#now going to read and annotate Life Together before bed

[dimsilver]

☀️

[siddyyyyyyyy]

Hello, how are you? I hope I don't bother you, can I ask for jason+reader freaking out about a book?

Reading Session

Jason Todd x Reader

wc: 0.6 K summary: Jason finds his favourite book at your place and freaks out warnings: none, fluff, no y/n used a/n: this is such a cute idea, thanks for the request!!! i',#m so sorry about this being so short though, hope you'll still enjoy it anyway😭💕

Jason and you are both huge bookworms. It wasn‘t a surprise anymore when you recommended a book to him but he already read it. The same goes the other way, though. Both of your apartments are filled with random books in almost every corner, multiple stacks that are messily organised. It brings a more domestic feeling for Jason and he actually loves the way it looks like. It‘s strangly comforting, having some of the books from your collection resting in his room, a constant reminder that you are in his life.

Even now as he is laying peacefully in your bed, just reading through some random book to pass time, it feels just right. While you are taking a shower after having been on a long walk with him, Jason gives up on reading the amateur written book and places it away, turning to the big stacks of books by your bedside. He reads through a few titles on the backs of them, his eyes skimming through it quickly until he pauses.

What‘s his favourite book doing here? Did you steal it? No… is he just finding out about this? You‘ve been together for several months, been friends before that a few years, why does he only know now? This is insane.

When you walk out of the bathroom, Jason is already sitting up in your bed and keeps his eyes on the stack of books. Deciding not to adress it for now, you continue with your routine before slipping into bed with him.

»Have you read this book?«

He holds his favourite in his hand, looking at you while you apply a cream onto your face. You glance behind your shoulder, scanning the cover briefly.

»Yeah, some time ago. It‘s really good, you should also read it.«

You answer back with a small nod and go back to taking care of yourself, already assuming he read it before and doesn‘t think it‘s a masterpiece.

But no, he stands up, just to stand behind you and keeps his eyes on the book for now.

»You know, that‘s my favourite.«

He casually drops, expecting nothing much in return. Your action pauses and you ignore every other step you have left in your routine. With a quick turn in your chair, you face him. Jason pays attention to you again but keeps the book in his hands.

»No way.« You stand up now, cream still not fully rubbed in on your cheek. Jason tilts his head, confused because of your reaction.

»It‘s also my favourite! When were you going to tell me about this?« Suddenly, the atmosphere in the room spikes up, your excited energy bringing a small smile to his face. He places the book down at the table, shrugging his shoulders.

»Oh, I don‘t know. When were you going to tell me, huh? I saw this book just now, how long has this been here?«

The taller man crosses his arms as if he is actually scolding you about it, his tone playful.

You both end up talking and rambling to each other about specific parts and plot points made in the book, also talking about the the way it was written. You show him the notes and annotations you put into each page, seeing his eyes light up and perk up as he skims through it.

The evening draws out late into the night, just talking and basically fangirling over some silly words that happen to be your favourites.

Laying together in bed, having his head laying over your stomach as he listens intently to you and also shares some thoughts with you. Hand craddling and playing with his hair, you end up dozing off together on each other, the book resting somewhere on the bed too.

←MASTERLIST

[pascalispretty]

I Call It Walking

Javi Gutierrez x F!Reader

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 1817

Tags: pining, unrequited love, dark implications, stalking

Summary: It feels like fate that you find his letters. But sometimes, fate needs a little nudge.

A/N: Hoo boy, this one was a struggle, so please be gentle! Written for @jolapeno's Dear-Uary challenge, I'm sorry it's so late. Thank you to @misscharlielulu, @penvisions and @notjustjavierpena for looking this over for me 💙title from 'An Unhealthy Obsession' by the Blake Robinson Synthetic Orchestra. Inspired by that song and the 1993 movie 'The Crush' (ao3).

Dearest,

I have been thinking about you all day. This film shoot has been going on for so long, and I feel like I have hardly seen you. Still, you looked beautiful. You always do. It’s one of the many reasons why I sit here alone with my pen instead of telling you how I feel in person. One kind smile from you and I would hardly know what to say – the pen and paper are far less intimidating, and far more forgiving.

               Long shoots on location are more difficult than I anticipated, I suppose. It’s beautiful here – exactly what I imagined when I was writing the script – but I feel like I barely see you. It’s been hard, being stuck in my hotel room working on rewrites when I want to be out exploring the island with you.

Indeed, I should be working on the love scene right now, instead of writing about my own love life. My feelings for you give me so much to tap into; it will make it hard to watch when they get around to filming it. I’m not sure I will be able to watch Alicia telling Cary why they can never be together. It will remind me too much of reality.

I will take the coward’s way out, again. Nick tells me that I should just tell you myself, but I could never say any of this to you. I couldn’t bear no longer having you in my life. And so I will roll this paper up and throw it out to sea in a bottle, like all the others.

Mournfully,

J

You smooth the letter out again, the paper stiff and crinkled from where water had seeped into the bottle. The ink is still clear. His words are still clear. His handwriting is careful—neater than you expected, given the barely legible scrawl he leaves in the margins of the scripts.

He put time into this. Effort.

All for a letter he tossed into the sea, as if he never wanted anyone to read it.

But you had. Of all the people on the island, you had found it. That had to mean something, didn’t it? Fate was funny like that. Selective. Deliberate.

You trace the loop at the end of his J, your fingertip lingering there. It had been past midnight when you’d come home from the beach, and you don’t know how long you’ve sat here for, contemplating the letter in front of you. You should go to bed—makeup wants your ass in the chair by five-thirty sharp, and you have a long day of filming ahead.

Instead, you start from the beginning and read it again.

Dearest Javi,

I don’t quite know where to begin. God, I still remember the first day we met. You looked so handsome in your orange shirt, so happy to be on set. I was so intimidated to meet you before I saw you. I read the script and thought you must be some kind of half-mad genius, intimidating and exacting.

It was no wonder, really, not when the script came with annotations referencing films I’d never heard of from sixty years ago. It was worth the effort it took to track them down though; you have impeccable taste in film. I’m not ashamed to tell you that I wept like a child when Aunt Lucy came to the door at the end of Paddington 2.

And then I met you, and you were so kind and warm. You weren’t intimidating at all, though it was clear you were the genius I thought you were as soon as I read the first page of the script.

Even a letter you never intended to be read is like poetry.

I should apologise, I guess, for fishing the bottle out. I was in one of the hammocks, reading, when you came down to the beach. I wondered what on earth you were doing, wading into the water with your pants rolled up around your knees!

After you threw the bottle into the sea, I got curious. I know, I know, curiosity killed the cat. I swam in and got it – you really should have thrown it further if you didn’t want anyone to read it – and got your letter.

I couldn’t believe what I was reading – I never expected you to feel the same way about me as I do you. You’re brilliant, and I’m just some nobody they cast because Helena dropped out. But one of us has to make the first move, so – I really like you, Javi. I think you’re handsome and funny and the most talented writer in a generation.

I’ve written my number on the back. I really hope you’ll call.

All my love,

Your Alicia

You wait.

You wait and wait and wait. Every time your phone chirps, your pulse leaps – only to crash again. Spam call. Group chat. Pervy costar from your last TV show. Never him.

It’s only when the director snaps at you to turn the fucking thing off and leave it off set that you realise he might not call you.  

At first, you tell yourself that he’s busy. You’re busy too – there’s only a short time left before the cast and crew will be packing up to move to the other side of the island to carry on shooting, and he’s spending a lot of time working on rewrites of the final scene.

You don’t envy him that. From what you heard, the studio execs and the producers are arguing over the ending, crows picking over the bones of the script. The studio wants a happy ending, something sugary sweet for the audience to sigh dreamily over. You can’t imagine this movie having a happy ending, not when the way Javi wrote it is so perfect.

With everything that’s going on, you don’t get the chance to observe him closer, to see whether he got your letter and is simply ignoring you. You know that Javi wouldn’t do that, wouldn’t just ignore something so heartfelt without acknowledging it at all.

When you do see him, he’s usually got a notepad or laptop in hand. More often than not, he has Gabriella with him, hovering over him as he writes. You’re not entirely sure why Gabriella’s here, accompanying him like a second shadow to set and to dinners and to the beach.

With no sign that he’s received it by the time production has moved across the island and settled into the new digs, you resign yourself to it having gone missing. It could have gone astray in the post, or been lost in the move, or taken by someone else.

And so you find something else to send to him.  

Dear Javi,

You’ll have to forgive the postcard, it was all I could find on short notice. You haven’t been on set much, but I hope you’re okay. It’s been strange, moving to a new part of the island; half of my costumes seem to be missing in transit. It made me wonder if my letter had gotten lost in transit too?

Hoping to hear from you soon,

xxxx

Sweetheart,

Another location, another stunning beach I barely get to visit. It makes me miss all of our talks up by the cliffs. It was the best cure for writer’s block. I’ve started taking walks by the beach whenever I get an hour or two to myself, but it isn’t really the same. The rewrites are finished, at least. When you come back from settling affairs back home, we’ll have to celebrate.

I’m not sure I could have gotten them finished on time without your support. It was so good of you to answer my calls, even when it was the middle of the night for you back home. Remind you to give you a pay rise soon. It’s the least I can do, really.

Love, Javi

The second letter hits you like a truck. Your breath catches in your throat, and your fingers tremble where they grip the paper. It had clearly been intended for someone else, some other woman. It only takes you a few days of careful observation to realise it was likely meant for Gabriella.

It’s hard not to keep noticing her once you’ve started. She’s always clinging to Javi; laughing with him over lunch or leaning over him as he scribbles notes on the script. She’s a constant, looming presence.

She had also clearly stolen your letters.

It hurt when he’d never responded to the first, though you put that down to some postal mishap, the chaos of the entire crew moving to the new location. But when you get a chance to ask him if he’d gotten your postcard, he just looks at you blankly.

You make him smile easily enough after that little mishap, crack a joke about ‘You’ve Got Mail’ that makes him laugh and gets the two of you talking about 90s rom-coms until Gabriella, predictably, escorts him away. She looks him over with concern, as though you might have done something to him, as they walk away.

It stings. You can make him laugh so easily. You could be so good for him.

But Gabriella won’t let you. She clings to him like a second shadow, always there to stop anyone else getting too familiar with him. You don’t miss the looks of pity she shoots at you when you’re not looking, the condescension making your jaw clench.

The grand, tragic scene plays like a dream. You’re up on the cliffs, the waves crashing below you, the wind in your hair. By the time you’re done, you can hear crewmembers sniffling, see the makeup girl blink away a tear.

Most importantly of all, Javi is beaming at you from behind the monitor. You want to bask in the glow of his smiles like a cat curled up in a patch of sunlight. He starts to get up out of his chair, to come over to you.

But then Gabriella rests a hand on his shoulder, whispers something in his ear. And he turns away from you.

The island you’re filming on is quiet. Safe. The cast and crew all like going for wanders along the coast. It’s peaceful, walking along the pale golden sand and listening to the waves. The beach is hemmed in on one side by dense, green foliage, where exotic, colourful birds come to roost in the day.

Now, though, the only thing in the trees is you.

The trees rustle softly, shifting in the evening breeze. Somewhere behind you, a bird takes flight. But Gabriella doesn’t hear a thing.

She just keeps walking. Oblivious.

You curl your fingers around the branch in front of you, steadying yourself. The bark is rough beneath your palm.

You take a step forward. She still doesn’t hear you.

You take another.

[oddinary4bts]

Sinful Lust | ch 5 (myg & jjk)

☆summary: On a rainy night in May, everything is bound to break. Hearts that once beat as one, now break in time with the tide. What will be left in the end?

☆pairing: bisexual boyfriend!Yoongi x female!reader x Jungkook

☆rating: 18+ (MINORS DNI)

☆genre: mostly angst, smut, snippets of life!au

☆warnings: mentions of what happened between Jungkook and OC in ch 4, cheating, cursing, momentary trip to the hospital, mentions of bullying and getting beaten up, mentions of alcoholic parent, mentions of domestic abuse, explicit content: protected sex in a semi-public environment, fingering, squirting, anal sex, car sex

☆word count: 8.3k

☆a/n: This one is really sad. We learn more about Jungkook's past, and we see everything crashing down. Please don't hate me for this :') Annnnd thank you @moonleeai as always for beta-ing this fic <3

☆a/n pt2: I do not own BTS or any of the members. I do not know what they are like irl (I do not claim to know their personalities, sexual orientations, beliefs, etc.). This fic is just a work of fiction, so please keep that in mind while reading

☆series masterpost

☆☆☆☆☆

                May is rainy. You watch the world outside – it’s turned grey weeks ago, and the sun has yet to show up. Or at least it feels that way, and you’re slightly annoyed as you once again look out the window, only to be greeted by drops of water racing each other on the glass.

You don’t mind the rain. You never really did. But you don’t like feeling like you’re not doing anything, and the book you’ve been trying to read since you got home from work just isn’t cutting it.

Or maybe it’s the fact that Yoongi is once again going to be home late tonight. You don’t know what project he’s been working on – whenever you’ve asked questions about it, he was super evasive. But like clockwork, every night for three weeks Yoongi got home late after work, claiming that he is too tired to do anything with you.

You don’t blame him. He’s been working crazy hours, but you just miss his presence. Now, whenever you get to actually spend some time together he also invites Jungkook, and you feel like your relationship with Yoongi just isn’t what it used to be.

When you brought it up to him last week, he said that he was too tired to talk about it, and he kissed the side of your head before rolling to the other side of the bed. The dismissal was clear, and it’s been making you feel dreadful, like every breath you take is missing just a little bit of oxygen, making your lungs burn and heart beat harder in your chest as it tries to compensate.

You know what changed everything. You saw it in slow motion – that night you’d woken Yoongi up because of Jungkook. That same night you had fucked Yoongi on Facetime while Jungkook watched and guided the two of you.

Yoongi hasn’t looked at you the same way since then. You hate it, hate the distance that’s wedged itself between you and him, but you don’t know how to fix it.

No amount of cuddling or affection or loving words seem to be enough to bring Yoongi back from the place his mind wandered to when he saw what you and Jungkook had been texting about.

It was a mistake. You know it today, and you wish you could take it back.

Wish you could take the whole ordeal back.

But you can’t, and you’ve been trying to be better. To treat Yoongi better, to make sure you don’t overstep the boundaries, though you reckon that night you went flying over the line at the speed of light.

You sigh, leaning your head back against the couch. You’ve been trying to read your favourite book – the one Yoongi bought for you on your first date, annotated in the margins with all of his thoughts on it. But every time you see his handwriting, every time you read what he left behind, your heart just hurts a little more.

You’ve suggested calling off this whole thing with Jungkook. Yoongi laughed and said that he didn’t want to stop. It was strange to see him like that – like he isn’t the same man you once fell in love with anymore. But then again you reckon you haven’t been the same either.

How could you be the same after experiencing Jeon Jungkook?

Jungkook, too, has changed. He doesn’t smile with you as much as he used to, and sometimes you feel like he’s forcing himself. Like he doesn’t want to be there, but just like you and Yoongi, he doesn’t know how to stop.

It’s a mess. Everything is a mess, and you wish you’d know how to fix it.

But you don’t, and so you force your eyes to skim over the lines of the book, reading words that used to be familiar and now feel like excerpts from a different life.

*****

                Yoongi likes the rain. It’s calm, soothing, and he feels like the world stops rushing when it’s under the clouds. Like he can sit back, relax and enjoy the coffee on the table in front of him. He’s ordered it black, and though it’s a little too warm, he still enjoys every single sip he takes of it.

Jimin isn’t here yet. But Yoongi doesn’t mind – he likes watching the droplets of water racing on the window. It keeps his thoughts busy, keeps them from running back to you and Jungkook and the night you fucking sexted with Jungkook while he was sleeping next to you.

His first thought had been to be mad at you, but then he’d figured he could twist this to his advantage. Because he knew you and Jungkook both felt guilty, and it now shows in the way you take care of him.

And maybe he is sick and twisted for enjoying the sex life like this, but he reckons he deserves it after you’ve cheated on him.

He’s aware he should confront you. Should tell you how it made him feel, even though you were quick to make sure Yoongi was involved too. The situation just broke some part of him, and he highly doubts it will ever be fixed. For now, he’s just content as he sits back and enjoys what’s left of the relationship before it goes up in flames.

He never knew he was such a petty person. Or maybe getting involved with Jeon Jungkook just brought out the worst of him. Which, he reckons, he should have expected. Because Jungkook has a tendency to do that to all of the relationships Yoongi has seen him involved in.

It’s no wonder he’s never had a girlfriend.

The bell by the doors of the café rings, and Yoongi knows it’s Jimin before he’s even looked towards the entrance. Maybe because he’s too aware of Jimin now – he’s been searching for the man in every room, every crowd, ever since that night that changed everything.

He has to confront you. He’s aware that lying about staying at work late isn’t all that better than what you did. But Jimin is like the rain – he’s soothing, calming, and maybe it helps with fixing the jagged pieces of Yoongi’s broken heart and trust, and he likes keeping that part of his life to himself.

At least for now.

Jimin’s smile is blinding when he sits in front of Yoongi. He’s got a tote bag, and he pulls two books out before he even says hello.

“I got us some reading for tonight,” Jimin finally says, and he shakes the water from his hair. And then the smile falls into the soft one that renders Yoongi unable to think as he says, “Thank you for the coffee.”

Because Yoongi memorized Jimin’s coffee order the first time they got coffee together. It came far too naturally to him – you’re the one he used to remember everything about so easily. But things have changed. You’ve been slipping down a slope, and he knows the end won’t be positive.

“Thank you for the book,” Yoongi says right as he takes the one Jimin offers him.

His blood turns to ice in his veins. He tries not to let it show on his face, even though he freezes right on the spot, as if he’s been suddenly sent straight to orbit with no atmosphere around him to keep his body warm anymore.

It’s the book he and you read on your first date, five years ago. He’d filled it with notes for you, and he knows you keep it in the first drawer of your night table, as if it’s a Bible you like to read to fall asleep every night.

“Something wrong?” Jimin gently asks, his smile slowly wavering until it disappears entirely.

“Sorry…” Yoongi apologizes, though he doesn’t really know what for.

He’s not entirely sure Jimin is the one he should be apologizing to right now.

“It’s just…” he adds when Jimin doesn’t say anything, looking confused. “That’s my girlfriend’s favourite book.”

Jimin looks alarmed. His eyes widen, and he tries to take the book back, though Yoongi holds onto it.

“I’m so sorry,” Jimin says. “I thought… my granddad said it was a good book, so I figured why not?”

“It really is,” Yoongi quickly replies, hoping it would bring back Jimin’s easy smile.

Jimin gulps, looking down at the copy he saved for himself. “Well…” He chuckles, and it’s a little awkward. “I guess we can say your girlfriend has good taste.”

There’s a deeper meaning behind Jimin’s words. Yoongi hears it right away, and something stirs in his chest. Blush creeps on his cheeks, and he tries to push it away, as far away as he can, but he finds he’s too weak to do so.

“She does.”

At that Jimin looks up to meet his gaze again. “Do you still want to read it, though? I know things haven’t been great with her…”

Yoongi has been confiding in Jimin. He hasn’t been able to speak to anyone from his group of friends, mostly because all of them are friends with Jungkook too. They don’t know about what’s been going on, and Yoongi doesn’t want to tell them either.

Though he thinks Namjoon might know, even if he’s never said anything about it.

So he’s been confiding in Jimin instead. Every night that they meet for coffee, or those that Yoongi goes to help at Seojun’s bookstore. It’s been like therapy for him, though he reckons Jimin might not be the person he should be confiding in.

Not when the crush he has for the man feels a little too real.

Another thought that he pushes away, or tries to. He’s not sure that it works, but it does chase Jungkook and you out of his thoughts.

“We can read it if you want,” he tells Jimin. “I promise it’s worth the read.”

Jimin offers him a careful smile. “Sounds good.” He pauses, cheeks tinting with pink as he looks down at the coffee Yoongi got for him. “Next time I’ll let you choose the book.”

*****

                Jungkook shifts, keeping his features cool and composed as the shutter of the camera goes off. He tilts his head to the side for the next picture, then looks away. He’s been at it for what feels like hours now, and he frankly can’t wait to be done.

Though the work has been a well-deserved reprieve from his churning thoughts.

