#i wish i had better words to explain how bad it’s gotten but the brain fog has gotten so so bad

[barley-st-band]

hey does anyone know how we’re supposed to survive it all. asking for a friend

[aanoia]

Can I also have pancakes for dinner with James 🥺🥺

Ofc anything for u bae <3

Pancakes for Dinner

James Potter x reader words; 1,859 song; Pancakes for Dinner by Lizzy McAlpine warnings; heavy anxiety omg, plane crash-ish? yall let me tell you. i had such a scare, my mom had to call an ambulance and go to the hospital and i fr have watched too much greys anatomy bc my first thought was oh she's gonna die. like ik how simple freaking back procedures can result in becoming brain dead. is that crazy? doesn't matter bc shes okay now :) if you love a song, the marauders, and my writing, request a song fic and your wish shall be my command. bold is the letter, and yes the lyrics are the letter partly :) ENJOY

Don't wanna be forward

Don't wanna cross a line

“I can’t believe you’re leaving!” Lily whined, wrapping her arms around my waist tightly. 

“I’ll be gone for two weeks, Lils.” I said with a soft smile. 

“Two weeks is a lot, I agree with Lily.” Sirius said, walking up to us and giving me a hug as well. “I’ll miss you, I guess.” He teased and I pinched his arm before locking eyes with my best friend, James Potter.

We said nothing as he threw his arms around me, “Only two weeks?”

I nodded, “Only two.”

But if I were to crash in this plane tonight

I'd want you to know this

“What happened?” I asked my mom as we were heading towards our gate in the airport.

“Apparently a plane going out malfunctioned and crashed to the ground. Thankfully they hadn’t gotten very high up in the air so everyone survived, but that’s still scary.” She explained and my breath hitched. 

“How much time do we have until we need to board?”

“Two hours, your dad wanted to be early.” 

I nodded as she sat down on the waiting chairs, “I’m gonna go to the desk over there, is that okay?” She nodded as she pulled out her book and began reading.

Don't wanna say too much

Intrude on your space

I pondered for a minute, an empty piece of paper in front of me and a muggle pen I stole from our hotel in my hand. I didn't want to be too forward about my feelings to James, but I didn’t want to get in a crash and not be able to say them at all. Better safe than sorry?

Don't wanna say too much

Intrude on your space

Dear James,

I’d like to start this letter off by saying a plane leaving the airport, not even two hours before mine, has gone down. As far as I know, there were no fatalities. The plane wasn’t high enough in the air to do any fatal damage to anyone once it went down. It does not, however, relieve the fear I feel boarding a plane, instead it only adds fuel to the fire.

Oh, and to tell you is too scary

So I'll just say something else

I need to confess my secrets to you, in case something happens and I can’t anymore. This scares me more than the chance of a plane crash does, but I can’t die without you knowing. I’ll be using a special method of getting this letter to you, so you receive it almost the moment I send it. That is, if Dumbledore taught it to me well.

And I wish that you could hear me

When I talk to myself

You’re my best friend, you’re the most important thing ever to me. You make all the bad feel okay, and the good feel even better. You’re always there for me, whether I’m being an absolute bitch to you or sobbing my eyes out, you’re right there with me. You mean the world to me, James. But I cannot stand the term best friend. Everytime you say it, it's like a punch in the gut.

But this plane might not land safely

So, what the hell do I have to lose

If I just tell you?

I need you to know, James, that-

I wanna eat pancakes for dinner

I wanna get stuck in your head

“James, a letter is on the table for you. I believe it’s from Y/n!” James’ mother called and he raced down the stairs.

“Y/n sent a letter?” He asked, his eyes flitting to the table and landing on a white envelope. He smiled excitedly and grabbed the letter, ripping it open and reading the words.

I wanna watch a T.V. show together

And when we're under the weather we can watch it in bed

His smile dropped as he read about the crash, immediate worry filling his body as a pit settled in his stomach. His throat closed up, as if he was about to cry and he shook his head.

“What is it, Jamie?” His mom asked, worry on her face as she gazed at her son.

James shook his head, “S’nothing.” He mumbled and walked back to his room, letter clutched tightly in his hand.

I wanna go out on the weekends

I wanna dress up just to get undressed

I took a nervous deep breath as we boarded the plane, praying to whoever is out there to keep me and my family safe. However, I wasn’t naive enough to not know that despite my prayers what is planned to happen, will happen. And there’s nothing anyone can do to stop it, no matter what they try. 

I think that I should probably tell you this

In case there is an accident

And I never see you again

James sat quietly on his bed, staring blankly at the picture on his shelf. The picture of him and his best friend, the girl he loved most. The only sign of life in the boy was his soft breathing and the erratic bouncing of his knee, a tell-tale sign that he was nervous. Anxiety filled his veins as he thought about every possibility, each one worse than the last, none of them seemed to have a happy ending.

So please save all your questions for the end

And maybe I'll be brave enough by then

A gasp left my lips as the plane shook and I grabbed tightly onto my seatbelt, praying for the plane to stay in the air. It leveled out quickly and I let out a sigh of relief, rubbing my eye gently. This is the dumbest thing ever.

Don't wanna say something wrong

Don't wanna be weird

James sat nervously at the airport, his leg once again bouncing up and down. So far there was no news of a plane crash or anything like that, so he still had faith. He re-read the letter at least two dozen times, the words not quite settling in. His best friend, of almost six years, the girl he was in love with, loves him. And she wants to spend the rest of her life with him. The idea was absolutely mind boggling to the poor boy.

But if you're still in love with her

I think that I'll leave it there

And I won't ever tell you this

“Sirius, shut up. You’re annoying and you smell like a wet dog.” I said with a smile as Sirius and I turned a corner our fourth year. 

“Woah.” Sirius breathed and I looked up, my heart shattering at the sight. James stood there, his hand on Lily’s cheek as he softly kissed her. I cleared my throat and turned around. “Y/n/n-”

“Not now, Sirius.”

Oh, 'cause to tell you is too scary

So I'll just say something else

Like how was fall semester?

And what was that song about?

I smiled happily as I left the plane, a weight lifting off my chest as I walked into the airport. I linked arms with my mom who held hands with my dad as we walked to the exit of the gate. I walked out and my eyes immediately met James’.

He widely smiled as he jumped out of the chair and ran over, almost tackling me to the ground with a big bear hug. He held on tightly as he swayed us side to side, switching from foot to foot. 

“I’m so glad you’re okay.” He mumbled, not letting go.

“Me too.”

I'll try to hide the way I feel

But I'll just wanna shout

What do I have to lose right now?

“Okay, you two, let’s not block the way, yeah?” My mom said with amusement laced in her voice. James let go and took the carry on bag from my hand, also reaching over to grab my moms.

“I got these for you, ladies.” He said with a smile and I blushed as my mom waved him off with a smile. 

“No special treatment for me, James?” My dad teased and James managed to grab his bad as well.

“So sorry, ma’am. I do have a very important question for you two adults though.” James said with a serious look on his face. I furrowed my eyebrows at him and he winked.

“Yes?” My dad prompted.

“May I steal your daughter for the night? Please?”

“N-”

“Yes, of course you can.” My mom interrupted my dad and winked at me.

I wanna eat pancakes for dinner

I wanna get stuck in your head

“James, I love spending time with you but why tonight? I’m tire- wait.” I cut myself off as the door opened and a sweet aroma filled my nose. James smiled cheekily at me and ushered me in. I hesitantly walked to the kitchen island and gasped.

“Pancakes for dinner.” He said from behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist. “And for the record, you’re always on my mind.”

I wanna watch a T.V. show together

And when we're under the weather we can watch it in bed

I wanna go out on the weekends

I wanna dress up just to get undressed

“James-”

“Nope. You’ve already said your piece.” He said, letting go and stepping in front of me. He grabbed my hands and looked me in my eyes. “It’s my turn.”

I think that I should probably tell you this

In case there is an accident

And I never see you again

“From the moment I laid eyes on you, attacking Sirius with spells we didn’t learn in class until second year, I swore I was in love. You were all I talked about in letters back home, and to Sirius and Remus and Peter.”

“But Lily?”

So please save all your questions for the end

And maybe I'll be brave enough by then

“Lily was a coverup. She knows, by the way. In fact, I didn’t even realize it until she told me. Y/n, you are my best friend, and I love you more than the Earth itself. You are a magnificent witch, with such an intelligent mind and beautiful face. I love every part of you. So, sorry for the lack of originality, but-”

Well, maybe I won't ever say what's in my head

No, I won't have to say anything

“I’d love to have pancakes for dinner, and like I said, you’re already stuck in my head. I want to watch a TV show with you and rewatch it together when I get you sick, or you me. I want to go out on the weekends with you and obviously I want you to dress up so I can tear it off.  I want you, Y/n. I want you.” 

I pressed a kiss to his lips, removing one of my hands from his to cup his cheek. He used his free hand and gently rubbed up and down my waist, committing the curve to memory. We pulled away and rested our foreheads together with giddy smiles.

You'll say it instead

taglist (if u wanna be added comment :) I'd highly recommend, not to toot my own horn but my stories are pretty great);

@poetrypirate @1lellykins @loving-and-dreaming

[nolesserhuman]

PM Dazai + reader; intended platonic apparently he gets carsick ~5k words warnings: mild emeto, Dazai-typical suicide references, very brief reference to Dazai not eating ao3

You know full well why Dazai isn’t allowed to drive; even disregarding his self-proclaimed urges to plow directly into oncoming traffic, he’s simply not good behind the wheel. It’s an immutable fact of life. What you didn’t know yet— at least, not when you’d volunteered to drive him into town and back for the meeting with the higher-ups— is why nobody ever wanted him to ride along, either. Even Oda, usually tolerant of Dazai’s shenanigans, had wished you luck before conveniently disappearing.

Dazai had been fine when he’d gotten in the car. Talkative as always, he’d immediately melted into the passenger seat, wriggling and grinning as you settled in at the wheel. “While you’re busy over there,” he’d hummed, watching you turn the key, “I’m going to strangle myself with the seatbelt!”

“You’d better not,” You had narrowed your eyes at him, “I don’t wanna explain to anyone why I’m driving a corpse around.”

Dazai had pouted with a heavy, dramatic sigh, one that might’ve convinced you to relent had he not been talking about killing himself. He was only quiet long enough to aim his puppy-dog eyes in your direction, batting his long lashes at you as his soft hair fell over his face; it’d didn’t work this time, because you’re practically immune to those things by now. 

The conversation is a familiar song and dance. You would pass some signs declaring a must-see tourist destination at the next right, and Dazai would whine and beg for you to make just a quick stop and buy him something. On the long, empty stretches of road, his delicate hand would begin to crawl up your thigh, only for him to yelp out a curse when you slam your knees shut on his fingers. For a big bad mafia executive, Dazai really does have the ‘kicked puppy’ act down.

Now, several hours into the drive, things were different. Dazai had slowly grown more and more quiet, his teasing left to die on his tongue, leaving you with nothing but the nostalgic white noise of radio static. That silence is probably worse than his constant mouthing off— he was never quiet for this long. Something had to be wrong.

“—are you okay over there, Dazai?” Rarely the best question to ask. He’s always been the type to grit his teeth and avoid the question.

For his part, Dazai barely hears you speak. He’s too focused on regulating his own breathing, inhaling slowly and feeling the stretch in his sore lungs. His stomach churns— it has been for awhile— and although Odasaku had taught him all those breathing exercises to soothe nausea, they weren’t working at the moment. He isn’t too surprised; Dazai has always figured he’s built wrong in comparison to everyone else. Of course something like this wouldn’t work for him. He must just be designed to suffer.

As his stomach flips, Dazai can feel sweat beginning to bead at his hairline too. Just great; he was trying to actually behave in the car for once, and getting sick is just going to inconvenience you. His entire body feels sticky; it must be because he’s been wearing his coat this entire time. Definitely not sick enough to bother you with any of this. He tilts his head forward so he can press his forehead against the window glass and shut his eyes for a moment. It’s nice and chilly against his warm skin. Logically, he knows the glass can’t be as cold as it feels— which means he must be burning up.

“Dazai?”

Your voice is faint at the very edge of his hearing. It would be too much effort to turn and face you; his head feels heavy, and it would be too obvious he’s not feeling well. When he opens his eyes, the outside world blurs together across his vision. He feels his stomach lurch. Closing his eyes again doesn’t help— he’s already caught sight of how fast the car is moving, and his dizzy brain immediately relays that message directly to his stomach. Drool begins to gather much faster in his mouth, and that’s when Dazai knows.

“Stop the car.” He’s got a fist pressed to his mouth and refuses to look over at you.

You blink in surprise at his sudden demand. “Here?” The car was passing a row of fields and not much else; it’s been awhile since you saw any kind of structure, much less any people. “We’re in the middle of nowhere, Dazai—”

“Pull over,” his voice grows more insistent, “or I’m going out the window.” He fumbles with his seatbelt until it unhooks, clattering against the door as his free hand finds the button to roll his window down. He’s already started to lift himself from his seat before you can hit the brakes.

“Okay okay, I’m pulling over!” Thankfully alone on the road, you jerk the wheel to the side, the car jolting as it rolls a wheel off the side of the pavement. The harsh movement pulls a groan from Dazai’s chest, and you wince. Before you’ve come to a complete stop, Dazai throws the door open and stumbles out, only making it a few steps before giving up and collapsing into the grass. By the time you fight free of your own seatbelt, you can hear him retching.

Knelt in the grass, Dazai heaves again, but nothing comes up. That’s not entirely surprising; skipping meals isn’t a foreign concept to him, so of course there’s nothing for his body to cough up. Still, he stays there on his hands and knees, each unproductive cough burning his throat. One of his least favorite parts of getting sick is always the salivating— even with nothing to purge from his stomach, his lips are slick, with thin strings of drool spilling out onto the grass as he coughs.

Should you approach him—? The young man seems miserable— although you suppose that’s pretty typical for his existence— spitting up nothing as his body revolts against him. But despite his clear need for some kind of support, Dazai always recoils at the slightest show of sympathy. It might be a better idea to just let him ride it out, because you know he’ll brush you off anyways.

And then he lets out a whine from somewhere in the back of his throat.

Before you know it, you land on your knees next to Dazai. Instinctively, he flinches away; that’s clearly the wrong move on his part, because his stomach lurches again. This time, when he doubles over, a wave of vomit splashes out onto the grass.

“Ugh…” Dazai lets out a low groan, barely able to lift his head as he tries to catch his breath. “I feel like shit,” he mumbles out, wiping spit from his mouth with the back of his coat sleeve.

“Yeah, I can see that,” you hum softly, and he winces at how soft your voice is. Aren’t you mad he’s delayed your trip home? If you are, you’re hiding it well, because your hand comes up to rub gentle circles on Dazai’s back. He shudders at the warm touch. “Aw, I wish I’d known you get carsick, I would’ve—”

“I don’t!” Dazai chirps, although the effect is lessened by the rasp to his voice, throat sore from all that retching. “This is a one-time thing, so don’t think that— eugh,” he’s interrupted when his body decides to gag again. Instinctively, one hand comes up as if to cover his mouth; you grab his wrist and tug his hand away just before he spews again, spitting up nothing but stomach acid. Dazai whines again.

Eventually Dazai catches his breath, but not his voice. He rolls his shoulders to shrug your hand off his back and forces himself to his feet. He sways noticeably, but when you step closer to offer support, he takes a small step back; looks like you’re not making that kind of progress today.

The two of you are quiet for a moment as Dazai tries to gather himself; you, trying to figure out what to say, and him, blatantly refusing to look at you as his chest heaves. Finally, you settle on, “I should have something for motion sickness in the car—”

“Don’t need it,” he cuts right through your words, as if that kills the idea entirely. “I’m not carsick.” he spins on his heel to return to the car, only for a wave of vertigo to almost take him off his feet. Really not helping his fragile— and obviously untrue— defense.

“Then if it’s not carsickness,” you trail after him, fingers twitching with the urge to just grab his arm and help him stay upright, “it’s something else, and that’s just as bad. Did you have anything for lunch, breakfast? Anything for dinner last night? Besides that bottle of—”

“Fine.” Dazai stops walking. He grins at you over his shoulder, although it’s more a showing of his teeth than anything else, an attempted reminder that he’s a dangerous man. It doesn’t quite land, since his frail body is trembling like a wet dog. “We’ll say I get car sick, if it gets you to shut up.” He wobbles back on his heels, having to use the entirety of his body weight— admittedly, not much there— to swing the car door open. Before you can bite back, he folds his lanky self back into the passenger seat and slams the door behind him, separating the two of you with metal and glass. You just sighed.

Once you get yourself settled behind the wheel again, you reach across Dazai’s lap to pull open the glovebox— he lets out a whiny “Hey!” when the small door pops against his knees— and pull out a packet of nausea medication, exactly as promised, tossing it against his chest. “If you don’t take any of these, I’m not gonna stop if you need to puke again.”

Dazai makes a face as he turns the little box over to read the back. “I’m not taking any pills.” Hypocrite; he’ll pop any pill except the ones that might actually make him feel better.

Almost as soon as you pull the car back into the road, Dazai’s face goes pale again. His throat bobs as he swallows, and his tongue feels so heavy in his mouth, he vaguely wonders if he could actually choke on it this time. He hadn’t bothered with his seatbelt after getting back in the car, and he turns his body at an odd angle in his seat, pressing his warm face to the window glass once more.

“—sit up,” you huff, eyes flickering from the road to your boss and back. “No wonder you feel bad, you’re curled up like a shrimp over there.”

He rolls his eyes dramatically, only to immediately grimace and follow your order quietly. That’s how you know he really feels bad— Dazai never does what he’s told.

“Ugh,” he groans softly again, head falling forward, chin to his chest, the gentle curves of the road sending his stomach back into an unpleasant frenzy. “How much longer? You’re going too slow,” he grumbles.

“Well, going fast won’t make you feel better either,” you bring one hand down to fumble with the window controls, rolling his window down and then reaching over to nudge his shoulder. “Head out, fresh air helps too.”

“I’m not a dog,” he hisses, but he obeys anyway. He’d never admit it to you, but the breeze does feel good on his warm face, the fresh air settling his stomach just enough that saliva finally stops pooling under his tongue. The sun has begun to set too, taking with it all the uncomfortable heat in the air, only serving to cool him off further.

You keep an eye on him as best you can while you drive; thankfully, it isn’t much longer before the car crosses into town, familiar buildings looming and lulling you into a sense of security. Perfect timing, even, because Dazai is beginning to squirm in the passenger seat, his face twisting into another uncomfortable grimace. His hair is stuck to his sweaty face, one arm wrapped around himself as he wriggles in the passenger seat, trying to relieve the pressure on his stomach. 

“If you take a left here, that’s a much quicker route to—”

“I’m not taking you back to your shipping container.”

Dazai stiffens in the passenger seat. His head slowly swivels in your direction, his unbandaged eye narrowing as if he can see directly through you and still doesn’t understand. Lips pursed and eyes forward, you try to stay firm, although your voice trembles. “If you’re sick, you don’t need to be by yourself in that stupid rusty box. We’re going to my place.”

Silence for a moment, and then a small, irritated smile crosses Dazai’s face. “I told you, I’m fine. Just drop me off. I’ll walk there, even.”

You shake your head and refuse to look at him. If you make eye contact, you know you’ll give in; whether it’s through intimidation or the power of his good looks, Dazai always gets you to do what he wants, but it's going to be different this time. He’s not going to talk you out of taking care of him.

The car falls silent again. You can feel Dazai’s intense gaze on your face as you make the few remaining turns, finally pulling into your apartment complex and parking. You don’t look over at him before climbing out of the driver’s seat, stepping around to swing the passenger door open for him. “Can you stand?”

“Yes.” Dazai tries to keep his voice light, but as he lifts himself to his feet, his unsteady legs almost give out under him; without thinking about it, he reaches out and wraps an arm around your shoulder to hold himself upright. “—I’m fine,” he lies through his teeth, resting most of his body weight on your much smaller form.

Supporting him as best you can, the both of you limp up to your apartment. Dazai figures he might as well be dramatic about the situation; he whines and moans and groans, slouching all of his body weight against you in an effort to make you stumble on purpose. Knowing him, he’s hoping you drop him down the stairs.

Dazai feels like he’s on fire— he might have a fever, but personally, he chalks it up to the effect of your hands all over him. He can feel more acid rising up in his throat, burning in his chest along with an odd sense of guilt; you should’ve been able to just go home after dropping him off, but here you are, dragging him along with the intention of making sure he feels better. It’s not something he can understand.

As soon as you’ve shut the door behind you both, Dazai’s glassy eyes study your home, taking in even the tiniest details. He’s not sure what he was expecting, but he isn’t surprised, either; the place looks just like you. But he doesn’t have time to think about that too in-depth, because he wheezes, his stomach rolling again.

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” you mumble softly as you drag him into your bathroom. Dazai immediately pulls away and sinks to his knees in front of the toilet, shoving the lid open so he can spit uselessly into the water. It’s irritating to watch him like this and know you can’t do much.

In his haste to get even some vague sense of relief, Dazai’s trembling hands begin to fumble with his clothes, pulling his suit jacket off and undoing his tie from around his throat. He drops them on the floor— those things probably cost more than you’ll ever see in your life so, desperate to help in even a small way, you gather them off the floor to go hang them somewhere later. “—I’m going to go make some ginger tea, okay?”

Dazai just lets out a noise somewhere between a grunt and a whine.

You make a point to leave the bathroom door open as you step back out into the hall. His coat and tie find themselves tossed over the back of a kitchen chair as you free your hands, digging through your cabinets to find a small pot to boil water in— listen, you don’t need ginger tea often enough to invest in an actual tea kettle— and then set about trying to remember where you keep the tea itself.

Dazai’s loud whines echo through the halls of your apartment, to the point where you can hear him clearly all the way in the kitchen. Yes, he’s known for being dramatic, but his acting skills aren’t that good. It sounds like he’s really in pain.

Unfortunately, desperation doesn’t make water boil any faster. You glare down at the pot of boiling water and, knowing that it’s a bad idea to step away from a hot stove, you do it anyways. Dazai is gagging and spitting and sounding entirely unproductive, and you can’t bring yourself to leave him alone like that.

Even though it’s your apartment, you still knock as you push the bathroom door open, not wanting to startle him. Dazai just groans weakly and doesn’t bother to lift his face away from the toilet.

You kneel down next to him for the second time today. He whines uncomfortable, his hands curling into fists in his lap as he leans forward. He gags again but spits up nothing but saliva. “It won’t come up—”

You press your lips together as you watch his pale face twist into another uncomfortable grimace. There really is just one option for that— with a quiet sigh, you roll up your sleeves. “Open up, Dazai.”

