although it wasn’t much.

It wasn’t until around 1am when she finally decided she should head home.

~

The house was deadly silent as she entered, but the lights were still alight, leaving the daughter of the local baker and detective confused.

“Mum?” The girls voice was slightly quiet in case she was asleep whilst still being loud enough for anyone seated downstairs to hear.

“Where have you been?!” Her mothers voice was incredibly loud, making Y/N cringe and wince. “I’ve been worried sick! How could you make your mom worry like this?”

Ah, there comes the guilt tripping. Y/N’s thoughts were awfully loud, and she cursed herself internally.

“Sorry, mom.” A frown had made its way onto her lips as she apologized.

Sure, she probably should have warned her that she was going for a walk, but there was no need to guilt trip her.

“You should be. Now go to your room!”

She simply ran upstairs.

~

The bags under Y/Ns’ eyes almost matched Ryuzaki’s the following day.

She hadn’t gotten any sleep that night as she replayed every bad moment with her mother sine childhood and believe me, there was a lot of them.

Her mother hadn’t been the best parent to say the least. She was never physically abusive, but the mental scars from her words and actions had taken a toll on her daughter throughout the years.

“Are you okay?” Lights words were full of concern upon noticing the girls tired composure. The way she stood further proved that she was exhausted considering how she was slumped over. Hands shaking also, Light was genuinely concerned, despite his status as Kira, something he knew that she suspected. “You look terrible, no offence.”

“I’m fine.” Her words were quiet, almost silent, too wrapped up in her own thoughts to give a completely response but she figured those words would suffice and he would hopefully leave her alone.

Whilst concerned, Light knew not to push things when someone didn’t want to talk, so he didn’t push it further, favouring to ask if she was going to the HQ later which she was.

“Ryuzaki isn’t in today,” Lights words caught her attention, finally pulling her from her trance, “he’s working on the investigation.”

“Oh,” while her response was short, the criminal still cheered internally, glad that he had stopped her worrying, even if it was for a split second.

~

For the entire day she was completely ‘out of it’, unable to concentrate or even form a coherent sentence and she mentally kicked herself at her so-called failure. However she was slightly grateful that there was no exam today, knowing she would have most definitely failed. She probably wouldn’t have been able to write more than three words.

Y/N’s walk to HQ was lonely as she desperately craved some human contact.

She really needed a hug.

As though in a trance, the girl scanned herself into HQ and headed towards the main room where she knew everyone would be.

“Hi, Y/N,” Matsuda’s cheerful greeting caught Ryuzaki’s attention. Well, more like the name of the person he was greeting.

Nobody could have known however, unaware of the short-lived glance he had spared towards her. This short glance told him a lot: she hadn’t slept, she was deep in thought and she felt… crap.

This worried the detective immensely. He really did care for the girl; a lot more than he would admit. Not that he didn’t want to, he just didn’t know how she would react and didn’t want to risk facing rejection.

It would hurt.

“Hi.” The response she gave Matsuda was blunt, emotionless which L wasn’t happy to hear.

She never used that tone. She was usually cheerful. It must be bad.

“You guys can go for a break. You’ve been here most of today and it’s not nearing 5pm.” L’s words matched his girlfriends tone as usual, uncaring about the relief his words had just provided the others on the case. “Except you.” His gaze was now fixated on his love, making her internally curse at herself for being so obvious about her low mood.

The raven-haired detective waited for everyone to leave, stare unmoving as he observed Y/N’s every move and she walked towards the chair opposite him.

“What is it?” Y/N’s gaze was cast towards the ground, not wanting L to see her like this. “I’m sorry.” Her words were quick, worried that he was going to say something that would simply upset her more. “I-I didn’t mean too.”

L’s cold hand gently grasped her chin, lifting her face so that they could look at each other and he cringed slightly as he saw the tear threatening to fall from her eyes.

Okay, he is now really worried.

“What’s wrong?” His words were quiet but still laced with genuine concern, along with his eyes. “You can tell me.”

