#This ended up being so long it's almost 2am give me a break if half of this is gibberish

[robotslenderman]

It's 2AM and I'm Awake so I'm making it everyone else's problem with a rant about radiology.

Specifically, my biggest pet peeve about this job, which is other radiology professionals who don't know the difference between a radiologist and a radiographer

I don't expect the average person to know the difference because of how similar the terms are, but people who have my specific job or something related - I ran into them all the time and they still didn't fucking know and it led to a lot of bullshit.

To be specific, a radioGRAPHER works with images (graph). Radiographers take Xrays and CTs and MRIs. Their job is essentially customer service so they're pretty down to earth. No matter how busy these guys are they're almost always polite.

Enter the radiologists.

These guys are the opposite. They literally work alone in a dark room like Gollum. I wouldn't be surprised if half of them were coked up given some of their workloads - some of them slam back studies like frat boys with shots. RadioLOGISTS (ology) studythe images and make diagnoses. Often the radiographer will spot a break or that something is off, but the radiologist is the one who ultimately is responsible for the formal diagnosis and the one who gets in trouble if something is missed.

The reason why it's important to know the difference is because three out of ten radiologists agree that the other seven in ten are batshit unhinged. I'm not exaggerating, roughly three out of ten radiologists are absolute sweethearts and the other seven are off the fucking planet, there is no in between and the extremes are generally EXTREME. They're complete fucking primadonnas. I've had radiologists refuse to do their jobs for the pettiest of bullshit. I've had radiologists fuck off in the middle of the day, brazenly announcing they're going to swim in the pool for a few hours, and face no consequences because there's a shortage and they can do whatever the fuck they want. I've had radiologists completely fail to turn up to their shifts with no consequences because again, they know they are irreplaceable. I worked with one guy I'm pretty sure had dementia who was being actively investigated and another dude who sounded drunk every time I talked to him. They get away with behaviour that would have any minimum wage worker fired in three seconds. SOME OF THEM HAVE MULTIPLE FULL TIME JOBS AND ARE ROLLING IN IT WHILE GETTING READY FOR THE INEVITABLE STROKE THEY'RE GONNA GIVE THEMSELVES.

Even the nicest radiologists hate being interrupted and even when it's your job to interrupt them, many are prone to tantrums if you interrupt them. My senior boss described managing them as akin to being a mother, but I think it's more accurate to say it is like nannying rich kids. You can discipline your own children. With rich kids, you can't - you have to trick them into doing what you want them to do because if they throw a tantrum you'll be the one disciplined.

Anyway this is a long winded way of saying that the reason why radiology professionals not knowing the difference between radiologists and radiographers is because of the sheer fucking number of times I've had conversations that went basically like this:

Me: Hey receptionist, the images your radiographer sent us have problems, but these are a bit too complicated for me to relay to them through you. Could I have a word with them?

Receptionist who works in radiology and should know better: He's not available but I can put you through to the head radiologist?

Me, immediately getting a mental image of a coked up Gollum and getting flashbacks to the last time a radiologist bit my head off for daring to speak to them, except this one has a crown and is even crankier and even more unhinged because this the King Radiologist: WHY THS ALMIGHTY FUCK WOULD YOU PUT ME THROUGH THAT?!?

Receptionist: ????

This exchange is paraphrased, imagine me saying the same thing but in professional language and tone of voice.

Anyway. This inevitably ends up in a lot of confusion as they give me a heart attack and I try to talk them out of putting me through, but they're super confused and can't understand why I'd ring up and tell them to do something and freak out when they try to do it, until their inevitable confusion clues me into the fact that somehow this person made it into the radiology department without actually knowing what the difference between the two is, so I ask them what they think the "radiologist" does and it turns out that they're just trying to get me in touch with the head radiographer. It's even worse when I'm talking to a doctor because they should definitely know better.

Anyway. That's my rant for the day. Radiologists will drive you to drink.

They're definitely like kids though, in that they're little shits that will put you through the wringer but fuck if you don't develop some sort of Stockholm syndrome and start missing the fuckers when they're gone. At my current job one of the radiologists is even more unhinged than I'm used to (DM if you want to hear a story which would get you fired from literally any other job if you did it, but I don't want to doxx myself) and I'm genuinely sad that I won't have to wrangle the bastard even though I know he'd give me a god damn stroke from having to put up with his bullshit.

[ripepizza]

Every day I wake up to the same emptiness. My phone buzzes with the same old pop song I put as my alarm when I was 16 that I've now grown to hate but still refuse to change.

I get up, forget to brush my teeth and tie my greasy unwashed hair in a messy ponytail and slap a beige peugeot hat on it lying to myself that it hides how greasy it is. It doesn't.

If it's a good day I go to class, probably grab an energy drink or a coffee at a dollar store somewhere. It's almost always sugar free redbull. Flip through social media's through the whole class mostly alternating between Twitter and Tumblr, and listen to music during the breaks. It doesn't help.

I go home, probably order takeaway. I eat half of it then feel bad about myself and crack a beer open. I always keep a pack of 6 under my desk. It'll most likely be forgotten half empty.

I try to draw but give up halfway because I have no motivation. Then the guilt sets in. Every bad choice I've ever made, every responsibility I have. It's always there, don't get me wrong. But every afternoon after the same exact dance and song it returns ten times stronger. It feels like I can't breathe and just contemplate leaving all of my social medias. Ditching commissioners. Friends. Everything. That would make me a fraud right? I can't do that. Can I? Or is it just should I?

I talk to some online friends. I don't talk about my feelings so they won't feel like they're better for being more emotionally stable. They aren't really good friends.

Now it's 1-2am. Time for bed. But I don't sleep, just scroll through Twitter or tiktok enlessly. Maybe watch the same show again for the 7th time. It's all pointless.

Some time around 5-6am I actually sleep. I have no dreams. They used to be nightmares or a mishmash of fears but now it's just nothing.

And I wake up. And the same cycle starts over again.

The empty void I'm floating in gets louder every day. Am I hearing voices? Or am I just talking to an imaginary crowd. Then why do I feel so alone no matter what? Maybe I just like the loneliness. Maybe I like the dark and cold wrapping around my neck and shoulders. Maybe I'm just meant to be alone.

Am I seeing things? I once saw spiders crawling under the walls. I could never get a good look at them. Every time I looked, they scattered.

I sometimes wish I saw them again. Then I'd have an excuse for being a failure. For being so ordinary and sad. Does that make me horrible? I don't know if I care anymore.

I don't remember when things made sense anymore. Or maybe I do? Ages ago staring at the starry sky from an empty field somewhere deep in eastern europe. I can't go back and I know it.

It's all pointless in the end. I can't change the world. I don't really want to. I don't what to do anything. I haven't in a while. I do things out of guilt for everyone around me. Never because I care.

Maybe that's just how it is.

Doesn't make it any easier.

I think I gave up a long time ago. And I'm just waiting for the courage to do it.

I might be horrible for it. But I pray every day it comes sooner.

[beeehar]

miles writing steel samurai fanfic for funsies at some point during the time span where he believed he killed greg and while he was writing it he was like 'yea this is fine just me projecting some of my feelings onto the magistrate for it to seem a little more realistic yk. Make the character feel human' and he thinks it pretty tame, not intending for it to be too angsty. But once he posts the first chapter it kinda blows up and all of the comments are like 'im sobbing someone sedate me' and he's like damn u guys r sooo dramatic get a grip lmao??? And then as he posts more chapters (and as life starts to go even more off the rails than what it was before hand) the comments morph from 'cryibg' to 'fu.ck you genuinely what was going through your mind when you decided to rip my heart out I'm losing it get therapy I'm serious u need help I think' and at that point he's like ok so what going on here. And then one night after he learns that he is not in fact a murderer (and after he left the letter and went to Germany) he reads through the comments of genuine concern. And that on top of everything else makes him realise that everything is pretty fucked up and maybe. Just maybe things can get better.

(meanwhile the steel samurai fandom is like where tf did go he hasn't updated his heart wrenching fic in a year I miss that prick who'd make fun of us for crying at any chance he got:((. and there are tons of theories abt his disappearance floating around. And yk that trend on tiktok with the song Mary on a Cross where it's like "no quote had ever affected me" and then shows a quote from like a famous poem or movie or something. Well ppl do that with random quotes from his (not tagged as slash but everyone picks up on it) magisteel slowburn fanfiction and that in itself ropes more random ppl on the internet into the lore that is miles edgeworths ao3 account. Like his fic has its own fandom at this point and ppl had all of these inside jokes about it and stuff)

uhh fastforward to a 35 yr old miles randomly remembering about that fanfic he first began writing under the covers in his cold bedroom in the Von karma manor so he logs in and find hundreds of comments asking if he's ok and stuff and he rereads the fic and is like Jesus Christ did I actually think this was normal back then. So then he finishes off the draft he had sitting in his docs for years and says something along the lines of 'damn u guys were right idk why I thought this was fine' in the notes and he posts it and is almost immediately flooded with relieved comments and everyone's like 'rejoice he's not dead' 'took you a while but we love a self aware king'. And then he goes and kisses his husband and smiles at his hoard of children and life his good all is well.

[itsallyscorner]

This could be a request or not depending on how much time you have 😅 but for your information, yes, I am thinking Tom giving y/n hickies on her neck like the night before a bunch of interviews the next day and she's like, "Are you serious?" and he's like "I couldn't resist, I just love you so much!" and when y/n shows up the next day wearing a turtleneck after she told Zendaya that she would be wearing a dress Z immediately gets suspicious and figures it out bc I feel like she's like that 😅😂

Hehehe I haven’t written anything smutty lately and I miss it. So thank you for requesting this anon, much love to you🥰 Ugh, the thought of this gave me butterflies in my stomach😭 Happy reading!❤️

Also, little note for everyone who’s sending me requests! Yes, I see all of them! Part of the reason why I haven’t done some of them yet is because I have to think of concepts on how to execute them properly. So bear with me, love you all🥰

💌.

Love Bug

My soft boi🥺

Warnings: implied smut

(Gif from Pinterest)

The AC in your bedroom was just not doing you justice. The Californian heat was at an all time high today and has transformed you home into an Easy Bake oven. Though you were probably exaggerating, your thin crewneck sweater still clung onto your skin, making you uncomfortable. Peeling the sweater off your body, you toss it into your laundry basket. You’re left in a tank top and some lounging shorts as you sprawl yourself out on your bed. The coolness of the comforter bringing your body some relief from the heat.

Sinking into the sheets, the hustle and bustle of the day finally hits you. You’ve had a long day of press with your cast mates, promoting the movie you were all in, Spider-Man: Far From Home. You loved your job, but the press tours could just be so tiring. You were forced to wake up early in the morning and sit in a room for how many hours of the day to only be asked the same questions (most of the time). Though press tours did have its pros, meeting fans around the world and traveling to new countries was something you always looked forward to.

Marvel being Marvel, they always had to make it big. For the last few weeks you have all been traveling around the world, tired but nonetheless having an amazing time. Thankfully, this was the last stop of the press tour, California. You were back in your own bed and your boyfriend was staying with you for the time being.

You were on your phone, going through Instagram and looking at various photos that were taken today during today’s press engagements. You’ve even made your own contribution and posted your own batch of selfies and funny videos.

The door to the connected bathroom in your room opens and reveals your boyfriend. Your eyes break their focus on your phone and shift to the man in front of you. You smile and turn your phone off giving him all your attention. A smile forms on his own lips as he crawls up the bed to join you.

“Missed you all day.” He whispers against your skin, placing his head on your chest. His arms are wrapped around your figure, one leg hooked over yours. You move the hood of his sweatshirt from over his head and began to run your hands through his hair.

“Mmm, I missed you too.” He cuddles closer to your chest, arms tightening around you. His eyes momentarily shut, basking in your soothing motions.

“How was your day with Jake?” You ask him. As much as Tom wanted to do press with you, he was stuck doing them with Jake, while you did your interviews with Z and Jacob. Tom enjoyed having his interviews with Jake, but he missed being near you, even if you were just a room away.

Tom shifts so his lips are near the skin of your exposed neck. He hums against you before his lips come into contact with the soft surface. He had been tempted to mark you up all day. You wore a beautiful spring dress with a low neckline that displayed the skin of your neck. All he wanted to do was scatter red and purple love bites all over you, letting the world know you were his.

You gasp as he nips on the space between your neck and shoulder. “Interviews were good, but I just couldn’t get you out my head.” He slots himself between your legs and presses you down into the mattress.

“Teasing me with the pretty little dress of yours. Just wanted to kiss you and mark you up.” He says huskily against your neck. His breath sent shivers down your spine as goosebumps formed on your skin. His mouth sucks harder on the spot, teeth nipping gently, while his tongue soothed the bruising spot. He moved up so one of his hands are holding him up beside your head while his other strokes your side.

“Baby, we have an early morning tomorrow.” You didn’t want him to stop, but it was currently 2am and you were both expected to be awake by 6am.

His lips have made their way to the other side of you neck, pressing light kisses that turned to open mouthed ones. You giggle gently pulling him away from your neck so you can look him in the eyes.

“Babyyy.” He whines trying to shove his head back into the spot. A pout is on his lips, which were now a darker shade of pink from how much he was sucking on your skin.

“Tom, we need to be up at six.” You reminded him. Tom leans closer a boyish grin now on his expression. You couldn’t help but kiss him back when his lips captured yours. You feel him smirk against you as he pulls away.

The hand on your side moves to cradle the side of your face, his thumb brushing against your bottom lip. “We’ll be quick, I just wanna feel you. Please?”

You stare at him for a moment as his hand drifts down your body and by your shorts. Excitement swirls in your belly as his fingers get closer to your growing heat. He kisses your cheek as his hand slips past the band of your shorts to cup your mound. The wetness brings a smirk to his face as his dark eyes gaze into yours.

“Baby, look how wet you are.” He praises you as he moves your panties aside and dips his fingers into your wetness. You sigh, eyes slightly rolling back as his fingers spread your wetness on your folds.

“Fine, but—“ You bring your finger to point again him, “No marks on my neck, I’m wearing a dress tomorrow with a low cut again.”

Tom nods connecting your lips again, “Don’t worry, don’t worry, I’ll be careful.” He assures you before diving his head back into your neck.

~next morning~

You enter the bathroom, tying your hair up to keep it away from your face. You turn the shower on and wait for the water to warm up. While you wait you take a look at yourself in the mirror. Your eyes widen when you get a glimpse of you neck. You gasp out loud as you see the sides of your neck with red bruises with hints of purple on them. You had them on both sides of your neck and a small one almost on the center of your throat.

“TOM!” You yell, your voice echoing in the bathroom. There was some rustling behind the door before it was yanked open. Tom entered in nothing but his boxers looking disheveled, hair pointing in all types of direction and his eyes barely open.

“What happened?” His voice was raspy, something that usually made you swoon but right now you couldn’t even focus on it.

You turn to him, aggressively pointing to your neck. “Don’t worry, I’ll be careful!” You mock him, repeating what he said to you last night before he railed you into the mattress.

Tom’s eyes widen as well before he cringed. To be fair, you did warn him. He just didn’t know how to hold back when it came to you. He cautiously approaches you a sheepish grin on his face.

“I know it looks bad..” he begins. You shoot him a look, “Are you serious right now? Tom it looks like an octopus strangled me!”

Tom moves back to look at you, “Well you weren’t complaining last night.” You shoot him another look and he nods knowing you were annoyed with him at the moment. He stands behind you looking at the mirror you were both in front of. His arms wrap around your torso as he tries to soften you up.

“I’m sorry, I just love you so much and I couldn’t resist it. I love making love to you and I just get so lost in it and I know you warned me too, I’m sorry.” He apologizes hugging you from behind. You could tell he actually felt bad by the genuine look in his eyes. You sigh leaning back into him and resting your hands above his, interlocking your fingers.

“I forgive you, it happens.” You mumble, head trying to come up with ways to cover up your neck. “How do I even cover this up?”

Tom looks at your neck through the mirror, “Makeup will work right? Just put on some concealer or that color corrector thing you use.”

You nod at his suggestion. “That’ll work for a few hours, but makeup wears off. What if I accidentally wipe it off?”

Tom pursed his lips together in thought, “You could ask Laura to bring you something with a turtleneck.”

“It’ll barely move and your neck will be covered the entire time.” He suggests.

“Yeah, it’ll probably work. I just hope she hasn’t left yet, I should text her.” You move from Tom’s hold and turn the shower off. Before you leave the bathroom, Tom pulls you into a hug again. His face nuzzles against your hair, “I’m sorry, again.”