He immediately slams his mouth shut. Still slouched on the cold tile of your bathroom floor, he tries to glower at you, but it’s completely ineffective; under the harsh fluorescent light, he looks less like a mafia executive and more like the sick young man he really is. He shakes his head and grits his teeth, hiding under his stringy hair, obviously trying to think his way out of this.

“None of that,” you try to keep your tone firm. One of your hands comes up to grab his chin and squeeze. “Now, open up.”

Dazai whines again, jerking his head back in a vain attempt to escape your grasp. The motion makes his head spin and stomach lurch, but he’s determined to defy you, for no reason other than the fact that he can. He’s not your responsibility anyway— why can’t you just leave him to suffer alone? His efforts amount to nothing. Your grip on his flushed face tightens, thumb caressing his cheek until you can feel the dip where his teeth met. When you press down that time, it successfully forces his mouth open.

You shove your free hand past Dazai’s lips; apparently you’re a bit rough in your haste, because he whimpers and tries to pull back again. He’s too physically weak to escape your strong grasp, so all he can do is let his eyes slide closed in anxious anticipation.

It’s immediately obvious when you’ve reached far back enough; Dazai gags around your fingers, the contents of his stomach rushing up his throat and out his mouth. Wincing at the stickiness covering your hand now, you carefully pull back, and Dazai doubles over as he finally empties his stomach properly.

“Does that help at all?” You move to the sink, running your hands under hot water until you feel a bit better about the situation.

Dazai spits into the toilet again and takes a moment to catch his breath. “...yeah,” he mumbles, sounding almost disappointed that you care enough about him to shove your hand down his throat. “You’re so gross.” Even sick as a dog, he can’t just thank you for anything.

Rolling your eyes, you finish washing your hands, flicking cold droplets of water in the direction of his face. He clearly feels okay enough now to stick his tongue out at you.

Breathing heavily, Dazai shuffles backwards on the tile floor, resting his aching body against the wall. His eyes slide closed again as he tries to relax. “—not as nauseous,” he admits, “but the rest of me still feels bad.”

You hum in vague acknowledgement, mentally sorting through what else might help him feel better— not that Dazai ever feels good, but you at least don’t want him feeling this gross. If he refuses to admit to actively being sick, you can really only guess at remedies. There was that ginger tea you should probably go check on— the water’s probably all boiled out by now… and if he is feverish, you should probably grab an ice pack, if you even own any. And then, as you make your mental lists and graphs, one idea stands out above the rest. “I’ll be right back, okay? Don’t try going anywhere.”

Dazai scoffs at the idea of actually moving his limp body, but he nods, not bothering to open his eyes again. Satisfied that he’s too exhausted to go hunting through your bathroom for an overdose method, you leave him alone for a moment.

After a bit, Dazai’s breaths come easier, although they’re still shaky. He knows he must have a fever, because the chill of the bathroom’s tile feels delicious against his sweaty skin, even through his layers of clothing. At least his stomach feels mostly better—

If he dwells on his own thoughts for too long, he knows he’ll spiral. It would be all-too-easy to convince himself that he doesn’t deserve the help you’ve already extended to him; those thoughts have already been dancing at the edge of his mind, and he can’t give them a chance to breach the surface. So instead, he strains his hearing, an effort to trace your movements even from far-off.

Dazai tells himself it’s just to avoid dwelling on being so ill, but the new ache in his chest betrays his fragile reasoning; he’s also listening anxiously for the sound of the front door slamming shut, a sure sign that you’ve finally gotten tired of him. It’s something he’s always expected, really; he’s already been too selfish by allowing you to drag him into your home to begin with.

When he focuses, he can hear you shuffling around in what he assumes is your bedroom down the hallway. The rustle of fabric, the plastic clicks of storage containers being opened and shut again. After several more minutes, a soft hum leaves your throat— clearly you had found whatever you were looking for.

As your footsteps approach the bathroom again, Dazai forces his heavy head up, his eyes open. He can feel his pulse start to pick up at the thought of your return— as clinically logical as he normally is, his brain is foggy at the moment, so he hadn’t quite been able to figure out what you might’ve been grabbing. He lifts his eyes in the hopes of catching a glance as you pass the doorway, but instead of rejoining him on the bathroom floor, you continue walking. Dazai’s mouth twitches into a frown; he’s not used to being ignored, even if he’s convinced himself he wants to be left alone.

Without thinking about it, Dazai tries to call your name. It doesn’t travel very far; his throat still burns from all his unproductive gagging earlier, and it’s reduced his voice to a raspy whisper. Once it’s obvious that you hadn’t heard him, Dazai braces himself against the wall and slowly, carefully, manages to haul himself to his feet.

His head swims, the room spinning around him as he sways. Dazai lets out another soft whine as he begins to shuffle forward. His more rational thoughts are howling at him to sit back down, to rest, to leave you alone when you so clearly don’t want to deal with him. His aching body pushes forward anyway.

The hallway is dim in comparison to how harshly the bathroom was lit. a bit of the tension behind his eyelids immediately vanished, a relieved sigh leaving his mouth. He keeps his hand firmly against the wall as he tries to slowly move forward. Putting one foot in front of the other is more effort than he’d expected it to be; the hallway continues to twist and distort at the edge of his vision, the light of your kitchen seeming like a distant dream. His movements are sluggish, as if trying to move through water that was over his head. Drowning, he thought, would be much easier than this.

From somewhere off in the distance, Dazai hears something ding. Even from so far away, it’s a harsh noise, one that drills its way right between his eyes. Another grimace paints its way across his face; he presses a hand to his forehead, but it does nothing to lessen the dull ache as it began to crawl across the front of his skull. He grits his teeth in frustration— such a short walk, and he can’t even make it by himself. If he can’t even move from room to room, he’ll be nothing but a burden and make things harder for you, so he forces himself to take another step.

Wrong move. His legs give out under him, and Dazai collapses.

At the sudden heavy thud in your hallway, you immediately drop what you’re doing and peer around the corner into the hall; a knot tightens in your chest at the sight of Dazai, curled up on the hardwood in the dark. 

He whimpers from his spot on the floor as you approach. His one visible eye slides open, and if you didn’t know Osamu Dazai, you would almost say he looks like he could cry. Kneeling next to him, you lift his chin with your hand in order to see his face properly. When your eyes met, he began to squirm; the blatant concern on your face made his body feel hot, even disregarding his apparent fever.

“Let go,” he slurs out, voice heavy with exhaustion, “I just slipped, it’s nothing—”

“Dazai.” There’s concern in your voice, too, and that just makes him want to curl up and disappear. “Just let me take care of you, Dazai.”

His tired gaze search your face desperately, as if he hopes you’re lying to him. But, to his dismay, you’re completely genuine— he’s already wasted so much of your time, and through his achy haze, he just can’t wrap his mind around why you would inconvenience yourself for something like him.

“You don’t have to do this,” Dazai mumbles. As you gently help him to his feet, he doesn’t even bother to hold himself upright, choosing instead to lean most of his weight against your body. “Just get me back to the bathroom and I’ll stay there, I promise.” His stomach felt heavy again. Not from nausea this time.

“Nope,” your reply is automatic. It’s a bit difficult to maneuver Dazai down the hall— he’s bigger than you and most of the people you know, sagging against your body like a cat starved for attention. “Taking care of you isn’t a problem. I’m doing this because I want to.”

Dazai was silent as you guide him into your living room. He groans as you carefully lower him onto the couch. Immediately, he melts into the cushions; his entire body is aching, muscles sore from the contractions and spasms as he’d thrown up earlier. Admittedly, your couch is much softer than the bathroom floor— if it wouldn’t be so selfish of him, he might decide to stay awhile.

“I’ll be right back, okay?” Your voice is soft, and it makes him feel fuzzy inside. Those thoughts will have to be dealt with later. Dazai knows you expect a response of some kind, but he doesn’t trust his voice at the moment, so he just nods and throws his arm over his eyes to block out the light.

Even though you were never too far, an anxiety he doesn’t understand surges through Dazai’s chest. Actually, he could only assume you weren’t going far— despite your repeated insistence that you want to care for him, he really wouldn’t blame you for choosing to leave him alone until he cried himself out. He rolls over onto his side on the couch, blurry eyes following your movements; thankfully you wandered into the kitchen instead of towards the front door.

Although Dazai has never been the type to think about his own feelings, being sick brings down some of his walls, even if just the slightest bit. You can see the relief and vulnerability behind his glassy eyes when you were, in fact, only gone a moment, exactly as you’d promised.

“Here,” you shuffle your hands behind your back, obviously holding something, “this always helps me whenever I feel gross.” From behind your back you produce— a stuffed animal. More specifically a giraffe, one with floppy limbs and fuzzy fur that smells like peppermint. Confusion washes over Dazai, visible on his face.

“—you know those are for babies, right?”

You puff your cheeks out in a pout. “Shut up! He’s cuddly and smells nice! Peppermint is good for nausea anyways.” Still huffing a bit, you hold the toy out to him, and Dazai finds himself absently reaching for it despite his protests.

The first thing he notices is the warmth. His eyes widen as he clutches the plushie closer to his chest— the concentrated heat is immediately soothing against the sore exhaustion that permeates his frail body. Out of curiosity, he ducks his head down to press his face into the giraffe’s soft fur. You were right; the scent of peppermint quickly begins to settle the churning in his stomach. Dazai hates when you’re right.

“Nice, isn’t it?” You hum softly, taking a seat on the couch with him, draping a wet washcloth across the back of his neck. With that and the heated toy, his temperature should regulate eventually. Your hand finds the remote, and you switch on the television, keeping the volume low as you flip through the channels. “You can hang out here until you feel better, I promise. It’s not a bother to me.”

Dazai stays silent. When you sit down with him, he shifts to drop his head in your lap, squeezing the toy giraffe even tighter. One of your hands finds its way to the top of his head, gently pulling away damp strands of his dark hair from where they’ve stuck to his sweaty face. As much as he hates to admit it to himself, Dazai is comfortable.

He tries to fight it, he really does; Dazai is well aware that something like him doesn’t deserve to be sprawled out here with someone like you. But, if it’s only going to happen once, he might as well take advantage of it, right? Your hands are incredibly soft in his hair, and the stupid giraffe is both making him hurt less and settling his stomach. His body is dead tired anyways— even if he could gather the strength to remove himself from your lap, there’s no way he would make it all the way back to the shipping container he calls home.

Yeah, that all makes a degree of sense. Having successfully debated his thoughts into submission, Dazai gives himself permission to relax for awhile, and he finally falls asleep in your lap.

my first-ever sickfic!! feel free to lmk if I spelled anything wrong lmao, I worked on this for like two weeks so my vision is definitely kinda blurring together haha. thank you for reading!

[aamalaaa]

sunrises & liquor (m) | myg

pieces of a puzzle

pairing: yoongi x reader

series: sunrises & liquor

rating: m(18+); cursing, alcohol consumption, smut, explicit content

genre: bar workers au, barman yoongi au, (kinda) forbidden relationship, angst, fluff, smut

summary: after a failed academic pursuit and a few meaningless and disappointing relationships, you decided to go back to what you never thought you would: the bar industry. There you find a family, friends, heartache, misunderstandings and one particular barman who just won’t get out of your head.

warnings: cursing, alcohol consumption (duh), soft smut, unprotected sex(wrap it before you tap it folks), angst, reader has issues (but is working through them), THEY TALK(?!!!), talks of toxic patterns

a/n: welcome, you lovely readers, to the final official chapter of this story! I had planned on telling you guys a bit before hand but I honestly didn't realize it was the last until I was writing it. Nonetheless, this is a very emotional one and I'm terribly happy with it. I've grown so fond of these characters it's kinda hard to say goodbye tbh. Fear not, I've been planning an epilogue to properly say goodbye to them. <3

chapter word count: 7.2k

previous | epilogue

-

-

How do you know, when you’ve made the right choice? 

It’d be childish to say that when you've made the right decision you feel at peace or content with it, like we’re told more often than not.

Truth is, sometimes making the ‘right’ decision hurts more than the contrary. It tears you apart, fills you with doubts about yourself, the world and the people around you. It can shake your beliefs and change the way you view things.

And sometimes there isn’t a good decision per say. Sometimes, you have to choose the lesser evil. Sometimes there’s only a string of bad options you have to pick out of, and you really wish you wouldn’t have to be the one to do it.

But what exactly is right and wrong anyway? You’re not sure anymore, not after all that happened in the past few months. Not after what happened last weekend.

Not after you willingly walked away from not just a good thing, but a great thing. 

And you’ve been wracking your brain all week to try and figure out if you made a good call, breaking things off with Yoongi. Because the only other option is too painful to face now. 

You’re absolutely aware that you can’t hide your face in the sand forever, not without consequences. But you also know that you’re too fragile, right this instant, to come to the conclusion that you may have fucked up one of the best things you could’ve had.

Because you’ve never had him, you could’ve, but you never did. And sometimes that’s worse, isn’t it? To get a taste of what you could have, if you weren’t completely fucked up. It makes you regret every decision you’ve ever taken to bring you to this point, and that’s just no way to live, truthfully.

But now, you’re way too damaged to ever taint him with the inky darkness that seeps out of your every pore. You’ve done enough damage as it is, and he deserves better. So much better.

Yoongi’s a good man, an honest man. And from your own experience, that’s rare. He deserves someone who’ll be able to trust him, not jump to conclusions whenever they think they overhear something. Because he’s never been anything if not honest with you, and yet you weren’t able to give him your trust, like he had done.

Instead you accused him of something completely stupid and didn’t even give him a chance to explain before you went on a rampage, destroying everything that you had managed to build in the mere days you’d gotten to know each other a little more deeply. 

That’s not something you wish to impose on him again. He’d never do the same to you, you’re sure of it.

And it fucking sucks to realize you’re just not good enough for him, how you wish you were.

Which is why you’ve been sulking all week, not responding to messages from Namjoon, Jimin or even Taehyung. The only message you had sent was to your best friend, when he had said he was coming over.

You even manage to end up being a shitty friend, which is a completely new low even for you.

It is what it is. 

It’s not that you don’t want to see them, it’s more that you don’t want the endless questions that come with it, the inevitable attempts to make you change your mind. You need to stand your ground, for once in your life.

So you lay in bed instead, under mountains of sheets and fluffy blankets. You don’t even have anything to remind you of him, not a ring he’d have left when he came over, not even a shirt you’d ‘borrowed’ one of the nights you had stayed over at his place.

And it fucking hurts, because you miss him so much it actually physically pains you. Mind you, you’ve had your fair share of deception and love gone bad in the messy amalgamation that is your life. But this one hurts differently, it’s truly almost unbearable. 

You don’t just miss him, like a man stuck in a desert for days would miss water, need it. No, you’re also incredibly mad at yourself for fucking this up beyond repair. For not being the person you wish you were. 

You had once said you never lived a life of regrets, instead choosing to see your mishaps as lessons and signs that you had lived something good. 

Now, you have regrets. 

And you don’t know how to coexist with them.

-

-

You should’ve expected Yoongi not to be there on Friday night, when you begrudgingly got to work. But you didn’t foresee it still, and it stung like nothing else ever did before. You realized it was truly over, and that you had hurt him so much that he couldn’t even face you for the time being.

You ignored your friends’ questions and concerns all throughout the night, though they managed to bring warmth to your frozen, weeping heart.

Seokjin ended up taking his place at the bar, and honestly, he somehow managed to make you laugh a little despite your state of mind, considering how fucking hilarious it was to see him struggling to keep up with the influx of orders. 

At some point, a random guy tried to flirt with you, and though normally you would brush it off and simply go on with your tasks, this time you almost lashed out at him. Because how dare he try and take Yoongi’s place? 

It’s absolutely dramatic and the guy probably would’ve hoped, at best, to land a good lay at the end of the night.

But you’ve always had a flair for the dramatic.

You got home that night and cried yourself to sleep, because the whirlwind of emotions you’ve had to deal with for the past few days now is just too much for you to handle. 

It’s too intense, overwhelming, too raw and it keeps on opening up old scars that you never thought would be at the elements’ mercy again.

It’s all your fault. 

You woke up the next morning feeling like you had drunk a forty ounce bottle of whiskey the night before. 

Except you didn’t, and you really fucking need to stop crying yourself to sleep.

You tiredly got up and made yourself coffee, drinking half of it before throwing the rest down the drain. You took a shower, put on a simple black dress paired with two wings of eyeliner, mascara and concealer to hide the growing bags under your eyes.

It took everything in you not to just call in sick and lay in bed rewatching ‘P.S. I Love You’, just to see somebody suffer more than you do.

So you grabbed your keys, inhaled deeply and locked the door to your apartment, unprepared for a night of suffering.

Which brings you to this exact moment, both legs wobbling as you stand a few blocks away from your workplace, a tight knot in your throat.

Surely Yoongi couldn’t have missed both nights, right? 

Wrong.

How wrong you were. 

Your heart drops to your stomach as soon as you walk in and up the stairs, noticing Samantha’s dark head of hair awaiting you behind the bar counter. 

“Hey! You ready for tonight?” She inquires, a wide smile stretching her plump lips. 

“Um- yeah,” You clear your throat as you make your way behind the bar, “Is Yoongi not coming in tonight?” 

The look on her face is enough to let you know she knows what’s been happening. “No.. he’s sick.”

Sick. Yeah.

“We’ll have fun though, don’t worry! It’s been ages since I’ve worked the Saturday night shift!”

“Yeah, I’m excited for us to work a busy shift together,” You try your best to seem at least a little enthusiastic. “Though, just a warning, I’m not drinking tonight.” 

She laughs lightly at this. “No worries, me neither, I drank enough for three people last night.” 

“Was it your birthday and I spaced out or something?” 

“Ahhh no, don’t worry, my birthday’s in June.” She starts, fiddling nervously with her thumbs. 

“Actually, I kinda met someone two weeks ago and we’ve been hitting it off like crazy.. we might have gone overboard last night.” She giggles sheepishly.

“Oh!” You clap your hands excitedly. Finally, some good news. “And who could that gentleman be?”

You notice a wild blush taking over her cheeks.

“Actually.. her name’s Lisa.” 

“Do I know her?” You ask excitedly.

Sam shakes her head no. “Well.. actually maybe. She’s been here a few times, though that’s not how I’ve met her. Weird coincidence uh?” 

“Damn, that’s wild! Well, if you ever feel like bringing her over to one of our gatherings, I’d be so happy to officially meet her!”

Before you know it, you’re wrapped up in a warm embrace. “Once we know what’s what, I will for sure. Thanks babe.” 

You both part after a few seconds, a wide smile stretching your lips, the gesture enough to make you forget your worries for a few moments.

“Of course, you deserve all the happiness in the world Sammy.” You take her hand in yours, overcome by emotions.

You don’t exactly know why you’re so happy about this, you just are. 

Sam gives your hand a light squeeze. “So do you. You know that, right?” 

You gaze at the ground, unsure what to reply. Because you don’t deserve all the happiness in the world, not like Samantha does.

“Babe..” 

A loud cheer startles the both of you,

“Oh hell yeah! We have Sammy on the floor tonight!”

Sam smiles gently at the young man. “Kookie, can you give us a moment, please? There’s a few kegs you can swap in the fridge.” 

Jungkook looks confused for a moment, before realization dawns on him and he finally reads the room, his jovial expression morphing into one of utmost seriousness.

“Yeah ok.. If you need me I’ll be next to the cucumbers, freezing my ass off.” 

And just like that he leaves the both of you alone, a serious atmosphere immediately settling over the room.

Samantha tucks a lock of stray hair behind your ear before speaking again,

“Look.. I know what happened. Yoongi told me. Actually, he called me at four in the morning, crying about how he messed up the best thing he could’ve ever had.”

Your heart aches at her words, you feel the sharp sting of tears behind your eyes, threatening to spill endlessly over the makeup you had carefully put on. 

“Not saying that didn’t slightly bruise my ego, but, I kinda got the gist of it all.” She sighs. “Thing is, I’ve never seen Yoongi this fucking enamored with anyone, not even me, no matter how much that sucks for me to admit.” 

Your bottom lip wobbles and you capture it between your teeth. “Which is exactly why this couldn’t work, Sam.” Your voice breaks mid sentence and you take a deep breath before continuing. “’I’m not good for him, I can’t give him back all that he gives me. How is that fair to him?” 

She stares you down, bewilderment swimming in her eyes. “What are you even talking about? Have you not seen how happy he’s been? And if you didn’t, then believe me at least.” 

She brings a hand up to your hair, stroking delicately as you desperately try to keep your tears at bay.

“You may have misheard him, expected the worse from him. And you know what? I don’t blame you, neither does he. He’s not exactly an angel, you know. And he does have trouble communicating at times, which is why it’s not that surprising that you came to the conclusion that he just didn’t care.”

A single teardrop escapes your right eye. “But what does that say about us, if I don’t trust him?”

“It means that you guys have to work on your communication skills.” She chuckles, swiping a thumb under your eyes to get rid of the tear that had slipped. 

“It also means that you’re both human and have issues, like we all do. Doesn’t make you unworthy of each other. You just have to work hard to make it work. You have to really want it.”

She pauses for a brief moment, gazing straight into your eyes. “Do you?”

You sniffle as more tears stream down your face, your insecurities now unleashed for all to see. 

“I do..” 

Samantha cups your face, shaking you up as she does so. “Then push through this, I know you can.” 

“But wha-“ 

“Ok I’m done freezing, can I come back now, please?” Jungkook asks in a tiny, high pitched tone.

You chuckle blaringly, drying your tear tracts with the palm of your hand. “Come here Kookie.”

The busboy steps behind the bar, an unsure look in his eyes. “I’m sorry it’s just- the cucumbers are boring and it’s cold in there, you know? And-“

You engulf the man in a tight hug, wrapping your arms around his tiny waist, your head now laying snuggly on his broad chest. You feel him deflate and he twines his strong arms around you, pecking softly at the top of your head as he does so. 

“I was worried about you..”

You nuzzle further into his secure embrace. “You know I love you, right?” 

You hear him chuckling, can imagine just fine the wide toothy grin on his face. “I know. And I love you too.”

Sam soon joins the both of you in what now becomes a sweaty hug. “Ok, enough.”

You all part, similar smiles etched upon your faces.

“This is all so melodramatic I kinda wanna throw up but also cry,” You laugh out, not used to having such emotional conversations. You don’t usually let your emotions come out this way, not in front of people at least. 

But those aren’t just people, they’re your people.

-

-

On Sunday, you spend the day crying over a diverse array of romantic movies, one after the other until your eyes are so puffy and your head is pounding so much that you have to stop and take a nap.

The nap becomes night and you wake up on Monday morning, oddly refreshed. 

Because you’ve cried so much you don’t think you can give more. And maybe that’s what you needed, to finally take a step in the right direction and confront your feelings.