“It’s nothing, really.” The words stumbled from her lips, only worrying him more. “C-can I just go today? Please.”

L simply nodded, watching as she dashed from the HQ and out of his sight.

~

“Why do you keep disappearing?” Y/N’s mothers voice was the first thing she heard as she walked through the door.

“Please, leave me alone.” Y/N begged, simply wishing to be alone.

She made an attempt to dash upstairs, only to be stopped by her mothers tight grip around her wrist as she spun her around to face her. A hash slap hit the younger girls face with such a force that they both knew would leave a mark the following day.

“Y-Y/N…” Upon realisation of what she had just done, her tight grip around her daughters wrist loosened, hand dropping to her side.

“Never talk to me again.” YN’s words were quiet yet laced with venom before she finally dashed up to her room, one goal in mind:

Leave.

Her movements were quick as she packed her bag, tears leaking from her eyes in both pain and sadness,

Within minutes her bag was packed, tossed over her shoulder before she ran downstairs.

“Please don’t leave.” Her mother’s plead fell on deaf ears, the only response coming from the closing of the door as she watched her daughter leave, neither of them knowing if she would ever return.

~

It was cold. Very cold and Y/N cursed herself for not bringing a jacket, being in a skirt and t-shirt which was the same outfit she had worn to school today.

Shivering, she began her long walk towards HQ, something she knew would take a long time.

~

“What happened to you?” Detective Yagami’s voice was filled with panic upon seeing the tear stains on her cheeks as well as the bright red bruising hand-mark.

Lawliet payed no attention  to his remark, simply assuming that Matsuda had had a clumsy accident yet again.

“Please, can I just sit down?” Was what captured his attention, the soft and exhausted voice being one he recognised immediately.

“O-of course.” Soichiro’s words were rushed as he signalled towards the seat he had previously occupied which Y/N gratefully took.

L spun on his chair to look at the girl, breath hitching as he took in her appearance.

He caught her gaze and she had looked up after hearing the spinning of the chair and she thanked whatever gods there were that it was simply the three of them.

“Detective Yagami would you mind if we have a moment?” L’s stare was unmoving as Yagami nodded, leaving the room.

“R-Ryu…” Her voice sounded broken, eyes filled with pain and he soon noticed the bag on the ground, quickly coming to the conclusion that something had happened at home, presumably with her mother, and she had ran away.

L quickly climbed onto his feet, opening his arms which Y/N gladly ran into, breaking down into sobs. His hand placed itself on her hair, burying itself into her hair as her face buried into his chest. L was uncaring as her tears soaked through his white tee; he only cared that she was okay. They stood like that for a long time, L providing comfort she didn’t know she needed.

“Come on,” L broke the silence as his girlfriend calmed down, her breath evening out, “lets get you to a room.” He offered her a hand as she pulled away, one she took with extreme gratitude, appreciating that it must have been hard for him to give her any affection.

Their hands never parted as they climbed the stairs of the HQ, heading towards Y/N’s new room. Ryuzaki had thrown her bag over his shoulder, the heavy weight of the bag not affecting him one bit.

The room was empty, and it was clear nobody was staying there.

The noise of the bag dropping to the ground was loud, startling Y/N whilst Lawliet remained unaffected, having been the one that had caused the noise; not that it would have scared him anyway.

Y/N was led towards the made bed by the detective, sitting herself down as he wordlessly instructed before taking a seat beside her.

“I’m sorry for being such a bother.” She apologised, making L shake his head in disagreement.

“You could never be a bother, Y/N. Not to me.” His words were less monotone than usual, less devoid of feeling. There was a genuine tone coming from him. “Matsuda’s a bother, not you.” He spoke which made the shorter girl chuckle, something she felt she hadn’t done in ages, despite it having only been a day, #

“Thanks, Ryu. For everything.”

“It’s my pleasure.” His arm wrapped around her shoulder, pulling her closely towards him until her warmth was felt by him. “I-“ He paused as he began to speak, extremely aware of what he was about to say.