He moves into another pose, staring down the camera with a slight frown on his features, head tilted back. The camera shutter goes off again, and he’s about to move into another position when the director yells, “Cut!”

Jungkook breaks into a smile, though he doesn’t really know why. Maybe because he actually likes this – the posing, the modelling, feeling as if he’s the shit for a moment.

It helps him forget that you are Yoongi’s, and not his.

Jungkook walks away from where they were shooting, and the fashion designer that chose the outfits for the day approaches him, a smile on her lips.

A pretty smile that matches her equally pretty features. Boring though – they’re lacking something that he can’t quite put a finger on.

“You did great,” she compliments him as they near a table with snacks and water bottles for the staff.

Jungkook grabs a water bottle, opening it and taking a long, refreshing sip. “It was all you,” he flirts back, though he wasn’t quite sure she was flirting to begin with.

When he notices her features turning a light shade of pink, he knows he hit his mark.

“Please,” she says, scoffing as she shakes her head in a self-deprecating manner. “I barely did anything.”

He smirks. “Give yourself some credit, you did a good job.”

She wets her lips, the tint on her cheeks darkening. “Well then, thank you.”

There’s a silence as he drinks some more, and she grabs a quarter of an egg sandwich that she bites in with her head turned away from him. He imitates her, grabbing some for himself, only then realizing that he’s famished.

So he eats his fill with her next to him, in a silence that ought to be uncomfortable but isn’t quite so. And maybe it’s the way she eyes him, like he’s the dessert, that leads him to suggest heading somewhere quiet.

He sees the debate, the conflict in her eyes, because clearly this would be unprofessional. And she’s pretty, wearing a fashionable outfit that looks like she belongs in a lawyer office more than on a photoshoot. It hugs her frame right, and when she turns he gets a good look at her ass, at how the fabric stretches on her…

And he feels his dick slowly hardening.

“If we get caught, I’ll lose my job,” she answers, voice low as her gaze falls to the floor as if she’s ashamed.

As if she didn’t approach him for this in the first place.

“Then you’ll have to keep silent, mmh?” Jungkook fires back, voice low and sultry.

He sees the instant she folds. It’s in the way she bites her lips, and somehow the gesture is too familiar, sending a pang through his heart as you take over his thoughts.

Yet he follows the woman, watching her ponytail swing left and right with every step she takes. She leads him to an unused dressing room, and he catches sight of the rainy world outside as she locks the door behind them.

A rainy world, to match the rainy thoughts that have been clouding him.

She takes a step towards him, and though he’s faced away from her, she touches him, hand moving shyly on his back. He’s not sure he likes the shyness – he prefers your confidence, the way you touch him like he’s yours.

And maybe he is. Maybe he’s been for a lot longer than he’ll ever admit to anyone.

He turns around, forcing his lips into what he hopes is a lustful smirk. Eyes slightly narrowed, he looks down at the girl, and he realizes he doesn’t even remember her name.

He doesn’t care. He still crashes his lips on hers, pushing her back until she hits the door. And a moment later they are naked from the waist down, and her legs are around him as he pounds into her, her fingers digging in his shoulders as she lets out breathy sounds.

She feels good. He can’t deny it – her pussy squeezes his dick just right. But once again there’s just something lacking, and frustration slowly takes over him until he carries her to a desk, so that he can put her down and fuck her harder, trying to get rid of the frustration.

But it never goes away. No matter who he fucks, the frustration clings to him like a second skin, like he’s been cursed and will forever be haunted.

So he fucks the girl, holds her waist possessively even though he doesn’t give a shit about her. His eyes trail to the world outside – the raindrops are rolling on the window, partaking in a race he’s never understood.

He doesn’t mind the rain. Prefers cloudy or sunny weather over it, only because it makes riding his bike more fun, but he doesn’t mind the rain. He just feels as if the world goes too slow when it’s raining, as if his thoughts are one second away from catching up to him.

They always are. Always are far too close for comfort, as if he’s about to lose the race. And he knows he is – he feels how everything has been shifting between you and Yoongi. It all changed that night you and he sexted while Yoongi was asleep. Yoongi has been more demanding, colder, and Jungkook can tell that Yoongi’s detaching himself from the situation. Perhaps as a coping mechanism, so that he won’t feel the emotions.

Jungkook envies his friend for being able to do so, as his own emotions have been choking him. Until he can barely breathe, until he doesn’t even feel the girl as she squirms under him.

He doesn’t come. He gets bored before he does, pulling out so that he can finger her instead, mechanically. He does it until she comes, until she squirts all over the floor, and then he tells her he has to go. Tells her thank you, and tells her that he’ll reach out to hang out again soon.

He won’t. It’s just something he found helps with ghosting in general. Which, he knows he’ll ghost her.

He’s ghosted everyone that got close to him after he’s started fucking you and Yoongi. Because no one ever compares to you, and he frankly doesn’t even want to find someone else.

He leaves the girl behind, leaves that dressing room to find his, where he takes a quick shower before changing into his own clothes. He grabs his motorcycle helmet, curses the rain as a few minutes later he’s rolling on the streets.

And when he’s home, he immediately uncorks his whiskey bottle, pouring himself a large glass that he drinks watching the rain outside, wondering why is it that he got attached to the only thing he’ll never have.

*****

                It’s almost midnight when you realize that Yoongi might not be coming back home tonight. You texted him twice in the evening, and though your messages were delivered he still hasn’t read them.

You know he never checks his phone when he’s at work, but you highly doubt he’s still at work at this hour. And though you’re wearing one of his shirts, he’s never felt as much of a stranger as he does right now.

You try to forget it by looking at pictures of moments passed, of days and nights with him years ago when you believed he was the love of your life.

And though you still believe he is, you’re realizing that he doesn’t feel the same about you anymore. That somewhere between that first night with Jungkook and today, Yoongi changed.

You’re not stupid. You know exactly what caused the change, and you can’t help but hate yourself for it. To hate Jungkook, to hate Yoongi, for accepting to get involved with Jungkook. You should have known better – should have chosen someone you didn’t know.

Fear takes a hold of your heart, and you sit up in bed.

Is Yoongi with Jungkook, doing to you what you did to him weeks ago?

It hurts. You reckon it hurts and it’s hard to breathe, but then again you could never be mad at him for doing something with Jungkook without you being there. You think it’d be normal that the two friends got closer after having fucked – you yourself got a lot closer to Jungkook. But the thought still makes your blood feel like liquid acid, burning up your insides until you force yourself to grab your phone.

You go to your text messages as you worry at your bottom lip, pulling at the bit of dry skin you find there. Even through the anxiety that’s slowly taking hold of you, you make a mental note to do a lip mask soon, to help with the dryness.

It’s the only normal thought you are bound to have tonight, isn’t it? Because you immediately text Jungkook, asking if he knows where Yoongi is. And through a blurry vision you wait for his reply, your teeth now nibbling at your nails in an anxious manner you thought you’d gotten rid of years ago.

To your surprise, Jungkook replies in under five minutes.

[00:07 am] Jungkook: no clue [00:08 am] Jungkook: is something wrong

You don’t know how to answer. You think everything went wrong a while ago. You think Yoongi is sand slipping through your fingers, or perhaps he’s turned into the void between the stars where there used to be light. You think that though spring is reigning over the world outside, winter has found the land of your soul, and you’re not sure it’s ever going to leave.

[00:09 am] You: idk… [00:09 am] You: he said he’d be at work until late tonight but it’s past midnight… [00:10 am] You: he’s just an accountant, wtf would an accountant do at work so late at night

Jungkook’s reply takes a while to come in. As if he too needed to take a moment to analyze the situation, to face the gravity of it. Or you’re the only one that feels like the ground has slipped beneath your feet, and you’re about to go over the edge of the cliff.

[00:16 am] Jungkook: I can pick you up and we can go see if his car is at his job

Your eyes slide to the world outside. You haven’t pulled the curtains shut before lying in bed, as if you’d see Yoongi coming home this way even though you live on the upper levels of the building. But you do notice that rain seems to have given way to fog, though it isn’t thick enough to make driving in the night dangerous.

But would it be a good idea? To go chasing the night searching for Yoongi?

And then an entire other scenario takes a hold of you. Steals the breath from your lungs, makes your whole body hurt as if you’ve been set on fire.

What if he’s hurt? What if he got in a car crash on his way home, and he never made it?

What if he’s lying somewhere in a ditch, just waiting to be found?

You don’t fight the tears. Don’t fight a single one of them as they come pouring, just like the rain earlier today.

[00:18 am] You: would you mind?

Jungkook’s reply comes right away this time around.

[00:18 am] Jungkook: ofc not, I’ll be there in 20

So you get dressed, putting on a pair of black sweatpants along with a thick long-sleeved sweater. You stand by the door as you wait for Jungkook to arrive, almost hoping that Yoongi will be the one to cross the threshold first.

As you wait, you watch yourself in the mirror. You look distressed – eyes bloodshot from the tears that keep coming and going, dark bags under your gaze from the lack of sleep. Because of course you haven’t been sleeping well.

How could you sleep well when you’ve been feeling the love of your life slipping through your fingers?

Jungkook gets here faster than twenty minutes. You don’t want to ask how fast he was driving, especially not as his first reaction when you open the door is to pull you to his chest, holding you tight against him. Your tears free fall again, and you grab a hold of his jacket in your fists, clenching them on the fabric so hard you think it might rip. If Jungkook cares he doesn’t say it, instead lowering his head to rest his cheek on the top of your head.

“I’m sure he’s okay,” he tells you, voice velvety soft in its reassurance. “He’s okay.”

That second sentence feels like it was uttered more for Jungkook than for you. You reckon Jungkook does care for Yoongi. Probably more than as a friend, now that he’s been sleeping with you both.

“He has to be,” you reply, lips trembling.

Jungkook holds you tighter and he turns until his lips softly land a kiss to the side of your head. In the heaviness of the moment, it grounds you, and you pull away just enough to look at Jungkook.

His big eyes meet yours, and you wish you could read him. Though you think you’re starting to be able to, and you don’t want to see what’s in his eyes. So you take a step back, and he sucks on his piercing, before nodding once.

“I brought an extra helmet for you,” he says, and he hands it to you.

You look at it as if it’s a foreign thing to you. And it is – you’ve never ridden a bike before.

“You came with your bike?” you ask, carefully drying the tears that slipped on your cheeks.

He nods. “I do have a car but it’s at the repair shop right now.”

You let out a noncommittal sound as you grab the helmet, testing the weight in your hands, wondering what it’ll feel like on your head. Jungkook watches as you do so, still toying with his piercing mindlessly.

“Ready?”

You take a deep breath, pushing away the image of Yoongi dead in a ditch from your mind, before nodding your head.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

*****

                Yoongi didn’t see the time fly. When the café owner told him and Jimin that they were closing for the night, Yoongi’s gaze had widened. He’d been so into the book, rereading it for the first time in years, that he really hadn’t seen the time fly.

But he doesn’t really mind. He should, he knows he should, but Jimin is great company, so he doesn’t. He walks behind Jimin outside, avoiding puddles left over by the rain earlier. The rain has ceased now, but the world smells of it still, and the pavement reflects the orange glow of the streetlights as if it’s a mirror.

“Good thing it’s not raining anymore,” Jimin comments, looking over his shoulder at Yoongi.

Yoongi cocks an eyebrow. “You don’t like the rain?”

“I do,” Jimin answers as he turns back to look where he’s going. “But I don’t like driving in the rain, you know?”

Yoongi mindlessly walks a little faster until he’s able to walk side by side with Jimin, and his cheeks burn as their hands brush against each other. He pretends nothing happened, and so does Jimin.

And even though his heart is thundering in his chest, Yoongi says, “Yeah, driving in the rain does suck.”

“Don’t take me wrong though,” Jimin adds quickly. “It was all worth it tonight.”

Yoongi gulps. “It was?”

There’s silence, and Yoongi thinks about you for a time. He wonders if you’re waiting for him. He’s seen your texts, and maybe he’s an asshole for not replying, but he feels like something changed today.

Or maybe something broke, he’s not sure. He just knows that he can’t bring himself to answer you, and he also doesn’t want to go home right now. It does make him sad, for a fraction of a second. Because once upon a time you meant the world to him. You just don’t anymore.

“I like spending time with you, Yoongi,” Jimin says, voice soft, as he brushes his hand against Yoongi’s again.

Yoongi instinctively pulls his hand away, yet he still answers, “Me too.”

It’s the truth. He does enjoy every second he spends with Jimin. Perhaps because Jimin is easy, easier than you. Easier than this whole mess that is Jungkook and you and the threesomes.

Jimin stops, and Yoongi follows suit a step ahead. He turns around to look at Jimin, and the slightly pained expression on Jimin’s features feels like his heart has been stabbed, and he almost instinctively rubs at his chest, over the spot that aches.

“Why are you staying with her?” Jimin asks.

Why? Why indeed. Yoongi doesn’t even know – maybe he’s just too bad with confrontation. Maybe he doesn’t want to break your heart – though he knows Jungkook would be quick to fix it. Maybe it’s the familiarity of his life with you that’s keeping him from doing it. Maybe it’s the fear of losing something that was once great.

He really doesn’t know.

And as he stands there, holding Jimin’s gaze, Yoongi realizes something. Something he probably has known for a while, but refused to acknowledge. He’s stopped loving you a long time ago. Because you’re not the one that he loves anymore.

No, that person is Jimin.

Even though it breaks him, Yoongi closes the space between him and Jimin, grabbing the younger man’s cheeks softly as he presses his lips on Jimin’s.

Jimin is quick to kiss him back, to sigh against Yoongi’s mouth as he takes even a step closer. Jimin’s hands grab at the lapels of Yoongi’s coat, pulling him flush against him. Yoongi wonders if Jimin can feel the wild beats of his heart in his chest, where his fists rest against him.

When Jimin sighs again, Yoongi slips his tongue between his plump lips, and this time Jimin lets out a breathy sound that electrifies Yoongi as if he’s been hit by lightning.

He doesn’t think about you then. Doesn’t think about Jungkook either. All there is in the land of his mind is Jimin, and Jimin’s kiss is healing.

Jimin’s presence in his life has been healing since the very first day Yoongi saw him.

“Come home with me tonight,” Jimin breathes when they pull away.

Yoongi rests his forehead against Jimin’s, still gently cupping the man’s cheeks. “I can’t.”

Jimin doesn’t say anything for a moment, just keeps holding on to Yoongi. And Yoongi wishes the moment could stop – he feels the guilt slowly creeping in on him.

“Why did you kiss me?”

Because he wanted to. Yet Yoongi can’t bring himself to tell Jimin. Not when he thinks of you at home, waiting for him, not knowing that he’s been out at night falling in love with someone else for weeks now.

“I need to go home…”

Jimin bristles, and he steps away from Yoongi. He looks hurt, and rightfully so. Though Yoongi doubts Jimin’s pain even comes close to what you’ll feel when he’ll tell you what happened.

If he tells you.

“Alright then,” Jimin says, and there’s bitterness in his tone. In the way he furrows his brows, features turning harsh, cold. “Go home to her.”

It occurs to Yoongi that Jimin has probably been jealous of you for a while now. Has probably wanted Yoongi for longer than Yoongi has even wanted him.

Would he be a fool to let him slip away?

Would it change anything if he kissed Jimin again?

He tells himself he’s just trying to smooth the lines between Jimin’s brows when he does so. When he pulls Jimin flush against him, and their teeth collide as they kiss languidly. Jimin tastes sweet, even as the taste of coffee lingers in his mouth. It’s not as bitter as it should be – not when Jimin kisses so damn well.

So Yoongi lets himself forget about you for a time. Lets the part of him that’s been aching since that night you and Jungkook sexted take control. Maybe he’s trying to get revenge. Maybe he’s trying to hurt you like you hurt him. He doesn’t know.

Maybe he’s just stupid – he could have broken up with you before getting together with Jimin. But he thinks he’s made his decision weeks ago now, that first time he hung out with Jimin saying that he was staying at work late.

So when Jimin once again asks Yoongi to come home with him, he says yes. He follows Jimin to his car, though they only make it to the backseat. And as Jimin rides his cock, moaning as his fingers dig into Yoongi’s shoulders, rain starts again, drowning out the sounds of their passion.

*****

                Yoongi’s car wasn’t in the parking lot of his job. Jungkook refused to tell you what he thought was going on. Not as you started crying again, and asked if he could drive you to the nearest hospital. Because the second Jungkook saw that Yoongi’s car wasn’t there, and you admitted that Yoongi had been coming home later and later every day, Jungkook knew that Yoongi has been cheating on you.

So Jungkook agreed to drive you to the nearest hospital, and you’re halfway there now. Your arms are wrapped around his waist, and you’re a comforting warmth behind him. He wishes he could stop your heart from breaking, wishes he could take the pain away so that you wouldn’t have to experience it at all.

Fuck, even he is hurting. Because Yoongi and you ending means you and him will end too, and he doesn’t think he’s ready to let that go. So when they tell you that they don’t have anyone under the name of Min Yoongi at that first hospital, and you ask to go to another one, Jungkook drives you.

He tries to enjoy your closeness as much as he can, even as rain starts again, though it’s barely even pouring. He drives carefully, slower than he usually does on his bike. And when your arms tighten around him, he hopes you can’t feel his heart breaking in his chest.

You don’t declare yourself defeated until after the fourth hospital. Jungkook waits with you in the lobby as you sit on a bench, head hanging low. You’re not crying, but he can almost hear your thoughts where he’s standing next to you.

They’re even louder when he sits next to you, and you shift infinitesimally closer to him, as if you need his support.

Voice small, you say, “What if he was kidnapped?”

And Jungkook reckons maybe you’re refusing to face the truth. Like a coping mechanism – you’d rather paint Yoongi in a thousand different perspectives instead of one where he’d cheat on you. It shows Jungkook just how much you love your boyfriend, and for a moment he’s struck dumb, wishing that that night five years ago he’d been the one to approach you at the bar.

Even if you had clearly declined giving your number to him. He doesn’t know if you remember, and he’s pretty sure now is not the right time to ask.

“Maybe he’ll answer me,” Jungkook carefully says, and he feels stupid for not texting or calling Yoongi before.

And so he grabs his phone as you watch him, hope etched on your features. He feels like he’s a monster, like he’s about to take your heart and throw it to the rocks at the foot of the metaphorical cliff you’re standing on.

Because he sees it. He sees the pain in your features, sees the way you’re holding onto one last thread. He doesn’t want to be the one to cut it, but then again he’d be there to catch you.

He’s been waiting to catch you. It’s selfish, terribly so, and he looks away from you to call Yoongi.

Yoongi picks up on the third ring.

“Hello?” he lets out, sounding a little breathless.

You freeze. You freeze, unblinking, as if you were on a screen and Jungkook pressed pause.

“Hey, hyung?” Jungkook says.

There’s some mumbling on the other side of the line, all the confirmation that he needs to know Yoongi is indeed cheating on you.

“Why are you calling?” Yoongi asks, and he sounds annoyed.

Jungkook hates himself for what he says next. “Are you okay? Y/n is worried about you.”

There’s a pause on the other side of the line. As if Yoongi is holding his breath, as perhaps he’s faced with the consequences of what he’s doing.

“Yeah, everything is okay. You can tell her I’m heading home.”

Jungkook nods, still not looking at you. He’s not ready to face the destruction head on. “Okay, I’ll let her know.”

And then Yoongi is hanging up, not saying anything else. Jungkook doesn’t move, sitting in silence in the artificial light of that hospital lobby, watching people in scrubs and casual clothing walking around as if the world has not just stopped for you next to him.

“He must have been at work, then,” you murmur. “Maybe we just didn’t see his car.”

Jungkook hears his heart shattering on the tiles of the floor at the innocence in your voice. He says your name like you’re a fragile porcelain, like his hands are too clumsy to ever dare to hold you.

“Please,” is all you say.

He understands. So he asks, “Do you want to head home?”

“No.”

He nods, and he finally looks at you. Finally looks at your pale features, and the utter lack of feeling in your eyes. It hits so hard he thinks he gets a concussion from it, and he watches you, mind spinning in pain and sadness.

And though he wants to apologize, wants to say that it’s all his fault, all he manages to say is, “There’s a place I go to when I need to think. Do you want me to take you there?”

