#and the book does not Stay fun :pensive:

[spider-man-2o99]

do y'all even know how easy it would be to lie about comic books on here... nobody else is out here reading all of marvel 2099 on the reg, and the official wikis are all still full of rampant misinformation to this day-- like, obviously i wouldn't, but. seriously. constantly i am haunted by the knowledge that if i were a Worse Person it would be so easy to get away with,,

[charliedawn]

I can't stop thinking about how the hannibals would react. If you refused to go out with them because you thought that they ask to mess/as a joke with you.

As someone how was asked out as a joke. Cuz I was the weird kid and still does not believe people when they do it for real

"You and me are going out on a date tomorrow."

Morgan doesn’t mess around. He’d have the papers ready and ask you without a moment of hesitation because he is sure you like him too. He isn’t one to ask unless he is sure it will go according to his calculations. But, he froze when you answered with a laugh.

"Ah ! Good one, Morgan. But no." You then resumed to reading your book and Morgan frowned. His first reaction would have been to take offense by your refusal or lack of acknowledgment. But, he was too stunned to speak.

"Well…That is rather disappointing." He then sat down next to you and looked at you again before scratching his chin pensively. "I thought you would at least think about it. Or maybe even give me a chance to defend my case."

You glanced back at him, but didn’t know how to answer. You finally sighed.

"What is there to defend ? I have been tricked before. I refuse to be tricked again…"

Morgan stayed silent for a moment before taking your hand and tracing circles on your skin with his thumb.

"I am not one to joke. I have an awful sense of humour. My brothers can testify."

You chuckled and Morgan smiled before intertwining your fingers together.

"…But, I make you laugh. And that miracle does deserve a chance, don’t you think ?"

You had never seen Morgan seem so hopeful before and thought about it for a second before smiling back.

"Fine. One date."

"Would you be interested in allowing me a delightful evening in your sweet company ?"

Hannibal Jr. is a gentleman through and through. He would find a moment for the both of you to be alone (without the children around) to ask you and try to be as gentle as he can, as he would know your earlier struggles with dating. He’d try to reassure you the best he can and convince you that he isn’t a man to come back on his word. (He really isn’t.)

He also made sure the date is worthy of your place in his heart and take meticulous care as to prepare the perfect meal for you. He prepared the room and took a long time to choose his best suit for the occasion. He wanted to beat all those times you hadn’t been properly invited on a date.

And when you came in a sweatshirt and pants and said that you thought he was joking…His smile slightly cracked because of how upset he was. Not at you. Of course. But the simple fact that you hadn’t thought that he was telling you the truth.

He took your hand and kissed the back of it—deliberately staring into your eyes.

"…No need to worry, love. You will believe me. Eventually. Now, come on. I have a bœuf bourguignon that just waits for your exquisite palate to taste…"

He smiled at you before leading you inside and closing the door behind you…You would believe him once you’ve seen everything he’s prepared for you. He would open your eyes. Eventually.

Hannibal Jr. could be patient.

"…Date me. Please." Peter asked you and you were momentarily stunned. You had known Peter for a while now, but you couldn’t have possibly expected him to actually make a move. You didn’t know what to say. You shook your head.

"Why would you wanna date me ?" All of your past requests had been lies or ways to make fun of you…You knew Peter to be better than that. But, you still doubted that he really wanted to date you because he liked you, or because he felt pity for you.

It was Peter’s turn to be stunned. You were gorgeous, funny and beautiful. He couldn’t possibly understand what would make you think like that ?

"Because I love you."

Your eyes widened and you looked up at Peter who didn’t shy away from your gaze. He held it and even leaned forward—his lips mere inches from yours.

"…Please. I love you, Y/N." He repeated and your heart hammered in your chest as you saw him close your eyes and lean forward. He wanted to kiss you. That much was obvious. And you hesitated. You didn’t want to be hurt again…He seemed to understand and sighed before pulling you towards him and resting his forehead against yours "…I love you, Y/N. Please. Give me a chance. I promise not to disappoint you or make you feel bad. Ever."

You almost cried at his pleading voice, but finally nodded as you buried you face in the crook of his neck.

"…Alright. I trust you."

"…Would you like to…go on a date with me ?" Kevin had rehearsed his speech in the mirror at least 30 times before finally finding the courage to ask you. He smiled at his small accomplishment…until he heard your answer.

"…I never thought you’d play such a cruel prank on me, Kevin."

His eyes widened and he frowned in incomprehension before running a hand through his black locks in frustration.

"Wait…You think am fuckin’ joking here ?" He sighed before sitting down next to you. "I know am an idiot, but come on ! Gimme some damn credit."

You looked away and sighed.

"Come on. We both know you’re outta my league. And guys like you never go for women/guys like me."

Kevin shook his head again in incomprehension. What did you mean by that ? Guys like him ? Did you…Did you think he wasn’t good enough ? He suddenly froze at the realisation. You were right. You were too good for him. Who was he kidding ?

Kevin sighed before standing up and nodding.

"Fine. You’re right. Guys like me have nothing to do with women/guys like you…I’m sorry I even tried."

He then proceeded to leave, but before he could get out…You embraced him from behind and held him closely.

"…I am sorry, Kevin. I didn’t mean it like that."

He knew exactly what you meant…He just didn’t want to hear it. He turned around to hug you tightly.

"…Don’t insult my tastes again. I like you means I like you. I don’t give a toss if you think you not good enough for me, because that would mean you think am a dumbass who decided to ask you on a whim. And I ain’t no bloody dumbass."

Your breath hitched before you smiled and nodded.

"Alright. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Kevin…"

Hannibal Sr. knew you were attracted to him and your past experiences. He didn’t want to rush you, but he also knew he couldn’t wait forever. So, he eventually hinted that he may enjoy to spend a little time with you. But, he knew you wouldn’t believe him at first.

He kissed the back of your hand and smiled.

"I never joke about the matters of the heart, my little lamb."

He then stroked your cheek with the back of his hand, his knuckles barely grazing your lips as he smirked. He then playfully winked at you.

"Besides…I am quite curious as to what a little lamb like you may offer me ?"

He then stroked your lips with his thumb and his eyes stayed there for a moment before he grinned and raised his eyes to meet yours again.

"…Do tell me when you are ready to trust me."

He then walked away and let you think about it. Hannibal Sr. can wait. He has spent a lot of time in prison and knows the values of patience and determination. With time, you’d come to realise that he is the man for you. And until then ? He’d let you think and slowly come to the obvious conclusion…

[pallastrology]

sagittarius: venus vs. mars

venus

venus in sagittarius is more of a daydreamer. they are the type to get completely lost in a book, to find themselves almost diffused into the story. they are less optimistic than some sagittarius placements, but more pensive, more hopeful. they may be quite spiritual or religious too, even when compared with a sagittarius sun or rising. they almost seem to stand on the borderline of two worlds

they learn for the love of it. sagittarius in all its placements loves to learn and grow, but when venus is in sagittarius, it becomes one of life’s chief pleasures to acquire knowledge and wisdom. the native may be something of an old soul, and have eclectic taste based on years of study and consumption of information. they are the type to romanticise learning a little bit, which isn’t such a bad thing

they can be quite shy. it’s surprising, really, to think of sagittarian placements as being shy; they’re often very lively, very friendly. but venus in sagittarius can be a little quieter, a little more thoughtful and therefore, can get stuck in their own head when it comes to socialising. once they’ve relaxed enough around a person that they don’t worry about how they’ll be perceived, their natural brilliance reveals itself

mars

mars in sagittarius lives to learn. while venus learns for fun, mars learns for survival. they can’t stand boredom, and easily become depressed when their mind isn’t being properly stimulated. in their relationships, they need to be able to have in-depth conversations and feel their partner is switched on. the native is hungry for knowledge, and they may frequently switch fields as they figure out where they fit in among it all

they have more commitment issues. mars in sagittarius can struggle a little more to commit, partially because they don’t retreat into the dreamworld the way venus does. the native is firmly planted in the here-and-now, and as a result, they are quicker to move away from a situation that isn’t serving them. this doesn’t have to be a bad thing, though it can make their journey through life look somewhat erratic

they are more physical. following on from the last point, mars in sagittarius is more grounded to the here-and-now. this makes them show a much more physical manifestation of sagittarian traits, so we tend to see more activity, more skills-based learning, more pursuit. it can be really interesting to see how the native blends two seemingly clashing ways of life, it’s part of their genius

both

sagittarius is flighty. this doesn’t always mean literally running away, but we see their desire to travel in various forms; physically travelling, escapism, dissociation and daydreaming, obsessive thirst for knowledge and often academia, flight response. this isn’t a sign that can stay still or stagnate, they need to keep learning, growing, moving

they have a wicked sense of humour. sagittarius is known for their penchant for a good joke, and their reputation is well-deserved. they are skilful storytellers, pranksters and deliver killer punchlines. there’s something almost addictive about listening to them, though they often don’t see it themselves

they are lifelong learners. with sagittarius, we often see an unquenchable thirst for knowledge; in venus, learning is a true pleasure, and in mars, it’s their motivation in life. even when not traditionally academic, sagittarius learns from life, absorbing knowledge like a sponge and, better still, learning to read the patterns that repeat through the universe. they are often quite intuitive learners, relying on common sense and their repertoire of knowledge

they are softer than they seem. sagittarius can be seen as a little boisterous, perhaps even obnoxious at times. but they have hearts of gold, and though they aren’t a traditionally romantic sign, they are creative and engaging lovers. dates lead to adventures, they’ll share their collections and stories with their lover, the debates and deep conversations can be earth-shattering. there’s nothing quite like them

[lightphieric]

999 Week Day 6 - Found But Lost

In which June is a little girl ghost

Title from the Unavowed OST

CWs: None

AO3

---

There is a shipwreck in the Pacific haunted by a single ghost. It lies equidistant from Japan and California, snugly outside the legal jurisdiction of either and an aching half a world away from the wreck of its sister. The sister wreck is overrun with ghosts, famously of all backgrounds and classes. The spirit aboard the first wreck naively wonders if they have settled their differences in death, if the band still plays for a diverse and endless ghost ball.

Death creates simple and mostly mindless creatures, of course. Ghosts could never organize such a thing, let alone conceive of it. That single ghost can only think because she is still alive.

Awake, she worries about staying alive. She learns to deflect those worries. She grows, into an eccentric but hardened young woman. She believes in the supernatural, but those beliefs have no whimsy. Precognition and telepathy, the stuff of magic to others, are practical tools for her, because she doesn’t have the luxury of a child’s imagination.

But in her dreams, she often finds herself transported, out to where her burnt body may or may not be, to meet her own youthful spirit. The ghost has things to show her. There are always avenues for a child to find fun, even on an abandoned 20th century cruise liner. They jump on every princess bed in the 1st class cabins, phasing through metal plates to find the springiest ones. They scour the library for age-appropriate books, and finding none, the woman makes up new stories to tell the ghost. They act out romantic scenarios with the anatomical mannequins in the operating room; the ghost assigns the male one a certain childish nickname and the woman can only blush.

Sometimes, the young woman wanders off and discovers things that might be of some use to her. That the ship does have a submarine bay like the one in Building Q, but it’s missing a submarine. It must have been how her captors escaped as the ship went down. She sits cross-legged and pensive on the floor, calculating all the ways this new information could factor into her plan, until the small ghost grabs her by the arm and drags her to the casino, where they play a lively game of Go Fish. It’s not the time to think about work.

The ghost dances through the foyer, laughing as she slides down the railing of the ship’s grand staircase. This is the image the young woman always wakes up on: a festive ghost ball as only a child could imagine it, the sort of frolicking she hasn’t been capable of since she died.

She gushes to her brother about the phenomenon over breakfast. She obsesses over the supernatural implications of being able to commune with her own spirit, while her brother sees the truth of these dreams: they are her way of mourning the childhood she lost. He wishes she would realize this herself, but her emotional intelligence has never been where it should be. And some days she rests her head in his lap and asks him to tell her a story. That’s enough for him.

Does a ghost really haunt that wreck in the Pacific? It isn’t easy to say, and it mostly depends on what you let yourself believe. There are days when the ocean floor is undeniably quiet, however. There are days when the young woman comes closer to achieving her goal. She comes closer to living. She comes closer to reuniting with the part of her that dreams.

[bloody-bee-tea]

Growing old together

Jiang Cheng notices that something is wrong with Nie Mingjue almost the minute he starts to go a little bit more quiet, but he only starts to really worry that something is wrong when it continues to go on all the way from their Saturday outing until Tuesday and it doesn’t seem to be stopping either.

Jiang Cheng resolves to ask about it if it stays like that until Wednesday but when Nie Mingjue wakes up quiet and pensive—though his affections are still as clear as always—Jiang Cheng thinks they have to talk about it.

Usually they both like to sort their own thoughts out first, but it doesn’t seem like Nie Mingjue will be ready with that any time soon and five days is a pretty long time, in Jiang Cheng’s book. He gives Nie Mingjue until Wednesday evening to sort out whatever has him this worried but when he comes home and catches Nie Mingjue with a very faraway look in his eyes and a little sigh on his lips, Jiang Cheng decides that enough is enough.

He thinks the best moment is when Jiang Cheng is laying down on the couch, Nie Mingjue heavy on top of him and pressing him into the cushion, with Jiang Cheng’s arms slung around him to keep him right where he is, in case that Nie Mingjue decides to run off instead of telling Jiang Cheng what is wrong.

“My soul, what is going on in that thick head of yours?” Jiang Cheng whispers and presses a kiss to Nie Mingjue’s forehead.

“Nothing is going on,” Nie Mingjue very predictably tells him and Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes.

“You would be a little bit more believable if you weren’t sighing forlornly like ten times a day. Wanna try that again?” Jiang Cheng chides him and true to Jiang Cheng’s words, Nie Mingjue sighs again.

“It’s just—I saw this elderly couple on the weekend,” Nie Mingjue starts and it makes absolutely no sense to Jiang Cheng.

“So?” he prods when Nie Mingjue falls silent again.

“They looked so happy, you know. She was walking a little bit wobbly, her crooked back clearly to blame, but he held safely on to her hand and she briefly put her head on his shoulder and then he said something and they both laughed. And—I want that,” Nie Mingjue finishes quietly.

“You want a wife?” Jiang Cheng asks, mostly to make a stupid joke and bring a small smile to Nie Mingjue’s face but he isn’t successful.

Nie Mingjue continues to stare longingly into the distance and Jiang Cheng can’t help but to tighten his arms around him a little bit.

“No, I want—I want what they have.”

“But—we are already married,” Jiang Cheng says, now confused beyond belief because he doesn’t understand what is going on in Nie Mingjue’s head at all.

“I know that,” Nie Mingjue sighs and turns his head to look at Jiang Cheng, digging his chin into Jiang Cheng’s chest.

“Then what?” Jiang Cheng prods. “What is it that’s making you so sad, my soul?”

“I’m not sad,” Nie Mingjue denies. “I’m just—I want that for us,” he whispers and Jiang Cheng frowns.

“You—want what, exactly?” he asks for clarification and Nie Mingjue sighs again before he makes it clear that he’s waiting for a kiss.

He doesn’t have to wait for it for long, because Jiang Cheng does love to kiss his husband.

“I want us to grow old together and still have as much fun as that couple did. I still want us to be in love when we hit eighty.”

“Or ninety,” Jiang Cheng immediately gives back because he does not intend to die with eighty.

Fifty more years are not enough with his husband, if he’s concerned, and sixty more years sounds so much nicer in his opinion.

“No matter how long, it just want us to still be happy and together when that time comes around,” Nie Mingjue replies and Jiang Cheng wants to argue that it matters very much how long they are going to stay together but he decides to focus on other things.

“What makes you think that we won’t?” Jiang Cheng asks, and moves his hand to card his fingers through Nie Mingjue’s hair, slightly scratching at his scalp.

“I mean, I’m not the healthiest,” Nie Mingjue mutters and Jiang Cheng’s heart constricts in his chest at that.

“But you go to your regular check-ups. We’re keeping a close eye on it and if you start to show signs you’ll take the medicine, right? You’re not going to be as stubborn as your dad and die of a perfectly treatable illness, right?” Jiang Cheng asks and Nie Mingjue’s offended look is actually pretty hilarious.

“Of course I’ll do everything the doctor says. I don’t want to die of this, you know.”

“I do. That’s why I don’t worry. We have this under control. As long as we don’t die of a freak accident, I think we’re pretty safe on the health front. So what else?” he prods Nie Mingjue who briefly presses his lips together.

“It just—it’s so much work, right? Staying together. And we both are not the easiest characters. We both have pretty bad tempers and we get angry so easily and who is to say that either of us won’t say something that will make the other so upset, or that will hurt the other so much that we split up?”

“Because we’ll work it out,” is Jiang Cheng’s answer, and he doesn’t allow Nie Mingjue to argue with him right now.

“No, listen to me, my soul. We will make it work, because we want to make it work. We’ve already been together for almost ten years, what makes you even think that after all this time there could be something you can say to me that will make me walk away?” he asks because he knows what the answer to that is.

“But I know where to hurt you,” Nie Mingjue mutters. “I know where all your squishy and vulnerable parts are and if I wanted to I could hurt you.”

“Yes,” Jiang Cheng agrees, because Nie Mingjue is not wrong about that. “But I trust you to not want that. Just like I think you trust me to not hit where it hurts, as well.”

“What if we fight over stupid things?”

“My soul, I think we have established a pretty solid communication. Even if we do fight—and let’s be honest, we probably will, given our tempers—I trust us to talk it out afterwards. It’s worked for us pretty well so far, hasn’t it?” Jiang Cheng wants to know and he thinks back to just last week when they fought over something or other and they spent around three hours not talking to each other in an attempt to calm down before they sat down and talked it out more or less calmly.

It works for them. And Jiang Cheng thinks that’s a pretty solid system.

“But what if we grow tired of each other?” Nie Mingjue asks next and Jiang Cheng sighs.

“I’ve been in love with you for almost as long as I can remember. Why would I get tired of you, if I’ve loved you for like twenty years or something now?”

“So long?” Nie Mingjue breathlessly asks and Jiang Cheng can feel himself flush lightly.

“You think back in elementary school I was lying when I said I wanted to spend all my time with ‘the pretty ge-ge’? I did not only come around to play with Huaisang, even back then, you know,” he gently tells Nie Mingjue and Jiang Cheng’s chest feels five sizes bigger when a blush creeps up on Nie Mingjue’s cheeks.

“So long already, huh? I thought that was just your typical childish crush,” he breathlessly says and Jiang Cheng wonders if he should have told Nie Mingjue about this sooner.

“So long already,” Jiang Cheng agrees. “I would say I’ve grown out of my crush because I am fully in love with you now. So I don’t really see myself falling out of you love with you anytime soon. At this point, it’s simply just another part of me.”

“You’re such a sap,” Nie Mingjue softly says, but Jiang Cheng can see the slight sheen to his eyes.

“And you love it,” Jiang Cheng gives back and leans in for another kiss.

“I do,” Nie Mingjue happy sighs before he goes quiet again. “But what if we start to—I don’t know. Fight. What if we want different things later in life?”

“I want to grow old with you,” Jiang Cheng says. “I don’t know about you, though,” he cheekily says and Nie Mingjue pointedly digs his chin harder into Jiang Cheng’s chest.

“I want the same, obviously,” he then replies but Jiang Cheng can see that his worries are still not entirely gone.

“My soul, how can I convince you that we’re going to be together for the rest of our lives?” Jiang Cheng asks, helpless as to what else to do and Nie Mingjue grimaces.