What was it, exactly, that had made you pull away from Yoongi? It’s not the stupid assumptions you had made when you heard his conversation with Namjoon. It’s almost like somehow, in the back of your mind you had always known Yoongi would never talk about you that way. 

Which means that you do trust him, even if not fully yet. Trust is gained slowly, and you think Yoongi would show you everyday that he is trustworthy, if you'd let him.

If you’re being honest, the realization doesn’t make you feel better in the slightest. Because there's still something that’s been bugging you, keeping you from accepting him in your life.

And yeah, you definitely do not feel like you deserve him. But you could work with that. That’s not it. 

What is it then? 

You can’t pinpoint it and it makes you furious, that your own brain would sabotage you this way. What a fucking traitor. 

After a full morning of pacing around, paying bills and pacing around again, you decide that enough is enough. You need to talk to Yoongi, and now. He may be avoiding you, but you still know where he lives. 

You don’t really want to intrude on his personal time, but he’s really given you no other option. Because no, texting him is really not an option. It leaves too much room for interpretation and feels so impersonal you might as well talk to a wall and it would feel the same. 

So you put your hair in a messy bun, get dressed and march anxiously towards your car, not even bothering to put makeup on. He’s seen you without it a bunch of times anyway.

The drive to Yoongi’s place is nerve wracking to say the least. You drive slowly, too slowly. And when you park in front of the complex, you feel like you got here too fast.

“You can do this,” You murmur confidently to the reflection in the mirror, almost laughing in disbelief as you do so. Because this is pathetic, you’re a pathetic mess. And somehow, you can’t really bring yourself to care.

You lock your doors and head into the building, waiting for what seems like hours in front of the wooden door before you gather all the courage you can and knock fervently.

There’s nothing at first. No sound, no shuffling, the television is seemingly off, the only thing responding is a loud silence. It scares you to be quite honest. What if something had happened to him, and he’s been laying on the floor for days now?

You knock a lot louder, with newfound confidence. 

That’s when you hear the sound of a cat meowing shrilly, followed by heavy footsteps. Your heart races and you try to brace yourself for what’s coming.

“I don’t want whatever you’re selling, so please go.”

You almost snort out loud before the reality of the situation settles back in and you grow a lot more serious.

“Yoongi?” 

There’s only silence for a while and you almost think he’ll leave you there, in front of his apartment, sad and alone. But then the door opens and you freeze in place. 

“What are you doing here?” He asks in a croaky voice, coughing a little as he finishes his sentence. 

“You.. you’re actually sick.” 

Yoongi eyes you in disbelief. “Uh, yeah?”

“I— I thought you were avoiding me.”

Damn, you’re so stupid it’s not even embarrassing anymore, just very laughable. You’re a whole ass joke. You act like the whole world revolves around you, so much so that it hasn't crossed your mind that he may actually be sick, for real.

And he looks like he’s been suffering for days now. His hair is messy and his nose is so red he could give rudolf a run for his money. That’s without mentioning the dark circles under his eyes.

Even so, he still manages to look absolutely dashing. It’s really not fair.

“I’m not, I’ve just been barely able to get out of bed all week.” 

“Oh..” You start, very shy all of a sudden. “Can I come in?” 

Yoongi looks very confused but nods nonetheless. You dash past the door, only turning around when you hear the door shutting behind you. 

“Woah.. your place is a mess.” You mutter as you take in the apartment. It really could use a little cleaning. Maybe you could do that, yeah. That’s a good idea. You take your coat off and wash your hands.

Meanwhile, Yoongi stares at you in absolute confusion. “Well.. yeah.” He coughs in between words. “I haven’t been able to clean it up, really. I’ve just started feeling a little better.”

“That’s understandable. I can help, I have nothing to do today.” 

Cat settles at your feet, swishing its tail from left to right as the creature eyes you curiously. You bend down to pet it. 

“Hi you, I’ve missed you.” You coo.

“Um, if you don’t mind me asking.. what’s going on here?” 

You tense at his words, suddenly you don’t really know why you’ve come all the way here. 

“I mean, Sam said you were sick and I thought you didn’t um—“ You scratch your head, “..anyway, I wanted to come talk to you.”

“What about?”

You stay in a crouched position, gaze fixed on the floor tile of the small kitchen. “..I don’t know.” 

Yoongi’s feet enter your field of view and you shrink a little into yourself, refusing to meet his eyes. 

“If I remember correctly, you ended things a few days ago.. It’s not helping me get over it, you showing up here out of the blue.”

You nibble at your bottom lip to stop it from quivering. “I know I’m sorry.. I’ll go soon, right after I clean this place up a bit.”

You stand up again and avoid eye contact, focusing instead on the task at hand. First off, you need to put all of the dirty clothes in a laundry basket. You remember Yoongi has one in his bedroom and you head there.

When you come back into the living room, you start restlessly throwing items in the hamper basket, under Yoongi’s scrutiny.

“Love..” 

The pet name tears a small, pained whimper out of you. You sniffle, only to realize you’d been crying. 

“Shit..” 

Your movements soon become erratic as the mess in your mind grows exponentially, your breathing now shallow and ragged. 

“Stop this,” Yoongi gently grabs your fumbling hands. 

And you really don’t deserve his kindness. So you try to free yourself from his hold, to no avail. Which is exactly when you snap your gaze up to peer at him. 

He looks concerned, even sad. 

You smile through the tears now cascading freely over your cheeks. “It’s fine, I can help!”

“No, no. Stop, sit down, yeah? Let’s talk.” He tries to suppress a cough but you still notice it.

“No, you need to be resting, not talking.” You chortle humorlessly. “Got to bed, I’ll clean this place up.”

He groans and grabs your chin with one hand, forcing you to keep eye contact. “No one’s cleaning today, we’re talking, ok?”

“I don’t..” You start, unable to finish.

What don’t you, exactly? You don’t know what to say, what you want, what you’re doing here.

“What do you expect from me love? Because I want to know what’s going through that pretty head of yours but you won’t let me in.”

“Nothing.. you already give me more than I deserve.” You whisper, feeble. 

“What, because you’re scared you think you’re not enough for me or something?” He starts, an annoyed lilt to his tone. “I’m not perfect either, love. And I’m not saying you are. But this has gotta stop, this— this self flagellation. You deserve more and so do I.”

“I don’t know why I’m so scared..” You sob loudly, feeling very exposed all of a sudden. 

“There may be a hundred reasons why you’re scared. And that’s ok, I am too. It means we’ve got something good, worth keeping.” He draws a bit closer. 

“And I want to make this work, I really do. But you gotta work with me, love. You gotta stop running away from me..” Yoongi’s voice breaks and you notice that his eyes are glistening with unshed tears, tawing at your heartstrings like nothing else could. 

“I don’t want to run away, I want you..”

“Then consciously stop yourself from doing so when the need arises, and talk to me instead. Fuck, I’m just asking for you to tell me when things are bothering you. That’s all I want.”

“How do I do that?” You cling onto his wrists, afraid that if you let go he’ll disappear.

“You push past your doubts and just do, love.” He inhales slowly. “Like I’m doing right now.”

You tilt your head to the side, eyes wide open.

“You’re scared right now?”

“I’m fucking terrified.”

“Of what?”

Yoongi traps his bottom lip in between his teeth, looking to the side as he does so. “I’m scared you’ll run away again..”

It’s heartbreaking, how much hurt you’ve caused him. You don’t even know how to begin to gain his trust again. Funny how that works. 

“I’m sorry..” The tears now fall steadily from your damp eyes. 

And you had thought you were done crying. 

“I know. I’m also sorry.”

You want to ask him what he’s sorry about, but you don’t. He must have a reason to feel like he needs to, and if it helps him feel better, then you won’t question it.

Yoongi shakily cups one of your cheeks and you automatically lean into the touch. “What’s gonna happen now?” 

“That’s up to you, ball’s in your court. You know where I stand.” He hoarsely states.

You nod, knowing full well you now have a decision to make. And you better think about it well, because this is it. 

There’s no going back after this.

-

-

After your frankly embarrassing, albeit eye-opening, outburst at Yoongi’s, you spend a lot of time trying to figure out if you think you can do this, hand your heart to someone else at the risk of getting it back broken and bruised. 

Though if you’re being honest it already feels like it, and there’s no one else to blame but your pathetic self. 

When Friday rolls around again, you still haven’t made a decision and it’s agonizing how long it’s taking you to sort through your feelings. But it is what it is and being the overthinker that you are, you can’t really help it. 

You put on a tight black skirt, paired with a black flowy blouse and tie your hair into a messy bun, opting for light makeup for the night. You drive to the bar, anxiety filling every inch of your body, and stop to talk with Namjoon for a minute or two. You have a few moments left before your seven p.m. shift and you might as well spend them talking with your friend instead of staring longingly at Min Yoongi.

“Joon!” You exclaim as you saunter towards the entrance.

Namjoon brings you into a tight hug before speaking, “How are you?”

“I’m uh, okay.” You timidly offer.

The doorman nods and opens the door for you. “You know you can always text me if you ever want to, right?”

“I know, thank you.” You say sincerely, soon making your way upstairs.

It’s quite busy, which gives you the perfect excuse not to talk to Yoongi much. Though you sneak so many glances his way he must probably have noticed. And the thought sends heat straight to your ears, but you really can’t control the urge to just stare.

Yoongi looks particularly good tonight, white dress shirt with the sleeves hiked up to his elbows, shiny strands of black hair obstructing his vision from time to time, black trousers and a perpetually handsome face. 

You can see, as usual, a bunch of men and women equally smitten with the barman, chatting flirtily with him and what not. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t irk you. Because he’s not yours and he could very well decide to take up somebody’s offer, after all. And you couldn’t even blame him.

So it comes as a surprise to you, when you come back from the lounge and overhear a conversation between him and a girl that you have been serving all night. 

“..it mustn't be easy, if I had to guess.”

Yoongi shrugs. “It’s really not that bad.”

The girl giggles into the palm of her hand. “Are you doing anything after work?” 

“Uh, well, I’m going to sleep like a log. It’s been a long night.”

You really can’t help the fact that your blood sizzles in your veins, ready to reach boiling point. But you can’t do anything. You don’t blame her at all, and if he wants to go home with her he has every right to. So you sulk silently and listen carefully still, being the masochist that you are and all. 

“I totally get that. Then maybe you’d want to go somewhere sometimes? Grab a drink or something.” She boldly asks. 

“Look um, you look very cool and you’re admittedly very pretty but, I’m kinda seeing someone? So yeah, I’ll have to decline. But thanks.”

Oh.

Is he talking about you? You’d be a liar if you didn’t admit that his statement didn’t release a shit load of butterflies in your stomach, flapping around animatedly.

The girl looks taken aback but smiles through it all still. “No problem, I had to shoot my shot, right?”

“Absolutely.” Yoongi chortles.  

And so you go back to your occupations, feeling a little lighter than before.

When the night is done and you all head out into the cold winter air to go to Jimin’s place, you notice Yoongi hanging back as if unsure.

“You coming hyung?” Jimin asks, slurring his words a bit.

The barman scratches his head and sends you an apologetic look, which immediately prompts your heart to drop to the bottom of your stomach. “I think I’ll go back home this time, but you guys have fun yeah?”

“Suit yourself, grandpa.” Jimin sticks his tongue out.

You all wave him goodbye and pile into Namjoon’s car, Jungkook sitting in the passenger's seat, as usual, and you and Jimin next to each other. He bends down to whisper against your ear,

“Don’t take it personally, alright?”

Thing is, you really want to believe Jimin and convince yourself it's not personal. But you know damn well it is, and the way your stomach twists is enough proof of that.

-

-

As soon as you open the door to Jimin’s apartment you notice a bright red head of hair peeking through the slightly ajar bedroom door. “Hey, you guys are finally here!”

You send Jimin a questioning look but he simply waves you off and makes his way towards a very cozy looking Hoseok, leaving a loud smooch on the latter’s cheek as soon as he reaches him. “Hey babe.”

Jungkook whispers next to your ear, “Since the fuck when..?” 

“I have no idea..” You murmur back.

Jimin looks back at the three of you, a bored expression etched upon his face. “You guys coming in or..?”

The three of you break into a chorus of ‘yes’s and ‘sorry’s before taking off your winter garment and cracking open a cold beer. 

And it’s all very fun and lighthearted, the same type of banter as usual. Everyone looks happy. 

Everyone except you. Because as much as you want to appreciate this, there’s something missing. An integral part of the group that makes it impossible for you to stay present and participate as much as you’d like.  

A part of your heart is missing.

Which is why you suddenly get up and grab your things, ordering a cab from your cellphone as you do so. Your friends look at you in stunned silence. That is until Jimin speaks,

“Babe, what are you doing?”

“Making things right,” You resolutely say as you put your boots back on, not even bothering to zip them up.

Your friends send you a knowing look.

“Text us if you need something,” Namjoon gently says.

As soon as you have your coat on you wave them off and head downstairs to wait for your cab. The night is freezing and the snow falls steadily in thick crystals, decorating the city streets and roofs in blankets of white. You’re not really one to stare in wonder at the snow if you have to be honest. But there’s something quite magical about it tonight. 

It thankfully doesn’t take long for the car to arrive and so you jump in, a little nervous but also finally at peace with yourself. You’ve known all along that this is what you want, truly want. 

You just needed to see for yourself, just how incomplete the pieces of your heart felt without him.

-

-

The silence around you is unnerving, to say the least.

There’s a faint static sound somewhere, as if an old untuned amplifier was left on. Then there’s the sound of your thoughts, so loud in their utmost quietness. They scare you, to be quite frank.

You stand in front of Yoongi’s door for what feels like hours, though it’s probably more like three minutes or so. You almost gather enough courage to knock when the door suddenly opens completely, revealing a distraught looking Yoongi.

“Hey..?” You dip your toe into the troubled waters first. “Is this a wrong time?” 

He blinks a few times, fluttering his thick eyelashes as he does, “Uh, no. I was just— I was going to Jimin’s.”

“Oh,” You manage to say through the confusion clouding your mind. “I’m sorry, I can come back another time..” 

“No!” Yoongi hastily replies, tucking a wild strand of hair behind his ear. “I was coming to see you.. I shouldn’t have left earlier. I just— I wasn’t sure if you wanted me there.” 

You stare at him, heart squeezing painfully in your chest at the honest answer. How much more could you make this man endure?

“Do you.. wanna come in?” He asks, an earnest lilt to his tone. 

“Yeah, I can do that.” 

You follow after the barman and take your boots off, soon followed by your winter garments. 

As soon as you’ve gotten rid of your many layers you notice a black ball of fluff watching you curiously from under the couch. “Come here baby!”

The cat swiftly erupts from the darkness and all but crashes into you, rubbing its head against your thigh.

“What a good cat,” You coo at the animal, leaving soft pecks on top of its head. 

“I can leave you both alone if you want,” Yoongi teases.

You blush and clear your throat before standing up awkwardly. “Sorry..”

Yoongi stops laughing and gives you a fond look,

“I was only joking, love.”

Your lips part to form an ‘o’ shape and you honestly didn’t think this situation could be more embarrassing. And yet.

The clock ticking in the background is a great reminder of the reason why you’ve come here at this godforsaken hour.  

It’s also a painfully embarrassing pointer as to why you’ve been trying to delay this conversation: maybe Yoongi’s changed his mind, maybe he’s done. You wouldn’t blame him.

But you still need to tell him exactly, once and for all, what’s going through your mind. You need it, whatever the outcome may be.

“I’ve come to—“

“What did you come-“

The both of you speak at the same time, prompting a nervous fit of laughter out of you.

“You speak first,” Yoongi chuckles before sitting at the kitchen counter, eyes firmly trained on you. 

You nod and inhale sharply, it’s now or never. 

“I’ve been wracking my brain all week now, trying to understand why I act the way I do with you.. and trust me, I hate introspection, she’s a bitch.” You joke to try and lighten up the mood. 

It seems to be working, if the small affectionate smile gracing Yoongi’s lips is of any indication. 

“Truth is, I’m scared shitless, Yoongi. I’m scared to break you, break me. I’m scared we’ll get tired of each other at some point and hurt each other more than necessary. But mostly I’m terribly selfish and I’m really, really fucking terrified that you’ll find me too much, at some point, and you’ll leave.”

The way your voice suddenly becomes thick and breaks really can’t be hidden, not even if you tried. So you don’t, it’s the moment of truth after all. Might as well get it all out, the ugly and the bad, the sweet and the desperate. All that you’ve been secretly keeping inside, hiding from him and from yourself. 

“And that may be fucking selfish of me to say, but I don’t want you to leave, Yoongi. I’ve been keeping all of these fucking feelings in for so long I don’t know how to externalize them properly so, sorry if I mess this up. But what if, down the line, I say something that I shouldn’t and it hurts you? What if I start taking you for granted and treat you less than you deserve? What if—“

“Angel.” Yoongi firmly interrupts, standing up from his seat and stepping closer in the process.

He comes up to you, cupping both sides of your face to caress your cheeks. And that’s exactly when you realize you’ve started crying.

“It’s ok—“

You shake your head vigorously, sending a few tears flying sideways in the process. “No, please, let me finish this, ok? I need to get it out.” 

The barman nods, staring straight into your soul. You take it as a silent sign to go on.

“Bottom line is, I’m scared as fuck. And I’m so sorry that I took it out on you. I don’t want that to ever happen again, not if I can help it.” You exhale slowly, “But I really, really like you. Actually I more than like you. I’m just not ready to say it out loud, so please bear with me..”

The emotions swirling around Yoongi’s eyes are so all encompassing and beautiful you can barely refrain from kissing him dumb right this instant. But there’s more pressing matters. 

“So I’m asking you now, do you think you’d be ok with me being a little emotionally stunted and having a little trouble externalizing my feelings, even though I’ll try my damn hardest to communicate properly? None of the bullshit I’ve done since we’ve known each other. That wasn’t me trying.” 

You lean into his touch and intently look straight into his eyes as you speak again,

“Because if you think you can, then I think I can sure as hell try to be the woman you deserve, Yoongi.”

The latter gently lays his forehead against yours, his breath now tickling your nose and sending a few strands of hair flying away from your eyes. You both close your eyes, concentrating on your other senses instead.

“If you can do that, then I certainly can try and be the man you deserve, my love.”

You break out in goosebumps, erupting like a thousand fireworks all around you. But not the big, explosive ones. No, more like the ones people often miss because they’re looking at the flashy ones higher up.

They always end up being the prettiest ones, the ones you remember when you come back home.

Kinda like the love Yoongi shows you, it’s not grandiose and flashy. It’s warm and sprinkles down over the both of you like a million confetti’s, melting on your skin and enveloping you in its calming aroma, like the sweetest of flowers.

Or like the damp smell of a forest after a rainy day: comforting and grounding. 

“It’s ok if you can’t say it now, I don’t mind. But can I..?” He whispers tenderly, a few inches away from your burning skin.

You nod in approval, a small smile tugging your lips upward. 

The rough but gentle fingers caressing your skin send shivers down your spine as you wait for Yoongi to speak again, warmth spreading in your chest akin to the glow of a fireplace. 

“I love you.”

And just as quickly as he’s said it, sending the butterflies in your stomach completely haywire, he molds your lips together, an euphoric feeling you’d thought would become nothing but a distant memory.

But it’s not. And he’s there, holding you so carefully as he kisses you unhurriedly, as if savoring each and every second of it. And you press back against him in the same fashion, your wandering hands caressing his covered stomach, shoulders and biceps with featherlight touches.

You didn’t even notice when the pieces of your puzzle slotted back together again. But they're glued together now, unmoving. 

The future is always uncertain, things change and so do people. But that doesn’t mean emotions and beautiful things aren’t worth living, quite the contrary. 

You barely register when your blouse is being unbuttoned, soon discarded on the kitchen floor. Or when Yoongi leads you backwards to his bedroom, with careful steps, guiding you blindly but surely. 

It’s not hungry and fiery this time, when you get rid of the items of clothing keeping you from fully admiring the beauty in front of both your eyes.

It’s slow and sensual, almost an out of body feeling. 

You stare into each others’ eyes stubbornly, unwilling to concentrate on anything but the emotions manifesting on each of your faces as Yoongi smoothly burrows himself into the warm heat of your folds. His movements are so gentle you barely feel anything but pleasure and love, flooding through you in soothing waves.

So much love it’s sickening, and you want more. 

You want all of it, greedy as you are.

He holds you tightly through it all, a kind reassurance that he’s there, present even though the overwhelming sensations tugs at every fiber of his body. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever experienced, letting go of any inhibitions, insecurities and letting someone else handle them instead. 

And he holds them securely as he thrusts in and out of you repeatedly, hands ghosting over the skin of your hips, thighs and cupping both of your breasts gingerly, squeezing them here and there before bending down and licking at your sensitive nubs with almost religious fervor. Like a man worshiping at the sacred altar of your body. 

You’d worship at his any day.

It’s also surprisingly unhurried when you start feeling the edges of your orgasms taking over both of your visions, overwhelming you in the best of ways possible. But you both still keep it at bay as long as possible, almost instinctively. 

He follows you closely in the abyss when you tip over the edge. You tingle all over, tremors coursing through you in an unbridled fashion while your eyes roll to the back of your head in what can only be called complete rapture. 

Yoongi soon busies himself with cleaning you up, the both of you giggling like school girls as you tickle and tease each other endlessly.

Then, you stop giggling and start kissing again, sloppily and lazily, while you hold each other, burrowed deep under the warm covers of Yoongi’s bed.

Like a dam burst open, you can’t really get enough of each other now that everything is out there in the open. 

It’s only when your lips are reddened and puffy that you part, in order to give them a well deserved break. But it doesn’t stop you from pouting petulantly, which prompts Yoongi to laugh uncontrollably at your clinginess.

You can’t help but laugh fondly too, the gummy smile stretching his mouth rendering you a fuzzy mess. 

“You know what I’ve just realized?” You murmur against the soft skin of Yoongi’s arm, which is currently tightly wrapped around you.

“Mmhm?”

“This is the first time we have sex in a bed.” 

“Is it? What about that time at your place?” He sleepily inquires, a hoarse quality to his tone.

“But we didn’t have sex that time, so this is the first time.” 

Yoongi shuffles closer to you, nuzzling at your shoulder in an absolutely endearing manner. 

“Damn, that’s actually funny as fuck.” He chuckles.

You tenderly kiss the smooth flesh of his arm, 

“We’re weird.”

The soft press of lips upon your naked shoulder prompts a small shiver out of you. 

“We are. And I wouldn’t want us to be any other way, my love.”

And that’s exactly how you know with absolute certainty, as you slowly slip into unconsciousness in the arms of the man you love, that you’ll make it through whatever ordeal is to be thrown your way.

Because you just fit perfectly together, understand each other like no one else can. 