You smile and stroke his back, “I told you I forgive you, it’s ok love.” You pull away and peck his lips. Tom smiles and leans down to kiss your shoulder. Something he always did when you guys were having a moment. Instantly, you jump back and push him off, “Get your fucking lips away from my neck. I don’t need anymore hickies right now.”

~later~

Your stylist, Laura, ended up bringing you a stunning white dress that stopped above your knees. It was short sleeved, hugged your curves perfectly, and had a turtleneck that covered your neck. She gave you a pair of leather knee high boots which pulled the look together. Your hair was curled, pulled back into a half up and down style while short strands of hair framed your face. Compared to the panic you felt when your first saw the hickies, you were relieved when you saw yourself in the mirror again an hour later. You felt like a modern Go Go Girl as you admired your outfit.

You arrived at the hotel where all the interviews were being held. You make your rounds of greeting everyone, saving Z and Jacob last since you’ll be with them the whole day. You enter the room and see the two of them already sitting in front of the cameras. Jacob spots you first, “Aye! Good morning!”

You smile and walk up to them, giving them both hugs. When you pull away from Z she gives you a look. Her eyes scan you from head to toe, squinting at your dress.

“Weren’t you just complaining that yesterday was too hot? Why are you in a turtleneck?” She interrogates you. You smile nervously at her while you settle in the seat on the other side of Jacob.

“Um, you know, it’s a bit chilly today.” You lie. Jacob eyes you as well catching on Z’s point.

“(Y/n), it’s 95 degrees outside.” He tells you eyes panning around the room. Zendaya smirks leaning forward to get a better look at you, “I think someone was busy last night.”

“No, I wasn’t. I had a very nice sleep, thank you very much.” You sweetly smile at her crossing your arms.

Jacob snickers beside you, “I bet you did.”

“I guess Thomas couldn’t keep his hands off you last night.” She teased, exposing you.

“Or his mouth.” Jacob quickly adds smirking. Your cheeks get flustered squeezing your eyes shut. Jacob and Z burst out laughing at Jacob’s comment.

“I don’t even have a come back, blame Tom.” You throw your hands up in the air giving up. Z calms down and leans over Jacob to rest a hand on your knee.

“Hey, it’s ok, man. If I were Tom, I wouldn’t keep my hands off you either.” She tells you jokingly, helping you get over the embarrassment of wearing a turtleneck. You catch on and wink at her, “Aye, say less.” Your hand resting on top of hers.

Jacob puts his hands up looking shocked, “What did I just walk into? I—I gotta go.” He pretends to shove your hands away and gets up from his seat.

“I’m telling Tom about the sexual tension I felt in this room.” He yells over his shoulder as he walks out the room. You and Z look at each other amused, “Is he actually?”

Z shrugged, “Honestly, he’s probably getting some water. He was thirsty.”

The two of you catch up with each other. Talking about the press tour and what you were both planning on wearing for the premiere. You were in the middle of describing your dress when Tom bursts into the room with Jacob trailing behind him.

“STAY AWAY FROM MY WOMAN.”

[dracosathenaeum]

Great Love Story | D.M.

Summary: Half requested by @dray-cookies !! You and Draco were the couple everyone expected to never break up, so why were you watching Draco look at Pansy the way he use to look at you? As if she were his world.

Warnings: smut, food, violence and swearing

Word Count: 2,241

#A/N: AU, sometime in 7th year. I don't want to solidify any details in case I ever decide to write a part 2

You watched with green in your eyes as Draco brushed Pansy’s soft strands of hair from her face before bringing his hand to rest back on the small of her back. You could still feel the weight of his hand on your back, warm and reassuring. It was almost as if you were seeing the whole scene from an outside perspective, that Pansy wasn’t real, and it was you there.

But you weren’t.

Pansy was sat in what had been your seat just the month before. You heard the whispers that followed you down every hallway and into each room, but you were just as in the dark as they were. “They would’ve never lasted” from bitter Slytherins, or “He seemed happy, they both did I wonder what went wrong.” You had wondered the same thing.

You had never thought you’d break up; you were sure you would make it til the end, that he was the one for you. Call it naïve but you had known each other longer than anyone else; you had been inseparable despite being in different houses and everyone knew how Slytherins felt about interhouse relations. He had quite literally brought you out of your shell and gave you confidence you might’ve never found yourself.

It was only natural that the two of you started dating; natural that one of those long nights studying and just enjoying each other’s company had ended in rushed and desperate kisses; as if you didn’t have all the time in the world. The school had practically fallen over their own feet talking about the two of you. You were the couple that were the centre of attention at the yule ball, the textbook couple that all others compared to, the couple that no one had ever expected to break up.

Yet it happened. 

Sneaking into Draco’s room like you had done so countless times before, you hadn’t expected for him to break up with you. No warnings. No explanation.

You had left his room in a daze; your feet bringing you back to your dorm room through muscle memory alone. You allowed yourself to collapse into your friends arms the second you stepped into the room, watched as theirs mirrored the shock yours contained.  

Everything had been perfect as far as you knew. You were both so happy or so you had thought. Since then he had avoided you at all costs, and the times you did see him, he’d wouldn’t even spare you a glance before turning in the other direction.

//

Draco was looking at Pansy with stars in his eyes, and of course he would. She was everything he could ever want. Her hair that always fell perfectly around her face, never owing a bad hair day; her make up that was light because she never needed to cover up imperfections, just enhance what she already had. And her laugh, the way she tilted her head back, hand covering her mouth as she laughed at something Draco had said, the way he stopped laughing to just admire her. That was what had well and truly broken your heart.

You had never been on bad terms with Pansy; you had a mutual friendship when you had been with Draco; in fact, she had been the one to help sneak you into the Slytherin rooms more often than not. But looking at them together you realised it was never your place to be with him, not when Pansy looked like she was made to be where she was.

You watched him look at her eat and talk to Blaise with the same eyes he used to look at you with. You were split in two; you just didn’t understand how his heart could have changed so quickly, how it was possible for someone who had spent years calling you his world to simply move on before you had even had a chance to realise what had happened. 

Yet the other half knew. Pansy was everything you were but so much more. Why settle for you when he could have her?

“I still can’t believe he and y/n broke up; I mean they were the great love story, if they can’t stay together what hope do the rest of us have?” They thought you couldn’t hear; thought you were too busy talking with your friends to notice the conversations happening literally 2 seats away from you. Or perhaps they were just cruel and wanted to rub salt in the wound hoping for an explanation you couldn’t give.

“I mean he seems happy with Pansy, but it just never occurred to me he’d be with anyone else you know? I thought they were happy together, but I guess we’ll never find out since neither of them talk about it.” Grace bless her soul, threw a pumpkin pasty at the two of them. You watched as the orange coloured filling burst across their uniform staining their shirts and skin. Their heads turned towards you, mouths open ready to argue when they saw Grace with another in her hand. You simply picked up one in your own hand and shared a look with Grace before throwing it.

//

You found yourself in the astronomy tower most nights, after the castle had gone to sleep, when the only thing you had to worry about was being caught by Filch. You’d sit and wait for Draco to show up like he always had, waited for him to tell you it was all one big joke or misunderstanding. But he never did.

You couldn’t stop your brain whirling at 100 miles an hour whenever you were in the tower, but you couldn’t bring yourself to stop going, you had spent so long in here with him; before you had even started dating. You hadn’t just lost a boyfriend but a best friend.

"If you could be reborn as anything, what would it be?"

You could still remember the feel of his calloused in your hair go still as he gave thought to what you asked. “I don’t care what I’m reborn as, as long as I have you, I could be reborn as a fucking pebble for all I care "

His voice and words were rough, but you knew his heart was soft, knew it beat and belonged to you.

So why was it that you were sat there alone at 2am whilst he was probably curled around another girls body.

Shaking your stiff limbs, you made your way back to your dorms not ready to spend yet another night alone, but you’d just have to get used to it. You couldn’t stop your mind as memories played out in your brain, memories of kissing Draco as he dragged you back to the Dungeons, the both of you stumbling over each other, giggling into the night as you tried to make it back to his rooms but instead crashing in the room of requirement once you realised you wouldn’t make it back.

A door appeared to your left, the sight of the heavy wood causing your heart to catch in your throat. You didn’t think it would appear from you reminiscing yet here it was.

Your hands tentatively pushed open the doors, knowing exactly what you find but your eyes still filled with tears when you saw the room look exactly as it had done all those times you stumbled into it.

A master bedroom, books lining the wall of the furthest wall and a window seat, one you had spent so many nights curled up with Draco reading at. You could hear the whispered proclamations of love as the wind from the window whipped around you, you could feel Draco's lips against your neck as you giggled and told him to stop distracting you from reading.

You would sit between his legs, your back to his chest and every time you had finished a page you would tilt your head, wait for him to kiss you as indication to turn the page. It was the comfortable stolen moments like that you had missed the most. If you had known, you would’ve made the most of them, treasured your time with him more; but that was why you were here wasn’t it? There was no way you could’ve known; he played the part of being in love with you too well after all.

You couldn’t stop your memories unravelling as you continued to look around; you remember the feeling of his fingers sliding up the hem of your shirt- his shirt, he had always loved seeing you in his clothes and you loved the comfort they bought you, so you found yourself in them often. You remembered the way your breath used to hitch as his fingers found their goal, rough fingers pulling flimsy lace to the side so they could reach the throbbing heat that waited for him and only him.

You remember him telling you to keep reading, to read aloud to him. So, you did, about the protagonist who was pressed against a male’s front being utterly wrecked by his fingers alone. Draco had followed your every word, his fingers mimicking the actions in the book you read until you could see stars, until you felt like you were drowning in him. You had twisted your body, trying to reach any part of him but he had kept you pressed against him to be fucked by his fingers alone; just the same as the character in the book.

You had barely been able to read the words in front of your eyes, eyes hazy with pleasure; your mind focused only on the way Draco’s fingers felt inside of you. You still remembered the line that made him still, that almost had him loose control and take you there and then. “His eyes held mine as he brought those fingers to his mouth and sucked on them. On the taste of me.” His thumb had immediately reached for your swollen clit, taking him less than three strokes for you to fall apart.

You remembered what it was like in the aftermath; remembered the way he used to hold you tight, murmuring encouragements in your ears as you shook with overstimulation. You remember the haze you felt, his lips bringing you back to reality as you had almost blacked out. You remembered the earth-shattering pleasure that you had never been able to find with your own fingers, but he had learnt to all too easily.

Your eyes caught your own reflection, pupils blown wide open with lust.

It was an oh so familiar sight for you.

Draco had loved taking you in front of mirrors, the way he could see all of you and you could see yourself fall apart on him, loved the power behind it. 

Was he now doing the same to Pansy?

You shook the thoughts from your mind and turned to leave, the memories baring too much for you.

"Watch where you're going." it was as if the universe was truly against you; you had bumped straight into Draco, his arms instinctively reaching out to steady you. You didn’t waste a second to jump out of his arms, caught between wanting to jump back into them and wanting to push him down all the flights of stairs you could.

His voice has lost the natural soft tone that he had always used around you; you instead got the same sour Draco everyone else got; he was no longer yours after all.

You saw a flash of recognition in his eyes as you debated with yourself. Recognition of the way your pupils were the same as they would be all of those times he'd fucked you until you'd forgotten your own name, his own being the only word your mind was capable of remembering.

"Were you in there with someone?" It was calm. His anger. Not the rage that he'd throw at Potter or Weasley often, no this was the calm before the storm. A storm that he himself had caused.

"Would it matter if I was?" you controlled your breathing, your eyes holding steady against his though you knew he could still see in your eyes how affected you still were.

"Of course it matters. I-" he had stopped himself, chest heaving, fingernails leaving crescents in his palm.

"I'm not yours anymore Draco, you made that clear.” He said nothing but the blood dripping from his own lip as he tore the skin was indication enough, he still cared.

“I thought you were happy with me. I- I thought you loved me. What changed?" You couldn't help it as your feelings came tumbling out of your mouth. Your heart raced, this was it, he would explain himself and you could act as if the past torturous month hadn’t happened.

"Fuck whoever you want, whore yourself out for all I care. Just stay out of my way." It was like the guillotine had dropped, your emotions and expression changing instantaneously. You couldn't hide the heartbreak from your eyes, and you knew he could see it.

Your palm met his cheek harder than you thought you were capable of, "Fuck you Malfoy." You saw as his eyes flashed with something, something you didn’t recognise. But then again you didn’t recognise who stood before you now and perhaps he had seen that when you had used his given name and simply walked away.

PART 2 | PART 3

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those I couldn't tagged, I've striked through ❤️ (if you wanna be tagged, the link is in my bio and bottom of my masterlist!)

[oikadori]

a/n: not me crying at 2am about an Oikawa edit, that was my twin sister not me at all...this is totally self indulgent so uhm...yeah. Hope you enjoy it tho!!

edit: i'm so sorry for reposting again but i really feel that the best exposure is int the first hours let's hope this time it stays 😔

Oikawa Tooru x fReader

Summary: in which you are tired of hearing how is never enough for Oikawa Tooru.

Genre: angst, fluffy end tho, established relationship

Now playing ⊳ King by Lauren Aquilina ; Next to me by Imagine Dragons

WC~2k

It had become part of your routine at this point, sitting on the couch for hours, staring bluntly at some program as you wait for your boyfriend to come home.

It was not the passion he has for volleyball that has you on a gloomy mood today. It was  not falling asleep on an empty bed as you heard the sounds of balls hitting the wooden floor coming from the speakers of his laptop in the living room, and it was not how  your throat becomes dry after you begged him to sleep.

But you were tired, that is the only way to express it, tired of feeling your heart clench at the way he neglects himself, at this point you didn’t even care if he neglected you, which wasn’t the case, but him.

Your phone always got texts from him, asking if you had breakfast, if you had lunch or simply saying a hello. He called you before coming home offering you to bring some sweet from that store you liked so much. But, when you asked him if he had a good lunch, those tests always seemed to get lost in his inbox.

Oikawa always gave you a smile as the same words came out of the lips that kissed you every morning.

“Don’t you want me to be the best, my love?”

That simple phrase always seemed to wrap your heart in a death cold no matter the sweetness in his tone, they made impossible for you to come with an argument that would make Oikawa’s stubborn head understand. Understand that he was slowly tearing himself up and hurting you in the process.  

However, none of that is what had you sitting on the couch right now, arms crossed over your chest and lips pressed together, but as soon as Oikawa crossed the door, he knew the exact reason.

“Y/N-chan? I thought you were going out with your friends today”, he drops the bag on the ground, the keys of your shared apartment hitting the floor in the process, “Shit”

Your eyes are trained on the way his face contorts as he reaches for the keys, making your heart sink.

“Anyways, how are you, cutie?”, Oikawa stands in his full height before displaying a closed-eye smile at you.

However, his trademark grin fades as he sees your brows furrowing together, the air suddenly charging with the accumulated tension.

“Is there something w–“

“You tell me”, when you look at his knee with inquiring eyes, Oikawa blinks before turning his face away from you.

“It is nothing”, his mouth twitches down, “I’m fine”

‘no you are not’

His answer only makes you sigh loudly as your mind goes back to the early hours of today, the scene that made your chest sting popping out.

Oikawa had kissed your forehead like every other  morning before mumbling a brief goodbye, he chuckled lightly at the way you babbled some sort of greet and  he walked to the door like every other day but he failed to notice how your eyes opened and gazed at him.

His eyes widened as he felt the burn on his right leg, not knowing you were watching in horror the way his knee falters, causing his leg to tremble before giving in to gravity. He held onto the handle tightly, gritting his teeth to capture the whine that threatened your sleep. However, when he turned around, he founded your half-closed eyes fixated on him, but before you could say anything, he rushed away hoping your mind was clouded enough with tiredness to forget about it.

“How long?”, you ask, standing up slowly and moving towards him.

“I don’t know, what–”

“When started hurting this bad?”

His gaze fixes on the ground, his fists clamp together, annoyance bubbling up in his stomach. He knows what’s coming, he has heard that discourse way too many times to not know how this conversation will go.

“Since always Y/N!”, he cries out almost in pain, his hair moving violently matching with his gestures, the gap in your mouth mirrors the shock in you.

“You need a break Tooru…”

“So they can found someone better? No, thank you”, he lets out a dry laugh as he looks down at you.

“What is the point if you end up not being able to walk without limping??!!”, your voice falters at the end as you picture him holding onto the handle for stability, “You are out of control…”

Oikawa’s nails dig into his palm as he frowns, eyes narrowing at you with dangerous intensity.

