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bella-rose29 · 4 months

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The Greatest Thing - Lockwood x fem!reader

requested by anon: Hi, I love the way you write! I was wondering (if requests are still open) if you could write a Lockwood x reader where reader's mother died when she was little for some reason, and by taking on a case reader and Lockwood find themselves having to fight the ghost of reader's mother ? And maybe even Lockwood calming Reader down after the mission? Feel free to change parts. (btw: sorry if English is terrible, I'm Italian, English is not my native language)

my lovely you don't need to apologise for your English, it's better than a lot of actual English people I know (myself included) <333

sorry this took me so long, but hopefully you enjoy!!

for reference, the song that's mentioned is specifically Nat King Cole's version of Nature Boy from 1948 <3

Word count: 4.2k

Warnings: swearing (only a lil), brief mentions of cancer (not explicit though), idk if there's anything else

I did just copy and paste the tag list from DTH part 9 so feel free to not read this if you don't want to! <3

It was nearly one in the morning when the telephone rang.

This was odd, because the phone had been broken for a little over twenty years.

It was more sentimental than anything else, and it was kept as a reminder of someone long gone, as was the typewriter that sat on the shelves next to the telephone, on top of the case it came in so that it could be admired. There was a record player too, although that was in perfect working condition, unlike the other two objects.

The ringing of the telephone woke up the inhabitant of the bedroom, and he groggily rubbed at his eyes as he sat up and turned the light on. The glare made him wince, but when he realised the broken telephone on his shelf was ringing, his eyes shot wide open. He scrambled for the working phone on his bedside table, trying not to panic too much and failing as he punched in the numbers. The line rang three times before someone picked up, and his breathing was shaky.

“Hello? I think there’s a ghost in my bedroom.”

~~~

“Lockwood? You awake?” Y/n pushed open the door to the library, making note of the dim light that shone under the door. Her voice was quiet, just in case he’d actually managed to fall asleep, but as soon as she stepped inside she saw him sat in his usual armchair with a book.

“Everything alright?” he asked.

“Not really. Dad’s just phoned me.” She took the chair next to him, watching as he put a bookmark in place and held the book closed on his lap.

“Ah, that’s who was calling.” He frowned. “You don’t sound too happy about it.”

“He thinks there’s a ghost in his room. Said the old telephone that Mum bought ages ago started ringing just now. He wants us to come and check it out as soon as we can.”

“How do we know it’s not just… someone calling?”

“It’s broken, Lockwood. Has been for ages. Pretty sure it was broken when Mum got it, but she thought it looked nice.”

“Right. Well… you know the house layout, and where things are. And if you’re not too tired… I suppose we could head over now? Only if you wanted. Your father is welcome to stay here if he wants, too.”

“Thank you, Lockwood. I don’t know that I’ll be able to sleep, not knowing Dad’s in danger. And he won’t want to go outside at this time of night anyway, not without a safe route to somewhere else. You sure you’re alright with going on a case now?”

“Of course I am, Y/n. Especially for you.” She tried not to flush too much at how sincerely he had said it and pushed out of the chair.

“Okay then. I’ll just… go and get changed.” She was still in her pyjamas from earlier. Lockwood was, predictably, in a suit, just without the jacket and tie. She was certain they were a second skin on him now.

“Meet me by the front door in ten? I’ll get the kit ready.”

“Sure. Don’t forget the biscuits like you did last time.”

~~~

It took five minutes of quietly moving around the attic so as not to wake Lucy for Y/n to get changed. She wasn’t entirely successful in being silent, since the floorboards creaked every two seconds and she fell over trying to get her jumper on because she got stuck inside it and didn’t see the corner of her bed, but somehow Lucy slept through it all. Y/n headed downstairs, wincing when the steps groaned under her weight, and went to find Lockwood in the basement. He was nearly done packing up the bags, and when he caught sight of her his smile was blinding.

“You all ready to go?”

“Yeah, think so. I’ve been thinking, about what the Source could be?” she said, although her voice lifted at the end to make it sound more like she was asking him a question. Lockwood nodded, zipping up the second kit bag and handing it to her when she reached for it. “I feel like the phone is too obvious, but if it’s some sort of Poltergeist it might be a good idea to check anyway. There’s quite a lot of things that could be a Source, actually. Mum loved collecting old stuff, said it reminded her of her childhood.”

“She wasn’t an agent, was she?”

“No. No Talent. Not with a capital ‘t’ anyway. She was amazing at loads of other things though.” They were in the hallway now, grabbing their rapiers out of the stand. Lockwood shrugged on his coat.

“What do you know about the history of the house? Any murders or deaths that could result in a Visitor?”

“No. There was Mum’s, but Dad got the place sorted out as soon as he could. DEPRAC came in and cleared the room.”

“Well, we’ll see what we can find, yeah?”

“Yeah. Thanks,” she said when he opened the front door and gestured for her to go first. Lockwood must have called a cab, because now there sat one just in front of the gate. “I told Dad to get into the kitchen and turn the table lamp on, ‘cause a couple years ago he got iron strips put in the floor, so he should be alright in there. We can get this taxi to wait for him and bring him here, right?”

“Of course. That was a smart move, both the iron strips and your suggestion. We’ll make the kitchen our main retreat, then.”

Ten minutes later they were pulling up outside her childhood home, and as soon as the taxi stopped Y/n was opening the door and rushing to greet her dad. Lockwood was talking to the driver, paying him for the journey they’d just taken and asking if he might stay a little longer to take a passenger back to 35 Portland Row.

“Hi, Dad, you alright?” Y/n breathed, wrapping her arms around her father.

“Been better, love. I’m glad you and your boyfriend are here though.”

“He’s not my boyfriend, Dad,” she said, feeling heat creep up her neck. “Lockwood’s my boss.”

“I just thought that since you talk about him all the time, y’know? Lockwood this and Lockwood that.”

“I’m gonna walk away now, I think. Have fun with the ghost!” she joked, knowing that she would never leave her father in a house where there was a possible haunting. “We, uh… we thought it might be best if you went to Portland Row for tonight while we work here. It’s a standard procedure to not have the clients in the house, but normally they’ve got somewhere to go and a bit more notice, and Lockwood said you can take his bed if you wanted. We have also got a sofa, but it’s not nearly as comfortable as a bed.”

“Alright, love. You’ll be alright, just the two of you?”

“Yeah.”

“I take it he’s keeping that cab for me?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay then. I’ll see you in the morning, love.” He must have known that she would ask him to leave the house because he reached behind him and picked up a bag, hoisting it over his shoulder and planting a quick kiss on her cheek.

“Bye, Dad!”

She watched as he sent a small wave over his shoulder, shaking Lockwood by the hand and thanking him for the offer of a place to stay, and then he was getting in the taxi and going back the way that she and Lockwood had come from.

Lockwood had the keys to the house in his hand, and before he unlocked the front door (her father had locked it when he’d seen the taxi approach) he turned back. “Are you sure you’ll be alright?”

“I can do this, Lockwood. For my Dad. Besides, if something’s only just surfacing now from one of the antiques, it can’t be too bad can it? I mean, it didn’t hurt my dad.”

~~~

As it turned out, it was quite bad.

Not in a holy-shit-this-ghost-will-kill-us way, but more in a holy-shit-why-does-this-house-feel-worse-than-a-graveyard-at-night? way.

Y/n had grown up in this house, had only really moved out two years ago, and she had never once felt unsafe or uneasy. Walking around it now, though, doing initial readings of sensations and temperature, she wondered how her father had managed to stay positive. Most things she just got echoes of her own childhood, her laughter as she ran through the halls while her parents chased her when she was three, baking in the kitchen and licking the bowl when she was five, crying when she tripped and slid down the last couple of steps on the stairs and grazed her knee at the bottom, and her mother pressing kisses to her hair and a plaster to her tiny injury when she was six. But underneath it all there was a malaise, something unsettling that seeped into Y/n and Lockwood’s bones and made them cautious.

“Does it normally feel like this?” he asked when they made it to the top of the stairs and around most of the rooms, one hand on his rapier hilt. They hadn’t drawn their weapons yet, but they knew it was only a matter of time.

“No. Dad would have said something.” The thermometer beeped, alerting them of a drop in temperature. Lockwood checked it where it sat attached to his belt.

“Minus two. It was three degrees just now.” They stood in silence on the landing, both looking at the thermometer. “Well, only one door left, I suppose. Do you want to do it or should I?”

“I’ll do it.” She made her way to the door of her parents’ bedroom and took a shaky breath before placing her hand on the doorknob. Immediately a rush of memories hit her, from when her parents first moved in after their marriage, to the day she was born in that room, to the countless times Y/n had crept in in the night because she’d had a bad dream, up to the point when her mother had last touched the handle. It went further, but the force of the memory of her mother made her push the door open and step over the threshold.

Lockwood was right behind her, and she heard him draw in a breath and reach into his coat for his sunglasses. Y/n whipped around to look at him just as he pushed them over his eyes, catching the last of his squint while he warily studied the bed. “Why are you putting those on?” she asked, not liking the wobble that accompanied it.

“Death glow on the bed. Are…” he hesitated for a moment, and she imagined his eyes darting between her and the bed behind her. “Are you absolutely sure that your father got the house cleaned out?” His voice was soft, like he was trying to not agitate her too much, but she got defensive anyway.

“Yes. He wouldn’t lie about something like that, not when he had a six year old living in a possibly haunted house!”

“But… and I’m not doubting you, or your father, I just need to know, were you here when the house got cleaned out after your mother passed?”

“No, Dad sent me to my friend’s house. He said it wouldn’t be good for us to be in the house while they were working.”

“So you never actually saw people cleaning out this place?” She froze, catching on to what Lockwood was getting at.

“No,” she whispered, turning to look back at the bed. Her mother had died in it over ten years ago from untreated cancer, completely unexpectedly. She’d gone peacefully at least, in her sleep, but it had broken the two members of the family that had been left behind. Her father had told her that he’d call DEPRAC and get the house cleaned out, to keep the two of them safe, but now as she grabbed a hold of the doorknob again she realised there was no memory of people coming in to do that job. “Shit. Shit shit shit shit.”

“Hey,” Lockwood said, sunglasses still perched on his nose. “It’s alright. We’re agents, and we’re Lockwood and Co. I know… I know this won’t be easy, Y/n/n, but we can do this. You can do this. Just breathe in, and back out. Good. Right. Have a think: what in here could be the Source? Hey, focus, Y/n.” His tone grew a little harsher as he grabbed her shoulders, pulling her away from the door.

“Why wouldn’t he clean the house?” Her breath was coming too quickly now, and her eyes couldn’t settle on any one thing. “Why, Lockwood? Why wouldn’t he do it?”

“Because sometimes we love someone too much to have them gone forever.” Her eyes finally stopped moving around, instead meeting his and making her draw in a breath at the vulnerability in his eyes. His voice had been rough with emotion, and immediately she thought of the door on the landing back at 35 Portland Row. As quickly as he had opened up, his walls had snapped back into place, and he was leaning back and smiling softly at her. “Let’s try not to focus on that too much, yeah? Maybe the phone?” As though he had summoned it, the old telephone on the shelf started ringing as soon as he finished talking. “Okay… that was weird.”

“It’s not even got wires attached to it,” Y/n breathed.

“Visitor is definitely a Poltergeist then. There’s no apparition which is good, because no ghost-touch. That’s also bad though. No way of really knowing what the Source could be.” She tuned Lockwood out, knowing that he would just be talking himself through the situation they were in, and kept on staring at the telephone. It hadn’t stopped ringing.

Music suddenly started blaring out of the record player, despite there not being any record to play. It was a song that Y/n recognised, although she couldn’t remember where from.

“Is that… is that ‘Nature Boy’?” Lockwood asked, glancing incredulously at the record player.

“Oh my god. Yeah. It was Mum’s favourite song, specifically this version.” Her mother would often be found with it playing on the record player in the study downstairs, and she’d told Y/n the story behind it a million times. She’d been adamant that Y/n never forget the words, and now as it played she knew it was her mother haunting this room.

“I think it’s broken,” Lockwood said when the song skipped back to repeat the last section of the song.

“The greatest thing…”

“No, it’s not. Maybe it’s the record player? Maybe that’s the Source?” The music stopped, and she knew she was wrong. “Okay… so the telephone is the Source?” At once the music started again, but from a different point.

“But very wise…”

“Is… is your mother helping us?”

“I think so.”

“… Why?”

“Maybe she just wants to move on?”

“But very wise…”

“Okay this is freaking me out a little bit now,” she said, moving over to the telephone. It stopped ringing when she got close enough to reach out and touch it, and she glanced at Lockwood. “Silver net?” He wordlessly passed her one, his sunglasses still obscuring his eyes. His face was impassive and she couldn’t figure out what he was thinking, but he was focused on the record player. It had continued playing from where her mother’s ghost had skipped back to help them, and was finishing up the last lines of the song.

“The greatest thing… you’ll ever learn… is just to love… and be loved… in return…”

The room became silent after that, and both Lockwood and Y/n stood staring at the record player. Nothing moved until Y/n finally broke out of whatever world she had disappeared into, slowly placing the silver net over the telephone and wrapping it carefully. At once the temperature lifted, and just before she had finished containing the Source of her mother’s ghost she heard a sigh in the air, as though someone was finally being allowed some peace.

“We should head over to the furnaces,” Lockwood finally said. “Unless you wanted to put it in a silver glass case?”

“I’ll talk to Dad about it in the morning.”

“Alright. Here, let me…” he stepped over and gently removed the telephone from her hands. “Why don’t you go and sort out the kitchen, get all our things together? I’ll get a taxi for us.” Y/n nodded, not taking her eyes off of the bundle in his arms. “Y/n?”

“Hmm?” She was unfocused, untethered to this world, and his voice was muffled. She vaguely noted Lockwood putting the Source down and coming closer to her, and then he was hugging her tightly, pressing her into his chest and his lips to her head when she drew in a shaky breath and sobbed.

“It’s alright. It’s alright.”

She wasn’t sure how long they were there for, her crying into his dress shirt and him rubbing her back and whispering softly to her, but by the time she pulled back, her sobs reduced to slight hitches in her breath, her throat was sore and her eyes puffy. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, Y/n.”

~~~

It was nearly three in the morning when the telephone rang.

This wasn’t odd, because this time it was Lockwood phoning Portland Row to let them know that the ghost had been dealt with, and he and Y/n were coming back.

Y/n had remained silent for the duration of the taxi ride back to 35 Portland Row, staring out the window with her eyes looking at something that Lockwood couldn’t see. He knew what it was like, to be in her position, but he had no idea how to comfort her other than just being here. She’d gripped him earlier, when they were hugging, like she thought he might be the next one to leave. It had broken his heart and made it swell at the same time that she had held him so tightly, but now he was left to wonder how else he might help.

She was still silent when they walked through the front door.

Her father came out of the living room to greet them, and Y/n had frozen, rapier mid-air while she went to put it away in the umbrella stand. Lockwood had put his own rapier away, and the sound made her snap out of whatever trance she had been in and finish her previous action before taking one last look at her father and running upstairs. Lockwood shrugged off his long coat, hanging it on the stand.

“It was her mother,” he said, looking at the stairs instead of at the man he was talking to. “I think she’s upset that you lied to her, about clearing out the house.”

“I couldn’t-” he broke off, coughing slightly to clear his throat when emotion clogged it up. “I couldn’t bring myself to do it.”

“I know.” He could barely look at that door on the landing most of the time. He turned to face Y/n’s father. “But you made that house unsafe. You got lucky. She was a Poltergeist, but completely unaggressive like they normally are. Very lucky, in fact, because there was no chance of you being ghost-touched. But still, you should have told her.” The man nodded, tears starting to fall on his cheeks.

“I suppose you put the Source in the furnaces then?”

“No, actually. I asked Y/n what she wanted to do, and she said she’d talk to you. You could keep it, so long as it was in a sealed silver glass box. You wouldn’t have to lose her again.”

“That would be great, thank you. Is it safe here overnight?”

“I’ll put it in the storeroom downstairs,” Lockwood smiled, one of his classic customer service smiles, and moved towards the kitchen. “Whereabouts did you decide to sleep in the end? The living room?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright. Well, goodnight, sir.”