Two pieces of a puzzle. 

-

-

a/n: thank you guys so much for all the comments and love that you have shown this story and these characters, it had made me happy in the best of ways! I'm so glad you loved these characters as much as I loved writing them. See you for the epilogue! <3

amala

taglist: @knapris @tarahardcore @tea4sykes @bonitaangel @kthstrawberryshortcake-main @princesspiineapple @funkylittlebisexuall @kikaninchen-2 @diorjgguk @purplelo @lil6nmrll @perfect-bae @bxcndd @funsizemarsbar92 @kookoo-kachoo @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @glowunderthemoon @idkjustlovingbts @minijagiyaa @bwormie @fragmentof-indifference @purpleunicorn051 @forevercarpediem227 @acquiescence804 @che-er-ful

[itsallcomplicated]

I wish my parents DID put me through therapy when I was 6.

TW: Mental health, Immigrant household, self harm, drugs, alcohol

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-

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I grew up in a Mexican Immigrant household where mental health was scorned upon and seen as a burden. I don't think my parents were even aware of the word "anxiety" until I was 16, and even when I was trying to explain to them just how anxious I was and how I was so afraid of it eating me up, they instead turned to me and accused me of being on drugs. Of course, we moved past this, but that's the problem at hand, we only moved past it. We didn't attempt to solve anything, or try to find me some healthy coping mechanisms, or even attempt to understand my triggers. Moving past it became my motto for the rest of my life, and I didn't even understand just how unhealthy that was.

I'm 22 now, and I'm trying my hardest to clean up a mess that I hadn't even realized had gotten so bad. I wouldn't say my anxiety is debilitating, but I would say it's kept me from trying so many times. I've learned some pretty rough habits when it comes to coping and communicating about my feelings, many of them being unhealthy and ultimately causing rifts in relationships around me. I know I'm at an age where everyone around me is starting to find their footing and their stride, and I feel like I'm just now learning to stand up. No one's journey is alike, but sometimes I wish mine could have been different. Sometimes, I really wish my parents had come from a place of understanding and concern when my first grade teacher told them that I had attention span problems, and I may suffer from ADD/ADHD. I wonder what would have happened if my parents allowed the schools therapist to just talk to me and allow me to find proper resources and counseling that could have ultimately helped me shape proper and healthier coping mechanisms than the ones I've learned on my own that often cause me more harm than good. Instead though, my parents ignored this and moved past what they thought was just a chatty child who couldn't stay quiet during reading time.

I wonder if by my parents letting this one situation happen, would I have any anxiety today? Most of my anxiety starts from the moment my attention drifts away from a task I meant and needed to do. From the moment that I actively start to think one hundred million different thoughts and start ten different tasks, I have started an absolutely terrifying journey of anxiety and dread that I just simply didn't want to partake in. I end up putting so many things off, that I'll end up turning around and realizing that I have so much to do now and so little time.

You see, it's really easy to just write it off to personality and even the goddamn zodiac. "She's such a taurus!" Yeah sure, tauruses are lazy and we love food, but there is no reason I should be laying in bed on a Tuesday eating an entire bag of Puffs. Tiktok has made it so easy to excuse the ill behaviors and negative coping mechanisms I have, I can write it off as a "rot" day, or as a "self care" day, but how many self care days can I have before I have to admit that I'm just procrastinating and disassociating before my brain catches up to me and realizes how behind we are and now I have to be anxious for the next week? I gotta uninstall Tiktok, it really just fortifies my intentions of staying in bed, especially when I start doom scrolling. I'm aware now, obviously, that these behaviors and my lack of self discipline in exchange make things difficult for me. I've become too comfortable staying comfortable, and doing absolutely nothing with my time. I've started becoming hyperaware of the fact that I am incredibly lazy and all too okay with people taking care of me. But I've had enough of myself being a loser (I have to be mean to myself here guys, it's only because I KNOW I can do better) and allow myself to just try for once in a really long time. I can always make up an excuse to explain my behavior, or to defend my right to staying in my bed all day and call it an act of self care. But at the end of the day, I have got to be honest with myself and understand that this constant excusing and defending my behavior will ultimately lead me down the horrible rabbithole of anxiety and self deprecation. Being lazy is my version of giving up. I'm really tired of myself being so uninspired. Kim Kardashian was so right, I do need to get my ass up and work. (pls that was just a joke)

It's easy to give up, because giving up means that I didn't have to fail due to other circumstances, I failed because I didn't even want to try. It was my choice to fail, and I could live with that. I liked this control. But we'll unpack my need for control some other time, because that's become a prevalent issue in my life.

Therapy could absolutely help me find healthier coping mechanisms and just help me function. But I'm terrified of therapy. I wish that going to therapy wasn't as scary as my parents have positioned it to be in my head, but I'm terrified to make the decision to go in and speak to someone. I think it's the thought of someone else having to realize that I've gravely set my own self behind, and I didn't even realize it. I always feel like it's too late to try again, but that's a lie. I have a whole life ahead of me, I just need to learn the proper tools to take care of myself and actually hit the ground running with the anticipation of continuing to try. I know I'll thank myself when I finally make the decision.

I tried therapy only once in my adulthood, and it was actually the worst experience ever. I went more as an act of rebellion and to prove to my parents that therapy could be beneficial. On my first and only meeting with my therapist, I filled a questionnaire out. It was questions like "Do you experience thoughts of self harm? Have you smoked marijuana? Do you drink alcohol?", and to be quite honest with you at that point in my life, I was answering with a whole lot of yes's. I was 20, first time on my own, living in a shared apartment with easy access to both weed and alcohol. I didn't know what discipline was, so yes, taking advantage of both substances was going to be my go to. I was also going through the most ridiculous breakup of my life, but that deserves it's own post. Also the pandemic. Everyone was having a hard time. Anyways, the questionnaire evidently now led my therapist to believe I was undergoing a horrible manic episode and I was showing signs of mania. I was horrified and she further frightened me by telling me I may have schizophrenia. I never went back after that session, because truly that just boggled my mind and I just thought she was going to tell me I was depressed or anxious. So I moved past it, and didn't ever look back at therapy. I regret letting that first session warp my feelings towards therapy, because I seriously needed the help then. I need the help now, but omg that girl in 2021 needed it way more. After three months of dealing with an atrocious breakup while living with my ex and also meeting a really confusing situationship, and becoming an alcoholic, I created really bad habits and coping mechanisms. I'm unlearning them everyday, and everyday I know I heal more and more from the bullshit I've caused. Therapy can still be a resource I can reach out to, and I know I'll work up the courage one day, but I'm just happy to say that I want to try.

REMINDER: This is just a vent post. My entire blog is literally just my journal to express myself, otherwise I think I will explode. Peace, love, gossip girl xoxo 💋 

[nat-20s]

8 for jmart?

#8- constantly cheacking their messages for words from the other

what else was I gonna do? here's some classic ol' season 3 pining babey

Hello Martin. This is Jon. I have gotten a new phone after losing my last one, please put in the new number.

It's a simple message. Straightforward, factual, and utilitarian. There is no reason that pressing send should make his heart race. There's especially no reason that the second he sends it off, he's tempted to lie on the deeply uncomfortable, likely bedbug infested motel mattress staring at his screen until he gets a response. Sure, he's sick of being overseas, and he's sick of being so isolated, and he's sick of running, but he's not...desperate for what little companionship can even be provided by words on a screen.

He does miss Martin, though. He misses Tim as well, but in a manner that's significantly more complex and knotted than the simple desire to be around him.

God, when did he start wanting to just be around Martin? He started being aware of that want when he was at Georgie's, but he has no idea when the want itself actually started. That was probably something he should examine. Technically speaking, that is something that he has time to examine, but he doesn't want to examine right now. Right now, he wants the comfort of perhaps one of the only people out there that doesn't want to kill him, or use him, or both.

Martin, whether through somehow sensing Jon's discontent from nearly 4000 miles away or, more likely, through a general dutifulness inherent to his character, only takes a few minutes to reply. Oh good! it'd been a little bit since hearing from you, we were somewhat worried. putting you in my contacts as we speak :)!

Saying that "we" were worried is almost certainly generous on Martin's part, but Jon feels no need to point that out. Instead he turns on his side and stares at the phone. He particularly focuses on the smiley face, ridiculously charmed by the fact that, despite everything, Martin hasn't lost his predilection for emojis. Two years ago, he would've rolled his eyes, maybe thought something snide about professionalism. It wouldn't have been fair, as Tim used to do the same thing and he thought nothing of it, but he wasn't fair back then. Now, he simply wonders if he can get away with sending one back.

Before he can respond, Martin sends another message. Are you actually alright? I realized I was kind of assuming that losing your phone was the only reason you were MIA, but is anything else going on?

Damn. He tends to forget how perceptive Martin can be. What, exactly, Martin had perceived in that first message, Jon couldn't be sure, but apparently there was something that tipped him off to the..eventful last week he'd had. He really, really doesn't feel like getting into all of that right now, especially not over text, so instead he replies a mostly truthful I'm fine.

Then, squinting at the screen and realizing that might come across as a dismissal, he adds, Well, other than trying not to contemplate the general sanitation practices of a motel that clearly hasn't updated it's decor since the 70s. I'm suspecting the sheets are much the same.

He doesn't know how Martin will react to the message. He can't see the face he'll make, won't know the tone of his voice. However, he likes to imagine that Martin will at least smile. Maybe he'll even give that breath of a laugh, the one that sometimes happens when Jon's being lightly acerbic and it's not directed at him. He doesn't know, but he does hope for it. Martin texts back Oof. Maybe sleep on top of the covers tonight, yeah?, and Jon thinks that he might have guessed Martin's reaction correctly.

Christ, who knew all it took was a combination of jetlag and threats to turn him into a sap. He needs to sleep. He really needs a deep, proper, uninterrupted sleep, one lasting a minimum of eight hours and ideally closer to fifteen. Checking the time, it would be a fairly reasonable time to sleep, especially with the early start he has tomorrow. He considers sending off a quick good night message, but then has the realization that as reasonable as it is for him to be asleep right now, it's just as unreasonable for Martin to be awake. Are you alright? Good lord, Martin, it's almost 4am over there. Did I wake you?

Barely 30 seconds pass before he gets back no, you're good!

A beat, then a follow up message. I've had a irregular sleep schedule since I was like 16. A lot of evening and night shifts had a lasting impact u know? Working at the institute made it a bit more consistent but it's still p rare that i sleep the same eight hours night to night.

Jon's starts to text back something sympathetic; he's had his own struggles with both in- and hyper- somnia, but his phone buzzes in his hand before he can finish it.

Sorry! That was uh probably more information than you wanted.

Well, that just won't do. Even if there wasn't a part of his brain that had recently started collecting facts about Martin like they were precious jewels instead of mostly mundane stories, he doesn't want Martin to think he can't talk to him about things outside of the standard bounds of coworkers. Not at all. We're friends, Martin, I enjoy learning about you.

His brain wants to catastrophize the second he presses send. For the first minute that Martin doesn't reply, he doesn't let it. After the second minute, he allows the minor worry to become more severe. Had it been too much? Were they friends? Jon certainly thought so, but what if Martin wasn't in the same boat? Their interactions had been entirely friendly for months now, but what if that was just Martin being polite? God, what if Martin still thought of Jon as his boss, nothing more?

Ten minutes. It takes ten minutes for Martin to finally respond, and Jon has almost called him four times to explain himself. Ten minutes, and the first response is only Oh!

Then: Cool

Well, that's not a "piss off and die", but it's not exactly comforting. Jon doesn't know how to reply, staring at the words on his screen and not entirely sure if he's fucked up or not. Fortunately, Martin's not done responding, and the next message is much, much better.

Hey uh. Feel free to say no I know it's getting late over there but. Im not getting back to sleep for the rest of the day and itd be nice to actually hear you. Would you be okay with a call?

Without a moment's hesitation, he texts back Yes!, exclamation and all, because he's become someone he barely recognizes. The phone rings just as immediately, and he feels his entire body relax at Martin's first "Hello?"

Things are difficult right now. Things have been difficult ever since the promotion that was a curse in disguise. The world is filled with monsters he barely understands. He wishes he was home despite the fact that he barely recognizes it, as filled with tension and strife as it is. There's so much to discuss, so many things they should be hammering out. But right now, the threats are not pressing. Right now, he can hear about the bad true crime documentary Martin half-watched before he got Jon's texts, and Jon can bitch about the three different "pip pip cheerio" comments he's gotten since coming over seas. Right now, and for the hour before Jon drifts off, breathing slow and deep, he can pretend that this is an ordinary phone call, in an ordinary world, between two people who simply miss each other an extraordinary amount.

[imagining-in-the-margins]

The Birds & The Bees (S.R. | Pt. 4)

Summary: Reader has a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day, which her Professor is hellbent on making a little bit better. A/N: If y’all thought you hated Kyle (bathroom bitch boy), just wait until you meet the new antagonist (of the female variety) here... I hope you all enjoy! 😚 Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Slow Burn (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Sexual themes/fantasies Word Count: 6.3k

MASTERLIST | Series Masterlist

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Einstein once attributed his genius to his childlike sense of humor. Studies performed since then have largely proven his point — funny people tend to have higher IQs, which makes sense when you consider the cognitive and emotional intelligence required to produce humor.

Spencer Reid was no exception. The only problem was that his humor was so remarkably niche and impossibly specific that barely anyone could understand the punchline. He insisted to me that he’d gotten better over the years, which I only barely believed… until he told me a joke that hadn’t left my mind since. A joke that he described as ‘just crude enough to make it palatable to the layman.’

"Caffeine and Viagra are both phosphodiesterase inhibitors,” he’d said — a slow start if there had ever been such a thing. But I held on to hope, hanging on the ecstatic, guileless smile he wore. And boy, was I glad I did, because what he’d said next broke me into a frankly embarrassing fit of giggles that returned with the memory every time.

“Which explains why both of these drugs keep you up all night."

The poor barista stuck working the busy early morning shift eyed me like I’d grown two heads when I once again devolved into laughter for no apparent reason. I almost felt embarrassed about it, but then I reassured myself that if she’d heard Dr. Spencer Reid tell a drug-induced-boner joke, she would also laugh about it forever.

I’d been thinking about him a lot lately. Not in a perverse way, either, despite his increasing comfort in breaching such topics in my presence. It was more like I’d started to infuse him into my every day, finding him in whatever way my brain would allow. While I made my way to his office, I breathed in the soothing scent drifting from the cups that were precariously perched in flimsy cardboard.

The smell took me back to quiet moments in his office. The kind of simple serenity that accompanied silence between two people who need not speak to share ideas. Where the second you looked away, you felt their eyes follow you, like the universe couldn’t maintain its structural integrity without one of you looking at the other.

It was intoxicating and alluring; so easy to lose myself in. Something I knew was dangerous for a number of reasons.

For example, when I am not paying the utmost attention to my surroundings, I have a tendency to lose track of where I am and what I’m doing. I also tend to… drop things. Especially hot and otherwise dangerous things.

Things like the two cups of coffee that finally became too much for shallow, defective cardboard.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I screeched as I became acutely aware of every place where scorching hot, drenched clothing hung on angry skin. Normally, I would at least try to sound more dignified while on my way to work, but it hardly seemed like it mattered anymore.

I was too busy hurriedly tearing at my shirt and dropping everything else I was holding. I’d gotten three whole buttons on my shirt popped by the time I remembered it wasn’t technically necessary. I dropped my bag immediately at the thought, tugging on the hem of the shirt and trying to bring it over my head.

Unfortunately, I still hadn’t regained my grace, and in the muddled mess of fabric, I’d also grabbed hold of my undershirt. Which meant that whoever was walking through the empty halls of the early morning in academia would find me, with my stomach exposed and clothing dripping while unintelligible curses flowed freely from my lips.

I expected most people would probably just turn around and leave. I probably would’ve. The giant splatter of coffee and the absolute idiot slipping in it were beyond saving.

But there was at least one person who saw the mess and stayed.

I smelled his cologne before I felt his hand was pressed over the bare skin of my lower back. Despite the fact my skin was burning, it welcomed the warmth of his touch. My body stopped at his command, waiting for him to break me free of the paradoxically frozen state I was in.

He pulled the shirt back down, just enough that I could see him when he wrapped his cardigan around my shoulders and started guiding me into his office, which I’d somehow managed to almost walk straight past in my daze. I wished that I could go back there, to the imaginary world where he hadn’t just seen me half disrobed and cursing while covered in the coffee that I’d meant to give to him.

Spencer’s hands left me once the door was shut, probably trusting, or at least hoping, that I could figure out the mess on my own. Oddly enough, I didn’t notice any signs of him staring at me. Like he only felt comfortable looking when I was clothed.

I tried not to think about it. Once I did manage to free myself of one of the shirts — without further flashing my boss — the anxiety brewing inside of me burst out in the form of frantic shouting.

“Hi Professor! I’m so sorry, I spilled the coffee!”

“Yeah, I... saw the puddle,” he mumbled, throwing a cursory glance back at the hallway before his eyes met mine with a terrifying level of compassion, “Are you alright?”

“Besides the boiling liquid on my skin and the horrid embarrassment? I guess,” I mumbled back before shouting, “Shit! This is why that woman sued McDonald’s! Why do stores serve coffee like that?!”

Spencer didn’t really say anything. In fact, he kind of just stood as frozen as I had been, staring at everything around me rather than meeting my eyes again. But while he seemed somewhat cool and composed, I continued to tug at my clothes to try and avoid the friction. It was then that he cleared his throat, covering his face just like he’d done when he saw me in an arguably more provocative position the week before.

Arguably, I said. I should have known that Spencer would win any argument. I should have considered why he was making such a point of not looking at me while I clawed at the white undershirt turned beige. But I didn’t. Not until I looked down to inspect the state of my skin.

I realized then that Spencer had been trying to figure out a way to inform me that not only had the coffee turned my shirt a different shade — it had also eliminated the opacity.

He could see my bra. Spencer Reid, my boss, was trying not to stare at my very clearly visible bra.

“God, this is the worst Monday of all Mondays!” I whined between half-sobs, “and Mondays are already bad, Professor!”

There must have been something else in that cry, too. Something akin to permission. Enough for him to step closer, managing to avoid looking at my chest in the process. I’d entirely forgotten that he’d wrapped me in his cardigan until he pulled it tighter around my shoulders like his own version of an embrace.

“That they are, Bunny.”

If my skin had been heated before, it turned to flames at the use of the nickname. It was honestly a pure work of magic that the liquid on me didn’t turn vaporize the second I’d heard the word.

Bunny?

I pushed the thought away as quick as humanly possible, focusing instead on the way my clothes were going from uncomfortably hot to frigid as a result of the usually refreshing air conditioning. But when I was once again reminded of the obvious undergarment, I sighed.

“I can probably ask a friend to bring me a replacement shirt, or just go to class like this,” I thought aloud, “No one really looks at me, anyway...”

Spencer’s response came immediately, his hands flying up in protest as he shouted, “No!”

I wasn’t quite sure how to reply to that, or even which part of the statement he was objecting to, so he was met with a wide-eyed, slow blinking stare.

“I-I mean, I have a shirt you can borrow. I don’t want to subject you to any further embarrassment,” he explained at a significantly more appropriate volume, “You can just wear my extra shirt.”

He turned away from me before I could respond, shuffling through something hidden beneath his desk that created more questions than answers for me.

“Why do you have an extra shirt?”

“Go bag,” he said in the most nondescript manner. It wasn’t necessarily abnormal, either. The question I’d asked didn’t spark any concerns in his mind, but it also wasn’t the question that I felt needed to be asked.

What I really wanted to say was caught in my throat. My hands clamped together in front of me tighter than my jaw that resisted opening to make way for the thoughts that felt more scandalous than they should’ve been.  

“U-Um, Professor don’t you think—“

“Here you go,” he offered with a smile. I took the large, plain black shirt with a hefty dose of caution, my hands shaking along with my broken voice that still couldn’t finish the sentence from before.

Spencer finally noticed the struggle on my face, and I watched his body move from comfortable to defensive in a matter of seconds. Like he was worried he’d done something wrong in trying to be kind.

He hadn’t, but I felt like I had.

“Won’t people... you know?” I mumbled, motioning a hand between the two of us, “I’m showing up to your class at 8AM wearing your clothes…”

I thought that the words alone would be enough. I thought that the gesture was overkill. But Spencer was still staring at me with his head cocked to the side and his eyes narrowed in thought.

I was going to have to say it.

Won’t they think we’re having sex?

There was no way I was going to be able to say it.

“Aren’t you concerned about people getting… the wrong idea?” I blurted out, instead.

The confusion on his face shifted to a clever little self-assured smirk so fast that I almost missed the transition. My stomach flipped from the sight, but then he spoke again, and what had felt like it was filled with butterflies turned to rocks.

“I’d much rather them gossip about something that’s not happening than watch the young boys ogle you instead of paying attention.”

It wasn’t the words, but the way that he’d said them. Like they were silly, like the idea of us being together was so preposterous it could only be entertained by people he perceived to be children.

I was foolish, too.

“Don’t worry about them,” he said with a wave, “Just worry about making this Monday a little bit better.”

“O-okay. Thanks,” I whispered, turning and running from the room only to be reminded of the mess I’d made. But the pool of tawny liquid on the floor wasn’t the most disastrous thing anymore. That honor was reserved for the state of my heart, begrudgingly continuing to beat despite being broken.

Scooping up my bag that I’d abandoned before, I tried to allow myself to be happy about the little things. For instance, the fact that the shirt Spencer had handed me was probably the softest thing I’d ever felt in my life. It made sense, considering the sensory issues he always described.

Still, I waited until I was in the safety of a bathroom stall before I buried my face in the fabric. It smelled just like him, a mixture of freshly done laundry and vanilla. Much better than the cheap, burnt coffee that covered me. Funny enough, that sort of smelled like him, too.

By the time I slipped into his clothes, I had almost forgotten his joke entirely. I was too lost in the joy of sweater paws from his cardigan and fabric that felt like a hug. Or at least, what I’d imagined a hug from him would be like.

The energy it provided me was a better pick-me-up than any cup of coffee had ever been. I kept my squealing as quietly as I could, bouncing in place just like the nickname he’d chosen to let stick. But before I returned to him, I felt something. A small, noticeable weight in one of the cardigan pockets.

If I’d thought about it for longer than five seconds, if I’d reminded myself that they were his clothes and not mine, I would’ve let it be. I wouldn’t have pulled the little object from its safe hiding spot. It would have stayed locked away, leaving me none the wiser of its presence.

But I didn’t think about it, and then there I was, holding onto the sobriety token I should’ve seen coming.

Not that it was a bad thing; I already knew Spencer had a history with drugs. He’d mentioned it in passing in class and was deeply involved with a number of volunteer programs around the area. At one point, I’d even taken it upon myself to research his history.

