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eddiesguitarskills · 5 months

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It can’t all be bullshit Part 2

Read part 1 here

Eddie Munson x fem Reader x Steve Harrington (unfortunately no Steddie in this)

Summary: pinning after your best friend can be hard, especially when he doesn’t like you back. You were trying to get over a crush the last thing you needed was another.

AN: this is all I've written for the story, so I won't be as fast updating. Also, I'm sorry I write a lot for female-presenting readers it's just I find it easier to write it like that, especially with my dyslexia. However, if you guys want I can start reuploading the story with non-gender descriptions just might take it longer to edit it.

Warnings: Angst, use of Y/n, mention of break ups, miscommunication, sexual themes but no smut readers discretion is advised. Drug and alcohol use, and swearing.

word count 3.7kish

Monday morning came around quickly, which you were glad about. The sooner you could get away from that awful weekend, the better. Eddie hadn’t remembered anything from that night, or if he did, he didn't mention it. You were also glad that you didn’t want another argument, and you definitely didn’t want details on his love life. Not that you hadn’t thought about it, your brain was too cruel to not make you dwell on it, you also thought about Harrington was he okay? Not that you cared about him of course just one human looking out for another. If you happen to be looking around to see if he made it to school that would be out of curiosity not because you cared. Thankfully his locker was near to yours so you would eventually see how he was, to be honest with how the gossip spreads in this school you would hear about it eventually if the king and queen of Hawkins really had broken up.

I don't hear anything about it until a week later at lunch. You were a little late as you had been stuck talking to your English teacher, Miss Plant, and you felt too rude to leave despite the rumbling in your stomach. As soon as you got to the table, a conversation began. “Do you reckon his head hurt?” Eddie joked. “Whose head?” you said while sitting in your seat beside Eddie. “The king when he fell from his throne”. You were beyond confused. Were they talking about a new campaign? You couldn't remember a king in your current D&D campaign. Maybe you had been too busy dazing at your leader at the meetings to notice if there was a new character. You didn't want to feel stupid, so you nodded like you understood. It wasn't until the conversation continued and you heard the mention of Nancy Wheeler you understood. You knew Eddie and Steve didn't like each other, but some of his words seemed too harsh. You saw what Harringtons' wrath could be like, and you didn't want Eddie on the receiving end. You picked at your peas, not daring to look up, and you knew how they would all tease you about nagging again. “Maybe we shouldn't talk about this”. Eddie raised his eyebrow, stopping his rant. “Why are you scared?” he challenged. You shrugged back.

Everyone was surprised. You hadn't nagged, you hadn't come back at him, you had stayed remarkably calm. Eddie wanted to see how long it would take you to snap, but he didn't have a chance when Chris, taking the hint, changed the subject. “So when’s the date, Eddie?” Not realising this would be the thing to make you snap. Since when did he have a date? Indeed it wasn't with what's her face from the party? You thought he didn't remember anything from that party, and if he did, why hadn't he apologised to you yet? “Well, she wanted to come over on Thursday, but I don't know” he looked at you to gauge a reaction; that was your weekly bowling night. Don't shout. It's okay. It's only the night you look forward to most, and you don't have much to look forward to. It doesn't matter. Well, maybe it does, but not to him anymore. “Have fun” you say standing to leave the table, dumping the food on your tray. Any hunger you had felt had gone and was replaced with nausea.

You needed somewhere to hide because you weren’t going to the next period. You needed someone to cry or scream or both. So you disappeared to Eddie’s spot in the woods. You hold onto yourself for warmth, looking down, trying to be careful not to trip on the twigs hidden in the mud. You finally make it to the table without an accident when you see out of the corner of your eye a guy. You pray it's not Eddie or someone here for a deal. It was the last thing you needed. You weren't sure if you would keep your cool this time round, especially with the stupid tears that kept lining your eyes.

“I didn't think anyone else would be here”, he spoke. It wasn't Eddie, but it was someone you also didn't want to bump into. You hoped after that night you would never have to come face to face with Harrington again. “Sorry, I can go,”you say, hoping to make a swift exit. “No, it's fine, I don't own the woods”.

There is an awkward silence. You debated getting up to leave, but you were stuck there frozen. “Looks like I’m not the only one having a shit day.” You don’t dare look up. Yeah, you were having a bad day, but it didn’t feel right to compare it to a breakup. “Mine nothing compare to yours”. You look up quickly. You didn’t mean it to sound that way. “No, I meant I’m fine. I’m sorry about what happened”. God, did you sound as dumb as you thought? “So I guess everyone knows now”. You shake your head “just because I know doesn’t mean everyone knows”.

He weakly chuckles, but there is no humour behind it: “It kind of does. It’s made its way down to the bottom of the food chain”. Steve’s eyes widened. Shit, he didn’t mean to sound like that. “No offence”. He couldn’t help being how he was. Having to put up an act for so long makes it hard to realise when he was being a dick. “None taken”. You shrug. You were used to the name-calling by jocks, so his words felt like nothing. “So what happened to you?” You twiddle with the ring Eddie gave you on a chain. “Don’t worry about me”. Steve smiles. “It’d be nice to worry about something else for a change. So is it a guy?” You laugh at him. “Do you think all girl's problems revolve around a guy?”. He nods.” Well, that is very guy-like of you, but yeah, you’re right. This time, it’s a guy.” Steve’s face lights up with a smirk. “I knew it! So what happened.” You go to speak but look up, realising it is not a friend you are talking to. It’s a popular kid. Even worse than that, it’s the king of Hawkins high. “Just typical guy stuff.”

Steve took the hint you didn’t want to get into it, so they changed the subject. “I know you don’t owe me anything, but Can you not tell anyone I was here? If Principal Coleman finds out I cut, I’m dead” You almost wanted to laugh; the Principal would find out, but looking at his face, you knew he was deadly serious. “who would I tell?” He shook his shoulders. “I don’t know”. You smiled. “Exactly. I’m gonna have to start charging you for all the secrets I keep”. He looked utterly lost. “Huh?”

Eddie sauntered over, his metal lunch box in hand. He could only see Harrington and the back of a girl’s head. So he didn’t know who it was. “My spots are popular today. I’ve even got King Steve, and I assume his new plaything here.” You turn around to face him. Now was not the time for his antics. “Leave it, Eddie” you sneered. The boy’s eyes widened, and he shook his head. “Absolutely not” he grabbed your arm and pulled you out of the woods away from Steve.

After many tries, you finally got out of Eddie’s grasp. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”. The boy rolled his eyes, “saving you”. You repeated his facial expression, “I didn’t need saving”. He tutted and slung his arm around you. “You were about to be Harrington’s next prey; trust me, you needed saving.” You pushed him off. “We were just talking”. Eddie looked at you like he was telling off a child, not a friend and definitely not someone he fancied “That’s how it starts”. You hated that he treated you like you didn’t know how the world worked. “I don’t see why you care”. He shook his head. “I’m your best friend, of course I care”. There it was, the famous last words of any crush. You were officially friend-zoned, and you would never get out of that. You felt deflated, so you just nodded and followed him to his van and then trailer.

A month later you were going to another party this time it was your idea. Getting over this crush had been more challenging than you had planned, so you decided to do something the opposite of what you usually would. Tonight, you would act like all the other teenagers and drink till you forget. Or find someone to help you forget. When you told Eddie you were going, he insisted he took you despite your protests. How are you supposed to get over someone when he doesn't leave you alone? You had bought an outfit for tonight because your usual outfit of jeans and a tee didn’t feel fitting. So you bought a red tight spaghetti strap dress, you thought about wearing heels you put them on, but as soon as you wobbly stood up like Bambi on ice, you realised it wasn't the best idea, so you put on your black trusty Converse. It's nice to have familiarity and not feel like Bambi on ice when trying to catch someone up. You hear several impatient beeps outside; you would think you had made him wait for hours when he had only just arrived 30 minutes late, of course. Life is always on Eddie’s schedule. You just wanted to get to the party and out of his sight, so you grabbed your bag put on a layer of lipgloss and ran outside to Eddie’s van.

He had the window down. He looked at your outfit and shook his head. “You’re gonna freeze”. You were sick of his new habit of babying you; was this what you sounded like to him? Was this just him mocking you? The girl from the last party poked her head out. “I think you look hot. I’m Sasha (sorry if this is your name she is nice though) by the way”. You nod. “Y/n”, he brought her, of course he brought her. She was nice. Why did she have to be nice? It's easier to dislike someone when they are a bitch, not a beautiful soul like hers. You were even more jealous now you wish you could be more like her than you. You got into the back of the van as Eddie drove (over the speed limit) to the party. Sasha was super friendly along the way and kept asking you questions to get to know Eddie’s best friend more. The boy stayed quiet, in thought. He was struggling to keep his eyes on the road as he kept looking at you through the rearview mirror in disbelief.

When you finally got to the party, you found your way to the punch bowl, the pair not leaving your side. You picked up a red cup, filling it with the content of the bowl, whenever that may be. Before you could even put it to your lips. Eddie took the cup from your hands, pouring it back into the bowl, Tutting at you. “Are you okay tonight? You’re acting weird”. God, you were sick of his stupid face and stupid comments, but then it struck you this was your way out from the couple, from him. “You know I’m feeling a little weird. I’m gonna go to the toilet… it’s probably because of my period”. It was a lie, but you knew it would stop him from following you.

You went up the stairs and poked your head into a room, hoping it would be the bathroom. Unfortunately for you, it wasn’t; Steve Harrington sat on a bed, his leg tapping anxiously and anxiously. why did you two seem to have a universal magnet. “Sorry”. He looked up at you. You went to leave but were stopped by his voice calling, “Wait, you’re the girl who ditched me”.

“The girl?” You repeated him. “I have a name. It’s y/n, and I wouldn’t exactly call it ditched.” He laughed, getting up and shutting the door behind you. “What would you call it? I know it’s not your fault, though, was your boyfriend jealous?”. You glare at the thought, “he’s not my boyfriend”. He laughs. “Does he know that?” You turn to leave. “I’m not in the mood for whatever this is”. He holds your hand not too tightly, so if you want to go, you can, bringing you to the bed to sit down. You are stocked by yourself that you don't push him away, but the gentleness of this action makes your heart flutter. Maybe Steve Harrington could help you forget. “So he’s the one that made you cry”. Maybe not. You put your hands on your face, embarrassed “Is it that obvious?”. He pulls your hands away from your face, shaking his head. “He’s an idiot if he doesn’t see how beautiful you are”. You want to smile at his words, but they make you cringe. “Is this how you get all the girls?” He sighs. God, he had just been broken up with; maybe it was too soon to mention girls. “I’m sor-“ he puts a finger to your lip. “You apologise far too much”. You nod. “I just don’t want you to bite my head off again”, you mumble, fiddling with the end of your dress.

“When did I do that?” He had no clue what you were talking about, so why did you even mention it? “It doesn’t matter” you keep your eyes down. He uses his hand to lift your chin so you’re looking at him. “When did I do that?” He says as genuinely as he can. He was trying to be better, a more likeable guy, and if he wanted to do that, he needed to right his wrongs. “It wasn’t your fault; it probably just seems worse in my head because I wasn’t enjoying myself…and Eddie was being a dick and-“ he puts his hand on yours to calm you. “It was Halloween; I think you and Nancy had just had an argument. I guess you needed someone to take your rage out on, and I just happened to be there”. He runs a hand through his hair and shakes his head. Annoyed at himself, he couldn’t look at you. “It’s fine; I swear it wasn’t that bad. Otherwise, I wouldn't be sitting here. You just told me to fuck off and said bullshit a lot”. He looks over at you. “So you know what happened with Nancy?” you nodded “I got the gist”. He nudged your shoulder with his “thanks for not telling anything”. You laugh. “As you said in the wood, I’m the bottom of the food chain. I've got no one to tell.”

He wanted to beat himself up; he had fallen so far into the idea of popularity that he became what he swore he would never be a dick. “You aren’t, and I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like that.” You squeeze his hand. “Don’t go soft on me. I'm quite content being there . It means I can fade into the background”. He holds both of your hands and looks you up and down until his eyes land on yours. “Someone like you isn’t meant to fade into the background”. You don’t know what comes over you; maybe it’s how nice he’s being, that you had never been called pretty by a boy, or how handsome he looked, but you lean in and kiss him. Maybe it’s because you recognise the broken mess hidden behind his eyes. You instantly realise what you’ve done. You couldn’t blame alcohol for this. You had still never drank. You’re about to pull away when Steve brings his hands to your hips and pulls you onto his lap so you’re straddling him. “Where” kiss. “Do you” another peck “think” another “you’re going?” You giggle into his mouth and further the kiss. Your hips were rolling against his, which was out of your control, not that you or Steve minded. You were so lost in the moment that you didn’t taste the beer on his lips until he put his tongue in your mouth. You tried to ignore it, but after a few moments, that’s all-consuming your brain: the metallic taste of it.

Steve could tell you wasn’t really into it anymore, so he pulled away. He started to feel insecure. He hadn’t kissed a girl since Nancy had. Had he already lost his touch? “are you okay? Didn’t you like-“ you shake your head animatedly. The action makes your whole body shake against him, making him moan. God, he was super embarrassed now. He moved you off him before anything got more awkward, especially if you were to feel the semi he was sporting. Jesus, why were you so in your head about everything you had a way to forget, and you ruined it? “I really liked it” he refused to look at you, too self-conscious about the situation. He kept his eyes on the ceiling fan above him. “It’s fine, y/n”- you feel awkward, too, so you keep your eyes on the door in front of you. “I just get so in my head sometimes, and I don’t drink, so I tasted alcohol and- I don’t know” You got frustrated at yourself not being able to find words. You sounded like a complete idiot. No wonder Eddie didn’t want you.

