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t1red-twilight · 5 months

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1.5 pints

summary: you get injured on a case and spencer is…worried to say the least.

warnings/content: gn!reader, fluff, hurt/comfort, medically inaccurate (i googled stuff but idk), spencer/reader have ptsd, cannon typical injury (bullet wound),non-sexual nudity, spencer passenger princess confirmed, friends totally share a bed regularly

word count: 1.4k

masterlist

you had gotten injured after a case. it wasn’t anything serious, you had just gotten grazed by a bullet on your upper arm on your dominant side. it stung like a bitch, and bled quite a bit, but it wasn’t anything to cry over. even still, you were bandaged by paramedics before being sent on your way.

the case hadn’t been far from quantico, just a forty-five minute drive or so. spencer had silently insisted on sitting next to you in the suv. the air was awkward. not uncomfortable, per se, it was just that everyone in the car could feel that spencer was definitely upset.

once back at quantico, everyone split up to go to their homes. hotch informed everyone that you would all have the next day off. you searched through your go-bag for your car keys, when you suddenly felt a presence behind you.

spencer’s natural scent of linen and citrus would always be familiar to you. you’d recognize it anywhere. “hey spence.”

“how’d you know it was me?”

you turned around, shrugging. “lucky guess,” you smiled a lopsided smile. there was a momentary pause.

“is your arm okay?”

chuckling lightly, you shifted your weight onto one foot. “yeah, i’m alright. do you need anything?”

he was avoiding eye contact more than usual. “i think you should come over to my place tonight.”

you quirked an eyebrow. there was this unspoken arrangement the two of you had; you’d switch off spending the night at each other’s apartments. it had started when spencer began having ptsd-fueled nightmares again and you had recurring bouts of insomnia. and this consisted of sleeping in the same bed, to comfort each other.

“yeah?” there was an overwhelming feeling that he was more upset than he was leading on, and this was even more evident considering his behavior on the ride back to quantico.

“…yeah. i just want to make sure you’re okay.”

you snorted. “of course you do, spencer.” he finally looked up and resumed eye contact.

“what do you mean?”

“i don’t mean anything.” you twirled your keys around your finger, chuckling lightly at the thought of spencer being caught up in what was to you, a very minuscule injury. gesturing to your car, you add on, “well, we should get going then.”

he walked around to the driver’s side of the car and motioned for your keys. spencer wasn’t very keen on driving; he much preferred his passenger princess privileges and tendencies. confusion and minor amusement flooded your features. “you want to drive?”

“uh, yeah. you shouldn’t be lifting your arm, it could tear your stitches.” the sass in his tone almost made you double take.

“hey, i think i’ll be fine, okay? you don’t have to worry about me because i got scratched.” your tone was more genuine but still held a playful element. he sighs and looks a little incredulous.

“just let me drive. please.” taken aback, you hand over the keys and walk over to the passenger side. you raise your dominant arm to open the door. spencer quickly rushes over to open the door for you. “please don’t.”

“uh, okay,” you reply in a quieter voice. as you buckle your seatbelt, spencer gets into the drivers side seat. he somehow finds a classical station on the radio (it’s not all too surprising that he probably has them memorized), and the rest of the ride goes on without a hitch or bump.

when you arrive at his apartment, spencer runs to your side of the car. he opens your door for you, and helps you out of the car. “you don’t have to baby me, spence.” he mumbles out a response. “what?” you question back.

“can you please take this seriously?” your eyes widen at his more stern timbre. a semi-sarcastic thumbs up is all you give him.

the walk up to his apartment is exceedingly more tense. you try to focus more in the scent of the old building rather than spencer’s apparent disappointment in you. the building smells like, well, old building, and the floor creaks fifteen times on the way to the elevator and to his front door.

you both cross the threshold and he sets his crossbody bag down near the entryway. you didn’t bring up your go bag, as you have plenty of things at his apartment already.

he grabs your hand and leads you to his bedroom. he proceeds to hand you some pajamas: an old mit shirt and soft shorts that you left prior. you wait for him to leave, but he doesn’t. “are you going to let me change?” he looks at you exasperatedly.

“you can’t move your arm.”

“yes. i can.”

“you can, but you shouldn’t. please let me help you.” you just about roll your eyes, but you stop yourself.

“i can undress myself. i just got grazed.” you’re getting more annoyed.

“grazed? you almost fell over from the blood loss. morgan had to hold you up. the average human body has around ten pints of blood and you lost one and a half- that’s 15%. that’s not a graze-“

your eyebrows raise. he was taking this very seriously. “the bullet didn’t penetrate. i didn’t need a transfusion, and it was by no means fatal in any way.” injuries like this have occurred before on the team, and the team has recovered.

“yes, but if you lost 5% more blood, you might have lost consciousness and needed a transfusion. can you please take this seriously?”

surprisingly, you didn’t respond immediately. spencer, and everyone for that matter, had known you to be quite stubborn and not known to back down.

“you got shot. you should be taking this more seriously.”

“you could barely even consider it a shot, spencer. besides, it’s better me than anyone else.”

his eyes widen. “how can you be so reckless?” you don’t respond at all this time. you just look down at the clothes in your hands.

“please,” he quietly says your name, “you just really mean a lot to me. i don’t want anything to happen to you.”

if your eyebrows weren’t high before, they sure as hell were now. “can you promise me? that you’ll take your health into consideration more? i have no clue what i’d- what the team would do without you.”

his slip-up does not go unnoticed. “okay.” you swallow your pride. “i will.”

he sighs in relief. “now please, let help you.” his eyes glance up from the floor to meet yours. you nod and he steps closer. both of your movements are awkward as he places his hands on the buttons of your shirt. he unbuttons it quite slowly, and pulls it down your arms.

he’d seen you in more compromising situations before, so this is nothing new. “put your arms out, but not up, please.” he then proceeds to put his old college alumni shirt over your arms first before pulling it over your head. “i think, you can, uh, put the shorts on yourself. just don’t lift your arms too high.”

“i won’t. i promise.” you give what you think is a convincing smile and he leaves to the bathroom.

when he returns, he is also dressed for bed. he guides you to the bathroom to brush your teeth. he babies you as much as is physically possible, but you draw the line at him brushing your teeth for you.

“dude. i’ll be careful. i’ll just use my other arm.” the task proves to be weird and uncoordinated.

you both finish brushing your teeth at about the same time. you follow him to the bedroom.

his feet pad across the carpet softly. the socks he’s wearing isn’t shocking to you at all; it’s a habit of his he’s gotten used to. he turns on his lamp on the side table, and turns out the big light.

he draws back the covers before you can, and you swing you legs onto the bed. you pull the covers up to your chin before he can tuck you in or something. one can only handle being babied for so long, after all.

he has one of those fancy dimming lamps. it casts a soft glow over the room without being too overwhelming. and because he likes it this way, so do you.

he turns onto his side and places his hands under his pillow. you begin to turn onto your side, but he stops you. “don’t put too much pressure on it.” you compromise by turning your head towards him.

his eyes are big and his lips are slightly parted. his breathing is deep and slow. you don’t know who falls asleep first, just that you both slowly inched closer so that eventually there was only about two fingers worth of space between you.

#i’m so normal about spencer #everyone in this just lowkey needs a hug #lee’s writing <3 #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #fluff #spencer reid fluff #x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #fanfic #hurt/comfort

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wordsvomit101 · 3 months

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I will hide this soon but I somewhat got my thoughts together on this chat

Notes: Credit is to @shyanimeboi and their friend, I only got these images from before everything got taken down. And the chat images are only small parts of the full things.

Warning: There will be spoilers for the main story

So Lucifer actually gives some info about how Gehenna is the country where devils are the loudest and laugh the most compared to other countries and how they have the least amount of insomniacs, yet ironically their own king suffers from insomnia the most.

Now, I really like Satan, but I never thought much of him besides that I think he is a hissing cat and a very cool motorcycle guy who likes to spank you and kick his followers and has a very interesting friendship with Mammon (that bromance alone deserve its own analysis). But with the context Lucifer gave us, I can see how self-sacrificial Satan is as a King and how his followers will do the same for him.

Devils in Gehenna can be destructive, as shown in the main story, Leraye's event with Sitri and Paimon, and Lucifer's Selfie Card prologue, but compared to devils in other countries, how they manage through war and their outlooks on it are very fascinating. They're cheerful and very assertive in battle, even running first to danger with enthusiasm:

(Yes Leraye did indeed moan out loud being stabbed through the arm trying to be the shield. Love him but the dude needs someone with a bit of common sense in his life to save his ass from dying for real)

And how easily excitable and easygoing they are with MC and being injured (even explain why with a big smile like dudes are talking about losing both of his legs as if he is commenting about the weather):

I didn't think much of it and took it at face value but now thinking about it further. How can most of them be like this? Being the country where devils are the rowdiest and destructive yet have a community so tight-knit that their violent tendencies never break the strict hierarchy (how they address the nobles and how they respect each other), maintain a very positive attitude despite being the country that is attacked by angels and suffers from angelification the most by far, and easily unified with a common goal. For me, it also took something else other than love to be able to maintain that attitude.

It has been too long since it made me forget why I liked Satan in the first place. In my personal opinion, as the king of wrath, Satan embodies a formidable and unyielding strength. His constant anger can be seen as a source of power, fueling his ability to protect and lead his people with an uncompromising approach. By personifying wrath, Satan takes on the collective anger of people and shoulders their emotions of anger, fear, and insecurity, like how he was when MC got angry, it fuels him further but it might also burden him like a drug. Yet, this allows his followers to weather through the stress of war, and as their leader channels and contains the destructive emotions that might otherwise disrupt their society being one of the reasons.

While Satan is perpetually angry, his followers only exhibit a controlled form of violent temper that is not taken seriously even by Sitri. This difference in emotional intensity is crucial. Satan’s role as the emotional absorber ensures that his citizens’ anger never reaches the destructive levels that could harm the community. Gehenna's devil's violent temper is a recipe for disaster but it is controlled, expressed through minor conflicts, brawls, and property damage, and serves as a controlled release of frustration. This behavior, although disruptive on the surface, is actually a stabilizing force, preventing deeper, more harmful conflicts by allowing for regular, minor (please don't be like them irl and seek professional help if you exhibit the same behaviors, these people are fictional demons so their standards are not the same in reality) venting of emotions.

The outcome of Satan's actions is a society where people are the least insomniac and laugh the most. This sadly contrasts with Satan's own issues, where he becomes the most insomniac devil who cannot close his eyes when asleep and is said by Lucifer to have long been a depressive guy, who is always hard on himself the most and he is the type to be glad that his restless wakefulness helps you have a restful night.

From what I think, Satan's insomnia can be seen as a metaphor for the relentless vigilance and constant anxiety that comes with his responsibility of being his country's leader amidst the biggest war Hell ever experienced and having his country be the one that gets attacked the most. This inner self-sacrifice is a testament to his commitment to his people’s happiness and stability, even at the cost of his own peace. Yet he always shows to be confident and strong, and because in a stressful situation, he always remains level-headed despite how he usually acts (ex: He is the one who stops Sitri and Leraye from attacking Lucifer in the Two-Star event). He is also the one person who is calm and gives out a clear order of what to do and can rally everyone's morale, as well as the immense power and authority to command respect from others and back up his claims.

But more than anything, what devils in Gehenna respect him for the most is how his love for his people speaks louder than words.

