i never realized that there were written lyrics on the inside until last week

Good For You (Connor Murphy x Reader)

WC; 1,771

TW; Uuuu swearing? Depressed reader :<

AN; I changed the lyrics a bit, don’t murder me loves.

REQUEST; so like idk if this is stupid or if ur still taking requests but a connor murphy x reader where it’s kinda like the reader is singing good for you to him bc he fucked up ??? idk i think it would be really interesting to read and end it with fluff maybe ?? fluff is good

You heard a knock on your door, and you reluctantly got up to answer it. You blinked a few times at your best friend since 2nd grade.

“Connor?” You mumbled, stepping aside to let him in.

He nervously smiled as best as he could fake it. You glanced him up and down, noticing his all black outfit.

“How-How are you?” You muttered, trying to make conversation and figure out why he was here subtly.

“I’m- Well, I’m okay.” Connor almost whispered, wringing his hands.

“Can, can you help me?” Connor mumbled, looking at his feet with a pink face

You felt your heart flutter as his hair fell into his face and he pushed it back behind his ear gently.

“Of course I’ll help you, Con.” You said lovingly, guiding him to the couch and sitting next to him.

His face scrunched up as he tried to think of what to say. You turned a light pink as you noticed how adorable he had looked. You were in love, and you had been since you were both fourteen. Sure, you had drifted apart as you grew older, but you still admired him from a distance. He always seemed to know when you were watching him, so he acted as normal as he could. He tried not to get angry at anyone or say something rude to anyone.

You were Connor’s only hope, and he couldn’t loose you. He didn’t know how he was feeling towards you, so he pushed you away as well as the confusion.

“I-I need help asking this girl out.” Connor blinked, looking up at you.

For a moment, just a moment, you felt hope inside yourself. Maybe this was like a cheesy movie scene. You just needed to play your role.

“Oh yeah? Who is this girl?” You smirked, resting your head on your hand and leaning forward a bit for exaggeration.

“Oh, uhm. Her name is Jasmine Cephas Jones.” Connors face turned bright red and he practically had heart eyes.

Your face fell for a moment and you faked a smile. You should’ve known.

“I know her, and I can totally set you two up!” You cheered, trying to hide the fact your eyes were watering slightly.


“Hey, (Y/N)!” Jasmine called, smiling the cutest smile ever. You had wanted to hate her, but you could never. She was so sweet, and you were just jealous.

Connor grinned at you, gesturing to their intertwined hands. You raised your eyebrows and faked another smile. You’d been doing that too much.

“So the date last night went goo-?” You began, getting cut off by the bell.

“Oh! Gotta go, (Y/N)!” Connor smiled again, the realest smile you had ever seen from him. You watched your all time crush and his girlfriend run down the hallway. You stood there until there were only two people in the hallway.

You spun around with tears in your eyes, heading to leave the school with your head down. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Evan Hansen at his locker, watching you practically run by with tears streaming down your face.

You had heard him following you, trying to keep up without running.

“W-Wait, (Y/N)! Wait!” Evan called, making you slow down to a stop in the hallways.

“What, Evan?” You said softly, your voice breaking.

“Are-Are you okay? Why-Why are you crying?” Evan gently grabbed you by the wrist, making you look up at him. You noticed he was only a few inches taller than you. You noticed he was fidgeting with his other hand. You noticed the cast on the arm on his left arm. You noticed the bags under his eyes. You noticed his slightly disheveled dirty blonde hair. You noticed his lips, chapstick smeared on them. You noticed the look of panic on his face as he looked at you.

His eyes were wide as he looked at you. He could tell you were breaking slowly. You had dark bags under your eyes, and your eyes were swollen from crying so much. Your hair was messy, and you dressed in darker clothes than normal. You wore long sleeves, which you’ve never worn before. He didn’t think you even owned long sleeved shirts.

Evan pulled you into his arms, which was completely out of character for him. He was worried about you. You had known each other for the longest time, and you were a family friend.

“You like Connor, don’t you?” Evan whispered, putting his hand on your head.

You nodded into his chest with tears rolling down your face.

“I’m so sorry.” You had both whispered at the same time.


You waved bye to Evan, smiling brightly at him. You and Evan had become really close ever since you had told him everything a week or two ago. You hadn’t spoken to Connor since that day. You tried to, but he was always really busy. You felt anger towards him every time he told you he was too busy to hang out.

You tried to convince yourself you were better than that.

‘Don’t hold grudges, (Y/N).’ You would say to yourself when you got mad. You took up a new hobby of writing lyrics without any music. You were currently writing a piece called “Good For You”, but you hadn’t gotten past the second lyric.

You walked back into the house and only a minute later you heard a knock at the door. Thinking Evan forgot something, you answered it without looking who it was.

“Connor?” You asked, a bit shocked.

“Oh, good, (Y/N), I need your help.” Connor mumbled, walking into the house.

“Wha-?” You had began, growing a bit angry he only came to see you when he needed something from you.

“Jasmine is losing interest in our relationship, I need you to help me spice things up.” Connor paced your kitchen, his arms crossed.

“Who the hell do you think you are, Murphy?” You growled, stepping forward.

“The fuck are you talking about?” Connor squinted at you, angry and confused.

 “So you found a place where the grass is greener. And you jumped the fence to the other side.” You began, repeating the lyrics you had written down.

“Is it good? Is she giving you a world I could never provide?” You held back tears, and you started to sing louder.

“Well I hope you’re proud of your big decision. Yeah, I hope she’s all that you want and more.” You sang, walking closer to you.

“Now you’re free from the agonizing life we were living before.” You sang, watching Connor’s face drop as he listened to the lyrics.

“And you say what you need to say, so that you get to walk away. It would kill you to have to stay trapped. When you’ve got someone new.” Connor’s eyes were wide as he realized he had been ditching his best friend.

“Well I’m sorry you had it rough, and I’m sorry I’m not enough. Thank God she rescued you.” The last line made Connor confused, and that was a feeling he hated.

“So you got what you always wanted. So you got your dream come true. Good for you.. Good for you, you, you.” Your voice was raspy and cold, and you were crying.


“Got a taste of a life so perfect, so you did what you had to do.” You turned away, unable to let him see you cry.

“Good for you, good for you!” You shouted, glaring at him.

“Does it cross your mind to be slightly sorry? Do you even care that you might be wrong? Was it fun? Well I hope you had a blast while you dragged me along.” Your voice softened as if you were singing from another perspective.

“And you say what you need to say. And you play who you need to play,
and if somebody’s in your way crush them and leave them behind!”
Connor had tears in his eyes as he watched you yell, letting it happen.

“Well I guess if I’m not of use. Go ahead, you can cut me loose. Go ahead now, I won’t mind.” You insisted, your voice cracking.

“I’ll shut my mouth and I’ll let you go. Is that good for you? Would that be good for you, you, you?” You repeated, gently shoving him into the counter and walking around.

“I’ll just sit back while you run the show. Is that good for you?
Would that be good for you, you, you?-”
You sang, not expecting Connor to sing over you.

“All I need is some time to think. But the boat is about to sink-”

“I’ll shut my mouth and I’ll let you go, is that good for you? Would that be good for you, you, you?-”

“All the words that I can’t take back, like a train coming off the track, ‘cause the rails and my bones all crack -”

“I’ll just sit back while you run the show, is that good for you?-”

“ I’ve got to find a way to stop it, stop it! Just let me off!” Connor sang, his voice getting loud. Tears ran down his face as silence over came the room. You were both panting and crying, tears dripping down both of your faces.

You and Connor both ran at each other and hugged, tears getting on both of you.

“I-I’m so sorry, I lo-love you.” Connor sobbed into your shoulder. He couldn’t believe he almost lost you.

“I love you, Connor. I love you so much.” You mumbled as Connor gently lifted your face and kissed you by the lips.

You both made up that day, and Connor ended his relationship with Jasmine on good terms. You and Connor had started dating, and all of your friends were in full support of it. Especially Evan.

The Voicemail, Part 3

Title: The Voicemail, Part 3
Author:  @piecesofscully
Rating: PG-13
Timeline: Pre-Revival
A/N: This is an unbeta’d quickie continuation of a series written with @kateyes224 .  Please read parts 1 and 2 listed below, so that you have an idea of what the hell is going on. 