That research, while I regretted it now, feeling that it violated his privacy some way or another, led me to a second conclusion. As my thumb ghosted over the embossed number five, I realized that Spencer had been sober since he was released from prison.

My heart swelled with pride and relief that felt shameful. I didn’t want the token to have such a profound effect on the image of him I’d already crafted in my mind. Lord knew I didn’t need any more reasons to idolize him. And, at the end of the day, I’d only discovered this information by happenstance.

Part of respect, I decided, meant ignoring the way that fate seemed to push us together. If Spencer ever wanted my opinion on his sobriety or strength, surely, he would just ask. So, I slipped the chip back into the pocket and made my way back to him without worry for what it meant.

While I had no worries, Spencer was another story. I’d barely even made it through the door when he saw me. All of the papers he’d been holding immediately fell from his hands the same way the coffee had fallen from mine.

“Oh no! My clumsiness was contagious!” I laughed, bolting over to help him only to find his face an unhealthy shade of red. He chuckled back but said nothing else as he scrambled to pick up the loose-leaf that had splayed itself all over the floor.

Once we were back on our feet and as collected as we could be considering the circumstances of the morning thus far, his eyes met mine again. His cheeks were still flushed, unable to focus on anything specific and choosing to traverse my body the same way his hands had on Halloween.

“Sorry,” he mumbled in a way that made me wonder if he knew I could hear him, “I was distracted by how unfair it is that you look better in my clothes than I do.”

It was my turn to be flustered, but Spencer didn’t let the moment drag on. He tore himself away from me in every sense of the word, marching past me and halfway exiting the room before he found the courage to look at me again.

“Are you ready to head to class?” he asked as if it were an option.

I suppose to him, it was. For a second I imagined what the future would hold for us if I’d said no. What would he have done if I begged him to stay with me, instead? What if we rebelled against expectation and remained locked away in his office until we grew tired of one another? What if we never did?

My mind filled with fantasies of Spencer’s hands freely feeling my skin the way his clothes could. I could hear soft, breathy sounds of desire shaped like my name. For all of my inexperience, he would still find me intoxicating. He would grow drunk on me the same way a child finds endless joy in sweets that really ought to make them sick.

Then again, maybe he had grown used to the sugar. Maybe he wanted something more mature, a bitterness like molasses that was only earned from years I hadn’t had yet.

Regardless, I couldn’t really get into any of that. Instead, I just flashed a very awkward thumbs up to the man fifteen years my elder when I droned, “Sure am, Professor man.”

As stupid as it felt to do something so juvenile, the smile he gave was worth it.

“Alright then, Bunny,” he answered with his own little peace sign, “Let’s hop along.”

——————————————————

It hadn’t even been a week since I saw her, scantily clad in the plush, socially acceptable equivalent of lingerie. It’d been even less time since I admitted my own weakness to her. I’d replayed the memories of her visceral responses to my touch enough times that I should be sick of it. But there was no tiring of her.

I considered deleting the photos she’d sent me, convinced that it was cruel to keep them when she’d only sent them while inebriated and undoubtedly exhausted beyond belief.

But when I woke up in the morning, my stomach still reeling from the knowledge of what I’d done, all that she’d sent was a curious collection of emotes and a very brief note.

“Oops!” she’d written, “Bad bunny?”

I put that phrase out of my mind immediately, unable to handle the way it incited the desire for destruction in my veins.

“I’m always glad to hear that you are safe.”

That was the end of the conversation, and I was grateful for that much. Even the few words we’d exchanged would haunt me until I saw her again. Of course, the torture ended there, but only for a few seconds before it was replaced with other images and words.

It’d been hours since I’d found her flailing about half-naked in the hall while uttering rushed curses that sounded too crude for her lips. It’d been hours since I felt the soft skin of her lower back and became lost in an entirely different set of fantasies.

It’d been even less time since I saw her standing at my door, pulling on the sleeves of my sweater and staring at me with nervous, shifty glances. Completely unaware of just how beautiful she was in her simplicity. How much more torturous it was to see her wearing my clothes than any lustful suffering that lingerie or nudity could elicit.

I thought that it would get better throughout the day, but it didn’t. It only got worse.

I’d stepped out of my office for barely half an hour, but I returned to find her curled up on the plush chair. Her shoes were slipped off, revealing colorful socks that clashed with every other neutral color she wore. It somehow made me want her even more.

I stayed stuck for a few seconds longer, watching her with bated breath and shameless admiration. She was so caught up in the papers on her lap that she didn’t even notice my presence until the door clicked shut. It was then that she turned to see me, allowing a smile to blossom across her face despite eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“What’s all of this?” she asked, gesturing to the collection of bags hanging from my wrists.  

“Did you know…” I started before my heart stopped at how she always leaned forward with excitement whenever I started a sentence that way, “that food is one of the best ways to solve a terrible Monday?”

“Which scientific study did you get that from?”

I paused again, debating telling her the many studies that would support such a theory, but then decided against it. Instead, I sought out her laughter and childlike joy that always brought out the best of her.

“Garfield,” I answered.

Sure enough, the office filled with the melodious sound of her happiness. I moved as quietly as I could, thinking back to when I was younger and thought of how powerful bottled laughter would be if I could capture it. Hers would surely right so many wrongs.

“You don’t have to take it if you don’t want to, but I figure it’s the least I could do.”

She approached me to assist before I’d even made it to my desk, and although I thought her hands were far too soft to be bothered with something like this, I allowed her to help.

“You could do nothing, you know. It was my own fault.”

“Yeah, but I wanted to.”

She laughed again, shier and shrinking into the sweater as she tried to find her place in such a domestic activity as sharing a meal with me in private. I thought of how it was a taste of my dreams.

Because as often as I did fantasize about her, undone, bare-skinned, and defenseless to my desires, I just as often envisioned her just like this. In fact, I found those fantasies more dangerous. They couldn’t be written off as mere lust. They were another, scarier thing.

“Well, lucky you I am an exhausted, broke grad student, so free food will always win me over,” she muttered, half-sarcastically but just sad enough to bother me.  

“Duly noted,” I said.

I hid away the promises I wanted to make. That if she were mine, she would want for nothing. That I would give her everything she needed to bloom. That I would prune away any neighboring flower that dared get in her way or block the sunlight. There would be no need to worry of predators or pollinators intruding, because she would belong to me and only me.

I would be her earth, her rain, and her sun. I would be surely and shamelessly selfish.

Her shoulders rose with a cheeky, excited little giggle once she had collected her food. I wanted nothing more than to let her enjoy it to her heart’s content… but there was a problem.

“Nuh-uh, no way,” I chuckled before she had a chance to return to the chair with her precarious paper plate, “Get in the other chair.”

Her face scrunched up, bouncing back and forth between the two seats in the room like she’d heard something so strange that it must have been a mistake.

“Wh— your chair?”

“I will not have you ruining another shirt today,” I explained. It caused the confusion to quickly shift to an embarrassed frustration within seconds. Just as she opened her mouth to protest my teasing, I continued with something I knew would tie her tongue until she could no longer argue.

“If you’re so worried about what they’ll say when you show up in my shirt, just think of how they’ll talk if they catch you wearing nothing.”

That stubborn little thing still tried. Her mouth floundered, strange sounds of protest starting but never finishing until she gave up. She sulked over to the seat with an odd amount of self-satisfaction. She settled into my space as comfortably as she always did. With an ease that was almost unsettling to my tired, tortured heart.

Swapping places with her for that little bit of time was a good idea. I hadn’t expected that it would bring me as much serenity as it did. My usually busy lips kept their focus on the food, opting to listen to her ramble about any and everything that came to mind.

It wasn’t until she was fifteen minutes into an explanation on her paper that I realized how little I’d tried to learn about her life outside of me. Whether it was self-preservation or narcissism, I’d never decided. But what I was certain of was that it had been a brutal form of self-sabotage.

Because as I sat there, watching her clumsily, excitedly swinging her fork and proving my point that it had been a good decision to give her the desk, I saw her for in a different light than before.

She was not just a beautiful, mysterious flower peeking through the concrete. She was the trembling giant, the clonal colony of thousands of quaking aspen trees. An extravagant network of roots that flowed far beyond the seed that started them.

This sprout might be new, but her soul was ancient and celestial, wise and immortal.

“Who knows?” she sighed, coming to a natural conclusion of a story I had almost missed while lost in daydreams and metaphors, “Maybe one day I’ll be a professor, too.”

“You’d be good at it.”

For once, it felt like she accepted the compliment without a fight. I considered it progress all the way up until she shot back a thinly veiled taunt.

“Thanks. Means a lot from someone who has 4 stars on rate my professor!”

“Don’t forget the chili pepper,” I jokingly returned.

“Not sure I’d get one of those.”

I knew that my disagreement wouldn’t amount to much in the grand scheme of things, so I opted for a slightly-self-centered flattery instead.

“Just show up in that outfit,” I said with a nod that barely hid my actual intention of focusing my eyes on the rest of her, “you’ll be golden.”

“You gonna let me borrow it in ten years?” she hummed.

It was a dangerous proposition, an implication that made the pitter-pattering in my chest unbearable. Rather than chasing her down the rabbit hole of fantasies, I just chuckled before I answered, “You know how to find me.”

Then it happened again. Her face slowly changed, growing from a cautious optimism to a yearning. A subtle hint of words left unsaid. And although she wet her lips and set down her fork, the words never came out. They stayed stalled in her throat, and there was no discernible way for me to drag them out of her without hurting the both of us.

When a loud knock resounded through the room, the thought ended altogether.

“Come in,” I grimly announced, recognizing the intrusive sound as the death rattle for whatever might have been said.

As the door opened, I realized the same time (y/n) did that we had forgotten that the rest of the outside world wasn’t familiar with our dynamic. They didn’t have the backstory of how she’d perched herself on my chair with her shoes off and wearing my clothes.

Torn between scrambling to take more socially acceptable positions and the knowledge that our hurry would make us look even more suspicious, we both opted to remain frozen in place like deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming train.

When the door opened, however, I was somewhat relieved to see someone I found completely unthreatening. My closest colleague, a woman that should really terrify me all things considered, seemed mostly perplexed when she found a young girl in my seat.

She quickly turned to me, drawing out her words as she asked, “Oh. I’m sorry, am I... interrupting something?”

“No, what can I help you with, Candy?”

“I was hoping we could talk about my current paper proposal.”

She paused, and I took the moment to follow her glower to the flower still stationary behind my desk. (Y/n) stared back, seemingly frightened by the presence of the other Professor.  

“If you’re busy with... office hours…” Candy muttered before turning back to me, “we can always set up a meeting for a better time.”

Before I could address the possible tension or implication, the girl at my desk sprung to action, clearing off any sign of her presence as she spoke.

“You know, I actually need to get going.”

“Are you sure?”

She didn’t look at me when she answered, “Yeah, I’m sure your papers are more important.”

If I’d turned back to Candy, I might have seen the condescending scowl that was driving her away. If I’ve had any inclination or desire to look at Candy, I would have realized that (y/n) wasn’t trying to escape from her connection to me. She was just trying to get out of my way.

It didn’t make it any harder to watch her leave. I took solace in the fact that she held tighter to my cardigan, trusting me to keep her warm by proxy as she ventured back into the real world. The world where we couldn’t be in peace.

“Thanks for the advice, Professor,” she said before she left, “You were right. As usual.”

One last smile was shared, somber but sobering. A necessary break from the intimacy of the moment.

“See you in class.”

The office felt so much duller without her radiance, but my disappointment would have to wait. As much as I actually didn’t mind the world knowing how my heart hurt from her absence, I knew that it was best I didn’t let it impact her academic career.

“Sorry again for the intrusion,” my colleague said in a much happier voice.  

“It’s not a problem at all.”

She must have noticed the way it sounded like a lie, because her tone quickly shifted back to a slightly disgruntled confusion.

“I didn’t realize she was your student, too. What class is she in?”

It was juvenile, really, the way my heart fluttered so ridiculously at the mere mention of her existence. The excuse to discuss her again.

“Oh, did she not tell you?”

Candy just shook her head with a blatantly false smile.

“Unsurprisingly modest,” I laughed, making my way back over to my seat and running my fingers over the wooden armrests like it would be the same as touching her ghost, “She’s my TA.”

“Oh… I see.”

“She was the only one who would put up with me,” I offered with a chuckle. Self-deprecating humor was the only reliable personality trait I had. It was also, unfortunately, one that most women in my life despised and refused to let sit.

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

It sounded less sweet coming from her. I wrote it off as a product of the differences in their species. While the hummingbird of a girl who’d just flittered away was used to only drinking the sweetest, purest nectar, the bird of prey who’d entered relied on the work of others to gather the sweetness before they were devoured.

That wasn’t to say she was cruel; hawks are as much a miracle of nature as hummingbirds. I simply related to one more than the other. I understood one while the other remained a mystery. And I loved mysteries more than myself.

“So, you wanted to talk about your paper?”

“Oh! Yes,” she chirped, passing the packet over to me now that I’d found my way back to what she probably deemed my rightful place. “The conference is coming up so much faster than I anticipated, and I would love to hear your opinions on my first draft.”

I’d already started to read the first page when she spoke again, uncharacteristically bashful and anxious, “Since we’ll be presenting together, I figured...”

“Yeah, no problem at all,” I interrupted, not wanting her to dwell nor expand on the thought of us doing anything together any more than necessary, “I can send you mine.”

It felt curt, blunt, and off putting when I said it, but she didn’t take it as such.

“Wonderful. You have such a unique voice when you’re writing. It’s very refreshing.”

Immediately, a memory appeared at the forefront of my mind and led to a laugh that I couldn’t contain. Candy seemed pleased at the sound, and I felt the need to explain.

“Thanks. (Y/n) likened it to Ray Bradbury at one point, although in different and less flattering words.”

I could hear her clear as day, quoting my words with an overdramatized effect before laughing, ‘Pack it up, Bradbury, you’ve got more science stuff to explain.’

Of course, we both found her laughter-ridden explanation of the ‘meme’ far funnier than the original joke. She was probably the only person in the world who never seemed bothered by explaining everything to me ad nauseam.

“She is... certainly a choice as a TA,” Candy strained upon scrutinizing the smile that had returned to my face for the first time since (y/n)’s departure, “Will she be joining us at the conference?”

But then the guilt returned, wiping the smile from my face and replacing happy memories with deviant thoughts and fears.

“Oh... you know, I haven’t asked her.”

“That’s perfectly alright! I think we’ll do just fine without her.”

“Right...” I whispered, glancing back down at the stack of papers in my hand before setting it in the tray designated for (y/n). “I’ll have her look at your paper just in case.”

A lull in the conversation stretched past the point of comfort for both of us, and I glanced up at the woman I actually felt guilty for ignoring in place of fantasies that would probably never come to be. She hadn’t even done anything to warrant my disregard. She was an attractive woman — as beautiful as she was brilliant, really — she had worked very hard to garner my trust and academic collaboration. At one point, I had considered her one of the few potential candidates for something more than a purely academic partner.

But there was something about the way she looked at the honeyed girl that made my hair stand on end. A defensiveness and instinct that couldn’t be ignored.

“Is there anything else you need?”

“No, that was all,” she said as she broke from what I presumed to be her own daydream, “I hope your semester keeps going well.”

“Thanks, I hope yours does, too.”

I meant it, despite the aforementioned concern. I wished her well in the semester for both selfless and selfish reasons. I wished her well because she deserved it, certainly. But the other reason, the larger one, was that I hoped she would remain distracted. I hoped that she didn’t notice the way I would slip away from her affections to chase those from a more interesting challenge. One that remained mysterious, with hair covered in pollen and lips sweet with ambrosia.

“I’ll talk to you soon, Dr. Reid.”

I failed to respond to her again before the door shut because my hands were already busy with rekindling contact with another.

“I have a proposition for you, Bunny.”

“Sounds ominous. I’m in.”  

The fact that the response came before I could even shut off the display was so characteristic of her that I had to laugh.

“You haven’t even heard it yet,” I observed, to which she once again immediately responded, “Your point being?”

“I’m afraid this is an obligation that does require some expansion before agreement.”

Her response was slower, then, and I could almost see her with a slight panic and overwhelming curiosity that grew stronger by the second.

“Ominous and vaguely unsettling,” she said.  

I considered drawing it out further, letting her imagination truly run wild with the possibilities. But then I realized that if she thought hard enough about it, she might reach the same place that had immediately come to my mind.

“Would you like to attend the upcoming conference with me?” I relented, almost stopping there but then frantically tagging on the conditions I knew would be most likely to cause hesitation. “You’d have your own room, of course. The department and I will help with funds.”

But, as it turned out, I didn’t need to be worried.

“A cheap weekend away from school where I get to be a nerd with you?” she sent with another set of small, smiling faces I was only just starting to understand, “Of course I’m going to say yes, Professor!”

“Perfect. I’ll arrange it.”

“I can’t wait!”

Although I felt the same, I forced myself to end contact again. I put my phone out of reach to prevent myself from spoiling any more of my fantasies than I already had. I didn’t need her to second-guess the possibilities of a weekend away together now that she’d already agreed to it.

The thought alone sparked guilt anew. Through the entire interaction, I’d infused each word with a charge that shouldn’t have been. Each line was far more provocative than it needed to be.

It was just an academic conference. Most people found them terribly dull, not to mention physically exhausting. It would not be a time away like most couples dreamed of because we were not a couple in any sense of the word.

Yet… I couldn’t help but feel that perhaps there weren’t as many differences as one might think. Because while yes, most people would be bored, I didn’t think Bunny would be. Clandestine meetings made between conference meetings sounded exactly like the kind of dreams we would share.

I believed it so strongly that my mind had already drafted several narratives that would suit her. I pictured her and I sharing company in public, unafraid of public displays of affection — innocent, childish kinds, of course — because we were miles away from those who might care.

That drunken, lust-inducing, half-lidded gaze from the week before would return. Except this time, I would taste the wine on her tongue, my hands sliding not over fluffy fabric, but the same skin that I’d felt for the first time that morning.

Behind our door, I would teach her so many things. Things that she would have begged me for. Things that others would see written on her skin in the shape of my fingers and mouth. Things that she would carry with a straighter back and dripping down her legs.

I didn’t just want to destroy her. I wanted to break her so that I could build her back with gold-laced lacquer. She would be my kintsugi creation full of sugar and honey, just imperfect enough that the sticky residue of her sweetness would slip through the cracks to coat everything she touched.

And then she would touch me, and I might finally feel like I deserved anything at all.

——————————————————

| Part Five |

[edie-baby]

mr & mrs | liam lawson x reader

Summary: You and Liam were teammates at Hitech for 2021. You had the biggest crush on him, but you were sure he didn't see you as anything more than a little sister. But oh, how a few basic questions could uncover the truth between you.

Warnings: swearing, and I think that's it?

When you walked into work in the Hitech Grand Prix building this morning, you didn’t expect to be playing the fucking newlywed game with your crush. And if you’re being honest with yourself, crush is a light way to put it. You were head over heels for your F2 teammate and best friend, Liam Lawson. There was just something about the New Zealander that always had your heart racing, your legs buckling, and your stomach dropping.

So when you were directed into the garage for a ‘different background’ from other videos you had done with Liam, your stomach lurched. Here this gorgeous man was, in all his Kiwi glory, hair waxed back but falling out of place, jeans hugging the toned curves of his legs and ass and giving you a glorious view of his bulge, and the fucking blue sweater. The same blue sweater he had worn the last time the two of you did a video that had reduced you to a stuttering mess when you first saw him.

But now it is worse. So, so much worse. He was standing in a garage. Around cars, and tyres, and grease, and all of the inanimate objects you found so sinfully appealing, and he was just right in the middle of it looking like that. You just about turned around and walked right back out.

“Mighty Mouse! There you are. I was starting to think I’d have to be the brains and beauty of the operation.” Liam called once he spotted you, and suddenly you remembered why you had never tried making a move on him. He treated you like a little sister. Nicknames like ‘kiddo’ and ‘mighty mouse’ were a regular occurrence, and they never failed to make you squirm.

“Well, you struggle to be anything but the brawn, and I think I’m even starting to overtake you there.” You teased, pushing yourself to stay casual, platonic, familial. There was so much opportunity to flirt with him, but the few times you had tried were brushed off, so you had given up many moons ago.

“Ouch Princess, that hurts.” Liam mocked, his hand cradling his chest and you couldn’t help but wonder how it would be to fall asleep against his chest, curled up after a rough night of-

“Who’re you calling princess, princess?” You shot back, cutting your thoughts off before they continued developing and became an issue. Liam laughed, his arm slung around your shoulder while the two of you walked over to the team that were in charge of running your activity for the afternoon.

“Ok, I don’t know if you guys have heard of it, but this game is called Mr and Mrs, one of you will have a whiteboard and wear headphones while the other tries to guess what the answers to the questions you’re writing down are. Make sense? Ok, great, let’s do an intro and go from there.” One of the guys explained quickly, and you began having flashbacks to an awful 80s game show called The Newlywed Game, and blushed profusely. Having you and Liam in a video titled ‘Mr & Mrs’ was sure to get the fans going, and you couldn’t blame Hitech’s PR plan.

You and Liam settled into the wheely chairs from the office next door, Liam positioning himself in frame of the camera and fixing his stupidly perfect hair when you came barreling toward him with your chair, legs tucked up high so you didn’t cop a chair arm to the knee. Liam screeched when you finally hit him, almost toppling off the chair in surprise while you spun slowly, laughing freely as you did so.

Liam looked over at you, your head thrown back in carefree laughter, the yellow sundress that covered your body made you look radiant, and he was sure he had never seen a sight so beautiful before. Your laughter calmed down, and as you looked over at him, he couldn’t help but send you a lovestruck smile, his eyes dopey with admiration. You blushed slightly, laughing as the team asked if you could do the intro again, but actually introduce what you were doing.

Liam slid out of the frame, and you followed his movements as you could tell a fierce battle was about to commence. Kicking off the ground with force, you tucked your legs up onto the chair again, spinning into Liam so fast, you couldn’t actually see his face before you crashed into him. The two of you exploded in laughter again, laughter and smiles were common between you, and Hitech’s Instagram was full of photos and videos of you and Liam smiling at each other, or doubled over in laughter, clutching onto each other.

“Hi, I’m Liam Lawson, and this is Y/N, we drive for Hitech in Formula 2.” Liam began once you had slowed down your laughter. He kept a firm grip on the arm of your chair, holding you close and still, as your chair really liked spinning around.

“And we’re here to play Mr & Mrs, another game in our long series championship to see who the better teammate is.” You finished, gesturing to yourself subtly, but Liam caught it and pushed your chair away jokingly. As much as you loved the man and wished you could be more, you wouldn’t give up this relationship you have with him for something that might work.

