#(and this is going to sound stupid because the people in question will probably read this entry but it's true)

[a-passing-storm]

mmmmmmmm

[kingdomvel]

Steddie | 2.2k | first meetings | ao3

“What did you say the name of the band is again?” Steve asks. He has to raise his voice above the sound of the music playing before the concert and the hundreds of conversations around him.

“Corroded Coffin” Dustin says, probably for the hundredth time, or that’s what his tone suggests.

“It’s written on the drums.” Mike adds with his constant bitchy petulant tone.

Steve turns around and fair enough, the name is written there in the drums. They are also right there as they had queued for hours to be at the front (they are not in the centre but there’s no one standing in front of them), and apparently the band and place are small enough that there is no security line in front of the stage. Steve has been leaning against it with a drink in his hand while they wait for the concert to start. And that’s his excuse. He was leaning against the stage, so the drums were to his back, he couldn’t have read them.

“C’mon Steve, even I learned the name of the band in the eternity we have been here” Robin says which, rude, but she had agreed to come keep him company at a metal concert without asking for anything in return, so he will let it pass.

The kids (not quite kids anymore, but close enough) had needed an adult to get into the 18+ venue the concert was held at, and of course that adult had to be Steve because “we are not going to bring one of our parents into a metal concert Steve” and “Nancy and Jonathan are not even in the state and you said you were fun, didn’t you?” and he is fun, so he had to agree. And drag Robin with him, of course.

“Well I would remember the name if it wasn’t a stupid name” he says, a bit too loud if the looks he receives from some of the people around them are anything to go by.

“If you are so annoyed why don’t you go hang out at the bar and leave us alone?” Dustin asks.

“If I’m at a concert I’m getting the full experience, I’ve not queued for hours to stay at the bar. And I have to make sure you don’t get squished to death or accept drinks from strangers.”

“We are sixteen, you already drank when you were sixteen.”

“But I didn’t have a wristband telling everyone I was a minor.” He emphasizes this by hooking his forefinger on said wristband around Dustin’s wrist. The boy takes his hand away with a huff, but whatever he was going to say gets interrupted by a loud cheer as the lights of the venue dim. All eyes turn to the stage, and Steve forgets everything about the little shits around him.

They play the first two songs without interruption, back to back, and they are much better than Steve had expected them to be when the kids had pitched the idea of going to a concert of ‘a super cool band’ they had found on tiktok of all places. Steve is very quick to understand their raising popularity on social media the moment his eyes land on the frontman. He is not even wearing anything scandalous, just black jeans, some graphic tee and a leather jacket, but fuck if he isn’t attractive. His big eyes, teasing smile and wild hair are very much deserving of the screams they awake in the audience.

When the second song finishes, they don’t start a new one, the frontman takes the microphone from the stand.

“Are you ready for the best night of your life?” he shouts, and the audience answers with shouts of their own. Steve finds himself whooping, and answers with a smile and a shrug to Robin’s amused silent question as both of them clap. “We are Corroded Coffin,” more yelling, and the frontman stars walking around with a smile on his lips while he looks at the ground, clearly enjoying the attention. “And these aaaaaare…” he prolongs the last word, building a dramatic effect. “Gareth!” he shouts, pointing to the back dramatically. There are yells, the boy at the drums doing a short solo before he stands up to wave at the audience. “Jeff!” more yells, a guitar solo. “Our favourite Freak!” laughs from band and audience alike, more yells, and the boy with the bass trying to hit the frontman with said bass. “And I’m Eddie.”

‘Eddie’ Steve mouths the name.

There are yells as the frontman finishes, a small bashful smile on his lips back on his face after the laughing as he plays with the microphone stand with the hand that is not currently holding the microphone. He looks up at the audience when the yells don’t stop, gives a small dramatic bow and smirks when the yells grow louder once again.

“EDDIE MARRY ME” a voice yells from somewhere in the audience.

“Oh? Without going on a date first?” Eddie asks, he has his gaze set somewhere on the audience, and Steve is a bit impressed at how easily he has spot the person in the sea of bodies.

“I’M FREE WHENEVER.” The same voice yells again, it makes Eddie laugh.

“I’m honoured, my fair lady, but I’ll have to decline. I’m looking for my knight in shining armour myself.” There are ooohs from the audience but Steve’s gut makes a traitorous interested twist. “And speaking of knights,” he says, putting his hands back on his guitar, “I think you may know this one.” One note, and the audience is going crazy. Dustin is jumping up and down while he holds onto Steve’s arm, and Steve can’t help but laugh at him.

It's when that third song is finishing that it happens. The guitarist is starting a solo, and Eddie looks down to the base of the microphone stand, pulls a confused face, and then looks around. He must not see whatever he was looking for because he has a confused furrow in his brow when he does a second sweep around the stage and beyond, and he catches Steve's eyes. He maintains the eye contact for a second, two, five, and then looks down to Steve’s hands and back up again. There is a smirk in his face Steve is not entirely sure he likes the implications of as he walks towards him while he keeps playing.

Steve can hear Dustin screaming “oh my god, oh my god, oh my god” right next to his ear as Eddie comes closer until he is standing right in front of them.

The musician is still looking at Steve as he leans forward and asks “give me a sip?” as he looks down at Steve’s hands for a second. (Or at least that’s what Steve guesses he says, the noise too loud for him to really hear him without his mic.)

Steve lifts his drink, and the frontman leans forward and down with a smile. He opens his mouth and Steve pours his drink in it. When he finishes, he winks at Steve before he walks away in time to start singing again. The kids around him are screaming, Robin is surely going to make him partially deaf and is shaking him so hard he almost drops the rest of his drink. It takes until the next song starts for the bunch to calm down a bit and focus on the show again.

The thing is, that is not the last time it happens. Eddie comes back to steal sips from his drink every few verses, and when Steve’s drink is finished and he goes to get a beer, he is miraculously let back to the front by the audience. Eddie, of course, also wants to have his share of the beer. So they share it.

It is, if Steve is honest, the weirdest experience he has ever had in a concert. But he is having too much fun and would not change it for anything. A hot singer and guitarist coming to him every few minutes and bending down so Steve can pour drink into his mouth? The best thing that has happened to him all month. It only gets better when Eddie ditches his leather jacket – Steve was starting to wonder when that was going to happen because it’s much too hot in the venue for it and he is sure that a big reason Eddie needs to drink so much is because he is sweating it all and dehydrating – and reveals that the tee he was wearing underneath has the sleeves cut off very freely. Steve can see most of the man’s torso and that is a SIGHT. There are tattoos on his arms and ribcage that Steve immediately wants to see complete, and his waist is slim where the shirt is tucked into the jeans. It makes Steve bite his lip in want.

He is about to pour the last of their third beer in Eddie’s mouth when a small hand stops him. He looks to the side with confusion, sure that none of the kids or Robin would stop him at this point and is met with the smile of a small blonde girl.

“Give him this please” she says, handing him a bottle of an electrolyte drink. Steve looks back at Eddie just in time to see him groaning. “No more beer.” She adds, pointing to Eddie as if he was a misbehaving dog, he is surely giving the look, with his big brown eyes and sad look. She turns back to Steve, “and sorry about that, any new drinks you get are on us.”

She is gone with that. Steve looks at Eddie, at the new drink in his hand. Eddie shrugs, defeated, and leans forward. Steve quickly empties the rest of the beer in his mouth before he opens the new bottle and starts pouring from it. Eddie doesn’t drink much, too busy trying not to choke on the beer and his laughter.

Eddie ditches his guitar towards the end of the concert for a ‘calmer’ song. He walks around the stage as he sings to a boy involved in him that tries to deny the depth of their relationship and tries to date girls, and how in the future he is going to regret not staying with him. He has great stage presence, he has been flirting with the audience between songs, dramatic and charismatic, a bit over the top. Maybe the fastest crush Steve has ever developed, happy to enjoy his part in the show, even when he knows it’s not going to lead anywhere.

Steve feels his heart accelerating as Eddie walks towards him, which is ridiculous, they have been doing this all night. But this time Eddie shakes his head when Steve gets the drink ready, and he can only look as he kneels on the edge of he stage right in front of him as he sings the bridge. They are holding eye contact now, and it’s the closest they have been. Eddie’s eyes are captivating, Steve can only stop looking at them to glance down at his lips. It seems he was caught, because the next second Eddie is speaking.

“Are we about to kiss right now?” he asks, and Steve looks back up to his eyes. He lifts his eyebrows, trying to convey ‘bring it on’ as best as he can as he licks his lips, Eddie’s eyes glancing at them. It must work, because the next second Eddie is leaning forward, and now Steve’s hand is on his nape, and their lips are pressing against each other.

It’s probably the filthiest kiss Steve has participated on. At least with an audience. It’s not long, Eddie has to keep singing after all, but they make up for it in tongue action. The audience goes crazy around them, but Steve doesn’t pay attention to them at all, only focused on Eddie. He at least must be paying some attention to their surroundings because he pulls off in time to keep singing and stands up to move around the stage.

There are a couple of songs more, and then Eddie is introducing the band again before he starts listing all the members of the staff that have made the concert possible.

“We also wouldn’t have made it here without our precious manager Chrissy,” he adds, “even when she worries too much sometimes. Three beers are not enough to get me drunk, especially not shared ones. And that reminds me! I can’t forget to thank my knight in shining armour, my perfect drink partner…” he trails off.

“STEVE!” Robin shouts next to him.

“Steve” Eddie repeats with a smile. “Thank you for the drinks. Don’t go running off now too fast now, alright? Stay for a bit after the concert, I owe you a couple of beers.” He finishes with a wink.

The kids and Robin are screaming again, and Steve is sure he is going to have bruises tomorrow from their grabbing, but he doesn’t stray his gaze from Eddie. At least not until the last song finishes, the lights from the stage turn off, and the rest of the lights of the venue turn on. Then, and only then, Steve turns towards the others.

“How did you say you were going to get back home again?”

Part two

[after-witch]

Bookworm [Yandere Mahito x Reader]

Title: Bookworm [Yandere Mahito x Reader]

Synopsis: Mahito doesn't like that you have an interest in a book character.

Word count: 1787

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, mentions of other people being tortured/killed, supreme self indulgence of the highest order

“Who is the smiling man?” 

The silence that had existed between the two of you was broken by a question that made you flinch. Well, why not? Mahito has been quiet all morning--and afternoon, actually, which perhaps should have startled you more than his sudden words. 

But you were too happy to enjoy some quiet (you would never say “peace and quiet,” not down here, not with him); all too happy to curl up in your haphazard nest on the floor with some books that took  you away from this place. Away from Mahito.

Who was, of course, still here. Lounging in his hammock with a pile of books sagging down the netting. 

You couldn’t tell exactly what he was reading from down here--you probably needed new glasses, a subject you were certainly not going to bring up with Mahito, who might reiterate his offer to “fix” your eyes. It looked like a bundle of pages stapled together. Maybe he went to the library and printed off obscure articles to read again. 

“Hey,” he calls down, and the first hint of worry begins to prickle on your arms at his uncharacteristically serious tone, “Answer me.”

Your mind stutters, tries to put one word in front of the other, and make sense of it all. 

The smiling man? The smiling man, the… ah. From Small Spaces. The otherworldly supernatural entity who lives in a world behind mist and has a penchant for making deals with people for their greatest wishes. 

It’s not your fault that you haven’t thought about him in ages. It’s not like you had copies of your books with you, and the fun you had with imagining him in an endless number of scenarios had fallen by the wayside considering your circumstances. 

It’s hard to daydream about worlds behind mist and cornfield servants when you’re watching people be turned into grotesque experiments that had them, sometimes quite literally and loudly, begging for death.

Mahito is looking down at you now, staring expectantly. 

“He’s a character,” you say, fidgeting on the floor. “From a book series.” You look down, flip a page in your book, although you haven’t finished reading the last one, and ask, casually as you can muster: “Why?”

Mahito, up above, flips a page. You can hear the wobble in the paper--not a bound book, that’s for certain. And there’s some low, primal sense that shivers through you which says, plainly, that he’s actually reading whatever’s in front of him. 

“You write about him a lot.”

Oh.

Low, slimy dread filters into your stomach. Thick and gelatinous, resting at the bottom of your belly like an unwanted slug. 

“I… don’t know what you mean,” you say, voice only half-there, because while you are apparently stupid enough to lie to Mahito’s face, you’re not stupid enough to think he’ll believe you. 

You are just stupid enough to think that he won’t know exactly how deep your interest in this particular character goes; before Mahito took you, you thought about him all the time. You’d take walks and daydream about him, write story after story; you’d even commissioned fanart of him, because it wasn’t like there was a plethora of fanart for a character from a middle grade horror book. 

Mahito huffs out a sigh. Quick and short, it sends a shock right down your stomach.��

“Get you a man,” he starts, and confusion buzzes through your brain until he continues. “Who is an otherworldly entity that is so petty when an 11 year old beats him that he traps her in another world, leaving her to a fate worse than death, and laughs until he cries about it.”

You wrote that. There’s a vague memory of when you posted it--after you’d taken a walk, you think, and reread your favorite parts in the books for a few hours. But the way Mahito says it makes it sound--you don’t know how to explain it. Like saying the words out loud almost pains him; they come out clipped and bitter. 

Bitter? But why?

He doesn’t stop there. He reads something else, voice getting higher, almost mocking the way you talk. And that bitterness is still there, a thread continuing through every syllable.

“What if we kissed in the corn maze before you turned me into a scarecrow servant whose soul slowly gets dried out and useless and in the end you feed it, crunchy and tasteless, to your hellhound.” 

He takes a breath. Then--

“One particular aspect of the Smiling Man’s cruelty that I truly adore is that he can make people feel understood. He can make them feel like he cares, like he’s lending a listening ear, like he’s wanting to help them out and make them feel nice.”