Steve looked at you and started laughing, even though he thought you were stupid. “Wait, so the Alcohol is cock blocking me?” He wasn’t laughing at you. You felt a relief wash over you. He was laughing at the situation. His laugh was so contagious and charming you don’t think you’ve ever heard it. Before you know it, you can’t help but laugh too. “What did you think you were a bad kisser or something?”. He hit your shoulder playfully. “Of course not” He joked.

There were suddenly loud moans from the room next door. You both look in that direction and laugh again. You do a silly impression of the moan. Steve stops laughing and stares at you, surprised at how good you are at making that sound. She must have had a lot of practice faking it to be that good, he thought. The moaning next door suddenly got louder. You raised your eyebrow at him “wanna play a game?”. You don't know what had come over you, but something about him relaxed you. You didn't feel the anxiety you would feel around your friends, making sure they were safe. You just wanted to have fun. You hadn’t been like that in so long.

Free to just be yourself. He raised his eyebrows back. “I'm listening”. You moan again, louder this time. He didn't expect that. He wanted to laugh because it came from nowhere, but it turned him on. “Come on then”. (totally inspired by Easy A here) You whisper. He got the hint and moaned, too, not as loudly, though. You kept doing this back and forth, both getting more exaggerated and louder. It was hard not to laugh at how ridiculous you sounded. Next door suddenly got very quiet. “I think we won”, he nudged your arm. You burst out laughing. He had never noticed you before, but he was glad he had you tonight. He needed a laugh. He doesn't remember the last time he had actually had fun with worrying about the consequences.

There was a bang on the door. “Are you in there, y/n!?” you suddenly stop laughing and roll your eyes upon hearing your best friend’s voice. “Looks like your boyfriend’s jealous again”, Steve joked without thinking. But he then started to panic that maybe you weren’t friends yet. Was it his place to jok- you smack his arm. “Shut it, bullshit boy” you tease back. He would have hated hearing that from anyone else. But from you, he didn't mind. He wasn't sure why. Maybe it's because there was no malice in your voice. Perhaps it's because you had made his awful night better. His week is better. There is another bang on the door “y/n!” you glare at the door. Of course, he had to ruin your fun.

Wasn't it bad enough that he was breaking your heart? “I should go before he bursts a vein or something”. You get up to leave despite the voice in your head telling you to stay. “Thank you for tonight. I really need it”. You kiss his cheek. He smiles, feeling his cheek getting warmer and his heart beating faster. No, he wasn’t ready; he couldn't let this happen like this. “ I'm trying to be better, so I don’t want to lead you on. I don’t want a girlfriend”. You shake your head, going to leave the room, and scoff, “In your dreams, bullshit boy”. He shouts after you, hoping you can hear, “I'm not sure about this new nickname”.

Outside the door, Eddie has his hands on his hips like a parent. “Were you just in there with Harrington?” he says the name like it’s venom. “Yeah, so” just because he was your best friend, he had no right to tell you who to hang out with. You used to think his protective side was endearing, but now it was annoying. You couldn’t say anything about who he hung out with, so he can’t say anything about who you choose to spend time with. Well, that’s what you thought, but Eddie had other ideas, “are you trying to kill me?” He asks like it’s a serious thing that could happen. “Oh yeah, top of my to-do list” There you were, the person Eddie loved, the one with a comeback for everything, but now wasn’t the time for him to bask in your teasing contest that he lived for. No, when there was only a door between you and Harrington, that was too close for comfort for Eddie. He wasn't sure what the new relationship between you and the ‘king’ was, but he didn't like it one bit.

Taglist : @yourdailymemedelivery @kitkat80 @mewchiili @xprloki

@daisy-munson @exploding-bonbon

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Masterlist link here if you are interested.

#eddie munson angst #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x reader #stranger things angst #steddie x reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington angst #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #stranger things

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vixensofsorrow · 7 months

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Demolition Lovers - Ⅰ you touch me once again and somehow it stings cause i know it is the end

DISCLAIMER: This fic is a long slowburn with multiple chapters, still being updated. also on AO3 my masterlist (all the chapters are linked there) PAIRING: young!Carol Denning/fem!reader OVERALL SUMMARY: An exploration of your and Carol's relationship through the years. CHAPTER SUMMARY: You and Carol reunite after a long time apart. CHAPTER TAGS: angst, fluff, friendship, complicated feelings, reader plays soccer, high school, developing relationship A/N: no clue how to add footnotes on tumblr but Engie is a Nickname for Engine Room, which central midfielders are often described as. also english isn't my native language so mb for any mistakes. im just a desperate lesbian in a world with not enough carol x reader insert fanfiction

“Carol! Carol, slow down!” You panted, quickly trying to sneak in shallow breaths in between your pleadings.

“I told you already, we don’t have much time!” She spoke up ominously, not even turning her head around to look at you, just focusing on running straight ahead with slight twists and turns here and there, still holding your sweaty hand tightly. She guided the both of you through the humid, pine scented, and slightly foggy forest of a small, West Virginia mill town where somewhere, underneath all the trees’ crowns, your hiding spot was.

“I see it!” Carol exclaimed, using her lungs' full potential. She briefly turned her head to take a short glimpse at your breathless and distraught self, your only reply was a slight smile of relief.

The two of you finally reached your destination. You immediately slid down the huge pine tree with your and Carol’s initials, a bunch of silly stick men and other drawings messily carved into the trunk, finally able to take a proper, deep breath.

Carol was still pacing around, hands fidgeting, occasionally tapping her foot like she was in distress, or anticipating something bad — those weren’t the signs that particularly worried your 8-year-old self, though. Upon further reflection, you recognized the pacing around as something to be concerned about, because your older sister would do the same thing whenever something unpleasant happened. What was most noticeable was her sudden change in mood, from running maniacally, smiling, to shutting down. Maybe it could’ve been from exhaustion? Why didn’t she just sit down then? You pondered.

You looked up at her, at the same time as she was looking down and when your eyes met, you were sure that something was indeed wrong. The look Carol gave you was dull, like she was trying to detach herself from whatever was happening. As your eyes locked, Denning’s began glistening, and she was clearly trying to hold back weeping by plastering a fake grin, with no success. She pulled up her glasses to wipe the tears away with the sleeve of her sweater.

“Care, what’s wrong?” You stood up, not even brushing the dirt off of your corduroy overalls, then taking Carol’s hands in yours. There was no way you could stop her crying now, and some teardrops fell on the back of your palms.

“You can tell me.” You added softly, furrowing your brows in a confused, yet clearly worried manner. You spoke with the intent of reassuring Carol that in this exact moment, the both of you were safe and sound in each other's presence and no one would be able to hurt you.

You weren’t breaking eye contact for even a second.

“Mom… Well….” At this point, Carol’s tears transformed into a full on stream, her vision turning blurry. “Not mom… I mean probably but…” Carol stuttered. She attempted to collect herself before continuing, sniffling.

“Barb… she told me that we are going to Illinois…” She tightened her grip, almost digging her nails into your hands, fully breaking down.

She was being serious about this.

Carol couldn’t hide it anymore, and even if she tried you could see everything written all over her puffy, red face. You were startled, almost frozen in place, the only sensation you felt being the occasional gust of wind and Carol squeezing your palms more and more with every second that passed by. You weren’t sure why, but it was somehow pleasant, reminding you that both of you are still alive and breathing. In this moment of silence, only broken by you sniffling and Carol gasping for air, everything hit you all at once.

The Denning's were moving out. Carol was moving out. Your best friend was moving out.

You tried to keep your cool as best as you could, so as to not upset her even more — you knew she didn’t like pity. Your attempt was unsuccessful, and you could feel your lips quivering.

Care threw herself into your arms and hugged you so tightly like she never did before, laying her head down on your shoulder. You took this as a chance to bawl your eyes out, hugging her back.

“You’re my best friend… And this may be the last time I'm going to see you.” She stuttered through the tears. After a moment of silence, you slowly let go of Carol, the both of you looking like a mess. Her hair was stuck to her sweaty, wet face, eyes puffy as if she had an allergic reaction, meanwhile your runny nose and bloodshot eyes made you look like you were ill, and you certainly felt like it.

“I’ll wait for you.” Your voice cracked, and you were frantically digging through the pockets of your jacket, eventually pulling out a jawbreaker candy and handing it to Carol.

Both of you smiled through the tears as she took the candy and hugged you for the last time in years.

The gym, covered with school representative dark blue and yellow banners, or posters with cheesy motivational quotes plastered on the beige walls, echoed with the principal asking something along the lines of “Is everyone excited!?”. Shockingly, a few people actually were, and rather loudly too.

He went on to boast about the many achievements of the school, about how great we all are, almost starting an inspirational speech. Before he could go on further, the more empathetic vice principal cut him off. “Let’s welcome MHS Band!”

“God damn, why does this shit always take ages?” The defender complained, slamming her locker over the sound of trumpets and drums in the distance. Someone from the team chuckled at the question. Other girls were spraying their hair, fixing their makeup, changing into uniform and whatnot.

“It always takes this long. You oughta get used to it.” Veronica walked up to Jennifer, who was painting little scorpions on the team members’ cheeks, to get hers done.

Tonya narrowed her eyes. “Well, yeah, but it doesn’t make it less annoying.”

The band went quiet, and the cheerleaders took over to the sound of Voulez-Vous by ABBA. “I can’t believe people actually listen to this European disco shit.” Rachel scoffed, and Veronica started singing it off-key incoherently just to piss her off, dancing with her hands, swaying to the rhythm of the bass boosted by the schools’ speaker's song.

She forgot she was getting her face painted and swung her head around to elevate her performance, which caused Jennifer to slip her hand and draw a straight line across her face.

“Ronica! Take a chill pill!” The attacking-midfielder rolled her eyes and let Jennifer clean up the mess, sneaking in a quiet “Sorry.” The team captain reflected, “Also, it’s not that bad. At least they used a song that’s not, like, 50 years old.” The goalkeeper raised an eyebrow in approval after giving it some thought.

“Ronica’s singing is, though.” You cut in and the teammates that could hear you over the loud music laughed.

“You wouldn’t know good singing if it hit you in the face!” Your friend defended herself, continuing the back and forth teasing for a while.

The team's striker finished painting the midfielder’s face and peeked out of the locker room to see what was going on in the gym. The cheerleaders were packing up their routine with a round of applause, and the scorpion school mascot ran out of the boys’ locker room.

You and Rachel were on your way to the mirrors, as you passed by you had a look at the slightly dirty, grody, blue, fluffy mascot and a chill went down your spine.

“Fucking hell man, that thing gives me the creeps.” You turned your attention to Jennifer and the goalkeeper, the latter tilting her head to get a better look. “Yeah… yeah, I see where you’re coming from.” She raised her upper lip and wrinkled her nose.

As the three of you were staring at what was going down at the pep rally, the principal spoke up again.

“And now… For the team that needs no introduction…” The whole group had gathered now. “…Let’s make some noise for the Regionals Girls’ Soccer Team Champions, go Scorpions!” He stretched out the “go” until the A/V kid put on Call Me by Blondie.

Students were crammed into the wooden bleachers, showing all the varieties of enthusiasm you'd expect from a required school event. The other jocks' encouraging yells, the burnouts' eye rolls, and everything in between.

The first moments were always awkward, since, well, not many people were that excited about a girls’ soccer team. The girls’ boyfriends and friends would start chanting, pumping their fists for all they’re worth, which usually worked in hyping up the rest of the school. As the applause built up and feet rumbled against the bleachers, you all jogged onto the court, with the beat-up school mascot jumping around and high-fiving the front row.

The whole team stood in a straight line, Jennifer put on an act of excitement, smiling triumphantly and waving. You didn’t like pep rallies very much, but honestly, most of the school didn’t either. The principal began announcing a speech about your success at the Regionals, but you drowned him out with irrelevant thoughts. “At least this is better than going to Biology…”

Your eyes lingered around the gym, recalling a pep talk from your coach about how you should always hold your head up, so you don’t come off as uninterested or ignorant.

You turned your attention from the banners to the bleachers, looking out for some interesting action. Maybe a kid kicking someone in the back and then pretending that it wasn’t them, a couple making out, just anything to make time pass faster.

As your eyes wandered, you noticed a new face in the midst of the crowd, squinting to get a better look. She looked familiar, but you couldn’t exactly make out her features since she was focused on rummaging through her bag.

You looked away for a moment, continuing the search.

Who knows, possibly it was just your mind playing tricks on you, and it wasn’t anyone new but a classmate who just got a new haircut.

Something felt off, though. You felt a weird sensation, like someone was directly staring at you — normally, you would've just brushed it off, but this was prolonged staring, the kind that made you uncomfortable.

You searched for the culprit amongst the crowd, and you immediately locked eyes when you found her. You were right; there was a new addition to your high school, and you knew why she looked familiar. You’d recognize that gaze anywhere.

Your face went pale, eyes widened, and your whole body stiffened, unable to form a single thought. Everything went silent, and your ears were ringing. From what you could see, Carol was just as shocked, only moving her hand ever so slightly to pull up her glasses.

You could make out clapping in the background, muted by your shock, and out of the corner of your eye see teammates acting all buddy-buddy, like all of you would always do at the end of every pep rally to raise “team spirit”.