“You’re a good lad, Mr. Lockwood. I can see why my Y/n likes you so much. Goodnight,” he waved, disappearing into the living room and closing the door behind him. Lockwood stood in the hallway, Source still wrapped in the silver net, and tried not to blush too much at the way those words had been said.

~~~

“What are you doing in here?”

Y/n jumped at the sound of Lockwood’s voice, and immediately felt a little guilty for intruding on his personal space. “Sorry,” she muttered. “I didn’t want to wake Lucy up, ‘cause she hasn’t been sleeping well recently, so I came in here. Sorry.”

“That’s alright.” He went to grab his pyjamas, then did a double-take. “Is that my shirt?”

“Oh.” She looked down and flushed. “I didn’t… I forgot that by not going up to the attic I wouldn’t have anything to sleep in, so… yeah.”

“Oh.”

She wished he would say more, because his gaze was as heavy as the silence that settled over them after that single syllable.

“Lockwood?”

A pause. “Yeah?”

“I can leave-”

“No!” He swallowed thickly, then repeated himself. “No. I mean, no point waking Lucy up, is there? I’ll be back in a bit, just… going to go get changed.” She watched him leave, and then five minutes later she watched him come back.

“You alright?”

“Yeah,” he answered, sounding anything but. He looked… nervous? Why the hell was he nervous? “You?”

“I’m alright.” She tried not to laugh, settling for an amused smile instead, and waited for him to get into bed next to her and turn off the light. Once it was dark (or as dark as it could be with the ghost lamp outside the window), she heard him shuffle around in his bed so that he was facing her. The outline of his face was barely visible, but it was enough that she could make out where his eyes were, and where his faint smile was. “Lockwood?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. For earlier.”

“I already told you, anytime.” They went quiet, just enjoying the comfort of Lockwood’s bedroom. “I talked to your dad, by the way. He said he didn’t want to lose her again, so I’ve offered to sort out a case for the phone in the morning. I also told him off for lying to you, which terrified me, because your dad is not a small man.” Y/n let out a snort at the last part, and she saw the faint light from outside light up Lockwood’s teeth as he grinned.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I did. Back at the house, you were… well, I’m not really sure what you were. But you weren’t you, and it scared me. It’s like you went somewhere else, Y/n. I just can’t lose you, is all.”

“Oh.” Now it was her turn to not say much, and she could feel him fidgeting.

“Your dad said something. About you.”

“What? What did he say?” Her heart was beating faster, not knowing if he’d said something good or bad.

“He said that you like me a lot.” Now her heart was thumping for a different reason.

“Well, yeah. It’s difficult not to like you, Lockwood, you’re a very likeable person, you know? Very-”

“Why are you nervous?”

“What?”

“You’re talking really fast. You do that when you’re nervous. Why are you nervous?” Damn him for knowing her so well.

“Uh… I just… I don’t know.” She did know, but how could she admit to her boss that she had the biggest crush on him while they were lying in his bed together?

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have- it just sounded like he meant it in a… in a like like way.” She took a deep breath, and decided to bite the bullet. At least if it was dark she couldn’t see his face when he rejected her.

“He did. I… I’ve liked you for a while, actually.” There was no response, and suddenly it all seemed like a terrible idea. “Lockwood?”

“How long?” There was no discernible emotion in his voice.

“About two years?”

“So… since you got here?”

“Yeah, basically.”

“You’re telling me,” he started, frustration seeping through, and she shrunk in on herself a little. “You’re telling me that we could have been together this entire time?!”

“Yeah, I guess so. Wait,” she frowned, “wait what did you just say?”

“It took us removing your mother’s Source from your childhood home and your father telling me that you really like me for this to happen?!”

“… Yeah?” She heard him bring his hands up to his face and groan, and then heard him shuffle around again. A moment later his hand was touching hers, tentatively at first, then lacing his fingers through hers and tugging her closer to him when he realised he’d found her. She ended up curled into his side, her head in the crook of his neck, and his arms wrapped around her torso under the duvet.

“Well I know you’re free after we wake up, so right after we get the glass case sorted out I’m taking you out for food.”

“Like a date?”

“Exactly like that.”

It wasn’t long after that that the pair of them fell asleep, and before she drifted off in Lockwood’s arms, she couldn’t help but think how her mother had been right about loving and being loved, and how it was the greatest thing in the world.

tag list: @ahead-fullofdreams, @aislinrayne, @anathemaloren, @anthgoldenhrry, @augustisintheair, @avdiobliss, @aysha4life, @bobbys-not-that-small, @briar-rose23, @curseofhecate, @dangelnleif, @edible-rat-vomit, @el-de-phi, @ell0ra-br3kk3r, @ettadear, @fearlessmoony, @fudosl, @idkbubs, @imaginebeingmentallystable, @informedimagining, @karensirkobabes, @lady-ashfade, @light-23, @locklyebrainrot, @locklyle1kanij, @locknco, @magicandrosewaters, @mentallyillsodapop, @mischivana, @mitskiswift99, @mrsklockwood, @mrsyixingunicorn10, @newbooksmell777, @no-morning-glories, @novelizt, @phlooper, @ran23sblog, @reggiepeterss, @simrah1012, @somethingrandomwatzit, @star-of-velaris, @superpositvecloudshipper, @t2sh0, @taygrls, @tournesol77, @whistle1whistle, @whenselenefallsinlove, @wordsarelife, @y0urm0m12, @zoom1374, @asyouwish-fromcabin3, @magicandrosewaters

#lockwood and co #lockwood & co #anthony lockwood #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x you #lockwood x reader

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whatsnewalycat · 10 months

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Psychomanteum / Chapter 13

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x OFC Louella (2nd POV)

Chapter 13: Lunacy Fringe

Chapter Summary: You and Dieter spend the day at the beach.

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Word Count: 9.2k+

Content / Warnings: alternating pov, grief, heart-to-heart, fluff, angst, smut, swearing, blood, cannabis use, cliffhanger, public sex, poverty mention, infertility mention near-death experiences, unprotected piv sex, ocean

Notes: Chapter title from “Lunacy Fringe” by The Used. Hmmmm let’s see. Idk if you know this, but I am employed now after like 16 months being a full-time student and SAHM, so I’m in a bit of an ~ adjustment ~ period and might take a bit longer to post things, but time will tell lol. This is a very soft chapter, I hope you like it. Let me know what ya think 🖤✨

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Despite your initial trepidation in doing the DIRT interview, and how disastrous it actually wound up being, Darlene reported to you and Dieter that public feedback has been generally positive. As all three of you expected, some of his fans have labeled you a gold digger, conwoman, or flavor of the week, but most find your story a sympathetic one and seem to be supportive.

The news has saturated the past five days in a warmth and brightness you’ve never encountered before in your life.

You and Dieter have been painting and writing and laughing and cooking and fucking and falling asleep tangled up in each other and waking up stuck together by sweat. Luxuriating in something neither of you could afford before: quality time.

Today is no exception, with the two of you under the white down duvet tent, all glowing from morning sun pouring in through the skylight onto his bed.

It smells like him here, of course, but it also smells like you. Your scent has seeped into the threading of his sheets, commingling with his. Like you’ve claimed your spot here with him and now it’s something different, something shared and sacred.

Meaning that it now smells like you, in the collective sense, and find any excuse to bask in it as long as you can.

The pads of Dieter’s fingers trail along the shiny scar tissue that laces your leg, your hip, your arm. All those swaths of skin once split open, he traces them with reverence, his touch delicate and studious. Content to memorize you as long as you’ll let him.

You count the gray hairs sprouting in his beard and at his temples. The wrinkles that crease his forehead and eyes. Signs of age you feel blessed to encounter.

You think about how the two of you were rejected from the afterlife, from the omnipresent belonging, the sea of love, back into these vessels.

“What was it like when you died?” you ask him, bringing your touch to that hairless heart-shaped spot at his jawline, “Like, what did you see?”

“I, umm,” he clears the sleep from his throat, then says, “I remember feeling tired. So fucking tired. This crazy heavy fatigue took over, like—like someone put the world’s heaviest weighted blanket on me, and I tried to stay awake but I just fucking couldn’t. When I woke, I was floating above my body. Saw them all trying to revive me. Then it was like… I was sucked up into this tunnel.”

“The tunnel,” you grin, “That tunnel was fucking awesome.”

He chuckles, “It really was. It was like… I’ve never felt more at peace. Fucking wild,” he shakes his head and frowns, “I saw all these scenes from my life. Growing up, living in New York, getting my first real gig, moving to LA, all that. I got to that barrier, you know,” he glances at you and you nod knowingly.

“I was right there, I touched it, and I knew that was it but I wasn’t scared. Then Annie shot the adrenaline, and I was getting sucked back, and,” his eyes flick to yours, softening to ganache, “And… I saw you.”

You blink, searching his face, shaking your head.

“I—I saw you, Louella. I didn’t know who you were. But when I met you, I recognized you. I felt this,” he turns his wrist in a circle and twists his face up in this bewildered expression, “Connection. I don’t know. Like it was supposed to happen.”

Then he looks at you, and his eyes are glassy and wide with this tender awe. Every cell in your body swells so fat and ripe with love, it’s a miracle you don’t burst like an overfilled water balloon. It hurts, how much you love him.

“You never told me that," you manage to whisper, brushing your knuckles against his cheek. He gives you a sheepish shrug, and you drag your fingertip down the bridge of his nose, “Maybe it was supposed to happen.”

Dieter plucks your hand from his face and interlaces his fingers with yours, then immediately pulls it back, pressing a slow, wet kiss into the blackwork apple tattooed on your wrist. He brings your palm to his cheek and holds it there, his eyelids fluttering, “What was it like for you?”

“Well,” you set your thumb in motion against his skin, “I closed my eyes, and it was dark, then I opened them and saw the wreck. Paramedics were putting me on a stretcher, and there was so much blood I was… red. Like someone dropped me in paint or something.”

The phantom scent of iron sends a shiver up your spine. It took a week to rid your hair of that smell. In the hospital, you scraped under your nails and picked at the hollows of your ears for days before you stopped finding dried blood.

Maybe it wasn’t days. Maybe it was hours, or minutes, you’re not sure.

You just know that, for approximately an eternity, you discovered a small mountain of little rust-red flakes and wondered whose blood it was, knowing that even if it wasn’t his, it was.

Dieter kisses your palm, pulling you back into the present. You blink a few times, take a deep breath, then continue.

“Ethan was with me, and we were pulled behind the ambulance, like there was some kind of tether between me and my body, but somewhere along the way, he disappeared. That’s when I noticed...”

You tilt your head and frown, watching your nails graze his whiskers while your mind tries to assemble a description that might make sense.

“Above me, there was this light. Something inside me knew that’s where he went, so I followed him into the tunnel. I saw my life. When I was growing up in Ohio, my dad, my mom… the time I spent, um…”

Your teeth catch your bottom lip and your eyes flick to his, “I don’t think I’ve ever told you this, but I lived out of my car for a few years after I moved out, before I was accepted into CIA.”

“Really?” he searches your face, and when you nod, he rolls on his side, sliding his palm along the curve of your back, scooping you up to bring you closer.

“Well, technically I was still homeless when I started going there, ‘til my classmate found out and insisted I move in with him,” you smirk, “That’s how Parker became my bestest friend.”

“As always, a man after my own heart,” he murmurs and mimics the smirk on your lips. The tips of his fingers work up and down your spine in a soothing motion.

You chuckle at this, then sigh, “Then, yeah, moving to the city, meeting Ethan. I got to the barrier and saw him cross. I could see inside it like a window. My grandparents, my dad, and Ethan—they were all there, but wouldn’t let me through. My dad told me I needed to go back, that I had more to do.”

A burning sensation climbs up your throat, settling behind your eyes, where tears start to form. You swallow the thick, raw feeling and shake your head.

“I didn’t believe him. I didn’t think there was anything left for me if Ethan was gone, even though—”

When you realize what you were about to say, a sob escapes you. Dieter kisses your cheek, then your forehead, and tightens his arms around you. You curl up against him, wriggling your head into that space between his collarbone and jaw. The heat of his body and your own recycled breath warms your face.

“Promise not to judge me for this?” you ask him in a hoarse whisper.

He tucks your hair behind your ear, “I promise.”

“Sometimes—you know, when things were really bad with him—sometimes I, um,” your voice breaks. You squeeze your eyes shut in an attempt to stop the tears, take a shaky breath, then confess, “Sometimes I wished he would die.“

Self-loathing crackles in your chest. Each second that passes with no response only amplifies the feeling, and you can’t stop the wave of anxious thoughts from spilling out your lips, “It’s fucking horrible, I know it is, but he wasn’t the man I married anymore. He would leave for hours, sometimes days, without telling me where he was or who he was with, coming home all fucking strung out, reeking of booze and smoke and pussy, and—and if I asked, if I dared to fucking ask, he treated me like—like I was the fucking enemy or something—”

Another wet sob gurgles from deep in your chest. Dieter squeezes you tight, nuzzling against the crown of your head, thumb grazing your shoulder as he coos, “It’s ok, baby, it’s ok—”

“No, Dieter, it’s not fucking ok—I should have done something when I noticed it happening more and more, but I was so fucking angry with him for taking away my choice to have a family—”

He shifts to look down at you, asking, “What do you mean?”

Your heart jumps so high, it seems to get lodged in your throat for a moment. You shake your head and swallow it down, then take a deep, wobbly breath, exhaling a sigh, “He, um… he cheated on me. Said it was a one time thing, he was all fucked up because it was the anniversary of his brother’s death—I—I don’t know. He didn’t tell me until months later when I got really sick out of nowhere and had to go to the Emergency Room. They couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me at first, but admitted me and started me on antibiotics because the symptoms pointed to an infection.”

This big, blue boulder settles on your sternum and presses the air from your lungs. Dieter’s comforting touch starts again, swirling patterns into your shoulder, his arms cradling around you, lulling you into a sense of security, urging you onward. You relax into his warmth and clear your throat.

“When the antibiotics worked, the doctors looked into my symptoms further. They ran a bunch of tests and eventually found that I had chlamydia. I told them it was impossible, the only person I was sexually active with was my husband—and, well… yeah. Anyway. Turns out he knew he had it, got treated, but couldn’t bring himself to tell me about it,” you shake your head and let out a sad chuckle, “Just, um, stopped fucking me. Let it fester inside me until it turned into pelvic inflammatory disease, which scarred my reproductive organs enough to make me infertile.”

“Fuck,” he mutters, and his lips part like he’s going to say more, but his breath catches and they snap shut. When they open again, he says, “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

You study him, “What were you going to say?”

“What?”

“Before you said you’re sorry, what were you going to say?”

“I, uhh,” he pauses, and you hear the wet squelch of his gulp, “Nothing, it’s not important.”

You pull back to meet his eyes, finding them all red and glossy. An ache of affection radiates across your chest. You cup his cheeks and search his face, “Tell me.”

“Just… that’s just a fucking terrible thing to do to someone you love,” he shakes his head, tears pooling in his eyes as he winces and looks away, “But—but my first thought was that I understand why, he umm, why—”

His face crumples. Tears blur your vision. You nod, showing you get what he’s trying to say.

He sniffles, and his eyebrows draw together as he meets your gaze, “God, that’s fucked up, right? What the fuck does that say about me?”

You take a moment to deliberate, wiping your eyes before telling him, “I think… the fact that you are able to recognize that in yourself, and know that it’s wrong, but tell me the truth anyway, is…” you lick your lips as you try to find the right words, deciding on, “Indicative of growth.“

Dieter chuckles. It’s a wet, forceful noise, like he couldn’t even help it from happening. He sniffles and presses his forehead to yours. His thumb scrapes against your damp cheek, “That is very diplomatic of you.”

You smile despite the tears, then lean in to give him a tender kiss. His lips are warm and soft. They linger on yours for a few moments, and when you pull away, you murmur, “I love you, Dieter.”

“I love you, too,” he rumbles, brushing your face with the back of his hand, “So, you found that out in the hospital, and I’m assuming things got worse with him after that?”

“Yeah,” you frown and nod, “Yeah, I mean, I iced him out pretty hard. It all went down right before COVID hit New York, you know, and we were stuck at home together… he’d run our orders, then lock himself away in his office. I’d hear him snorting and pacing in there for hours. Like a caged animal. He’d come out all fucking,” you make a sniff noise and mimic a facial tic, “Twitchy and withdrawn, which was totally not like him. But, I don’t know. I couldn’t bridge that gap and move past what happened enough to help him.”

You sigh, flicking your gaze to his, “Do you remember what he was like?”

“Yeah,” Dieter swallows, glancing behind you for a moment before returning to your eyes, “He was nice. Funny. Easy-going. I—I mean, I liked him. Sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?”

“Well, knowing what I know about him now, I feel… I don’t know, guilty, or something.”

“Don’t,” you frown and shake your head, combing your fingers through his curls, “He was all of those things. He was so… good, you know? This thing would happen, I swear to fucking god it was like every time we went out,” you chuckle fondly, “He would strike up a conversation with a stranger and make friends with them. It was effortless. He was so magnetic. I always loved that about him. And it’s not like he was different behind closed doors or anything like that. Not at that point, anyway.”

Your smile falters. Dieter tilts your chin up and kisses you. When he pulls back, you wriggle into his chest and close your eyes.

“That’s what I mean, though, when I say he wasn’t the man I married. He became paranoid, unpredictable, erratic. There was this darkness about him that was so… hard to be around. I—I fucking hated him.”

Your stomach drops, eyes blinking open. Before you can think twice, you tell Dieter, “That’s the last thing I said to him. ‘I fucking hate you.’”

He draws a sharp breath, holds it for a moment, then says, “That’s not true, though. You talked to him last weekend, in the psychomanteum.”

Your lips part to contradict him, but you realize he’s right. That dark, heavy feeling in your chest lifts enough for you to smile. Fresh tears prick your eyes, “I did, didn’t I?”

“Fuck yeah you did,” he grins, craning his head to kiss your forehead, murmuring against your skin, “My sexy little ghostbuster.”

You bury your face in his neck and laugh. His chest vibrates with a low chuckle. A serene silence settles under the white, glowing dome. Dieter releases a content sigh and traces the pomegranate on your shoulder, “Did you ever find out why?”

“Why what?”

“Why he, umm—”

“Ah,” you nod, “Why he tried to kill us?”

“Yeah.”

“No,” you furrow your brow, “When he dragged me out of bed that night, he kept asking me who I was working for, said it had to be NYPD or feds. He told me that someone was following him and he knew I was setting him up. I don’t know.”

You take one of his hands and interlace it with yours, cuddling them to your chest, “The first time we tried the psychomanteum, I was hoping he would be how he was before—I mean, obviously because I needed to know who he really was, if it was all a lie in the beginning, if I had just missed it… but I also wanted to ask if I should lay low. The more time that went on, though, with no red flags from police, the more I knew he was just… sick.”

Dieter hums in acknowledgment.

“I’m so glad we tried again. That I got to talk to him again,” you say, smirking when you add, “Thank you for helping me with my crazy ghost FaceTime.”

He smiles, “Thank you for convincing me to try it. I’m glad I did.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he pauses and shifts a little, “James and I, in our heyday, we would write these scripts and screenplays and act them out. He did most of the writing, and I did the big parts, but I, you know, I liked… writing.”

You pull back and tilt your head at him, a grin spreading across your face at his bashful demeanor, “Really?”

He nods, a little bob wobbling his throat, “I’ve been thinking about giving that a shot. I have some ideas for scripts, but I’ve been so… reluctant, I guess, to put them to paper,” he shrugs, “When I talked to James, he told me I should try it again, and I’ve been thinking about it a lot.”

“I think he’s right,” you tell him, and press a kiss into the back of his hand.

“I just keep thinking… What if it’s terrible? What if nobody likes it?”

“Does it matter as long as you like it?”

His features shift into seriousness as he considers this. Brow furrowed and pinched in the middle. Corners of his mouth folded in a slight frown. Eyes downcast, studying your clasped hands as he flattens your palm over his heart.

The soft, rhythmic thump-thump beats steady. You watch his eyelids flutter and his facial muscles slacken into a serene expression. This feeling comes over you that’s hard to explain.

It surges from deep inside your chest and buzzes across your skin.

There’s weight to it. Nothing you can’t handle, but still, the heaviness is apparent. You simultaneously feel responsible and completely exposed. Like you’re exchanging your most prized, most fragile possessions, under the silent condition that neither of you will break the other’s.

You would be lying if you said it didn’t scare the shit out of you. You would also be lying if you said it didn’t bring you joy.

He catches you staring and smiles, “What?”

“Nothing,” you grin, “I just… I love you.”

“Yeah?”

You nod, glancing down at his lips.

He searches your face and murmurs, “I love you so much.”

“So fucking much,” you confirm.

Gravel crunches beneath your sandals as you trot down the steep path to the beach, splitting your attention between your clumsy footwork and the scenery.

Clusters of purple flowers occasionally break up the tall, dry grass. Palm trees stretch high into the brilliant, cloudless sky. Beyond the white sand beach sits the Pacific Ocean, dark and alive.

As you inhale deep and wide, letting your eyes shut as you relish the sulphuric, briny scent of the sea, your foot catches on a rock, and you stumble forward with a yelp, grabbing Dieter’s arm to keep you from falling. He only falters a little when you latch onto him, even though he’s outfitted like a pack mule, beach chairs strapped to his back, lugging a tote bag stuffed with towels and a cooler.

“You ok?”

“Yeah,” you wrap your hand around his bicep for support and shrug, “Just, y’know, being super attentive and graceful.”

His muscles twitch under your grip, “Good thing you have such a big strong man to hang onto.”

“Are you flexing?”

“Pffff, no,” he scoffs, and this big, contagious smile spreads across his face. Gravel transitions into sand at the trail’s end, and he asks, “Alright, doll, where you wanna set up camp?”

Your nose crinkles as you squint around the sparsely populated beach. There’s a section of shoreline far away from everyone else, and you point to it, “Right there! Avast ye!”

“Aye aye, captain!”

His pirate voice is surprisingly on point. It makes you laugh. He grins at your amusement as the two of you trudge towards the spot. Sand kicks up inside your sandals, gritty and hot against your feet, and you grumble, “Fuck this, I can’t with the shoes.”

You slow down to take them off, but Dieter stops you, “Wait wait wait—”

“What?”

“Think you can kick ‘em all the way there?”

You shrug, “Probably.”

He sets the cooler down, takes a step back, and props his hands on his hips, looking between you and the vacant section of beach through his sunglasses, “Let’s see it.”

Rolling your eyes, you tease, “You are such a boy.”

“Kick your shoes! Kick your shoes! Kick your—”