“I don’t know if there is a way,” he whispers and turns his head, snuggling into Jiang Cheng. “I guess you just have to stay with me for the rest of our lives to prove that you’re right.”

“No problem at all,” Jiang Cheng immediately replies, because honestly this is the goal. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Nie Mingjue replies. “But also—” he trails off until Jiang Cheng pokes him in the side.

“What else?”

Nie Mingjue heaves out a sigh.

“I also want us to still be able to laugh together when we’re that old,” Nie Mingjue mutters and Jiang Cheng cannot hold back from rolling his eyes, though he is glad that Nie Mingjue can’t see it.

“My soul, no offense, but I think if we are not able to laugh together, we wouldn’t be together. It’s just part of being in love, isn’t it? Of course we’ll still laugh when we’re old and wrinkly and wobbly on our feet.”

“Promise me?” Nie Mingjue asks and Jiang Cheng thinks it should be obvious, but he still indulges his husband.

“Until death do us part, my soul. I didn’t agree to that lightly, I meant it with every fibre of my being.”

“Okay,” Nie Mingjue mutters and wriggles around until he can sling his arms around Jiang Cheng and squeeze him.

It’s not really comfortable for Jiang Cheng but like hell is he going to tell Nie Mingjue that.

“It would be nice if you could say it back, though,” Jiang Cheng mutters but he leans to press a kiss to Nie Mingjue’s head.

“I love you, my heart, I thought that is obvious.”

“Still doesn’t hurt to hear it every once in a while,” Jiang Cheng informs him and he is glad when Nie Mingjue huffs out a little laugh.

“True,” Nie Mingjue agrees and squeezes Jiang Cheng again. “I love you and I will continue to love you until my very last breath,” he then promises and even though Jiang Cheng knows it—how could he not—it still feels like some weight fell off him.

Maybe he can understand Nie Mingjue’s worry a little bit after all.

“That’s decided then. And I tell you, no dying before we’re at least ninety.”

“More than half a century with you, still. That sounds nice,” Nie Mingjue whispers and Jiang Cheng feels how he goes even heavier on top of him, clearly drifting off now that his most pressing worries are appeased.

“At least,” Jiang Cheng says under his breath and closes his eyes as well.

He hopes he dreams about their future.

No one knows how he does it, but Jiang Cheng stubbornly brings them up to a 100, possibly out of spite and to prove to Nie Mingjue that he really did mean forever.

Link to my ko-fi

[tinyhistory]

Hey! Love your stories so much I just had to ask! Do you have any favorite drarry authors/stories? I sometimes compare the quality of other stories to ROA (oops!) because ROA is just that good. My personal favorites are ROA (of course!), the Foundations Series (saras_girl), the ordeal of being known (louisfake), denouement (the_never_was), Good to Me (And I'd Be So Good to You) (AWickedMemory), and To Hurt and Heal (cassisluna). Have you read these? Have a wonderful day! :)

Thank you, so glad you’ve enjoyed my stories! And thank you for so patiently waiting for a reply. I haven’t been online much in the past couple of weeks. Unfortunately I haven’t read any of your recs, but I’m always happy to add another fic to my to-read list.

I did a rec post a few months ago, but I’ll post an updated version now. The Skyhawke Archives appear to be down, which is crushing news. I’ve had to update a lot of the links.

So here are my favourite Drarry fanfics:

And We Are At Our Apogee (PG-13) by angelgazing

Summary: Draco wanted revenge, but it didn't work out that way.

My notes: Californian beaches, supermarkets, road trips, and a bittersweet ending.

-

A Reckless State of Mind (T) by Lomonaaeren

Summary: Draco is a Psyche-Diver, and his newest patient is Auror Potter, who’s been a pathological liar for over a year—and has just tried to violently end his own life.

Notes: The plot alone guarantees inclusion on this list. Probably the most creative fic I’ve ever read, and the twists and turns will keep you guessing.

-

Berlin, In the Year of Our Lord (PG) by Are

Summary: Harry is a green-tea addict. Draco stalks him.

Notes: Probably my all-time favourite fic, along with Blue Vase. It’s sparse and minimal and I love that writing style.

-

Blue Vase (M) by ivyblossom

Summary: Let’s pretend.

Notes: Draco finds an amnesiac Harry and befriends him, pretending they were once lovers. It’s pensive, short, and bittersweet.

-

The Boy Who Only Lived Twice (E) by lettered

Summary: Harry Potter is an Unspeakable. Draco Malfoy is the wizard who shagged him. Adventure! Intrigue! Secret identities, celebrities, spies! It's all right here, folks.

Notes: Action-heavy fics are damn hard to write, but lettered nails it. The action scenes are breakneck speed, the conversations are threaded with double meaning, and even the silences are tense.

-

Draco in Darkness (T) by Plumeria47.

Summary: Following an accident in his seventh year, Draco loses his eyesight.

Notes: This is one of the first fics I ever read (when it was over on FF in 2003) so it’s probably here just for nostalgia points alone. I read it when I was a kid and just thought it was a lovely golden fairytale, the best romance I’d ever read in my (very short, thus far) life. I love reading it again, even years later as an adult when I can see the tarnish on it; the things my childhood eyes didn’t notice. I don’t care. It’s my soft and fuzzy comfort fic.

-

The Flesh is Frail (NC-17) by wildestranger

Summary: None

Notes: Draco has injuries from curses and spells, and Harry keeps him company. Draco is angry; Harry is stubborn. They argue their way into a grudging relationship. It’s a short read and well worth your ten minutes.

-

Good-bye to Yesterday (NC-17) by furiosity

Summary: Draco felt ready to face even a million years in Azkaban as long as it meant that at the end of it all, he would make Potter pay.

Notes: It’s not a dark fic, but it certainly dips in and out of the shadows. If you like your romance to be sharp as a razor and bitter as black coffee, give it a read.

-

Hymn to Color (PG) by Lomonaaeren

Summary: Months after Draco cast a curse that took Harry’s eyesight, Harry is still trying to come to terms with it. Draco still wanted forgiveness, which was probably the problem.

Notes: Probably my very inadequate idea of “fluff”. It’s a quiet, introspective fic. Draco and Harry are well-written.

-

Kings among runaways (PG) by enderxenocide.

Summary: Later, the toast will be slightly overcooked, Draco will burn the eggs, and there will be another fist fight in-between the living room and the front door, but they’ll eat breakfast with second-hand plates and Draco’s great-grandmother’s silverware.

Notes: Dreamy descriptions, abstract scenes, and the characters are lovingly delineated. Beautiful writing.

-

On Broken Glass (PG-13) by coffeejunkii

Summary: After the final battle, Draco is holding the shards that are left of his and Harry’s life.

Notes: Established relationship. Harry’s forgetful and seems to suffer both short-term and long-term memory loss; Draco stays by his side through six years of post-war amnesia. Very short, just a tiny ficlet. There’s sequels (in bite-size pieces) but I prefer to read the first ficlet and leave it there.

-

Paper Dolls (M) by cupiscent

Summary: In the final year of the War, Draco gets a letter, makes a choice and pays the price.

Notes: Short, succinct, and packs a punch. No character deaths, in case the summary has you feeling nervous.

-

Portrait (PG-13) by Silent Blast

Summary: None.

Notes: Dorian Grey, but Drarry. Of course it’s going to be good.

-

Shattered (NC-17) by femmequixotic

Summary: One damned accident involving one too-lucky curse, and suddenly you'd think he was five again, with their Harry, be carefuls and their quick Levitating charms ready the instant the potion gives way and his rebelling hands lose hold of whatever's in their grasp.

Notes: Draco’s an artist. Harry’s intrigued by his sculptures and paintings.

-

Snatch (PG-13) by didntyoupotter

Summary: Harry is comatose, Hermione and Ron aren’t much help, and Draco isn’t sure about anything anymore.

Notes: The opening scene fools you into thinking this will be a light read with a streak of good humour. Don’t fall for it. By the third act, you’ll be hanging onto every word and feeling a lot of emotions. Also, back in the day, this was one of the Draco/Harry fics. Everyone knew of it. Pay your respects to your fandom history and read this beloved classic.

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The Stages of Acceptance (T) by Lomonaaeren.

Summary: Harry, already happily married to Ginny, receives the news that he's Draco's mate. Law and custom don't give him the option of ignoring the news. The stages of his reaction, one by one.

Notes: This is not a romance, and I love that the author just casually chucks all the Veela tropes in the bin and says “nope”. In Lomonaaeren’s own words, this fic is more practical than romantic. Harry is unfamiliar with the Veela concepts and hates the very idea of being “shackled” to someone; he rejects Draco at once. Draco is miserable and lonely. They do eventually come to understand each other better, but it’s a huge struggle with lots of setbacks. The general air of pessimism and misery does make the small glimpses of compassion and empathy feel so well-earned. I love a fic that rations out its happiness.

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The Stately Homes of Wiltshire (E) by waspabi

Summary: Malfoy Manor has mould, dry rot and an infestation of unusually historical poltergeists. Harry Potter is on the case.

Notes: This one needs no introduction. The writing is polished, the characterisation perfect, and the dialogue is fun. I love the humour woven throughout it.

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Then Comes a Mist and a Weeping Rain (E) by faithwood.

Summary: It always rains for Draco Malfoy. Metaphorically. And literally. Ever since he had accidentally Conjured a cloud. A cloud that's ever so cross.

Notes: Another one that most of us know. It’s a lighthearted and fun read.

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Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow (M) by novembersnow

Summary: In the war-torn years after Hogwarts, one man has no knowledge of his yesterdays.

Notes: Another classic back in the feverish heyday of the Harry Potter fandom, when books were still being released and everyone had worked themselves up into a shipping frenzy. And no wonder this fic was an instant hit. Draco has lost all his memories and Harry’s investigating as an Auror, but the longer you read, the more you start questioning everything. Good twists and turns that lead to a tender ending.

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Turn by Saras_Girl

Summary: One good turn always deserves another. Apparently.

Notes: An inevitable inclusion on any favourites list. I think my favourite thing about it is the characterisation. Everyone is so well-rounded; the characters are brought to life and feel like old friends. All their habits, styles, mannerisms, even the way they walk or talk. While I love everyone in this fic, I have to admit that Blaise is just amazing. Of all the thousands of Blaises imagined by fanfic writers, I love this one the best. “Old bean” indeed.

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Under the Ivy (PG-13) by coffeejunkii

Summary: It is impressive how much you can learn about someone by simply sharing a few rooms. They don’t spend time together, not really, but Harry still knows that Malfoy prefers raspberry jam over strawberry, that he hums along to the Wireless when he thinks no one is around, and that his leg is bothering him more than usual when the temperatures drop below freezing.

Notes: Another old, old favourite of mine. It’s like snuggling into a soft blanket. Remus owns a cottage and Harry moves in after the war. Later, Remus lets a room to Draco, who is an outcast after the war and has limited housing options. Harry isn’t happy at first with the new lodger, but he eventually warms up to Draco. A slow and gentle romance.

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Vale Sanare (M) by rurounihime

Summary: Draco’s world gains a new component, just when he thought he’d sorted everything out.

Notes: London nightclubs, one-night-stands, loud music and lonely nights. Draco has seizures due to a curse from the war, and the seizures have led to a fear of intimacy. Short and sweet.

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The Way Down (T) by lettered

Summary: Malfoy’s all, “Come out of there,” the way you say to a cat who is badly behaved. And Harry’s all like, “No, what, I’m a hermit! And I have a chest-monster! And I am crazy magically powerful!” and Malfoy’s all, “We all have problems, bub.” (thoughtfully) “You are crazy though. I’ll give you that.”

Notes: I just adore this fic. The fic starts well-grounded, giving you a solid backstory and matter-of-fact context, but as it goes on, it slowly unravels into dreamy scenes, lush settings, and repeated motifs. It’s just such a beautiful story.

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When Love beckons to you, follow him (PG-13) by megyal

Summary: Draco wakes up, lost, somewhere in a forest. He has no idea where he is or how he got there. As he is blundering around trying to find his way home, he hears Harry's voice in his head, telling him what to do.

Notes: I generally like my fics to be bittersweet or with a bit of heartache — but this fic is just a little cloud of softness. If you need something light and lovely without being syrupy-sweet, this is a good choice!

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The World of the Living (M) by fourth_rose

Summary: A traumatised war hero and a convicted criminal under the roof of an eccentric journalist make for a rather odd ensemble, but Luna has never had a problem with oddities as long as they make sense.

Notes: The story is told from Luna’s perspective, which gives everything a lovely dreamy quality. She takes in a couple of strays after the war — first Harry, who is avoiding his other friends and has quit his Auror job — and then she offers a room to Draco right after his trial. Draco is rude, angry, and ungrateful; Harry is churlish, withdrawn, and moody. Luna doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest, and over the course of the next few months, her house guests slowly warm up to each other.

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Voices From the Fog (E) by noeon

Summary: After years of running away, Harry crosses paths with an all-too familiar face and follows him to Amsterdam.

Notes: Harry drifts across Europe, trying to forget the war. He ends up in a woodworking shop in Amsterdam, alongside a moody Draco. Atmospheric settings and solid characterisation.

[reidyoulikeabook]

B is for Blindfolds

Summary: The BAU Christmas party is held at the office. Penelope is full of terrible ideas, but somehow Emily’s are worse.

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol and drunkenness, use of a blindfold (for a fun game, not anything sexy here), pining, idiots who don’t realise their love is reciprocated as HELL (they will, but not quite yet).

Word count: 3k

A/N: okay so i really had fun writing this one!!! i have a solid solid direction of where this is headed now and i’m EXCITED about it! as always, please let me know what you think :) this is technically Wednesday’s update, and there’ll be another on Friday!

This is the second chapter of the A-Z of Spencer Reid series, but can be read as a stand alone.

The team, yourself included, are more than ready to let off a little steam. There was no point trying to book anywhere in advance, not with the sporadic nature of festive serial killers, so you’d taken over the office. Penelope had, in eager anticipation of your return, decked it out like a winter wonderland.

“Seriously, it looks like someone robbed a grotto,” Emily had joked.

She wasn’t wrong. A seven-foot Christmas tree, God knows how she’d smuggled that into the building, obscured the hallway outside Hotch’s office. It was dripping in tinsel, baubles, you name it. It even had a nutcrucker man. Mistletoe was hung, obviously in a way she believed to be covert, and maybe it would have been if you weren’t all deeply familiar with the antics of Penelope I-Love-The-Holidays Garcia. You’re all careful to sidestep it as you walk in, knowing she’s a stickler for the rules. All equally reluctant to invoke her wrath before a glass of eggnog or two.

On the table, there’s a selection of alcohol laid out. Alongside a bunch of pink glittery cups.

“I got everything!” Penelope chirps.

“I can see that baby girl,” Morgan chimes in, greeting her with a hug.

She really has: there’s juice, fruit, almost every liquor you can think of (including the fancy whiskey that Rossi and Hotch like to get out at dinner), wine of varying colours, and what looks to be some fancy fruit cider. From the spread, and the mischevious twinkle in her eye, you’re sure she won’t be letting you escape unscathed.

At that thought, you can’t help but steal a glance to your right.

Spencer. The man is stood next to you with folded arms, surveying the options in a way that almost looks pensive.

Got to behave myself

I will behave myself

Will he be drinking?

That question is answered when he takes a step towards the table, stepping behind it. He picks up a plastic cup and, playing bartender, asks.

“So, what can I get you?”

***

“Mixology is pretty much the same as any other kind of chemistry,” Spencer explains, gesturing with the hand that’s holding his cup and swilling the liquid, “It’s about balancing the right components to get the combination you want. A lot of the recipes call for more alcohol than is strictly necessary for the flavour they provide. Usually the other elements of the drink are designed to bring out the flavour or mask it, depending on what alcohol you’re using. Almost always you want to mask the taste of vodka, but tequila you try to balance it out.”

Spencer is leant on the desk next to you, rambling, having been allowed to be in charge of making everybody’s drinks over the past couple of hours.

Sipping the concoction he’s made you, you have to admit he’s done a pretty good job.

He clearly agrees, since he’s consumed more than a couple himself. He’s just tipsy enough to push at the boundaries of affection, his shoulder pressing against yours, his happy eyes a little glassy. You listen, hanging on every word he says, watching him lick his lips before he continues speaking again.

“That’s why they serve tequila shots with lime and salt.”

“And here I was thinking they were just making it fun for body shots,” Emily cuts in, making Morgan and Penelope laugh.

You see the look on Penelope’s face and intercept her before she can start, “Don’t even think about it.”

“But!”

“No!” You shake your head, “You really think Hotch is going to go for body shots?”

Hotch laughs dryly, taking a sip of the whiskey he’s been nursing, “That’s one I think I’ll refrain from participating in.”

“Fine,” Penelope pouts, “But everybody’s doing pin the tail on the donkey!”

“Pin the tail on the donkey? What are we, 5 years old?” Emily laughs.

You lean in against Spencer, who has been quietly surveying the last few moments. Your fingers slip slightly beneath his buttoned sleeves, coming to rest on his forearm.

“Balance,” You whisper quietly.

He nods, shifting to allow you to lean more closely into him on the desk.

It’s hard not to get distracted by your proximity to him.

It’s only because you’re drunk.

Maybe. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t feel good. If you squinted, you might just look like a couple. That’s certainly what it looks like to Dave, who gives you a cursory once over before training his gaze elsewhere. Your heads are almost touching, Spencer is slouching but keeps his neck just stiff enough to avoid resting atop of yours. You’re casually against his body, the two of you strewn across the desk. It looks comfortable, familiar.

It feels comfortable, familiar.

It’s only because you’re drunk.

***

After a singular round of pin the tail on the donkey, during which a blindfolded Emily decided to go rogue and try to pin the tail on the moving-very-quickly-out-of-dodge Hotch, it’s decided the blindfolds will be used for a different purpose.

Trust falls.

Well, not so much trust falls, as you’re each blindfolded and tasked with the challenge of walking across the bullpen without falling. 

“We’ll pair up!” Penelope announces, rubbing her hands together with glee, “Hotch you’re with Rossi, Emily you’re with me, Derek you’re with ____, and Spencer you’re with J.J!”

Oh

You will away the tinge of disappointment that flares in your chest at not having been paired with Spencer. Although, when you look up at him, you swear you can see a similar feeling sitting behind his eyes.

Probably reading too much into it

“Reid has an unfair advantage,” J.J argues, interrupting your thoughts.

“How do I have an unfair advantage?” Spencer asks.

“Eidetic memory,” She replies.

There are murmers of dissent, then Rossi pipes up.

“If you can’t make it across the bullpen you walk everyday without falling, I think you seriously need to consider whether you should be out in the field with a gun.”

Everybody laughs. They laugh more, though, when Rossi falls on his first attempt, crashing into Hotch. The two decide to resign from the game after that. Hotch plays the health and safety card, but privately you think it’s the double whiskeys that have betrayed him.

“You think you can do it?” You ask Spencer.

He smirks, “I could do it in my sleep.”

You shake your head, “Your legs are too long. You’re like Bambi at the best of times, let alone three mai tais in.”

“Two,” He objects, you quirk a brow and he relents, “Fine, three. And a whiskey Rossi gave me which was awful. I drank it fast and then he told me that one glass I’d had would cost $40. Who would pay $40 to drink that voluntarily?”

“Rossi, Hotch, Emily,” You smile, nudging him with your elbow, “And don’t think you’ve distracted me Spence, I’m still betting you fall.”

“You’re betting?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re that confident in my ability to mess up,” He teases.

“Something like that.”

He grins, “You’ll see.”