“As if you knew…” , the sharpness in his voice makes nothing but press the wound in your heart furthermore.

“Of course, I know, damn it! Tooru you are barely sleeping! I don’t know if you’re even eating properly since we almost never have any meal together!”

And then as if your words had hit the right nerve inside the setter, Oikawa snaps, the look he shoots at you makes your movements halt and your voice dissolves into silence. He was tired and frustrated but ultimately scared and the fact you couldn’t see how scared he was, only frustrates him more.

“No, you don’t know a fucking thing! I need to get better!!”

“Tooru you are their regular setter already!”, you scream at him your face getting red with anger as your tone fades into a bare whisper, “Nothing is enough for you, isn’t it?!”

Oikawa knew that the question itself wasn’t entirely related to his volleyball career. The pleading look you give him and the tremble in your lips tells him that you are not only referring to the all the medals and recognitions but about your relationship itself.

You were asking him if you weren’t enough for him…And maybe you weren’t.

“No!”, the word comes out rushed, his thoughts getting more and more clouded by frustration. You grit your teeth when Oikawa places a hand on his forehead as if he had a bad headache, as if you were the cause of the annoying hammering,

“You are so selfish…can’t you see all what you ha–”, your voice comes in low hiss and before you can finish he lets out a loud groan as the keys in his hand fly across the room landing with a loud thud against your living room table, making you flinch.

“Why can you just let me do what I have to? Is it too much for your head to understand?!”, he shouts, and you feel a sting in your chest, your eyes almost seem to fall from your face and your breath stops as you see how your boyfriend’s face contorts in malice.

“I could pick any of those girls who wait for me after the matches, you know?  I could have any of them and they wouldn’t be as half as annoying as you!”

Oikawa’s chocolate orbits are piercing at you in anticipation when he catches the redness saturating your eyes, causing his heart to drop to the ground.

“I–“

“Go, pick a nobody who only wants to fuck with you,” you try your best to not flinch, but the venom in his words make a silent tear to roll down your cheek, “because I’m not staying to watch how you destroy yourself”

You walk past him, brushing his shoulder roughly, your steps to the door are so fast, he doesn’t get a chance to even try to reach for your hand.

The slam of the door makes a feeling of anguish settle on his chest. His feet move subconsciously to the door when a loud groan leave his lips, the pain on his knee makes his whole body shiver as he falls apart a meter away of the handle.

“Shit, shit, shit”, he whines as he manages to move his body until his back is leaning against the door, his hand travels to his pocket, desperately pulling out his phone, a pout cross his features when your name pops on his recent calls. The phone rings and rings but no answer comes, when the small device turns off, he feels himself growing numb.

And the minutes turn into hours, the night wrapping the city as Oikawa rests against the door.

Oikawa had never felt this desperate, the pain in his knee is unnoticeable compared to the ache swelling in his chest. One call, one message, anything that would let him know that you are safe, that is all he needs right now.

“What did you do for her to stay with you?”, Iwaizumi’ words ring in his ears, “You are lucky Oikawa”

He was lucky indeed, his head drops to the back, hitting the wood, his breath falters as tears stream down his face until they turn into uncontrollable sobs, the sting on his knee and the guilt mixing painfully together.

Suddenly, the door pushes his body to the side, hitting the back of his head causing him to grunt.

“Tooru?”, his eyes widen, he turns immediately to encounter your still glassy eyes gazing down at him in confusion, “What are you doing on the floor?”

Your voice is stoic however it is music for Oikawa’s ears, he quickly brushes the tears away from his face as he tries to stand up, a hiss slipping his throat.

“Oh god, Tooru!”, you quickly leave the store bag you are carrying and bend down to support him, “I bought some–

“I’M SO SORRY Y/N!! I-I DIDN’T MEAN TO–“, he groans as you try to lift him up but your small figure can’t do much to move the former captain of Seijoh, so you just drop him carefully back on the floor and kneel in front of him, “P-Please don’t leave…”

Your silence makes his heartbeat pace faster and he grabs your hands tightly, his gaze fixes on yours and you notice the fear his orbits hold. You have never seen him this vulnerable and your eyes don’t fail to show your surprise.

“Please don’t leave me Y/N-chan“, your lips press softly over his own before he says anything else, Oikawa’s brows furrow together as he squeezes your hands gently, sighing, relived.

“You should get someone better–”, he says,

“You are probably right”, you sigh, “you did hurt me, but– I guess I just love you that much”, he loses himself in the softness of your voice and tears threaten to come out again.

“I truly admire how hard you work but you have to take care of yourself Tooru–“,his glassy eyes look at you, still not able to believe you’re here, next to him, you bit your lip before cupping his cheek, “–you might not be the king of volleyball yet, but for what it is worth, you’re the king to me”

You blush violently but not even as close as the flustered red that tints Oikawa’s features, he leans in hesitantly to claim your lips and you both melt in the kiss.

He never thought such words would made him feel so complete and he realizes that all he ever needed was you by his side.

“Not gonna lie, I was hoping you’d say, ‘you are the king of my heart’ or something like that”

“I-Can’t you just take the stupid compliment?”, he chuckles with a husky tone but suddenly stops, he places a hand on your cheek his thumb making soothing circles over your flushed skin.

“Thank you”

“Uh?”

“For giving me another chance”, your knees start to sore from kneeling on the floor but you can’t move as his chocolates eyes stare into your own brimming with emotion, “I love you so much, I’m so sorry Y/N”

“If so, stop overworking yourself, okay?”

Your fingers tangle with his brown locks as he whispers a silent yes, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his arms wrapping your torso tightly as if he was still scared you fade away.  

Oikawa doesn’t  have a  throne, but he’ll proudly wear the title you gave him, and he’ll do his best the be worthy of the crown that comes with it.

❀ Please reblog if you like it! ❀

Thanks for reading ♡♡♡

[nmikaelsonimagines]

The Way I Loved You, Part One: A Klaus Mikaelson Imagine

Okay, so this was an idea I had making notes for essays when this song came on (the one by Taylor Swift). Hope you guys like this, and enjoy x 

Want to see more? Find the rest of the series just below:

The Way I Loved You

He is sensible and so incredible And all my single friends are jealous He says everything I need to hear and it's like I couldn't ask for anything better

Y/N woke up to an empty bed, and a note that told her he had been called into work. She groaned; it was supposed to be her boyfriend’s weekend off and they were meant to sort out the boxes full of clothes together. She had moved in with him after six months together, a bold move according to the voice inside of her head.

If she was honest, she had been encouraged into it by her friends; friends who told her just how perfect this new boyfriend was and she had to admit that a girl couldn’t ask for anything better. Her friends liked to tell her how he wasn’t damaged, not like the last guy she had been with.

The man whose voice had been screaming at her in her mind when she moved that first box into her new apartment.

The man whose face she could still see now, smiling at her as they woke up in each other’s arms.

She shook her head, clearing the image from her mind, and climbed out of bed. She pulled on an old hoodie and set to unpacking her things alone. Her phone buzzed, a quick message from her boyfriend flashing up on the screen. Good morning, sweetheart.

Y/N replied, and smiled. He really was perfect.

He opens up my door and I get into his car And he says you look beautiful tonight And I feel perfectly fine

Y/N found memories as she unpacked the boxes. She found the ticket stump from her first movie date with her boyfriend. She smiled as she remembered how he had picked her up from her old place, opening the door to his car like a true gentleman. He had reminded her of her ex on that night, and she had half-expected to hear his voice telling her just how beautiful she looked.

There were still moments when Y/N thought about her old life, thought about how different it was from the one she was living now. But she tried not to think about it for too long, not wanting to get upset.

Her boyfriend didn’t like it when she got upset, and so talking about the dead was a no-go area.

She would never forget the day she came home to find her boyfriend looking sheepish. He had told her how he had got a letter from her ex’s sister, telling her that he had died and that she wasn’t welcome at the memorial service. Y/N remembered how she had fallen to the floor, how she had felt it was all her fault. She had been the one to end things, and in doing so, had left him to his death.

Klaus Mikaelson was dead, and she never even got the chance to give him a proper goodbye. So instead, she did it in her memories of him.

But I miss screaming and fighting and kissing in the rain And it's 2AM and I'm cursing your name

Y/N replayed her ideal goodbye over and over again. It was so different from the one that they had had, the one that she had caused when she said she was leaving. There had been a storm that night, and she still remembered the way the rain thrashed down, flattening Klaus’s golden curls. She remembered how he had kissed her in an attempt to get her to stay, and how she had almost given in.

Five months on from hearing about his death, she still wished that she had given in. It would have been so easy just to fall back into that routine of screaming and fighting with each other, but knowing that it would all work out in the end.

She would curse him for being so unreasonable, herself for being the same way.

In her ideal goodbye, they would embrace each other as friends; there would have been an understanding and they would have parted with the intention of staying in contact. Maybe he would have asked her for help, and maybe he wouldn’t have died.

Maybe.

But none of that mattered anymore. Life had moved on, Y/N had moved on, and she had boxes to unpack, the start of a brand new journey.

You're so in love that you act insane And that's the way I loved you

Y/N froze when she came across an old green jacket. She hadn’t realised that she still had it and lifted it up to her face, inhaling. It still smelt like him, still smelt like Klaus. He had given it to her after she had stolen it from him one too many times, and she remembered how he had smiled at her every time she wore it.

That smile. She would never forget that smile.

She remembered how he grinned at her in the mornings, when she agreed to do something reckless with him, much to her friends’ claims that he was positively insane. In hindsight, they had a point, but she had been so in love with him at the time that it didn’t matter.

Insane things like that were probably what got him killed, she reminded herself, and she shook her head, removing the image of his smile from her mind. She folded up the jacket and put it at the bottom of her drawer, a memory for when she couldn’t talk about her feelings with her boyfriend.

He didn’t like it when she was upset and he certainly didn’t like it when it was about Klaus.

Klaus was a figment of the past, she told herself, and it was time to focus on the future.

Breaking down and coming undone It's a roller coaster kind of rush

Y/N had moved onto the files now, mountains of paperwork that her boyfriend had insisted on bringing into their new apartment. Bills and work stuff, that’s what he had said it was, and Y/N didn’t bother reading through any of it as she unpacked.

Not for the first time today, her mind wandered. This was the most she had thought about Klaus for a long time, and although she was sad, she tried to focus on the fond memories. It was hard to believe that the world would no longer see his face, but she was honoured that she had been the one to wake up to it for a lengthy period of time.

Y/N’s new boyfriend was perfect, but he would never make her feel the way Klaus did. She would never have that same rush of adrenaline, the excitement at every new day. She loved him, she did, but he wasn’t what she was used to.

He was boring and different and everything she needed after the year she had had.

She continued to sort through the paperwork, and it was then that she saw the envelope with her name on it.

The handwriting was familiar.

And I never knew I could feel that much And that's the way I loved you

Opening up the envelope, Y/N pulled out the letter written in Klaus’s hand. He had written to her plenty of times in the years that they were together, and her heart thumped rapidly as she thought about how maybe this was a letter she had forgotten about.

A memory of Klaus that she had almost discarded.

Y/N’s eyes welled with tears. This was one of the few times she had cried over Klaus, the memory of his death, the utter betrayal felt by his family overwhelming her. Her eyes scanned the letter, and grief turned to confusion.

Tell me to stop writing and I will.

Please stop ignoring me.

Y/N, I love you.

Always and forever yours, Klaus.

And then there was the date. The date scrawled in Klaus’s hand that told her the letter was written a fortnight ago, the same day on which her boyfriend had asked her to move in with him.

But Klaus had died five months ago, hadn’t he?

Y/N didn’t know what to feel as she gripped the letter tight, her mind swimming with possibilities. One in particular stood out, and it was at this one that she smiled through her tears.

She had been lied to, and she would be angry about it later. But for now, all that mattered was one thing.

Klaus Mikaelson was alive.

Masterlist

[levihantrash]

Priorities

For Levihan week Aug 2021 Day 2 prompt: confessions

Also based on a cute ass tumblr prompt by @sanothebreadpup <3 hope you like it!!

Summary: It’s been a while since Hange wanted to confess, but their to-do list was too goddamn long. Erwin suggested going to Levi for advice on managing prioritises. Instead, they asked Levi if he wanted to bake… for a titan.

note: no smut but lots of spicy poetic touching

cross-posted on ao3 🤪

-----

Hange wanted to confess. It had been months since they knew that their best friend status with Levi could potentially be tweaked to include just a bit more romance, and they knew they had to be the one to take that step. As much as Levi was quick-witted on the battlefield, he wasn’t quite the risk-taker in ordinary settings. In fact, Hange figured Levi would sip tea beside them until he was greying and would probably be as content with the arrangement.

Hange wanted to confess, but their to-do list was too goddamn long.

Out-of-the-blue, though characteristically charismatic, Erwin gave the soldiers a pep-talk on how they need to know what to prioritise (i.e., humanity's victory).

Inspired, though the speech’s intended audience was clearly for new recruits, Hange tried to prioritise their tasks. Within a day, they got overwhelmed, the list being more of a reason for delay than for action. Moblit, well-meaning as always, tried to get Hange to focus on one at a time but that was unthinkable to them. One at a time meant that the confession would never happen. There was too much to research. Too much at stake. Too much for one inconsequential confession.

Unknowingly, Erwin saw Hange wringing their hands, muttering to themselves in the dining hall.

“What’s wrong?”

“I just can’t prioritise the important stuff,” Hange grumbled. Perking up at the mention of priorities, Erwin advised Hange to seek Levi’s guidance.

“Levi only does one thing at a time once he sets his heart on it.”

Eager for a chance encounter with someone they technically already hung out with on most days, Hange asked Levi for help. More accurately, in perhaps the most roundabout manner, they asked Levi if he wanted to bake… for a titan.

“For research,” Hange said, almost convinced by their own performance.

“You can do that yourself,” Levi said reasonably.

While starting a task was horrendously difficult, Hange was not one to give up once they began on one.

“You’re the only one here who can bake.”

Eyes narrowed, arms folded, Levi was not buying the compliment. He had a pile of papers left to read. Hange’s whims could be settled by someone with more well-matched interests and time management.

“Go ask Petra.”

Hovering nearby with another paper for her captain to sign, Petra noticed Hauge's crestfallen face.

“It’s not about the baking being done but who Hange is doing the baking with,” Petra whispered, as discreetly as she could.

"I'm busy," Levi said, loud enough for Hange to hear, heedless of Petra’s input.

“Alright.” Hange sighed, internally fuming that they should’ve found a more legitimate excuse. Bluff out something like Erwin’s orders. Levi followed Erwin’s orders without question. Hange’s requests were dealt with more scepticism. Not that Hange had the best track record of requests.

In the end, Hange prepared the baking supplies, because even if titans couldn’t stomach cake, it was an experimental endeavour. Practically speaking, they could give some baked goods to the juniors. Maybe even gift some to Levi.

Stumbling into the kitchen with too many ingredients in hand, they found Levi leaning against the entrance looking positively sullen. Upon spotting Hange, his face morphed into a more acceptable, neutral expression, nodding towards them.

"I thought you were busy!"

Levi shrugged, grabbing some of the ingredients from their arms. "I was. Didn't you want to bake?"

“I guess?”

The sudden change of mind was too abrupt for Hange to wrap their head around. A hopeful glow had unfortunately begun growing in them. Levi was being exceptionally nice today. No doubt that he was usually nice. Just not will-bake-for-your-titans kind of nice.

"Erwin said that you are really good at prioritising tasks,” Hange said, slowly digging through the cabinets for the utensils.

"Huh. Let me guess—he wants you to learn from me."

Hange scratched their head absent-mindedly. "He did tell me to ask you."

"I'm not actually very good at sticking to a task,” Levi admitted, wondering where in hell Erwin got the idea that he was focused. If he were, the paperwork would have been submitted, instead of lying around, flapping aimlessly in the wind before Petra (and Oluo) offered their generous help. He refused—every time. Levi was simply good at keeping a blank face and reporting to Erwin that he needed more time, which Erwin must have mistaken as a sign of seriousness than a sign of procrastination.

“You are! You finished work before coming have, didn't you?”

Levi didn’t breathe out a word, silently pouring through the book of recipes.

"What do you want to bake?"

Hange didn’t mind his lack of response, pondering over his poor cover-up question. "Something easy. What about bread?"

"Bread isn’t easy."

Difficulties translated into the promise of adventure for Hange. Pumped up, Hange prodded at the picture of an unremarkable loaf of chocolate banana bread.

"Let's do it anyway!"