Another breath--and he continues, again and again, reading your posts. Quoting your stories. Listing off the titles, the imagine posts, everything you’ve said about him.

All the while, bitter and mocking, his voice raising now and then in an imitation of your own. 

Then he gets to the last page of his clearly self-created tome and stares down at you, waiting, expectant. 

And you… you actually glare up at him. 

Because you're scared, sure. You’re always scared in some way, when you’re with Mahito. But there’s something else too, something that digs its way out of the rot in your gut and sticks up a petulant middle finger.

How dare he do this. How dare he take something that was yours and make it his; put it in his mouth and sneer over it. 

“Have you been--” Your mouth sticks together, refusing to let you accuse him of what you know he’s been doing. Stalking your online profiles. “That’s… that’s private,” is what you finally mutter, cheeks feeling hot and that half-buried petulance pushing you forward. “It’s not any of your business.” 

“Private?” He mutters the word softly, cradling the sound.

And then--

Mahito doesn’t often move fast around you. He prefers to be slow, languid. Calculating. You think it’s because that terrifies you more.

But now, in a moment, he goes from being slouched in his hammock to leaping down and crouching right in your face--there’s sudden pain in your head, and you realize he’s grabbed your hair and yanked it back.

That metaphorical middle finger sinks back down into the slimy gut sludge.

“Not from me,” he says, low, a warning. “Not for you.”

This is all it takes for tears to prick inside your eyes.

Mahito’s lips quirk up. Just a little. Just enough for you to notice.

“You’re going to cry already? I didn’t even do anything.”

Your eyes dart up and back, towards where he’s currently gripping your hair hard enough for it to sting.

He sighs through his nose. “This isn’t anything. You know that. Don’t be childish now.”

But--he lets go of your hair, and doesn’t grab for you when you scoot backwards on your blanket nest. Instead, he plops himself down, crossing his legs and resting his chin on his elbow.

You don’t speak. You don’t want to, and you don’t know what to say. Sometimes it’s better to be quiet around Mahito, so he doesn’t get ideas. Although he comes up with them on his own just fine, even if you try to stay silent.

It’s Mahito who breaks the silence.

“Why do you like him so much?”

How silly, to feel embarrassed right now. With the creature in front of you, and what he can do. But that’s what makes your cheeks burn: embarrassment. 

“I don’t know,” you mumble, because while you are stupid in so many ways, you’re still smart enough to know he wants an answer. “I guess I just like antagonist characters sometimes.” Well, most of the time. But it’s better to keep that from Mahito, if you can.

Mahito’s lips quirk here and there while he thinks. Then he looks at you with something like genuine confusion.

“You say that you like how awful he is. The awful things he does. So…” He tilts his head a little. “You should like me. Right?”

Your fingers pick at the loose threads of your clothes. Your eyes don’t meet his entirely--they flick up and down, from your legs to his face. 

“It’s not the same thing,” is what you come up with. But how to explain that to a curse?

Mahito frowns. 

“I don’t understand.” No bitterness, no pouting. A simple statement of fact.

“He’s not real.” You swallow against the minefield that all of this is making you step through, hoping you’ll avoid them. “But you are. That makes it different.” 

Mahito leans forward, grabbing your wrists, pulling you closer to him with a yanking, childish gesture.

“So you should like me more,” he says, a slight pout in his tone. “Because I can really do those things.” His eyebrows raise, and you swear you can hear a buzzing light bulb go off. “I could turn someone into a scarecrow for you.” He smiles, sudden, excited. “Do you want me to find some school children to torment?”

“No!” Your voice cracks. There are brief images in your mind--the people he’s tortured and killed, experimented with, before you were here and while you’re here and probably after you’re dead and gone--and you shake them away. 

Mahito’s eyebrows furrow. He groans and rolls his eyes backwards until they are entirely white, not in mockery or an attempt to scare you, but in irritation. Fingers squeeze your wrists briefly and let go, and you stay quiet, trying to fight your urge to cry, until Mahito slowly rolls his eyes back to stare at you.

His gaze flicks over you, until he catches your eyes with his. 

“You won’t write about him anymore.”

You don’t take a moment to answer this time.

“I won’t.”

“You won’t read those books anymore.”

“I won’t,” you stay. “I haven’t. I--don’t even have copies anymore.”

Mahito smiles, a little. Maybe it’s a good thing you never asked him to find you a copy, a thought which had been a brief temptation a while back.

And then he leans in closer again, until his nose touches yours.

“You won’t think about him anymore,” he says, quiet, solemn. Not an order but a matter of fact. 

You don’t answer. You swallow against a bitter taste in  your throat; you swear, sometimes, that the sludge in your gut is real and tries to make its way out sometimes.

Mahito presses his nose against yours until it starts to hurt.

“You won’t,” he says again, this time more to himself. “I’ll make sure of it.”

[atlabeth]

table thief

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

summary: spencer's routine, thoughts, and plans are thrown off by a girl he meets at his favorite cafe --- not necessarily in that order.

a/n: i dont know where this came from but uh. enjoy this lil fluffy blurb! ill get to those 3k requests sometime. set during spence's time at caltech

wc: 1.6k

warning(s): none, all fluff

Spencer’s mind is a whirlwind of information while he stands in line at his usual coffee shop, trying to keep everything in order as he goes over everything he needs to get done. It’s a particularly busy afternoon for him, hence his coming here directly after class instead of stopping by his dorm. 

There’s a research paper for him to finish, office hours to make for his most elusive professor to get some questions answered—why she only has them open for two hours on Wednesdays, Spencer has no idea—a thousand papers to grade for the class he’s a TA for, and naturally, a coffee to give him the energy for the rest of what is going to be a long night. 

Of course, he knows he should probably try and do it without caffeine—it’s one of the most popular drugs in the world, and most people live in ignorance of their obvious addiction to it—but Spencer has decided to forgo some caution in the name of getting all his work done. 

He doesn’t really have a choice, honestly. He’s planned out this whole day meticulously, much like every other day. He packed his bag with everything he would need for the rest of the day so he wouldn’t have to make the aforementioned stop at his dorm, he picked the line with the barista that has never gotten his order wrong—and, he’s realized over numerous trips to this shop, is the fastest in the entire cafe—and his usual table is big enough to hold all of his books and papers. 

But as Spencer finishes pouring in his last bit of sugar, he realizes his meticulous plan is foiled before he can even take the first sip. 

Because his table is taken. 

The table he sat at the first time he stopped in here before class and the table he has sat at every other time since, the table that has honestly become a part of his routine and is the only one big enough for all of the work he has to get done this afternoon, is taken by some woman wearing a Caltech sweatshirt and reading a book. You’ve got your own thermos in front of you, so at least you care about the environment, but that thought doesn’t stop the flareup of annoyance inside of him. 

You have to be a student, and you have to be his age, and you have to either be oblivious or have a whole lot of nerve because Spencer has seen you around campus and in this coffee shop before. That means you know this is his table and you still took it anyway. 

“That’s my table,” Spencer says, and after it leaves his mouth he’s able to hear how stupid he sounds. It’s a table in a public coffee shop. Of course he has no claim to it—just because it’s obvious to him doesn’t mean it’s obvious to you. You probably didn’t even know. 

You look up from your book, and the second stupid thought to hit him is how pretty you are. “I know.”

He frowns. He can’t think that table thieves are pretty, especially ones with apparent malicious and knowledgeable intent. “You— you know?”

You nod. “I’m here almost as much as you are, Mr. Reid.”

“Doctor Reid,” he corrects, almost on instinct. 

Your eyebrows rise. “Doctor?”

“I have two PhDs,” he explains, though he feels even more stupid doing so as he gets on the edge of stammering. “I’m working on a third. Chemistry.”

“And already I know more about you in a minute than I’ve gotten in the past month,” you muse. “That’s why I took your table, Doctor Reid.”

Spencer frowns even more. “You took my table so I could tell you about my PhDs?”

“So I could get an excuse to talk to you,” you correct. Your smile grows a bit and you huff a quiet laugh, more to yourself than anything. “You’re a little intimidating.”

That gets him completely, his brows furrowing deeper yet. “I— I’m intimidating?”

“Well, yeah,” you say. “You’re a gorgeous guy who always looks like he’s got something to do, so I never wanted to interrupt you. But I really wanted to ask you out, so I finally decided to take matters into my own hands.”

Spencer feels like his brain is short circuiting. He’s still stuck on the intimidating comment, and he’s still kind of annoyed that you took his table, but you specifically went out of your way to get his attention and now you’re calling him gorgeous— 

Just who the hell are you? 

“You’re not busy, are you?” He’s drawn out of his head temporarily as you speak again, dazzling smile still on display. “I would get it if you were. I mean, third PhD and all.”

“No,” he says immediately, shaking his head far too rapidly, “no— no, I’m not busy.”

He just has a whole lot of work to do, work that he came specifically to this cafe to do, but you’re throwing him off of everything in the first five seconds of knowing each other. 

“Wonderful.” Your smile grows and Spencer feels his face grow hot. He finds his annoyance quickly fading, replaced with some mix of confusion and interest and embarrassment. “If you’ve got the time, I’d love to sit down and talk some. Get to know you a bit.”

And again, Spencer hardly even knows what to say. He— he doesn’t talk to girls. Girls don’t talk to him. But here you are, stealing his table and flashing pretty smiles and wanting to get to know him— wanting to ask him out. It’s all so absurd that a part of him thinks he might just be dreaming, but he’s sure he’s fully conscious. 

“Why?” he blurts out, and he would be even more embarrassed if it wasn’t such a genuine question. 

You give him a wry look. “Why what?” 

“Wh— why would you want to get to know me?” Spencer stammers. “There’s more than 2,000 other students here. There’s almost 40 million people in California. I’m no one.”

“You are Doctor Spencer Reid,” you say, looking him right in the eye. “You drink your coffee with an absurd amount of sugar and cream, you always seem to be in a hurry, you’re one of the most beautiful guys I’ve ever seen, and I want to know more about you than passing observations. That’s why.” 

For once, Spencer finds that he’s speechless. He doesn’t think anyone has ever been this blatant, this honest with him, over a matter like this. He— he doesn’t think he’s ever been asked out. Are you asking him out?

“If you think this is totally weird and you want your table back, say the word and I’ll get out of here.” Your eyes move to the free seat across from you, and you tilt your head. “But… if you don’t think it’s totally weird, there’s room for another.” 

Spencer stands there for a second, a thousand things flitting through his mind once again. On one hand, he has a lot of work to do. This is throwing off his entire routine, and even if he just spends ten minutes talking here, he’s going to have to get all his work done, and he’ll probably end up running to his office hours to make it there in time. Part of the reason that he plans things out so meticulously is so he can avoid sprints across campus that he’s most certainly not built for. 

On the other hand, he’s known you for two minutes and he’s already enraptured. He wants nothing more than to ignore that voice in his head and sit down across from you, absorb every bit of attention you’re willing to give and every word you say, and get to know this strange table thief. 

It takes another moment, but Spencer slings his bag off and takes the seat across from you. He sets his bag on the ground and his oversugared coffee on the table, and he notices the way a weight seems to leave your shoulders. 

You were nervous. Nervous to talk to him. The thought is almost laughable, that someone feels the way about him that he usually feels in every social interaction. 

“It is a little weird,” Spencer says, and he finds a small smile tugging at his lips that he can’t fully control. “But that’s kind of my specialty.” 

Your smile grows, and Spencer thinks you’re one of the most beautiful girls he’s ever seen. He has no idea how he got lucky enough for you to intercept him like this, but he’s grateful for it. 

“Good to hear,” you nod, and you let out a soft chuckle. “Sorry for stealing your table, by the way. It was the only thing I could think of to get your attention.” 

He shakes his head as he blinks a few times. “I don’t blame you. It’s a good table.” 

“It’s not really the table,” you say wryly. “It’s you. You’re very intriguing.” 

“Well,” Spencer says, clearing his throat as he tries his hardest to calm his nerves, “I guess it’s not really my table anymore. It can be our table, going forward.” 

Your eyebrows rise, and your smile is as bright as your eyes. “I like the sound of that, Doctor Reid.” 

His face burns as he tries to act casual, and he hopes you can’t tell how much he likes the sound of that. 

You start talking, asking him questions about himself and what he does and how in the world he has two PhDs already when you’re the same age, and he finds himself attached to every word—it’s an active effort to not get lost in those bright eyes of yours. 

(Spencer never does make it to those office hours.)

[nyrandrea]

Everything's Fine

As you try to deal with everything that has been thrown at you so early into your journey: forced leadership, mindflayer tadpoles and taking on everybody's personal problems, it all just gets a bit too much for you.

(Takes place during Act 1)

Word Count - 3.5k

Also available to read here on AO3!

Enjoy!

xxx

You felt your patience starting to wear incredibly thin when you realised Astarion had been staring at you for over five minutes now. 

Not directly, he would never be so conspicuous—at least, not intentionally— but you kept catching those fleeting glances he was throwing your way; the corners of his red eyes crinkling every so often before returning to whatever book he was pretending to read. It wasn’t one of those charming, smouldering gazes he would sometimes give you after a night of feeding, asking if you were alright, knowing full-well that your answer was a resounding ‘I’m fine’, and that you would provide for him again soon. 

No, what he was doing right now—very carefully—was scanning you, studying you,  judging you. It was as if he was trying to leer right through to your very soul. 

You almost had half a mind to stomp over to his tent and demand what his problem was, but there were other unfortunate issues to contend with. 

Namely Shadowheart and Lae'zel. 

“I already told you that the artefact is my responsibility,” Shadowheart said, her aloof demeanour and confident tone betrayed by the hand hovering over the hilt of her dagger. “This way it will protect us all, I thought we had already established that!” 