You wind up your right leg, then kick it forward, sending the sandal flying.

“YEAAAAAAH!”

It goes high, but not far, flopping on the ground a few strides ahead.

“Ah, beans,” you say, “I thought that was outta here.”

“See, your problem is,” Dieter drops the tote bag and shucks off the beach chairs strapped to his back.

“Oh, you have a technique? A shoe kicking technique?”

“Obviously,” he guffaws while tugging his joggers up his calves, “You gotta get your flippy all floppy on your toes, then kick it.”

“I believe the technical term is loosey-goosey.”

“You’re absolutely right, my mistake,” he walks to your side and points to his foot, “See, watch this.”

He shakes his foot around until the sandal dangles off it, then winds up and launches it forward. It goes about four times further than yours, landing right where the two of you were headed.

“BOOM! That’s a shoe kick.”

“Nice,” you give him a high five.

“Thanks,” he grins, “Now you try. Should we do this one together?”

“Ok ok,” you balance on your right foot, wriggling your ankle around until the sandal slides down as far as it can.

Dieter does the same, “Here we go, ready?”

“So fucking ready.”

“One, two, three—”

Both of you rear back, then kick, and your sandals go whizzing through the air. Yours hits the ground first and skids across the sand, coming to rest a few feet from his first sandal, while Dieter’s flies so far it’s just a speck in the distance.

“Holy shit!” you laugh, “That went so fucking far.”

“And the crowd goes wild!” Dieter bellows, embellishing the statement with cheering noises as he runs a victory lap around you.

You snort and shake your head, “Ok, now you’re gloating.”

He continues the one man celebration as he returns to his abandoned cargo, then heaves the chairs back over his shoulders. You skip up to him and snatch the tote bag off the ground, even though he insisted on carrying everything, then take your place on his arm.

Once the two of you arrive at the vacant stretch of beach, marked by two left sandals, Dieter sets everything up, unfolding the colorful canvas beach chairs on either side of the cooler while you strip down to your black string bikini. He digs in the pockets of his joggers and unloads most of their contents into the tote bag, save for a little tin of joints and a lighter, which he sets on the cooler.

Stretching out in the beach chair, you bury your toes in the hot sand and watch Dieter kick off his pants. He notices you noticing him and whistles at you, a flirty wheet-whew.

You grin, and when he reaches for the hem of his shirt, you catcall, “Take it off!”

He does so dramatically, spinning the shirt over his head like a helicopter and flossing it between his legs before tossing it at you.

“Oh my god,” you laugh when it smacks you in the face. The fabric is warm and reeks of him, which you kind of like, so you ball it up and stuff it behind your head like a pillow.

With a groan, Dieter sits down and grabs the tin off the cooler, plugging a joint between his lips. He lights it and takes a few puffs, then relaxes back into the beach chair, passing the torch to you.

You accept it and take two hits in quick succession, keeping the smoke hostage in your lungs. The rush of THC blurs your senses and elevates you to a pleasant altitude where worries slough off your brain. On the exhale, you hand it to Dieter and ask, “If you were a fish, what kind of fish do you think you’d be?”

He just starts giggling as he plucks the joint from your fingertips and takes a drag.

You catch a few contagious giggles and tell him, “I think—I think I would be a, uhh… a pufferfish.”

He furrows his brow and blows the smoke towards the ocean, then shakes his head, “A pufferfish?”

“Yeah,” you take the joint from him, inhaling skunky, thick smoke with a shrug, “Spiky. Temperamental. Solitary.”

“Kind of adorable when you’re mad,” he adds with a grin while accepting the joint from you, then puffs on it. A condensed white cloud curls out his parted lips when he hands it back to you. He looks out into the water, “I’d be a goldfish.”

You study him while taking a drag, and flick a long tube of ash off the glowing orange tip.

His nose scrunches up around his sunglasses as he glances over at you, “Trapped. Always… on display.”

You pass him the joint and nod in understanding, but say, “I don’t think you’re a goldfish. You’re like… way cooler than a goldfish.”

“Well, I don’t think you’re a pufferfish.”

“Then what am I?”

“Hmm,” he leans way back in his beach chair, tucking an arm behind his head while taking a hit off the joint, then hands it back to you, “Let me think about it.”

“Kill it,” you wave off the joint, perfectly content with how stoned you managed to get, and lay back to bask in the warm sunshine. Your eyes drift closed and you release a deep, cleansing breath while thinking about goldfish. Pea-brained, sociable, common.

Sure, he may feel like a goldfish, but that’s not him. Not really.

He’s unique, and smart, and dedicated, when he wants to be.

Dozens of different sea creatures swim behind your eyelids. You compare and contrast each one to your paramour. Octopi are smart and shapeshifters, but they’re too reclusive. Sharks too aggressive. A whole fleet of colorful, tropical fish, but none of them seem right, until one little curly-tailed guy buzzes across the ocean in your head.

Your eyes open and you smile at him, “You’re a seahorse.”

“How’s that?” he asks, voice warped by smoke. He grinds the joint into the sand, then outstretches a hand to you.

You take it, interlacing your fingers with his, forming a bridge between your armrests, “They eat a lot, they’re kind of pokey—”

“Stop, you flatter me,” he deadpans.

You throw your head back in laughter and say, “Wait, wait—let me finish! They’re also cute, and romantic, and smart, and curious,” you lean forward and bring his hand to your lips, pressing a kiss into his skin, then declare, “You, my love, are a seahorse.”

A wide grin spreads across his face. His thumb works against your hand. He tugs on it and murmurs, “C’mere.”

You crawl out of the beach chair, into his lap, linking your arms around his neck as you pull him in for a kiss. One of his hands snakes around your waist while the other comes to rest on your bare thigh. When your lips part, you curl up against his chest and sigh, “I love you, my sweet seahorse man.”

He lets out a dopey little giggle and kisses the crown of your head, mumbling into your hair, “And I love you, my beautiful seahorse lady.”

You gasp, peering up at him, “I get to be a seahorse with you?”

“It makes sense, don’t you think?” he pulls you close and nuzzles into your hair, snuggling you like you’re his favorite stuffed animal at bedtime, “You and me, we can just… get our tails all tangled up and float around the sea together. Hang out in coral reefs and eat, uhhh… I don’t know, whatever seahorses eat. Sea-monkeys?”

“Sea-monkeys?” you guffaw, “What the fuck are those?”

“It’s a thing!” he laughs, giving your thigh a playful smack, “Didn’t you ever have sea-monkeys? They came in those, uhh, little Parmesan cheese packet lookin’ things—Oh! They’re shrimp! Brine shrimp.”

“Ohhhhh!” you cover your face as you nod, “Ok, yes. I know sea-monkeys. I bet if I was a seahorse I would eat the shit out of those.”

“Told you.”

“You’re right,” you relax back into him, unable to shake the smile from your lips, “Did you know that when a seahorse finds another seahorse they really like, they mate for life?”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” your eyes drift closed, lulled by the warmth of him surrounding you, “They love each other so much that when one of them dies, the other shortly follows. Cuz they can’t live without each other.”

“That’s weirdly romantic,” he chuckles and kisses your forehead.

“Totally us.”

He hums in agreement. The noise is saturated with a warm contentment that seeps into your bones and boils them down to broth. It sloshes around under your skin and you can’t imagine having to move ever again.

“If we stay like this I’m gonna fall asleep,” you mumble. His response is to nuzzle even closer and take a deep, sleepy breath. It’s all the permission you need to let the sandman pull you under.

When Dieter wakes, not much time has passed. The sun no longer hangs in the zenith of the sky like an angry disco ball, but stares him straight in the face.

He peaks down at you and chuckles. A puddle of drool has collected on his shoulder, dribbling from the corner of your slackened mouth. Warmth swells in his belly and aches all the way up to his chest. He strokes your sweaty, heated cheek and thinks, “I don’t deserve her.”

The thought is not so much self-deprecating as it is full of awe at his fortune.

Each morning, when he wakes and you’re still there, wrapped up in his embrace, he can’t believe it. Your one-way ticket to LA has no return trip planned. Neither of you have brought it up. The closest you’ve come is asking him, “Are you sick of me yet?” one morning over breakfast.

“Sick of you?” he scoffed and ripped off a chunk of his blueberry muffin, popping it into his mouth, “Not possible.”

You smiled at him over your coffee mug before taking a tentative sip and changing the subject, “What’re we doing today?”

He knows you have a life back in New York. A business and friends waiting for you to return, but, god… he’d do anything to keep you here forever. To share as many days with you as possible.

As has been happening often lately, he dwells on a snippet from his near-death experience. The one of him holding your hands, where you’re wearing a white dress, smiling bright and full and gorgeous, and you say, “I do.”

Given the result of his previous marriage, he considers that he might be an idiot for daydreaming about it. Especially this soon.

Didn’t he learn his lesson last time?

Apparently not.

Did he feel this way last time, though? Like someone turned up the dimmer switch on his life? With Anika, did he ever know, with certainty, that he would give up anything and everything to stay in the orbit of her affection?

No.

It’s different with you. The tendrils of your love have burrowed deep inside him, taking root in a place no one else has touched. A place he didn’t even know existed within him.

You stir a little. Dieter strokes a scarred-up strawberry on your arm, gazing down at you in time to witness your eyes blink open and meet his. A hazy smile spreads across your lips, and you reach up, brushing his patchy beard with your knuckles, “What time is it?”

The words are groggy and rough.

He shrugs, “Sometime.”

Humming, you look around, then try to sit up, but he reels you back in and squeezes his arms around you, “Mmmm no.”

“Dee,” you whine, laughter wavering your protest, “I’m so thirsty. And hot.”

“Yeah you are.”

One corner of your mouth tucks into a smirk and you snort, shaking your head at him. You kiss him, your dry, sea-chapped lips sticking to the soft inner plush of his mouth. When you draw back and stretch your hands up towards the aquamarine sky, a deep yawn expanding your rib cage, he reluctantly lets you go.

Exhaling a gust, your body goes slack and you roll off his lap into the sand, groaning, “Water,” then crawl towards the cooler. He reaches over to pop the lid open for you and grabs a seltzer. The can opens with a hiss. He brings it to his lips, taking a big swallow of the bubbly, vaguely strawberry-flavored water.

You twist the cap off a dewy plastic water bottle and tip your head back to guzzle it down, water streaming out the corners of your mouth, trickling down your chin, neck, chest, the column of your throat pumping in a thick glug-glug-glug that flickers at the base of his spine.

Sand coats your arms and legs, all those microscopic grains clinging to your slick, sweaty skin. The bottle collapses in on itself as you suck down the remaining water. You toss it aside and gasp for air, chest heaving, practically fucking moaning, “Oh my god—that was fucking amazing.”

A hot, heady rush of need gushes through him. His dick jumps. Breathing quickens.

Dieter gulps down seltzer, ogling you while you grab a fistful of ice from the cooler and hold it to your forehead, eyes fluttering shut. You press the melting ice into your cleavage, squishing your tits together, lips parting in a gasp.

Jesus fucking Christ, Louella.

He sits up and finishes off the seltzer, dropping his empty in the sand, “Need some help?”

With your head still tilted back, eyelids still sealed shut, a sly smile spreads across your face, “Oh yeah?”

By now, the heat of your skin has turned the ice to water, trailing shiny and wet down your abdomen, pooling in your belly button, darkening the very top of your black string bikini.

Dieter stifles a groan at the sight. Saliva gathers in the dark cavern of his mouth. He gulps it down.

You open your eyes and level your gaze to his, eyebrow quirking as you shrug.

He takes a handful of ice from the cooler and pats his thigh. Your teeth catch your bottom lip. You crawl over to him and climb into his lap, sliding back until you’re seated firmly on his hard cock.

“Someone is excited,” you chuckle.

“Can you blame me?” he grins, brushing hair from the nape of your neck. He presses the ice into that knotted bone right beneath your skull, then slides it down your back, drawing circles over each vertebrae. Your shoulders slacken and you let out a sigh of relief.

When the cube melts, right around the middle of your spine where your string bikini is tied into a neat little bow, he gets a new one.

“That feels good,” you breathe, hips arching back, ass pressing hard against him.

The way you say this, all lusty and scraping along the edge of your vocal cords, makes his throat rumble and beckons him closer. He shifts his seated position, sitting up higher, slipping a hand around your waist to make sure you don’t wiggle away, then presses a slow kiss into your pulse.

You hum, opening your neck wider for him to taste the salty bite of your sweat.

“Fuck,” he mumbles against your skin, fingertips digging into your soft belly. The ice cube melts against your tailbone, and he grabs another, smearing its decay along your collarbone, down your sternum.

When he slides it under your skimpy little bikini top and rubs it against your pebbled nipple, you rock your hips against his, letting out a soft gasp, “You’re gonna get us in trouble.”

“With who?” he murmurs, nips at your neck, then says, “Nobody’s here, love.”

“Wait, really?”

You lean forward and look around, turning back to him with a mischievous grin when you find what he said is true. Your pink bubblegum tongue peaks out to wet your lips as you search his face, “Are you sure?”

“Relax, doll,” he purrs, reeling you in, pressing his lips into your shoulder, your neck, your jaw. You reach back, fingers tangling in his hair, and pull him into a leisurely, saccharine kiss.

Like always, it makes his heart stutter. Bubbles hot and wanting up the middle of him. You roll your hips. The heated weight of you grinds hard against his cock, making him groan into your mouth.

His fingertips dance across your abdomen, tracing tedious little swirls into your skin. Your lips gape open with a whine and you roll your hips. His eyelids flutter and he shudders at the wave of pleasure that floods his body. He grabs your hips and silently urges you to continue, rocking you back and forth.

“Fuck, that’s good, baby,” he pants.

Your hand slides over his, both chilled and wet from melted ice, and you guide it between your legs, nodding when his touch wriggles under the fabric of your swimsuit, moaning when he finds your clit and rubs you, soft and steady, studying the subtle, pleasure-filled tremors that make your muscles twitch and breathing quicken.

Your eyebrows thread together and your lips get all pouty, these huffy whimpers escaping them with each stroke, and he could just fucking eat you alive right now, you’re that goddamn beautiful.

His mouth seizes yours. You respond with vigor, twisting your top half around to bury your hands in his hair and kiss him harder.

He works you faster, flicking his wrist, swallowing your moans whole.

You pull back with a gasp and throw your head back on his shoulder, “Holy fuck, yes—”

“Does that feel good, baby?”

“Sofuckinggood,” you whimper, grinding against him, “Fuck—fuck, I want you, Dee—”

“Yeah? Want me to fuck you right here in the open?” he coos in your ear.

You nod.

“Let me take these off,” he withdraws his hand and you scramble to your feet, chest heaving as you glance up and down the shoreline. He tugs off his swim trunks and reclines in the canvas beach chair.

Your eyes drop to his cock, and this big, delighted smile stretches across your face. Returning to his lap, you lower yourself back while Dieter pushes the gusset of your bikini aside and guides to your target. When the tip of him breaches your entrance, you gasp.

“Holy shit, baby,” he groans as you ease him into your hot, wet squeeze, whimpering, “Fuck fuck fuck,” under your breath as he stretches you open.

When he can’t go any further, you adjust your posture, hands on his knees, leaning forward, arching your back. You look over your shoulder, meeting his eyes, and start to roll your hips, pussy suctioning around him, taking him slow and deep.

He moans and nods in approval at the pleasure that gushes up his spine, “That’s it, baby, take what you need. Ride that cock how you want it, feels so fucking good, fuuuck—”

“Oh my god, Dee,” you whine, eyes fluttering shut, mouth hanging slack.

He slides his palms up your back and watches his cock, all shiny with your slick, disappear into you over and over again. Your huffy little whimpers grow louder and you grip his knees, pushing yourself back onto him harder, faster.

“There you go, love,” he groans, gripping your waist, “It’s all yours, baby, take it—”

“Fuck, Dee—”

Your voice is high-pitched and frantic. His hips arch into yours, pulling a wrecked moan from your chest. Liquid heat pulses through him, and when he thrusts again, you gasp and nod, “Fuck, keep doing that.”

He does. He fucks up into you and you curve your spine, face to the sky, tilting your pelvis just so, and the hot, plush silk of your cunt grips his cock, making this sick, wet squelching noise that only fuels him further.

“Fuck, you’re amazing, so fucking perfect,” he pants, skin tingling with desire, wanting to feel you closer, needing to feel your lips on his. His hips slow and he slides a hand to your belly, urging you, “Come here, baby.”

Dieter guides you back, threading one arm around your abdomen, the other scooping up your knees. You link your hands at the nape of his neck and he presses his forehead into yours. The first thrust makes your whole body tense and you whimper, “Holyfuckingshit—”

“I know, baby, I know,” he coos, pulling back to meet your wide eyes, “You can do it, you can take it.”

You make this cute, pathetic kind of noise, gulping down a whine, but nod for him to continue.

He rolls his hips, slow at first, letting you acclimate, increasing his tempo when your head rolls back and your walls relax.

You’re cradled so close he can see the sweat glistening on your skin, can smell your damp musk, can hear every breathy moan, can feel every muscle in your body quiver as he pumps into you. The edges of him start to crumble, deteriorating with each thick wave of pleasure that washes over him.

“Fucking perfect, Jesus fucking Christ, pussy feels so good I fucking love it,” he babbles.

Your breathing grows frantic and sharp, head snapping up to tell him, “Don’t fucking stop I’m so close, holy shit Dee—”

“Fuck yes, cum on this dick baby, let me feel you, I fucking love it I fucking love you—”

You pull him into a needy, messy kiss, your deep, wanton moans vibrating on his tongue as you convulse around him, tremors twitching your muscles. A swell of pleasure steals his breath, surging through him hot and gooey and overwhelming, and he falls over the edge, spilling inside you.

Your lips don’t part from his for more than a moment while the two of you come down into blissful satisfaction, your bodies sweaty and trembling. Labored breaths gradually dissipate into normalcy, and the kisses linger with intimacy.

“Wow,” you giggle eventually, slack and boneless against his body as you tuck your head into his neck, “Are there awards for fucking? I think you just won in the outstanding performance category.”

The praise curls up inside him and makes him chuckle, “What an honor. I’d like to thank my beautiful costar, Louella. Couldn’t have done it without you—”

Your laughter cuts him off, then you say,“You can put your Fuck-ee next to your Oscar.”

“Fuck-ee?” he throws his head back and guffaws, “What would that trophy look like? A golden dong?”

Your body shakes with laughter, “I think that sounds perfect.”

He kisses your sweaty forehead, releasing a content sigh before murmuring “I should put my trunks back on.”

You chug two more bottles of water before returning to your chair beside Dieter.

As you stretch out in the sunlight, the outside world starts to creep back into frame. Sand heats the soles of your feet. Ocean waves roar and slosh onto the beach. A salty breeze ruffles your hair and cools your heated skin.

Dieter nods to the seemingly infinite gray-blue water, “Wanna take a dip?”

You look at the ocean. At the tide washing ashore, then pulling back, again and again. Big, rhythmic, gasping breaths. You think about the vast depth of the Pacific, about the ecosystems it contains, all its tides and currents. All the life it contains and death it brings. The sheer power and magnitude of its existence, right in front of you.

Unease twists your stomach and hums in your bones. Your chest aches.

It’s so overwhelming.

Dieter squeezes your hand, reminding you of his question, and you glance over at him, his expression hopeful and earnest. You can’t say no to that face. Besides, it’s just water.

You’re being irrational.

“Sure.”

“Yeah?” he crinkles his nose like he’s squinting at you behind his sunglasses, “We don’t have to, you know.”

“It’s fine, let’s go,” you crawl to your feet, dusting sand off your legs and ass as you start towards it, ignoring the violent thud of your pulse.

He catches up to you, interlacing his fingers with yours, and the two of you trudge through the hot sand.

“Are you sure?”

You frown, “Yeah, why?”

“You seem,” he pauses here, jaw ticking to one side, then runs a hand through his wind-blown curls, “I dunno. Like you don’t actually want to.”

You frown and shake your head, but the action isn’t convincing.

When he starts to slow, you do too, and you both come to a stop, side-by-side, right across the border of smooth, damp sand. A wave crashes against the shoreline. Its tide stretches towards you, then the cool water washes over your feet.

Dieter squeezes your hand, “Lua. Don’t lie to me.”

You turn and face him, opening your mouth to lie, then he pulls his sunglasses up into his hair so you can meet his eyes, that warm gaze knocking at the eroded, but stubborn, cement wall of your heart, begging, “Let me in. Please.”

“It’s stupid,” you drop your gaze and catch the soft inside of your cheek between your molars, then glance between him and the rolling water, “It’s just scary, you know?”

He frowns, “What is, the ocean?”

“Well, yeah,” you scoff, gesturing towards another incoming wave, “It’s fucking massive. We don’t even know what’s in there, I mean, there could be monsters—”

“Monsters?”

You shoot him a playful glare and chuckle, “We don’t know!”

“Uh huh” he grins, both of his heated, sandy palms finding your waist.

You drape your arms around his neck, tangling your fingertips into the damp curls at the base of his skull, then swallow hard and shrug, “And maybe… I don’t know, maybe I can’t, um… swim?”

His eyebrows shoot up, “Oh shit, really?”

Heat creeps up your neck. You drop your gaze and hear yourself mutter out excuses like a reflex, “Not very good, anyway. Nobody ever took me swimming, or showed me how, and I never figured it out on my own, and-and Ethan was supposed to teach me—”

“Hey, that’s fine,” he works his thumb against your skin, soothing you, “We don’t have to go far, no swimming necessary.”

You thread your brows together, “Really?”

“Obviously,” he scoffs, “What, you think I’m gonna make you? We don’t have to go into the water at all if you don’t want to—”

“No, I want to. It looks nice, just,” you chuckle at yourself, at the worried voice of anxiety piping up in the back of your brain, “I know it’s silly, but will you make sure I don’t get, like… pulled under?”

“Scout’s honor,” he pulls you into a hug, and you hug him back, resting your cheek on his bare chest. The ragged, jittery sparks in your ribcage calm to a low purr. Your muscles melt and untangle. Another wave washes ashore and rolls over your feet, then disappears.

He plants a firm smooch on your forehead, then rubs your back and murmurs, “Ready?”

“Let’s fuckin’ do this,” you say in your most masculine tough guy voice, pulling back to grin at him.

He snorts, shaking his head at you, brown eyes crinkled and twinkling with amusement, then grabs your hand and starts walking out into the tide as it rushes inland. When the ocean takes its offering back, you squeal at the sensation, how water pulls sand out from under you like a rug, coaxing you closer. Wild, salt-addled gusts whip your hair around and nip your generously exposed skin. Before you know it, you’re knee-deep in the icy water, wobbling when an incoming wave shoves you back and splashes up your thighs.

You gasp and squeeze Dieter’s hand for stability. He steps behind you, wrapping his warm, sun-kissed arms around your body, purring in your ear, “I’ve got you, doll, don’t worry.”

“Ok,” you nod, staring out into the deep, dark unknown, rooted in place by his fortitude, finally allowing yourself to marvel in the beauty of it all, “Ok.”

Dieter watches you from bed as you rub moisturizer into your cheeks, leaning towards the bathroom mirror, making all these cute, squishy expressions. Little beads of water drip off the ends of your hair, still wet from the shower, onto the floor and counter.