“What’s wrong?” Y/N asked, confused at his sudden silence.

“I love you.” His words were quiet, almost unheard had it not been for the fact that the room was deadly silent.

The pair fell into an awkward silence for a moment before L got up to leave, apologising as he did so.

“Wait,” Y/N’s hand wrapped around his own, “I love you too.”

A small smile made its way onto both of their lips, L walking back over to the girl until he was stood directly in front of her. She watched closely as he bent down, unsure of what he was about to do. The second his lips touched her forehead a huge blush flowed across her cheeks.

“R-Ryu…?” Her embarrassed voice sounded, the only response she earned from him being a small smile before he gave her a pat on the head, turning to leave.

“Thank you.” She called, making him stop in the doorway.

“Anytime, Y/N/N.” The use of the nickname only made her blush harder.

[itsthewritergal]

It’s all a mess -  F.W x reader

Y/N and Fred had been dating for a year, but they had been friends since the very first day, when Fred and George let her sit with them on the train. She had all been sorted into Gryffindor which just made their friendship grow stronger. Although recently Y/N and Fred had done nothing but argue. Constantly. George was growing tired of having to console the both of them, and their friends avoided both of them when they argued.

Y/N sat with her friend from Ravenclaw at dinner, she was currently avoiding Fred after their argument the night before. She was filling in her friends on the details,

“So I was in the library right, doing my essay because I wanted to go to the Quidditch game next week” She started after shovelling some food into her mouth “Fred comes in all high and mighty because I dared to speak to some Hufflepuff about my potions class. He starts accusing me in front of everyone about loyalty, when he was with Angelina all last week and barely even spoke to me” She snapped, groaning loudly “He then tells me that he doesn’t know why we are still together!”

“Maybe it’s not such a great idea you two being together” Her friend said with a sad smile

“She’s got a point you know” Luna mused from her place next to you “Perhaps you two just aren’t suited anymore” she hummed twirling her fork around on her plate

“But I love him” Y/N argued

“Yes we know that. But does he love you? From what you’ve been saying it doesn’t sound like it” Her friend said with a sympathetic smile

Y/N turned the conversation quickly onto her Charms homework, in an attempt to pull her friends away from the conversation. But their words played heavily on her mind. Fred had been acting distant and angrier than usual, but surely that wasn’t because he was falling out of love with her. With a huff she said goodbye to her friends and made her way back to the dorm.

———-

Walking through the portrait hole, Y/N caught sight of Fred and Angelina giggling together, her fingers traced over his arm as his was wrapped around her shoulders. They looked happy together, just how Y/N and Fred had done a few months ago, with a sad smile Y/N knew exactly what she had to do. Taking a few steps towards them, George was the first one to notice that she had walked into the room. His eyes widened in shock as he kicked Fred to get his attention. Angelina was the next to notice Y/N and she quickly pinched Fred, who was yet to notice her presence.

“Don’t stop now” He laughed “I was just getting to enjoying that”

“No of course, don’t stop on my account” Y/N said sadly, “Seems you two are happy” She gave them a weak smile

“YN it isn’t what you think” Angelina said “We were just talking, and I”

“It’s fine, everyone knows me and Fred just aren’t quite working anymore” She said “I guess this is probably for the best” Y/N pulled off the bracelet that Fred had given her for their one year anniversary

“What are you doing?” He questioned standing up and pushing Angelina off of him. “Why are you giving me this?” He said suddenly feeling a wash of nerves fall over him

“i’m done Freddie, I’m done with all the fighting, never knowing what’s going to happen next. I’m done, we’re done” Y/N said solemnly “Take care of him for me” She laughed to Angelina, who was looking just as guilt ridden as Fred did.

“YN let’s talk about this” He pleaded

“I can’t. I’m sorry” She said making her way quickly out of the common room.