“We have established nothing,” Lae’zel hissed back. “We only agreed not to slit each other’s throats in the night, though...,” she grimaced. “I still have no reason to trust that you will not try again.” 

“At least there’s still some sense in that bullish head of yours.” 

“Tsk!” Lae’zel spat at Shadowheart’s feet, much to the latter’s disgust as she recoiled back. “However, the matter still stands that the relic you hold onto belongs to my people. Therefore, it should be in my possession!” 

The cleric sneered. “I would sooner slit my own throat.” 

“Then go right ahead. Nobody will stop you.” 

Rubbing at your temples to try and ease the incoming migraine that, for once, was not caused by the mindflayer parasite living rent-free in your head, you decided to step in-between the two women, not really caring about risking a gutting from their trigger-happy blades. 

“C’mon, we’re not seriously having this fight again?” You huff incredulously, the question already sounding stupid as soon as it left your mouth. Because of course they were having this fight again. They had it yesterday, and the day before that, and they were probably going to have it tomorrow as well. 

“We are, as it happens,” Shadowheart replied, her eyes flickering briefly to you before narrowing forward again. “Because this savage bitch won’t leave me alone!” 

Lae’zel bared her teeth in a cruel grin. “Better to be that than a revrykal of Shar.” 

At the mention of her Goddess’s name, Shadowheart practically lunged herself towards Lae’zel with an enraged scream, her dagger raised high with the intention of plunging it straight into the githyanki’s chest, who in turn raised her shield to protect herself. In that moment, you were nothing to them but a speck of dust in the wind. 

It wasn’t until your hand shot up in a blind panic when Shadowheart realised what she was doing, forcing her to suddenly pull back to avoid injuring you, only a moment too late as her knife slashed the palm of your hand. Blood sprayed across the ground as your short but pained cry echoed throughout the camp. 

“Oh Gods...” Shadowheart muttered as everyone was suddenly on their feet and crowded around the three of you in a matter of moments. “I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t... mean to...!” 

“What? Attempt to kill our leader in cold blood?” Lae’zel muttered as she took your trembling hand to examine it, you only stared ahead as the shock took a moment to wear off. You didn’t even register her uncharacteristically gentle touch as she turned your palm up. “Only a flesh wound, you will live.” 

“Still,” Astarion piped up from behind. “Perhaps it would be best to get that dressed up lest you attract any...*ahem* unsavoury visitors.” 

“It would seem we already have,” Lae’zel replied, to which the vampire put a hand up to his chest in mock offence. 

“Lae’zel, you depreciate me,” he pouted. “I’m hurt.” 

Astarion’s sudden cold grasp on your wrist startled you as he decided to examine the cut himself in a much less gentle manner than Lae’zel. “Not that I would be able to get much from this anyway, even if I tried.” 

You were slightly worried that he was pondering the idea the longer he stared at the wound; you could practically see him drooling. It wasn’t until you cleared your throat that he snapped out of his daze. 

“Well, we should probably get this cleaned up anyhow,” he finally said. “To avoid infection and whatnot.” 

“...You’re not gonna lick it clean, are you?” Karlach asked with a grimace. 

“Of course not!” Astarion bit back, much more flustered this time. “I’m not some savage beast, you know.” 

“That’s... debatable,” Gale piped in. 

“Well! It’s lovely to know that you all think so little of me; the feeling is very much mutual,” Astarion said with a fake smile before taking you by the shoulder. “Now, if you’ll all excuse me, I’ll have to nurse this poor wounded soul, as well as my pride.” 

He started guiding you away from the rest of the group, you only allowed him to because the whole situation had you in a bit of a daze, but not before Shadowheart tried to get in another “I’m... I’m sorry.” 

“It’s... I’m fine,” you replied with whatever level of composure you could muster up with a smile in a small attempt to reassure her before allowing yourself to be led towards Astarion’s tent. Your words seemed to satisfy her as Shadowheart returned a sorrowful but grateful nod, though her expression turned sour when Karlach stepped between her and Lae’zel. 

“Alright now, ladies, what do you two say we let out our pent-up aggression towards each other in a healthier and less murder-y way, huh?” The tiefling suggested before holding up her finger to not let the other two get a word in edgewise. “And before you ask, I will not be taking no for an answer.” 

A small smile graced your lips at Karlach’s enthusiastic yet surprisingly pragmatic way of taking charge, and it seemed to be working as Shadowheart and—to your utter astonishment—Lae’zel agreed to whatever training regimen she had in store for them.  

‘Perhaps Karlach should take over as leader...’  

The idea was extinguished as soon as it had entered your mind, replaced with thoughts of the tiefling messing everything up, of her killing you in your sleep, that you shouldn’t trust her to lead your party. The only one who should have any authority over these subordinates is you. Only you are worthy. 

The voice quieted down after a few moments, leaving you only with a pounding head—just another one of the many wonderful side-effects of the parasite. 

You didn’t take any heed of whatever thoughts the tadpole forced upon you. You knew that Karlach would never hurt you, or any of the others for that matter—not by choice, anyway. However, those flashes of betrayal and blood were starting to wear you down a bit, especially with the lack of sleep; the very notion of it had been non-existent since you escaped the nautiloid and accepted the leadership that everyone had practically forced upon you. 

You weren’t exactly a natural-born leader; hell, you barely managed to keep yourself alive never mind a whole group of people. 

“That’s going to need stitches,” Astarion said as he observed your hand more closely now that the two of you were in the privacy of his tent. Heat flushed around your cheeks at how close the two of you were. Flashes of that night you had shared a bed—or well, the forest floor—came to mind, and you hated how flustered it made you. It was a one-night stand, a bit of fun to ease the stress of adventuring; clearly it meant nothing. At least... that was what you were made to feel. 

What had been a night of passion for you, had been the same old dance for him. 

“Take a seat there,” Astarion’s said, his voice cutting through your thoughts like a knife. “I should have a needle around here, somewhere.” 

“You know how to sew?” You asked, settling down on a cushioned stool. 

“Don’t sound so surprised,” he said, and a sting of guilt surged in your chest. “How do you think I’ve kept these clothes looking so good for over two hundred years? Certainly not by magic.” 

“Why not just buy new clothes?” 

Your prodding seemed to hit a nerve as he paused for a moment. 

“Why waste the coin?” He finally replied, sounding a little dejected. 

“Sorry,” you said, biting your lip as you tried to think of a way to quickly rectify your carelessness. “You do look great, by the way—y-your clothes, I mean,” embarrassment takes over as you trip over your own words. “The gold embroidery is um *cough * it’s nice.” 

Astarion seems amused at your inability to grasp basic English as he chuckles, the sound deep and almost musical. “Why thank you, darling. I’m glad someone around here appreciates the finer details.” 

The vampire kneels next to you and threads the needle before gesturing for you to hold out your hand. “It has been a while so... let’s just hope I’m not too rusty, hm?” 

Those words don’t instil a great deal of confidence within you, but you won’t allow it to show, trusting in him to get the job done. If you ended up getting sepsis, well... Withers was always on stand-by. 

“Now, hold still,” Astarion instructed. “This may sting a little.” 

You nodded, only wincing a little when he made the first stitch, the pain became more bearable as you watched him focus with the kind of laser-like precision that only came with a practiced hand; it made you wonder how many times he had done this. His methodical movements almost lulled you into a sort of relaxed trance, had your mind have not been working overtime, you honestly might have fallen asleep: Gods know you could have done with a bit of shut eye. 

Ever since the ship crashed, your problems just seemed to keep piling on top of each other: Lae’zel was hellbent on getting to that githyanki creche, and there was the matter of Karlach’s engine, Gale was close to blowing to kingdom-come if he didn’t get another magical item to consume soon, Astarion would probably need another feeding at some point, not to mention the dog, Scratch, and the owlbear cub who had started hanging around the camp. A dog was one thing but how much did owlbears need to eat?  

It was fine, you reassured yourself. Everything would be fine. 

“There we go,” Astarion said, relinquishing your hand back, freshly stitched and cleaned. The pain was still there, dull and throbbing, but it wasn’t anything a quick healing spell couldn’t fix. 

“Not my best work but it will just have to do for now,” he huffs, as if he was annoyed with himself. “You’ll have to excuse the sloppy stitching, it’s... been a while.” 

“It’s beautiful work,” you can’t help but admire the stitching; it was flawless. “Thank you, Astarion.” 

His gaze remains on you for a moment, as if he were expecting some sort of quip or punchline, and his eyes widen slightly when he realises you’re being genuine. 

“I... uh... you...?” He pauses and squints; still nothing. “You are... most certainly welcome.” 

You raise an eyebrow; did he really think so lowly of you that he believed you simply weren’t capable of a simple 'thank you'? Or was it himself that he had no confidence in? Your thoughts turn to when you asked him about how he came about becoming a vampire. Astarion kept most of his history closed off from you but told you just enough to let you know that this ‘Cazador’ fellow had treated him poorly. Belittled him. Enslaved him. 

You couldn’t begin to imagine how horrible it must have been; no wonder he didn’t trust anyone. 

A part of you wanted to pry into his thoughts, to let him know that you were here for him should he ever want to talk, but a new figure entered the tent, startling you into closing your mouth. 

“Hello!” Gale cheerily greeted with a smile, his eyes latching onto you immediately. “How are we feeling?” 

“Oh, we’re feeling quite dandy, thank you,” Astarion interjected with a frown. “You didn’t think to knock before deciding just to barge in?” 

“Well, given the materialistic structure of this very sound establishment, I think you’ll find it’s a little difficult to uh...” Gale trailed off, attempting to rap the tent flap to no avail. “...knock on.” 

“Then why not just knock on the wooden beams with that...” The vampire waved lazily towards Gale’s staff. “Very large stick of yours.” 

“Duly noted, but I think we’re getting a bit off track here,” the wizard said before turning to you. “I need a word.” 

You were taken aback slightly by his bluntness, and you couldn’t help but notice the almost pained way he was wringing his hands and how his eyebrows subtly twitched. He looked incredibly... uncomfortable. 

His hand hovered over his chest briefly, just above the mark that glowed whenever he consumed magic. 

Shit. Was it that time already? But hadn’t you given him something only yesterday? Or had it been a few days now? With recent events, it was hard to keep track of the time anymore; day and night just meshed into one big messy blur. 

Judging by your panicked look, Gale held up his hands in a placating manner. “Now, I know you’ve had a lot on your plate recently but this little uh... situation of mine is growing quite dire again so... if you could just relinquish whatever magical artefact you have, then all will be fine and dandy.” 

“I... don’t have anything on me at the moment.” 

Gale’s expression dropped. “Come now, you must have picked up something along the way, surely?” 

You grimaced. 

“In a dungeon? Along the road? What about that little goblin camp you rampaged through recently?” 

His sudden passive-aggressiveness made you feel uneasy. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Astarion cut in, folding his arms. “But we were a bit preoccupied with fighting for our lives to be on the lookout for any magic boots for you to chew on.” 

Gale chuckled dryly and drew the vampire a dirty look. “I don’t think you quite understand the gravity of what might very well happen if I don’t find something to contain the beast within me very soon- “ 

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, darling.” 

“This isn’t a joking matter!” 

“Ugh! Just shut up!” You snapped. “I do get it, Gale. Because you remind me Every. Damn. Day. About this big, scary, mystery catastrophe that might happen without actually explaining anything about it! A bit of context would go a long way!” 

Gale’s hurt wince suddenly had your stomach churning in guilt; you shouldn’t be snapping at people; you were better than that. 

“I’m sorry,” you quickly apologised. “As soon as we’re out on the road again, I’ll make it our priority to look for an artefact for you, alright? You have my word.” 

Astarion scowled and Gale forced a smile; his lips too strained for it to be genuine. It seemed like you couldn’t please anyone today. 

“That’s all I can ask for, and I promise... all will be revealed soon, otherwise the tadpoles will be the least of our worries.” 

When Gale left, you plopped down to the ground and took ragged breaths to calm your nerves, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of hurt as you nestled your injured hand in your lap. Had Gale only checked in on you so he could ask you for a magic item in return? Was he really that desperate? He must have been, seeing as you had completely forgotten about his predicament. 

What kind of leader were you? 

“You know, you can’t go making promises all willy-nilly like that,” Astarion said. “We have enough problems as it is without having to worry about...” 

His chastising faded into white noise as you grasped your head, the sting of your fingers curling and tugging through unkempt hair was just enough to distract from the pounding that came from within your brain. The ability to focus was suddenly lost to you as your heart raced, and dark emotions swirled within your chest like a wild tornado; it was tempting to let them sweep you away, to ride the waves into the unknown. To be anywhere but here without anyone depending on you for so, so much.  

“Hello?” Astarion drawled. “Are you even listening to- Darling...?” 

He moved closer to you; his steps measured and deliberate as he lowered himself down next to you, still allowing you enough space while being close enough to reach out a hand to your trembling shoulder, his touch cold yet oddly comforting. 

“Hey,” he spoke in a soothing, soft tone, his crimson eyes locking onto yours with unwavering support. “I’m right here with you, you’re safe, just breathe along with me, alright?” 

You nodded, albeit shakily, and tried to mirror his calm, measured breaths, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly, attempting to regain control over your racing heart. 

Astarion’s voice never wavered as your frantic gasps slowly started to synchronise with his calm breathing. “I know things are tough right now, but these feelings will soon pass. You’re stronger than you think, darling.” 

He continued to gently rub your back, tracing comforting circles with his fingertips, a rhythm that matched the cadence of your breath. Your hands slowly unlatched from your hair as you felt Astarion’s reassuring presence and honeyed words grounding you. 

“There we go, you’re regaining control,” he encouraged softly. “Now, I’m going to get you a glass of water, will you be alright for a moment?” 

You nodded again, and with a quick squeeze of your shoulder, he left. As your panic attack started to ebb, your breathing evened and your heart slowed as you felt yourself returning to the present moment, the tension that had your body rigid starting to ease. 