He’s never really been a forever kind of person. Up until about a year ago, every good thing in his life had been fleeting: flings, highs, gigs. The friendships he held onto were superficial and based in commodity. His marriage felt like a debt he owed. Companionship spoke foreign tongues. He never felt sated. Never felt like this.

This.

Fuck, he loves this.

He thought people made this shit up. Forever. It always sounded like a joke.

But it’s all he can think about. How he never wants to spend another night without you here, wearing nothing but his faded old Prince t-shirt, brushing your teeth, putting all your things away in the bathroom drawer. For-fucking-ever.

When you flip off the bathroom light and come wandering back into the bedroom, you notice him staring at you, and chuckle, “What’re you smiling about?”

Dieter didn’t even realize he was smiling, but you’re right, he is. With a shrug, he says, “You look pretty.”

“Yeah?” you smirk, and twirl around a little, “Is this doing it for ya?”

“Oh, fuck yeah.”

You roll your eyes, that big beautiful smile stretching across your face, and crawl into bed beside him. He wraps an arm around your shoulder as you tuck yourself into his side, ear to his heart. Probably, you hear it skip a beat when he realizes what he’s about to say.

“I don’t want you to leave.”

The seconds after are so quiet he hears your lips part. You shift around until you’re propped up on his chest, searching his face, “What’re you saying?”

His tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth. He curls a hand around the small of your back, “I mean, you know, I want you to stay,” he swallows and meets your gaze, “Like, to live here.”

Your features lights up, and it’s sweeter than any fucking buzz he ever caught.

“Really?”

He nods.

As if something occurs to you, your lips fall into a frown, “What about my baking? And-and Parker—”

“Open something up here. You always tell me about how you want to run a legit bakery,” he smooths his thumb against your spine, “Parker can visit us whenever he wants.”

“I don’t have the capital to open a bakery—”

“I’ll help.”

Your shoulders deflate a little and a crease forms between your brows. You tap your fingertips against his chest and ask, “Would you consider moving to New York?”

He drops his gaze and shakes his head, “I have to be here. Better chance of me picking up work if I’m close by.“

“Dieter,” you pause, holding your breath like you’re not sure you want to say it, but when he meets your eyes, you stammer, “It just doesn’t seem like, I don’t know… Do you even like acting?”

The question feels like a jolt.

He jerks his head back, “Yeah. Yeah, of course I do.”

You raise your eyebrows. Unconvinced. Stomach acid sloshes around inside him and bubbles up his throat.

“It’s my purpose. Acting is the only constant in my life, the only thing that I do that means anything. It—it’s what gets me out of bed and pushes me to keep going.”

He says this, but the words taste sour. Does he even like acting anymore? Or is he just scared to try something else?

A glimpse of the answer in his heart sends it racing. He stuffs it down and tries not to look at it. It’s too fucking scary.

You study him for a moment, then scrunch your face up and stare at your fingertips as they dance across his bare skin. Deep in thought. With each second that goes by, he’s sure you’ll press harder and make him crack. It wouldn’t take much.

“I wonder how much money I could make selling my inventory,” you ponder out loud, “Probably at least $20k. That would be an ok starting—”

His mouth drops open, “Holy shit, how much do you have?”

You shrug, “Twenty pounds raw, thirty pounds cannabutter—”

“And I’ve been smoking you up?” he tuts, “Puta madre.”

You gasp and smack his chest, breaking out in a giggle when you say, “Rude.”

“I’m just kidding,” he laughs, pulling you closer, “Smoking you up is an honor.”

“Damn right it is.”

The two of you smile at each other for a moment, then what you were saying catches up to him.

“So, if you sell everything, then…”

Your eyebrow quirks and your grin spreads wider as you shrug, “Then I could probably swing a cross-country move.”

“Yeah?”

His cheeks ache from smiling, but he can’t stop.

You nod, “Yeah.”

The shrill sound of your ringtone cuts through sleep.

You roll out of Dieter’s loose grip to grab at the source, frowning first at the time, then the caller. Fucking FaceTime, seriously?

You pull Dieter’s shirt over your head and tiptoe out onto the patio, sliding the door shut behind you as you answer with a hiss, “Parker, it’s 3am, what the fu—”

“Lou, look,” he says, and you squint at the screen, recognizing the propped open door to your apartment building. The snow piles flicker blue and red. Parker pans the camera to the half-dozen NYPD squad cars clogging the street. Police officers and people wearing jackets reading NYPD FORENSIC INVESTIGATION DIVISION file in and out of the building, the outgoing individuals carrying boxes of evidence.

“I don’t understand,” you shake your head, “What’s going on, are you ok?”

“That’s from your apartment, Lou,” he tells you quietly, “They fucking raided it.”

Panic seeps into your blood, an icy cold rush that numbs your limbs and freezes your brain. You just keep shaking your head, and hear yourself tell Parker, “No—no that can’t be right.”

“Trust me, it is—”

“Excuse me,” an off-screen voice says to Parker, and the perspective shifts to the source: a bald white man with thick-rimmed glasses. He’s holding a camera, and he asks, “Do you live here?”

“No,” Parker answers.

Another wave of panic slams into you as you realize who he is: David Alterman from DIRT.

You end the call and stare at the screen, unable to move. Unable to think. Just one thought blares in your mind, deafening and persistent: RUN.

#psychomanteum #dieter bravo x fem!reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo #dieter bravo x female reader #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo x oc #dieter bravo x ofc #dieter bravo smut #the bubble #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal character smut #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal character fanfic

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creative-caramel-coffee · 8 months

Text

The Sickness Excuse

Pairings: Weems x Thornhill x Reader (platonic)

Word count: 1.2K

Summary: You used the excuse you were sick one too many times with Principle weems so what happens now your actually sick and can't leave class?

TW: Vomit (I think that’s it idk)

A/n do I ever write fics without someone throwing up?

PART 2

It was the middle of outcast history, the most boring of all your classes and you still were feeling awful. Your stomach had been unsettled for what felt like far too long. It would knot and then go loose before tying itself up again. With each knot the nausea would build but weems already had her eye on you for the amount of history classes you had skipped, and you were running out of excuses. You knew if you skipped and got caught you were in for it. Especially when you used the sick excuse last week and you had no proof of actually being sick. No fever. Yet. Just that uncomfortable pain in your stomach.

The teacher was an old wolf named Terrbine Fleetsted who honestly looked like he was napping and based off the way his little white musta he was moving with the slow rise and fall of his chest you looked to be right. Trying to be as subtle as possible you rested your head on the desk somehow feeling worse. Enid was sat next to you pretending to be working but really, she was writing down some gossip for her blog she had heard in the quad on the way to class. She was rambling about something, and you had honestly stopped listening or paying attention. Your eyes were closed which was probably why when she jabbed you with her pen you jumped a mile.

“Jesus tap dancing Christ enid!” You almost yelled and enid shot you an odd look.

“Dude, have you listened to anything I’ve been saying?” She said with a fake huff. You knew she wasn’t mad the way her eyebrows were twitching she was merely concerned.

“‘M fine ‘nid” you mumbled going to rest your head back on your arm.

“You don’t look too great, maybe you should go lie down.”

“Gee thanks. And i can't weems would probably go dark ages on my ass and burn me at the stake if i miss anymore of this boring ass class.” You said into your elbow.

“Weems can’t be mad for you being sick?” She said sounding confused.

“She won’t believe me. Used the old sickness excuse one too many times.”

“What excuse?” Enid said and before you could answer your stomach knotted painfully and you knew you were going to be sick. Spit pooled in your mouth and you knew exactly what was coming. You jumped up from your chair drawing eyes around the room, yet the teacher stayed asleep. Like a bullet you shot from the room and raced through the halls. Sprinting into the nearest bathroom you could find you dropped to your knees and locked the door before pouring out the contents of your stomach into the toilet. Had you been further than a mere inch from death (as you put it) you may have noticed Enid’s panting breathing coming from behind the door. She knocked rapidly and you barely made out the sound of her yelling something.

“Y/N LET ME IN RIGHT NOW.” She yelled and after a minute you heard nothing. Maybe she gave up? After the small reprieve you rested your back against the stall hearing the door open again. Dammit who was it this time. You heard the distinct clicking of heels and you automatically straightened your spine. Your stomach however revolted at this action and sent you pitching forward into the porcelain again. You gagged and tears stung your eyes as you brought up more of your stomach acid. It burned and you hated every last second of it.

“Honey whats going on in there? can you let us in please?” A voice asked which you faintly recognised as Ms Thornhill. What was she doing here? You simply whimpered and then heard the heels again and watched exhaustedly as the lock on the door turned from the outside. Two faces peered into the stall, and you simply looked at them and blinked, too tired for words. Principle weems and Ms Thornhill stood looking at you for a second before Thornhill quickly came over to you. She gently grabbed your cheek and laid her other hand on your brow to check for a fever.

“Darling are you ok? What prompted this?” Weems asked from where she was observing at the door. Enid had seemingly gone back to class, and you mentally thanked her for not seeing you like this.

You simply sighed and lent over to flush the toilet.

“Honey did you throw up?” Thornhill asked and you nodded weakly.

“Oh darling.” Weems said softly. “Why didn’t you leave class earlier.” She said and you shrugged not wanting to admit you felt you couldn’t. The principle frowned and you closed your eyes and rested your head against the wall.

“Bring her to my office, the nurse went home sick and i have some training in this kind of thing.” Principle weems said and Ms Thornhill nodded. The head mistress swapped spots with Ms Thornhill inside the stall, and she gently scooped you up from the ground and into her arms. You weakly rested your head against her collar bone and closed your eyes.

“Do you feel you may be sick again?” Principle weems asked and sighed softly as she felt you nod into her neck. She motioned for Ms Thornhill to follow, and she grabbed the small black bin from under the sink before trailing after the principle out of the bathroom. You thanked the high heavens nobody saw you being carried like a baby by your principle through the halls but overall, you were too exhausted to care.

You must have been dozing lightly because you felt weems adjusted you and open the door to her office and soon you were being gently lowered to the couch. Ms Thornhill set down the bin beside the bed which was luckily empty. Weems tucked a blanket around you and slipped a thermometer under your tongue. You were too tired to protest and simply hummed and closed your eyes.

You felt a hand brushing the hair from your eyes and back away from your face.

“Ms L/n how do you feel now?” Weems asked and you nodded which was met with a chuckle.

“Honey that doesn’t tell me much.” The principle said and Ms Thornhill smiled sadly down at you. You let out a low dejected hum and Weems frowned.

“Bad huh?” She said and you nodded again, and she removed the thermometer.

“101.2 did you eat something odd?” She asked frowning at the stick.

“No i don’t think so. Just…”

“Just what?” Ms Thornhill prompted.

“Just a coffee from the weathervane and something from the new bakery in Jericho. I dunno it tasted slightly odd I guess.” You mumbled and the principle looked at you sadly.

“Oh darling.” She said. “I’ll be sure to follow up on that. But right now, get some rest and I’ll wake you up a bit later for some medicine when you’ve settled some more.” She said and gently drew circles on your stomach. You hummed in agreement and shuffled around a bit to get comfy which made both teacher's chuckle. Once you had deemed yourself safe and comfy enough to fall asleep your breathing evened out and you knew you would be well looked after.

MASTERLIST

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spiteless-xo · 11 months

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in honor of drunk vacay tiff, what kind of drunk do you think eren and jean are ? for some reason i picture jean as a hothead who’ll try fight people who look at him wrong 😭

my friends and i regularly rent out airbnbs and just get drunk all week/end so i’m going to write this in the context of that as opposed to just a regular party or drunk over dinner or something

drunk headcanons- eren and jean

jean kirstein

jean wakes up early every morning and is immediately productive. he’s tidying up from the night before, he’s making coffee, he’s going for a walk, reading a book, w/e. he’s already been up for hours before the next person wakes up

he’ll start the morning w a baileys coffee but won’t drink too much until after he’s made breakfast for everyone. then it’s another coffee or a mimosa before the real drinking starts

casually drinks beers all day. cracks a new one the second his last one is empty. will play cards or outdoor games all day until the alcohol really hits him around late afternoon/early evening

then he gets HEATY. any game is now extremely competitive. he will argue with you until he’s red in the face if he thinks you’re cheating (but he was actually the one cheating 💀)

all that motherly cleaning up and cooking from the morning?? yeah, forget about it for dinner. he’s so lit up that he’s yelling instead of talking now, absolutely no volume control

despite being so tall, he’s surprisingly coordinated while drunk. he’s not the type to stumble around or knock things over, but he’ll breathe REALLY heavily. like he’s constantly sighing or blowing air out of his cheeks.

he’s also a big whiskey drinker, but he won’t do it alone. if someone else suggests it he’ll light up and go run to grab the bottle he brought. he’ll pour cups for everyone, even if someone doesn’t want it

he doesn’t fall asleep like a normal person. eventually, the alcohol knocks him out and he falls asleep on the couch or on the ground and then he’s out for the rest of the night. usually happens pretty early in the night, so that’s why he always wakes up early 💀

if you catch him alone right before he starts getting sleepy, he’ll have the deepest most emotional conversation with you about anything. his eyes will be completely glazed over and his cheeks will be pink but he’ll sit there and talk to you about your insecurities and vulnerabilities with no judgement. (but in the morning he hardly remembers anything)

eren jaeger

sleeps in until like noon, and then crawls out of bed, hungover from the night before, and immediately cracks a beer. hair of the dog, he claims. probably brings it into the shower with him

isn’t a functional human being until after he’s had a few drinks. then he’s a menace.

drinks mostly whiteclaws/other low calorie seltzers, but will have the occasional beer during the day. won’t drink hard alcohol unless it’s mixed into a shot

turns everything into a drinking game/only wants to play drinking games. will rally people to do shotguns or shots. always wants to play beer pong.

is generally a pretty happy, smiley, friendly drunk. also very touchy-feely. will put his arm around your shoulder if you’re talking, lean in really close to your face and stare at you intently, lay across your lap on the couch

if you’re playing as a team for beer pong and you win, he’s picking you up and spinning you around like you just one a sports championship. kissing your face, screaming and cheering, meanwhile the other team is just 😐

LOVES WRESTLING WITH THE BOYS!! idk what it is but as soon as the sun goes down, he’s ripping off his shirt and challenging all the guys to a wrestling contest 💀💀 isn’t even considerate enough to move it outside, he’ll just be rolling around on the kitchen floor with jean in headlock

his contribution to the house is doing the dishes. he can’t cook so doesn’t bother helping w that but he’ll clear off the table and clean up the dishes so nobody complains that he doesn’t help.

gets really annoying if people want to do low-activity stuff like cards or something. will spend the whole time whining and complaining until someone (probably jean) tells him to shut the fuck up

#jean #eren #aot headcanons #tiff.ask #moot.y2slayworld #eren.hc #jean.hc

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bonesandthebees · 11 months

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I am so mad rn I fell asleep at like 7 pm I didn't mean to I just woke up and was hoping it was at least like idk 3 am but NO it's 11:30 pm and im not tired enough to go back to sleep so now I have to choose to either stay awake and be on my phone or lay in the dark and hope that's enough to lull me to sleep and I'm pissed bc I have a full day ahead tomorrow and I'm not asleep right now so I'm going to be miserable in the morning but I'm not staying at my house rn so my body is doing the weird thing it does when you stay at a friends house and it's weird about sleeping and I kind of wanna hurl myself off of a cliff rn and my phone is lagging as I write this out and it's pidssing me off even more

But yes I enjoyed the one shot I don't remember its name right now but the qsmp one it was very good and I loved the ichor children concept that's so cool :)

Oh anon I’m so sorry as someone who has dealt with anxiety-induced insomnia to the point where I had to get therapy for it I know the frustration with not being able to fall asleep. Currently my go to solution whenever I’m not tired and can’t sleep is the anxiety meds I got prescribed for that exact issue lol, but obviously you can’t do that so here are my tips

If possible, find some melatonin or at least see if you have chamomile tea. If you don’t have either of those, what usually works for me is to turn on a long YouTube video on my phone and just watch until I get sleepy. Old vods are always a good option if you want something to be interested in, but it’s probably better to watch them from a calmer cc (Niki had a super long let’s play series where she played a story game called beyond two souls and I used to listen to that whenever I had trouble sleeping).

My current go to for sleepy videos are either ASMR videos (but I know those aren’t everyone’s tastes), or two specific channels: Baumgartner Restoration or NileRed. Baumgartner is the channel of an art conservator who makes long and very detailed videos showing his conservation and restoration process for paintings clients send him. It’s so fascinating to watch, and his voice is really calming at the same time. I literally turn on a video of his every night before I sleep and rarely get more than 5 minutes into it before I’m passing out. NileRed is a slightly more…energized channel of a guy who does a lot of weird and cool chemistry! His voice is also really even-toned and calming to listen to, but the main reason his stuff helps me sleep is the minute he starts explaining ochem concepts I knock tf out. I did a full years worth of ochem in college it’s like an instinctual reaction to want to pass out hearing it again 😭

Anyway. Find some videos like the ones I suggested—preferably at least 45 min or longer. Just watch it and try to focus on the content rather than the fact that you can’t sleep. If you start getting sleepy, great! If you’re unsure but you’re kind of tired, try closing your eyes and just listening to the video. I’ve fallen asleep like that so many times before it’s my last resort method

Hope that helps!

(oh and last note: if you can't fall asleep again, try to remind yourself that's okay. the more you stress about not being able to sleep, the worse it'll get. even just laying in your bed with your eyes shut will help you feel more rested.)

#ask #daisy anon

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the-daily-multi-fandom-post · 2 years

Note

Tis, the doctor strange anon ~ 🤍

I was wondering if I could request something ?

✨ prompt ✨ ~ idk maybe like a lil one shot ( if you are comfortable with it )

🌨️ Details 🌨️ ~ reader doesn't sleep alot due to nightmares and one day they get really really really sleepy and they end up falling asleep like standing up or something and strange catches them and takes them to bed ( no smut, I promise, just some fluff bc I'm sick and I need comfort )

🪐 character 🪐 ~ Dr strange ( MCU )

❤️ pronouns ❤️ ~ gender neutral or female !

☄️ message ☄️ ~ thank you !!!!!! You are amazing and appreciated !

*I am so sorry it literally took so so fucking long to write this. I haven’t been posting on tumblr since 2020 just cuz I’ve had so much going on. But here it is. Better late then never! * 🧛Vampire diary quote, don’t miss it. I do not own that line nor the vampire diaries. 🧛 Here goes nothing.. I’m gonna try to make it gender neutral. I’ve never done it before but here goes nothing! 🖤

This is kinda based off the nightmares I have had for the past 5 months. So enjoy that little scary fact.

Pronouns: they/them maybe a she/her if I forget.

A/n: I’ve literally have only had nightmares for months now so I can completely understand all of this soo… I hope you feel better! 🤍🖤

Thanks for the request!

Y/n was tired of the nightmares. They’ve had the same nightmare for the past 5 months. Its always the same two dreams. One is: They are always lost in the woods and the next thing they knows they can’t breath and somethings chasing them. Something that they know can kill them. The next thing they know they’re at a lake and get dragged into the water. Being held down just below the surface. They’re just low enough where they can’t reach the surface. It’s like teasing a fox with a squealing rabbit.

The next dream is back home in (where you’re from). Y/n walks into their friends house to see her brutally murdered. Lying in the floor dead. There’s blood everywhere.

Y/n screams running to their deceased friend just lying on the floor. They tries to do CPR, but nothing works. They sits on their knees crying out for help. They tried to use their healing powers but nothing worked.

They cried out to whoever would listen begging for help. Y/ns friends head turned towards them. Looking them in their y/c/e eyes. Their friends eyes full of anger.

“You could have saved me!” The red haired girl spat wickedly.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I tried!” Y/n sobbed.

“You’re not sorry. You killed me.” With that the red haired woman dramatically falls back over dead.

~```~~

Y/n wakes up with a start. They took shaking breaths as they tried to focus on slowing their breathing. It felt as if a million pounds was on their chest, taking the breath of life away from them.

“Y/n?” Y/n looks up to see Steve Rogers running into the room. He looks very concerned for his sibling.

“Hey, are you okay?” Y/n nods as they try to dry their tears.

“No, you’re not. Was it the dreams again?” He questions as he goes over to sit beside them.

Y/n nods as they answers his question, “Its always the same nightmares. It’s always of Violets death. It still bugs be to this day. Hell, it’s been 50+ years and it feels like she died Yesterday. Then I keep having a dream about running in the forest and then drowning. I can’t keep dealing with these nightmares.” Y/n sobs as they cried into Steve’s shoulder.

Y/n started their day by getting a shower after steve had left them. They were so tired of all the nightmares they would start to doze off in the shower. But as soon as their eyes would close flickers of the nightmares would show.

After Y/n showered, they went up stairs for breakfast. Everyone was already there it was very noisy with everyone talking making them wince at the noise.

“Y/n!! Good morning!” Thor’s loud voice boomed as he greeted Y/n a good morning.

They silently groaned, forcing all their emotions down and wore a fake smile that seemed to be real.

“Good morning, Thor!” They greeted with false happiness.

“Would you like some pancakes?” Tony asked as he flipped pancakes in the pan.

“No, thank you. I’ll stick to some (fav breakfast food).” Y/n says as they fix their own food.

After everyone ate their breakfast an alert went to their phones. “It’s Agent Fury, we got a mission.” Rhodey says and everyone quickly put their dishes in the sink and rushed to the meeting room.

“Fury, you needed us?” Tony called out as the group of super hero walks into the meeting room.

“Yeah, we found a small Hydra base in a small town in Virginia. Appomattox, Virginia. Down the road from the civil war surrending grounds there is a small base in the middle of the woods about 10 miles down the road. From the main road it looks like a farm, but truly its an undercover hydra base.”

“Why would hydra be hiding in a random town in Virginia? What’s so special about Appomattox?” Thor questioned fury. Fury shurgged his shoulders and continued.

“The only thing we can guess is they wanted something lowkey. The town is a very rural area. And where they are located not many people would every think hydra were hiding there. It quite literally off a back road that doesn’t get much traffic.”