The Voicemail written by me

The Voicemail, Part 2 written by @kateyes224


With each step she takes, shooting pain jolts through the center of her heels as she finally enters her dark apartment.  There’s a staleness to the silence now, a product of entering single-living territory again, a lifestyle of chosen loneliness she hasn’t experienced for many years.  Each minute of her thirty-six hour shift sits heavily in her lumbar region, aching with ferocity as she shrugs off her coat and slings it over the back of a rarely used dining room chair.

Her phone pings loudly, its alert slicing through the quiet to announce a missed call and a voicemail.  She glances at the notification, fully expecting to see another summoning from the hospital, and she grips the chair as her knees buckle.  

Mulder.

Her cheeks flush pink with brewing embarrassment as she thinks back to a few weeks earlier, snippets of a drunkenly induced voicemail she had left him run muddily through her mind.  She had been drinking that night with the sole intention of getting drunk, an impulsion she hadn’t conceded to since her rebellious teenage years, and played his voicemail thirteen times, having memorized each line around the seventh or eighth. Each time she hit ‘replay’ she was another vodka and splash of cranberry juice deeper, soaking in every venomous word he spoke.

She has no memory of thumbing through her contacts and finding his number, or pressing the ‘call’ button.  She doesn’t remember hearing it ring or being directed to voicemail.  The words that had erroneously poured from her liquored mouth, however, come back in hazy fragments.

 “I wanted to abort my son.  You know why?  Because you were gone.”

 “How do you find a way to be everything and nothing to me at the same time?”

 “I hate that I love you.  I hate myself for loving you.  You’re like a disease.”

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On the eleventh day of #PAIN fic...

A/N: Boy howdy wouldja look at that… DAY ELEVEN IS HERE, FOLKS! This means that there is officially only ONE MORE DAY (one day more) OF 12 DAYS LEFT. THUS, PART THREE WILL BE POSTED THE DAY AFTER TOMORROW HOLY SHIT GET READY, HOLD ONTO YOUR SOCKS.

Can you tell we’re excited? Because we need you know that we’re crazy excited.

ONWARDS TO DAY ELEVEN!

Word Count: 2,339


“You’re keeping your grades up, right?”

“Yes, Mom,” you sighed into the phone. Conversations with your mother would always lead back to how successful you were and ultimately how you could be doing better.

“Don’t use that tone with me, don’t forget that we’re the reason you got into that fancy school,” your mother snapped back at you. You just pinched your nose and took a deep breath, holding back quips about how I got myself here, all you did was give me an anxiety disorder and low self esteem.

“I know, I’m sorry.”

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Beautiful Chaos - Measuring Time

This was written for @paigeinastory‘s Country Son Fic/Sentence Prompt Challenge. This is a part to Beautiful Chaos, written for @jpadjackles‘s 1k Challenge.  Missed it? Read Beautiful Chaos here!

This is a Tattoo!Jared x Reader AU

Word Count: 1829

Warnings: Tattooed!Jared!

A/N: This is set in an AU and is a work of fiction. Please regard it as such.


My name is Y/N. I am a planner. I don’t do rash things. I plan things very carefully. I am not a spontaneous woman. I plan menus for my week. I plan my outfits the night before. I buy toothpaste and toilet paper in advance so I don’t run out. I know where I am going before I get in the car, even if I am not driving. Life without plans encourages chaos. I don’t do chaos. I have rules. I have goals. To achieve those goals, I need plans. Well, I used to at least. Before him.

One month ago, I got my first tattoo, something I planned for months. I did all the research on the quote, the design, the script. I painstakingly researched local tattoo shops. It took time (and planning) but I found one that was clean and reputable. I then delved into each of their artists. I made three different trips to this shop, looking through each portfolio until I found one that I felt was right for me. We exchanged emails and spoke over the phone until I was confident that he understood exactly what I was looking for. His name is Jared and he is an amazing artist.

On the day of the tattoo, I, of course, had arrived early, but what transpired during and after my tattoo, was not something I ever could have planned on. The one thing I had wished for but was not able to plan on, was Jared. He was sexy and beautiful, inside and out. He asked me out that day. The old me would have said no. A date was something you planned.

The old me walked into that tattoo shop. The girl that walked out that day on Jared’s arm was not someone I recognized, but I was definitely looking forward to getting to know her.

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Too Late >> Suga Part 2

“__________-ah, we need to talk”

 Yoongi had been following you for days now. It started to annoy you. After what happened between the both of you. It looked like yoongi was going to give you a hard time again but this time by annoying you. You turned to face him and glared at him.

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dating im jaebum would include...

lol i’m avoiding outlining my markjin fic bc idk how to write so here we go enjoy fam 

- meeting in a fairly average setting like a party or coffee shop but having something really out of the ordinary happen, like the cops showing up so you have to run away together and walk an hour to get home or your coffees getting mixed up and you both drinking them before you realize it so you naturally have to sit down together and find out what happened to the other person for them to have such horrendous taste in bean drinks 

- probably just hanging out in friends/more-than friends limbo for a while because he’s pretty guarded and doesn’t know how he feels about u yet but one day you don’t answer his texts for a few hours bc ur out with ur family and he realizes how lonely he is w/o talking to you and the next time he sees u he takes ur face in his hands and kisses the life outta u and tells u how much he likes u and bam ur dating wow took u long enough wtffff 

- lots of prolonged silences while you’re hanging out but not really awkward ones just periods of times where you just enjoy being close to each other and don’t feel like you need to use words to show it 

- him telling you he doesn’t like american food but scarfing down every meal you make for him bc he just rly loves the eats man 

- not a ton of PDA?? he likes to hold your hand and occasionally kiss your temple but he mostly just saves his affection for when you get home and he can pull you into his lap and give you kisses in places he knows you’re ticklish bc he’s a freaking troll & likes to see you giggle :3 

“jagi… are you wearing my underwear to bed again” 

- him singing in the shower really rEALLY LOUDLY AT 7 AM and you going into the bathroom to drag his ass but he starts singing to you and using the shampoo as a mic and he looks like such an idiot you can’t help but join him bc you can always come in w/ the hella harmonies just be careful jyp might try to recruit you if you don’t keep that shit on lock 

- LOTS OF SELFIE SENDING /// maybe a nood or two if one of you asks you are just very beautiful people and like to remind each other every 30 minutes ok (as if you needed to) 

- giving each other piggy backs bc you love to feel so high off the ground but you also love to feel his face nuzzled into your neck so you make do and alternate 

- going out clubbing w/ ur friends and while everyone else is just jamming out hardcore you guys are dancing on each other in the least gross but still most sensual way possible and everyone else is feelin’ some type of way bc you guys are always in sync like how often do you practice are you teaching classes soon 

- him taking your picture on stage with him during every performance for good luck and smiling when he feels it in his pocket 

- stressful days when he needs to be alone for a few hours so he doesn’t blow up and take it out on you before coming home and collapsing into your lap and you holding him close and rubbing his back and waiting until you feel his breathing return to normal before asking if he wants to talk about it

- giving each other small but meaningful gifts for birthdays/anniversaries like a necklace with your first picture together inside or a hand-written letter or a nice bottle of lube idk use your imagination presents are hard ok

- spontaneous beach trips!!! except you guys go to smaller ones in early spring at the break of dawn when no one is there and it’s cold and windy and you can walk around fully clothed collecting sea shells together like the lovely old couple you are 

- “jaebum take your hand off my thigh we are at dinner with my parents omg”

- holding each other for a really long time before he leaves for a trip and you both trying to hold your tears in bc you want to remember each other happy and then looking back & seeing the other members crying their eyes out so now everyone is losing their shit and they’re about to miss their flight wow good going you dweebuses 

- watching every episode of the simpsons with him and just breaking down and buying him the first 10 seasons or something bc you secretly love it plus you’re tired of trying to find this shit online pop ups are murder 

- really fast but really good sexy time before he goes to practice but you always lose track of time so yugyeom and jackson are waiting outside like dude we happy for u but pls put ur underwear on we ggtgtggtgtgtgtg 