“Suit yourself.”

-----

The small touches were the ones that were hardest to ignore. Hange felt the accidental-deliberate brush of Levi’s elbow when he reached over to choose an ingredient. Other times, he guided their hand with the right amount of strength for stirring the batter. His fingers over their stirring hand were firm and reassuring.

“You’re stirring too fast,” Levi said patiently.

“You’re distracting me,” Hange replied half-heartedly.

“Oh, am I?” The fingers left Hange’s hand. Just as Hange was about to lament their moment of folly in allowing that to happen, the fingers reached out towards their face. Forcing in a breath, Hange felt Levi’s thumb rub out a chocolate stain at the side of their lip.

“How did the chocolate get there?” Levi murmured, more to himself than to them.

“I was snacking on some of the chocolate bits a while ago…” Hange said cheekily, licking the side of their lips only to realise that Levi’s thumb was still there. Their tongue brushed his finger, and in that contact, Hange was ready to collapse from self-generated sexual tension.

Though his eyes widened noticeably, Levi quickly resumed his blasé expression. Rubbing the rest of the stain out, he walked to the tap to wash his hands. There was some hesitation, before he hurriedly turned on the tap, letting the water run for two seconds over his hands before going back to his position next to Hange.

Unsure as to whether to be offended or pleased by the sight of Levi cleaning the evidence of their encounter with such carelessness, Hange busied themselves with breaking eggs and separating yolk. If it had been Levi with a finger lined with fudge, Hange would’ve licked it spotless. With permission, of course.

To pay him back in kind, Hange plotted their own routine of touch as well. The touches became bolder, starting innocently enough. From casually brushing away hair that was poking Levi’s eye, to going behind Levi who was busy slicing up bananas and placing both hands on the counter. Their arms were now on either side of him, conveniently taller than him so that their head could peer right over his shoulder. The cutting didn’t cease—it only got more rapid, the bananas becoming neat circles in a matter of seconds. Hange let out an impressed whistle, hands not leaving the counter.

“Stop distracting me.”

“Oh, am I?”

One drop of the knife, and a swift turn later, Levi found himself staring straight into Hange’s bright, beautiful, heavily eye-bagged orbs.

"Hange, do you know why I'm in the kitchen at 2am baking for some shit-brained monsters?"

“Titans don’t have—”

“Because I have priorities.” Levi interrupted, not allowing Hange to clarify what the physical anatomy of titan subjects entailed.

Hange blinked, maintaining an oblivious exterior. “Your priorities include titan research?”

“You know what I was going to say.”

“Somewhat. I want to hear you say it out loud, though.”

Grimacing, he concentrated his gaze on Hange’s collar instead. Skin flushed, collarbones peeking out mischievously. Bad idea.

“You little shit.”

Their laugh was quieter, milder than the ones they let out on other days. “My favourite little shit! So what are your priorities?”

“Wiping the blades. Cleaning the toilet. Dusting under the tables. Doing laundry. Having enough tea. Baking with a scientist who thinks—”

Hange pressed a gentle hand on his mouth. “I get it.”

“Which part do you get?” Levi asked, enjoying the fact that when he moved his lips, they grazed Hange’s palm. How would it be like to replace that hand with their mouth?

“That you like me.” Hange grinned, tugging Levi by the straps of his apron just a bit closer.

An unexpected flash of clumsiness made Levi knock down the bag of flour, spilling it onto the floor. The fall clouded up the vicinity in white dust. Gaining confidence with obscured vision, Hange held the back of Levi’s head, tracing his undercut, admiring how his immaculately combed hair had come undone. An attractively dishevelled mess. Hange was in no hurry. Yet.

Levi, in a spur of restlessness, looked up at Hange questioningly. Eyeing their faint smirk, he tilted his head sideways, watching carefully for any sign of reluctance. An impatient “are you going to kiss me or not” from Hange; a straightforward command was what he needed to hear. No time was wasted pulling Hange into an urgent, searing kiss. Backed against the counter, hands cupping Hange’s face, Levi devoured the sensation. The taste of sugar, fruit, flour, and chocolate clung onto the entwinement, as Hange breathily pressed up against him. Erwin had warned them both. Love in the military meant the threat of loss. The possibility of sorrow. As he felt the rumble of Hange’s satisfying groan beneath his lips sending an unprecedented warmth through his body, he was certain. He would have loved Hange whether he kissed them or not. Death would happen, whether or not Hange rubbed his waist in soothing, awe-inspiring strokes. Right now, he would die in absolute bliss.

To be honest, Hange would’ve been disappointed if they didn’t end up fucking, or at least, aggressively kissing eventually. Erwin’s advice was only a stronger reminder that Hange was never one to be conservative. They loved Levi, as a comrade, as a friend, as the person whom they would kill for, if it meant saving his life. Still, having Levi sneak a hand into the bareness of their back, sucking their neck with a hot tenderness that made their head spin, they knew that chastity and platonic hugging could not be the only option.

“We should’ve done this sooner,” Hange said, peeling away his jacket.

“Couldn’t tell when the right time was,” Levi said, starting on the buttons of Hange’s shirt.

The door creaked open.

“This is your idea of asking Levi for help?” Erwin said, a thick eyebrow raised as he surveyed the mess.

With some willpower, he stopped unbuttoning Hange’s shirt. Lightly pushing Hange away, Levi straightened up, less than pleased with the interruption.

“Erwin, you better have something worthwhile to say if you—”

“I’ll clean this up.” Erwin, fully recovered from his shock, was beaming.

“Huh?”

“It’s about time,” Erwin said, with the proud sincerity of an unwitting matchmaker, gesturing towards the door.

“We owe you one, Erwin!” Hange waved at him on the way out, while Levi cast him a grateful, wary glance. With his hand was secure on their back, and Hange’s arm wrapped around his shoulders, there was no care for an audience. Only the smell of baked goods and unfinished business fuelled their steps towards a private space. A place where they would end up in each other’s arms—spent, sweaty, and deliriously at peace.

[ginnympotter]

call it even

Chapter 1: you’ll always know me

A/N: This is the first chapter of a 2 (or possibly 3? who knows) chapter Muggle AU fanfic inspired by tis the damn season and dorothea by taylor swift hehe hope you like it :) You can also read it on AO3 here.

She felt a tap on her shoulder and took a deep breath. It was way too early in the morning, she had just gotten off a long flight where she barely slept a wink, and she just didn’t have it in her to talk to any fans without the coffee she was impatiently waiting for at the LAX Starbucks.

But she turned around anyway, bracing herself, and then saw a face that jolted her so much she supposed she wouldn’t need the coffee anymore. “Harry?”

“Hey, Ginny,” he smiled. Harry Potter was standing in front of her for the first time in almost a year, looking as handsome as ever. He was tired, his green eyes looking glazed behind his glasses, his hair pointing in all directions- though she could tell he didn’t try to comb it- wearing the grey-blue sweater she knew her Mum bought him years ago.

Without really thinking about it, she moved forward and hugged him, throwing her arms around his neck, and he put his around her waist and hugged her back, but he also let go first.

“What are you doing here?” she asked incredulously, trying not to think too hard about him breaking the embrace before she could.

“My students had a tournament against a school out here,” he explained. “We lost though.”

“I’m sorry,” she offered.

“Oh, don’t be, I don’t mind. But the kids all seem like they’re going to jump out of the plane before we can make it home. I was up until 2am consoling the quarterback. My assistant coach is talking them all down now out there while I grab us coffee.”

She nodded, biting her lip. And then blurted out, “Why didn’t you call?” At Harry’s confused look, she added, “to tell me you were in L.A.?”

He cleared his throat, and Ginny saw a light blush creep up his neck. “Well, I knew you were away for your match. I caught some of it, you played great, as always.”

“Oh,” she responded, feeling stupid. She sometimes forgot that as a member of the U.S. Women’s Soccer team her schedule was often public knowledge. She felt a tug at her heart thinking about Harry still supporting her after all this time. “Right, thanks. I wish I could’ve shown you around the city. Did you like it here?”

He shrugged. “Not bad, but big cities aren’t really my style. You know that,” he ended, a solemn note in his voice. “Have you been enjoying it out here?”

She mirrored his shrug. “It’s fine, I suppose. I like the weather, if that counts.”

“Nothing else?”

With most people she’d probably just lie and say she loved it, but with Harry she had a bad habit of always being blunt. “The traffic here is worse than what they warn you about, and honestly, it’s hard to make friends when it seems like everyone just wants to use you for your fame- or for the more famous people that you know.”

“Well, if you’re ever tired of being known for who you know, you know you'll always know me.” Harry offered her a sad smile. “I’m always a call- or a FaceTime- away. Not that a tiny screen is my ideal way of seeing you, but better than nothing.”

She wasn’t sure how to respond right away, as she could feel her whole body burning up and her throat closing. There was so much in the air between them. But the barista called out a cold brew, and at the same time they both said, “oh, that’s me,” then looked at each other and laughed. The first one had Ginny’s name on it, the one that followed five seconds later had Harry’s.

They walked away from the coffee pick-up area together, and Harry checked his watch. “Well, we have to board soon. I’m sorry this is the only way we got to see each other.”

“I’ll be home for Christmas,” Ginny told him in response. She originally didn’t plan on reaching out to him when she got back home, because she knew her brother and Harry’s best friend Ron would just tell him, and if he wanted to see her he could make that decision for himself. But suddenly this became information that she couldn’t hold in.

“Oh,” responded Harry, running his free hand through his hair. Her heart fluttered at that motion, as she knew what it meant- that he was nervous in a good way. “Well, that’s great! Let me know when you plan on getting in, I’d love to catch up, properly.”

“Yeah, me too,” she said, the sincerity spilling out against her will. She never could truly play it cool with him, not even when they were kids. She hugged him again, smelling home lingering on his sweater. “I will. Have a safe flight, Harry.”

His grip on her was tighter this time, even with coffee in hand, than the last. “You too,” he replied. And then stiffened and let go. “I mean, you already had your flight, so that made no sense. Have a safe...cab ride home, I suppose?”

Ginny laughed at his stumbling. “I’ll do my best.”

He smiled, raising a hand in a small wave as he walked back towards his students. “See you later, Gin.”

She returned the smile and watched him reach his students. She noticed one of them looking at her as if they recognized her. She saw him nudge Harry with his elbow before she turned around and began walking to find her cab driver. As she continued to stride forward she faintly heard him ask, “Mr. Potter, was that just… Ginny Weasley? Do you know her?”

***

It was her fault for thinking her brothers would give her some indication that Harry would be there. They knew she still had feelings for him, no matter how much she denied it and how many times she tried to move on, and yet they couldn’t even give her a heads up.

When Fred and George saw her exasperated expression, they rolled their eyes in unison as Fred put his arm around her. “Are you reverting back to your 11-year-old self, little sis?”

“Fuck off,” she said, shrugging out of her brother’s embrace. “You could have at least warned me.”

“I thought you were bold, or whatever,” said George. “Wasn’t that one of the three qualities you used to describe yourself in People Magazine?”

Harry began walking over to them. She mentally prepared herself as he hugged Fred and George and congratulated them on the joke shop’s expansion. As he turned his attention to Ginny, the twins quickly left to talk to other guests. He didn’t smile.

“Hi,” she said nervously. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Hi,” he replied, one hand in his pocket, the other holding his drink. “Ron told me you landed three days ago.”

She gulped, feeling his hurt absorb her. “Well, I just got settled in and recharged, you know. I- I was going to text you.” Which was true; she did intend on keeping her promise to Harry at the airport, but didn’t know when the appropriate time would be- how do you know the right time to text your ex and first love to casually catch up?

He hummed, taking a sip of his beer. She absolutely despised cold Harry, she could feel it emanating off of him. “It’s fine,” he said, ostensibly lying. “I was catching up with some other people from school anyway. Remember Cho?”

Oh, he was cruel, bringing up his ex like that. “Obviously,” she almost spat. As if she could forget.

“Saw her and Neville, Hannah and Luna the other day.”

She had half a mind to mention Dean Thomas, her boyfriend right before Harry in her sophomore year, reaching out to her asking to go for a drink, but couldn’t find it in her to do it, so instead she just mirrored his cool and pretend unbothered tone. “I don’t remember asking, but thanks for the information.”

Harry’s frown became more clearly defined. “Fine, sorry to bother you.”

She felt a chill as he walked away from her, a familiar ache pooling in her abdomen. They were fighting like they were teenagers rather than grown adults. It was unlike him to start it- it was usually her- but she couldn’t really blame him, though. She knew at the end of the day that she was the main culprit, that she made him ache the way she did because she didn’t know how else to hold it on her own.

She watched him return to her brother Ron’s side and take another large sip of his beer. Ron’s wife and one of both Ginny’s and Harry’s closest friends, Hermione Granger, gave Harry an appraising look and then walked over to Ginny. Hermione gave her a short hug and then said, “Alright, which one of you said something stupid this time?”

Ginny scoffed, pulling away from her friend. “Oh, it’s nice to see you too, Hermione.”

“I saw you yesterday. So which one of you started it?”

“Obviously he did! He had the audacity to mention hanging out with Cho Chang to me.”

Hermione gave a look of utter exasperation. “That’s a new low for him.”

“I know!”

“But I’m assuming you replied with equal spite?”

She sputtered, crossing her arms. “Maybe so.”

“Well, you should have texted him, Ginny.”

“He should’ve texted me! ” she whispered sharply.

“But you told him at the airport-”

“No, I know that, but- I mean, he should have texted me after…” she trailed off, feeling ashamed of herself for being this upset. “After your wedding last year.”

“You mean after you two slept together again after my wedding last year.”

“Well, yeah. Once I got back to L.A. at least. But nothing.”

“You could’ve texted him then, as well.”

“Whose side are you on, anyway? I know Harry’s been your best friend forever and everything but I’m your sister-in-law! Doesn’t family by marriage mean anything to you?”

Hermione shook her head and rubbed her temples. “You two really need to sort out your issues on your own. But if it helps to know, he wasn’t really ‘hanging out’ with Cho. We were out with him and the others as well, Cho wasn’t in our group, she just happened to walk in with Michael Corner and they stopped by our table and said hi for a quick minute.”

“She’s dating Michael? My ex-boyfriend Michael?”

“Oh, yeah, they’ll be engaged any day now,” Hermione informed her.

“That lying piece of-”

“You’re both to blame here,” Hermione declared, using her I’m Putting My Foot Down voice. “Just act like adults for once and sort it out. Properly.”

Guilt enveloped her throughout the rest of the night and she hated how such a small exchange could do this to her, as she had to act like everything was okay, be happy for her brothers and talk about her life in L.A. and as a famous soccer player and sell the life she was living as one she was satisfied to have.

By the end of the evening, before he could leave, she found Harry by himself sitting and reading something intently on his phone. She took a deep breath and walked over to him. “Mind if I sit here?”

He looked up for a second, shook his head, and continued staring at his phone. She eased up just a tad, as she could tell his silence wasn’t his I’m Ignoring You silence, but rather his I’m Deep In Thought and Concentration silence. “Everything okay?” She asked, and when he glanced her way she gestured to his phone.

He gave a half-laugh, half sigh, looking back at his screen. “Yeah, it’s just some of these parents have no boundaries… emailing me during the holidays- on a Friday night no less. I’m just reading through them to decide if any of them are worth responding to outside of my automatic away signature.”

“Is this for the football team kids, or your English Literature students?”

“My Lit students, but there is some overlap. I have this one student, Danny, who’s a really great kid, and his parents are real dickheads, and they’re mad that he got a B+ instead of an A, despite me telling them last quarter that a B is a great grade, and Danny’s already self-conscious as it is and could use encouragement rather than nitpicking over bullshit-“

He caught sight of her face and quickly cut himself off, a blush spreading across his cheeks. She realized she was smiling- it was always nice to see Harry talk passionately about something- and quickly adjusted her facial features. He cleared his throat and closed his phone. “They can probably wait until after the holidays for me to repeat myself, I suppose.”

“I think that’s the right call,” she assured him.

He exhaled, running his hands through his hair and then over his face, trying to wipe off his exhaustion with it all. “Thanks.” He put his hands on his lap and looked at her fully, as he refused to do a couple of hours ago. “Ginny, I’m sorry-“

“No, I’m sorry,” she interjected. “I told you I’d let you know when I’d be here and I didn’t. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I let my frustration get the better of me,” he said with a sigh. “Classic Harry for you.”

She laughed, folding her legs into a pretzel in her seat. “Can’t blame you, really, as I’d probably behave the same.” She let out a breath and continued on. “Look, I did mean to text you and tell you I was back. I just… I don’t know, I was stupid, I thought it had to be the right timing, but I guess that doesn’t make much sense.”