He takes the blindfold when it’s his turn, smirking at you as he adjusts it onto his face. It’s with a great degree of annoyance that you watch him clear the bullpen in five easy, and somehow very elegant, steps.

“Go Spence!” J.J cheers, her previous displeasure completely forgotten.

“Pretty boy!” Morgan cheers.

Without taking the blindfold off, Spencer tilts his head to exactly where you’re standing, smirking, “You wanna go next, ____?”

It’s hard not to visibly react to what his cockiness does to you.

You swallow, “Fine. Give it here.”

***

You move your feet confidently one in front of the other. After almost a year of walking the bullpen, you’re pretty certain you can get across it unscathed. You even remember to swing your hip to the right to miss the Santa gnome gone fishing currently hanging off Derek’s desk. In doing so, however, you manage to get yourself all caught up.

With a single step, you feel yourself slipping, arms flailing and managing to catch on to absolutely nothing. You panic.

"Spencer!"

"Spencer?!"

Spencer.

You recognise the feeling of his hands steadying you at your waist. He pulls you against his body, tucking your outstretched arm into him to steady you. You vaguely register Derek’s amused chuckle from behind you.

“I got you,” Spencer says, “Stay still, I’ll take the blindfold off.”

His hands gently slide up your cheeks, lifting it with care to avoid yanking on your hair. He pulls it up and away from your head smoothly.

The lights are dizzyingly bright. You blink rapidly, allowing your eyes to adjust on the face of the slightly concerned, slightly amused looking Spencer hovering above you. His left hand lingering against your cheek. You forget yourself entirely, lost in the intimacy of his touch, barely daring to blink in case it’s gone.

“Mistletoe!” Penelope cackles with glee, breaking your reverie.

“What?” You ask.

Spencer looks up. You follow his gaze, seeing the strategically placed mistletoe. In guiding you to safety, Spencer had walked right into Penelope’s trap.

Oh.

Derek teases something, underscored by a quip from Emily that has them both in hysterics. Neither you or Spencer are really listening.

He’s already so close to you. The pressure of his hand on your cheek starting to make you flush with warmth. His thumb strokes downwards, over your cheekbone. You tilt yourself a little towards him. Trying desperately to act casual, but ultimately failing miserably. His breath fans over your face, smelling faintly of rum and lime.

“Not like this,” He whispers, so quiet that only you can possibly hear him.

He presses a kiss to your cheek instead.

Fuck.

“Very exciting stuff guys,” Emily chirps.

Vaguely, you’re aware of J.J admonishing her, Rossi’s eyes studying you, Derek’s laughter, Penelope’s squeal of delight that someone had finally fallen into her trap.

Your heart thumps in your chest, and you wonder if it’s loud enough for Spencer to hear. From the way he swallows thickly, stepping back with a degree of caution and a look of a deer caught in the headlines, you think it probably was.

Fuck.

What did he mean not like this?

***

After the mistletoe debaccle, the party starts to die down a little. Hotch makes an excuse to leave, shortly followed by Rossi.

You stick around for a little while longer, devoting most of your time to the decidedly tipsy Penelope who’s hanging off Derek’s arm. The mood is nice, actually, a welcome change from the tense atmosphere that often clouds the bullpen, and its occupants wherever in the US they may be.

It’s a little after 1am when you decide to make your exit.

“Do you want to share an Uber?” You ask Spencer, gripping onto his elbow as he walks past.

“Yeah! I was planning on taking the metro but you’ll be safer in an Uber.”

“Are you...sharing it with me?” You ask, feeling a little awkward at having to repeat the request for clarification. The tipsiness you’d initially felt has started to wear off; it leaves both tiredness and an odd shyness in its place.

“Oh no! Of course!” He smiles, grabbing his satchel from where it’s slung over the back of his chair, “We’ll get them to drop you off first, then me.”

***

The wait for the Uber is silent, but not uncomfortable. You loll against Spencer, comfortable in the quiet. The only sounds to be heard of keys as various other agents leave the building. It’s easy to tell which are coming from the grind of the paperwork and which are coming from their own parties. You’d like to attribute it to a years worth of profiling experience but the tinsel around Jerry from White Collar Crimes’ neck is a tad on the nose.

You don’t speak until it arrives, climbing in and closing the door. Clicking your seatbelt into place.

“Sorry about embarassing us before,” You say, purposely being ambiguous.

He squints at you for a moment before opening his mouth, “You mean calling for me when you fell?”

“Yeah,” You say,

“You didn’t embarass me,” He says, quiet, “It was nice actually. Nobody’s ever called for me when they’ve been in trouble before.”

“What do you mean?”

“I uh, I guess I’m not the most athletic. People usually go to Morgan if they need some kind of physical help. It was nice. That you wanted me. Even if you are drunk.”

“I’d have asked for you sober,” You admit.

He squints in response, and you continue, “I trust you Spence. I trust you to always have my back in the field, to protect me. I’d trust you with my life. I mean, of course I’d trust any one of the others, the team wouldn’t work otherwise. But,” You trail off, a little embarassed.

“But it’s different.”

“Yeah. Like you’re the person I’m closest to I guess. In the almost year I’ve been here, we’ve worked together the most. I think I have the best working relationship with you. If ever there was a crisis, I’d want you. Even if the crisis is me tripping on my own shoelaces while blindfolded.”

You both laugh at that. It’d be easy to succumb to a comfortable silence again, let the moment fizzle out.

“I think the same about you,” He says, his voice cracks a little with the sincerity, “Whenever anything goes wrong. You’re the person I want to talk to.”

You move your hand forward to close the gap between you two, taking his hand in yours and squeezing it, “I’m really glad we have each other Spence.”

“Even when I beat you?” The playful glint in his eye is back.

“Even when you beat me.”

“If I remember correctly, and I usually do, you actually owe me for losing the bet.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, you said ‘I’m still betting you fail.’“

You smile, “We never agreed what we were betting.”

“We didn’t.”

"So what do you want as your prize then, Rudolph?”

“Rudolph?” He laughs a little, incredulously.

“Well I called you Bambi before and obviously you’ve proved you’re more talented, I needed to pick a respectably agile deer.”

“Rudolph was known for his nose, not his agility.”

“The song says he guided the sleigh Spence, he couldn’t have done that if he wasn’t agile.”

He shakes his head at you, “He was just in charge of the lights.”

“Did they or did they not get around the world safely?”

“The song never clarifies that.”

“It’d be a little dark for them to kill off Rudolph.”

“Probably why they didn’t include it in the song.”

You huff out a laugh, rolling your eyes, “Well anytime you decide to stop nitpicking my compliments and decide what you want as your prize is fine by me, honestly.”

He smiles, obviously having decided to answer you sincerely. You study him as he, presumably weighs up his options, his teeth momentarily catching his plush lower lip. You swear you see his eyes flicker to your mouth. But then you blink, and he’s studying you thoughtfully.

Just wishful thinking

"Caramel,” He settles on.

"Caramel?”

“Last year I went to this coffee shop and I got their festive caramel coffee. It was amazing. But they only did it that one year, they gave me the recipe for the syrup but...” He trails off, looking embarassed, and when he speaks again his voice is quieter, “I kept burning it. I had a thermometer but I couldn’t get the temperature quite right.”

"You want me to make you caramel syrup for coffee? Mixologist skills don’t extend quite that far?”

He doesn’t say anything, instead pressing his lips together in a thin line. Almost as if he’s worried for your reaction.

You're quick to follow yourself up, “Well I’d be happy to give it a try, but I think I’ll need somebody to taste test it. Make sure I’m getting it right.”

He grins, “I’m probably a better taste taster than maker.”

“Well, we’re off for a few days, assuming we don’t get any cases. You’re at Ethan’s for Christmas, right? When are you back?”

“The 27th. But I’m going to visit my mom over new years, so I’m leaving again on the 30th.”

You nod, “Well, how about the 28th?”

“The 28th sounds good.”

It’s impossibly good (bad) timing that the Uber pulls up outside your building.

“Well I’ll look forward to it,” You say, undoing your seatbelt.

“Me too.”

There’s a silence. Not uncomfortable, but definitely not like the one earlier.  Your eyes linger on one another, almost cautious. There’s a buzz in the air, one that can't quite be attributed to alcohol.

Ask him what he meant by not like this

No

Ask him

“This your place?” The Uber driver asks, clicking his tongue with a degree of impatience.

“Yeah,” You reply, nodding. Reluctantly, you push open the car door, turning your head over your shoulder to look at Spencer as you depart.

His mouth hangs open a little, words seeming to play across his lips. Not making them out of his mouth. The driver clears his throat, and you throw him an apologetic glance. Spencer’s Uber rating will be in the toilet after this.

Good job he takes the Metro.

"Have a good Christmas Spence,” You say, wondering if he can tell. Wondering if he can sense how badly you want to stay, to let this Uber drive you around the backstreets of Virginia. They’re not particularly pretty. But there isn’t much you wouldn’t do just to spend time with him. You’d even allow yourself to promise caramel syrup you know you’ll butcher.

If he knows, the wistful look in his eyes doesn’t betray it.

“Have a good Christmas, _____.”

---

Next part: C is for Caramel

Series tagslist: @altsvu @reidingmelodies @muffin-cup @reidscanehand @bvttercupbby @jessicarabbit09 @lukewearingbeanies @lady-anon-x @aperrywilliams @southsidemistress @a-broken-pact @jjongs-tae-and-biscuits @reidsnose

(message me/reply to this to be added or removed!)

[lustbile-archive]

In The Cards

HaechanxReader

Word Count: 3.7k

Summary/Warning: Smut. Best friend Haechan wants you to read his tarot :( warning! very beginner tarot knowledge. all card interpretations found on the app golden tarot

Request: can i request a bestfriend-to-lovers hyuck where he and the reader share their first time together?

This is the third installment of my week of halloween fics. Info about possible blurb night here

“Please?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s weird.”

“How is it weird?”

“Haechan seriously,” you finally turn to face him as you lay side by side on your bed, the pout and puppy eyes he wears on his face the exact thing you had feared to see as you knew he had his ways of convincing you no matter what, “you’re asking me to do a reading on your love life.”

“And how is that weird?” his voice pitches as he turns to mirror you, now with you both on your sides and your phones tucked under your respective pillows you have no choice but to stare into his warm eyes. His body is dramatically lax as he relaxes into the mattress, already ready to toss his body around obnoxiously if you decide to deny him again.

“You’re my best friend dude, it would be weird to see what the cards say about your possible romantic activities,” you were somewhat telling the truth. Yes, you thought it would be kind of weird to see what your cards had to say about his love life, the idea being weirdly intimate for you, but you also knew that there was a small part of you, an evil yet insecure little gremlin that had made a home in your heart a few months before, that would take whatever they say directly to heart. You never anticipated forming romantic feelings for the boy in front of you, actually when you and Haechan had first started getting close you stubbornly denied that something like that happening was possible, yet here you were stupidly infatuated with the boy who lays in your bed wrapped warmly in a worn hoodie with your heart trapped between his teeth, “that and I’m not even that good at doing readings yet.”

“An even better reason to do it,” he sits up with a jolt of energy making you return to your place on your back to watch him, “so even if you do my reading, like you said you’re not that experienced so we won’t take what they say to heart right? It can just be for fun.”

Your eyes squint in disbelief as you try to read the look on his face. Regardless of his words, you know it wouldn’t just be for fun. Haechan had made it kind of obvious on the few occasions that tarot readings, and things related to things of that nature, were brought up, that he truly did believe it. Haechan had a whimsy about him, a belief and willingness to believe in things outside of himself, things he couldn’t really explain, and usually you’d find it incredibly endearing, but now it just helped in raising your stress levels.

“Come on dude,” his head tilts back and his face scrunches as he tries to convince you, his determination unfortunately making a smile start to pull onto your lips, “I’m bored and the ambiance is way too sexy right now for us to not do some witchy shit.”

Again, like always, he was unfortunately right. It was late into the night, nearing 3 am, and a storm raged loudly outside. The storm being the exact thing that had locked Haechan in your room to begin with as it had knocked your power out an hour or so before the time he was meant to leave, so he had decided to stay instead. He had claimed it was because he didn’t want to bother with traveling in the storm, but you could easily pick out the softness behind his eyes when you casually mentioned not wanting to be alone in the dark.

Along with the steady storm, you had also gathered your collection of candles and scattered them lit around the room, that and the quiet sounds of Florence + The Machine and Fleetwood Mac playing from the small speakers connected to your phone only supported Haechan’s argument. You two had perfectly crafted the perfect atmosphere to ask questions to some other force, and you can’t help but kick yourself for putting yourself in such a position.

“Okay fine,” you finally respond hesitantly, a grimace on your face and you move to sit up as well. You hate the way your chest tightens at his reaction to your words, an excited jump bouncing him in the air as he leans over to the table you keep to the side of your bed. The idea that he just knows exactly where you keep your things dances tauntingly in your mind and you angrily push it down as you move to sit facing him with your legs crossed underneath you.

“Found ‘em,” he whispers as he rifles through the drawer, a quiet triumphant noise squeaking from his chest as he moves to sit back in front of you, mirroring the way you sit with a smug grin on his face.

“Shuffle them a couple times for me,” you say, motioning to the deck in his hands, and he does so immediately. His fingers work slowly and gently, the fear of damaging the deck floating around his form. He splits it a few times, shuffling them together in a neat stack before he hands them to you like a devious cat happily offering their owner a dead mouse, and you smile softly at his consideration for your things.

“I’m only gonna do a three card pull okay? Past, present, and future okay?”

“Yeah, yeah that’s cool,” he nods excitedly as he shifts around where he sits, his anticipation slowly gaining on him, “I’m cool with whatever.”

“Okay give me a question to ask while I shuffle,” you command, your hands holding the deck as you get ready to shuffle, “it can be as detailed or vague as you want, the cards should understand what we're asking.”

“I just wanna know…’’ he hesitates for a moment, his lips caught between his lips as he thinks, “love life I-.... hm… I guess I want to ask it to show me the path my love life will take.”

You only nod in response before your eyes fall closed. Your heart beat picks up and your hands shake slightly in your nervousness, but regardless you begin to repeat the question in your mind as your hands begin to move. ‘Show me the path of Donghyuck’s love life’ you speak to your cards as they dance between your fingers, your hands much more rough than Haechan’s.

His breathing is almost deafening as it's the only human sound that hits you as you work, and you hear it catch when your hands stop moving.

Your eyes open again, and with a deep breath you lean forward to spread the cards out in front of him in the shape of a fan, “pick three and put them in my hand,” you command again with your hand held out flat, “whichever three speak to you.”

“Okay,” he whispers, his fingers moving to hover over the cards and the way he holds himself he looks as if you’ve just asked him to take a standardized test. He jolts slightly before grabbing the card below his hand, and it's quickly placed on your palm. His reaction when picking the other two are not much different, and after a minute or two you have all three cards and you’re gently collecting and setting the remaining cards to the side.

“Okay,” you start as you shift to get in a more comfortable position, “we’ll start with past.”

He nods as you move to lay down the first card you were handed, the card revealing itself to be The Lovers, their naked bodies and the angel that lives behind them almost taunting you and making you tongue stick dryly to the roof of your mouth.

“Okay..” you trail off as you glance at the boy in front of you, his eyes going slightly wild at the sight of the card in front of him, “now present.”

Wanting to get out of the situation as quickly as possible, you lay the next card down, and before you now lay the two of cups. Another pairing of people to stare as you squirm.

“Finally,” you huff moving to lay down the last card, “future.”

With a soft thud, you place the card down, the naked woman that floats in the center of The World card is impossible to ignore. Haechan hums quietly in consideration, his head bobbing slightly as his eyes move across the spread before him. He looks pensive for a moment when he looks up at you, until a playful grin takes over his features.

“What does any of this mean?” he asks with a laugh.

“Well,” you start moving to grab the book you keep next to your pillow that hold the different descriptions of the cards, scolding yourself for still not having them memorized, “none of them are reversed so that that as a good sign, and none of them are The Tower so you’re not doomed to die alone I suppose.”

He laughs again as he watches you flip through the book, your eyebrows knitted together as you search for the first card.

“Okay so, your past is The lovers,” you start, one hand resting on top of the card as your eyes shift around the page, “it represents partnership, union, duality, and choice. This says it means a union of harmony, full of trust, confidence and strength, This relationship both a physical attraction and a deep emotional bond between them.”

You stutter slightly as you read, your eyes darting up to gage his reaction once the words leave your mouth, his face is soft but serious as he thinks, and you can’t help but get overwhelmed by the look.

“Okay, and then present,” you hand shifts to the Two of Cups while your other hand flips to the correct page, “this card means unity, partnership and two become one…” you trail off slightly, hoping Haechan only assumes it’s from you trying to read the page and not for the real reason that is the words in front of you makes you heart beat harshly against your chest, “signaling a union and partnership of balance, honor, and respect, The ancient symbol of the caduceus also suggests energy, passion, and sex, and the intermingling of opposite forces.”

“Oh,” he responds involuntarily as he absorbs the words you speak, and you can only wish that you could crawl into his mind and see exactly what he’s thinking.

“Okay and lastly, your future,” you shift again, your previous position suddenly not feeling comfortable anymore, “The World card represents fulfillment, harmony, and completion. It says, absolute unity, perfection, accomplishment that draws from inner and outer sources. This card signals the harmony of the inner and outer worlds, and reaching a level of enlightenment. An era of one's life is complete and there is joy and celebration that is coming to welcome it.”

With a soft smacking noise, you shut the book and place it back to its spot next to your pillow. Your words still linger in the air with a tension wrapped around them, and in your desperation to avoid Haechan’s eyes you begin to return the cards to the deck, a silent thank you being spoken in your mind as you thank them for their knowledge.

“So what do you think about that?” he asks, his voice softer than earlier, the tone making your eyes dart up to try and read the emotion on his face.

“It’s not about what I think Hyuck…” you place the hair tie that lives on your wrist around the deck to secure it and place it on top of the book, and when your done you lean back onto the palms of your hands to survey his body language while also creating more distance between you, “it was your reading so it’s your interpretation, what did that tell you?”

The words come out like you’re trying to cough up years worth of chewed gum and the way they clog your throat makes you feel weird. It may be up to his interpretation, but you can’t stop the way the cards and their meanings make you feel as they wrap a confusing combination of hope and terror around your fragile heart.

“I think,” he starts as he once again moves to mirror the way you sit, a soft but unsure smile on his face, “they told me exactly what I needed to hear.”

“And what was that Hyuck?”

“Well you know, the whole emphasis on partnership, and union, and choices. If anything i’m starting to think your cards like me a little bit cause they kind of told me exactly what I wanted to hear.”

“And what was it you wanted to hear Haechan?” you ask, his smugness and confidence making you laugh quietly.

“That I’m not putting my hope or my heart in the wrong place. I think it’s saying that I’m right in wanting the thing I want so badly.”

“Jeez Donghyuck,” you huff as you fall to lay back onto your side, a giddy feeling flooding you as he once again follows suit, “you speak in more riddles than the cards do.”

“Oh do you want me to tell you straight forward what those cards just told me?” he asks rhetorically as he lays close enough for his face to crowd you personal space, his breath occasionally hitting your skin.

“Well yeah, lay it on me Hyuck, what did those cards encourage you to do?”

“I’ll fucking lay it on you alright,” he doesn’t even give you the time to form the question in your mind of what he could possibly mean before he’s on the move. He’s on you before you can blink, his body pushing you onto your back and his hands landing against your bed next to your head and caging you in. Your body reacts before your mind does, and your hands are gripping his wrists and you legs are falling to the side to allow him to rest between your thighs, as he knocks the air from your lungs with his mouth pressing against yours.