You meet his gaze, and he realizes you weren’t focusing on him before. Because now that you do he feels as if a train just ran into him, and he wishes he wouldn’t be able to feel. Yet he feels – feels for you and your broken heart. For Yoongi, who sacrificed you, and for what?

“Sure,” is all you reply.

So even if it’s raining, Jungkook starts driving you to that place where he went to weeks ago, where the sky meets the ocean and he can just stop thinking for a moment. He makes sure you hold him tight, though when the rain doubles up you’re forced to stop under a bridge, the last one before you’ll exit the city proper.

You climb down from his bike, and Jungkook watches you as you stand to the side. You don’t remove the helmet, as if it’s shelter for your broken eyes, and he doesn’t force you to. He removes his, puts it on the seat and then stands closer to you.

He just now realizes that your clothes aren’t made to ride in the rain. So he removes his jacket, handing it to you.

“Put this on, you’re going to catch a cold.”

You don’t move, and so Jungkook walks behind you, gently draping it over you. He shivers as he moves back in front of you, and he watches the reflections of the streetlights in the visor of your helmet as you just stand there, entirely motionless.

“We’ll keep going as soon as the rain stops,” he tells you. He grabs his phone from his pocket, going to the weather app. “Which should be in about twenty minutes.”

At that you turn towards the pillar of the bridge, and then make your way to it so that you can sit with your back to it. There’s something so defeated in the gesture that convinces Jungkook to make his way to you, sitting next to you even though he reckons it probably is unsanitary.

He can always wash the clothes later. He’s not sure he can afford to wait to keep you from breaking so thoroughly that no amount of fixing would bring you back.

“When I was a kid,” Jungkook starts, not knowing where to go, “I got bullied a lot.”

You don’t react, and he’s not sure if you’re listening. He just needs to fill the silence with truth, and so he decides to give you a piece of himself he’s never given to anyone before.

“Like a lot,” he continues. “It got to a point where older kids would beat me up. And my parents didn’t really want to do anything because they wanted me to fit in. But one day my father told me to punch them back.”

He remembers everything with vivid clarity. He remembers being nine years old, terrified to go to school because he wasn’t sure he’d survive the day. He remembers the stitches he’d needed on his cheek when they’d punch so hard it cut his skin open. He remembers the taste of the blood in his mouth when his lip split with the force of the punches. He remembers everything in such vivid clarity that he feels as if he’s been taken back then.

“And so I did,” he adds. “I punched back, and I quickly realized that I was good at it. So I started boxing.” He pauses, looking towards you. “But I wanted to be an artist. I wanted to paint, or maybe to sing. I’ve always loved singing.”

At that you do move. You take off the helmet, and the sight of your bloodshot eyes as tears roll freely on your cheeks makes him want to reach out, to hold you.

But he doesn’t dare do it, doesn’t want to take advantage of you.

“I’ve never heard you sing,” you say, voice raucous from crying.

He shrugs. “I don’t sing in front of people.”

You nod, and then fall into silence as you just look to the side. Jungkook looks in the same direction, watching the rain fall on and on, endlessly. It doesn’t seem like it’s going to let up anytime soon, so he figures he needs to say something else, to find something that might take the pain away from your eyes. And so he thinks about the rest of the story, thinks about what he left out from what he just told you.

“My dad was an alcoholic,” he admits, and your face turns towards him so fast he wouldn’t be surprised if you got whiplashed. “He beat my mom whenever he got too drunk. Never once touched me or my brother. But when I was old enough, when I finally knew how to fight, I protected her.”

What you do then entirely undoes Jungkook. He feels raw, like everything inside of him opens up, and he’s just left with this downpour of emotions, something that matches the rain beyond the bridge, this safe haven he’s found with you.

You put your head on his shoulder, wrapping your arms around him. To hold him, to keep him from breaking. Or at least that’s what it feels like.

It feels like you’re his salvation, and he knows you’ve always been anyway.

“He beat me so hard I ended up in the hospital,” Jungkook continues. “We fled the day I got out. My mom, my brother and I. We never once looked back.”

“I’m sorry,” you murmur.

He shrugs. “Please don’t be. I’m okay now.”

You don’t answer anything to that, just hold him tighter. And Jungkook watches the rain, listens to the soothing sound of it, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. He doesn’t know why he chose this moment to reveal his demons to you – why he chose to make this about him. He feels horrible for it, but when you look at him next, he wonders if maybe you needed to hear something of the sort.

Needed to know that though there are horrors in this world, one can always make it out of it if they keep pushing on.

“You’re a beautiful person, inside,” you tell him. “I should have realized before.”

The lump in his throat grows too big for him to swallow it, and a tear rolls down his cheek. You dry it with infinite softness, and then you share a look. It seems to last an eternity, but you eventually glance away, and he thinks he’s forgotten how to breathe.

“Looks like the rain has stopped,” you say as your gaze stops on the street beyond the bridge.

Jungkook snaps out of the moment, looking in the same direction. “Seems so.”

His voice is rough, raw and filled with emotions he never expected he’d face with you. Yet he did, and he’s not afraid. He just hopes he can bring you comfort tonight, so that you aren’t afraid, too. So that you know that, even though the next few days are going to be hell, you don’t have to face them alone.

“Where is that place you wanted to show me?”

He smiles through the emotions, through the pain and the fear and the memory of what you and Yoongi are – were. Of what he and Yoongi are. Of what they will be when you’ll eventually go home to Yoongi. Though he doesn’t think you’ll really go home to Yoongi. After what Yoongi’s done…

The fear doubles up, freezes up his blood. Because what if he’s the one you leave behind? What if you forgive Yoongi, and Yoongi forgives you? He knows you both love each other. Or at least he knows you love Yoongi.

Will you even break up with Yoongi?

And even if you don’t, does he want to leave you alone tonight?

He chooses not to, getting up and offering you a hand. You take it, and he pulls you to your feet. Holds your gaze as you stand right in front of him, not letting go of his hand. He looks at your lips, remembering kissing you. Remembering every searing kiss, every embrace he’s hoped meant more.

Did they mean anything to you? Only time will tell.

You step back, letting go of his hand, and take off his jacket so that he can put it back on. He wants to refuse, but you’re adamant. So he gives in, puts it back on, and then you’re back on the road, heading to the ocean. Jungkook didn’t realize how much time passed until you get to the spot overlooking the sea, and the horizon is slightly lighter than the sky overhead.

You stand by the ocean, wind whipping at your hair, but the rain is entirely gone now. The air is warmer than one would expect for a late night or early morning of May, though the ocean mist is freezing. You don’t seem like you care: you stand by the water, watching the waves hit the rock as if you’re a queen overlooking her subjects.

And Jungkook watches you, unable to tear his gaze away from you, until you start crying again. But you cry in silence, don’t let the sobs shake you, as you stare at the horizon. As you watch the sun as it slowly rises, painting the clouds in liquid gold. You watch the beauty of nature, while Jungkook watches yours, wondering if this is one of his last moments with you.

He’ll let you go if that’s what you want. If, in the end, you and Yoongi choose each other.

So he watches your features, watches you break, watches you compose yourself until the clouds are no longer gold, and you ask him to go home. He doesn’t know what you’re thinking of, only that he feels like the clock is about to hit its last second, and he wants to hold on.

But he’ll let you go.

*****

                You watch the sunrise from that cliff over the ocean, listening to the waves crashing against the rocks. You understand why Jungkook brought you here – there’s some sort of serenity in the air, like your life is inconsequential.

Like breaking and healing and breaking again are just part of the cycle of nature, of life. Like the sunrise – it doesn’t stop. Every day it comes back, a promise that no pain can last forever. So you embrace the pain. Let it tear at you. You’d expected to break in screams and yells and sobs and curses, but you break in tears, silently rolling down your cheeks. You break in watching the sunrise, peacefully, just an astral body fully unaware of your woes.

And you also break for the man next to you. Who offered you a piece of his soul tonight, so that you wouldn’t be alone. Though his pain is different, older, there’s some sort of comfort in knowing that you alone don’t hold the weight of the universe.

And as you watch the sunrise, you realize that everyone suffers. That the human experience stems from suffering, as it’s the only way you can also know happiness. The only way you can taste the salt on the wind and think ‘Shit, I’m alive’.

The world is beautiful. And though going home will be hell, though facing Yoongi will be hell, you remind yourself that you’re alive. You prepare yourself for the ride home, breathing in the sun and the wind and the ocean. When you’re ready, you turn towards Jungkook, and ask him to bring you home.

He looks troubled, but perhaps he notices the serenity on your features. Perhaps he’s too felt the soothing balm of the sunrise, of endings and new beginnings. Because he brings you home, his bike purring under you as it eats miles and miles to the city, and then some more to your home.

Jungkook drops you off outside, and you give him back the helmet you’ve been using all night. He takes it, putting it safely under the seat. You watch him do so, and ache fills your heart once he climbs back on his bike.

He looks at you, and your gazes connect through his open visor.

“Thank you for tonight,” you tell him.

You think he gulps, but you’re starting to be a little too tired to interpret him. “Of course,” he says. He adds your name, before continuing, “I didn’t want you to be alone.”

You smile at him, though you reckon it’s etched in sadness. Etched in heaviness. You wonder if his heart shares the burden, if he feels just like you do. And you wonder if he too has been breaking all night.

“Thank you,” you repeat.

He nods, and you watch him blink a few times. You’re fully aware he’s blinking back tears, yet you don’t do anything. Just watch him.

“If you need me, I’m just a call away,” he says.

You can’t say anything. Because you don’t think you’d be able to be with him, to find comfort in him. Not when he might have been the catalyst to this whole shitshow. So all you do is nod, and he looks at you for a moment longer until he finally decides to go.

He pulls down his visor, turning towards the street. And then he’s gone.

As you watch him go, farewells hanging in the air, you tuck him into a corner of your heart. Somewhere safe, somewhere nothing ever happened between you and him. Somewhere untainted, pure, and then you whisper, looking at where he disappeared, “Goodbye, Jungkook.”

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☆☆☆☆☆

:((((( gosh this one is so sad :') (it might only get worse from here). What did we think? Did we like it? Let me know!

All rights reserved to @/oddinary4bts, 2023. Do not copy, repost or translate.

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[somewherebetweendisorder]

The Life We Build

Jason Todd x fem!reader

Warnings: angst, fluff ?? i think that's it

A/N: originally posted to my old blog (basicallybats). i was originally writing it as an eddie munson fic, but i really wanted it to be jason, so if you notice any typos or mistakes, no you don't. as always, thank you for reading! <3

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO COPY, REPOST, OR USE MY WORK IN ANY WAY

~

"We need to go to the grocery store."

Your hands are buried in Jason's hair, thick waves curling around your fingers, soft and smelling faintly of your conditioner.

"Huh? Why?"

He tips his head back, so he can see your face, fingers freezing, a page caught between them. You recognize the book. It's your annotated copy of Pride and Prejudice. A soft smile curls at your lips, something painfully saccharine about the fact he prefers your copy; your thoughts.

"Because we have no food, Jay. Did you use my conditioner again?"

"Yeah."

"I know. I can smell it on you."

He snorts, eyes closing as you continue to massage his scalp, shaking his head lightly. "Then why did you ask?"

"I just wanted you to 'fess up. Now c'mon, we need to get food, for real. There's like, half a jar of peanut butter and a beer."

"Sounds like a decent enough dinner."

You remove your hands from his soft locks, and he whines, sitting up and carefully setting your book on the bed beside him. Jason doesn't want to go, you know that, can see the distaste and boredom brewing in his eyes already, but he will go, for you.

"Fine. Get dressed. Let's go."

You pull on an old, well-worn tee of his, slipping on your shoes and trailing him down the hall. He holds open the front door for you, locks it behind himself, jogs down the stairs to meet you at the passenger side door, swinging it open with a flourish.

The drive to the store is quiet, Jason tapping the steering wheel to the beat of the music on the radio, bobbing his head gently, one hand on your thigh. The smile on your face didn't go unnoticed as he snuck glances at you out of the corner of his eyes.

Gotham is a god-forsaken place. Smog, trash, the highest crime rate in the nation, and a mile-long list of casualties. Jason remembers what it felt like to be back. The whisper of trauma is at the forefront of his mind. The memories, good and bad, all shot through with something unshakeably bitter. Part of him will always love Gotham, just as part of him will always hate it. But you- You are beautiful. The sort of beautiful that frequently had his heart stalling, breath burning in his lungs when he forgot how to breathe at the sight of your sunny smile, and bright eyes. Your personality and laugh, uncensored and genuine.

You are Jason's diamond in the rough. He can't bring himself to hate Gotham quite the way he did before you, but he can't shake the thought that you'll never reach your full potential here. A flower without enough sunlight can't fully bloom. Fuck, everyone knows Gotham is where good things go to die.

As Jason grabs a shopping cart you walk next to him, sliding your arm through his, a sort of camaraderie.

"We should make a casserole this week," you suggest, eyes reading the signs above the aisles, trying to piece together a meal plan in your head.

"What kind of casserole?"

You sigh, distracted, uncertain. "I don't know. Never mind. I've never even made a casserole."

He bumps his hip against yours gently, silently asking for your attention. He waits until you look at him to speak, lips twitching into a soft smile. "We have that cookbook your grandma gave us. And lasagna counts as a casserole. You've made that plenty of times."

"Does it?"

"Sure."

He's bent on reassurance. Jason knows this is new; cooking is hardly your forte. It would be easier to let him do the cooking, but you've been so eager, and you're taking to it really well. He hates the insecurity bubbling in your voice, he wants it gone. At his insistence, you soften, a bit of tension leaving your shoulders as you nod.

"Okay, we can make lasagna. And what else?"

Your gaze catches on the fresh flowers, bright and fragrant, their sweet smell permeating the air. You look at Jason, desperately curious to see if they've caught his attention too, but they haven't. He's looking at a rack of magazines, leather jacket pulled taught across his shoulders, green eyes crinkling in the corners as he squints at the cover of the newest scandal magazine.

"Good God, Dick is on the cover of another fucking tabloid. I thought he-"

It's an odd thought, this sudden need to pick out flowers with your boyfriend. You long to talk about where you should put them, what color would match your sofa and look nicest in front of the window.

"Jason."

It's not the fact you use his name, his birth name, though this is unusual for you. It's always 'baby' or 'Jay' or 'babes'. No, it's the way you say it. Thick and serious, something he hadn't quite heard before, an almost severe expression taking over your pretty features.

"Y/N? Yeah, what's wrong?"

"Nothing. Nothing, just- Can we get some flowers?" He watches you shake your head, trying to clear the cobwebs.

It's the domesticity of it. A tender, mundane thing catching up to you as those things often do. Something painfully sweet about it, stability your life lacked until Jason. And now? Now going to the grocery store with him was better than anything you did before. Like cooking, like cleaning, like laying in bed all day, face pressed mercilessly into his skin, breathing him in as he reads to you, just because you could. It was an insatiable craving, one you needed fulfilled right now.

"Sure, baby. You wanna pick some out?"

Your nod is almost imperceptible, arm still curled around his, goosebumps creeping along your flesh. He sees. Sees the light in your eyes, knows you need this moment. Jason knows that every day like this erases those brutally lonely hours from before. Minutes marked with blood and grief, a bitter memory. He knows because these moments do the same for him, setting things right he wasn't sure could be fixed.

Fuck, he'll buy all the flowers here if it brings the carefree smile back to your lips. "What kind do you want?"

"I- I'm not sure. Anything. I'll know the right ones when I see 'em."

He peruses the bouquets, at a loss, this is far outside his comfort zone, but if it makes you happy.

Your wonder hurts his heart, wide eyes and shock every time you find new colors squished together, or flowers you haven't seen before. You should have been given flowers all the time. He checks the price of the bunch in his hands and winces. What he wouldn't give to buy you flowers like this every day. Maybe he should, he thinks.

"How about these?"

Your eyes fall on the wild bouquet of rich, wine roses, flowers in full bloom, overlapping each other, fighting for the gaze of the beholder. They're gorgeous, you can feel them without touching the silken petals, velvet. "They're nice."

He sees it on your face, the dismissal, the gentle rejection. The flowers are pretty, too pretty even, gaudy, and suffocating. They're the type of thing that would fit well in Bruce's home, but not yours. Far too formal, far too showy; you want something sweeter.

"They don't match… Anything at home."

"We'd have to pick weeds to match our apartment."

His words come too fast, voice flat, deadpan, shooting for humor, missing, falling by the wayside in a shallow bitterness. He sees the hurt in your expression the instant the words gush past his lips, a geyser of ill-timed distress. Fumbling, rushing forward, trying to make it right, he presses on. "I'm kidding. That was an exaggeration. We make a nice life. It's just we-"

He stops, letting the chatter of other patrons and the store radio fill the silence as he watches tears build in your eyes, shimmering beneath the harsh fluorescents.

"I'm kidding."

You know he wasn't. He meant the words, frustrated with dead-end jobs and your meager incomes, scraping by with just enough. He wanted more for you, more for himself, more of a future. But all you heard was the immediate dissatisfaction. It wasn't enough, it was never enough.

You shove the small cluster of sunflowers you're holding into his chest, plastic wrapping crinkling, flowers smushed against his chest with the severity of your action.

"I need to use the restroom. You can put these back. I'll meet you at the checkout."

"Baby I- Y/N!"

You run. There's not enough care in your bones to think about how odd it is for a grown woman to be running through the store, stumbling into the restroom, tears already tracking down her face.

Hands braced against the cool countertop, you stare at the water droplets scattered across the laminate from whoever last washed their hands. It's a fascinating pattern, water catching the light. A tear falls, splatters on the surface, and shines too. How pathetic are you that you're hiding in here, waiting for the onslaught of emotion to pass before you can face your boyfriend again? Before you can face his disdain?

Minutes drag by, the tears slowing and finally stopping. Red eyes stare back at you, bloodshot and hollow. With a harsh tug, you turn on the faucet, splashing cool water on your face, hoping it soothes the obvious signs of crying.

Time is up, you can't stall any longer. With a fortifying gulp of oxygen, you drag the paper towel harshly across your face, wiping away the water, and push the door open. Jason is waiting there, shopping cart abandoned a few feet away, leaning against the wall, local business cards pinned to the wall next to store notices, hands shoved deep in his pockets.

"Baby."

You're frozen, eyes locked on the overlapping flyers and cards on the wall over his shoulder, unable to meet his gaze. Jason can see it. The remnants of salt tracks on your cheeks, eyes red and puffy, lashes clumped together from the water you hastily splashed on your face in a harried attempt to cover your reaction. 

He wishes he could rewind, take back the past few minutes, and unsay those words, spare you the heartache. He knows he can't; it's a pointless wish, spent in vain like the coins he tossed in the well with his mother all those years ago. 

"Baby," he repeats, voice low, shoulders sagging when you ignore him. "Y/N, just look at me, please."

His voice isn't him, isn't Jason, viscid like a flower soaked with dew, drooping beneath his regret. He's too pretty, too serious, you shouldn't let him wallow in it, you know that. But his words were too real, too close to that oozy, rotten spot in your heart that cries for acceptance. 

It takes everything in you to drag your gaze to his, jarring when you meet those eyes, deep and sorry, churning like an earthen ocean, soil and sediment devouring itself. It's like watching the earth cave in. It's alarming, unsettling, it makes you want to touch his face and beg for the promise that it's all okay. 

Is it though?

"I'm sorry. What I said- It came out wrong. I would never insult the life we've built, I-"

"You did though, Jay. You did insult it. You pissed all over it."

Jason winces at your bluntness, nearly an idiom, yet far from it. He focuses on your words, playing them over and over, watching your lips twist sardonically, building a wall around yourself. "It's fine, okay? I get it."

"No, you don't." He finds his voice, gruff with the nasty feeling building in his stomach, unable to be gentle in the wake of his own despondency. 

"Can we just go home? I don't want to have this conversation here."

Movements stilted, uncoordinated he moves to the abandoned shopping cart, hands wrapping around the handle in a white-knuckled grip. He takes two steps, yanks the cart back, and turns to you so abruptly that you nearly collide with his chest. 

"No. No, we are going to have this conversation now, otherwise you'll never have it. You know damn well I wasn't insulting you, or our home, or our life."

Blank-faced, eyes a hollow shade of their usual verdancy, you don't show any sign you really heard his words. 