It didn’t register that it was time to pack up until Gina nudged you, and you snapped back to reality.

“Yo, it’s time to go L/N.” She reminded you, immediately running to catch up to the other girls, while you just stood there for one more second before also sprinting to the locker room.

You stormed in, squeezing through the crowd to get to the bathroom, and you slammed the cabin door. You sat down on the closed toilet lid and grabbed the roots of your hair in distress, glancing at your feet.

You were confused as to what you were feeling; you were happy because your childhood best friend is back, but also shocked and nervous because, what if Carol isn’t the same person anymore? It makes sense; it’s been, what, 7 years since you last saw each other? It’s only reasonable that she changed, but you were afraid of the possibility of Carol and you not getting along anymore. Fuck.

You missed her greatly. You used to call each other, but only for the first few years after she moved out, when you were still kids. You recalled that one time, on a random evening after not hearing from Carol after a while, you rang the phone, but no one answered. Then, you called again. Almost every day for a month, until a high-pitched, squeaky female voice answered one day to tell you that the previous tenants had moved out.

Back then, it hurt. It hurt a lot, but you got over it with time. Still, the thought of carving “Y/N and Carol BFFS 4 EVER” into a tree with a pocket knife that Denning snatched from her dad, just one last time, lingered around.

You were torn apart; should you come up to her in hopes of becoming close again, and risk the pain of losing her again, or just pretend she doesn’t exist? After giving it more thought, it would be impossible to avoid her without it being awkward after the staring contest that just happened. “Fuck this.” You gave up, and opened the cabin door, just to be greeted by Veronica with her arms crossed.

“So, what’s eating you, Engie? 1” You jumped, and your heart sped up for a second.

“Fuck off! You made me spazz out!” Your brows furrowed, and you let out an exasperated sigh, walking away without an answer to change out of your uniform.

‘Ronica just threw her hands up in the air in annoyance, “That’s what I get for trying to be a supportive friend.” she mumbled. In some moments, the girls’ locker room wasn’t the most pleasant environment to be in.

You didn’t mean to blow up at Veronica like that, thinking about it, you probably could've used a piece of advice, a shoulder to lean on.

You packed up your bag, shut your locker and went to the mirrors to wash off the little scorpion on your cheek.

The attacking midfielder was leaning on the sink, listening to Rachel, Jennifer, and Nicole talking about a get-together to celebrate your success.

“Can we be civilized now?” She turned to look at you and fixed her hair.

“Yeah, you bet…” you smiled, “… I didn’t mean to explode at you like that.”

“It’s whatever, now, onto other, more important manners.” Vee joined in on the conversation about the party, as you picked at your face. School was out for today, so you could linger around until the janitor would make you leave.

Jennifer announced the gathering before anyone could leave, so that none of you would have an excuse not to go. Most of the time, she didn't care about your team interacting, which isn’t the best trait for a captain, but you all got along rather quite well (for hormonal, teenage girls), so she didn’t really bother with it. She must’ve been really excited about going to the State Championships.

As you said your goodbye’s and were about to leave, the striker stopped you. “L/N, I very much expect to see you there, and remember, no excuses!” Jennie mimicked your coach and you both laughed.

Still, what went down earlier today wouldn’t leave your mind. Your duffle bag was hitting your hips as you passed by the front of the school. You saw Vee sitting down on the benches by herself, and decided that you do need to talk about Carol. She scooted, you took a seat, and lit up a cigarette.

You were afraid of starting the conversation, and Veronica sensed that. “So, what fucked your day up, then?”

You took a drag. “You remember how I talked about that childhood friend of mine?”

“I think so?” She gesticulated and you passed her the cigarette. “Her name starts with C, right?”

“Yeah, Carol…” You hear your friend whisper a quiet “Ohhh, yeah, yeah.”

You continued. “… She was at the pep rally today.” As Veronica was about to put the cancer stick to her lips, she dropped her jaw and raised her eyebrows. “You serious?”

“Deadly serious, fortunately or unfortunately. I’ve got no clue what to do, ‘Vee.” You bounced your leg and nibbled on the inside of your lip. “Should I come up to her or something? I can’t even ignore her after the fuckin’ staring contest we had.” Ronica, once again, handed the cigarette back to you and you took another drag.

“Well, I think only Mother Theresa could help you with that.” She tried to joke as an attempt of lighting up the mood, but only got a stern look of disapproval from you.

“Okay um, well. Maybe wait until she comes up to you…” Vee thought more about her answer. “…and then you’ll know that she also wants to talk or something, reconnect, whatever… And I guess if she doesn’t, and you still miss her, you could make the first move?” Her voice went up an octave in uncertainty.

“That’s actually some solid advice, thanks, ‘Ronica.” You smiled at her, and she threw an arm around your shoulder, pulling you into a hug. “No prob.”

The two of you sat in comfortable silence, only broken by chatter of other students, Vee reminding you to put out the cig, and cars speeding by. A beige, 1978 Cougar honked with your friends’ dad in the driver's seat. You said your goodbyes, and after Veronica left, you picked up your duffle bag and walked off in the direction of the school bus stop.

You closed your eyes and leaned against a tree, massaging your temples, trying to reduce the tension and stress that built up over the course of the day. You heard someone flickering a lighter, and you slowly opened your eyes in curiosity.

“Who would’ve thought you’d end up as a fuckin’ jock?” She stopped playing with the lighter, which was clearly a ploy to get your attention. “I mean, you could barely run half a mile without getting outta breath back when we were kids.” A way too familiar voice teased with a big, genuine smile.

#oitnb #orange is the new black #carol denning #carol denning x reader #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #fanfic #oitnb fanfic #carol denning fanfic #lesbian

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magicaltear · 4 months

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An Outside Chance Author Update

Hello, my dear readers. Before anyone starts panicking, I wanted to state that my fic has not been abandoned. Updates will hopefully go back to our regular semi-schedule soon.

I wanted to share this little journal entry with all of you because I am hyperaware that it's been almost 8 months since I posted the latest chapter. I'm unsure if this will assuage the writer guilt I'm currently feeling, but I wanted to reach out and nurture the community part that makes fandoms such fun and welcoming spaces for all of us at the very least.

My life became a roller coaster after I last updated AOC. I went on a trip to visit my girlfriend (yes, my Friends to Lovers trope continues) and, for the first time in my life, I had no desire to use my phone or laptop throughout the day. I felt so at peace, so content simply living in the moment with her. I realized this is how true love and home feel like, and so we agreed we wanted to marry even before my trip ended.

After my trip, my time was consumed by designing an engagement ring for her, researching everything about marrying someone from a different country, as well as searching for a more stable job to help pay for all the future paperwork and visa fees. Sadly, not everything was a walk in the clouds. I had to come out to my family and...they didn't take it well. It was a very hard blow that I had to learn how to overcome. However, the situation also allowed me to receive unconditional support from the most unlikely places, so I'll be eternally grateful to everyone who stuck by my side.

But my challenges didn't end there. Tensions in my country grew nearly unbearable as elections grew closer, and I find it difficult to believe that they have now come and gone. The hardest thing for me to experience though was the first death in my family. Indeed, we had already lost my beloved Beagle, but this time we had to say goodbye to my mother's husband much earlier than anyone would have wanted. He wasn't my father, but I still have many fond memories of the 17 years we spent together. He was part of the family, and we've all been struggling and learning how to navigate this new grief we're experiencing while taking care of my widowed mother.

Through all of this, I constantly received comments and kudos in my AO3 fics, and I wanted to thank my wonderful readers for it. You guys helped me smile during one of the most difficult parts of my life, and you gave me hope for our fandom communities at a time when companies are shamelessly stealing content from anyone for their stupid AI software and newer fans are failing to recognize writers and artists as something other than corporate content creators.

So thank you so much for your support. I promise to continue An Outside Chance once my grief is not so all-consuming. I still have many plans and ideas for this story, and I refuse to give up being creative yet ♡

TL;DR: Life happened. Hard. But the unexpected hiatus does not mean An Outside Chance is an abandoned fanfic. I will post the next chapter as soon as I can. In the meantime, you're welcome to re-read all 77,456 words I've published so far and drop me more of your lovely comments. You make writing and posting these stories worth it.

★ An Outside Chance Masterlist ★ Read it on AO3

#tear-chan talks #ao3 #fanfic #an outside chance #ironstrange #author update

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kateisgonnabeperfect · 5 months

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Today is April 28th, 2024 and my name is Katelynn and I am holding myself accountable. im not letting myself fail myself anymore.

its not even about food

its about having the discipline and self-control to be able to get to the goal ive always so desperately wanted and then keep it.

its the only way i’ll be happy.

i cant give up now or let myself have anymore set-backs or be stuck, ive put in too much hard work to fuck it all up or stop now.

i never want to lose control or be fat again. in anyways shape or form.

so not only am i gonna push myself to do my best im gonna stop letting the temptation of food get to me.

food is a mere sacrifice, i’d rather be disciplined and say no and feel kinda bummed for maybe 2 seconds than continue living in a body i so desperately hate.

living in a body suffocated in fat.

not being able to have friends because i know that all they notice is the fat on my body and i can FEEL it.

always being played and treated like crap because how could you love a fat fuck ???

but i will not let myself be a fat fuck anymore or ever again.

i wont binge.

i wont purge because i wont have too.

i’ll ⭐️ ve.

i dont care if its hard or if it hurts.

i’ll prove to myself and everyone that i can indeed be thin and stay thin for the rest of my life.

i dont even necessarily care about missing out on food or stuff because in the grand scheme of things is food actually worth it?

no, it’s only a necessity; you eat to live you dont live to eat.

and im tired of the gluttony.

im tired of being the fat girl.

im tired of seeing all that fat everytime i look in the mirror.

im tired of overeating and being a slave to food.

so im accepting that even though food might always be around me, that i myself have the discipline and SELF RESPECT for myself to not give in. And accepting that it’s not a punishment, eating it would be and I dont want to punish myself anymore.

especially because college starts soon.

i have so much time on my hands and im going to dedicate it all to weight loss and cultivating a plan and mindset that will not only help me lose the reat of this weight but then keep it off.

and im tired of eating like shit.

im tired of being fat in everyway. everything about it is horrible.

i NEED to get down to 70lbs and then stay 70lbs.

i’ve always wanted to be thinner, ive always wanted to take up less space, to be seen as a person and not a tub of lard. to be wanted and appreciated and feel confident in my body.

4n4 is quite literally my savior, without her i’d be a waste of life. i’d be NOTHING.

so i’m gonna keep updating you guys about my weight loss and what i eat/consume. my calorie intake and my workouts.

i know ⭐️ving is hard, and the temptation of food is hard as a fatty but i wont let myself be a fatty.

the consequences of giving in and not staying disciplined is far worse than the sacrifice of eating something “good”

so here are my stats!

CW:100lbs

GW: 95lbs

GW:90lbs

GW:85lbs

GW:80lbs

GW:75lbs

UGW:70lbs

i dont “deserve” food. i owe it to myself to say no and just suck it up so i can finally be happy and stop hating myself.

and when i get to my UGW i will make sure i fucking maintain it so i never have to live in a body i hate again.

is it going to take time? fuck yeah. is it going to be hard? yes.

am i going to make sure i do it before college starts? fuck yeah.

#a4a coach #4n4 #tw a4a #a4a diary

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aspenwritesstuff · 1 year

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Part Two

prev | masterlist | next

warnings: ptsd/nightmares after an accident, general depression, ANGST, self-imposed isolation, themes of guilt/self doubt, swearing

wc: 8.99k

“You sure know a lot about color theory…” he mused as he added thin spokes between sections of the wheel, tilting his head at the canvas. “Mhm,” you said simply, chest already feeling heavy as you predicted what he’d say next. "You don’t just know it for fun, though, right?” he continued, still carefully adding the finest of lines to his piece, “You paint.” Your prediction was correct. “No,” you said quickly, any hint of softness you’d forced into your voice expelled the moment that question left his lips. Your lips were set in a hard line, though your heart thumped furiously against your ribs, “I don’t.”

a/n: hello, lovely readers. I'd like to start by apologizing profusely for how long updating this has taken me. I won't bore you with the details of my health - physical or otherwise - and will simply leave it at this; life is ROUGH sometimes. Thank you to those who have patiently waited for this release. I hope that it was worth the wait. I'm doing my best to get back into writing, and I assure you that updates will start coming for my other fics soon, too. I hope you enjoy this second installment of Desderium.

with love and forehead smooches (if you consent),

-Aspen

taglist: @findingjieunn @hyynee @hyunverse @dreamstarsandskz @linaliann permanent taglist: @svintsandghosts

“Mother knows best.”

You’d never quite understood why that particular phrase had become so popularized. You’d assumed up until now that it was simply a scare-tactic that adults tried to drill into pliable, adolescent minds. A way to remind them to listen, even if they didn’t understand, even if they didn’t like it.

Standing in front of the mirror dressed in clean clothes, hair still damp from a shower, you began to understand.

Though you never would have chosen to pass along your knowledge of your own volition - and as much as you hated to admit it - teaching Hyunjin had forced you to take better care of yourself.

You had no desire to impress him, by any means. If anything, it was the opposite. You’d found yourself beginning to hope that he’d grow weary of trying to communicate with you, as your company was far from being considered anything close to pleasant, and that he simply would not show up for the next session.

Yet, here you were, brushing your teeth and tying back your hair. Not ‘just in case,’ or out of anything close to it, but simply because you knew better now.

You knew better than to hope.