You both let out matching hums in content at the feeling of each other’s lips. You’d call yourself a liar if you said you had never imagined what it would be like to kiss the boy that now rests on top of you, but no matter how many hours you had logged dreaming about the very moment, none of it prepared you for now.

He rests his body flush against yours as his lips work against yours, and there’s only a beat of time before his tongue is brushing against your bottom lip, begging for entrance.

You break away, the idea of him feeling the same way as you filling you with childish excitement and confidence, so much that you can’t stop yourself before you’re teasing, “so my cards told you to attack me?”

“Hush,” he pecks against your lips once before speaking again, “they told me I was completely in the right for being in love with my best friend, and that making a move would only end in happiness.”

“You’re in love with me?” you ask, those being the only words that stick in your mind, Your hands tighten around his wrists, and the skin of his face flushes in realization of what he said.

“Uh… yes,” his eyes are filled with his nerves as they lock onto yours. The internal debate he has with himself of wanting to tear his eyes away while being completely unable to is transparent and puts you at ease at the idea that he’s just as nervous as you, “I’m sorry if that’s really abrupt, but I really am.”

“Donghyuck,” you whisper, leaning up to nudge the tip of your nose against his, “I’m in love with you too.”

“Thank fuck,” he swears louder than intended, and you giggles of happiness is smothered by his lips latching to yours again.

There’s no asking this time as his tongue shoves its way into your mouth, and you let out a pleased groan when the moment he licks at the back of your teeth, his hips shift down and he begins to softly grind against the crotch of the thin fabric of your pajama shorts.

“Tell me,” he speaks between open-mouthed kisses that he places across you mouth and up your jaw, his words doing their own licking against the shell of your ear, “tell me if you want to stop, cause I don’t think I can.”

“I trust you Hyuck,” you whisper during the fleeting second that your mouth is free, “do whatever you want, I’m so in love with you.”

He groans loudly at the string of words that leave you, the noise cutting through and disrupting the smooth voice of Stevie Nicks and his body returns to rocking gently against yours.

Your hands trail away from his wrists, moving up his forearms and up until your fingers tangle in his hair. The slight tugging you give to his roots pulls another groan from his mouth, and the sparks of pleasure that hits your lower stomach at the sound combined with his hardening length pressing against you through the thick fabric of his sweatpants makes you feel like you could live in this moment forever.

You can feel your growing arousal spilling from you, the wetness making the fabric of your underwear stick to your skin, and at the feeling of him suddenly bumping gently against your clit makes you squeak as you hips begin meeting his thrusts with their own.

“Please,” you whimper out when his mouth latches onto the skin stretched over your jugular, “want it. Need you.”

“I’m gonna keep you up all night,” he growls the promise against your neck, “I have so much time to make up for.”

He sits up, a smile of pride on his face when you huff at the loss of him. You only get a few sounds of discontent out before his hands are grabbing at the fabric of your shorts, and shoving them down your legs, your ruined underwear following. The fabric is tossed behind his shoulder, and in his impatience, his hands are rough as they grab at your thighs. He pulls you, bringing you down the bed to be closer to him, before he’s pushing his own pants down to bunch at his hips, his tip brushing against you and making you jump as he slaps against his stomach.

You squirm as he returns to his place flush against you, both at the sudden feeling of the room’s air hitting your damp skin and the way his length glides against you. You can feel your arousal smearing against him, and in your desperation, you’re grabbing his face and pulling back down to meet your lips again.

Laying there, pressed as tightly together as you can be with your mouths devouring the other’s, you feel him reach between your bodies. His fingers only take a moment to dip into you, gathering your wetness on his fingers, before he’s using it to coat his length more than it already is.

He pulls at himself a few times, the moans he lets out at the friction being swallowed by you, before he’s pressing into you without warning.

The stretch and the idea of your best friend being the one that is so suddenly fucking into you has you reeling. You feel overtaken by the feeling of whiplash, and as he pushes into you inch by inch, you let out a moan that lived deep in your belly.

He pauses when he’s fully inside of you, the depth that he reaches as the girth of him making your eyes begin to roll wildly and before you can catch your breath his hips are retreating.

His pace is rough. He’s slow, and he doesn’t pull but a few inches out, but every time he returns to your body, it's a harsh thrust that knocks the air from your lungs.

It’s not long before you feel overwhelmed, the way the cozy heat from the candles and the thick fabric of his clothes as they brush against you licks at your skin and sinks you into the mattress. His mouth refuses to separate from yours, and his thrusts are consistent and unrelenting.

You’re sure you’ve never felt more held in your life as your wrapped up with your best friend, one of his hands moving to hold the side of your face while the other travels down to play with the sensitive nerves of your clit. The gentle way his hands move against you contrasted by the rough way he fucks into you has you clinging desperately to his hoodie as warm tears well up in your eyes.

One of your hands moves down as you get closer, your nails digging into the fabric that covers his ass as you desperately try to pull him closer than he already was. This and the way your hips start bucking against him makes him groan as you two get tangled in your sheets.

You feel the tingling warning of your orgasm running up your spine, a crackling moan feeding into his mouth from yours and the way you softly clench around him being his only warning before you come with a cry.

His hips stutter as he follows quickly behind, a very similar sound of bliss slipping from his mouth as you two begin to shake against each other.

You feel like you’ve been sewn into his skin as you twitch together with aftershocks, him equally as unwilling to separate his body from yours. Once he pulls his hand from between your bodies, his arms wrap tightly around your waist, and he pulls you tightly into his chest as he lays his full weight on you, and you legs wrap around him as you refuse to let him slip out of you.

“We’re going again in a minute,” his voice rasps as he presses his face into your shoulder, his nose nuzzling against the skin.

“Really?” You ask with a laugh as your hands return to their job of running through his hair.

“Yes I just need a minute,” he promises, and you shiver as his hips start to shift already without him even thinking, “it’s what your cards would have wanted.”

[sylvies-chen]

Can you do 64 or 67 for brettsey please?

Prompt 64 can be found here!!

67. “If you don’t want to talk about it then say so. Don’t lie and pretend to be fine when you clearly aren’t.”

Matt should have seen this coming.

His mom's not exactly young. He doesn't know where she's been or how she's been doing these past few years, frankly. He's had no record of whether she's been staying healthy-- through no fault of his own, seeing as how his mom's always been less than reliable since getting out of prison. Hell, even before getting arrested she'd been letting him and Christie down in smaller ways.

So when he gets the call that Nancy Casey has passed away from a heart attack at the ripe age of 68, he thinks it's just one more way in which his mother has let him down; one more member of the Casey family carrying their overwhelming amount of secrets to the grave.

He should feel sad, he knows that, but all he feels is numbness and a slight annoyance at having to deal with the funeral and all her belongings.

Her belongings aren't actually all that numerous, he realizes soon enough, which he assumes is a perk of being so flakey. All he gets is a box of things. He doesn't know what things, exactly. He'd gone to her place, shoved everything he could find into a cardboard box without paying attention to any of it, and left before he had the change to boil over with rage at all the things she'd kept from him and Christie-- the apartment included.

He should book time off or something. Or maybe visit her grave. He hasn't been there since the funeral a week ago (at which he, Sylvie, and Christie had pretty much been the sole attendants), maybe it'd do him some good in theory. But right now, every normal way of grieving flies out the door for him. He feels himself reverting back to the Casey family tradition: internalizing your feelings and keeping them secret until the day you die. Literally. It's not fun, not pleasant, and certainly not healthy. But in some weird way, it feels like his own way of honouring his mother, so he doesn't fight it. He should, but he doesn't.

Until Sylvie notices, and manages to tear down his walls in one fowl, beautifully agonizing swoop.

She picks up on it pretty quickly. He drifts off a lot during shift, he looks even more serious than usual, and he refuses to talk about it all that much whenever she asks how he's feeling-- which isn't for lack of trying, but how the hell can he put every complex little emotion he's feeling into words? Doing that will take time.

She's over to the loft one night, petting gently at his hair with her legs sprawled across his lap as they mindlessly watch TV, when she notices the box of his mom's things collecting dust by the by the basketball machine. Stella and Severide are out and Sylvie knows he's not paying attention to what's on anyway, so she turns the TV off. It manages to get his attention and he looks to her, confused.

Her attention isn't on him though, only on the box. Its flaps are taped shut at the top, his mom's name in black sharpie fading slowly. "You still haven't opened the box of your mom’s stuff?"

"No," he admits.

“Matt…” she sighs, taking her legs off his lap to sit upright on the couch. “You’ve been retreating into yourself ever since your mom passed away. Please don’t shut me out. I’m here, you know that, right?”

“I do. But Sylvie, I’m fine,” he insists. “My mom knew exactly what she wanted in life once she got out of prison and I wasn’t exaclty a part of that. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen her, I probably don’t know half of what’s in that box anyway. She hid her new life from me and Christie. She’s just next in a long line of people in my family who’ve taken their secrets to the grave, that’s all.”

“If you don’t want to talk about it then say so. Don’t lie and pretend to be fine when you clearly aren’t.”

Her tone is sympathetic but has a slight edge to it. She wants him to open up, he knows that. That’s, along with the surprising frustration in her eye, is enough to make Matt want to. So he tries.

“I want to,” he assures her. “But there’s nothing to say. She was gone before, and she’s gone now. It’s just more permanent now.”

“But don’t you think opening that box will give you some— I don’t know… closure?”

“I know it probably will, but I've been busy with contracting work and the firehouse has been busy and... I don't know, it just slipped my mind."

She gives him a look as if to say she doesn't buy it for a second, only it turns quickly into a look of sympathy. Because it always does. Sylvie, through thick and thin, good and bad, just always understands him. That goes both ways, which makes it even better, but it also means he knows exactly what she's thinking right now.

"What's keeping you from doing it now then?"

"Now?" His eyebrows shoot up in surprise, his arm stretching out against the back edge of the couch and rubbing at her far shoulder. "Well for one, I'm having a relaxing night with you, and I'd rather not ruin that with memories of my less than reliable mother. And second, I just... I'm...."

Matt finds himself choking on his words, unable to admit to himself the one word he's looking for. He doesn’t know where this sudden seriousness comes from, this abrupt inability to keep things in. It’s like an old habit, and normally those die hard. Except Sylvie’s lifting a gentle hand to caress his face, is giving him that warm and comforting look, and he knows exactly why it’s hard.

It’s hard because it’s her. It’s Sylvie, and trying to internalize things around her at this point is pointless— even if he wanted to. And he doesn’t want to. He’s stripped of all his walls when he’s around her and honestly, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Scared?” She finishes his sentence for him, giving him an expectant look.

He nods, because yes. Matt Casey, a firefighter who’s faced blazing fires and near-death experiences, is scared of opening a tiny little box. It takes a lot for him to admit that but he’s with her, which makes it ten times easier. “Yeah,” he confirms. “I know it sounds silly, but I can’t bring myself to look at all the things from her life that she left me and Christie out of. I’m scared I’ll look in there and realize just how much of a stranger she was to me— and of how much I miss her anyway.”

Sylvie exhales quietly, eyeing him achingly for a moment while she gnaws at her lip the way she only does when she’s thinking hard. Then, she gives his knee a comforting squeeze before standing up. He shifts on the couch, elbows moving to his knees as he scrunches his brow in a pensive and painful train of thought of his own. He thinks Sylvie is just getting a glass of water or a tissue or something else, honestly. But when he looks up from his brooding, he sees her over by the basketball machine, picking up the box and bringing it over.

“Here,” she says, placing it on the table in front of them and sitting back down in her spot next to him. Their legs press together, leaving no space between them on the couch.

“No,” he shakes his head as he responds. “No, I can’t do it.”

“You can,” Sylvie assures him. “We can do it. Together. You don’t have to go through any of this alone, Matt. So if you have to sit here for a minute before opening it, or ten minutes, or an hour even, then you can do that. I’ll be here the entire time.”

Her eyes twinkle kindly at him and Matt swears, in that moment, that he’s the luckiest man alive. Something about everything she just told him strikes him harder than usual, acting as a sharp and wonderful reminder that they’re meant for each other.

“I am so in love with you,” he utters softly.

Sylvie lets out a quiet giggle, moving to hold his hand and lace their fingers together. “I love you too.”

She presses a tender kiss to his cheek as he sucks in a sharp breath, his attention now turning to the box in front of them. The box looks back at him, almost as if challenging him. Only now, miraculously, it seems more manageable to him. It’s still scary, still carries a lot of emotional weight for Matt. But he feels Sylvie’s hand in his and it gives him the strength to do this.

He lets go of Sylvie’s hand for a moment to tear the flaps of the box open. His hand finds hers again as soon as its done, relying on her for more strength as he moves to peer inside the box.

His heart stops.

With his spare hand, he pulls out the first thing in the box, at the very top— the very thing that made his heart stop. Nothing else in the box matters now, he thinks. Because sitting there, in the palm of his hand, is a picture of him, Christie, and his mom. Nancy Casey sits in the center of the picture, with Matt and Christie at her sides. He remembers the day well; it was his fourteenth birthday, after all. There’s a cake in front of them in the picture to prove it. Matt doesn’t ever remember looking and feeling so young. Admittedly, he doesn’t remember being that happy around his family either. Normally, birthdays were sort of a mess for him, a constant struggle of battling with his father over how they should celebrate it that alwaus left Matt grumpy and hurt. But in the picture, his mom’s hand is tickling his side, as well as Christie’s, and the moment captures the exact moment that he and Christie reflexively lean into her chest from the laughter. His mom’s smile is bright and wide— something he rarely saw around his household.

They were happy once. They were a family, no matter how messed up everything got between them. Maybe Nancy Casey wasn’t such a stranger to him after all. That fact alone sends those million complicated little emotions swirling around in his chest.

Only this time, he doesn’t bury them. This time, they all come pouring out at once and the dam breaks. He doesn’t know when the tears started, but they flow now with a painful ease.

Sylvie lets go of his hand and pulls him in, holding onto him tight and close as his head rests on her chest. He feels tears of her own drip on the back of his head as she strokes his hair gently. He so rarely cries like this and yet now that he’s started— now that he has someone like Sylvie who lets him be vulnerable— he doesn’t think he’ll ever stop.

Only she tightens his grip on him, whispers soothing hushes and gentle reassurances that everything will be okay, and he knows that he’ll stop soon enough.

[100hearteyes]

any more thoughts on 'clarke and lexa make a porno'?

🤔😏

Part 1 Part 2

“Last but not least, worry no more, citizens of Capitola: after a grueling week of searching, our very own superhero Jasper Jordan has finally found his cape. He was wearing it all along.”

“It’s so good to know that he will be able to go on keeping Capitola safe.”

“Yes, what would we do without Jasper Jordan here to protect us? And from now on, you’ll be in Lexa Woods’s hands. Also, such good hands those are. She’s got very long fingers.”

“Oh. Well, I never actually noticed, but I guess they are. Thanks, Clarke. And now, perk your ears for the new hit single from our very own global country star, Harper McIntyre. It’s called Call Me Harp-by. She’s a creative genius!”

-

Lexa’s first instinct when she hears the studio door open is to hide. She checks her options: Monty is holed up under his desk playing on his GameBoy Color, Octavia has barricaded herself in a corner with actual hand-carved sticks and is roaring at Bellamy in a strange language, and Murphy is probably peeing into a bin behind the pillar on the far side of the room.

She’s too slow to think of a solution in the end and she can’t do anything but flush when Clarke strolls in and heads over to her, smirk plastered on her face. Lexa only has time to save her miniature Baby Yoda from Clarke’s weapon of ass destruction before her coworker sits on the edge of her desk.

“Hey, Lexa.”

Lexa forces a polite smile, trying to focus on her outline for the day rather than the butt cheeks planted on her desk, the body attached to them, or the face looking down at her with a sly grin. “Hello, Clarke.”

“What do you think of Harper McIntyre’s new song?”

The topic confuses her, but she trudges on with a brave face. After all, she’s got opinions on Capitola’s Taylor Swift rip-off and if Anya is going to make it a point of leaving the room every time Lexa so much as mentions them, then she’s going to take this opportunity with both hands and pull out all the receipts. “Uninspired. Derivative. Oddly reminiscent of Call Me Maybe by Carly Rae Jepsen.”

“Yeah...” Clarke nods pensively, letting the subsequent silence drag on for a few more seconds. “I like your fingers.”

Lexa starts at the sudden topic change and struggles to keep her blush under control under the brazen intensity of Clarke’s stare. “Yes, I- I noticed. You mentioned. On the radio, for all of Capitola to hear. Thank you, I guess?”

Clarke hums, before clicking her tongue and hopping off of Lexa’s desk. She roundabouts it until she’s right next to Lexa, thigh brushing Lexa’s arm.

Lexa tries and fails to swallow down the knot in her throat as Clarke sits on her desk again, this time on her side, crossing her legs so her feet touch Lexa’s leg.

“So a little bird told me we’re starring in a porno together.”

Lexa almost yelps, scrambling out of her chair to fasten both hands over Clarke’s mouth. “The whole world doesn’t need to know, Clarke!”

Clarke rolls her eyes, but Lexa can feel her smile under her hands. Their eyes lock, a tacit understanding passing between them. Clarke's eyes are a vivid blue, like a cloudless sky or the color of Lexa's highlighters before Anya dunked them all in a bag of manure, and it's hard not to drown in the depths of them.

"Glad to see you two getting intimate already."

They spring apart as though they were burned. Lexa sits back down on her chair, while Clarke takes a seat at her desk, which to Lexa's chagrin is right next to her own. Anya chuckles as she sinks into her own chair, propping her feet on Lexa's desk, crossed at the ankles.

"Anyway," she slams a hand over a stack of papers, making Clarke and Lexa jump in their seats, "can you guess what this is?"

Clarke and Lexa look at each other with raised eyebrows, then at Anya. Lexa shrugs.

"This is your fucking Bible," Anya says, not waiting for them to guess. "Your Dianetics.Your Loose Canon. Your gospel." At her companions' still expectant stares, Anya heaves a dramatic sigh, throwing her arms up. "It's the goddamn screenplay."

Oh.

Oh.

It's like the snap of an elastic band. Lexa and Clarke shoot out of their chairs to snatch the script from Anya's desk. Lexa gets there first (going to the gym does pay off after all), dribbling around Clarke, and lets out a triumphant cry before sinking back into her chair, thumbing through the pages of the heavy tome.

She stops on a random page and feels Clarke press closer to read over her shoulder.

-

INT. BLONDIE'S KITCHEN - TWILIGHT

Enter Lulu. Plumber by day, detective by night. She stops by the island and twirls a lead pipe in her right hand before sheathing it like a cowboy's pistol.

LULU

It seems it's time to read your...

Lulu puts on her shades. ZOOM IN.

LULU (CONT'D)

...Anya rights.

-

Lexa balks, peeling her eyes from the page to gape at Anya.

"Anya rights? Anya rights? You can't just... Arbitrarily rename the Miranda rights. They have that name for a reason."

Anya rolls her eyes like Lexa just said something obnoxiously stupid. "I didn't just rename them, you dumbass. I fucking changed them. If you'd read the whole thing, you would know that the suspect has the obligation to remain silent. No more fucking cry babies in cuffs."

"This is..." Lexa opens and closes her mouth like a fish, trying to find a thread of logic in the midst of... Whatever fever dream she's living in right now. "I thought we were filming a porno, not a sexy cop movie. Plumber by day, detective by night? That's- it's not even remotely realistic."

"Lexa... Suspend your disbelief."