He's never felt this before, desperate and shaky with wanting- no needing you to understand. Why does this feel so insurmountable? His hands land on your shoulders, large, hot, scarred, shaking just enough to inspire a rise out of you. 

You swat his hands away, fresh tears burning tracks down your face, humiliating, telling. "I care, okay! Damn you, Jason, I care!"

You suck in air too fast, choke on it, a strangled sob dancing on your lips, free falling. Hands useless on his chest, feigning a shove, curling in his soft tee shirt and pulling him closer. Tucked away in your little nook, no one is around, no one sees the mania tainting the air. Lovers begging forgiveness for the transgression of misunderstanding. 

He buries his face in your hair, hiding his face, hiding his relief at your touch, at your admission. "I care too. I care that I've tied you to this hell hole with almost no chance of getting out."

"You don't get it, do you?"

Jason can barely hear, your voice smothered by his chest, the fabric of his shirt, his hearing a bit unreliable from too many head wounds. "Get what?"

"I don't want more. I don't want... I don't know what you envision, but my happiness is this. Buying groceries with you and, and- Gotham. My happiness is fucking Gotham if I'm here with you. I don't need-"

"You deserve-"

"Do not interrupt me, Jason Todd!"

He recoils, stung, chastised, conceding quickly, lips pressed into a thin line. "Okay."

"I do not need anything more. I don't need a big house or a safer city to play in or whatever it is you think I ought to have. Deserve? I don't even know what that means. But I want you, and I'm content with this life. Until you start picking it apart and making it seem like it's not good enough for you. I cannot tolerate that. I won't." 

He waits, the silence stretching on and on, like the fraying string on a shirt that refuses to snap, until he is certain you're finished.

"You're right."

"That's all?"

"No. It's much more than that. But-"

He releases you, feeling your hands release his shirt slowly, confused as he steps back, raking his hands through his hair. 

"You asked me so nicely for flowers. Let's start again. And we can finish at home, like you asked."

You blink. Once, twice, three times, trying to process, waiting to see if any argument floats to the surface of thought, but none does. Nodding, you step to his side, following him quietly to the tables of flowers once more. 

It happens at the same moment, your eyes find the simple bunch of sunflowers and baby's breath the second his do. Understated and sweet, the type of flowers to catch your eye and hold it with a strange fascination. 

"These?" you ask, eyes never leaving the buds, fingers tentatively caressing the soft petals. 

"Yeah. I like those. They're pretty."

They are pretty. And suddenly, you need to see him, touch him. Placing the bouquet back you turn to him, cool hands pressed to his warm cheeks, eyes tracing soft lips, and the strong line of his nose. Those eyes that say secret things to you, things his lips could never speak. The panic and overwhelming nature of the trip are still fresh in your mind, but his eyes say he understands, his eyes reflect the same image as yours and it's less. Less upsetting, less frustrating, less misconstrued. 

"I get it too."

Your words soothe the cuts on his heart, shallow and stinging like paper cuts. His lips are on yours before he knows what's happening, no self-control left at this moment.

It's over too fast, a promise, a vow, an apology. You know; you feel it, trying to pass over all of your love in return. It's enough, more than enough because he smiles when he pulls away, kisses a trail up your nose to your forehead, and into your hairline. 

"I love you, Jay."

"I love you, Y/N."

Gotham isn't much, your apartment isn't much, and a single bouquet of flowers in your drab little living room is hardly anything at all. But it's plenty for you, plenty for Jason. It's enough. 

[fairdale]

Herongraystairs afterlife headcanons? 💝

imagine all the time will had to read books. all the time he could have spent looking for new lectures, annotating them for tessa and thinking which ones she would enjoy.

and then, because he had a lot time, and he missed jem like crazy, he thought: why not learn how to play an instrument? he thought about playing the violin, but it hit a little too close to home, so he went for the cello (he wanted something that would go well with jem's violin). and he started learning jem's favorite pieces for his new instrument.

he also had a lot of time to think. because, yes, he could still see his friends here and there, his kids too (god, how much he had cried), but they also have their own lives, so it can be a little lonely at times.

so, all those years, he waits. and longs. and loves. and wishes for the two people he loves the most to be there with him, but also... not yet. it's not time yet. they still should have a lot more time the two of them, together and with mina and kit.

but, ah, he can't help but be selfish and desperately wish that they were there with him. he misses them so much. but he sees them, happy and so, so alive, that he thinks it's enough. if they're happy, he's happy.

(he also felt a little too smug when he told gabriel about mina's name)

(he cried himself to sleep that night)

but then, he doesn't know how much time has passed. he just knows that he has a room full of books and that he can now basically play a cello concert and that he has a list of places he wants to visit.

and it hits him. just how much he loves them. it's a bit silly, really, because he has always known. what he hadn't known, though, was how similar the love he felt was. in some ways, it was different.

their stories hadn't been the same. his heart hadn't beat for jem the way it had had for tessa. and he hadn't had as much time with him either. but now... if he really thought about it, when he had asked jem to be his parabatai, hadn't it been because he needed him close? because he wanted to have that bond with him?

yes, it had had a different start. it had taken time, but he now realised that his heart wouldn't be full without any of them. and he didn't want to make any distinctions. he wanted them both. with him. he was in love with them both.

in love with tessa's wit, in love with jem's gentleness, in love with their resiliance and their bravery.

so, imagine his surprise when he woke up one day to everyone screaming his name.

he got out of bed so quick he barely had time to put on some grey pants and a white shirt before he got out of the house practically sprinting.

and then the air got knocked out of him.

"what the..." he thought. it couldn't be. he was dreaming again.

"will" oh, how much had he missed her voice.

"william" oh, he realised when he touched his cheeks. he was crying. crying at the sight of jem. ironically, he looked healthier than he had ever been with him.

he took in the sight of them. they were standing just a few feet from them and, by the looks of it, they were still just because they saw how much he was struggling.

tessa was wearing a soft pink knitted sweater with white linen pants while jem was wearing a dark blue sweater and grey pants. they looked gorgeous.

and then, tentatively, jem smiled. just a little. just to make sure he was okay.

will looked around. he saw the faces of all their friends there, crying. james and lucie were hugging each other, crying as well, but with bright smiles in their faces. they both nodded.

and will didn't need anything else before he ran towards the two loves of his life.

he was so old, yet in that moment, it felt like no time had passed. like they were still young and careless and inexperienced.

he hugged them tight, breathing in their scents and feeling their warm bodies against his. he felt tessa's hand carding through his hair and jem's travelling down his back.

he kissed them, then.

jem first. because he had wanted to for so long and he had never gotten the chance before. "it's okay", he heard tessa whisper.

and then he turned towards her to kiss her. and it felt like home. like all the pieces of the puzzle were finally were they belonged.

and their friends could joke as much as they wanted to and their kids could pull as many mocking faces as they wanted to, but they could never fool jem and tessa.

they could never pretend that there was anything other than pure happiness when they saw will's smile lighting up his whole face as jem and tessa kissed his cheeks.

[missjanjie]

Tell Me I'm Okay, Jasmine | Jasya

Title: Tell Me I'm Okay, Jasmine Summary: Jasmine is a wedding planner that cares deeply about the happiness and marital success of her clients. So, when she realizes something is just not right with one of her brides-to-be, she does what she needs to do to remedy the issue... even if it's a bit unorthodox Word Count: 1591 Relationship(s): Jasmine Kennedie/Daya Betty (with a side of Robin/Aura) Rating: T

This is for the fic exchange @junosjukebox and @themetaluna set up, and I was thrilled to get @petitmonde especially as a fellow jasya appreciator. I genuinely enjoyed writing this so I hope you like it <3

Read on Ao3

-

“I know she’s home,” Jasmine murmured after her second round of knocking on the door and ringing the doorbell didn’t bring her client out. Concerned, she fished out the spare key that she had been permitted to use and let herself in, calling out, “Daya?” as she rounded the corridor. 

As it turned out, Daya was well within earshot, but once Jasmine looked at her, she realized that it wouldn’t have made a difference. As a wedding planner, she found it imperative to connect with her clientele, and she found that despite butting heads in the beginning, they had formed a solid connection. If she were being honest, it was one of the deeper connections she had with a client, but she couldn’t put her finger on why. With that in mind, it was clear this wasn’t the Daya she had been working with for the past eight months. 

Daya sat motionless on the couch, eyes glazed over with a far-off expression. Her face was paler than her usual fair complexion and dark circles had started to form under her eyes. It was as if she was there physically, but nothing more. It was only the familiar vanilla scent in Jasmine’s perfume and the clacking of her heels that startled her back into reality. “Hey.”

Jasmine assessed the scene in front of her – scattered invitation samples, wedding binder open with a myriad of post-its and annotations over the visible pages, leaves and petals of fake flowers everywhere from the dog’s bed to Daya’s hair. To call a spade a spade, she was a hot mess. “I would ask if you’re okay, but I think I have my answer,” she remarked as she brushed a few petals aside before joining her on the couch. “Do you wanna talk about it?” 

There was a long, tense silence before she answered. “It feels like there’s something fundamentally wrong with me, you know? Like, was I sick the day of school they teach you how to be a normal person?” She sighed heavily and reclined against the couch, tilting her head back to stare at the ceiling. “Am I okay, Jasmine? You’re unbiased – just tell me I’m okay.” 

At her core, she knew exactly what Daya was feeling; the feeling had hit her twice in her life – once when she faced her gender dysphoria head-on, and the next when she had to come out all over again as a lesbian. She had long suspected the cracks in Daya’s relationship ran deeper than they appeared, but now she started to put together why. She leaned over, placing a hand on her knee and giving it a gentle squeeze. “You’re okay,” she promised, holding eye contact as she spoke. “Does this have to do with Kyle?” 

Daya tensed up and swallowed hard. “I keep waiting for the excitement about getting married to hit. I have fun planning it with you, but when I think about going into the church and walking down the aisle, doing all of these things we’re working on… I just feel numb.” She had previously written off these feelings as mere displeasure towards marrying in a church after caving to the pressure of her future in-laws. 

Jasmine chewed on her lip. There was no easy way to say ‘I think you’re a lesbian’ to someone you’ve known for less than a year. “When you think about why you love him, what comes to mind?” Having been in the wedding planning business for nearly five years, she knew the questions to ask to get couples to reflect on their relationship. Sometimes she would joke that she could take up couples’ counseling as a side hustle. But she never had to ask for this reason before. 

“He’s safe,” Daya mused, “when I’m with him, the world feels calm.”

“Are you attracted to him?” she asked.

“He treats me well.”

Jasmine arched her brow. “That’s not what I asked,” she replied, then asked again more pointedly. “Are you attracted to him? Does he turn you on? Get you wet? Make you c–”

“Jesus Christ, Jas!” Daya sputtered, her face flushed red. Normally, she was the one making off-the-cuff sexual remarks that made others clutch their pearls, leaving her all the more flustered. But, after a moment, she conceded, “No, to… all of that.” 

Again, Jasmine was left with a precarious choice to make. Then, she perked up with an idea. “I’d like you to come with me to my next client if you’re not busy with…” she gestured at the coffee table, “that.”

She mulled it over for a moment before deciding that taking a break from her self-imposed chaos would do her some good. Besides, she had grown to enjoy spending as much time with Jasmine as she could. “Sure, just give me some time to make myself presentable.”

As Daya was getting up, her dog jumped up into Jasmine’s lap, leading her to cheerfully reply, “Take your time!” as she pet him. 

—

After a ten-minute drive, they made it to Jasmine’s next clients. Once there, Jasmine gave a brief introduction of the couple – Robin and Aura, dating for three years, engaged for four months, wedding set for roughly a year ahead. Then they went into the living room where, like Daya, they had binders and samples covering the majority of the coffee table. But unlike her, there appeared to be some basic organization. 

At first, Daya didn’t understand why she was there. The couple was nice, they seemed to have some interesting ideas, but she felt out of place. But as the session progressed, she started to notice something – the way the two women interacted with each other, and with Jasmine. They were equally enthusiastic, offering input and listening to each other, and most noticeably, they were affectionate with each other. She saw them holding each other, gentle touches, quick stolen kisses and her mind started reeling. 

 “Daya?”

She blinked rapidly. “Hm?” 

“I asked which color scheme you thought looked better,” Jasmine replied, pointing to two sets of color swatches. 

“Oh, um…” She looked at the swatches, brows furrowed. “I like this dark teal, it stands out in the right way with the other colors.” 

The other three women nodded in agreement, the session continuing for the rest of the hour. “Do you wanna go get coffee?” Jasmine offered to Daya as they got back in her car.

“Sure,” she nodded as she buckled in, almost instantly gazing distantly out the window in a silence rarely associated with her personality. “They looked so happy,” she murmured with a hint of envy in her tone.

“Well, they are, that’s why they’re getting married,” she pointed out as she pulled into a parking spot, then turned to the taller woman. “Are you happy?”

This time, the silence was deafening. Every word she tried to utter got lodged in her throat until she finally forced out, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

All the tact and carefulness Jasmine had employed throughout the afternoon suddenly escaped her grasp as she blurted out, “Because you’re gay!” Realizing her mistake, she quickly attempted to backpedal. “I just… I mean… You seem so unhappy with him, you said it yourself that he doesn’t satisfy you, you couldn’t give me a concrete reason as to why you’re even with him, other than–”

“My sister is gay.” The revelation brought Jasmine’s rambling to a grinding halt. “She came out when she was nineteen and my parents threw her out. They’ve been working on repairing their relationship over the years, especially after she eloped with her wife, but I don’t think it’ll ever be the same. They don’t look at her the same, there’s this layer of disgust hidden under fake smiles.”

Jasmine nodded as she listened, opening her mouth to reply, but promptly shutting it when she realized Daya was still mid-explanation. 

“Crystal was the golden child. I was fifteen when she left and all of a sudden, I got all the attention and praise I’d always wanted. So when some guy asked me out that didn’t seem like he would murder me in my sleep, I just went with it. And I’ve been going with it for over four years.”

“So…”

She sighed. “Yes, Jasmine, I’m gay. You are now one of the three people that know. My sister and her wife have been sworn to secrecy. My only other option is to be alone.”

“No,” the blonde took her hand and squeezed it until Daya met her eyes, “your other option is to be happy.” 

“How am I supposed to be happy if I’m disappointing my family?” 

“Because you’ll finally stop disappointing yourself. Look, I’m not gonna pretend it was easy coming out as gay or trans, but I wouldn’t take back that choice for anything. Yes, I lost some family and friends, but I found people who care for me as I am. You will too – you have your sister, her wife… You have me.”

Daya cracked a small smile. “Even if I’m not paying you?” she asked, absentmindedly stroking her thumb over the back of Jasmine’s hand. 

She laughed. “How about you get the coffee and we’ll take it from there?”

“Fair enough,” she hummed. Then, as casually as she could, added, “Then I can tell you about the things that do turn me on.”

Jasmine hit her arm and laughed as they got out of the car. There was the Daya she had first met. Or better yet, this was the real Daya she was meeting for the first time.

[hearthandhallows]

- - - im hana, a roleplay blog for cardinalhq

Walking through the picturesque streets of Cardinal Hill, you find Im Hana, the 30 year old musician originally from Cardinal Hill . Living alongside them in such a small town, you know that they're  affectionate and  loud , but what you might not know is that they are a human, and that they’re hiding something… ― bae suzy, demisexual, nonbinary, and they/them.

musings navigation

✿ Description

Age: 30. Gender: Nonbinary (they/them). Race: Human, non-magical. Skin Color: Beige. Hair Color: Brown, light highlights. Eye Color: Brown. Height: 5’ 6".

✿ Personality

Likes: Street food, knickknacks and clutter, messy art - paint platters, charcoal smudges, raw emotion on a canvas. Dislikes: Overly serious people, formal events, silence - they always need some kind of background noise. Strengths: Resilient, independent, determined, intuitive. Weaknesses: Reckless, guarded (to a point), self-destructive, secretive.

✿ Trivia

❀ While they can read sheet music, Hana prefers to play by ear and often learns songs just by listening to them a few times. ❀ Their workspace is cluttered with tiny souvenirs, broken charms, and random objects that they swear have sentimental value. ❀ Hana is the type to wake a friend up at 2 AM with “Let’s go for a drive” or decide they need to see a movie right now. ❀ Their outfits are always a little mismatched, but somehow, they work. They have a knack for layering patterns and colors that shouldn’t go together. ❀ Their notes and music annotations are nearly unreadable to anyone but them. Even they sometimes struggle to decipher what they wrote.

✿ Biography

Im Hana is a vibrant force of nature, a kaleidoscope of color, sound, and emotion wrapped in mismatched socks and a big-hearted grin. They grew up in a whirlwind of creativity, the youngest in a family where art wasn’t just encouraged - it was inevitable. Their mother painted with stormy brushstrokes, their father sculpted with precision and passion, and their older sibling captured the world through a camera lens. Everyone had their medium, their way of understanding and expressing the world.

For Hana, it was always music.

From the moment their fingers first brushed piano keys, it was like something clicked, like they were remembering a language they hadn’t realized they knew. Even as a kid, Hana didn’t just play music, they poured themselves into it. They could read sheet music, sure, but that wasn’t the point. The point was the feeling. The ache in a minor chord, the joy of a crescendo, the quiet in the space between notes. They’d often stay up long after everyone else had gone to bed, composing in the dark, letting the music speak for them when words fell short.

By the time they were a teenager, their room looked less like a bedroom and more like the inside of a memory box: tangled bracelets, movie tickets, buttons from jackets they no longer owned, and trinkets from roadside thrift stores. Nothing matched, but everything mattered. That same energy spilled into everything they did. One night might find Hana driving aimlessly at 2 AM, windows down, chasing a song on the radio like it’s a comet. The next, they’d be curled up in a pile of notebooks, trying to translate a feeling into a melody before it vanished.

But somewhere along the way, Hana’s life took a turn they still don’t fully understand.

A few years ago, they were gifted a piece of jewelry, an old ring, delicate and oddly warm to the touch. It came from someone they barely knew, passed off as a family heirloom or maybe just a good luck charm. They didn’t think twice about slipping it on.

They should have.

Since then, strange things have started happening. Sometimes, when they play certain chords, they swear the air thickens. Streetlights flicker when they hum. Dreams stick with them like spiderwebs, and they wake up with a pressure in their chest they can’t explain. They’ve never believed in the supernatural. They still don’t. But deep down, something in them knows: this ring wasn’t just a gift. It was a bargain, and it’s still waiting to be paid.

So they keep playing. Keep laughing. Keep layering songs and scarves and hoping that whatever deal they didn’t mean to make… maybe it won’t come due.

Not yet.

[improbabledreamgirl]

things i learned my first year in college 📖

…from someone who is neurodivergent and mentally ill

let’s face it. a lot of college advice will come from neurotypical people who are sooo put together and don’t experience the same limitations as students who are neurodivergent and/or struggle with mental illnesses. i tend to forget that my limits are different from the type-A nursing majors down the hall, so i hope this is more helpful for somebody <3

• don’t abandon your hobbies!! if you like to read fantasy novels, you might have less time for them, but still read them. if you create art, do crafts, play an instrument — MAKE TIME FOR THEM!! these joy activities will get you through the hardest times, just like they always have, and they’re still important to you even though you’re adulting now.

• habits form fast. ⏰try your best to go to bed at the same time every night and wake up at the same time every morning, starting the day you get to campus (or if you don’t live on campus, then start this a week before your semester starts).‼️bring water with you everywhere, and actually drink it. 📚study while the material is fresh in your mind! and take study breaks, PLEASE, it’ll help you avoid burnout. (don’t doomscroll during these breaks; do something calming, like taking a walk or eating a snack.)

• try new things and challenge yourself, but respect your limits. work within them, and be kind to yourself when doing so conflicts with what others want from you. if you don’t have the social battery for an activity, just don’t go. and you don’t have to join a bunch of clubs if it will overwhelm your schedule, but getting involved can be fun, so don’t burrow in your room and isolate.

(something i learned the hard way: don’t skip too many classes for mental health days, because you will end up failing a class that way. there were definitely days that i should have gone to class because rotting in bed wasn’t helping my depression anyways, and my grades suffered. don’t fail a class because of your attendance. don’t fail a class because of your attendance. please please please get help, whether it be seeing a therapist/counselor or attending your professor’s office hours, ASK FOR HELP.)

