#so not being in constant pain when im older is something im actually thinking of now

[suffercerebral]

me having gone to bed at 6 am every day for the past week and generally spiraling mentally while rotting in bed waking up this morning: a 4 mile hike in the heat is a really good idea right now, and while we're at it let's start like 3 art projects

[rockandrolldisgrace]

sometimes lifes is cruel to you for no fucking greater meaning but u still have to go through it and just endure

[texankat]

A Unlikely Monster 🩸 (2)

Chapter 2

Warnings: none

A/N: I’m absolutely in love with this dynamic I’ve created, I promise part 4 for ASB will come soon- this is just I’ve been working on since I’ve actually started to like writing this plot, so sorry to any of the major ASB fans- your Jenna will come back soon enough 😭

word count: 1.7k

<3

You were used to people like Wednesday,

You grew up in a really busy congested neighborhood, not having a lot a friends or even being able to make friends. Even though your parents were like all powerful vampires that didn’t mean they cared about you... you usually found yourself sitting in your room by yourself trying to find something to keep yourself occupied. You rarely got anything to keep your constant itch for blood at bay to the point were you taught yourself how to catch mice with your bare hands so you wouldn’t lose yourself. Even with that you were constantly getting told onto and shamed, mostly from your mother- the person who was supposed to love you no matter what.

As you got older you were sneaking out almost everyday, not that your parents even checked in on you anyways. You had gotten into a lot of fights over the years but you finally got away from it all, at Nevermore.

You had decided to wander the campus for a bit, finding yourself in the library after a bit scanning over the books as you took slow and cautious steps finding comfort in the silence of the library. As you fixed your hoodies hood you noticed it had a small rip, you groaned at the sight of it. This was your favorite hoodie, it was a light brown baggy hoodie with bleached sunflower designs, it was a gift from one of your first ever friend. Though it was probably time to get rid of it, hopefully the town had some cute replacements… But something of a ick was in the air, a familiar ick… you look up from the bookshelf you were looking at banging your head on it as you raised your head up, you winced a bit but looked around- and there we was, the girl that had accused you randomly of stealing her typewriter. Who even uses those anymore…?- Wednesday glanced in your direction a few moments after your grown of pain echoed through the library as you turned away and walked off trying to avoid her. As you turned the corner of a shelf you felt something was off, then out popped Wednesday, though you didn’t jump at all this time, you actually expect it this time.

“Addams right? Did you found your ever so important typewriter I stole?” You rolled your eyes as you spoke in a hushed voice, Wednesday glaring at you for your words. “Enough of that, what are you?” You raised a brow at her words, confusion written all over your face “excuse me?” “You know what I’m talking about, you barely put any effort into holding me down when I accused you-“ “mistakingly.” You added on “whatever- what I’m getting at is, what are you? You look human yet your- stronger than one.” You give a light shrug as she gets pulled into her thoughts for a moment, before you speak back up. “Maybe it’s because I actually work to keep myself in shape?” You suggest, her eyes glancing up to yours, you couldn’t read them at all- strange to you. “You’re hiding something.” Wednesday crossing her arms at you. “Orrrrr your just paranoid, seems im the first person to beat you at your own game.” You softly scoff, Wednesday’s muscles tensing up.

“But if you’re paranoid I’ll give you a little hint-“ She seemed to perk up in the most subtle way she could manage, though you noticed you peaked in her interest even just a little bit. “Your little investigation isn’t going to get you anywhere if that’s what you think it’s going to do, it’s not that easy Addams.” You chuckled softly at the end of your sentence, her eyes widened a bit at your words though she tried to regain her composure. You give her a few pats on one of her shoulders “You’ll get there I suppose.” You then gently pushed her out of the way, continuing to walk away. Wednesday was a bit stunned, not a lot- just a little. She muttered to herself softly as she watched you walk away, your soft and cautious steps barely made any noise.

Something in her was bubbling up, she couldn’t help but feel some sort of envy toward you, something about the way you spoke with such a calm tone to her after she had triedto scare the answer out of you bothered her. She found herself following you with the intention to fix the missed feeling of fear from you, she was about to grab your forearm to twist it you whirled around and grabbed her hand. Wednesday didn’t say anything, all that came from her was a cold glare. “You’re going to have to try harder than that.” You giggled at her as she tried to grab you again with her opposite hand but you just grabbed that one too, you giving her a small smirk “ooooh so close.” You teased before pushing her back, Wednesday stumbling back a bit. “You’ll get it  eventually.” Wednesday frowned to herself, then she noticed a small bit of movement from the corner of her eye, then they widened- it was Thing. She look at him from the corner of her eye, shooing him away but he was persistent, tapping his fingers at her- you heard the tapping and glanced around, trying to pinpoint the sound.

“Was that you?” You questioned Wednesday “do I look like I would tap on something just to possibly try and paranoia you??” You were silent, you didn’t want to answer truthfully but you kind of had to- “I mean, kinda-“ you shrugged lightly, Wednesday scoffed in slight irritation but, from a bit of genuine amusement as well. You caught it almost immediately, your eyelids raising a bit. Wednesday noticed as well as she cleared her throat softly then returned to her original goal, figuring out what you were.

“What are your intentions anyways?” Wednesday questioned, lifting her head a bit as she questioned you. You titled your head at her as you put your hands in the pockets of hoodie, genuinely confused by her question. “You said I would have to try harder to figure out, I assume you’re hiding something and you have reason for it.” She replied, you gave a light chuckle as you shook your head at her. “I don’t have anything to hide, I’m just not going to point blank tell you what I am, if I did where’s the fun and mystery?” Your reasoning was strange to her but… she wasn’t irritated by it, she was actually- quit eager to figure it out herself. God what was happening to her, Thing had made his way over to Wednesday lightly tapping at her foot.

You sniffed the air, smelling the- mouth watering smell of Thing’s sewn together flesh, you look down at him as you try and clear you head of those- unappreciative thoughts. “Aw who’s this cutie?!” You coo happily, Thing turned from Wednesday and crawled over to you as you bent down to meet his level. You had a wide smile on your face as you crawled into your hand “Is He yours? Oh- is he like a family member or something? Sorry if I offended you little guy.” You chuckle, As you were chuckling to yourself Thing turned to face Wednesday, crossing his fingers at her-  insinuating to tie the knot with you. Wednesday’s blood boiled from Thing’s actions, reaching to grab him frustration and anger in her eyes. You notice and hold Thing out of her reach, frowning at Wednesday “What are you doing?” You question, Wednesday let’s out a huff- not only is Thing irritating her but your trying to defend him, just what she needed. “I’m just gonna have a private conversation with him, that’s all.” She replied, though Thing knew her real intentions you were clueless. “Oh!- okay.” You tried to hand Thing to Wednesday but he crawled up your arm, Wednesday went to reach for him but she just barely missed- and with that she accidentally stumbled into you, your eyes widening with curiosity as Wednesday felt herself just barely against you. She felt something she thought she would never ever feel…

The sensation of blood rushing up to her cheeks- sure it may have just be the smallest amount of blush to you, not even noticeable to the naked eye actually but of course, Wednesday noticed it. She immediately yanked Thing off of you, backing away from you in an instant. She walked behind a nearby bookshelf, once she knew she was far enough for you not to hear her scolding Thing she immediately tightened her grip on him, a few bones heard popping. “Just what do you think you’re doing?” She hissed at him, Thing immediately tried to wriggle out of her grasp, frantically tapping against her hand. “Enid?-“ Wednesday’s eyes widened at the realization, The reason she was feeling this way was all because of Enid. The moment she mention the possibility of this to her it had stayed in the back of her head, lingering, waiting, like some wolf on the hunt- ready to pounce and make her slip up at any moment. She shook her head to try and clear her mind before turning her attention back to Thing, tightening her grip on him before letting him go.