The day was a stark contrast to your permanent melancholia. It was beautiful, uncharacteristically warm for mid-May, with a breeze just cool enough to soothe any discomfort from the sun. Clouds straight out of a children’s book, fluffy and broad, were sparsely littered across the expanse of blue. Birdsong accompanied the scent of the nearby blossoming trees, filling the air with a whimsy you could imagine being a work of fiction.

However, you weren’t that lucky.

The day, despite how perfect it seemed, still carried with it its own share of hardships. Flowers could bloom all they wanted, and the sun could continue to shine, but what did that really change?

Nothing, because this was not a work of fiction.

You still had to go to the art school, you still had to teach Hyunjin, and you still had an angry pink scar atop your hand. Indeed, today was real - and, you’d go as far as to say it really wasn’t that beautiful at all.

If you looked at the sky for long enough, those fluffy clouds would dissipate into amorphous blobs. If you listened harder, past the birdsong, you were sure to hear a couple fighting or a parent scolding their child. If you sat beneath the warmth of the sun for too long, you would burn.

Today really wasn’t all that beautiful. Not at all.

You watched the world move around you as you took a seat on the bench, waiting for the bus to take you to your choice of hell. The sun had lured more people than usual from their homes, the park across the street filled with more life than you’d seen in a while.

Two children chased after each other, giggling and shouting in excited voices under their parents’ watchful eyes. You wished you had as easy of a time as they did, playing make believe. If you could, then maybe today could be beautiful.

But you couldn’t. And it wasn’t.

The scent of diesel in the air foreshadowed the bus’ arrival, urging you to your feet just as it appeared atop the hill. The bus driver, a man in his fifties whose name you’d never learned, gave you a curt nod as he opened the doors. He grumbled something resembling a greeting as you stepped up the two steps to the aisle, earning a tight-lipped smile in response.

The bus was packed today - you blamed the day’s masquerade as lovely for this, too - and you found yourself having to choose which patron to sit next to for the next ten minutes. You quickly crossed off the snoring man with his head against the window and the heavily pregnant woman across from him - you didn’t want to end up a pillow for the former, your hesitance for the latter stemming only from good manners.

You scanned the remaining seats, contemplating if it would be too terrible to sit next to a woman in business attire chattering away on the phone, until a gentle voice called out to you.

“You can sit here if you want.”

Your eyes darted to the source of the invitation, a man around your age with a comforting smile and welcoming aura. He held an earbud between his thumb and forefinger, pulling it out likely to hear your reply should you have one.

He didn’t seem like a terrible companion for the ride, likely returning to his music as soon as you answered. That was ideal, truth be told, not having to engage in conversation. Your decision was rushed, though, by the driver clearing his throat impatiently.

“Yeah, sure,” you nodded, sliding into the seat before sitting, “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” he urged with that same gentle grin, “Wouldn’t want you to end up drooled on,” he jutted his chin towards the man you’d decided against before, earning a scoff and a smirk from you as you settled into the leather.

He seemed disappointed that you hadn’t laughed, but that was likely because he hadn’t the slightest clue that he’d gotten closer than anyone else had in months.

This kind-faced stranger must not have been too terribly broken up over it, though, putting his headphones back in properly and tapping play against the cracked screen of his phone. You found yourself strangely comforted that you could hear bits and pieces of the song - it gave you something to focus on without having a window to stare out of.

You shut your eyes, then, as you tried to recognize what he was listening to based solely on the thumping of bass obscured by his ears. The man with the reassuring smile was humming along now, but you couldn’t find it within yourself to be bothered. You instead listened, not particularly invested though you welcomed the occupation of your mind.

Squealing tires brought you to full attention, though you couldn’t open your eyes. Horns blared over the sound of crunching glass, screams overtaking the crunching of glass. The whooshing of your pulse in your own ears left the distinct groan of bending metal as nothing more than background noise.

Your heart began to race, bringing an all-too-familiar panic to the forefront of your mind. You wanted to call out as the sound of sirens drew nearer, but you couldn’t speak.

It was as though you were frozen in time whilst the world spun out of control around you. You wanted to call out, to tell someone that you were there, to beg someone to find you and pull you from the dark.

“Can you hear me?” you could feel pressure against your shoulder, though the ability to form a response was nonexistent.

You wanted to respond, to tell them that you could. To tell them that you were in there. To tell them not to leave you in the chaos - in the dark.

You hadn’t realized the stranger next to you had stopped humming, nor that you’d dozed off, until you realized that it was his cautious hand patting your shoulder.

You felt your eyelids shoot open, a pair of concerned eyes and furrowed brows staring down at you bringing you quickly back to the surface of consciousness. You felt sick, a thin sheen of sweat rising to your face quickly cooling the burn of the embarrassed heat that had crept up your cheeks.

“You okay?” he asked then, the fear in your features registering with him the longer he looked at you.

You nodded, blinking hard as the look he wore pierced through your chest.

You had seen that look before - it was the same look your mother wore when she’d run out of tears to shed at your bedside. The same look Felix and Changbin would send your way when they dropped off their weekly bouquet - after they’d given up on trying to get any conversation out of you. The same look Ms. Park had as the nurse escorted her out as you screamed and cried.

The pity only felt worse coming from a stranger.

You cleared your throat, finding your voice to be much smaller than you remembered it being, “I’m fine,” you assured him quickly, “Sorry if I bothered you.”

“Hey, no worries,” he spoke quickly, as though the thought of you feeling like a bother were something of importance to him, “Are you sure you’re okay, though? You look like you’ve seen a ghost…” he wore that same carefree smile, though his eyes carried something akin to worry.

Why did he care? He was nothing more than a stranger you’d met on the bus, someone who shared his seat with you out of courtesy.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, hoping your voice would come out with a more believable strength this time, “I’m really okay.”

Not quite as confident as you’d hoped, but it would have to do. Less lioness, more housecat - but at least you weren’t a mouse.

“If you say so,” his eyes darted to the driver, then back to you, “This is my stop.”

Your mouth formed an ‘o’ as it finally clicked in your brain that he’d been standing this entire time. You looked out the window, noticing that you were outside of the campus, “Mine, too, actually.”

His brows shot up before he chuckled, gesturing grandly with the hand not holding his spare headphone towards the aisle, “Well, then, ladies first I s’pose!”

You gave him your best attempt at a smile, though a grimace would be a much more accurate descriptor, before rising to your feet and walking towards the door. You mumbled a thank you and waved to the driver, who simply grumbled under his breath in reply.

You didn’t blame him for that, though. You’d managed to hold up the bus twice in one day, effectively lengthening his workload. If you weren’t in such a haze from what you now knew was nothing more than a dream, you may have felt the need to call him out for his rudeness.

You ignored the irony of having such a dream, seeing as you’d wished your reality were just that - an unfortunate nightmare. You ignored the way your heart sank when you caught a glimpse of your hand when you waved to the grumpy driver, plunging deep into your stomach at the sight of your scar. You ignored the clamminess of your palms and how cold the once pleasant breeze felt against the moistness of your skin.

“You sure you’re alright? You really are a little pale,” your kindhearted seatmate spoke again from behind.

You wished you could justify ignoring him, too.

“Yeah,” your voice quavered as you answered, turning around to witness that look - the look you hated, the one everyone seemed to send your way.

You weren’t surprised at the disbelief on his face, certain that you couldn’t have sounded less okay if you tried. You expected him to press the issue, forcing you into either running away or losing your temper - fight or flight, one could say. You expected him to act entitled to your story - your trauma. You expected him to push.

“You in a hurry?”

You hadn’t expected that. You pulled your phone from your pocket, brows wrinkled in confusion as you noted the time - 9:30 - before shaking your head.

“C’mon, there’s a cafe on campus,” you knew that, of course, being alumni. The kind stranger, however, did not - and you were still too shocked to burst his bubble, “Want a coffee? Or tea? Whichever you prefer,” he rubbed the back of his head, visibly stiffening at his own awkwardness, “My treat, of course!”

You hesitated, considering the possibilities. On the one hand, he was a complete stranger. Someone who you’d only just met moments ago, someone who could see how vulnerable you were right now. Someone who looked at you with that look you hated. On the other, he’d shown compassion and left you alone until he’d needed to wake you to get off of the bus. He seemed genuine in his concerns, though you wished he’d not noticed your distress in the first place.

“You’re paying?” you reiterated, finally coming to the conclusion that one cup of tea wouldn’t hurt.

He threw his head back then, a bellowing laugh coming from deep within his stomach before he got a hold of himself. He wiped a tear from his eye, still grinning from ear to ear, “Yeah, I’m paying. C’mon.” He tilted his head in the direction of the cafe, waiting until you started towards that direction to fall into step next to you.

Hyunjin had taken extra precautions to ensure he would not be late today.

He hadn’t predicted just how annoyed he’d become with his past self, however, until he found himself reaching out of the shower to snooze an alarm - the third of five he’d set - interrupting his playlist. His irritation was short lived, fizzling out nearly as soon as it started. After all, how could he possibly stay upset by something so small?

Today was a beautiful day.

Hyunjin turned down the volume of the song that played, content to allow the trilling call of the sparrows outside to overwhelm the gentle melodies he’d chosen. Despite his earlier frustration, he found himself oddly at peace with the replacement.

As he packed his bag of supplies, his thoughts began to drown out the symphony coming in through the windows. His mind was on you - just as it had been ever since the two of you parted ways last week. Hyunjin wasn’t obsessed, at least not in a way worth any concern, but he did have questions.

Why was someone who’d volunteered as a mentor so visibly discontent with their pupil? Was it because of Hyunjin himself? Had he done something to bother you? To accidentally offended you somehow? Why did you all but run from the art room? Why weren’t you painting alongside him to show him the way? Did you even paint? You had to, seeing as you were capable of fixing an issue Hyunjin had been dealing with for weeks in a matter of minutes. Right?

Hyunjin shook his head, damp blonde strands tickling the apples of his cheeks. After his first alarm, he’d debated on whether or not he should even attend the session today. If he made you that uncomfortable, was learning a few pointers really worth it? Your pursed lips and glossed-over gaze were burnt into his memory and - after the initial joy of fixing the issue with his painting had worn off - he couldn’t shake the mounting curiosity they brought with them.

In the end he’d decided that he couldn’t pass on whatever advice hid behind your icy exterior, though. He couldn’t pass on scratching that itch, the one your venom-laced words had given him. The one that could only be relieved by answers - answers which his intuition told him would not come easily.

He zipped up his bag, considering the routes he could take to get you to open up. His ideas weren’t terrible; asking the standard questions about family and friends, debating favorite artists, bringing up his own interests in passing…but all of these ideas held one thing in common that made Hyunjin feel very, very small.

They required you to actually want to speak to him.

He glanced at the clock, then - it was only 9:45 - noting that he had enough time to swing by the cafe for an americano. Caffeine was, for all intents and purposes, a great way to sharpen his focus and lift his spirits. He could definitely use the boost.

His mind was swimming with thoughts, worries even, about today’s session - about you - and for a moment Hyunjin wondered if you felt just as unsure about today as he did.

Sliding a black cap over his slicked-back hair, Hyunjin slung his supplies over his shoulder and made his way out of the dorm building. He barely registered the waves and smiles his classmates sent his way as he walked across campus, responding to them in kind with a slight delay. His mind was too busy trying to unravel the tangled enigma that was you.

The birdsong was louder without his walls as a buffer, lightening the weight he’d been carrying by a little. He looked up to the sky, a soft smile tugging at his features at the way the clouds bloomed against the sky.

The sight made his heart feel light, forgetting for a moment about his concerns regarding his new mentor. The sky felt like the joy he’d feel at the fair as a child, and he found himself comparing the clouds to cotton candy as they melted against the brilliant sky.

Hyunjin knew what he would paint today. Before he could paint, though - coffee. In a matter of minutes, he was walking through the heavy mahogany door of the campus’ coffee shop. Passing through those doors always felt like an entirely different world to Hyunjin; the warm-toned lights mounted in metal, industrial-style brick with exposed pipes, and the scent of cinnamon and coffee grounds immediately seemed to cancel out the surrounding environment. The choir of birds was replaced by the clattering of ceramic and overlapping chatter, the gentle breeze now thick bursts of warm air from the kitchen door swinging on its hinges. Though this was definitely more man-made than the beautiful spring day he’d left outside, Hyunjin quite liked it here.

Stepping forward on the worn-down wood floors, he stopped at the counter and ordered his typical iced americano. He paid, leaving a tip before scooting to the side to allow others to place their orders as he waited for his own. He’d started to zone out slightly when he heard a familiar name called from an employee’s mouth.

Your name, followed by another that he recognized.

His head snapped up, scanning the room so suddenly that it was a wonder he hadn’t managed to give himself whiplash. His eyes landed on the carefree smile of Han Jisung approaching the counter from a booth in the corner - at which you were seated.

Hyunjin felt a pang of something akin to jealousy in his chest as he watched Han accept the drinks, surprised to see a soft smile on your face as the boy carried the drinks back to the table. His mind raced, out of his own control, as his eyes fell to the floor.

Up until now, Hyunjin had assumed that you simply just…didn’t like people, as a general consensus. Though seeing your calm smile as Han handed you a tea, he felt himself shrink. It wasn’t that you hated people as a whole, you just for some reason hated him. What had he done? Had he accidentally offended you in some way? Was his art not good enough? Were his aspirations annoying you? Was it just…him, as a person? The insecurity ran rampant as he peeked back up at the two of you, his chest aching. He’d truthfully been hopeful, hearing he’d have a mentor that had survived the same art program he was a part of now. He’d even spoken to his friends about how cool it would be to have a friend who could fully comprehend the pressure he was under.