Astarion was back by your side within moments, gently pushing a glass into your hand and helping you lift it to your lips for a small sip of water, the cool liquid soothing your parched throat. 

“How do you feel?” 

“I’m-” 

“And don’t you dare say ‘I’m fine’,” he scowled. "Because we both know you’re clearly not.” 

You racked your brain to try and find a way to explain that you were okay and that this was just a small moment of weakness, a blip in the road, that there was nothing to worry about and you had it all figured out. 

But the words never came, instead you draw your knees up and hug them close to your chest as if to hide away from his piercing gaze. 

Astarion lingers by your side for a moment, his expression unreadable. 

“Would you like to stay in here for a while?” 

Unable to find the energy to speak, you simply nod. 

“Then come on, scooch over.” 

As you shuffle slightly to the side, Astarion sits down next to you, draping an arm over your shoulder and allowing you to settle your head into his side and cling to his shirt in a way that a child might cling to their mother. 

“...I’m sorry." 

From the corner of your eye, you could see Astarion’s expression soften as he waved a nonchalant hand. “Oh, you have nothing to be sorry for, dear. If anything, I should be the one apologising, who knew being in my mere presence would be so breathtaking?” 

You managed a small chuckle at that. 

“But in all seriousness,” he continued. “I know a thing or two about putting on a façade and... well...,” he paused. “Just... know that if you ever want to talk, I’m all pointy ears.” 

You hum in acknowledgement, though you can tell by his undertone that he’s being disingenuous, kindness wasn’t exactly his forte after all, but you appreciated the attempt all the same. But you were just content to sit in his arms for a while, and he seemed pleased enough with the silence. So, for now, you inhale the comforting aroma of bergamot, rosemary and brandy, letting yourself get lost in his comforting presence. 

And exhale. 

xxx

Hellooooo Baldur's Gate 3 has me in a chokehold and the brainrot is real. I'm only in Act 1 hence why this fic takes place so early in the game but this idea wouldn't leave me alone so here we are. Apologies for any inconsistencies :'3 Let me know what y'all think!

*Edit - since this has been pretty well received, I've opened up requests! Pop me an ask if you would like one :)

[soon-palestine]

Israel, the world’s most innocent country, fell victim to a horrific attack from Iran with zero reported casualties on the same day Israel killed dozens of civilians in Gaza.

Israel had been minding its own business, quietly bombing hospitals, schools, universities, mosques, and an embassy, when the Iranian regime launched their outrageous attack for no apparent reason. Thankfully, the US and UK scrambled jets to defend Israeli airspace because it’s wrong to bomb countries in the Middle East, unless your name is Israel, in which case you can do all the bombing you want.

Every British and American ship in the region is now in grave danger and the risk of terror attacks on our soil has surely increased, but you will be relieved to know our countries have not benefitted in any way from our intervention. Personally, I can’t think of a better way for Israel to spend our tax money.

Our leaders have condemned Iran in the strongest possible terms, which is confusing because I thought we were supposed to remain ambiguous and say we’re investigating the matter when such an attack occurs. Perhaps this is one of those rules that only applies to Israel though.

When informed of the attack, a calm and rational Suella Braverman screamed: “WAR! I WANT WAR!” and when she’d stopped hyperventilating, she added: “This must be the end of western backsliding on Israel,” because she thinks we have not been sufficiently supportive of their genocide. Anyone who is not on the same side of the argument as Suella Braverman must ask serious questions about themselves.

Iran’s unprovoked attack involved giving Israel adequate warning and launching 30-year-old missiles, 99% of which were intercepted, and then saying the matter is closed unless Israel escalates further. The fact Iran would consider retaliating to further escalation from Israel shows just extreme these lunatics are.

Among Iran’s targets was the Israeli air base from which the missiles that struck its embassy were launched, killing 13 on April 1. As of yet, we have no indication as to why Iran carried out the attack, but we’re going to tell you it’s because they want to start World War III. Psychos.

Conspiracy theorists have suggested it’s actually Benjamin Netanyahu who wants escalation, but it’s unclear why the man who faces political oblivion, and possibly jail, would be incentivised to draw his allies into the fight and cause everyone to forget his many war crimes.

Israel, the country that definitely does not want war, has vowed an “unprecedented” response against Iran which will probably kill many more than zero people. If Iran expresses disapproval at Israel’s next mass murder, it’s because they’re trying to destabilise the region. At this point, we’ll have no choice but to help Israel do to Iran what we’ve spent six months helping them do to Gaza - launch precision strikes that destroy 70% of the buildings in the country and leave survivors living in tents.

Worryingly, we’ve just discovered at the most convenient moment that Iran has enough uranium to build 12 nuclear bombs. If it were true that Iran had so much weapon-grade uranium, it would be incredibly stupid to attack them, but we’re going to insist we must attack them because we’re weapon-grade idiots - and we think you are too.

Please just switch your brain off and accept what you’re being told, you simpletons! What matters is rich people can afford nuclear bunkers if this all goes horribly wrong. In the meantime, you can look forward to lots of exciting stories in the media about bringing back conscription and describing how you are likely to die in humanity's final war. Are you looking forward to radiation sickness and nuclear winter? Because they sound like brilliant fun! x

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed this outstanding piece of journalism as much as I did, you can support my work here:

[gotholdladywithadhd]

Unpopular opinion, probably.

So I've read many metas, and thought a lot about it and have come to my own personal conclusion about the final 15.

I'm taking it at face value.

Because it was the most human Crowley and Aziraphale have probably ever been and I think that is at least part of the point. Love makes people stupid and they are navigating a very human thing in very unhuman circumstances, and it's hard enough to do as a human in human circumstances!

I think Aziraphale believed the Metatron about Crowley bc he was expecting the worst when TM mentioned Crowley but instead got the one thing he wanted most (him and Crowley together and safe, not Crowley being an angel. ) Crowley was absolutely the carrot here. (and no I do not think Crowley would have been safe or happy, but that's besides the point.) I can't tell you how many times I've believed patently ridiculous things because I wanted to believe them so badly even though if I was looking at the same situation objectively from an outside POV I would see how ridiculous it was, so I totally get it. This isn't to say I think Azi had a real choice to go to Heaven or not and I think he did understand that as well, but I get the temptation the Metatron threw out to him, I really do.

As for Aziraphale literally saying all the wrong things to try and get Crowley to come with him? Um yeah been there done that too, the nerves take over, the brain shuts off, the mouth goes into autopilot pulling stuff out its ass, and "WITAF did I just say?" happens.

Crowley not taking any of it well and only hearing what he expected to hear (I'm not good enough for you bc I'm a demon and you only really want me if I can be an angel) *and* also being more able to see through heavens bullshit bc he has lived it, and can see it from the outside, *and* all whilst being the most honest and vulnerable he has ever been with Aziraphale in 6,000 plus years (or in fact possibly to anyone, ever. the closest before this admitting he was lonely to Azi during the Job minisode,) *then* hearing what he took to be the same Heaven will save us line from Azi was enough to trigger a massive bout of RSD and a broken heart. Everything was supposed to "vavoom and sorted! " and instead the stupid awning broke and everything went wrong. I think I've said it before that at this point Crowley can't hear anything over the sound of his heart breaking into a million pieces.

That's a whole lot to pack into the brief moments before Azi has to leave with the Metatron (who let's be honest was rushing him before he could change his mind) esp when neither of them are used to discussing their relationship openly. They didn't have time to think, to ask questions, to share information, (like hey guess what really happened to Gabriel?) Crowley tried to communicate as much as he could about his feelings with the kiss but Azi didn't have the time to properly process all that and said the wrong thing again and Crowley was rejected (he thought) again and it all just went so very wrong. You can't fix a 6,000 year relationship in 15 minutes, you just can't no matter what the story books say.

It's about two people wanting the same thing but not being able to get it (yet) because of circumstances and personalities. All of S2 was about them seeming to be closer than ever (and in many ways they were) but really they were opposed at almost every turn. (in RL not the minisodes, those actually showed them working together and coming out okay mostly, if you don't count wee Morag or Crowley getting dragged to hell) The way they both handled the Gabriel situation, how they both worked to solve the mystery, even how they tried to make Nina and Maggie fall in love were all either done alone, or in opposite ways. I've said it before and I'll say it again, as it was pointed out right in ep1, their exactlies aren't the same and until they are, they aren't going to be able to be together. The one time they did work together in the season, they produced a 25 lazuri miracle. That is the point of the final 15, and the whole season 2 in my opinion.

They'll get there in the end though!

[kryannoy]

Hey, can we have a Yan!Andrew Graves with Reader?

genre: sfw, headcanons + fic

characters: yandere!andrew graves x reader

warnings: manipulation, gaslighting, obsession, possessive andrew

a/n: i don't normally write yandere characters so this was a bit of a challenge. hope this suits your request and enjoyed reading!

He's so obsessed with you but he's subtle with it—more like whatever stupid thing he does, he'll make sure you don't see it.

When he loves you, he'll make sure to keep you happy just so you will always come to him whenever something happens. He'll open a bottle cap for you without being told, he'll wipe your mouth with his fingers if it's messy—totally not putting them in his mouth afterwards. He'll open the door for you, let you cry on his shoulder, gives you hugs when you need it. Every subtle thing to manipulate you into coming back to him when you need support.

If someone talks to you, he'll be right behind you with arms wrapped around your waist while glaring daggers at the other person.

"No, no. Continue. Don't mind me, pretend that I don't exist."

To you, his tone sounds normal but to the poor guy, it's like a cleaver skinning them alive.

If someone even looks at you without you knowing, it's gonna be hell for them. He somehow won't be afraid to kidnap that person, tie them up and threaten them with Andrew's favorite cleaver until the person is diagnosed with PTSD.

He will shamelessly go back to you with a smile on his handsome face as if nothing happened.

Andrew would kill anyone for you but if you tell him not to, he won't.

Although, he knows you would be scared if you saw him murdering people, he won't do it anyways. The last thing he wants is you running away from him.

You have no idea why people start to turn their backs on you and you would think that you've done something wrong. So, you ask Andrew for advice or if he knows anything, exactly what he planned for.

And he would smile innocently from his success and spread out his arms. You would dive into his comfy sweater without knowing the hands that are holding you are the hands that have done so many questionable and criminal acts.

"C'mere you. Aw, you poor thing! I'm sure no one hates you. Who would? They're probably out of social energy from a rough day or something. Don't you worry!"

He'll kiss your forehead, then your nose, and lastly, your lips. You would smile and he would smile into the kiss while thinking how naive you are.

He admits sometimes that he feels guilty for deceiving you but what can he do? How could he come up to you and admit to all the crimes he's done? You wouldn't look at him the same anymore, would you? Would you still love him despite knowing what he did or what he ate? He wouldn't take any risks. If he has the person he loves the most in his arms, why would he easily throw you away?

If the truth hasn't been told, he'll keep you for himself. He'll keep you forever.

You knew he acted differently than normal people. He's a little different because of his upbringing, and that's normal for kids with neglected parents growing up with a weird habit of theirs and that was just his charm, right?

Because you think it was just a charm of his, you didn't run when you had the chance to. Besides, if he was so sweet to you, so kind to you, so good to you, he wouldn't hurt you, would he?

There's a reunion dinner later tonight with your old high school mates and of course you're coming. You haven't seen your friends in a long time. You've already informed Andrew of this and for the past week he was okay with it, but why is his tone now sounded . . . different?

"You're going?" He asked from the couch. One of his legs propped up on the other and an arm over the couch. His green eyes look up and down at your fit that he knows you chose the best from your closet. You're going to meet some nobodies with that outfit? You didn't even wear something so pretty when he's around! Not that you aren't pretty. It's just you put a tiny bit less effort when going out or being with Andrew.

"I've already told you, haven't I?" You're putting on your shoes at the front door and you hear some shuffling. Your hand is at the doorknob now. "I'll be back before ten. I prom—"

The door slams shut again before you could even open a crack. You can feel him behind you. His hands on the door, caging you between him and the solid wood.

"You are not going." His voice is low, almost threatening.

You turn around to face. You do not want to have this conversation right now. You're going to be late, that is if you find a way to stir this around to go your way.

"Andrew, this is unfair. Last week, you told me I can go so why are you backing out now? Tonight of all days!"

It wasn't his intention to upset you nor ruin your night but why are they taking you away from him?

"Why are you still excited about going? Don't you remember what they've done to you? They isolated you . . . remember?"

They isolated you. Yeah, right. He was the reason behind it anyways, but poor you who loves him too never suspected your own boyfriend was the culprit.

"They . . . didn't. You said they didn't have the energy to talk," your voice was almost a whisper. You weren't even confident of your own answer. You're starting to reminisce about the old days at school. Sure, they didn't talk to you anymore, but the reunion dinner is going to be different, right?

His hand moves down to lock the door but his actions made you take a step back, hitting the door. You forgot you're kind of trapped right now with no way out unless reasoning with him first.

"You don't really have to go . . ." The same hand moves up to your hair, tucking some strands behind your ear ever so gently it's almost . . . unnervingly creepy. "Do you?"

His eyebrow raised in question.

Your heart is starting to pick up its pace. Your fingertips are running cold. You don't understand yourself why you're so nervous in front of him. I mean, you had been nervous around him but this is a different kind of nervous. It's fear. Fear of him. However, he never hurt you yet. He never raised his voice to you. He's always been nice and sweet to you. But you really can't help this weird feeling.

So you slowly tell him how you feel.

"You're scaring me."

And there it is. It hit something in him. It's the last thing he wants, but the first thing to make you listen to him.

You can see his facial expression changes from demanding to guilt.