"I think it's really good stuff," Clarke chimes in, her breasts still firmly pressed to Lexa's shoulder blade.

"Thank you, Clarke!" Anya exclaims, throwing her hands up and letting them fall on her legs with a loud clap. "At least someone appreciates my genius."

Lexa rolls her eyes, but fine. Fine. She will read more; she will give Anya a chance. She opens the book on a new page, several scenes ahead.

-

INT. BLONDIE'S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Blondie rubs her lover's love button like she's scratching at a turn-table, making Lulu scream louder than Saoirse Ronan in Ammonite when Kate Winslet was eating her out with her neck.

LULU

Oh, fuck! You're so good at this! Almost as good as my awesome best friend and mentor Anya, even though I've never had sex with her because that would be totally gross.

Blondie stops her ministrations to look up at Lulu and smirks.

BLONDIE

I know. After all, they don't call me DJ Diddles for nothin'.

-

Lexa stares incredulously from the two hundred-odd pages to Anya, wondering how grave a sin she must have committed in a past life to deserve this.

"What are you, a sex-deprived straight guy?"

Anya scoffs, yanking the script from Lexa's hands before she can do anything to stop it. "I can assure you there is no deprivation in that department."

"After reading that I am seriously starting to doubt that you've ever even seen a vagina."

"I thought it was good," Clarke pipes in once again. This time, Lexa turns to her with a raised eyebrow.

"Is she paying you to say that?"

Clarke tsks with a smirk. "I'm just smart enough to know better than to get on the lead producer's bad side."

Anya snaps her fingers and points at Clarke approvingly, and Lexa has never regretted a decision so deeply in her life.

"Anyway," Clarke resumes, standing up and grabbing her bag. "This has been fun, but I need to get going. Anya, stay classy. We'll work out the schedule this week. Lexa," she adds, her voice dropping a tone to turn into a seductive purr. She leans down, and it's all Lexa can do not to focus on how her breasts squish together and seem to become fuller and more inviting. She loses the plot when a pair of lips presses to her cheek in a kiss that is chaste, yet way too slow for propriety. "See you tomorrow."

Lexa's throat is dry as a desert as she watches Clarke leave, her hips swaying more than usual. She jumps in place when Anya clears her throat next to her. This time, she can't avoid her friend's shit-eating grin.

"No chemistry, you say?"

"Shut up, Anya," she grumbles, focusing back on her work. She has a full, five-minute newscast to prepare, she can't dawdle and joke around gossiping like some people. But then a thought pops up in her head and she turns to Anya, eyes narrowed. "Is this some elaborate plan to get us together? I refuse to be your little Love, Actually experiment."

Anya's stare is fifty shades of unimpressed. "Lexa. Don't take yourself so seriously. It's a bad look on you."

Lexa buries her face in her hands with a long-suffering sigh. Why is this her life? Why is this her best friend? Why is she hopelessly attracted to the worst, most unprofessional coworker on the planet?

"Why couldn't you find a normal hobby? Something that doesn't include me? Like baking. Baking would have been so much better."

"You know," Anya drawls almost nostalgically, "I actually considered that, but the criminally inclined baker niche was already taken up by Martha Stewart."

"She is surprisingly niche," Lexa says, intrigued.

"Indeed."

"But she's also able to appeal to a larger audience."

"Uh-huh."

"Fascinating."

"I know. It's like Punkya. You'd think a lesbian erotica magazine would only appeal to queer women and depraved straight men, but it's been selling surprisingly well amongst the straight female demographic."

Hm. Are all women secretly queer?

"Interesting," Lexa concedes, before veering the topic back to Anya's passion (and Lexa's torture) project. "So when does principal photography start?"

And there it is again, that nefarious gleam in Anya's eyes. It grows along with her Cheshire cat grin, curling and curling until it's pure, unbridled evil.

"Next week."

[anactorya]

I really wanna know about “never had it (so good)” but I am also super intrigued by “vamp 1” - does that imply there is a vamp 2???

So, this one started life as a response to a prompt on FFA, which in turn was inspired by @helens78's amazing There Is Nothing Wrong With Me (Loving You) (which, if you haven't read it, go do that now, you can thank me later). The TFATWS threads there seem to have died off now, though, so I'll probably just keep picking at it occasionally and see if I come up with something postable. It's a virgin!Bucky fic, which granted is kind of an unlikely premise, but hey, if someone could make virgin!Sam convincing, why not? If nothing else, it's a good excuse for lots of horny pining followed by lots of smut. *g*

-

It comes as kind of a surprise, because they've known each other for literal, non-Blipped years by now. Bucky can see, so it isn’t like he never noticed before that Sam has cheekbones that could cut glass and the eyes of a Disney princess and an ass hand-sculpted by God Himself. It isn’t like he never noticed the reckless courage, or the loyalty, or the fact that maybe 10% of Sam’s smartass comments are genuinely, kind-of-adorably funny, not that he'd ever admit it where the guy could hear.

It's just the little things piling up on top of each other. Sam’s hand on his arm in the bar in Madripoor, his low, “You good?” despite the way they’ve been sniping at each other for days. His pensive face on the plane afterwards, and the fact that it’s all the shit that happened to Sharon getting to him, over any of their more pressing problems. The steel-wired determination that seems to run through him when it becomes clear they can’t let Walker hang onto the shield a minute longer, and the quiet sorrow that overtakes him afterward, and that a part of Bucky wants to reach out and wipe away with his hands--only he can’t find the words or a way past the guilt starting to gnaw at him, so he turns and walks out instead.

There’s the other side of Sam he gets to see down in Delacroix, surrounded by people that love him. Still laughing and cracking jokes, but there’s a defensive layer that isn’t there anymore, a weight that seems to have lifted off him. The sun-warmed presence of him as they move around each other on the boat, steady and determined and with so much care in everything he does, even when he’s fucking it up. And he accepts Bucky’s apology, accepts whatever help he’s able to give, smiles up at him and says, “The people here are the most accepting in the world,” and makes it sound like, “You could stay.”

All those things pile up on top of each other, filling an empty space in Bucky that he didn’t know was there. Even still, he’s too fucking oblivious to realise what’s going on until Sam slings an arm around his shoulders at the cookout, and he’s right there, close enough their faces almost touch. Bucky can smell the smoke clinging to Sam’s clothes and the salt of. his skin and a hint of cocoa butter, can feel the warmth of him, the brush of his fingertips against exposed skin, and want swoops down out of the sky and kicks him in the chest.

He wants to kiss Sam. Maybe other things, too.

And he doesn’t really know what to do with that, so he just turns the thought over, a weird fossil dug up from some neglected, muddy part of his brain, not even noticing he’s zoned out until Sam gives his shoulder a squeeze and says, “Hey, you okay?”

Bucky smiles back at him and it’s no effort at all, which he’s still getting used to. “I’m good,” he says, and means it. “Awesome party. People appreciated my cake.”

Sam shakes his head, picking up the argument they’ve been kicking back and forth all afternoon. “I told you, they were being polite. Those old ladies are gonna roast me the second you’re not around to hear it.”

-

"vamp 1" is Bucky having been made into a vampire by HYDRA, and Sam trying very hard to pretend he's not super horny to get bitten and attempting to deal with it via dodgy vampire porn. Which is all fun and games until Bucky asks to borrow his laptop. (I did toy with the idea of a vampire!Sam one too, hence "vamp 1" but that one's even less formed than this.)

-

It's a nice morning. Quiet, sunlight filtering in the kitchen window. Sam has his coffee, his book, the prospect of not a whole lot to do, for once. He feels peaceful.

So when Bucky pads into the kitchen, scowling at the sunlight, grabs a bag of blood out the fridge and says, "Hey, can I use your laptop?" it doesn't even occur to him to say no.

It's only about ten minutes later that Sam has the horrific, slow-motion-noooo realisation that he doesn't remember clearing his browser history. His pulse kicks up, and he wills it to stop, because vampires can probably sense that shit or something.

Bucky doesn't say anything, though. Doesn't frown or look confused or, worse, disgusted.

Maybe Sam did clear his history after all. Or maybe Bucky doesn't understand how autofill works; he doesn't exactly spend a lot of time surfing the web. (Probably wise, when you're the subject of a hundred online conspiracy theories.)

Sam almost convinces himself. He half-believes it right up until Bucky closes the laptop, hands it back, and says, "You know that stuff is unrealistic as fuck, right?"

[billiewena]

for the 100k fic celebration, here a portion of the “what if 10x05 had a sastiel agenda?” AKA lil shit sam/jealous dean destiel fic I first shared a while back! been having a lot of fun basically rewriting and expanding on the entire musical episode with new songs (and lots of cute kristen & siobhan moments because OF COURSE they’re still a couple.) it was really encouraging to see the positive response to it back then and it's been taking forever because of work/other writing but I’m so excited to have this one be the first full-length fics I ever post.

It starts with costumed teenagers locked in a tight embrace with absolutely no room for Jesus.

“What are they doing?”

Marie glances over her shoulder for only a brief second.

“Kids these days call it hugging,” she says slowly. Geez, it would’ve been less insulting for her to just outright say Wow, you’re old.

Except it’s not just any of the show’s stars hugging over there. One of them is the “Dean” who’d been mid-rehearsal when they arrived and looked more like Bieber than him with the blonde wig. And the other? Well, he would recognize that Columbo coat anywhere.

“Is that in the show?” he asks, pointing their way.

Marie quickly shakes her head at the accusation. “Oh, no. Siobhan and Kristen are a couple in a real life.”

He nods and lower his hand. Got it. That’s all it was. Everything’s fine. Nothing to worry about—

“No, my play explores the nature of Sastiel.”

“The — wait, what?” he says, confused at once.

“Sastiel?” Marie pauses, giving him a second to figure it out. He doesn’t. “You know, the relationship between Sam and Castiel?”

Dean blinks.

“Sam and…C-Cas?”

“I know, I know. Edlund’s series never finished. I’m lucky I got these drafts. Ugh, it’s Midnight Sun all over again. But the love story is all in the subtext,” she says with confidence. “Can you believe there are people who still think Destiel is endgame? After everything that happened after the angels fell? After Gadreel? Please.”

He silently sounds out the word. Des-tiel? Wait…

“Ever since Cas came back from the dead and took on Sam’s pain, I knew. I just knew. Every one of their arcs had been parallel to each other’s from their fall from grace to the trials. And now with Dean gone, all they have…is each other.”

Marie sighs. “Besides, you can’t spell subtext without S-E-X.”

He coughs and nearly chokes on an asteroid-sized lump in his throat.

“I…uh. Yeah, th-that’s not…you know, I think I’ve seen enough,” Dean says with a forced smile. “Thank you for your, ah, time. I’ll, uh, we’ll follow up if we have questions about the missing persons case. I—alright.”

And with that he purses his lips, turns on his heel and walks away — nearly tripping over one of the stage chords as he does. Why are there are so many of them anyways? This is just some all-girls school production, not the goddamn West End.

He finds Sam in his natural nerd habitat (the tech booth) sifting through all the bins of A/V supplies.

“Yeah, not to interrupt the blast from the past here but it’s time for us to go,” he says, patting the door.

His brother shoots him an annoyed look but packs up and follows him out all the same. Not that Dean bothers to wait for him; no, he makes a beeline for the car as soon as he leaves the booth.

“Hey, what’s with the rush?” Sam calls after him as he runs to catch up with him at the school entrance.

“No rush,” he says shortly. “Just wanted to see what you found out before you got too lost in the nerd sauce over there.”

He doesn’t need to look back to know he’s on the receiving end of a Classic Sam Bitchface right now and continues to stomp his way through the parking lot.

“Well, no EMF, no hex bags. None of their props are remotely hinky. Talked to Maeve and all those extras in the auditorium.” Sam finally catches up and walks side-by-side with him now. “You have any more luck?”

“Nah. Ms. Chandler's office is just a pile of empty bottles and regret. She's probably just face down in a bar somewhere. Or a ditch. I did get to hear all about the director’s, ah, creative vision though,” Dean says, teeth gritted. “Apparently we go into space, I become a woman, and there’s even ninjas and robots!”

“Robots. Huh. Well, that’d definitely be a new one.”

“There’s no robots in Supernatural—”

“I-I know that,” Sam says in exasperation. “I just mean it’s, y’know, innovative. And Dean we’ve fought weirder. Remember the teddy bear? The fairies? The ballet shoes?”

“Well, you just wait until you hear about what she in store for you, Lover Boy,” he says.

And that makes Sam do an instant double-take.

“Uh, Lover Boy?”

“Yeah, your number one fan back there —” he says, gesturing back towards the school, “— was telling me all about the play’s, uh, love story between you and Cas. You got something you’ve been meaning to tell me or what?”

“The love story? Wait, what do you mean me and Cas?”

Dean scoffs, already in utter disbelief of the words he was about to say. “Like you and Cas, together. Together together? Romance of the ages the way she made it sound. Apparently it’s all in her play!”

To his surprise though, Sam just… laughs. “Well, I mean hey, that’s an improvement from the ones who wrote about me and you.”

“You got that right,” he agrees with a shudder. Meeting one Becky the Stalker was bad enough. Knowing she wasn’t alone and that she had an audience made it even worse. “She even had a portmanteau for you, dude. Like you’re some celebrities in a grocery store tabloid. Sass-tiel.”

“Sass-tiel?” He seems to seriously consider it but shrugs. “I don’t know. What about… Samstiel? CasSam? Cam? Mmm, maybe not that…”

Dean groans. “Really? That’s your issue with this?”

“Of course it’s not my issue,” Sam says. He stays pensive for a few more seconds until chuckling again to himself this time, as if he’s the only one in on a private joke. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, Cas is great but…”

“Not your type?”

“Yeah, sure,” Sam says. No, it’s definitely more than that and he’s doing a piss-poor job of hiding his amused expression.

Dean turns and stares him down. “What?”

“I dunno,” he says, his smirk fully visible now. “I just think it’s funny they’re pairing me up with Cas when the one with the ‘profound bond’ with him is right there.”

“Oh, haha. You’re hilarious,” Dean retorts at once.

“Hey man, I’m not the one who stayed in Purgatory for a year to find him.”

His glare takes on a murderous edge.

“Okay. You know what? You’re going to do that thing where you just shut the hell up! Forever!”

Sam holds up his hands in either what’s either a show of innocence or surrender.

“Alright, alright. Well, other than the Charlie Kaufman of it all I got nothing.”

“So…what?” Dean says. “This-this all... This whole musical thing, everything, it's... it's all a coincidence? There is no case?”

“Unless you're seeing something I'm not, no, Dean. There's no case here,” he says sincerely this time.

“Come on. This has classic Trickster vibes all over it.” He almost wants to turn around and start yelling, Come on out Gabriel you bastard!

“Trickster’s dead, man. And he wasn’t just a trickster, he was an archangel. And they’re all gone too.”

“Could be a lower-rank angel?” Dean tries. “I mean, Zachariah pulled off an entire apocalypse world. And that place where we were both corporate drones. Before you know it, this’ll get all Buffy and it’ll be me and you singin’ and dancin’—“

“Dean…I think it’s just fans. Look, as long as they’re not putting another love spell on one of us I couldn’t really care less what they’re doing,” Sam says with some bitterness, clearly not looking back at that particular memory with any fondness. “Just writing some songs? I mean, it’s innocent enough.”

“Oh yeah, so innocent,” he scoffs. “They’re singing about our dead parents, your demon blood bender, the apocalypse, all of it! This is just…it’s make-believe for them! But it’s our lives!”

Sam runs a tired hand through his hair. “Look, I don’t get it either man. I wasn’t exactly thinking about the books’ entertainment value while Chuck was describing my sex life in vivid detail—“

“Don’t remind me,” he says, holding up a hand in disgust.  

“—but I dunno. There’s obviously something about it they connected to, right? Something they related to, something that moved them, inspired them? And I guess…I mean, what’s wrong with that?”

There is so, so much wrong with that.

“I don’t know what story they’re reading and what Sam and Dean they’re ‘connecting’ to here. But it sure as hell ain’t us. I mean…they even made me blonde, dude.”

“It’s a high school play, what can you expect?” Sam laughs. “It was probably the closest wig they could find at Party City.”

Dean ignores him, muttering aloud as he makes his way to the driver’s seat.

“The hair…the singing…the robots… the love story…”

“You really were bothered by that, weren’t you?” Sam gives his brother a curious look.

“SUPERNATURAL ISN’T A ROMANCE!” Dean snaps. “Look, these girls obviously don’t know what they’re talking about—“

“I dunno, Dean,” Sam said in a clearly taunting voice now. “Maybe you’re just jealous of what me and Cas have.”

He flushes. “W-what? I-I’m not—“

“We could give you two a name too, y’know? So you don’t feel left out? What about…Dee-stiel? CasDean?”

And he refuses to entertain this conversation any longer.

“Shut your face! Get in the car!”

Thankfully Sam notices the shift in tone and obliges at once.

Dean, meanwhile, takes a moment outside the car to glance around — almost as if checking to see if anyone overheard that comment. Not that it mattered. Who could overhear? No one even knew they were THE Sam and THE Dean. Who cared? He certainly didn’t care. He didn’t care at all...