In the situation he is in, he can't be weak for any moment even when he secretly wants to. He can't break down because if he falls, what would become of his country, which probably is the question he might ask himself a lot. So he can't let himself be vulnerable even if others know how hurt he is inside.

To make this more relatable, I will be honest, I don't usually connect much with leader characters because I don't understand their struggles. But when I put father being the metaphor for a leader, it becomes a lot easier to see the picture a bit more. Satan is like a father (King) in this, being the pillar of the house (Gehenna), he puts his people's emotions and well-being before himself, he either protects them as best as he can or he will be the one to do the hardest thing and the dirty work that most would not willing to do. And that is another way he shows his love as well.

Personally, not only does he love them but he also respects them as well, he is rough and not gentle about it but he always acknowledges their efforts. (like a dad-)

But it is a mutual thing, as much as Satan loves them, his citizens also share the same feelings. They let Satan draw power from their blood, which indicates a deep level of devotion and willingness to sacrifice. Blood, often seen as a symbol of life and vitality, represents the most personal and significant offering one can give. It is also canon that Satan can only draw power from the blood of people who love him, the obvious being Sitri.

But if that doesn't convince you and you get angry at Satan for treating Sitri like an unwilling personal blood bag then let's look, buddy, this guy is a simp- He eats more food rich with iron so he doing fine.

Gehenna's devils also treat Satan's kicks as special treatment to be fought over suggesting a ritualistic or symbolic form of reverence. This is seen as a badge of honor or a sign of personal attention from their leader. It shows that even seemingly negative actions from Satan are perceived as valuable or desirable. They're masochists, even if harsh, it is still a form of validation or connection.

And whatever horror collection of plushies Satan rips in half that Leraye got going on with this:

With all of this, I can see why Gehenna is the most romantic country, they expressed their love very clearly due to the foundational elements of mutual sacrifice, emotional stability, cultural norms of validation, and a unified community with shared values. The intense emotional bonds and the willingness to endure hardships for the sake of others create an environment where romance can thrive. This setting can foster deep, meaningful relationships that are built on trust, sacrifice, and unwavering devotion, making Gehenna the most romantic in a unique way.

This is more of me yapping about Satan and Gehenna than anything so sorry if you expected it to be Lucifer, this is probably part 1 and part 2 would be the end of this short series.

#whb #what in hell is bad #wordsvomit notes #whb satan #whb spoilers #whb sitri #whb lucifer

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halfmoth-halfman · 4 months

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Cafuné

Pairing: Choso Kamo x GN!Reader Word Count: 1.3k Warnings: fluff, implied smut, some talk about veins A/N: ngl the theme for this was supposed to be flower crowns but i got carried away so enjoy the intimate fluff and just like pretend choso has a flower crown on or st 💜

cafuné {n} - the gesture of tenderly caressing somebody else's hair.

Of all the things Choso enjoys in the world, there are few he truly loves.

He can count them all on one hand — three fingers if he really thinks about it.

His brothers come first, counted on his index finger. His blood. His family. His number one priority.

Then there’s you, technically family, but deserving of a space made specially for you. He counts you on his ring finger, symbolized by the thin, black line tattooed around it.

Yuji catches him staring at it often, teasing Choso about how lovesick he is when you’re not near. Choso doesn’t care; he knows he’s incomplete without you. How can he not be without half of his soul?

Third, and finally, your hands.

It started the first time you patched him up. Your hands were gentle on his skin, trying not to aggravate his wounds. The heat from your palms sunk deep into his veins, warming him all the way to his heart. You looked so beautiful concentrating on him, and Choso felt the selfish hope that you’d only help him this way. You finished too quickly for his taste, leaving him with a kind smile. The warmth vanished with you, leaving him cold and craving.

He thinks about that moment often, even now when there’s rarely a time your hands aren’t on him.

He's grown greedy for your touch, spoiled by how much you indulge him. Truthfully, you could never deny him, fueled by your own secret, selfish desire to make up for his more than a century without human contact.

Most times you keep a hand pressed to his arm, a gentle reminder that you're there. It's calming. Grounding. The sun at the center of his universe, without which he may drift away into an endless space.

When you have those rare moments to yourselves unburdened by the constant thought of curses, you slide your palm into his and weave your fingers together. You pull him along, leading him to all of your favorite places.

If your schedules conflict, and he returns home late into the night, he finds you curled up on the sofa under your favorite blanket — a large, overly fluffy thing that matches the dark purple of his eyes. Not awake but not yet asleep, you blink up at him with a slightly delirious smile and throw the blanket open.

He joins you on the couch, smiling when your hands slither under his shirt and your body curls around his. He falls asleep to your hands softly stroking down his back, easing away all of his tension and worry.

Sometimes Choso sleeps wrong, wandering into the kitchen as he grimaces through a yawn that strains his neck. Attentive to him, as you always are, you notice immediately and sit him down. He's always ready to argue, protests dying on his tongue the second your fingers graze his neck. Hands kneading down his neck to his shoulders, he melts into your touch.

When you pause to ask if it still hurts, he lies. You coo and kiss his cheek, hands returning to steadily press the muscle in his neck, content to never tell him you know he's lying.

There are other times, too. Times he can only think about when he's alone. When your touch wanders, scorching silk as you map out every inch of his body. When your nails dig into his hips until you almost break skin. When you caress his cheek so softly, so lovingly as you whine and beg and plead.

His favorite, though, only comes on nights when nightmares and insomnia crawl into your bed. You've both given up on trying to go back to sleep, cuddled against each other in the quiet night. Every so often you’ll shift and adjust, finding new ways to lay without letting go of one another.

No matter how many times it happens, it always ends the same. Choso's arms wrap tight around your waist, his grip almost bruising with his face buried in your chest while you throw a leg over his hip and gently scratch at the base of his skull. Your hands slowly work their way up tracing nonsensical shapes in his scalp. Eventually, you thread your fingers and glide them through his hair, lightly pulling once you reach the ends.

His hair is like satin on your fingers despite the few tangles you gently work through. You do this again and again until you've almost soothed yourself back to sleep. Even teetering on the edge of sleep, you keep going, not ready to give up the feel of him.

Choso thinks this must be what heaven is like.

You pull at the ends of his hair, and Choso groans, bringing you as close to his body as he can get you. He feels the laughter in your chest, one hand leaving his hair to pet his head.

He catches your hand, bringing it down to his lips in one swift motion. He kisses each fingertip, then each knuckle, then your palm before his mouth travels back up to your ring finger. He gazes at the black line wrapped around your finger, unable to help himself when he places a kiss over it.

"Supposedly," you whisper, his touch sending a warm shiver across your body, "there's a vein that travels from your ring finger all the way to your heart."

"That so?" Choso hums, with another tender kiss to your tattoo. He feels the shiver in your body, smirking when your leg rises just a a bit higher on his hip.

Your hand tugs at his hair again, more purposeful this time, guiding him to tilt his back until you can see his face. He has no time to admire the way you glow under the moonlight as you lean in to press a soft kiss to his lips.

He chases your lips as soon as you pull away, refusing to part from you until he's had his fill. He pulls away, both of you gasping through your laughter. It's not enough for him — he can never have enough of you — and he gives you a few seconds to catch your breath before he kisses you again.

Your hands thread into his hair, pulling at the roots until he groans and sinks his teeth into your lip. One of his hands travels to your thigh, gripping at your flesh as he rolls onto his back, keeping you balanced atop him.

A vein that travels from your ring finger all the way to your heart.

Choso knows it's a myth, already intimately familiar with the intricate map of veins in the human body.

But for you?

For you, he'd carve out every organ, bend every bone, shift every muscle so he can re-thread every vein until your mark is tied around a direct line to his heart — until he's turned fable to fact.

It's what you deserve, he thinks, parting from your kiss-swollen lips to stare deep into your eyes like he's searching for his place in your soul. You gaze back at him, only breaking away to press little kisses to his face, his nose, his cheeks.

You brush a piece of hair from his face with a dazed smile, twirling it through your fingers before you tuck it behind his ear. You card your hand through his hair, raking your nails along his scalp. Choso leans into your touch, eyes sliding shut when you do it again.

You keep going until you think he's finally fallen asleep, giving him one last kiss before you settle on his chest and chase your own dreams.

He waits until your breath evens out, tracing a gentle finger across your cheek and down to the pulse in your neck.

Of all the things Choso enjoys in the world, there are few he truly loves, and he finds himself forever thankful to know that you love him back.

#choso kamo x reader #choso x reader #choso kamo #choso #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu choso #jjk choso #jujutsu kaisen choso #jjk fics #moth writes

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siblingskissing · 1 month

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BNHA Couple Kissing Aesthetic

As always- this is a post of some of MY favorite BNHA Ships (aka the first ones i thought of) so if you don't see your fave/ don't like these ships- feel free to request!

EraserMic

These two kiss slow and passionate- being pro heroes, plus teachers (and in Yamada's case- a DJ), you don't have much energy or down time with your partner, so they make the most of it by giving as much attention and energy to each other as possible. Sometimes these kisses lead to more, but more often one or both of them fall asleep kissing- waking up with each other's morning breath. They both find it gross yet never seem to care by time they meet again that night. They're a gross old man couple <3

TodoDeku

(I think I did well finding a gif that looks exactly like them) These two are very touch starved- so when they kiss they both put their all into it. Shouto especially. He loves to hold Izuku's face and practically absorbs him every time they kiss. Doesn't matter if they're at home or in public- he is going to make sure Izuku feels everything he feels whenever they touch. Izuku just wishes they didn't have so many headlines with photos of them practically undressing on battlegrounds

BakuDeku

Like TodoDeku- both Katsuki and Izuku are prone to heavy and heat filled kisses. And with these two's history? Who could blame them? Katsuki likes showing off that he had Izuku- that Izuku belongs by his side- neck and neck with him- and Izuku would be lying if he said he didn't adore it. So much missed time between them also fuels this passion- both so desperate to have as much of each other as they can because they both know their jobs are dangerous. They don't want to regret not having enough

ShinDeku

Sort of like EraserMic- these two are very low energy when it comes to kisses. That's not to say they aren't passionate- but with Hitoshi's low energy levels from insomnia and Izuku's caring nature- they both have found ways to show affection without causing the other to fret over nonexistent relationship problems. During the day it's no uncommon to see Izuku plant kisses on Hitoshi's cheeks- or for Hitoshi to stop him and kiss the closest piece of skin he can (the most common is Izuku's knuckles or his shoulders). But when they're alone its usually slow and sensual kisses.

KiriMina

These two are the Paparazzi's favorite pairing- It's not rare to find photoshoots of these two being affectionate- whether they're in a relationship or not. Before they ever got together they were touchy- Eijirou always holding onto Ashido, touching her leg, her hands, once they had a photo go around of him holding one of her horns as she was interviewed for her latest takedown. Kisses were not uncommon either. Cheek kisses, kisses on the lips, foreheads, hands, the leg if it's close- these two were so confused when people assumed they were dating despite how affectionate they were in school. However when they began dating it only got worse. Now if Eijirou or Ashido even think there's a camera they'll be making out.