It wasn’t that he had any problems with his current friends, it was the simple fact that all of them had majored in a different department. None of them were artists in the same sense as Hyunjin was, opting for theater or music rather than traditional art methods.

He was so excited to meet someone like-minded and artistically inclined. Beyond excited, even, his friends having called him out on how annoying he’d gotten as he counted down the days to meeting his new mentor. And, now, he felt stupid.

As he watched you sip your tea, your eyes alight with inaudible laughter at something undoubtedly stupid Jisung had said, he felt stupid. As he realized that, despite having so much in common, you’d so easily warm up to his friend; that this may actually be the first time he’d seen a ghost of a smile on your face, he felt stupid.

If he had to feel this way, the very least he owed his bruised ego would be the privilege to act the same way he felt.

Without a second thought, Hyunjin left his position against the countertop and strode with false confidence over to your table, plastering a grin on his face that he hoped would hide his distress, before sliding in next to Jisung. “Jisung,” he greeted warmly before casting his eyes towards you, watching as the light slowly left your eyes, “I see you’ve met my mentor.”

You imagined this is what crashing through thin ice during a leisurely skate would feel like. One moment, you were focusing on the offhanded quips coming from your new companion, the now-unfamiliar sensation of contentedness lulling you into a sense of security. You’d stopped thinking about what happened to you, not even noticing the slight tremble in your scarred hand when you’d lifted your tea.

You’d been about to laugh, though perhaps out of pity for the awkward jokes Jisung had been spouting, but still…for the first time since the incident that had stripped away your joy, you were about to laugh just as you would before. Until your blood ran cold, nearly knocking the wind out of you. Before you now sat Hyunjin, staring straight into your eyes with a nearly imperceptible curiosity. Along with Hyunjin came the memories. Along with Hyunjin came the pain. Along with Hyunjin came the truth. You would never be the same. You felt your features fall into absolute blankness as you held his gaze, eyes darting to Jisung briefly before returning to Hyunjin. “I didn’t realize you two knew each other,” Hyunjin continued, casually tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. His statement seemed to pull Jisung out of his shock at his sudden arrival, the clueless grin he often wore finding its way back to his face. “Ah, we just met today!” He said cheerfully, pulling your attention away from Hyunjin momentarily, “On the bus.” You nodded, the air having not quite returned to your lungs enough to provide an auditory response. Hyunjin was looking at Han now, which helped greatly in your quest to find your breath, but your chest still ached.

Hyunjin looked puzzled as he turned to Jisung, a brow raised as he cocked his head to the side. He wore his disbelief plainly enough that the other man had no trouble understanding what the look meant. “She had time before a meeting,” Jisung looked between the two of you now, his expression shifting back into one of comfortability as he put together the pieces in real time, “With you, I’m guessing?” Hyunjin nodded, his brows still knitted together despite the small smile he wore whilst listening. You could tell, despite your short time knowing him, that the wheels were turning behind his calm facade. About what, you were unsure, but something about the neutral position of his features felt completely fabricated.

That alone was enough to keep your voice at bay.

“Small world, huh?” Jisung continued, his cheerfulness a welcome - though temporary - distraction from the tension you felt radiating from Hyunjin. “Yeah, very,” Hyunjin replied, turning to face you once more. As his dark eyes met your own, it felt as though you were shrinking. If you could dissolve into the plush booth seat, you’re sure you would have.

You should say something, right? Certainly, you knew that you should. Of course, engaging in conversation with him was something a normal person would do in this moment.

You, however, simply could not.

Despite the way Hyunjin looked at you expectantly, not much differently than a child waiting for instruction, you couldn’t even bring yourself to say hello. You felt smaller and smaller as your mouth ran dry, clutching your cup of tea tightly enough to indent the thin plastic cup.

You were saved as the barista called Hyunjin’s name, watching helplessly as he slid out of the booth.

“Lesson’s in five minutes, we can walk together.”

Though you were sure he meant it innocently, the way he phrased it as a certainty rather than an offer nearly sprang you into a panic. Had Jisung not been present, you’d be searching your mind for any believable excuse - not wanting to spend more time alone with Hyunjin than was required of you. But Jisung was there, and Jisung was far from able to understand why, exactly, you had an aversion to spending time with his friend.

“Sure,” you managed, barely a whisper as you pulled yourself to your feet. You still held your tea, now in both hands, as you turned to Jisung. “Thank you, for the tea. And the bus.”

The man grinned up at you again, “Yeah, no problem. Have fun!” You felt guilty at the fact that, despite his genuine encouragement, you knew you would be doing anything but. Regardless, you gave him your best attempt at a smile - though you wouldn’t be surprised if it came across as more of a grimace - before turning towards Hyunjin.

“Ready?” Hyunjin asked, his expression still pleasant - if he’d sensed your mood shift along with his presence, he wasn’t showing it.

You simply nodded, casting one last glance to Jisung before following Hyunjin out of the building. He didn’t look back at you, not even once, as his long legs carried him effortlessly towards the studio. You quickened your pace to keep up, though it didn’t seem that Hyunjin noticed. The last thing you wanted to do was thicken the already awkward air - it was much easier to just half-jog behind him.

Even as he held the door open, his gaze still wouldn’t meet yours. It was impossible not to feel a bit grated by his sudden attitude. He’d interrupted your prior conversation, pulling you to the lesson alongside him, just to all but pretend you weren’t there.

Not that you were really complaining, seeing as you hadn’t the slightest intention of being buddy-buddy with the stark reminder of your own misery, but his sudden shift from the vibrant persona he’d exuded at your previous lesson still left an odd taste in your mouth.

Perhaps he’d finally gotten the message? Maybe, after your less-than welcoming attitude on day one, Hyunjin had given up on trying to weasel his way into your life aside from lessons? It didn’t seem as though that would be the case, though. Despite your sharpness, he’d still chosen to attend the lesson today…

Then, why? Why was his face lacking the blissfully ignorant smile he’d worn last time, even as you’d made it clear that you had no desire to befriend him? Why was the silence he’d once found absolutely necessary to fill left alone?

You hadn’t expected your questions to be answered so quickly, but as you approached the door to the studio, pulling it open and stepping inside, Hyunjin finally spoke.

“Did I do something?”

It was such a simple question. Four words that, on their own, didn’t hold much weight - but spoken in such a small, genuine voice from your once-enthusiastic pupil felt like a punch in the gut.

Is that what this was about? You were teaching him, weren’t you? What else did he expect?

“What are you talking about?” you asked him, voice sounding filled with more disinterest than you’d intended as you set down your bag, having a seat on an empty stool.

“Did I do something to offend you?” He repeated again, remaining frozen in the doorway. He still wouldn’t look at you, studying his own shoes against the floor as though they were the biggest point of interest in the room.

It was painfully obvious that Hyunjin truly believed there was something he’d done to warrant your offputting behavior; from the way his shoulders hunched up to his ears to the way he shuffled in place. He looked like a child that had been scolded in front of his friends as he awaited your answer, chewing on his bottom lip nervously.

“No.” Your response held much less weight at first glance than his initial question had. A single word, simple enough for an infant to claim as their first. Though, paired with the way it cut through the air - terse, leaving no room for debate - you didn’t doubt that Hyunjin had felt a sting. Hyunjin nodded, flinching at the word as if it were something much less innocuous. He swallowed hard before stepping forward, sitting on the stool opposite of you and pulling a blank canvas from his messenger bag. He set it on the easel with delayed movements, his eyes appearing glazed over - as if he were in a trance. “If I didn’t do anything,” he started, pulling out his paints and setting them up on a small table, “Then it must just be me in general, hm?” You raised a brow, ignoring the pang of jealousy you felt to the best of your abilities as he pulled out his brushes, twirling one around his finger delicately as he stared at all of his color options. How were you supposed to answer? It wasn’t as though you could tell him that your innate dislike for him came from his ability to do what was taken from you. It wasn’t as though you could simply say that you were sure he was a great guy, and that your quiet rage came from a place of envy. You simply couldn’t. Hyunjin already made it real enough, speaking aloud what had happened would only serve to twist the knife. He must have taken your silence as an affirmation, a laugh escaping his lips in the form of a whisper as he shook his head. He lifted a tube of vermillion before pulling out his palette, filling one of the divots with the rich shade before setting the tube down - letting it clatter noisily amongst the others. His foot tapped against the floor as though he were physically holding himself back from speaking, dipping the brush into the paint carefully. His body language was screaming anything but calm yet, despite this, his hand was steady as he raised the red-tinged bristles to his canvas. You watched as the single line he painted was joined by another, forming haphazard, angry angles. Scarlet against white. The heartache watching him create with such effortless movements was different than any you’d felt before. You averted your gaze as the dull ache grew into something bigger - something quietly furious, intimidating in its sheer density as it took up each crevice of your mind. Your attention seemed much less volatile as you focused in on your own hands, guiding your vision from your fingertips to your palm before turning your hand over. Your heart plunged into your stomach before you glanced back at Hyunjin’s canvas - now blended with different shades of orange and pink alongside the aforementioned red. You looked back down at your own angry, red line.

Unlike Hyunjin’s canvas, there weren’t any complimentary colors that could be added to lessen its impact. There was no gentle pink to soften it, no comforting orange glow. Unlike Hyunjin’s canvas, the angry red you’d been cursed with could not be changed into a sunset. The mood could not shift into something inspirational, it could not become something soothing on the eyes. It could not, and would never be a sunset.

Unlike Hyunjin’s canvas, you could not blend out the rough edges. You couldn’t simply feather out the red until it looked like it belonged. You couldn’t add or take away anything, there was no camouflaging the puckered evidence of loss that you were forced to wear.

Hyunjin’s words rang in your mind once more; it must just be me in general. It wasn’t that you necessarily felt bad about your feelings - those were your right, the only thing you’d earned from your tragedy. You did, however, feel a bit guilty about the collateral damage sitting alongside you, moving his brush along the canvas wordlessly.

You were right before. You couldn’t tell him why you felt this way, he definitely wouldn’t understand. Nobody would, after all, unless they’d been forced through what you had endured. There was, however, one thing you knew you could do.

“It’s not you.”

Hyunjin paused, moving his brush away from the canvas as his back stiffened. Your words weren’t soft, weren’t sweet, weren’t meant to be reassuring whatsoever. You’d stated them plainly, as if they were simply a fact you’d decided to share. As dark irises flitted over to you, curiosity filling their chocolate depths, you held your breath.

“No?” he asked before looking away, resuming his work after the initial shock of your voice had worn off.

“No,” you echoed, looking anywhere but his palette as he squeezed a bit of yellow into an empty space.

“Then what?” he asked, still focusing on his work. Though you weren’t looking, you could hear the whisper of bristles against vinyl. It was a beautiful sound, or at least it was before.

“I…can’t tell you that,” you mumbled, looking out the window at the students wandering campus. Two girls running into an embrace that nearly convinced you they could be lovers, a couple of boys doing that odd, handshake hug that men had somehow decided unanimously meant they weren’t in love, a girl beneath the shade of the old ginkgo tree sketching away.

Even absolute strangers held the power to remind you of loss, it seemed.

You looked back towards Hyunjin as he blended daffodil yellow into the sky he’d created, wondering if you’d be better off watching the girl outside.

“You can’t?” he hummed, setting his brush aside before grabbing one with thinner bristles, tucking it behind his ear as he reached for a tube of black paint.

“No,” you reiterated.

Hyunjin simply hummed in response, supposedly deciding against pressing further as he dipped the thin brush into the inky black.

He was bringing it towards the canvas when you sucked in a sharp breath, coming to a realization about what he may be about to do.

“Don’t,” you said quickly, causing Hyunjin to stiffen once more before turning his head towards you.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t make a black silhouette,” you said simply, still shocked that you’d corrected him at all. It was almost funny that you’d startled yourself - you were supposed to teach him, after all.

Hyunjin slowly set the brush down, a single brow raised as he waited for you to explain.

“It’ll contrast too heavily with the backdrop, and it won’t look natural,” you mumbled, looking away from his expectant gaze as though you feared he’d read your mind otherwise, “Blend black into one of the shades you used for the sunset until it’s dark enough to mimic a silhouette.”

Hyunjin nodded, finally peeling his eyes off of you long enough to slowly add a bit of black to the purple tone he’d used before. He seemed almost scared as he held the palette out towards you, tentatively speaking in a voice so soft it was a miracle you heard him.

“Like this?”

You took a glance and nodded, looking away again right after. Hyunjin pulled the stained palette away slowly, setting it down before dipping the brush into the handmade indigo and beginning to add a shape against the glowing backdrop.

You looked up as he worked, fighting against your instincts as you watched him carefully craft a circle, the shape of a ferris wheel slowly coming alive against his beautiful skyline.

Hyunjin continued to work, and you continued to watch, the sounds of breath and brushstrokes filling the otherwise empty air of the studio. The discomfort was still there, still pushing against your lungs with every inhale, but it was no longer suffocating as you watched Hyunjin focus in on his work.

He looked so absorbed that you were a bit taken aback to hear him speak.

“You sure know a lot about color theory…” he mused as he added thin spokes between sections of the wheel, tilting his head at the canvas.

“Mhm,” you said simply, chest already feeling heavy as you predicted what he’d say next.

“You don’t just know it for fun, though, right?” he continued, still carefully adding the finest of lines to his piece, “You paint.”

Your prediction was correct.

