#mcr x reader angst | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

katreneebug · 7 months

Text

I'm Okay (Trust Me) (Part 1/3)

Summary: Defeating Rapheal, and subsequently obtaining the Orphic Hammer, had gone exceptionally well. At least in comparison to how things usually go. However, as the companions move forward with their plans of parasitic liberation, Astarion can’t help but notice that their leader, and his lover, isn’t quite herself. Despite Tav’s assurances, the vampire spawn can tell that the events befalling The House of Hope still haunt her in more ways than one.

Parings: Tav x Astarion, Minor Shadowheart x Lae'zel

Warnings: Explicit content, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Dubious Consent, Sexual Coercion, Slight Victim Balming, Sexual Trauma, Eventual Smut

A/N: I decided to write this after I got through the House of Hope on my first playthrough. At first I was really excited at the prospect of getting to bed an incubus in the game but after everything was done I kind of felt off about the whole thing. Especially given that the player, after deciding not to fight, is given the choice to either let Haarlep use their image to have sex with a bunch of strangers or straight up die. It hit a little too close to home in regard to my own sexual trauma and how that has affected my self-esteem, relationships, and mental health.

I want to stress that there are some aspects of the story that don't match with the gameplay. An example of this would be going beyond the party size. You can pretend that this story is based on that no-limit companion mod lol.

Link to AO3: Here

No last-minute begging had left Rapheal’s lips when Karlach raised her axe above him. The fact that it had been the final stroke came as a surprise to Astarion and, based upon the silence that drenched the room, the others. Not too far behind her could hear Tav panting, her magic practically drained to its limits. In the peripheral of his eyes, he could see Shadowheart’s armor move up and down as she too sought to catch her breath.

Hope, who appeared the most worn out of the bunch, stood frozen to her spot by the door. Karlach noticed her immediately and moved to check on her, weapon still sunk deep within Rapheal’s chest. Astarion took the opportunity to walk over to him, caution obvious in the way he gripped his dagger.

There was no final spook to be had, though. Rapheal was dead, eyes wide and mouth slightly a gape with no more theatrics left on his tongue. Good Riddance, he thought. A smirk danced onto his lips as he decided it was okay to turn back towards his companions. Hope was no longer a statue, the erratic motions from before returned vigorously as she took in their victory.

The memory of Cazador lying vanquished on the ground materialized in his mind. He brushed it away quickly as Tav’s eyes landed on himself. A half-smile was the most she could muster before Lae’zel garnered her attention, talks of the next step towards freeing Orpheus’ flew from the githyanki’s mouth in rapid, yet precise, order. The lines in Tav’s forehead creased as she let her friend speak. Deciding to take pity on his lover, Astarion moved to stand beside her.

“—The Emperor will know of what we have done, we must act fast upon our return.”

“I—”

“Surely you can’t expect us to go straight into the undercity of Baldur’s Gate after quite literally killing a devil.” Lae’zel sharp glare snapped up to meet his eyes. “I for one am not doing anything till I’ve had time to clean up, all of this.” His hand, the one not resting centimeters away Tav’s lower back, motioned to the state of his armor. Rapheal and his friends had left the floors of the foyer dripping in all sorts of blood and guts and, while Astarion’s body was happily intact, his outfit begged to differ.

“He’s right, we should get some rest before meeting with Voss.” Lae’zel’s head snapped to see Shadowheart approaching. “It would be foolish to confront a mind flayer and a devil on the same day.” Lae’zel didn’t reply immediately, though the answer for what they should do was clear, she was not any happier to admit it.

“All right,” she spat. “Prepare for an early departure by dawn, I will not wait for anyone.”

“Of course,” he hummed with a dismissive wave.

. . .

“I’m just saying we should take some more time to discuss our next course of action.” Gale instinctively backed up as Lae’zel stalked his receding form. “It would be unwise to go in all wands blazing without considering the effect this might have.”

“I am not leaving my Prince at the hands of a ghaik any longer.” Astarion had no interest in interfering on the wizard’s behalf. Watching the man sweat was more than amusing. “The only thing unwise would be for you to continue talking.”

“What if freeing Orpheus leads to us losing our only protection from the absolute.” It was Wyll who stepped in between the two. No surprises there, the vampire thought. Lae’zel had burst through the doors of their room at the inn with an attitude ready to fight the next person who dared to go against her plans.

“It will, I’ve already told you that freeing Orpheus will only result in him—”

“Will someone please get the squid to shut up.” Astarion winced, feeling the pain of The Emperors telepathy within his mind. How lucky Halsin and Jaheira were to not feel such an annoying headache.

“Gladly,” Lae’zel sneered.

“There are still other issues that we need to address.” Halsin’s voice passed by Astarion from behind, he could feel the bear of a man coming closer to the group before passing the vampire all together to aid Wyll and Gale from the Lae’zel’s wrath. “Orin and Gortash are still alive, it would be best to get rid of them before going to the astral plane.

“Agreed, we cannot allow the absolute to draw more power from the city. It’s time we faced them.” Halsin nodded an acknowledgement at Jaheira, her argument adding to the growing resistance.

Quickly the room devolved into a mass of bickering, Lae’zel mostly fighting alone on her side. It took Astarion a few moments to realize that there was something off about the whole scene. It stumped him briefly but the soft steps of someone else moving about in the background was the answer.

“Not going to step in, dearest?” Tav jumped a bit as Astarion walked towards her, his back now to the group. “It’s very unlike you.”

“It’s been a long day,” the bed bounced slightly as she dropped her pack onto it. “And I don’t feel like picking a fight with Lae’zel.” If only the rest were that smart, he thought. “She’ll see reason soon enough, anyways. We really do need to usurp Orin and Gortash while we can.”

“I’m sure she will,” his lips curled. “Right after she breaks a couple of Gale and Wyll’s ribs, of course.”

“Shadowheart will fix them up,” her body joined the bag as she sat down onto the covers. “Or Halsin, either way they’ll be fine.”

“I love this newfound ‘compassion’ of yours,” he briefly glanced away, catching sight of a smaller person far from the argument occurring. Either Yenna was blissfully unaware or was doing a great job at pretending everything was okay. “I just wish you had acquired it earlier.” Then maybe they wouldn’t be stuck worrying about every little orphan who manipulated Tav’s kindness.

“They’re adults, they can take care of themselves.” He raised an eyebrow at this. Was she really letting things go for once. “I’m tired and I want to sleep.” She wasn’t looking at him anymore, choosing to instead dig around into her bag that she never organized, even at his insistence.

“Fair enough,” a level of trepidation lined his voice. Before he could ask if she was alright, a loud clang hit the floor behind him, silencing the bickering voices. He turned away instinctively, catching sight of Lae’zel stomping away towards the door. A dagger, no doubt previously aimed towards the other men, laid forgotten at Halsin’s feet.

“Fine,” she spat, casting one last glance towards them before nearly kicking the door off its hinges. “Cowards, all of you.” With that, she was gone. Shadowheart moved a few steps, considering the possibility of going after her, before ultimately stopping. Even from her his spot, Astarion could see the way her jaw clenched, hands balled at her sides.

The rest of them dispersed to their own spots in the room, silence hung in the air uncomfortably. Karlach’s, he noticed, took a moment to collect Lae’zel’s dagger. She rarely used such a small weapon in combat, opting for her painfully heavy sword and bow. The little thing glinted in the light briefly before the Tiefling went to place it neatly on Lae’zel’s bunk.

Such a mess they were, he thought with a shake of his head.

. . .

He tried not to stare too much at Tav. His own bed had been placed directly next to hers and it was becoming harder to ignore the way she shifted and squirmed under the covers. Sleep came easily to the girl, at least most of the time. Her experience with combat and adventuring was limited before the parasite, her body unuse to such strenuous work. She rarely complained, though. The only indicator that this was tough for her especially being how quickly she tuckered out at the end of the day.

There was a chance that some of the chatter was keeping her up. The silence hadn’t lasted too long before Karlach, Shadowheart, and Jaheira set up some type of card game. They weren’t particularly loud, save for whenever Karlach gained the upper hand in the game. Gale had tried shushing her a couple of times before ultimately giving up. The book in his hands had eventually engrossed him enough to tune it all out.

When moonlight began to seep through their windows, Tav snores still not filling the air, Astarion decided to forsake his own spot. Standing over her crumbled form brought back the memory of the first time he had attempted to drink her blood. The few nights before that had been increasingly painful as he watched her lie so sweetly under the stars. Over time she felt less like a person and more like a beautiful feast, all set out for him alone. It was a shock, looking back, how long he held out on partaking.

Her reaction to noticing him looming over her this time around was much less frantic. A little bit of surprise played on her parted lips as she slowly sat up to speak. There was still a hint of innocence in her eyes whilst meeting his gaze. Scores of monsters and cultists had perished under her spells and blades and yet it didn’t jade her the way it would for other humans.

So precious, he thought.

“Is something wrong?” It came out as a whisper, her eyes glancing left to confirm that Wyll remained unmoving in his bunk.

“I was actually just about to ask you that, darling.” He wasn’t as quiet as her, unafraid that the Blade of Frontiers would wake up easily. “You’ve been acting peculiarly since we got back, care to enlighten me?”

“I told you I was tired,” she looked away. “It’s been a very long day.”

“And yet you’ve been tossing and turning for nearly an hour.” He crossed his arms over his chest, feeling a little too much like a scolding parent than a partner.

“I . . .” She trailed off, knees moving up to support her chest as she leaned forward. “There’s just a lot on my mind right now. Between the netherstones and Orpheus, it’s just overwhelming.”

“Anything I can do to help,” the bed dipped as he took a seat. There was little space between the two of them now and a part of him buzzed pleasantly at the thought of pulling her into an embrace. They hadn’t been all that touchy as of late. His confession at Moonrise had practically halted most forms of intimacy between them. An outsider looking in wouldn’t have guessed how close the two of them were in comparison to the others. Feather light touches and the occasional hug made up most of the relationship now. Sometimes he would steal a kiss, a usually quick action that ended before Tav had much time to register the affection.

They had on occasion shared a bedroll back when they were out in the wild. She’d curl up against his side, a hand resting on the part of his chest where his heart once beat. He’d count the constellations whilst listening to the change in her breathing, the obvious indicator that she had plunged into a deep sleep. There, hidden from Cazador and the absolute, a flutter would come and go underneath his ribs. Perhaps he wasn’t all that dead.

“No, I’ll be okay.” She shook her head, hair rustling against the sides of her face. “Don’t worry about me, please.”

“Easier said than done, my dear.” The little pout that appeared on her lips decided his next move for him. “Now, scout over.” Tav’s eyes widened, gaze snapping back up to his face. She was still for a few moments, studying his features with an intensity one might have for a major test.

Little voices scrapped against the back of his mind as he exalted all his control in keeping a calm demeanor. Any doubt or uncertainty would have Tav pushing him away. She was always so concerned about his comfort. It was welcomed graciously most of the time but, as much as the sentiment warmed his icy body, it could also sting. He was not nearly as fragile as she seemed to think he was.

She only puts up with you because she pities you.

“O-Okay,” Astarion almost breathed out a sigh of relief when she complied with the request. He wasted no time in joining her under the covers, lest she change her mind at his reluctance.

She was rigid against him, even after he comfortably adjusted against the mattress. Instead of holding him, like she used to, Tav rolled over so that her back was facing him instead. Both of her hands clenched the sheets rather than his clothes. It unnerved him even more than the silence that passed between him.

“You know,” he whispered. “I was afraid that your droopy mood had something to do with vanquishing our old ‘friend’, Rapheal.” Acidity coated his pronunciation of the devil’s name. Tav’s body twitched when she heard it, somehow tensing even more than before.

“I’m glad he’s dead,” disdain leaked from her mouth as she sought to relax her body. “I wish I had cut out his tongue earlier, though. I can still hear his stupid, dramatic voice in my head.”

“Perhaps I can take your mind off of it?” The sly words fell out of Astarion’s mouth without him even having a chance to think it over. Flirtatiousness was an instinct after two centuries and getting rid of it wasn’t something easily undone. A heaviness set within his chest, an all too familiar panic that he may have gone too far. She shook in his grasp and that heaviness gave way to bitter bile. Swallowing it down with a cough, Astarion placed a hand on her shoulder. “Forgive me, I didn’t—”

“It’s fine.” Her statement, spoken quicker than before, felt like a cut. “I’m not in the mood, anyways.”

Not in the mood for you, at least.

She thinks you’d break under her touch.

Besides, why would she want you when she just had him.

He inhaled sharply at the memory conjured up by the swirling voices. He would have kicked himself for carelessness had she not been lying next to him. Amid their quest within the House of Hope, Astarion had been able to push down their interaction with Rapheal’s favorite toy. Now, with her distant yet so close, he could no longer.

. . .

“I beg your pardon,” the snap of Astarion’s voice rang within the chamber. The marble floor beneath his feet nearly crumbled under the stomp of his boots. A hand kept him from getting closer to the bed before them. “Would you like to repeat that little request?”

“I said,” the incubus’ eyes looked only at Tav. “Take off your clothes.”

“Uh, why?” Her voice bordered on cracking. It was her fingers that kept him from throwing a dagger between Haarlep’s eyes.

“Do you or do you not want my help,” playfulness dripped from the incubus as he rolled softly against the covers of the mattress. “I at least deserve something from you, seeing as you’re asking for so much.”

“And you’re asking for an arrow through the throat.” Astarion grumbled, fingers flexing and ready for Tav to give the orders to fight.

“Hypothetically, what were to happen if I did take off my clothes.” His jaw clenched as the human woman spoke slowly.

“Well,” he drawled, lips curling in a cat like smirk. “Let’s just say it’s a surprise.”

“A surprise from an incubus? I wonder what that could possibly be,” Astarion’s mocking voice did little to faze the other man.

“No need to be so jealous, little spawn.” The grip on Astarion’s shoulder tightened, Tav accurately guessing how restraint was practically peeling away from him. “I have only the best of intentions in mind.”

“Oh really—”

“Gives a moment, if that’s okay.” Tav began to pull against him, trying to bring him back towards the group. Haarlep nodded his head which was answer enough for Tav to motion for the companions to form a huddle of sorts.

“We’re killing him, right?” An unsureness plagued Tav’s face as she shied away from his intense gaze.

“Honestly, taking up his offer might be the best option.” He made a point to glare at Shadowheart. She looked only at Tav though, not bothering with the pissy vampire. “As much as I want to avoid it, a fight with Rapheal is practically inevitable at this point. Especially if we go through with freeing Hope. I’d rather we save up our resources for that fight instead of wasting it on him.” She motioned towards the incubus with a jerk of her chin.

“If it were me, I’d rather gut him.” Lae’zel chimed in before Astarion could retort. “But I am not the one he is asking for.” Her gaze fell to Tav.

“I’m completely fine with ripping his annoying face off,” Karlach glanced back at the Rapheal look-a-like. “But yeah, it’s up to you soldier.”

“I mean,” the human’s face contorted as pros and cons weighed back and forth within her mind. “If we go against him, who knows what other cronies he’d bring into the fight. Plus, it can make it that much harder to get back to the hammer in time.”

She wants to say yes to him, the offer is rather tempting.

“Exactly, I say we get the hammer first with as little complications as possible.” Very few times had Shadowheart’s neck looked so perfectly ready to be ripped out in Astarion’s eyes.

“Why don’t you take her place, if the choice is so easy.” She rolled her eyes at him.

“I don’t see why not,” her lips curled up in a bitter smirk. “I’m sure he’s all sorts of fun.”

“Such a tempting offer,” Haarlep’s voice broke into the group. Apparently, the huddle was pointless if he could hear everything from his side of the room. “But I have my sights set on your little leader. She’s stirred up Rapheal quite a bit with how passionately she denied his deal.”

“Pity,” the former Sharran mumbled.

“Now if you lot are somehow able to survive this little trip, I’d be more than happy to pencil you in for a play date, half-elf.” A silent chuckle left Shadowheart’s lips as she shook her head. Astarion couldn’t tell if she’d be against such an offer in the future.

“Fight or Fornicate, make up your mind before we’re out of choices.” Lae’zel turned back to Tav as the human seemed even more indecisive than before.

“I . . .” Her eyes met his then, as the rest of the group waited in bated breath for an answer. They stared at each other as each passing second felt even slower than the last.

She wants your permission.

You’ve left her longing for too long.

The answer to her needs is practically begging to relieve her.

He could do so, so much more for her.

She’s tired of waiting for you to get a grip. So tired of holding your pathetic hand.

I’d be cruel to deny her such an experience.

“. . . It’s up to you, my love.” Throwing the façade of acceptance on his face wasn’t too hard to do. He had done it so many times before, he had practically become a master of it at this point. “I won’t hold it against you, whatever you decide.”

She was quiet, facing smoothing at as her decision was made within her mind. She turned back to Haarlep first, prompting the others to do the same. Astarion, though, kept most of his attention on her and not the creature he wanted to eviscerate.

Something inside him shattered as her lithe fingers went to the hem of her shirt. The realization that she was about to disrobe in front of Haarlep and their friends hit him like a pommel strike. The voices in his head were twisting wildly within his mind and somehow, throughout the horror of it all, he found himself bitterly thankful for Tav’s choice in today’s team.

It was no secret that all their companions had, at one point, made a pass at Tav. Her rejection of them always had a sliver of satisfaction rolling up his spine. In Karlach, Shadowheart, and Lae’zel’s case, they had taken her no rather well. It was easy enough for the later two who had begun ‘sparring’ away from the eyes of the camp sometime after their interaction with the creche. Their excuse was that they needed more space to fight and that they didn’t want to ‘accidentally’ hurt someone during the intense training.

Hate sex is the best sex, Tav had muttered one night as she and Astarion caught the two women glaring at each other whilst walking off into the woods. He had curled his lips at the scandalous statement, deciding silently to remember the tidbit for a possible future tryst.

Karlach, Astarion realized, was just happy to have the embrace of a friend. Romance had been easily forgotten by the Tiefling. The same couldn’t be said for Gale and Wyll. They had assured her that it was alright before and Tav had taken it at face value. Astarion knew better though, could see it in the way their eyes followed her. When she spoke, they would glance at her lips and look away as if caught with their hand in the proverbial cookie jar. The vampire spawn sometimes basked in the longing he could see within them every time he displayed even the smallest of Tav’s reciprocated affections.

“Could you all go guard the door,” snapping out his trance, Astarion watched as Tav put a pause on removing her clothes. “The last thing we need is Rapheal waltzing in.”

“Of course,” Shadowheart was the first to comply. Lae’zel quirked an eyebrow for a moment before leaving as well. He could feel Karlach looking back and forth between him and Tav. Reluctantly she placed a hand on his shoulder and encouraged him to walk away with her. Though her engine had been fixed, her palm was practically scalding against the thin fabric of his disguise.

“We’re just across the room,” he murmured. “In case you need us.”

With a nod of Tav’s head, Astarion finally complied with Karlach’s touch. The two turned around to trail after the other members of their party. He focused on the echo of the grand faucets flowing hot water into the pool between them. Anything to keep from catching the sound of whatever surprise the incubus had in mind.

“You okay?” Astarion growled lowly at the question. He knew that Karlach’s concern was genuine, deep down, yet he couldn’t help but feel only irritation.

“Of course I am.” He sneered; he wasn’t the one stuck staring at Rapheal’s stupid face. He considered telling them to not talk to him, as he was in no mood. Yet the little chatter that passed between the other three was something to hold onto. Very little went by the doorway of the boudoir, just a couple of miserable waifs limping about. A wonderful reminder of what might happen to them sooner rather than later.

“—Must we waste time freeing her.”

“Are you suggesting we leave Hope chained to this asshole.” He didn’t want to look behind him to watch their argument.

“The longer we stay here, the more likely we are to join her.” Shadowheart’s voice was farthest away. A little too far for his liking, more likely to see what was happening past the pool.

It must be quite a show, maybe she’ll tell you all the gory details later.

Or maybe Tav will, how long will it be before his name passes those luscious lips.

She won’t want you after this.

What’s the point of a pretty face when that’s all it is. She’ll get sick of looking at it when she realizes she could have more.

He didn’t know how much time had passed when Shadowheart’s voice cut through the mess in his head.

“It looks like they’ve stopped,” gods he was going to throw up. “Come on.”

Luckily the half-elf was correct. By the time the four of them had come to the other end of the room, Haarlep was already off the bed and looking starkly different from before. Instead of the near perfect imitation of Rapheal, he had shifted into a woman. An improvement, yes, but still too like the devil in looks. Tav was shimmying her shirt back on, something black and tight coverd the rest of her body. She hadn’t worn it before.