KiriBaku

What do you get when you mix and unstoppable force with an immovable wall? You get some of the meanest kissers you've ever witnessed. These two are not afraid to get concerningly into their kisses- I'm talking teeth, blood, spit and sweat. Katsuki isn't afraid to cut his lips on Eijirou's still unbreakable lips and Eijirou isn't afraid to taste blood. They get called the Hannigram couple because of how often they accidentally lick each other's blood and they only greet it with laughter.

TogaChako

Did you know there are two arteries that run across your forehead? Himiko does- and so does Uraraka now as they start dating. I know we all adore the vampire symbolism that comes with neck kisses- and trust me, they do too, but necks aren't the greatest spots for blood flow- foreheads however- foreheads are great spots to feel for arteries and veins. Himiko loves kisses over the Supraorbital Artery since it falls right by the eyebrow- a romantic spot already to kiss- but because of her blood based quirk, she can actually feel the pulse of her heart easily from the artery. She will kiss there whenever she is anxious- or two remind herself that Uraraka is alive and healthy. She also likes feeling her pulse quicken whenever Uraraka gets embarrassed.

DabiHawks

These two are used to quick and short flings with one another- its apart of their jobs. They both know if either side found out about them that it'd be taken from them- either by a decaying hand or by corporate measures. They know their relationship is dangerous- not only for the other but themselves too, so they keep their kisses to the confinement of their midnight meetings. Always in hidden shadows- alleyways and trees that Hawks flies them to. They kiss with everything- often with Hawks knocking his teeth on one of Dabi's staples or his piercings if the kisses travel. Dabi is often the reason why Hawks carries Chapstick- because when you're kissing for hours at a time, it gets dry fast.

TodoShinDeku

These three are kiss fanatics. Mixing Shouto's need for affection, Izuku's tendency to care for everybody at once, and Hitoshi's love for witnessing his partners- you'll often find them tucked away like these. Shouto and Izuku usually lock lips, while Hitoshi is usually late to join, but just as happy to kiss at the skin available to him. That isn't to say he never gets to steal lips for himself- but he's often just happy to watch the two of them, touching their hands and shoulders to show his appreciation for the view. That often earns him a hand in his hair, or fingers on his biceps as the two open their eyes to watch him in return. They make it a show- just for him and they all adore it

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meiozis · 2 years

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full of love (and stars)

♡ pairing: haechan x reader ♡ genre: friends/roommates to lovers, light angst ♡ word count: 6k ♡ warnings: mentions of alcohol and drinking, slow burn-ish, a little sad (reader is going through it), yearning

a/n: time is a flat circle where it's always past midnight, but somehow it's still been very long since i last posted, but (mamma mia) here we go again, back on my little insomnia fueled writing spree <3 i hope you like it, i hope you’re having the loveliest of days/nights, and if you have any thoughts or feedback about this i’d love to know <3

masterlist

♡ ♡ ♡

Most nights go like this. You lie in bed next to the open window, the orange glow of a nearby street lamp illuminating the ceiling in an almost perfect rectangle. You count the passing cars and listen in on the conversations of strangers walking by, making up stories about them in your head. Where they might be going, why they’re out so late, and sometimes you hear the same people on multiple occasions. Although your apartment is on the third floor, the building is in diabolical enough shape that the paper thin walls let you listen in on the secrets of anyone walking past on the street below.

You don’t have it in you to complain about the living conditions though. Your room might barely fit your twin sized bed, and the kitchenette might only have one working burner, but at least it’s in a fairly good neighborhood, and most places are a walkable distance away. It was supposed to only accommodate you and your roommate for your college years, but as life has it you both got stuck. You, without a job after graduation, and your roommate, who works all kinds of odd jobs so you can pay rent.

But Haechan never made you feel bad about occupying the matchbox sized room in the apartment. You wonder if you ever thanked him for it.

Most nights go like this. You watch the seconds tick by on the clock above the door, silent in motion as you count along in your head. Sometimes the minute arm gets stuck at the bottom, and you wonder when you last changed the batteries. Then it skips from 6 to 9, and you forget about needing to buy new ones for another minute, until the vicious cycle comes to a new beginning at 6.

There are times when you get so lost in counting that the inside of your head feels like rush hour on the subway. It gets louder and louder, until the deafening cacophony of your own thoughts makes you jump out of bed in a frail attempt at getting away from the noise. It's only then that you notice your soul fraying at the edges, like the hems of a shirt well loved. You feel almost translucent, as if you're looking at your own reflection in the rippling surface of a pond.

Stumbling over to the bathroom you grip the cold porcelain of the sink and stare at yourself in the mirror in the dark. You try to recall your own features, how long your hair might be, how tired your eyes look, and how much of a stranger you've been to your own reflection. You rub your face, harsher than you should, and let your feet carry you out to the hallway.

Shoes stand by the front door in a crooked line, and you put on the first pair you identify as your own. You grab a jacket and your keys, walking out into the hallway and locking the door behind you before setting off into the night.

You take the stairs and push the creaking door open to step into the spring night. The air is cold, with sharp teeth and loud howls as it blows past you, and you can't help but stand there. Something akin to déjà vu creeps up in the back of your throat, and you wish you could throw up to get rid of it. The cold air hugs you tight, in a vain attempt to keep you warm, but you feel a shiver climbing up from your toes to the top of your head making your teeth chatter. You finally bring yourself to put on the jacket, realizing in the flickering light of a street lamp that you accidentally grabbed one of Haechan's. It doesn't bother you enough to track up back to the third floor, so you shrug to yourself before taking a step, then another, seemingly aimlessly but with a sure destination in mind.

Most nights go like this. You count the cars and the seconds, keep secrets for strangers, ponder your existence as if you were looking at the sun through a kaleidoscope, and fall into the crack of the couch looking for loose change and a reminder of who you once were. Then you put on shoes and leave the house still in your pajamas, trekking through the empty streets towards your beloved 24/7 diner. It became a habit somehow, to end up there on sleepless nights, with a stack of pancakes and bottomless coffee on the table in front of you. You don't mind the silent walk under a blanket of stars and fluorescent storefronts. The city flickers in your eyes as you wait for the lamp to turn green at the crosswalk, even though you can clearly tell that there's no cars in sight.

The streets are mostly empty, save for a few people hurrying home, and a group of what seems to be college students waddling past you, seemingly lost in their own world. You step over a few cracks in the sidewalk and pull up the zipper of the jacket to your chin, then stuff your hands in the pockets to hide them from the cold air. It smells like Haechan, aftershave and some perfume that's way too strong. But it comforts you in an odd way, reminds you of all the nights you spent out together during your school years, getting drunk and talking until your mouth felt like cotton. You wonder why he kept living with you.

Lost in thought, you almost walk past the diner, but the distinct buzzing of the neon sign above the entrance grabs your attention just in time. You glance up at the blinking letters before stepping towards the front door and pushing it open. The air inside is warm, and smells like a Sunday morning in your childhood kitchen. You let your eyes wander for a second, noting that it's only the usual customers around. It's comforting in a way, the silent agreement between all the late night patrons, a few barely there nods as you make your way to your usual spot. The booth sits tucked away in a corner under a faintly glowing emergency exit sign that’s pointing to the front of the diner. The cracked faux leather squeaks as you take your seat, shimmying out of Haechan’s jacket and folding it in half before placing it next to you. You study the scratches on the table for a second before reaching for the menu, picking up the laminated piece of paper. You skim through it, acting interested as if you couldn’t recite the whole thing from memory.

Someone slides into your peripheral, so you move your gaze from the menu to the floor, noticing an unfamiliar pair of sneakers, followed by a very baggy pair of jeans, then an apron with the name of the diner on it. You snap out of your haze when you realize the person next to you is trying to take your order.

“What can I get for you?” He presumably repeats himself when you finally look up.

He seems out of place somehow, and you realize you haven’t seen a new person working the night shift ever since you started coming here. He stands there silently, a notepad and a pen clutched in his hands. He reaches up to push his hair back and flicks his gaze away as a blush creeps up on his cheeks, so you take it as your cue that you’ve been silent for too long. He awkwardly clears his throat when you look back at the menu instead.

“I’ll get the, uhm…” in that moment it hits you that he has no way of knowing what the usual means. You think for a moment before responding. “Have you eaten here before?”

He’s visibly taken aback by the question, his eyebrows flying to the top of his forehead before he regains his composure.

“The blueberry pancakes are quite good. I mean-” he clears his throat. Again. “If that’s what you’re asking.”

He focuses on his notepad, and holds the pen tight enough that his fingers turn white at the tips. You let the silence go on for a little too long once more.

“Okay.” You place the menu on the table and push it away from you. “I’ll get the pancakes then.” “Syrup?” He scribbles on the paper that he’s still holding onto for dear life as if it’s his ticket out of this conversation. Well, you guess it is.

“Mhm. And some coffee.” He finally looks at you again, only to raise an eyebrow in surprise. You mimic his expression, and he immediately starts writing again. “That’ll be all, thanks.”

He finally lowers his arms and you get a chance to look at his nametag. Mark. With an awkward nod he shuffles away to the kitchen, almost bumping into Haechan who’s emerging from the swing door with a full tray in his hands. He makes his way towards the front, right to a booth filled with college students studying for some exam. He easily unloads all the food and drinks on the table, twirling the tray excessively just to entertain himself. As he turns around to return to the kitchen he spots you in your seat and walks over with a little too much pep in his step for it to be almost 2 am.

He sits down across from you with a heavy sigh, leaning back against the red seat and placing the tray on the table between you. You study his face in the dim light, the bags under his eyes, and how his hair has gotten long enough to hang in his eyes. He closes them for a long second, then slowly blinks them open to look at you. He gently nudges your feet under the table and nods his head at you. “Couldn’t sleep?” You shake your head no. “Did someone take your order already? I can get you the usual if you want.”

“Some guy was here. Mark,” he rolls his eyes and you smile at him. “Had to tell someone what I wanted, it was crazy.”

“Is that my jacket?” You both glance at the seat next to you, and you nod at him in response. “Cute.”

“Shut up. I was too lazy to turn the lights on.”

“Of course you were,” he replies, which prompts you to kick him under the table. Mark arrives at that exact moment. He stands next to you just as awkwardly as the first time, but now he’s holding a steaming plate of pancakes and a lovely, watery cup of coffee in his hands. He hesitates before placing your meal in front of you, then hurries away without saying another word.

“Weird,” Haechan scoffs with a laugh.

You push the plate to the middle of the table, almost knocking off the tray in the process, and hand Haechan your fork. He gives you a weird look, but then shrugs and digs into the pancakes anyway. He hums with his mouth full, then points the utensil at the stack and gives you a thumbs up before taking another bite. You sit there in comfortable silence, and you wonder if this is weird, the way your heart swells as you watch him eat.

Most nights go like this. You toss and turn in bed, lost in a sea of blankets, and you suddenly feel like you’re drowning. The walls are closing in on you, and you hear strangers laughing outside your window, and suddenly it’s too much. Everything is. The emptiness in your chest multiplies, and you wonder why the city feels so lonely at night.

You stumble over to the bathroom, and look at yourself in the mirror, but all you can see is specks of toothpaste. You should clean it tomorrow.

The elevator dings in the lobby. You wonder if someone is coming or leaving at this hour; somewhere around 3 am. A bird is singing outside, and the gentle wind carries its voice into the apartment. It’s a weird part of the night, where the world is simultaneously awake and asleep, almost in limbo.