• this is a universal piece of advice, but it might be especially helpful if you have ADHD and get a dopamine hit from spending money (it’s a struggle, especially when your parents didn’t teach you to be financially responsible!) — if you have a meal plan on campus, take advantage of that free food. (free, included, SEMANTICS.) don’t spend money when you don’t need to. besides, you’re probably gonna be eating more than usual, so that money adds up quick. eat full meals, snack when you need to — just be mindful of your budget when you’re debating whether to stop by the Chick-fil-A or the dining hall (more often than not, you should choose the dining hall).

• (especially helpful for the english majors—) you are not going to remember the assigned reading, please annotate/take notes while reading so that you have something to talk about during class discussions and so that you can go back to it when you write your essays. no matter how interesting it is, you’ll probably forget the smart/deep/complex thoughts you had as soon as you step into the classroom!

• if you’re living on campus and don’t really know anyone: having a support system is so important and no i don’t mean your mom who you call once a month i mean you need friends and a social life that fulfills you. have at least a couple people that you can talk to when you’re struggling. keep in touch with friends back home, but make sure you have friends on campus.

[zyafics-recs]

reblogging comment review from @zyafics

guess who has to be studying for another exam but instead she needs to catch up on this fic? (this girl) little annotations below ⬇️

Or the next. You couldn’t. Every time you picked up one of the stupid boxes, your heart would drop to the pits of hell and your hands would start sweating. You’d shove it back in the drawer like it could disappear if you just ignored it hard enough.

manifest it girlypop

What if it was positive? Then what? The thought of seeing his name pop up on your phone after you blocked him, or worse, hearing her voice if she picked up...you’d rather die. He didn't deserve to know.

i eat up any scenes where she wants nothing to do with him and he barges into her life and finds out all the things he's been missing out? the angst of not being able to go backward in time no matter how much you regret it

You heard that voice in your head, the one that sounded like your mom, at least what you remembered from watching old videos.

i would burst out in tears

Your younger cousin, Topper the bitching backstabber, had been born and raised in Los Angeles before he moved to Figure 8 when he was five. 

i was like why r we bringing up topper's bitch ass here and then i realized it to put in a frame of reference that she couldn't possibly know topper's birth bc he moved to kildare later. i just thought reader needed to put in a quick jab about topper 😭

You weren’t exactly the picture of health. What if you weren’t strong enough? What if something went wrong, and you ended up in a hospital bed, alone, because Rafe sure as fuck wouldn’t be there. It was just you.

i love the spiral of madness. i'm reading (and analyzing) it and i'm so so amazed by how ur structure descends. it flows so smoothly - from one topic to the next - all at a great pace and with a lot of internal turmoil. it builds up to me feeling everything reader feels.

It hit you just how ironic this was. You were sitting here, freaking out about being possibly pregnant, scrolling through nightmare stories about abortion and pregnancy complications, while Lily was talking about a fundraiser for children’s health. Kids. It felt like some twisted repulsive joke the universe was playing on you.

ugh, i love the parallels between her being (potentially) pregnant and the idea that she has to wrap her life around this foundation for children.

The fucking nerve. To your gala. Your blood boiled instantly, your fingers gripping the phone so tight you almost cracked the screen.

i love her i feel like she inches closer to insanity every day and i, too, feel the same

If Rafe wanted to play games, you’d ruin his life if you had to. He thought he could fuck you over, leave you with all this—leave you with nothing? No. You weren’t going to let him have that power.

like i said

You were shaking now, but it almost felt good. Even if it was just a stupid guest list. Let him find out when he got there and there was no table for him. No seat. No fucking room. 

BABES 😭 YOU'RE CARRYING HIS CHILD oh this is too good, the idea that she wants to erase him from her life and leave no space for him (mind), but her body is accommodating spacefor his child, making her reserve a permanent space for him in her life

Every year. He’d sit with you while you struggled through every word, telling you it was okay to take your time, reminding you that you didn’t have to do it if you didn’t want to. And when the gala came, he was always by your side, standing just off stage, waiting for you after the speech was done. You’d run into his arms, and he’d whisper that you 'did great baby', holding you until the room stopped spinning so much.

i fear i would crash out if i am currently stressed with the idea of being pregnant and remembering my ex bf and remembering my lost parents

If he thought you were weak, if he thought he could break you, if he thought you were the same girl who used to cling to him like he was the only thing keeping you together—he was wrong.You were going to do this without him.

my boss baby!!!

There was a sigh on the other end, the sound of him trying to not to lose his patentience, like he was the one in the right here. Typical Topper. Always wanting to smooth things over, play peacemaker between you and Rafe, like this was just another fight you’d get over.

topper, in the words of reader, a bitching BACKSTABBER

“Maybe what? That he could swoop in and save the day?” You let out a bitter laugh. “He’s not your golden boy, Top. He doesn’t fix anything. He ruins things.”

ugh i love ur dialogues sosososo much

You were having a meltdown, and he’d stepped in, like he always did when you went off the rails. That was the problem with him—he cared, even when you didn’t want him to. He was family, the only family you had left, and he was too loyal for his own good.

so fuck his parents then ig

You sat down, staring at the stick in your hand. This was insane. You were insane. Who the fuck took a pregnancy test ten minutes before they’re supposed to host a charity gala? 

apparently me

There it was.

+

💌 — aaaaaaaaaa, i'm so glad i waited until after my exam to read this and truly experience the gift of ur writing. i love the juxtaposition and parallels in this scene! especially with her deleting rafe from the gala's list, erasing space from him in her life, but having his child grow inside of her. i love love how she has to have a gala for children—and crippling over the current dilemma of whether she has a child herself. and i love that she's very isolated in a sense, because it amplifies how this child can truly make or break her. topper was so enjoyable—especially their conversation. u always write dialogues so smoothly!! honestly, i thought this scene would end with rafe showing up unannounced at the gala, haha but ig we'll see in next chapter

LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - TWO

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: mentions of possible pregnancy, of abortion, of pregnancy risks & death. self-loathing. chapter one

You lied.

You didn’t take the tests the next day.

Or the next. You couldn’t. Every time you picked up one of the stupid boxes, your heart would drop to the pits of hell and your hands would start sweating. You’d shove it back in the drawer like it could disappear if you just ignored it hard enough.

Once you knew, you knew. 

There was no more pretending as if nothing happened.

No more pretending like you didn't care that Rafe moved on like he didn’t just dump you, with no real closure and ran to the next girl he found. 

Fuck, why did he have to look so happy that night? He got to be carefree, living his perfect little life with her, and you were there, sitting on the bathroom floor, too scared to even pee on a stick.

What if it was positive? Then what? The thought of seeing his name pop up on your phone after you blocked him, or worse, hearing her voice if she picked up...you’d rather die. He didn't deserve to know.

He didn't deserve anything from you anymore.

You started googling abortion clinics before you even touched the tests. You could afford it. That wasn’t even the issue.

You had more money than you knew what to do with. Your inheritance was just sitting there. You could book a flight tomorrow, pay for whatever procedure, whatever it took—fly out of state, out of the country, if you had to. 

But that wasn’t the point. It has never been about the money. It was the overwhelming shame. The fear. The realization that Rafe might have left you, but he was still there, stuck in your head, in your body, in your fucking life. Even when he wasn’t.  

He didn’t have to worry about any of this. He was most likely out on the boat, not even thinking about you. Not thinking about what he did to you. 

And you— you were left with this. Sitting on a bathroom floor for hours a day, trying to figure out how you were supposed to make a decision that changed everything.

You started looking up clinics again, scrolling through the options, but your mind was barely even there. It was legal in North Carolina for now, but you read something about the 12-week ban they passed in June, and suddenly you were spiraling one more time, wondering how much time you even had. 

Could you wait? Could you put it off like you’d been putting off the tests, like if you waited long enough, maybe the problem would just... disappear? Shit, wouldn’t that be easier?

You heard that voice in your head, the one that sounded like your mom, at least what you remembered from watching old videos.

It was depressing how life didn’t let you hold tightly to your memories sometimes. She always reminded you of the kind of person you were supposed to be. The type of girl who had her shit together. The type of girl who didn’t get herself into situations like this, in the first place.

But instead, you were the girl who lost everything—the life you were supposed to have—and somehow, you’d still found a way to screw up what was left.

You kept scrolling like you couldn’t stop.

One page led to another, and soon you weren’t just looking up clinics—you were looking up everything. 

What happened during the procedure, how long it took, the side effects, the complications. You read horror stories about infections, about women who thought it was over and then bled for weeks, about people who changed their minds too late.

You even looked up what could happen if you didn’t get an abortion—what pregnancy could do to your body. And that was a whole other rabbit hole you didn’t need to go down. Your body changing, your hormones going insane. You thought about your boobs getting sore, your stomach stretching, the possibility of throwing up every morning, and it felt like your body was already betraying you. And then you read the serious stuff—gestational diabetes, preeclampsia, all these words you didn’t even know existed before that night. There was a minefield of things that could go wrong, things that would go wrong.

Complications. Risks. Dangers.

You read about women who almost died in labor. About miscarriages and stillbirths and the trauma of carrying a baby for months, only to lose it. You never even thought about that, how pregnancy wasn’t just this smooth, magical process people make it out to be. It was brutal. But you’d been the little sister, you never saw your mother go through it, or anyone for that matter.

Your younger cousin, Topper the bitching backstabber, had been born and raised in Los Angeles before he moved to Figure 8 when he was five. 

You were terrified—not just of being pregnant, but of what it meant to stay pregnant. Would your body even handle it? You’d always lived off coffee and takeout half the time. An unreasonable amout of parties. Too many drinks some nights.

You weren’t exactly the picture of health. What if you weren’t strong enough? What if something went wrong, and you ended up in a hospital bed, alone, because Rafe sure as fuck wouldn’t be there. It was just you.

For a second there, you thought you might pass out.

You’d thrown your phone across the room, it hit the wall with a thud, but it didn’t help. The anxiety was still there, vibrating under your skin, making you want to scream. You glanced at the bathroom drawer again, where the pregnancy tests were hidden like some cursed thing.

Maybe you should’ve just taken one.

Rip off the bandaid.

The stupid phone rang, like was having fun pissing you off, vibrating on the floor where you’d thrown it. You stared at it for a second, debating if you should even pick it up. You didn’t feel like dealing with anyone, especially not whoever was about to ask something from you.

But it kept ringing, and of course, it was a number you recognized—Lily, one of the coordinators from your dad’s foundation. Shit. You forgot about the gala. Again. The one that was happening in two freaking days, the one you haven’t even thought about preparing for.

You swiped to answer, “Yeah?”

“Hey, I didn’t want to bother you, but we need to go over the final details for the gala,” She greeted you, sounding way too perky for how you were feeling. “I really need your input on the seating arrangements, and the auction items, and—”

It hit you just how ironic this was. You were sitting here, freaking out about being possibly pregnant, scrolling through nightmare stories about abortion and pregnancy complications, while Lily was talking about a fundraiser for children’s health. Kids. It felt like some twisted repulsive joke the universe was playing on you.

You blinked back into the conversation, realizing she still talking, and you hadn’t said a word. “Uh, yeah, sorry. I’ve been busy. Can you just handle it?” you muttered, feeling guilty but not enough to actually deal with any of it.

“I’ve already taken care of most things,” she said carefully, “but we really need your approval on the final guest list and the speech. You’re the face of the foundation, after all.”

The face of the foundation. The legacy your dad left you. It was supposed to be this huge responsibility. And it was. You’d always taken it seriously. The one thing in your life you never ruined. But this year, you hadn’t written the speech yet. Jesus, you forgot it was even happening. And the guest list? No clue.

You rubbed your forehead, “I’ll look at it later. Just send it over.”

Lily hesitated again, probably sensing that something was off, you'd always been a control freak. “Okay, I’ll email it to you. Just let me know by tomorrow, alright?”

“Yeah, sure.”

You hung up before she could add anything else, staring at the ceiling. One more thing. One more responsibility piled on top of everything else. You were drowning in all these expectations—being the good daughter to dead parents, the responsible one, the perfect kook girl who was supposed to have everything. You were supposed to be the girl who had the trust fund, the perfect life, the foundation that helped kids in need.

You earned to be her.

Your phone buzzed again, this time with an email notification. You rolled your eyes, already knowing it was from Lily. She’d sent over the guest list, and you groaned, thinking you’d skim it, give it a half-assed glance, and send it back. But as you scrolled down the names, you stopped.

Rafe Cameron.

Of course, he was going to be there. Why wouldn’t he? His family had been involved in your dad’s foundation for years. It was like you couldn’t escape him.

The fucking nerve. To your gala. Your blood boiled instantly, your fingers gripping the phone so tight you almost cracked the screen.

Fuck him. 

If he thought he could just show up and rub his new life in your face, he had another thing coming. Without thinking twice, you deleted his name, erasing him like he didn’t even exist. And then, without checking another name, you sent the list back to Lily.

You didn’t give a shit if it was petty. You didn’t care if it wasn’t professional.

If Rafe wanted to play games, you’d ruin his life if you had to. He thought he could fuck you over, leave you with all this—leave you with nothing? No. You weren’t going to let him have that power.

Not over this. Not over you.

You were shaking now, but it almost felt good. Even if it was just a stupid guest list. Let him find out when he got there and there was no table for him. No seat. No fucking room. 

You still sat there staring at the screen with that stupid blinking cursor. The email from Lily sat open in front of you, and somewhere buried in the list of attachments was the speech. Blank.

Your speech—the one you were supposed to read at the gala in two days. The one you hadn’t even started writing.

This was always the hardest part. Writing it. Saying it. You used to cry every time. Standing in front of all those people, talking about your dad, your family, how the foundation was this beautiful way of keeping their memory alive. It was never just a speech—it was like ripping your heart out of your chest and letting everyone see it, year after year. It never got easier.

But Rafe, used to be there with you.

Every year. He’d sit with you while you struggled through every word, telling you it was okay to take your time, reminding you that you didn’t have to do it if you didn’t want to. And when the gala came, he was always by your side, standing just off stage, waiting for you after the speech was done. You’d run into his arms, and he’d whisper that you 'did great baby', holding you until the room stopped spinning so much.

You could still hear his voice in your head sometimes, 'you’re stronger than you think'.

That’s what he always said, even when you didn’t believe it. He’d hold you, kiss your forehead, and make you feel like it was true, like you really could get through it. He was always so sure of you. But this year? He wasn’t going to be there. He’d stop believing the lies he fed you. You were angry. You were seething. You were utterly alone.

You’d been avoiding this moment—writing.

This time around, it wasn’t just about the speech. It was about the fact that when you walked out of that stage, you wouldn’t have him waiting for you.

You’d step down into nothingness, with no one to catch you.

Your fingers hovered over the screen, but they wouldn’t move. What were you even supposed to say this year? How were you supposed to stand up in front of all those people and talk about love and family and legacy when yours was shattered?

You hated looking at yourself in the mirror, feeling like you’d lost every single piece of who you used to be.

Fuck the speech. Fuck the gala. Fuck Rafe Cameron and his stupid lies, his stupid smile, his stupid promises that he never kept.  

If he thought you were weak, if he thought he could break you, if he thought you were the same girl who used to cling to him like he was the only thing keeping you together—he was wrong.

You were going to do this without him.

You were going to stand up there and give that speech, no matter how much it hurt. And if it killed you, so be it. You’d still do it.

Because unlike him, you didn’t just walk away from the things that mattered. Even if it tore you apart. Even if it was killing you to keep pretending like you were fine. You weren’t fine. But you’d fake it. You’d fake it until the whole world believed it. 

You’d barely hit send on the email when your phone rang again, and this time it wasn’t Lily.

It was Topper. You hadn’t talked to him since that night—the night. The party where you’d found out, where you’d seen Rafe and Sofia together for the first time. Where you realized that everyone knew.

How he’d called Rafe over, like you needed him to fix it, like he was still yours to rely on.

“What?”

“Hey…” Topper’s voice was cautious, “I, uh, I wanted to call and apologize for the other night.”

You snorted, leaning your head back against the wall. “Yeah? For what part? For calling Rafe like his little bitch or for getting in front of my car when I was trying to leave?”

“I didn’t mean to fuck things up. I was just trying to stop you from doing something stupid.”

“Like what?” you snapped. “Leaving the party? Getting out of there before I had to watch him with her for one more second? Yeah, Top, real dumb of me.”

“You almost ran me over,” Topper shot back, his voice rising just a little, like he was offended you hadn’t mentioned that part. “Kinda felt like maybe you weren’t thinking straight.”

“You jumped in front of the car you fucking idiot. What the hell did you expect me to do? Slam on the brakes and listen to whatever bullshit you and Rafe had to say? Because trust me, ’m all out of patience for either of you.”

There was a sigh on the other end, the sound of him trying to not to lose his patentience, like he was the one in the right here. Typical Topper. Always wanting to smooth things over, play peacemaker between you and Rafe, like this was just another fight you’d get over.

He never really got it.

“Look,” Your cousin started, calmer this time, “I didn’t mean to call him. I just thought—”

“You always think calling him will fix things,” you cut in, “Like he’s the answer to every problem I have. He’s not. Not anymore.”

“I get that,” He added quickly, like he was afraid you’d hang up. “But I didn’t know what else to do! You were upset, and I thought maybe—”

“Maybe what? That he could swoop in and save the day?” You let out a bitter laugh. “He’s not your golden boy, Top. He doesn’t fix anything. He ruins things.”

Topper went quiet for a second, probably trying to figure out how to respond without setting you off on an angry rant again. “I get it,” he said finally, “You’re pissed at him. You have every right to be. But I didn’t call him to hurt you, okay? I was worried about you.”

You hated how genuine he sounded, hated that he meant well. He was a nuisance half of the time, sure, but he wasn’t malicious. He never was. He just had terrible judgment. 

“Next time, don’t,” you muttered, rubbing a hand over your face. “I don’t need you playing little brother and calling him when things go wrong."

“I wasn’t trying to clean anything up,” Topper explained, a little defensive now. “I just didn’t want you driving like that. You were upset.”

You rolled your eyes. “Upset doesn’t mean I need you or Rafe deciding what’s best for me. I’m not a kid.”

“You’re not,” he agreed, “But you weren’t exactly in a great headspace, so yeah, I stopped you. I wasn’t gonna let you leave like that and end up in a ditch somewhere.”

It hurt like a bitch, because deep down, you knew Topper had a point.

You were having a meltdown, and he’d stepped in, like he always did when you went off the rails. That was the problem with him—he cared, even when you didn’t want him to. He was family, the only family you had left, and he was too loyal for his own good.

“You could’ve told me,” you confessed what had been upsetting you, your voice losing some of its initial attitude. “About them. Instead of letting me walk into that party blind.”

Topper sighed again, “I should’ve,” he admitted. “I didn’t want you to find out like that. But it wasn’t my place to say anything. And I didn’t want to make things worse.”

Your hand instinctively moved to cup your stomach. You didn’t even realize you were doing it at first, but the second your fingers touched your shirt, the earlier panic welled up inside you again. If he only knew how bad things were. How bad they could get. You yanked your hand away like you’d been burned, heart hammering against your ribs most painfully. There was no way you could even begin to explain what was going on inside your head—or your body.

Not to Topper. Not to anyone. If he knew, he’d freak and you didn’t need that right now.

You clenched your jaw, pushing yourself to focus on the conversation, on Topper still yammering on about apologies and guilt You shook your head, a bitter smile tugging at your lips. 

“Are you even listening?”

“Unfortunately,” You sounded apathetic even to yourself, fingers tapping against the phone, agitated. “Look, Top, I don’t have time for this right now. I’m busy.”

He sighed. “I know you’re pissed, okay? I get it. But the gala’s in, like, two days. You... you still going, right?”

“Of course I’m going,” you scowled, barely able to hide the bitterness in your voice. “I have to. It’s not like I can just dip out and pretend it’s not happening.”

Unlike some people, you thought, but you bit your tongue.

“Good, because I’ll be there too. And I—”

“Oh, joy,” you interrupted, “Another chance for you to babysit me and make sure I don’t make a scene? Can’t wait.”

“Jesus, I’m just trying to help!” Topper groaned. “I didn’t want to make things worse the other night. I—”

“Yeah. Whatever, I’ll see you at the gala.”

You hung up. You didn’t have the patience to deal with him right now. 

The day of the gala came faster than you thought it would.