Haarlep, noticing their return, locked eyes with him particularly. The ends of his lips twisted higher than they had before. In the blink of an eye the new feminine form shifted into something all too familiar. Instead of the Rapheal look alike, a copy of Tav now smirked at him.

To his utter displeasure, the incubus was gone before the shock could lift. Tav didn’t waste time in collecting the contents of the safe. The portrait of Rapheal broke in half under her hands as she pried it off the wall. It was tossed unceremoniously across the floor. If only they had time to destroy more of the devil’s tacky décor.

“Let’s go,” Tav was striding past them. Determination set within the crease of her forehead. There were questions on the tongue of each one of them. Ultimately their curiosity was left unspoken.

261 notes · View notes

xxfanfiction-emo-trinityxx · 2 years

Text

A Few Very Compelling Arguments - Frank Iero x Reader

Summary: You are new in the band and Frank can’t seem to stand you. After getting hurt by him on stage you decide to quit the band, something Frank is not at all happy about. Reader: fem!Reader Warnings: mentions of mental illness, hints at suicide(?), blood, jealousy, Frank is an asshole in the first half Word Count: 7 702 (don’t ask me what happened there, I don’t know either) A/N: I’ve wanted to write some enemies to lovers with Frank since I read this story by @ghoulgirlwrites a few weeks back. I hope it’s not too similar. Anyways this story sent me on a total enemies to lovers thing, and now you guys have to live with that. Also I take no criticism for writing Frank this vulnerably. We all know he’s sensible, and I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t be afraid to be vulnerable in the presence of the people he loves and trusts.

You weren‘t sure when things had started to change, but you knew you didn’t like it. You had not been in My Chemical Romance for long, a little less than a year. You were a friend of Ray’s, all the way back from his time in college, even though you were several years younger than him. After he had asked you to join the band on tour as their drummer one thing had led to another, and suddenly you had become the fifth member of the band. Then things had been fine, as fine as things could be when you were stuck in a van a majority of the day with a bunch of guys who had yet to discover the concept of taking showers. It was only at the start of this tour, right after the release of Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge that Frank had started to change. He had always been very sweet to you before then, polite, friendly. Sure he was somewhat energetic on stage, but off stage he had been nothing but a sweetheart, something that definitely had gotten more to you than it should have.

It started off slow, the poking, the pranks, the nicknames. You knew he loved sneaking bites of other people’s food, or just put on whatever shirt he found on top of the clean laundry basket, no matter who it belonged to. You would not have minded this at all, if it had not always been your plate he stole fries from, or your favourite band shirt he picked to wear on stage.

That had been the beginning of it all. He had stopped after you had gotten pissed at him for staining your only white shirt with coffee one morning, and almost you had allowed yourself to believed things would calm down again. Sure you were angry that he had ruined your shirt, which he had had no reason for wearing other than being too lazy to search for his own. And that he had bought you a new package of your favourite cookies after having finished the last one without telling you had almost soothed the waves of your grudge against his impulsiveness.

But then he began throwing shit at your drums. At first just empty water bottles, which were really harmless. You even laughed at that, feeling like he was trying to include you more on stage. The roll of gaffer tape he had thrown was not quite as funny, nor was the full water bottle, Mikey’s shoe, and his mic stand; especially because the last one had ruined one of your drums, leaving you to improvise for the rest of the show.

You had been righteously furious after that.

That had been the evening you had realised something between Frank and you had truly changed. When you had talked to him about stealing your food and clothes, he had nodded and apologized for overstepping. That night, he had shrugged you off, saying he’d pay for it and there was no reason to react as upset as you did. This comment got him not only protest from you, but also from Ray, who had had the misfortune of overhearing that conversation.

Since then things had completely gotten out of control.

Frank snapped at you every opportunity he had, watched you like a hawk as if he was waiting for you to make a mistake he could get you for. He did not necessarily insult you. He just made it abundantly clear that he considered you unfit for the job of MCR’s drummer.

You knew they had not meant for you to overhead that snippet of conversation, but one time you had even heard Frank complain to Gerard about you, how you distracted everyone, how you would make it impossible to enjoy this tour for everyone.

You had quickly plucked in your headphones in order to not overhear more than that, but these few words had been enough to drive you towards the brink of a crisis. Wasn’t it bad enough that you had to share the very limited tour bus space with someone who actively seemed to hate you? He also tried to involve others in this strange feud he had started and was scheming against you!

After that incident you did not try to hide your annoyance at him anymore. If he already had to tell Gerard, Gerard might as well see for himself. Maybe that would speed up the inevitable process of them kicking you out of the band. Nobody had brought it up to your face yet, but you were sure Frank had suggested it to the others already. You didn’t want to leave the band, but with the way Frank was treating you, it was not hard to guess that this was his goal, to get you kicked out of the band.

Whatever you had done to make him hate you this much, it was something nobody was willing to talk to you about. Had you said or done something wrong? Was it your behaviour towards your band members? You were sure you had treated them just like any other friends, and of course you were closest to Ray, since you knew him the longest. But even though you were not aware of anything that could have upset Frank this much, especially since the others seemed to have no problem with you whatsoever, you would still have been willing to make up for it. If you only knew what the problem was!

You had tried talking to Frank, who had always brushed you off with a mean comment about you not caring anyway. And if you tried talking to the others, they always said it was not their place to tell you, and you needed to talk to Frank. At your response that you had tried, but he wouldn't tell you anything, they had just shrugged, and told you they couldn’t help you.

And this was how tour had started. For two months Frank and you had done nothing but glaring at each other. He shot hurtful comments your way, and whenever you were too tired or annoyed to hold back, you returned them. The tension this created was undeniable, but to your surprise the others just laughed it off, even having fun watching Frank and you bicker.

The worst thing of all though was probably how much ever single comment from Frank hurt. Not because of the comment itself, but because of him. You had not known him for very long, but you spent enough time together to have gotten to know him quite well. You saw the way he treated his friends, caring, loving, mischievous of course, yes, but never leaving a sliver of doubt that all his actions towards them were laced with nothing but deep, honest love for them.

A part of you hated yourself for loving watching him play music, no matter whether he was writing it, rehearsing or playing shows. At shows he was as energetic as you had never seen anyone in their life before, writhing around on stage, singing, screaming, and still flawlessly playing his guitar. He threw stuff at you occasionally, but this tour it did not seem quite as bad as the previous one.

During rehearsals he was absolutely focused, only rarely loosing himself in the music as much as he did on stage. But your favourite times to watch him were when he was writing music. Most often it was during long bus rides, when Gerard and Mikey would read comics, and you one of the novels off your ‘to be read’-pile. Ray and Frank would grab their guitars, and sit down, playing the same melodies in variations for hours upon hours until they had found something they both were content with. Then you would take glances over the rim of your book, just watching Frank, as he was sitting on one of the sofas, his fingers skipping over the fret board, his eyes closed. He was so focused then, and still half lost in the melody, in the music he and Ray were creating. Those moments were so soft, so intimate. It felt forbidden to watch him then, and still you could not tear your eyes away. You just hoped he would never find out about it.

He, on the other hand, was unashamed whenever he stared at you. It was during meals, when you sat on opposite ends of the table, as many of your friends between you as possible to stop you from getting into another heated argument. He would watch you closely then, his eyes following your every movement, never caring if you were staring back at him challengingly.

It was worse on stage. Moments in which he should have payed attention to Ray or Gerard, he glanced at you, even when there was no need to. Of course there were the few parts of the show where the two of you needed to work together, coordinate with each other, and those were never a problem, because as much as you hated him, you were still professional enough to not let it show. But the moments where he made sure you were looking at him right before doing something stupid-

It drove you up the walls, the constant feeling of his eyes on you, until you would eventually give in and meet his across the stage.

This night was no different. Or well, maybe it was. It was more of Frank’s snarky, hurtful comments before the show, more than usual. More of relentlessly watching you during it.

You knew Frank was not in the best space of mind recently. Just like the Way brothers he struggled with mental health, and just because you could not stand seeing his pretty face around you, and felt like getting sick the moment you thought about him because of your contrasting feelings for him, you still were observant. Maybe it was about keeping the team together, you wondered, as you felt sweat running down your face, your arms, your back. In order to keep doing the shows everyone needed to be in top shape, and whenever someone wasn’t, the others did their best to take care of them.

It was difficult with Frank though. He would insist to be left alone, and wouldn't come out of his bunk for anything other than a small breakfast in the morning, a toilet break or playing shows. It had been like this for the past three days, and slowly but surely you began worrying about him.

He looked pale underneath his make-up, dark circles under his eyes which he covered up with red eyeshadow. If he hadn’t screamed at you that one time you had tried to ask if there was something you could do for him, you might have tried to get him to open up a little. You hated to see him suffer just as much as you hated him. But then again, maybe you didn’t hate him quite as much as you always made yourself believe.

The thought was unsettling, and at the realisation you almost would have lost the rhythm you were still playing. You definitely had crushed on Frank before things had gotten weird. And you knew you cared about him, even if you did not want to admit it to yourself. So was the idea that you did not hate him at all so far off?

Just in that moment you felt his eyes on you. Not to coordinate the music, but staring at you. For a moment you tried to resist looking back at him, but it was impossible.

He was close to your drums, black crosses over his eyes, the red eyeshadow masking how sunken in his face was. As if he hadn’t eaten and slept for days. You had a feeling he really hadn’t.

For a moment he was holding your gaze, and then, with three big steps, he strode over to Gerard, who was prancing around on stage as always. It happened so fast you were not even sure what you had seen, when Frank let go of his guitar, and grabbed Gerard’s face while he was still in the middle of singing, only to kiss his passionately.

You could tell Gerard was surprised, suddenly having been cut off by a kiss from one of his guitarists, but he reacted smoothly, wrapping his arm around Frank’s neck and kissing back for a short moment, before he pushed Frank off, and continuing to sing as if nothing had happened.

Quickly you averted your gaze, feeling like you had witnessed something you were not supposed to. Of course you knew of the rumours that Frank and Gerard were dating. It was nothing more than that, a rumour, as far as you knew, but maybe you did not know everything.

It was clear Frank had wanted you to see that kiss. Was this maybe the reason he hated you so much? Because you and Gerard had become close friends, and he thought you were trying to steal Gerard away from him? Nothing could have been further from the truth. You liked Gerard, but only as a friend. You were far too confused about your feelings for Frank to even think about liking anyone else.

Still, you felt like that kiss had meant to show you who Gerard belonged with. But what did you care? Frank could have Gerard all for himself, if this was what his weird behaviour was about. It just stung a little too much, the idea that Frank had never seen you as anything but a rival for Gerard’s affection. Secretly you had wanted his glances and stares to mean more than pure hatred.

That’s how the rest of the show went by. You tried focusing on your drumming, but were continuously distracted by thoughts about Frank, about how maybe you had liked him the whole time, more than liked even. About how he seemed to hate you because you were close to Gerard. About how unreasonably disappointed you were that he had probably never had any positive feelings for you at all.

You were glad when the encore finally was over. Your head hurt from all the intrusive thoughts, the picture of Frank kissing Gerard had burnt itself deeper into your mind than you wanted to admit, you were bathed in sweat and your whole body was aching. You had been so tense during the set that you would probably have a whole body muscle ache tomorrow.

You slammed your sticks down on the drums for the last few times that night, letting the applause of the audience wash over you as the last chords of the nights echoed back from the venue’s walls. Gerard was waving at crowd, Mikey already on his way off stage, and Ray threw the left over picks into the audience. You were about to do the same with your drum sticks, when your eyes involuntarily found Frank. He was standing not too far off from your drums, but instead of having turned to the crowd, he had turned to you.

Too late did you notice the motion he had executed with his right hand, too late did you see the blinking thing he had thrown through the air right at you. If you had not been mid motion of throwing your sticks into the audience, you could have evaded whatever he had launched at you, but now you were to slow, the metallic object hitting the side of your forehead hard, and you could not suppress the pained gasp.

Surprised you clasped your hand over the part where you had been hit, immediately searching for what had hit you. It was Frank’s capo. It had clattered to the ground after having it you. Annoyed you picked it up, and threw it back at Frank, not noticing the guilty and apologetic expression he was wearing. The capo hit him mid-chest, and surprised he caught it, as you stared daggers at him from behind your drums. Quickly, as quickly as you could, you climbed out from behind them, and headed off stage.

“Oh, (y/n), you’re bleeding,” Mikey noticed as you tried storming past him to get to the backstage room as quickly as possible.

You were done with tonight. Not only because of all these thoughts that had plagued you, or Frank kissing Gerard. No, this was the first time Frank had actually injured you, and that was the last drop. You couldn’t do this anymore. Frank had made it so very clear he didn’t want you in the band, he could finally have what he wanted. Tomorrow morning you would tell Gerard you quit. Tomorrow, not today, so nobody could say you were being too emotional about it. If they asked you really, really nicely, and promised to keep Frank in check, you would finish this tour with them until they had a new drummer to replace you. But you wanted out. Now.

A warm hand around your wrist dragged you out of your thoughts, and Mikey was looking down on you worriedly.

“What happened there,” he asked, gesturing to your head.

“What,” you asked, bringing your hand up to where Frank had hit you with the capo. When you pulled your hand away, your fingers were coated in blood. “Oh shit.”

Quickly you looked around, trying to find a mirror, but the closest one was probably down the hallway in the bathrooms.

“Is it bad,” you asked.

Mikey leant in closer, taking a good look.

“Nope, don’t think so. Small cut, about this long.” He held his hand out, showing you with his index finger and thumb how long the cut was. Not more than three milimeters.

It seemed there had been a sharp edge on the capo.

“Shit, (y/n), I’m so sorry-”

The voice belonged to no other than Frank, who had followed you off stage. When you spun around to face him, and he saw the thin line of blood running down the side of your face, his eyes grew wide.

“Oh fuck-”

“Sorry doesn’t cut it, asshole,” you hissed at him, feeling your blood boil at the sight of him. Had you really thought you liked him? What the hell had been wrong with you? “This was the last time, the last time you threw anything at me, you understand?”

“I didn’t mean to hit you, I was aiming for the- it’s not gonna happen again, I promise,” Frank rushed out. Something about him now was so very different than you remembered him from the past months. He looked genuinely sorry and concerned. But you couldn’t be bothered, not anymore.

“No it’s not, because I won’t be on stage with you anymore for you to throw shit at me!”

You had not meant to say that, but it felt good, to see the shock on Frank’s face, to feel Mikey’s surprise.

“(y/n), you’re not-”

“Yes, I am Mikey! I am quitting! So you-” you pocked your finger into Frank’s direction, “are finally getting what you’ve wanted all this time. Happy now?”

And with that you stormed off.

You did not bother to go to the backstage room, as you had planned, and you did not wait as you heard both Frank and Mikey calling for you to wait. You headed straight out of the backdoor, past the tour bus that was supposed to drop everyone off at the hotel. You could not wait long enough for everyone to make it there, and you could not face Frank.

By now him and Mikey had probably found Gerard and Ray, and told them what had happened; that you had quit.

Shit. That was exactly what you had wanted to avoid, coming across as impulsive and emotional. Frank was supposed to be the impulsive and emotional one, not you. But fuck, you were emotional! There was still blood running down the side of your face, and the headache you had already felt before increased its intensity with every minute. You needed to get away from here, as fast as possible.

Not caring about security or fans being able to see you, you hasted towards the street, already seeing multiple cabs lined up, waiting to find concert goers who were ready to pay for a ride home. Climbing into the first cab in the line, you named the address of the hotel the band had booked rooms at. In the hotel the staff gave you concerned looks, considering how you looked, and even offered to call a doctor, but you insisted you would be fine with a plaster and the keys to one of the booked rooms.

Just as always during hotel nights, it was a double room. A queen sized bed took up the majority of the room, leaving little space for anything but a narrow wardrobe and two bedside tables. You wondered who they would pair up with you tonight. Probably not Gerard, Frank would insist they share a room. Maybe Mikey then, or Ray. You hoped it was Ray. He still knew you the best, and would understand why you could not stay in the band any longer.

Only once you entered the bathroom, you realised you had basically left everything but your wallet at the tour bus, your whole overnight bag with shampoo, towels and pyjama. Luckily the hotel had a shampoo dispenser, towels and some bathrobes prepared for their guests, so you quickly grabbed one, and locked the bathroom door behind you.

The first thing you did was inspect the cut on your forehead. It really was tiny, but the amount of blood had made it look way worse than it was. Now the bleeding had stopped, and the blood dried. Carefully you washed it off, and in the end there was hardly anything to see but a small scratch.

While you were in the shower, rinsing off the sweat of the show, you heard someone entering the hotel room. Over the rushing of water it was impossible to tell who it was, but you definitely heard the door to the room open and then close.

After that you tried to hurry. It wouldn't have been fair to Ray to make him wait too long for his shower. He probably hadn’t taken one at the venue yet. Drying yourself off, you threw on the bathrobe, hoping Ray had either brought your night bag.

“Hey Ray,” you called, as you unlocked the door, your dirty clothes thrown over your arm, and stepped into the room, “you didn’t happen to bring my-”

You froze as you saw that it was not Ray who was sitting on the bed, waiting for you to finish in the bathroom.

It was Frank. He seemed to have washed off the make-up at the venue, because only faint traces of colour stuck to his face now.

“Sorry,” he mumbled as he got up. “The others said we should pair up.”

For a long moment you stared at him. You wanted to say something along the lines of never sharing a bed with him, but you knew that he would then insist of sleeping on the floor, and another part of you, the one that had come up with the stupid idea of you maybe liking him, would never have allowed that.

“I packed your bag,” Frank added, nodding to the bag he had placed on the window side of the bed. How had he known you preferred the window side? Or was it just a coincidence?

You nodded, not bothering with an answer.

“Can I- is the bathroom free,” Frank asked carefully. You knew he was watching you, but you refused to look at him, just nodded.

As you were going through your night bag, trying to find a shirt and a pair of shorts, you heard as Frank grabbed his own bag, and headed for the bathroom.

“What you said about leaving the band-”

You guessed he had stopped in the door, but you didn’t turn around.

“I don’t want you to leave. Never wanted that. Can you- I don’t know, can you think about it again? I know we all would-”

“Luckily I don’t care about what you – or the others – want. Not anymore anyway,” you hissed at him, and for the first time that night you felt your throat close up as tears burnt in your eyes.

There was shuffling behind you, and almost you would have expected Frank to say more on the matter but then the bathroom door closed.

Wiping away the tears with the back of your hand, you began looking through your bag again. The idea that Frank had been the one to have packed it, that he had gone through your stuff, made you feel uncomfortable, but at the same time tucked at your heart.

There was a pair of shorts, but the only t-shirt you found was not your own. In fact you were pretty certain it was one of Frank’s. Maybe he had packed it by accident. What other explanation could be there for it? In the end it did not matter though. Shirt was shirt, whether it was his or yours, so you threw it on, and tied the bathrobe closed over it, so Frank wouldn't give you shit for wearing one of his shirts.

In the bathroom the water was still running when you went to bed, cuddled underneath one of the thick blankets. You were grateful there were separate blankets. The idea to share one with Frank was sickening. Speaking of sickening, you still had that headache. While you had been in the shower, it had gotten better, but now it came back worse than before.

After a while you decided you were not going to be the hero who suffered through it, and got up again. Somewhere in your bag you still had some painkillers…

Once more going through your bag, you subconsciously registered that in the bathroom the water had stopped running, and instead suspicious silence spread out from behind the door. No ruffling of towels, no clicking of shampoo bottle lids, not padding of naked feet on tiled floor.

Holding your movement, you listened. Only silence.

With a shrug you grabbed one of the painkillers from the small bottle, and downed it together with the contents of a small water bottle you had kept in your bag. Definitely needed to replace that one tomorrow with a full one, you mentally noted.

That was when you heard it.

Again you halted, not sure if you had imagined the sound, but a second later it was clearer than before. That was definitely someone crying, sobbing even. Quietly, trying to muffle the sound, but the nightly environment was too quiet to hide it. And it came from the bathroom.

Before you even had thought about it, you were banging against the door. You had heard about how badly Gerard had been, you’d be damned if My Chem lost one of their guitarists just because you couldn’t be bothered to try to talk to him. The idea of Frank doing something really stupid to himself wasn’t farfetched, considering the state he had been over the past days.

“Frank? Frank! What’s going on in there? Open the door!”

Again you banged at it, before listening for a response, but all you got was another sob.

“Frank! Are you okay? Let me in!”

Nothing but more sobs.

Your heart was racing in your throat, and your knees weak. You were probably the last person Frank would really talk to, but you didn’t dare leave the room to get help from the others. So instead you pressed down the door handle experimentally, and like a miracle it swung open.