- at one of his concerts; random person: oh who’s your bias?? mine’s jb :) you: oh that’s cool, mine’s bambam

- the other members keeping a tally of how many times he does his big loud jb laugh around you and losing track bc it happens so often and they’re really happy about that they love seein their papa too joyful to keep it inside 

- lots and lots and lots and lots and lots and lots and lots and lots of “babe i’m running late where did i put my socks last night?” and “how do you say this in (each other’s language)” and “didn’t the guys do such a good job tonight?” and “this ramen tastes a little funny are you su- okay well this is 10 weeks old” and  “can you zip my dress up?” and “i’m so proud of you baby” and “alright nora come on up and snuggle with us” and “when are you coming home i miss you” and “oh my god i love this episode!” and “jagi how did you get so beautiful” and “oo i’ve never tried this food before” and “i know i don’t say it enough but i love you more than anything”

- looking at a picture you guys took when you first met and thinking about how much you’ve grown together and shared with each other and remembering the time you almost burned the house down making spaghetti and the time you stayed up all night learning the lyrics to random rap songs and the time you held hands even though you were upset with each other because you didn’t want each other to think you hated them and the time you bought him a cactus and spent 30 minutes pulling pricks out of his arm when he accidentally backed into it and the time you forgot to call him when you got home and he ran to your house to make sure you were okay and know that this boy is a beautiful, selfless, warm, hilarious, and complete and total idiot and you love him more than anything on this planet earth and probably anywhere else in the universe too but don’t get his hopes up you never know

- goodnight and goodbye i am in pain bless jb 5ever and ever 

You Belong With Me

destiel fic, PG, 3.5k

Summary: Dean couldn’t stop thinking about Taylor Swift. Her various hits started blaring inside his head on repeat at random times, and it was slowly driving him insane. He knew whose fault it was, though. Knew exactly whom to blame for his descent into insanity by earworm.

Sex Hair Guy on the subway. Damn him.

A/N: Written for @angvlicmish September writing challenge, but I missed the deadline and went over the word count limit. *shrugs* oops.
Prompt: Taylor Swift

AO3 link


He’d first seen the guy two months ago on his daily commute to work, on the same A line he’d been taking for the last five years working as an engineer at Sandover Corp. After about the third time he’d noticed the guy, he started looking for him on the platform, trying to figure out what route he took. The guy was a creature of habit: as far as Dean could tell, he always got the 8.02 AM train at 125th St, and remained until after Dean had to get off at 14th St. This left Dean with fifteen glorious minutes to sneak glances at the object of his quickly growing obsession. It also made Dean more punctual than he’d ever been in his entire life, as he knew that if he was even a few minutes late or early, he would not be on the same train as him. It would rob him of the chance to see the guy that day, because for some reason Dean never saw him in the evening on his commute back home.

The guy always wore the same basic outfit: a suit and tie that managed to look artfully rumpled and a tan trench coat. The ensemble would surely look pretty ridiculous on anyone else, but damn it if he didn’t manage to pull it off, even though he did kind of look like a tax accountant. Maybe he was one. Dean figured it was the hair. He was one of those guys who had absolutely perfected the “rolled out of bed after a night of truly spectacular sex” look. Couple that with a pair of stunning blue eyes, and Dean was pretty much done for from the get-go.

Dean tried to find ways to get closer to him without being noticed and called out as the creep he was. He started looking forward to busier days on the subways, when people would have to cram together like sardines in a can. He used to hate those days, but now it was a way for him to get close to the guy without being suspected of anything. He’d already figured out the guy favoured the next to last subway car – likely because it stopped near the exit he would eventually need to take. So he made sure to always be waiting in that car when they came up to the guy’s stop.

The first few times, the guy unfortunately picked a different door to enter, and Dean wasn’t able to make his way through the dense crowd without drawing too much attention to himself. The Monday of the third week, however…the guy ended up standing right before him, crushed between Dean, who was pressed against the doors on the opposite end of the platform, and a businessman who was talking loudly on his phone and making hand gestures despite the lack of space.

The gesticulating man elbowed the guy even further into Dean’s personal space, putting pretty much his entire upper body into direct contact with Dean, who was trying very hard not to get aroused. The guy would surely feel his…excitement and then he’d be forever branded as “that perv on the train”. So he forced himself to think of anything else than the enticing man pressed up against him: Alastair from R&D who always leered at him in a super creepy way, or Janet from accounting who for some reason always looked at him like Dean had tortured and killed one of her many cats.

Thankfully it worked, and Dean was able to calm down enough to actually enjoy the closeness. Dean’s nose was close enough to the nape of the guy’s neck to smell him, and he couldn’t resist taking a surreptitious sniff. The guy smelled like freshly ground coffee beans mixed with a hint of cinnamon and other spices that reminded Dean of autumn. It was intoxicating, and Dean had to use all his self-restraint to keep a soft moan from spilling from his lips, especially when – purely by accident – his fingers brushed against the guy’s.

Dean didn’t really remember how he managed to get to the office that day.

Unfortunately, he was never able to stand quite that close to the guy again, always thwarted at the last second by another person shoving their way between them. That didn’t stop him from trying, though.

He also started noticing different things about the guy: the way he always rubbed his eyes tiredly at least once – a clear sign that he didn’t get enough sleep on a regular base. The way he tended to absently fiddle with the hem of his trench coat. The way his eyes tracked the words on the newspaper he sometimes read on less busy days when there was enough space to allow it.

But then, three weeks ago, something changed. Dean immediately noticed it as soon as the guy boarded the subway car. In his ears were bright blue earbuds that were connected to what looked like an iPod. Huh, that was new. He really seemed into whatever he was listening to, because he was smiling faintly and actually started mouthing the lyrics after a few minutes. It was subtle, and Dean doubted that anyone but him would’ve noticed; but it was inevitable he would, seeing as his eyes were magnetically drawn to those lips more often than not.

It was incredibly endearing, and it made Dean realize that whatever this was, it had now progressed further than simple physical attraction; it had blossomed into a full-blown crush.

And wasn’t that pathetic? Having a crush on someone he hadn’t talked to once. He hadn’t even heard the guy’s voice yet. He imagined what it would sound like, sometimes, when he was in the shower in the morning.

Those were the mornings he had to rush to make sure he caught the right train.

The guy had been listening faithfully to his iPod every day since then, and Dean was content to just watch him enjoy his music, even though he was curious about what kind of music he liked. Did he, like Dean, have a preference for classic rock? Or maybe classical music? He looked like the type. Dean was hoping he’d find a way to get close to the guy again, not just for the joy of the physical closeness, but also because maybe he’d be able to hear some music drift from the earbuds. He was hungry for the insight into his personality. He wanted to know what made him tick - made him smile. He wanted to know him. But it was an idle hope.

Until last Friday, when everything changed.

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Compose

A very slightly belated birthday gift for the fantastic anamateurexpert. I hope today was everything you wanted it to be. I am so lucky to know you.

Why was there never enough ketchup? Abbie swirled her fries across the waxed paper, trying to sop up the last bits of tomato-y goodness.

“Any progress?” Crane fussed into the room with a pile of books that stacked up to just beneath his chin.

“The most successful part of my day was lunch.” She licked salt from her fingers. “Otherwise, this research has all been a bust. Still no good info on the Grimoire or what it might be used for.”

“Perhaps the answer is within one of these tomes. Would you…?” He jerked his head at the remnants of her meal that littered the archive table, tossing the books into the air to adjust his grip.

Abbie gathered up cup and hamburger wrapper and fry container and headed for the trash can. Crane slammed the books onto the table with a sigh of relief; the table groaned as it accepted the burden. “You’ve missed a bit of rubbish, Lieutenant–“ He frowned down at a napkin. “Beg pardon. Not rubbish at all.”

Oh. Well. Fuck. “No, it’s trash.” She crumpled the ink-stained scrap into her fist. Dumb. She’d let her mind wander just for a minute, hummed under her breath, tried to get the music out of her head for just a second. And now he was looking at her like an owl, all bright eyes and tilted head and too-close-for-comfort curiosity.

She’d fucked up.