“You say a word about this and I break every single one of your bones in your fingers.” She growled at him as she crawled away, probably back to You to hide away in your hair. Wednesday fixed herself a bit before walking back over to you, you were just watching over Thing, smiling at him trying to ease his nerves. The sight was- sweet… What was wrong with her- it felt like her blood had been poisoned with something that make her lose all of her composure. She cleared her throat as you look up at her curiously, tilting your head a bit. “I have to excuse myself, something came up that I need to take care of.” Wednesday muttered, you just gave her a small smile as you nodded your head. “That’s okay, I get that things come up. I’ll watch over your little Buddy, he’s just the sweetest.” You chuckle and Thing crawled all over you, he seemed much happier with you. Wednesday, albeit was a bit taken aback by your favoritism of having Thing- but she quickly turned her attention away from that acknowledgement as she nodded back and made her way to the library’s main entrance, walking out and to her shared dorm. She had a few words to say to Enid that was sure-

[intriq]

As your forceful best friend I demand girldad!Bruce Wayne...?

Bringing an infant home after saving her

Raising her as his own

Being a good dad

- 🌻

your wish is my command [not me doing this while im sick. sooo not me. totally. absolutely, even. wdym i've told you im sick i'm not ur delusional /silly]

credit to cafekitsune for the divider!!

girldad!bruce who is a little lost on what to do at first. He's never cared for an actual baby before, so what's he meant to do?

girldad!bruce who eventually seeks Alfred out for advice. Maybe even browses online on what to do.

girldad!bruce who panics the first time the baby cries, because he's so lost! he doesn't know why she's crying. most of his kids were grown when he took them in, he's used to always being told what was up. with this tiny little lady he's got absolutely no clue.

girldad!bruce who felt like he was going to be prepared for everything this small infant could throw at him when he first saw her and decided to bring her home. he wants to think he's learned from his fuck-ups with his older kids, so surely he'll do better by her, right?

girldad!bruce who absolutely loses his mind any time she cries and nothing seems to soothe her. he wonders if he's already done something wrong, screwed up with yet another kid. where had he gone wrong this time, he wonders?

girldad!bruce who does everything in his power to make sure this kid is happy.

girldad!bruce who is relieved when he learns that the constant crying is from her teething. he's glad to learn it wasn't because of him. he's not very emotional, but he just nearly cries out of relief when alfred tells him about it.

girldad!bruce who tries just about every trick in the book to help soothe the pain she's feeling while she's teething. and when i say every trick, i mean every trick.

girldad!bruce who constantly stops to think to himself before he does anything. what will be the possible consequences of his actions? will his choices make her hate him in the future, in the long run? would it make her happy?

girldad!bruce who just wants to be a good dad. as good as he can be. he wants to do things right, even if just once in his life. he doesn't wanna fail this child who seems to small in comparison to him.

[spindrifters]

dude i really dont know how to tell you this in a comprehensible way but im just so in awe at you. i've been following your blog for maybe two months or smth bc of the constant wolfstar spam and really enjoy that.

but also i find it so so nice to see an adult in fandom that is comfortable with being an adult in fandom. i've seen lots of people turn away from fandom activity as they grow older (especially from harry potter related stuff. ig it becomes embarrassing for people) but i couldn't imagine that for myself as it is a big part of my own life. why would i stop engaging in a community that shares art and stories and beliefs?

(also as i'm a nonbinary teenager my heart just kind of jumps seeing an adult whos comfy presenting themselves like that on the internet. i'm finishing school soon and growing into the age where lots of people in my social circle seem to expect from me to grow out of this "phase". ALSO i make art myself and its just cool to see "real" writers in fandom. (i really hope me telling you this doesn't bother you.))

i just wanna tell you that your silly little posts always make me giggle and this blog feels like its own little safe space :) hope you're having a nice day <3

I want you to know that it really made my day to wake up to this.

I remember being a teenager and seeing my 30+ fandom friends and just sort of thinking well that's great for them, but there was an underlying assumption that I'd probably grow out of it by then. which made me really sad, but I assumed it was just a natural part of growing up. and then I didn't grow out of it. but more importantly, like you've said, I became really comfortable with it. if football fanboys can have their niche obsessive interests their whole life, then so can I. that's something that happens across the board, at least in my experience. I hit 27 or 28 I think and started embracing things I thought I'd have to put away as an adult, only now I had the freedom to do it in ways I didn't when I was younger. (I'm not just talking fandom. I'm talking dying my hair pink after 7 years of blonde because it made me happy and I stopped caring about it looking professional.)

and I do think part of this is because there's no actual way to 'be an adult.' part of that's because the markers and milestones boomers and much of gen x had don't really exist for us anymore. so you get older and it's a realization that, "I don't have to look and act like an adult. an adult looks and acts like me, because that's what I am." and then you start to meet other people who think similarly. the community of 30+ fans here on tumblr dot com are honestly some of the best people I know.

anyway, all this is to say, I so remember what those growing pains you're going through/can see on the horizon were like, especially relating to the interests I had that society messaged to me were shameful to have. I was a teenager during peak fangirl shaming of the 00s/10s. so I turned it into a fucking career instead.

I'm really, really glad that this feels like a safe space for you, it makes my lil gremlin heart very cozy and warm. xx

[reflectie2]

Verandering

Struggled with this years assignment - last year fleeing into concepts that - spoke to me, that peaked my interest, that spoke to me, which is also - in some way- a self reflection, an image of me and my personality/personhood, but I could hide behind the curtain of another layer, a safety net. This year - more confronting - what defines me as a teacher and artist? What defines be in general? Who am I exactly? What’s my identity? These are questions I tend to ignore, I hide them away in a dark corner somewhere, out of sight out of mind, as long as I can ignore it I don’t have to actually think about it and reflect on myself as a person because deep down I’m scared to think about who I ‘really’ am, because I fear that - even after reflecting on the deepest parts of myself — I would come out empty handed, I don’t have the slightest Idea of who I really am or what defines me. I have a fractured self-image. (“when I imagine myself, I am always leaving, I couldn’t draw my own face if god asked” <— leaving things behind, leaving personality traits behind, leaving myself behind. Im always changing) 

ex. As a child I used to love so much, I loved every living thing, I was overly social , I went up to complete strangers as and would tell them anything and everything, I loved all the animals up to the most insignificant little bug, even spiders. i had so much sympathy, I hated seeing anything or anyone in pain and would do anything to prevent them from hurting a second longer. When things got bad at home I used to play shop with my own toys, I’d select the ones I thought I needed least and line them all up in my room, then I’d let my brother and sister come in and choose their favorites. I let them have my possessions as and they let me have the feeling of satisfaction - of being able to make them happier. (Once I got this fake phone that my brother begged to have but I’d never give it to him, it was my proudest possession. Until he came home crying one day, he hated his new school and the people there. He was scared and inconsolable and I couldn’t stand to see him in so much pain, id do anything to take it from him, so I did. And I gave him my proudest posession. My parents always tell me how much of an empathic kid I was, how I used to always stick up for the ‘weak’, how I’d always befriend the outcasts. Kids that looked a little different or acted a bit weird, the kids that got bullied. They always admired that about me.) 

But things change, we change. i grew older and More selfish. I became harsh and cold, and I learned to fear — and sometimes even hate — spiders. The things that used to define me then no longer applied, I was no longer that same ‘empathetic, sweet giving girl’. My identity isn’t constant/invariable. 