“I don’t care if you’re naked, I’m coming in,” you warned before you pushed the door fully open and stepped inside.

The air of the bathroom was wet and smelled of Frank’s shower gel. The man himself was sitting in front of the sink, back leant against the wall, and luckily dressed in some shorts and an oversized t-shirt. He had his knees pulled up to his chest, his face buried between them, hands and arms pulled over his head as if to protect himself from the outside world.

As quickly as you could you ran over to him, and fell to your knees besides him.

“Frank,” you asked worriedly, carefully trying to pry away one of his arms. “Frank, are you hurt?”

Another sob, muffled between his knees, escaped him, before he unwrapped himself, and instead leant his head against your shoulder, burying his face in the fabric of the bathrobe. Instinctively you brought your arms around him, and wrapped him in an awkward hug.

“I don’t want you to leave,” he cried. The air he exhaled was hot, traveling through the layers of fabric until it brushed over your skin. “I know it’s my fault, and it’s all on me, but I don’t know how to fix this. I tried to fix it. But I’ve just made it so much worse. I don’t want you to leave. I don’t want to lose you.”

Confused you blinked, trying to understand what he was talking about.

“Well, you’re not gonna stop me from leaving,” you told him, fully aware that this was probably exactly the wrong thing to say. But lying to him wouldn’t help him either.

You felt a shiver go through him, and he sobbed again, probably smearing snot all over your bathrobe. Well, not really yours, the hotels. So this should be the least of your worries right now.

“I know. I’m not trying to stop you. I know I fucked up. I tried to fix it, tried to make it work so hard, and all I did was fuck it up. I’m so sorry for ruining this for you,” he whimpered between heavy breaths.

“At which point did you try to fix shit, Frank, hm? When you told Gerard I was a distraction, or when you kept calling me weird names even though you knew I didn’t like it? Or when you kept staring at me as if I’d grow a second head any second? When have you ever tried fixing things? Do you think throwing shit at me would make anything any better? Fuck, Frank, you couldn’t even be bothered to pretend you didn’t hate me as much as you do, just to make it less weird for the others! You didn’t try fixing shit!”

Frank nodded, his hands gripping into the bathrobe, still hiding his face. You could feel how warm his body was, from showering, from crying- he was like a furnace. His shower-wet hair stuck to his head.

“And you can’t expect me to take it any longer, you know? All I’ve been getting from you for months were off handed comments that made me feel like shit, and stuff thrown at me on stage! Fuck, you threw a capo at my head, Frank!”

“I didn’t mean to hit you,” he cried.

“Doesn’t change the fact that you did!”

You couldn’t help but wonder what a strange position you found yourselves in. You were shouting at him while he had buried his face in your shoulder, and was crying his eyes out, all while you soothingly rubbed circles into his back.

After a moment of silence, Frank took a shuddering breath.

“I never hated you,” he mumbled, his voice shaky but clear, as if he was putting lots of thought and effort into every word. “I know it seemed that way, but I never did. The opposite really. When you leave that’s the only thing I need you to know: That I’ve always admired you, and that I wish I could’ve done things right, so we could’ve played with this band ‘till the day we die.”

“Some things just aren’t meant to be,” you answered softly, patting his head, making him sob again.

“I just wish I could go back in time and do it right, you know. Do it right from the very first moment on. Just be honest with you, and hope things work out from there.”

“You could still be honest now,” you offered.

Curiosity was eating away at you. Could you finally find out why Frank had treated you the way he had? Why he had never let you get close, why he had not left his bunk in the past days?

“It wouldn’t make a difference anymore,” Frank mumbled, but he seemed calmer now, as if the idea of telling the truth might offer some relief.

“Maybe that’s a good thing,” you suggested, running your hand through his wet locks. They were soft like silk. When he did not speak for a moment, you added: “What’s going on these past days? You barely got out of bed.”

“Wasn’t feeling good,” Frank mumbled. You could feel him slightly lean into your touch as you ran your nails over his scalp, so you continued the simple action.

“I thought so much. What wasn’t feeling good exactly?”

“Think I knew this was coming to an end,” he admitted. “That I’ve gone too far, and you’d want to leave, and that nothing I could do would stop you, and that everything I had tried to keep you to stay up until that point had only driven you away.”

You hummed, signalling him you had heard, waiting if he wanted to say more, but when he didn’t, you asked another question.

“What was that thing about kissing Gerard earlier at the show? You know… if you like him you don’t gotta worry about me, okay? Gee ‘n I are friends, nothing more.”

“I know.”

“Then why that kiss? It felt like… you wanted to demonstrate that Gerard belonged with you…”

“Didn’t,” Frank answered quietly. “Wanted to make you jealous.”

“Why would you want to make me jealous of you?”

“Not me. Gee.”

You blinked. “Gerard? Why would I be jealous of Gerard?”

Frank tensed underneath your hands, but did not answer. If he wanted you to be jealous of Gerard, could it be that- no. No possible way.

You filed that piece of information away with all the other puzzle pieces that did not fit the picture, and continued asking your questions. It seemed, for the first time since you had met Frank that he was willing to open up to you, at least to a certain degree. You had to make use of that opportunity.

“In the beginning – the first few weeks – we were fine, remember? What changed?”

Frank shook his head against your shoulder, making you raise your eyebrows.

“You don’t know?”

“Don’t wanna say,” Frank corrected.

“I thought you wanted to be honest,” you answered, knowing you were poking around in affairs that probably were none of your business, but he had made you suffer for months. You felt like you finally deserved some answers.

“Emotions are complicated,” Frank replied cryptically.

“What emotions?”

For a moment he thought about his answer, then he spoke slowly. “I wanted you to notice me, wanted you to know that I felt comfortable around you, like when I stole your food and your clothes. And when it got obvious you didn’t feel the same… I got frustrated. And jealous. Because you always hang out with Gee ‘nd Ray ‘nd Mikey- and I started doing dumb shit, and – it was easier to drive you away than to admit that I wanted actually the complete opposite of that. Because when I’m honest, I’m vulnerable, and I don’t wanna be hurt.”

“I don’t want to hurt you, Frank,” you whispered, not entirely sure what to make of the things he had just told you. He had wanted you to notice him? He sure had managed that. Why would he have been jealous though?

“What hurts me and what doesn’t isn’t in your power to decide,” Frank mumbled, his words muffled against the bathrobe you wore.

“Frank-” trying to pull him slightly away from you to look at his face, you placed your hands on his shoulders, but he only stiffened under your touch, his hands clawing tighter into your clothes. “Frank, I feel like I still don’t really understand what is going on, what has been going on the whole time. You say you’re jealous, and you don’t really hate me- but it’s pretty obvious you don’t like me either. What is it, you feel? Can you try putting it into words?”

Frank shook his head against your shoulder again.

“Can’t or won’t?”

“’m scared.”

“Of what?”

For a moment he was quiet, before he suddenly sat up with a jolt. His eyes were bloodshot, his lips red-rimmed, and his whole face swollen and flaky from crying. He looked truly pitiful. You wanted to wrap him in your arms again and promise him everything would be alright. It would have been a lie. He had said he didn’t want you to leave the band but your mind was made up. But maybe a white lie, just to make him feel better…

You were still thinking about how much you wanted to help him, when Frank suddenly leant forward, and without warning pressed his lips to yours. They were hot and tasted of his salty tears. Slightly startled you almost lost your balance from the force with which Frank had come at you. Searching for something to hold onto, and desperate not to let go of him, you quickly wrapped your arms around him, holding him close.

At first it was just the surprise of the sudden kiss that made you dizzy, but when Frank opened his mouth, and licked against your lips, you felt like you could faint any moment. Everything around you was spinning; the only solid thing was Frank, as he took over the kiss, and kissed you harder than anyone had ever done before.

You could feel his pulse hammer underneath your hands, could feel his breath fan over your skin, could taste the desperation with which he kissed you. It was both sweet and hungry, the way he pressed closer to you needy and hopeful, as he twisted you so your back was pressed to the cold, tiled wall of the bathroom, with him pinning you against it, as good as your sitting positions allowed him too.

It was only when you seemed to have worked through the first rush of surprise that Frank suddenly pulled away. Confused at the loss of contact you blinked your eyes open, finding his lips were cherry red, and his eyes glowing. It made you want to lurch forward and kiss him again. But before you could, it seemed like dark clouded his face, and the glimmer in his eyes disappeared, the glow he had seemed to emit darkened.

“This is what I’ve wanted the whole time,” he sat back, bringing more distance between you. Agonizing, cold, painful distance. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have kissed you without-”

You cut him off then and there. You didn’t care. Yes, consent was important, but now that you knew he wanted to kiss you, you saw no reason as to why you should stop yourself from doing so.

He gasped when your lips met his again, just as desperate as he had been moments ago, but he kissed back hungrily, and placed his warm hands on your waist as you climbed into his lap. He held you close and steady, as you got lost in his touch. An hour ago you could never have imagined thinking this, but he radiated safety. The way he held you, the way he kissed you, the way his breath brushed over your skin in little gasps, the hammering of your heart at the quiet moans that escaped him. It made you feel like you were on top of the world, everything else around you forgotten, only you and Frank. Who cared about hotel bathrooms and touring and bands and music? Not you, not while you were kissing Frank like you had dreamt of since the first proper conversation you had had with him. The voice, that had tried to remind you of this little fantasy while the rest of you had convinced you that you hated Frank, seemed to dance a little dance of joy in your heart, as you wrapped your hands into Frank’s hair, and pulled him closer and closer.

Only when you were completely out of breath, you eventually pulled away, leaning your forehead to Frank’s shoulder. He used the opportunity to push the collar of the bathrobe away a bit, and placed butterfly kisses on your neck until you were giggling.

“I know I can’t make you stay,” Frank suddenly said, lifting his head. You did too, looking down on him from where you sat in his lap. “I know that if you truly want to leave the band, nothing and nobody can stop you. But when you do… do you think you could stay at least with me? I don’t want to lose you.”

Confused you furrowed your brows at him, tilting your head to ask what he meant.

“Do you think you could give me – us – a second chance. I love you, (y/n), I love your passion and how you never take shit from anyone, how patient you are, how caring, and you’re the most beautiful person I could ever imagine. I love you so fucking much, and I know I probably ruined any chance, but if I haven’t-”

“You haven’t,” you interrupted him.

Frank eyes widened hopefully, and he watched you very closely as he continued. “So if I asked you to be mine- will you be mine?”

“As much as you’ll be mine,” you answered, your heart beating a thousand miles an hour, as Frank laughed in disbelief.

“My heart’s been yours from the first moment on,” he breathed, before pressing his lips to yours again.

But instead of losing yourself in his kiss, you pulled away again.

“Ask me the other thing,” you demanded, making him look at you confused.

“The other-” he stopped, realisation hitting him like a freight train, and he barely managed to get the words out quickly enough. “Please stay in the band, please I beg you. Will you stay in the band?”

You smiled softly, and brushed his hair out of his eyes, before slowly getting up from his lap. Offering him a hand you helped him up. Immediately he placed his hands back at your waist, his eyes searching for an answer to his question in yours.

“Let’s go to bed,” you whispered, “We have a long tour ahead of us, and I don’t wanna miss out on a proper bed.”

“Is that a-”

“Yes. Yes, I’ll stay in the band. If you stop throwing shit at me on stage.”

Gently you pushed Frank down on the bed, and quickly he scrambled to get under the blanket before he opened his arms for you to crawl into. You followed his invitation without hesitation.

“I promise I’ll only throw myself at you from now on,” he whispered, and you could hear the sly grin in his voice, but when you placed your head on his chest, his heart was racing. He was not at all feeling as cool about the situation as he pretended. It made you grin, and you found yourself liking him even more than before.

“Approved, but only under the condition that you take the guitar off before.”

“That can be arranged,” Frank nodded, playing around with the hem of the bathrobe you were still wearing. “Hey, is that one of my shirts?”

Quickly you sat up again, and brushed the bathrobe off, revealing the shirt you had found in your bag, and put on.

“You packed that one for me,” you accused, but when you glanced at Frank, you found he looked at you as if you had hung the stars in the sky.

“You look so good in my clothes,” he whispered, pulling you back down to his chest, and pressed a kiss to the crown of your head.

His arms were tightly wrapped around you, and while he told you more about how he had felt in the months in which you had been fighting, how heartbroken he had been, how helpless, and how much he had loved you the whole time, you listened to his steady heartbeat until you had fallen asleep.

“Of course she was serious, when she said she wanted to leave,” Ray shook his head, pouring milk into his cereal. “Frank’s been harassing her for months. I’m surprised she didn’t quit sooner.”

“I always thought it was all in good fun between them,” Gerard sighed, sipping from his coffee. “I thought they were goofing around, not actually fighting. I mean, he’s so fucking hard in love with her...”

“Well, yesterday evening they were actually fighting,” Mikey mumbled. “Kept me up ‘till two before they finally shut up.”

“Do you think they killed each other?”

“If yes, we’re in real trouble finding not one, but two new band members,” Mikey sighed.

“I’m not offering my friends again,” Ray quickly defended. “She’s probably already mad that I didn’t shut Frank down more often. I don’t wanna loose more friends.”

“Do we even know anyone who plays drums and would join us?”

“You won’t need a new drummer, if you’ll still have me.”

Your voice made the three look up from their breakfast table, their eyes widening as they saw Frank and you standing next to them. It looked weird seeing the two of you standing so close next to each other without fuming from the mouths. Like an alternative reality, or real life Photoshop.

“Does that mean you’ll stay,” Ray asked, hopeful, his eyes quickly flickering to where Frank’s and your pinkies were linked between you.

“Frank and I talked tonight,” you answered and pulled out a chair, sitting down next to Ray. Frank took the chair on your other side, throwing his arm around your shoulder, and leant over, gently nudging his nose against your jaw before he placed a kiss there. “He had a few very compelling arguments for me to stay.”

Taglist:

@alexstyx @jayloverthe3rd @robinruns @lookalivefrosty @butterflycore @omgsuperstarg @fivelegance @deadlovers @casmustdiee @cmtryghoul

534 notes · View notes

spittingbloodandscreaming · 6 months

Note

may be an odd request but i was wondering if you could write a fic with a male!reader and vampire!g way that's a tad bit angsty :3?

not odd at all!! sorry if I went a little wild, but I had a vison and I ran with it

Vampire!Gerard Way x Male Reader Angst

WARNINGS: mention of prior abusive relationship, mention of death (gerard did it)

Tonight was the kind of situation where you had no real option other than to leave the bar, sit on the curb, and light a cigarette. Gerard stands a few feet away; as vampires are highly flammable. It’s gotten nearly pitch black out—you aren’t sure what time it is, but you know you should start getting home. Gerard says it before you stand up, though, which makes it seem like it was his idea. Something about that irks you.

“We really should go,” Gerard clears his throat, messing with the sleeves of his jacket as he speaks. “I know you’re upset, but—”

“Why am I upset Gerard? Tell me, what could’ve possibly happened?” You practically bare your teeth as you talk, staring at the burning tip of your cigarette as you speak. Gerard says nothing. You don’t like smoking—you only tend to do it when you’re guilty. Weirdly enough, you think you might be. You aren’t entirely sure why, but you have an intense feeling that something is wrong with you right now. You ruined the night out with a poorly-timed outburst over a dead bartender.

Gerard sits down on the curb with you. He knows you guys aren’t going anywhere anytime soon. He gets close to you, almost shoulder to shoulder—completely disregarding the lit cigarette in your hand. If you weren’t depressingly upset, you’d find that romantic, the way he’s risking his safety to be near you. You don’t notice, though. You shouldn’t be this upset, you know that. You’re ruining everything by doing this. You curse yourself under your breath.

You knew the bartender who died—you dated him in high school. You also knew that Gerard killed him, and, well, it shouldn’t bother you. But it does. One of the baristas told you about the death, how they think it was a wild animal, how his throat was torn from his body. It gives you chills. It doesn’t even bother you that Gerard killed a man, I mean, you knew it would happen. It wouldn’t bother you at all if you hadn’t dated the guy.

It was only for a few years, but it left a mark on you. A bad one. He was a bad guy, you know that. He’d get physical during fights, he’d cheat, he’d flirt with people in front of you. And, in the end, he was the one who left you. You never told Gerard ‘cause you were ashamed. You were embarrassed you’d stayed with him that long. You still feel that way. You’re worried that if he ever knew, he’d think less of you. None of that explains why you’re so mad about him dying though. Maybe you wish you could’ve done it yourself, maybe you’re still upset you weren’t the one to break it off. But really, you’re upset you never got an apology from him. You never got closure or even a sliver of remorse. It almost feels disloyal, being so upset over this. He doesn’t matter.

It shouldn’t matter, but you’re crying, and you don’t know how long you’ve been crying, and you’re not sure you’ve really stopped crying since you were fifteen.

You put your cigarette out on the concrete, crushing it as you do so. It’s started raining, or, by the looks of it, it’s been raining. Your shirt is soaked and so are the fronts of your pants. Gerard leans into you shakily, putting his face against your neck. You’re both so cold, and even though Gerard is always cold, he shivers. You wonder briefly if he did that just for show. He sighs lightly, and you realize that he has been crying too.

“I’m really sorry.” His voice is soft and pitiful.

“It’s okay. I’m sorry I ruined our night out.”

“I didn’t know you liked him, honest.” Gerard pulls away to look at you, and seeing his tear-stained face softly lit by the LED signs of the bar window is enough to have your eyes welling with tears again.

“I don’t baby, he’s just a guy.”

#my chemical romance #mcr x reader #mcr fanfiction #gerard way x reader #gerard way angst #gerard way x male reader #gerard way x reader angst #vampire gerard #my chem fanfic #my chem gerard #vampire gerard x reader #my chemical romance fanfiction

30 notes · View notes

eyelessfaces · 16 days

Text

I don't love you like I did yesterday

poe dameron x reader

summary: it’s not because he, poe dameron, gives you more attention and affection than your own boyfriend ever will that you are in love with him — loosely inspired by this post.

warnings: angst, complicated relationships, love triangle?, mentions of marriage, break up, refusing a proposal, internal conflict, doubting your relationship, emotional infidelity? if that's a thing, alcohol consumption. reader wears a dress at some point

tags: f!reader, I don't wanna spoil too much and don't read this if you don't want to be but; mutual pining, love confessions, he fell first AND harder, fluff and,, more

word count: 5.6k

yes. mcr lyrics as a title. in 2024. I know. but don't look at me the lyrics strangely fit so,,

masterlist | taglist | ao3

updates blog: @eyelessupdates

You don’t love him; you are almost sure of that.

It’s not because you laugh at every single one of his stupid, lame jokes made just for you to laugh and because you blush everytime you catch him staring at you from across the room that you love him.

It’s not because he, Poe Dameron, gives you more attention and affection than your own boyfriend ever will that you are in love with him.

It’s not because your boyfriend blames you for being too close to him that you are.

It’s not because you wish it would have been Poe down on one knee proposing to you that it is the reason you told Kass you’re not ready for this yet.

And it’s not because you question your situation every single night that it means you have to change anything about it. You should be happy with Kass. You are.

Yet, you wish you were certain of all of that.

It has been two days already, and the guilt keeps eating away at you, like a bacteria gnawing at your feelings, particularly starving for the reasonable part of you that knows you said no for your own well being.

Kass makes it worse; the dark glances thrown at you whenever you bump into each other during the day and his lame excuses to ditch you whenever you want to talk to him make you feel like a monster, and though you know that it is exactly the way he wants you to feel, you can’t help it.

The situation is hard to swallow and bury deep in the back of your mind when you’re out on missions, and though you rarely ever get distracted because you know how important attention and concentration is in your job, the whirlwind of thoughts has been floating over the surface, and your focus has been off, you know it. And you’re not the only one who knows it.

Your head turns when you feel a light nudge at your arm, having dismissed Poe’s presence in your peripheral vision due to your distraction. His eyebrows raise when you look at him, and he gazes at you like the mist of your thoughts is still present over your face and he wants to shake you awake.

“You alright?” he asks before you look back at your squadron wrapping the mission equipment, setting it back in the ships.

“Yeah,” you breathe out, burying your hands in your pockets. You should feel alright. The mission went well despite your clear lack of attention, and you’ve given your life to the Resistance at this point, so you should be thankful that you succeed in most things you do in its name, right now even, considering the situation.

Poe looks down on the floor, kicking away a small rock there that dribbles down the hill. “You've always been an awful liar” he mutters under his breath, not buying it.

“Right” you scoff, your head dropping to shake it. He looks back up at you and you can feel his insistent gaze upon you, which eventually makes you break. “I don’t wanna bother you with my stupid problems”

He snorts, “Come on, you know I’m always here to listen to your stupid problems” he says playfully, nudging your arm with his elbow again. “That are often not that stupid actually” he adds.