You find yourself in the kitchen, sitting at the tiny table and staring out the window. You count the stars and the planes flying past, while listening to whatever little song the bird is chirping tirelessly outside. You think about whether it’s the same bird every night, and if it ever gets tired of singing.

You hear footsteps from behind you and jump in your seat, only to realize that it’s your roommate in the hallway. He stands in the faint light oozing from the bathroom, his hair sticking out in every possible direction.

Haechan isn’t surprised to see you awake in the middle of the night. He’s more than used to your nocturnal existence, you quiet footsteps around the apartment, and getting a text around 4am that you forgot your keys and locked yourself out of the building. He knows it’s silly that he has his notifications turned on just for you. (He couldn’t sleep well when he put his phone on silent.) He watches you sit in the kitchen, blurry at the edges and the orange halo of the streetlamp around your head. You turn in your seat and give him a tired smile that he can’t help but return. It makes his chest feel heavy, a void that’s been steadily growing recently.

“Couldn’t sleep?” You shake your head no.

He stands there, unsure of, well, most things – if not everything. You look distant, almost transparent, and he’s tempted to walk up to you, hold your face in his hands and ask you if you’re okay. You’re friends, sure, you live together, and you’ve shared the same bed more times than not. He’s cleaned you up after long nights of drinking, and washed your hair when you broke your arm and couldn’t get your cast wet. He even signed it with his name and a lopsided smiley face.

“Wanna go to the convenience store?” He asks, and you nod hesitantly.

Neither of you bother to change out of your pajamas, knowing fully well that you’re only going a few blocks away. It’s been a while since you last went there together, and the walk feels longer this time. You can’t tell if it’s because of the silence, the cold of the night, or the itch in your palm. You feel like you should say something, maybe apologize for being a weird roommate, or ask him about his day, but your tongue feels numb. You look over at Haechan, who seems lost in thought, his eyes trained on the cracks in the sidewalk and his hands hidden deep in his pockets. His hair sticks out from under the hood of his jacket – the one you accidentally put on when going to the diner –, and his glasses threaten to slip off the tip of his nose, so he pushes them up. You walk in perfect harmony, only one pair of footsteps echoing in the empty street until you arrive at the store. You've been there countless times before, and the quiet hum of the coolers by the entrance puts a fond smile on your face. Haechan walks ahead and grabs two cans of soda – the one you always used to get –, then walks further into the store, right towards the snacks. You go after him, and even though you're only a few steps behind, by the time you catch up to him he's crouching in front of a stuffed shelf, his eyebrows knitted together in concentration.

"What are we looking for?" You ask quietly as you lower yourself next to him.

"That candy we ate a lot…" He trails off, focused on scanning all the items.

"The really sour one?" He hums in response.

The fluorescent lights illuminate the gentle curve of his nose, his glasses once again on the brink of falling off. He doesn’t bother fixing them this time.

“You can help me find it, you know,” he looks at you from the corners of his eyes, raising his eyebrows, and a smile .

“I am helping,” you scoff and roll your eyes, bumping your shoulders against his.

You catch him off guard, and his eyes widen as he loses his balance and lands right on his butt, but not before trying to hold onto you for support and pulling you to the ground with him. It’s quiet for a second, then you both burst out laughing, and for a second you catch a glint of something in his eyes that wasn’t there before. You sit with your backs against a row of shelves, still quietly giggling under your breath. When you look over at Haechan, his eyes sparkling behind his glasses and his cheeks flushed, it squeezes your soul in a way only nostalgia can. There’s something beautiful about him, about the way he looks at you so gently, yet doesn’t hesitate to pull you to the ground when you push him. Something about the way he picks up your favorite drinks and snacks without a second thought, and about how he lets his shoulder gently rest against yours as you sit on the dirty floor.

He looks back to the rows of snacks in front of you, and turns to kneel with a loud aha. He reaches to the back of the lowest shelf, pulling out a lone bag of sour candy, then jumps to his feet excitedly.

“Guess who saves the day again?” He beams down at you, and reaches a hand to help you up.

“Right,” you take his hand and let him pull you up. “Would you have found it if I didn’t push you? I don’t think so.”

He rolls his eyes at you but doesn’t let go of your hand, so you get in his face in the same annoying way he always does to you.

“You don’t have to thank me, I’m always happy to help,” you say with a playful lilt to your voice, but the proximity makes Haechan gulp loudly.

He steps away, his back bumping against a shelf and knocking a few bags of chips off. He hurriedly picks them up, and nods his head towards the front of the store. You let him walk ahead, and he places the drinks and the candy in front of the cashier. Haechan reaches deep inside one of his pockets and pulls out a handful of coins and drops them on the counter, a few rolling off the edge. He waits patiently for the change, then scoops all the items into his arms.

Stepping out into the night feels different this time. The air feels sticky, coating you in something akin to longing that you won’t be able to wash off for days. It coats your tongue whenever you try to speak, and you wonder what it is about all the stars and the moon staring down at you that makes you feel so lost. The sky glitters in Haechan’s eyes, and you get lost counting the stars in them for a second too long.

The walk home feels oddly long, all the words that die on your tongue weighing you down. Haechan waits for you patiently whenever you fall behind, but somehow that ends up making you feel worse. You immerse yourself in all the intricacies of the sidewalk, so much so that you end up running into him in front of your building. You mumble a sorry, to which he only replies with a small nod of his head as he fishes his keys out of his pockets.

The need to break down crying squeezes your throat, and you blink away a few tears while Haechan opens the front door and pushes the call button for the elevator in the dark lobby.

“Too lazy to walk,” he shrugs when you give him a questioning look.

You quickly wipe your eyes with your sleeves before the elevator door dings open. Haechan holds the door open with his hand while you squeeze past him, directing your gaze at the grimy floor once again. His eyes are burning a hole into the side of your head, and he stands next to you motionlessly. You try to reach past him to push the button for your floor, but he stands in your way and blocks the panel with his body..

“Wha-”

“We’re not going anywhere until you tell me what’s wrong,” he says simply, crossing his arms in front of his chest. You roll your eyes at him, and he copies your pose before squinting at you. “Be less obvious next time.”

“Oh my god, you’re so annoying,” you huff at him and try to step out of the elevator, but Haechan closes the doors before you can make your escape. “Dude! What if someone calls the elevator?”

“Their problem, not mine.” You let out a frustrated grunt. “We can be here all night, or you can, you know, tell me what the fuck is wrong?”

He stands there so calmly, his arms still crossed as he leans back against the wall behind him. You feel small under his gaze, and a little stupid, too. You didn’t expect him to not notice, of course, but you didn’t expect him to bring it up either.

“Can we go home?” The question comes out as a whisper. “Please?”

He sighs, but drops his stance and gives in, finally pressing the button to the third floor. You thank him just as quietly, and try your best to disappear inside your jacket.

Haechan holds the door open with his hand while you get out, then opens the front door for you the same way. You both kick off your shoes in the hallway, and you beeline for your room, but can’t help but look back at him. He stands there, looking defeated and exhausted, and it squeezes your heart, a gentle yet firm grasp, a constant reminder of something much bigger. He fishes a can of soda out of his pocket and holds it out for you.

“And what about the candy?” your voice cracks in the middle of the sentence, but you mask it with a quiet laugh.

“Keep forgetting who I’m dealing with,” a tired smile plays on his lips, faint, but enough for now. He walks closer and holds out both items this time.

“It’s only fun if we share it.”

So you end up sitting together on Haechan’s bed, cross legged and hunched over, the bag of sour candy ripped open between you. It’s dark in the room, save for the few squares of orange on the ceiling thanks to the street lamps. His eyes sparkle underneath his glasses even in the dim light.

It’s been a while since you last spent any significant amount of time inside of his room, usually only sticking your head in the door to ask if he needs anything from the store. It’s a lot cleaner than you’d remembered it to be, and that little detail alone makes it feel unfamiliar.

You study the pattern of his bedsheets, trying to ignore how much it smells like his jacket.

“Do you want one that’s not sour?” He asks suddenly, his mouth still full.

“But aren’t these all-” You look up at him, and he’s barely a few inches away, a piece of candy that he’s licked all the sour coating off between his teeth. He wiggles his eyebrows at you, and you can’t help but laugh as you push him away with a finger on his forehead. “Gross.”

“Your loss,” he shrugs, then pops another piece into his mouth, his face immediately scrunching up from the taste.

Something about the moment feels so fragile, as if you could break it with one wrong move. So you decide to stay still instead, a faint smile on your lips as you watch Haechan struggle with a lemon flavored candy. He cracks open his soda to wash it down, and it almost bubbles over into the sheets, but he slurps the drink up before it could spill.

You study his face, connect the moles on his cheeks with your eyes, watch him dig through the remaining snack. He grins at you as he raises his hand in front of your face, a green piece of candy pinched between his fingers.

“Found another apple one for you,” he wiggles it in front of your lips, then pulls away with a playful smile. “Open wide, here comes the airplane!”

Something about the moment feels so fragile, as if you could break it with one wrong move. Your body aches, itches to lurch forward and kiss him, let him steal all the remaining air from your lungs. Instead, you let him drop the candy in your mouth, grimace when the sourness of it coats your tongue, scrunch your nose and pucker your lips. You catch Haechan glancing at them, and he visibly gulps when he trails his gaze up to your eyes.

For a second you let yourself imagine what would’ve happened if you made a wrong move.

It’s one of those nights where the smell of spring is heavy in the air. The sky is an endless void, all the stars hidden behind a wall of clouds. You know it’s going to rain, but you leave without an umbrella regardless, opting for Haechan’s jacket instead. He made a few jokes about hiding his jackets away in his room, but then in true Haechan fashion he started leaving that one specifically on your designated hanger by the front door.

It’s not cold enough for you to wear it, but as you walk into the street you put it on anyway, snuggling into the comfortable scent of the soft material. It almost makes you feel guilty how a fuzzy jacket makes your chest feel so tight and your heart beat a little faster, how you try to make yourself small enough to get lost in the warm fabric.

The walk to the diner feels a little too long, leaving you too much time to overthink everything and anything possible. When you finally make it there you stand outside, the buzzing neon sign above the door peacefully blinking down at you. With a heavy sigh you push the door open, and you’re immediately greeted by Mark, who’s in the middle of taking someone’s order. You give each other a small smile and a barely there nod as you walk past him to your usual spot, the faux leather creaking as you take a seat. Over the past few weeks you’ve gotten to know each other with Mark, making small conversation whenever the place was empty, and you could finally say the usual when ordering. You consider him somewhat of a friend now, even if in a weird, situational way, given that in your mind his existence is inherently tied to the diner.

You shimmy out of the jacket and place it on the seat next to you, then pick up the menu while you wait for someone to take your order. A few drops of rain knock on the window next to you, and you lazily rest your head in your palm as you watch the beads of water race to the bottom of the glass. You wonder if it’s still going to be raining by the time you decide to go home.

You try to focus on your own face in the glass, unfamiliar and even more tired than usual. The sight makes you feel uneasy, so you count the scratches on the table instead, until a familiar pair of sneakers slide into your peripheral, followed by baggy jeans and an apron. You’re about to recite your order to Mark when your eyes widen in surprise as you realize that instead of his notepad and pen he’s holding a steaming plate of blueberry pancakes and a cup of coffee.

“The usual?” He asks with a warm smile as he places everything on the table.

You return his expression and thank him, but when you reach for your coffee you notice that he’s still standing there.