I feel as if there’s not a single thing that has been a constant in my life. Everything is always changing. So how do I define myself? 

Something similar has been happening to me lately. The past few years have been (opposite of stationary - bumpy ride-inch) and a lot of change has happened — both outside and within myself. One of the only ‘constant’ things I had in my life was my ‘creativity’. Since I was a child I was ‘the artist’ kid. I was always drawing, it was what I loved and what I was good at. It defined me. When people got the task of describing me ‘creative’ or ‘artistic’ was almost always the first word that came up. So what to do when one off those key components of your personality just - suddenly- falls away? Over the past few years I’ve been slowly losing my passion for art, for creating, for making and expressing myself through creation. I used to draw as an outlet, I found release in creating and satisfaction, rest, consolation. But recently it only brings me ache. drawing now only brings me zelf-doubt and criticism, insecurities and frustration. There no longer is any release. I stopped drawing for myself a long time ago, and then I stopped drawing all together. It feels like a part of me has been lost, and left a big, gaping, empty hole. Thinking about it makes me feel useless and broken, as if the one thing that I had, the one thing that was truly ‘mine’, had been stolen from me. And I honestly don’t know who I am without it. Who am I if not the one thing I used to identify as, the one thing that characterised me. 

(I used to want to become a writer at a certain time in my life, I used to write all the time. Little song, comics, stories I mad up in my head, silly poems,…. And I used to be good ad it. Until I realised that was an unrealistic - unobtainable - goal. So I changed my goals - and I stopped writing all together. I stopped doing it and with that lost my knack for it - Words used to flow out of my pen like a stream, like a waterfall. I had so many ideas in my head, so many worlds that I had to put out into the world and I wrote them all down. now words no longer come naturally to me, it’s hard to express myself through language. I grew sceptic and built my own dam. I think I did the same with my art/drawing. But I realise I havent actually ‘lost’ my passion for writing. it just changed. I love literature. I love reading books and stories and I can lose myself in a poem or quote. And sometimes I still find myself writing creatively. Maybe not on purpose, i don’t sit myself down to write a story or create poetry. But when I’m lost in a conversation - without the pressure of creating or a result — I can still catch myself — sometimes — writing deeply, philosophically, poetically. 

I think this is a very important concept. The idea of nothing being constant. We’re constantly changing, constantly evolving, we’re always busy reinventing ourselves, building upon old ideas and characteristics, sometimes even breaking them down and starting anew. But I think maybe that’s exactly what it means to be an artist, or maybe even a human. - at it’s core- at the core lies that ability to change. We have to adapt to our environment, our situation. It’s how we survive and how we grow. Learning how to gain skills and ideas, but also change or lose others is of vital essence to our existence. Artists are constantly learning new things, they practice to improve, they  —— teacher - also constantly adapting to new situations, to their pupils, their colleagues, changes that happen in class-the school- society, or even personal changes in their life or within themselves. adaptability is how we are able to survive. 

We are constantly discovering new things, learning new things undergoing new experiences, forming new ideas and philosophies. All of these things have an impact on us, they change us, our way of thinking, our views,..; we keep learning. All these experiences, everything we go though, we adapt those things into our own mind. 

See I’m no longer that sweet, empathetic little girl, but I am also not that angry 16year old teen anymore. (Well sometimes I am, the truth is I carry her around inside me, all the time, and I always will. But) (I learned to love again, I learned to care and give again and i’m slowly growing back into that little girl that was so full of love that she didn’t even know where to put it all. ) And in a couple years when I find myself standing in front of a class, looking back at this moment, I’ll realise I am also no longer the same person I am today. But I’ll always carry the people I was with me, — in the shape of lessons, knowledge, experience —  they’ll always be a part of me. 

Menselijkheid

> kusnt - eigen kunsten/tekenen - wat me aantrekt/aanspreekt = lichamen, menselijke lichaam, naakt, puur, vleselijk, vormen, curves, levend

The thing about art that always caught my attention was the emotional side. It’s ability to be able to touch a part of the soul in a way that no other thing can. It evokes something in you, wakes something up. I never cared all that much about the aesthetic side of it, the physical beauty. Bright colours, clean lines and well balanced compositions never really peaked my interest. But the emotions that art could evoke or the emotions you could express/release through art, that was true beauty for me. The humanity in making art, art as the urge to create, that drives us to creation — because there is something inside you that’s so desperate to get out , that it needs it’s own medium, it’s own way to express itself — that’s what called to me. What art was all about. 

I guess I’ve always had a certain interest in ‘humanity’ in that way. I was always curious about people, how their minds worked, how they felt or experienced thins, what made them who or what they were, the things that made them tick. 

And yes - I was interested in the human psyche - I read about psychology, how the human brain worked all the theories and ideas. Which —sure was interesting enough— but all so scientific and distant, it never could give me what the arts could. This certain empathic knowledge, thought stories, through poetry and lyrics and drawings I felt like I could actually understand other people, and they me, in return. through these I found a way to connect with the world  and people around me, and with myself. 

I tend to look for the very human things in everything. As I child I used to give ’numbers’ personalities and a backstory, so I could relate more to them. I get interested in new thing through other people’s passions. I developed a passion for mathematics (calculus and algebra) through the views of character of a story I once read. She loved calculus because — opposed to a most real life problems — there’s always a clear solution. i get interested in cities and subjects through books, movies, art of other peoples experiences and stories around those subjects.

Even when my decision to study advertising was based on a very humaine idea. See most people would argue advertising is very inhumane, it’s a harsh competitive world and all you do is cheat and manipulate people into doing or buying things they probably don’t need, just for the profits. i had no interest in advertising originally. Until I saw a poster of a spider next to a landline, with the title ‘belle en het beest’. it amused me so much that I decided to on my major then and there, just because of the humor — which is an inherently human trait. (The reason I gave up on advertising as a carrier after a mere 2months of interning, was also that. It wasn’t humaine, it was harsh and cold and distant. And people were treated as robot’s, replaceable parts of a big machine. It was soul crushing. Teaching — I think — is quite the opposite. It’s one of the most humble and selfless jobs one could do. You sacrifice your time to educate the next generation, mould them so they’re ready to go into the world. You have to help shape them and show them the way, help them discover themselves and everything around them. you have to care a lot for this profession. About your skill, but also the children. To be a teacher you have to possess a certain type of love, a love for kids, people, humanity as a whole.  (And it’s future) you have to care. And you do, even tho the majority of your pupils might not appreciate or even realise it at the time.  It can be a thankless job at times, I think, but definitely one of the most humaine ones. 

[ppersonna]

tempestuous - kth | m

tem·pes·tu·ous - adjective - characterized by strong and turbulent or conflicting emotion

↳ summary- There’s no one who riles you up more than Kim Taehyung, your best friend’s brother.  He knows exactly how to make you fly off the handle.

↳ rating- explicit / 18+

↳ word count- 6.8k

↳ pairing- taehyung x reader

↳ genre- smut, minor angst i guess in the form of fighting, this is one big pile of smut, there’s some fluff too

↳ warnings- yikes where to begin.  angry sex, penetrative sex, unprotected sex (don’t be like dis), slapping, spanking, pain kink, dom/sub elements, facefucking, really rough sex, finger sucking, derogatory names, uhhh name calling, hate sex, tae is fuckin nasty yall im thriving

↳ a/n- I HAD TO REUPLOAD bc tumblr sucks lol well folks. here we are.  i was given a prompt by @ladyartemesia​ so i blame her.  as for tae, he really came for me this week and completely wrecked me, love that for me. i really popped off here and it’s only edited by me so i’m SORRY if there’s a lot of mistakes.  fun fact i actually wrote almost 10k of another version of this but it frustrated me so badly i scrapped it lmao  🤡 HERE WE GO! Enjoy!  feel free to send in your requests and i promise to try and get it done for you! 