There’s a silence settling between the both of you, and right before Poe aborts and figures you don’t wanna talk about it, you sigh. “Kass proposed.”

“Oh” the sound slips from his mouth, and accurately represents his surprise, his voice dropping a bit from the shock. He doesn’t know what to say, not really. This situation would have been on the list of things he would have never expected or even considered to happen.

This eventuality had never, ever occurred to him somehow, not yet, and now, all at once, the fear creeps in and becomes real; he is going to have to watch you get married, going to have to sit there amongst guests, he’s going to have to watch you be happy with someone else than him.

But he wants you to be happy, with or without him, so he will watch. It isn’t like he has the choice, anyways.

He lightly clears his throat, trying to dismiss the tight knot starting to form there, and smiles. The worst thing about it is the fact that it is genuine, he is truly happy for you. You deserve this.

Maybe Kass doesn’t, though. He doesn't deserve you. You’re too good for a half assed mechanic like him that, from a professional point of view, fucks up too often to still be there; but from what Poe hears around, it tends to be the same on other levels than just the professional one.

“Well, that’s great! Congrats,” his half cheerful voice wavers a little, but you don’t seem to notice as your lips form a polite smile that slightly turns perplexed, uncomfortable. “What’s wrong about that” he asks now, concerned when he sees your frown.

Your teeth graze your bottom lip. “I said no.”

“Oh” he watches as you raise your eyebrows, nodding. “I’m sorry” he adds. “I mean–”

“Yeah” you exhale.

“Why?”

That is the real question. Why? Why wouldn’t you want to marry your boyfriend you are supposed to be in love with? Why did you feel so awful at the feeling of his hand over yours when he shot the question?

“I don’t–” you start, thoughts running around your head. You’re not really sure about what you want to say, you’re not even precisely sure why you said no. There were so many reasons, but you couldn’t pick the exact one. “I think I’m not ready.”

Poe doesn't say anything. You stay there upon the small hill you watch your respective teams from. They’re almost done putting everything back.

You think you want to cry. You’re not really sure why. You think you want to dig a hole in that hill and stay hidden there for the rest of time.

“Poe, I don't think I wanna spend the rest of my life with him.” you mutter, looking ahead as if your confession would make you feel less guilty if you didn’t look your friend in the eye. “Is that wrong?” you ask as you turn to him.

“Yeah, well I don’t blame you” he scoffs, and you do too, knowing how Poe feels about Kass.

You should have known, it should have been a sign. Poe is kind, compassionate, and when he doesn’t like someone, it is because he has reasons to.

“That’s not wrong.” he continues, his tone serious now. “It would have been wrong if you said yes even though you knew damn well you didn’t want to marry him” he nods. “It's not the end of the galaxy if you said no. He'll get over it”

“Yeah” you sigh. “He keeps acting like it's my fault”

“Really?” he asks, raising an eyebrow in astoundment. He shouldn’t be surprised.

“Yeah. He avoids me and sends me death glares like I murdered his family or something” you snort, realizing the stupidity of it all now that you say it out loud. Kass has always been somehow childish, but this exceeds everything you could expect from him.

“Wow okay” Poe shakes his head, a small exhale of desperation escaping his mouth before he speaks again. “Well, you know how I feel about him, sweetheart.”

“I know” you confirm, sending him a weak smile. He answers you with a pinched one, and as your squad finishes their tasks and starts to gather together, Poe reaches out and squeezes your shoulder reassuringly before turning to join them.

He turns back to you quickly, “You know what? My squadron is having drinks on Coruscant tonight to have some fun before we leave for the week. You should join us”

You nod and watch him go, and feel the need to take one fat fucking breath before eventually joining everyone else.

—

Even though it is almost dry by now, the stain over your dress is still ridiculously visible. If the girl that had spilled it over you earlier hadn’t profusely apologized for it you would have most likely have had a go at her because of the awful mental state you were in – you were yourself surprised to notice how blatantly dismissive and weary you had been of that incident – it had been nothing compared to the past few days you just had.

Poe looks over at you, your gaze planted onto your glass of Black Hole as your fingers absentmindedly drum against the table; your choice of drink says it all, and though you might want to get properly drunk, Poe is strictly against it if it means you plan on moping all night long. He finishes his drink, planting a hand over your shoulder as he leans closer to you.

“Wanna go dance now?” Poe shouts in your ear, trying to overlap the loud music blasting. You scoff and shake your head, “I’m not really in the mood”

“That's exactly why we need to,” he affirms with his usual charismatic grin as he takes a hold of your hand and pulls you to the middle of the room anyway. “Come on!” you give in when you realize he’s not really asking, dragging you through the crowd. “You know I'm leaving tomorrow morning, you owe me a dance”

“Okay” you laugh as you put your hands over his shoulders, his coming to rest at either side of your waist.

You move stiffly at first, your eyes rolling playfully when Poe gives way more energy into it than you do, and despite yourself, you start to smile, and make an effort to match his energy.

Poe spins you around, his movements confident as he tries to cheer you up. "Just follow my lead, okay?" he says, his voice warm and encouraging. He twirls you under his arm smoothly, and you can’t help but laugh as he dips you dramatically, catching you with ease; he’s intimidatingly close to your face before he leans to your ear. “See? I’m not an awful dancer”

“Is there even something you’re not good at at this point,” you rhetorically ask as you both stand straight again, the movement making your head spin a little because of the alcohol.

“Following orders, probably” he jokes, still swaying with you. You laugh and let your forehead rest over his shoulder, your eyes shutting as you take a deep breath; it might have been the only moment in those past few days where you genuinely let go of all your worries.

“Hey, we should go outside, it’s hot in here. And loud” Poe proposes as you both still sway, his hand gently cradling your back.

“Sure” you nod with a smile. “Wait– I’ll join you there, I’m gonna get us drinks”

There’s a grin plastered over his face and a glint in his eyes as he glances at you when you join him outside, your drinks in hands. The cool night air is a welcome change from the overwhelming warmth inside the cantina.

“What?” you scoff, looking down at yourself, trying to figure out the reason behind his amused expression.

“Nothing” he shrugs off, taking his drink from you, but not before you catch the way his eyes linger on you.

“It’s the stain, isn’t it” you whine and sigh as you pull at the fabric of your dress to observe it. “Didn’t realize it looked that stupid”

He giggles as his mouth is still full of his drink. “It’s stylish” he admits with a cheeky grin.

You scoff and roll your eyes, your giggle fading as you both take a sip of your drinks, the silence between you comfortable as the muffled hum of the cantina’s activity buzzes just behind you. Then, out of nowhere, just as you’re about to talk again, Poe breathes out your name, his expression changing, becoming more serious as you glance at him expectantly.

“I’m in love with you.” he blurts out, like words are falling out of his mouth from being held there for too long.

You huff out a laugh. “No,” you laugh, the taste of your drink still warm in your throat. You frown a bit when you notice he doesn't waver, doesn't flinch, doesn't drop his expression to admit this is some kind of joke now that he knows it's not working on you.

“Yes I am” he declares, as serious as he is when he needs to be in his job.

You chuckle, still not fully believing what he's saying. “Are you drunk Poe?”

“Wha– no– no I’m not” he frowns, his eyebrows knitting together in earnest. “I mean it. I'm in love with you.” he affirms, his eyes searching yours with a seriousness that makes your heart skip a beat.

You pause, taken aback by the tone of his voice – he's sincere, he's not playing around. “You can’t.”

“I know.” he declares with a nod, his gaze never leaving yours. “I just couldn’t keep it to myself anymore” he admits as his expression softens. “I don’t want this to ruin our relationship” he says, his voice calmer now. “And I know you can’t feel the same” he nods, “And that’s okay.”

You pinch your lips together. You're not sure what to say. You nod eventually, acknowledging it all, processing his declaration. “Well” you say finally, your voice barely louder than a whisper. “I, uh, I’ll go get another drink.”

Your glass is still mostly full.

Poe nods, swallowing with difficulty as he watches you turn and head back inside.

The sounds of laughter as you enter the cantina again make you sick to your stomach.

—

This went awful. He didn’t expect any less. He didn’t expect anything in the first place; his impulsiveness finally got the best of him.

Having to swallow it down and play it like it didn’t happen felt more humbling than every time he has had to admit he made a mistake. Jessika’s story about the maintenance issues with her X-wing is slowly starting to blur, and Poe isn’t even sure she’s still on that topic of that – at this point – one sided discussion, as he can’t help but glance over at you, talking to Karé until he eventually realizes you aren’t there with him anymore.

“Poe!” Jessika scolds him, making him turn back to her. She sighs, “You’re not even listening”

“Sorry” he apologizes, looking around the room to figure out if you’re still there. “I gotta go, keep that story for later” he nods, patting her shoulder before turning away.

“I just finished telling it,” she huffs out in disbelief, Poe’s repeated apology fading with the music as he disappears through the crowd.

You’re not in the cantina, not anymore. Karé tells him you went out for fresh air, and he finds you on the flight of stairs on the side of the building, hidden from everyone.

"I was looking for you," he halts– you're crying; you're there, sitting on the stairs, looking up from where you were hiding your face in your hands crying. "What's wrong?" he asks, his voice wavering with surprise; he thought you were having a good night despite everything, having fun with Karé, he thought he had been able to make you forget about your problems for a moment. But no, and he obviously knows what’s wrong, because he managed to fuck it all up by confessing his feelings for you without thinking about it twice.

You pinch your lips, trying to repress new tears as you wipe away the ones rolling down your face. "Nothing," you mumble, shaking your head. "It's alright."

Poe sighs softly, walking up to you and sitting down with you.

He softly nudges your shoulder with his own, “You're rocking that stain,” he says, a small grin over his face. “For what it’s worth, you could even rock a First Order suit, so,” he smiles as he watches you laugh between sniffles. “You don't have to worry about that.”

He sighs, and his tone grows more serious. "I'm sorry I said everything I said. I shouldn't have burdened you with my feelings" he admits. His voice is filled with regret. He should have kept that for himself, for now anyway. “I was caught up in the moment and I didn’t realize it would hurt you more. It was stupid. It was unfair to you." his voice weakens. He looks back at your face. You blink your tears away silently. “I do realize it was possibly the worst moment I could choose to tell you this”

Poe gently wipes your tears away, before they can reach the bottom of your face.

“I don’t expect anything back from you, you don’t have to worry about that. This doesn’t have to change anything about us”

He kisses your cheek before leaving.

—

If you had to point out positive points about your indirect fight with Kass following his proposal, the fact that you weren’t living with him would be one of them.

The silence in your quarters alone was surely more bearable than the silence that would fill the space if he were there with you, you were sure of that.

And even if it’s been three days already since you rejected his proposal, you have barely talked to him despite going out of your way to try to; he has been hurt by your rejection, and he is keen on making you understand.

You can’t help but wonder if you would have been happier if you had said yes; maybe it would have been easier and maybe you wouldn’t feel so bad even though you still wouldn’t want to marry him, even if it is exactly the way Kass wants you to feel. Maybe saying yes would have been the right decision, after all, and maybe you would be set about your feelings for good with the prospect that you would allegedly spend the rest of your life with him.

Then there's Poe, his words.

Poe and his words that keep rolling around your head over and over again no matter what you’re doing and no matter what time of the day it is; those about the confession of his love towards you, and those that assured you that Kass would get over your rejection, that it’s not the end of everything, not the end of your relationship with him even if right now, it seems like a deadlock.

And almost as if it was staged, Kass steps through your door.

“Hey,” he speaks, hands in his pockets. You repeat the same thing quietly, looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to say anything, apologize maybe. He looks around your place before chuckling, pointing and walking over to the table. “It’s just– I forgot my gloves last time I came here and I need them”

“Oh, so that’s it.” you snort darkly, following him close.

“Yeah, that’s it.” he mutters nonchalantly as he picks up the pair. “What do you even mean” he frowns as he turns back at you, shoving his gloves in his jacket pocket.

“I mean you've been avoiding me all week and you think it's okay to casually come here just to pick up your stupid pair of gloves?”

“Well, they’re still mine, so” he shrugs. “And again, what do you want me to do”

You frown. “I don’t know, maybe apologize for your attitude for these past few days first. You’ve been childish”

“I’m childish? You’re the one who’s not ready for marriage.”

You chuckle in disbelief, “Yeah well, I’m sorry for not wanting assured long term with someone that behaves the way you do.” you say, looking at him in the eyes though you would rather be looking everywhere but here at the moment.

“You know,” you start, readjusting your position onto your feet. “I’ve been wondering, asking myself all of those questions, what was wrong with me for rejecting you.” he looks at you, hand still stuck in his pocket, waiting for you to make your point.

“And that’s what you wanted, right? But the one thing I really asked myself was ‘Why did he even propose’, because you don’t even care that much about me, so I don’t understand” you shake your head. “You shouldn’t have asked the question if you weren’t ready for the other answer”

He sighs, eyebrows raising slightly as he pinches the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, I shouldn’t have asked at all, you’re right.” he scoffs. “I realized that, and I should have realized when we started to drift away” you frown softly, waiting for him to continue. You’re not sure what he truly means beyond that. “I asked you to marry me to be sure”

“Sure of what”

He chuckles and huffs out your name like what he means to say is evident; “You’re in love with Poe” his eyes soften, his expression relaxing as yours hardens. “Don’t try to tell me otherwise or I’ll go crazy” he laughs nervously.

“Look, I get it. He looks pretty damn close to perfect. But you should have done something about it. I shouldn’t have been the one to realize it.” he says. You sigh softly, taken aback. “This is why I’ve been avoiding you. To try to come to terms with it. Accept it.”

Knowing this is the reason Kass proposed somehow makes it simultaneously better and worse. But he’s right; he’s fucking right, you’re in love with Poe and that is exactly why you were crying on those stairs the night before Poe left for his mission, maybe it is time to face it for good and to stop trying to convince yourself that you’re just confused because of everything that has been happening in your relationship lately.

“I’m sorry” your voice is poisoned by guilt. If it feels awful for you, it must be even worse for him. He scratches his forehead awkwardly, not really knowing what to say to you. “I tried to deny it to keep it fair for you. But I think you’re right.” admitting it to him, the man you’re supposed to be with and have feelings for feels even worse than having to realize it yourself. “I’m sorry Kass.”

Kass pinches his lips in a defeated smile, “I can’t hold you back.” he huffs out in evidence. “He is too” he adds after a pause. “In love with you, I mean. It’s so blatantly obvious”

You scoff, shaking your head. “I know”

“So you can work this out” he declares with a weak smile. “I won’t be an asshole about it” he mumbles. “I should be angry but I’ve tried to accept it for a while.”

You nod, somehow grateful he is so understanding, feeling sorry that it’s been so transparent for him for so long. Not everyone would let it play like this. "Thank you, Kass."

He nods in return before sighing deeply, the weight of the past few days lifting slightly from his shoulders. “I wish you well. I mean it”

You nod again, tears welling up in your eyes. “You too.”

Your heart tightens when his look lingers over you before he turns away and exits your quarters; both relief and guilt weigh over you, and the silence that fills your room now feels much different than before.

—

You don’t love him; you are sure of that. It feels wrong and even though you still feel some sort of affection towards him, you’re not sure you can be friends anymore given how you left things off.

On the other side, when Poe hops off his X-Wing ladder after a week of being away, you don't know how to act around him anymore. You don’t know if you should go ahead and tell him everything you’ve ever wanted to tell him or if you should just pick the opposite option and avoid him as much as possible to try to ease your conscience a little.

And you do. You busy yourself with work as much as possible, avoiding running into him as much as possible, but eventually, he doesn’t really give you a choice.

“Are we okay? You didn’t even welcome me back. It’s been four days” it hasn’t even been twenty seconds since the meeting ended; the meeting you spent all your time trying to focus on instead of him.

His stupid flight suit is opened in a way that reveals his gray tank top and lets the chain around his neck slightly peek, and suddenly nothing about the First Order supply depot infiltration matters anymore.

“We are. I was busy” you affirm – you’re technically not lying. Though you were keeping yourself busy on purpose.

“I bet you were”

You frown. “Hey what do you m–”

“Kass talked to me.” he dodges.

“Oh” your voice drops, the idea of that scene so unnatural. “What did he say”

He shrugs slightly. “I think you know”

That’s a good thing they talked, somehow, no matter how much the idea terrifies you. It lifts a weight off your shoulders to know you won’t have to explain to Poe how you left things off with Kass, because you would almost rather get interrogated by the First Order than have to think about it again. “He was pretty mature about it, I’ll give him credit for that.” Poe affirms with a grin, causing you to huff out a laugh. “He also said he's resigning from the Resistance. ‘Says it has nothing to do with you, he's been thinking about it for a while” he nods with a pinch of his lips.

“Oh, okay” your eyebrows raise in surprise. “Well, ships will suddenly do better magically”

He snorts. “I’m just glad I never let him take care of mine. I think Jess was complaining about that the other day” you laugh, and he smiles at you endearingly as he watches you. “So, are we okay?” he asks more seriously, though a faint smile lingers over his face.

“Yeah, yeah, we are.” you nod, weakly smiling back at him. “It’s just been a rough couple of weeks” you admit as he gives you an empathetic smile in response.

“I know what I want but I don’t know if I’m ready,” you eventually declare cautiously, not wanting to hurt him or make him feel like you're trying to push him away. “It has all gone so fast and I think I want things to slow down a bit.” he nods understandingly before being obliged to turn when someone in the briefing room calls his name; he holds his hand up to have them wait and rests that same hand over your shoulder when he turns back to you, his gaze holding yours.

“Look– I don’t want you to jump right into this if you’re not a hundred percent sure about it.” he declares with as much conviction he has when he fights for what’s right.

“This is my thing– to jump head first into everything. That's why I acted the way I did the other night. And it was stupid considering the situation and some part of you probably hates me for it somehow so you have to be smarter about this” he insists. “And I know you will be. And even if it’s in one week or one year or five, I can handle it”

“Okay,” you mutter feebly, his firm gaze over you making your stomach flutter.

He turns back and glances at the person who was calling for him earlier, turning back to you. He hesitates, looking like he wants to say more but is unsure if he should.

“Alright. I got stuff to take care of” he eventually says with a faint sigh, like being teared out of that conversation with you physically hurts him.

“Okay Commander” you grin teasingly. He smiles and kisses the top of your head, your hand instinctively resting over his arm despite your decision to maintain some distance for the moment.

"You know where to find me if you need anything," he says quietly, his hand lingering on your shoulder for a moment longer before he steps away.

You’re still not sure what you really want as you watch him walk away, sending easy smiles to his peers as he reviews details with them for the next mission.

You think about it all over again, as you remain here in the back of the room, leaning against the wall; the way he looked at you, the understanding in his eyes, his patience and willingness to wait – it all seems so easy with him that jumping right in suddenly doesn’t make you so afraid anymore.

—

The sky isn’t particularly clear tonight. One could have picked a more scenic place to come rest to, one where clouds wouldn’t be covering D’Qar’s two moons like a thin, old veil ripped to shreds.

Poe turns at the unexpected sound of boots ruffling against the grass, a small smile growing over his face when you grunt softly as you sit down next to him.

“You lied when you said I’d know where to find you, because I’ve looked for you everywhere before finally finding you out there” you sigh softly, drawing a laugh out of him, his eyes crinkling softly.

He shrugs, “You still found me, so I technically didn't lie” he says with a smile.

“You've got a point,” you huff out, settling beside him. The air is cool, cooler than it has been those past few days. You can’t help your lips turning into a smile as Poe's face softly glows in the faint light of both moons, his gaze gentle as he looks over at you.

His eyes twinkle with amusement when he talks again, interrupted when you shift to press your lips to his, his words quickly lost on both of you. His voice fades into a small sigh against your mouth as his hand immediately, almost instinctively cups the side of your face. Your hands grip the lapel of his shirt tightly, gently pulling him closer to deepen the kiss; Poe’s chuckle vibrates against your lips as you pull away, a slight flush visible over his cheeks.

“What is this?” he asks amused, the look of surprise genuine over his face. This goes against everything you told him you wanted with him for now.

“This is me being smarter about this, being the bigger person.” you affirm in an attempt to sound confident, but you’re still slightly out of breath, your heart racing.

Poe looks at you with a teasing, feigned impressed expression before he goes in and kisses you back, the press of his lips soft yet firm against yours.

Everything around you seems to fade away as you make out for a beat, losing yourselves in this, the soft breeze of the evening tickling both of your faces though your face heats up even more when his thumb traces your cheek.