———-

The halls were empty, apart from Y/N’s quiet footsteps as she made her way towards the Astronomy Tower. She knew that nobody would be stupid enough to look up there at this hour. Not that anyone would miss her. Sitting herself down on the cold floor, Y/N let herself cry. Her sobs echoed loudly, but she didn’t care, she wanted to scream. Everything they had together was gone just like that, everything that she had dreamed about was gone. She didn’t hear the footsteps, or George settling himself beside her.

“He’s an idiot you know” He commented, wrapping a blanket around her

“He got what he wanted, he’s had a crush on Angelina since second year” Y/N laughed bitterly, pushing thoughts of the other girl out of her head

“He doesn’t love her, I’ll admit I don't know what he was thinking in the common room but he doesn’t love her” George tried his hardest to make her feel a little better.

“Well it sure doesn’t look that way” She said resting her head on George’s shoulder “It’s all a mess George”

They sat up there for what felt like hours, reminiscing on their old adventures before everything took a turn for the worse.

“You’re still coming home for Christmas right?” George asked turning to look at her. He couldn’t remember a Christmas where she didn’t come to the burrow, it had become their tradition

“I don’t know George, I don’t think I will. I’ll go home, have a quiet one instead” She hummed, thinking back to her family who all hated Christmas.

“You can’t! It would break mum” He said in an attempt to make her feel a little better “And Ginny, she loves it when you come”

“I don’t think I can George, I don’t want to face him, I don’t even want to look at him” She said unsure if the feelings would go away by Christmas

“Lucky I’m the better looking one eh?” He laughed, grinning proudly as she smiled up at him.

———-

“Come on then how was your Christmas?” Ginny said sitting herself down opposite Y/N

“It was nice” She lied easily “Mum made this massive roast and we all opened our presents all together, even went down to the park to ice skate” She said, hoping that Ginny didn’t catch on

“Wow, sounds pretty incredible” She smiled, “We missed you” she added quietly, with a small glance towards Fred “We all did”

“Don’t be daft, it must have been nice not to have me crashing it” She laughed

“Fred barely left his room” she said sadly “You know he’s really sorry”

“Can we please talk about something else” Y/N practically begged, she had managed to push all the thoughts of Fred to the back of her mind. Hearing that he missed her was something she knew she wouldn't be able to handle.

“Well here comes the post” Ginny said, grateful for the interruption .

A large parcel thumped down on Y/N’s lap. Wrapped in brown paper she pulled at the string carefully. A letter fell out, and a maroon knitted jumper was revealed.

Molly Weasley.

Feeling a few pairs of eyes on her as she pulled the jumper out of the paper, Y/N stood up and ran out of the Great Hall. She had tried her hardest to be strong, but she just couldn’t hold it in any longer. Making her way out into the courtyard she found a corner and sunk down onto a bench

“You okay?” George asked, following her

“Tell your mum thank you, but I can’t accept this” Y/N said

“Of course you can” George cut her off, sitting himself next to her “It’s Fred who messed up, not us”

“George, it hurts okay. It hurts to know that I’m not only loosing Fred, but i’m loosing you too. I can’t come between you two. I wont let myself”

“You’re not loosing me you muppet” He argued, only to be cut off  by her

“Yes I am. I couldn’t write to you this Christmas, because I didn’t know what I could say to you that I didn’t want to talk about with you and Fred. I couldn’t tell you I had an awful Christmas because I didn’t want to let Fred know that I wasn’t doing ok”

“You had a bad Christmas?” George said

“You know my family, they don’t do Christmas. But that isn’t the point” She said “The point is-”

“I messed up. That’s what the point is” Fred said making his way towards the bench

“I think you should go” Y/N said slowly look Fred up and down

“Just let me talk” he said calmly

“I’ll leave you two to it” George said giving Y/N a small sideways hug

“I can’t apologise because I know it wont help” Fred started “I was angry at you. I thought you were flirting with that Hufflepuff boy, I heard him talking to his friends about how fit you were and it annoyed me. I wanted to get back at you. I wasn’t thinking” He said

“Fred why would I look at anyone when I had you”