“Why didn’t you tell me you composed?”

“I don’t.”

“There was music on that serviette. I clearly saw a staff.”

“Doodles. Let’s get to work.”

Crane sniffed. “Doodles. You realize I could reproduce the entire line of music?” His fucking memory, man. “That while I am no musician, I can distinguish between random drawings and a purposeful composition?”

“Good for you. You want a cookie or something?” Confusion puckered his brow. He scanned the table and she couldn’t help but smile. “There’s no actual cookie.”

“Oh. More’s the pity.” He flung his coat tails out and slid into a chair. “If you do not wish to discuss it, we shall not. But do not show me a lie when the truth is laid plain.”

The truth was always plain with him, wasn’t it? Didn’t matter what she did, it was always there in front of him. And part of her hated that so fucking much. Hated feeling naked and exposed all the time. But part of her was so relieved that when he was around, she was freed from the burden of having to say how she was feeling. He just got her on some cellular level.

Crane could see through her silence the way she could see through his bluster. And that was the best thing about them. Also the worst.

Abbie unclenched her palm to reveal the napkin. It lay in her palm like a squashed bug. “It’s really not a thing. I just…there was this little melody in my head. So I just jotted it down while I was eating. Just to get it out. Make it real.”

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Letter

Beginning . Accusation . Restless . Snowflake . Haze . Flame . Formal . Companion . Move . Silver . Prepared . Knowledge . Denial . Winter . Order . Thanks . Look . Summer . Transformation . Tremble . Sunrise . Mad . Thousand . Outside . Christmas . Wind . Diamond

Niall receives a series of handwritten letters in the form of song lyrics.

X

The first letter comes in the form of a green sticky note stuck neatly to the front of Niall’s locker. Niall isn’t even certain what it is at first as it just looks like words written hastily upon the notepad and he thinks about throwing it out. But something compels him not to; it’s like a voice inside his head tells him to keep it, so he folds it in half so the bottom of the note is sticking to the top and then tucks it carefully into the front pocket of his book bag.

Your hand fits in mine
Like it’s made just for me
But bear this in mind,
It was meant to be
And I’m joining up the dots with the freckles on your cheek
And it all makes sense to me


X

The second “letter” comes a week later in the form of the same colour sticky note, this time stuck to his desk in Spanish class. He’s spent almost the whole week pondering who could’ve left him such a note, deciding that it could literally be anyone in school since it was only stuck to his locker. This time, however, the location of it means that the person behind the notes is either in his Spanish class or, at the very least, knows when his Spanish class is and where he sits. 

He peels it off the desk as he falls into his chair and looks over it carefully. The handwriting is exactly the same – neat and curly; almost girly.

I know you’ve never loved
The crinkles by your eyes 
When you smile, you’ve never loved
Your stomach or your thighs
The dimples in your back
At the bottom of your spine,
But I’ll love them endlessly

The intimacy of the words makes Niall’s face flush and he really begins to wonder who this person could be – and how the hell they could know all of this. Very few people know Niall well enough to know these kinds of things about him, which means it must be someone he knows. Right?

“What’s that?”

The voice above him startles him and Niall’s gaze snaps up, away from the letter to land on Harry’s face. Harry is his best friend; they’ve known each other since they were kids. He hasn’t mentioned the first letter to anyone yet, mainly because he didn’t think he’d be getting another one anyway, but if he had to choose who to tell about the letters first then Harry would the one.

He lifts the sticky note in his hand to face Harry, who takes it to read. A smirk plays on the brunette’s lips as he hands the note back a minute later. “Is this the only one?”

Niall shakes his head and bends over to retrieve the other one to give to Harry as well. “I got that one last week. Was stuck to my locker.”

“Looks like you’ve got a secret admirer, Ni,” Harry says, handing Niall the first note back before falling into the seat next to Niall's 

“Yeah, looks like,” Niall murmurs thoughtfully, his gaze falling once more to both notes in his hands.

X

The third letter shows up between the hard cover and the first page of his math textbook; neat handwriting scrawled within the small box of familiar green paper. 

His stomach does this thing where it jumps into his throat and his heart skips a beat in his chest as he peels it off the page and holds it in front of him. He feels ridiculous, shy and nervous because of a simple note but there’s just something so intimate and beautiful in the words he’s read so far that he’s almost afraid to read this next one. 

He looks around the classroom briefly and realizes that nobody is even paying attention to him – which means, more than likely, his “secret admirer” isn’t even in his math class which means whoever it is must have snuck the note in sometime before class. Which is confusing because he doesn’t remember having his book out at all today. 

You can’t go to bed
Without a cup of tea
And maybe that’s the reason that
You talk in your sleep
And all these conversations 
Are the secrets that I keep
Though it makes no sense to me

The paper disappears from his grip, then, and Niall gasps, his gaze flickering up to meet own Louis’ mischievous one. “Lou-”

“Passing notes now, Niall?” Louis teases.

He jumps out of his seat and throws himself at his friend in an attempt to get the note back but Louis is faster, ducking away from Niall, who groans loudly. “No, Lou, don’t-”

“Is this a love letter?”

“I don’t – I dunno, maybe,” Niall says, falling back into his seat in defeat. “I dunno what they are.”

Louis raises his eyebrows. “They? There’s more?”

Niall nods sheepishly.

“How many more?”

“Two.”

“Let’s see ‘em.”

“Promise not to laugh?” Niall asks him, reaching into the front pocket of his bag to reveal the other two notes.

“Promise,” Louis says softly, the snarky mischief in his voice softening into genuine curiousity. 

Niall gives Louis the notes, explaining to him which on came first – and the corners of Louis’ mouth curve up into a smirk. “What?” Niall presses. 

“I think it’s supposed to be more of a song than actual letters,” Louis replies. “Read them again.”

Niall does as he’s told and decides, as his breath catches in his throat, that maybe Louis’ right. “Do you know who could’ve written them?”

Louis shrugs. “Maybe.” He turns, then, and climbs onto his own desk. 

“Wha-Lou, if you know-”

“I’m not telling you.”

“But-”

“I said maybe - as in, like, I might know who wrote them but I don’t know for certain. It wouldn’t be fair to the person it might be to tell you because it’s obviously supposed to be a secret until the right time comes along – and it especially wouldn’t be fair if the person I think it might be isn’t actually the person.”

Niall pouts, crossing his arms over his chest like a grumpy child. 

“Sorry, Nialler.”

“Can you give me a hint?”

Louis looks thoughtful for a moment. “Yeah. You know him.”

X

Niall finds the following letter tucked into the pocket of his gym shorts – which he should probably find creepy, but doesn’t have the heart to think that way of someone with such beautifully crafted words. He sits on the bench, oblivious to the lads around him still getting changed and shoving each other playfully into lockers, as he runs his fingers over the handwriting he’s become so accustomed to lately. 

I know you’ve never loved
The sound of your voice on tape,
You never want 
To know how much you weigh
You still have to squeeze into your jeans
And you’re perfect to me

A shiver passes through Niall’s body as he reads and rereads the note – and more than anything he wants to know who this person is. He wants to know who it is and how he knows so much about the way Niall thinks – and he wants to know who this person is so he can return the favour someday.

“Niall, you ready? What are you reading?”

Niall looks up to see Liam looking back at him, his eyebrows raised in curiousity and confusion. “It’s a love letter,” Niall replies, ignoring the first question. “Except it’s not really a letter, ’s more of a note but, like, Louis thinks they’re song lyrics. Harry says I’ve got a secret admirer.”

Liam grins. “No kidding.”

“I just want to know who it is, you know? Like, the mystery of it all was kind of fun at first but whoever it is seems to know so much about me and I don’t even know who it is – it’s driving me mad, mate.”

“I’m sure whoever it is will make his presence known when the time is right,” Liam says, offering the blond his hand to pull him to his feet. 

“His…” Niall mutters thoughtfully as he tucks the note back into his shorts pocket. “You and Louis have both said it’s a boy, like you know who it is. Do you?”

“No,” Liam admits. “Not officially, anyhow.”

“You’re not gonna tell me, are you?”

“No.”

“You and Louis are prats.”