“What, were you waiting for a sign or something?” he asked. He was joking when he asked, but as he processed the look on her face he rolled his eyes and chuckled. “Wow, Gin. You never stop amazing me.”

She blushed and laughed nervously, thinking of all the times in the past Harry had said something like that to her. She wanted to hear more of it, over and over, even when he’s saying it in jest. “That is what I do best.”

His features sharpened a bit and he leaned forward. “Well, how’s me asking to see you tomorrow for a sign?”

She put her hand on her chin and pretended to think about it. “A pretty good one, I’d say.”

[pigstepping]

Starting a weekly rec list cuz I have almost 500 lovingly-organized private Ao3 bookmarks and they deserve to see the light.

Expect ~5 underappreciated, mostly techno!centric works, because I am a simple individual with simple needs. I'll provide the rating, any archive warnings, the main character grouping, and the word count. Standard disclaimers, read the author's tags, leave a nice comment on the work, etc.

Without further ado, here's the first batch!

but i can't breathe underwater by rinredacted

T || Major Character Death || Bedrock Bros || 14k

Beautifully written, atmospheric, SCP-style horror. Genuinely chilling to read at 2am like I did last night, and also truly, truly, just. Gutwrenching. Not a happy read, but one I will be thinking about constantly for at least a month. This is literally the work that prompted me to start publicly rec'ing fics, and I don't usually fuck with MCD. Please read this.

The Pig Farmhand by 1248 and Anarchy-Schmanarchy

G || No Warnings Apply || Emerald Duo || 9k

Cozy, magical little oneshot. Stylistically, this one alternates between an Aesop's fable and a minecraft youtuber's stream-of-consciousness, and somehow it works. Gives me the same vibes as The Hobbit. Angst is technically present but so mild that it's more for flavor than anything. This fic will make you feel comfy <3

break our bones into half by GracefulLeopard

M || Graphic Violence || Emerald Duo || 12k

This is a How to Train Your Dragon AU with viking!Techno and dragon!Phil, and it is exactly as fitting as it sounds. It also has several of my favorite tropes, including enemies to besties, prison bonding, and recovery fics where Techno is the one needing help. Wrapped up with great writing quality and spot-on characterization to make a very engaging read.

Healthy Coping Mechanisms? In THIS House? by Beans_McGee

G || No Warnings Apply || Emerald Duo + Niki || 3k

Part 1 of a very good ongoing modern-with-magic AU. Techno copes, or more accurately, does not cope with Phil being on a prolonged trip away from home. He so very much Has ADHD. He is painfully, hilariously in-character. He needs a hug, and he will be damned before he pauses long enough to acknowledge that. Niki watches the car crash.

drink until you've had enough (I'll drink from your hands) by findingkairos

G || No Warnings Apply || Emerald Duo || 9k

Angels and demons AU with a twist, and the twist is gorgeous, detailed, morally-ambiguous worldbuilding. Techno and Phil have to fight for their happy ending in this one, but it makes the pay-off that much much more satisfying. Bonuses include beautiful in-fic art and just a smidge of cosmic horror. As a treat. For me specifically.

Alright that's all I've got for now. Enjoy, and don't forget to give the authors some dopamine!

[aineryeo]

Prominence ௹ ATSUMU

The letters of the first few days when you parted ways 📨

Prominence: “Find someone great, but don’t find someone better.” You’d say to yourself, though it was directed to your ex-boyfriend, writing in a number of papers, serving as letters. Awaiting your impending doom.

Timeskip! Atsumu x Reader

Synopsis: You break up with Atsumu Miya in hopes to alleviate his pain. And for what he'd have to deal with. » 6.2k Words

Warnings: Depictions of Mental Illnesses & actual disease, Angst, Suicidal tendencies, Cursing, Atsumu is an impulsive bitch, so is reader. Read at your own discretion. Do not read if this has any sort of possibility to trigger you, more if you feel encouraged to do something you shouldn’t. This isn’t what the fic is about.

It was a rainy day, droplets of water knocking on the window of what was your empty room. It wasn’t a space you were supposed to be getting used to at this point in your long life. A faint tune of a piano was penetrating through your thin walls as you stared into nothing in particular, maybe the particles that become visible with the peek of sunlight through the gray clouds piercing through your window pane.

Your body got up, but you had a stinging migraine, your limbs were weak, and today was an off-day from your work as a bustling city journalist. No phone calls for a sudden need for your presence in your job. Your blanket was wrapped around you loosely, your feet navigating through your creaking floors. How depressing.

Empty fridge.

Messy bed.

Disorganized papers.

And clothes in unsuspecting places.

Your clothes. None of his. You can’t even reminisce about him anymore. Your migraine seems to have gotten worse. You spot one of the few things that were left organized. Your letters. You grimaced, the pain suddenly pushed to the back of your head as you were reminded of the contents.

“It won’t be bad to see him, at least once.” You reason to yourself with a small smile, it wasn’t a happy one. Nonetheless it was one. One reason out of many when you were always reminded that he was already happy, that Atsumu no longer needed you, and your relationship was a ghost of the past.

It has been for a month now, how else would it go, when you were the one who ended it?

Yeah, it was a bad idea to see him. You scold yourself for coming here, furthering your torture. You see him with a huge smile, bigger than when he was with you. Brighter than when you last picked a joke, at least that was what you thought. You dated him since you were sixteen, young, and fresh in-love.

“Tsum, baby, not here.” You vaguely make out, from hiding behind one of the tall bleachers near the exit from where their practice usually resided in. She was very pretty, her voice silky. You hear a rumbling chuckle in return, you feel your spine shudder at the familiarity. “Hm, honey where do ya want me ta do it then? I jus’ can’t resist ya.” You took your small window to catch a glimpse of them. The perfect lovers.

This was selfish, you knew it. But you inwardly cheered for him, happy to know that he found someone great. That he was happy, even if it was at your expense. Your eyes were glossy, dams about to break, so you walk away; like you always do, like you always did. Your mouth formed into a shaky frown, your fists clenching ‘till you were white-knuckling nothing in particular. White-knuckling all your pain, perhaps.

It was when you exited the establishment, into the car park, into your cheap second-hand car, did your tears fall; until everything kept breaking, your multi-functional tape to bar all your emotions inside, failing you for the umpteenth time for the past month. You were all alone, still clutching your keys to open the door to the driver’s seat. When you felt a hand on your shoulder, which made you jolt, you were too surprised that you didn’t get to wipe your residual breakdown off your face.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Your blurry eyes adjusted, and your heart almost jumped at the familiar face. You turned your face away from him, you were too ashamed to show your face to him. To the brother of the man you were still in love with. You changed your voice a few octaves higher, “Yeah! Thanks, sorry you had to see that.” Mishandling your keys before being able to open it quickly, though Osamu stopped you just as fast.

“I know it’s you, Y/N.”

You froze. “I’m not—”

Hearing a small laugh from him made you stop. “I think I’ve seen your car enough times before, with the same plate to know that it’s you when I parked right next to it.” Turning back, he already had his hand out holding a handkerchief.

“Sorry.”

He smiled sympathetically at your small figure, noticing that you’ve gotten smaller than you already were. More fragile. So he placed his hand that was roughly the size of your face, gently on top of your head to stroke it, hoping to bring you some comfort; roughly knowing the situation about you and his brother. How couldn’t he?

“It’ll be okay.”

It’s not. You recall, already sitting in your bathtub, not really crying, not really feeling anything of the sort. You exhaled as if it lightened your burdens. It won’t be.

You hum. Knees to your chest, “Not when...” You sigh, not now.

It was time for work, tedious work that requires you to write articles and camp out places at 2am in the morning, only to turn up and camp out at a different place again, just hoping for an interview for your channel. You didn’t feel like breaking down at all, but it felt like everything is typically more down. You refused to eat when your co-workers asked you to join them, you had no appetite.

You hadn’t for weeks.

A heavy feeling is always stuck inside you. Like everything is screaming at you, but you can’t scream back. You just can’t. Always heaving sighs, always staring into what once was blue skies, turned dull grey. Was it because you regretted having to let go of him? Or was it because of the news you had received prior to when you left him? Was it because the one time you felt like you couldn’t walk, the doctor told you that you had a few left; extend your life with a surgery that was high-risk.

Your hand ran through your hair for the umpteenth time, thoughts drifting to whether you should just end it quicker than what you had. What was the point? You failed to notice that your hand was writing on another piece of paper, as if documenting everything that ran through your mind. And maybe you wanted them to find out, when you’re gone. So you don’t have to face the burden of facing them afterwards and giving them any answers.

But you don’t want to ruin the happiness Atsumu had right now. He’ll blame himself, but this was all your fault. You ended it with a bad note so he’d forget you easily, you yelled at him, told him that he was useless, you didn’t love him anymore. You open your eyes, seeing yourself back at the situation where it all began, and where it all ended.

“Atsumu, I hate you.”

“Angel, what are ya saying? I said I was sorry! I’m tired from practice.” He replied, he was tired. He was stressed. You were stressing him. And he was getting rightfully agitated, it was working.

Your thoughts briefly flash to the days before, same old. You chose to do it days slowly, so it wouldn’t be too sudden; so he’d lose all love for you once you leave him. So you nitpick him again, even though it never really bothered you, “You always do this. Maybe we should just...” You swallow, it was like eating hard, bitter candy at once.

“What? Break up? Yeah, with your incessant yappin’ these days, Y/N, I wouldn’t mind one bit.” He said, looking at you with a harsh gaze. Similar to when some random fan begins screaming during his serving routine. You were nothing now. You nodded, if he had the right mind that time, he would’ve noticed that you were eerily calm; you were expecting this, why wouldn’t you?

“Yeah, break up.” You confirmed, with a somber smile. He hadn’t even noticed that more than half of your things were already gone from your shared apartment. You had one last suitcase, it was right beside the door. Atsumu failed to notice all the little things disappearing, so it wouldn’t be a surprise if he failed to also stop you before you hung your apron on the rack, turning the stove off, he was already gone. Into his bedroom, where he slept, too tired for anything his aching muscles couldn’t take right now. Your keys left untouched on the table before you left him altogether. Always, just always looking back with a heavy grimace.

The skies were the same color from that day, to everyday, same grey.

It wasn’t long before you found out he had a new love. Apparently an avid, and innocent fan of his whom he met during one of his morning runs in the park.

“What’re you writing there, Y/N?” One of your co-workers as of now, Akaashi Keiji, brought your head back up in the present. You hummed, folding the paper your hand subconsciously wrote in, and placing it in your pocket. “Nothing, really. My hand just kind of moves on its own when I think of anything in general.”

He smiles, sweet. “That’s endearing. Must be why you’re quite famous in the department.”

You chuckle, “I’m not famous, Keiji. If anything, this job just keeps giving me migraines. You’re the real MVP as a great editor in your dept.”

His hand was rubbing his nape, laughing softly with you. You stood up, supposed to get some water only to fall back down again. Your co-worker quickly catches you with worry etched in his delicate features.

“Y/N, have you been eating?” No, but..

“Keiji, I can’t feel my legs.”

It was showing.

You asked Keiji not to tell anyone, he in turn, asked if any of your family members knew this. It made you chortle, you said, “No. My grandmother died years ago, I’m an only child, and my parents didn’t last.” It wasn’t a funny thing, you knew that but it made you laugh anyway. Laugh at how pathetic you were.

He looked at you, on your bed at your home that he had kindly helped you in after calling your doctor from before. Saying it was that the disease was starting to become severe, causing your limbs, your legs, your arms, to lose its sensation. Slowly, you’ll become more agitated, and it’ll be harder for you to talk, or even move. Only your co-worker, and your boss knew for the time-being.

“You don’t have to help me. I know you’re busy.” You said, though weak, “I’ll only weigh you down.”

Keiji sighed, he knew that you worry too much about other people, he knew that you got lost enough to stop thinking about yourself. And it was sad, he empathized with you in the way that you were both overthinkers, though he’d understood for a while that you were more hasty with decision-making.

“No.” He said, simple.

You looked down at the blanket that covered your bottom half, your top half facing the big, musty, old window next to your bed. Facing away from Akaashi.

“Why?”

He was quiet for a few seconds, save for the usual noise from the surrounding roads. He looked up, before he looked back at your weak figure. “It’s just you—you’re all alone.” Walking around to the other side so he can face you. About to utter a tad more to his sentence, he stopped when he saw your eyes blown wide, a bit red at the bottom, a hard attempt to stop tears from falling. He didn’t miss a beat after, quickly crouching, and allowing your head to rest on his chest.

“So I thought you could use some company.”

You appreciated your co-worker, now close friend’s generous help. It’s been a few weeks, and you’ve been spending it cooped up in the hospital. He had also forced you to finally admit yourself so you can get immediate assistance in the case that something similar were to happen again. A similar event where he was forced to carry you to your car, and drive you home.

The cords stuck to your skin to hydrate you was a bother, but it was manageable. Here were your last few months alive. You still had no idea why you couldn’t just leave. You had no specific goal, you were bound to hit rock-bottom, and the least you can get is a few more months, maybe years of living if you get the surgery. There was no point, nothing to live for. You could work on your career, but what can you really do with legs that can barely stand, and… hands that can’t even pick up a pen.

The latter was the one that you cried to every night if you had tears to spare. The latter was the one where you try to continuously hit your head in hopes it can keep writing. It was such a simple task, why couldn’t it do its job? When Akaashi came to visit one afternoon, he had to rush and grab the sharp pen you had in your barely moving left hand, attempting to dig it in the skin of the right. Just to feel if it was still alive.

Then it was requested to have no pens, or sharp objects left near you without supervision. You’d call your friends, if by friends, you mean other than occasional visits from your co-workers that didn’t know much about your personal life; but still had the courtesy of visiting you nonetheless after hearing news from the boss, you’d consent to it since you were leaving the field. But he hasn’t fired you yet, apparently.

Sometimes it shifts, when your arms refuse to work, your legs will move for a bit, vice versa. A frown forms on your face when it happens to be both. Why couldn’t this just be quicker? You ponder, and hear the door open. Expecting the only person who visits you so frequently.

“Keij—” You stopped. He stopped. “What are you doing here?”

“Hm? So I can’t visit ya now?” Oh, his familiar tone.

“How did you even know I was here?” You said, a bit agitated.

“Asked one of yer co-workers.” He shrugged.

“...You visited my workplace? And they told you immediately?” You raised your brow, bringing your body up to sit on the bed instead. It was a feat on its own, but he’d seen your struggle, he was about to reach and help actually.

“Yeah, I had deliveries to make.” He said, leaning back. “And I may have made them slip it after overhearin’ yer name. Couldn’t resist my charm.”

“You’re ridiculous, ‘Samu.” You smiled, for the first time in a while. He could tell that it wasn’t a normal occurrence in a while, the thought of at least alleviating your stress for a bit eased a tide inside Osamu.

Osamu took his hat off, putting it on the table next to your bed. He was humoring you, because he didn’t want you to see the first look on his face when he confirmed that it really was you who's been confined here. Not any other person with the same name. He sat on the sofa beside you, next to the window. You’d lie if your heart didn’t clench at the sight of him, If you’d look inside, you’ll spot the tinge of pain; but outside, all Osamu could see was that you still adored him. By that, he meant his brother. He knew he might trigger you due to him being the twin of what was your love. Still is, he was sure.

Clearing his throat, your trance broke. “Y/N.”

“Hm.” You lay your back flat on the metal headboard covered in the white pillows of your white bed, in your white room.

“Why are you here?” It was true that Osamu had heard you were confined in the hospital while he was making deliveries to your place coincidentally, so he couldn’t help but perk his ears. Despite your break-up, he was still your childhood friend, and although he heard of the story of how it ended from none other than his brother’s dull voice on the phone that night he was closing up Onigiri Miya; he knew there must’ve been something that caused you to do that other than Atsumu himself. He’d investigate, and help rekindle the lifelong relationship you both shared if he wasn’t so busy himself. And if his brother hadn’t immediately used a rebound to inflict immediate pain upon you, maybe he’d have considered it.

“I don’t know.” You shrugged.

Osamu sighs, “You do. Tell me,” he looks at you with sincerity, placing his coarse palm from the work he’s been juggling in, on top of your pale, lifeless hands. Almost wincing at the cold temperature they held, “Please.”