Kim Taehyung could only be described in a few words.

Infuriating, bothersome, vexing.

Gorgeous, breathtaking, suave.

Absolutely, inherently maddening.

And you hate how much you absolutely melt underneath his gaze, the way your heart leaps into your throat with a single word.  Your body, the ultimate betrayer, opens up to him as your brain screams to abort, reverse, go back to start and do not pass go.

Kim Taehyung is not just the bane of your existence, no.  He’s the little brother of your best friend, Kim Namjoon.   Joonie had been in your life since you were in first grade and he in second.  Taehyung was your age, but you hit it off with the older boy and haven’t separated since.  Your mothers joked that you would get married one day and continue on the Kim line.  Until they found out that Namjoon was 1) bisexual and 2) hopelessly in love with, ironically, a man named Kim Seokjin.   He reasoned to his parents that they would at least carry on the Kim name.  

Where Namjoon was sweet, caring, and deeply compassionate towards you, Taehyung was his alter.  Taehyung was brash, cocky and relished in watching you squirm, whether it be out of fury or the god forsaken sexual tension.  All growing up, he was the one to pull your pigtails, trip you into puddles of mud, and tease you in front of your friends. Namjoon, ever the faithful companion, was always there to pick up the pieces of what Taehyung broke.

It’s been that way with Taehyung ever since. A constant tug of war with each other, both unwilling to give a single inch to the opponent.  

Your relationship with Namjoon remained steadfast as ever.  Namjoon eventually moved in with his now-husband, Seokjin, who easily settled into your life as an additional partner in crime.  You spent most of your days and nights settled into the couch, snuggled somehow in between or next to one of the two men you cherished most.  You had the two best friends you could ask for and a happy life, blissfully Taehyung-free.

Until it wasn’t.

A loud knock wakes you from an unexpected nap on Namjoon’s couch.  Your eyes crack open against the glare of the sunlight streaming through the windows.  It takes a moment to gather your surroundings.  You recognize that you’re in Namjoon and Seokjin’s apartment, and judging by the silence, you’re definitely alone there.  As you reach for your phone, the screen lights up the time.  5:34 pm.  Well, shit. You remember eating brunch and drinking mimosas at noon with your best friends and then lying on the couch to watch Netflix.  How had you fallen asleep for five hours?  How did you not wake? What the fuck did Jin put in his mimosas?

The knock is insistent again, louder this time.

“Joon! Jin! it’s me! Open up!”

The voice sounds familiar in your sleep-addled mind, but not quite enough to pinpoint it.   You push your limp body off the couch and wince at the feeling of sore muscles.  Couch sleeping isn’t all it���s cracked up to be once you’re past the age of 25.

“Sorry, Namjoon isn’t here-,” You open the door to explain to the guest and you’re cut off.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

You rub at your sleepy eyes and allow your vision to focus, only to feel your blood stand still in your veins.

Kim Taehyung.  Of fucking course.

“What do you mean, why am I here? I’m always here,” you tut as you fold your arms to your chest.  “What are you doing here?”

He rolls his eyes and holds up his hands, two suitcases clutched in each.  Who the fuck carries 4 suitcases up three flights of stairs? Kim annoying ass Taehyung does, apparently.

“I’m moving in.”  He pushes past you and into the living room.  

Your mouth gapes open.  Namjoon certainly didn’t tell you this.  Taehyung looks back at chuckles at your reaction.

“I’m guessing your best friend didn’t tell you the happy news?”

You shut your mouth, quickly jumping back into composure.  “No, he failed to mention that,” you sniff.  “I thought you lived with your girlfriend in Gangnam?  What was her name? Rose or whatever?”

Tae stiffens, just slightly for a moment, before he plasters back on the bravado.  “Obviously not anymore.  We broke up, she kept the apartment.  Got tired of moping at my mom’s house and I told Namjoon I wanted to come back to the city.”

You feel a slight tug at your stomach, guilt, perhaps?  You clear your throat.  “Oh, I’m sorry.”

He laughs as he sits on the couch, instantly throwing his feet onto the coffee table, like a heathen.  “No, you’re not.”  

“What do you mean, no I’m not? God, sorry for being polite!”

This, you reason, is why you can’t sustain longer than 5 minutes of civilized conversation with your best friend’s younger brother.  He’s impossible.

He just smirks, and you know he loves the rise he gets out of you.

“Because I know you, and I know you don’t give a fuck about my love life.”

Au contraire. If only he knew just how much you gave a fuck.

“That doesn’t mean I can’t be nice to you!” you nearly stamp your foot in frustration but hold yourself back. That would be too good of ammo for him to use against you.

“Okay, fine,” he acquiesces. “Whatever helps you feel you’re a good person.”

You’re seeing red and you know you want to continue screaming at him but you will not stoop to his level.

“Christ, I haven’t seen you in months and you’re still an asshole,” you say as you grab your keys and shoes. “And also, Jin will kill you if he sees your feet on his coffee table.”

You whip yourself around and open the door to leave and hear him call over your shoulder.

“Good to see you too, doll! Love the hairstyle, by the way.”

You close the door with a growl leaving your throat.  The absolute audacity of that man.

You stomp towards the elevator to take yourself to the ground level, when you catch your reflection in the shiny metal. Your hair is in what you can only lovingly call a complete hornet’s nest. It’s ratted and sticking out in places and you feel your cheeks burn.  Your first reintroduction with Taehyung is with a fight AND with you looking like a fool.

This would not do. No, sir.

“Kim Namjoon!” you shriek into your cell phone.  You’re awkwardly pressing it against your ear with your shoulder as you walk out of the convenience store under your apartment building with 3 bottles of soju and a six-pack of beer. You needed to drown your shame and sorrow, and fast.

“Hello, love of my life and moon of my stars,” your best friend replies and you can hear Seokjin chuckle in the background.

“No!” You chide, already cracking a beer open as you storm into your apartment building. “Don’t you Khal Drogo me, mister! Why the fuck didn’t you tell me your fucking asshole brother was moving in with you?!”

Namjoon is silent and you can tell he’s wincing on the other end of the phone. “Oops?” He offers.

“Yeah, big oops! A heads up would have been nice! Like, ‘hey best friend, your worst enemy of all time is moving in today. Maybe you shouldn’t fall asleep on my couch and wake up looking like Frankenstein’s ugly wife. Oh, and also my handsome boyfriend and I will just happen to not be there when he arrives’.”

By this time, you can tell Namjoon has put you on speakerphone because you can hear their rich laughter loud and clear. Rude bitches.

You stab your key code into your door and lock yourself in, chugging as much of the beer as you could handle.

“At least, even in her rants she thinks I’m handsome,” Jin gloats.

“I’m sorry babe,” Namjoon sighs as he finally calms down. “I didn’t know he would be there today. I just found out about it last night.”

You nibbled at your bottom lip, the annoying pit in your stomach feeling simultaneously guilty that he went through a breakup, unbridled joy that something brought him down a peg, and just a dash of excitement that he’s single now.

You let out a breath. “It’s okay, Joon.  It just surprised me to see him.”

Jin butts in, “And because you have a big, fat, unresolved crush on him.”

“Jin!” You admonish. The couple laughs again and you roll your eyes, asking yourself why you put up with the two. “I do not!”

They both hum a non-committal answer, implying they don’t believe you in the slightest.

“Whatever.  What are you guys doing, anyway?”