(to be continued)

[ravenadottir]

do you have any hcs on what type of drunk the islanders are?

cannot, for the life of me, find my old answer on this.

but it’s a good thing, ‘cause it was probably too short, and i do have some thoughts and scenarios on this one! this is gonna become a whole book :/ i might also include their favorites, or what i think it’s their favorites.

bobby.

he doesn’t know how to stay still when the alcohol goes in! bobby is the type to be dancing, singing along, singing with no music, pumping other people to join him whenever he’s feeling joyful! even when he’s in a certain mood that isn’t celebratory, he’d still be finding a way to not bum everybody out with his problems. he’s just the kind of guy to try and forget his problems while having a glass in hand! “mate!” he points to gary, noah, rahim, henrik. “i - love - you! no, seriously!” he takes a seat on their lap, hugging them as he continues. “i - love you, mate! you’re the best a man can ask! i - love - you!” colorful cocktails like “sex on the beach” and daiquiris. bobbyfish is only fun to him if he’s the one making it.

carl.

forever the quiet drunk, in a corner, reminiscing on every bad decision he’s ever made. nothing makes carl pensive and regretful like alcohol. he always refuses to drink in public because “i’m the worst drunk you can have at your party.” he doesn’t interact or talk before the sixth drink, and when he does, prepare yourself for a battle of two carl’s. “bummer” x “i want to rage, but the pain of being alive is too much for me right now”. definitely wants to be designated driver at all times. prefers to drink alone, at home, when everything is going wrong. bitter drinks like the “negroni” or “manhattan”.

chelsea.

the - life - of - the - party! always! chelsea never lets her outside problems get in the way of a good time and it shows! she’s here to party, to dance, to let everyone know how fun and good friends they are. you’ll never see this girl on the corner. it’s middle of the dancefloor or no dice in her case. she also gets extra flirty with everyone else, without any intentions of hooking up with anyone. “you are looking like the whole damn roast dinner in that dress, babes!” GIN!! and everything you can make with it.

gary.

pirate drunk. do you hear me? pirate drunk. draping his arm on his mates’, or girl’s, shoulder and singing along to whatever in on the background. slow speech and often stuttering his loving and caring words. “buz ya know whet may? i... focken luv ya! i zoo! because... en her mee ou-t. you, may, a - thu - bessss!” it’s love and confusing speeches all around, followed by raising his pint to pay for another round, again. gary drunk is also the type to tell you secrets you definitely didn’t need to know. picture the things he could tell you about from when he was a teenager, before he started working out, and no, i don’t mean painful and deep stuff. i mean the weird phases of discovery. he’s absolutely graphic when talking about those and i’m not here for it, garebear. beer! beer! cheeky v is for the start, then he stays on the beer for good.

henrik.

the happiest pup you’ll ever see at a bar. henrik is extra affectionate after a few shots, and incredibly in touch with his emotions, them being positive or not. one thing i often picture him doing is just going for the kill if he needed some courage for it. whether is a girl or a boy, he’s gonna walk towards them, offer them a drink and let them know how he feels. it’s all about the positive and the horniness. if there’s a possibility of a “bathroom in the club” even better! he doesn’t waste time on talking and if he’s really into you, he’ll let you know. other than that, he’s on the booth, watching the others dance, putting his hair on a bun, because when he decides it’s time for some moves on the dancefloor, no one can hold him back. he’ll grind, twerk, take off his shirt, pull people to dance with, you name it! sweet cocktails like the ones involving wine. anything that has red wine in it, it’s probably his favorite.

hope.

gracefully having her drink in peace, trying her best to keep her composure at all times. i do reckon she’s the kind of person that when drinks has the confusing thoughts and doesn’t get her whole sentences out, but in her head she’s not aware that’s happening. not that she drinks a lot, i don’t think she does that on a night out, or party in a friend’s house, but i can definitely see her being confused when someone laughs of the way she’s speaking, because they can’t understand it. “hope, you’re drunk...” “naah, i’m foine, i only had like...” keeps trying to do the math but can’t, resulting in teasing about how much she had that night. flavored vodka cocktails with a spite of vanilla beans in them.

ibrahim.

i like how shy and closed off he is but just how much he enjoys himself while drunk. he doesn’t necessarily change as much while in that state. he knows he doesn’t need much to have a good time and it shows when he gets to that “carry me home” self. ibrahim’s favorite thing is to dance with his partner and his friends. he lets the spotlight to whoever wants to grab it, but you can be damn sure, out of nowhere, you’ll see him attempting another worm, or his usual twerking. he’s not doing for the show, he’s doing because he can’t stop laughing after and honestly? i love it! he keeps his voice to a lower tone and often gets a little dizzy while getting up. it’s part of the reason noah and bobby tease him, but he doesn’t mind and laughs along. definitely the ones that contain citric fruits, like oranges or limes, lemons and grapefruit. i often picture him drinking a “paloma”. also, drinks that have some pepper might be on his list.

kassam.

this is probably the only time you’ll see kassam smiling for no reason. usually he reserves those for special occasions, such as really goos jokes, some snarky comment about someone who he hates or when you try to make him laugh, failing miserably. but drunk kassam has an easy smile and entertained facade you would think to be fake. do not be mistaken, he’s not. he just can’t control himself while under the influence of alcohol, and i think the part he enjoys the most is to see you having fun while trying to convince him to hit the floor to dance. “you know... that’s not gonna happen. because if it does, i’m gonna humiliate you with my...” he does a snake with his arms “... moves.” he gets funnier and looser, wanting to make you smile at all costs, even if that means he does and says ridiculous things like the worm arms. energy drinks+whiskey combos. he just likes that flavor and it hits the spot pretty fast.

lottie.

there’s only two lottie’s when she gets the alcohol going: depressive/pensive or goddess of dancing. no in between. lottie will forever be a wild card and that’s part of the reason why people invite her in the first place. she’ll be questioning life and her existence when bummed out, or dance and get every chin dropping when she’s being herself. drunk lottie might pull you in a bathroom stall and go to town on you. it’s confidence and “let’s skip this one, i have something to show you.” winks discreetly. plus, she’s always that kind of girl that pulls off the “bobbing/swaying side to side” move, even thought it’s the most boring in the book. she looks good and she knows it. as for talking/confessing, forget it. she’s not one to open up while drunk. lottie is probably the least selective when it comes to choosing alcohol. colorful, sweet, spicy, bitter, you name it.

lucas.

it’s always time for confident lucas to show up, and his drunk persona wouldn’t be different. the thing he loves the most is definitely showing his moves by taking your hand and making the two of you the center of attention. something he can’t hold back is his horniness. that’s something he had in common with lottie and henrik. but instead of a bathroom stall it might be the car you came in, or a nearby hotel. he’s not exactly the type to just at it on any corner, and even drunk, he has some fear of germs. also, he might be extra flashy when dancing, on the brink of looking like that’s his stage and he’s the star. i’m sure people agree, given he’ll probably dance with more than one person at the same time, giving the audience some threesome ideas. that’s the whole point: too look hot while making everyone else wish they were his dancing partners. think of grinding on the floor, grabbing thighs and dipping a girl. or a boy, if you ask me. combos of whiskey and energy drinks.

marisol.

drunk marisol, to me, it’s the funniest. she’ll become extra analytical of the social interactions happening at the bar/club/party. every conversation will get fully analyzed before she can take the next sip. of course there’s lots more to her drunk persona, but that’s how it starts. i believe it takes her four drinks to start dancing, five to make her take her glasses off and throw them somewhere, and six to make her dance on a table. i don’t believe she has much time to drink and have fun, so that makes her much less resistant to alcohol. three drinks are enough to make her stop being marisol and become “marisol, the life of the party”. it can get ugly once she gets more drinks in her, and you can expect dinosaur noises from the other side of the bathroom stall. that’s why she avoids that feared seventh drink and gets lots of water between shots. “espanhola” and colorful cocktails.

noah.

he’s probaly the least active on a night out, but the most surprising if he feels like it. usually he stays put, having his drink in place, watching everyone dancing and goofing around with each other. not participating it’s his default, he would rather watch everyone else’s personas coming out. “come on, book boy! you’re not gonna stay in your seat all night!” “nah, i’m good. for now.” he’ll hold his twerking self in until he has the urge of taking the dancefloor. very talkative while drunk, often discussing things he’d recently discovered and can’t wait another second to share them. of course he might get them wrong, given he can take lots of alcohol but no notice when his speech becomes gibberish. definitely enjoys lemon-y drinks with vodka and other “clear” alcohol types.

priya.

oh my god, don’t shoot the messenger, but priya is the type to do some crazy stuff while drunk and blame the booze on the next day. being fully conscious and aware of her actions but saying “oh my god, i can’t believe i did that, i’m so sorry.” for whatever it is. usually she’s fun and loose when there’s alcohol involved, and by loose i mean wanting to dance her ass off. this might be the time she challenges people to lip sync battles or dances, which to most is funny, but she gets very competitive about them, to the point of betting on things like the bar tab. definitely enjoys the white wine and its variations, and often experiments with flavored vodka, like peach and vanilla.

[karahalloway]

(Un)Common Attraction: Chapter 5 - Moonlit Escapades

Series: TRR (following the events of Book 1, with some changes)

Pairing: Drake Walker x OC (Harper Gale)

Rights belong to Pixelberry, most characters and some dialogue belong to them.

Book Synopsis: Harper Gale is a small-town girl working as a waitress at a seedy New York dive bar. After a chance encounter with nobility sees her jetting halfway around the world to compete for the hand of the Prince of Cordonia, her dream of seeing the world starts to come true sooner than she expected. But as the completion heats up, Harper quickly learns that life at court is a lot more than just pretty dresses and fancy balls, and that the polished aristocratic smiles often hide deceit. Does she have what it takes to rise above the gossip and intrigue of the social season, and beat the nobles at their own games? And, more importantly, does she actually want to become the queen of a small European country? Or will her heart have other ideas?

Masterlist: (Un)Common Attraction

Chapter Summary: As the Masquerade Ball draws to a close, Harper has some fun with Christian, and not as much fun with the Beaumonts...

Word Count: 3,500

Rating/Warnings: M (swearing)

Chapter Theme Song:

Please read: Author’s Note

Also available on Wattpad.

Chapter 5 - Moonlit Escapades

"Cutting it a little fine there, bud..." I remark as Christian rounds the corner at a fast jog.

"Sorry," he pants, coming to a stop next to me. He quickly loosens his bow tie and pops the top button of his shirt open to try and cool himself down. "Got held up discussing the various tea options for the upcoming lawn picnic..."

"Getting trapped in boring conversations seems to be a forté of yours," I observe as I get up from the stone bench that I had been sat on.

"If only you knew the half of it..." He offers me his arm. "Shall we?"

"Let's," I reply, looping my arm through his.

Christian leads us towards the entrance to the Palace gardens. Our path is illuminated by hundreds of little garden and fairy lights, giving the place a truly magical feel. Arriving at a small wrought iron gate, we step inside a cute knot garden composed of neatly manicured hedges ringed by stone benches looking onto a bubbling fountain.

"It's very peaceful here," I say, detaching myself from Christian to walk around the fountain.

"Yes," he agrees. "I am told it was a sanctuary for my mother. A lot of what you see is actually her vision. Sometimes when I stroll this garden at night, I think of her..." He trails off sadly.

"At least you have a special place that you can share with her, even if she is no longer with you," I say gently, slipping quietly out of my heels on the far side of the fountain. "I'm sure she intended the gardens to be a retreat, rather than a place of mourning."

"You are correct, of course. The gardens hold a lot of good memories as well."

"Because of the maze-tag?" I ask, eyeing up the entrance to the hedge maze.

"Among other things. But unfortunately, my growing list of responsibilities means that I cannot be as carefree as I once was."

"I disagree," I say, coming back round to where Christian is standing with his hands behind his back, looking pensively into the water. "After all, all work and no play makes Jack a very dull boy..."

"Is that some kind of American proverb?"

"Dunno," I say with a shrug. "But... TAG! You're 'it'!"

I slap Christian on the shoulder and picking up the skirt of my dress, I dash into the taller hedges on the other side of the fountain.

"Hey!" I hear him exclaim in surprise. "Cheater!"

"Slow-poke!" I toss back over my shoulder as I disappear into the maze.

Despite my head start, Christian is hot on my heels and I need to work hard to stay ahead. The grass is damp underneath my feet, which makes traction elusive around the corners, but against all the odds, I manage to avoid wiping out as I dart through the labyrinth.

However, it seems that my luck is not infinite, and I suddenly find myself trapped in a dead-end. I can hear Christian's pounding footsteps right behind me. Spying a small break in the hedge, I squeeze myself into the gap, hoping that the darkness will help conceal me.

Peeking out through the branches, I see Christian arrive at the entrance of the cul-de-sac, panting. As he bends forward to catch his breath, he quickly surveys the area where I am secreting, but after a second, he jogs on.

I make myself count to thirty before emerging from my hiding place and peeking around the corner to make sure that he is really gone, and not lying in wait for me somewhere. Satisfied that I am alone, I continue on towards the centre of the maze at a more leisurely pace.

"Gotcha!" Christian erupts from the hedge and makes a grab for me.

I shriek in surprise, but manage to dance out of his reach. Whipping around, I sprint down the lane, my heart hammering and my lungs screaming for oxygen. I hear Christian gaining on me, and I dig deep to try and outpace him. But, the fact that I am in a form-fitting dress with a long skirt — while Christian is in a tux — means that despite my best efforts, I am significantly less mobile than him.

I feel hands grab my waist and hear a ripping sound as Christian's foot gets tangled in my skirt. Before either of us have a chance to blink, we're on the ground, tumbling head over heels along the dewy verge. We come to a stop at the foot of a large cherry tree, gasping for air.

"Are...you...okay?" pants Christian, pushing me up from his chest, so he can examine me.

"I'm... fine... I think," I puff, blowing a lock of hair out of my face. I can feel a massive stitch forming in my side, and my muscles are burning from the exertion. "Eugh... I'm gonna feel that in the morning..."

"What on earth possessed you to do that?" he asks, reaching up to pull a large leaf out of my hair.

"Does it matter?" I ask, brushing grass clippings from his cheek. "It was fun, wasn't it?"

"Oh, definitely! And, we made it to the centre of the maze."

"I have no idea how... But, the important thing is that I won."

"How do you figure that?"

"I'm on top."

"That seems to be quite an arbitrary barometer. But, if that's how you want to play it..."

Suddenly, I find myself pinned beneath him. "Hey!"

"Hey," he smirks. "I'm just playing by your rules. And since I'm on top now, I say I win."

"You just don't want to admit that you got beaten by a girl," I tease.

Christian's expression turns serious. "Harper. You are the only girl that I can honestly say that I am happy to lose to. I don't know what it is about you, but when I'm with you, I feel like a completely different person. You remind me of what it feels like to be young and carefree – as if I were any man, not a prince with the weight of a kingdom resting on my shoulders."

"Maybe you need someone like that in your life," I whisper.

"Maybe I do..." he murmurs as he leans in and captures my lips with his.

My eyes widen in surprise, but I find myself reaching up to tangle my fingers into his hair, returning his kiss. His lips are pleasantly warm against mine and I breathe in the cool scent of his aftershave, combined with the musky undertone of sweat and wet grass.

"I'm sorry!" gasps Christian, pulling away suddenly and pushing himself off me. "I should not have done that... I don't know what came over me..."

"I... It's... it's okay..." I stammer, as I slowly sit up.

"God, Harper," sighs Christian, running his hand through his hair in exasperation. "Why do you make me want to break all the rules?"

I smile. "Well, based on what you told me today, being a prince is not a huge amount of fun, so, I guess someone needs to lighten the mood."

"It has its ups and downs, like any job, I guess," he replies, helping me to my feet. "But you are probably right. I haven't had the opportunity to have a lot of fun lately. So, while this was definitely not how I imagined our midnight escapade to unfold, it has certainly been memorable."

"I'm glad I could be of service, my prince," I demure, dipping into a small curtsey.

Christian snorts.

"What?" I ask. "My curtsey not up to your standards?"

"No, it's not that," he chuckles. "You're just... not looking quite like you did at the start of the night."

"Let me guess..." I reply wryly. "My hair's a mess, my make-up's smudged and my dress is ruined?"

"That sums it up, yes."

"Well, you're not much better," I counter with a smile. "You look like you've been spat out of a tree."

"What a pair we make, eh?"

"Gives a whole new meaning to Lord and Lady Muck," I agree.

Christian's grin fades into a grimace. "I guess we should head back. My bodyguards are probably tearing the Palace apart looking for me."

"And both of us could probably do with some sleep," I reply. "We don't want to look like zombies at that all-important picnic you're planning."

"Definitely not," he agrees. "Shall we?"

I loop my arm through his again and he begins leading us back down the lane.

After a couple of yards, I ask, "Erm, you do remember the way out of here, don't you?"

"I guess we'll find out..."

*            *            *

"Finally..." I sigh as I collapse onto my bed, its feathery softness enveloping me like a warm cocoon.

It took us a good half hour to find our way out of the hedge maze, as unfortunately Christian's memory was not as good as he would've like to have thought (or maybe he was deliberately dragging his feet about having to call it a night).

Nevertheless, the walk back had been pleasant. We had swapped stories about our very different childhoods. Despite our damp attire, the night had been pleasantly warm, and if you listened carefully, you could just make out the sound of the waves crashing into the craggy beach in the distance. In short, it was a welcome escape from the pomp and circumstance of the Masquerade Ball.

But, as fun as the second half of the night had been, the jetlag and the lack of sleep was seriously starting to catch up with me. Even though I desperately needed a hot shower to wash off the mud and grime after our frolic in the gardens, it was proving very difficult to extract myself from the warm embrace of the bed, and I could no longer keep my eyelids from fluttering shut.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

I jerk suddenly awake, groggily trying to figure out where the gunshots were coming from, only to realise that someone was just knocking at the door.

"Who the hell could that be...?" I grumble as I pull myself out of the bed and stumble to the door to open it.

"Harper!" cries Maxwell. His grin is quickly replaced by a look of horror as he takes in my ramshackle appearance. "Whoa! What happened to you?"

"Midnight escapades in the garden," I reply, trying to stifle a massive yawn. "What time is it?"

"Early," he admits. "I'm sorry to bother you, but there is someone you should meet..."

"Can't it wait till the morning?" I ask sleepily.

"It is the morning," declares an authoritative voice from the corridor.

Before I could protest, a tall, reedy man with thinning hair and a hawk-like face pushes himself into my room. His eyes widen at the sight of me and even in my sleep-deprived state, I can tell that he is trying very hard not to have an aneurism.

"This is the girl you've chosen to represent our house?" he manages to choke out.

"Yup!" beams Maxwell. "Harper, this is my older brother, Bertrand."

"'Sup," I reply grumpily.

I had no idea why Maxwell had thought it would be a good idea to hold a crack-of-dawn convention in my room to introduce me to his brother. Especially when I looked like I had just rolled out of a bush... Which, actually, I had, but that was not the point. All this could've waiting till after breakfast.

Bertrand's nostrils flare in disapproval. "The proper way to address a duke is 'Greetings, Your Grace'."

"Are you kidding me?" I groan as I sink down into a lavishly upholstered chair. "The two of you barge into my room and wake me up to give me etiquette lessons?"

"Maxwell..." grits Bertrand, with visible difficulty. "A word with you in private?"

"Erm, sure?" says Maxwell getting up from the chair he had just sat down in, a look of confusion on his face.

Bertrand grabs his brother by the arm and hauls him out of the room, slamming the door shut behind them.

Rolling my eyes, I push myself out of my own chair and lean against the door to listen to all the – no doubt wonderful! – things that Bertrand is about to say about me.

"What, in the name of all that is holy, possessed you, Maxwell," hisses Bertrand with barely contained fury, "to choose a girl like that to represent our house? Don't you realise what's at stake?!"

"I do," replies Maxwell calmly. "That's why I picked Harper. Christian really hit it off with her when they met at his bachelor party. She was our waitress."

"Waitress?!" I can imagine Bertrand's face turning purple with rage. "You could've picked from any number of unsponsored duchesses or countesses from half of Europe, all with impeccable pedigree, and you choose a nobody? From America?"

"You're right, she's not from a noble family, but she and Christian have a lot of chemistry!" insists Maxwell sincerely. "I've never seen Christian as happy with another woman as he is when he's with Harper. Shouldn't he have a shot at love like that, even if he is the Prince?"

"Spare me your sentimentality!" comes the sneered response. "Do you honestly think we have a chance running an uncouth Yankee against the likes of Olivia Nevrakis? Whatever passing fancy the Prince may think he is feeling now will quickly be replaced with revulsion when he realises what a bumbling buffoon she really is! You have made a grave mistake, Maxwell. I sincerely hope that we will not live to regret it..."

The door is thrown open and Bertrand stomps back into the room with a chastised Maxwell in tow.

"So," I say, leaning casually against the door frame. "Pleasant chat?"

Bertrand's eyes narrow suspiciously. "You were listening to every word, weren't you?"

"You were not exactly subtle. Or quiet."

"Perfect..." gripes Bertrand, throwing his hands up into the air. "She is rude and impudent!"

"Now, look here, bud," I say, forcefully, poking a finger into his tweed blazer.

Bertrand's eyes narrow dangerously.

"It was not my idea to come here, but Maxwell insisted, so I agreed, thinking that the two of you were in agreement about picking me for this bizarre contest. Obviously, I was wrong, so if you will excuse me, I'm going to start packing."

"No!" Bertrand and Maxwell cry in unison.

They quickly compose themselves, looking sheepish as I turn around with an arched brow.

"What we mean..." says Maxwell, clearing his throat, "...is you can't leave."

"Why not?" I ask, crossing my arms.

"Because we— I mean, I..." he corrects, seeing the look on Bertrand's face, "...already told everyone that you were our pick."

"Maxwell is, unfortunately, correct," confirms Bertrand, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Since you have officially been presented to the King as a suitor, you cannot withdraw now."

"You're joking..."