It was like you blinked, and suddenly, you were standing in the middle of the venue, walking through final checks with Lily, nodding along as she rattled off details you barely absorbed.

The room was all glitz and glamour, with chandeliers dripping from the ceiling, and everything draped in the foundation’s signature gold and white. 

Crisp tablecloths. Flowers in perfect, elegant arrangements. Waiters in black-tie uniforms were circulating, making sure everything looked flawless. Flawless.

That word made you want to gag.

You moved through the space like a ghost, smiling at the right moments, giving half-hearted approvals when needed.  You didn’t care. People were running around, asking for your opinion on this or that. You’d stayed at the venue longer than planned, making sure everything was in order, but your mind was stuck in that floating-place. You wanted to burn the whole thing down, if you were being honest.

You should’ve called your doctor. Days ago. Hell, maybe weeks ago.

Making smart choices wasn’t your thing lately, was it?

When you finally slipped into the room where they’d set up your glam team, you just wanted to sleep. The room itself was a suite off to the side of the venue, a private space meant to make you feel like royalty.

A massive mirror ran across one wall, surrounded by soft, glowing lights. A table was set up with everything—hair tools, makeup brushes, palettes, serums. Bottles of champagne sat chilled in the corner, the condensation dripping down the glass, untouched. It was the kind of place you were supposed to feel special in.

Normally you did. But this year you were numb.

The stylist worked quietly on your hair, soft curls falling into place as she tugged and pinned each section with meticulous care. The makeup artist was dabbing foundation onto your skin, blending and contouring until you didn’t even recognize yourself in the mirror. The dress hung behind you, a shimmering white gown, custom-designed by Versace for the occasion.

You looked like you were stepping into one of those perfect, glamorous lives. But on the inside, you felt like you were going to lose it at any second. You nodded along, giving tight-lipped smiles when they complimented you, and then they finally left.

The room was dead silent now, just you and your reflection. You stood in front of the mirror, staring at yourself, the perfect curls, the glowy skin, the gown waiting behind you. It all felt wrong. It felt fake. You didn’t bear a resemblance to yourself.

You looked like the version of you that the world expected—the untouchable girl. A doll.

Your rifled through your bag for your phone, but instead, your fingers brushed something else. Cold, hard. 

You hadn’t even realized it was in there.

One of the pregnancy tests. You must’ve thrown it in without thinking earlier that morning when you were rushing out the door. You hadn’t even noticed it until now.

What the fuck were you doing?

You had a gala to host in less than an hour. People were going to be looking at you, waiting for you to give the speech, expecting you to hold everything together like always. And there you were, standing in a private dressing room, about to do something so monumentally stupid. Maybe it was the pressure of tonight, or maybe it was the anger you’d been shoving down for weeks, but suddenly, you didn’t care.

You were going to do it.

Without even thinking, you stormed into the bathroom. You were so fucking tired of avoiding this. Tired of pretending like everything was fine, like you were fine.

What the hell was fine about any of this? You tore open the box, hands trembling as you pulled out the test. The room was so quiet, you could hear every little sound—your breath still uneven, the rustle of your dress against the tiles, the click of the test cap as you flicked it off.

You sat down, staring at the stick in your hand. This was insane. You were insane. Who the fuck took a pregnancy test ten minutes before they’re supposed to host a charity gala? 

You couldn’t get a proper breath out as you waited, heart pounding so hard it felt like it might rip your chest open. You leaned against the sink, gripping the edge. Your stomach churned, the nausea rising again, and you had to close your eyes to stop the floor from spinning.

What if it was positive? What if it wasn’t?

You stared at the test, willing the result to appear, but it didn’t. Not yet. The little window stayed blank, as if taunting you, making you feel like you were losing your mind. You knew you had to wait longer. You weren’t stupid. You’d read those instructions a million times by now, but you hated waiting.

Hated not knowing.

You couldn’t take your eyes off the stupid little piece of plastic. Just one line or two. That was all it came down to. One fucking line or two, and your entire life would either fall apart or what? Be fine?

You glanced at the mirror, catching another glimpse of yourself, and it almost startled you—your eyes were wild. Desperate. They were the eyes of someone who was just about ready to do anything to get this over with. 

You tried to picture telling him again, but the idea alone made you sick. You thought of Sofia, of her perfect smile next to his, and bile rose in your throat. Your hands never stopped shaking. You wanted to run. You wanted to throw that thing in the garbage can and never stare at it again.

Your thoughts spun in circles, going nowhere, just making everything worse. The clock on your phone ticked louder and louder, and you knew—somewhere out there, everyone was getting ready. Guests were arriving. The gala would start soon, and they’d all be waiting for you. Watching you. Expecting you to be the poised, perfect version of yourself you’d spent your whole life pretending to be.

And you were in here, trying not to lose your fucking mind.

You peeked back at it. Still nothing.

No line. No answer.

It felt like you were suspended in time. You closed your eyes, gripping the sink harder, praying for it to end—something to happen, anything.

Then finally, you felt it in your chest—a heavy, sinking feeling, like the moment before a fall.

You opened your eyes. 

There it was.

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[estellamiraiauthor]

The Stars May Rise and Fall: The Annotated Re-read (Chapter 31)

While this is a really important, kinda heartbreaking chapter, I’m not really sure how much I’ll have to add. It’s all pretty much there on the page (and I’m kinda sad that we’re nearing the end of the book), but I’ll do my best to add whatever I can. ❤️

As always, spoilers under the cut!

This chapter opens the day after the Hakone trip. Teru and Rei are in bed, and the obvious implication is that they’ve come home to be intimate again. I do SORT OF touch on “how far” they went… Teru asks Rei if he wants to “do more,” and you can read into that whatever details you want, but it was definitely supposed to indicate that although they’re enjoying exploring intimacy together, they’re also taking it slow.

And then Teru makes his choice… he tells Rei that he’s going to turn down the offer so he can keep singing Rei’s music, and playing at the venues Rei is comfortable going to. And Rei tells him to wait before he tells the others, because he’s now 100% decided that he’s going to leave.

Around chapter 20, which is the one where they go on the Ferris wheel date, I reached a point where I didn’t know where this story was going. I’d gotten Rei and Teru together, but there were still so many unresolved issues that it was hard to imagine them really being happy together long term. Many versions of the Phantom story use the Erik-Christine-Raoul love triangle in some form as the final conflict, but these characters had taken on a life of their own, and Teru was clearly no longer interested in Kiyomi (aka “Raoul”) as a romantic partner at this point… when Christine ends up with Raoul, we ache for Erik, but it’s a satisfying ending because Raoul is the one she wants to be with in the first place. But a Kiyomi/Teru ending wouldn’t have been satisfying, or made any sense at that point, at all.

So what was the final conflict? What was the choice that Teru had to make? I thought about it for YEARS, and in that time I read a lot of sort of meta writing about various Phantoms, and something I read about the original Leroux novel was what ultimately pointed me in the right direction: “He loved her so he let her go.”

I’m that novel, Erik gives Christine a choice: either she stays with him as his “living wife”, or he blows up the opera house and kills everyone in it (or at least tries). She chooses to stay, and kisses him, and he is so moved by that act of love that he lets her go anyway. Now, there’s obviously a lot that doesn’t work here: Rei’s not a murderer, Teru DOES actually want to stay with him. But “he loved him so he let him go”? That I could do.

So it ends up being kind of a choice, not between Rei and Kiyomi, but between Rei and his career. Rei never actually spells it out as an ultimatum, but he definitely makes Teru FEEL like it is… and Teru chooses Rei, so Rei has to love him enough to let him go… which is TOTALLY misguided. But in his poor, twisted mind, he really thinks that this is the greatest thing he can do to make Teru happy.

Teru makes this decision on Christmas Day, and then we skip ahead to New Year’s Eve. Rei, in that time, we can assume has been making preparations to leave.

He gives Teru a necklace—jewelry again! This was definitely supposed to contrast with the (now broken on the floor of the Shibuya Starbucks) necklace Kiyomi gave him… Kiyomi’s depicted a creature in bondage, and the gift itself was sort of intended to make Teru “hers”. But Rei’s is red amber that Teru thinks looks like a sunrise, and although Teru doesn’t notice it until later, it’s inscribed “Shine,” which is what Teru’s self-chosen name means, and what Rei has repeatedly promised him he will do. When Rei originally ordered it, he probably intended it to be a kind of blessing for Teru to take the recording contract; now he uses it as a goodbye gift. Either way, it’s the opposite of Kiyomi’s gift: intended to set Teru free, not tie him down.

They play the countdown show… these kinds of concerts were real. They basically lasted all day, and a lot of people would get tickets to more than one, and move around among the different venues to see all their favorite bands. It was kind of crazy but a lot of fun. New Year’s is the big winter holiday in Japan, and a lot of people spend it with family, but for young people who are more focused on hobbies, it was a night to spend with friends and to stay out till morning.

So Teru does that, but he ends up leaving early because he’s worried about the way Rei said goodbye. He doesn’t put it into words until later in the chapter, once he’s reasonably sure that Rei IS okay, but I think the worry has been building up all night that Rei might try to take his own life.

When he gets to Rei’s apartment, the locks have been changed. Teru thinks this is weird, because a lot of businesses ARE closed on New Year’s Eve, but there are definitely 24-hour, 365-day a year locksmiths, mainly for people who lock themselves out of their houses in the middle of the night, but as long as someone is willing to pay the holiday rate, they’re probably fine with doing other work as well.

Teru’s still scared, but eventually one of his phone calls to Rei gets manually rejected. You can still pretty much tell based on the number of rings whether someone has rejected a call or whether it’s just timed out, but it used to be a completely different message. Of course, you wouldn’t USUALLY be relieved to get the “rejected” message from someone you’re in a relationship with, but in this case, Teru is relieved because at least it means Rei is alive. (I honestly don’t think he’s ever really been suicidal though… maybe he WISHES he could just end his own suffering, but I don’t think he really WANTS to, because the feeling of obligation to let Saki and the rest of the band live on through his music, and to keep atoning for their deaths for the rest of his life, is too strong…. He’s also got that stubborn string of hope that won’t give up, even when he wants to.)

And then at the end, Teru does finally notice the “shine” inscription, and realizes what Rei has done. 😭

[drspencerweed]

Dear Spence - Night 4

spencer reid x fem!reader

series masterlist

masterlist

fic summary: Going undercover as serial killer bait was simple. Going undercover as serial killer bait three months after being kidnapped was not so simple. Going undercover with the love of my life and having to pretend to be in love with him while also pretending I was pretending was….well it was about as complicated as it sounds.

chapter summary: No secret can be kept forever.

Chapter Word Count: 2.2k

Content: Rated M (16+) fem!reader, mentions of past kidnapping, trauma responses, nightmares, descriptions of past kidnapping, canon-typical violence, fake relationship, friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, only one bed trope

tw for this chapter: descriptions of a panic attack, discussion of the immediate aftermath of a kindnapping

read on ao3

[Prologue] [Night 1] [Night 2] [Night 3]

The entire day had been bliss. Compared to the night before, where my mind was plagued with fear and anxiety, I spent the day following on cloud nine. I woke up in Spencer’s arms, and for the second time we remained wrapped in each other for a few minutes before getting up to start the day. I spent the day finishing his annotated version of Perks of Being a Wallflower, only interrupted periodically by Spencer pulling me away to cook together or dance in the kitchen or play a card game.

It was like I was living in a fantasy world. I was amazed at how easily I forgot the truth, the reason we were here. How easily I put it out of my mind so these days with Spencer would feel untainted. He had that ability- to make me forget everything outside of his attention on me.

Now I was sitting up in bed, finally on the last pages of the book, while Spencer got ready in the bathroom. When he emerged, I was just finishing up the last page. I finally closed the book as he slipped into bed next to me.

“So?” He asked.

“Your thoughts were really interesting. The way you interpreted Charlie’s letters as if they were to himself, in self reflection? I had never thought of it that way before.”

Spencer blushed, “Well, I don’t know for sure, of course-”

“No one does! I love that theory. Personally I subscribe to the belief that they were to someone he lost.” I explained. “I also noticed you underlined my favorite quote. ‘We accept the love we think we deserve.’ Which is like, everyone’s favorite quote, to be fair.”

“It’s a good quote. And I think it rings true, for most people.”

“What was your favorite quote?” I asked. He had underlined and commented on plenty of them, but I was curious which one had stuck out the most in his wonderful mind.

“There are a lot that were poignant.” He nodded down at the duvet, not making eye contact with me. I wanted to reach out and hold his twisting hand, but I didn’t think we had crossed that line yet. Cuddling before bed and in the morning was one thing, random touches that could be misconstrued were another. “But I think-uhm. Well, the one coming to mind is ‘It's just that I don't want to be somebody's crush. If somebody likes me, I want them to like the real me, not what they think I am.’”

My heart ached, and I wanted desperately to grab him by the shoulders and shout I do! I like you for you! In fact, I love you for it! I remembered what came next, as well. “‘And I don't want them to carry it around inside. I want them to show me, so I can feel it too.’” I finished the quote.

Spencer locked eyes with me at that comment. “Yea that part-I struggled with that part.” He admitted. I swallowed down my guilt as I thought about my love for him, that I kept so selfishly to myself.

“W-Why?” I ventured to ask. His eyes boring into mine made it hard to speak.

“Well, I guess I agree with it but I’ve never been, uhm. The best at expressing my emotions. So it would be a little- hypocritical, I suppose.” He chuckled softly at the end of his confession, his eyes dropping by to the bed again. “I-I’ve had feelings for someone. For a while. But I haven’t told them, so I don’t really have room to complain, do I?”

He said the words so casually, so plainly, as if they didn’t rip open my chest and stab me in the heart. As if each of those words weren’t an individual twist in my abdomen, as if the idea of him loving someone else didn’t make me want to vomit. Luckily his eyes were glued to the bed, so he didn’t have the chance to analyze my microexpressions. There was no way I had contained my reaction well enough. The heartbreak must’ve been written plain as day on my face.

After what was probably too long of a pause, I forced out a chuckle. “Yea, I guess that’s fair.” I swallowed tightly and scrambled for a way out. He looked up at me and my heart began to race, terrified of giving myself away. “I, uhm. Just gonna hop in the shower.”

I hurried out of bed, grabbing my pajamas and rushing into the bathroom. Once the door was shut I placed my clothes on the lid of the toilet, and then ran my fingers through my hair, tugging lightly at the strands. I took a deep breath and gathered myself, brushing my hair back and looking in the mirror. Three more days, I reminded myself, repeating it like a mantra. I only had to make it three more days.

The shower turned on hot, still warm from Spencer’s shower earlier. As I was about to strip down, I realized I forgot my towel. I stepped out, planning to grab my towel quickly and get back to my shower, but stopped in my tracks as soon as I opened the door.

Spencer was sitting on the edge of the bed, on my side, my letter in his hands.

Instinct kicked in faster than I expected, and I ran over and ripped the letter out of his hands. “What are you doing?!” I shouted, gripping the letter tight to my chest. Spencer seemed frozen. “Th-That’s private.” I stuttered, getting my voice down to a regular level again. My mind began racing, trying to work out what to say, how to explain. I braced myself for the inevitable rejection while I tried to think of a way not to compromise the mission.

“I’m sorry, I just-” He cut himself off, coughing into his hand to clear his throat. “I was looking for the case file, and that was in the drawer, and it had my name on it.” He didn’t offer any further explanation, and I couldn’t find it in myself to be mad at him, even though I still felt a distinct ache of betrayal.

“You weren’t-No one was supposed to see this. Ever.” I admitted looking down at the words as they blurred from the tears in my eyes.

“You said-You said that he didn’t make you. That we got there before-”

“I lied. I just- I knew it would be submitted to evidence, and I didn’t-” I choked on the words, thinking about that day. About the hours after I was rescued that I spent in the back of an ambulance, and then in an interview room, this piece of paper pressed between the underwire of my bra and the skin of my chest. My body started shaking, tremors starting at my hands as I tried to chase the memories away.

That whole day Spencer was right by my side, his fingers laced through mine. I was in a daze, too out of it to be grateful for the contact. He drove me home, too, and slept on my couch when I timidly asked him to stay. It was the first time I had asked him, the first time my need for him to be there outweighed my fear of it being too revealing.

Before I knew what was happening I was sitting on the floor, my chin pressed tight to my chest and my arms wrapped tightly around my legs. I tried to get my breathing under control, inhaling deeply but my chest was too tight and I couldn’t get a full breath in. Blood rushed through my ears, the world turned blurry, and then-

“Hey, hey.” Spencer’s voice cut through the chaos, his warm hands gently reaching out to hold onto my forearm, pulling me out of the pretzel I had wrapped myself into. “Look at me.” He whispered. I willed my eyes to raise, locking eyes with him. He was kneeling across from me on the floor, hands now holding my own gently. “You’re here. You’re safe.” He said seriously. I nodded, closing my eyes and dropping my head back, breathing deeply until it felt normal again.

As the adrenalin in my bloodstream dwindled, my body sagged with exhaustion. Tears pricked my eyes in embarrassment, pulling my hands away from Spencer to press them into my eyes. Here he was, comforting me, despite knowing how I felt. Knowing how I had been using him this week. It was proof he was too good for me. I took a shaky breath, trying not to let myself panic again. He probably just pitied me.

When I had gathered myself enough, I sniffled and looked back at him. He had settled onto the ground, his back against the bed, looking at me with such concern. I picked up the letter from the ground where it had fallen when I broke down. I scanned it, as if I didn’t have the whole thing memorized. At the thought I remembered - Spencer also had it memorized now. He knew every word by heart the second he laid eyes on it. The thought made my breath hitch again.

“I never-” I swallowed tightly. “I never wanted you to read this.”

Spencer was quiet for a long time. I didn’t dare look up, terrified to see the look of pity that was sure to be present before he rejected me for good. I will love you endlessly, Spencer Reid. If only it wasn’t so true.

“At least you didn’t write your secret.” Spencer finally said. My eyes snapped to him, my brow furrowing. He was clearly upset, but trying to pretend it was a good thing. “Although I-I wish you would tell me.”

I realized all at once that he hadn’t understood the letter at all. He thought that I had gotten cut off. He couldn’t even imagine me confessing my love to him. He probably couldn’t even think of me in a romantic sense. I wasn’t sure if it was better or worse than outright rejection.

“I can’t.” I said quietly.

Spencer bit his lip harshly, wringing his hands together in his lap. “Why not? You know I would never judge you.”

“It’s not-It’s not important.” I folded the letter, going to stand up. A hand on my ankle stopped me, Spencer leaning over to halt my motions.

“[Y/N].” There were words unspoken, a silent plea for me to tell him the meaning behind the letter. I knew that I couldn’t do it though. I couldn’t tell him, watch the realization happen, watch the understanding dawn on his features. I shook my head as I stood, his fingers slipping off of my ankle.

“It’s not important.” I repeated, grabbing my towel and escaping to the bathroom.

I took a long time in the shower. Spencer must have realized I was waiting him out, because eventually he turned out the light and I slipped into the room quietly. When I got in bed, I planned to just drift off, but Spencer wasn’t stupid. His voice softly cut through the darkness.

“[Y/N], I’m sorry. That letter was private, and maybe I shouldn’t have picked it up.” I heard him swallow, and his voice sounded tight. “But no one’s- no one’s ever said those things about me before. And I just wanted to say thank you. And that I’m here if you want to talk.”

I rolled over so I was facing him, and could just barely make out his face in the moonlight that draped over the bed. “You’re welcome, Spencer. Every word of that letter is true. You deserve to hear it more often.”

His face melted and he shimmied closer to me, hands still tucked under his own head. “For the record, I will love you endlessly, too.” He admitted quietly. My heart leaped into my throat. “You’re one of the most amazing people I know, and there’s no one I’d be prouder to have as my best friend.”

My smile must have had a hint of melancholy when I said “Thanks, Spence.” I knew the truth but when he said it like that it hurt. I loved being his best friend, for a long time I was convinced it was all I needed. Maybe one day I could get back there, and be around him without feeling like there were knives in my heart.

“You deserve to hear it more often.” He repeated my own words back to me with a small smirk. I rolled my eyes, but he finally reached out and pulled me close. “Just because you’re keeping a secret from me doesn’t mean we don’t get cuddles.” He said almost petulantly.