“We just got home from shopping.  God, Jin looked so good in these jeans he tried on.  I was actually just about to suck his coc-,”

“Kim Namjoon, do not finish that sentence! I do not wish to hear it!” You try to remain firm, but dissolve into giggles with the pair.

You could never stay mad at Namjoon long, even if his brother was the devil incarnate.

“Darling,” Jin calls through the phone.  “I still expect to see you at our place tonight for our sleepover.”

Christ, you had forgotten all about your scheduled sleepover night.  It was tradition and one of your favorite parts of your friendship with the couple.  Jin, a literal chef, prepared a five star meal along with dessert for you while you binge watched Netflix and talked incessantly.

But you also usually slept in their spare bedroom.  The exact one that Taehyung would be occupying.

“Fuck, while he’s there?”

“Oh suck it up,” Jin chides, like he’s your mother. “He’s probably not even going to leave his room.  You’re not getting out of this.  I’m making strawberry cheesecake.”

Your mouth waters at the idea of Jin’s famous cheesecake.  

“Fine, but I get to lick the bowl and not Namjoon.  Those are my terms.”

Namjoon squawked in defiance as Jin laughed.  “I agree to your terms.  Be at our place by 8.”

As you hung up the phone, you checked the time.  6:40.  God, he hadn’t left you with much time to get ready, did he?

And you definitely needed to get ready.  There was no way you were entering a room where Kim Taehyung exists looking like booboo the fool, not again.

Your fingers press the 6 digit passcode to Namjoon and Seokjin’s apartment, arms heavy laden with your bag of toiletries and pajamas, and a bag full of wine.

“Honey, I’m home!” You announce as you toe off your shoes and slide into the combined kitchen and living room.

You receive no reply, but greeted with the amused face of none other than the object of your filthiest dreams, Taehyung.

“Pet names already?  We’re moving pretty fast, wouldn’t you say?” He asks you as he lounges at the kitchen table.  He watches you open the fridge to set the wine, as comfortable in their home as you are in yours.

“Fuck off,” you grumble. “Where’s your brother?”

Tae seemed absolutely tickled by your disgruntlement.  “I think they mentioned something about taking a shower.  That was 20 minutes ago, though.”

“Great,” you sigh. “Those fucking horn dogs act as if they’re still newlyweds.  We’ll be waiting awhile.”  

You tug off your sweater, leaving you to remain in a fitted tank top and yoga pants.  You tried to maintain a comfortable look as you dressed for the evening, while keeping in mind which leggings hugged your ass and showed off your toned thighs, and a tank top that dipped low to your cleavage.  Okay, so maybe you had ulterior motives. You wanted to make up for your dreadful appearance earlier and make him squirm, payback for the years of him doing it to you.

You watch him as he lets his eyes roam your body, eying you like he wants to ravage you completely. You feel victorious… and also turned on. Fuck, you played yourself.

You flop onto the couch in a huff and Tae snorts before joining you.

“What’s so funny?” You eye him suspiciously.

“Nothing,” his smile feigns innocence. “I’m not allowed to laugh?”

You sniff in annoyance, not eager to fall for his tricks. “You’re allowed to do whatever you want, your highness.”  Sarcasm drips from your voice and Tae finds it even more humorous.

“I see you’re still a sassy bitch.”

You gasp, audibly startled by his language and rise from the couch, fists clenched.

“I see you’re still a conceited dick!”

He rises to meet you where you stand, eyes boring into your own with his stupid sexy grin on his face.  “I see you’re still not one to back down from a fight.”

You step closer, close enough to feel his breath on your face.  Idly, you note it smells like peppermint and you move closer on reflex.

“Yeah? I see you’re still not one to avoid starting a fight in the first place!” you huff.

“Oh, I started it?”  

“Yeah, you started it! You called me a bitch!”

You can’t believe this is happening.  You feel as if you’re 6 again and fighting with him over a toy.

“A sassy bitch, actually,” he corrects, taking another step forward, bodies touching.

“Fuck you!”

“Only if you say please,” he quips before he closes the distance and presses his lips to yours in a scorching hot kiss.

There’s not even a moment of hesitation on your end, immediately pulling him even closer and wrapping your arms around his neck and allowing his tongue entrance to your mouth.  Your body reacts to his instantly, as if it’s wired to respond to him and him only. Your mind was blank of anything except Tae, only Tae please, and you acted purely on instinct alone.  And instinct was pulling him closer and begging, more, anything he could give.

The sound of laughter coming from the hallway pulls you apart, neither of you wanting to get caught by Namjoon or Jin.  You stare at him, his lips are cherry red and slightly swollen and the image burns into your retinas.  He has such pretty lips after you’ve kissed him.

“Oh hey! What’s going on here?” Namjoon asks as he notices the intense eye-battle you’re engaged in with his younger brother.

It shakes you out of the spell, eye contact broken and hypnosis halted.  

“Just, errrr,” you falter to find the right words to explain the situation.

“Just getting reacquainted.”  Tae sounds completely unaffected, as if the passionate kiss you shared with him seconds ago was but a distant memory.  Asshole.

“I’m surprised you two haven’t thrown anything at each other yet,” Jin laughs. “Or thrown yourselves at each other.”

Both you and Taehyung whip to look directly at Jin.

“Her!?” Tae is incredulous. “Gross.”

You’ll never admit out loud that his words wound you.

“You’re an asshole, Taehyung,” you punctuate your words by turning away from him and towards Namjoon, who appears amused as ever.

“Ah, I love when my best friend and my little brother are screaming at each other.  Feels like old times.  Can one of you cry now to complete the moment?”

Taehyung grumbles under his breath, something you can’t catch, and stalks off to his room.  The slam of his door reverberates in the apartment and Jin jumps and turns to yell down the hall at his brother-in-law.

“Yah! Don’t break my apartment! I still owe money on this!”

Despite Taehyung’s appearance every so often in the kitchen or living room, the rest of the night goes on with no annoying disturbances.

Jin spoils you and his husband with expensive food, and the best cheesecake you’ve ever eaten in your life.  Plus, you’re given the bowl to lick clean despite a desperately adorable pout from Namjoon you were sure would persuade Jin.

You’re settled on the couch, snuggling in the middle of the couple as an action movie flickers across the big screen tv.  Truthfully, you haven’t paid attention to a single thing happening, your thoughts entirely too absorbed in Taehyung and that deliciously infuriating kiss.  

Why did he do it?  You couldn’t comprehend his reasoning.  Perhaps he was doing it to piss you off.  He’s never angered you with that level of intimacy before, but you didn’t put it past him.

You’re surprised when the credits of the movie start rolling and Jin and Namjoon fake loud yawns.

“Oh man, I’m beat,” Namjoon lies.

Jin is quick to join. “Me too, I think I’ll pass out the moment I hit the pillow.”

You roll your eyes at the men. “Will you two please go fuck already, I know that’s what you’re going to do.”

Namjoon blanches, but Jin laughs and kisses your cheek. “Ah, my smart, beautiful and chaotic child,” he coos. He leans in to your ear, voice low to keep his husband from listening. “I don’t think I’m the only one in this house who’s going to get pounded into a mattress.”  

He pulls back and winks at you, deftly ignores Namjoon’s confusion and sadness of being left out, and drags him to their bedroom with a loud ‘goodnight’.

You’re left to stew in your own emotions, which is never a good thing.  Was the tension that obvious? You always assumed it had been one-sided, but the kiss befuddled you more than you’d like to admit.

It finally snapped in your mind, all the dots connecting. That’s why he did it.  

He kissed you so you’d stew and simmer and eventually erupt, like you’re doing now.  Taehyung knows you too well for your comfort.