“Have” He corrected quickly “You’ve still got me, I know we aren’t together but there isn’t anyone else”

“Freddie” She sighed “All we do is argue” “Not any more, c’mon Y/N. We love each other, we can get through this” He promised, his tone was desperate, voice wavering slightly as though tears were about to fall

“I’ve been an idiot. Christmas was hell without you. Mum was miserable, and angry with me when I told her. Dad had to stop her from driving to your house to pick you up” He chuckled slightly “Ginny told me you had a pretty great Christmas”

“I lied to her, mum and dad didn’t even realise I was home. They went on some couples retreat” She laughed

“So you didn’t go ice skating?” She shook her head “And you didn’t have a massive Christmas dinner?” Once again shook her head “And you didn’t have loads of presents?” She shook her head again “I’m sorry Y/N”

“It’s fine, I did Christmas my own little way” She smiled.

They settled into a silence, neither one wanting to break the comfort that they had so desperately missed. Fred placed a tentative arm around her shoulders

“You know I love you right?” He said

“Fred don’t” She started

“I’m being serious Y/N” He brushed a strand of hair out of her face “I love you”

“I love you too but everything is just so much” She huffed sadly

“We love each other, that’s all that matters right?” He said grasping at any little hope that they might be okay

“Yeah, that’s all that matters” She said, wrapping her arms around him. Nestling her head into his neck.

“Are my favourite couple back tougher?” George shouted from the other side of the courtyard quickly making his way over

“How long have you been waiting there?” Y/N laughed

“Since I left” He grinned mischievously “So?”

“Yes we’re back together” Y/N grinned happily

“I’ll go write to mum! She’ll be expecting you at ours next holiday. Don’t tell the others but you’re her favourite” George winked as he skipped off

“Remind me again why I stick around with you two insufferable idiots” She shook her head laughing

“Well you’re stuck with us now” Fred grinned.

[onlydreamofmysoul]

Cardigan (Wolfstar)

I sat down to write a teeny drabble with two lines from the song Cardigan by Taylor Swift. It quickly spiralled into this. (I really love it though).

Set in the cannon universe, cw for mentions of death, injuries and scars. (Nothing graphic though).

I knew you, dancing in your Levi’s drunk under a streetlight. 

“Shh! Pads. you’re gonna get us caught!” Remus half-whispered, his own voice a tad too loud for his own liking but his slightly tipsy state didn’t allow for a lower volume. Sirius spun into him smushing his fingers right up against Remus’ lips, both of them chest to chest under James’ cloak. It was hard to believe the four of them mused to fit under this - now it only just about covered Remus and Sirius even with Remus ducking down to Sirius’ height. 

“Come on Moony, you’re ‘Perfect Mister Prefect’,” He said, punctuating each word of the grand title with his index finger poking into Remus; chest. “Even if we do get caught, you can charm our way out of it.”

Remus rolled his eyes, but followed. The passage was dim and the ground was uneven and to be perfectly honest, they hadn’t yet discovered if this particular passage way had been caved in since they last explored it the previous year, but Sirius seemed sure of himself and that was enough for Remus. If Sirius was the one leading, he’d always follow. 

“Alright, but I’m late on a transfiguration essay, so if Minnie catches us, you’re on your own. I need to save my charm for that.” He said, his tone stern, but all his reserve melted when Sirius smiled up at him and pressed a victorious kiss to his cheek. 

“I take back your title.” Sirius said dramatically, looking at Remus with a smug righteousness. “Apparently ‘Perfect Mister Prefect’ isn’t so perfect after all.”

He pressed his mouth right up next to Remus’ ear just as they stepped out the little secret entrance, ducking under the ivy trellis that hid their little passageway. “It’s a good thing I like bad boys.” Sirius breathed, and Remus couldn’t wait any more, not caring whether the cloak revealed their ankles or not when he pulled Sirius in for a blazing kiss. 

“I love you, you know that, right?”

Sirius smirked and kissed him again. “That seems to be the general consensus.”