"I never joke," declares Bertrand. "So, as much as it pains me to admit it, it appears that we are stuck with you until the end of the social season."

"Fan-fucking-tastic..." I groan, sinking into my chair again.

"Honestly, Maxwell," sighs Bertrand. "You couldn't have chosen someone with even a modicum of comportment?"

"Oh, grow up, Bertrand!" I snap. "Everyone swears."

I grew up with three older brothers. I was gonna swear... So, sue me.

"No, they do not. Especially not well-bred noblewomen who are looking to marry a prince. Perhaps it has escaped your notice, but the ladies you are competing against are the crème-de-la-crème of European society, so we will have our work cut out for us if we are to have even a fool's hope of passing you off as a serious contender."

"And I suppose you will be the one showing me the ropes?" I ask wearily.

"In every sense of the word," sighs Bertrand gravely, as if tutoring me was going to be his life's work from here on out. "The Beaumonts are a highly respected family in Cordonia and abroad, and we did not get to where we are today through luck or wishful thinking, but through hard work, dedication and – most importantly! – deference."

"Now I know how Diana must've felt..." I grumble, slumping lower into my chair.

Even though this was not how I had imagined my European adventure unfolding, I knew that — for the time being at least — I would have to work with the Beaumonts to not only avoid making a complete ass of myself at court, but to also avoid causing an international diplomatic incident by inadvertently embarrassing some stuffy Cordonian noble in public.

"The late Princess of Wales had the good fortune of having been born into an aristocratic family, so she, at least, had a basic understanding of rank, peerage, courtly etiquette and grace," lectures Bertrand. "You, on the other hand, are a commoner, and an American to boot, so we are literally starting with nothing."

"But, on the bright side," interjects Maxwell, "think of all the fame and recognition that we will win if Christian choses you!"

"You mean you will win," I correct. "I'm not a Beaumont... and I don't care about any of that."

"Maybe, but it's something that Bertrand and I could really use right now..."

"Maxwell..." growls Bertrand in warning. "You overstep."

"...'cos we're kinda broke," finishes Maxwell. Fixing Bertrand with a pointed look, he adds, "Well, she was bound to find out eventually, so it's better that she hears it from us, rather than someone else, right?"

"You're broke?" I ask in disbelief. "How does an aristocratic family become broke?"

"That is none of your concern," sniffs Bertrand. "What is important is that Maxwell's little revelation stays between the three of us. In the circles that we move in, if word got out of our financial situation, we would be completely ruined. What good standing our name still carries would evaporate instantly. But, if – despite all the odds – you are chosen to become the queen-in-waiting, then all sorts of doors will open for us, monetary and otherwise."

"Great..." I sigh. "Talk about loading up a girl's plate..."

Seems like Maxwell did not only — rather conveniently! — forget to share some key details with me back in New York about this stupid competition, but Drake had most definitely been right... I was in way over my head. Saving an aristocratic house from financial ruin had certainly not been part of the bargain!

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner, Harper," says Maxwell apologetically. "But Christian is already hooked on you, so in a way, you have already jumped the most difficult hurdle."

"Thanks..." I grumble, feeling anything but reassured.

I should've listened to that little voice in the back of my mind and told Maxwell to shove his sponsorship when I'd had the chance...

But it was too late now. We were in this for the long haul.

That's what you get for being impulsive, Harper!

"Speaking of hurdles," interjects Bertrand, "have you chosen your attire for the next event?"

"You mean the lawn picnic?"

"No, the Derby," corrects Bertrand, as if I were a stupid child. "You do at least know what a derby is? Or is even that asking too much?"

"I know what it is – it's a fancy horserace and we have quite a famous one in Kentucky," I snipe sarcastically. "I wasn't born under a rock, you know."

"Your current appearance would suggest otherwise..." replies Bertrand with equal dryness. "But, you are correct. The Derby is first and foremost a horserace. However, it is also a fashion event, and will therefore be covered by the press, so you will need to choose your attire with care to ensure that it sends the right message."

"Which is...?"

"That you are a serious contender in this competition with an impeccable sense of style."

"So, no jeans then?" I ask wryly.

Bertrand's eyes are steely. "Definitely no jeans. Many of the ladies will be opting for haute couture, but the Queen prefers a look that is more modern in style, so if you want to impress her with her fashion-sense, I suggest you choose something accordingly… and make an effort to keep it presentable.”

He runs his gaze disapprovingly over the grass and dirt stains on my dress.

"I will keep that in mind," I reply evenly. "Anything else I should know?"

"As I mentioned, the press will be covering the event. Every major local, national, and regional news outlet will be in attendance, and they will be on the lookout for any kind of story. Therefore, it is imperative that you put your best foot forward and conduct yourself with grace and composure. These events provide a chance for you to build your image in the eyes of the Cordonians, but if mishandled, they will instead provide fodder for the gossip rags."

"Right, so try to avoid any embarrassing underwear incidents," I surmise.

"At all costs," replies Bertrand with a shudder.

The story continues in Chapter 6 - A Crash Course in Etiquette

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@twinkleallnight @lovingchoices14​​​ @petiteboheme​ @aussiegurl1234

[imissjoongsmullet]

Something Better (1/2)

Pairing: Bang Chan x reader

Genre: fluff/angst (will lead to smut eventually because hi hello it’s me writing about Chan)

Summary: You and Chan have been best friends since before you can remember but now that you’re in college, things start to feel strange, especially with the way he acts when it comes to your boyfriend.

Read part 2

Warnings: part 1 of 2 (probably), cutesy friendship stuff, lots of stupid banter, bit of suggestive conversations, a good dash of angst, Changbin as your boyfriend (do you need a warning for that lol), oh and though this one is pretty clean, there will be smut in later chapters.

Word Count: 2k

Author’s Note: Ok so I’m going to try to keep this to 2 chapters but I can’t promise anything. Anyone who follows me knows I tend to get carried away it’s a thing... Also, yes, this is such a cliché trope but BOY DO I LOVE IT! Thanks again for the request. I had a great time writing this!

► 

Five minutes to four. Almost there. The old man at the front of the auditorium had been droning on about the history of bleebidiblah wherever for the past two hours and you were very much ready for it all to end and for the weekend to begin. You heard a pencil drop beside you and turned to see your friend pick it back up and place it between his upper lip and nose.

“Looking great,” you whispered, fighting back a smile.

“I know,” he snickered, making the thing drop into his lap for the dozenth time that class.

Chan was kind of an idiot. But he was also kind of your best friend. You’d grown up in the same neighborhood and had been inseparable since kindergarten. He was the first person you’d went to when you’d found out Santa wasn’t real, the first person you’d ever sneaked out of the house to go to a party with and the first person you’d ever gotten blackout drunk with; not to mention he was the only one who knew about your irrational fear of oven toasters. He knew everything about you and you knew everything about him. You were a team, tied together so much so, that you’d even decided to follow each other to the same college.

“Hey,” he nudged your shoulder, “how about we go downtown tonight and celebrate the weekend? I heard it’s prolonged happy hour at GB’s.”

The twinkle in his eyes made you want to say yes; it was a very tempting offer. “Can’t,” you replied eventually, scrunching up your nose at him.

“Come on, why not?” said Chan, leaning in and shaking your thigh, “we can go to karaoke after and you can crash at my place. I bought so many Doritos and they’re not gonna eat themselves.”

You bit your lip. “I kind of promised Changbin I’d go over tonight.” You already knew what was coming.

“Again?” he exclaimed a bit too loudly, drawing the attention of some of the other students, “you stayed over like three times this week already.” He sagged in his chair, rolling his eyes at you.

“Don’t be a child,” you retorted shoving him lightly.

That put some of his smile back in place. “You know, I think this Changbin guy isn’t the one for you,” said Chan, pretending to look pensive, “he’s got shifty looking eyes… and his nose is too big.”

You couldn’t keep from chuckling. Dipping down in your chair out of sight of your teacher, you turned to your friend. “You’re so full of shit, what does that even mean?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged, “maybe he’s having evil, shifty, big-nosed plans and you don’t even know it.”

“Your nose is big too, you know?” you said, pinching his nose.

He slapped your hand away and pinched you back, which made you cry out so loud the teacher went silent, eyes in your direction. Your cheeks flushed hot but just as you were about to apologize to the entire auditorium, the bell rang, pushing everyone around you into motion.

“Oops,” said Chan, eyes full of mischief as he rose from his chair along with everyone else.

You packed your things and followed him, kicking at his heels pettily.

“Seriously though, all the staying over,” Chan went on once you were out in the packed hallway, “sure he isn’t tiring you out?” The wicked grin on his face told you exactly what he meant.

“Chan, I swear if you don’t shut up,” you started but he interrupted fast.

“I just mean, you’re a studious girl,” he explained, grabbing your shoulders and rubbing them, “you can’t have a shifty-eyed boy like him distract you from your super important studies with sexy times.”

“And you taking me out to GB’s is helping me with my studies how exactly?”

“At least I’m not trying to put my dick in you every single night.”

“Chan!” you yelled out, looking around frantically at all the other students within earshot of your conversation.

“Aww,” Chan chuckled, hugging you closer, putting his lips near your ear, “you’re so cute when you’re all flustered.”

You were extremely happy he was behind you and couldn’t see the look on your face because you were even redder than before, staring eyes-wide into space. For as close and you and Chan were, you couldn’t help but feel shy whenever he mentioned sexual stuff around you. Not that you weren’t a sexual person; you just didn’t really know how to act around him when it came to those things. It didn’t help that you felt him all over you now, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand right up.

“Listen,” you said, shrugging out of his grip and trying to compose yourself, “how about we hang out tomorrow night? I’m sure the drinks will be just as toxic and delicious then.”

He came up next to you. “Fine, but you’re buying,” he said, “you’ve been leaving me lonely far too much. I demand compensation.”

You smiled and shook your head. “Fine.”

[I’ll be there in 10]

You hurriedly typed as you left Changbin’s place. You were meeting Chan for coffee. You were supposed to work on an assignment together that afternoon but you felt more than a little distracted after the previous night hadn’t ended up as fun as you’d hoped. You didn’t even really remember how it had started but you and Changbin had gotten into an argument that had lasted for most of the night. It wasn’t anything heartbreaking; it was just frustrating that your relationship wasn’t going the way you’d imagined it. And now you’d have to face Chan and pretend everything was okay because you were far too prideful to give him the satisfaction of saying ‘I told you so’.

He was waiting at your typical spot in the back of the café, his notebook ready on the table. You were happily surprised to find him jotting things down as you walked up. When you sat down, however, you realized he’d just been doodling obscenities in the margins of his book.

“Good afternoon,” you said, closing his book and grabbing the coffee he’d ordered for you.

You felt his eyes on you as you sipped the burning hot drink. You were just waiting for it at this point.

“So,” he started, amusement dripping down his face, “how was last night?”

“Shut up,” you countered, opening up your own book and looking anywhere but at him.

You and Chan were used to working together. Chan always had problems focusing and you were always there to give him the kick in the ass he needed to get the work done. On the other hand, Chan was the one coming up with the most creative ideas for your projects so, despite your differences, you worked quite well off of each other. 

For a while, things were fine: Chan was on his second coffee and the ideas flowed generously; you just had to write them down and turn them into usable content. Things were nice and light as they should be. You took a break and ordered waffles, enjoying them without any mention of Changbin; it was great. You talked about concerts you were excited to go to together in the coming months, showed each other movie trailers of stuff you really wanted to watch together and you laughed at the absolute dumbest things. You thought perhaps it was the caffeine that was making you both so silly.

Unfortunately, after that initial boost of energy, came the inevitable crash.

By the time Chan was picking at the ice at the bottom of his empty third coffee, things were started to shift. You were trying to finish up the assignment but it was clear Chan was starting to get burnt out. Gradually, conversation trickled away from the project at hand and into less productive territory.

“What is it you like about him?” he asked, staring zombie-like into his cup.

“Not now, Chan,” you sighed, eyes on your laptop screen. You felt his fingers at your side, poking lazily.

“No, come on,” he said, voice sleepy, “I wanna know.”

You stopped typing and took a deep breath.

“He’s—” you started, trying to think of something while your head replayed how you’d argued the night before.

Chan let out a chuckle. “Yeah, he sounds great.”

“Oh, fuck off,” you groaned, a little harsher than you’d meant it, “let’s just get this done.”

But Chan didn’t let up. Your inability to define your love for Changbin had apparently made him very eager to tease you and it was getting harder and harder to ignore him.

“I bet he sleeps with his socks on,” he said, sipping his empty drink loudly, “weirdo.”

“Chan please.”

“Tell me he doesn’t.”

“Chan.”

“He totally does, doesn’t he!”

“Chan I swear if you don’t shut up I’m gonna kick you where it really hurts!”

“Fine,” he said, still laughing, putting up his hands in defense, “jeez, I was just having fun.” Then he came closer and, entirely oblivious, wrapped his arms around you tight. “No more coffee for you, it makes you mean.” He gave your temple a quick kiss and, chuckling, got up from his seat.

“Gotta pee, this coffee is going right through me, be right back.” 

It occurred to you, as you watched him walk off, how odd your relationship with Chan was. Or maybe Chan was just an odd person? Or maybe he was simply acting oddly recently? You tried to shrug off the confusing thoughts and instead opened up your phone. The last text from Changbin was right at the top. You clicked it and smiled, rereading the sweet message he’d sent you the day before. You should probably make up with him soon, you decided.

After another half hour of half-assed adjustments, you and Chan finally called it a day.

“If you could input your slides right after mine, I’ll do the touch ups and bring it all to class,” you said, staring at your laptop screen, “we should probably go over it together the day before though.”

Chan’s face was in his arms on the table, looking drowsy. “Yeah, sounds good,” he mumbled, “I’ll type them out by Monday, we’ve got most of the stuff down already, it shouldn’t be hard.”

“Good,” you nodded, finally letting yourself sit back and relax. You closed your eyes in a long yawn as you stretched out your arms. When you opened them again Chan was looking at you.

“Tired huh?” he said, his lips curling up into a knowing smirk.

You stared back at your friend blankly. “You know what? Yes, I am actually. I stayed up most of the night.”

His eyebrows rose up in surprise but he didn’t speak.

“And that’s all I’m gonna say on the matter so can we please wrap this up now?” you added, “I think I should go see Changbin later tonight cause— well, we just have some things to discuss.”

“Wait, hold up,” said Chan, straightening up beside you and, finally, all laughter was wiped from his face, “I thought we were going out tonight.”

The memory of your promise hit you, throwing a small dose of guilt over your head. “I’m sorry, Chan, really. I just got some things to do—”

“Some things to do?” he interrupted, now definitely irritated, “you’re gonna ditch your best friend for some mediocre sex?”

“Chan that’s not what this is,” you started but you knew you’d set him off and there was no going back.

“Whatever,” he snapped, “it’s fine I’ll call some people who actually wanna hang out—”

“Chan—” you tried, shocked at the rapidity with which his mood had switched.

“—instead of someone who’ll leave me for the first boy to give her the least bit of attention—”

“Hey!” you said, getting up from your seat, heating up from the sting of his words.

Chan got up as well, the look in his eyes pained. “I said it’s fine,” he repeated, placing some money on the table and walking out.

(part 2)

[andimlonely]

Sometimes the Truth is Comforting, too | Kokichi Ouma

Kokichi Ouma x f!reader | Kokichi has come down with Despair Disease, and everyone has a turn looking after him. You volunteer for the night shift, and have more trouble than usual deciphering what’s true and what’s false (aka, Kokichi gets liar disease but because he’s such a liar already, it makes him tell the truth)

✧✿Angst, fluff

A/N: This turned out quite a bit longer than I intended, and it took longer too, but I like how it turned out in the end. I hope you will too ❤

______________________________________________________________

You never thought you would end up here, in the dorm of the Ultimate Supreme Leader, in a chair at his bedside and tending to his fever.

After Kokichi collapsed in the dining hall, Monokuma finally confirmed that he was sick after you all spent the whole day speculating why he had been acting so strange; though at that point, no one really thought otherwise. What you hadn’t expected, was that Kokichi’s fever isn’t just due to some infection or cold, but something you’ve never even heard of before: Despair Disease.

The group collectively agreed that in order to prevent someone from attacking Kokichi while he’s weak, or risking him dying from the fever, everyone would take turns watching over him, and you volunteered yourself for this shift. You figured since you sleep late anyway, it might as well be you with the night shift.

When you first entered the room, you were actually surprised by all the clutter. What even are all those boxes? Do you even want to know?

You try not to think about it, and instead decide to step out for a drink of water and a snack from the kitchen. You don’t know how long you might be here, so you might as well get comfortable.

But as you get up out of your seat and make your way to the door, Kokichi’s weakened whine halts you before you can leave, “(y/n)~”

“Kokichi, I’ll be right back. I’m just gonna get some water, okay--”

“But you can’t leave me here alone,” he suddenly sits up, eyes and skin dewy and hair a mess, “I might die!”

“That.. But, I’m only going to be gone a second.”

You couldn’t even refute his fear. If you’ve learned anything in this nightmare scape, it’s that you can’t trust anyone, that someone is always scheming and looking for any window they can to escape.

“You have to stay. Everyone knows I’m sick, and nobody likes me. Do you really think no one will try to come in here and kill me?”

You’re taken aback by his casually honest words. “Kokichi..”

“I took water bottles and snacks from the kitchen the other day,” he says in attempts to bribe you, “So stay.”

“..Okay.”

You go back to your seat, still registering what he said a moment ago. You always hesitate to believe what the boy says, but tonight his facade is different, softer.  

Kokichi had spent most of the evening asleep, with Gonta and Tsumugi keeping watch over him to prevent anyone from taking advantage of his weakened state. Of course it would be your luck that by the time it was your shift, Kokichi would be awake and somewhat delirious, and eager to talk to you. You’re thankful though; this Despair Disease seems to have rid him of his crude remarks for some reason.

But somehow his somber and emotional demeanor isn’t as enjoyable as you thought it would be. It might be nice that he isn’t insinuating you’re promiscuous, or teasing you about any number of your quirks, but seeing him so.. sentimental has your heart feeling heavy instead.

“Hey, Kokichi.. Here, give me that,” you order gently, gesturing to the drying washcloth on his forehead.

You take the cloth and run it under the sink, wringing it out a little so it isn’t dripping excessively when you carry it over to him.

Without a thermometer, you’re left just pressing the back of your hand to his forehead and cheeks. You withdraw it quickly the first time, recoiling from the intensity of his temperature against your skin. It seems like his fever isn’t going down much at all.

“You know, you’re so nice, (y/n).”

You let Kokichi babble about how kind you are as you place the damp washcloth back on his forehead and search for the alleged water bottles he has lying around. Kokichi needs to start drinking more water, or you worry he might not get any better very soon. You might not be his biggest fan, but you certainly don’t want him to suffer through this, and even less, die.

“Really, (y/n), I think you’re suuuper nice. That’s why I like you.”

“Kokichi, I think you should save the teasing for later.. Just take it easy right now.”

“But I’m not teasing, (y/n). You’re really really nice.”

“Thank you.. Anyway, here, drink as much water as you can, okay?”  

Kokichi obliges, and sits up slowly, his muscles aching and head pounding. The heat bubbling under his skin has him in a daze, everything seems a touch slower. You lean and reach over him to grab something, close enough for him to pick up your scent, and it feels like you’re there for hours - can’t you stay here that long? The urge to close his arms around you comes too late, and you’re back in your seat now, scribbling something in a notebook like you were when he just woke up.

In his daze, he can’t tell if you’re writing or drawing something. He also doesn’t realize he’s staring at you, but you don't seem to notice it either.