You grab your bag of clothes and storm towards the bathroom to change, promising yourself to forget about the kiss and not give Taehyung what he wants.

Except you’re not very good at promises, especially to yourself.

You can’t say you’re excited to sleep on the couch again.  While it’s a nice couch, it’s definitely not a bed and your back will pay the price tomorrow.  You supposed it was better than the floor, but not by much.

After dressing in your pajamas, a purposefully picked out combination of tiny shorts and a sports bra in case Taehyung happens upon you, you return to your bed for the night in the living room.

Namjoon graciously left blankets and a pillow out for you, and you’re complaining internally about Taehyung the whole time you make yourself a spot to sleep.  If it wasn’t for stupid Taehyung and his stupid existence, you’d be sleeping like a baby on the guest bed that you loved.  But no, they relegated you to the couch like an animal.

Sleep was not in the cards tonight, it seems.  You toss and turn and try to press at the cushions to move a lump around and get comfortable, but it’s all for naught.  You’re wide awake and very, very uncomfortable.  You didn’t understand how you fell asleep on this very couch earlier in the day.  Maybe the mimosas you had at brunch with the couple had been helpful.

A thought crosses your mind. Alcohol.  Maybe a nice glass of wine would help tuck you into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.  A nightcap. Of course.  You were angry at yourself for not thinking of it hours ago.  

You slipped out of your disagreeable bed and into the kitchen, trying not to make a sound.  Jin’s beloved kitchen was also an echo chamber of noise, even the slightest sound bouncing off its walls and amplifying it through the whole house.  You still remember the way you jumped five feet in the air when Jin accidentally broke a plate.  It sounded like a bomb explosion.

You bite your lip as you carefully pry the cabinet of wine glasses open, careful to not even allow a squeak of a hinge.  You silently beg to stay silent and not wake anyone in the house.  You didn’t want to be caught drinking wine at 2 am in the dark, that’s difficult to explain without looking like an alcoholic.

With glass in hand, you tiptoe the fridge to pull out the bottle of merlot, thinking the heavy red wine would be the best to get you sleepy and quick.  

You tug the cork from the bottle and pour a healthy amount into the stemware with a smile.  Liquid sleep.  And you had done it without making a single sound. Perfection. The smell of the alcohol permeates through your nose as you lift the glass, placing it to your lips to take a sip.

“Wine at this hour?” the unexpected voice of Taehyung echos through the kitchen, making you yelp and jolting you hard enough that you drop the hard-earned glass of wine to the tile floor, red wine splashing as the sound of glass shattering is reverberating off the walls.

“Fuck!” You screech at the intruder.  Taehyung doubles over, laughing as if he’s seen nothing funnier than what just transpired.  “You asshole!”

You listen past Taehyung’s incessant laughter to ensure the owners of the apartment hadn’t awoken during the ruckus. You definitely did not want to face a tired and agitated Jin to tell him you shattered one of his Tiffany crystal goblets.

Beyond Tae, the house is silent and you’re thanking whatever god is listening for keeping your best friends asleep.

The wine is everywhere, spilling into the cracks of the tile and splattered on the walls.  The crystal stemware is too; it shattered with such force that you see flecks of the shrapnel in all four corners of the room.

Tae wipes a tear from his face and you square a tempestuous look at him.  

“Fucking help me!  You made me drop it!”

Through snorts, he replies. “I didn’t make you do anything.  You did that on your own.”  Although he is arguing with you, he’s gingerly stepping into the kitchen and kneeling to pick up shards of glass.

“I wouldn’t have dropped it if you had come into the room like a fucking normal person,” you grit.

He collects the glass, the delighted grin on his face now permanent.  He’s relishing in your annoyance, you know he is, and it burns you from the inside out.

“It’s not my fault you didn’t hear me.”

“You could have turned on the light! Why were you in the dark like a freak?”  You’re grasping at straws, anything to pin this all on him.  It would quell the fire in your belly to push it all onto him, make you feel as if you’ve won.

Taehyung levels a look at you.  “And you weren’t also in the dark? Pouring a gallon of wine for yourself?”

Your cheeks flare red. Fuck, he definitely caught you there.  You’re playing verbal poker with him and the hand you’re dealt falls flat compared to his royal flush.  He grins, knowing he has you.

“Fuck you,” you snark, you go to insult when you’re backed into a corner.

“Ah, doll,” he winks.  “We talked about that.  Be careful what you wish for.”

The fire inside you is roaring to an inferno now, flames licking to your core. It’s a complicated mixture of anger and sexual energy. It’s infuriating that he’s able to make you feel every single emotion to the extreme. You hate that arguing with him turns you on, like it’s some perverse foreplay.  

You moisten your lips with your tongue as you process his words, and Tae��s eyes hungrily track the appendage as it glides over your lips.

“Fuck. You.” You emphasize perfunctorily.

All thoughts of wiping up the mess are forgotten as Tae drags both you and himself off the floor and steers you to the living room, lips feverish against your own.  He pushes you into the couch and tugs his shirt off, before replacing his lips to yours.  

“Fuck, you’re so fucking hot when you’re a bitch,” he groans as he snaps the strap of your sports bra. “Seeing you get all worked up makes me so hard.”

He’s not wrong. You can see through his mesh basketball shorts that he’s sporting an impressive package, rock hard in its clothed prison.

“Yeah?” You bite at his lip.

“Hell yeah.”  His hands work to the elastic band under your bust and tugs the offending material off, tits springing free as he throws it to the floor.  

“Holy shit,” Taehyung breathes as he gets a good look at your chest.

You shake them gently, grinning as he watches them jiggle.  “You like what you see?”

He smirks and pinches a nipple, wiping the coy smile off your face and turning it into a moan.  “I like when you’re mouthy, but don’t push it.”  

He lowers his head to the nipple he’s still pinching in his fingers, licking at it and replacing his fingers with his mouth.  He’s moaning around the nipple, and you’re gasping for more.  His hot mouth sucks at you, teeth nibbling and pulling it until you’re whimpering in delicious pain.

“Fuck!” He cries as he pops away from your nipple.  “You’re so fucking hot.”

Your body warms at his words, arousal pooling between your legs.  You’re sure that your thighs are drenched in your essence.

He slurps your neglected breast into his mouth, ensuring your nipples are equally abused.  His tongue is skilled but his mouth is messy, saliva dripping all around your tit and it’s the hottest fucking sight you’ve ever seen.

He’s pulling away again and pinching both nipples with his hands simultaneously. “And you’re so fucking annoying.”

You’re pleading for more or to stop, you’re not sure.  He continues.

“Mm, I’m gonna fuck you until you’re a good little bitch for me. Listening to every fucking thing I say.”

He releases your nipples, and you finally find the ability to focus again, staring directly at him.

“Oh, you think you’re that good?” you sass as you attempt to catch your breath.  “Put your money where your mouth is.”

Tae grips your chin roughly, face inches away from yours with a sadistic grin. “You’re going to regret those words, baby.”

Instantly, he’s standing up and tugging his shorts down to let his cock spring free.  Your brain misfires as you visually measure his cock and your mouth goes dry. He’s thick and long. The bulbous head is dripping pre-cum, begging you to slurp it up.

“How about I put my money where your mouth is,” he suggests as he grabs a fistful of your hair.  

He teasingly rubs his cock on your lips and cheeks, makes you whimper with need. Your tongue is sticking out, desperate for him to lay it on you.

“Already so fucking greedy,” he grunts and in one motion, directs his dick into your open mouth. “I’ll fuck your throat, yeah? Greedy bitches love getting face fucked.”  He is still for a beat more, eyes searching yours for consent and you nod with his cock still in your mouth. He winks, then begins a rapid pace, his cock fucking into your mouth and throat.