"Love, there's nothing to be afraid of. It's just me!" His caging arms now freeing you while backing away a bit, most likely a tactic to show you he's innocent. "I'm just saying, wouldn't you be left out at dinner? I don't want my pretty girl coming home sad and disappointed when the past week you've been so excited about this dinner."

Andrew takes your silence to continue. "Stay here. With me."

You really want to insist on going yet you don't want to risk starting a fight. But it's unfair! You always let him win you over, now he needs to listen and let you go. Maybe a small chance could probably lead to a huge success.

"But please!" You drag the word longer, hoping he'll give in. "I haven't seen my friends for I don't how many years. It's just this once."

You seem energetic again. He takes this chance to step closer, a hand on the side of your face. His thumb brushes along your glossed lips you put on earlier, smudging it. His gaze move up from your lips to your eyes.

"I'm sorry, darling, but no means no." He said it so softly before he kissed you longingly. You somehow melt into him despite your disagreement. He's really not losing—like always.

He broke off the kiss to continue persuading you to stay. "I'm doing this for your own good. Sometimes you're too naive to be staying around them. You're too nice. I've seen it. And it hurts to watch you being used and throw you away."

You exhale a deep breath from the stress. Maybe Andrew's right. Maybe you are too naive to realize. They asked you for homework and notes, but then one day, they stopped talking to you. Maybe they really did see no use in you they've fulfilled their satisfaction.

But Andrew . . . Andrew never stopped talking to you. Andrew never threw you away. Andrew was always there through it all. Andrew never left you by yourself.

Like right now.

"Okay," you spoke softly, like a whisper, before nodding your head. "I'll stay in with you."

Good thing you were looking at the ground because now, Andrew can't hide the big smile on his face. He successfully manages to keep you by his side. His heart beats rapidly from the excitement, his skin was buzzing. He can be with you tonight. He can stay with you. Just the two of you!

He pulls you in his arms and strokes your hair. "That's my good girl. Always so obedient." He kisses the crown of your head before leading you to your bedroom so you can change to a more comfortable clothes.

He dreams of having you by his side forever but he doesn't want to go to extreme measures such as locking you in or tying you up. Maybe not just yet. Since you're so good to him and love him too, you deserve to roam around freely until you start to disobey.

He wouldn't want to do it but tonight, he was close to doing so just from how persistent you were.

[goldsbitch]

Right?

summary: Y/N is a photographer for McLaren F1 team. Hard working, goal oriented professional who would never put her career in jeopardy for some stupid crush, right?

That is until a photoshoot gets out of hand and there is no way to go but forward.

warning: swear words, male x female, angst

part 2

______________________________________________________________

You're a professional. Right? Always been, proud of your hard work and strong will. If you want something, you go and get it.

It's by no chance that you're standing exactly here - in the McLaren F1 paddock, in the middle of buzzing neatly organized and timed chaos prior to the start of the race. "Read the grid, feel the paddock" was a line burned to your memory by your first boss, now the Media head of Redbull. You've learned what each and every one of the people do, what their job entails, because one day, one day you want to be more than a photographer for the team's social media.

You're a professional. Had a dream and went for it, no matter the sacrifice or long hours. Always on the road, detached from your peers. Because your heart beats for this.

You'd never do anything to compromise your job. Right?

The hardest part to ignore is his scent. You can evert your eyes when he walks to the room like he owns it - and one would say he actually does, he is the team's no. 1 driver for god sake. His voice can almost be blocked out by focusing on a conversation with a different person or headphones if the situation allows. But his scent seems specifically tailored to messing with your ability to focus, so much sothat you've considered wearing a mask and pretending to be a super freak about germs.

Ironically, scents are hard to recall. And you would know, you've tried several times on lonely nights in hotel rooms, with the goal to make you finish just a little bit faster. A moment you'd really love to forget is standing in a perfume shop trying to figure out what is that magical formula. Because it can't be due to the fact that he is wearing it. Right?

However hard it is for you on the inside, one would never know of your tiny little crush from the outside. Always keeping it casual, with every photoshoot staying professional and holding it together.

It was Lando who had the idea to do more of an intimate (his words, not yours) photoshoot than usually, to spice up the feed, as he bluntly said during a casual PR catch up. This was the reason why you were standing here. In the middle of the forest, alone with a big camera and one light for the subject in question, your biggest crush in history. You were sure he was having a great time putting you outside your comfort zone, the cheeky fuck he was. But then again, he probably really did not give a shit.

"I can't focus if you'll keep looking at me like that," Lando stated like a spoiled child.

"Come again?" you asked, geniuenly confused.

He jumped around few times, as if he was about to run a marathon. "Show a little enthusiam, why so bleh today?"

"You're right, my mind went somewhere else."

"Oh, am I boring you? Well, that's bad. We should be promoting my merch here, but even the person paid to be here can't seem to be bothered!" His tone changed. He raised his eyebrows, challenging you to up your game.

You're a professional. No doubt about that.

Focus, get your head back. Your energy boosted up again, here we go! "Ok, Norris, back to work!" You're well aware that a great photo comes from the subjects ability to connect with the photographer. "You're right, this isn't working. Let's get into the car."

You both left the random wood spot and returned to his sports car that brought you here. "Sit on the driver's seat" you instructed.

"Oh, as if there is a different way this would go down."

"Come on, let's drive around. And be fast," not sure if you were incouraging him or yourself.

"Like the sound of that. Buckle up, otherwise you'll have blurry photos."

And with that he reversed back on the main road.

After about 15 minutes of driving back and forth with a casual drift on the turns, getting pictures of him driving in his new jacket and shades, the adrenaline levels were pretty up in both of you.

"Parked it up here" you instructed again, having him stop on a hill with a view on a city lights in the background. "These are amazing!" you said after a brief look on the photos.

Lando was curious as ever. "Show me!"

"No, you'll see them on the right time. Do you trust me?"

He licked his lips. "Surprise me?"

"Lean back."

You really got into the zone, already super excited for the pictures. They had everything, interesting lighting, composition and Lando was doing an exceptional job with his smiles. However, you knew it could give more.

"This is great Lando, truly great job! But let's do more and push it further, you ok?"

"Just tell me what to do." He looked like he was really enjoying the attention, but you tried to block any of these thoughts out.

"One thing photographers recommend is for the model to try and look into the lens as if you want to seduce it, capture those looking at the picture...It's for making models less focused on the camera and being more attractive..."

Lando pulled out his best smirk yet. "Oh, I'm not attractive enough to be your model now?"

"Come on. You know what I mean."

"Nah, I don't," he lied. "Elaborate, I'm just a simple driver."

Now you were getting annoyed. "Just imagine the lens is someone you want to, em, who you would like to"

"-Fuck?"

"Yes."

"As you wish." And as you asked he did.

He probably did it without much of a thought, but you were perfectly aware of how he fixed his posture, opened his lips a bit, moved his and got this look on as if he wanted to eat you - in the best way possible. This got you in the zone, striking one photo after another, moving your camera and getting closer to get the details, completely forgetting you were both there to shoot his new merch.

Battery low. You would have cursed yourself in that moment. Only you hardly had a second to think about this. When you put your camera down, you realized the nonexistent proximity between you and Lando. You were sitting above him on the back seat with him staring up to you.

You froze for a moment, knowing there is no battery left in the bag.

"Well that is us done for today," you focused on the camera. How on Earth can you be so stupid.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah." You suddenly realized you were way, way to close to Lando. The damn scent, again.

"Damn, I like these kinds of photoshoots."

"Uhm, yeah." You did not want to move, but it was becoming socially unacceptable for you to be sitting on him for this long.

"Have you done this with Oscar?"

It's hard for you not to laugh at that thought. Every photoshoot with Oscar was a nightmare with the atmoshephere being so dry that everyone with an inch of taste had to tell from the photos immediately.

"Not yet," you said trying to preserve the facade. " But if these work out and the team likes them, we might recreate this with him?"

As if that was even remotely possible. You should move now. Why isn't he moving?

"Shame, thought it was our thing," his voice was becoming more raspy with every sentence.

And with that - you lost it.

"You still have the look." How is this sentence coming out of your mouth?

"What look?" he said, moving even closer to you.

"The models look."

"Remind me which one."

"The "Fuck Me Look"...But I'm not taking photos anymore."

"Interesting."

"Why?" You stopped breathing a while ago.

"Because I think you have it too."

part 2

[ghostfest]

Void State/Trance State Method [ADHD/No Focus Friendly.]

I've used quite a few methods to get into the void, and this is one of my favorites that I use. Usually people tell people "just affirm!" and "just relax!" but for me I've never really been able to lie still and go affirming for hours aimlessly because I can't focus my mind and I will get very angry/upset and think I "fail" if I can't focus while most other methods tell me to think absolutely no thoughts. It's just something entirely not possible for me and likely others, so I wrote this to hopefully help someone in a similar situation out. I believe this is something that @trynafindbarbiee2 / @trynafindbarbiee has talked about in the feeling of recently, so I hope this helps people who have recently read their trance state post and seen the video. :) If you have more questions, feel free to message me or inbox me.

1. You do not need white noise, theta waves or whatever you've been told you "need" or anything to enter. You don't even need pure silence. If you're like me you've probably used things that you don't even enjoy and aren't relaxed by just because other bloggers made you feel like you needed it to go into the void. What you're going to do is put on something you like. If you personally find a subliminal relaxing, then use it. Specifically I use music or subliminals. If you have a song that you enjoy a lot and makes you happy then use it. It doesn't need affirmations or binural beats or anything like that. Just put on something you like very much. It doesn't even have to be a calm relaxing song as long as it makes you happy.

2. Think. Yes, I know how this sounds stupid. Think. That's it. No. I'm not telling you to think about something specific. I'm telling you to DO NOT TRY TO NOT THINK. If you try to prevent yourself from thinking you're going to be unable to stop thinking and unable to calm your mind. You're just going to end up more upset that you can't stop thinking. Plus it's actually very important that you're thinking and not focused on the void or entering. Think thoughts about things you enjoy, something that'll distract yourself and spiral into other thoughts you'll also think about. Daydream. Visualize. Think. About anything, ANYTHING you want.

3. By now at some point after this your mind will begin to calm down and get more "spacey" and distracted. Sometimes I am already in the void at this point. However, if you're not yet then you can use your mind's fuzziness and the feeling of being zoned out to enter the void. Things should be much quieter in your head compared to when you first started and it should feel slower to think. 4. Since this happens so fast usually I already end up in the void state or near it at this point. If you aren't yet, then now you can start visualizing and daydreaming about either the void state and the feeling of being in the void state (I visualize the idea of feeling nothing or being in water or just being in space or the wind all of these work best for me). If you can't do this visualize your life AFTER the void. Visualize things such as your desired appearance or desired bedroom and visualize things you're going to do once you leave the void. IN SUMMARY: 1. Put on music or subliminals. It's important that it's something YOU like and relaxes YOU. Not what someone tells you to listen to. 2. Think about anything you want. Just think and daydream about anything. 3. Once your mind is calmer and you think slower, vaunt and rampage about the void and affirm or visualize your life AFTER the void or visualize the feeling of the void (Yes, daydreaming is the exact same as visualizing so if that helps then do that).

[byhuenii]

WHEN YOU KNOW YOU KNOW

synopsis! when you knew logan was the one for you and when logan knew you were the one for him (WC: idk..) pairing! logan ‘wolverine’ howlett x fem!reader warnings! usage of name instead of yn. stubborn logan. black reader in mind. probably ooc. soulmate au kinda. 🧏‍♀️ a/n! this was just some random thought i had and it turned into a mini fic of sorts, it’s alright but too BE HONEST this was so cute to write..

Hugh Jackman wolverine so that = him being tall as hell.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

To you. The idea of love at first sight was stupid, it wasn’t real and neither was soulmates. who would want to be bound with someone for their life—there was very few who you believed were soulmates and that was mainly jean and scott, they’d practically been inseparable

you could say it’s jealousy, and it’s not because you’re in love with one of them but rather because you wanted what they had. no matter what they were always mature about their relationship and always talked to each other; you had met logan after he was brought from the crash his personality was brash and off putting but his love for rogue is what made you want to get to know him more, it made your heart feel fuzzy..but in the best way possible

love at first sight was something you didn’t believe in but watching logan fight and risk his life to save this little girl he had just met turned something in you

and suddenly you believed in the thought of love and first sight moreover you believed in soulmates, he had slowly taken over your mind. he took over your daily life, it was embarrassing. you had never been this bad with anyone you had talked to

the sound of your heart beating roughly against your ribcage; the sight of him made your heart go a little insane. the small conversations you had, the littlest touches those were the ones that lingered those were the ones that stuck with you. you hated him you hated how he made you feel like you were going to explode like you wanted to scream into a pillow at night. you were in desperate need of advice, you had stormed yourself right to the lab.

“jean!!” your voice had boomed throughout the lab, jean had been in your mind lately she just hadn’t expected you to catch onto those feelings so quick. you were pretty stubborn, “when did you realize you were in love with scott..?” the loud call of her name to the normal tone yet desperate question made her have some whiplash

“when? i couldn’t tell you that” jean thought back to her first time meeting scott and their bond they had. “if this is about you and logan—”

yours brows furrowed “had you been reading my mind.” “[name] even without reading your mind your stares at him were enough to tell me everything”

jeans heels clicked against the floor as she put her hand on your shoulder, “i can’t tell you when or how i found out i liked scott but when you know you know” her eyes were soft. the question you had been trying to look for so long was right in front of you. you had always known you knew.

the minute you saw logan hold rogue so dear to him sacrificing his healing abilities so she would be able to stay alive was when you knew. “oh my god.”