Y/n looked up from the papers in front of their trying their best to stay awake. They felt a warm hand on their thigh and looked over. Their best friend, Doctor Stephen strange gave them a warm smile. He kept his hand there on their thigh, just above their drawing small patterns. Strange knew this comforted you and he could tell by the bags under their eyes how bad their nightmares continue to be.

“I’m sending Y/n, James, Natasha, and Dr. Strange on this mission. The mission is to break in undetected and get rid (kill) of all the hydra agents. We don’t want the town knowing anything about them. No need to have a whole bunch of rednecks and farmers coming in guns a-blazing.” Fury explained as he pointed out the four.

“When do we leave?” Strange asked fury as he rubbed his temples. The three others who were to be sent on the mission wondering the same thing. “This evening 5:25 sharp is when the Quinn jet will be ready. Mr. Banner will be flying you all.”

“Well that ruins our trip to the fair this evening.” Natasha jokes. She wanted any excuse to not go eat greasy food and play stupid games that were rigged. y/n rolled their (y/e/c) eyes with a giggle. “Nat, we all knew you truly didn’t want to go.” Y/n told Natasha and she smirked with a knowing look.

so after the meeting they had 3 hours to prepare to leave for the mission. Y/n went straight to their room. Squatting beside their bed to grab their weapons from under it. They grabbed two glocks, three tactical knifes which they trained with daily, and ammunition.

They walked to their closet pulling out their uniform they wore on missions. (What I imagined). Moving a couple of winter coats they opened the wall safe. Putting in the 7 didget code they grabbed their Black assault rifle making sure to put extra magazines in her pockets and zipped them so they would lose them.

Y/n got dressed and ready to go. Braiding/ fixing their hair when Steve their brother walked into their bathroom.

”are you sure you are going to be able to do this mission?” Steve asked his sibling. They nodded as they always do and respond with the same thing they’ve said for the past couple years. “Stevie, I’m fine. Yeah I’m a little tired, but I’ll be okay. It’s an easy in and out kinda thing.” They responded sounding like it was just a walk in the park.

“Since when is murdering a whole building of hydra agents a walk in the park?” He raised an eye brow at his younger sibling. “Since I said it was. Anyway, it’s not like it’s a 1,000 of them. No more then 50 and that’s being generous.” Y/n said as they walked out the bathroom to sit on their bed to tie their combat boots (what I imagined the boots looking like.)

“I hope you’re right.” Steve huffed as he put his hands on his hips. Right as Steve was going to continue talking Y/ns name was called through the intercom system. They were ready to go leave for the mission. Y/n hugged their brother and said a goodbye for now and left.

the flight wasn’t very long. Bruce explained on the way what they needed to do in more depth then fury. He explained that he was going to drop them off right outside of the place. They were to break in and get rid of all the agents. Banner had explained that there weren’t many agents there only about 40. It wasn’t even a big base they were quite literally hiding in a barn.

so Y/n put on their safety glasses and their leather gloves. They were ready to go release all their feeling on these people. Barns, and Natasha were too busy flirting to hear what Bruce said about the files hiding there. Which they needed to find. Y/n thought easy peasy. They could do this with their eyes shut.

“Alright natasha, barns you two come in from the back doors. Y/n and I will come in from the front where they can’t escaped. We ambush them find the files and no outsiders find out about these agents. Got it?” Dr strange explained looking at the three in front of him. They each nodded understanding the mission. Bruce landed the Quinn jet and the exited.

just as the plan they came up with they ambushed the hydra agents. It wasn’t even a special barn no hidden labs no hidden floor to have darker things there. It was a normal tobacco barn. The hydra agents were caught off guard as they were all either sitting, laying down or just hanging out with the group of hero’s burst in the door.

some of them put up a good fight. Y/n and Strange delt with the agents as Natasha and barns searched for files of information on a new weapon hydra was working on. Something kinda like lokis septer. They eventually found it hidden in a pile of lose hay in a box. They opened it and the box was full of pictures of lokis septer, tons of papers with information on how to build the thing and where they could get the materials. Reading a few pages of the papers they discovered their septer would be so powerful they could mind control half the world at one time.

They left calling Fury’s men to gather the bodies and dispose of them. They got on the jet to go back home.

once they got back home y/n was dog tired. In between not sleeping much from nightmares and the quick mission they were wore out. They begin walking towards their room when they start to slow down. Their eyes getting heavy as they collapse. Waiting for impact they never feels it. All they feel are strong warm hands lifting them into strong arms and then being placed into the comfort of their bed.

“come on, hunny. You need to get your work clothing off.” Dr strange said softly.

This wasn’t the first time he’s done this for his friend. This seemed like a ritual they did every so often. Y/n nodded gathering all the strength and energy. Grabbing a pair of Nike shorts and a T-shirt out of her drawer. Stephen thinks the shirt looks familiar. It was his at some point in time. (Lol)

They goes into the bathroom and starts to change. They come out and just flop onto the bed. Stephen flicks his hands and a warm wash cloth appears. He wiped the dried blood off your knuckles and face. Smiling softly as you cuddle into his side.

Flicking his hand again after he was done he was changed into Comfy clothes and was clean all of a sudden. He shifted to cuddle you. He knew that when you were in his arms you didn’t have as nearly as much nightmares as you did when you were alone.

and for the first time in months you finally got true rest. He softly hummed to you as you slept. Softly running his hands up and down your side comforting you/ grounding you. You were cuddled into his side the whole night. You never turned away from him you literally stayed on his side. Stephen didn’t mind.

He secretly loved you, but never knew where you stood. There was so many times he just wanted to tell you he loved you. But he never felt like he could. What if you didn’t replicate the same feelings? What if you only saw him as a friend? He didn’t want to say anything and you not feel the same and ruin your 3 year friendship.

“I love you.” He whispers into the night. Thinking your long gone asleep. You smiled and look up at him sleepily. “I love you too.” You mumbled into his chest. He smiles leaning down and kissing your forehead. You turn your head up placing a soft kiss on his warm red lips before falling asleep on his chest.

The next morning Y/n wakes up. No night mares no night terrors no paranoia. Wow, that must have been the first time they slept good for a long time. They feel the soft rise and lower of Stephen chest with his breathing everything about the man was calming. He was your safe place.

“you’re staring.” He says with a soft smirk on his face facing you. “I’m admiring.” Y/n sighs as they smile up to their friend. ‘Friend, just a friend.’ They sadly remind themselves.

“thank you for staying with me. I’ve truly never slept that good in such a long time.” Y/n admits to Stephen.

Stephen smiles as he leans down placing a quick kiss on y/ns soft lips. Y/n was caught off guard. They didn’t expect him to do that. “I’m sor-“ y/n cut him off returning the kiss. “Don’t apologize.” They whisper against his lips. “I’ve been waiting for that since we first met.” Stephen smiled, “you should’ve told me we could’ve been doing that for a while now.”

and with that their nightmares slowed down. They still came back every once again but luckily they had a great man like Doctor Stephen Strange to chase the monsters and bad dreams away.

the end. august 22, 2022. @ 12:04 am.

#Doctor strange #marvel #Marvel avengers #Steve Rogers #Stephen Strange #Tony Stark #Doctor strange x reader #Tony stark x reader #Bucky barnes x reader #Bucky barnes #Steve rogers x sibling! reader #thor #loki #rhodey #clint barton #The Avengers #hulk #the hulk

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creedslove · 10 months

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guuuuuuuuuurl your story’s are bomb.com, might i ask what inspired you to write deserve it (personal fan favorite im a slut for javier) and heartless?

AWWWW thank you anon!!! You are so sweet and totally get it, if someone ain't a slut for javier peña they're probably dead on the inside lmao

Well, Deserve It started as a one shot and it was just a cute scenario that came to me one night before falling asleep, I just wanted something fluffy and a little different from the fics I had read at the time as most of them were only Javi smut fics or whenever there was a situation he was the one to defend/save reader so I wanted to change that... The rest of the story came when people asked for a second part and I added angst making Javier infuriate everyone and then the story picked up from there

Now, Heartless just as Deserve It, was supposed to be a one shot but people asked for a second part which ended up being more angst and then I just had to make a continuation after the other, lol! Idk I really like this angst part of a absent dad coming back and trying to do things right for his family, it's a plot I've used several times for roleplay and I thought it would fit jack better... And I guess it did because people really seem to enjoy this story :)

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4dtk · 3 years

Text

jaehyun as a bf

anon: “your writing brings me butterflies i love it you are so underrated!!!!! would love to request a jaehyun bf headcanons (like the one you did of mark <3)” thank you for the kind words anon <333 hope you enjoy this one!

(a bit of a plug lol but check out NCT 127's ideal r/s headcanons in this post!! i appreciate you checking it out! <3)

brief mentions of sex, but nothing explicitly nsfw!

likes to talk about music with you

especially jazz. there’s a plethora of songs out there with different renditions and sometimes he likes to ramble about who’s rendition he likes best

would play the piano for you if you asked, just maybe not after schedules or something. but usually when you’re free or alone together in the room, he likes you to sit beside him to listen to him play

you guys like to play a little game where he’ll play the chords and you play like a random note to create blobs of music

even if you don’t know how, the way the session always dissolves into giggles is his favourite thing in the world

if you know how to play the piano that’s great too!! jaehyun just likes the unexpected notes that come out since there’s no set melody in his mind

jaehyun needs to have some part of his body on yours at all times. like he has to hold your hand all the time, or a finger hooked around your backpack, or an arm around your waist.

at least when you’re together he does it very often and he’s just. obsessed with you lmfao

it’s also the reason he buys a promise ring when he’s sure of you as a significant other so you always have a part of him with you (his love)

would buy you those lockets for you to put pictures inside. he doesn’t care where you wear it though, around your neck, wrist, ankle, as long as the locket is on your person

he clings onto you like crazy in the mornings. jaehyun’s a heavy sleeper and likes to hug you on his side, so you’re always having trouble trying to pry him off of you in the morning

a bit nsfw: he likes morning lazy sex lol, ngl. jaehyun adores the rawness of your relationship in the morning and the sleepiness in your eyes when you’re gently pushing him away. he knows you don’t mean it but he makes sure you really want it first

loves the sunlight kissing your skin and the slow, gentle movements

so so intimate, he prefers it to the rougher forms of sex, but sometimes he doesn’t have that luxury since they leave for schedules quite often in the wee hours of dawn

for cuddling sense, jaehyun likes it when you’re under his arm and cuddled into his side. classic position but he dies every time inside when you look up at him and there’s this clueless look you have. has the biggest smile on his face after and you have to repeat the stuff you said bc he’s too distracted by how your eyes shine

second hot favourite (more of when you’re making out) is when you’re straddling him. nothing sexual, just like you on top of him when you’re kissing and stuff. he digs it when you’re pulling away for oxygen and he has to lift his body to reach for your lips again

gets flustered from kissing, but doesn’t show it. if he’s found a way to suppress the crazy crimson on his ears (which i doubt) then he will but his words will always contradict his expression

jaehyun can say “are you nervous, y/n?” with a smirk but his ears keep giving him away!!!!

mfer’s hands are shaking too when he trails it over your body. in disbelief you’re his.

sometimes shamelessly moans into the kiss LOL, not too loud but he whines when you pull away, and has to kiss you breathless again

when you kiss him, expect like a long-lasting kiss. doesn’t mind small pecks and stuff but he’ll want to savour your lips a little longer than a mere peck

jaehyun likes your neck too. when you’re hugging his face is always in your neck, placing small little butterfly kisses

you need to look out for him, always. mans always tripping over something at some point. it’s become more frequent now that he has you and my god he’s so unable to keep his eyes off of you that he trips over simple things. he once tripped over nothing

on the daily when he’s not tripping over you, he’s clumsy in a sense where he drops food on the table. he once struggled to tie up his growing hair into a mini ponytail bc it was just too little hair. the hair tie slipped from his fingers and shot itself into your face - those kinds of small small mishaps

it’s endearing but sometimes you can’t help but laugh at him

likes to take you out on impromptu dates. dates that are close by and easy to plan (?) i guess.

not saying jaehyun is a lazy boyfriend but he likes the more candid dates where you decide what to do as you go along. of course if it’s a big day like your anniversary or birthdays then he’d want to plan something out.

other than that, he just either lets you choose the places to go there or you two decide along the way. he doesn’t want to impose options for you and pressure you. if he’s being honest, he wouldn’t know where to go either lol so he just follows wherever you bring him

laughs so much when he’s with you. giggles, deep laugh, whatever you name it. your relationship is very light-hearted and he finds that he’s the one laughing more when you deliver jokes even tho he wants to make you laugh too

i can’t lie… his jokes can be dry sometimes i’m sorry jaehyun 😭 so he backs it up with laughter and has to catch his breath sometimes bc he finds it really funny

you’re not laughing at the joke, rather at his laugh so you might have to tell him that some way or another bc he’ll just keep making bad jokes i’m sorry y’all

he can’t handle the suuuuuper cheesy physically affectionate films or series (with shitty plot) but i feel like if the story’s interesting enough he’ll pay attention. likes bittersweet films too, i feel, gets him thinking

doesn’t mind cliched plots (fake dating / idealist girl meets realist boy / idk any others lol) but would propose something at the end that he thinks will make the movie/series more interesting

jaehyun likes to share his theories with you

unironically wants to learn the la la land tap dance scene with you. he ALWAYS hums city of stars too, no matter what. idk why but it sticks to him, in bed, in breakfast, when he’s doing something random

he did it once on the radio and he received a text from you in break that told him he was humming along to the song

with that said, jaehyun wants to try out the stuff in the rain quite a bit. making out, dancing, lying down, running, he likes that fascination that society has with doing things in the rain

doesn’t like it too much that he’ll get soaked, but as long as you’re with him and willing to do it, he’s all for it

jaehyun would def want kids in the future. wants to dote on them and buy them stuff and whatnot. wants to see them running around the house with laughter while you both struggle to contain the bursts of excitement they have

doesn’t care for the dynamic much. if he’s the one to stay at home to take care of them while you work, he can work with it. if it’s the other way round, he’s okay too

he just worries that if he’s still involved with the entertainment industry, you might have to take a back seat since he’ll be the one earning the money, and he doesn’t want babysitters either.

heart is so so full when he comes back home and you’re just playing with the kids, or singing them to sleep. any sight of you with him is enough to make him melt into a puddle

HAS to hold them even if they’re asleep. wants to always have them close to him while he nudges you to shower or get the food ready.

like jaehyun, he would wanna meet someone in a vinyl shop or bookstore. he knows it’s cliched but the thought of meeting someone when you’re buying something is exciting. anything unexpected for him, he welcomes it

the next few are just random, miscellaneous headcanons: he likes to see you in his clothes, preferably with nothing underneath. just his shirt lol. cheeky man

jaehyun likes it when you shower together (again, nothing sexual, just likes the domesticity)

likes it when you fall asleep on him

will never stop gushing about you to his parents, first time you met them they’re like “he’s told us so much about you!” and he really did

feels comfortable in your presence, no makeup, messy hair, no need for a perfect bod. he’s just jaehyun. jung yuno if you will

adores it when you call him “lover” i mean boyfriend is good, significant other is good, but lover is just chef’s kiss

it is a bit cheesy if you think about it, so it’s not often that you say it. when you do say it in songs when you’re singing it to him, he can’t stop smiling

plays lover, you should’ve come over when he’s on tour bc it’s the closest thing he can get to a replica of how he feels for you

and when jaehyun falls asleep to the song, all he can remember is your honey voice singing it to him. he’ll just have to hold onto it before he can see you again

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softxsuki · 3 years

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Bakugo with a shy and anxious crush one shot. He scared her once and won’t do it again, now feeling really protective of her. :D

Bakugou with Shy and Anxious Reader

Pairing: Bakugou x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Minor violence (?), anxiety/panic attack, mild language, mentions of death (no actual death though, dw)

Genre: uhhhhhh angst to fluff, comfort ? IDK

Post-Type: One-Shot

Word Count: 2.9k

Summary: In which you have a crush on Bakugou and he’s out on a mission. Things go wrong though and you remember the day you first met him an dhow your feelings and relationship with him have changed. You worry for his safety and regret not expressing your feelings for him sooner. (How do you write summaries? I suck at it PLS EFKJFAJ)

[A/N: Thank you for this request anon! I hope it lives up to your expectations. I really went overboard and created a whole scenario that you didn’t ask for, but I hope this is fine! It’s currently 2am and I feel bad about not updating for over a week, so here we are. It’s been a crazy week with having to take my puppy to the vet and having my mom drag me around town with her. Guys, writing is so hard. Trying to find the motivation to write it HARD. But once I get started, I can’t stop LOL. Also, I just realized that most of my work ends with them falling asleep, a girl be tired PFFFF. I should work on that...Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy :D.]

The whole class was surrounding the television in the common room, watching the scene before you unfold. Bakugou, Midoriya, and Todoroki had all been called in for a special mission, but things got messy quickly. You were sitting between Kirishima and Mina on the couch, your legs bouncing up and down as your nerves spiraled out of control. Come on Bakugou, come back now, please. Your eyes pleaded with the blond on the screen who was fighting his hardest against the villain with Midoriya and Todoroki backing him up.

You would have laughed if someone told you you’d be worrying for the blond, crimson eyed man who once scared the life out of you. Someone like you who was shy and just a bubble of anxiety--the complete opposite of Bakugou, yet you slowly became very fond of him.

It was only three months ago when he had scared you for the first and last time. He was having a particularly bad day when it was time to group up for training. You’d never really encountered the spiky haired blond face to face before, only sticking to admiring him from far away since you were too shy to ever speak to him. You had the biggest crush on Bakugou and would silently watch him strive to be the greatest hero, but that day was the first time you had been paired up with the hot head, and saying you were nervous was an understatement. His usual nonchalant expression was already in a grimace as a vein in his head threatened to pop--he was beyond upset.

You weren’t the greatest fighter to begin with; similarly to Tamaki, you were timid and holed up within yourself, so having to face Bakugou who radiated confidence and anger in that moment was terrifying. With shaky legs, you took your stance, ready to attempt to face him, but Bakugou was already flying at you with sparks coming out from his palms.

“DIE!” he yells inches away from you now.

You usually trained with one of the other girls since just being around another girl made you feel more comfortable, but they never went too hard on you. Seeing a seething Bakugou inches from sending explosions straight at you had you frozen in place. Forgetting all the training you had learned thus far, you just stared shakily into his crimson eyes, stuck like a deer in headlights.

You expected the impact of the explosions to hit you, so you shut your eyes to prepare for it, but you only felt a blast of heat roll past your head as something behind you exploded. You opened your eyes to see Bakugou inches away from your face, huffing and puffing from the move.

You stumble back onto your butt, and grip your chest in relief. You take a moment to try and catch your breath that you didn’t even realize you were holding the whole time that he was flying towards you.

“Why the hell didn’t you move?” Bakugou questions you, clearly annoyed.

You look up at him with wide eyes; it was the first time he had ever talked to you directly. Your heart was hammering in your chest, not only from the actions that just took place, but also because your crush was speaking to you.

“I- I wa-”

“Spit it out!” he yells at you again, making you jump a little.

Admiring this man from afar and seeing him up close, directing his screaming at you were two completely different things; you couldn’t exactly say that you enjoyed him yelling at you.

His patience was running thin. He was rushing to train to let out some pent up stress and anger, but you weren’t exactly helping him. He quickly swoops his hand down to help you back on your feet, but you draw back even farther, flinching at his quick movements.

His heart skips a beat and you see his face fall a bit at your reaction.

“I- I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that, I just didn’t expect that...that’s all,” you explain with your head hung low.

“I wasn’t going to blast you. I’m not that low where I’d finish off an opponent that’s already down,” he says, this time slowly reaching his hand out for you.

You gladly take it as he helps you back up on your feet. You brush yourself off and take a few deep breaths.

“Don’t just stand there like a statue next time like an idiot. That’ll get you killed if this was a real fight,” he mumbles as he walks off, seemingly calmer than when he first arrived.

Since that day, the day you faced your crush for the first time, your crush on Bakugou just grew even stronger and Bakugou seemed to take you under his wing. He claimed you were “too weak” and needed to be taught how to become confident in a fight, so he took responsibility and taught you himself.

After seeing you look at him with fear in your eyes and just watching you stand there, ready to be overcome by him, he felt oddly protective of you--as if he needed to make sure that you could take care of yourself...and he just wanted to watch over you.

You didn’t realize that Bakugou had his own complicated feelings for you before the day you both trained together. He had noticed you before that day many times and saw how timid you were. He knew your quirk was amazing, you just didn’t have the confidence to use it properly. He felt bad about giving you a terrible first impression, but he promised himself that he’d never have you look at him like that again. Never again.

He’d always pair up with you during training, so he could teach you a few special moves and get you out of your shell. Though you were a woman, he never held back, he wanted you to become as strong as you possibly could, so him holding back wouldn’t help you at all.

You both grew incredibly close and became great friends and training buddies, despite wanting to become something more than friends with him.