You sucked in a breath, he placed his, what you assume to be, warm hand on top of yours. But you felt nothing. So you let it out, “I have Friedreich’s Ataxia. Apparently it’s genetic, uh, doesn’t allow me to use these flimsy things.” You glanced at your legs, slightly waving them along with your hands, “I can’t even feel the warmth of your hand right now. I mean, that is, if you’re warm. It’s always cold here. The doctors said they’d try to give me therapy and train me to walk again, or actually use my hands.” You chuckle.

“And something about heart surgery, though that won’t really extend my life for long.” You finish, opting to insert a joke that you thought was bright until you let it out, “Better than turning out blind though! Haha… Kidding, it may happen to me too, which sucks, by the way.”

Your rambling was cut off when you were met with an intense stare from Osamu. “And you’ve found out of this, when?”

“...Nearly 2 months.. Ago?” You gulped the lump that was stuck in your throat.

Osamu rested his elbows on his knees, thinking. “So that was the reason?”

You retained silence.

He sighs. “I knew it would be a valid reason, but I really wasn’t hoping it would be this.” His face hidden in his big hands, frustration was visible. But it was the breathy question of, “Why are the gods this cruel?” To which your eyes soften, albeit a little bit.

“Samu, can I ask a favor?”

He looks at you, face out of his palms. “Sure.”

“Can you… Turn the TV on?” He raised a brow at first before standing up and getting the remote by the stand, switching it on, immediately being greeted by the sports channel on Volleyball. Oh, they had a game today. He had nearly forgotten due to this new revelation from you. He looked at your face that was staring directly at the screen, then he saw the number thirteen, and his heart clenched tighter.

He placed the remote on the table beside your bed, and he took his black cap. He spun it on his finger for a bit, “I won’t tell ‘Sumu.”

You hummed again, before looking at him. “Thank you.” Then he smiles sweetly at you before turning around, his face immediately turning into a painful grimace. Because even he could feel the tragedy of this love.

Each day you were gone was a punch in the gut for Atsumu. His initial lack of reaction to his overreaction, trying to get back at you for leaving him. It was wrong. All he ever wanted was to call you, tell you to come back, have you in his arms, the lot. He’d miss the smell of your hair when he hugs you tight, or the clean apartment whenever he comes home to you beaming, cooking dinner; like his precious wife-to-be. Though he hadn’t proposed, the ring he bought for you started collecting dust in his drawer.

The girl he was with didn’t really last long, she broke it off after getting annoyed by him calling your name instead of hers on any normal occasion on impulse. His head in his hands, bed half-empty. His games gave him a little bit of adrenaline, but every time he sees the empty spot saved for you in his jersey, the adrenaline will scafe off, bit by bit. It’d be a lie if he said that he didn’t at least try to call your number in the past two months, he had actually, for a couple of times. But your number was unreachable, and your social media was non-existent.

It was like you weren’t real. Like a ghost. Sand that was slipping far from his fingers, his hold. His hold loosened in a moment of weakness.

To say his biggest regret was the night you left was a lie, because the biggest regret he ever made was never immediately trying to get you back. He was dazed off in the locker rooms after one of their games, his water bottle in hand. Hinata waved in front of him, Bokuto right next; to which his daze cut off.

“You okay, Tsum?”

He smiled, nodding. But his teammates knew it wasn’t the same for a while now. He was more rigid and tired in his movements. Probably not the kind of exhaustion that could be solved by sleep.

“Yeah, no worries.” Even Sakusa worriedly glances once in a while, he still cares, though not openly shown. Atsumu slung his gym bag over his shoulders after changing, he decided to visit his brother in his shop for now. He was walking out to drive when he accidentally bumped into someone, trapped in his little thoughts about you again.

“Oh—Sorry, didn’t see ya there.” Atsumu apologized, knowing it was his fault.

“It’s okay, Miya-san.” It took a few moments before Atsumu registered who this was.

“Akaashi? Keiji? Bokuto talks about ya all the time! Nice to meet ya.” He smiled, putting his hand out for him to shake. To which the latter man does. Oh, Akaashi recognizes him, not just from being his friend’s teammate; but from being your ex. He concluded in his thoughts by the few seconds they shook hands that he wished for him to not find out about you any longer. Thinking about the pain it would cause for both of you, especially him. They nodded at each other before bidding goodbyes and heading off to their own destinations.

Atsumu drove past the busy streets of the city, traffic holding him back a little bit. He was stopped a little bit in front of the city hospital. He didn’t know why, but his gaze lingered on the building a little longer than he’d like to admit. His left hand clutching the wheel, the other on the stick; Why does it feel like… He shakes his head to rid himself of ridiculous thoughts, seeing as the cars were finally moving, he did too.

Just as his foot pressed on the accelerator, his eyes landed on you. His eyes were the widest it had been, and this was the day he felt the most emotions since the day you left him.

“Y/N?” He asks, though his window was turned up and he was inside his car. He must be going crazy. Were you on a wheelchair? Was it really you? Or were his eyes playing tricks on him again, just like it had been every time he visited places he used to go with you. Or when he needed anything in particular, his first call in the apartment would be your name, expecting an answer back like you always had been.

He rolls his window down, and at that moment he swears your eyes met before you quickly changed vision. He’d run out of his car to chase you right now, if it weren’t for the honking behind him. Fuck.

He drives forward, and goes around to park for the hospital real quickly. Just to see if he wasn’t going insane by the amount of times he’d imagined seeing you again. He looks around the area, arriving at the greener part of the hospital, probably one of the places where they take some patients out for walks. Atsumu’s heart beats faster when he sees the same beautifully familiar hair, and angelic face he’s fallen in love with. He misses a beat, he stops, just plainly admiring; he notices your weaker stature, and your crest-fallen face. Paler skin, and limp limbs. And for that mistake, he fails to notice you were being guided in already.

He panics. About to bolt when he suddenly trips over his feet, and gets a bloody knee as the door closes. That doesn’t stop Atsumu, no, he’s dealt with much worse; one of which was the pain of not having you in his life. So he runs, and he sees the wheelchair you resided in enter the elevator; and once again, he swears, he swears, that his breath catches in his throat as he sees your eyes, and you see his.

And maybe he didn’t know, and maybe you didn’t know, but for the first time in months, you both saw colors.

“She was there, ‘Samu, I was sure of it!” Atsumu yells even in the midday of the bustling Onigiri Miya.

“Yer delusional as always, ‘Sumu. Ya should get yer head checked.” Osamu says from the kitchen in the back, there was faint squealing from the men and women alike in the restaurant. Feeling blessed for being able to witness the Miya twins in one sitting. And bantering, no less; even if it was over a girl.

“I can’t have mistaken it. I know when I see ma’ girl, Samu. Ya know it.” Atsumu groans, burying his head in his arms on the counter. “But when I asked the nurses, none of ‘em are giving me details. They say there ain’t Y/N L/N on their recent list of confined patients.”

Osamu was lucky he was working the kitchen right now, because he was low-key nervous of what to say, to not compromise you. How was his brother so close to it anyway? He wants to drive him away. He thinks he can agree with your rationale, but when he thinks of his brother’s side, wouldn’t it be more painful to just find out that you were just… Gone? His mind was splitting in half because of this dreaded situation, until Atsumu called him out again.

“Hey, ya scrub! Are ya even listening to me?” Atsumu lightheartedly yelled as Osamu’s heart softened. If anything, he didn’t want to see his brother bear the pain of losing you, permanently.

“Yeah, yeah. Shut yer trap. I have a business running here. Yer scaring off the customers.” Osamu says, getting out of the kitchen, arms crossed with a scowl.

“Help me, Samu. I just… Can’t bear to lose her.” Atsumu finally says, with a lace of evident longing. Osamu’s face contorts into a myriad of reactions that he couldn’t pick from. Before he settled with a sigh, and a lean on his forearms to poke his brother roughly on the forehead. A grunt of pain from the blonde.

“The only one who can help ya is yerself. If ya want to go find her, go ahead. Whatever your choice will be, don’t let it end with regret.” Was all he said before he went away to tend to the girls who were about to order, red-faced, and all.

Atsumu didn’t understand it a bit. How was that supposed to help him? He thinks. His fist digging into his cheek, face contorted into heavy thinking. It went on like that. He had no other clue, but he kept visiting the hospital, kept driving through, hoping he could catch a glimpse of you; to prove to himself that you were real. But for the first few days, he had no sign of you whatsoever. He kept bugging the nurses, or at least asking them everyday and ended up getting rejected again, and again, and again.

He sat in his car parked in the hospital on his free-day. As if a lightbulb turned on, he felt stupid for not visiting your workplace. They should at least know something about you, right? You were pretty well-known, and idolized in the industry. So he drove there, he may or may not have sped up a little more than he should but all in good purpose. He arrived there, and immediately knew where to park, the signature spot for everytime he comes to drive you home. Recently hearing that you bought a car when you broke up with him, made him sink a little bit. But he saw the spot was taken, eyebrows furrowing for a little before parking to the spot next to it.

When he got out, he noticed that the car that took your spot had dusting on it. As if it hadn’t been let out in a while. Or used. Quickly putting two-and-two together, maybe this was your car? The one you had bought? And if it hadn’t been used in a while… Then that supports his thoughts about you being in the hospital. His face shifted into worry. That must mean.. Whatever you had been sick of, was serious if you haven’t been using your car as often, considering your job was hectic.

He shook the thoughts off for a while, determined to find more clues about you instead. But he thinks the search suddenly became too easy when he suddenly heard a few gossiping women.

“Oh, poor Ms. L/N… She’s been hospitalized for a month now.”

“Really? Have you heard of any reason why?”

“I’m still unsure but I heard it’s chronic, and she doesn’t really have long.”

He sucks in a harsh breath. What? His ears perk up more to their conversation. He hides behind a wall, he assumes that they’re probably heading for their lunch break as a group right now.

Then a snicker, “I know this is kind of mean, but who’ll be replacing her now? Surely her position is up for debate.”

Atsumu’s face darkens at this. Stepping out of the wall as his big frame became all the more intimidating, “I mean, she’ll be biting the dust sooner or—”

“Shut your damn mouth, filthy whore.” Atsumu says with a sneer. Chin up, looking down. “Continue that sentence and I’ll see who bites the fuckin’ dust first.” A whimper, “It’s him again!” Shuffled feet, then they’re gone and out of his sights.

It takes a sigh, and a slump in his posture before everything sinks in. What does this mean? Is it.. True?

He shook his head, sure, you weren’t looking so good when he last saw you. You looked especially sick. But it was like nobody, not even the universe, had wanted him to see you. He thought back to the gossiping workers earlier. It’s him again? Atsumu hasn’t visited in a while, and he doesn’t think that he’s seen them… Oh.

Fuck, Osamu.

He could pass off as a professional racer with the speed he was driving at, only lucky enough to not have any cops tailing him. He was breathing heavily, his brother knew about you and didn’t tell him anything apart from that vague statement a few days ago? He couldn’t help the light betrayal he felt but in all honesty, he’d much rather force his brother to take him to you now. So when he arrived in Onigiri Miya, he didn’t waste a second dragging his brother out who was grumbling incessantly.

“The fuck ‘Sumu, I have a business to run!”

“No you, The fuck ‘Samu. You knew where Y/N was? Take me to her, now.” Atsumu said, foot on the ground, he won’t let anything come between his decisions now. Taking the bag of Onigiri from Osamu’s hand, “I’ll take this too. I’ll pay for it, I need to give a treat at least but we’re kind of in a hurry.” Osamu sighed, finally getting the gist of the situation. Deciding to spare his brother, he’d have to apologize to you later for spilling the beans. But he thinks he needs to let his brother let his feelings out as well.

“Okay.”

“No, you don’t have any other cho—Okay. Okay, get in the car.”

Osamu briefly yells at the part-timer he recently hired, telling them to take over for a while. To which they nodded eagerly, and so, the brothers left. Save for the quiet ride for the first few minutes. “...How—” Atsumu clears his throat, “How is she?”

A quiet beat, Osamu thinks of his answer. He settles for a passive one, “Okay.”

“Hn.” Atsumu grunts.

Osamu leans back on the passenger seat, “Just… Just make sure you don’t regret any of this.”

Atsumu raises a thick brow at this, “Why would I?”

“I think you already know why.”

He sucks in a harsh breath at this, and the silence remains. Atsumu reaches the hospital, parks the car, and Osamu leads the way to your room. Every step Atsumu took felt like the ground was shaking and trying to eat him whole. He wanted to see your pretty face again, your smile that could make his day whole and puff his chest out, or your hands that would comb through his hair and ask how it’s so soft when he bleaches it regularly.

So why was he seeing your writhing body under nurses yelling your name this time. Osamu breathes in, slowly understanding the situation as he quickly glances at his brother who was frozen. Both of them kept walking, until they were in front of what was supposed to be your room. Door open, and multiple people, trying to keep you alive. He hears that the doctor is coming, that you should wait, that you’ll get better in no time, at this point Atsumu didn’t know if the reassurances were for him instead.

When he sees your weak hand gripping the railing of your bed, he breaks. The bag of Onigiri long forgotten on the floor as he runs towards your bed.

“Darling, hey, hey, Angel, you—Yer okay, yeah? You’ll be fine, please be okay.” Atsumu says with shaky hands gripping yours, it was intensely cold, as if you weren’t even alive in the first place. He wishes so much that he was the one to give you warmth. “Look at me, you’ll be okay.”

And for the second time in a while, your eyes meet his, your weak, fragile, pretty little eyes; finally meeting him. The nurses noticed you calming down more, but your state wasn’t getting any better. They were initially going to let Atsumu out, but noticing the intimate relationship you two seemed to have displayed, they decided against it. More focused on bringing you back to life.

You had the heart surgery. You took the leap to extend your life, ever since you caught a glimpse of him a few days back; you just knew that the biggest regret you’d ever have is to never try. You told Akaashi when he visited that you were deciding on it, and he was supportive. He was really supportive. But you weren’t blind that it was a risk that may also shorten your life instead. Though wasn’t that what you were asking for, this whole time?

So maybe the time you got out of the surgery unscathed was the calm before the storm, it was the calm before this. But you were glad that even through your hazy vision, it was him that showed. It was Atsumu that kept telling you to look into his pretty eyes, and tell you that you’ll be okay.

Atsumu thinks that even in this situation, you were the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid his eyes on. So when the most beautiful thing slipped from his grasp, with no chance of clutching it back; his heart is torn, and burnt into crisps, non-existent flakes as his mind replays every memory he’s ever had with you, and how he was standing and watching warm, sunny spring turn into the ruthless, cold winter.

Osamu watched his brother break down in front of your bed, his own tears mixing in the lot, his cap covering most of his face. Another familiar figure that frequented visits with you, a solemn expression on his usual calm face. Heavy feeling on his chest, Akaashi approached the man who lay on his knees in front of your bed while the nurses that were scrambling to keep your life had promptly announced the date and time of your death.

Akaashi handed the box in his hand towards Atsumu who was kneeling with all his might, head on the ground, continuously asking for forgiveness from you, continuously asking for more time, just a little more. He hates this, he hates it. Because, when it sank in, you were gone.

The scene of your death. ⁆ To Visualize :) But instead of it being Kousei playing the piano, it's Atsumu when he plays volleyball, but when someone comes up to him, tapping on his back with a bright smile for an interview after the game; it's not you.

[lulu-zodiac]

Title: Twelve Phases of the Moon

Pairing: Castiel/Dean Winchester

Tags: Purgatory Destiel, Pining

Summary: The quiet of purgatory makes it too easy to hear Dean.

If you want to be added to my fic tag list, let me know! <3.

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Purgatory is quiet.

Not the iridescent, awed quiet of heaven. Not even the quiet of earth that is never really quiet, but which Castiel has learned to love. Soft, stolen moments of golden summer sun slanting through the windshield of the impala; exhausted, unspoken conversations at 2am in harshly lit roadside diners; the repetitive hush of Sam and Dean’s breathing in dark motel rooms. Purgatory is quiet like a crypt. Rigid, dark, endless. It’s quiet in the same way a dead body is completely still. There is that same sense of wrongness to the silence that swathes everything here. Castiel has never felt more aware of his own heartbeat, how much it aches.

The quiet makes it too easy to hear Dean.

Castiel can’t decide if this is a blessing or a curse. Perhaps both. He has always heard the prayers directed to him, of course. But on heaven and earth, they’re hazy, faraway, easy to tune out if he tries. Here is different. Through the stillness, Dean’s prayers feel closer, disarmingly intimate. As though Dean is whispering right into the shell of his ear.