But to logan, that was so much harder and took so much longer to simply admit he had fallen for you, he was 200 years old he was too old for you.

logan also had a gruff to him he always held people at a distance, he didn’t want to hold someone too close. he didn’t want to lose another person who he sought was important to him so he held you from a distance, it didn’t take much for you to work your way into his life

the xmen had treated him much like an outcast maybe much to his fault for being such a prick. you never let that get to you, a ray of sunshine that was just too nice—you actually cared about rogue, you wanted to help him you wanted to save rogue. maybe that’s when he started to grow somewhat fond of you

that was up to question he never took that as the sign, he’d saw you as a friend from that someone who was just nice to everyone. rogue had grown so fond of you she had always mentioned you in their conversations, it warmed his heart. to see rogue go from someone who held herself at a distance to being so comfortable in her own way especially with the help of you

logan had a smile on his face, one that could be missed. he had started to think about you a lot, your smell filled his nose. it was almost comfortable in such a way it’s as if your presence was able to comfort him, he knew you were there he knew you were safe; he’d catch himself staring at you more, lingering his touches a little more, he had this urge to hold you near him

“the way you look at [name] it’s different logan” rogue came from behind giving him quiet a scare, “jesus kid..” he grumbled. he couldn’t even notice that rogue was behind him at all,

rogue let out a small laugh putting her hand on his shoulder “you’re so in love with her, it’s sickening” she teased. logan refused to admit to no such thing “am not, you’re thinking nonsense kid”

“refusing to admit anything classic logan. when you have your ‘when you know you know’ moment do thank me”

his brow furrowed, a gruff smile as rogue had been right “don’t you have a class to be heading too?”

rogue rolled her eyes leaving him alone to head to class. logan had felt like his mind was going to explode, he needed a drink although it was school hours he opted for a dr pepper. “logan..!” your voice cause his head to turn behind in a rapid speed. “shit you scared me” he didn’t know why he lied he was just too excited to see you

a laugh escaped your lips, “did ya need something bub?” he put the dr pepper up to his lips sipping the carbonated beverage—“oh no no, i was just coming this way and i saw you” the damn smile you always wore, he could feel his shoulders relax his whole body relax

your scent filling up the room, honey, vanilla, and the smell of coffee you had always had with you. it was a comforting smell; the sun beamed through the windows casting this angelic look onto you, you were some kind of angel that saw the good in him and never judged him too harshly. his heart felt like it was beating harshly against his chest, he didn’t know how long he had been staring at you but it felt like hours. you were just so beautiful, it was a beauty in all his 200 years of living that was different

“logan” you waved your hand in front of his face, he seemed zoned out, “you still there..?” your face wore with concern. he laughed “yeah i’m still here bub”

“i was going to make some cookies since the kids really seemed to like them..” he watched your movement, the way you spoke so highly of the kids the way you held yourself to a standard never faulting to that. it made him feel weak, if he had been completely honest he hadn’t been listening to a single thing you said. he was just in a different world

a different world admiring you, he wore a small smile “so this is what she meant by when you know you know..”

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

a/n — im still getting the just of writing again please bare with me </3

[holdinbacksecrets]

uninhibited (and drunk) voicemails from seventeen

forever sending gratitude and love to j @un-love for helping assign these

seungcheol: “i watched you tonight with another man. he held your hand and kissed your forehead. he drank your tea first to check the temperature. he made you laugh. for real. i know because you covered your mouth, still feeling insecure about how far it opens when the reaction can’t be avoided—when the something said was so funny it surprised you. you’re wearing red. your arms were exposed for a while, and i felt my eyes prick with tears at the sight of more tattoos on your skin. ones i didn’t know about. maybe ones you mentioned when they were still just possibilities in your head. not once did i think i wouldn’t see them actualized. not once did i imagine another man’s fingers brushing the ink through the motion of draping his jacket around your shoulders.”

jeonghan: “i’m at home and alone, and it’s wrong to call you. it’s so unfair to call you. i didn’t know how to tell you that the wanting is scary. that the way we love each other is impossible—not for a second do i believe it’s possible to have again, and i’m fucking afraid, probably because i know how much you’ve grown. the thought of letting you down leaves a sour taste, and i’m trying not to be so fucking afraid.”

joshua: “i’m sobering up now, sitting on my mom’s back porch. earlier, i was trying to describe the color of your hair. the best i could come up with was blue frosting like the cupcakes she made for my 10th birthday party. isn’t that outrageous? embarrassing? in my head was a poem, but the alcohol released the silliest set of words i could’ve possibly used to describe a part of you.”

jun: “everything is weird. everyone is strange to me today except for you. i’m drunk. i lost my shoes at some point in the night i think. i can’t recognize anyone around me. their voices don’t sound familiar. i wish you were here. i wish you’d tell me this is miserable for you too; it’s not worth it anymore. would you tell me the truth if i asked? sorry. what a stupid question. i don’t know anyone more honest.”

soonyoung: “i should’ve watched you all day more often. i dream about that. i wanted to, but something always had my attention or interrupted its focus on you. i’m laying here with my eyes closed, imagining all the moments i did watch and wondering if every single one pieced together could consume an entire day.”

wonwoo: “is it ok that i still have your spare key? i’d like to believe it’s something you’d ask to get back, but i wonder if that call isn’t worth making. if the idea of seeing me makes you anxious. but you trust me. out of everyone to still have access to your home, it’s ok that it’s me. i feel sad thinking about it.”

jihoon: “you baked cookies. i froze half of them. there’s one left, and i’m debating whether or not to eat it today. it’s freezing outside, and any view through my window is ruined by the snow. it feels like the perfect night for a cookie with what’s left of my second americano like i can risk losing sleep, but what will be left from you if i give in? everything else feels lifeless—it’s been so long since you’ve touch the clothes and read the books.”

seokmin: “i’m going to a wedding tomorrow. your old neighbor is getting married, and i thought about so many things when he sent me the invitation. i thought he was in love with you for the longest time. remember that? it took me months to admit. then he told me he’s just protective, and i realized there are so many people who see us and care without us ever knowing. so i wondered about a what if between us… what if our paths crossing was shallow and they never intertwined? what if you were just a woman in the grocery store who i’d see once in a while if the timing was right? how long would i think about you before forgetting your face, before forgetting i ever saw you? unless i never would and end up talking about you in my old age to adult children who only know i loved their mother.”

mingyu: “is it ok to call you in the middle of the night? you told me i could. years have passed since that conversation. *laughs* is it strange to think about us back then? how we started on a park bench, basically dated for two years on a park bench. i still think about how your approach to reach me gave away your feelings. you started poised, avoiding eye contact. then it became goofy looks and confident strides before calling my name and skipping to singing the song stuck in your head while you ran to me. i can’t help but wonder what would it look like now?”

minghao: “if you listen to this voicemail, can you tell me what you want? whatever comes to mind after hearing the question. from something small to something weird and the the thing you believe is better left unsaid as if i’d judge the answer, but i won’t. i have no reason to judge you. all i have is curiosity and love and hope for your every day, every want, every touch, every song you sing, every picture you hang, and every night spent barefoot on the balcony- i want to marry you.”

seungkwan: “there’s something on my mind. i’ve wanted to tell you all day. i thought about it at breakfast and started texting you before my manager called and interrupted. so here it is: i used to not understand how tired you’d be with me around. i thought i was boring you for the longest time until i visited my sisters. they exchanged a knowing smile before telling me you’re completely comfortable, that you feel safe enough to slip into the kind of vulnerability that only sleepiness and sleep allow, with your guard lowered, and your heart open. i appreciate how much of you i’ve seen, how deeply i know you—knew you… know you? hmm…”

hansol: “are you traveling? i hope you’re traveling. i know it’s something you promised to do at the start of your 26th year. where did you go? … are you taking lots of pictures? … how does the moon look? that’s your souvenir: the moon in the sky a thousand miles away from home. when you told me the moon thing, i realized i knew nothing about you, and i wanted to know everything.”

chan: “you were in the audience tonight? i didn’t… i wasn’t… thank you for coming. i mailed a ticket, but it was returned to sender. *clears throat* you’re the only person i couldn’t shake wanting to be there. do you know what i mean? people from our pasts we wish could still be present, especially for things they witnessed in early stages. i could shake off all the other absences… old friends, a mentor, but you… *sigh* no way.”

[inumkii]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ if you know what’s right - megumi x reader

summary: you’re frustrated (and admittedly embarrassed) that you’ve made it this far in life without anyone ever asking you on a date. little did you know, it wasn’t any fault of yours- but your best friend who has the unfortunate habit of scaring any potential lover away.

genre: fluff, modern/college au (though it could be read as a normal au), best friends to lovers

wc: 1.8k

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ a/n: whenever i talk about reader wanting to be asked out just know its purely because they want someone to express romantic interest in them- im not talking about catcalls or anything weird when ppl get approached by weirdos. I hope that was clear!! :D

boys didn't ask you out

you always wished to be stopped on campus by someone cute and have them ask for your number. it was a little embarrassing at this point to admit no one has ever expressed romantic interest in you.

you tried to convince yourself that maybe you were just intimidating- but your close friend maki over here complains left and right about someone new approaching her for her instagram and she's probably the most intimidating person you knew. intimidating but glaringly beautiful 

so what was your problem?

“she’s taken” a deep voice calls out from behind your shoulder, glaring daggers into the boy in front of you. mind you, the first boy who had ever approached you to ask you out!!

megumi, your best friend, places an awkward arm around your waist. trying to pull you out of this situation by acting as your boyfriend.

the boy in front of you looks like he’s about to shit his pants before stuttering out an apology. he takes off before you could even process the situation, leaving you stunned in the middle of the cafe you were in.

“what the hell?” you whip around to question your friend, “why would you say that??”

you pout at him. you’re more disappointed than you admittedly should be, wishing you had the opportunity to confront the situation yourself.

you pry megumi’s hand off your waist. it's a shame that this was how the situation was playing out. in any other instance, you would have gladly welcomed any form of physical touch from him.

megumi just tilts his head in confusion.

“he was asking you out, wasn't he?”

“yes,,”

“and you weren’t going to accept his invite, were you?”

“you can’t just assume that for me!” you frown. you bite your tongue, not wanting to sound pathetic over the fact that you were excited someone had finally seemed to like you.

“well he looked like a bit of a loser” megumi shoves his hands in his pockets and shrugs. he’s struggling to find your source of irritation.

“and what if i liked losers?” you snip, tone accidentally coming across too harsh causing you to back track. you’re aware at how stupid you sound getting mad over something so trivial. you know deep down he’s just trying to help you out, “look, megumi. i'm sorry,, im just in a bad mood right now. i would just appreciate it if you let me handle it next time.”

“ah- im sorry” megumi’s eyes shift to the side. he's a little embarrassed, “nobara and maki have a better time dealing with this situation when one of us pretends to be their boyfriend. i thought it would be the same.”

“yeah, well i'm not nobara or maki,” your sharp tone dissipates into a more disappointed sound. you weren’t like your two friends. people don't line up at the door to ask you out. what a common experience for them wasn’t one for you. and you knew its a dumb thing to be jealous of but it didn't stop you from hoping one day you’d catch someone’s attention like that too.

megumi’s a smart guy, too intelligent for his own good even. he catches on quickly what you meant by that. 

he feels kind of bad, recounting the amount of times he gave the stink eye to a guy who looked at you with the slightest interest. he would never take it back though- he didn’t want any guy getting too close to you. was that wrong of him?

maybe a little,,,

he awkwardly clears his throat, “i don’t think it's anything like that,” he tries to console you without letting on that he might be the reason you don’t get approached nearly as much as you want to.

you only huff and continue sipping at your fairly watered down latte that hadn’t received much attention in the last ten minutes.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

“-and then he said he was my boyfriend!” you wail to nobara, who’s currently splayed across your bed. she scoffs in amusement as she adds the finishing touch to her manicure.

“and that’s a bad thing for you?”

your face warms. you suppose you have been a little too fixated on your frustrations that you hadn’t considered how megumi didn’t hesitate to jump into boyfriend act. sure, he had told you that him and itadori do this whenever nobara was being hit on but you both know it was mostly itadori. anytime it was fushiguro had to be in his place, it was comically forced to say the least.

looking back on the situation, he had almost immediately jumped in to reject the guy,

“listen yn, all i'm trying to say is that i don't think the reason why you’re not getting asked on dates is because of your appearance- i mean look at you!” she caps her nail polish and sits up, “i think megumi is cockblocking you”

“but this is the only time he’s done this?” her implications go over your head

“i need you to think-” she quips, “when's the last time you went out and megumi wasn’t with you?”

“so you think we look like a couple everytime we go out?” you ask her incredulously, trying not to sound as flustered as you feel.

“something like that-” she purses her lips, trying to decide if it was worth megumi (and maybe even you) being severely pissed off for revealing that she's witnessed multiple glares he’s given guys who even think about asking you out. “i just don’t think you look the most approachable when hes always attached to your hip”

you groan. you’re absolutely hopeless.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

days go by and this is the third time in a row megumi sees you arrive from the city with nobara. as your closest friend, he’s the one that always gets asked to accompany you on your little trips off campus. you must be mad at him over that one incident- or worse, completely weirded out over the fact that he pretended to be your boyfriend. that thought mortifies him.

he doesn’t realize he’s gritting his teeth as he approaches you and nobara. before you know it, nobara has already separated herself from you, blurting out a quick ‘see you later!’ as she disappears to her own dorm.

now it's just you standing there, frozen, as a brooding megumi approaches him. you would be a little scared at his expression but as he got closer, you could see the frown on his face was more of a pout. cute..

“i’m sorry” he confronts you directly. he just wanted to quickly resolve whatever he did to make you avoid him.

“..sorry?” you question your friend. you had only really been mad at him for less than a day, getting over it after that conversation with kugisaki. but you hadn’t been acting strange to him in the days after that to warrant him being upset about it. the only thing you had done was go out with nobara more instead of him..