X

The fifth letter is the tell letter; the one where Niall knows exactly who’s behind the letters and the thought makes him feel nauseous and lightheaded and delirious all at the same time. It’s the letter that brings all the previous ones together, pulls up all kinds of old memories and paints the face of a beautiful boy with brown curls and wide, bright green eyes.

He reads it once and then twice and then a third time before he grabs his jacket off his bed and his car keys off his desk. He only has one destination in mind and he knows the route like the back of his hand. 

The note is clutched tight in his left hand, which he uses to knock on the bright red front door. He waits, rather impatiently, for someone to answer the door and his breath catches in his throat when he hears the lock click out of place. The door opens, then, to reveal his dark-haired, bright-eyed best friend. 

“Hey, Ni,” Harry greets him, smiling softly.

“It’s you,” Niall blurts out, his eyes wide whilst his heart hammers hard in his chest. 

Harry’s brow comes together in confusion. “What? What are you-”

“You’re my secret admirer.”

The brunette’s eyes blow wide open in shock and all the colour in his face disappears. “W-what?”

Niall watches the way Harry’s Adam’s apple bobs in his throat, watches the way he licks his lips nervously. He holds the note out for Harry, ignoring the way his hand shakes. “Read it.”

Harry glances down at the bright green sticky note and then looks back up at Niall’s face before grabbing the sleeve of his jacket and pulling him inside. He pulls the blond all the way up to his bedroom and closes the door hard behind him, turning to face Niall. “Look, Niall-”

“Just read it back to me,” Niall presses, shoving the note into Harry’s hand. 

The brunette licks his lips, fingering the small green paper with shaky fingers. He looks down at the note briefly, closes his eyes and then looks back up Niall once more. He looks the blond straight in the eyes. “You’ll never love yourself half as much as I love you,” he whispers, cursing the fact that his voice trembles. “You’ll never treat yourself right, darling, but I want you to. If I let you know I’m here for you, maybe you’ll love yourself like I love you.” His voice is barely a whisper as he finishes, his gaze still trained intently on the boy in front of him. 

And it doesn’t go unnoticed by either of them that Harry didn’t even have to read off of the sticky note.

Niall swallows hard around the lump in his throat as Harry clutches the note tighter between his fingers. He takes a deep, nervous breath. “It’s you,” he whispers again. “You used to pretend to draw shapes in the freckles on my cheeks and neck. You’re the only one who knows that I hate the dimples in my back because I think they’re too girly. You know that sometimes, when I can’t sleep, I need to drink tea because it calms me down and that I sometimes talk in my sleep because you tease me about it all the time. You know I hate hearing my own voice on tape – which is why it’s your voice on my answering machine and it’s why I play guitar and make you sing when we’re jammin’. You’re the one behind all those letters because you’re basically the only person who knows those things about me.”

Harry nods, looking down at the ground where one foot is kicking at the hardwood floor. 

“W-why didn’t you ever say anything? Why didn’t you just tell me it was you when we talked about it?

"I was scared,” Harry shrugs. 

“Of what?”

“Of your reaction.”

“Haz,” Niall whispers, closing the distance between them to take both of Harry’s hands into his own, clasping the last note between their palms in the process. He pulls Harry towards the bed, then and pushes gently to force the brunette to sit down before following and sitting next to him. Harry’s watching him carefully whilst he rubs his fingers over the tops of Harry’s hands. “How long have you felt like this?”

“Feels like forever,” Harry murmurs, dropping his head sheepishly again. 

Niall smiles softly, craning his neck ever-so-slightly to press his forehead against Harry’s and then gently move his head up to look him in the eyes. “Me too, yeah.”

“Y-yeah?” Harry breathes. 

Niall nods. “It’s a song, yeah? Sing me the rest.”

Harry swallows hard and then clears his throat. “And I’ve just let these little thing slip out of my mouth,” he sings softly, his voice raspy and beautiful – always beautiful. “‘Cause it’s you, it’s you – it’s you they add up to. And I’m in love with you and all your little things.

Niall attacks him, then, pushing him onto his back on the bed, crawling over his thighs to straddle his waist and peppers sloppy kiss after sloppy kiss all of his face – before Harry manages to grab Niall’s face in his hands and lock their lips together – because hearing the words from Harry’s own mouth is so, very much better than reading them on the paper. 

I. Basement

I fell in love with you in my basement,
Roaring and feverish.
A row of Christmas lights was the only glow that draped across the bare walls
But even in their dull luminescence,
The outlines of your cheekbones were sharp as you smiled.
We watched old 90’s television shows on a burnt out TV
Eating bargain-brand potato chips.
It was the simplest moment,
You were just a simple girl but
A complicated web of heartstrings and muscle fibers
Wove their way into my nerves
Firing
Warning signs
Into my skull.
Your fingers brush-stroked the canvas of my thigh
And then suddenly our lips were painting apples, and marigolds, and Augusts.
You left me
In embers scattered
Across the unfinished concrete.

II. Kitchen

We had unfinished business to take care of.
We couldn’t even make it to the bedroom we were so drunk,
Sprawled out on the kitchen floor, backs against the dishwasher for support.
Our hands clung to the whiskey bottles while we tried to cling to
Consciousness, trying not to say the wrong thing at the wrong time.
I’d drop a line about how this moment was perfect
And you’d laugh back and say I’m an idiot.
Eventually we ended up on our backs, hours passing in questions and answers,
Ebbs and flow of the mind curling into understanding and passing back into the disconnect.
You said, “I love you” for the first time
While you lie there
Staring straight up at the ceiling tiles, straight-faced and unaware of how
Those three words either turn into a wedding gown and tuxedo,
Or a car wreck under soil and dirt.
But I’ve learned I never learn,
So I said that I loved you back.


III. Master Bedroom

We turned the lights off
And turned our bodies on.
We were no longer afraid of the dark,
Our hands were animals running across forests of skin
The tiny hairs upright lightning bolts guiding us to the heart of the storm.
Lip met shoulder met collarbone met breath met sigh
Met lungs evacuating oxygen into the ocean of the night.
I drowned twice in the honey of your hands,
I drowned twice in the honey of your hands,
I found candles in the caverns of my chest.
We were music, we were lyrics hastily written
Into the stitching of the linen
Lining the mattress with bruises from elbows and knees.
Our joints bent clumsily, boomerang bones working on finding their way back home.
I found you hungry, ravenous,
Sinking your teeth into my ribcage, hanging on to every crimson sliver of heart.
Your scarlet lipstick should’ve been a red flag that
You were nothing but danger from the start,
But I clung onto your body like a lifeboat
Until the sun rose.

IV. Master Bathroom

You singing in the
Shower showed me I spent most
Of my day silent.

V. Office

The first month after I stopped seeing you
I got carpal tunnel from all the poems
I tried to bury you
In. I contemplated arson and arsenic,
Train tracks and bullets.
Have you ever had every rib of yours snapped?
And then used as knives inside your chest?
I loved you so bad,
I pretended the fractured bones were cupid’s arrows instead.
They were sharper than your cheeks,
I was silent for weeks,
I think my pen is bleeding internally
There are midnight massacres of memory as I lay waste hours
And hours in this study,
Trying to study the exact moment in our history where the kingdom came to ruin.
We were supposed to be golden,
But somehow we started to rust.
I should’ve realized that August is the Sunday of summer love,
I should’ve realized my wick was wrecked,
But I got stuck in the honey not knowing
Our twenty-two minutes were up.

VI. Dining Room

The god damn table had six chairs
But I was the only one there with a pitifully microwaved bowl
Of twenty-two cent ramen.
I burned my tongue twice and didn’t even mind
Because at least it meant I felt something other than the
Aching gnaw of absence.
Everybody says that sadness is like a black
That swallows, gaping;
A hole unending, exhumed of all light and teetering with silence.
But they are wrong.
It is a fog white, that rolls in slow and doesn’t rid you of sight.
It is dull and stands firm, you can see everything,
You can feel everything,
But there is just a layer of clarity missing.
It hums into your eyes and your ears and your mouth,
It is thick and it does not swallow you whole.
It chokes you,
Slowly.