MR & MRS | EDIE-BABY

“Liam, what is Y/N’s favourite colour?” The same guy from before asked, one who Liam still didn’t recognise due to the facemask and hat he was wearing. Nevertheless, he held up a whiteboard where the question was scribbled in messy writing, three multiple choice answers written waiting for not only Liam’s, but also your answer. You had airpods in your ears, connected to the blaring music playing from one of the Hitech employees’ laptops, a whiteboard in your hand that you quickly scribbled out an answer to.

Liam looked over at you, holding the whiteboard to your chest protectively so he wouldn’t cheat, but there was really no way that he could.

“It’s not an answer listed here, but her favourite colour is a light brown. She always says it calms her down because it reminds her of a cafe she went to once back home.” Liam spoke, watching you as he answered. You didn’t hear a word he was saying, bopping your head along to the 2000s hits pumping through the earphones. Liam pulled one of them out, his head nodding over to the camera while you proudly turned the board around, thinking you had gotten one over on Liam.

“My favourite colour is light brown, because it reminds me of the Brew Cafe in my hometown, and it brings a really nostalgic and calm feeling.” You stated, watching the faces of the employees morph from business to shock. You looked over at Liam, who had a smug smile on his face while he listened to your answer.

“There’s no way you could have known that!” You protested, glaring accusingly at the dirty blonde. He laughed in response, and you couldn’t have felt happier in any given moment. Not even the top step of the podium could compare to the warmth spreading in your chest. Little did you know, Liam was feeling the exact same way.

“Y/N earphones back in, Liam your next question. What is Y/N’s favourite song at the moment?” The same guy asked, yet this time there were no multiple choice answers. Liam’s eyes widened, turning to look at you to think of any songs he had heard blasting from your speakers or earphones recently, or something that you had ranted excitedly to him about. He spoke to himself, mumbling about artists and songs he could remember falling from your lips. You twirled a piece of hair around your finger, thinking about the answer to the question, when suddenly it hit him.

He had to wait a few moments as you were slowly writing down your answer, still not 100% sure of yourself. It was only after you had taken an earphone out that you jumped, furiously rubbing out the answer on the whiteboard and writing a new one, looking much more satisfied with the new answer. The team counted down, and as Liam spoke, you almost dropped the whiteboard.

“Feeling Something Bad by Ellise. She’ll start singing it randomly when she concentrates, which is usually a giveaway to what songs she's been listening to recently.” Liam said his answer so confidently that it made you feel as though you were inferior because he knew your favourite song and it took you a decent minute to think of it. Liam got another point as he had gotten two of your answers right, and you were starting to feel competitive.

“Alright Liam, who does Y/N get along with best in the F2 paddock? Oscar Piastri, Dan Ticktum, or you?”

“Oh, oh. Well, she hangs out with Oscar a lot, but I don’t know if she would say they get along better than we do? Like, she’s closer with Oscar but we get along best, if that makes sense? I don’t think it does. I’m gonna say Oscar because I don’t want to be rejected, but I really hope I’m wrong and that she says me.” Liam rambled, finally deciding on Oscar, and when you were told to turn your board around, Liam’s heart sank a little. You had written Oscar, and as you began trying to defend yourself, Liam waved it off and laughed to hide the disappointment in his eyes, but you could see it clear as day. You tried to move on like he did, to keep playing the game like you didn’t hurt her best friend and crush.

You began trying to cheer the Kiwi up, dancing along to the songs playing, and occasionally belting out the chorus. He was laughing along, finally joining you to sing when you were screaming the lyrics to Promiscuous, dancing all around the garage and trying to pull him up around with you. While you were dancing with some of the employees off camera, being recorded for Instagram, Liam was still in frame of the main camera, a fond smile on his face, and anyone who had looked at him could see that he was completely and utterly whipped for you, but you were too caught up in Nelly Furtado to see it yourself.

It was your turn to answer questions now, passing Liam the whiteboard that had a little love note written on it.

I’m going to crush you.

You wrote, and Liam thought it was adorable how competitive you got in trivial games like this, but it always made him try even harder just to give you some semblance of a battle.

“Y/N! How old was Liam when he started karting?” The guy you had begun to think was not an actual Hitech employee asked. The three ages to choose from scribbled on the whiteboard. You studied them for a moment, and could see Liam in the corner of your eye writing out his own answer.

“He was seven, because I remember him telling me that there’s regulations in New Zealand that you can’t race go-karts competitively until you’re seven and then won the race.” You explained, remembering the story he had told you easily, it was one of your favourites, purely because of the joy on Liam’s face when he recounted it.

He turned the board around, showing the exact answer you had given, and he gave you a cheeky smile in response to your silent gloating about getting a point. There was nothing cuter in his eyes than you getting so worked up about a game.

“What is Liam’s pre-race superstition?” Before the board with the question and possible answers came up, your mouth blurted out the answer you already knew all too well.

“He gets in the car from the left.” You practically yelled, and Liam looked at you with wide eyes, not hearing your words but seeing the excitement at knowing the answer.

“How did you know that?” One of the Hitech PR asked as her main priority was to stir up more rumours about the two of you, as it was always good for the team’s press.

“Because I’m just as superstitious about getting in from the right side, so when he found out, he asked the team if we could switch around how our cars are placed in the garage so that we could meet in the middle, do our little ritual, and then get in the car from there.” You explained, watching as Liam wrote down his answer with no idea of the words you were saying.

When Liam turned the board around, he explained the exact same story you had, and you giggled when he finished, showing off a proud smile before putting the pieces together that you had already run the same spiel.

“It’s quite cute that the two of you explain things using basically the same words.” That same PR lady stated. And you almost rolled your eyes, almost. But you caught Liam blushing slightly, and a small, stupid part of you began jumping up and down, because not only did someone think your relationship with Liam was cute, but he blushed at that.

“It happens when you spend so much time with someone. I’ve started picking up Kiwi slang, and he’s learning some of my slang. You don’t realise it until you say something to someone when he’s not there and they’ve got no idea what I mean. It’s so normal for Liam to always be by my side, and me by his that when I’m with other people it feels weird.” You started on a ramble, something you were known for. And then just would… not… fucking… stop. The press officer looked satisfied, but as you had finally gotten your mouth to stop moving, you were scared to look over at Liam.

“Whenever she’s not within arm’s reach, I feel like I’m missing something.” Liam spoke quietly, and you gulped as you heard his words. The man was going to kill you, surely. This little production crew didn’t give a shit about your blossoming romance though, as they hurried you through to the next questions. You and Liam barely looked at eachother, your answers shorter and much more vague than they were before. You just wanted to get out of this chair and go freak out in an empty office somewhere.

“Well, the winner of this round is Liam, which means he has officially overtaken Y/N in the Hitech championship. How do you guys feel about this one?” The producers asked. You would usually have felt a bit of a blow to your chest finding out you had been beaten in two ways, but you truly couldn’t think of anything except your proximity to Liam.

“I think we found out a lot, and I’m glad to finally be ahead in the championship. I think it’s the only time I’ll ever be able to beat Mighty Mouse in anything.” Liam chuckled, reverting back to your ‘little sister’ nickname because he felt like the distance would help him process his emotions.

“Hey, you already beat me in height, age, and supercar experience, you gotta let me have something.” You whined, you looked over at Liam with a pout and puppy eyes, unintentionally making his heart pound out of his chest.

“Well you’re the cuter one of the team, and you’re a hell of a lot smarter than me, so I’d say you’re winning enough. Plus you’re higher up in the drivers standings than me.” Liam replied, leaning closer to stare into your eyes, barely two inches between your faces, you blinked slowly, afraid that any sudden movements would scare him away.

His large hand reached up, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear, then coming to rest at the side of your neck, his thumb resting on your jaw.

“I don’t think you realise what you do to me.” You mumbled, leaning forward very slightly to nudge your nose against Liam’s. His breath hitched, eyes boring into your soul in a way that made you freeze.

“It can’t be any worse than what you do to me. Looking as beautiful as you do, all I want to do is hold you, keep you close, show you off to the world, and I want to call you mine. I want to take you home and show you around my hometown, I want to introduce you to my parents, to take you to parties with my friends, I want to curl up in your apartment watching Harry Potter movies, and I want to dance around the kitchen with you at 2 in the morning making pancakes. I want to live my life with you.” Liam confessed, and for a few moments, you felt as though you couldn’t breathe.

You lurched forward, balling your fists up in that stupid blue sweater and pulling him closer. Liam’s eyes closed instinctively as your lips met, the coconut lip balm you applied before you came into the office was shared on your tongues, Liam’s exploring your mouth with vigor. You had never imagined him to be this passionate, this intense. But you had no complaints, his hands tugging you forward until you fell onto his lap, legs slotting in beside his own to straddle him on the wheely chair.

You broke away for a moment to catch your breath, eyes surveying every square inch of Liam’s face to commit it to memory. He truly was a gorgeous man, and you hoped you would get to see him like this many more times to come. He caught the look in your eyes and dove back into your lips, his teeth capturing your bottom lip in a bruising grip, a whimper escaping your lips before someone clearing their throat interrupted you.

“I guess we have everything we need for the video. Thanks you two.”

[beels-burger-babe]

Hi! I saw that requests are open, if it's not a problem could i request Satan reacting to MC coming to him with new books every time they hang out because they want him to read them out loud since they have a short attention span? Like, Satan would be reading said book while MC is drawing or doing something else.

I have adhd and reading books that are not digital is a nightmare for me, so him reading out loud would be pretty relaxing.

Btw it's up to you if you wanna do headcanons or a oneshot!

ABSOLUTELY!!! So this is actually my first request and I'm super excited because as someone who also has ADHD I can totally relate! I hope you like it!

Too Still, Too Quiet

GN!MC with ADHD Summary: Satan notices that MC seems to have a hard time hanging out with him; he's determined to get to the bottom of the issue and find a solution.

After living in the House of Lamentation for nearly a year, you've grown accustomed to the many quirks that came with living with the seven Lords of the Devildom. You had gotten close to the brothers, and as they picked up on your symptoms for your ADHD, they each found their own ways of being helpful. Lucifer had always known, as it was written on your file, and made a point of sending you subtle reminders throughout the day to keep you organized and on task. He brushed it off saying that it merely prevented him from having to go after you later on if you forgot or did something incorrectly.  Mammon was no stranger to having a hard time prioritizing and staying focused and took pride in lending you some of the different tools he used to fidget with. After all, his human deserved the best, and you couldn’t get any better than using something that belonged to the great Mammon. Leviathan’s room provided a relaxing atmosphere with just enough stimulation to keep your brain satisfied enough to focus on your school work and tasks. The sounds of the aquarium provided a fantastic back ground noise, and Levi always took caution in wearing his headphones when he gamed if you were working in his room to not add to the distractions around you.  Asmodeus had a good eye for when you were growing too frustrated by the regular chaos that tended to fill the House of Lamentation and would pull you aside to his room for some self-care to help calm you down. There was nothing like a head message and face mask from Asmo as he happily gossiped about the latest drama in The Fall to help ground you.  Beelzebub, on the other hand, was great at noticing when you were starting to grow restless. In those moments, he’d not-so-subtly state that he was heading to the gym and it’d sure be nice if he had someone to join in before very obviously making eye contact with you. At first you had a hard time figuring out a good balance between a work out that satisfied Beel while also not killing you. But now the two of you easily worked with each other until you were both sweating, smiling, and happy. He also made sure to remind you to eat through out the day whenever you went to a round of hyper-fixation on something. Belphegore wasn’t particularly helpful when it came to your forgetful spells or disorganization as, being the Avatar of Sloth, he would normally encourage such behavior. Instead, he did what he did best, and helped put your wandering mind to ease whenever you were trying to sleep.  The only person, and not for a lack of trying, that you just couldn’t seem to find a flow with was Satan. 

He was too quiet and organized for you to be able to stand being around him for long periods of time. You had tried hanging out with him a couple of times, but after a few minutes of him silently reading or him explaining whichever text he was currently studying, you would grow restless and distracted.  Which brought you to your current situation.  Satan had invited you to come relax in his room with him, as the rest of his brothers were dealing with the aftermath of their most recent dilemma. It wasn’t so bad at first, some light conversation here, some banter there, but soon your mind started to wander off to the spines of the endless books around you as you pondered on what might be inside them.  “MC?”  Your attention snapped back onto Satan, who stood frowning at you. You blushed and scratched the back of your neck. “Oh, I’m sorry. I got a little distracted. What were you saying?”  Satan sighed as his frown deepened.  “I’ve noticed that tends to happen a lot with you. Not that there’s anything wrong with that!” He quickly amended raising his hands in defense. “But it seems particularly bad when you’re with me. You get quite jittery and I don’t think you’ve ever stayed in my room longer than ten minutes,” for a second his eyes almost looked sad as he looked over at you, “Is it something I’m doing? Do I make you uncomfortable?”  “No! Satan, no, it’s not you I promise!” You quickly reassured moving closer to him. “It’s just well I have a hard time staying still and focusing on things and when it gets too quiet it bothers me because then my brain is like hyper fixating on the smallest noises in the room, even though I’m supposed to be focusing on what you’re saying or my work, and it’s like, is that a page a turning or a something scratching at the door and then I start wondering about what kind of things could be in here and-”  “MC.” Satan cut off, though he didn’t seem annoyed. In fact, his eyes now gleamed with a sense of understanding. “Do you happen to have ADHD?”  “Yeah, I thought you all knew? Lucifer told all of you when I arrived right? That’s why everyone is so-” you moved your hand in a vague gesture that even you weren’t entirely sure what it was meant to symbolize.  Satan huffed and shook his head. “Lucifer did no such thing. I imagine he would’ve told us if it came to be a big enough problem. But you know him. He takes pride in being the only one to know certain things. “  You frowned and tilted your head in confusion. “But then what about the others? They’ve all been helping me out for months now.”  Satan placed a hand under his chin in thought, “They most likely took note of individual symptoms and decided to help. Belphegore, and possibly even Leviathan and Asmodeus may have put two and two together, but the rest probably think you’re just forgetful or that you’re restless,” he smiled reassuringly at you, “but that’s besides the point. Now that I know, I can help make you feel more at ease when you’re with me. What’s the main issue that you-” “It’s too quiet!” You quickly cut off, causing Satan to raise an eyebrow. “When we’re in here relaxing and you’re just reading and I’m supposed to be reading too, it’s too quiet. I try to focus on the book, but my mind keeps jumping around to other things. And I want to read all those books you’ve recommended to me, I really do, but I start feeling bored after a little while and next thing I know I jumping sentences without noticing and then I’ve gone an entire chapter with no recollection of what I’ve just read because I wasn’t really paying attention to the words at all I was just flipping pages without realizing it, so I have to go back and re-read the whole thing all over again!” You throw your hands in the air in frustration. “Is exhausting and makes me feel dumb, so I get up and do something else instead.”  Satan nodded, taking in every word carefully. “Well first of all,” you yelped as he flicked your forehead.  “Ouch! What was that for?!”  The demon smirked and crossed his arms over his chest. “For calling yourself dumb. Just because you have more difficulty with literature than others, does not mean you’re dumb. You simply require a different reading strategy than what most consider “usual”, and I believe I have a solution that would suit both of us,” you perked up at his words. “I recommended those books to you because I greatly enjoyed them myself. How about, when you’re here, you can choose a book you want to read, and I will read it out loud for you? That should help, yes?”  A light airy warmth filled your chest at just how accommodating Satan was willing to be. “But what about the books that you were reading?”  The demon shrugged, “I can always read them in my spare time.” He moved closer to take your hands into his, silently demanding your full attention. “I want to spend more time with you and get to know you better. I want you to be comfortable and be able to be yourself when you’re around me without feeling stressed. This is honestly the least I could do for you, MC.”  Blushed rushed to your cheeks as you felt your heart flutter in your chest. You awkwardly cleared your throat and took your hands back, rubbing them on your legs as you noted how clammy they were. “I think I-I would like that a lot” The grin on Satan’s face widened as he took one of your hands and lead you deeper into the bookshelves of his room. “Splendid! Then why don’t we get try right away? Take you pick, MC, I will be your narrator for the evening and for as long as you wish.”  ***** I hope this was something along the lines of what you were looking for! It is a little short, but I hope you like it. Thank you so much for the request, I loved it! Requests are OPEN and I would definitely love to complete some more if anyone has any ideas or prompts that they’d like me to complete. Just send in an ask and, if I feel comfortable with it, I’ll do my best to make a fic for it!

[seriouslysnape]

To the Limit

__

Severus Snape x Fem. Reader

Warnings: Slight smut. Use of safeword. Language.

Request: Hi! Can u make Severus × Reader when the reader use the safe words for the first time because idk maybe it's too much for the reader that day or smth else you like..Thankyouu 💕💕 love ur writings btw ❤❤

A/N: Here we gooooooo. Reminder, everything is consensual.

Word Count: 2,947

“Okay, darling. Whatever you want.”

__

Severus has always been flexible in the bedroom. Yes, Severus Snape is versatile in the sheets and has more love making skills than you originally would’ve given him credit for. Sex with Severus can range anywhere from slow and careful where praising your body is his main objective, to fucking you so mercilessly that stars are dotting the back of your eyelids with each hard thrust.

Sometimes, you don’t have to establish what kind of theme your sessions will take on. If Severus comes home angry from a long, obnoxious day then you very well know that a rough fucking will get it out of his system. When you’ve just watched one of your favorite romantic drama Muggle movies that have sent you into tears, he knows that something more unhurried is in order so you are reminded of how much he loves you.

Other times though, there isn’t really anything that determines the kind of sex you’ll be having. If the mood is right for both of you, then you often will just figure it out from there. 

Severus’ return on Friday night from a long week of classes was coated with his desire for you. You could practically feel the hard sexual tension radiating off of his whole being. From the moment he walked in the door, you knew what tonight would hold for the both of you. More than likely, it’d be a whole lot of rutted fucking and orgasms until neither of you had any stamina left to give. Normally, a seed of excitement would be planted and begin to grow in your core at the thought of being touched by him, but you didn’t feel it this time. 

It had been a bad week to put it simply. Work was weighing you down and you had taken more hits than you were used to in a five day time period. Exhaustion had riddled you, and stress has gotten the best of you. Emotional breakdown was the only way you could describe how you were feeling. You really weren’t feeling up to what Severus wanted to do. However, you couldn’t bring yourself to deny him when his hands and lips were on you, moving to all his favorite places on you.

His voice was silky smooth in your ears as he uplifted you with how he had been thinking about you all day, and how he wanted to be with you when you weren’t around. It wasn’t Severus’ fault that you had a bad week, and it surely wasn’t all his fault that he was this turned on. The way he gripped your legs with his strong hands was an indicator that he wanted to go well into the night, which your tired state wasn’t a fan of. But you loved Severus, and you always wanted him to be happy and well pleased. So you figured you could handle a couple of coarse rounds to satisfy him.

Oh, how wrong you were.

Once access was granted, Severus leapt onto you without hesitation. A tornado of clothes being removed whirled around the room, your shirt and pants ended up on complete opposite sides of the room. Hot and unruly kisses were shared, marks were left on your necks, and no part of you went unattended. 

Admittedly, the first orgasm was actually enjoyable. Severus’ fingers were knuckle deep in your needy cunt and pumping vigorously as he found all the best spots. The strenuous activity melted some of the week’s stress from your conscience, your mind being stripped of all your worry as it clouded with ecstasy. Severus thrived off of the moans and noises of delight that he was drawing out of your throat, perfecting his movements to give you an even stronger release. Severus worked you to your finish as you came around his fingers, slicking them with arousal and relief. 

He left lazy kisses over your breasts while you took a moment to recover, preparing yourself for the next round that was undoubtedly on its way. Tiredness had plagued you long before Severus had even walked through the door, and you had suddenly been robbed of even more energy, so you were confident that you might not get a proper orgasm this second time. But the moment Severus slid you onto his dick and stretched your walls the way only he knew how to, you knew that you were going to cum whether you felt like you could handle it or not.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to. You loved seeing Severus so enraptured in waves of pleasure and gratification, but you were beyond fatigued. Still, you bounced up and down on his lap over and over again, your already sensitive clit throbbing with each rub of his fingers. Severus’ other hand guided your hip movements to meet the way he thrusted up into you, hitting your g-spot just right.

When you came this time, your sound of release was more of a strained cry than a content sound. Severus didn’t seem to notice, since he was too focused on the intoxicating feeling of filling you with his own finish. You popped off of him before he was even emptied out, the rest of his fluids landing on your inner thighs. You fell onto the bed next to him, your breathing much heavier than usual. 

You were totally tuckered out with absolutely no hope of another round. Your muscles ached and your bones were wiped out. Although, you felt a queasy feeling of despair when you saw that familiar look of lust in Severus’ eyes. He spoke lowly, his voice echoing in your ringing ears.

“I’m not through with you yet, love.” He purred.

Usually that would’ve sent a whole mess of arousal through you, but you were too worn out. But Severus usually didn’t last more than three rounds, so this would for sure be the last one. You thought you could push through so he could at least get his release, but this third go round wasn’t a good feeling for you at all.

With your arms above your head and the pillowcase below your head in your fingers’ death grip, you turned your head to the side to fight through his persistent hard fucking into you. On a better day, you’d be all over this and relishing every moment. But now your eyes were screwed tightly shut in discomfort, for each time you opened them Severus would only be able to see the whites of your eyes. The thumping heartbeat in your ears was deafening and your entire body was stiff and rigid, but not in a good way. You wanted to tough it out so at least Severus could finish, but it was just too much for you tonight. 

You had to tap out.

“Polyjuice!” You squeaked out, your voice raspy.

In an instant, you saw any expression of lust wiped straight from his face. He pulled out the millisecond that the word registered in his head, his face stricken with worry and concern at the first time use of your agreed safe word. Severus’ heart dropped at your whimpers of displeasure, his brain reeling and raking over what had gone wrong. 

“[Y/N], what’s wrong? What happened?” He asked frantically.

“I-I just...”

Shaky breaths and uncomfortable whines were the only noises you could seem to make. You sat up from where you were laying down, bringing your knees to your chest and hiding your face as you began to cry. Your emotions were all over the place, and it didn’t help that you were overstimulated and overworked. Severus went to pull you to him, but withdrew his hand. Upsetting you further would absolutely crush him, but he needed to know that you were okay.

“Can I touch you, darling?” He whispered out.

The yowl of approval was enough for him to feel fine with carefully wrapping his hand under your arm and dragging you across the mattress to where he was kneeling on the middle of the bed. He pulled the covers over your skin to keep you from getting cold from the loss of heat from being active. You buried your head into his bare chest, your tears leaking and falling down his skin. 

“I’m sorry, Sev. I’m really sorry.” You sobbed, your hair sticking to your sweaty skin.