Images of the first time you met Bakugou flashed in your mind as you watched him fight on the TV. Though only three months have passed, he had already improved significantly, and would probably continue to improve so long as he could. You looked around at everyone who seemed to be enjoying watching the three men fight on the news with the villain who had made himself known that day. You couldn’t help but be worried though, you’d always worry for him--the man who had your heart and didn’t even know it, the man who always made you feel safe, the man who helped you grow tremendously in terms of your fighting skills.

You’re dragged out of your thoughts as everyone in the room gasps as the news camera man is pushed over and the camera is now pointed at the sky as screams of terror are heard. Smoke and fire can be seen in frame along with a few heads of people running by the toppled camera.

“Woah, looks pretty messy,” Kaminari cuts into the silence.

“Do you think we should go in and help?” Yaoyorozu asks the class.

“No! Aizawa Sensei specifically told us to not butt in, so the class will remain here. No exceptions. Midoriya, Todoroki, and Bakugou are fully capable of dealing with this,” Iida instructs while waving his hands around.

The class continues to talk between each other but you’re silent. Heart beating heavily in your chest as your eyes refuse to leave the screen, hoping and praying that you’d somehow catch a glimpse of Bakugou’s blond hair or hear his screaming or blasts--anything. Anything that would reassure you that he was okay.

“He’s down! He’s not moving!” you hear a man scream on the TV and then someone steps on the camera and the screen goes black.

Your heart almost stops beating, and you’re on your feet in an instant heading for the door. You don’t even grab your shoes as you throw the door open, but a strong hand grabs you and pulls you back inside.

You hear ringing in your ears and you feel almost numb, aside from the feeling of big hands now on your shoulders shaking you a bit. You see Kirishima in front of you, both hands on your shoulder, signaling that he’s the one who grabbed you; his mouth is moving but you can’t hear anything he’s saying.

Your mind is on one thing and one thing only--Bakugou. Was he okay? Who was down? Who wasn’t moving? Why did Bakugou of all people have to be called for this mission? Why did you have to be stuck in the dorms as he was out fighting a villain? Why why why?

“Y/N! Look at me!” you finally hear Kirishima say.

Your eyes snap to him as you try and collect yourself.

“It’s best to wait here. It’s too dangerous to go running to where they are now in your state,” Kirishima states while looking down at your hands.

You follow his eyes and notice that your hands are trembling, so you firmly place them at your side to keep them still.

“I’m fine. I need to see him.”

You attempt to move past him after freeing yourself from his grip, but he’s too fast and once again gently grabs your arm to stop you from moving any further.

“Please Y/N, you’re not thinking straight right now. They’re fine. Bakugou is fine. He told me to watch over you while he’s gone. He’s probably already on his way back now.”

Your heart lurches at his words. Bakugou told him to watch over you for him while he was gone? While he was gone...what if he never comes back? What if this morning was the last time you ever got to see him alive and breathing?

“What if he’s not okay?!” you burst out, tears now blurring your vision as they burst from your eyes, “What if he’s the one laying, unmoving there on the cold ground waiting for help!”

That shuts Kirishima up along with the rest of the class who are just watching you with worry in their eyes at your outburst. This was unlike you, you were the shy girl--the one who hardly spoke up, yet here you were screaming and acting out.

Your mind replays all the moments you had with Bakugou, causing your breathing to speed up at the thought that you may never see him again.

“I can’t...breathe…” you struggle to say through your gasps for air as your hands grip your chest and you fall to the ground.

You were full on sobbing and hyperventilating at this point. Your vision was getting spotty as tingles shot up throughout your whole body from the lack of oxygen. No matter how much air you tried to take in, it felt like you couldn’t breathe. You thought you were going to pass out or pass away--one of the two.

You didn’t even have a chance to tell Bakugou how you felt about him. Please come back. Come home. Come to me, please Bakugou. I need you.

You felt Kirishima and Mina come over to rub your back and try to calm you down before you make yourself pass out.

Your head was face first on the floor as you rock yourself back and forth, still clutching your chest in both agony of possibly having lost Bakugou, and feeling like you couldn’t breathe. The buzzing in your ears returned, drawing out the voices of everyone trying to comfort you.

It felt like hours had gone by, though only a few minutes had passed of everyone trying to calm you down. Your whole body felt like it was vibrating from the tingling and your chest hurt from your hyperventilating and embarrassing sobs that just wouldn’t stop.

You didn’t even hear the front door burst open, or hear the sound of heavy boots run your way until you felt bulky arms pull you up into a broad chest. The familiar scent of burnt caramel filled your nose and you jolt back to look at whoever had pulled you into their arms.

You found yourself looking into those familiar crimson eyes that you loved so much.

“Bakugou?” you cry as even more tears come pouring down, “I thought I lost you...”

“You can’t get rid of me that easily dummy,” he chuckles while pushing your head back into his chest as he pulls you up from the ground and walks to your dorm room.

You grab his hero suit tightly, scared to let him go in fear that he might vanish before your eyes. Your breathing slows down after a while of being in his presence, only silent tears now make their way down your face. You were emotionally tired after thinking that the man you adored was gone forever.

As he enters your dorm and closes the door behind him, walking you to your bed, you wrap your legs and arms even tighter around him so that he can’t put you down.

“Are you going to let go?” he questions as he tries placing you on your bed.

“Just--give me a second. I won’t be able to say this if you’re looking at me.”

He sighs, but gives in anyway, standing straight up again and adjusting his grasp on you so you won’t slip down.

It’s silent for a moment, until Bakugou speaks again.

“Well?”

“Okay look, don’t say anything until I finish...but I like you Bakugou. Like—like like you. I know you don’t feel the same way, and I’m probably a pain to deal with all the time. I’m weak, I can’t speak up for myself, I’m an emotional mess half the time. Heck, I can’t even order for myself whenever we go out for lunch,” you huff, “But thinking that I almost lost you today without ever telling you how I felt, hurt. My gosh Bakugou, it hurt like hell. I don’t want to lose you--ever.”

He’s silent for a moment at your confession, so you start to scramble around to try and wiggle out of his grip, now feeling embarrassed at confessing to him and not having him say anything after that. His grip on you only tightens as he pulls you closer to him.

“Stop moving so much dumbass,” he scolds you, “What do you know about how I feel? Huh? I don’t feel the same way? You’re an idiot for not realizing that I like you too. Tch. And stop bad mouthing yourself. You’ve gotten stronger and there’s nothing wrong with being shy. I like it because then I know when you’re loud with me, it means that you’re comfortable around me.”

“Really?” you’re at a loss for words at his own confession.

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it…” he trails off, savoring the feeling of your head on his shoulders and your close proximity.

He had dreamt of being able to hold you close like he was for months.

“Anyway,” he leans down and finally places you on your bed, looking into your eyes for the first time after your confession, “we can talk about this in the morning. It’s been a long day--for the both of us it seems.”

You jump under your covers, and wipe the remains of your tears away and lay your head on your pillow.

“Alright,” you whisper, your exhaustion starting to catch up with you.

He pats your head and glances at you one more time before turning to walk away. Though, you reach out and grab his hand before he can take another step away from you.

“Wait...stay with me? What if you’re not here tomorrow?” you mumble while looking down at your bedsheets, your hand still firmly grasping his own.

“I’m dirty. I need to change.”

You nod and let him go in which he quickly makes his way to his own dorm.

It feels like hours go by as you anxiously wait for him to return. You’re about to hop out of bed and run over to his dorm in fear that you might have imagined him returning, but you hear your door click open.

A refreshed Bakugou in clean clothes enters your room and walks over to your bed. You scoot over and pat the spot next to you for him to join you.

“You sure?”

“Mhm.”

That’s all he needs before you feel his body heat radiate warmth under your covers, which sends chills throughout your body.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be here when you wake up and we can talk more about everything” he softly whispers in your ear as you drift to sleep.

Bakugou admires your sleeping form for a while, trying to process the crazy day he had; from fighting that crazy villain, walking into the dorms and seeing you a mess on the ground, to finding out that you liked him back. It was a lot, but he’s glad that it ended how it did—with you in his arms, both of your feelings out in the air.

He wipes away a lone tear that fell from your eyes, leans in to kiss your forehead, and quickly falls asleep after you.

REQUESTS ARE OPEN :D

Posted: 6/22/21

525 notes · View notes

mizunetzu · 4 years

Note

ok ok so my request 👉🏻👈🏻

it’s the most obvious thing but i have a full crush on bakugou, so can you please write about him x male reader, where the reader is like.. having nightmares or almost doesn’t sleep because of his quirk (idk like maybe he can hear something special or predict anything bad, doesn’t really matter) but feels safe around bakugou so he always falls asleep around him or even oN him and katsuki is like “😡(❤️)shit whatever” and the reader is kinda shy about that but totally ok with their friends being like “wow bro that’s kinda gay :> ” because he is comfortable with “oh that’s because i aM the gay✌🏻” and his classmates love him and everything and would never mock.. but one time someone from another class was really really rude bcs of that or said that katsuki hates it so the reader starts to avoid bakugou and bakugou geTS MAD about it because reader is just his and no one else’s >:0 maybe a little confession from him in the end, maybe some.. *gay coughing* angy k*ss from him

please make it angsty but with a fluffy ending please please and thank you very much in advance💙 sorry if it’s too big i can’t explain my thoughts properly thaha

Bruh I just realized how long this request is 💀💀 also look at me, writing it like decades after you requested it 😭 pls enjoy I’m actually quite proud of it (also isn’t that gif perfect hahah get it bc the prompt was abt like sleeping and bakugou’s sleeping and-yeah I’ll let u read now)

——————

Bakugou x reader - Angry Insomniacs

⚠️Warnings - mild arguing, it’s not that bad

Pronouns - male, he/him

——————

“Why are you always fuckin’ sleeping on me?”

It first started during the Sports Festival. The chicken race and cavalry battle really took a toll on (Y/n), and he was suffering harsh quirk drawbacks. That, being drowsiness.

Somewhere on the stands, (y/n’s) eyes grew heavier and heavier until he realized he had fallen asleep. He also didn’t realized until he woke up that no one disturbed him when he was near Bakugou. Be it fear, or just plain respect, (Y/n) seemed to get the best rest when he was with Bakugou. Not even Iida dared to wake him up when he dosed off on Bakugous shoulder.

He always made it a point to be in Bakugous vicinity when ever he could, taking naps with his head buried in his arms next to Bakugou at lunch, or having his head resting on his shoulder in the dorms.

“Oi! Don’t drift off on me!”

“Mm? Sorry, Bakugou.”

(Y/n) rubbed his eyes as he weakly pushed off the common room couch, stretching and yawning as he did so. “Can I sleep in your room tonight?”

“N-no, dumbass! Fuck kinda question is that, shit-for-brains?!”

“I’ll see you there later then, Bakugou.” (Y/n) gave a slight nod, Bakugou practically foaming at the mouth already, before trotting off the continue his nap in his own room.

Before heading to his room though, he walked into the kitchen to grab a post-nap time snack. Tsuyu, who was already digging in the fridge, stepped back so (Y/n) could grab whatever he wanted.

Tsu eyed (Y/n’s) slightly tousled hair. “Did you take another nap on bakugou-chan? Kero.”

(Y/n) hummed out a “yes.” Tsu hummed back in acknowledgment. Kaminari and Kirishima, unintentionally, started listening in from their place in the kitchen after hearing Bakugou being mentioned.

Tsuyu put a finger to her lip. “Ne, (Y/n)-chan, why do you always take naps on Bakugou-chan? It’s always him, kero, and you go out of your way to make sure it’s only him.”

“Why?” (Y/n) pulled off the carton of milk stubbornly hanging on to the fridge. “Because I like Bakugou. Duh. And I sleep better near people I like.

Kaminari gasped comically while Kirishima sputtered and choked on his words. Not just listening anymore, Kaminari but in. “L-like? Like, ‘like’-like?!”

Kaminari and Kirishima joined Tsuyu and (Y/n) near the fridge. (Y/n) nodded out an “mm-hm.”, whilst grabbing a cup from the cabinet.

“So you’re like...” Kirishima made wild, indecipherable, gestures with his hand. Eventually, after realizing no one was taking the hint, brought his voice down to a whisper.

“...like...gay..?”

“Yeah. Pretty much.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell us?!” Kaminari grasped at his blond hair. (Y/n) thought for a moment, poured himself a glass of milk, and shrugged.

“I don’t know. You never asked.”

“And you’re so comfortable just telling us now? Why, kero-kero?”

“Because I’m gay as fuuuuuck.” (Y/n) took a swig of milk like it was a shot of whiskey. “And it’s not like it was a secret or anything.”

“Though I don’t think Bakugou knows. He’s too angry about me sleepin’ on him all the time to actually care about me.”

(Y/n) polished off his glass of milk. He set the cup down gently into the sink. “Eh, it’s not like I actually care for what he thinks about me.”

“See ya, I’m gonna finish my nap.”

“Uh-bye”

“Bye-bye.”

“Bye, kero.”

———

(Y/n) yawned as his head lolled off of Bakugou’s shoulder. He hissed, dusting off his shoulder angrily.

“Go sleep somewhere else!”

“I’m just goin’ to the bathroom, Bakugou, I’ll be back. Keep your shoulder warm for me.”

(Y/n) weakly stood up from his chair, and sluggishly walked out of the cafeteria. Damn, his feet felt heavy. Maybe if he hurried to the bathroom, he’d get back in time to catch a few more minutes of sleep before Bakugou exploded on him or lunch ended.

(Y/n’s) shoulder accidentally caught on someone else’s, making him stumble back and rub his shoulder. Monoma tilted his chin up in a mocking fashion.

“Ara? Is that (L/n) (Y/n) from class 1-A I see?”

(Y/n) nodded, only half processing his words as he continued on his way to the bathroom. Monoma followed somewhat behind, spewing words and one-liners that went in one ear and out the other. That is, until,

“Honestly, you would’ve thought that angry blond kid would’ve told you by now”.

(Y/n’s) ear perked up. He halted to a stop, Monoma following suit and shoving his hands smugly in his pockets. “What’s this about Bakugou?”

“Oh? He really didn’t tell you, huh? That’s...” Monoma stifled a condescending snicker. “...surprising.”

(Y/n) stepped closer. “C’mon man, tell me what?”

Monoma sighed. “Well,”

“I heard that Mr. Blasty, matter-o-factly,” Monoma jabbed his pointer finger into (Y/n’s) chest. “Really, really hates it when you sleep on, or near him. Actually,”

“I think he just hates you in general.”

(Y/n) furrowed his brows. He’s lying. He’s lying. He likes him, doesn’t he? Bakugou likes him, or else he wouldn’t have lead him on for so long, right?

Because he wouldn’t let just anyone sleep on his shoulder...right?

“You’re lying.”

“Well, believe what you want, honestly,” Monoma made a show of crossing his arms dramatically. “But you should see the way he shit-talks and glares at you in you’re sleep. It’s not like he can push you off though, you’re ‘just so persistent you’ll never leave him the fuck alone’.”

(Y/n) shoved his hands in his pockets. Monoma raised his hands in defense. “His words, not mine.”

(Y/n) turned on his heel and began to speed walk to the bathroom. Monoma yelled out from his spot in the empty hallway.

“Oh? You don’t want to hear what he thinks about your little crush on him?”

(Y/n) froze. He was under the assumption that everyone but him knew, could he be wrong? He pressed his lips into a fine line, turning around as composedly as he could. Though, he couldn’t mask the fearful curiosity in his eyes.

Monoma grinned. It was an unpleasant, sarcastic grin, one that didn’t look peaceful or pleasing at all.

“Well, I doubt that there’s anything to to say at all, so does it really ma-“

“What...what does he say about me?” (Y/n’s) voice quivered. He knew he was falling into Monoma’s trap, that he was just trying to provoke him, that he was looking for any kind of reaction, but his curiosity got the best of him. It really did, because Monoma’s words stabbed spears into (Y/n’s) heart, word by word.

“Blasty thinks it’s fucking disgusting how you like him, like, as another dude. Like honestly, he thinks you take him for an idiot for thinking he actually didn’t know! And the fact you sleep so close to him know full well you want to get in his pants?! He thinks you’re a pervert! A lazy shit! A fag! Ahahaha!”

Monoma loud cackles were cut short when he suddenly slumped over. He sunk to the ground, revealing Kendo, holding one big hand up and the other to her waist. She most likely knocked Monoma out once she heard his condescending retorts from the cafeteria.

Kendo sighed, bending down the haul Monoma’s arm over her shoulder. Her heavy glare softened once she caught sight of (Y/n’s) buggy eyed face starting at the ground where Monoma was.

“Sorry...he didn’t say anything too harsh, right?” Kendo’s words were gentle, but they sounded practically inaudible to (Y/n’s) traumatized ears.

He wordlessly staggered past her, heading back into the cafeteria to grab his lunch and sit elsewhere. He supposed he wouldn’t bother Bakugou anymore. Since he’s so damn ‘persistent’, he figured he’d stop bothering him for the rest of the day.

He wished he wasn’t so curious about what Bakugou thought of him. Like people say, ignorance is bliss. He could’ve gone his whole high school career without knowing Bakugou hated his every being. How was he going to face him in class knowing every pointer glare, every scoff, every insult was genuine?

(Y/n) felt his throat tighten. For the first time in years, (L/n) (Y/n) was fully awake.

——

It was the first time in many months that (Y/n) didn’t sit in the seat next to Bakugou, napping in his presence. He’d done it every day no fail, that is until this week. Actually, this is the 6th consecutive day he didn’t take a nap at all.

(Y/n) sat placid in his assigned seat, eyes wide and trying to keep awake. He couldn’t sleep without thinking of Bakugou, and every time he did it was always him scoffing and turning his back on him.

Every few seconds, (Y/n) would jolt harshly in his seat, rocking back and forth like a drug addict in withdrawal. He stared at his desk with eyes that could kill someone, and he dug his hands into his forearms to keep himself somewhat awake.

He didn’t hear Kirishima calling his name until he snapped his fingers infront of his face. The snap rang like a gunshot, surprising (Y/n) from his trance so badly he jolted back like he got electrocuted. Kirishima raised an eyebrow.

“You...ok man...?”

(Y/n’s) dry eyes landed fixed onto Kirishima. He relaxed, and let out a breath he didn’t know he was taking. “M’fine...”

His voice cracked like it hadn’t been used for days. (Y/n) let his eyes drift back forward, hunching back over and huddling his body like he was trying to squeeze himself to death. When Kirishima gave him a skeptical glare and crossed his arms, (Y/n) let out a small “m’ just tired, that’s all...” and gave the most pathetic smile known to man.

“If you’re so tired,” Mina, rested her arms on the back of (Y/n’s) chair. “Why don’t you sleep on Bakugou like you do every morn-“

“NO! I-I can’t do that!” (Y/n) whipped his head back, gripping the back of his chair so hard his hand turned white. Mina and Kirishima flinched, noticeably caught off guard with his sudden outburst. “I...can’t...I can’t do that...”

(Y/n) suddenly looked very awake, contrasting the way he looked like he was struggling to keep his eyes open the whole time they were in class.

(Y/n’s) breath steadied as he shut his mouth awkwardly. “M’sorry...for yelling...didn’t mean to...”

(Y/n) scrubbed at his eyes. The rush of adrenaline was already wearing off. Mina set her dainty pink hand on (Y/n’s) hunched form. “Why not...?”

“I just can’t.”

(Y/n) said nothing more. He went back to his occasional jolts awake and scrubbing his heavy eyes every 2 minutes. Kirishima sighed, shaking his head towards Bakugou, before shrugging his shoulders then forming an ‘X’ with his hands.

Bakugou clicked his tongue angrily, turning and facing back forward in his seat.

——

(Y/n) was practically seeing stars by the end of hero’s class.

It was a relatively simple assignment, 1 on 1 sparring, but it caused a lot of quirk use.

He fought both his tired eyes and Midoryia, but ultimately failing due to his harsh quirk drawbacks. Midoryia barely had to break a sweat to have (Y/n) come toppling down.

(Y/n) was ushered back into the horde of students murmuring “don’t mind” and “you did great!”, but he just slithered past and stood a few feet away from them, all the way in the back of the field.

All might was explaining something (Y/n) couldn’t quite hear. Not only because he was standing so far away, but because his hearing had been considerably wonky, not to mention the hissing, ringing sound irritating his eardrums.

“Oi.”

And even if the ringing had stopped and he could hear, his brain was too tuckered out to remember anything past five seconds ago.

“Oi!”

Gosh, speaking of his brain-

“OI! SHIT-FOR-BRAINS! YOU GONNA KEEP IGNORING ME OR YOU GONNA TELL ME WHY YOU’VE BEEN AVOIDIN’ ME?!”

Bakugou set off a small explosion. The blast wasn’t nearly as loud or powerful as in combat, but to a tired mans ears, it sounded like nukes. The ringing in (Y/n’s) ears spiked, and he cupped his ears tightly.

“B-Bakugou, nows not-“

“OH, YOU TRYNA TUNE ME OUT BY COVERIN’ YOUR EARS NOW?!” Another explosion. Bakugou’s gauntlets had been out for repairs since his last hero training, so (Y/n) could clearly see the glowing red and yellow spark from his fist. The ringing spiked again. His vision burned with sparks.

(Y/n) winced, saying nothing, and brought his hands to rub at his eyes. Bakugou eyebrow twitched.

“STOP IGNORING ME!”

Bakugou brought his hand out, his gloved hand starting to glow red with his next explosion. (Y/n) couldn’t take it anymore.

He stumbled forward, and grabbed Bakugou’s wrist. He shoved it out of the way, but his hand still ignited and set off a blast that propelled them straight to the ground.

“G-get off-a me!” Bakugou tried pushing (Y/n) off with his free hand.

(Y/n) pinned Bakugou’s glowing right hand by the wrist, using his other to hold down his other shoulder. (Y/n) would’ve never done something as ballsy and stupid as this, but he was too tired, too done, too much in pain to care.

“What are you actually trying to say!? All that stupid extra yelling and petty insults, they get you fucking nowhere! Spit it out! Or does trying to intimidate every single fucking person you meet just self-satisfaction?!”

Bakugou growled. He grabbed at (Y/n’s) shoulders, pushing off of him and pinning (Y/n) to the ground in his place.

“Then what about you, huh?!” Bakugou was angrily spitting at (Y/n’s) face. “Why the fuck did you stop getting enough sleep for your quirk?! Are you just that dumb that you stay up at night?!”

“I don’t wanna hear it from a stupid fucker like you, who can’t even take care of himself!”

(Y/n) hissed. He freed his dominant hand from Bakugou’s vice grip and pushed at Bakugou’s face, grabbing a fistful of his hair. “All you ever do is shit talk! Shut up! No one thinks it’s fucking cool!”

“What the hell are you even talking about?!”

The two wrestled on the ground, angrily grabbing and tugging at each other, and rolling around on the floor. There were shouts of “get Aizawa-no, get midnight-sensei!” and “All might, stop them!”, but the two were so caught up in their fight they couldn’t hear anything.

“Can’t you ever learn to mind your fucking Business?!”

“What the fuck does that even have to do with this!”

(Y/n) flipped Bakugou over one more time. He pushed him down by the forehead, pushing his head down into the ground while Bakugou flailed and kicked from underneath him.

“SHUT UP! WHY DO YOU EVEN FUCKIN’ CARE, BAKUGOU?! WHY DO...w-why do...wh...”

A sweet, sweet smell flooded (Y/n’s) senses. It smelt relaxing, tantalizing, it smelled like sleep. It smelled like sleep. He wanted to sleep. He wanted to sleep so bad. Maybe he could just...

(Y/n) slowly sank from his spot on top of Bakugou, flopping on top of his body and going completely slack. Bakugou’s eyes widened, and he covered his nose.

Midnight strutted from above the two, waving away a few stray wisps of her mist. Bakugou hacked out a new breath, while (Y/n) laid on top of him, peacefully asleep for the first time in days.