“Everything cool?” You ask him.

“Oh? Yeah, sorry, I just-” He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. “Nevermind.”

“Dude, calm down,” you motion at the seat opposite of you for him to sit down. He hesitates before doing so. “What’s up?”

You take a bite of your food and watch him fidget in his seat, the tips of his ears turning pink, then the color slowly creeps into his cheeks.

“Are you and Haechan… You know…” He trails off, his eyes nervously scanning your face..

You raise an eyebrow at him before taking another bite.

“Are you guys, like, dating?” His question makes you choke on a piece of pancake, sending you into a coughing fit. You finally manage to take a sip of the coffee and wash the food down. “Yo, I’m so sorry, I just thought- You just always look at each other like that.”

“Could you be any less specific?” You truly feel at your wit’s end from the conversation.

“Dude, I dunno, just like… Full of love. I don’t know!”

“Did you have to say love like that? Gross.”

He groans in frustration, but then another customer calls for a waiter, and you can see the relief in Mark’s eyes. He flashes you an apologetic smile before hurrying away from your table, leaving you with even more thoughts than you arrived with. Suddenly you hope that Haechan is too busy hanging out with the kitchen staff to come out front.

You sit over your plate of half eaten, now cold pancakes, your mind racing fast enough that you barely feel like a passenger in your own body. You connect the squished blueberries, thinking about the stars in the sky, and the moles on his cheeks. Full of… love. You wish you were full of pancakes instead.

Sighing loudly, you push the plate away from you and lean back in your seat, closing your eyes in hopes of a moment of peace. Rain knocks on the window, louder than before, and you weigh your options – staying, and potentially having to look Haechan in the eyes, or running home in pouring rain.

A loud groan slips past your lips when you open your eyes, and you finally make up your mind, grabbing the jacket next to you and slipping out of the booth to hurry outside. The rain is colder than you expect it to be, quickly soaking your hair and your shirt, along with the jacket clutched under your arm. You close your eyes and tilt your head back, let the drops of water hit your face as you stand there.

The door of the diner creaks open and the sound makes your heart skip a beat as you realize that it could very well be Haechan. You slowly look to the side and let out a shaky breath when you notice that it’s only a customer. He gives you a weird look, but then opens his umbrella and walks past you without a word.

You walk home in the rain, let the water dissolve your thoughts and wash them into the gutters. The third floor seems an eternity away as you slowly climb up the stairs, leaving wet footprints everywhere. Then you stand in front of your apartment, trying to push your keys into the lock with fingers numb from the cold, when the door swings open, and you come face to face with a wide eyed Haechan. He frowns at you, but steps aside silently to let you in, then locks the door while you kick off your sopping wet shoes.

Then it’s quiet. A heavy quiet, where it feels like the whole world is pushing on your chest at once as you stand there, soaked from head to toe, the chatter of your teeth giving away just how cold you are.

“You’re home,” it comes out as a hoarse whisper.

“It’s my day off,” he says matter of factly, followed by a sigh. There’s an unusual, almost sad curve to his voice. His eyes bore into yours, gently, carefully, and Mark’s words echo in your mind. Full of love. “What?” He asks after another beat of silence.

“Don’t look at me like that,” your voice breaks, and you can feel tears well in your eyes.

Haechan’s face softens, and he steps closer to your shivering figure, wrapping his arms around you. A sob rips from your throat, so you hide your face in his chest, warm against your skin. In a way you’re thankful that he doesn’t ask you to explain what that means.

“You’re freezing,” he says softly, rubbing small circles on your back. “Come on.”

He slides his hands over your shoulders and down your arms, intertwining his fingers with yours to pull you along into his room. He rummages through a few drawers before pulling out one his shirts and a pair of sweatpants, then turns back to you to hand you the clothes. You stare at the items in his hands.

“I have my own clothes,” your eyes flick between his hands and face.

“Right,” he rolls his eyes. “And you have your own jacket, too.”

Your cheeks feel significantly warmer at his words, and you meekly take the clothes from him. He leaves to make you a cup of tea, and you make your way to the bathroom to change out of your wet garments. You throw the discarded items in the washing machine to deal with them later, then dry yourself with your towel before putting on Haechan’s clothes. They smell like him, of course they do, and it makes your head spin.

By the time you go back he’s already sitting on his bed, looking out at the murky city through his window. The sky is already getting lighter, despite the unrelenting rain, and you can make out the distant song of a few birds.

Haechan pats the mattress next to him when he notices you standing in the doorway, and you hesitantly make your way over, sitting the same as him with your back against the wall.

You let yourself get lost in the moment, and lean your head on his shoulder, holding your breath without even noticing. He moves his arm to wrap it around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. Your heart hammers away in your chest, and you can only hope that he can't hear it. For a while neither of you speak, sitting in comfortable silence while your body returns to a normal temperature.

"Are you tired?" You reply with a nod, then lift your head to glance at him.

He's looking at you, and only then do you realize the proximity, your faces close enough that you could count his eyelashes if you wanted to. You swallow hard, watch as his gaze trails from your eyes down to your mouth.

"You're looking at me like that again," you whisper into the air between you.

"Like what?" His eyes stay glued to your lips.

"Full of love."

He finally leans in, kissing you softly, gently, impatiently. You turn to face him, and he places his hand on your neck, his thumb resting on your cheek as he pulls you closer and closer, his lips warm against yours, and you gladly let him steal all the remaining air from your lungs.

Most nights go like this. You lie in bed next to Haechan, the orange glow of a nearby street lamp illuminating his gentle features. You count the stars in his eyes, and connect the moles on his cheeks, tracing them with your fingertips, then rest your hand against his warm skin. He smiles at you before turning his head to place a kiss in your palm, then looks back at you, exactly like that – always full of love.

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kingsandbastardz · 6 months

Text

Tumblr ate the anon ask I was responding to so I'm gonna paraphrase it here:

what do mean llh gave di feisheng to fang duobing? the letter totally said something else

Yes, it did - but I didn't feel I could comment too deeply on it when it's been retranslated and people who are far more literate than I am have analyzed the contents already. -- The letter itself seems pretty straight forward.

However, what I wanted to focus on was analyzing unspoken social dynamics - so I'm gonna get in depth into my reasoning for my interpretation. And admittedly in previous posts I was playing fast and glib with my responses (they were just insomnia-fueled thoughts I typed real fast) so I wasn't really in depth or anything. Anyway~~~ That means it's time for me to get long winded.

So! First thing - this is the scene: The letter was written from Li Xiangyi and addressed in its entirety to Di Feisheng. However, when it was delivered the fisherman asked for both DFS and FDB. It was then read outloud by either the fisherman or FDB -- I assume read out loud, and loudly, because DFS never left his position by the rocks and emoted his distress at the contents. That means everyone there also was privy to the letter contents.

The letter itself is straight forward. It's addressed from LXY telling DFS that he regretfully can't make the duel and that he respects him both as a martial artist and as a person, and if he wishes, he can go to FDB who has inherited his skills and shows great promise, etc.

The thing IS - I firmly believe that this is not a message meant just for DFS.

Both LLH and DFS code switch between their non-leader selves vs Li-Menzhu and Di-Mengzhu. It's easiest to see based on what they're wearing. Li Xiangyi when he's dressed in the Sigu Sect uniform. Or the Styx flower hand-off scene where he calls him Di-mengzhu (not Lao Di or A-Fei or whatever else) likely as a reaction to his official regalia/red uniform which means DFS was showing up in an official capacity. Both of them know very well the importance of a certain.... how to say.... drama? They're both leaders and they were also very performative in their roles as leaders. They both expected that massive peanut gallery that showed up to witness the fight - the one filled with members of various sects, including Sigu Sect leadership -- because dfs was likely the one announcing it.

Imo - aside from the need to express the full weight of what he felt, part of the reason LLH was so formal in his letter is expectation that there would be other people there - influential people. The very people DFS and FDB would have to deal with in the future alone. FDB would be ok but he's largely unknown to the rest of jianghu and therefore his story is still malleable. DFS is known, but infamous and his narrative is as much of a trap as LXY's was. And now he no longer has the benefit of a sect to act as a buffer.

LLH's last act as LXY was not to save Yun Biqiu but to carve a new path open in the world for DFS and FDB:

Expresses that he bears deep emotion and the greatest and deepest respect for DFS despite a reputation of them being enemies

Informs everyone that DFS is not seeking dominion or 'the throne' but rather, is going the fighter-scholar path of studying and testing martial skill -- aka, this is message from one sect leader to all the others present. Spread the word, this man is NOT gunning for your power. None of you have reason to take him down.

Establishes FDB as his one and only successor - while also stating clearly it's entirely up to FDB to decide whether to continue down this path or not

Creates a pathway for DFS and FDB to maintain their connection with each other - and in fact lets everyone else know that there is a pre-established, legacy relationship between DFS and LLH that FDB will be inheriting.

Gently asks DFS to keep an eye on FDB's development - iterating that if dfs is the one asking, then FDB may make the decision to continue to train - aka help him see his full potential whatever his decision is.

At the same time, he silently wishes FDB to maintain connections with/keep an eye on DFS. In another reply I kinda went on about this: imagine a scenario where your friend's mom pulls both of you in front of her. And the whole time is telling your friend that they need to do, expectations, a list of goals, etc. The entire time she's only focused on your friend - but there is this silent implication that you, as the witness, is expected to act a reminder or even an enforcer if your friend isn't listening. If things go wrong, you're expected to go in there and help them to do the thing they were asked to do. This is the unspoken message I'm getting for FDB. Even though his name wasn't mentioned in the letter, it was explicitly delivered to both him and dfs. He's standing right there while an imaginary LLH talks to DFS. So if after all this, dfs disappears without another word = fdb can feel emboldened to go after him, knocking on doors until he answers. Should he decide to do so.

Entreaty - "These are LXY's (my) last wishes. Please respect my memory after my death."

Conclusion: LLH's last actions were to create a space where both DFS and FDB can make their own decision on their path in the world, without the weight of all those other people in jianghu influencing them.

Note: I also believe that on dfs' side, his clothing choices point toward his plans to publicly step down and leave the martial path with Li Lianhua. But llh sucker-punched him and left him standing on some rocks like a widow waiting for her husband who's lost at sea. They were technically on the same page, but it somehow went wrong because... well. Unfortunately that's DFS' narrative. He never quite reaches his goal without the hero either hindering or helping him. The entire drama was LLH being that karma busting fulcrum for him. But now, should he wish it, it'll be FDB's turn to step up and do the same.

#also as an aside - with all the marriage symbolism and the dead brides in every story arc - both lyx and dfs with red uniforms?#llh stealing dfs repeatedly away from marriages? sgd wanting llh to wear the red for HIM but instead llh wears it for everyone else but him #it's very much giving me sacrificial savior where the hero is for the people and not any given individual #mysterious lotus casebook #my royal ramblings #di feisheng #li lianhua #li xiangyi #fang duobing #lxy's last letter #meta

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queen-haq · 10 months

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Fic: Grudgingly Yours, Part 11

Grudgingly Yours, Part 11

Summary: You are a general surgeon, working in a hospital that’s slowly sucking the life out of you when one day you’re given the offer of a lifetime.