“No,” you said quickly, any hint of softness you’d forced into your voice expelled the moment that question left his lips. Your lips were set in a hard line, though your heart thumped furiously against your ribs, “I don’t.” The words felt like poison in your mouth, sour enough to burn your throat.

How did Hyunjin manage to endlessly remind you that things were not the same?

You wouldn’t pick up a brush with a joyful smile again, creating to your heart’s content. The images and ideas that flew around your mind now destined to wither away there, never to be given life against a stretched canvas.

“But,” Hyunjin continued, painfully oblivious to the rising levels of envy and rage radiating from you, “There’s no way you’d know this otherwise,” his almond eyes stayed focused on his work as he spoke, never leaving the canvas even when he dipped his brush back into the deep purple shade.

You would no longer lose track of yourself - of time - as you became absorbed in manifesting images from your mind’s eye. Unique sights were no longer subject materials. Flowers were simply flowers, sunsets simply sunsets, ferris wheels simply ferris wheels.

“I said no,” you repeated, clenching your fists at your side as if you could physically hold the facade of being calm in place, “I don’t.”

And you meant it.

You did not paint, not anymore.

You would never again need to brush off complaints that you smelled of paint at parties, and your mother would not tut disapprovingly at the colors caked beneath your nails. You would not fill a mug with water to clean brushes. Coffee cups were just coffee cups, glasses just glasses, and jars just jars. “And last week,” Hyunjin added, almost as though you hadn’t said anything at all, “With the oil paints, that wasn’t common knowledge.” Your nails dug painfully into your palms now, sure to leave an indent when you let go. Your balled up fists trembled slightly with the sheer force you’d squeezed, your lips parting to reiterate your point until it happened. The white-hot sting, sudden and overwhelming, radiating from the marred flesh atop your hand. You hissed, pulling it quickly to your chest and covering it with its unsullied counterpart while you opened and closed your fingers quickly, chasing relief desperately. Hyunjin turned to face you now, his eyes widening as he caught a glimpse of your scrunched up features. He set his palette down hurriedly, not bothering with grace as it clattered against the table - a tube of paint falling to the floor in the process. “Are you okay?” You hated how genuinely he’d asked this, concern written across all of his features as he reached towards you carefully - as though you were a cornered rabbit he’d decided to help, despite its skittishness. Considering the evasiveness you’d insisted on keeping behind every word you’d said to Hyunjin thus far, you supposed that would be an accurate assessment. Teeth metaphorically bared at every opportunity, subliminally warning him to stay back - letting him know that you wanted him gone. Hyunjin didn’t seem to care, though, as his brows creased together - his eyes shooting to the hand you were cradling. He took a sudden step back when you jerked your head up, meeting his eyes with a ferocious mixture of rage and shame.

“I’m fine,” you snapped before grinding your teeth together, pulse whooshing in your ears as the adrenaline pumped through your veins. You didn’t want to discuss this with Hyunjin. You didn’t want to explain to anyone ever again what had happened to you. In that moment, you truly were the injured animal Hyunjin had approached you as - hissing as you were slowly backed further into a corner. Your only hope being that he would simply drop the matter - leaving you to lick your wounds alone. Of course, Hyunjin did no such thing. “Are you sure?” he asked, taking a single step back after registering the harshness of your tone. His widened eyes, brimming with genuine compassion and worriedness, quickly faded into nothing as you zoned in on a splash of red against his cheek. Red paint - cracking as it dried - against his pale skin. He’d likely wash it off later, perhaps even laughing about how clumsy he’d been to manage staining his skin in the first place. The red paint - blended beautifully with concise brushstrokes and complimentary shades - against white canvas. A gentle yellow that radiated warmth, peeking between periwinkle clouds to illuminate a perfectly captured carnival ride.

An angry, red scar - cradled desperately against your chest as it throbbed incessantly, ensuring that you would always remember your loss. Always remember your pain.

Your red couldn’t be cleaned off, washed down the drain and forgotten. Your anger could not be softened by colors more delicate, could not be blended into something beautiful. This line would not turn into a sunset, would not become the backdrop for nostalgia, would never become pretty.

“I said I’m fine!” you snapped, causing Hyunjin’s face to pale. He backpedaled once more, only stopping when his thigh brushed the stool he’d been sitting on. Without uttering so much as another syllable, Hyunjin simply picked up his brush - continuing to paint.

The air was heavy with a wounded silence as Hyunjin worked on his piece. Your pain had dulled from a scream to a soft hum, searing heat turning into more of a prickle. You found yourself wishing your internalized wounds would settle as quickly as your hand. Certain broken things, it seemed, couldn’t be reset to heal accordingly.

It wasn’t until Hyunjin broke the silence, barely above a whisper, that you’d realized how much time had passed. “You’d be good at it, I think,” he’d said, setting down his brush as he eyed his work carefully, “Painting.”

You didn’t respond, not trusting your tongue at his sudden proclamation.

You were good at painting once. You were really good. He couldn’t know that, enough people were aware of your loss. You often found yourself wishing that you’d simply stayed asleep, comatose after the accident. At least that way you wouldn’t have to deal with the pity-stained faces of those who loved you. It was strange, now that you thought about it.

You weren’t sure you remembered what their eyes looked like before. Before you were broken. Before they felt sorry for something far beyond the reach of their own doing.

Before everything had changed.

“I actually didn’t start painting until recently,” Hyunjin continued, almost as though talking to himself, “I switched majors at the start of this year.”

You listened to his monologue, though you weren’t looking at him. You were watching out the window once more. The girl was no longer beneath the gingko tree sketching, and the groups of friends were nowhere to be seen. The campus was quiet as the sky melted into a replica of Hyunjin’s canvas - warm and soft, casting a golden glow on everything it touched.

It bothered you - it bothered you a lot - that Hyunjin hadn’t been serious about painting for longer than a few months. He didn’t realize how lucky he was, to be allowed to dream. To be allowed to pursue something you’d loved with your whole heart on a whim.

You bit your tongue, not wanting to end up saying something you’d regret - something you couldn’t take back. You couldn’t control your past, of course, but you could make an effort to control your effect on the present.

Hyunjin continued on despite your lack of input - you were nearly convinced he’d have continued talking even if you’d left the room.

“I’ve always liked art, though,” he insisted, adding a few highlights to bits of the wheel before chewing his lip in thought. He added a dash of a muted turquoise to the indigo silhouette as he continued on.

“I guess I was just inspired recently,” he mused, seemingly unbothered by your silence, “I actually tagged along to a gallery exhibit with my aunt. There was a piece there…” he took a deep breath as he painted, his lips parting into a fond smile as he recalled what must be a precious memory for him.

“It was so delicate,” he said quietly, setting his brush down to examine his piece, tilting his head at nearly a ninety-degree angle, “A hand holding onto a flower so loosely that I truly wouldn’t have been surprised if I watched it fall down the canvas.”

Your heart stopped before jumping into your throat to race uncomfortably.

No.

“The flower matched the pink of the knuckles and palm so perfectly,” he hummed, tilting his head in the other direction, “Everything was so muted, yet so…believable.”

You knew the exact pink he was referring to. You knew that the flower was a carnation, and you knew that the petals alone had taken ten painstaking hours to complete.

No, no, no, no.

“It wasn’t inherently happy,” Hyunjin’s voice stayed level as he rambled on, “It wasn’t inherently sad, either…” he grabbed his brush again, adding bits of a golden highlight to the cool clouds.

You knew exactly what he meant, the loose grip on the stem chosen specifically to depict apathy - uncaring of whether or not the delicate bloom fell to the ground.

This cannot be happening.

“But, for some reason, it made me feel lonely to look at,” his brows furrowed then as he focused harder on his application, ensuring he wouldn’t muddle the colors as he added contrast, “I decided to switch majors so I could do that, too.”

You felt a knot in your stomach, the air becoming increasingly more difficult to pull into your lungs.

What the fuck?

Hyunjin stood from his spot then, taking a few steps back to look at the canvas from afar, “So I could tell an entire story without words or gestures. So I could make people feel.”

Even if you’d wanted to reply at this point, your mouth had gone dry long ago. Your hands began to tremble at your sides as he spoke.

What the actual fuck?

“I was kind of disappointed that the artist wasn’t there,” his lips were pulled into a frown now, his reminiscing cut short by visible displeasure, “I had so many questions…” he trailed off as he stared at his canvas, searching for anything he could alter to give it the exact feeling he’d sought after during its creation.

You already knew that the artist hadn’t been there. That the artist had been in a hospital bed, hooked up to machinery, with their hand wrapped in a bright white cast. You knew that the artist was surrounded by people who loved them, yet had never felt so empty and alone in their life.

How is this happening?

“Apparently, they go by Eclipse, so I’ve asked the gallery owner to contact me if another piece is put on display,” he approached the painting again now, sitting in front of it with a studious expression on his face, “Even if they wouldn’t answer my questions, I want to thank them,” Hyunjin picked up his brushes, one by one, and made his way over to the sink to wash the acrylic from their bristles.

This is actually insane.

Your breathing became ragged as you struggled to maintain your composure. It was your art that had inspired the very person you envied to begin to chase after your dream. It was because of your art that he’d even chosen to take painting seriously. How fucking ironic was it, that the event that had changed everything for you had done the same for another?

You had lost, he had found.

“It’s thanks to them that I’ve discovered something I love so much, after all,” he mused, setting his brushes on a towel to dry neatly. He turned to face you, then, his eyes alight from his recollection. It wasn’t until his face dropped that you realized there was something hot running down your face.

Your vision had blurred the moment he’d mentioned the pink in the hands you’d painted, though you hadn’t noticed until just now. There were no tears falling, no - that would indicate singular, controlled drops. Emotion poured from your eyes in streaks, unending as they dripped down the edges of your jaw.

Hyunjin appeared panicked as he hurriedly dried his hands off, though he didn’t approach - not that you’d expect him to after your earlier outburst.

“Shit, did I say something wrong?” he asked, brows furrowing together as he recognized the trembling of your breath.

Words evaded you as your throat began to close, your shaky hands gripping the sides of the stool as if that could somehow steady you. You shook your head, hoping that the dark bits of his outline you stared into were his eyes.

How could you blame him for being confused? “We don’t have to talk about it anymore,” he said softly, his voice shifting from the calm and enraptured way he revealed his inspiration to a quiet, almost guilty tone.

“Okay,” you exhaled more than actually spoke, but Hyunjin seemed to hear you clearly as he nodded his head.

“I’m sorry,” he started, “I didn’t think you’d –” he cut himself off as you held up your hand, signaling for him to stop.

“Don’t,” you managed between uneven breaths.

“But –”

“Don’t,” you repeated, finally releasing your vicegrip on the stool to wipe your eyes with your sleeves.

“I’m sorry, I just thought maybe…I dunno, I really thought you’d wanna give painting a shot…”

You shook your head, giving him a barely audible, “I’m not a painter,” before turning your head away, still wiping helplessly at the wetness on your cheeks.

“I–” he cut himself off, simply to nod once more. The atmosphere felt heavy as you sniffled quietly, doing your best to regain composure - hoping to at least be able to look him in the eye and speak clearly.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated himself, voice still laced with regret, “I won’t bring it up again, okay?”

You pulled your bag up onto your shoulder, stepping towards the door as Hyunjin watched, the frown remaining etched between his brows giving away just how taken aback he’d been by your reaction. To anyone else, it would’ve been a nice, heartwarming story about a boy who fell in love with painting.

But you were not anyone else.

You were an inspiration to the boy who’d picked up your dream, claiming it as his own and thanking you for it with the same breath.

You were Eclipse, the one who’d painted the noncommittal hand and the carnation dangling from its fingers.

With your broken pieces Hyunjin had become whole.

In any other circumstance, you’d have told him that you’d created that piece. You’d have asked him what questions he had with a smile on your face. You’d have felt honored to have inspired someone else to pick up a brush and create.

But this wasn’t any other circumstance.

And you did not feel happy, or honored.

You felt hollow.

You looked at Hyunjin then, his face not too different from how you’d imagine a deer caught in the headlights to appear. His full lips were parted, as if he wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words he’d been searching for.

You stopped with your hand on the doorknob, shifting your focus from Hyunjin to his canvas. Collecting yourself enough to give him critique was the least you could do - unwilling or not, you were supposed to be teaching him. You did your best to push back the pain, at least for long enough to do your job.

Nostalgia hit you in waves as you studied his piece, a comforting and child-like wonder encouraging your eyes to stop their leaking. The canvas as a whole felt warm like summer. You could swear you could hear children’s laughter and the crashing of waves in the distance the longer you looked.

He’d done exactly as he said he wanted to. His work made you feel something, even amidst the confusing swirl of emotions you were experiencing. His work, because of you had stopped the flow of tears, at least for now. You pulled your still-watery eyes away, meeting Hyunjin’s. The clarity and calm your voice now held was a surprise - to you and Hyunjin both.

“It’s a beautiful piece, Hyunjin,” you said truthfully, casting a glance over your shoulder at the shell-shocked boy still stood by the sink, “Really beautiful.”

You meant it, too - his piece was beautiful.

A part of you had wanted to say more - to tell him in detail how it had made you feel.

But that part of you was gone.

That part of you had been broken off, picked up by Hyunjin himself.

And despite your desire to pretend it was still there, to thank him for the warmth of his work, you couldn’t.

Because it wasn’t there, it belonged to him now.

With one last glance at his unchanged, startled expression, you stepped out into the hallway. You didn't know if he could hear you as you spoke your parting words - and you honestly weren't trying to be heard.