When he finally pulls back, Poe's hand is quick to find your own, his fingers fiddling and lacing with yours, his gaze on you still intense. “So much for going slow, huh?”

You chuckle, “Yeah, fuck that” you reply with a grin, feeling lighter than you have in weeks.

You both fall silent for a while; it is rare for Poe Dameron to not run his mouth for longer than a few minutes, but the back and forth of his thumb over your hand and your head leaning over his shoulder seems to be enough for him at this moment.

You shatter the silence the moment the question crosses your mind. “What would you have done if I actually married him?”

He takes a deep breath, like the weight of the question takes a toll on him.

He smirks, “This would have probably made me join the First Order” he jokes in an attempt to lighten the mood. You huff out a laugh.

“Honestly?” he asks, his tone serious now. He doesn’t speak, he doesn’t really know. What would have been the best option? The least worst? “I don’t know. But I would have skipped the wedding for sure.” you softly smile at him with a look of compassion, momentarily rendered speechless by his revelation.

He pinches his lips in a weak, beaten smile as he clearly pictures the scene in his mind again, just the way he did when you announced to him that Kass had proposed before eventually telling him you had refused. “Sorry. it would have hurt my poor loverboy heart way too much” he scoffs light heartedly though it’s barely a joke, just the truth.

“Well, next time I get married you’ll be the first person I invite” you promise with a light nudge at him, your hand reassuringly squeezing his.

“Next time huh?” he retorts with a playful smile, one that you mirror before the gentle push of his lips renders you breathless again. “Not if I invite you first sweetheart,” he jokes with one last kiss, your laugh barely audible.

Poe’s thumb traces circles on the back of your hand when he notices your gaze is there now, a faint smile remaining over your face. “Hey” he calls, urging you to look up at him. “One day at the time, okay?” he cocks his head forward, his voice barely above a whisper. “We don’t have to figure everything out right now.”

There’s no rush with him, no doubt, just the certainty that whatever happens, it will seem like the easier thing in the world;

Because you love him; you are sure of that.

—

any and every comment is greatly appreciated!!

star wars taglist: @lockleysgrl @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @alexxavicry @mystinky-butt @anightshift @whatthefishh @dameronshandholder @campingwiththecharmings @mintgreen24 @spider-starry @jakecockley @cocodiem @spxctorsslxt @friedwings @luxisluxurious @stvnnie @dowbastan @il0vebeingdelulu @hammerhead96 @unear7hly @pigeonmama

also tagging people who seemed interested in this from the post related to this, please ignore me if you actually don't care<3 @lotusbxtch @piptoost @klillaah @lounilu @moonpascal

#poe dameron #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron fanfiction #poe dameron imagine #poe dameron fic #poe dameron x you #poe dameron x y/n #poe dameron fanfic #poe dameron fluff #star wars #oscar isaac

292 notes · View notes

ghostkennedy · 10 months

Note

I HAVE A REQUEST PLEASEE MAKE ONE WHERE LEON AND READER ARE ENEMIES TO LOVERS AND HAVE A SIMILAR SCENE WHERE LEON AND MARIA ARE FIGHTING IN DEATH ISLAND. I HOPE IT MAKES SENSE.

PLEASE YOU CAN IGNORE THIS IF YOU DONT WANT TO DO IT BUT PLEASEE IM BEGGING YOUUU

Demolition Lovers

~DI! Leon Kennedy x fem! Reader~

Leon and beloved Reader are our demolition lovers. Make sure you give that song by MCR a listen. I was worried about this one, but I fucking looooved writing it.

Word count: 2138

Content warnings: the girlies are fighting-physically and vocally, traumatized reader, villain reader, talk of death, attempted murder, knives, blood, strangling, choking, crying, screaming, angst, smut, sexual content, kissing, p in v sex, reader is riding, creampie, unprotected sex

!!!!!!MINORS DNI! GHOSTKENNEDY IS STRICTLY 18+!!!!!!

“Do you always have to get in the fucking way of everything, Kennedy?”

Leon scoffs at your remark. “What am I supposed to do? Let you end the world for some personal vendetta? Is that it?”

You laugh as you step further into the giant lab, having caught Leon meddling in your plans again. The man never fucking stops, does he? He’s been in your business, getting his hands dirty with your mess for years now.

It’s funny how much he still tries to protect you, keeping your treacherous actions a secret, regardless of how many times you come back to attempt the same thing. Somehow still believing there’s a good person inside of you, perhaps a person who could still empathize with him. Maybe if you coped with the trauma, your need for revenge would subside. You’re tired of his wishy-washy bullshit.

You’ll never be satisfied until the whole world knows your pain. Knows what it feels like to lose control of yourself no matter how hard you try to fight it. To watch the world from your own fucking eyes and being locked away somewhere inside your own head. A mere spectator as your hands are controlled by something else entirely.

Every last person left on the planet after everything is said and done will know what it feels like to watch your own hands kill the people you love while there’s absolutely nothing you can do to stop it.

You shake your head at him. “I’m sorry I have to kill you. It’s nothing personal, I promise.”

“I wish you’d been more creative. You guys always try to end the world. It’s getting repetitive if I’m being honest.”

You laugh loudly, your hand quickly grabbing the knife strapped to your leg and tossing it at the man’s forehead.

Your distraction is not nearly enough to stop Leon from dodging the hit.

He throws himself out of the way of your flying knife and you charge him, unsheathing another knife strapped to your chest.

You’re in front of him in an instant. You kick your leg up in an attempt to knock him off his balance again, but he grabs your ankle and pushes you around.

You recover quickly, spinning around until you’re back face to face with him. Your hand swings the knife towards his neck, but he grabs your wrist.

He goes to kick your feet out from under you, but you quickly jump, kneeing him hard in the abdomen.

You both recover before either of you can even blink, both back in stable stances instantly.

You fake out a hit to his face. When he reaches up to stop the blow, your other hand is jolting the knife towards his stomach.

His forearm stops your punch from connecting, while his free hand bashes down into your wrist brandishing the knife, forcing it to fall to the ground with a loud clang.

You pull your now knifeless fist back and go to connect with his jaw, but he arches his back, moving his face back from harm’s way.

In your frustration, you get sloppy, giving Leon the perfect opportunity to pounce.

He straightens his back as you lean down to grab your knife. When your back is curved down, he kicks his leg straight out, swinging it over top of you. His thigh connects with the back of your neck and sends your body crashing to the floor.

Before he can pin you to the floor, you quickly flip onto your back. You dig your nails into his thigh, allowing yourself to slide out from under him as his leg goes stiff.

As you slide out, you pull his calf roughly, causing his leg to straighten out and him to lose his balance.

Before his chest can even make contact with the floor, you’re on his back. Your hands grab a fistfull of his hair and yank it back as he hits the floor.

You wrap your legs around his neck, locking your legs together as they cross at the front of his neck.

You bring one of your forearms below his chin, pulling him up at an uncomfortable angle.

“It didn’t have to be like this, Leon.” You say in a fake empathetic voice.

He grunts and his voice comes out strained, “You’re a fucking puppet!”

“So are you!” You yell out. You can’t help but shake your head, “I guess we do have something in common after all.”

Leon flings his body, flipping you over.

Your back crashes into the ground as he straddles your abdomen, trapping your hands at your hips.

“I’m trying to fucking help you.” He gets out through gritted teeth.

Leon feels his irritation growing impossibly larger as you laugh, once again, “I didn’t ask for your help. You put yourself into this shit, that isn’t my fault.”

He stares into your eyes with a death glare and you send one of your own right back at him.

You can feel one of your knives beneath your thigh. If you can just strain your arm enough, you could pull it closer with the tips of your fingers until you can get a proper grip on it. He’ll just think you’re trying to wiggle out, if you just stretch your fingers enough… there it is!

In the blink of an eye, you wrap your hand around the weapon tightly and bring it up to Leon’s leg, slicing into his thigh.

He grunts out and flinches at the sudden sting, and of course, you utilize the opportunity.

You push yourself out from underneath him, rising to your feet and he does the same, ignoring the pain in the back of his leg.

He surges forward, reaching out to grab you. You jump up and grab a low hanging pipe swinging your legs over his shoulders. Your ankles lock behind his head, but he keeps moving forward, forcing you to let go of the pipe.

His arms reach out to try and push you off of him, but you grab onto his forearms to keep yourself from falling.

He continues forward until his hips make contact with a metal table, throwing your back against the cold surface. He wraps his hands around your throat and you pull your leg against your chest, pushing the bottom of your shoe against his face.

This doesn’t help at all, so you come up with another idea.

You wrap your legs around his waist, gripping him tightly between your thighs. His eyes widen in response and his grip on your throat loosens.

You’re able to gain the upperhand, changing positions and pushing Leon back onto the table. His feet leave the floor as you push him further down the cold metal, climbing up after him.

It’s your turn to straddle him and wrap your hands around his throat.

His hands shoot up, gripping tightly around your wrists in an attempt to pull them away from him. Your wrists feel like they’ll break between his hands, but you only allow that to fuel yourself, gripping his throat tighter.

“Why couldn’t you just stay out of my fucking way?” You yell out, frustrated and somehow devastated that it had to end up this way.

His voice is scratchy as he forces words out of his mouth despite his lack of air, “How–could I–do that? This is–just–too much–fun.”

“Just shut the fuck up!” You grit out through your clenched teeth, “I have to do this, Leon. I have to see this through.”

Leon continues to gasp for air, his face growing red and his mouth forced open. His eyelids flutter as he keeps trying to suck in a breath, but you just squeeze tighter. His hands are shaking around your wrists, his grip slowly loosening.

His eyes roll into the back of his head and a desperate, pathetic noise leaves his lips as the lack of oxygen to his brain takes over.

You don’t know what happens. You don’t know what comes over you, but you let him go. You pull your hands away from his throat and he sputters and coughs as he desperately sucks the air into his dry throat.

His eyes focus back on yours and you don’t realize you’re crying until you lick your lips and taste the salty tears on your tongue.

You’re overcome with so many emotions and for some reason, your frustration turns to pure rage. You ball your hands up into tight fists and start pounding them against his chest, hard. Over and over you punch him and he just lets you.

You scream at the top of your lungs a banshee-like sound that you didn’t know you were capable of making.

You don’t see him as your fists connect with his chest again and again. You see the people you lost while being controlled by a parasite. The people you loved dying from your finger on the trigger, your hand wrapped around the handle of the knife, your hands wrapped around their throats.

You’re pulled back to the present as Leon wraps his hands around your wrists and stills them. You’re panting, chest heaving as you struggle to catch your breath.

His eyes meet yours and you squeeze yours closed, unable to meet him head on.

“They don’t know the pain. No one knows how I fucking feel.”

Maybe you did lose your humanity to that parasite. Maybe it was too late and you’ll always be this fucked up.

You feel Leon’s warm hands cup your cheeks, “Look at me.”

You slowly open your eyes and see a concerned look in Leon’s eyes. You can’t bare it, can’t bare his worry to be about you. You can’t handle anyone worrying about you anymore. It makes them vulnerable, puts them in danger. Anyone who cares about you is immediately worse off because of the fact.

You just sit there, your face in his hands and your body straddling his hips, lost somewhere deep in your own head.

Your eyes widen when you register what he’s done.

He’s kissing you. Leon Kennedy is fucking kissing you.

Why is he doing this? Why does it feel so fucking good? Why are you closing your eyes and leaning into the kiss? Why are you bringing your hands up to his hair and tangling your fingers in the strands?

You don’t know what possesses you to reach down between the two of you and palm his hardening cock through his pants. You don’t know what possesses him to reach down between you two as well and hastily undo his belt. You don’t know what possesses either of you and the actions you continue to take, furthering a situation that doesn’t make any fucking sense, but neither of you make any effort to stop. Quite the opposite really.

He pushes his pants down his hips and you undo the button and zipper on yours and your fingers are shaking so much, fumbling with every move you make and all you know is that you can’t stop.

Not when you’re pushing your own pants and panties down your hips and off of your legs. Not when you grab his underwear and nearly rip them off of his body.

And especially not when you sink your wet heat down onto his hard cock and start bouncing up and down desperately as his fingers dig into your hips and make you go faster.

No. All you can think about is chasing your pleasure and his. It’s the first time in years that your mind has thought of anything besides revenge and forcing others to endure the same pain you feel every single fucking day.

You don’t feel the pain. All you can feel is the way your walls clench around his cock, trying to pull him closer, pull him deeper, until there’s not one single bit of your pussy left that hasn’t been speared on his cock.

And as you throw your head back, screaming out as your climax crashes through you, your mind goes completely foggy. You can’t think at all. All you can do is feel the tingling relief coursing through your body from your powerful release.

You feel his come flood your pussy and it feels so fucking good. Everything feels so good right now. And after nothing feeling good, not even close, for years, you know you’re addicted.

You don’t have to give your pain to others to somehow release yourself from it. No. You’ve found a way to release it from yourself over and over and fucking over again.

God fucking dammit, Leon Kennedy. Always so determined to find a way to help you and by the grace of God or some other holy intervention, the prick has found it. He’s found it and you’re going to keep giving it to him willingly.

~masterlist~

464 notes · View notes

sweetieyos · 11 months

Text

teen nanami x reader ♡ (part 2!)

i can't get enough of this boy so here i am, feeding your obsession of an emo boy

teen nanami after knowing about you as his crush, a feeling of embarrassment grew, but also aggression and stress because he does not know how to express his feelings i hc that he was aggressive when he was a teenager (emo)

teen nanami who asks help from haibara because haibara knows how to treat and talk to people

haibara who talk with you more and that made nanami jealous because it got worst than he thought and now you are more friendly to his best friend and senpais

teen nanami who is getting teased by his senpais, in a way or another they found out about his little crush, but shoko is willing to help

s: you know nanamin, i know more y/n than anyone else! i can help you being your wingwoman but it has a price~...

n: really? what is it?

s: doing my homework and writing my reports...

so nanami for a while was working a little extra in exchange of getting his first love :(

nanami knew two or three things about you, luckily you both like the same music like mcr, and some movies like star wars PLEASE I AM SURE THAT HE LOVES THOSE MOVIES

he got to talk with you, and he fell harder, your jokes and little stories catches him off guard and he thinks you are amazing

he then got the power to invite you to a nice place which you accept and the rest became history

you started to pass more time together, you at his dorm or viceversa, also even in missions where you both work really well!

in the end you became the couple of the highschool, well, not everybody knew about it because of how closed nanami is with his life, so not everybody found out even though director yaga caught both of you making out in the forest and both got grounded for it

i may or may not do a third part but whit angst and it will be more a fic than headcanons...

#nanami kento #nanami x y/n #nanami x reader #teen nanami #emo nanami #jujutsu kaisen #jjk nanami #nanami headcanons #nanami fluff #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x y/n #nanami kento x you #nanami kento fluff #jjk #jjk season 2

473 notes · View notes

haunted-headset · 8 months

Text

♩ Come Be Lonely With Me ♩

Summary: You're known as the 'loner' kid in high school. Wilbur's the popular boy. When he sticks up for you when his friends mess with you, he gets kicked out of his friend group. So, you two decide to be lonely together.

author's note: hey guys! i know nobody requested this, but I was bored :) this was based off of the song This Side of Paradise by Coyote Theory!

pairing: school!bur x afab!reader

pronouns used for reader: She/her/hers

word count: 796

proofread?: nope :)

tags: @vibestillaxxx @joviepog (lemme know if you want to be tagged in the next one!)

warnings/cw: reader skips a meal, someone making a self-harm joke, mention of h*ntai (doesn't describe it, someone just assumes what someone's artwork is), swearing, mention of Wilbur shoving someone,

genre: fluff & a teensy tiny bit of angst

You sat down at your usual lunch table near the school's tennis courts & looked at your meal; the usual stale grilled cheese with a (most likely moldy) apple. You sighed & threw both items in the trash. You weren't hungry anyway.

You heard a loud crash sound from the table behind you. You turned around to be greeted with the sight of the popular kids getting involved in a food fight. They all looked identical; the girls were bake blondies & had their boobs practically spilling out of their tank tops, & the guys needed to pull up their pants. The only one who stood out to you was a boy named Wilbur. It was always odd how he ended up in the popular crowd since he seemed so...different from the rest. Unlike the other popular boys, he had a nice sense of style & didn't have a hideous haircut. Not to mention that he actually had potential, unlike his brain-dead friends.

You were too busy spacing out to react to one of the boys throwing an apple at your head. This earned a hearty laugh from everyone except for Wilbur.

"What's your problem?" you muttered.

"Yo! Lemme scan your barcodes!" one of the boys shouted to you.

Wilbur looked over at you with eyes filled with pity. You gave him a scowl in return.

"I bet she gets jealous of her phone when it dies," one of the girls laughed.

You rolled your eyes & put your earbuds in. You pulled out your sketchbook & you drew Wilbur, not knowing what else to draw. You liked his hair & wanted to try & make it look good on paper.

RJ, one of the popular guys, grabbed your earbuds & said to his mates, "Oi! I bet she's listenin' to MCR or some shit!"

"What the fuck is your problem?" you snapped, reaching out to grab your earbuds. He chucks them into the trash can before you can grab them.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" you shouted, which caused the group to laugh.

"I bet she's drawin' h*ntai, too!" RJ mocked, grabbing your sketchbook. "What's this? It looks like shit."

"It's nobody, now give it ba-" you started.

"I think it's Wilbur!" a girl laughed.

Wilbur's cheeks lit up like a red stoplight. Your cheeks followed suit.

"Aww, have you got a crush on 'im?" RJ teased. He chucked your sketchbook into the trash can.

"What the-my GSCE work was in there!" you yelled, blinking back tears.

"Oh yeah? You gonna cry?" he teased.

& then Wilbur did something very surprising. He shoved RJ to the ground.

"Can you leave her the fuck alone & not be a prick for about five seconds?" he snapped. You expected at least one person to agree. Instead, Wilbur was met with boos from his friends.

"We're just joking, Wilbs!" a girl shouted. "Don't be such an ass!"

"I'm not an ass, she just doesn't deserve harsh treatment," Wilbur said. You didn't stick around for the rest of the conversation. You walked over to the trashcan, fished your earbuds & sketchbook out of the trashcan & quickly walked over to the lockers.

You leaned against the wall next to your locker & slid to the floor. You sighed angrily & groaned with exhaustion. The bullying was a normal thing, but it wasn't ever like this. What was different? You weren't aware of any new rumors about you that had spread, so it couldn't have been that.

"Y/n?" You suddenly heard Wilbur's voice & he was standing in front of you.

"Yeah?" you asked, raising a brow.

He sat down in front of you. "You seem sad."

"I'm just pissed."

"Is there really a difference?"

"Yeah. When I'm pissed, I want to break a wall. When I'm sad, I want to break myself."

He nodded. "That makes sense."

"Does it?" you asked.

"Yeah. You're very good at explaining, from what I can tell. You're also very good at art. & you have cool hair."

He motioned toward your hair, which was dyed h/c. You smiled for the first time in weeks. He chuckled in response.

"Y/n, can I ask you a question?"

You raised your brow. "Sure."

"Are you lonely?"

You blinked in surprise at the blunt question. "I suppose so."

He stood up & held out his hand with a smile. "Come be lonely with me."

You laughed & he helped you stand up. You two walked out to a field for the rest of lunch, & when the bell rang, you two decided to hop over the fence to skip class for the rest of the day to hang out at the milkshake shop nearby.

It was nice to be lonely with him.

#wilbur soot #fanfic #wilbursoot #wilbur soot imagine #wilbur soot x reader #wilbur #wilbur soot fanfiction #wilbur soot fic #wilbur soot fluff #wilbur soot headcanons #wilbur soot x reader fluff #wilbur soot x y/n #wilbur soot x you #wilbur x reader #wilbur x you

113 notes · View notes

deanbrainrotwritings · 8 days

Text

— the politics of knife fighting

SUMMARY : tom tried to live a normal life after getting away from his hometown, but he should’ve known his little slice of heaven would go bad eventually.

PAIRING : tom hanniger x fem!reader

CHARACTERS : emmeline kipling (OFC), klaus cassidy (OMC), donald white (OMC), gilly fawkes (OFC)

WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit(18+), angst, gore, blood, murder, DID (dissociative identity disorder), set after the events of MBV

WORD COUNT : 4.5k

A/N : title from jamies elsewhere song. this fills the on the run square on my @jacklesversebingo card. I listened to every MCR song to finish this 😭✋🏻

TOM’S POV

It was pretty morbid, if he thought about it too hard.

You, getting so worked up after a funeral.

To be fair, Gilly and Don weren’t even your friends anymore. In fact, there was an intense animosity between the three of you that reminded Tom of himself, Sarah, and Axel.