You’re sure you look like a goddamn mess with saliva dripping from your mouth as Taehyung punishes your throat with his thrusts.  You gag and moan around him, and he tightens his grip in your hair as you see stars.

It’s indescribable. Never have you felt such pleasure from sucking cock, but Tae commands your entire body, willing you to drip with anticipation.

“My little fuck toy, god you feel so fucking good,” he hisses. “You’re gonna swallow my cum, baby.”  

His hips are stuttering, he’s close, and you’re sucking him harder, cheeks pulling in harder to vacuum him in. The pressure makes him groan out loud.

“So good, so fucking good. Get ready for your prize, baby,” his voice cuts off in a gasp, as his cock twitches violently. His legs shake and he doesn’t hold back the moans of his orgasm, gasping as he feels rope after rope spill down your hot throat.

Your big doll eyes are twinkling up at him, lips still wrapped around his cock. Taehyung is sure it’s the hottest thing he’ll ever see in his lifetime.  You on your knees, subservient to him and thriving for it.

“Mmm, I like it when your mouth is full like this,” he slowly pulls out of your mouth, albeit reluctantly. “Can’t talk back to me when you’re sucking my cock like a whore.”

You smile and stick out your tongue, pleased to show him you happily accepted his cum.

“Good fucking girl,” he coos as he grips your chin again. “Did you like my cum?”

You nod, brain fried from the heat of the room.

“Use your words,” he grits and grips your jaw harder. It’s enough to shock you into compliance.

“Y-yes! Fuck, I love your cum, Tae.”  Your words are breathy and raspy, throat raw from his barrage.

“I knew you would, filthy slut.  Sit on the couch.” He orders and you’re quick to scurry and sit on the makeshift bed you made.

His hands are tugging down your shorts quickly. No teasing or seduction here, not now. You lift your hips, and he throws them aside. Your legs close on reflex, making him growl.

“Do not hide yourself from me.” His tone is dark and you can’t help but shiver as you open yourself up to him. You want to talk back, want to fight and bite at him, but you’re quickly losing the ability to even speak, and you’re aching for him.

“Where’s my mouthy little bitch? You’re awfully quiet. Did I finally break you?” He teases, pressing your legs upward, knees to your ears. It’s pornographic how on display you are for him, soaking wet cunt front and center.

“The great Taehyung thinks he can break me with his cock,” you mewl, mustering all the false confidence you can. You’re lying through your fucking teeth and you both know it, but you continue. “You’ll have to do more than that.”

Your pussy is quaking with need now, desperate for a single touch. His hands maintain purchase on the backs of your thighs, holding them up.

“There she is,” he bites at the flesh of your leg closest to him which makes you jerk in his hold. “Gonna fuck the brat right out of you.”

He removes a hand from your thigh and you’re quick to pick up the slack, holding the thigh in place to maintain his open show of your pussy.

“Try me,” you murmur, and you’re instantly regretting your words as a harsh slap descends and lands square on your cunt.

You nearly scream, pain flooding your wanton pussy, before turning into delicious pleasure that stings and tingles right at your clit. It sizzles, and warmth blooms where his hand was.

“That’s for not believing me.”  His eyes are feral and you want to bottle this memory forever.  

Another slap has your legs trembling, eyes rolling back as the burn turns to a low heat.  You’re dripping your wetness down onto the couch and Jin will kill you, but you don’t care.

“That was for calling me a dick,” he smirks.

Smack.

Tears spring in your eyes as the slap brings more pleasure than pain, desperately close to your edge.

“Look at you, you could cum just from this, couldn’t you?”

“F-fuck! Yes, please, I need more, please!” Your cunt is clenching around nothing, desperate for friction and leaking out of you like a faucet. Taehyung marvels at you, legs spread so far, with a cunt weeping with arousal for more. He can’t wait to dive in there, but he’s not finished with you yet.

“More? I don’t know if you deserve more, baby, you’ve been awfully mean to me,” he tsks, breathing hot air on your clit, making you whine.

“P-please! I’m sorry!” You’re sure you will black out with how desperately you need him. You need him more than you need oxygen.

“Beg.”

You’re quick to submit. Thoughts of fighting back are long gone, you’re his wanton little slut now.

“Please, please! Pleaseeeee, make me cum! I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?” He asks with an arch of his eyebrow.

You’re nodding wildly, gazing at him with desperate, watery eyes.

“Anything, I need you so f-fucking bad it hurts!”

By the time the words leave your lips, he’s thrusting two fingers into your cunt viciously, fingering you ferociously. He arches them, rubbing against your spongy g-spot and making you scream. He knows you’re close, knows you only need one little push off the edge. He plays your body like a skilled practitioner.

“Cum on my fingers, baby. Let me see my greedy little bitch milk my fingers.”

Your body and mind react accordingly, deep down you know your body is owned completely by him, all his.  Your orgasm explodes and you think you actually scream, your vision is black and your hearing goes silent for a moment as you cum harder than you have in your life.  You’re squeezing his fingers with your pussy so tight and Taehyung is gently licking all the juices from his hand with his fingers still inside you.

It takes time to descend from the separate plane of existence Taehyung sent you too, but you come back and watch as he laps at the liquid of your cunt and on his hand like it’s a vital necessity. His fingers remain in your walls, and he refuses to break eye contact with you. You’re positive you could cum again from the sight.

“My little cockslut tastes so good, just how I like,” he tells you tenderly. “Like cherries, so sweet.  My little cherry.”

Your cunt is aching and warming back to life as he pulls his fingers out of you. The loss is immense and you’re whimpering for more.

“Ah, ah,” he hushes you. “No whining. You’ll take what I give you.  Suck my fingers clean. Taste yourself.”

He presses his fingers into your mouth, earning him a sigh, the taste of you filling your mouth. You swirl your tongue around his fingers and suckle each one to ensure your tongue laves the entire surface.

“Fuck,” he whispers and it’s his first crack in his steel reserve. “Needy.”

He pulls his fingers from your mouth and presses against you to kiss. It’s gentle, sweet, and nothing compared to the man assailing your pussy with slaps moments ago. It thrills you just the same and you return in kind, threading your hands in his wavy hair.

He pulls away and presses his forehead against yours, a moment of gentleness you actively welcome.

“This little cunt ready for me?” He whispers and you’re whimpering your reply.

“Please, fuck me. I need you to fuck me until I can’t walk.”

He grins and presses a kiss to your lips again, sweet and chaste, before he pulls away and slides down to attach those same sinful lips to your pussy.

It’s so unexpected you flinch and manage a cry as his tongue slurps up more of your delicious essence and his mouth moves to suckle on your clit. You’re not sure where the fuck he learned these tricks, but you know now you will never let him go.

“Taehyung!” You cry at the sensation. “Fuck!”

After receiving the reaction he was desperate for, he slips his tongue into your walls deep and gathers as much of you as he can, before he’s pulling back and swallowing you down.

“I couldn’t resist. Your cunt was made for me to devour.”

He doesn’t allow for a response as he throws your legs over his shoulders and lines himself up at your core.

“Condom?” He asks you, and you level a quick look at him.

“I don’t live here! I don’t have any!”  You’re savage, terrified he’ll pull his cock away when all you want and can think about is the way he’ll feel pounding into you.

“Don’t be rude, baby,” he reminds you with a swat to your ass. “I’m clean, promise. You?”

You nod quickly, reveling in the spank’s tingle. “Same. I have an IUD too,” you sigh. Thank god for medical birth control implants.