“No, no, no. Don’t ever be sorry for telling me to stop when you’re not comfortable,” He reassured; “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” 

The shake of your head brought relief upon him, but he was still worried. He rocked you in his arms until your sobs died down enough to where you were coherent. Severus was getting ready to ask you once more what was wrong, shifting you so he could see your face. When moving you, his hand accidentally brushed against your swollen, sensitive clit and you wailed out pathetically. Severus’ pale face went even whiter.

“Oh, my love...I worked you too hard, didn’t I?” He queried.

Severus would always admit that sometimes he’d get into the zone and completely drown everything else out. He wouldn’t really be able to tell how hard he was pulling in and out. It was rare, but from time to time you’d have to ask him to soften his thrusts or slow his pace when he got too rowdy. But you had never asked him to stop completely until now. He feared that he had seriously pushed you over the edge this time.

“It’s not just that.” You confessed with a sniff.

Severus had drawn your head back to gaze into your bleary eyes. The tear tracks being swiped away with his thumbs as he cradled your face. 

“What is it then, sweetheart?” He asked with wonder.

A fresh set of salty tears pooled and fell down your cheeks, but for a different reason.

“I’ve had a horrible week. Nothing has gone right,” You explained croakily; “I wanted to make you feel good and I thought it might make me feel better...but I’m just exhausted and I couldn’t handle it tonight.”

You fell apart into another set of choking sobs and gut wrenching cries, prompting Severus to bring you back into his chest. He stroked your skin and left kisses so light that they were ghostly. 

“It’s alright, angel. I wish you had told me before that you weren’t feeling up to it,” He consoled; “You’re worth so much more than sex. I want you to tell me sooner next time if you’re uncomfortable.”

Your nod of understanding offered a wash of comfort over him that you were calming down steadily. He hated that this happened. He knew that was the whole reason for your established safe word for when things went south or things got dicey. He just never thought you’d ever have to use it. He felt absolutely terrible. 

“I’m sorry, Sevvy. I really wanted you to get off, I just-”

“Please don’t apologize for this. This is my fault. I should’ve seen how tired you were and how I was being overly hard,” He said; “I’m the one that should be sorry.”

The sniffles from your nose had increased as you tried to flush down all the drainage from your crying. Your tears had stopped as you sat up from his body, wiping at your cheeks with the back of your hand. The red blotches in your puffy eyes were pinging at Severus’ already guilty conscience. He saw the littered hickeys across your neck and breasts, and how your lips were swollen from his severe kisses. He had rocked your burnt out body to the max.

“I’ll tell you what. How about we go get cleaned up, and then we can get into bed. Then you can tell me about your week if so wish.” He suggested, cautiously guiding you off of the bed.

“I think I just want to get a bath and get some sleep.” You said, barely able to stand on your wobbly legs.

“Okay, darling. Whatever you want.” He smiled softly, hoping it’d offer you some kind of solace. 

Severus ran you a hot bath, filling it with all of your favorite scents and smells. Your stance was still despite your shaking legs, and you seemed to be staring off into an endless trance. You slipped into the tub when it was ready, sinking down just below your nose under the bubbles. Normally, Severus would be sitting across from you or you’d be snuggled up on his lap, but he wanted you to have some space for a bit. You were honestly too tired to object. 

He simply casted a charm to freshen himself up, finding and selecting his favorite pair of sweatpants and soft shirt for you to change into. Your eyes were closed, and you had just begun to drift off to sleep when he re-entered the bathroom, changed into some casual day time wear, despite how late it was.

“Here are some clean clothes for you, pretty girl.” He remarked, setting the folded sweats and shirt on the end of the tub for you to get when you got out.

You only gave a light nod as a response, your eyes following him as he stood awkwardly. He was unsure of what to do for you now. He thought that you might want the bedroom to yourself for the night, which was fine because he wouldn’t be able to sleep knowing he had pushed you so hard anyway. He placed himself on the floor by the tub, sitting with his legs criss crossed over one another. It was quiet in the room, the only sounds were the occasional gentle splash when you moved your leg or arm. His eyes were still full of worry, and he was kicking himself big time now.

“I’m so sorry...” He breathed out, running his fingertips dragging leisurely your damp arm that you had resting on the ledge of the bathtub; “I never meant to hurt you.”

“You didn’t hurt me, Sev. I promise.” You responded, wishing he wouldn’t take this so hard.

When it came to you, Severus took everything to heart. There weren’t many things in the world that made his heart beat with a purpose. You were the single person that allowed him to want to get up in the mornings. The thought of hurting you was enough to break him down. If he could have it his way, you would be indescribably happy with every passing moment of every day. He never wanted you to feel anything other than joy. 

But he knew that life would never allow it.

Your eyebrows dipped when you noticed his attire, wondering why he wasn’t in his own sleepwear. It was much too late for him to go anywhere.

“Where are you going?” You questioned, your voice thick with weary.

“I’m going to go back to the school. I have some grading to do.” He half-lied.

It was true that he did indeed have a stack of papers to be assessed, but that wasn’t the real reason why he felt like he wanted to leave. Severus Snape grading on a Friday night when he had the opportunity to be cuddled up with his lover? He’d choose you every time.

Now you felt bad for causing him to scurry off. You wanted him there with you regardless of what had happened.

“Severus,” You called out tenderly, reaching for his face; “I don’t want you to leave.” 

A genuine look of doubt flashed over his features as his head lulled into your hand.

“I think it would be best if you got some good sleep tonight. I’ll just be in my office so if-”

“Stay with me. Please?” You requested, the thought of sleeping without him was disheartening.

A sigh of awe expelled from his chest. He couldn’t say no to your puppy eyes and slightly pouting lower lip.

“Okay, okay.” He agreed.

“I think that some boyfriend snuggles will make me feel a whole lot better.” You spoke rather cheekily.

He hummed affirmatively. The sound of nestling up with you was impossible to turn down. He took your hand from his face and kissed your palm gingerly, holding the warm skin to his lips for a brief moment. He eventually stood from the floor, but stopped when you held your arms up.

“Help me up?” You asked with the first genuine smile of the evening.

He chuckled, obliging and lifting you effortlessly from the tub. The warm towel was heavenly as you dried off, changing into the clothes that Severus had left for you. Severus went and changed as well, laughing to himself when he exited the closet to see you already curled up. 

The sheets draped over him easily when he laid next to you, waiting for you to nuzzle up to him. He held you close and flush to him, thanking his lucky stars that you were okay.

“My sweet girl...” He hushed out, noting that you were just seconds away from falling asleep; “I love you.” 

You mumbled out a sleepy “I love you” in return before drifting into a deep slumber to snooze off the night’s drama. Severus, as expected, didn’t sleep much that night to ensure that you were sleeping soundly and comfortably. He still felt dreadful, even after you had told him over and over that he didn’t hurt you. The weekend to follow was filled with Severus doting and cherishing over you every chance that he had, trying to make up for what had happened. You were the light of his life after all.

And he prayed that he’d never see that flame go out.

[hrhbella]

Unhappier

Pairing: Theodore Nott x Reader

Word Count: 1k words

Summary: Is it over?

Warnings: N/A

Author’s Note: This song resonates with me in so many ways. I don't know how well it translated through this work. I had also had this as part of another work of mine that never got to see the light of day completed, which seems to be the start of a theme lately. Anyhow, enjoy the 2021-adjusted content. -B

------

Draco didn’t think that either of his two friends standing next to the bookcase on the other side of the common room remembered the others were in the room. They hadn’t stopped staring at each other since convening away from the group.

When Theodore had gotten up twenty two minutes ago, Draco had counted, no one was expecting what was folding out in front of them.

“What are we looking at?” Blaise whispers, leaning on his forearms onto the back ledge of the couch.

Daphne pulls her hands from her face, “The end.”

“Don’t be dramatic, Greengrass.” Pansy snaps, though she glances at the pair with worry hidden behind her emotionless mask.

“It wouldn’t be the end,” Blaise sits on the arm of the couch, “not of them. It has always been her for him.”

Draco’s breath fills the momentary silence, “I think Nott did hims-“

“I wish it wasn’t true!”

The group refocuses on the pair in front of the bookcase as Theodore holds a firm grip on some first edition to his left, not letting his gaze leave her.

“But I’m wasting my breath.”

Theodore starts, “No, darling. You’r-.”

She pushes her palm into his chest, “Then how did we get here?”

He stares ahead. He stares.

Daphne, exasperated: “Not nothing, Nott,”

Draco, with a semblance of hope somewhere deep: “Merlin’s beard.”

Blaise: “It’s starting to seem like the end, Parkinson.”

Pansy, beginning to be concerned: “We can’t be too sure.”

Daphne: “Too sure? He hasn’t said a word!”

Blaise, eyes wide: “What did he even do?”

Pansy: “I wouldn’t know.”

Daphne, interested: “Really?”

A hum of affirmation.

Draco: “I have permission to cause irreparable modifications.”

Blaise: “From who, might I ask?”

Daphne, peeking through her hands: “Does it matter?”

Blaise, grasping at the entire situation: “Not entirely.”

“-cause I would never treat me this shitty.”

Theodore opens his mouth but it closes before any sound comes out.

“You’ve made me hate this.”

“Hate what, love?”

“Everything.”

“Dramatic if I’ve ever heard it.”

From Pansy: “Wrong choice, Nott.”

“Dramatic? I don’t talk shit about you to our friends. Never told any one of them anything bad.”

“I’m not und-“

“No, Nott. You’re not understanding. Why would I tell them what I put up with. That would be embarrassing.”

“You won’t tell me what I’ve done or what I am doing! How am I to know?”

“You were my everything. How could that not be enough for you?”

The group across the room watch as Nott finds the fibers of the carpet beneath his feet as interesting as a Nimbus 2301.

Draco: “Come on, Theo, mate. What did you do?”

Blaise: “She sounds final.”

Daphne: “Irreversibly.”

“And all you did in the end is make me sad.”

“It meant nothing.”

Pansy, holding tightly onto Daphne’s wrist: “He did not.”

Daphne, near tears: “He couldn’t have.”

Draco, understanding reluctantly coming into focus: “Oh, but he did.”

Blaise: “Who?”

Daphne, tears gently streaming: “What does it matter, who?”

Pansy: “Was it-“

“So don’t waste the time I don’t have.”

“Time? We are supposed to be brothed this summer! We have more time than anyone two people at our age could have! It didn’t mean anything to me, darling. Let me show you.”

“Don’t try to make me feel differently than I know I do. I can’t stand the sight of you. Everything. Everything, Nott. What isn’t comprehendible about that to you?”

Theodore takes a breath in, but quickly closes his mouth.

“No! Was your snitch-sized brain too powered up when your cock was buried inside her to be able to think with a semblance of foresight? Not even foresight, presight.”

“Not a word, love.”

She stares at him. Arms crossed. Feet firmly on the ground. Nothing about her seems unsure of herself.

Draco: “This is the end.”

Blaise, with a sad smile: “Of an era, some might say.”

Pansy: “No one would say that, Zabini.”

“Then we’re done.”

Theo chokes, “Done?”

“Over.”

“Merlin’s beard, love.”

“You ruined everything good. There’s no room for this to be misunderstood.”

“I-“

“Don’t make this moment into something that it is not. She didn’t fall into your prick, Nott.”

“Darling, jus-“

“Just fucking leave me alone.”

They all, including Theodore, watch as she walks up the stairs to the room she shares with the other girls, who are currently processing the situation on the couch.

Pansy: “I guess my bespoke reconstruction of a Delfina Crimp gown is a waste.”

Draco: “A fucking dress, Parkinson?”

Daphne: “She was so excited to start their life.”

Blaise: “I wouldn’t agree and say she feels the same anymore.”

Daphne: “Obviously not.”

Draco: “How could he? She is our friend.”

Pansy: “How could he? Men are disgusting, Malfoy.”

Blaise: “I thought women didn’t know that.”

Daphne: “Oh, we know.”

Theodore has been staring at the archway she walked through this whole time, and only just turns back to his friends, “Wizengamot?”

“About as fucked as your mistress seems to have been.”

“Pansy,” Draco breathes, “now is not the time.”

Daphne is being cradled by Blaise, who is shaking his head as he looks at his dark-haired mate.

“Not the time? Just like he said, we have time. I will spend the rest of eternity making him sorry he ever had the nerve to exist in the same reality.” Pansy had never shown such deep rooted emotions in front of her peers.

“For the record, I didn’t ask for that.”

Draco scoffs, “You mean to say that you didn’t ask that witch for a quickie in the club’s powder room?”

“You knew?” Daphne exclaims, turning to face Draco with fervor.

“I had not realized the entirety of the situation until recently.”

Theodore: “You told her?”

Draco: “Not on purpose, if it makes you feel better.”

Blaise: “Feel better? He fucked another witch!”

Pansy: “You will rue the day, Nott.”

Theodore: “You still have not given me the votes. Unambiguous, please.”

Draco: “We w-“

Daphne: “Four nays. I hope that’s not too confusing because I can’t possibly think of another way to explain.”

Blaise: “He-“

Daphne: “Oh wait, she will be happier than ever away from you.”

The group watched closely as Theodore stormed out of the common room. Not one of the four remaining Slytherin enjoyed the deep, gut-wrenching, dark storm that was forming within each of them.

“It won’t be the same, will it?”

Draco sighs, “No, Daphne. I don’t think it ever will.”

------

> If you wish to write a formal letter to Her Royal Highness, please do so here.

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[thefanficmonster]

Fated

Karl Heisenberg x Autistic, Sound-sensitive Reader (Female)

Warnings: Swearing, Spoilers for RE8:Village, Noise sensitivity

Genre: Romance, Comfort

Summary: Not everyone could love a man like Heisenberg. But Y/N isn’t everyone, nor is she just anyone. She loves him as the whole package he is: murderous intentions, human experiments and all.

Requested by @phoenixofthevalley Hi dear! Here you go - the first fic I’ve ever written for Karl Heisenberg (first of many) and thank you so much for being my first ever Resident Evil 8 requester! Hope you enjoy the read! Feel free to correct me if I’ve described anything incorrectly or in an accidentally offensive manner. I have no intention of spreading hate or any type of misconception so I’d really appreciate the correction. Love, Vy ❤

Watching Karl get so excited over this grand plan of his - the destroying of Mother Miranda, his revenge - it all makes me feel uneasy. I can’t explain the feeling, mostly cause I’ve never felt it before, and I can’t quite describe it either. I don’t connect to people easily and I’ve always been told I’m the problem but I guess it took the right person to make me feel things I haven’t felt for no one else all my life.

“The weren’t worthy of your emotions, darling.“ Karl told me on one of the rare occasions when I opened up my mind to him. I felt his words wrap around me like a comforting embrace. For the first time in my life, I felt understood.

I think that’s what took me the longest to get used to - being understood, seen and validated. My opinions had never before been taken into account seriously, my personal boundaries were rarely respected by others and people always had a hard time dealing with how distant I can be. But what bothers me above all is how people refer to me as dramatic because of my sound sensitivity - something no one took seriously when I’d tell them about it.

Karl did though, surprising me to no end.

He respects that I like my personal space and prefer not being shown much affection, especially not physical. He understands that I have a hard time showing people affection myself. He goes out of his way to make sure I’m ok with whatever it is he’s doing, saying or suggesting. And I’m sure that if I were to ever tell someone about this, they wouldn’t believe me. That’s most definitely due to his rough exterior and intimidating appearance. Also probably because he comes off as downright selfish and rude when you first meet him, but getting to know him was a journey worth taking because I now know the real him. A trust me, his rough exterior and the softness of his true self have nothing in common. Although, he does claim that softness is only reserved for me.

With all that laid out, it’s completely understandable that I don’t want him going up against Mother Miranda. Thanks to Karl I’ve never had the displeasure of running into her, but I’ve heard countless stories of how powerful and downright terrifying that witch is. Bottom line: I don’t want Karl walking into something that’s the equivalent of suicide.

And I’ve finally decided to let him know exactly how I feel about it.

I’ve been sitting here, searching for my voice as I observe Karl in his deepest thinking space. He’s constantly in it, if you ask me - constantly thinking, looking for ways to make his innovations better, stronger, more powerful to add to his chances of victory against the sadistic ruler of this village. He was already at his desk when I walked in, hunched over dozens of drawings drawn with cut-edge precision yet in his mind they are probably not near good enough. In his mind, all he does is never good enough. He prides himself on this factory and what he’s produced thus far but he cannot stay proud of himself for very long, he constantly feels the need to better himself in order to remain worthy in his eyes. I wish I could change his mindset on those grounds but I know that my tries would be futile and pointless.

“Karl?“ I suddenly speak up, surprising both him and myself. I don’t know what I was thinking opening my mouth when I still have no idea how to go about this without making it seem like I don’t believe in him. That is in no way the case. I believe he can defeat her, if he cannot do it himself, his robo-army most certainly can. But I don’t want defeating her to cost him his life cause without him in mine I’m not sure what will be left of me.

He straightens up from where he’s been hunched over for the past God knows how many hours, rolling his shoulders and stretching his arms as her turns to look at me, his sunglasses capturing the white neon light in the office as he does so.

“What is it, darling? Something wrong?“ he takes a step towards me as I stand up and go to approach him.

“Actually...“ Suddenly, that thing he keeps in a safety cell just below this room starts going off with that annoying loud sound it makes. It’s always disturbed me, ever since it came to exist which was not so long ago considering it’s been his latest project. It not only terrifies me but triggers my sound sensitivity as do most of the machines in this forsaken factory.

I close my eyes tightly shut as I cover my ears with my hands, praying for the sound to go away as soon as possible because I can’t take it. It almost makes me physically nauseous and gives me vertigo, bringing me to the brink of tears because of its loudness and intensity, like it’s drilling right into my brain.

I can’t quite pinpoint the exact moment the sound went away because when faced with such a pain-inducing experience, my senses tend to tune out while I still remain conscious, but when my hearing returns I the only thing I’m able to hear is a steady heartbeat and a steady breathing. 

“It’s ok, darling. You’re ok.“ I hear Karl’s quiet whisper, giving me peace and coaxing me into opening my eyes.

When I do so, I come to realize why the rest of the world has gone quiet. Why I’m suddenly so flooded with comfort like no one is able to bring me. No one but him.  One of my ears is pressed up to his chest while the other is covered by his warm hand which travels up to move a strand of hair from my face and put it behind my ear as he repeats his soothing words like a chant, slowly starting to let go of me out of fear that he’s crossing a line. He’s always so wary about that and I’ll forever be grateful to him for it.

“Are you ok, sweetheart?“ His hands gently cup my cheeks, tilting my head so I can look him in the eyes - directly in the eyes, for he has ridden himself of his glasses. I’ve found he does that often when around me - removes his glasses. I once asked him why that is but the answer he gave me was vague, all the while a small smile played on his face. Guess he’s a bigger secret-keeper than I primarily thought. It doesn’t bother me really, I know the only secrets he keeps are the ones that would be a hazard for my safety if he exposed me to them, so I allow him his secrets and I keep some of my own to myself. It’s only fair, after all.

I nod, blinking up at him, “Yes, I’m ok. But...“ Now or never, girl. Now or never. “But if you want me to be honest, I will be.”

He looks baffled by my answer but he doesn’t falter, quickly regaining his composure before he replies, “Of course, dear. I always want you to be honest with me. What’s on your mind, what’s bothering you?“

Now “I haven’t been really ok for a while now.” I take his hands in mine, removing them from my cheeks but holding them firmly between us - a gesture that surprises me just as much as it shocks him. Never have I felt the need to be so close to someone. It may be momentary and temporary, but I refuse to dwell on that as I push forward with my argument, “I haven’t been ok since you told me about your plane. The whole thing with Mother Miranda and all that...” Not the time to be leaving me, words. I started this, I’ll finish it. “Look, Karl, I know you and your army can bring that witch to her demise but...”

“But what, Y/N? Tell me.“ He encourages me softly, his hands subtly tightening their hold on mine as if to keep me grounded, remind me he’s listening closely to every word I’m saying. Like he always does.

“But what if it doesn’t go as planned?“ I blurt out, biting my bottom lip nervously. It makes me anxious, being so honest and emotionally exposed. That’s so rare for me I doubt I’ll ever get used to it, but that’s the only way I have at least a fragment of a chance of convincing Karl to drop this. “What if things go south and you end up killed or turned into a monster or something else?“

The concern on his face washes away when he hears my words, getting replaced by a soft, consoling smile. I quickly look away, feeling that confession on my part was quite odd. I feel out of place but not uncomfortable, I don’t know how to explain it. It almost feels like relief, like I’ve finally gotten a huge boulder off my chest and I can finally breathe properly. But I can’t, not until I hear his reply. That smile should probably tell me something but it doesn’t - I won’t believe anything until I hear it come out of his mouth with my own two ears.

“Oh Y/N, darling, you won’t lose me. Ever.“ His thumb swipes across my knuckles soothingly, drawing abstract patterns on the skin of the back of my hand, “You never need to worry about me, hun, I ain’t going anywhere. No one can take me away from you or you away from me. Anyone who dares to try, well, bad things will happen to ‘em.“ He chuckles, easing the tension enough for me to able to look up at him again. When our eyes meet again, I see something I can’t name nor describe. All I know is that what he’s telling me is genuine and comes, “I’ll always be here, by your side, Y/N. I will always be here to shield you from anything and anyone. Any rogue lycan or any loud sound, I’ll be there to prevent it from reaching you. Never forget that. Ok?“

That urge to be have him close takes over me again. I think that somewhere in the back of my mind I see a clock ticking down, counting down the numbered hours we have together before he inevitably carries out his plan. As scary as that is, I think I can do nothing but accept it.

And so, that’s exactly what I do.

Wrapping my arms around him tenderly, enveloping him in the first hug I’ve ever given him - probably the first hug anyone has given him - I accept our fate, silently hoping it changes somewhere along the lines.

“Ok.“

[jamiewintons]

I had to ask for the fluff prompts: “Have you seen my hoodie?” “Noo.” “You’re wearing it, aren’t you?” for Jamie (poor Jamie, he keep getting his clothes stolen 😂)

From this prompt list.

Warnings: One s*xual reference.

Today was the day that you were finally moving in, and Jamie was excited. He couldn't stop himself from smiling as he got ready to go over to your place and help you pack your things up. He'd showered, gotten dressed, and was almost prepared to walk out the door, but there was one more thing he needed, as it was a rather cold day outside.

His favourite red hoodie was nowhere to be found. He'd checked everywhere around the house, but it just seemed to have disappeared without a trace. Jamie thought back to the last time he remembered seeing it, and…

Ah, that explained it.