Except it was much more complicated than that and you weren’t interested in dating Donald. It was more… a case of unrequited love, but much darker. Donald didn’t want you to have the choice to not be with him and Gilly hated you despite not wanting to be with Donald herself.

Gilly and Don made your life hell for two whole years before he met you.

He opened his eyes, his vision blurry. His head was pounding and something warm, soft, and wet slid across his face.

He saw you, your face pinched in concern as you wiped his blood from the wounds you’d sewn up for him.

“Hey, you’re okay,” he remembered your soft voice and reassuring smile, right before he passed out again.

That was the day he found out that Harry Warden hadn’t returned to get him, Harry Warden was a part of him and had done all those horrible things. The only good thing about it was that Harry had an interest in keeping him alive and got him out of the mine before he was found and arrested.

When he came to, two days later, he was on the couch in your living room wearing new clothes—clothes Donald had left at your place and you wanted to get rid of.

You let him stay, you respected that he didn’t want to share much about himself, and you allowed him to stay in your home until he was ready to make it on his own. Despite knowing nothing about him, you took care of him. But you did also threaten him by telling him your dad was an ex-Marine. He figured that’s the reason you knew how to properly stitch up a bullet wound.

After a few months of your arrangement, his temporary stay at your home became permanent. And he went from being a stranger to being your lover.

Within months, miles away from his hometown, he finally felt like he’d established a sense of safety with you. He finally felt that his mind and his life had stabilised. The blackouts and the fear of Harry taking over his body reduced to nothing.

With your help, he was finally able to find a neurophysiologist who could treat him and help him with his condition. He confronted what was wrong with him while he was with you.

Hell, he thinks he may have matured drastically since he’s known you. He used to be so arrogant and cowardly.

You didn’t know the specifics about his past or his condition at first, but you seemed happy that he was getting help for whatever it was that was troubling him so profoundly. He started working through his trauma, who he was, what he wanted for himself—it was easier knowing you were back home waiting for him.

He was finally able to share most of his past with you. Most of it. Because he just couldn’t bring himself to tell you his diagnosis or the fact that the bunkmate in his head was a murderer.

It took a few years, but eventually, he was able to integrate those traumatic memories and he taught himself to not be afraid of Harry coming to ruin everything he’d built for himself.

He didn’t know if the medication was actually helping or if being far away from Harmony and Hanniger Mine made Harry Warden stay down and out of his way.

He only knew that he was grateful to have met you.

You were gentle and patient with him. He felt that you understood him. Profoundly. Not knowing him as he was back then and not having expectations of him like everyone else back in Harmony did, it helped, too.

He was getting to learn who he was on his own and you were part of that journey. The rediscovery of himself.

You accepted him and all that he was, but he didn’t know if you’d still love him knowing there was someone else living inside him.

He pushed it to the back of his mind and focused on you and your wandering hands, but you caught him, once again, in the middle of his thoughts.

“Tommy, you okay?” You murmured against his jaw as you worked on loosening his black tie. He felt himself get warmer the lower your hands wandered and his heart pounded loudly in his chest when you got to his belt.

He smiled at you and buried his fingers in your hair to bring you up for a slow, long kiss. He finally felt you fumble for the first time, your fingers slowed at his belt, and you moaned into his mouth softly.

“Yeah, I was thinking about you,” he reassured you when he pulled away. His hands moved out of your hair, slowly sneaked up your warm thighs, and beneath the soft black dress you wore.

You gazed into his eyes and bit your lip.

He could see your concern and your curiosity. He knew he appeared to be distracted these past couple of weeks, but especially today at the funeral for both Gilly and Donald. You asked him about it, but he would dismiss it, and you hesitantly accepted his response every time.

He dreaded the day you found out the truth about him.

But it seemed the universe believed he was asking too much for wanting to be happy with you.

He squeezed your bare hip beneath your dress, the absence of underwear excited him. You must have slipped them off in between kissing him senseless and pushing him into the couch you both currently rested on. He helped you get his belt off and kissed you passionately.

You finally conceded and cupped his face to kiss him back with as much fervour, and successfully managed to ease his mind of his concern and amend the lack of control he was starting to feel again.

READER’S POV

As you turned the corner into the street leading to your home, the sight of red and blue sirens instantly made your heart speed up.

You hoped it wasn’t your home. That Tom was okay. That nothing happened to him. But those thoughts didn’t comfort you and your breathing picked up so that you almost felt your lungs burning.

You slowed your car as you drove closer to your home, the source of police cars. Your neighbours stared at you and murmured to each other and your stomach ached, nauseous.

You parked nearby with your hands trembling and managed to get out of the car without stumbling on your weak knees. Your eyes fell to police officers standing and talking around your house, but there was no ambulance in sight.

“Please, please, please,” you murmured shakily.

You pulled the yellow tape that kept you out over your head to enter your front lawn, and looked around for Tom, but he wasn’t outside with any of the police officers.

You hoped to talk to someone who might know something. Where’s Tom?

“Miss, you’re Tom Hanniger’s girlfriend?” You recognised the woman’s voice behind you.

See, usually, you’re not one to hold a grudge if things happened before the age of 14, but Emmeline Kipling went from being your middle school bully, to a bully of a police officer. Way to beat the stereotype.

“Fiancée,” you muttered before you turned to face her. “What’s happened? Where’s Tom?”

“He’s wanted for the murder of Donald White and Gilly Fawkes,” she answered bluntly. Your mouth dropped open and you blinked at her. You shook your head and looked away from her, stared intently at your home, and wondered why or how it was possible that you could’ve missed this.

“No, he wouldn’t do that, that’s-that’s not-”

“We’ve got the evidence to back it up,” she interrupted you, laying her hand on your arm instinctively. God, can everything just stop? “We found the murder weapon and his clothes with Don and Gilly’s blood in your basement.”

Tears stung your eyes, but it wasn’t because you felt bad about what happened to Gilly and Don. They had it coming. You were afraid of what would happen to Tom if they found him. Would they shoot him on sight? Would he be sent to his death if they captured him alive?

“You’re playing detective now? I mean.. it could be… mine, for all you know,” you rambled nervously, stepping away from her touch as your knees became wobbly.

“No, it’s mining clothes in his size and we’ve taken the murder weapon to check the prints. We both know you don’t have a bone in your body that could hurt a fly,” she smiled at you, but you sensed some malice in her tone. Did she forget that you choked her for physically abusing your other friend? You wanted to do it again. Your fists clenched along with your jaw, but you stopped yourself from making a move. “Did you know about his past in Harmony? He was wanted for nine murders there… They thought he was dead… until now…” she watched you but you remained as calm as you could possibly be with the information she dumped on you. “If you know where he is, tell us… you know, this case will help me get to detective.”

You laughed in disbelief and blinked your tears away. “Well, then, I hope you don’t catch him.”

“I don’t like you either, but it doesn’t change the fact that your… fiancé is a bad person. Worst of all, a murderer.”

“He’s not a bad… He-”

“I’ve dealt with plenty of cases like these. Most people who’ve lived with evil always tell me the same thing: He never could, never would. That’s not possible. He’s so good to me. But they always find out that they’re wrong in the worst way possible. And it looks like you know nothing about Harmony. There are witnesses. He’s the guy.”

You looked around silently at your neighbours and wondered if they’d already heard about Tom. That he was a murderer. Could he be? Could he really be the one that did it?

“We’ve found an address for a cabin, Emmy,” an officer took the silence between the two of you as a go. He looked at you with empathetic eyes and a comforting smile. You tried to return it, but it was an awful lot of work, especially after hearing about your aunt’s cabin.

Tom offered to help you clean it up for her.

You hated your aunt for the way she treated your mom… but he’d been adamant about it for weeks after you vented to him about her audacity. How could she ask you for anything after the way she treated your mother?

Emmeline took the paper from the officer to read it.

You stared at the torn paper that was once stuck to your fridge with a magnet containing the location. You should’ve just put “cabin”, but Tom occasionally went alone after he convinced you to stay home and relax.

You always wondered why he was so interested in getting it cleaned for her.

“Could he be there?” Emmeline broke your train of thought. Barley.

“I… I don’t know,” you lied and shrugged. Being overwhelmed helped you cover whatever your tell was, that’s all you knew for sure. For all you know, Tom was up there…

How could he hide this from you? How could you be so blind? Were there signs that you missed? Why were you helping him?

“Let’s check it out,” she told him anyway. He nodded and paused for a moment when he looked at you, but he changed his mind and left. Emmeline did the same and followed him after shoving the piece of paper into her pocket.

“Wait!” You turned to follow her to the car her partner was getting into. “Let me come.” Emmeline turned around and hesitated. “You owe me for that fake-ass apology you gave for how cruel you were.”

“You’re not gonna let that go?” She chuckled. You narrowed your eyes.

“Don’t act like you don’t victimise yourself to this day for what I did to you after all the torture you put me through. I’ve heard plenty from your fellow officers who know better than to believe your lies…”

“Fine,” she replied begrudgingly and rolled her eyes at you. You resisted the urge to hit her with your clenched fist and opened the door to get into the back.

You had a hard time believing that Tom could actually murder Gilly and Don. He was always so gentle and loving. Soft. Quiet. Kind.

Was that only for you?

Was it an act? A cover for his real life as a murderer?

You imagined: if he did do it. Would that change anything? Would you love him less? And those people he supposedly murdered in Harmony. Were they innocent? Were you actually thinking this? You felt awful, but part of you needed to believe that he had a good reason for committing murder.

He can’t be a bad man. He can’t be.

It was hard for you to believe it. So damn hard, but you knew him. He had problems he didn’t talk about with you completely. If he had some sort of breakdown, he just needed help and you weren’t giving up on him.

You don’t know how long you were in your thoughts. Or how much time you spent thinking of a way to get Tom to safety. To think of words that would convince Tom to stand down if he was still out of his depth. Or to think of words that would convince Emmeline and her partner to stand down.

The car came to a stop as the sun began to set behind deep green trees. They reminded you of Tom’s eyes. The wheels crunched on the dirt and twigs, and then there was complete silence as Emmeline looked around from inside the car.

She was afraid.

You hoped that wouldn’t make her do something stupid that would put Tom’s life in danger.

“Stay here with her,” Emmeline told her partner after a few moments. She inhaled deeply and exhaled before opening the car.

“Um… okay?” He looked back at you, leaned forward to shout, “shouldn’t we call for backup first and wait?” Emmeline stopped for a beat or two.

“No, I don’t think he’s armed,” she reassured him. When she smiled at you, it made you nervous. Something was off…

“But you don’t actually know… that…” he trailed off after she slammed the door on him. He turned to you and you couldn’t help smiling nervously at him. He didn’t seem too bad. “I'm, uh… Klaus Cassidy,” he offered, but your mind instantly drifted off to Tom.

You didn’t trust Emmeline for a second. You could just be paranoid because she was an awful person, but you were done with making excuses for people. You had to trust your gut.

Just like you should’ve trusted your gut and done something to help Tom. He had been so jumpy, on edge, and distant ever since Gilly and Don’s death were announced on the news.

You really thought he was doing well in therapy.

“I… I need some air,” you whispered shakily.

“Yeah, okay,” Kalus frowned at you.

You stepped out of the car to breathe in the crisp air of nature. Silence. Branches. Animals in the distance. Peace and space. You couldn’t stand being trapped in the car anymore.

Klaus made his way around the car and stood close to you. Protectively. You saw his gun, his nervousness. It was a quick thought, but you knew you probably wouldn’t get another chance.

“Klaus,” you felt guilty and genuinely bad, but you needed to do something about Tom. Klaus turned to look at you and you didn’t think twice about hitting him square in the jaw like your dad taught you.

He fell to the ground and you apologised to his unconscious body. You opened the car, quickly rummaged through the glove compartment where you found some surgical gloves.

You put them on and apologised once more as you took Klaus’ gun and legged it in the direction of the cabin. You knew this place better than Emmeline did, you just hoped you’d make it to Tom before she could hurt him.

TOM’S POV

He wasn’t quite used to this sensation.

Seeing himself outside of his body, something else… someone else using it to move around, it was horrible.

He shouted, begged, and just about did everything he could think of to regain control, but Harry didn’t give his body up.

Harry didn’t speak to him.

All he could do was watch as Harry put a new disguise on. A clean, black miner’s uniform. He could smell the newness, the softener that reminded him of you. But there was the old gas mask on his face again, filled with the hellish stench of sweat, dust, dried blood, and firesmoke.

From inside the cabin, staring out the window as he cursed and swore at Harry, all he could do was watch as some police officer approached. Harry grabbed an axe he found lying around, his gloves squeaked slightly with his tightened grip.

Harry was excited at the sight of her with her gun and flashlight pointed in his direction.

We’re not immortal, dammit!

“Tom Hanniger!” She shouted at him, but Harry tilted his head indifferently. “Put the axe down or I’ll shoot you.”

She fired at the cabin, the bullet hit the wooden wall close to the window he was staring out of. He flinched, forgetting that he technically wasn’t inside the cabin.

Harry angrily put the axe in one hand and held it stiffly in the middle. He breathed through the mask, deeply inhaled, a long exhale. Completely calm, which was not the way he was feeling about adding another person to the list of people… he’s… killed.

“That was a warning shot, Tom! Put it down now, I won’t miss you next time!”

Rustling within the trees made the police officer lower her gun and turn slightly to the source. Her guard was down and he felt like he could breathe again, but unfortunately, Harry began to charge menacingly towards her.

“Klaus?” She turned her flashlight in the direction of the sound of what could only be something getting thrown onto the ground and skipping across a few times before stopping.

“Tom?”

No.

God, no, not you. Not here, not now. Not like this.

Your voice called out from a completely different direction, but he looked opposite to where the police officer faced. At least it was enough to bring him back to himself. You. Your voice calling his name.

He murmured your name and released the breath that began to make him feel lightheaded. His grip loosened on the axe, but he didn’t let go of it completely.

He could see you faintly as you stepped out from the thick trees. He stepped towards your voice and the police officer turned in your direction, sadly for her. Her gun was ready, her flashlight lit you up like the beautiful star you were.

“Tommy, please don’t make things worse for yourself. Put the axe down, please,” you tried to speak calmly, but he could hear the tremble in your voice as you walked the rest of the way towards him.

His eyes fell over your body. Your work clothes, uncomfortable heels, and surgical gloves loose on your hands. You were vulnerable, unarmed in the middle of a gunfight. The police officer lowered her gun again after a moment of hesitation as she watched the events unfold.

He’d completely forgotten that you’d eventually catch wind of it all. Of what he was accused of… of what he’d done. He just never expected you to do this, to involve yourself with his other side.

“Tom… what did you do?” You asked quietly. He could only feel the warmth of your hand seep through the glove and the mask. Your fingers gently threaded into his hair and your other hand took the axe from him.

All he could do was say your name, his voice cracked with his heart at the sight of your tears. All your dreams shattering, your hopes, your future together. From shards, to dust. Irreparable.

He felt the police officer taking his wrists carefully to place the cuffs on him. He struggled for a moment, wishing he’d gotten to touch your face one last time, to kiss you, to take the costume off and feel you for the last time.

“Don’t do that!” You tried to stop her, subsequently dropping the axe on the ground.

She relented briefly before coming to her senses. “I have to arrest him and take him in.”

You pushed her away and the cuffs fell to the ground with a clink against the axe. You rubbed your eyes with the back of your hands and Tom took the chance to remove the gas mask and finally took a deep breath outside of the suffocating mask underneath it.

“Please, baby.” He grabbed your arms, hoping to calm you down, but you moved away from him.

“Don’t move, Tom!”

“God! Shut up and let me think, Em!” You shouted in frustration.

“There’s nothing to think about!” She argued with you, getting down to retrieve the cuffs, but you kicked them away. She instantly stood up straight and pulled her gun on you, cocked and ready. Tom stepped in front of you protectively. She looked between you and him for a moment, then laughed dryly. “You’re working with him! Aren’t you? Yeah! You wanted him… no, you told him to kill them for you, didn’t you?”

“What? No! That’s not true!”

“Doesn’t matter,” she smiled and shrugged. “I can just say that you admitted it. You told him to kill Gil and Don for you. Then, you attacked me once we got here. I defended myself and shot you and you died. I’ve been looking for a way to get rid of you ever since-”

You lifted Klaus’ gun and fired it, the bullet flew straight through her forehead before she could speak another word. Tom flinched and gasped in shock, he opened his eyes once her body hit the dirt.

He stared in disbelief and horror at the hole in the police officer’s forehead, the light spatter of blood from the entry wound. Her eyes were opened to the sky, dead as the stars above.

He heard you moving around him and saw you put her cuffs back in her pocket. He couldn’t believe you did that. No second thought, no hesitation. And you knew her. Em—that's what you called her.

“Tom!” You shouted at him desperately. “Come on, Tommy. We-we have to get to my dad’s place.” The tremble in your voice reminded him that you were quite shaken up after all.

“I thought you didn’t talk to him anymore,” he commented distractedly, hoping to hide his distress. But he could tell, now that you took him by his hand, that you weren’t as put together as he imagined.

He felt the weight of the axe in his other hand and wondered how it got there. He didn’t care. He just watched you lead the way as he tried to collect himself, but he couldn’t do it without giving Harry control. He pushed away his distraught and squeezed your hand.

“Well, no, but I’m still his daughter and he’s not going to let anything bad happen to me.” He remained quiet and suddenly he stood in front of a cop car where you planted the gun on an unconscious officer.

You apologised to the man and removed your gloves, but shoved them into your dress pants. He watched you wipe your hands on your shirt as if somehow the blood got on you. You did it multiple times as you multitasked: hid your footprints and walked in the direction away from the cop car.

This was such a mess.

He didn’t want this for you.

He didn’t want this for himself.

He deflated. He let your hand go and stood a few metres away from the road, defeated. “Why are you doing this? Just leave me, I’ll-”

“I can’t!” You frowned at him and took his hand in your once more. Your beautiful wide eyes full of fear and love made his heart wrench. “Okay? I… I love you too much to just leave you alone with all of… this. You’d do the same for me, wouldn’t you?”

“I guess I already did something stupid…” he murmured, dropping the axe to hold your waist and pull your body flush with his. You were also angry— it seemed, because you crossed your arms and glared at him.

“Yes! You did! You absolute… melon!” He felt bad for laughing at that, but you looked so cute when you angrily shoved him away. “God, Tommy! What were you thinking?!” You tangled your fingers in your hair, overwhelmed, frustrated, and confused.

He took your hands and brought you in for a comforting embrace, hoping to somehow calm you down. He kissed your hairline and you slowly softened in his arms. He felt you cling tightly to the back of the miner’s uniform he wore.

“You had to see them every day. After what they both did to you- I don’t know, I’m having a hard time feeling sorry that they were… that I…”

“How did this happen? Why did you do that? Tommy… you’re such an idiot,” you whispered. He pulled away just to cup your face in his calloused hands. He kissed you once, then a second time, and on the third try, you finally kissed him back.

“It wasn’t… me… it was, but it wasn’t. It’s hard to explain, actually,” he laughed wryly and breathed against your lips. You shivered and kissed him firmly. He wanted to drown in you, to be covered in your stars and your heart and your body.

His entire body lit up and turned hot like an overpowered bulb about to burst.

You pulled away from his lips just in time and he pressed his forehead against yours. “Let’s just get out of here and talk about it outside of these creepy fucking woods.”

You wrapped your arms around yourself, making you way deeper into the forest. He quickly picked the axe up again and made his way to you, nervous, but ready to face whatever the future may be like on the run with you.

“It can’t be that creepy here,” he smiled hesitantly. You rolled your eyes at him about to argue your case to demonstrate why the woods were scary. “We fucked against that tree over there after you thought I got us lost.”

He pointed across to where a red ribbon was wrapped around a tree. He did that to remember you whenever or if he ever found himself in this part of the woods.

You stopped dead in your tracks with your mouth agape. He joined you and smiled shyly when you smiled at him in surprise. “Shut up,” you couldn’t help laughing.

taglist

@lanassmarty @murdockscumsock @zepskies @candy-coated-misery0731 @lyarr24 @spnfamily-j2 @deansbbyx @lickmybawls @jackles010378 @winchstrdean @the-achievementhunter @k-slla @mrlonelycat @taylortots-world @evznackles @ohnosy @angelbabyyy99 @kezibear @kaleldobrev @blackcherrywhiskey @dayhsdreaming @xshortputax @il0vebeingdelulu @impala1967rollingthroughtown @pasteldecrack @imsapphine @gravesphillip @illicithallways @saturnsooya

or follow @deanbrainrotlibrary for fic notifications

main masterlist

jacklesversebingo23 masterlist

do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or republish my work on another platform

#tom hanniger #tom hanniger x reader #tom hanniger x fem!reader #my bloody valentine #mbv

25 notes · View notes

rdiowx · 1 year

Text

Hi im rdiowx, you can call me Ray or radio since rdio is just radio without the “a”.