“Well, it seems like you two already know without me saying it.” Midnight motioned over to two small robots carrying a stretcher. “I’ll just take him to recovery girl and he should wake up in-“

Bakugou pursed his lips and wrapped his arms around (Y/n’s) sleeping figure when Midnight extended her arm towards them. He tightened his arms around (Y/n).

“I’ll do it. S-since this piece of shit attacked me first and...I’ll just do it-!”

Midnight eyed him knowingly, before waving him off and mumbling something about ‘youth’.

——

(Y/n’s) eyes fluttered open. His body felt like it was broken in every way possible. It was so sore, it hurt even thinking about moving. (Y/n) laid there, with his eyes half open, contemplating whether or not he should close them again.

Would he be able to sleep, though? Even if he’d started sleeping near Bakugou as a ‘don’t-wake-me-up’ measure, it slowly stopped being just that and more a matter of he felt safe and comfortable around him. In a way, he’s become a bit dependent on him, which is probably a bad thing, but he didn’t care.

Sleeping with Bakugou felt best. But that wasn’t an option, now was it?

(Y/n) pursed his lips, an involuntary groan rumbling from his tired vocal cords. He continued staring at the blinding nurse office lights, staring until he saw spots in his vision.

“Stop doing that-do you wanna go fuckin’ blind?”

(Y/n) flinched. He hated the way that familiar, aggravated voice still stirred butterflies into his stomach. He glanced to his side, as if to make sure he wasn’t just hearing things.

He met eyes with Bakugou.

“Bout’ time you fuckin’ woke up. Been waitin’ forever, shit-for-brains.”

(Y/n) averted his eyes back up to the blinding floodlights. Bakugou scowled. “Oi! Don’t ignore m-“

“How long were you here for?”

Bakugou went silent. It was his turn to avert his eyes, albeit more angrily.

“...I was here since you fuckin’ fainted in class, idiot. I even carried your stupid body here from the dumbass carrier bots.”

(Y/n’s) eyes softened, unlike Bakugou’s, who glared at the floor just beside the chair he was sitting in. (Y/n) checked the big black clock mounted on top of Recovery Girl’s desk.

It was 6:00 pm.

If Bakugou was telling the truth, he’d been sitting there waiting for him to wake up for 4 hours straight.

“Bakugou-its been hours since class ended-you should be at the dorms by now-! Why did you-“

“Well if you told me why you suddenly started avoiding me we wouldn’t be here right now!”

(Y/n) let his mouth fall closed. Bakugou scoffed. “Well?!”

(Y/n) opened his mouth, but it clamped shut when Monoma’s words echoed in his mind. Bakugou looked at him with an expectant face.

“I can’t tell you.”

“WH-“ Bakugou sputtered angrily. “COURSE YOU CAN! THE FUCKS STOPPING YOU!”

“Nothing I-I just can’t!”

“WHY!? WHY NOT?!”

“BECAUSE I LOVE YOU!”

“OK AND?! I LOVE YOU TOO!”

“THEN WHATS THE PROBLEM HERE!” (Y/n) shouted, before he cupped his mouth in realization. Bakugou’s eyes went wide aswell. “Wait I didn’t mean that-“

“YEAH! WHATS THE FUCKIN PROBLEM HERE?!” Bakugou recovered from his initial shock, already back to yelling. (Y/n) furrowed his brows with a blush.

“Wh..wait so-“

“I LIKE YOU, YOU LIKE ME, SO WHY THE FUCK DID YOU STOP SLEEPING ON ME?!”

“Wait but...” (Y/n’s) voice was barely above a whisper. “Don’t you, y’know...not like it...when I do that-?”

“DUMBASS! WHERE’D YOU GET THAT FROM?!” It seemed like Bakugou got angrier and angrier each passing second. It was hard to tell what (Y/n) found so attractive about him.

“From...from Monoma...?”

Bakugou looked angrier than ever. (Y/n) raised an eyebrow. “YOU-I CAN’T BELIEVE-! I-! FUCK IT!”

Bakugou snarled and practically shoved his face onto (Y/n’s), angrily stealing his breath away with a kiss. The kiss, surprisingly, was soft and gentle, despite Bakugou’s previous intensity. It seemed to calm Bakugou down, and cheer (Y/n) up.

The two slowly parted for air. It was quiet for a second, something that rarely happened near Bakugou.

“I thought you hated me...”

“W-why the fuck would I hate you...dumbass.” Bakugou rested his forehead on (Y/n’s) shoulder. His spiky tufts of blond hair tickling (Y/n’s) face.

“Because Monoma said so...?”

“I’m gonna kill that bastard.” Bakugou snarled, climbing into the cot (Y/n) was in. He pushed (Y/n) back down into the pillow, pulling up the white blanket and laying down next to him. He guided (Y/n’s) head-a tad bit forcefully-to his chest. “...after we sleep.”

Bakugou shut his eyes, half irritated and half embarrassed, while (Y/n) chuckled tiredly. He nuzzled his head into Bakugou’s chest.

“Goodnight, Bakugou.”

——

Extra:

Monoma walked into class 1-B the next morning. He yawned, still a bit tired, when he ran straight into someone.

“Hey, copycat fucker.”

Monoma looked up. The class was empty, with no one but Bakugou standing infront of him.

Fuck.

Needless to say, Bakugou got another 3 days of house arrest.

——————

Bru this was so long ong

#bakugou katsuki #mha bakugou #bnha bakugou #bakugou imagine #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo #bakusquad #bakugou x male reader #bakugo x male reader #bakugou angst #bakugou x y/n #mha #mha fic #bnha #bnha fic #bnha x male reader #mha x male reader #mr scifijiz

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bangtanintotheroom · 2 years

Text

Center of Attention (M)(Teaser)

• Pairing: Jungkook x (F)Reader/(F)OCs (x2)

• Genre: Non Idol!AU, Smut

• Rating: 18+

• Words (teaser): 633

• Summary: It was supposed to just be you and your boyfriend tonight but your friends decided to come over for an impromptu slumber party. Of course, he’s not happy about it but he’ll get the attention he wants, one way or another.

• Warnings/themes: swearing, drinking, foursome (M/F/F/F), unprotected sex (for the love of God, wrap it up if you’re participating in group sex PLS), oral (m. and f. receiving), squirting, choking, spanking, dirty talk, begging, hair pulling, voyeurism, creampie, switch!Jungkook, JK is a whiny boi

• Notes: Woooooooo, this is nastyyyyy 🥴 I have never thought I would be writing smut that included more than two people, let alone four, but here we are! This was thanks to an interesting discussion brought up by some anons (OG anon (idk your name but you the GOAT), switchy bi anon and ⚽️ anon get some big kisses from me 😘) on @thirstybtsthoughts ‘s page and shoutout to @4joonkookie ‘s one shot as the kick in the pants I needed to start writing this. It’s out of my comfort zone (in a good way) but I hope I did an alright job (I want the best for my bby boy 🥺)!

•Teaser Notes: Teasers are a WIP and will not fully reflect the final draft, warnings and themes are subject to change. If you want to be tagged when the final draft is released, either leave a reply or shoot me an ask!

“Hey Kookie…”

Jungkook looked up from his drink to see the three of you sitting very close to him now, causing his head to tilt. “Uh…everything alright, ladies?”

You bit your lip, eyes darting to your girls before returning to his. “Yeah, well…we wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Hey, if you guys are trying to paint my nails or put my hair in rollers, I’m not having it!”

Maya rolled her eyes. “No, that’s not it, you dope.”

Jungkook merely raised his eyebrow this time, now looking at you to explain. Licking your lips, you forced yourself to put on a sickly sweet tone. “Baby…the girls and I were talking and well, we feel really bad about interrupting what was supposed to be our night alone.”

“Uh huh…”

Ji-eun scooted closer, resting a hand on his left thigh, causing him to jump at the contact. “It’s not fair to you to have to put up with us ruining that for you…”

“O-Oh?”

Maya followed suit, pressing her palm on his opposite leg now, her grip a little tighter than her friend’s. “So we wanted to make it up to you, especially since you’ve been hanging out with us instead of leaving…”

He swallowed hard. “Y-Yeah?”

Now you came closer as well, ending up on all fours in front of his crossed legs, your eyes piercing his. “We want to make you feel good, Kookie…all three of us.”

It took everything in Jungkook not to drop his cup, channeling that energy into dropping his jaw instead.

Was he drunk? Did he fall asleep and was having a dream that happened to be influenced by the last people he had seen? Or was this really happening?

He squeezed his eyes shut for a minute before opening them back up, still seeing the three of you looking at him with inquisitive eyes.

…This was actually fucking real.

He tried to form something close to words as a response but his tongue felt heavy in his mouth and he kept stammering, eyes darting to each of the women in front of him. “Th-That…I, but, what? Y-You can’t mean-“

You shared a look with the girls before returning to your boyfriend, giving him a reassuring look. “We’re being serious, babe, but we’re not going to force you if you don’t want to.”

Ji-eun gave him a soft look, gently rubbing his thigh. “It’s up to you, Jungkook.”

Maya patted his other thigh. “Just say no and we’ll drop it.”

All Jungkook could do was look between the hands on his legs and everyone’s faces, his brain slowly processing just what was being offered to him. From what he could pick up, it seemed like this was mainly your idea, not to much of his surprise. The two of you had a pretty open relationship from the start and agreed to be honest if there was ever anyone else who had caught your eye. Until now though, neither of you had gone through with it, satisfied with each other to the point where it was unnecessary to involve a third party. But now that he was in the situation, he had to debate to himself on whether he should go through with it or not.

He toyed with his lip ring as he pondered.

He wasn’t blind; your friends were cute and their personalities, although different, were pleasing to him. The thought of them joining you in pleasuring him made a quiver run down his spine as his mind wandered into just what the three of you would end up doing to him. There was only one way to find out.

“Alright…”

You tilted your head as he made eye contact with you. “Positive, Kookie?”

His eyes steeled as he gave a firm nod. “Yeah…I want it.”

#jeon jungkook #jeon jungkook fic #jeon jungkook smut #jungkook #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook smut #bts #bts fic #bts fanfction #bts fanfic #bts smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook x y/n

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ickle-ronniekins · 3 years

Text

forever, i choose you

desc: he’s always been everyone’s second choice, in every aspect of his life. george weasley just wants to be someone’s first.

word count: 3.9k

pairing: george weasley x muggle!reader

warning(s): idk you might cry, i sure did but what else is new. loneliness/discussion of sexual content/idk

A/N: i still have no motivation to write and/or read. and it’s the absolute worst. but i wrote the bulk of this story back in december/the beginning of january, and i figured maybe i’d try and write the ending and publish it and see if it’ll spark any inspiration in me. i’m real, real, real sorry if i haven’t gotten to your fics to read (i’ve got them all saved!) i just don’t know what’s wrong with me atm and it’s THE WORST. also it might evoke more emotion if you listen to this while reading this lil fic. thank you, to all of you, for your support and patience, always.

disclaimer: i do not give consent for my work to be posted on ANY other platform.

Seven-year-old George Weasley watched with wide eyes and a goofy grin as his father twirled his mother in the family space of their normally bustling and loud home. But tonight, the Burrow was quiet. Everyone was already sound asleep, his five brothers and his younger sister. George should be too, but he just couldn’t fall asleep no matter how much he tried. He fidgeted uncomfortably in his sheets and kept groaning, and it wasn’t long before his twin brother Fred threw a few pillows at his face, and eventually, George decided to get up and go for a stroll.

He hid strategically on the staircase so his parents wouldn’t see that he was still wide awake at nearly midnight, and he watched as they swayed lightly to the music emitting from somewhere in the house. It was light as a feather, the music, a small piano tune that echoed through the lower level, its sounds traveling effortlessly up the stairs of the home. Mr. Weasley dipped his wife and Mrs. Weasley giggled like some of the young girls George had seen in the village, kind of a nervous giggle, and he watched her blush. He saw his mother placed her head gently on Mr. Weasley’s chest and they both closed their eyes, and George wondered if they were happy to have a moment of peace without their seven children running around causing mayhem.

He wondered if they danced like this every evening, after everyone had already gone to bed.

George noticed a weird sort of feeling in his chest; he wondered why his heart was hurting. Was it because there was something wrong? But then he realized that wasn’t the case, for the aching in his heart came from his pure desire to find exactly what his mum and dad had -- a love like none other, with seven children, a home with multiple stories, and more treacle tarts than one needs.

He vowed in that moment, as he watched his parents from the staircase and tapped his foot quietly in rhythm with the music, that he’d find love like that one day.

He wanted someone to choose him first, just like his parents chose one another.

He brought his hand to his chest, as if to calm his rapidly beating heart, for the sheer idea of finding a love like theirs filled him with such excitement that he was certain he wouldn’t be able to sleep now. Seven-year-old George Weasley laid in bed, ignoring the soft snores from his twin across the room, his eyes wide with wonder as he dreamt of the woman he’d dance with one day.

Twelve-year-old George Weasley wasn’t ready to date. He was only twelve years old! He much preferred to dream.

He knew when he looked at the girl across from him that she wasn’t the one, lovely as she was. He adjusted his Gryffindor tie and cleared his throat and focused on the Potions assignment in front of him. It wasn’t exactly a date, was it? He was in a Potions lesson with his classmates, and Snape. But when the cute blackhaired Hufflepuff approached him and asked if he’d like to work together on the next of Snape’s ridiculous concoctions, Fred poked his brother in the ribs and winked, as if to say, If you don’t partner up with her, you’re a right prat.

And so George did what he thought was gentlemanly and he said yes. He could tell by the rose pink colour that flooded her cheeks that she was smitten with him, and that she’d asked him to be her partner because she was smitten. And he had to admit, she really was quite cute and very, very kind.. and rather smart for her age as well. And he knew that she’d make some man very, very happy someday. It just wouldn’t be him.

He did what was asked of him. He measured out the correct amount of powdered Griffin claw. He made sure he and his partner had enough salamander blood for their strengthening solution. And he smiled back at his partner, though his heart and his mind were still with the girl he’d dance with one day.

The Hufflepuff tried her hardest to capture his heart, but it belonged to someone he had yet to meet.

She wasn’t the one that felt like home.

-- -

Sixteen-year-old George Weasley didn’t understand why all of his classmates wanted to snog people and move onto someone else without so much as a blink.

So many people were pairing off and lasting less than a week before moving onto someone new. George rattled his brain for answers, he searched the eyes of his classmates for explanations, but he couldn’t understand why people would want to hop from one person to another. Didn’t they want to find love, a love that’s long lasting and pushes boundaries and moves mountains and weathers the storms it meets?

But perhaps, he worried, maybe that’s where he was going wrong.

Maybe, in order to find what he truly yearned for, he needed to be reckless and love without really loving.

Maybe he needed to search less, in order to find her.

And so he decided, with much persuasion from Fred, that he’d ask that pretty brunette Ravenclaw to the Yule Ball, and he’d dance and drink firewhisky and maybe he’d even kiss her, if the courage he tried to summon stayed with him throughout the night.

And maybe if he did all those things, he’d forget about the one his heart desperately craved.

And for a little while, he really did forget. Perhaps he could get on board with this “love the one you’re with” mentality. Maybe he could just be in the moment without worrying about everyone else. Maybe he could kiss girls without feeling anything, maybe he could date casually, maybe he could be like everyone else his age and not think about weddings and marriage and having children.

“Georgieee,” the Ravenclaw slurred on the dance floor. She tugged on his tie and pulled him close. He could smell the firewhisky on her breath and his heart began to pound when she pressed her lips lightly to his cheek. “Dance with meeee.”

No, this wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted more than this. He’d always wanted more than this.

George begrudgingly agreed and caught Fred’s eye from across the dance floor. The elder twin threaded his brows together and pushed the air with his hands, as if encouraging his younger brother to go for it. The Ravenclaw dazedly draped her arms across George’s shoulders and he sheepishly looked down toward his feet, but didn’t wrap his arms around her.

“George Weasleeeeyyyy,” she slurred again, hiccoughing in between giggles, “I said dance with meeeeeee.”

He tried to fight it, tried not to think of what he always did, but he couldn’t help it.

This girl was not the one. He could tell, because there was no love in the way she said his name. There was no true feeling in the surplus of kisses she kept pressing to his jawline, and there was no warmth radiating from her -- not the kind that mattered, anyway.

He knew, as he placed his hands gently on her waist and swayed with her to the music, that this was not what love felt like. This is not what home felt like.

He danced anyway, even though it was not the kind of dancing he’d seen his parents do all those years ago, and he allowed himself to think about what the rest of his classmates weren’t -- the person he’d hold in his arms, who’d be the mother to his children, who’s kisses would send him spiraling, who’s embraces would become all too familiar in a way that would comfort him in the darkest of times.

He allowed himself again, to dream of true love.

-- -

Seventeen-year-old George Weasley was sick and tired of waiting for the one.

It sounded kind of dramatic in his own head, seeing as he was only seventeen, but he’d known now for ten years exactly what he was looking for, and ten years seemed like a lifetime.

It didn’t help that nearly all of his friends had gotten over their casual dating scene and were now all enthralled with their significant others. He felt so painfully lonely, though he’d never admit it to a soul. He could hardly admit it to himself.

One evening, he shot up from the couch and out of the common room in a fit of fury, for if he had to see Fred and Angelina snogging in the corner for one more minute, he was quite certain he was going to explode from disgust. He was happy for his brother, of course he was, but he didn’t need to see it. Not as often as that.

He found Ron sitting in the Great Hall with Ginny, Harry, and Hermione and plopped beside them all before engaging in exciting rounds of exploding snap. But as the night grew darker and he grew more tired, George noticed the undeniable chemistry between his sister and Harry and his brother and Hermione. Though they all hadn’t admitted to one another how they felt, George had found it obvious, and he politely excused himself before he tugged his jacket rather angrily around his shoulders before he walked out into the winter storm, just to feel the cold air numb his skin.

He walked out of the castle, over toward the owlery, through the treacherous amounts of snow. Anything to distract George from everyone who’d apparently been hit by Cupid’s bloody arrow.

Ever since he was born, it had always been Fred and George. What about George and Fred? Was it because Fred was older? And why were people always lumping them together? Just because they’re twins? George loathed that. They were individuals too. He was always second, in everything.

In getting hand-me-downs from his older brothers. In being referred to with his twin. In lessons when the professors would call out their names for attendance, because F came before G in the alphabet. And even when it came to love; all the girls always seemed to flock to Fred instead, because he was more exciting. More boisterous. Less shy.

The cold, winter air bit violently at his exposed skin, and he reckoned it hurt less than watching everyone around him find someone that chose them, all while he was still waiting for the right person to choose him.

George Weasley didn’t want to be someone’s second choice.

He wanted to be someone’s first.

-- -

Twenty-year-old George Weasley didn’t know how exactly he ended up here.

He didn’t know how he ended up in a relationship three years deep, without having said “I love you” once and actually meaning it.

George thought he might’ve found her, his person, during his seventh year. She was beautiful and kind and everything he thought he’d hoped and dreamt of. Her soft touch, her yearning eyes, the way she curled up next to him in the dormitories late at night and held onto him as she slept -- it was everything, and it seemed to be perfect.

He thought that maybe, perhaps, she was it. But even so, he found himself waiting, still, for that feeling… the one on the staircase he’d felt so long ago.

But the pain of realizing that she wasn’t who he’d been searching for was more heartbreaking than the pain of him asking her to leave.

He’d been looking at her through rose coloured lenses and had been ignoring the truth that was right in front of him.

He should’ve left years ago, when that Gryffindor girl began to make backhanded jokes about the shop, and his dreams of becoming a business entrepreneur, claiming that she was only joking around.

He should’ve left when that girl showed up late to the grand opening of their shop, nearly a year into their relationship.

He should’ve left when he held her in his arms, and still didn’t feel comfortable beside her.

His heart ached for it, what he’d felt on the staircase at the mere age of seven. And perhaps he’d become so desperate for it, that he took something disguised as true love.

But the truth was that he knew, deep in his soul, that this Gryffindor girl wasn’t the one. He’d just chosen, outright, to ignore it. Perhaps if he could forget that idea that “the one” would smack him square in the face with an overwhelming sensation of knowing, he could have learned to love her, even when he hadn’t had that smack in the face moment when he’d met her all those years ago.

But it hadn’t happened, had it? He hadn’t grown to love her. Not truly, anyway. And she hadn’t grown to love him. Not in the way he wanted to be loved, at least.

Because it was more than just heated kisses and lazy days in bed and all things physical that he wanted.

It was about love. Pure, blinding, unadulterated love.

He stood frozen solid in the middle of his tiny flat and watched as that Gryffindor girl grabbed her coat off of the hanger and raised her hand slightly before slipping silently into the dimly lit hallway for the very last time. And George poured himself a glass of bourbon and sat near the window, looking up at the stars, expecting to feel sad at her departure, but in fact, he didn’t feel sad at all.

He felt hopeful.

He hadn’t found the one yet, but he knew she was out there, getting to him as fast as she possibly could.

Though his brothers had urged him to come to the pub and meet someone else, George didn’t fancy the idea of doing that. He was over that entire scene, just as he was in school when everyone was pairing off and moving on immediately. He didn’t want something fleeting, and he didn’t want something meaningless.

He wanted something true.

-- -

Twenty-three-year old George Weasley was certain that he was never going to find that feeling ever again, for as long as he lived.

While all of his friends were out at the pubs, meeting people and fooling around as if feelings weren’t involved, George was walking aimlessly through the streets to work. He was constantly dealing with the haze above his head, waiting for it to lift. He was turning down girls left and right and ignoring his brothers’ insistence on dating casually again.

He didn’t want to waste any more of his time on people who weren’t going to reach out and trace circles onto his chest in the middle of the night, or who weren’t going to dance around the kitchen in his clothes while cooking dinner, or who weren’t going to look at him with eyes so tender, it would render him useless for days to come.

He’d been waiting sixteen years to find his person, the one who would choose him everyday over everyone else, and in hindsight it didn’t quite seem like a long time. But as he cried silently to himself every few nights in bed, feeling the empty space next to him and yearning for the one who was meant to be there, sixteen years felt like a lifetime.

He thought for a long while, that maybe she was in another country, or maybe she was an auror or something, fighting her way through the monsters of the wizarding world.

He’d thought for a bit that perhaps he just hadn’t met her yet.

But as the days dragged on and he found himself lost in crowds, searching face after face, looking for hers, he truly felt as though all hope was lost.

And so George paced back and forth in the kitchen of his flat, biting at his nails and pouring himself hefty glasses of wine, keen on ignoring everyone’s attempts at getting him to come out.