Remus laughed and took off walking again, tugging the cloak off as soon as they were far enough away from the school, catching hands and spinning under the soft glow of the lamplights illuminating the path to Hogsmeade. Sirius tilted his head back, still spinning, their hands acting as the axis that centred the entire universe. 

“I love you too.”

I knew you, hands under my sweatshirt, baby kiss it better. 

“Sirius, if you don’t start being more careful, I’m gonna-”

“What?” Sirius teased, wriggling his eyebrows suggestively, looking far too haughty for a man sitting on a countertop, his legs dangling in the air. “What’re you gonna do Re? You gonna punish me?”

Remus pursed his lips to try hide his smile, but gave in, kissing Sirius once briefly.

“No,” He said, pulling up Sirius’ jumper to get a proper look at the gash he had acquired after climbing a tree. Then subsequently falling out of said tree. “But I will send you to Madam Pomfrey and have you try to explain to her that you thought you’d be able to pull off a levitation charm if there was a ‘more extreme sense of urgency’.” He finished, mocking Sirius’ words from earlier. 

Sirius just scrunched up his face playfully in retaliation, before breathing in shakily as Remus coated the cut with a liberal amount of salve, watching in fascination as the skin knitted back together.

“There.” He said, straightening up to stand between Sirius’ legs, pulling down his jumper again. “Good as new.”

“Nah ah.” Sirius countered, shaking his head as his legs locked behind Remus’ back, binding them together. “Gotta kiss it better.”

Remus wet his lips, shaking his head in fond disbelief, but leaned in willingly, feeling the hot slide of Sirius’ mouth against his own cooler one. 

“All better?” Remus asked, panting slightly as they rested their foreheads together. 

Sirius shrugged, hooking his arm more firmly around Remus’ neck. “Close, but not quite better yet.”

Remus huffed a laugh through his nose, but gladly locked their lips together again, the pair fully intertwined as if they had been made for each other. 

(And maybe they had. For what else was the moon to do but love the stars?)

And when I felt like I was an old cardigan, under someone’s bed, you put me on and said I was your favourite. 

“Sirius?” Re said softly, pushing the door to their dorm open slowly. “Are you here?”

“Yeah,” Came a muffled reply. “I’m here.”

Remus stepped into the room, looking first to Sirius’ bed to find it empty. Remus frowned, looking around to find Sirius curled up on Remus’ own bed, his favourite cardigan folded gently around him.

“Hi sweetheart,” Remus said, voice hushed as he climbed onto the bed next to the other boy, noting the red stained eyes and puffed lips. “What do you need?”

At the words, anything that seemed to be holding Sirius together until that point shattered, the raven haired boy collapsing into Sirius’ arms. 

“Re,” He gasped, between his sobs as Remus just pulled him closer. “Why is it possible to love someone who hates you? Isn’t love supposed to be good? If it’s so great, then why the fuck does it hurt so much?”

Remus’ heart clenched. Regulus. 

“I don’t know sweetheart,” He murmured, holding Sirius close. “But it makes us who we are.” He cupped Sirius’ face so he could meet the raging stormy eyes. “It’s better to have loved and have lost than to never have loved at all.”

Sirius just blinked at him. 

“But for the record,” Remus said, touching their heads together. “I don’t think you’ve lost him. He’s just lost right now. But he’ll find his way back to you.”

Sirius nodded, and slumped against Remus’ chest, no longer crying, just breathing deeply. 

“You know Remus Lupin,” He whispered after a while. “I don’t care how long it takes, but I’m gonna marry you someday.”

To kiss in cars, and downtown bars, was all we needed.

“Oh Merlin, they’re snogging again.” Peter commented as he turned his head to spot James and Lily, leaning in for a kiss. Remus, currently with his tongue in Sirius’ mouth heard this, but let Peter discover the other couple in his own time.

“Christ, the pair of you are too. You’re all fuckin at it.” He grumbled. If Remus’ mouth wasn’t already a little preoccupied, he would have laughed. There it was.