NON ACTIVE ACCOUNT :[

KINKTOBER 2023!

Im autistic and Mcr is my special interest! I do take requests (however they aren’t open for mcr, Gideon graves or ryan ross rn!) if you have any ideas you want written so dont be afraid to ask!

They/them but he/him is fine too

This is a nblm/mlm blog.

Both my ao3 and Wattpad are: Cndlewax

I write for… (hcs are in white fics are in blue)

GERARD/PARTY POISION

— EDGING BASEMENT GEE (special appearance from bullets! Frank)

— BACKSTAGE WITH FRERARD

—KITTEN GEE

FRANK/FUN GHOUL

—EDGING BASEMENT GEE (special appearance from bullets! Frank)

— PUTTING FRANK IN HIS PLACE.

— FRANKS LOVE HANDLES

— COMFORT W/MIKEY AND FRANK

—BACKSTAGE W/ FRERARD

—TEASING W/ LEATHERMOUTH FRANK

—FRANKENSTEIN FRANK IERO

—PUPPY FRANK

RAY/JETSTAR

—COCKY RAY TORO

— RAY AND A READER THAT HAD A BAD DAY

MIKEY/KOBRA KID

—FUCKING UP YOUR HANDS WHIPLASH STYLE

— COMFORT W/MIKEY AND FRANK

GIDEON GRAVES

nothin yet

RYAN ROSS

nothin yet

PILOT KELSON

nothin yet

DONNIE DARKO

—YANDERE DONNIE HCS

—DONNIE X MENTALLY ILL READER HCS

—HELPING DONNIE WITH DELUSIONS HCS

— DONNIE X SKATER READER!

— DONNIE X MALE! GOTH STONER READER HCS

JIMMY LIVINGSTON

Nothin yet

MCR AUDIO LIST

GIDEON GRAVES AUDIO LIST

MCR + GIDEON GRAVES AUDIO LIST

DONNIE, PILOT AND JIMMY AUDIO LIST

BLOODSUCKER SERIES.

PLAYLIST

PROLOUGE

Kinks im fine with

I will write…

Smut

Fluff

The occasional angst (not a big fan)

Pretty dark fics if i have an idea i really like, ex: kidnapping and yandere themes > I HAVE A BLOG FOR THIS NOW ! :3 : @rdiowxdeaddove

Poly x reader relationship, Ex: frerard x reader, rikey x reader

Kinks that arent illegal and dont gross me out :) rn i have no idea what that entails

I will NOT write

Fem readers

Scat kink

Age gaps that are illegal

Pregnancy fics

Angst without comfort/a good ending (i dont know i just dont like them)

Vore (i feel like that speaks for itself no?)

Definitely not major character death man im a crybaby

Most drugs, HOWEVER marijuana is fine cause i have the most experience with it and cigarettes are also fine cause i grew up around a bunch of cigarette smokers.

Selfharm or suicide, i dont read thoes fics let alone feel comfortable writing them

💧🐕🦇💚🦴🌹🧩🩺🕯️🧟‍♀️👾 ,🦈🎸,🫘👽 🐾 🪰, 💣‼️,…

I don’t write for female readers at all.

#ray toro x reader #mikey way x reader #frank iero x reader #gerard way x reader #mikey way x reader smut #ray toro x reader smut #frank iero x reader smut #gerard way x reader smut #mcr x reader smut #mcr x reader #Pilot kelson x reader #donnie darko x reader #jimmy livingston x reader #bubble boy x reader

151 notes · View notes

xxfanfiction-emo-trinityxx · 2 years

Text

No Doubts and No Conditions - Ray Toro x Reader

Summary: You wake up, on the bus, early in the morning, still confused about the kisses you shared with your bandmate and friend Ray last night, wondering where that leaves the two of you Reader: should be gender neutral (no pronouns used) Word count: 1 960 A/N: I currently have a thing for neck kisses. I won’t apologise. Also as per popular demand (literally all three people who voted, voted for this! Thank you for participating, the other stories are in work!): Ray morning kisses.

The sound of the tour bus motor being turned off was what woke you up. Sleepily you rubbed your eyes, turning to your other side to get a glance at the clock. Only a few minutes after five am. Certainly nobody was awake but the driver. Pulling the curtain in front of your tinted little window far enough to the side to get a glance outside, you saw you had stopped at a petrol station. Outside it was still dark, and only the lights that were illuminating the station were shining brightly.

You rubbed your eyes again, suddenly remembering the events of last night. A quiet giggle escaped your lips, and quickly you buried your face in the pillow, trying to hide it. You still could feel Ray’s breath on your face, his hands gently holding your waist. You had never been so close to him, had never allowed yourself so much time to admire his eyes, the way they took you in.

It had been after the show, when everyone had wanted to go out for a late dinner. It was past midnight, and you declined their invitation, preferring to have quick dinner on the bus, and going to bed instead of hanging out in a diner. Ray had agreed with you, and together you had made sandwiches, which you had eaten side by side, sitting on the sofa in the bus.

How it had happened in the end, who had leaned in first, who had initiated the first of so many kisses last night, you did not remember. But you did remember the way your heart had soared, how butterflies had erupted in your stomach, had made you dizzy with euphoria. How long had you liked Ray? Too long, far too long. And suddenly kissing him had been better than anything you could ever have imagined. He had been so gentle, firm but so gentle when he had kissed you. His lips had tasted sweeter than you thought a kiss could taste, and his hands, rough from playing guitar all day, had carefully held you in place, brushing over your cheeks and jaw, down your neck. Sometimes he had even slipped his fingertips underneath your shirt, caressing the skin on your waist, as if testing your reaction.

But what kind of reaction had he expected? You had dreamt of him for years, so if anything his touch was barely enough. Then again, even the touch you got already sent your heart into a frenzy, being more than you knew how to deal with, so you were secretly glad he did not try to initiate more, because that surely would have been too much for your still somewhat confused mind.

Instead you had focused on what you got, Ray kissing you, his hands carefully running up and down your sides, as if you were made of the thinnest glass. It might sound like a cliché, but you had lost all sense of time. Although ‘lost’ was perhaps the wrong word. You had let go of all sense of time, happy to just drift along, while Ray and you had kissed, ignoring the world around you, ignoring that you were still on a tour bus, and your friends could come back any moment, and that you were band mates who probably should not kiss, especially not like that. But everyone deserved a few moments of utter peace in their life, didn’t they? And this was one of yours.

You only had gotten interrupted, when the loud voices of the others had neared the bus, and jumping apart, it had taken only a quick glance between Ray and you to agree that it might be best not to be found like this, so you had slipped into the bunk bed area. The last glance you had taken at Ray was still burnt into your memory: His hair dishevelled, cheeks pink. He had smiled at you like he always did, in a way you previously thought you had only imagined, but now could see clearly: his eyes were so soft, so caring, and almost you would have gone back over to him, buried your hands in his hair and kissed him again, just for looking at you like that. But then the door to the bus had jumped open, and you had quickly retreated to your bunk.

Now, the morning after this – could this qualify as a make-out session? – you could feel doubts rising in your stomach. What had it meant to him? You knew to you it had meant the world, and if he only wanted you, you were all his. After all, you had kind of dreamt of that for years, and had always had to come up with stupid excuses why you never wanted to try dating people. The honest answer would have been because none of these people was Ray, but you could hardly be honest about it, so you had always said you wanted to put the band first.

So… did Ray know how you felt? If so, what did he think about it? Would he be creeped out by it? If it had been Gerard, or Mikey yesterday, you could have easily written off the make-out session as some post-show-high that did not mean anything. But Ray was different. He usually did not initiate such intimacy unless he was emotionally involved; at least this was what you had heard from Gerard when you had talked about relationships a while back. And those kisses had been anything but pure adrenaline high. They had been sensitive, emotional, almost… loving.

So did that mean Ray had some sort of interest in you? He had kissed you like he had waited years to do it, but that had been yesterday. What about today? Was he still interested? And how were you supposed to find out? Should you just walk up to him and ask ‘Hey Ray, about last night: what did that mean to you? Are we a thing now?’ Yeah. Probably not how this was gonna play out.

Feeling sick from the insecurity that had settled in your stomach, you crawled out of your bed. The bunk area was only sparsely lit, to keep it dark and still allow enough light to not stumble around blindly. Walking past the bunk beds with their closed curtains, you headed towards the tiny kitchen, making sure to close the door behind yourself so your early morning endeavours to the fridge would not disturb anyone.

You expected to find the kitchen deserted, but to your surprise you seemed not to be the only one who had been woken up by the stop at the petrol station. Ray lifted his head, his eyes wide first, before he recognised you. A soft smile tucked at his lips and he got up from where he had crouched in front of the fridge. He held two tetra-packs of chocolate milk in his hands, placing them on the counter before he closed the door to the fridge.

“Good morning,” he whispered, just loud enough for you to hear.

“Morning,” you replied equally quiet, suddenly not sure where to look or what to say.

You were about to ask if you could have one of the chocolate-milks, just to break the awkward silence, when Ray walked over the few steps that separated you, and placed his hands on your waist, pulling you close.

“I missed you,” he mumbled, making you want to laugh.

It had been not even three hours since you had been kissing on that sofa behind you, and sure, you sort of had missed him too, but it felt incredibly strange to hear him say it out loud.

Before you had the chance to say something, his lips were on yours, kissing you just as gently as a few hours ago. It made your heart almost stop, immediately erasing the insecurity that had plagued you enough to get out of bed.

When he pulled away a few minutes later, he looked down on you, almost as if he expected you to be mad at him.

“I hope that was okay,” he asked, as if you had not wrapped your arms around him, just to be closer to him.

“’course it was,” you smiled up at him, making him blush a little.

In that moment the motor of the bus awoke to new life, and quickly grabbing onto the nearest counter, you waited until the bus had pulled out of the parking lot, and back onto the highway.

“I suppose I can have one of these,” you asked, still facing the counter, and pointing at one of the chocolate milks.

You felt Ray come up behind you, his hands back at your waist, as he hummed in affirmation. Reaching out to grab a milk box, you were about to turn around to face him, when suddenly hot breath fanned over the side of your neck, and a moment later his lips pressed to the delicate skin right beneath your ear, sending a shiver down your spine as you closed your eyes. The contrast of Ray’s soft lips to his scratchy stubble was dizzying, making your head swim as you hummed quietly in approval. You could feel him smile against your skin, before he continued placing short sweet kisses against your neck; his hands warm and safe on your waist as you leant back slightly, feeling the muscular plain of his chest against your back.

Just as you were certain his kisses would cause you to lose your mind, another thought, one that had caused your stomach to churn badly earlier, pushed into your mind.

“Ray?”

He hummed against your neck, making no attempt at pulling away.

Now that you knew you had his attention, you did not know how to phrase your concern. Eventually you settled with a deep sigh and the question “Is this going to continue?”

You could feel Ray stop in the motion, before he pulled away. Slowly you turned around in his arms, looking up at him shyly.

“What do you mean,” he asked, furrowed eyebrows.

“The kisses and the-” fireworks in my stomach. Will you continue kissing me, as if it isn’t the most heart wrenching thing? Are you really interested in me like that? “I don’t know, just… you know.”

Ray blinked, and concerned you watched his features harden.

“If you want to stop-”

“No! I don’t, that’s the point!” Immediately the wall he had begun pulling up between the two of you crumbled down again, and he relaxed as you continued. “I don’t want to stop. I was just wondering if you did. And what that means for us and how it’s going to continue...”

Expectantly you looked up at Ray, who gently cupped your chin with one of his hands.

“I’ve liked you for a pretty long time,” he confessed, “and kissing you is honestly one of the best things in the world I can think of, so if you’re asking me if I want to continue this, if it were up to me, then yes, absolutely. No doubts and no conditions. I don’t care if it’s official or unofficial, if we tell people or not, I don’t care. Not as long as I can be with you.”

His words made your heart race, and quickly you leant up to press your lips against his again, making him smile.

“I take it this means you feel the same,” he asked between kisses.

“Yes, one hundred percent.”

Ray grinned into the kiss, wrapping his arms around you to pull you as tight against him as he could, making you giggle as you kissed him back. The chocolate milk on the counter behind you was, at least for now, completely forgotten.

Taglist:

@alexstyx @jayloverthe3rd @robinruns @lookalivefrosty @butterflycore @omgsuperstarg @fivelegance @deadlovers @casmustdiee @cmtryghoul @xocasper (as promised!) and @doc-martens-enthusiast (also as promised!)

142 notes · View notes

samiwife · 9 months

Text

Stress Relief 𓆩♡𓆪 (Kirk Hammett x Reader)

𓆩♡𓆪= Smut

ੈ✩‧₊˚= Fluff

⋆ ★= Angst

A/N: This is part two of a request I previously had of Metallica and MCR. ENJOY <3

TW: Pet names, casual sex, and cussing

(Reader discretion is advised)

Kirk has been stressed out recently with the band. He had to practice every day and always had to come home late. But you always waited for him at night. He loved it when you did that, you would always wait for him with his favorite cookies and coffee. He would also stay up to talk to you and even sleep next to you. You would be tired but it was all for Kirk. One night, it was just like any other. Kirk came home at midnight and quickly put his stuff down to hug you. He holds you tightly to him.

"Hey baby, I missed you so much," Kirk says rubbing your back. "I missed you too honey." You said resting your head on his shoulder. Kirk chuckles and lets you go so he can grab his stuff and place it in his room. After that, he walked to you and kissed you on the lips. "I made you your favorite cookies like I always do." You said handing Kirk the plate. Kirk smiles and takes the plate.

He takes one of the cookies and eats it. He smiles and hugs your waist. "Thank you, baby, I really appreciate it. You're so good to me." Kirk said in your ear. You laugh and walk over to the kitchen to make coffee for him. "I totally forgot to make coffee for you, I'm going to make it for you now." You said from the kitchen. Kirk chuckles.

"Babe, you don't have to if you don't want to," Kirk said while putting the plate of cookies on the kitchen counter and walking to you in the kitchen. You looked over at him and stared at him. "Kirk, I want to. You always work so hard and the best I can do is at least make coffee for you." You said while walking up to him. Kirk grabs you by the waist and pulls you in closer to him. "I just don't want you to do things you don't want to that's all but since you do, I guess it's okay. Thank you, sweetheart." Kirk said while kissing your lips.

You kissed back and turned back around to turn on the water kettle to make coffee. Kirk wasn't satisfied with the kiss so he ran up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist. "Kirk, I'm trying to make coffee." You said in a joking tone. "Yeah I know, but I'm not satisfied with the kiss you did," Kirk said holding your waist tighter. "So what do you want then?" You asked him while stroking his hair. "This," Kirk said as he kissed your neck. You gasped at his sudden kiss.

Kirk began to suck on your sensitive skin. You moan quietly as Kirk continued to suck on your skin. Kirk pulled away from your skin revealing that he left a hickey. Kirk chuckled and you looked at it. "Kirk, look what you did!" You said shocked. "What? It looks hot." Kirk defended. You rolled your eyes and kissed him. Kirk kissed deeply, and then Kirk lifted you up. You wrapped your legs around his waist tightly. Kirk carried you to his room. Kirk gently placed you down on his bed and slowly removed your shorts and shirt. Kirk also removed his clothes. Kirk slowly bent down, kissed your soft lips, and rubbed your thighs. "Kirk, I want you and I want you now." You whispered in a shaky voice. Kirk smirked,

"Of course doll, anything for you." He whispers back and pulls you closer to his groin. Kirks slowly and gently slides his member into your area. Kirk groans and moans your name. You huff and whisper his name under your breath. Kirk starts to thrust, but he starts slow since he knows you're a little sensitive. He thrust deeply causing you to moan louder. "Agh! Kirk, go faster pretty boy!" You huffed out. Kirk smirked, "Are you sure, sweetie, can you take it?" He whispers in a low tone in your ear.

"Yes Kirk, I can take it. Fuck me gorgeous," You whispered to him. Kirk blushed at you calling him pet names like gorgeous and pretty boy. He loved every moment of it. Kirk thrust faster in you causing you to scream his name. Kirk thrusted faster and faster. You wrapped your legs around Kirk's waist causing him to thrust deeper and harder. "Agh! babydoll, I'm about to come." Kirk said under his breath. You breathed sharply and moaned. "Kirk, come inside me! I want to feel you in me!" You shouted out causing Kirk to thrust harder.

Kirk thrust in you for a few minutes until you feel a warm sensation fill your clit. You huff and exhale in relief. "Kirk, you are so gorgeous." You said while looking into his eyes. Kirk pulls out and rubs your thighs. "Thank you, baby, you did so good for me. You're my baby girl." Kirk said while lifting you and taking you to the bathroom to clean you up. You kissed Kirk's neck and snuggled your head in his neck. Kirk chuckles and cradles you in his arms. "I love you, Kirk." You said shyly. Kirk smiled and kissed your head. "I love you too sweetie."

#80s rock #80s music #fanfiction #kirk hammett #kirk hammett x reader #kirk hammett smut #kirk hammett fanfiction #kirk hammett imagine #metallica x reader #metallica fanfiction #metallica

127 notes · View notes

the-black-parade-system · 4 months

Note

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE WRITE A VAMP!GERARD X READER SOME LIKE ANGST/COMFORT PLSSS

Hemophobia

Vamp!Gerard x Reader

Summary: Reader is worried that their boyfriend, Gerard, who is also a vampire, may try to use them for blood.

Warning(s): Mentions of animal blood, Hemophobia (fear of blood)

A/N: Yay first MCR request!! This is kinda a short Drabble while I work on my other draft. I hope you enjoy this and tell me if I can fix anything love! And sorry if this is really bad I had to work on this at school-

Your eyes shot open and you sat up immediately in a cold sweat. Oh.

Just a nightmare.

You look to your side to see Gerard in the bed next to you, he didn’t really need sleep since you know, vampire, but he still slept next to you since you had been used to it. You thought about the nightmare for a moment. It was a fuzzy memory but you remember that bite Gerard took into your neck, taking every single drop of blood out of your body. Being so careless about how you felt just caring about how much blood he got. You knew this wasn’t likely to happen since you always had pigs blood in the fridge that you got from the butcher shop down the road, but.. what if Gerard ever got, tired of it? What if he did try to bite you.. You kept overthinking about that until you started to cry a little, tiny sobs so you didn’t wake Gerard who was next to you. But that was bullshit because you sobbed a little harder, you didn’t mean to you were just panicked. Those sobs eventually got louder and louder, to the point Gerard woke up.

“Y/N wha-“ He paused as he saw your face, cheeks stained with tears and eyes red, hearing your tiny sobs and unsteady breath. “Oh sugar,. what’s wrong?” His gaze softened and he went over to your side, putting his hand on your back that had small calluses on the fingers from learning guitar.

“Gerard will you ever use me..for blood?” Your breath was unsteady and your eyes heavy with worry. His face showed that he was even more ready, he looked like he might cry too when you said that. “No, No.. Of course not sugar..” He said, pulling your body into his for a hug as he shook his head. You put your head in the crook of his neck, right where his bite mark was.

“Hey, I don’t ever want to hurt you, or use your for blood, I’d rather die.. or, be staked. You know what I mean.” He rubbed circles on your back and softly whispered to you. “I love you to much to do that.” He kept whispering sweet nothings to you till you fell asleep, he softly moved you from his arms back onto the bed. He clicked off the lamp and laid next to you.

“Goodnight sugar.”

#gerard way x reader #gerard way #gerard way mcr #mcr fanfiction #gerard way fanfiction #Gerard way x y/n

37 notes · View notes

lavenderhhaze · 1 year

Text

解体愛好家 - DEMOLITION LOVERS

pairing: Hyunjin x fem!reader

genre: angst, 00's alt rock band!au

words: 4.3k

warnings: recreational drugs, profanities, toxic relationships, manipulative behaviour, underage smoking and alcohol consumption, alcohol poisoning, attempted suicide, mentions of self harm, mentions of guns and violence, allusions to sex, blood, both hyunjin and y/n are toxic mfs

A/N: inspired by robbers by the 1975. hyunjin is literally matty healy. SO many MCR and 1975 references sprinkled in there. took a long time to escape my drafts but hey. really dark topics, do read the warnings, please.

For Hyunjin, you began with a feeling of inevitability. Since his eyes had crossed yours, that one fateful encounter opposite the big screen re-run of The Street Fighter, he knew you. You were meant to know him a little bit better than everyone else; to know him as more than just the lead-guitarist of the latest face of the alt-rock scene. Two lives meant to converge.