VII. Master Bedroom (Revisited)

After you came back
We kept the lights on,
But our bodies were off.
The forest was on fire from where the lightning had struck,
Our muscles were tired and worn like the sheets where we lied.
I suffocated from the wax in my throat trying to
Find your form between my awkward knees and elbows.
The mattress was caving in, too many dents on its surface,
I went underneath your waterline and never resurfaced for air.
My lungs deflated, I could barely hear the music
Over the ripping of the seams and the sutures off the skin.
Your bite marks were red flags etched into the concrete of my shoulders,
I dry-drowned in the lifeboat
Looking for your body in the wreckage.


VIII. Guest Bedroom

Have you ever tried to start a roaring flame with tinder and twigs?
We said we’d try something different,
A night in the guest bedroom like we were travelers in our own home.
We were pretenders,
Heartfelt offenders looking to see if just the neuronal sensation
Of finger ridge to spinal peak was enough
To ignite memory into being.
But I didn’t know those sheets,
There were no coffee stains on the linens.
Your scent wasn’t the same
And that pillow
Left me with a constant headache.
We were cold before the winter even rolled in,
You rolled out of the bed before the sun came up;
Your body was a stranger in the dawn light.
The way your hair cast shadows across your shoulder blades was crooked,
The goosebumps, little imps marking you loathsome to my touch.
I felt your warmth leaving with the coming month.

IX. Guest Bathroom

This time you locked the
Door when you took a shower.
I heard the silence.

X. Living Room

You left again and I died.

XI. Kitchen (Revisited)

My body, back at the disconnect,
Flipping between all these fragments of memory.
Staring straight at a flickering light bulb on the ceiling
I think the burning of tungsten filaments is trying to spell out in Morse
The exact moment where our ship sank.
The cold wood of my kitchen floor has its smooth skin over my back,
The liquor bottle in my hands kisses my lips like an old friend.
You are toxic, my dying brain cells.
You, this poison in my veins that I shouldn’t come back to
But you seep into my mind again.
Here I am, the twisted shards of metal wrapped around the idea that
Two bodies could ever be something more than just gravestones in the waiting.
My throat is a candle on its last limb,
You have the matchstick hidden.
The fog comes
Rolling back in to dim any hint of light
Or of progress.

XII. First Floor Bathroom:

At least I made it to the toilet,
I’ll call that forward progress at the least.
I am trying to vomit up every last bit of you that
Sits churning in my stomach, an ulcer,
So I can flush you into the drain.
Progress report:
I taste you acid on my tongue
My teeth are decaying,
The inner linings of my cheeks, decrepit.
My flesh is searing just thinking about how
Your flesh is wrapping into somebody else’s skin like
An old, woven blanket, calling it home.
The headaches come roaring and
My forehead feels feverish,
This fever is making me sick, sick, sick
I need to stop thinking about you with him, him, him.
I’m humming old gospel hymns
To the melody of how you left me but
God I can’t find the music anymore.

XIII. Attic

I fell out of love with you in the attic
When I packed away all your things into cardboard boxes,
Going as far as to drown them in gasoline but still
Not having the heart to leave you
In embers.
The unpainted walls are half-hearted reminders that to me,
We will always be unfinished business.
I want to say that you miss me
But I know that you don’t.
For awhile the only escape was sleep
But now I don’t even sleep anymore.
I used to call you home and
I used to be so homesick;
Now I roam the rooms of the house always feigning surprise
That I don’t hear the echo of your footsteps in the corridors.
I know sometime soon I will find myself outside your house,
Not doing anything wrong but
Not doing anything right.
There is a disconnect that has existed from the moment you left,
An unending haze, an unsettling fog.
I feel like it’s always December,
I’m drowning in the gray.
Trying to find solace in Christmas lights won’t do a thing for me.
My veins and blood vessels cuss me from the bottle
But I can feel myself sinking again.
Most of my days are spent in silence while
I drip out the last drops I have left in these pens.
Sometimes I forget if I am writing poems or prayers.
These cobwebs are older than the calendar pages you and I traded
And we, once ripe, are now rotting.

—  “Rooms Of The House” - Nishat Ahmed
“All Too Well” by Taylor Swift

A/n: Sooo this was my first time writing a Michael imagine, and I cried??? Listen to the song while you’re reading if you want to die from Mikey feels. Hope you guys like this!! Xx, Maggie

 *Requested

 It had been 5 months since you and Michael broke up. You remember the sequence of events that took place on that cold February morning like it was yesterday; when Michael kissed your head for the last time to chase his dream of being a rock star and leaving you behind. He’s a member of a world-famous band; of course you were going to encourage him to follow his heart. But part of you just wanted him to stay.

 The first couple of days following the break-up were extremely difficult. Most days you just stayed in bed and cried, listening to endless break-up playlists and reminiscing about the past. Mascara-stained pillows and empty cartons of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream decorated your floor until your best friends stepped in and decided it was time to help you get back on your feet.

 As the weeks went on, you slowly took down the photos of the two of you around your apartment and gradually placed all the remainders of your relationship in a box. You deleted voicemails and messages, threw out love letters and mix tapes, and went on dates with handsome strangers. You tried to enjoy them, you really did. But at the end of the day, none of the guys compared to him.

 So here you were, 5 months out from the break-up, getting dressed to go on another blind date your friends had set up for you while wondering how you were still standing. You told people you were over him, and you were getting there, but somehow, everything still reminded you of him. You were pulled from your thoughts when you heard the doorbell ring and saw a tall deliveryman standing on your porch, holding a big brown box.

“Delivery from Mr. Michael Clifford,” the man said, handing you the box.

“Oh, uh, Mr. Clifford doesn’t live here anymore…” you immediately replied, not even really paying attention to what he said, but just shaking off your ex-boyfriend’s name.

 “Yeah, well this package is for Ms. Y/L/N, from Mr. Clifford,” he repeated.

“Oh…” you sighed in confusion. You signed for the package and thanked the man, while turning to shut the door and taking the package to the living room.

 You spent the next 30 minutes just staring at the box, wondering what could be inside. You thought of every possible reason he could be sending you something across the world when the two of you had been broken up for almost half a year and hadn’t communicated in what felt like ages. Finally, you rose to grab a knife from the kitchen to break the strong boxing tape. You opened the box flaps to reveal a ton of bubble wrapped items that you couldn’t make out. Then you saw a note with your name written in messy boy handwriting sitting on top of the mysterious items. You anxiously grabbed the note, taking a deep breath before reading it:

Y/N,

I was back home for a few days in between touring and realized that you probably wanted some of your stuff back. Sorry that it took me a few months to finally send this package. Hope you’re doing well.

Best, 

Michael

 The note smelled like your favorite cologne that he would wear and was written on a piece of stationary you had bought him for his birthday a few months back. You tried to blink through the tears that were already threatening to spill over your eyes. After getting yourself together, you reached your hands in the box to tear through the bubble wrap that enclosed stuff that he had touched only a few days ago, and the painful flashbacks immediately followed. The first thing you pulled out was a pair of white, wool gloves that you wore on your first date.

Flashback

It was a chilly, autumn day, and Michael had invited you out for coffee. The two of you stopped to sit on a park bench on your walk home.

“Are you sure it’s not too cold for you, Y/N?” Michael said, pulling you in close to keep you warm.

“As long as you continue to keep me warm, I think I’ll make it,” you said, watching him blush and turn his head so that you wouldn’t see his rosy cheeks. You smiled and buried your face into the scarf that was wrapped tightly around your neck.

The two of you sat there for what felt like hours, talking about your hopes and dreams while watching the trees around you shed their red and orange leaves. You knew everything was falling into place.

You yanked yourself out of the bittersweet memory and placed the gloves on the table. You knew you left your scarf at his place, too, but figured he just lost it. Reaching your hand into the box again, you pulled out the “All Time Low: Future Hearts” album that you must have left in his car.

Flashback

It was spring, and you and Michael were just driving around, getting lost upstate and singing at the top of your lungs. You grabbed the new All Time Low album from your bag and popped it in the CD compartment.