Yet, the words left your lips with an unlikely conviction - softened only by the thickness your tears had left in their wake.

"I'll see you next week, Hyunjin."

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matan4il · 1 year

Note

I wanted to thank you for continues coverage on the situation in Israel. Your words have really helping me understand what is going on. As a gentile, my only source of information on Israel has, for a long while, been far left newschannels, so all I heard was it was a “glorious uprising” against a “vicious colonizer state”.

I assumed all that was true, and since they never really explained the death count, or that the dead were civilians, I believed that Palestine was in the right.

Now I understand what is really happening, and I want to send love to you, and all other Israelis and Jews who are currently suffering.

You have survived for so long, and you will survive this as well.

And for all those who have died, or have friend, family, or partners who have been murdered, may their memory be a blessing.

❤️🇮🇱❤️

Thank YOU for caring enough about Israelis to read! And for actually listening, that's not a given either. There are indeed human beings on both sides of this conflict, and ultimately what I pray for is peace.

But without a doubt, Hamas can't be a part of it. As an organization, it's too engrossed by its fanatic, antisemitic ideology, and in terms of its chosen course of action, well... I think the last few days speak for themselves. That's before we've even begun talking about how much Hamas abuses its own Palestinian civilians. One example is that Hamas has been violent in stopping protests within Gaza from ordinary Palestinians. We should all strive for a world free of Hamas, because everyone's lives would be better.

Thank you again, my new friend! I have no doubt that every Israeli and Jew seeing this message from you will feel a little better while we try to fine a way to process this tragedy. And absolutely, we will survive this! We'll grow stronger and we'll stand united for love and against hate! Sending you endless hugs! xoxox

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

#ask #gamingchickens #israel #israeli #hamas #israel under attack #israel under fire #fandom love #kindness #thank you!#<33333 #terrorism #anti terrorism

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sl-newsie · 3 months

Text

Behind Masks (Dr. Jonathon Crane x OC) Ch. 12: Discovering the Real World

“Here we are live at the Gotham City Policeman's Ball! With a little luck, the money raised from this charity event will be enough to build a new playground for Gotham’s youth!”

Or go filtered unnoticed into the elite’s pockets. These monsters have turned into heroes through the permissive, liberal media. All around me reporters smile and chatter with Gotham’s rich society. Thank God I'm able to go unnoticed.

It’s been a month since my last encounter with Dr. Crane. During that time I’ve been able to pinpoint new targets. No killings yet but there’s plenty of time to spare. When I heard about the upcoming charity ball I couldn’t resist. One fancy black dress and a pair of t-strap heels later I’m at the scene and ready to go. Shrimp cocktails, expensive wine, fudge samples. All completely ridiculous. Except for the fudge samples. Those are still stubbornly delicious.

The other ridiculous part of this event is how many advocates are trying to fish me into their schemes.

“Care to show support for Harvey Dent?”

“I don’t get involved with politics.”

The lady offering me a button doesn’t budge. “It’s not just that. He’s trying to get the Batman more involved with police work.”

My face doesn’t change. “Like I said. Politics. If you don’t mind I’m only here to keep updated with certain… ambitions of mine. Excuse me.”

Harvey Dent is a name that has grown more and more over the past few months. I’m impressed with his moxy against Gotham’s corruption. But I have my own agenda to correlate without relying on someone else again. However there is one person I am looking forward to seeing tonight.

“Good evening, Lieutenant Gordon.”

Jim Gordon. The only cop I can trust in this city. The reason why? He’s the only one who’s worked to be at his rank. No bribes, no blackmail. A simple man with a family who’s trying to clean up Gotham.

“Hello, Dr. Prentiss,” the man smiles and shakes my hand.

“Sadly it’s not ‘doctor’ anymore,” I correct him. “My license is still currently revoked all because of the Arkham incident.”

The kind man’s eyes shine a look of sympathy. “I’m very sorry you had to go through that. No person should ever have to go through that. I’ve seen your file, and I must say you are a very smart and dedicated woman. Your parents would have been very proud.”

He clearly didn’t know them so well.

“Thank you very much, Lieutenant. I hope tonight’s charity will help out.”

“Please, enjoy the ball.”

I nod in departure and continue to the back of the room behind a curtain. A dedicated woman. Indeed I am. This dedicated woman is going to see that all these undeserving, silver-spooned big shots get what’s coming to them.

“Long time no see.” Of course he’s here. Dr. Crane’s familiar taunting voice catches my attention. “I didn’t think you had substantial funds to donate. And I didn’t think you would be willing to associate with these people.”

I slowly turn to face him with an unamused smirk. “I’m not here for charity, Dr. Crane. Events like these are prime opportunities for acquiring information. I don’t mean plain ordinary gossip. I’m talking about vital classified intel.”

The doctor himself is wearing a nicely-pressed black suit. Lord knows where he obtained the money for it. But whether or not he stole the suit he does look rather handsome wearing it.

Crane dismisses my watchful eye and examines my own attire. “You look gorgeous, as usual.”

How flattering. “You’re too kind. I must say you don’t look too bad yourself, Dr. Crane. You clean up nicely.”

He gives a quick huff and toys with a drained champagne glass. “My guess is that you’ve been busy, Dr. Prentiss. Is my assumption correct?”

Something catches my interest. “You still call me doctor. You always have, even at Arkham.”

“Becoming a doctor is no easy task, Calico. I know personally what it’s like to get that taken away.”

That’s right. His record was stricken from the medical community too. His name wasn’t cleared. That is rather sweet that he’s considerate enough to respect it. Did he just use my first name?

“Um, thank you,” I reply, finding it harder to keep my gaze up. In the corner of my eye I see a few uniformed cops chatting. “On another matter, may I suggest that we carry out this conversation in a more private environment?”

Crane sees where I’m looking but does little to show concern. He looks like a professor bored by a lingering lecture and merely inches away towards the back hall. I’ll admit my moral compass has steered a smidgen off course by helping him.

“Excuse me, who might you be?” A new voice asks from behind.

Perfect. Now what? Oh. What have we here?

“Calico Prentiss, sir.”

I’ll admit he is as handsome as the press advertises. I’ve never seen him in person, but for good reason. His rich world far exceeds my own and I want no part of it. The only reason he’s not on my list is because he actually knows the meaning of the word charity.

“Prentiss. Prentiss… As in Harold and Eleanor Prentiss?” he asks with soft eyes.

My parents. Their names spark memories but I push them down. “I’m their daughter.”

He gives me a charming smile. “Pleased to meet you. I’m-”

“Everyone knows who you are, Mr. Wayne.”

Bruce Wayne. Gotham’s billionaire playboy. His reputation upholds his family’s wealth although I do give him credit for attending a policeman’s charity ball. Is it a trick of the light or does he look disappointed at my recognition of him?

“Sadly, yes. I’m sorry for your loss, Ms. Prentiss. I heard about the accident-”

“So did everyone else. Kind words have become numb to me.”

My even tone cuts through his condolences. Yet his sympathy does not diminish.

“Well if there’s anything I can do, anything you need, just let me know.”

He’s serious? “To be frank, why are you helping me, Mr. Wayne? You don’t know me. Unless this is a charity publicity stunt-”

“No, no. Not at all,” Wayne quickly interrupts. “I’m offering help because I understand what it’s like to lose a loved one. My parents were killed too.”

He’s not joking? There’s a touch of humility about you, Mr. Wayne. Could he be playing a charade just as I am? Is Bruce Wayne not a dim-witted, arrogant playboy?

“Thank you for your concern, Mr. Wayne. But I’d rather not think about the topic. Tonight’s event is a special one.”

Wayne nods in agreement and offers me a champagne glass. Quite the bachelor.

“It’s encouraging to see the city taking a turn to support Gotham’s youth. This banquet was Harvey’s idea.

Harvey Dent? Intriguing.

“Perhaps he is Gotham’s new white night. Lord knows the city deserves him after all it’s been through.” I take a sip of the sweet alcohol. “Let us prosper without fearing the unknown and look to the future.”

Wayne chuckles and looks at me with a curious eye. “You’ve got a bit of a philosophical side, Calico.”

A dark side. “You could say that.” I take another sip, toying with the idea of a new subject. “Have you ever considered the concept of unknown fear?”

Mr. Wayne pauses at my sentence. I’ve struck something.

“How do you mean?”

“Take for example a cornfield. You have to go inside it. Someone tells you there is a vampire waiting to kill you inside. You enter knowing full well what to expect.” Another sip. So far he’s humering my theatrical chat. “Now, consider the same scenario. But this time someone tells you there’s something out to kill you. When you enter you have no idea who or what to anticipate. The fear of something known compared to something unknown is a marvel, don’t you think? Sometimes you never know what might… pop up.”

Is this what Nigma feels like when he sets out a riddle trail? I’m not completely exposing that I plan to take the law into my own hands but it’s fun to tease it.

“That’s very insightful, Ms. Prentiss,” Wayne says, impressed. “Dare I say you are a very unique person. Does fear inspire you?”

No. But I know someone it does.

“My interest is-”

“Did I hear that right? You’re discussing fear?”

Dr. Crane has come out of hiding. How bold. He takes the liberty to stand a bit closer than last time and looks between us with expecting eyes. Is he trying to blow my cover?

“Excuse me, Mr. Wayne.” I stiffly grab Crane’s arm. “My colleague and I must be going now.”

Before Wayne can ask further I steer Crane back to the hall and corner him.

“Colleagues, are we?” he smirks. “How exciting.”

“Cut the drama. You interrupted me. What for?”

“I just thought that you’d prefer to discuss fear with someone who’s life is dedicated to the subject.”

No that’s not it. When Crane lies his eyebrows twerk inward. He doesn’t care for my self image or my protection, so what else…?

A lightbulb clicks and an eureka smile grows on my face. “Is Dr. Crane jealous?”

He scoffs and tries to walk away but I cage him in. “That’s childish of you to think so.”

“You know I was a psychiatrist too. I can clearly see you’re lying.”

Crane halts and takes a deep breath, considering his response. “Fine. I don’t think you should trust someone of his… position so easily. His morals aren’t the best.”

“What would you know about morals? The man who abducts pedestrians for his mad scientist projects. Since when is my well-being in your best interest?”

“Very well. Flirt with him. Sleep with him for all I care.” Crane pushes past and walks further down the hall. “You’re poisoning my mind with thoughts of chivalry.”

I glare at the ceiling. “I’m not flirting. It’s called having an intellectual conversation that does not involve being tortured with fear gas.”

Dr. Crane doesn’t answer. What was his plan anyway? Why did he come here tonight?

CRASH!

An explosion rocks the room and I stumble to the ground. People start screaming and in seconds guests are scurrying in a panic. Peppered gunfire echoes through the noise. This is Gotham, after all. The question is who-?

“Surprise!”

It has to be him. Of course it does. Gotham’s new clown prince of crime has just arrived uninvited to the charity ball. Literally crashing the party.

“We interrupt this boring chit-chat bash with this stirring announcement!” The smiling villain hops onto a banquet table with a tommy gun in his hand. “Unless Batman shows up here tonight, I will kill Gotham’s beloved Commissioner!”

“We will!” A shrill voice giggles.

A new face appears beside him. A clown girl wearing a red and black jester costume, carrying a sledge hammer with a smile painted on each side.

That’s my cue to skedattle.

I lift up my skirt and discreetly speed walk through the screaming crowd. There’s always a back window.

“Leaving so soon?” Crane’s back.

“Could say the same thing about you,” I remark and begin to climb through. Yes! There’s a fire escape!

“I’m not in the market to be sent back to Arkham. Joker may be crazy enough to tempt Batman but I’m not.”

Outside the night is already filled with the sound of approaching sirens. I’m not waiting around for Batman to show up. I swing onto the metal bars and climb down to the wet pavement. I’ve done this before, just not in a dress.

“Need some help?” The doctor asks from above. “Would hate to see that dress get torn.”

“Shush!” I hiss.

Almost down- Yes! I drop down and look up to see Crane beginning his own attempt down the fire escape. It’s- It’s hilarious.

“Need some help?” I mock his tone.

He groans. “Either keep quiet or expect to take me to a hospital.”

Bold of him to assume I would if the time comes. He too drops down and takes a second to get his bearings. By now cop cars are only a few blocks away. I personally don’t feel like being interviewed as a bystander.

“Keep up!” Crane takes off sprinting down the opposite direction.

“Why should I follow you?” I shout back. But I run after him anyway.

The sirens are getting closer. Faster faster faster! We bolt several blocks down, jumping in-between the shadows. He’s gotten spry over the past months. Where is he going?

“Over here!”

Dr. Crane’s muffled voice beckons me to a darkened warehouse. Near the docks. This must be his new lab. I should go home. On the other hand…

“You’re not leading me here to drug and experiment on me again, are you?” I put my hands on my hips.

Crane rolls his eyes and grabs my arm to yank me over. “Just get in!”

First thing I notice: it’s clean. The small but intricate lab looks textbook-perfect. The next thing: there are many more vials than the amount in his old office.

“You’ve been busy, Dr. Crane,” I comment, still looking at his workspace.

“Hands to yourself, please.” Does he mean the lab or himself? “Everything is in a particular order. You can stay until this mess subsides.” He’s inviting me to-? “Consider it as payment for last time.”

So much for not trying to find him. He found me. And instead of avoiding me like his letter promised he invites me to his lab. What game is he playing?

I hear a click and look over to see him turn on a small TV. The screen flickers to life and a reporter stands in front of the building we just came from.