“yeah- i wanted to apologize for the other day. if i,,, you know,, made you uncomfortable?” his eyes shift down to his shoes, not really knowing what to say next. his words come off a little blunt, but you pick up his sincerity.

you only smile a little at how nervous he looks, though you felt bad for worrying him, he looked kind of cute like this. 

“i wasn’t uncomfortable, megumi,, don’t worry,” your words lift a weight off his shoulders and his posture is slightly less slumped as you continue, “i’m sorry too. i shouldn’t have gotten mad at you,, i was just frustrated that you had answered that guy instead of letting me do it. i don’t get asked out a lot so i was hoping i could’ve handled it myself.” 

maybe you shouldn’t have overshared that last part, but you owed him a proper explanation.

“ah- i guess im sorry for that too.”

you blink at him. 

huh?

“excuse me?” you question his new apology.

megumi’s looking everywhere but you. he’s certain that his face is burning red by now.

“i sort of,,” he pauses, embarrassed to be admitting this, “i think i have the habit of staring down anyone who looks like they’re about to approach you.”

that wasn’t the answer you had expected from him. frustrated, you open your mouth to ask him why the hell he even admitted that, but he cuts you off.

“i guess i just was being selfish. i didn’t want anyone to ask you out.” he scratches the back of his neck nervously. he hopes you don’t notice him sweating out of stress. “i shouldn’t have been doing that.”

he turns his back to walk away, not having anything else to add on and wanting this conversation to end as soon as possible. you’re almost left stunned in place but you manage to slap some sense into yourself to stop him from leaving.

“wait! megumi” you jog to catch up to the retreating boy and place a hand on his arm, “you like me?”

“yes.” megumi mentally slaps himself for being so blunt. he supposes he’s already dug himself in a deep hole and he knows you deserve the grander confession you’ve been yearning for, so he works up the courage to confess properly. he owes you that, atleast. 

there’s a slight pause so megumi can gather the correct words for you.

“i really enjoy spending time with you, more than you realize. those last few days you took nobara out to the city instead of me made me upset. part of it was me being jealous you started choosing her over me and part of it was me worrying that the thought of being perceived as your boyfriend from a few days ago completely repulsed you out of hanging out with me. yn, i like you. a lot. i’m sorry for robbing you of all the confessions you should’ve been getting so i hope this somewhat makes up for it… or not, you can slap me now if you don’t like me back.” he closes his eyes, bracing himself for the worse.

what he doesn’t expect is a pair of arms wrap around his stiff body, still braced for any hit you could’ve thrown his way. 

he slowly melts into your embrace, lifting his arms to mimic your action. he doesn’t realize he’s been holding his breath this whole time until he sighs into your hair.

“megumi, i hope you know that i’d take the worst confession from you over any coffee shop boy. i like you too,” you confess as you hold him close to you, chin resting on his shoulder.

“oh so this confession was the worst?” you can hear his smirk in his tone. you laugh, knowing he’s relaxed into your touch.

“oh shut it, you know that's not what i meant!” you push yourself back, lightly shoving his chest. he doesn’t let you part from the hug for too long before he pulls you back in, burying his face in your neck.

he smiles like an idiot before answering, 

“i know, i know”

[alexanderwales]

I think the worst part of my experience with the internet is when people make bold claims and I say to myself "is that actually true though?" and then, rather than continuing on with my life and letting it lie, I take it upon myself to answer the question to my own satisfaction.

And this is often very difficult and time-consuming, because the thing that's boldly being claimed is complex and nuanced, and there's possibly a grain of truth somewhere that I really would need to go looking for.

I used to have a very Catholic coworker who I'd get in fights with all the time, and he was terrible about providing sources for the things he said, because obviously it was based on an article that had landed in his inbox and it was hard for him to remember all the details, except that he had definitely read it somewhere. So I would take it upon myself to say "okay, what the fuck is this guy talking about" and then eventually I would find the kernel of truth that had led to whatever was in his head. Sometimes this was interesting and worthwhile, but often it was not. On a few occasions, it was just funny/frustrating, because he'd been shared something from the Onion.

(As one example, he had said that Pepsi products contained pieces of aborted fetuses, which was clearly stupid on the face of it. But when I went to go figure out where he'd gotten that from, I learned some stuff about cell lines, and in particular, HEK-293. That cell line comes from the kidney of an aborted (or possibly miscarried) fetus from 1973, and through the magic of biology, became an immortal cell line. This cell line was then used by a company called Senomyx, which had developed a way to test sweetness using them, though so far as I know no one had any proof that they did anything with that particular cell line in association with their partnership with PepsiCo. They certainly weren't putting HEK-293 cells in their drinks. An anti-abortion group then began attempting a boycott of PepsiCo around 2010 on the basis of this partnership, which is how my coworker had wound up repeating to me the claim that Pepsi had aborted fetuses in it. I found this to be a Fun Fact.)

Anyway, tumblr is a particularly bad place for misinformation and bold claims, but today was the first time I failed to stop myself from trying to get some actual sources when someone tossed of a little treat of a fact which did not actually sound true to me. And I didn't even get the answer I was looking for!

It's tangential to this post, but the claim was that sometimes sports were segregated because women were outcompeting men, rather than the reverse. So far as I can find, the answer is "probably false if taken to be anything on the level of a trend", but gymnastics apparently has men and women doing totally different events, and without grabbing a book on the development of gymnastics as a sport, it would be difficult to determine whether the segregation was specifically because men could not compete, rather than some other motive.

The other, more clear-cut example, was mixed skeet shooting, where a woman won a gold medal in the event, then women were barred from competing the next Olympics and a separate women's skeet shooting event was made. Barring other details, this is some sexist bullshit on the part of the International Shooting Union. So I did find evidence of it happening at least once, in a single sport, which was already a sport where women are roughly at parity with men. And if I've found evidence of it happening once, there's a good chance that it's happened more than that. Seems very rare though, and more of a "because sexism" thing rather than "because biological differences". But if I didn't know about that, what else might I not know? Think about what a fool I'd look like if I displayed ignorance of Shan Zhang's 1992 Olympic skeet shooting performance and the subsequent rule change.

The other claim I was trying to track down was "what's the difference in funding for male and female sports, and can we predict how much of an impact that has on performance", which is obviously a fucking huge research question, so I was hoping that someone had done some kind of study that I could read. I don't think there's a bunch of data on how much money is spent on facilities or coaches or whatever, but I was thinking that maybe you could try to find comparable budgets. That would still leave you with some of the social/access/selection problems, but it would at least be something. If the hypothesis was that socialization and funding are the primary reason for the performance gap, we could eliminate at least one of them, and I think there are statistical methods to account for different sample sizes. I was hoping that someone would have done it, or something better than that took an actual knowledge of statistics and sports into account, but apparently not.

FWIW the sports where men and women are at something like parity appear to be those that require endurance, flexibility, or where we wouldn't think there's that much reason your specific body would matter: ultramarathons, equestrian, shooting sports, some archery, and some climbing. It would be weird to me if a difference in funding and engagement and sexism was making a difference in other sports, but not these ones, but I guess I could float some theories if I had to.

I actually do not care that much about these questions, and it gets into a lot of feminist and trans waters that people have strong feelings about, where to me it's just a research issue, trying to find some empirical data. I am including this stuff here mostly for the sake of completeness and because I dislike vagueblogging.

[espinosaurusrexex]

Serious Questions

BuckyBarnes x Female!Reader

summary: Bucky agrees to go on a date to make his colleagues shut up. Now, he just feels sorry for the poor woman that has to spend an entire evening with him. He really tries to make it work, though, because he actually enjoys her company.

a/n: This was a request by the lovely @alana-32. Hopefully, it meets your expectations 💙 I haven’t written pure fluff in a hot minute but this was fun!

word count: 2.9k

warnings: nervous and wholesome Bucky, super fluffy, just a really beautiful bond unfolding 

･ﾟ✫* 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ｡✭･ﾟ

You should get out more, Bucky. Meet people and make friends, Bucky. You need to get laid, Bucky.

Sam’s words echoed through Bucky’s head as he pushed open the door of the restaurant. The warm air welcomed him and the little bell at the entrance rattled when he entered. He didn’t know how it exactly happened, but all of a sudden Clint had pitched into the conversation and urged him to meet his cousin. And Bucky had agreed. Well, the desperate attempt to make them shut up backfired. Big time.

He didn’t want to date. Apart from the fact that he didn’t wish himself on anybody, he didn’t think he could handle a relationship like that. Hell, Bucky barely realized how he made friends in the past year, so how the hell was he supposed to date? He hadn't done it in ages. It was probably different now than it was 80 years ago. 

The waiter looked at him with wide eyes - fear visible on his face - when he entered and chose a quiet place in the corner, though the whole restaurant was fairly empty. What would he even talk about? His hand started to sweat. This had been a bad idea. A really stupid bad idea. His eyes swerved to the door and then back to the waiter standing behind a small bar. Was it too late to back out? 

But then the bell above the entrance chimed again and he knew that he had missed his chance. 

“Hello.” You smiled at him, clutching your bag with nervous fingers. “Are you James Barnes?”

Bucky scrambled to stand up and held out his hand to you with a tight smile. He nodded and gestured for you to take a seat after you told him your name. 

He could do this, he thought. Especially because you seemed just as nervous. The first thing you two had in common, right?

“I’m really sorry, this is kind of awkward.” You looked down at your hands beneath the table with hesitance. “I... uhm... I haven’t done this in a while,” you confessed with genuine eyes. And Bucky could see a hint of comfort washing through your face. 

“I doubt your last date is as long ago as mine, doll. You’ll probably do a lot better than me.”

A small laugh pressed past your lips and Bucky’s heart warmed at the sound. It felt good to make you laugh. He wanted to do it again.

“Let’s rush through the basics then so we can get to the interesting bits. I think that first half hour is what makes these things so awkward.” Your mouth spread into a grin as you straightened up.

“Sounds like a plan.” Bucky nodded. 

“Well, you already know my name... I work in a small bookshop in Brooklyn, I am an only child but never wanted to be. I love dogs, cats, ducks - all the animals, really, but I don’t have any pets because my landlord doesn’t allow them. Well... I have fish - I had to settle for fish because they're quiet. But that’s their problem, you know? They’re quiet and you can’t play with them or pet them.” You shrugged. “Uhm... I like to read - I do that a lot, and I think that’s it.” Your speech ended with a bright smile and Bucky couldn’t help his own from spreading. 

“My turn?”

“Yes.”

“Okay...” He straightened ups as well, a little giddy about the situation now. Normally, Bucky wouldn’t react this way to something he didn't like, but he wanted to try it this time. You were just so sweet and he didn't want to ruin the date... for you. “My friends call me Bucky, I grew up in Brooklyn, I have a sister... had a sister. And I think I’m more of a cat person - if I had to choose. I don’t have any pets. I work a lot, I guess it keeps me distracted. And... I feel like my back story doesn’t need to be explained, you probably know all about it.” He didn’t give you much, Bucky knew that. But those were the things he could say easily and really, he wasn’t sure how you’d react to most of it.

“Bucky... I like it. What’s it short for?”

“Buchanan. ’s my middle name.”

“Like the President?”

“Yup.”

“Hm... I guess that’s kinda cool.”

“I guess.”

"Can I call you Bucky?"

He felt weirdly content with you saying his name. "If you want." There was no regret in his decision as he watched your face scrunch in excitement.

The shallow topics went on for a while, and Bucky was surprised to see that talking to you was easy. He didn’t worry about what you thought, because you reacted to his replies with intrigue and adoration. He felt heard. And he had to admit that he actually enjoyed the little meeting his teammate had set up so far. He learned a bunch of stuff about you. And he picked up on little quirks you had and he celebrated every new one he noticed. Like the way your nose slightly crunched when you didn't believe him, or how your finger grazed over the table when you talked about something you really liked - back and forth. It was comforting to be in your presence.

Bucky leaned back in his booth as he emptied his beer, watching as you ordered another drink for yourself. He found himself smiling into the bottle when the waiter agreed to add an extra peppermint leave, making you bite back a bright smile. The waiter smiled as well, a lot less tense than he had been before you had arrived and it fascinated Bucky how contagious your good mood was. Then you turned your attention back to Bucky and he had to regain his composure. His arm slipped from the back of the booth and fell to his side as he waited for you to talk again. 

“Okay, real talk, now - and I need you to answer this question honestly.” Your fingers pressed on the table like he’d seen important politicians do and Bucky had to hide a smile. 

“Hit me with it.”

“If you could be a mix of any two animals, which combination would you choose?”

Bucky was baffled for a second. He had expected everything but this. And then - out of the blue - he laughed. A real can’t-hold-back-the-snort-if-I-tried-laugh and it felt so unbelievably good, it scared him a bit.

You gasped appalled, but the small smirk behind your hand couldn’t be hidden. “This is serious, Bucky. It says a lot about you.”

“Really, how?”

“Well, for example, I would choose an elephumblebee because it would look freaking adorable. A tiny elephant with wings and a furry butt, are you kidding me? Why the government hasn’t made that happen yet is truly beyond me.”

Bucky got it, then. It really did say a lot about you. You were fun and cute and he could imagine a little clumsy at times - just like he would imagine an elephumblebee. And even though it still felt foreign to him to engage in a silly activity like this, with you, it was fun - and he wanted to. So he thought really hard, his eyes focusing on the wall behind you and you waited patiently and ordered another beer for him. 

Who would have thought that James Bucky Barnes would ever sit in a restaurant and think about how ridiculous a dog with a giraffe’s head would look? Certainly not Bucky. But it was almost comforting to do so.

“Alright, I think I got it.” You just nodded in anticipation. “I think I would be a spider-wolf... a spi- a spolf.” Bucky was satisfied with his answer: A lone wolf and someone people didn’t really like - pretty accurate if you’d asked him. 

You just watched him with a tilted head for a while and Bucky felt a little uncomfortable with his answer now. Had he said the wrong thing? 