A.K.A - An arranged marriage fic :)

Pairing: Billy Russo x You

Rating: R

Masterlist (contains links to my other stories and this one)

Billy didn’t know when it happened. Sometimes he thought it was instantaneous, like those cartoon images when someone got a brilliant idea and a light blub flashed on. Other times, it was the absolute opposite. A slow warmth that spread over him, a feeling that he never knew existed. The longing intensified over time, grew more potent with each interaction, escalating from lukewarm to a searing heat that took over him completely.

It was a complete mystery to him, but ultimately the how didn’t matter. End result was the same - he was in love with you.

But he didn’t want to be, he fought it with everything he had.

For so long his only goal was to destroy those who hurt Frank and him. He spent years obsessing over it, gathering as much info as possible so he could track down the fuckers. Because once they were dead, the nightmares would cease. He’d stop hearing Frank’s struggling words while taking his last dying breath. The tortures, the beatings, the smell of burning skin – the horrific memories would end and he’d be the same soldier he was before they were captured. The chaos in his mind, the restlessness and insomnia – all of that fueled his drive for revenge.

And then you came along.

At first you were the thing he had to bear because his grandfather insisted. He needed the old man’s money and connections to find the kidnappers and figured he’d make your life a living hell until you left him. Except you ended up being completely different than he’d expected. Not quiet, not meek, definitely not docile – all the qualities his grandfather wanted. Instead you were loud and bossy, and you didn’t take shit. From him or Alistair. You fought back. You argued. And you definitely retaliated when things got dicey. You defended him when he’d been a complete ass to you, for no reason other than the fact you didn’t like bullies. That’s what Billy couldn’t understand, how you could threaten to poison him one night and then defend him the next. You were a fucking enigma.

On the anniversary of Frank’s death, when Billy had been at his absolute worst and no amount of alcohol or drugs could quiet the bloodcurdling memories in his mind, you offered him comfort. You held him, hugged him, cradled him to sleep – and it was the first night of rest he’d gotten in months. You did that for him, despite all the insults he hurled your way. You had compassion for him, and others, and a kind of strange empathy he simply didn’t understand and it fascinated him. It was such a direct contrast to how you spoke when you were angry, how you proudly wore the label of golddigger, how you talked smack to Alistair. You were a complete bitch yet you were busting your butt trying to open a clinic for people who no one gave a shit about. He didn’t get why. He didn’t get you. And that curiosity drove his fixation for you, thoughts of you clouding his mind more and more. It wasn’t until Curtis’s wedding that he realized if he were to let you, you could make him abandon his quest for revenge. Seeing Maria there, knowing how easily he could forget his promise to Frank, it hit him like a ton of bricks the hold you had over him. He tried to deny it, to himself, to you, tried to ignore his growing feelings for you, to hate you, but he couldn’t. Until Dinah came to the wedding with news about Frank’s killers, and then he realized it was a sign from the universe he needed to refocus on what really mattered – justice for himself, for Frank. Making the murderers pay. There was no room for you in his mind or his heart. You didn’t belong in his life. So he humiliated you, knowing that would make it easy for you to hate him before he took off for certain death. Even if there was a small chance he’d survive, he didn’t want to be with someone who held so much fucking power over him.

Of course that turned out to be complete bullshit.

Instead of fading, his feelings intensified during the past two months. And they didn’t distract him from his mission. No, the complete opposite. Having you in his mind helped him stay focused - there was no way he’d let his enemies live when they could get to him again. Or you. Fuck no. So he hunted them down meticulously and killed them all, wiping out all traces that could come back to haunt him.

After he accomplished what he set out to do, he came rushing back because he couldn’t stand the fucking ache in his soul anymore. Two long months had passed without any contact with you and he’d had enough. The longing for you was palpable, a living, breathing black hole that strengthened more and more everyday and wreaked havoc with his fucking mind. The only thing that brought him any peace was the thought of seeing you again. Your laugh, your voice, your scent. How your eyes lit up when you got the upper hand on him. The way your face scrunched up into the most adorable scowl when you were concentrating on work. The tender expression on your face when you connected with him emotionally.

But when he got home at three in the morning, there was no sign of you in the penthouse.

The bottom floor was clean and pristine. The living room, which you’d made into a makeshift office, was free of its usual clutter. Your bedroom was untouched, your closets empty. He’d been in your room a few times over the months - discreetly so you weren’t aware – and knew your penchant for choas Makeup scattered on the bathroom counter. Clothes piled on the nearby recliner. But there was nothing of you left in that room, like you’d never been there in the first place. And that fucked him up badly. Because it never occurred to him you’d leave. After all, you’d made a goddamn deal with Alistair. And the two of you were married. That meant something. But seeing your room empty, discovering all of your things gone, recognizing he’d fucked up so bad that you left – he couldn’t stand it. He needed you. He wanted you.

He loved you.

And he wasn’t going to lose you.

“Get your fucking hands off of me!”

Your rage-filled voice brought him out of his reverie instantly. He knew you’d be pissed, was counting on it actually, because it was how he could get you to drop the ice-queen mask. And his plan worked, if your fiery eyes were any indication. His hands gripped your wrists, his body pressed against yours so he could feel every inch of you as you struggled against him. You didn’t make it easy, that’s for sure. Only a few seconds ago you’d tried to hurt him with the glass you were holding, but he’d managed to swerve it away.

“Why are you here, you fucking psychopath?” you screamed, panting for air.

Your cheeks were flushed, lips still red from lipstick you were wearing. You looked hot, so fucking hot, and he couldn’t stop staring. There was a time when you meant nothing to him and now all he wanted was to immerse himself in you completely.

You tried to knee him in the groin but he blocked the move by stepping aside, easing his grip on you. At that moment you tried to escape but didn’t get far, running over the glass shards that lay on the floor. Hearing you groan with pain, he quickly rushed over. As he tried to pick you up, you fought back hard and kicked him repeatedly. That’s when he noticed you were bleeding. Shit. “Calm the fuck down!”

“Go to hell!

Using all his strength, he pulled out the zip ties from his back pocket and secured them around your wrists. It wasn’t easy with you pushing and shoving at him, but he finally managed to wrangle you under control. Throwing you on the bed, he then secured the zip ties around your feet.

“Asshole!”

He stood back. Peering back at you, he was mesmerized. Fuck, you were so hot. And now you were all tied up and screaming mad, like one of his fantasies come to life, and all he wanted was to fuck you senseless. He was hard just watching you squirm, but he forced himself to snap out of it. You were bleeding. Storming over to the bathroom, he started looking through the cabinets until he found some first-aid supplies. He took a quick glance at the mirror only to find the top of his shirt covered in blood spots. Shit. Apparently you’d managed to cut him earlier but he hadn’t noticed.

Grabbing some stuff, he returned to the bedroom. You were still on the bed where he left you, glaring at him.

“I need to clean your cut. Promise you won’t kick?”

“I promise I’ll kick your teeth out!”

He smiled at you affectionately, unable to help himself. “Thought of murdering me always gets you hot, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, yeah. Come closer. Give me a knife and I’ll show you how hot.”

He sauntered forward. “I’m trying to help you here.”

“By sneaking into my apartment and tying me up? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

The fight earlier had messed up your hairstyle, leaving your hair wild and messy. His fingers ached to run through the strands, the smell of your shampoo etched into his brain. Extending his hand, his finger twirled around one of the loose curls when you suddenly tried to bite him. He grinned at you, enjoying the burst of angry red that spread through your cheeks. “Still not ready to play nice?”

“What do you want? Why are you here?”

The top button of your shirt had ripped off, drawing attention to the curve of your breasts peeking out from underneath. Fuck. Your tits. He remembered the sensation of sinking his face in your cleavage, the way your breath shuddered when he was sucking on your nipples.

“Billy!”

Snapping out of his daze, his gaze trailed up to meet yours. “You’re coming home with me.”

You stared back at him defiantly. “Fuck you! I’m not going anywhere.”

“You don’t have a choice.”

“I’ll slit my own wrists before I go anywhere with you!”

He cupped your face with both hands. “No, sweetheart. It’s that fuckboy who’ll die if you don’t.”

You froze immediately, concern flooding your face. It was a punch to his gut, seeing how much you cared about the fucker.

“What did you do to him?”

Billy clenched his jaw. “He touched you, after I warned him not to. He had to pay for that.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” You swallowed an audible gulp. “Did you hurt him?”

He knelt down on the floor and started inspecting your knee. “He’s alive. For now.”

“Why are you doing this?” Your voice cracked for just a second, enough for him to realize the turmoil you were in.

He picked you up and carried you to the bathroom, grateful you weren’t pushing back this time. With a gentle touch he washed your bruised knee and tended to your cut. When you grimaced from the sting of the rubbing alcohol, he blew soft air on the wound, trying to ease your pain. He sensed your eyes following his every gesture, waiting for him to make his next move.

You were perched on the bathroom counter, your hands and feet still bound. Standing up to his full height once he bandaged your knee, he met your gaze. Whatever you were feeling a few seconds ago had dissipated, replaced by a glacial glint in your eyes.

Your voice was filled with contempt when you spoke next. “So what’s the plan? You gonna use Calvin against me?”

There were so many things he wanted to say to you. That he was sorry. That he’d fucked up. That he couldn’t stop thinking about you. Yours was the face he saw every time he closed his eyes, and the person he dreamt about when he wasn’t haunted by nightmares. With you he felt alive, hopeful, and more than just a ball of rage that dominated his life for so many years. But he didn’t say any of that. He couldn’t. Because it scared the fuck out of him. It was so much easier to show you instead.

He tucked a loose strand of your hair behind your ear, and this time you didn’t try and bite him. Progress. And then he cupped your face with one hand, thumb stroking your cheek, while the other hand slowly caressed the skin under the plastic around your wrists. “Fuckboy will be fine as long as you do what I say.”

“Is this because of Alistair? If he’s-”

“I don’t give a fuck about him. He has nothing to do with this.”

“Then what difference does it make? I don’t have to move back. We can stay married and live separate lives.”

He peered at you closely, studying every inch of your face. “That’s not what I want.”

Agitated, you glared at him. “What do you want then?”

His mouth closed over yours.

He didn’t intend for it to be a rough kiss, opposite in fact. He wanted to show you another part of him, reveal to you that he wasn’t always an asshole, but as usual his plans had a way of fucking up. Instead of tenderness, he kissed you with a raw urgency, venting all the pent-up frustration of missing you. And you returned his kiss with equal ferocity, tongue against tongue, teeth clashing, not letting him slow down, driving him crazy with your mouth. His hands wrapped around the back of your head. Holding you tight, he pulled you close. A muffled moan escaped you, and it suddenly dawned on him your hands were still cuffed. Feeling guilty at your discomfort, he pulled away. Panting for air, he pressed his forehead against yours while pulling out his blade from the inside of his jacket. You were equally out of breath, your eyes a whirlwind of firestorm before you closed them.

Just for a moment it was like the last night he’d spent with you. No pretensions, no fucking games, only the two of you consumed with each other. He reached for your wrists, dropping soft kisses on where the zip ties had left an imprint. And you let him, not struggling with him or pushing back.

“Is this part of the deal, Billy?” The softness in your voice directly contradicted the hardness in your gaze. “If I fuck you, you’ll let him go?”

Your words disgusted him, making him sick to his stomach. “I don’t need blackmail to get you to fuck me.”

You snickered, shaking your head. “Oh, that’s beneath you? But you have no issues blackmailing me to live with you?”