And so you were; lovers meant to find each other time and time again, despite the world coming in between. Repeated patterns of lost and found. His heart yours to break and yours would be his — robbers of each other's happiness.

Twin flames? If he believed in that sort of thing.

You came to him — a face he had never seen and a voice he had never heard; an unexpected surprise and a defining moment.

"Mind filling me up on what I missed?"

"In that movie, he didn't give a shit about anything. Exept live fast, die young and leaving behind a good looking corpse."

"Like you?"

"Like me."

It was strange, how one girl and an empty theatre was no less than a collision of stars, slamming into him so hard that it sent his relatively neat looking world descending into this sort of madness.

Hwang Hyunjin's neat looking world is tiny, crowded and anomalous — just how he likes it. From the very beginning, it has always been Minho, Jisung and Felix. Despite the ups and downs, all the broken glass and the screaming matches, he is their's and they are his.

Hyunjin's neat looking world is art and music. It is his white Epiphone Les Paul guitar, Mahogany body and Rosewood fretboard, he would announce proudly. It is the scribbled lyrics in his notebook which would make it to the second verse of their next single. His love for music is a stroke, a heart attack — both sudden and complete.

"Hwang, what is this mystery girl bullshit I'm seeing?"

“As the dust settles on disbandment rumours and drug scandals, The Muse guitarist and frontman: Hwang Hyunjin spotted with mystery girl in AMC, Jersey.”

Felix laughs, head tipped back with his dimples at full display, his chair only balancing on its last two legs, "Apparently Hyunjin is a hopeless fucking romantic now."

It had been everywhere. Perhaps, maybe, the ever stone-faced lead guitarist has an ounce of romanticism in his body? A little bit more than his facade—he air of confidence and cigarette smoke that surrounds him, that moves with him, that often times was him?

Perhaps he is one of gentle touches and tactile love — one to find music in laughter, to make music of laughter. One to find his lover's face in the sunset, love songs blasting loud on the stereo while he sings along—

"Bullshit."

Minho only watches — Hyunjin now a subject to his curiosity, with an eyebrow raised. He knows him through and through, his washed up past, all the cliché rock star origins and the stacked up liquor bottles. And of course, he knows when Hyunjin is lying.

"It's a good look, though," Felix reasons, his crossed legs now tipped up on the table, his smile grows smug by the second. "You seem less. . .untouchable. The movie dates and holding hands type, you know? The boyfriend kind of guy."

Jisung chips in," And with that face of yours, it means more fans you bring in. As long as the Manager doesn't fucking mind, of course."

Minho hasn't said a word yet. He doesn't have to. The all dark singer is the picture of a menace. Inky hair and inky eyes, earings glinting as they catch the light, he doesn't even need to try. And he keeps it up, day through night; because this intimidation is the only thing holding the group together.

For Minho, it has always been simple. Words come to him and he writes them. Taste of Blood, Contagious, Sonder. It has been hit after hit for the singer-songwriter. He doesn't abridge; his words are raw. And that? The reason he could fetch the limelight.

And after that, it had been easy. Signing to Black Records, so much paperwork, managers and P.R., and marketting and recruiting. He had his three boys and his past well swept under the rug. So terrifyingly easy.

His past doesn't exist anymore. Unless he wants it to. Years of abuse swept under the fucking rug, because he needs to be indifferent. He is indifferent. Being raised by a single mother coming home drunk every morning didn't matter because he can do what he loves. Raising Felix himself, sheltering him from the fucking hell he lived through doesn't matter because they both can do what they love.

Because now, he doesn't have to deal with pain that's grotesque and raw. No more bleeding himself dry just to feel something, winters spent in a thin knit sweater, tired and hungry out of his fucking mind. Now, his pain was the kind to be dealt with quietly. Polished smile against the polite corruption in this white collared industry. Because he learnt to get up and leave.

And that's what he keeps doing: leaving, leaving and leaving.

Minho is what he wants to be — arrogance personified. And his past doesn't slip through the cracks; not to a single interviewer no matter how hard they try to dig. Because he's perfectly good at leaving. Hyunjin can't, he could never.

Indifferent, arrogant and a charmer — that's who Minho is for anyone who cares to know. And a mystery for anyone who tried to find out.

And finally he speaks: Hyun, I don't want you to fuck it all up.

The next fifteen months follow, fifteen months where they are expected to churn out another album, with a long line of managers and promoters and agencies with their hands around their necks. Fifteen whole months where Hyunjin's life has been you, you and you.

It had started that one February evening, the end of the European tour, all four had been brought back to Newark. Italy and Paris seemed like a distant dream; mornings and evenings and nights — all bleeding into each other. Days spent at the studio — the boys, their cigarettes and their booze.

Cigarette in hand, Hyunjin only hopes to smoke himself to death.

"Your coping mechanisms don't seem real healthy, Hyun."

A deep breath, Hyunjin hopes he won't say things he'll come to regret, he prays.

"I don't think yours are that healthy either, darling," he glances pointedly at his Felix's arms, now covered up in that silk button up he bought him for his birthday. His words are sharp, tied up neatly with a nickname despite having the same effect.

That's who Hyunjin is — he bites back.

The pair stands in solidarity outside the entry sign of a club, awaiting the eldest. Minho had wandered off with a girl — his girl; doing god knows what.

Unlike Hyunjin, Minho was free to love — or fuck, he really didn't know what went on between the two of them. All he knew was that Minho counted days to meet this girl. Despite the half hearted one-nighters he had pulled all around Europe — the blonde in Paris, the freckled-brunette after their show in Oslo and that obnoxiously loud red head in Vienna — he found his way back to her. They held this strange fucking gravity for each other.

Felix is quiet, no longer fazed by Hyunjin's harsh words. Although his arms are crossed, fingers digging into the exact spots the elder had pointed out seconds ago and Hyunjin already regrets everything he has said.

But he won't apologize. He hasn't, ever.

The streets, earlier thick with cars and people have now thinned out, slowly sinking into the calm of the late evening. The wait for Minho has been getting maddening, the seconds between him and his drugs, girls and booze far too long to handle.

"Fuck it, Felix. He can get in by himself."

He shoves past, a sideward glance of acknowledgement at Felix, asking him to come along.

"Take care, Hyun," Felix whispers, grabbing at his collar and his voice low. "I will fucking cry if I find you lying half dead on the sidewalk again."

Again, he's quickly dismissed. Hand on heart, with a promise from Hyunjin. But he's never one to keep promises. He never did.

He's been at it for hours; Felix and Minho lost in the drunken haze and the red lights diffused by paper lanterns at the bar. He throws back shots as if it's water, enjoying the numbness that he subsides in.

And then, he sees you — a vision in red, drawn in back, you fit right in. Hyunjin's world is in pieces : your eyes, your hair, his hand on your shoulder, slowly engulfing you so close that he can hear your heartbeat. His world is shattered and he couldn't be happier.

"Hyunjin?"

He's far too mesmerized to answer. You — in flesh, in front of him. Your eyes the colour of midnight and your skin the shade of sunset, you — his very own north star.

"It's me."

"I read about you in the newspaper last week. Is it true? Are you okay? This hiatus, the hospital photographs— shit, are you fucking okay, Hyunjin?"

That article. That week. When he had drunken himself to near-death, the feeling of death's fingers on his neck still so fresh. And Felix had found him, lying on the side walk; breathless, hopeless and lifeless. It haunted him.

And the paparazzi had followed him all the way, eager to catch glimpses of Minho and Jisung carrying him to the hospital. They had cashed in on everything — Hyunjin's lifeless body, a crying Felix on the verge of a panic attack, Jisung's shaking hands and Minho — still stoic and impassive.

"Ask me again, darling. One by one."

After his third shot, he had kissed you. Hands in your hair and your shoulders and your waist, your skin so warm under his fingertips. The first time he had kissed you — under the red lights of the bar, liquor on his tongue and glitter in your hair. One kiss and he was already hooked.

He would follow you across the fucking world to find you again.

You're the same as him — broken, and he held you so, as if you're glass waiting to shatter. He sees it in your smile, in the way your eyes glimmer under the muted red lights as you withdraw from him.

You're peace to him — a getaway from the three months he spent cooped up in the crammed studio. So he holds you close, deathly afraid of losing whatever he has.

"I wrote you a song."

"You did?"

He did. He fucking did; and for once, he was proud of himself. Midnight's spent hunched over his guitar and that notebook so that he had something tangible of you.

So, at 3:05, back pressed against the cool counter of the bar, you within his reach and drunk off his fucking mind, he sings.

You're cold and I burn, I guess I never learn.

Hours later, he's at the same bar, hands and feet too heavy to move. And you're gone, all that's left of you being the phone number scribbled on his wrist. Dissapearing into thin air like sand slipping from his closed fist. All he remembers is your laugh — ringing through the air like music to his ears and then suddenly — nothing.

He had spent the rest of the night pushing through the crowd, looking for Minho and Felix and then giving into this solitude — breathing in lines of powdered dust from sticky tabletops and alcohol ridden fingertips. He is burning, his fire fuelled only by the endless list of failures.

He almost laughs, remembering his promise to Felix. Like always, he never keeps them.

The hospital again. Felix is absolutely sick of the hospital — the white tiles and the smell of bleach, the awful silence weighing down the air and the undertone of sickness running through and through.

And still, he wouldn't leave.

His eyes are only on Hyunjin — his friend, his brother, his fucking lifeline — lying limp and lifeless under the crisp white sheets, held back by a network of IVs and tubes. Hyunjin is a strange sort of calm, his skin now porcelain white, purple veins branching and scattering under his eyelids and on his neck.

It has been three days. Three whole days since Felix was met with a broken promise. Three whole days since the paramedics arrived and Hyunjin was carried away from him, dissapearing amidst all the shouts and ambulances and the paparazzi. Everything was a haze — the mechanical beeping, the latex gloves against skin and the clicks and flashes of cameras.

Felix was shoved out of the way, his arm held firmly by Minho as he cried. He tried to reach for Hyunjin, his fingers combing into his dark hair only to be slapped away by a nurse.

"Sir, please."

For the first time, he seen a tear slip past Minho's eye, only to be swiped away by the sleeve of his shirt. His brother had cracked. And he was fucking terrified.

Felix hasn't given death much of a thought. The last one was his mother's, and he didn't care much. Dead; death; dying. It was nothing but a fleeting thought — a nightmare he was too young to care about. But suddenly, as the elder lies before him, his chest tightens and his heart sinks.

He can almost see death looming in front of him. And truth be told — he is terrified.

Hyunjin's life has always been a nightmare — absent mother and absent father. Then a gun pointed at his head at fifteen. 0.357 Magnum, execution-style; he had said. Then came the cigarettes, the alcohol and finally the coicaine and heroine. And now finally, it was this mystery girl from the theatre. A drug of choice, I choose my poison.

But Felix always believed he could be the sunshine to Hyunjin's moonlight. It isn't his job to heal all his wounds, he is aware. But it is more of a responsibility. And he had failed. Fucking miserably. Twice.

He exchanges shifts with Jisung, leaving the crammed white room to sit in the hallway. It's a void — white, white, white, with misery and sickness. Felix needs air, he needs his guitar, he needs to be held.

Fucking weak, he chuckles at himself. Making everything about yourself.

"He's back, he's back. He's fucking back, goddammit."

And there he is — eyes the shape of cresents, honey coloured and tired. Almost a smile, he sees. The white of the hospital doens't seem to faze him, like he expected this, as if he's used to this.

"You asshole, Hwang."

A ghost of a smile haunts his lips as he's surrounded again. Nurses checking his pulse and his oxygen in a rush. But Felix feels peace. He's alive.

"You stayed the whole time?"

"I can't fucking leave. Even if i want to."

The second time was in March, when Hyunjin was out of his fucking mind, deprived of any uppers and downers. Even his last dead resort — prescription medication, was heavily monitored. By the managers, by Minho, by the entire fucking world breathing down his neck.

Your phone number was an imprint in his mind, and his fingers with a psyche of their own as he dialled it up. His heart erratic — hoping, praying and pleading.

"I want to see you," his voice breaks. So does he. "Please."

And suddenly, it's you, you, you again. You don't ask about that February night. The newspapers were talking again, pictures and articles and quotations, all about that goddamn scandal. He knows that you know.

Peach and honey in the air, sunlight and your skin. Sometimes Hyunjin wonders if he has ever truly loved. You're lying on his stomach, your hair a wild display his hand runs through.

"Have you ever been to Vegas?" You ask, eyes faraway.

"Nope."

"Did you know that when they're done with all those neon lights, they just dump them in this big graveyard in the desert? Don't you think that's sad? Abandoned. Never lit up again."

"I could light them up."

Hyunjin has never been a romantic. He has never dreamed of promises rolling off your breath — you in your cocaine coloured wedding dress. Summer wind in your hair and wedding photographs tied up neatly in his attic.

And yet he dreams of you that night. An overhead conversation with your name mentioned. A half read book of yours on the coffee table, you were right there — minutes before. He finds himself walking down the street, catching a glimpse of you, only to find out it wasn't you at all. It has always been like that; always reaching for you but never quite touching.

"Do you love her?" Minho had asked that morning.

He's empty. He wonders, do I? Or is she the same chemical happiness the drugs brought him. Ten minutes of numbness that subsides as soon as you're gone.

"Of course, I do."

"Stop fucking lying." Minho's words are venom, his eyes dark. He has never cared so much. "If you did. If you gave a shit about her — about us, about me — you would get up and fucking fix yourself. Get off the fucking drugs, stop drinking. Would you?"

Hyunjin is silent, his face a dark shadow. The words are heavy. And Minho is screaming, his facade off. He can't keep up his arrogant calmness any longer; not when his friend is dying — killing himself the longer they go. He's crying, for the first time in fifteen years, hot tears running down his face. Burning. There is something so delicate about this time, so fragile.

Because he's been there, seen everything through and through. Being held back in rehab because the sight of those little white pills terrified him. He refused to take them, crying and throwing up at the mere thought. Eventually as he was broken down piece by piece, he started downing them unthinkingly — sometimes holding them under his tongue or between his teeth.

And he is reliving his nightmare. Seeing his best fucking friend ruining himself on the floor, his past slipping through the cracks.

He holds on to him by the collar of his shirt, his grip so tight his fingers sting. This time, he can't just get up and leave.

"You wouldn't. So don't you fucking dare tell me you care about us until you've fixed up this goddamn mess."

And he's gone. Leaving. Leaving. Leaving.

Leaving Hyunjin abandoned and weak. He rubs his face, holding himself for once. He's sick to his stomach, he can't stand himself. He was a self fulfilling prophecy — a tragedy writing itself. Broken home, unrequited love, another soul subsiding to chemical happiness, a broken fucking rockstar — such a cliché.

Fix yourself, goddammit. Sometimes he wishes love was enough.

That evening, a mid-March sunset, Felix had found everything in place. Hyunjin's shoes neatly arranged by the entrance, the bedsheets folded and crisp, notebook half open on the bed with overflowing lyrics.

"He'll skin us alive if we're late to the recording again," he had warned, bass slung on his shoulder.

Two knocks on the only locked door — the bathroom, and hope fucking extinguishes.

Panic settles deep in his bones, his maniac heart beating a disgruntled rhythm against his chest. He's screaming, shouting, his words a bleeding mess. Hyunjin, don't you do this to me a third time. Time is still, he's floating.

Hwang fucking Hyunjin, I hate you.

It isn't supposed to go like this. Nothing is supposed to go like this. The industry is stressful, sure; but he was promised money, fame and most of all his fucking friends. It's supposed to be years of their bullshit catastrophic friendship, their patience stretched so thin, it's yet to snap.

Hyunjin — his skin pale, his jaw slack, drenched. A pale arm limp, hanging off — reaching to him; reaching for him. His best friend — a beautiful fucking tragedy.

"What the fuck. You're kidding me, this is a fucking joke."

He's screaming, Minho is screaming. Jisung joins the turmoil. The eldest has the sense to dial up the number. He's still screaming, grabbing at his friend — his cheeks, his neck, his arms; looking for a pulse, for any sort of life.

The paramedics are here, guiding the three through the last ten minutes of panic. Hyunjin chokes and chortles. He's alive. He's fucking alive. Perhaps an awful figment of his imagination, the subtle heaving of his chest: he's breathing. But fuck, the time between each breath too long — excruciatingly long.

"Hurry. Please, fucking hurry."

And yet again, Hyunjin is taken away from him. All Felix can do is stare at him with a look of distant horror. It's all a dream. A bad fucking dream, he convinces himself, hardly aware of the chaos surrounding him.

Hyunjin had said he wanted to kill himself. And Felix? He just let him.

Felix has always been the fragile one, the one who needed to be taken care off, the delicate one. A dandelion inflorescence losing a part of himself to life with every passing year. And Hyunjin is the one who did the caring — Minho, his brother but Hyunjin, his twin flame.

And this being the third straight week he has spent at the same hospital, his best friend lying motionless in white for the third time broke his heart.

And then there is you, Hyunjin's girl, appearing and dissapearing from thin air none the same. You had come to the studio shaking, talking about some letter. A suicide note. So you got the privilege of a suicide not, not his brothers, his own bandmates. And Minho had talked some sense into you — both of your hands held in his, earnest.

He doesn't wake up for two days. Two whole days driving Felix fucking insane.

He still spends the hours on his bedside, with you. It is driving him insane. The constant beeping of the machines, the drip of the IV, the day melting into night and the night into day.

And the first time he sees movement, your hands are already sliding across Hyunjin's cheeks, holding him through blurry vision and the tears on your face. "I'm so sorry. I'm so fucking sorry, Hyun."

Felix is next: "Why didn't you tell me, Hwang? Fuck you for doing this to me thrice."

Liar.

Hyunjin seems to panic, his cresent eyes now wild and scared : he's lost, despite being with the two he cherishes the most. And as another crowd of nurses takes over him, Felix sees the articles writing themselves, adding him to the list of fallen stars in the likes of Kurt Cobain, Jimi Hendrix and Janis Joplin.

After fifteen minutes of checking his vitals, the nurse speaks again, a pointed glance at Felix although his words are directed at Hyunjin, "Press the button if you need anything, if anything happens."

And she leaves, the door closing as the pale white uniform dissapears from sight, leaving the three alone.

Three people. Three stories.

The silence is heavy and fragile — and you the first to break it.

"Hyunjin."

"I know. I told you, it's a mess — I am a mess. I can't do this.”

Felix just stands, uncomfortable. A thousand words on the tip of his tongue but with the intensity of the way Hyunjin looks at you, he feels like he's interrupting. He's different. You're different. And Felix is a thousand times more careful.

"No, Hyun," you continue, your voice terrible, broken. "You tried to kill yourself."

"Do you hate me?"

You ponder, looking at him over and over, studying him, looking through him. "Yes. You broke my fucking heart, Hyun."

Hyunjin burries his face in his hands, as if she told him what he already knew. His heart in his own hands — broken like a promise. He's an insolent child, reprimanded by his mother.

"I didn't mean to."

"You didn't?" you breathe, voice dry, tone incredulous. "It doesn't matter! You still did it. You love me, Hyun? And you still drowned yourself in that fucking bathtub. You broke my —" a sideward glance at Felix, "you broke our hearts. It doesn't matter, you didn't mean to."

Hyunjin flinches, recoiling within himself. He falters, swallowing his words.

Next is Felix, leaning over to catch one of his wrists in his hands. He feels the pulse against his thumbs, rhythmic and assuring — alive, alive, alive. He stands sniffling, tears dripping down his chin, but only frowns, not gathering his best friend up in his arms and smoothening his hair.

"Feli—"

"No you don't." He interrupts, unable to hide the bite in his voice. "You put me through hell, you know that? If you died, you know what would be left of me?"

Hyunjin is silent again, only his hand outstretched asking him to take it. And with him in his arms, Felix is a child again — used to being taken care of. He's heaving, all his sobs hidden in the mess of the elder's hair.

"This doesn't change anything. I'm still mad at you. You're a goddamn mess."

Hyunjin laughs, his voice so full despite the sound being muffled, "I fucking hate you, Lix."

Minutes pass, minutes of nothing but them holding each other. And you watch, content and complete, the reassurance a constant chant in your mind: alive, alive, alive. Felix won't look at him; not yet. He can't. But he'd take a bullet for him, and he'd never say it out loud.

"Hyunjin. Rehab. Do it for us."

And for once, Hyunjin doesn't care. Beyond the tightlit hospital chamber, beyond Felix, Jisung, Minho and you; perhaps the world thinks of him as aimless and a little bit mad. But for now? Hyunjin doesn't fucking care.

116 notes · View notes