“Summer Gleeson here, reporting live from the Gotham art gallery where the Joker has just interrupted the policeman’s charity ball. Although the Batman attempted to apprehend the criminal, the Joker escaped thanks to the help of his new henchgirl.” The camera pans to where the cops are cuffing the clown girl I saw earlier. She doesn’t seem to mind because she’s smiling like a madman.

“Hiya!”

Summer walks closer and holds up the microphone. “How do you explain tonight’s chaos?”

“It was in the name of love,” the girl gushes.

“It was insanity,” I mutter.

“Love is insanity,” Crane drones and shuts the TV off. “Looks like we’re off the hook for tonight. Have you gotten up to speed with the other new villains? Oh, forgive me.” He points to a small cot. “Would you like to have a seat?”

I search my instincts for any sign to leave immediately but find none. His blue eyes hold no clue of hostility. I suppose a little social time never hurts.

“Thank you for the gesture, but I won’t be staying too long.” Does he look annoyed or disappointed? “I’ve kept in touch with Ivy and Nigma but that’s all. Who else should I know about?”

Crane chuckles darkly and pulls out a stack of newspapers. “You’ve been so caught up with Gotham’s elite that you’ve ignored those who are making headlines elsewhere. This man here, Cobblepot, is a new gang leader. Calls himself Penguin.”

“I don’t deal with gangs.”

He nods and holds up another newspaper clipping. “This one might interest you. A new cat burglar has been stealing jewelry. They call her Catwoman.”

“I don’t deal with thieves. The only one I’m out for is myself, Dr. Crane. I’m a solo act.”

I appreciate his help but I’ve come this far by myself without having to rope anyone else into my plan. As sad as it might sound it helps my mission work better when I have no one to regret leaving if I’m killed.

The doctor shows no expression towards my statement and proceeds to remove his suit jacket, which is now covered with dirt.

“You live here now?” I ask out loud.

“Yes,” he answers simply. “Sorry to disappoint but I didn’t have enough in the month’s budget to live in a luxury complex.”

“You know money means nothing to me,” I assure dryly. “The rich society is one the world can live without.”

“Then why stay? Because you can’t handle it in the real world?” Crane prods.

Anger flashes through me and I bunch up my skirt to inch towards the door. “I am very well aware of the real world, Dr. Crane. My last experience at Arkham made sure of that.” Crane makes no move to stop me when I open the door. “Thank you for the hospitality but I need to return to my ‘luxury complex’ so I can plan out my revenge in peace. P.S.- ‘Don’t bother trying to find me.’ Goodnight, Dr. Crane.”

The doctor sighs and walks over. Is he going to hold me against my will-?

“If you utter a single word of where my lab is, I will inject you with a dose so bad that you’ll never wake up from it.”

Message loud and clear. We both have an understanding. He keeps to his business and I keep to mine. I give him a determined nod and shut the door. Outside and alone again I can be with my thoughts. What was that all about? Why bring me here if he’s only going to insult my ridiculous lifestyle?

It’s starting to rain. I start making my way home and consider calling for a cab. But that would only prove Crane is right. I can handle the real world, I can walk down the street.

“Ah!”

Someone runs up from behind and suddenly a cloth bag is pulled over my head. Another pair of hands grab mine and bind them with- a zip tie? What the Hell is going on?

“Got her! She’s the right one?” I hear one guy say.

“She’s the one in the picture. Let’s go!”

Something smacks against my skull and the lights go out.

#jonathon crane #jonathon crane x reader #dr jonathan crane #scarecrow x reader #scarecrow #poison ivy #the riddler #harley quinn #the joker #two face #the penguin #batman #batman begins #the dark knight #the dark knigth rises #gotham #gotham tv #cillian murphy

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walviemort · 1 year

Text

more of you to love, 7

Summary: It had taken Emma by surprise, how much she liked it. She wasn’t about to admit it to anyone, of course, but there had just been something so incredibly irresistible about Killian when he was 8 months pregnant. And, as it turned out, he was quite the fan of her gravid form as well. So with the help of a glamour spell, they both get to live out their fantasies, but without all the trouble of getting pregnant and having a kid.

In this chapter: Emma’s bored at the station one afternoon, so she decides she and Killian will do something about that—but doesn’t tell him first.

A/N: Wow; didn't realize it had been so long since I had an update for this! (But I guess the good news is that I have at least one more after this!) Hope you enjoy it!

It was a fairly routine, bordering on boring afternoon at the station. Honestly, Killian should have known Emma would find a way to make it more interesting.

For his part, though, he was taking care of some paperwork at his desk in the bullpen, engrossed in what was written on the forms in front of him and entering the information on his computer.

They’d gotten back from lunch at Granny’s a little bit ago, after stopping to see Hope at the daycare at the convent. Lunch must have been sitting densely in his stomach, though, because the longer he sat in his seat, the tighter his belt felt.

Subtly, he glanced down; his normally flat stomach was indeed bulging out a wee bit, slightly pulling at the buttons of his top. Indeed, he appeared to have what Emma had dubbed a “food baby”. Given the number of onion rings Granny had given them, he wasn’t surprised. It would go away eventually, though, so he mostly ignored it and moved on.

(Although if he undid his belt…that was his business.)

He went back to work, but a bit later, felt the sensation of the edge of his desk pressing against his midsection. Immediately, he straightened his posture; usually, that feeling meant he was slouching.

But this time, it did nothing.

And—was that a button popping off his top?

He looked down again and sucked in a breath—but that really just made the situation worse: his stomach was slowly expanding from within, rounding out his belly (looking like he was halfway through a pregnancy) and continuing to forcibly remove buttons from his shirt. It was slow enough to not be dramatic, but still fast enough that he could easily watch the expansion of his waistline.

As he watched his stomach gradually push him—and his wheeled chair—away from the desk, he tried to figure out what was going on. Had his food been laced with something? His coffee? They hadn’t been trying, but what if he was pregnant again and it was being accelerated? He vaguely felt movement within, like he had with Hope, but nowhere near as much. If anything, it felt like their favorite simulation spell, but that always required Emma’s touch—didn’t it?

As the button of his jeans gave way (how it had even held on so long, he didn’t know), he glanced up at Emma in her office—only to find she was staring right back at him, lust in her gaze and the glow of her magic at the tips of her fingers, pointed in his direction. Oh, that minx.

A moment later, the inflation of his stomach ceased, somewhere just past the size of a full-term bump, thoroughly straining his undershirt. He shifted uncomfortably in the chair; not only were his jeans cutting into his suddenly-wider sides, but he barely fit in his seat as he’d had to spread his legs to accommodate the way his belly now sat between them.

Emma left her office and walked up to him, smirking. “That’s a new trick,” he commented, somewhat breathless.

She shrugged. “I was bored and wanted to see if I could.”

“Clearly, you can,” he replied, patting the side of his so-round stomach.

She stopped in front of him, standing between his spread legs—and licking her lips. “Mm, I could take you right now,” she murmured.

“You could; I don’t think the chair can,” he quipped back; it was already creaking against his increased heft.

She chuckled and offered him her hands. He took them, but it took a couple tries for him to rise to his feet; he hadn’t been prepared for the drastic change in his center of gravity. Once he finally did, the force of the motion sent his chair rolling quickly away from him and he nearly fell forward into Emma.

Unsurprisingly, she didn’t mind the press of his bump against her; she managed to catch him, and if he wasn’t mistaken, press his belly against hers briefly before pushing him back towards his desk.

He was just the right height to be able to sit on the desk without any effort—which was good, because then Emma was attacking his mouth with hers. In some ways, it was less awkward than the average makeout with such an obstacle between them, as he was able to hang his belly off the edge of the desk when he leaned forward to get to her. But it also meant strain on his lower back that not even her delicious lips could distract him from.

Too soon, he had to pull back to breathe, when he also realized—this was a public place. “Love, what are we doing? What if someone comes in?”

She scoffed. “I locked the door before I even cast the spell.”

“Oh, okay.” He was satisfied. And pulled her back to him.

Despite his overall discomfort, he was also increasingly aroused—and if the way Emma was repeatedly pressing herself against his bump said anything, she was, too. (Probably from the moment she started working her magic, if he had to wager.)

“Fuck, I need you,” she said between kisses. “Like, now.”

“Here?” he asked, unsure of the logistics on the desk—at least, not without damaging some electronics (he was fairly certain his keyboard was already broken).

“Couch,” she said assertively, and then stepped away.

He glanced over at the worn leather cushions of the station sofa. “Is it big enough?” he wondered as he slid off the edge of the desk, his hand and hook immediately bracing his lower back against the weight on his front that was pulling him forward.

“It will be,” she said cryptically as he waddled (yes, waddled—not only had she overdone this size of this bump, but made sure to make it late-term and sit heavily on his hips) over. He wasn’t sure if he was moving slow or she was moving fast—likely both—but as he shuffled to her, she tossed aside the couch cushions and started tugging at the insides of the furniture.

Incredibly, it unfolded—into something resembling a (very thin) mattress. “It’s a sofa bed,” she explained, panting with both exertion and excitement. “I discovered that not too long ago and I’ve been anxious to make good use of it.”

He’d certainly seen worse beds—but the way its springs creaked in protest when he plopped down on it didn’t bode well. “I dunno; the chair might actually be stronger.”

She laughed and proceeded to straddle him. Ah well; if she wasn’t worried, he wouldn’t be—not that anything else was really on his mind once her hands were caressing his bump.

Even through the taut cotton of his shirt, her touch felt amazing; but then she undid the few buttons of his top that had held on and helped him get both off, and her magical fingertips across his stretched skin had him sighing in bliss.

She helped him get his (likely ruined) jeans off, too, and he fell backwards against the bed, feeling so much relief at his freedom from the constricting denim.

Somehow, he managed to shift so he was entirely on the surprisingly stable frame—and all of a sudden, Emma was on top of him as well, naked. “Impatient, are we?” he teased.

“Oh hell yes. I am so ready.”

He was fairly certain she could tell he was, too, if the feeling of his erection bobbing against the bottom of his belly said anything.

They were at least well-versed in such cumbersome sex, and Emma wasted no time in climbing over his thighs and resting a hand on his bump. Her other hand found his length and stroked; he hissed at her touch, then sighed when she sank down onto him.

As usual, it was up to her to set the pace when he was weighed down like this, and she took the lead almost immediately. With as eager as she’d been, he thought she might be just as keen to chase release, but he was glad she seemed to be taking her time—slowly raising herself up, squeezing him with her inner walls on the lift, and then setting back down while he did all he could to try to meet her (which wasn’t much.)

Beneath them, the bed continued to protest; even if the door hadn’t been locked, he had to assume it was quite obvious what was going on to anyone who might be lingering at the door. Especially once she did eventually pick up the pace—thank the gods, because he wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold on.

Except—she apparently had one more surprise for him. Suddenly, she stopped, while he was still fully sheathed in her, grabbed his shoulders, and then somehow managed to flip them over.

He only just managed to get his right arm beneath him, lest he crush her. “Bloody hell,” he cursed under his breath. “Warn a man!”

She chuckled under him, hair fanned out around her, the perfect image of bliss. His round belly was resting on her flat one—something he knew she loved. Again, she caressed the top of it with her hands, but he couldn’t submit to that simple pleasure right now—not when they were both so close to a different kind of gratification.

With a growl, he pulled back and then pressed forward again, harder than he had planned on but it was what he had to do when he was dealing with this extra weight. Emma gasped, and while he once would have been worried he’d hurt her or knocked her wind out, he knew she was simply enjoying herself.

As quickly as he could manage, he took over, his sensitive navel brushing hers on every press forward, all of it quickly adding to the tension building within. “Emma—I—I can’t—” He wouldn’t be able to hold back much longer.

She just nodded, and traced around his stomach with her right hand until it was somehow between them, settling on her sensitive nub. “Go ahead,” she said softly.

And a few more presses later, he came with a gasp, spilling his release inside her. A few moments later, he felt her walls begin to flutter around him as she too came, moaning in pleasure.

He let the crest of his orgasm wash over him, then pulled himself out and collapsed next to Emma; the bed groaned nearly as loudly as they had, and the springs shook for quite some time after.

As the sweat cooled on their bodies, Emma curled into his side and set her hand atop his belly. “Well, was that everything you hoped it would be?” he asked, then pressed a kiss to her hair.

“More,” she replied, and he shivered as she traced over his popped-out belly button. “I was going to take you no matter what this afternoon, but this? This was the way to do it.”

“Aye,” he had to agree. It had been a while since they’d been able to have this kind of fun, and the element of surprise had definitely added to the experience. “But maybe we give this thing a real challenge?”

“What’s that?” she said.

“Both of us?” he suggested, tapping against her flat core.

A wicked grin crossed Emma’s face, and the little bit of space between them suddenly disappeared as she sprouted her own heavy belly.

He and Emma thoroughly enjoyed the rest of their afternoon; the bed, however, did not seem to be as impressed, if its cries of protest were to be believed.

When they were eventually done—even with the added challenge of trying to put the bed away while both looking past-due—and back to their normal figures (Emma repaired his clothes), they decided that while it had been fun, they should probably keep that kind of play for their home bed. “It’s stronger,” Emma said. “So it can handle…more,” she concluded suggestively. He heartily agreed.

——————————————

thanks y’all!! tagging some: @cocohook38 @ashley-knightingale @jennjenn615 @wyntereyez @superadam54 @mathiaskejseren

#cs ff #cs smut #killian mpreg #mpreg #MORE OF YOU TO LOVE #my ff

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