He cocked his eyebrow. “I’m playing the only card I have left at this point.”

You stared back at him with an incredulous expression. “Seriously? My life is a game to you? Calvin-”

“Stop fucking saying his name!” Billy spat out.

He tried. He tried to stay calm and not lose it, tried not to think about you fucking that asshole. Tried to tell himself you deserved to move on after how he ended things - but he couldn’t stand it anymore. Couldn’t stand the thought of you touching that fucker, sleeping with him, laughing with him. Talking with him. It was driving Billy crazy. Did you hold him close at night and tell him about your day? Did you rest your head on his chest until you fell asleep? Did you let him hug you? Comfort you? Did you let him love you?

Fuck no. No. No. No.

“You’re my fucking wife!” He grasped your face, squeezing your cheeks. “You're the only thing that kept me sane these last few months. I can’t breathe without you. I don’t know how to anymore. I don’t know how to be me again. You’re all I fucking think about!”

You froze, eyes brimming with shock.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry about everything.” He pressed his temple against yours, pleading with you. “Give me a chance- “

‘So you can treat me like trash again?” You shook your head. “No. I’m done with you.”

Your voice trembled, you were struggling to contain your emotions. Instinctively he knew your cold façade would be up again, that there was no point in forcing you to talk at this time.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Billy stepped back. As quick as you, he composed himself outwardly. “You might be done. But I’m not.” He knelt down and cut off the zip tie that bound your feet together. “We need to get going. I’ll help you pack your things.” Rising to his full height, he leveled you with a somber expression. “Don’t make this any harder than it needs to be. Or Calvin’s gonna lose a lot more than just his fingers.”

He turned around and walked out of the bathroom.

A/N - Um, thoughts? As always, thank you for the wonderful feedback. I truly appreciate all of the comments and messages I receive; it's what inspires me to keep writing!

#billy russo x reader #billy russo #ben barnes #grudgingly yours #my fics

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faefictions · 1 year

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Eddie Munson x Reader

Fluff, dealer!Eddie (kinda), self medication, reader is not in a good headspace my guys, completely unedited

2k words

Summary: You turn to weed in hopes it will help you finally get a break from your brain, but when all else fails, your so-called dealer knows how to help.

Tired.

It wasn't only what you were, it was the only word that had been repeating in your head for the past several days. Your constant state of autopilot only interrupted occasionally to remind you of how fatigued your limbs still were.

Sleep wasn't coming easy. It never had, but your insomnia only grew worse with every day you spent trying to pretend that life was currently business as usual.

It had been three months of this. This constant state of exhaustion. This inability to make it through a day without wishing your life had turned out any other way. This yearning for anything to take your pain away.

That was how you met Eddie. Your coworker told you about a friend of a friend. Some dude who used to deal back in high school. And although his new employment circumstances were legal, she said he could still get you something.

"Maybe it'll get that stick out of your ass," she had commented while writing down the number of this "dealer". Said "stick" was none other than depression brought on by the trauma you were still refusing to talk to anyone about. It didn't feel important anymore.

What was important was figuring out a way to just sleep. You were willing to try anything to make your brain shut up for a full 8 hours, and it would be an added bonus if it could shut up for the other 16 hours of the day.

Eddie got the call from your coworker, not you, a few days later. Although you were desperate for anything to make you feel better, you weren't able to build up the energy to pick up the phone and have a conversation with a man you'd never met. Especially not a conversation in which you plead with this stranger to sell you drugs.

He wasn't eager about the idea of selling again. He still got his shit from Rick, but that was his stash only. After being accused (and exonerated) for the murder of the most popular girl in town, he did his best to keep his activities legal. He didn't need to add any more fuel to the fire of the town hating him.

That didn't include partaking in the product himself though, the thought of quitting that barely crossed his mind.

He honestly tried telling your coworker no, that he didn't do that shit anymore, but he didn't know how to tell a begging girl no.

That was how you found yourself at his trailer at 9 pm on the coldest night of October. You felt guilty even showing up, you had heard the other end of his conversation with your coworker, and you knew he was just about as excited for this interaction as you were. But you needed to try something, and he couldn't lie, he could use the spare cash. Even if it was just a few bucks.

The man who answered the door was exactly what you were expecting. She hadn't told you what Eddie had looked like, but you figured anyone with a reputation like his wasn't going to look like your average Joe.

He was wearing a faded Van Halen t-shirt that had been poorly cut into a muscle tee, long curly frizzy and falling into his face. The chains attached to his belt loops were what really sold it though. He definitely looked the part of the high school drug dealer, the kid people only pretended to like for a discount on weed. The kind of kids you had been best friends with in high school.

"You y/n?" He asked the second he opened the door. You answered with a quick nod, and he welcomed your shivering body into his home.

He never would have done any deals in his trailer in High School. Not only did he not want Wayne caught up in all of his shit, but he never wanted to let anyone know where he lived. He knew better.

But now that he lived on his own, across the lot in the same trailer park he spent a majority of his childhood in, he was less worried. Especially knowing that the person he was selling to was friends with one of the few people from his past who didn't still think he was a murderer. He just hoped you were safe to have around.

He figured you were when he opened the door and took one look at you. Nothing about you screamed trouble, not to him at least. You dressed in the same way as him, and the most concerning thing about you was the dark circles under your eyes.

For a moment he thought you had been in a fight, but as you entered and came closer to the light coming from the kitchen, he realized that they were just the bags under your eyes.

Neither of you spoke much before you left with your goods. He told you to call him when you needed more, and smiled at you as he led you out the door. That hadn't been the plan.

He was going to tell you to buy from Rick next time, or one of his other dealers in town. He didn't plan on getting caught up as the middleman, but something about you made him want to make sure he was there next time.

Sure enough, a week later, you called to ask if you could stop by that night to pick up some more weed, and you were back on his doorstep by 10pm.

He did a sly once over of you when he opened the door, making note that you still looked like you hadn't slept since he saw you last. He tried making a bit more small talk this time, hoping to get you to crack a smile, but you left just as quickly as last week.

On the third week, you had been tempted to ask Eddie to double up on what he had been giving you. You were grateful to have a couple hours a day where your brain didn't feel on fire, but you still weren't sleeping. You weren't sure more weed could help with that though.

"Probably a dumb question, but you don't happen to have anything stronger, do you?" You asked as he handed you the same amount as last time.

Your question seemed to strike a nerve with him. Not one that angered him, but one that definitely upset him. You couldn't make out his emotions, but you thought he almost seemed concerned. Little did you know, that question had brought him right back to a conversation in the woods with a particular cheerleader. Nothing good happened after she had asked him that.

"What are you looking for?" He asked, though it sounded like it pained him.

"No idea, just something to make my brain stop for a while."

He deliberated for a moment, then tried to play nonchalant when he asked, "Not sleeping, huh?"

"Is it that obvious?" You laughed bitterly.

"You look like you got hit by a bus… to put it lightly," he replied earnestly, and got a chuckle out of you.

"It's been a long year," you gave him a half hearted smile. This was still a business transaction to you, and the last thing you wanted to do was trauma dump on your dealer.

But that was exactly what he wanted.

"Can I be honest with you?" He asked, unable to fully hide his concern.

"Shoot."

"I know you're paying me, but I dont think drugs are your answer."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, I mean I don't know what's going on in there," he gestured vaguely towards your head, "but there's other ways to feel better."

"Well I think I've exhausted all my other options," you sighed, dragging a hand down your face.

"When's the last time you got a good night's sleep?"

"What's today?"

"Thursday."

"OK, well that would make it…. June?"

Eddie chuckled, but went right back to being worried.

"That's almost half a year."

"So you see why something stronger would do me wonders."

"I have a better idea. Do you trust me?"

You looked at him for a moment, deciding on how to answer. You barely knew him. This was your third time seeing him in person, and this was the most words you had heard come out of his mouth. Yet, the answer was yes. You trusted him wholeheartedly for some reason, but he didn't need to know that.

"Sure," you sighed, and allowed him to lead you to his couch.

He guided you to sit down, and left you with a blanket to cozy up with while he grabbed a joint from his bedroom, and an armful of snacks so you could stay put for the next few hours.

Now, taking your 4th puff from the lit joint before passing it back to him, you laid back and let him continue asking you questions.

"So you're friends with Cindy then?"

It took you a second to process who he meant. Cindy was the coworker who had recommended Eddie for weed.

"No, not really."

"Really? Because she seemed to have nothing but kind words about you."

"We're more of workplace acquaintances, I guess."

"OK. So do you live with any roommates?"

"No, just me."

"So no friends, no roommates, and no family within state lines?"

"Yeah, but it sounds more depressing when you put it like that."

"That's because it is depressing," he insisted, taking another drag from the joint. The room was just beginning to grow hazy from the smoke, and your brain was starting to feel the same.

"I think I know what's really wrong," he shot you a small smile from the other end of the couch.

"Oh yeah? Please tell me your diagnosis, Doctor Ed."

"You're lonely."

You froze for a second. Sure, it was obvious that was a big part of the problem. But how he said it, like it was almost a question. Like he knew that was the right answer, but there was still a blank he wanted you to fill in. It made you pause, unable to look him in the eye as you grabbed the joint from his hand and nearly inhaled the whole thing.

"Maybe you've got a knack for this therapy shit," you joked, hoping he wouldn't still be looking at you the same way when you returned his gaze. But he was. He was still looking at you with pity, though you could tell he was trying to hide it.

"How much do you trust me?"

"Less and less each time you ask."

"If I promise to stop asking, how would you feel about spending the night? We can watch a movie or something. And I'll drive you home in the morning."

"I dont know…"

"No strings attached, no ulterior motives. Just a guy trying to make a friend with someone just as lonely as him."

You considered for a moment. You hadn't meant what you said. No matter how many times he asked, you still trusted him. So you said yes.

You had to fight him on putting on a horror movie. It was the Halloween season after all, but you told him that watching people getting killed would make you rethink your decision to stay over.

"Feels too much like foreshadowing," you said, and he finally relented.

Instead, he found the old western he had inherited from Wayne when he moved out. You were much happier with that decision.

You fell asleep 30 minutes in, and Eddie would have complained in the morning that you had missed his favorite part, but he had fallen asleep right next to you. Your head rested on his shoulder, his head atop yours. The awkward untangling from each other was future you's problem.

For now, you were getting the full 8 hours you deserved.

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#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #dealer!eddie #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson hurt/comfort #stranger things #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson imagine

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anony-man · 25 days

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Chubformers drabble #89!

Characters: Fort Max (& Megatron)

Word count: 750

Eating was often a challenge for Fort Max when his processor could think of little else but haunting images and torturous thoughts. He was a big bot, and as such needed the fuel. According to Rung, and to Ratchet and that small medic First Aid, and to Overlord, a mech whose voice he hoped to never hear again, Fort Max needed the food.

He needed to eat. He needed the fuel.

Watery rations were hardly appetizing, and Fort Max often couldn’t stand to look at a plate of food for long without turning his helm away in disgust. Dozens of therapy sessions had ended in tears after Rung’s careful attempts at soothing his processor into allowing him to eat something ended in a mess, and not even the longest or harshest checkups with Ratchet were enough to convince his processor that there was nothing wrong with eating.

Fort Max was trying, really, he was. Still, he couldn’t just open his mouth and shovel fuel down his throat. It didn’t work, and it never would.