“What?” Your lips just pursed in response. 

“Nothing, nothing..,” you trailed off and Bucky couldn’t stop staring at your lips. “I was just thinking, you know - I think I’ve never seen a real wolf before. It’s not on my bucket list or anything and I heard they are so much bigger than you think, but like... have you?”

“I actually have. In the wild - amazing animals and yeah, bigger than a dog, that’s for sure.”

“Really?” Your eyes lit up. “Wow, that must have been such a unique experience.”

Bucky smiled sadly, nodding. “To be honest, I didn’t really realize it when it happened. I couldn’t appreciate it the way you would.”

“Oh well, still. It’s awesome. The most extraordinary animal I have ever seen in ‘the wild’ was a raccoon. There’s not a lot of wildlife potential when you never leave the city.” You shrugged as you pressed your lips in a straight line, but Bucky chuckled.

“Not much of the vacation kind?”

“It’s not that...” You paused and sighed. “I just love the bookstore too much. There is this one lady. She comes in every Thursday at exactly the same time and she just sits and reads and she has the most amazing stories to tell. And then there is the little stray cat that comes by every day and we have a little cuddle session. Oh, and I can’t forget about the quiet tatted college kid that secretly reads romance novels in the back isles for hours on end. I would miss them too much...”

Bucky just sat and listened to you ramble on and on about all the individuals you were so attached to, even if they didn’t know. And he was reminded yet again how much he enjoyed this initially dreaded evening. It didn't feel forced and you were so authentic and kind. Bucky was relaxing with every second he spend in the cozy little restaurant with you. He was sure that he could spend a whole day here with you, without getting bored.

He leaned forward as he watched the corners of your mouth tug up and your eyes sparkle with joy while you talked about the bookstore. And he couldn’t help but ask himself how he ended up here. How had he gotten a date with the most caring person in the world - no, really, what were the odds of that happening to him? But the most present thought swarming his mind was: How is a woman like you still single? 

You suddenly stopped taking and Bucky was catapulted back to reality. You looked at him with wide eyes for the fraction of a second and then they softened and your gaze averted to the table. Had he just said that out loud?! Bucky didn’t know what to do. He was frozen to the booth, his hands tightening around the bottle and he held his breath - didn’t dare breathe until you gave him a new reaction.

After a beat, you sighed and looked him in the eyes apologetically. “I... I don’t know.” Your hand moved over the table and nervously began picking on the toothpicks in the glass jar. “I guess, I don’t seem to be the taste of most men around here. I don’t like wild parties and spending my weekends wasting away with a hangover.”

Bucky felt himself cringing at how uncomfortable he had made you. You clearly were embarrassed talking about this, but he would let you talk - or chose not to anymore. Either way, he would respect your decision.

“I... uh... I just haven’t had any luck so far. When I talk about my interests, everyone’s eyes just glaze over and then I never see them again. They think I’m boring, but that’s... I like concerts and dancing... I just don’t need the whole-” Your hands flailed in front of your face before you sunk back into your seat. 

“You’re not boring, doll. I completely understand what you’re saying. I don’t need all that-” now his hand flailed in the air, “either.” Which made you break a smile that got brighter when he returned it. And Bucky felt a little pride swell in his chest when he watched your mood lift again. 

“Can I ask you something?” You suddenly said and Bucky felt a little nervous at the piercing stare you gave him.

“Uh... sure.”

You bit your lip before finally speaking again. “You don’t really strike me as the social type, either.”

Bucky waited for you to continue, but you seemed in thought all of a sudden. “That’s not a question.”

You laughed nervously. “Right. I guess my question is... well, why did you agree to this evening? Clint didn’t really make it seem as if there was a lot of convincing involved.”

Bucky already facepalmed himself mentally for what he was about to say next. But he didn’t want to lie to you - it didn’t feel right. No, you deserved the truth - especially after you had answered his stupid question earlier so honestly.

“To be completely honest, I didn’t know how else to make my friends- uh...shut up. But I don’t regret coming here if that’s what you’re getting at.” He rushed that last part when he saw your face sadden. “I don’t get out too often, that’s true. Which doesn’t mean that I don’t want to... I just don’t know how to do this very well - talking to people. Usually, I get weird stares or fearful glances.”

Your eyes gleamed with something unintelligible before you leaned forward, your elbows resting on the table. “I don’t know how anyone could be scared of you, Bucky.”

“That’s very sweet of you to say, doll. But I don’t blame them, I would probably react the same if I weren’t... me.” His eyebrows furrowed with the last word and he could see a shiver of sadness wash over you.

“I think you’re pretty great,” you offered with an encouraging tap on his hand and Bucky felt his stomach churn.

A short silence overtook you and Bucky tried to keep his composure. The mood had shifted slightly, not uncomfortably, no - but just enough to leave his mind free from any topics he could talk about. Which usually wasn’t a problem, but he wanted to talk to you - tell you more and get told more. Which was why he was extra grateful for your breaking the silence after a couple seconds.

“So... I guess we can check off the heavy stuff as well?”

“Seems so,” he chuckled, holding on to the little feeling of relief you had sparked in his chest.

For the next hour, you actually got Bucky to open up a little more. He hadn’t even realized you were the one talking most of the time because he enjoyed listening to you so much. He came to realize, however, that it wasn’t so bad to talk about himself. He liked the way your eyes lit up at his stories about Clint, or the occasional ‘what, really?’ you threw into his anecdotes, making him feel important.

After another 30 minutes, you had made it outside. And as Bucky stood outside the restaurant door, hands buried deep in his coat pockets, helooked at you with an honest smile, while you adjusted your mittens.

“Thank you for giving this a chance, Bucky. I had a lot of fun tonight.” Your words built puffy white clouds in the air, but other than those, the butterflies in his stomach didn’t dissipate.

“I did, too,” he confessed, realizing for the fourth time today, that this was really true. “We should do this again.”

You bit your lips as your shoulders jerked with reluctance, but before you turned fully, you stepped towards Bucky and hugged him tightly. “Definitely.” 

The cold weather seemed a lot more bearable all of a sudden. Bucky caged you to his chest with his arms and pressed his smile into the crook of your neck while an excited shiver ran through him. He felt incredible, safe, content, and he realized how much he had missed hugs - real, affectionate hugs.

“And you’re not a spolf,” you mumbled into his ear, squeezing him a little tighter. “You’re a curtle - a cat-turtle. Because you have a hard shell and you don’t trust very easily, which might make people feel like you don’t care. But you do - you’re just a little misunderstood.” You pulled back with a sad smile and Bucky felt his hands tighten around you as he stiffened. Though despite the surprise, his lips split into a bright smile.

He gazed into your eyes for a little longer before he leaned forward and placed a chaste kiss on your cheek, making a giddy smile appear on your lips. “Thank you, doll.” 

And then, with a final wave ‘good night’ you turned and walked down the street. Bucky watched until you rounded the corner, unable to wipe the stupid grin off his face.

**Bonus:

“So... how was the date?” Sam teased as Bucky entered the main area of the compound. But his friend just wanted to go to his room and revel in the serenity, you had brought him, a little longer.

“That’s none of your business, punk,” Bucky grumbled, passing the sofa. 

“Why, did you more-than-kiss her goodbye?”

Bucky stopped in his tracks and turned with an annoyed expression, but not even he could hide the blush on his cheeks from deepening at the thought of actually kissing you. His heart was pounding in his chest.

“Oh! Wait? Did you really?!”

“Shut up, Sam.” Bucky wanted to deny it for your sake, but he liked the thought of it too much. So he swiftly decided to simply not spill in front of his friends and your cousin. 

“Holy shit.” He heard Clint chuckle while he made a beeline to his room, missing how the two avengers exchanged a $10 bill behind him.

Wanna be added to the Taglist?

@circe143 @valkyrie418 @mirikusashes @noideawhyimdoingthislol @nikkitc0703 @lethallyprotected @erynnnn @almosttoopizza @sociallyimpairedme @royalwritersoftheuniverses @marrigold-2002

[azullumi]

drunk habits — various characters ☆彡

summary — him and his small drunk habits.

characters — kaveh, venti, tighnari, cyno, wanderer, alhaitham, ayato, kazuha, diluc (w/ gender-neutral reader)

tags — kind of fluff, a little bit of crack also, drunk drunk drunk, not proof-read; headcanons

words — 1289

note — was supposed to publish this yesterday but got busy so it's just now, i'll be working on the requests later!

KAVEH — He reminds you of those people who'll randomly say how your life will turn to doom as you walk down the streets before then disappearing from your sight. He spills unbelievable secrets and shocking gossip, one that you don't even know exists and feels like it's exaggerated, to you when he gets drunk after some glasses of strong alcohol. He'll give out so much juicy details and tea that will keep you on edge on your seat and asking for more but once you throw him a question, he doesn't respond and you'll only be greeted with silence—it is when you'll realize that he has fallen asleep. If he's not asleep, either in some random place or just on his chair, you'll find him creating architectural designs that he wouldn't remember the next morning he'll wake up.

VENTI — Years or maybe millennia of being used to the taste of alcohol in his tongue and the burning feeling of the liquid on his throat had made his tolerance of it grow and become stronger. However, it doesn't mean that he doesn't get drunk in his every drinking session in the tavern or anywhere. He makes it a goal to reach that level of intoxicatedness every time, those moments and ways of him dancing around as he sings a gleeful and joyful song with you, spinning you around and swaying your body to the rhythm along with his. It's either that or he's making stupid pickup lines to you: "Are you a fart? Because you just blew me away," or "Are you not tired? Because you've been running around my mind all day," which will make you sigh as you urge him to shut up but he continues.

TIGHNARI — You’re at a party, hell yeah, but you’re inside the bathroom stalls, vomiting while your hair is being held back by a certain man who goes by the name Tighnari who also happens to be your boyfriend. He's the type of person to only drink a few glass and would prefer looking after everyone, especially you, so he doesn't drink much. However, when things go south and everything turns away from the path it was supposed to go down to, when he gets drunk, let's just say that he has a lot to stay and becomes a little bit grumpy—asking to be doted on and showered with affection by you. While his personality still remains, some bits of him just turns into a 360 like how he blabbers and talks about a certain topic he seems to be obsessed with.

CYNO — He would deny a few offers to drink a glass but then would give in just so to stop the pestering. He doesn't like to drink nor even attend such parties that mainly revolve around alcohol because getting drunk would put him in a vulnerable state but what's wrong with trying it once in a while? You could hardly tell if he is drunk at first but once you recognize the light and warm shade on his cheeks, the realization will strike you like lightning. He tries to act sober, walking in a straight line and not slurring out his words but he fails, maybe not miserably but he fails because he stumbles on his pacing and says words that make his sentences confusing and hard to understand. Speak about the events on the next day, however, and he will shoot you a glare.

WANDERER — A few glasses and maybe more and you find him much grumpier than ever—he's annoyed with all of the noises, sounds, and probably also lights happening all around him, demanding his attention and overwhelming him so he steps out of the place to get some fresh air. However, he's still irritable and would be more demanding to you, specifically your attention. Let's just say that this man when drunk will become the neediest person on earth ever. Putting him in bed, tucking him to sleep, becomes an easier task for you though not until he's grabbing on to your hand so tightly even as he slowly drifts to unconsciousness which leads to you staying by his side until his grip loosens up—it will only happen after an hour or so—and you can finally leave or perhaps, you could sleep beside him if you won't be able to shake off his grasp.

ALHAITHAM — He could handle his alcohol really well, in fact, if you'll challenge him to a drinking session to see who's the first to get drunk, he'll win no matter what—even if his head is already spinning and he's seeing two or three of the same thing at once. He becomes a rambling and chatty person, however, and often mixes words from another language to the conversation which creates confusion. When you'll ask him what the word means, he'll respond in another language which causes you to just give up and pretend that you understand what he is saying. If you were to compare him to his sober self to his drunk one, you could say that they are essentially the same but also fundamentally different as he still retains majority of his personality and adding only a little bit to it.

AYATO — Just like the people who prefer looking after everyone else and watching out for them so that they don't end up doing anything dangerous. He's extremely aware of what is happening to him and his surroundings, being on guard and attentive as always. He still pretty much maintains the responsible demeanor of him, drinking only in moderation, however, things can happen and it will be late until he realizes he's drunk and the alcohol is getting to his head already. That is when he gets—how do you say this?—a little bit reckless and careless, he takes off his clothing one by one and reasons that he's getting hot and he doesn't want to feel sweaty. He becomes flirty or maybe he's just forgetful because he confesses his love for you out of nowhere and asks you to be his.

KAZUHA — An idiotic fool who is stupidly affectionate when he gets drunk. He's not a lightweight nor a heavyweight but in every drinking occasion, he is always drunk. There is literally little to nothing changes in his behavior, he's still the same composed and sweet man that you know, just a little bit outgoing and friendly to everyone. In addition, he also becomes extra nice and a little bit energetic, becoming cheerful and everything but he will eventually become quiet and silent and soon you'll find him asleep on the chair he is sitting right after, this happens as soon as his energy is depleted. The next morning when he wakes up, he'll be greeted by the bright afternoon sun shining on his face and a major headache as he suffers from a hangover and he'll say to himself not to drink again.

DILUC — He doesn't admit it nor does he deny that he is drunk. When his drink has taken over his rationality, he becomes—admittedly— adorable and the clingier side of him comes out as he tries to be close to you as much as possible, not wanting you to leave his side even if you're just going to get some water for him so that he could sober up for a bit. He'll have you sitting on his lap or beside him as he wraps his arms around your figure, his head resting against your shoulders as he breathes in your scent. If you stand up and walk around, he'll follow you, his height and body towering over you as he stays so close to your back and if you'll ask him what he is doing, he would only respond with nothing.

© azullumi — do not plagiarize, copy, repost, nor translate any of my works.