“Right, I’m off to find humans capable of holding decent conversation.” Peter muttered and he might have left. He could have stayed and done a jig on the table for all Remus cared, but in this moment, he noticed none of it. What was the poem he had read somewhere? Stars and moths and rinds slanting around fruit. This moment.

You drew stars around my scars and now I’m bleeding. 

“Hey, look at this.” Sirius said somewhat excitedly, rolling away from Remus momentarily and returning with a quill and a jar of ink. 

Remus eyed him skeptically, his arm tucked under his head as they lounged on his bed, the curtains drawn to create the illusion of their own little oasis. 

“I bet I could draw stars on your chest and then your scars could connect them, like in astronomy.”

Remus bit his lip, looking at Sirius’ appraised expression. “I feel like I should say no,” He said slowly, even as he unscrewed the ink. “But go for it.”

Sirius grinned triumphantly and studied Remus for a minute, brushing the quill over his lips as he concentrated. Remus couldn’t help but muse that if Sirius put half as much effort into his schoolwork as he was doing here, he would be top of the class. Finally, Sirius ditched the quill, dipping a finger into the ink directly. 

“I don’t want the point of the quill to scratch you.” He explained, after noticing Remus’ raised eyebrow. Something warmed inside Remus’ chest while something cold trickled over the outside. Remus closed his eyes and let himself focus on the slightly ticklish, but mostly soothing sensation of Sirius tracing patterns over his skin. 

“Done.” Sirius muttered after a while and Remus opened his eyes, raising his head a little to peer down at himself. He looked like some abstract piece of art, covered in black and blue and red and green, scars shining silver between it all. 

“Woah,” He breathed, “That’s pretty cool.”

Sirius grinned, then pointed to a star just over Remus; appendix. “That’s Sirius right there.”

Remus hummed, pursing his lips together, then grabbed a jar of ink, tracing a star a little messily, right over his heart. 

“Nah,” He countered, “Sirius is there.”

Sirius rolled his eyes, but came up to press their lips together. In the morning, they both looked like works of art.

But I knew you, stepping on the last train, marked me like a blood stain. 

“I can’t believe this is the last time we’ll be taking this train.” James said, the four of them standing in a row on the platform, not yet ready to get on. 

“We’ll be back.” Remus said. “Someday, we’ll be back.”

Sirius linked their fingers together. As one, the marauders stepped onto the train. 

Mischief Managed.

I knew you, tried to change the ending, Peter losing Wendy.

Remus just stared at the auror. 

“Mr Lupin,” The man said gently, playing his hand tenderly on Remus’ arm. Remus didn’t know what his name was. It was probable the man had said it but Remus wasn’t listening. Everything had gone dark. “I realise this must come as a shock.”

Remus wrenched his arm back, shaking his head. “A shock?” He laughed a little manically. “No, you’re wrong.”

“Mr Lupin, we have evidence that Sirius Black was the one to-”

“Well you’re wrong!” Remus yelled. Or maybe he had whispered. It was possible he hadn’t even spoken at all, but the words swirled around and around in his head. “I don’t know how, but you’re wrong. You’re wrong, this isn’t right, you have it all wrong, he would never-”

Remus gasped, pressing a hand to his cracking heart as if it would hold him together. “He would never.” He repeated, his voice breaking, tears streaming down his cheeks. When they had gotten there, he didn’t know, but their presence was suddenly noticeable with the cold rush against Remus’ skin. 

“I’m so sorry.” The auror said and then he was gone. And Remus was alone. 

Had it always been this way? Remus alone. Remus with friends. Remus with Sirius. Remus alone. 

Maybe he had made the entire thing up. 

But dreams didn’t leave you feeling like the last kiss you’d ever had was from a  dementor, not your true love. 

It is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all. He had said that to Sirius once. 

What a fool he had been. 

I knew you, leaving like a father, running like water, when you are young they assume you know nothing. 