At first, it had been unbearable. Dean, wandering the endless space, shouting himself hoarse on Castiel’s name. His prayers had been abrupt, frequent, often aborted midway through. Full of the kind of rage that was a split second away from tears, his voice breaking on the single syllable of please. Sometimes that’s all a prayer would be; just Castiel, and please. Castiel had almost gone to him then. It was more than he could bear, the endless torment of Dean’s voice, slowly tearing itself to pieces in the quiet. Please, Cas. He pictured Dean stumbling around in the snarled branches and colourless fog, shouting blindly with nothing to kill, nothing to be angry at. It hurt Castiel so much it felt like physical pain, like Dean was punching him over and over again with his despair.

The only thing worse than listening to Dean slowly fall apart was knowing what would happen to him if Castiel went to him. How the Leviathans that were already so close on Castiel’s trail would tear him apart. Castiel tried not to think about how Dean might not care, anymore. That he might welcome an end to the abyss.

Time was meaningless in purgatory; it was never fully light, and dark was unpredictable, often for what felt like days. The only way Castiel had learnt to mark the passing of time was by looking up at the sky. It was choked in murky black, but he could just make out the lunar eye of the moon, miniscule ancient constellations glimmering in hope, or mockery. They were so very small, from all the way down here, but Castiel could still see them, and he held onto that. Like Dean’s prayers, sometimes he was comforted by them, other times tormented.

Three phases of the moon had passed before Dean stopped shouting Castiel’s name desperately into the unresponsive quiet.

Castiel had always assumed Dean would eventually go quiet like everything else in the quagmire of purgatory. The prospect was somehow even worse than hearing Dean’s fear, his loss. Stillness and silence were never things Castiel had associated with Dean; whenever Castiel thought of him, he pictured the shape of Dean’s mouth as he shouted “run!”, the way he drummed his fingers impatiently on the impala’s steering wheel when they were stopped at a light, how he could only fall asleep to thrashing heavy metal music or the sound of his brother snoring. Castiel dreaded the anguished prayers, but he dreaded the inevitable quiet even more; at least when he was shouting and hurting and fighting, Dean was not giving up a part of who he was.

But silence from Dean never happened.

After a few more phases of the far-distant moon, the desperate, frantic anger faded into something different. Dean started speaking slowly, as though it was an effort just to work the words from his mouth into the ether, defeated by the inevitability of the silence that would meet them. Castiel found himself almost missing the raw agony of Dean’s earlier prayers, the fluid fear and fury of them. This was stillness, if not silence. Dean’s acceptance of his isolation, of the quiet Castiel was condemning him to. He no longer said please. He just said Castiel’s name instead, as though two words were too much energy. Castiel, like it was all there was left. Cas, heavy and pleading, but with no hope. It was the way dying people said help, when they already knew their fate was sealed.

It took everything Castiel had not to go to him. But the Leviathan were still close behind him, and he knew it was impossible.

Slowly, Dean’s prayers evolved. There became a numbed quality to them, as though Dean was no longer sure if it was him saying them. They grew more unpredictable; sometimes full of anger or grief, sometimes strangely empty. Gradually, they lost their disjointed quality, often becoming longer, more contemplative. Sometimes, Dean would reflect on moments from the last few years, or even further back, from when he was growing up. These prayers were startlingly vulnerable, at times. As though Dean, lost in isolation, was using them to invite Castiel into his innermost thoughts just so he wouldn’t have to be alone.

Castiel learnt about how the dark of purgatory reminded Dean of looking after Sam when they were kids, the times they ran out of electricity and had to wait in the dark for days until their Dad got home; how time had blurred into meaninglessness just as it did here. Dean told Castiel about how afraid he’d been when he’d crawled out of hell, how he he’d stared at Castiel’s handprint every night in the mirror until it became part of him. One night, fiercely, he said, Everyone leaves me. But you always come back.

Castiel had found that the hardest to bear of all. Half beside himself, he’d almost gone to Dean that night, to prove that Dean could have faith in something. But he didn’t, because if Dean was killed, there’d be no point in believing in anything.

Dean still kept praying, prayers that made things bloom Castiel’s chest he didn’t think could exist in purgatory. I should have told you, Cas, one day through thick murky mist. We’re going to make it out of here, I promise, whispered in Castiel’s ear, over and over again, as though saying it often enough would make it true. One night, barely audible; I love you.

Sometimes, Castiel wonders if he’ll ever hear Dean’s voice out loud again. If these one-way prayers will be the last communication between them. He tries to hold onto Dean’s dogged determination, the promises he makes without even being sure Castiel will hear. The Leviathan are closer than ever now, and Castiel doesn’t want Dean’s last memory of him to be silence. He longs to sit in the same room as Dean again, hear the things Dean has confessed in his prayers out loud, be able to watch what expressions play through the complex green of his eyes. Reach out, touch his skin, the warmth of it.

It’s so cold here. Tonight, Castiel can see the moon; he’s been watching it for almost a year now. Twelve phases of the unblinking lunar eye. Castiel stands at the edge of a crepuscular clearing, staring upwards in reverent silence. He’s hidden by the jagged shadows of tangled branches, but, for once, they do not seem endless. For a moment, he loses himself in the hope of the moon, the hope that things beyond this somehow still exist, can exist again.

A sudden rustle in the clearing drags Castiel’s gaze away from the sky, and his gaze snaps towards the open space, defences immediately going up.

His heart stops.

For the first time since being here, he feels all the fear melt out of him as he looks at the lone figure standing in the clearing.

Dean.

Castiel can hardly believe his eyes; purgatory has a way of tricking the senses. But this is more real than anything that exists here. Dean. A year on, half-hidden in darkness, but unmistakable. Heaven or hell or purgatory, Castiel would know him anywhere.

Relief is overwhelming, but bittersweet. Dean looks wrecked. His green eyes are stark and staring, a year of being on constant alert, and the sharp lines of his faces are hollow and shadowed. Castiel watches him check the surroundings methodically before sinking down at the bottom of a particularly gnarled tree, putting his head in his hands. Even from the shadows, Cas can sense his exhaustion. He wonders when Dean last slept, if he sleeps.

Castiel can’t do anything but stare, frozen in wonderment and disbelief. Dean rubs his hands over his face, hands Castiel has seen a thousand times gripping a dagger or a steering wheel or tending Sam’s wounds. Warmth that Castiel didn’t know was possible here blossoms through him. He feels close to tears, as though his heart is on the brink of bursting. He feels alive in a way he hasn’t for almost a year. Maybe longer.

In the clearing, Dean tilts his head back, gazes up at the sky. He stares into the unblinking ghostly stars for a long time, before his eyes flicker shut.

“Cas,” he whispers, voice rough from disuse, and it sends a shock right through Castiel to hear it, out loud in the clearing like they both still exist, instead of through the ether. He’s trembling. Dazedly, he realises that the times Dean has prayed to him over the past year may have been the only time he’s spoken at all. “Cas, I know you can’t hear me, but –” he breaks off, takes a deep breath, eyes still closed. “I need you, Cas. I just – I really need you, Cas,” Dean’s voice tightens, like his throat is thick with tears, “Please.”

Castiel feels as though he’s breaking apart and being mended all at once. He can just see the moon; a year since they arrived here. Dean is still praying to him, as though Castiel is as much a part of his life now as he was then, as though he couldn’t stop if he wanted to. A year of silence, and Dean is still making them both promises.

Castiel can’t bear it anymore, can’t do anything except quietly step out of the shadows, and into the fragile moonlight of the clearing.

Dean is on his feet immediately, instincts sharper than ever – but then he freezes. His face is swathed in shadow, but Castiel can see the faint stars reflected in the green of his gaze.

There’s a pause that feels almost as long as the last year, then –

“Cas?” Dean’s voice is so full of hope it hurts, it should be impossible in a place like this.

“Dean,” Cas replies, and the silence of purgatory is broken.

[pink-flame]

WFW, JUKE, FLOWER FIELDS 💕

One more for tonight! Well, this morning since it’s almost 3am. ANYWAY...this is a lot longer than I intended for it to be and it’s almost certainly not what you wanted when you came up with this prompt but it’s where my mind went. So in the immortal words of Luke...*ba da*! Hope you enjoy it anyway my friend! 💜

After spending months trapped in a garage in the 90s, it was the simple pleasures that really stuck out to Julie now that she was home.

Of course being reunited with her family and Flynn along with the knowledge that her boys were alive and well and hers to keep were the biggest perks of this new version of her existence. But that didn’t mean she didn’t fiercely appreciate some of the things she used to take for granted about existing in 2020.

There was the comfort and convenience of having a working cell phone, all of the best and worst parts of modern living within easy reach at all times. There was the fact that she was no longer subject to the whims of Beatrice’s radio or Bobby’s tapes when she wanted to listen to music, but could simply search up anything her heart desired on Spotify. And there were the movie nights that had been started with her and Flynn in the original 2020 but had now expanded to include Carrie and the boys in this new reality. They watched action movies, and horror and comedies all crowded around the tv in the living room, Julie often pressed up against Luke’s side, his arm sliding easily around her shoulders now that they were finally together.

Still. There were a few movies Julie didn’t bother suggesting, too embarrassed to try to introduce some of her personal favorites to the group. There were the romantic comedies she thought might make the boys roll their eyes, and the documentaries she thought might bore them, and then there was her absolute favorite movie which she was pretty sure they would find unintentionally hilarious and that would be too soul crushing to ignore. So she never suggested it, even when it was her turn to pick the movie, only pulling it up on Netflix when she was unable to sleep at night or on a rare weekend she had an afternoon to herself.

Of course, she should have known better than to think it was ever safe to think she could keep anything from Luke, even something as innocuous as her questionable taste in movies.

She was curled up in her bed one night, the only light in the room coming from the glow of her laptop as she watched her favorite comfort film for about the hundredth time when suddenly there was a sound at her window. Julie just about jumped out of her skin and barely managed to hold down the shriek that wanted to escape when she realized it was Luke whose outline had appeared in her window. She clutched at her chest as her heart slowly returned to a normal speed but she still jumped up and hurried to open the window for him, stepping aside as he slid a little clumsy down to stand on her bedroom floor.

Luke wasn’t exactly allowed to climb through her bedroom window in the middle of the night but she was also pretty sure her dad knew it happened from time to time and chose to turn a blind eye out of trust. She appreciated that usually. Not so much when her boyfriend was on the verge of giving her a heart attack.

“You couldn’t shoot me a heads up text first?” She scolded as Luke trailed after her like an eager puppy as she returned to her spot on the bed.

Sometimes she swore Luke’s soul somehow knew deep down that it was intended to exist in an era without easy communication. He had a terrible tendency not to use his cell phone unless he absolutely had to.

Luke just gave her a sheepish “sorry” before crawling onto the bed next to her, instantly curling his body around hers so she could rest her head on his chest while her eyes drifted back to the movie still playing on her laptop. She was so wrapped up both in her attempts to calm down and Luke’s arms that it didn’t hit her at first that the movie playing was the exact one she had been embarrassed to let Luke catch her watching. Which admittedly, seemed a little dumb now. If she let him see her in her monster feet slippers why should she care if he knew she liked a kind of movie Flynn had once charitably labeled “cringey”.

“Uh...Jules? I think I’ve forgotten how to speak English.”

Julie stiffened as she realized her mistake but decided the only way through was to play it cool.

“You didn’t forget how to speak English,” She assured him. “They’re not speaking English. It’s a Bollywood movie. It’s in Hindi.”

“Oh,” Luke was silent for a moment. “What’s Bollywood?”

So then Julie had to explain to him that Indian cinema (which included more than just Bollywood but she couldn’t get into all of that) produced way more movies every year than Hollywood did and that the movie they were watching Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge had been playing in one theater in India for 25 years straight.

“That’s...impressive,” Luke said, his eyebrows raising as he glanced back at the screen. “So what’s it about?”

So then Julie spent probably way too much time describing the love story and all of its surrounding elements to him, and then he wanted to start the movie over so he could see it from the beginning, and then she realized that she had forgotten to tell him that almost all Bollywood movies were musicals and before she knew it, it was 2am and they were only half way through the movie.

Julie couldn’t help but let an involuntary yawn escape.

Luke was clearly trying not to echo her yawn but in the end he failed.

“Bollywood movies sure are long, aren’t they?”

Julie could only nod.

She was just about to suggest he head home and they try to finish it another time when she realized her favorite scene was starting.

“Oooh, this is the best part,” She said excitedly, slapping his arm so he would pay attention.

On screen Raj and Simran ran to each other across a field of beautiful yellow flowers, embracing each other in pure joy after being separated.

Julie couldn’t help but let a little bit of a stupid smile slide onto her face. So she was a sucker for a good romantic moment, especially between a couple who the universe seemed to want to keep apart. So sue her.

“Where are these fields of just flowers?” Luke asked, breaking the moment. “I’ve never seen a whole field of flowers, have you?”

Julie sighed. That was his takeaway?

“I think they’re actually mustard plants,” She offered.

“Mustard is from a flower?” Luke said in a tone of wonder.

“It’s from the seeds and then they...you know what that’s not the point,” She grumbled, slightly annoyed with her boyfriend’s lack of affinity for the pure romanticism of it all.

Luke must have sensed her quickly fouling mood and the reason behind it because he suddenly wrapped his arms more snugly around her.

“Hey, Julie?”

“Yeah?”

“I’d run across a field of flowers to hug you any day.”

Julie didn’t reply, just snuggled further down into Luke’s arms, and returned her attention to the movie.

Maybe they could watch just a little bit more.

[tangledstarlight]

2. “Sure, you can use me as a pillow.” For willex 😃

hello hi this could have been so much longer but it’s 2am and i gotta go to sleep, but i also felt compelled to do this tonight so here we go! and yes okay i nearly forgot there was a prompt my bad 😬 hope you like anon!! 

hurt/comfort dialogue prompts!!

2. “Sure, you can use me as a pillow.” 

The thing about traveling is that Alex really hates traveling. 

Sure, he likes going to new places and experiencing new cultures and buying hotdogs from street vendors in New York who don’t work out of a car. But that actual act of traveling? Of getting from one place to another long distance via plane? Absolutely hates it. As he sits around in hard plastic airport chairs he often finds himself wishing he could just teleport himself. Think of where he wanted to be and poof! there he was. 

But he couldn’t poof around the world and instead he was stuck on a flight back to LA from New York that was already an hour delayed and was now a further two hours delayed on the tarmac while they were on the damn thing. 

Balling up his jumper and stuffing it behind his head Alex tries to relax, to stretch his legs out in front of him a little and let the tension leave his shoulders. He thinks about the apartment that him and the band had rented for the three months they’d been in New York working on their new album. Of how he could be on the plush grey sofa right now, listening to Reggie talk over whatever film they’d picked and trying to throw popcorn into Luke’s open mouth after he’d fallen asleep ten minutes in while Julie tried with m&ms. 

But no. He’s stuck in a plane and starting to get cramp in his leg and regretting not accepting the travel pillow Reggie had tried to give him before he left. God there had better be an open bar at his sister's wedding to make up for this experience. Though he knows that’s partly a lie, because seeing his little sister walk down the aisle in her white dress will be worth it, but the way his parents will avoid him the whole weekend? Oh yeah, he’s gonna need an open bar for that too. 

“Sorry folks, looks like we’re going to be stuck here a little while longer. Please remain in your seats and if you need anything––” Alex, along with the majority of the plane, stop listening to the pilot's voice on the speaker. There’s a collective groan and he can hear people complaining and the little tell-tale ding of someone calling for assistance. 

Alex blows out a breath and tries to go back to relaxing in his seat. Which feels awkward and uncomfortable and exposed, probably due to the fact he’s got an aisle seat. Logically, he knows that. Logically, he knows that no one is really judging him right now because they’re all too busy dealing with their own shit. 

The sleeve of his jumper slips free, dropping to his neck and, without thinking, he swats it away. Belatedly, and okay yeah, only after the responding grunt, does Alex remember that there’s someone sitting next to him. 

Eyes snapping open he looks at the man next to him, takes in the long hair and the tie dye sweatshirt and the wires of his headphones and the raised eyebrow as he looks back at him. 

“I am so sorry I just––” Alex trails off because he doesn’t have an excuse. He just forgot there was someone sitting next to him. Which, the longer he looks at his seat neighbour and takes in the jaw line and the lips curving into a smile and the way his eyes haven’t left his–– how the hell did Alex not notice him when he first got on the fucking plane? (He’s going to blame it on how much he hates traveling, it blinds him to all hot people in the vicinity, even if they happen to be right next to him apparently.) He can feel his cheeks growing warm and he realises he’s just staring and hasn’t actually finished his sentence. 