“I love that my girlfriend has the same music taste as me,” he said. He grabbed your hand and intertwined your fingers, kissing your hand. That was the first time you’d ever heard him call you his girlfriend out loud. The two of your screamed the lyrics to the songs, and you laughed every time Michael got the words wrong. You caught him staring at you every couple seconds, almost getting the two of you into a crash more than once.

“Michael, keep your eyes on the road, would you? You almost ran that red light!” You finally said.

“Then stop being so goddamn beautiful – its quite distracting, Y/N” he said. You leaned over to kiss his cheek, praying that the roads in front of you would never end.

A smile formed on your face while reminiscing on that day. You only wished you could go back to that day and re-live it, just once more, but you couldn’t. Taking another deep breath, you pulled out an oversized black and red plaid flannel from the box. Only this time, the item wasn’t yours; it was his.

Flashback

It was 2 a.m. You and Michael were sitting in the kitchen of your brand new apartment, drinking wine and unpacking boxes. You were wearing his oversized flannel and nothing else. You came across his old photo album and immediately knew you had to see Mikey’s childhood photos.

“No effing way,” you said, “You had glasses?!” The first picture you opened to was of him playing tee ball. He was wearing a red and white uniform while holding a bat that looked about twice his size. Michael looked up to see you laughing and knew exactly what you were holding.

“Y/N, put that down!” He laughed, trying to pull the album away from you, but you were having way too much fun with this to let him have it. Finally he gave in and joined you on the floor to look through the photos.

“Here’s me learning to play the guitar…oh, and here’s me in my awesome Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle pjs!” You were rolling on the floor laughing at his cuteness. He flipped the page to reveal the best picture of all: him slow dancing with a girl at his first middle school dance.

“Oh god, I knew this one was coming,” he said, “I still remember the song that was playing, too. I had a massive crush on that girl and listened to that song every day after. I gotta play it for you.” He reached into his pocket to grab his phone, and before you knew it, Michael was pulling you up to slow dance to “You and Me” by Lifehouse.

“Wow, what a classic,” you said, putting down your wine glass.

You both sang along, laughing and slow dancing barefoot in the refrigerator light. Right when the song ended, Michael pulled away to look at you.

“God, I love you Y/N,” he said, just above a whisper. That was the moment you realized you had fallen in love with your best friend.

“I love you too, Michael Clifford,”

You held the flannel close to your chest and eventually just let your tears fall. You looked through the rest of the box with mascara running down your face. It was filled with old Polaroids and your favorite movies, the necklace he gave you for your one-year anniversary, and your slippers that were tucked away in his closet. You couldn’t deal with the memories associated with each item. Before putting everything back in the box, you noticed there was another note at the bottom of the box. You nervously grabbed the note and read it with shaky hands:

P.s. I still love you.

hatchibomitar  asked:

hi! sorry, im a bit confused - you answered an ask saying louis was closeted, but didn't he say he was straight in an interview? was there another thing that said he's actulaly not straight? im just confused. thanks

Hello,

I am terribly sorry this took this long to answer. Life was very much getting in the way, but here I am now. I am not sure how much you know, but here is the thing. I am not going to tip toe around the topic, I’d rather pull the band aid off and tell you the story.

Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson are a couple (Harry named their relationship back in the X factor era Larry Stylinson). Have been dating for 4 years and are very much in love. Since they are members of the biggest boyband in the world, with a lot of screaming teenage fans, they cannot go around holding hands and kissing each other or even just claim they love each other. Their Management has been using a very old method: they closet them. Closeting means that they have to hide their sexuality. Remove anything queer, stop the flamboyancy, control the body language, the reactions, the fond.  Louis got a beard, (aka a female claimed as his girlfriend to hide his homosexuality). Her name is Eleanor and she is not dating Louis in real life. She is faking it and that is her job. She has a contract and they are parading her and Louis when there are cameras around and when promo requires. Harry has taken part in several PR stunts. The most famous is with Taylor Swift, I am sure you have heard about that.

Their team built this horrible destructive narrative that Harry is a womanizer, sleeping with every person with a vagina, and Louis is a homophobe, who is in fact very much in love with his girlfriend and LEFT Harry, his best friend because he was sick of gay rumors.

When you look into their personalities, their quotes that are actually coming from their mouth, not from magazines, what they claim with their clotheing and tattoos, these narratives just don’t add up. 

Every day there is/was a new article that Harry is dating x. The next day it was y. Then z. Then again with x. However their team’s interest changed in promoting certain models. If one was close to re-sign a Victoria Secret contract, let’s parade her around Harry and that will raise so much attention and give the person’s name such a boost, that they will re-sign with them immediately.

And we have Louis Tomlinson, who has claimed several times that he welcomes any fans, no matter their sexuality. He has worn rainbows many many times this year and has never showed any sign of not supporting LGBT rights.

Harry and Louis have been showing signs of discomfort with the closet, tried to undermine it as much as they could, since they cannot openly speak up against it, some sarcastic comments or snarky remarks, an eyebrow raise were thrown and even their bandmates made fun of beards, which is a constant running “joke”.

Both Harry and Louis are affected by Eleanor’s presence, Harry used to tweet song lyrics to warn us when she would come. And it worked like clockwork. Song lyrics on twitter, then in 2-3 days she showed up. Louis is affected and was well affected when Harry had the PRship with Taylor. I have never seen that boy so dead in the inside. Same for Harry. They were both miserable.

This year has been so much better than 2013, and although the closet is still up, during August Harry has shown many signs of wanting to leave the closet and come out. There was a week in August when the guy rebelled so much, that there were masterposts how he lost his chill (or never found it.)

Closeting also involves a narrative that Harry and Louis are no longer on speaking terms, not sharing friends anymore, not hanging out if the other one is there. The last time the 2 have been papped together was before the Earth was round. This whole narrative has been debunked so many times by fan reports, their body language and fond toward each other. How they mirror each other, how they are always aware on the stage where the other is, we called it orbiting. They are sharing at least 6 complementary tattoos. Not a little heart or a music note. I am talking about tattoos that are unmistakably showing the deepest commitment a 20 and 23 year old is capable of.

Anchor and Rope. (positioned on the same place)
Ship and Compass. (compass pointing to the ship)
Quote and Quotation mark (positioned on the same place)
Empty birdcage and Birds
Rose and Dagger (positioned on the same place)
Hi and OOPS
Heart and Arrow. (positioned on the same place)

We went through a very intense couple of months in the end of 2014 where for the first time the media (who is so clearly in the know about Harry and Louis and their closet) started a whole lot of Larry Stylinson love. Articles questioning Harry’s sexuality, articles making fun of the PRship and beardship, articles where finally Harry Styles’ and Louis Tomlinson’s name are in the same headline. They started to interact during interviews, they were singing some songs next to each other, then they were stood next to each other on HQ pictures, red carpets, even entire shows. They touched, they serenaded to each other on national TV and people started to pick it up. From one look and fond they were able to see through the web of lies and realize that these 2 boys love each other deeply.

I am sorry for giving you a who lot of history lesson here, but it was needed to answer your question.

The boys’ twitters are not only accessible by them, Themselves admitted their team uses it for “promo”, and if you need proof: tweeting in the middle of the concert is maybe not the most believable when the band member is jumping on stage in front of you and is clearly not pushing the buttons of their phone. There are times when their team uses their twitter to somethiing else, like denying rumors.

There was a twitter rant we call Bullshit 2.0 on November 10th, RIGHT AFTER the infamous Four Hangout livestream, and during this livestream Louis Tomlinson, the real Louis Tomlinson was given plenty of opportunity to address the articles written about him, they were asked at least THREE times what the rumor was that bothered them the most. Louis did not bring anything up, clearly did not want to answer and that way give a denial of the whole rainbow Apple logo T-shirt topic, because he DID weear the t-shirt on purpose. So after this fatal fail of a livestream their team went and lashed out on his account and that was when it was claimed that Louis Tomlinson is in fact straight. Problem here? No one accused himself of being anything but straight. The articles were claiming he wore the rainbow shirt in support of the CEO of Apple, Tim Cook who recently came out as gay.

Louis had NO REASON to say such thing, since he never showed any signes of being unfomfortable with LGBT fans or queerness in general.