Maybe this was what he deserved.

Maybe because he wasn’t out there, sleeping with people whose names he wouldn’t remember come morning like everyone else, he was just going to be alone.

Maybe there really wasn’t someone out there for him. Maybe not everyone finds true love. Maybe his parents had just gotten lucky.

The dull ache in George’s heart grew stronger, and for the upteenth night in a row, he laid in bed and gripped the covers and cried himself to sleep, his tears sliding down his cheeks the same way the evening rain slid down the window terrace.

-- -

Twenty-four-year old George Weasley stopped dead in his tracks as soon as he felt it.

That feeling. The one from the staircase as he watched his parents dance, all those years ago.

Heart pounding, chest rising, hands freezing.

It hit him square in the chest without warning, nearly knocking him over though his feet were rooted into the ground at the spot, smack dab in the middle of that cafe in the middle of London.

Someone was playing a slow, soft piano tune coming from the other end. People were filtering in and out, asking the man in front of them what exactly he was staring at and why he wasn’t moving. But George Weasley stood where he was, not taking his eyes off of you.

You were reading furiously, flipping through pages of a book gripped tightly in your hands, as though you couldn’t devour the plot fast enough. George watched with admiration as a gentle smile tugged at your lips, as your eyes scanned the words quickly, as you tapped your foot on the ground, in rhythm with that slow piano.

He watched with dazed eyes and parted lips as you finished the end of your book. You dabbed your eyes with a tissue and clutched the book tightly to your chest, overwhelmed, clearly, by the end of the plot. George’s heart soared so high at your passion that he found himself struggling to hold back the I love you that was pressing behind his lips.

You immediately took a long sip of your tea and placed your finished book back into your bag, only to pull out another and immediately immerse yourself in the next story. George laughed to himself, stunned that you were so intent on falling into someone else’s storyline, if only for a little while, that you hadn’t dared take a break from one book to the next. You merely jumped right in.

He wondered if his overwhelming feelings called out to you like a signal of sorts, because just as he was working up the courage to walk over to you, you looked up. You searched the room for a moment before meeting his gaze and suddenly, the world around you both stopped.

George found himself wanting to know everything about you. He itched to devour up any and all information you’d be so kind to provide to him -- your name, your favorite color, your birthday. He wanted to know what book you’d just been reading, and what about it had moved you so much to the point of tears. He wanted to know everything, but deep in his soul, he also knew that he’d have years to learn it all.

In fact, he’d have the rest of forever.

Your eyes went soft and George began to feel the steady pounding of his heart increase, and to his amazement, he noticed a gentle smile tug at the edges of your lips.

And he smiled back.

He’d been right all along. That feeling of finding the one would smack him square in the face. He wondered, as he peered at you now, biting down on your bottom lip and looking toward the ground, why he’d ever doubted himself in the first place. And he wondered when you looked back up at him once again and raised a hand to say hello, if you’d been smacked in the face with that feeling too, just like he had.

He resisted the urge to pour his heart out to you, right here and right now. He’d have time.

Perhaps today was just about having today, and recognizing that you were everything he’d been looking for since that evening on the staircase.

He’d tell you this one day.

-- -

“And what does… Lumox mean again?”

George laughed and squeezed your hands. “You mean, Lumos?”

You bit your lip in embarrassment and laughed, too. “Yes! Lumos. That’s the one that produces light, right?”

George brought your hands to his lips and kissed them gently. You two were seated inside a bustling restaurant in Diagon Alley, and he wondered if people passing by realized just how cozy you two looked together. “You’re more brilliant than most witches I know.”

You cocked your head to the side with an air of confidence and batted your eyelashes at him. “What can I say, Georgie? I may have been born a… Mugglie… but maybe I was meant to be a witch.”

George had to bite down on his lip to keep from laughing. He couldn’t get over how painfully adorable you were as you attempted to pronounce these wizarding words and learn spells and charms and things as he taught you all things about the wizarding world. You took his wand and pointed it at your wine glass, pretending to transfigure it. You couldn’t, of course, since you weren’t a magical being. But George didn’t mind. He could watch you pretend all day long.

In all his years of studying magic, he’d never felt anything quite like this.

BONUS, just because i hate feeling sad asf:

Thirty-two-year old George Weasley rocked his redheaded daughter back and forth in his arms, until he was certain that she was sound asleep again -- her mouth open wide as she began to snore softly when he placed her back into her crib.

He peered up at the clock on the wall and blinked a few times before 4:32 a.m. came into focus. Exhausted, he made his way back into his room before sliding into bed.

And there it was again. That feeling.

You turned over in bed to face him, squinting in the darkness as your eyes adjusted to the scene unfolding before you. Groggily, you reached out and traced your fingers across his jawline. His heart nearly stopped. “Is she alright?” you asked sleepily.

George grinned softly and leant forward before pressing a kiss to your forehead. He whispered, “She’s alright. Go back to sleep.”

Though your eyes were already shut, you reached out again and took his hand in yours before bringing your lips gently to his fingers. “Okay.. I love you.. G’night..”

But you were asleep again before George could respond, so instead he pulled you closely to him and began to gently trace circles on your bare shoulders. He breathed in the smell of your shampoo, and listened intently for the beating of your heart that had fallen into sync with his.

Tears pushed at the edges of his eyes, but he slowed his breathing and reminded himself, again, that there was no longer an empty space beside him in bed.

Maybe he shouldn’t have ever given up hope, but perhaps giving up hope was what made finding you so much sweeter.

If only he could tell seven-year-old George what he’d find when the time was right.

And in the darkness, as the rain pattered on the rooftop of his house and he felt your embrace tighten around his body, he whispered into the silence, “I love you, too.”

tag list: @mintlibri @seppys-return-to-madness @fopdoodledane @fredd-weasley @iprobablyshipit91 @darling-details @laneygthememequeen @lupinsx @keoghans @helloallthethingsilove @acciotwinz @feffffffy @the-hufflepuff-of-221b @62442-am @wtfweasleyy @thoseofgreatambition @harrysweasleys @sleep-i-ness @haphazardhufflepuff @afriendlyneighborhoodhufflepuff @kageyama-i-want-tobiors @letsfightsomeorcs @theweasleysredhair @hxfflxpxffs @wand3ringr0s3 @finecole @highly-acidic @90shermione @zreads @holland-parkers @andromedaa-tonks @bbstrawberry0421 @princessof-theuniverse @cappsikle @awritingtree @imseeinggred @idont-knowrn @flyinhserpxnt @auroraboringalis57 @godricsswords @jejegu @annasofiaearlobe @starlightweasley @alwaysasadaesthetic @thisismysketchbook @izzytheninja @imboredandneedalife @hemmoporro @valwritesx @heavenlymidnight @hannolannno @msmimimerton @oh-for-merlins-sake @hufflepuff5972 @pigwidgexn @sarcasticallywitty15 @breadqueen95 @teawiththeweasleys @pit-and-the-pen @phuvioqhile @vogueweasley @hufflrpuffforfred @harrypotter289 @lovefromrosie | message me if you’d like to be added or removed or have changed your URL so i can update!

#george weasley #fred weasley #fred and george weasley #weasley twins #george weasley x reader #george weasley reader insert #george weasley x you #george weasley fanfic #george weasley fanfiction #george weasley imagine #weasley twins imagine #weasley twins imagines #george weasley imagines #hp fanfic #hp fanfiction

889 notes · View notes

dayglovv · 3 years

Text

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦.

↳ Bruno Bucciarati, Leone Abbacchio, & Guido Mista

a/n: just a fun practice to get back into writing! I wanted to try doing something more casual and try a more... idk conversational style?? I’ve been reading a lot of quirky romances and cozy mysteries so I hope I emulated that well here. enjooooy.

warnings: vague mentions of depression in Abbacchio’s portion, unedited.

— bruno bucciarati.

most of the time, it’s lonely.

Bucciarati is a busy man. overseeing Naples and its people is no small task. he comes home late and leaves so early in the morning. it sucks. it really, really sucks. despite everything, though, you have to remind yourself that this is what you agreed to when you started dating.

those sweet hours when he is there? it doesn’t make up for the time he’s gone (not by a long shot), but it comes close. you try not to make any sign of showing you’re awake. you don’t think he picks up. because when he comes home, he always just... sits at the side of the bed, admiring you. he’ll run his finger along your cheek. he’ll whisper a tired yet genuine apology. and then he’ll place the softest kiss on your jawline, before sinking into bed with you, head on your chest.

those four and a half hours are when you find yourself at your happiest. ↳ “I’ll make it up to you, I promise, tesore. just be patient with me.”

— leone abbacchio.

quiet. still.

that’s the best way you can describe it. Abbacchio doesn’t move a muscle when he’s asleep. as soon as the light is out, he is too. you’re always nervous to switch positions in bed (wouldn’t want to wake him up) because... well, if you’re being honest, it’s the most relaxed you see him. the furrowed brow is gone, that curt frown has unraveled into a slightly agape, softly breathing mouth. it’s fucking weird. but... nice. you like seeing him like this.

one day he won’t be so embarrassed to tell you the truth. normally it takes Abbacchio ages until he can finally fall asleep. though ever since he started sleeping next to you, he can finally get the rest he’s needed for so long. the anger subsides. the doubt quells. all that matters is that he’s here, with you, and that’s all he’s ever needed.

everything is quiet, including his thoughts. he has you to thank for that. ↳ “you can get up while I’m still sleeping, you know. just knowing you’re here is... really nice.”

— guido mista.

fucking annoying, that’s what.

he hogs the whole damn bed. and the blankets too, if you’re not careful. and god, the snoring? (jesus christ, Mista.) he’s trying to be better about it after you told him to knock it off, but. well. it’s not going that great. despite his best efforts -- and after six months of dating -- he still manages to take up so much space.

but it’s not his fault. not necessarily. he just... really likes being so close to you. he has this weird sixth sense that when he tells you’ve scooted away (even while asleep), he’ll instinctively move closer to you. part of what makes sharing a bed with you so nice is that he gets to curl up next to his best friend every night, every day of his life.

so yeah it’s a little infuriating. he knows you get annoyed by it. but he can’t help wanting to be next to you. ↳ “did I do it again? augh, sorry! just kick me next time, okay? ...wait, no, don’t do that--”

#jjba #JoJo's Bizarre Adventure #bucci gang #bruno bucciarati #leone abbacchio #guido mista

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alpacaparkaseok · 3 years

Text

Heartbreak Ave.

When they’re in love with you but you have feelings for a different member (Hyung line)

→ tags/warnings: SFW, angstyyyyy (like, I’m sorry but at the same time I wanted to write something sad), no, there’s not a happy ending really idk so read at your own heart’s risk, but like really. I was listening to “Manos de Tijera” while writing this so it’s a wee bit heartbreaking

→ a/n: I don’t really write reactions very often but this seemed fun when @sierra-fics brought it up! I actually have one of your suggestions in my drafts, just haven’t finished it up yet. Thanks for the push, though! I love exploring different styles!

read the maknae line version here!

Kim Seokjin

he’s not surprised

it’s probably the worst part for him, the fact that he’s not surprised when your eyes light up as Taehyung waltzes in the room.

he had been in the middle of plucking up the courage to invite you to try out that new Thai restaurant you’d been chattering about when Tae walked in

and you tried - you really did - to pay attention to what Jin had been saying, but you faltered a bit as Tae greeted you warmly and plopped down beside Jin

and Jin just watched, not surprised.

although what does surprise him is how much it hurts

that pain where your heart literally, physically hurts? it’s an exquisite pain, one that takes his breath away

and it doesn’t go away

it doesn’t fade

so he ends up in Namjoon’s studio later that night, and Namjoon knows to wait for him to open up

Jin just stares for a while, blankly at the wall

“Does Tae like her?”

Namjoon already knows who he’s referring to. He’s known about Jin’s helpless crush on you for ages, he knew before Jin himself figured it out

but it’s the way that Jin asks the question so softly, so carefully, that Namjoon realizes with a start that this is so much more than a crush

and Jin looks at him, misery clear in his eyes but also clear resolve visible even as unshed tears glimmer

“Would you really let her go?” Namjoon counters gently. Because he knows. He knows that if Tae got the green light, you'd be swept up in a matter of seconds.

and it’s the way that Jin stares down at his feet, and the tears begin rolling down his cheeks, that has Namjoon sick to his stomach

Jin nods, and when he speaks, his voice shakes but he sounds so earnest that it breaks Namjoon’s heart

“I’d do anything for her.”

no words are exchanged after that for a long, heart-wrenching moment. it’s just Jin, staring down at his feet and quietly sobbing, and Namjoon, pulling him into an embrace.

“I’m sorry, hyung.”

it’s surprising to Jin, just how much that soft phrase cuts through him. It sounds so final.

because at the end of the day, it’s the only solace that can be offered to him.

he lost.

he loved, and he lost.

Min Yoongi

you’re sitting beside him in his studio when the realization hits him like a freight train

sprawled sideways in your designated swivel chair while you stifle a yawn and rub your eyes, Yoongi wonders when he let his emotions get so out of hand

because you’re offering him a shy smile and asking him a question that he numbly answers, but on the inside he’s a total clueless mess

when did he fall in love with you?

it’s something that will haunt him long after you leave that night, rushing out when you get a call from Hobi

for the second time that night, he’s hit with another realization

he’s still reeling from the fact that he’s pretty sure he’s in love with you, so when you gasp and grin when your phone light up with a call, he falters

it’s like being doused with a bucket of ice water, the way you whisper, “oh, it’s Hobi!” and politely ask if you can take the call before rushing out into the hallway

“oh,” he mumbles to himself as the door closes. “it’s Hobi.”

and he laughs.

quietly, darkly. he laughs to himself, at himself, whatever.

because of course it’s Hobi. his best friend, his vitamin. you two deserve each other. of that much he’s certain.

he doesn’t waste too much time feeling sorry for himself; he’s logical enough to see that you two are probably a better match. it’s nothing personal.

so why does he stay in his studio all night, ignoring any calls or messages sent his way?

he’s not sure when he fell asleep, but next thing he knows he’s sprawled out on his little couch and you’re gently shaking him awake

“Yoongo? Did you stay here last night?”

his eyes crack open at the sound of your voice, just enough to be met with your sweet smile

and he, in his half-asleep state, smiles back. he reaches one hand up to gently brush back a strand of your hair, and he swears you lean into his touch

and when you mumble something about Hobi bringing breakfast up, Yoongi is hit with the third realization in less that twenty-four hours.

it’s startlingly simple:

he wants to cry.

so he excuses himself to the bathroom, and cries. sets a five minute timer so nobody gets worried and comes looking for him, and allows himself that time to cry.

then, with machine-like precision, he washes his face and puts some eyedrops in, and goes back out to pretend like everything is fine.

and whenever Jin or Taehyung bring up acting, Yoongi knows. He knows, deep down, that he’s the best actor of all.

because he still loves you

and you will never know.

Jung Hoseok

hobi has never been the most forthcoming with his emotions

he keeps them on lockdown

monitors them with military-like focus

so he knows the exact moment he begins developing feelings for you

(it’s when you brought Bang PD a bouquet for valentine’s day, just to make him blush)

and he knows the exact second when he fell in love

(it was when, after a grueling day at work, you silently walked through his door with his favorite goodies and left without a single word)

(you were wearing a yellow cardigan that day)

(he’s never looked at the color yellow the same way)

if he’s completely honest, he’s sometimes trying so hard to stay on top of his own feelings that he forgets to watch out for where your attention may be drifting

to be fair, you kept your own little crush on Jimin a secret

so when Hobi decides to get over himself and just shoot his shot, he decides he’s all in

and when you arrive at his apartment that night for a movie, you’re shocked to see a bouquet of yellow flowers in Hobi’s shaking hands

“hey” he breathes

you stare at the flowers, then at him

“hello...?” then, with a sinking felling, you point at the flowers. “are those for me?”

hobi smiles broadly. “yeah, they are.” and he hands them to you, allowing his fingers to brush up against yours

it’s electrifying, that small touch

and again, he’s so focused on how electrifying it is that he misses the way you look like you might be sick

pale face, concerned expression

he misses it all, because he’s so nervous but so stupidly in love that he’s just barreling ahead.

gotta get this out of the way

ugh, feelings

and so when he leads you to sit with him out on the balcony, he takes a deep breath and looks at you with wonder in his eyes

and that’s when he notices the way you’re fiddling with your bracelet

not a problem, except for the fact that it’s the one he saw Jimin carefully choosing from an online collection

so when you keep fiddling with the bracelet and avoiding Hobi’s eye contact, he gets it

he takes a long look at all those emotions he keeps in check, and allows himself a moment of self-pity before reaching out and laying a hand atop your own

you immediately stop fidgeting and look at him with wide eyes. he can see with a pang how you’re trying to come up with the best way to let him down easy

so he does the job for you

“I just wanted to say thank you for the other day,” he says, forcing a light tone. “when you brought me those goodies after work. It really meant a lot.”

you blink, confused. “Oh. uh, you’re welcome.”

“and,” he drawls, a well-rehearsed smile clawing its way onto his face, “I wanted to snoop and get the inside scoop about Jiminie. I know he got you that bracelet. did he finally cave and confess to you?”

you look shocked, but you burst out into relieved laughter. “how did you know?”

he didn’t. “how could I not? he’s absolutely whipped.”

and you blush under the stars and begin to ramble, lost in your excitement and joy.

and Hobi watches. smiling. supportive. laughing at the right spots and asking all the right questions.

later, when you give him a tight hug and thank him for the fun night, he lets the words sting as you call him “such a great friend.” he lets them sting, relishing in the pain.

he reminds you to take your flowers home, and you begrudgingly admit that they’re your favorite type of flower.

he didn’t know. but that hurts, too. the fact that he got it right.

Hobi never looks at the color yellow the same way again.

Kim Namjoon

he’s told you he loves you a million times now

every night, in every dream, he tells you how much he loves you

adores you with everything he is

you manage to find your way into his music, his musings, every piece of artwork he comes across

he's never been like this before

never, he’s sure of it

and everyone knows, except for you.

it becomes a strange game for the boys to play, dropping hints at every opportunity, laughing at your confused expression

Jungkook and Taehyung especially enjoy the chaos that they create, making Namjoon groan and grow embarrassed

but you have no idea

or are you just willfully ignorant?

all Namjoon knows is that he’s swimming in his feelings for you, completely lost and on the verge of drowning

but, oh, what a way to die

he’s never been able to stop himself when it comes to you

and he considers himself rather disciplined, but the way you make him feel he could throw caution to the wind and give it all up

so when you end up staying late one night at the apartment, the boys manage to convince you to stay

“there’s plenty of room” Jungkook muses, feigning deep thought. “besides, it’s too late for you to drive back tonight. just stay.”

and while Namjoon wants to kill them all for the way they offer up his bed to you, he thinks he might actually die when you reluctantly agree with a yawn

he knows he should offer to take the couch, but something stops him

it’s like he physically can’t

“I don’t mind sharing the bed” you state, squinting at him while wearing his basketball shorts and oversized t-shirt.

you look adorable. he’s unsure of how he’s even functioning right now, to be honest. he’s melting.

“just keep your snoring in check, loser”

and he’s back to laughing, turning off the light and hopping into bed

you’re so far away

why are you so far away?

“hey” he whispers, the sound so loud in the quiet. the only other sound is the muffled voices of the other members, no doubt down in the kitchen gossiping about the events of the night

“hey yourself” you whisper back, turning to face him

he can see you in the moonlight, his eyes having adjusted just enough.

and he wants to kiss you so badly

so he smiles, heart leaping when you smile back

and he reaches out, gently tracing your jawline.

you say nothing, heart thundering in your chest

because to be honest, you’re confused

why is he looking at you like that?

but you don’t ask as Namjoon takes a deep breath, steadying himself before propping himself up on one elbow and looking down at you with an adoring expression

your eyes flutter closed as he brushes his thumb against your cheek, and he can feel your heartbeat racing

your reaction gives him all the courage he needs as he leans down, lips capturing your own in a long, sweet kiss

and he’s going out of his mind because he finally kissed you, didn’t he?! finally!!

but those are your hands on his chest, and instead of pulling him in closer you’re gently pushing him away

“namjoon.”

he’s never hated his name so much.

“I’m so sorry- I- I thought that maybe-” he stutters, pulling himself upright as you do the same, and he launches out of bed, hands in his hair “I’m so sorry, I swear I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable-”

“Namjoon.” you repeat, and he notices now how utterly distraught you look.

because you’re still confused, but there’s one name rolling around in your head even as you can still taste namjoon on your lips.

“I...” you shake your head, unsure of what to say. “It’s just...”

and he’s looking at you with big eyes, taking in every single word you say. and you want to take it all back, want to let him kiss you until you’re breathless, but your heart won’t let you.

“Just what?” he asks quietly, afraid of the answer. so afraid

“...Jungkook.”

two syllables, and his world comes crashing down around him.

namjoon is silent, avoiding your gaze as he grabs one of the pillows off of the bed and a spare blanket, heading toward the door.

“I’ll sleep on the couch. I’m sorry.”

and he’s gone before you can utter another word.

sure enough, the boys are still downstairs, and they all fall silent as Namjoon appears, throwing the pillow down on the couch.

“Hyung!” Jungkook asks, scrambling over. “Hyung, what happened? What are you doing down here?”

Namjoon can’t bring himself to look at the maknae, not when he can still picture how it felt to kiss you. not when those few seconds of paradise are still on his lips.

“Didn’t wanna wake her up with my snoring.”

because how could he ever be angry at the boy that looks at him like he’s his savior?

m.list || buy me an orange juice?

thanks for reading! if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging so other people can read it! 💖

taglist: @baepsaetay @dreamcatcherjiah @kookie-vuitton @thecaffeinatedscribbles @moon-write @fangirl125reader @heishichoulevi@knjkitten @sacha-cff @vik7797 @eusticenatalie @hesmyphenominiall@miriamxsworld @kayahay @secretlycrazyhummingbird @marianeamine@hqtetsurou @protontippens @beginwithamin @limiworld @jeonyoongi-jimin @buttvi @yoontaethings @sunshinejunghoseokie @delacyrose224@jiminiesmagicshop @hitsussi @fanfictonreader05 @hyungieyoongi @lolalee24

#bts reactions #namjoon reaction #jin reaction #yoongi reaction #suga reaction #hobi reaction #bts hyung line #bts angst #bts maknae line #bts x reader #this is seriously a bummer of a post lol #bts fanfic #bts scenarios

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