“Fell– neck, y’know?” He gestures vaguely to his neck, and the sleeve of his jumper that’s still on the other man's shoulder and god fucking damn it Alex that wasn’t even a sentence, get it together! If Luke or Julie or Reggie were here right now they would be laughing at him. 

“It’s all good man,” the stranger says with a light laugh and–– god he’s got such pretty eyes that Alex is almost distracted from what he says next, “You seem a little tense there though man. You goo?” 

And see, this is exactly part of the reason why Alex hates traveling. It’s the awkward small talk on the plane or the train or when you’re unfortunate enough to end up next to an extra chatty person on the bus. It’s why he shoves headphones on and pretends he can’t see lips moving. Though, he’s maybe willing to break that rule just a little today.

“Not a big fan of traveling,” is all he says, trying not to grimace about how much of an understatement that is. 

“On planes or just in general?” 

“Just in general. Though after this it might be a plane thing,” he tries to joke, and he’s pretty sure it’s a terrible attempt but the stranger giggles and oh man Alex hadn’t thought he could get cuter. 

“Yeah, this has been a pretty shitty few hours,” he agrees, biting down on his bottom lip for a moment before seeming to decide something, “I’m Willie. By the way. Since we’re going to be stuck next to each other for a while.” 

“Alex. Hi,” and, for some strange reason he lifts his hand and waves at him. That magical teleportation power would come in handy right about now, he decides. 

But, for whatever reason, Willie doesn’t find it weird and they start talking. Alex learns that Willie’s flying back to LA because he’d been in New York for an art show, and that he’s into skateboarding and he looks really good when he ties his hair up in a bun. In turn, Alex tells him about the band and recording their first album and about his weekend. 

“So wait, your parents don’t want you going to the wedding?” Willie asks, body half turned towards him in his chair and there's a look of confusion on his face. 

“They’d didn’t explicitly say that but we all know they’re going to be disappointed when I show up,” he shrugs. It hurts, but it’s also just been a fact of his life for so long now that Alex sometimes forgets that not everyone has the same experience. And anyway, he’s not going for his parents, he’s going for his sister. 

“Man that’s fucked,” he mutters, eyes seeming to zone out for a moment, only to refocus as Alex claps a hand over his mouth to block a yawn. 

“Sorry. I put off going to sleep so I could sleep on the flight but,” he shrugs, shooting Willie a slightly sheepish smile but he just shakes his head, another smile on his lips. 

“You’re all good. When this thing finally takes off you can use me as a pillow,” there’s a slightly teasing edge to his words but a challenge in his eyes. 

And maybe it’s because he’s been stuck in an airport and then on a plane for four hours longer then he’d expected to be, or because he’s just really tired or maybe he’s just feeling brave in the face of his weekend ahead, but Alex smiles back at him and says, “You’re probably much comfier then my jumper.” 

There’s a beat before Willie laughs, knocks his knuckles casually against Alex’s shoulder. Half an hour later, when the pilot announces they’ve been cleared for takeoff and the majority of people cheer, Alex and Willie share a high five, palms lingering maybe a touch too long, but he’s not going to complain. 

He doesn’t sleep on the flight, but he does leave LAX in a taxi with Willie’s number saved in his phone with the first text he’d sent being the address of his sister's wedding and an assurance he didn’t need to bring a gift. 

So okay, maybe traveling isn’t the worst thing in the world.

[writerofblocks]

*sneaks this in* Bridget/Troy - things you said with no space between us (or) things you didn’t say at all

This was. From a long ass time ago. BUT ITS FINISHED NOW SO IM POSTING IT.

Sleepless in Stilwater

“Three.”

“Hmm?”

Troy held up three fingers. “That’s the third time you’ve yawned in as many minutes. And I’d be okay with that if you weren’t, you know, doin’ seventy on a forty-five mile an hour highway.”

Bridget broke eye contact with the road long enough to give him a sidelong glare that would wither a lesser man. “I’m not the only one doing their best Fast and the Furious impression out there,” she irritably shot back. A sports car rushed past them with an ear splitting squeal that made Troy jump, and she gestured at it. “See?”

Troy sunk back into the leather seat of the [insert car model here], returning her glare with one of his own. “That’s not the point and you know it. The point is I’d rather not end up a red smear on the pavement because my wheel man fell asleep at the goddamn wheel.”

“Oh, is that all I-” Her mouth cracked open into another face-splitting yawn; she barely managed to hide it behind her hand. “-all I am to you? Your wheel man?”

“Four. And don’t give me that crap, you’re the one that called dibs on driving.”

“I only called dibs cause you drive like a grandma on a broken scooter.”

“You mean I drive the speed limit.”

Bridget ignored him. “Besides,” she said, swerving around a semi-truck sharp enough to make him grab at the handle above the passenger window, “I’ve got places to be after this. Julius called me about a-” she let out another yawn. “-about a storage place, said the Rollerz keep their best wheels there.”

A smirk crossed Troy’s face. He waited until Bridget’s attention was on him before he held up five fingers and wiggled them. It was worth it to see the way her eyebrows dropped into a sharp V before she jabbed a finger in his direction. “Don’t you fucking say it.”

“Don’t need to say anything.”

The one finger swiftly flipped upward into giving him the bird as she returned her attention to the highway. “You’re lucky I don’t throw you out on the highway this second,” she growled, though a smile playing at the corners of her lips undercut the hostile tone.

Troy chuckled, then settled back in his seat enough to look out the car window. Stilwater was a shithole on a good day, but the oranges, purples, and blues of sunset colored the world into something more palpable to take in. Light bounced off the towering buildings of Downtown, harsh edges and cold, reflective glass softening under the gentle touch of twilight. But you could only watch buildings whiz by for so long. His gaze, as it so often did in these rare quiet moments, returned to her.

As much as he bitched about it, there was one thing he didn’t mind about Bridget being the go-to driver. It allowed him time to just… take her in. Look openly, without other people seeing and giving him crap for being lovestruck. Without her giving him crap for being lovestruck, because even after the months they’ve been together she still shied away from open affection more often than not. She cuts the sentiment with a joke, or by teasing him, or some combination of both. He doesn’t mind it- he wonders sometimes if he’s a glutton for punishment, given his career path and choice of romantic partner, but he doesn’t mind being so. Not with her around.

So he looks at her. The way her eyelids keep fluttering slightly, only for her to stubbornly hold them back open. The dark circles he’d think were black eyes if they weren’t only on her lower eyelids. She’s tapping her fingers on the steering wheel, jiggling the leg not in charge of the pedals. Any motion to tell her body it isn’t time to sleep yet. He’d make a joke about looking in a mirror if seeing it didn’t bother him so much.

That was the downside of being undercover. You got real good at seeing things people tried to hide. He had to say something. He opened his mouth, and...

“For real, though. You look like shit. Have you slept at all?”

And of course something stupid came out. Miracle of miracles, she scoffed instead of chucking him onto the highway. “Bold move to question my sleeping habits. How many used coffee mugs are on your desk again?”

Troy chose to ignore her words. “Look man, just-” He sighed, running a hand down his face. “-go home. Take a shower or something. Get some food. You need a break, Bridge.”

Bridget’s face was impassive, staring straight forward as she shifted the car into the express lane. “Can’t. Julius-”

Enough of this. “Did he tell you to do it tonight?” he asked, cutting her off before she could restate whatever bullshit task Julius had given her to do on top of everything else he’d piled on her. For fuck’s sake, sometimes it felt like she was carrying the whole gang by herself in between the tasks Julius sent down the pipeline and the duties she’d taken on herself to perform.

The glare she gave him could melt permafrost. “No.”

“Then do it tomorrow when you’re fresh.”

“I’m fresh enough,” she bit out. “You’re worrying way too much-”

The words burst from his chest before he could vet them. “I’m worrying the right goddamned amount for someone watching a person he cares about take way more shit on than she needs to.”

Bridget’s eyes went wide, whatever she’d been about to say dying in her open mouth.

Troy ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know if this is some macho attempt to prove yourself or some shit, but you don’t have to do this. Slow down. Take care of yourself. Just- please.”

She was quiet for several minutes, eyes locked on the road as she slowed to match the speed of traffic. He’d almost given up on getting a response before she spoke again. “I won’t go to the storage place tonight. It’s-” She swallowed. “It’s late. Rollerz’ll be getting the cars out for races by now, there’s bound to be way more hanging around than during the day.”

He knows those justifications. Her saying he’s right without saying it directly. When she spoke again, her voice was careful. “Got anything else going on later?”

Manila folders scattered across a coffee table, a rapidly growing pile of cigarette stubs as he figures out the best way to ruin his friend’s lives-

“Nothing that can’t wait.”

When Bridget had first joined the Saints, Troy had thought her unreadable. It was easier now to read her once he knew what to look for. Her rubbing her thumb against the side of her index finger- something self soothing. Bouncing her leg- buying time to think. The lift of her head to look at him directly- she was searching him, weighing his reaction. “Feel like staying over?”

Always. “If you want me to.”

The tension in Bridget’s shoulders dissipated, and she gave him a small smile. “Of course I do, that’s why I asked,” she replied, punching him in the arm. “Dumbass.”

===

Rain tapped an improv jazz rhythm on the glass of Bridget’s bedroom window, and Troy couldn’t sleep. Blame the cigarettes, the coffee, the crippling anxiety and paranoia. The cause ultimately didn’t matter, the effect was the digital clock on Bridget’s bedside table hit 2AM and he was no closer to falling asleep than he was when he originally lay down. Bridget, though. Bridget had been asleep the moment her head touched the pillow. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel a moment of satisfying vindication.

He rolled over, resting a hand on her arm.

It was strange to see Bridget asleep. If Bridget was awake, she was moving- tapping her foot, shifting from side to side. She bounced her heels if a meeting went too long, rattling the table until he placed a hand on her thigh to get her to stop (among… other reasons). If she chose to talk, she talked with her whole body, her hands dancing in the air. Even when she was seated and still, a part of her still seemed to tremble with energy, anticipation and eagerness. Not now, though. Now she laid there, the rise and fall of her chest the only motion. Light drifted through the cracks in the blinds from the streetlight outside her window, resting softly on the freckles on her cheeks.

His hand traveled down her arm, into the dip of her waist, over the swell of her hip bone. Bridget wasn’t a paper-thin waif by any stretch of the imagination, but without the bulk of her sweatshirt to fill out her usual silhouette, she looked… smaller. More vulnerable. Which was ridiculous, he’d seen what she could do with a gun- hell, forget a gun, he’d seen the havoc she created with her fists alone- but somehow. Somehow that veneer was stripped away in the hazy orange light of a half-dead lamppost bulb, and the only thing left was a tired twenty-one year old who needed a hell of a lot more sleep than she was getting.

Christ. She really was twenty-one, wasn’t she? The face she wore around the other Saints made her seem older than that. It was all harsh angles and stony silences, only a twitch of a smile or a slight furrow in her brow betraying the emotions running electric through her veins. The uncertainty there at the beginning had long since suffocated under a rap sheet he hated to tally up in his head. It was a thing with no remorse, and little room for mercy.

And yet that face was forgotten in her sleep. The ever present tension slackened, releasing that hardened shell and letting it fall away in favor of something softer. She denied the existence of that softness, but he knew. He was allowed to know, he realized, warmth settling in his chest at the thought. Of all people, she’d offered that gift to him.

And it’s a gift you’ll lose soon.

The thought cut a sharp line through the haze, frozen against the warmth of the moment. Troy stilled, his hand resting on her waist. Somewhere in between the light on her cheeks and the slow, steady rise and fall of her chest, he’d forgotten what would be waiting for them. That as much as he tried to dodge and delay, the day Chief Monroe decided it was time to pull the plug on the Saints was coming sooner than later- and Bridget, ambitious and unknowing, was only hastening that end.

His sigh was frayed, thin and trailing off into nothing. This relationship was never going to last forever. He’d known that going in, had willingly condemned them both to heartbreak, but it hadn’t mattered then. That future had drowned in the affection in her gaze. The warmth of her laughter. The spark of her lips on his. But now…

Troy cupped Bridget’s cheek, pressing his forehead gently against hers as he closed his eyes. “I’m gonna miss you,” he whispered. He had to say it, just once. Even if she didn’t hear it- since she would never hear it- it needed to escape before it withered under his held tongue. It needed to exist, just for a moment, all his regrets pouring into that simple, weighted phrase.

At some point she’d wake up, either through him gently shaking her or her own merit. Either way she’d grouch at him for not waking her up sooner, blinking blearily at him in a hopelessly endearing way she’d punch him for if he ever mentioned it. She’d whip the covers off of both of them, laughing when he protests. Showers would follow, breakfast of some sort, and time would continue to march forward to that inevitable, heartbreaking point.

But that was a future they didn’t have to face yet. For now, they could stay like this- curling into each other, breath to breath and at peace.

For now, he’d save her a rude awakening.

[dracosathenaeum]

Playing in the Rain

Summary: Draco hates the rain but ends up playing in it with you

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Reader

Word Count: 792

#A/N: Requested by @beiahadid​ thank you for requesting!! and I'm sorry it took me so long to write it! I needed a break from the angst I was writing and this basically wrote itself so I hope you like it!! Thank again!! 

If there was one thing Draco hated more than Harry Potter, it was rain… and storms. Being British, you’d think he’d be used to the constant rain and muggy weather; but no. The sound of rain that soothed you, was the same sound that instantly put Draco into a bad mood. Yet here he was, stood in the archway of the courtyard; watching you twirl in the rain; arms open, head tilted up to the sky. The look of utter joy plastered across your face was the opposite to his own.

The sight of you looking so happy and content was almost enough for him to ignore the fact that rain was splashing up at his ankles. The things he did for you.

Usually during storms Draco would make sure to lie on top of you, trapping you in his bed so that this very situation wouldn’t occur. He knew you loved the rain, and he loved that about you, he loved all of you after all. But he just didn’t understand why you felt the need to go stand in it at 2am when you could be in bed cuddling with him and not getting soaked to the bone and waking up with a cold. (You’d never tell him but you’d secretly wish to wake up sick just so Draco would play nurse and baby you.)

“It’s not even raining that hard c’mon!”

Merlin help him.

“I told you, there’s nothing you can do that’ll make me join you out there. Let’s go back to bed.” The little glint in your eyes and smirk that came onto your face had him fearing for his life. He didn’t want to know what you were thinking of.

“I still can’t believe that big scary Draco Malfoy; THE Slytherin Prince is scared of water!” You took a step closer to him with every word you spoke, waiting for the right time to drag him with you into the rain.

As much as he hated being wet and soaked, he’d happily gather you into his arms if that meant you both could go inside. “I’m not scared of water; I don’t like storms. I mean who likes being trapped inside all day or getting soaked to the bone when they’re outside? And thunder and lightning are unnerving, children and animals are scared of it for a reason.” Okay perhaps that hadn’t been the best argument on his half. He had been so busy spouting his hatred of the rain that he didn’t know of your intentions until it was too late.

You had a firm grip on his hand and pulled him towards you, using the element of surprise to pull his body weight out from the cover of the archway. He steadied himself and closed his eyes, jaw clenching as he stood there, just thinking. He was gathering himself together; he literally hated nothing more than getting soaked, I mean what if he got hit by lightning??

Wet hands cupped his wet face, “Oh come on! It’s not that bad, come play with me!” You held your breath as he opened his eyes, the expression on his face unchanged. So maybe, that was a mistake you thought.

“Run.”

“What?” you weren’t given a chance to question him further as his body lunged towards your, hands gipping your waist as he tickled you. Your body writhed in his hold as you tried to get away, shrieking in laughter, hands pulling at his arms to no avail. You couldn’t see his expression, but you could hear the laughter mixing with yours. So, you instead brought your hands to cup his face again, lips covering his. But the second you felt his hands loosen their grip on you; you bolted. You ran, almost slipping over a couple times, laughter filling the courtyard as Draco ran after you, a determined look on his face.

“Give up! We both know I’m faster than you!”

“Never- “

You had tripped.

Over your own two feet.

On the plus side, Draco had been so close to catching up to you that you had ended up tripping him up on your way down, his legs tangled in your own as his hand stopped your head from hitting the concrete below. You sheepishly looked up at him, he still had one hand under your head, the other next to it, propping himself up. “Whoops?”

He raised an eyebrow as if to question the sincerity of your words, but it was not two seconds later that you both burst out laughing; Draco rolling to lie beside you on the wet ground as he lost the strength to hold himself up, tears streaming down both your faces.

Maybe the rain wasn’t so bad after all.

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