“It is believed this was a plan Mr Black had been staging for quite some time now.” A newspaper read. Remus snorted and threw it in the fire. Sirius couldn’t even plan a week in advance. What they fuck did these people know. 

But then, what did Remus know? His love was long lost, Rapunzel in a tower. Remus was no knight. 

But he knew in his heart, none of this was true. He knew. He didn't care what anyone else said, they may have known his thoughts, but Remus knew his heart. 

But I knew you’d linger like a tattoo kiss. 

Sirius’ leather jacket still hung in the cupboard under the stairs. His hair potion, still in the shower. Remus couldn’t bear to see them. He could never throw them away. 

I knew you’d haunt all of my what if’s.

Remus should have fought harder for Harry. 

He should have, he should have, he should have, he should have. 

He should have known better.

What if.

A smirking smile and stormy eyes. Hair held up with a wand. Those same dark strands coiled around Remus’ fingers. 

The smell of smoke would hang around this long. Cause I knew everything when I was young. 

Remus woke up to James’ scream. Except it couldn’t be James. Unless… Had this all been a dream?

James opened his eyes and suddenly there was Lily. Lily and James and they didn’t know who Remus was. 

(Remus had been the first one to hold baby Harry. Before even Sirius. And now he didn’t even know him)

I knew I’d curse you for the longest time. 

Remus hated Sirius. Not for being the notorious mass murderer Sirius Black. But for leaving him alone.

Why is it possible to love someone who hates you? Remus wanted to laugh. His question to Sirius now would be this; Why couldn’t he stop loving someone he should hate.

Chasing shadows in the grocery line.

The students all murmured about the Grimm. The paintings gossiped about little else. Even the staff room had a few words on the subject matter. Remus tried not to let his heart flutter. 

(But his boy was free. And there was a grim on the loose).

I knew you’d miss me once the thrill expired.

Walking down to Hagrid's hut, Remus thought he saw something rustle in the bushes. He stepped off the path and looked closer, barely even breathing as his heart thundered, but the shadows that had lurked were gone. 

And you’d be standing in my front porch light.

“Lie low at Lupins.”

For the first time in twelve years, amber met grey. 

“Re,” Sirius croaked, and Remus shattered. He pulled Sirius inside the door quickly, shutting it and reinforcing all of the charms around his little cottage, drawing all the blinds shut and placing a charm around the area so he would know if anyone approached the house before he finally turned, and there he was. 

And I knew you’d come back to me.

Not Mass Murderer Sirius Black. 

Not even Padfoot. 

But Sirius. Remus’ Sirius. 

“Re,” Sirius said again, “It’s not true, it’s not true.” He said, repeating the words as he shook his head, eyes filling. “It’s not true, I would never.”

He would never.

Remus shook his head too, pulling Sirius into the tightest hug they ever might have shared. 

“I know.” He whispered. “I know.”

You’d come back to me.

Sirius after a few weeks of good food and warmth looked a lot more like the boy Remus had once known, but there was no denying the person with his was now a man. Remus supposed they both were. 

You’d come back.

“I love you.” Sirius whispered one night as they were curled under a blanket, Remus reading as Sirius lay on his chest, the position comforting and oh so familiar. 

“Do you think you could ever love me again?”

Remus’ heart cracked as he set down his book and curled his fingers gently around Sirius’ jaw, tilting his head so Remus could look into that swirling sea. 

“Love you again?” He said, his voice nearly cracking in disbelief. “Pads, how could I love you again when I never stopped?”

And when I felt like I was an old cardigan, under someone’s bed, you put me on and said I was your favourite. 

“I can’t believe you still have this.” Sirius whispered, pulling the same cardigan he always stole out of the back of Remus’ drawer. 

“It used to smell like you.” Remus admitted. “But I wore it too much, I missed you too much.”

Sirius smiled, shrugging it on, it curling around his shoulders the way he curled into Remus, tilting his head up and pressing his lips against Remus’. 

“I can fix that.” He whispered and Remus held him close, taking his time. 

(For what else was the moon to do but love the stars?)