“Of course, how silly of me.” I caved, resting my head on his chest.

He cradled my head in his hand, fingers dancing in my hair, and just before I fell asleep I swore I felt a brush of his lips on my forehead.

I must’ve been dreaming.

[Night 5]

<<<<>>>>

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[autisticlenaluthor]

OKAY I HAVE MANY THOUGHTS AND FEELINGS, IN THIS ESSAY I WILL-0

1- last kiss annotation on genius:

“Taylor finishes the song before it should have been over to express that she feels like her relationship finished before it should have.”

LIKE???? HOW TO EVER RECOVER FROM THIS AFTER TYING IT TO YOUR FIC???

also can i just point out that this could go both ways like lena was the one who moved but she didn’t GO AWAY you know? like she still wrote to kara and tried so hard to cling to that part of her life and as far as she knew, kara was the one who gave up on her because idk distance made it harder? or maybe in her lowest points lena believed it was because if they couldn’t see each other regularly kara didn’t care about her anymore, or miss her and- see where i’m getting at? i mean you wrote the thing so i’m probably either completely wrong or you’ve thought about this analysis but like it NEEDED TO BE WRITTEN DOWN.

2- everything has changed annotation:

“Swift’s handwritten lyrics reveal that this section (i just wanna know you better, know you better now repetitions yk) was originally:

‘I just wanna know you better

Grow old together

Hold you forever, I’”

EJEHEUEHEHJSHJSHSSGS GAY SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP BECAUSE THIS IS SO KARA OH MY FUCKING GOD I CANNOT WITH THIS ANYMORE

also!!! the ed sheeran part about the “walls painted blue, but i’ll take them down and open up the doors for you” i feel like represents lena so well?? like how a big part of who she is is only familiar to kara you know and just AAAAAAAA

—

anyways!! thanks so much for the recs, i absolutely adore taylor swift and making the connections between her songs and your story is just *chef’s kiss*

okay for last kiss i’ve never read the notations and oh my GOD that hurts. lena and kara’s relationship ended when they were fourteen and i’m not gonna spoil what happened or why lena left specifically but it was ROUGH

i’ve never thought of last kiss from lena’s pov bc when it goes “and i’ll watch your life in pictures like i used to watch you sleep” all i can think of is kara looking at her scrapbook filled with photos of her and lena curled up in lena’s hospital bed together while kara’s awake watching her to make sure she’s okay and lena’s fast asleep in her arms.

and also when it’s like “i hope it’s nice where you are, and i hope the sun sets and it’s a beautiful day, and something reminds you, you wish you had stayed” kara thinking of her best memory with lena (which i can’t spoil bc it’s literally in the next chapter but it’s SO GOOD) because if lena really is dead, she wants to remember the happy lena and imagine her in a place where she isn’t in pain or suffering anymore.

literally everything you said though is so right bc lenas thought process !! YES !! also just the idea that lena has in her head that she isn’t worth anything if she isn’t sick bc her whole identity was the fact that she was a kid with cancer so she has no idea if kara will even care about her once she’s in remission

the everything is changed original lyrics !!!! ripping my heart out

i kinda interpret the ed sheeran lyrics as lena having these walls that are so tall and strong but even after years of distance, kara’s the only one she can find herself opening herself up to. especially with her physical symptoms, she tells everyone she’s fine and that nothings wrong but with kara she she can admit that she isn’t okay (whoops that’s a minor spoiler lolz)

anyways that was so much and idk if it made any sense but like i could write a whole essay on these silly little songs so ty for listening

[yurtletheturtlehenderson]

COSMIC - S3:E3; Chapter Three, The Case Of The Missing Lifeguard - [Pt. 2]

A Will Byers x Reader Series

𝘌𝘭 𝘨𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘭 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘫𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘤𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘉𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘏𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳. 𝘞𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘳𝘥, 𝘞𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘔𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘓𝘶𝘤𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘋&𝘋. 𝘋𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘚𝘵𝘦𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘺 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘙𝘰𝘣𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘱𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘙𝘶𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘢𝘯 𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘢𝘨𝘦.

📝: guys.... he's finally here 🧙🏻🔮 you'll never believe me but when typing out the "day free of girls" line i literally typed "a day full of girls" on accident and I lost it.

||𝟑𝐑𝐃 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐏𝐎𝐕||

"Holy shit, I can't believe we're really doing this."

Max caps the magic marker pen and flips the last name card around, the three friends grinning down at their work before them. Together, Y/n, El, and Max had gathered enough scraps to make a roulette wheel of sorts made up of a piece of cardboard, drawing paper, and an old Coke bottle. In other words, the decider of El's next trip to the void.

Max tosses the pen back on the bed and Y/n manages to fix the glass bottle before it rolled off the cardboard. Her back dug into the wall where she sat next to El but all she could feel was excitement. That and the terrible sinking feeling she had been ignoring all night.

"Ready?" Max asks.

"Ready."

"Remember, you don't have to do this, okay?"

El cocks her head to the side and smiles at Y/n.

"Y/n. I'm okay."

That feeling grew worse with the anxiety bubbling in her stomach. But the look in El's eyes was gentle enough to quell the fears. It was stupid to be worrying. Wasn't it?

"I know, I just mean we're not gonna make you do anything you don't want to do," she looks at Max and she nods.

"Totally," she agrees.

El can't contain the warm smile stretching across her cheeks, and any previous feelings towards the void and going in solidified. She knew before this moment she could trust her friends as she went back in. But it was reassuring to know they were still looking out for her, making sure she felt safe.

"It's okay. I want to,"

Y/n's smile returns and she nods, signaling El to spin the bottle. It twirls with a muted clatter before landing on its first name.

"Mr. Wheeler," the three of them read aloud.

Y/n makes another face at the card and Max scoffs.

"Blech, boring,"

"Yeah," El chuckles, looking to Max. "Boring,"

"Spin again," she encourages.

El reaches for the bottle, a small frown forming as she looks between them.

"Against the rules?"

"We make our own rules," Y/n says simply.

El's cheeks were beginning to hurt from all this smiling.

Nevertheless, she reaches for the bottle, winding it back before spinning it full force. Their eyes are trained patiently on the glass, watching as the glass nozzle slows over,

-"Billy,"

Y/n feels another stone sink to the pit of her stomach like a skipped rock. Unsure, she sends a look to Max who is looking less than thrilled. The redhead scoffs as Y/n rises from the bed to retrieve the radio. After nearly a year of friendship with Max, Y/n had learned more or less what to expect with her best friend's stepbrother, but she also knew not to rule out any surprises. Part of her, a small part she apparently shared with Max, was scared they were sending El into a sure moment of trauma.

She just didn't realize what kind in that moment.

"Okay, look," Max warned, as Y/n made her way back to the bed and began fiddling with the radio. "I should just warn you if he's with a girl or doing something gross just get out of there right away before you're scarred for life,"

"Max," El warned playfully, taking the headband Max had nearby.

"I'm just saying, he's really gross,"

"Max!" El laughed.

"Okay," She chuckled, readjusting herself on the bed. "Shutting up now,"

Y/n manages to find the correct station just as El hooks the headband over her eyes again.

A silence falls over the room. Any muffled voices from the TV Hopper was watching in the other room were drowned out in the static seeping into the air. Y/n and Max watched carefully as the girl's shoulders rise and fall in a deep breath.

When El arrived, she immediately felt cold.

She had developed a sense of time in this place long ago, and she knew her getting here — finding Billy — didn't take long, but it wasn't as fast as it had been when she looked for the boys.

When El arrived... everything felt wrong.

First of all, Billy wasn't anywhere in sight. Not right away.

All that was waiting for her was a car, just feet to her right. The headlights were on, bright yellow beams shining over her legs, staring at her like eyes as it sat watching her in the dark.

El tries to ignore the beating of her heart in her ears as she inches closer to investigate. She tries to ignore the growing urge to turn tail and run. To ignore her instincts completely, leave the void and tell Y/n and Max she was sorry.

But she didn't. She crept closer and closer to the only clue she was given and found her unease growing.

Festering.

The glass of the windshield was hopelessly cracked, dented in like something had hit it. Hard. And when she crept even closer, it was confirmed to her the car was empty. Even more curious, the trunk was open.

El grew closer to the trunk, but before she could investigate further the sounds of fearful whimpers finally reached her ears. It deepened her frown and pulled her eyes deeper into the void. That's when she saw it.

She could barely make him out, he was so far away but it was him.

Billy.

"I found him,"

"What's he doing?" Max asks, sounding as unsure as Y/n felt.

Neither of them liked the look forming on El's face under the headband. She looked worried, and when she finally spoke she sounded it too.

She sounded scared.

"I don't know,"

Everything had become harder to make out. Every step she took to close the distance between her and Billy made the connection worse.

Like something was blocking her.

Whatever it is, it isn't strong enough to block out Billy's coarse and hollow voice.

"Don't be afraid."

"He's... on the floor,"

His back is to El, knelt over the floor. His dark gray tank and jeans nearly working to blend him into the darkness he's hiding in. He was nowhere near even a scrap of light, undoubtedly the reason it took her this long to spot him.

His voice is as chilling as whatever atmosphere she had just stepped into. She was in the comfort of her own home, surrounded by those she trusted to pull her out but it was not enough.

Against Billy's words to this stranger, she felt afraid. Nor did she believe the next words to leave his mouth.

"It'll be over soon."

"talking to someone."

The whimpers grew louder and more frequent. Whoever this girl was, she was crying.

Nothing about this trip made her want to get closer, but El continued on. She was determined now, despite the suffocating fear. She was worried for this girl.

El could barely see her. She too was cloaked in darkness. And she was also obscured from behind Billy's figure.

"Just stay very still,"

El's lungs felt like they were flooding. Her legs turned to led, slowly bringing her to a stop just a few steps behind Billy. Tears had crept into her eyes by the time he rose to his feet, his broad shoulders meeting her eye level.

Her instincts were screaming inside her like an alarm; bright, violent flashes of fear growing more rapid by the second until—

You.

El flinched as he whipped around to face her, sunken, darkened eyes widening as they piercing her own. He had not uttered a word to her but she still heard it. A force so strong and revolted — so concentrated — she could feel the thought in her bones.

You.

He could see her.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

She's too shocked to do anything. Too afraid. But she wasn't prepared to let that stop her. Heather was going to do something, she had to. She would.

But that all died when Billy suddenly stood up, looking almost disinterested in her as an eery, unnatural sound reverberates throughout the darkness before her. Slowly, her head turns to face the dark abyss when she catches movement out of the corner of her eye.

His face is as hard as stone though his eyes hold a flicker of struggle and pain when it all unfolds. Heather may be the only one in binding, but she is not the only one who is trapped. There is nothing at all Billy can do but watch as the large and bloodied mass of flesh stomps forward from the shadows, ready to feast.

Neither is there anything to do to stop the sudden plunge of a million icy daggers into his system as his head is jerked around. His senses had suddenly been dialed up to twenty in the blink of an eye, the skin over the back of his neck tightening when it senses her.

Heather's bloodcurdling screams swallow the silence as his stomach plummets two more stories.

It was the girl.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

The headband is torn suddenly from El's tremoring body, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she gulps down shaky breaths of air.

"What is it?"

"El, what's wrong?"

El feels a warm hand gently graze her own, and while it does wonders in putting the icy chill to bed it's not enough to banish the fear flooding her lungs.

It takes great effort for her to meet her friend's watery eyes, but when she does, it's impossible to ignore the grave look El casts over Y/n.

"El?"

||𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋'𝐒 𝐏𝐎𝐕||

- 𝗙𝗟𝗔𝗦𝗛𝗕𝗔𝗖𝗞 -

"You sure you don't mind me leaving?" I ask as I stand to collect my papers.

Y/n smiles at me from where I left her on my couch, surrounded by notebooks and dice.

"Of course not," She says, sitting up to help gather our things. "You know if El called me up, you wouldn't let me miss out either. Besides, I've been meaning to see Max."

How was she so understanding?

"Thanks," I grin. "We're still on for tonight though, right?"

She grabbed my face again and pulled me in for a kiss. I nearly forgot to breathe until she broke away, smiling warmly at me.

"Wouldn't miss it,"

- 𝗘𝗡𝗗 𝗢𝗙 𝗙𝗟𝗔𝗦𝗛𝗕𝗔𝗖𝗞 -

I stare down at the gameboard, my eyes trailing over my notes. They were littered with Y/n's annotations and doodles in red ink, giving me the encouragement I need.

She should be here.

She worked just as hard as I did to make this happen, she should be here to see it.

"If Mike says he wants to hang out, just the guys, I say run," she told me. "Someone should get to see this campaign. I'm okay with missing out if that's what it takes."

I gave her a look, testing her own words. But she seemed sure. I could tell with just one look, she wasn't giving up.

"It sounds like Mike needs you, anyway," Y/n broke out in a grin and handed me my papers. "And who better to solve any problem than Will the Wise?"

I thumb her notes and I can feel the indents of the pen made on the paper by her handwriting. Down in the corner of the page, I notice something I hadn't before. It was a hasty doodle of Y/C/N looking up at me next to the words, 'Safe Travels to Kuzaton, Sir Will!' And then a smaller, cruder doodle of Y/C/N holding a fireball in her hand as she winked. 'PS. Inform me if your companions are in need of a little persuasion'

I laughed, remembering her promise in Castle Byers. Carefully, I tear the page out and fold it into my pocket for safekeeping before looking up at my friends.

They were still passed out; Lucas was on the floor, Mike on the couch, with a can of Coke still in his hand.

I sigh, trying my best to hold onto the encouragement Y/n had given me. But I couldn't go off of it forever. Of course she was going to support me, she always has.

Just like they used to.

And now everything was a mess. I try to let go of the anger but it's sticking to me like sap; I can't just brush it off. They had been ignoring me all summer. And before that, I wasn't myself because of what happened the year before. It's the first time I realize the last time we were all like this was before the Upside Down. Now that everything had settled down, and El and Max have been around, Dustin's isn't even here and everyone else is too caught up in each other.

Y/n was the only one to notice me. And now, even she's not here.

I actually begin to consider her offer but I shake the thought away. I can't run to her, even if she could kick their asses. This was between them and me.

They just forgot what they're missing.

I rise from my seat and feeling rather brave, I turn the volume up on the boom box before pressing play.

The tavern music blasts throughout the basement and Mike and Lucas jump awake.

"What are you doing?" Lucas says, peering up at me as he squints against the lights.

"Yeah, Will, can you turn down the music?" Mike cries.

"Please address me by my full name," I declare.

I refuse to go meet their eye, showing them I wasn't going to let them walk all over me anymore.

"What?"

I slam the staff into the ground, glaring at Mike. "My full name!"

"Oh, god, okay," Mike sighs, rubbing his eyes. "Will the Wise, can you please turn down the music?"

"That is not music. That is the sound of destiny! I have seen into the future and I have seen that today is a new day. A day... free of girls!"

"What is happening right now?" Lucas asks, his eyes still stuck shut.

"Will, come on," Mike groans.

Ignoring him, I dip down to the board, admiring the work that had taken so long.

"A tribe of villagers are under threat from an evil force from the swamps of Kuzaton,"

"Will, it's so early,"

I glare at him, slowly rising.

"Is it?" I ask. "Is it early, Michael? Tell that to the villagers crying for your help. Children so frightened they cannot sleep. Are you truly going to let them perish? Or are you going to come to their rescue and become the heroes you were always meant to be?"

Lucas, who had been blinking through sleep my entire speech, peers up at me as he raises his hand.

"Can I at least take a shower first?"

||𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐏𝐎𝐕||

The clouds above our heads were growling with thunder, threatening a heavy storm as the three of us made our way to Max's house to investigate Billy.

"It's gonna start pouring soon," Max says, voicing my thoughts. "We should be at the mall, or watching a movie or something,"

Poor El. It had taken so long to calm her down last night. And it took promising her we'd go check out it later today. So here were are. Traveling up Cherry through the hot, muggy air, and a bad feeling still in my gut.

"You guys don't believe me?" El asks, growing sad.

I shared a worried look with Max before both of us nod our heads quickly.

"Of course we do!"

"And we're sure you saw some super weird stuff, totally," Max continues. "We're just a little confused. I mean, did you really contact Y/n through there once?"

El didn't seem as receptive as she had been, and I jumped in, nodding. "Yeah, last year when everything was going on with Will and Dart. Granted, I thought had I had been dreaming at first but I put the pieces together. Plus, El, didn't you say Mike has sensed you before?

El, who had been thoughtfully watching her feet as she walked, gears turning in her brain, suddenly looked up at me with a strange look in her eye.

"How did you?"

"How did I what?"

"Put your pieces together?"

I thought the question was strange, as I still don't understand what this has to do with Billy but I answered anyway.

"I don't know, I," I shook my head, feeling a thoughtful frown forming on my face. "Well, I realized I wasn't even fully asleep when it happened, I was wading in and out. I remember trying to stay awake cause I thought you were in my room, but you weren't. It felt really weird, actually, like I was dreaming with my eyes open. But I remembered what you said and I decided to take a chance." I shrug, hands in my pockets. "And I was right. It was you,"

But it still doesn't make sense.

"That was supposed to happen though, right? You said you had a way, I figured you knew I'd see you."

El slowly looked back up at me, looking almost concerned.

"I didn't," she admits.

She didn't know? But that day I found her... She said she could reach me. And if it's true, how come I'm the only one who can see her?

"I'm still worried," El admitted.

I brought my head to look at her, and I realized I was beginning to fall behind. I scurried a few steps across the pavement and back to their pace when Max tried again.

"Well, we'll check it out. But I'm sure it's going to be fine. A misunderstanding, I mean,"

Judging by the look on El's face, she wasn't letting up. Not that I can blame her. I'm not exactly feeling too great about this either.

"How do you know that?" El asks. She shakes her head like she's trying to forget what she heard. "What about the screams?"

"I know, but," Max sighs up at the sky, growing uncomfortable as she turns back to El. "here's the thing. When Billy is alone with a girl, they make like, really crazy noises,"

I grimace.

"They scream?"

Now I'm trying not to laugh.

"Yeah, but, like," Max darts her eyes past El, flashing me a panicked look. I shrug, looking back down at the ground as I try not to chuckle. "happy screams,"

El only seems more confused.

"Happy screams? What is happy screams?"

Max looked at me again, silently pleading. I shrug, not about to give El the talk. And judging by Max's expression, she wasn't about to either.

She just sighs.

"I'm just gonna lend you my mom's Cosmo,"

The chuckle finally breaks loose just as we reach the front of Max's house. "Yeah," I snort. "Hop won't freak out at all,"

Max rolls her eyes at me and they rest on the empty lot.

"His car's not here," Max says, all thoughts on the previous conversation forgotten. "You really want to do this?"

Finally looking back at El, I watch her expression carefully and the knot in my stomach burrows itself deeper. I haven't seen her this worried in a long time.

Since last year. And the year before.

I'm beginning to understand the bad feeling in my stomach now. The same one I had for the past two years.

I just hope it's wrong.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Learn About Unconscious Bias:

Why Gaza Needs Our Help

How To Be An Ally

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

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[writingsbychlo]

let me down slow (epilogue)

word count; 2830

summary; it’s moving day, and stiles is getting his dorm all set up with the sheriff, while you and mitch still have a considerable amount more unpacking to do.

notes; I know some of y’all didn’t like the events of part eight, but you’re just gonna’ have to deal with it, because they’re adorable, it was all a misunderstanding, and they deserve the world.

warnings; none, really. some vaguely dirty innuendoes, that’s it.

Smoothing your hands over the poster on the wall, you pressed it flat to the plaster, holding it steady as Stiles pinned it down straight, and you cheered once the final one was up, the collection of Star Wars posters lining the walls making the room seem entirely perfect for your best friend. Hopping down from the bed, you smoothed out the covers, before letting both of your hands fly up to meet Stiles’ in a set of high fives, and the pair of you cheered as you took it all in.

“It’s really getting there!”

The oversized corkboard he loved so much was sitting against one wall, a shelf you’d spent almost an hour trying to put up between the pair of you as the Sheriff laughed was now assembled, with three baskets sitting along it. The first contained bundles of assorted pins and paperclips for putting up the vast assortment of photos and collage pieces that added, the space freshly cleared so that he could build it up ready for the new year. The second basket contained his camera, with a selection of different types of film for interesting shots, and the third was filled with pens and note pads for all the annotations and quotes he would put under each picture. 