He watches your eyelashes open and close, open and close, your eyes trained to the (f/c) notebook in your hands. Would you look up from your book more if he were someone else? If it was Shuichi, or even Kiibo, lying here? Probably.

“Um.. Are you okay, Kokichi?”

Having noticed his pensive stare, you ask him this, your head tilted cutely.

He smiles and says absently, “No.”

Your eyes flick up from your book instantly. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t wanna die.”

Die..? The word alone has your heart sinking deep into your chest. Your breath catches in your throat as you feel a duller version of the shock that overcomes you when one of your classmates’ body is found.  

You want to believe it's the delirium of his fever that has him talking like this, but something tells you that isn't true.

"You won't die. You're going to be okay. You’re.. You’re making me nervous, Kokichi.”

“Sorry.”

His apology brings you a pang of guilt. Him talking like this does make you nervous, but maybe you should keep it to yourself. It’s understandable he would feel fearful when he’s suffering from this previously unknown disease; maybe it even causes paranoia. It is Monokuma’s conception, and he did say that it’s a motive of sorts, so it must be awful.

“No, it’s okay.. But, really, you’re going to be alright. That’s why I’m here looking after you, so your fever doesn’t get worse, okay? Don’t worry.”

You’re misunderstanding him. Even if he does survive the Despair Disease, will he survive the Killing Game? He becomes less sure of it everyday. If he weren’t pretty clever, someone might’ve already killed him by now. But it’s only a matter of time until it actually happens. Your hands might be the ones to get dirty. You could even do it now, while he’s weaker than usual. At least then it would have been someone he..

No. He doesn’t want to die at all, and he can’t pretend he would be okay with dying at your hands.

“Hey, Kokichi?.. About what you said earlier..”

He blinks, having trouble accurately recalling what he’s said, let alone what you might be talking about.

“You know.. About everyone not liking you. It’s not that we don’t like you, it’s just..”

How can you explain it? You can’t truthfully say that anyone else is fond of Kokichi, but you also wouldn’t say that everyone hates him.. At least you think so, until all the hostile or at least skeptical interactions between Kokichi and one of the others play back in your mind. A sense of guilt accompanies your memories of your own rude moments, and you have to remind yourself why everyone is wary of him. No one would treat him this way if he weren’t so dishonest, or crude, and if he didn’t seem to find this Killing Game so fun.

But the more you think about his actions, the more you realize that more of it might be farce than you thought before, that maybe you were missing that it’s something else he’s hiding when he lies. After all.. Would someone happy, with nothing to hide, and nothing to fear, really lie so much?

“I’m supposed to be the liar, not you, (y/n),” Kokichi grins. In spite of his smile, you can see pain is reflected in his clouded violet eyes. “I know everyone hates me. Even you. Thanks for taking care of me, though. It’s really nice to take care of someone you hate.”

“That’s not true, Kokichi.. I don’t hate you. Why do you think that?”

“I just know. I mean, I know why. I’m a jerk to you, so I deserve it.”

Normally he’d probably say something like that with a pouted lip and lilted voice, but as you scan his features, you see that he isn’t just saying this to mock you.

“...I don’t hate you. I wouldn’t be here if I did.”

But you had to be here, didn’t you? Everyone probably pulled straws or something to see who was stuck with him. Or maybe you’re here out of pity. Maybe you didn’t want him to get worse, but only ‘cause you care about people in general, not him specifically, and sure that's a selfish thought, but the point stands.

You two sit in silence for awhile.

Kokichi occupies himself with the sliding puzzle you found in the warehouse, his thumbs deftly switching pieces like he's being timed. You listen to the constant clacking, a storm of questions weighing heavy in your mind.

"..How are you feeling?"

"Okay, I guess. Head hurts and stuff."

"Is it really bad?"

He hums in contemplation, "Kinda."

Despite his casual answer, you can’t stifle the panic that’s starting to rise in your stomach. You wish there were some medicine or something you could give him to help. A fever can go away on its own, but without medicine Kokichi could also get a lot worse.

"Do you need anything? I can get more water or--"

"Sit with me," he orders, “Please?”

He really is delirious. Your initial reaction is to refuse him, but the longer you look at his flushed face and pleading eyes, and the longer you think about how terrible he must be feeling, you find yourself unable to say no.

“Um.. Okay. But only for a second.”

It’s only because he’s sick, you tell yourself as you settle in next to him awkwardly. You keep your eyes on your lap, or on the opposite wall, or anywhere but Kokichi, and he doesn’t seem to mind. Unlike you, he isn’t uncomfortable at all. Instead, he’s so comfortable that he leans his head on your shoulder, and after a moment of listening to each other’s breathing, he closes his eyes and starts to hum.

Your eyes start to wander until you’re looking down at him, stifling the desire to stroke his dark, soft-looking locks. His humming lulls you into feeling less tense, and eventually you’re leaning your head onto Kokichi’s, trying to ignore the painful feeling in your heart as it races. If you’re not careful, you might end up falling asleep like this, and part of you doesn’t even mind.

Knock knock.

Both startled by the sudden knocks at the door, you exchange glances with Kokichi, who in his daze just stares at you owlishly. You glance briefly at the clock; your shift is still far from over. It essentially just started.

An uneasiness follows you as you make your way to the door, thankful for the pocket knife you always keep handy just in case. Never have you planned to use it, but you will if you have to, if only to incapacitate someone.

"Shuichi," you sigh upon opening the door, "What are you doing here?"

Immediately your dread dissipates at the sight of him, and the hand at your side relaxes. He gives you a sheepish smile, his hand on the nape of his neck.

"Ah, hi.. I just thought I should check up on you. How's Kokichi?"

"He's still pretty warm," you frown, stepping aside so Shuichi can see for himself.

"Hi, Shuichi," Kokichi greets from his bed, to which the Ultimate Detective reciprocates with a small greeting of his own.

He speaks to you briefly, asking you if Kokichi has been acting suspicious at all and if you feel okay being alone for your shift. You assure him everything is okay and that if anything happens you'll do your best to keep yourself and your 'patient' safe.

Still the slightest concerned, the male nods, "Well, I think that's all. Oh, that's right. Here, I found these in the warehouse. They seem safe and should help reduce Kokichi's fever."

You take the small bottle of pain medication and thank him. "Thanks, Shuichi. Be careful getting back."

Painkillers. You're surprised Monokuma was merciful enough to leave these in the warehouse for you all, you muse as you walk back to your chair.

Before you can even settle back into your seat, Kokichi hits you with a flustering question.

"Do you like Shuichi?"

"W-what? Of course, he's my friend."

"I mean do you have a crush on him," he clarifies, sounding like a child asking his babysitter about her love life.

"N-no! I don't like him like.. that."

"Well then is there someone else you like? You can tell me. I probably won't even remember any of this tomorrow."

Suddenly you feel the need to avert your gaze, completely caught off guard by this conversation.

"N-no, I.. there's no time to focus on things like that here.."

"That doesn't mean you can't have feelings. So... who is it?"

There's a chance that you are telling the truth and the topic alone is just that flustering for you. But Kokichi doesn't buy it. Or maybe he doesn't want to. But really, isn't this simultaneously the most and least perfect place for feelings to take root? Trapped within a limited space, with the same faces everyday, and, unless you're a fool, with absolutely nothing to look forward to day to day? Isn't that just asking for bonds to form, and then unceremoniously break, because this is still the Killing Game?

Even if you're too afraid and too angry to pursue someone, you probably still think about someone when you're sitting with them for breakfast, when you're on the way to the location of a body, when you're alone in your room.

"Kokichi, I'm not going to tell you something like that.. There's nothing to tell anyway."

"Hmm, how about this. I'll tell you mine then you tell me yours. Deal?"

After some back and forth and endless prodding, the Ultimate Supreme Leader does what he does best and manages to persuade you, if only to get him to stop bothering you. Plus.. like he said, he probably won't remember anyway, right? Maybe it wouldn't hurt to get something off your chest.

"Okay, I'll give you a hint."

"What?? But you said--

"She's cute, and she has (h/c) hair and… she's looking at me right now."

"W-what?! What are you saying..?"

"I'm saying I like you."

You feel like you're the one with a fever now. It takes you a moment, but you remember exactly who you're talking to, and how he would never say something like this except to make fun of you.

"That's not funny..," you mutter, gripping the bottle in your hand as you avert your eyes.

Suddenly your hand is in his clammy one, and you're staring at his flushed face, eyes shining with sincerity, or what he wants you to think is sincerity.

"I'm not joking, (y/n). I really like you," he insists, seeming confused as to why you're fighting him.

“S-stop it, Kokichi. Stop talking like that," you say as you try to pull your hand from his grip.

He doesn't let you go, insistent that he's telling you the truth. You wish you didn't want to believe it so much. You should have let the subject go, but it's too late to brush it off now.

"If you like me so much then why are you telling me now?.. Why haven't you told me before?"

Why say it now, when he's not even in his right mind?

"I didn't know how to say it, but I mean it. I really like you."

Of all the mean-spirited things he's said to you, this is one of the worst. Here you are caring for him - after volunteering to no less - and keeping watch over him, and he still can't even treat you nicely? Are your feelings really so insignificant to him that he can't keep from toying with them?

"You don't like me, Kokichi! I'm not going to fall for that so just stop, please!"

"How do you know that?," he cries, voice wavering lightly. You almost believe he's genuinely upset.

"I don't know," you reply bitterly. "I don't know anything about you. How can I? You want me to believe you but all you do is lie and hide the truth."

"But--"

You rise out of your chair, tossing two capsules of medicine onto his covers.

"No, just, just leave me alone. Take those and get some rest. I'll be here if you need anything but if you don't, then just leave me alone, please."

And to your surprise, he does. He doesn't say a thing for the rest of your shift, and eventually drifts to sleep, leaving you to soak alone in the wave of emotions roaring over you.

'Was I too harsh..?'

You can't help but question yourself. At the time you were completely convinced that Kokichi was only messing with you, trying to play with your emotions for fun, but now you feel guilty. What if it was true? Or what if he didn't mean any harm, and was just genuinely confused because of his high fever?

It's 2 a.m. when someone knocks on the door. You don't notice it at first because you're so consumed with the cycle of emotions that run through you at the thought of everything that Kokichi has said tonight.

You don't even feel relieved when Kiibo comes in for his turn; instead, you're almost angry. Angry at yourself and at Kokichi, and how you can't just have a normal conversation with him, how much you wanted to believe everything he told you in these past few hours.

After bidding the android good luck, you tuck yourself in for the night, still conflicted about the truth.

----

By the next afternoon, it's as if Kokichi was never sick to begin with. Due to everyone's careful watch, he had almost fully returned to his regular, obnoxious self.

Once you were aware of his recovery, his previously flushed face back to its typical pale hue, you actively avoided him every time you saw him. Somehow you aren't sure whether to be angry or happy that every time, he doesn't acknowledge you at all. It's not as if he would greet you like you want him to; he would probably just mock you, and tell everyone how sentimental you were being while watching over him last night.

You try to remind yourself that he probably doesn't remember anything after all, but the thought tugs at your heart as you realize that would mean he was more delirious than you thought, that he didn't mean anything he said..

Most of the day is wasted on those thoughts, little room in your mind to do anything else but mull it over.

Until you find an envelope on the floor of your room. It must have been slipped underneath your door, since you always make sure to lock it while you're away, and it's definitely meant for you because your name is scrawled along the back.

Upon opening it, you find enclosed a note and a small flower, its petals slightly crumpled.

'Dear (y/n),

Meet me in the courtyard at 7. It's important, so please come.

- Shuichi'

You can't imagine why Shuichi would summon you, and you're not even convinced this really is from Shuichi, but you decide to go nonetheless. Whoever sent this, you'll learn something from this encounter, you know that much.

Armed with your pocket knife and a mini taser you convinced Miu to make you, you step out into the courtyard, hoping you won't need to use either.

The sun is set, but it's relatively light out still as you move further from the dorm hall, which slightly eases your anxiety. But it comes back as you realize it's only a couple minutes before 7, and Shuichi is nowhere to be seen.

You walk further, thinking maybe he's coming from a different building, but you're stopped when someone taps on your shoulder.

"Heya, (y/n)," Kokichi greets casually, his arms tucked behind his head.

Immediately you try to move in a different direction, your eyes avoiding his, "I'm supposed to be meeting up with someone right now."

"Yup, me! I left you that note, not Shuichi."

You turn around to see him grinning, unable to decipher whether he's lying. "What..? But then why--"

"I knew you wouldn't come if it was from me, so I lied a little."

What else is new?

All the curiosity from before has left you now, leaving only exasperation. "What do you want, Kokichi?"

He drops his grin from a moment ago and sighs.

"Look, I'm sorry that I tricked you, okay? I just didn't know how else to get you to come here. But hey, listen, did I say anything.. weird yesterday? I can't remember much, so.. I wanted you to fill me in."

That's why he called you here? So he can clear up anything he said with some nonsense excuse?

"Yes, a lot…," you reply curtly, ready to walk away.

Before you can get more than a few steps away from him he stops you, "O-okay, wait, wait! That's not why I called you here. Just hear me out, alright?"

"Fine.."

"So.. I actually remember everything from last night. At least most of it, I think. I know I upset you, right?"

You nod wordlessly, and he continues.

"And it's 'cause you didn't believe my feelings for you. Right?"

"K-kind of.."

"Well.. I actually wasn't lying. I was trying to give you this yesterday, but since you were pissed at me I'm giving it to you now, so.. here."

In the arm hidden behind his back he holds a cardboard box, maybe a little bigger than the size of his head. Could it be one of the boxes you saw lying around in his room? He hands it to you, and it's heavier than expected.

"What.. is this?"

"It's a present, but y'know, there's no wrapping paper here so I just left it like that. Anyway, just open it. I promise it's not a bomb."

That hadn't crossed your mind but now you're less convinced that this present is something innocuous. But if Kokichi is still standing less than a foot away from you, you reason that whatever is in here can't be immediately dangerous. Hopefully.

You sit down, finding it easier to open this way, and when you open the flaps of the box, you're left furrowing your brow.

"What is all this?"

"They're weapons and stuff I told Miu to make."

You can see that much, but you're left wondering why. Is this some kind of joke too?

"I've had 'em for awhile. You can find out what they do if you look at her instructions and my blueprints."

"But, I don't get it.. why did you have her make these,  and why give them to me?"

"'I had her make those so we could find the mastermind, but if I die before we can use them, then you guys are screwed. I was waiting to see who I could trust, so I kept it a secret. Plus, if I told anyone else, they'd probably rat me out to everybody. So.. since you're not stupid enough to do that, and stuff.. I'm giving them to you."

You look up at him, only met with his side profile while he stares elsewhere, hands behind his head like they were before.

"I didn't know you thought so much about all this.."

Kokichi has his back turned to you now, in attempts to seem nonchalant, but really, he doesn't want to have to mask the emotions that might break through his expression.

"Meh. I couldn't let the game get boring, so. Plus it's fun to order Miu around, have you ever tried it?"

You dig around in the box, curious if there's anything else, and there is.

A kubspad.

Could it be..?

Your eyes flood first with happiness and then tears as images of your loved ones flash before you, first with smiles on their faces. You choke back a sob as Monokuma alludes to something terrible by the end of it. It's nothing you haven't considered before, but the thought that they could be suffering or worse is always distressing.

"K-Kokichi.. You had this?"

"Not at first, but yeah."

He clears his throat, uncomfortable with the lump that's started to form there.

"I was gonna show everyone's motive video, right? But then you guys got in the way, but I still saw them all. I was tempted to show you yours but I didn't know if you were trustworthy yet, so I held onto it."

Kokichi half expects you to snap at him for keeping this from you for that long, and he braces himself for it. He couldn’t really blame you for being mad about that; you obviously care a lot about the people in your video, and even he could understand the dread of not knowing exactly what was happening to them. But you don’t snap at him - instead, your voice is the softest he’s ever heard it.

"Thank you," you murmur, the pad pressed tightly to your chest.

He isn't sure what to say now. What do you say to someone when they're sad, when you don't want them to be?

At a loss of what else to do, he sits down beside you and plays with the grass. He has the urge to crack a joke to lighten the air but he has a feeling you might not appreciate it right now.

Still, the silence is making him restless and you notice it.

"Kokichi.. Do you really.. Like me?"

He doesn’t say anything right away, leaning back and letting his back rest on the grass.

“Ha.. I don’t know why I said that. Just forget about it, ‘kay?”

It’s easier said than done, and he knows that. He knows you can’t just forget, and he knows he can’t just forget. What he doesn’t know is why he cares. Why should he care how you feel, or how he feels, or about anything at all? It was simpler before you became a recurring thought, before just seeing you was infuriating because his stomach would fill with butterflies and he didn’t understand so he thought you just made him sick. That thought is kind of funny now, especially after you spent hours tending to his fever, worrying about him.

Despite what Kokichi is thinking, his words make your heart drop into your stomach.

“What? How can I forget that?”

“Well it’s not like you.. like me or anything,” he utters, and for a moment you know he’s sincerely crestfallen, but he recovers with a nonchalant smile, “Sooo, just forget it! It’ll just be awkward if you don’t, and neither of us wants to deal with that.”

Your breath catches in your throat as you realize, it was never that Kokichi was lying to you; he was afraid all this time.

“I’m not going to forget it.”

He sits up, caught off guard by your serious tone. “Huh? Why not?”

“Because,” you pause, steeling yourself to say it, "Why would I want to forget if I feel the same way?"

Kokichi is ready to make a doubtful remark but you continue before he can.

"That's why I got so upset at you.. I didn't want you to get my hopes up. I thought maybe somehow you knew that I had feelings for you and you were making fun of me for it. Plus.. I never considered you could actually feel the same way."

When you first realized you felt something for Kokichi, you were confused and angry more than anything. Sure, he is cute, but he’s always kidding about things you shouldn’t and stirring up trouble for everyone else. Not to mention that having feelings for someone, let alone someone like Kokichi, in a situation like this is just ridiculous, and not something to think about.

You finally bring yourself to look at the boy sitting next to you, curious why he’s been silent, but his knees are to his chest and his face is buried into them. Hesitantly, you place a hand on his shoulder.

“..Kokichi? What’s wrong? You’re making me nervous.”

At his continued silence, you tug on his white sleeve, “Kokichi.”

He lifts his head but doesn’t face you at first. You notice his shoulders shaking, and worry he might be crying. When he finally faces you, you see that tears are dripping down his cheeks, but he’s also.. smiling?

“What’s wrong?”

“Ugh, it’s this stupid disease. It’s making me all mushy,” he sniffles. “Don’t get used to this. I never ever cry. Ever.”

You’re only half convinced that his illness is to blame, but you’re relieved he’s okay anyway. Feeling emboldened, you slide a little closer to the boy and wrap your arms around him, for his sake and yours. It feels surreal being this close to him, feeling strands of his hair poke your cheek as you take in his scent and his warmth, a feeling you’ve thought about for so long.

Kokichi’s thin frame goes stiff, “H-hey! Geez, you’re needier than I thought..”

You pull away, a little disappointed but mostly embarrassed, but you’re pulled back into him almost immediately.

“But so am I! Guess we’re kinda made for each other or whatever, huh?,” he murmurs cheekily into your ear.

“Kokichi!”

He chuckles as he squeezes his arms tighter around you, and though you can’t see it, he’s smiling tenderly, newly instilled with determination to bring down the mastermind, to keep both of you alive at all costs.

The sincerest you’ve ever heard him, Kokichi makes a simple request of you. “Stay with me, okay?”