You have Louis Tomlinson not denying anything when he had several opportunities VS @Louis_Tomlinson who lashes out in the sickest and most damaging way possible, alienating LGBT fans, making them feel shit about being who they are, or maybe they don’t even know that yet, maybe they are just discovering their sexuality. This message is clearly not helping them and there has not been an official apology made towards the fans. No apology since Nov 10th. 

If he was accused of not being straight, then his lashing out would make much more sense, but he wasn’t. He denied something he was not accused of.

It’s the same: I ask my daughter if she wanted to play with the puzzle and then she answers that she has not broken the flower pot.

Well, not like I asked but thanks my dear girl for admitting that you DID in fact brake the flower pot.

And maybe playing up the loved up with his girlfriend with a little more enthusiasm and forgetting to look at Harry with the biggest fond, not having his voice crack when talking about him, not getting complementary tattoos and not mirror each other as if they were married for 2 000 years would DEFINITELY make it more believable that Louis Tomlinson is in fact straight.

Until then, it was a disgusting and very very unnecessary step that again just caused alienation, bullying, homophobia and confusion in the fandom. That person who tweeted thos horrible things was not Louis. Louis is his actions and own words, not his twitter.

i’m dying at the idea of rin and the iwatobis running some csi level investigations trying to figure out if makoto is into sousuke” this happened and now i can’t stop thinking about it so.

  • rin is getting really tired of sousuke doing the “he loves me, he loves me not” thing and pulling all the feathers off the iwatobi-chans haru gives him to try and get an answer (the tally’s at 345-346 for not and rin has no more iwatobi-chans and sousuke’s a mess ok) so he decides to get to the bottom of the “does makoto like sousuke” mystery

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Of Coffee, Music, and Dates (CS Modern AU) One-shot.

Follower Appreciation Prompt: “ur just a random stranger and i’ve been ranting to you for like 20 minutes about how much i hate this one band but now several groups of people came up to you asking for pics and autographs, and oh shit it turns out you’re in the band i’ve been going on about” au 

Requested by @timeless-love-story. I hope you enjoy this! Please let me know what you think!

Huge thanks to @lenfaz for looking this over. 

Read at FFN   AO3

Rating: F for fluff

Word Count: ~ 1000

Of Coffee, Music, and Dates

“Is this seat taken, lass?” A heavily accented voice murmured in front of her.

Emma rolled her eyes. She really didn’t have time to deal with some guy trying to flirt with her, especially not when she had a huge British Lit final that she needed to study for. Glancing up from her copy of The Heart of Darkness, her eyes widened as she took in the owner of the voice.

His hair was dark and had that artfully disheveled look to it. A chiseled jaw line led to the most beautiful blue eyes that she’d ever seen. He was dressed simply in a pair of ripped jeans, black henley, and black chucks. A black leather motorcycle jacket completed the look, as did the eyebrow arched in her direction. She bit her lip, he was easily the hottest guy she’d ever seen.

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5sos Preference 54: Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater

tbh this preference made me sick to write… i’ve been cheated on and its the worst feeling in the world and i literally got sick while writing this

Ashton:

People always say that crying over a boy isn’t worth it, but somehow that just didn’t seem to make sense to you. Crying over Ashton seemed very well necessary, at least to you. How could he do this to you? He’d told you for so long that you were the love of his life… but now it was obvious to you he had lied.

“I just don’t understand it, Ashton! Why?” You choked out, your voice shrill as you struggled to maintain composure. Staring indignantly up at the tall boy who was equally as distressed, your heart was crumbling to pieces. “Why would you cheat on me?”

Out of all the ways you’d pictured things ending between you and Ashton, you’d never thought he’d cheat on you. He just hadn’t seemed like that type of person, but just like so many other things you were wrong. “I’m sorry, (Y/N) it was a mistake…” He whispered, his hands shaking by his side while the girl you’d walked in on him with struggled to pull up her pants whilst running out the door.

Growing frustrated with his lack of answers, you turned and stomped back into the room you’d (previously) shared with Ashton and began ripping all of his clothes and things out of your drawers and closet. “What are you doing?” He cried out, frantically catching his things as you threw them precariously. You only ignored him until you’d finally gotten to the last item, the blown glass figurine of a drum boy. Staring at it in pained silence for a few moments, you finally took a deep breath as the rage grew inside of you.

Before you realized what you were doing, you had smashed the figuring to tiny shards against the floor. “I want you out of my house,” You muttered weakly, tears finally brimming your eyes as you crumpled into a ball on the floor. You barely heard him close the door behind him as you sobbed loudly.

Calum:

You clenched your fists tightly as you leaned against the wall, watching as your (ex)fiance of three years made that all too familiar face as he finished inside the random girl you’d never met before. You’d have to burn that mattress later. You’d never been an emotional person, quicker to grow enraged than you were to feel remorse or sadness. That’s exactly why you were waiting patiently for them to notice you, your knuckles turning white from how tightly you clenched your fists in anger.

“Holy shit, who is she?” The nasal voiced girl screeched, her sweaty hair sticking to her exposed skin. Calum spun around quickly, his eyes wide with panic as he met your gaze. “Baby, I thought you said you lived alone?”

You only cackled at that, looking at the floral sheets they were laying on. She was naive, that was obvious. “Your baby lied to you, sweetheart. I’m his fiance… Well, ex-fiance.” The girl gasped in shock, ripping the blankets off the bed and wrapping them around her as she leaped away from Calum who looked pained and unsure how to react.

“Calum please show this girl to the door while I pack your shit, then I never want to see you again.” You glared harshly at the stunned boy who only followed your orders. Shoving every article of his clothing into a bag, you flung all his belongings precariously inside as well before throwing it down the stairs to him. Once he’d walked outside, you stepped back into your room only to groan once you’d realized he’d forgotten his bass. “Karma’s a bitch,” You shrugged, throwing it roughly out of your second story window.

Luke:

You’d never been one for snooping and invading Luke’s privacy, but with the way his phone had been blowing up all day you couldn’t resist. Quickly unlocking his phone, you opened the string of messages he’d shared with a girl named Tracy. She’d texted him nearly thirty times in the last ten minutes, all asking for him to come over and instantly your heart was racing. Was he cheating?

You read his message, “Please leave me alone! I told you to stop texting me.” You felt relieved, but only for a few moments as you scrolled to older messages shared between the two. “It was a drunk mistake, I love my girlfriend. It meant nothing. It was just sex. I never should have done it.” At this your heart plummeted. He’d cheated on you? 

You had successfully remained a virgin in your relationship with Luke, but now you couldn’t help but feel like it was a bad thing. Had he grown bored of you since you never wanted to do.. it? Locking his phone once again, you rolled over in your bed and flicked the light on. He shifted slightly, peeling his eyes open to look up at you curiously. “Babe?”

“I want you to get out,” You sniffed, slapping his phone onto his chest and glaring harshly as his eyes widened in realization. “I don’t want to see you again, Luke, we’re over.” It pained you as soon as the words left your mouth, his own face crumbling as he realized that you no longer wanted him around.

Michael:

“Please don’t say it,” You whispered as you stared up at your older sister in defeat. She only sighed sympathetically, rubbing your back as she cuddled up beside you on your tiny bed. Your, now ex, boyfriend had just called to tell you that he had to end things between you two. He’d been seeing another girl behind your back for nearly two weeks now and he was so sure he was in love with her. 

Your sister had told you long ago that he would hurt you but you never believed her, but here you were: heart broken and alone. You were just waiting for the I Told You So that she must be thinking. “I would never kick you while you’re already down, (Y/N).” She told you, holding you close as you began to cry hysterically once again.

You’d really thought he had been the one, Michael had been  your everything for as long as you could remember but somehow he threw it all away so easily. With a heavy heart, you crawled out of your sister’s grasp and walked over to the large diary filled with lyrics you two had written for each other. 

“Is it time?” She asked, barely containing her excited grin as you nodded at her sadly. It was time. Following her into the back yard, you quickly leafed through the book until you found one specific page. Tearing it out, you stuffed it in your pocket before throwing the book into the fire she’d started in your burn pile. Watching as the leather bound book hissed and sweltered in the flames, you could feel a wait being lifted from your shoulders.