He was more than ready to give up on trying when one night, as he lie awake in his berth tossing and turning and waiting for sleep, he smelled something. His achy tanks churned at the thought of anything edible after the grueling day of trial and error, but Fort Max was curious.

This was the fourth or fifth day in a row of smelling and hearing someone working away in the ship’s kitchen, and he couldn’t help but wonder who would stay up so late for… for cooking.

The answer was a little startling, but once he’d crept out into the hall and snuck over towards the kitchen, he found he didn’t want to go back to lying awake in his berth for hours until the ship awoke. It was another bot suffering from insomnia, he supposed. Maybe he could sit and watch them cook for a while, just to put his mind at ease…

Fort Max was certain he’d been quiet, but Megatron had stopped working almost as soon as he poked his helm around the corner. Rather than turn around and huff at the intrusion like he was expecting, the old Con simply glanced over his shoulder with a smile and a beckoning servo.

“Took you long enough,” he’d said, his voice a deep rumble of kind amusement. “Why don’t you go have a seat? This’ll be done in a moment.”

That was a few weeks ago, and every night since Fort Max had crawled out of his room to join Megatron for a late night meal. About a week into the routine was when the ex-Con explained that the rich, comforting meals he made were of Kaonite origin, and Fort Max found himself warming up to the other mech all the faster because of it.

To think that this was the solution to his problems all along… it seemed unreal, like he was still missing something vital. But no, Fort Max reminded himself. Whatever worked.

It was a regular thing between them now, and he was quickly growing to look forward to their evenings spent together. The days still blurred in a mess of fear and frustration, but Fort Max always knew he could turn to Megatron’s gentle praise and delicious meals every night to wash away the hunger and pain.

Rung was surprised, as were the two medics, but for the moment, Fort Max decided to keep this a secret between him and Megatron. All that matters was that it was working, after all.

That night, same as every night before it, he snuck out into the hall and headed for the kitchen. The floors creaked and groaned beneath his pedes now, the strain of added weight hanging from a plump belly ruining the art of discretion, but Fort Max didn’t really care. Megatron always knew he was coming, anyways.

As expected, the kitchen was dimly lit as the ex-Con stood at the kitchen and cooked up their favorite dishes. Fort Max didn’t bother waiting for a greeting before heading straight for the table, knowing a plethora of praise would come while he ate to his spark’s content. Even so, the squeak of the chair against the floor alerted Megatron to his presence.

“There’s my favorite bot,” Megatron said, smiling warmly as he glanced back at Fort Max’s eager face. “Ready to eat?”

Fort Max beamed at the words, already rubbing a servo over his soft, grumbling belly.

“More than ready.”

#chubformers #idw fortress maximus #idw megatron #anon man writes

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crisp-burnt-water · 3 months

Text

"Clara Bow" is Xie Lian's song!

Clara Bow is the sixteenth track in pop titan Taylor Swift's newest album, The Tortured Poets Department. A famous American actress from the early 1900s, the titular Clara Bow was globally renowned as the personification of the Roaring Twenties and a leading sex symbol of the era. Tragically, Bow succumbed to mania and varying mental illness in her later years, eventually ending up institutionalized and dying from heart attack.

I'm half-hallucinating on a steady stream of caffeine, insomnia, and lucid daydreams, and I am here to preach the uncanny similarities between our beloved trash-collecting crown prince and this great song, separated by oceans, millennia, language barriers, and vast cultural divides! Here goes (song lyrics in indented quotes, individual analysis below):

“You look like Clara Bow in this light Remarkable”

17-year-old Xie Lian adorned in a gilded mask and robes, fighting Mu Qing before a screaming crowd of his people—until a mysterious young child wrapped in bandages falls from the city walls, and he leaps into the sky, sunlight catching against his jewels, to grasp the boy in his arms in a stunning act of heroism. As the light glitters off his blade, isn't he quite so remarkable?

(Alternatively, these lines capture his brilliant and short-burning life as beloved crown prince, treasure of all of Xianle, bright and utterly adored—he looks like the legends of old, doesn't he? Like a god. And yet, too much like Bow, he is forced to bear tragedy after tragedy until he finally crumbles before an unforgivable end.)

“All your life, did you know You’d be picked like a rose”

Xie Lian did know, really—that he was an unparalleled martial genius, undoubtedly on a cultivation path to divinity ... that the treasured prince of Xianle would be picked out of the sea of mortality to become a god one day, ascending and torn from his lifelong flowering vine, killed and risen at once.

But he never realized how awful it would be, would it? That roses are only plucked when they are young and naive and beautiful, and they always die when separated from their roots, killed before they might wither—or gain too much wisdom about this cruel world.

Sword in one hand ... and flower in the other. That is our god.

“I’m not trying to exaggerate But I think I might die if it happened Die if it happened to me”

Xie Lian dreamed of being a god, was so very flattered and amazed when Guoshi told him that he would undoubtedly ascend in his lifetime. He was so very deathly excited about this prospect, and yet ... did he know what the true implications were, in this reality where his mortal life must die utterly? (Where he might die along with it?)

“No one in my small town thought I'd see the lights of Manhattan”

The glittering lights of New York, the shining lanterns of heaven. Both a fantastical (and whimsically wretched!) heart of rot and hope and endless possibility. It is where dreams are born to die. It is where monoliths reside.

He was their prince, yes, gorgeous and undefeatable, but did the people of Xianle realize that this barely-fledged child would truly see the sparkling glow of the Godly Capital?

“This town is fake but You're the real thing Breath of fresh air through smoke rings Take the glory, give everything”

Xie Lian was, by very far, the youngest-ever god to have ascended, and he still holds unshakable ties to his people (who, as Guoshi bluntly puts it, are a weakness for him, because they have not perished quite yet.) He's "fresh" to the playing field of divine politics and earthly manipulations, and he's also an uniquely brilliant prodigy ... just given the crown of godhood, fueled by his seven thousand temples in the mortal realm, what will this new deity bring to the world?

“Promise to be dazzling”

Promise, Crown Prince, promise to bring glory to your people and your kingdom and your family. You must swear.

“You look like Stevie Nicks In ’75, the hair and lips”

Junwu? Perhaps? So similar, so breathtakingly different.

They were to rise to match each other.

“Crowd goes wild at her fingertips Half moonshine, a full eclipse”

Adored, incandescent, absolutely perfect for three wretched years, his closest attendants given godhood as well … Xie Lian's at his peak now, the brightest moment in his young life—and he is expected to reign, so very beloved, for many centuries more. What could possibly break this shining mirage? The people cheer at the wave of his hand.

Besides, there's this imagery:

“I’m not trying to exaggerate, But I think I might die if I made it, Die if I made it No one in my small town Thought I'd meet these suits in LA, They all want to say …”

In the end, Xie Lian is a teenage boy. He is still reeling at his ascension, his newfound divinity, and his unending success. (At the same time, though, is it not simply his birthright?)

And who would have thought that these great, ancient gods all think, awestruck—

“This town is fake but You're the real thing Breath of fresh air through smoke rings Take the glory, give everything Promise to be dazzling”

He is incredible.

Everyone has so much faith in him, this dazzlingly popular martial god of their nation. The gods above and the millions of mortals below all pray to him with bated breath, drowning temples in gold for a glimpse of his glory, for a glimpse of his divinity. They want this new god and new blood to breathe novel life into his worshippers.

“The crown is stained but you’re the real queen Flesh and blood amongst war machines”

Again, Xie Lian is a martial god: undoubtedly brutal war machines, who cannot respond to prayers other than those who cry for war and bloodshed. But he remains so painfully human beneath this all, doesn't he? He is young and hopeful and blind and foolish, and his heart remains mortal still. For all his power, he still remembers what it is to walk upon the earth, and that is nothing but a curse in the long journey of godhood.

He is ruined by his own humanity. "Flesh and blood," praised for it, killed for it.

“You're the new god we’re worshipping Promise to be … dazzling”

LITERALLY. QUITE LITERALLY XIE LIAN'S STORY. NO OTHER COMMENT.

(Additionally, the repetition of "dazzling" ...)

“Beauty is a beast that roars Down on all fours Demanding 'more'”

The fall of Xianle is all too inevitable and all too quick. He is beautiful and he is divine and he is perfect ... and what of it? They demand more, and more, and more. He has sacrificed everything he has already! How can he stop this mounting horror of conflict? How can he fix the hearts of starving peoples who are already too crazed to hear anything beyond the cries of their own desperation?!

They will always ask for more. And, soon enough, even the beautiful Flower-Crowned Martial God will be unable to meet their demands.

“Only when your girlish glow Flickers just so Do they let you know It's hell on earth to be heavenly”

Plague and disaster and war and famine! What could be more hellish than that? And it is made all the worse by Xie Lian's status as a god, by his overwhelming power that tears the world apart the more he tries to save it.

He is heavenly. He wants the best for all of his peoples. He wants an end to this suffering. And what is the result? More pain, more torture, death by a thousand swords. But he would never know until the last piece of his kingdom slipped away, until the people began to smash his temples down at last. (He is in heaven, he is in hell.)

“Them’s the breaks They don’t come gently”

NOT GENTLY AT ALL. Xie Lian, fallen from heaven, risen again, and then finally betrayed and cast down with chains that bind him horrifically to life …

“You look like Taylor Swift In this light We're loving it. You've got edge she never did

It has been eight hundred years. Xianle is nothing but a dust-kissed whisper in the history books. The rivers have swelled and dried, and mountains which once seemed so unmovable have collapsed, burned, been covered with new forests a thousand times over.

He is the Flower-Crowned Martial God, Sword in One Hand and Blossom in the Other. He is the prince of a kingdom of nothing, scarred by history no mortal will ever speak of again. He has spent nearly a millennium wandering the lands, learning the whisper of the brooks, the turns of the roads, the bite of the winter. He is a heroic general and street performer and scrap collector and young priest and the laughingstock of the three realms. He wears a bamboo hat gifted to him on a rainy day centuries ago. He walks with strange bandages around his neck and wrists and ankles, hiding the most inevitable brand of his past.

He is everything, and nothing at once. He is very much himself, and yet so much more ... All of history undulates with his quiet breaths. Can a god of war find peace in such a tumultuous world? When Xie Lian, Crown Prince of Xianle, ascends for the third time, all realms find themselves turned and enraptured, seeking the answer and the final outcome.

“The future's bright … Dazzling.”

That mysterious little orphan from eight centuries ago, bloodied and covered with bandages?

He has never once forgotten your grace. He has built a grand city in the name of your glory. He remembers what your great empire of a million worshippers was once like, and is determined to see it come into fruition again. He has made a name for himself—Crimson Rain Sought Flower, the supreme Ghost King—so that he may stand proudly by your side and be worthy of facing this world with you.

You have wandered the same converging path for one thousand years. You have been killed and gilded and cast into dust all the while during, and, now, you find each other. In a heartbeat, you fall into each other's embrace, and you vow to never let go.

The future's bright ... dazzling with the shine of thousands of lanterns.

Thank you to anybody who's read this far! <3 This analysis was just written for fun on a whim, and I'm absolutely open to any and all discussion~

Also, I apologize for any missteps, as I am new to Tumblr ^-^

#tgcf #xie lian #hua cheng #hualian #media analysis #song analysis #taylor swift #ttpd #clara bow #tian guan ci fu #heaven official's blessing #words words words #happy pride 🌈

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