It seemed that Jamie's favourite hoodie happened to be your favourite as well. Ever since the first time he'd given it to you to wear when you'd forgotten to bring a jumper of your own, you'd been mildly obsessed with it. Oftentimes you'd be wearing it when you were at his place, and conveniently "forget" you had it when you left. Honestly Jamie didn't mind if you wanted to keep it, he just didn't quite understand your fascination with it.

Knowing that he wasn't going to find his hoodie anywhere in his own house, Jamie grabbed a different jacket, along with his phone so he could call you before he left. He opened his phone and called your number, patiently waiting for you to pick up.

It only took a few rings before he heard your tired voice on the other end. "Morning Jamie," you said, clearly trying to fight off a yawn.

"Good morning, love, I didn't wake you, did I?"

"No, I've been awake for a while. I just had a bit of trouble getting to sleep last night, I guess I was just too excited." Jamie's smile widened when you said that, because he'd felt the exact same way. It had been a struggle to shut his brain off and drift off to sleep.

"Well, do you want me to come over now? The sooner we get everything sorted the sooner we can relax." To be fair, it probably wouldn't take that long, since a lot of your stuff was already at Jamie's place anyway.

"Sounds good. I'll see you soon, then?"

"Wait, before you go, have you seen my hoodie?" Jamie asked, pretending like he didn't already know the answer to his question.

You were silent for a few moments until you spoke up again, giving a rather unconvincing, "Nooo…."

"You're wearing it, aren't you?"

"…Yes."

"Why don't you just keep it? It looks better on you anyway." Jamie had offered it to you many times, but you always refused, only to steal it again at the next given opportunity.

"That's not how this works, Jamie. If you let me keep this, I'll just have to steal another item of your clothing… and if things continue like that, you'll end up with no clothes to wear at all." You hummed in thought momentarily. "Actually, that doesn't sound so bad…"

You didn't need to see Jamie with your own eyes to know that he was blushing, by the way he stammered over his words as if he'd forgotten what he was going to say. You weren't able to help yourself from giggling at how easy it was to fluster Jamie. He was just too cute.

"Don't worry, Jamie, I'd never do something so cruel," you told him, wishing that you could see the expression on his face. "Come on, let's get this over and done with. I'm sick of not living with you."

Jamie's smile returned. Once again, he felt the exact same way.

Requests for fics/drabbles, headcanons, and character preferences are currently OPEN!

[reidingmelodies]

His Greatest Mistake

Pairing: Spencer Reid x gn! Reader Category: Angst with a dash of fluff Includes: Sad Spencer, brief mention of injury, implied emotional cheating Word Count: 1.4k (oops) A/N: This was requested by @ssa-m-187 based on the song Be My Mistake by The 1975!  Thank you so much for the request, this one was a challenge in the best way and I loved every second of writing it ♡

Masterlist | Ash’s 500 Bash

It was never supposed to be like this.  It was supposed to be him taking engagement photos with you, him sending save the dates with you, him sitting by your side and planning the wedding you had always imagined.

Instead, it was him clutching the picture he was so obviously absent from to his chest in the dim light of his apartment.

He knew something had happened the second he walked into the bullpen that morning.  The room was quiet, any and all previous conversation halting the moment he locked eyes with Penelope across the way.  

And he knew.  When her eyes shifted towards the floor and her breath stuttered in her throat he knew in his soul that it had to do with you.

But he never imagined this.

She dropped the picture into his hands with murmured words of comfort, leaving him with the promise that she would be in her office alongside a cup of coffee with his name on it if he needed to talk.

And as she walked away, he turned the picture over and felt his heart break into a thousand fragments with no hopes of ever being repaired.

The phrase ‘save the date!’ glared at Spencer from the top of the cardstock, but nothing compared to the feeling of ice in his veins at the sight of your smile.

It was a smile he hadn’t seen in person in 3 years, 4 months, and 12 days, but it still danced through the forefront of his brain each night he went to sleep and each morning he awoke next to his greatest mistake.

And as he sat in his apartment after a day of comforting glances laced with pity thrown at him from each direction he couldn’t help but relish on the what ifs.

What if he had loved you better?

What if he had fought harder?

What if he called you instead of her that night?

Loving you was the easiest and yet the most courageous thing he’d ever done.  With you, casual touches came quicker, tough conversations came easier, confessions of love flowed smoother.

Not like with her.

He had met you exactly 6 years, 5 months, and 18 days ago in the most cliche of ways- when he spilled his coffee on your shirt as you were reaching around him for your own drink.

Stuttered apologies somehow turned into telling stories over cups of freshly brewed coffee and before either of you knew it he was leaving the shop with your number in his phone and plans to see you again on Saturday at your favorite museum.

And then Saturday brought along the promise of more dates which turned into spending nights entangled under sheets and mornings filled with apartment hunting before finally signing the papers for a place of your own.

And for 3 years, 1 month, and 6 days it was bliss.

At least that’s what he liked to tell himself.

The bricks that had surrounded his heart were entirely non-existent when it came to you.  You held the key to the inner workings of his heart, and you would safeguard it with your life if you were asked.

And he held the key to yours too, but it turns out that only meant so much.

The majority of your relationship was simplicity in the sweetest form.  It was the feel of your favorite sweater, the smell of your favorite candle, the taste of your go to comfort beverage.

It was simple.  And yet, it was everything.

He longed for the moments a case would end and he could fall into your arms with the promise of drifting to sleep with the feel of your fingers mindlessly spelling ‘I love you’ along his back.  Time off of work was spent cuddled together on the couch, letting the sounds of whatever was playing on the television serve as the background noise for whatever silly debate the two of you had fallen into.

It was simple.  But somewhere along the way the simplicity gave way to complications.

2 years, 9 months, and 18 days into your relationship he found himself enthralled by a guest speaker at your favorite library.  You had to work late so you weren’t able to come, but at the moment he found himself grateful for that because it meant more time with her.

It meant more time to bounce theories off of her, more time to be absolutely captivated by her genius.

It also meant more time for them to trade phone numbers.

And later that night as he told you all about the speech and the amazing lecturer he had met you were ecstatic that the lecture turned out even better than he had hoped.

That ecstatic feeling probably would have dimmed if you knew about the phone number burning a hole in his pocket though.

As the weeks flew by he found himself calling her more and more.  It was never of a romantic nature, always related to one theory or another, but it was enough to draw his attention away from you.

And as the distance between you and him grew, and grew, and grew, one of you was sitting at home desperately thinking of ways to fix it while the other was making up excuses about misplaced paperwork keeping him at work while the low battery tone of his phone chimed away in his pocket.

And on the 1,132nd day the greatest love Spencer ever knew crumbled to the ground.

The case was bad.  So bad, in fact, that he found himself in a hospital bed for a few days after a close call with an unsub.

But as much as everyone told him to call you, you weren’t the one he longed to talk to.

As visiting hours ended and the team left his bedside to get some well-needed rest, he found himself glued to his phone talking to her.  

And while her voice was what he so desperately wanted to hear, he couldn’t help the pang in his gut every time he ignored one of your calls as yours was the voice he so desperately needed to hear.

On the plane ride home, he thought of all the ways he could explain the delayed homecoming to you, all the ways he could hide the wounds gracing his chest from you for the next few weeks.

But, he should’ve known someone would have told you.

He came home to your suitcases packed while you sat in the sea of luggage against the sofa you had picked out together in the blissful beginning of your relationship.

Oh, how he longed to be back there now.

He wanted you to scream, to storm out, to do anything that would lessen the guilt that maliciously tore at his soul.

But instead, you were calm, albeit heartbroken.  You explained you had a feeling something was going on, but the fact that he had gotten hurt and didn’t even tell you proved it.  You told him it was okay, that you wished him all the best, and then you left.  With a tear running down your face but your posture holding all the grace in the world.

And somehow, your calm nature in the midst of his internal storm made it even worse.

He needed to do something, anything, to get out of the apartment that was a living, breathing museum dedicated to your love.  

He should’ve chased after you.  But instead, he went to her.

And with that decision, his future was set in stone.

No matter how riveting his conversations were with her, they didn’t hold a candle to the debates he had with you.  With you, cuddles before bed were an honored tradition; with her, it was custom to stare at the wall and keep his hands to himself until he fell asleep to the thought of your smile.  

He saw you in everything.  In the bouquet she placed on the table (they were your favorite flowers), in the body wash she used (it was your least favorite scent- and because of that it was his least favorite, too), in the book she kept next to her bed (it was the book he used to read to you on nights you couldn’t sleep).

You were everywhere and nowhere all at once.

And now, as she called him to bed and he stuffed your photo in between the pages of the first book he could reach he knew without a shadow of a doubt that he had made a terrible mistake.

A mistake that he was destined to fall asleep next to that night, wishing that instead of her, it was you.  

***

Link to join my taglist ♡

Permanent Taglist: @calm-and-doctor @reidyoulikeabook @shadyladyperfection @homoose Spencer Taglist:  @averyhotchner @muffin-cup

[diavolosthots]

Hey Queen! Beautiful Queen whom I love and adore! <3 It's me! Your bitch! That bitch! I was just thinking like, some wholesome Belphie is very much needed everywhere and for everyone. Like, MC is feeling super cuddly and stuff and they go to Belphie and it's just super fluffy and super cute, and really sweet - @belphies-cuhm-sluht <3

I scrolled until I found your request because I know you need it and I hope you feel better soon, cutie @belphies-cuhm-sluht

Cow Pillow (BELPHEGOR X GN!READER)

It used to be that sleeping your life away felt almost like a sin, like it wasn’t allowed. There was a time for sleeping and there was a time for doing things and out of 24 hours in a day, only eight could be spent resting or you’d feel guilty. Maybe it’s the work drive in you or maybe it’s the feeling of endless guilt that makes you feel like you have to prove yourself by doing things, more things, and definitely things done better than by others. Maybe it’s also because too many people called you lazy throughout your life so you vowed to never be lazy, somewhat neglecting your own self to prove to others that you were worth it. Who cares if you suffered, as long as everyone else was happy with you, right? 

But throughout the years you found loopholes in that. They’re not even loopholes, but to you it makes more sense, and it makes you feel less guilty, rather than outright admitting that you like being lazy. These loopholes range from things like “I have spring allergies so I need some more rest…” to “well, it’s technically not due until the 25th…” to “People deserve love and affection and cuddling is my preferred type. It’s necessary to be loved in order to function.” All of these are valid all on their own, and yes, all of them are considered valid reasons, but it still makes you feel guilty admitting that, so you call them loopholes. Life’s loopholes to make you feel a little less shitty about something that’s, in all actuality, completely normal. 

Today’s ‘loophole’ however, was actually something new to you, kind of. It was rainy and storming; the perfect weather to kick back and just relax. Maybe read a book so you couldn’t call yourself completely lazy. After all, reading does challenge the brain and as long as you’re stimulating some part of yourself, whether that be mental or physical, it’s okay, right? It totally counts. But you also had someone with you that’s… the complete opposite of you and he lured you in. He lures you into the deep depths of laziness that you’re unsure you’ll ever be able to get out of once you’re in them. It’s almost creepy how he does it, too, without even lifting a finger. Without a worry in his mind. Without… trying. 

Belphegor didn’t care what people thought and somewhere, you admired him for that. He made it seem so easy. So what, he sleeps for 36 hours straight and no one bats an eye. If they do, he just avoids them. He doesn’t even pretend to give them the time of day and he’s explained it to you many times before. “Why would I worry about people I will never have to deal with, ever? Now that’s tiresome.” and it made sense. It would be tiresome to constantly think about how other people view you, don’t you think? Belphegor himself is hated by some, neutral for many, and loved by few, but he doesn’t care. The few people that love him, love him a whole lot and that’s all it takes for him. Maybe it’s also easier for him because that’s his avatar. Maybe. He does wonder how you do worry so much, though, because to him, that is crazy. 

He actually made it a point to influence you as much as he can just because you’re almost as bad as Lucifer when it comes to getting stuff done and besides the fact that it’s, in his eyes, annoying, he also doesn’t want someone as interesting as you to end up with Lucifer. What’s that supposed to be? Wanna-be dad and step-parent? The last thing he needs is for the person he’s interested in to call him son. No thank you. Anyway, he made it a point to enter your dreams and drag them out a little bit (a lot) longer than they’d usually have. The small “oh my God I slept through my alarm!” that he heard the first few times had him laughing, but also thinking about how adorable it is. “You worry too much…” is what he’d mumble in his own sleepy voice. 

Now it’s gotten to a point where he openly talks to you in your dreams and you willingly drag things out with him, but when you try to do the same in the actual world? He pretends to be asleep. Not because he doesn’t like talking to you, but he just feels more comfortable when he’s somewhat in control and can remove himself from the situation if need be, you know? That’s why he keeps his distance. He did openly admit that to you, though, and that’s fine. At least you know where he stands and that he doesn’t hate you. However, today you just… you just can’t wait until you fall asleep and until he enters your mind. It’s raining outside and you feel somewhat lonely. You’re in need of company and he’s your favorite type of company, even if you mainly hang out together in your mind. So today, you decided to just go into his room and join him. The worst he can do is say no, right? 

But he didn’t even do that. As a matter of fact, he didn’t even realize you entered until you stood in front of him and in all honesty, he didn’t even fully register that either. It’s more like… he realizes he’s not alone but he’s also not awake and he definitely doesn’t care enough to open his eyes. “Hm?” You were already whispering his name, explaining awkwardly that you just needed to cuddle. “Cuddle…” he just repeated the last word, rolling over onto his back and for a moment you feared he didn’t even recognize a thing you just said. “Okay… come here then.” “Hm? Are you sure? I can leave again Belphie…” Maybe you should take this day to do something productive? Everyone else will already be lazy so one person should do something, right? 

“Yes, come here. Lay down so I can lay on you.” He’s still not opening his eyes, only scooting back for you to join him on his bed and then waiting. You can either join or leave again and he doesn’t really care which option you choose. Except he does. He just won’t admit it if you choose wrong. “O...okay… yeah. I’m already here.” And you really, really would like to cuddle with him, after all. You laid down beside him, carefully, trying to respect his boundaries but also trying to remember that he did want to lay on you so should You lay on your back? “Oh… oh yeah okay this is fine.” You couldn’t even ask him because the minute he felt the bed dip, he moved back closer to you and curled into your side, placing his head on your chest and wrapping his arm around you. 

“Is this okay? Belphie?” He only hummed in response, nuzzling into you, and you carefully wrapped your arms around him too. It felt nice. Really nice, and you found yourself relaxing almost immediately, although you did blame it on Belphie more than anything. He does have that calming effect on people after all. “You’re better than the pillow, but…” You looked down at his head confused until you felt him shift, his face buried deep in your chest now while he tried to keep his horns away from poking you. His tail swayed behind him for a second before wrapping around your waist right beside his arms. “That’s better…” you looked at him, poking his horn for a moment before laughing. How is this better? How is this comfortable? Can he breathe? He must be breathing otherwise he wouldn’t lay like this, right? 

“You worry too much…” “What?” How did he know? You weren’t even asleep yet. He chuckled, lifting his head a bit and smiling at you, eyes still closed. “I don’t need you to be asleep in order to be inside your head… stop worrying so much. I know you want this.” He put his head back down right after, his whole body relaxing against yours and for a moment you wondered if this actually happened. “Belphie… I just…!” “Yeah I know. You want this but you worry about not doing enough. Just shut up already, okay? You, of all people, deserve to relax and what better way to relax than with me? Just ssshh… go to sleep. I won’t let you leave until I decide that you have rested enough.” And by that he means… you’re stuck with him on top of you until the next day has come and he’s thoroughly convinced you took some time for yourself. 

“You’re so silly, Belphie…” But it also felt really, really nice to have someone that seemed to care so much. And he does. He cares a lot. And he wishes you’d be more like him, in a sense, but then again… he’d just keep you with him at all times and make you his new cow pillow. It’s not like that’s going to be an issue, though, right? 

[sopebubbles]

❣thirty: a deal

Bulletproof Heart

Hoseok's stomach turns whenever he thinks of Yoongi's hands on Y/n. Seeing the other boy try to kiss her the night before had filled him with rage. It wasn't just the uneasy, bubbling feeling he'd gotten when he saw Y/n with Seokjin, or even the concern he felt when he saw her kissing Tae. No, this was pain, like he heart was being ripped out. The thought of Yoongi forcing himself on her made him sick, even worse that he wasn't there to stop it and couldn't make her feel better at the time.

"Wait. I remember that night," Hoseok interrupts as she tells him about the incident while they sit in his bedroom. "I remember that night, going into your bed and you didn't come in until several minutes later. You locked the door. You looked scared. That was why?" Y/n only nods while he paces in front of her. "But that...Y/n was that your first kiss?"

She nods again. "I didn't want it to be my first other things. And he seemed like he was in that mood, y'know? So I went to my room." Hoseok comes down to his knees right in front of her and takes her hands in his. 

"Angel, why didn't you tell me?" He rests his chin on her knee and frowns at her.

"I didn't want you to worry." Y/n shrugs. 

"I can't remember, when was this?"

"Right before school started."

Hoseok eyebrows raise together. "Right before Yoongi started being really awful to you?" 

Y/n hums and nods. She'd thought vaguely about that connection before but she hadn't wanted to look at it too closely.

"I think I'm gonna be sick. I don't want to think that he started acting like that because...what? He liked you and you rejected him? It doesn't make sense."

Y/n shakes her head sadly. "I honestly don't know. Maybe he wanted me to stop hanging around so much. I really didn't think he remembered. He acted like nothing had happened the next day."

Hoseok scoffs. "That was to save his stupid pride. I've never known someone so disgustingly bad at emotions. I can't believe all of this has been because you brushed him off."

Y/n looks down sadly rubbing her toes together. "Are you mad at me?"

Hobi can't help but let out a surprised laugh and cock his head to the side. "What should I be mad at you for, babygirl?"

"I don't know." She can't explain the tears in her eyes either or why they start to fall. "For not telling you or for not confronting him. For letting things get this far. For everything falling apart."

Seeing her cry once again, when it's something she rarely used to do, breaks his heart all over again. Hoseok quickly moves from his spot on the floor to sit with her on the bed. He pulls her in between his legs and cups her cheeks in his hands to wipe away her tears. "Baby, no. I do wish you had told me, but none of this is your fault. You didn't invite or encourage any of these actions. I don't blame you for anything." He continues to hold her face in his hands as she nods her understanding and her tears cease to flow. He's suddenly overwhelmed by being so close to her. It's not as though he hasn't been so close to her before, especially recently. But right now the way her red rimmed eyes are looking at him is making his heart beat fast, and the scent of her is filling his nostrils, making him want to lean into her neck for more. His eyes flicker from her own down to her lips, and he's close enough, his brain tells him, it's just a few inches between them he could close and kiss her soft lips. He never has before. Never dared, hardly ever even thought about it, really. Not until recently. But now it seems like everyone else has, so there is something inside of him that tells him her lips should be kissing his and not that kid Taehyung's. Definitely not that bastard, Min Yoongi. The question briefly flits across his mind, if she's kissed Seokjin yet. He could lean in, but he doesn't. He won't take what's not his like some do. He could ask, but how could he possibly speak the words to his best friend? Still he'll scream if he isn't somehow closer to her, so he tilts his head to the side and kisses her damp cheek before he pulls her closer to him and breathes her in.

"I can't think of anything you would ever do that would make me truly angry with you, angel. So don't worry about that, okay?"

"Okay," she mumbles into his shoulder as she wraps her arms around him. She'd felt the tension of that moment too, but it all happened so fast she thinks maybe she'd imagined it, like all the other moments she thinks she's imagined with him. We're just close, she tells herself. We've always just been close.

"But you'd tell me if you kissed Seokjin, right?" He can't seem to stop the words from coming out of his mouth but he wishes he could shove them back inside.

Y/n snorts. "I don't think you'll have to worry about that."

Hoseok pulls away to see her expression. It's slightly sad, but he can't guess why. "What makes you say that? You two seem crazy about each other."

Y/n let's her hands rest in between them and focuses on them while she talks. "I wouldn't go that far. We have actually talked about our feelings for each other, or at least he said he likes me and I said I'm confused because my whole life is a mess. But truthfully I just think he deserves someone a whole lot better than me, and I haven't figured out how to tell him that yet."

Hoseok's whole face contorts. "Okay, I take it back. You can make me a little angry at you if you talk badly about yourself. How could he find anyone better than you?"

"Cmon, Hobi. I know you love me in spite of knowing every terrible thing about me and my life, but I'm a disaster and he should be with someone he can just have fun with and doesn't have to save all the time."

He hums. "I think he likes saving you," Hobi muses. "Don't get me wrong. I'm sure he'd much rather you had a simpler, nicer life just as much as I do. But I think he's more than happy to be there for you any time the need arises. Jin isn't an idiot. He knows what he's getting into and what he can handle. I think if he likes you and you like him, you shouldn't let that hold you back." 

Y/n gives him a shy smile. "You'd give me away that easily?" she teases. 

Hobi swallows thickly. He knows it's a joke, but it takes him a moment before he can respond in kind. "Don't you think I deserve better than a mess like you, too?" His smile lets her know he doesn't mean it, but she responds sincerely. 

"Absolutely. In fact, I don't think there's anyone in the world good enough to deserve my Hope." She pauses to smirk at him. "Except maybe Kim Seokjin."

Hobi laughs heartily. "Maybe I'll steal him from you."

Y/n's features fall, but not because of the thought of losing Seokjin to her best friend.

"What is it?" He asks with a nudge.

"Namjoon still has never come out to me. I'm sure he didn't think I knew about his feelings for Yoongi. So I just wondered...about you…"

"If I'm gay?"

"If you're anything...but you don't have to tell me. It's personal, so…"

Hobi smiles wide, amused that she thinks there's anything he wouldn't share with her if she asked, as if there's anything too personal between. "Well, for your information, I'm bi."

"No way, me too! High five!" The two slap their hands together before unraveling into a fit of laughter. Soon their giggles settle and silence falls again. "You know Joon was out of line last night. But I know he didn't mean it."

Y/n twiddle her thumbs. "Maybe he did, maybe he didn’t," she replies sadly.

"It's okay to be mad at him. It was wrong."

"I'm not mad. What he said hurt, obviously. But I can't imagine how much he's hurting if he said those things. I wish I could make it better for him. But we never let each other in, do we? Maybe if I'd told him sooner..." Y/n's eyes drift to gaze out the window to the gloomy skies outside.

"I'm sure you'll find a way to put things back together eventually. But some time and space to think and grow may not be the worst thing." Hobi's thumb strokes over her cheek soothingly. When she only responds sigh a small nod, he tries to think of a distraction. "Hey! We were supposed to work on a song!" Hoseok suddenly remembers. 

"Oh, yeah! Let me show you some beats." Hobi hands over the bag he brought for her from her house, and they spend the next couple of hours discussing their collaboration, still sitting just as close.

>>

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