The opposite wall was lined with six matching Star Wars posters, showing off the promotional pictures and titles of the originals and the prequels, a prized possession that you’d bought for Stiles as a graduation present, so that he didn’t have to take his collection at home down and travel them across the country. His desk was already cluttered with notebooks and pens, and the closet was brimming with flannelled shirts. The bookcase was stacked with textbooks and DVDs. Above the desk was pinned a campus map, class schedule, time table and a calendar, all for his convenience, because Stiles had already voiced his desire to cram as many college experiences into his first year as he possibly could, he wanted to live life to the fullest.

Along the windowsill were photo frames with his favourite pictures of everyone from back home, and he was proudly staring at the final few boxes on the floor, as his dad carried the last one in, the final clothes he had ready to be unpacked into the set of drawers beside his bed, your hand coming up to wipe across your forehead in false exhaustion as you looked around. 

“It’s fitting for you, kid.”

His voice was a little rough, and you could tell that the Sheriff was holding back his emotions as he sent his youngest son off to college, too. He held his arms out of you both, and Stiles rolled his eyes as he let out a string of curses at the affection, but pressed his face into his father’s neck as he wrapped around one side of his body, not covering the little sniffle he let out as well as he thought he had. You were quick to follow in his footsteps, tucking yourself happily under the older man’s chin, and you squeezed the two men in a tight hug. 

You easily remained that way, knowing that the two were each trying to hide their emotions, and you smiled to yourself at the thought, rolling your eyes softly. “You know, dad, I’m going to be checking with Melissa that you’re still eating healthy. Don’t think you can start eating bacon and fries every day now just because I’m gone.”

“You’re the worst.”

You giggled as he pushed you both away, but he ruffled your hair fondly, and you decided to lighten the mood a little, turning to swipe the camera from its place on the shelf, checking it was loaded with film before handing the polaroid device over to Noah. “I think we need to take the first picture to put up, don’t you?”

Stiles gasped, nodding happily before turning to you, and you pressed your hands to his shoulder once he’d turned back to face his father, and you jumped up as high as you could, sealing you legs above his hips and he gripped at your thighs, letting out a laugh as you landed on his back, your hands wrapping around his neck. With the cheesiest grin that you could muster, the Sheriff gave you a count down, before clicking the camera and waiting as the small piece of paper pushed it’s way out of the device, before handing it over to you both and putting the camera down on the desk.

Holding up the little slip, he waited patiently as the colour began to drip into it, the picture slowly revealing itself, and you let out a squeal once it became properly formed, so that you could see the image clearly. “I love it! Pin it!”

You tapped his shoulders, and he moved eagerly across to the board, selecting a pin and pushing it through the card, securing it to the very centre of the board. Only a second later, he was grabbing a red pen and a yellow post-it note, scribbling down a reminder before adding the note to the photo, and you peaked over his shoulder to read it. 

‘Move-in Day, August 2020’

You grinned, taking the pen and adding a little heart to it, before placing your hands on your hips and looking around the room. The phone you’d left on the bedside table a while ago buzzed loudly, chiming a little tune as it did, and you jumped at the interruption. Stiles moved across the room for you, picking up the device before letting out a long groan, and you chuckled at his reaction, already knowing who it must be.

“It’s my brother. Your boyfriend. Ew, I hate the sound of it, still.” You grinned at his words, sticking your tongue out as you took it from him, scanning your eyes over the message, before reaching for your bag and sealing the device inside, lifting it up onto your shoulder. “Time to go?”

“Yeah, unfortunately. You’re unpacking these last few boxes alone.” You joked, and he huffed, kicking at one lightly with the toe of his shoes. 

“Not alone, Dad is here to h-”

“Dad is going back to the hotel to rest his back and take a shower. Stiles is alone and putting his own laundry away for the first time in his life.” His dad grinned, and the boy let out a whine at it, stomping his foot a little before giving in. 

“See you tonight, at the restaurant?”

“We will meet you there.” His face scrunched up once again.

“I can’t get with the referring to you and Mitch as a ‘we’. I’m not used to it.” You shrugged, but leaned up to press a friendly kiss to his cheek, before letting him wrap you up in a tight hug, and brush his lips to your temple. “I’ll get used to it. I’m just glad you’re happy.”

His dad left the room, leaving you both to your moment, even though you were only saying goodbye for a few hours, but he was a little jittery once the door had closed. 

“Can I tell you something, before you go? I don’t want it to be a big deal, but I do want to tell you first.” You nodded, brows furrowing as he fiddled with his fingers between your bodies worriedly, and you reached up to place your hand over his own, letting him lace your fingers together. “Now that I’m not obsessing over Lydia anymore, and I’m in college and really taking a minute to get to know myself, I think I discovered something.”

“Is it good?”

“Yeah.. yeah, I think so.” He was nervous, biting down on his lower lip, and you squeezed his hand reassuringly in an attempt to tell him that it was okay. “I think I might be bi.”

A blushing tinge spread over his cheeks, his eyes ducked to avoid your own as the heat spread up to his ears and painted his pale skin pink, and you leaned in to press your body to his, your arms wrapping around him tightly, and he let out a deep sigh, before wrapping himself around you once again, his body sagging out of relief. 

“There was this guy in my welcome lecture, and he was really good looking, and while I was still in my Lydia phase I didn’t really think about anyone else that way, so I was pretty shocked when my first thought was about a guy, but then he asked me if I wanted to get coffee before the semester starts, and I said yes. We’ve been texting for a few days, now.” The words came out jumbled and hurried, and you stepped back to look at him, making sure to catch his gaze as he gave you a nervous smile. 

“I’m so happy for you, Stiles.”

“I’m going to tell my dad and brother at dinner tonight, but I just needed some support.” You nodded, before stepping back as he let out a relieved laugh and wiped a hand over his face. “God, I feel so much better. I hate keeping things from you. I don’t know how you did it for months, having secrets with you kills me.”

“It wasn’t without a lot of suffering, trust me.”

He grinned, before nudging you towards the door. “See you in a couple of hours.” You simply nodded, waving your goodbye to the Sheriff as he chatted with the other parents of Stiles’ various roommates for the year, and you made your way to the door, stepping out into the corridor. 

With hurried steps, you made your way down the stairs, knowing it would be quicker than taking the elevator, and you were just glad Stiles was living on the first floor, you really weren’t sure he’d be able to handle hiking up twelve layers worth of stairs to the top floor on a tired day if the lift ever broke. 

It wasn’t a short walk to the place you had promised to meet your boyfriend, and the walk was enjoyable, hot sun shining down and a light breeze carrying through the campus, cooling you down from the heat. Shuffling through your bag, you searched for your sunglasses, lifting them out to place them on your face, and letting out a happy sigh when you no longer had to squint. 

You could already see the man you were waiting to meet, his body coming into view as he sat on the edge of the fountain, scrolling idly on his phone as he waited for you, the bag slumped on the floor beside his feet was spilling out with textbooks and his laptop, and his hair was messy from constantly running through it. Picking up your speed a little, you made your way over to him and took up before him, your shadow falling across him. He glanced up, expression stoic and stony before he realised who it was, and his face split open in a wide grin as his entire demeanour brightened. 

“Thought you were standing me up for a second there. You’re late.”

“Yeah, well, I got caught up. You can believe that I will never just leave you hanging.” You offered, and he scooped up his bag, swinging the strap over his shoulder before standing up, and he took your chin between his thumb and forefinger. 

Pulling you in towards himself, he bumped the tip of his nose with your own, before letting out a sigh. “I know you wouldn't.” He pressed his lips to your own, a sweet kiss that made your heart thud and your mind spin, before you were pushing up into him a little further. Resting your hands on his shoulders, his own slipped down to your waist, holding your body to his as his mouth moved with your own in gentle rhythms, and giving you one final peck when he pulled away. “Ready to go?”

“Absolutely.” He took your hand in his, pulling you away toward the direction of the apartment the two of you had so carefully chosen together, and you leaned your head against his shoulder as the two of you walked. He twisted, pressing a sweet kiss to the top of your head, and you squeezed you hand in acknowledgement of his affections. “Guess who I ran into earlier?”

“Who?”

“The redhead from a few weeks back.” He stiffened underneath you, only relaxing when you paused, leaning up to press a quick kiss to his lips as he fixed you with a worried glance. “Her name is Cassandra, which you never told me, and she’s actually really nice. We arranged to go for coffee.”

He practically choked on his breath, turning to look at you with wide and worried eyes as he held the door to the building open for you, and you slipped through, letting him follow as you laughed lightly at his reaction. “What was she doing there?”

“Her friend was moving into Stiles’ building, and she was helping out.” You shrugged, the two of you stepping into the elevator and you were glad to be alone, leaning back against the wall and pushing your glasses up onto the top of your head to peer at him, raising a brow. “Hey, stop freaking out. I can see the cogs working in your head. She asked about us, you know.”

“What did she say?”

“Just wanted to know if I was all good, and if things worked out.” You shrugged a little, your glasses slipping on your head, and you detangled them from your loose hair and put them away once again. “I told her that we’re doing amazing, and that I’ve never been so happy, and that we have a place together with a whole bunch of plans for the future.”

He finally let his shoulders drop from the tension he’d built up, before tucking some hair away behind your ears and stepping in towards you, crowding you into the wall a little further. “Never been so happy, huh?”

“Totally and one hundred percent in love with you.”

“I love you too.” He whispered the words into your mouth as he leaned down to kiss you, barely getting a chance to do so before the elevator was chiming and the doors were sliding open. You grinned in the kiss as he huffed out, pulling away and letting the two of you walk along, both of you patting down your bags to find your keys, but he found his own first, and lifting the set up to the door to open it.

Boxes still littered the room, labelled with things to be unpacked and brought out, but whereas Stiles had been unpacking only one room, the two of you had been unpacking an entire apartment, and there was still a lot to buy and a lot to set up, the flat-pack furniture box holding the coffee table the two of you had yet to assemble was sitting with coasters out and rings on top from drinks, using it for its purpose before it was even constructed. 

“We’re still on for dinner with Dad and Stiles, right? I don’t think we have any leftovers from last night’s takeout and I’m too lazy to go for a supermarket trip.” He flopped down onto the couch, and you nodded, hanging up your bag on the hooks and taking your phone from it, running you fingers through your hair and tugging on some of the knots that had built up.

“Yes, we are. Are you going to get changed, or wash up?”

“No, I'm going to take a nap.” He grinned, settling along the couch and tucking a hand behind his head, pouting his lips when he felt you lean over him. Pressing a soft and quick peck to his lips, you brushed some hair off of his forehead and out of his eyes, before standing up. 

“Okay, well, I’m going to take a shower before we go.”

You jumped when his eyes snapped back open, and he rolled up from the couch, grinning cheekily as his hands found your hips and he turned you around. “You know what, maybe I should wash up. We haven’t christened the bathroom yet, and I bet you look great on your knees in the shower.”

He tapped your ass cheekily in a light spank, and you gasped at the impact, but laughed anyway as he guided you through the halls, tugging at the bottom of your sundress as you went, until he had the material over your head, dropping it to the floor in the doorway to the bathroom. “You’re incorrigible.”

“You love it.” He teased, switching on the water and waiting for it to get hot as he stripped himself down, and you let out an exaggerated sigh. 

“I love you.”

“Good, because I love you too.”

[hecksee]

3 Times The Cubs Struggled Alone, And 1 Time They Had Each Other

This is ficlet number two for the wonderful @kielemarie, means the fucking world to me, and I love her so much. She is the older sister I always wanted. Thank you Marie for always being there, and Happy Birthday! 

The characters, are, as always, from the amazing @lumosinlove. Go give Haz a follow! 

This ficlet is meant to show how mental shit can impact someone’s life and that is okay. People can still thrive with mental shit, and they can still be amazing people.  

Finn 

For the first time since he met Logan, Finn knew he wasn't going to see Logan anytime in the near future. And god he was worried. Worried about Logan, worried about Logan getting hurt, worried about what will happen when he stops repressing his feelings, just worried about Logan in general. And god, that's when he wasn't even thinking about his current season; rookie on Gryffindor Lions, his dream team. 

Finn was playing with some of the greats, Pascal Dumais, Kasey Winters, Sirius Black, and James Potter; to name a few. But the stress could be too much sometimes; the pressure on his shoulders during every game was never lifted. All Finn could think about was how he was some little kid's idol; how they were rooting for him. 

Normally, that was enough for him to get through the day without worrying about Tremz, but today was different; it was one of the days were he woke up on edge, where he was missing Lo so much that it hurt, where the only thing that was keeping him from calling was what had happened before he'd left. 

Practice had ended up making him miss Logan even more; the sound of pucks slapping on sticks reminded him of doing drills with Lo, doing their handshake before they went out onto the ice, all of their memories together came flooding back. 

And god he was even more worried about Lo than he was before. It all was too much, his chest was crushed underneath the weight of his worry; what if Logan slipped on the ice and fell, what if he got into a fight, what if something happened and Finn wasn’t there to stop it. What if he never spoke to Logan again and they ended on bad terms? Logan meant too much to lose him that way. And what if Logan got drafted, but to another team? He’d lose all contact.

 Finn’s head was filled with static, his thoughts were getting louder and faster, his heart was pounding, and his breaths were coming in short pants. In the back of his mind he vaguely registered Dumo skating over, but his mind was in too much distress to care. 

But then, as suddenly as it started,  everything stopped. His mind seemed as though it had been covered in a fog, his thoughts were still there but they were quiet and muted. Everything seemed fake, as if he was in a dream. The world was softer. He was gripping the side of the arena, with no recollection on how he had gotten there. 

Dumo was gripping his arm, waiting for a response to something. When it became evident that Finn didn’t know what was going on he repeated the question. “Harzy are you okay?” Finn knew he wasn’t going to leave without a response so he waved Dumo off with a mumbled ‘I’m fine’. 

Remus was waiting at the side door, opening it when Finn skated closer. “Come on, that looked nasty, let’s check you out.” Finn nodded and Remus ushered him into the PT room. Things were - for Finn at least, still moving slowly, as if he had just woken up but felt like he didn’t sleep at all. “That looked like a nasty panic attack you just had there. You feel fine now yeah?” Remus’ voice jolted Finn out of the slow reality, everything still looked like a dream, but he was less disoriented. 

“Yeah Loops, I’m just tired. Want to go home and take a nap” Finn sat down on a chair near Remus’ desk, waiting to be examined.

Remus nodded. “That’s understandable, panic attacks take a lot out of someone. How about you head home, eat and drink something, and get some rest. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

After a quick thank you and an even quicker cool down, Finn was driving home. On the drive he debated calling Logan, but decided against it. He didn’t even know if Logan wanted to speak with him. Finn knew talking to Lo would make him feel better, but he didn’t want to be a bother. Plus, they had left on bad terms, he didn’t want to make anything worse.

As soon Finn got home he dropped his keys on the kitchen counter and headed  towards the living room. Since calling Logan was out of the question he’d settle down and read. And there was only one book that would help him out of this disconnected state. 

Finn pulled a glossy new copy of The Song of Achilles from the shelf. His battered, annotated copy must have been forgotten at Harvard, even though he distinctly remembers putting it in a box. A part of him wishes that Lo took it out and kept it, to always have a part of Finn with him even when they were apart; like he did with Logan’s favorite snapback, but he knows that’s just wistful thinking. 

Finn quickly grabs a blanket and settles down on the couch, ready to lose himself to the familiar story of Achilles and Patroclus. 

Logan

Logan woke up to the harsh beeping of his morning alarm. It reminded him of Finn - which, to be fair, wasn’t difficult because Logan’s head was always filled with thoughts of the older boy. But the alarm was always a harsh call to reality. If Fish was there, Logan would be awoken by Finn’s soft shuffling as he tried to get ready for practice.

But Finn wasn’t there. He was off in Gryffindor, hundreds of miles away. Finn was off playing for the Lions, probably not thinking about Logan at all. It wouldn’t be fair to distract him from his dream.

Logan missed him so much. It physically hurt to be away from him. Oh how he wished he could just cover Finn in kisses. How he wanted to hold hands. Logan just wanted Finn to hold him and tell him that he was loved.

But Finn didn’t feel the same way; he couldn’t. Logan didn’t know what he would do if Finn felt the same. They’d have to hide their love, and that surely would end in disaster. They’d be kicked off the team, out of the league.

And hell, why would Finn even feel the same. Finn was a golden boy, perfect grades, tall, good at hockey, recruited by the best team in the league. Why would someone that perfect want him. Him, with average grades, who half the time can’t read the words on a page because the letters spun, who represses his feelings, who won’t let himself be happy. Why would Finn ever want someone as flawed as Logan. And even if Finn did want him Logan wouldn’t let him, he wouldn’t let Finn ruin his career over someone as insignificant as himself.

Logan knew he had practice, but he couldn’t bring himself to get out of bed. He didn’t have the energy to move from the warmth underneath his covers, let alone go to practice. He heard John rap on his door, yelling at him to get up for practice, but he didn’t have the strength to respond. He’ll tell the coach he didn’t feel well.

Logan knew that Finn was one of the few things that caused him happiness in this world, and with him gone, nothing seemed to matter. The days all bled together in a pattern of practice, eat, cry, sleep. Occasionally, when it hurt to even think about Finn, Logan would take a bottle of vodka to his room and drink himself silly before crying himself to sleep. He knew that Finn would hate what he’s doing to himself, but it doesn’t matter. Finn wasn’t there with him.

Tears were starting to fog Logan’s eyes as he reached for Finn’s battered copy of The Song of Achilles. He’d taken it to remember Finn by, knowing full well he may never seen Finn again. He opened it up just to see Finn’s handwriting, to remember the late nights they had shared where Finn would read this story aloud.

Logan’s face was wet with tears now, they were flowing freely down his cheeks. Regardless to that fact, Logan pressed his face into the pages of the book. He knew it wouldn’t smell like Finn anymore - it hadn’t in months, but it was worth looking for anyways. When it inevitably didn’t the sobs came. The heart wrenching, aching sobs that came from the bottom of his chest. The sobs that were making his grief known to the world. The sobs that showed just how much pain he was in. He didn’t know when they stopped, or how long they went on for, but after time they turned into small sniffles; and Logan fell into a restless sleep, still curled around Finn’s book.

Leo

There was nothing to do and that was gnawing at his senses. Normally it’s enough to re-tie his skates, tighten his gear, repeatedly drink his water, and turn his gloves in his hands, but today that didn’t seem like enough. The fact that he had nothing to do was making him want to rip his hair out. There was nothing to do and that was bringing his mood down to zero. Everything was not enough but simultaneously was too much.

The lights of the arena were too bright; the sound of the crowd seemed to be grating at his brain. Leo’s foot was moving without control, flicking up and down at high speed, seemingly unaware of the fact he had what essentially was a knife strapped onto his foot.

Leo’s mind was going into overdrive, his thoughts were going too fast for him to comprehend. He needed to get out, but he couldn’t, he had to be there, even if it pained him. He looked up at the scoreboard, but the glowing red numbers hurt his eyes and made the migraine that was already approaching intensify.

Leo closed his eyes and rubbed them with his palms, attempting to make all the light disappear and make the sound a little more bearable. But the noise was still grating at his senses, making his brain feel as though it was melting. The crowd cheering, the announcers commentating, the skates scraping against the ice, the sound of the puck hitting the sticks, and the chatter of his teammates on the bench was becoming too much for him to handle, if another sound was added to the mix he’d have to leave, consequences be damned. Leo squirted some water into his mouth, things always felt worse when he was dehydrated and the odds were he probably was.

But then Coach was calling him in, something about Kasey’s leg acting up again, and Leo knew he’d just have to put up with his senses being in overdrive for the rest of the game.

Together

Things get better after they get together. The bad days don’t disappear, they just become less frequent. Not by much; but by a little. When Finn got stressed about something Leo and Logan were there with words of encouragement and reassurance. How they’d always stay with him, they were going to be okay. When Logan had days where everything seemed hopeless and he didn’t want to get out of bed or when the letters on the page refused to stay still, Finn and Leo were there by his side; whether whispering sweet nothings, giving soft kisses, or just staying by him, reassuring him of their presence. When Leo’s senses were in overdrive and everything was too much Logan and Finn were there, keeping him company and trying to make everything more bearable. The bad days were still there, but now they had each other to lean on.