“Good. You’re the only pussy I’m gonna fuck from now on,” he promises. You know you must talk about this later, when you’re thinking rationally and not with your aching pussy.  

Your heart stutters and leaps into your throat but all is forgotten as he plunges into your tight heat.

“Ohhhhh shit, ahhh,” he gasps. “Baby, you’re so fucking tight and wet.”  He’s on the verge of whining, becoming just as needy and greedy as you.  He wastes no time in setting a pace.

His cock fills you completely, his angle allowing him to go as deep as he can, pressing the beginning of your cervix.  This is surely what heaven feels like.  It feels like the completeness you feel with Taehyung fully sheathed inside you.

It comes alive with flames and explosions as he fucks you, hips pistoning to plunge in and out of you with tenacity.  He fucks you like he laces every single thrust with more, more than just sex. He fucks you with purpose.

You’re moaning like a pornstar now, high pitch wails and gasps and breathy moans are all you can manage. “Taehyung, yes! Feel so g-g-good!”

“That’s right baby, scream my fucking name. Make sure all the neighbors know who fucking ruined you,” he nearly spits, cock thrusting into your core at an impossible speed. “I want you to tell all of Korea who owns you. Who owns this tiny little cunt?”

The wind leaves you, and you’re gasping for air, gaping mouth open as you try to reply. It takes him fucking into you harder a few times before you feel it rush back into you.

“You, Taehyung!  You!  Fuck, I love your cock!”

His thumb rubs at your engorged clit, allowing it the friction it seeks.  He bends forward and wraps his other hand around your throat, squeezing.  

Losing air combined with the friction on your clit has you keening, so close to the edge. You try to babble his name but nothing comes out.

“Look at my pretty little slut taking my cock so well,” he praises.  “You have the greediest pussy, don’t you? You need my cock daily, baby. Need to put my mouthy bitch in her place, remind her who’s in charge.”

He slows his pace but his thrusts are punishing, fucking into you as hard as he can. Your orgasm is climbing so impossibly high.

“F-fuck!” You gasp as he releases his grip on your neck. “Gonna cum! Please let me cum!”  

“Yeah baby, cum for me.  Cream your greedy pussy all over my cock.”

The world stops spinning as you hit the height of your climax and plunge down.  Your vision goes black and your body is quivering and convulsing nearly as hard as your cunt is. Taehyung hisses at your walls sucking him in, as if you’re begging for his cum, begging for more.

“Fuck, good girl, baby, holy shit,” he’s breathless and so close.

You’re overstimulated, boneless, but he wrought two of the best orgasms you’ve ever felt in your life and you’ll be damned if you leave him high and dry.  You bite your lip as you move with him, hips pounding against each other. His face is scrunched up and you know he’s close when he’s stuttering on his words.  You take over for him.

“Please cum in me baby, please.  Fill me up. I’m yours, baby, mark my little cunt as yours.”  You don’t know where it’s coming from, but you keep it going. It feels as natural as fucking him does. “Please, Taehyung!”

At the sound of his name leaving you in a whine, he spirals down his own completion. He feels his cock pulse as he empties his load into you, your walls still reverently beckoning for him. He’s calling out your name, grasping at your tits as he finishes and you’re smiling from ear to ear. Your pussy is warm with his seed and you’re positive it’s the way you want to feel every single night.

“Holy fuck,” Taehyung rasps as he pulls his cock out of you. He thrills as he watches his cum follow, slipping out your folds and down your thigh. “I definitely marked you.”

You hum in reply, finally allowing yourself to soak in the haze of orgasmic bliss. Tae presses his head to yours again, kissing you sweetly.

“Come sleep in my bed?” He asks. He means more behind it. He wants to ask you to sleep in his bed every night, stay with him every day, be the one he grows old with. He knows there’s still more to talk about, wounds of the past to heal, but now you’re with him, and he knows he’ll work through anything.

You nod, and kiss him again, understanding his hidden meaning laced in his words.

A sly smile spreads across his face. “Last one to bed has to take the blame for the wineglass,” he teases. Your head spins as if you’ve got whiplash.  He can switch from dominating to sensitive to the little shit he is so quick.

“Hey! No fucking fair! You fucked my ability to run out of me!”

“Shouldn’t have been such a sassy bitch,” he winks before he tears away towards his room.

“Taehyung, you’re an asshole!” You call as you limp your way behind him.

From behind Joon and Jin’s door, a critical voice bellows, “YAH! I’ll kill you if you got your jizz on my couch! And what is this I heard about my glass!!? HEY!  Those are TIFFANY. CRYSTAL. THE DISRESPECT!”

You slip into Taehyung’s bed and wrap yourself around him, the two of you gasping with mischievous giggles.

Kim Taehyung will always be the one who knows how to drive you wild. He’ll always aggravate and infuriate you, send you reeling.

But now you didn’t think you minded it at all.

© ppersonna - 2020 - do not repost on any site, or translate without express permission from author.

[forthehpfanboys]

Gold Strings & Red Picks- PT 1

Pair: Ron Weasley x Reader; he/him.

Summary: The Weasley's invented a band! Having a band, means you need a band manager; someone to help find venues, gigs and sponsors. After finding one, Ron seems to be hopeless drawn toward them.

Warnings: flirting, swearing, bickering, sexual tension??, Punk Pining Ron but also Smug Ron, naming a guitar ‘Cherry Popper’, dm me if I missed any.

Notes: I plan on having some chapters kinda spicy. I made an entire gif for this and yes it is Rupert playing 👀 and god is this self indulgent. Hope you guys like it!

~DO NOT REPOST ANYWERE~

-

It was a Friday morning when you quit the Static Dragons and posted the news on every piece of social media you had. It didn’t take long for you to edit your bios to state you were looking for a new band, and it managed to catch someone's eye just as quickly. It was Monday evening when you got a dm on Instagram from a user called ddchrmrs-official. The user basically sent you a paragraph about how he was the lead singer of a band he and his siblings threw together and they were looking for a new manager. You agreed to meet with them and talk about the potential of the band and he agreed, using more than a few explanation marks after his reply. He even sent you a few of their songs once he deemed you worthy enough.

So, you found a dining hall, an equal distance from your house and theirs, and with the lead singer's approval, Fred, you booked it for Tuesday afternoon. Fred even made a post explaining the good news- why he was acting like one of the Weird Sisters followed him back, you weren’t sure. You couldn’t help but be excited too. The songs were good- more punk-rock than you assumed from the band's name. Something about the name Daydream Charmers gave off a softer, boyband type.

The day of the band meeting couldn’t have gone much worse. You missed your morning alarm, you couldn’t find your laptop charger and the clothes you picked out the night before ended up covered in stains from breakfast. GPS even gave you the fastest route and you still managed to be 10 minutes late, but you managed to find the right hall. It was a bit different compared to the pristine image shown on the website.

The roof looked like it was caving under an invisible weight and the actual size of the hall looked like a small barn. The walls were made of red and black bricks, most of which seemed to be chipped, broken or bending, like it was being crushed. The door frame was slanting, the door’s white paint was chipping, the sidewalk was splitting at almost every corner. You were desperately hoping the building was enchanted so it was bigger (and nicer looking) on the inside.

You parked your car on the pebble covered asphalt, right next to an equally old and rusty blue car. You had no idea how four people, a sound system, a bass, an electric guitar and a full drum set fit inside of the small wagon, but figured they managed to spell the inside bigger. You weren’t bothered by it- how could you be? You felt your wand hit your laptop inside the bag as you threw it over your shoulder after climbing out of the car. Shutting the door, you hurried up the broken concrete, shoving your keys in your pocket.

You chewed on your lip, adjusting the collar of your shirt as you approached the door. A smile pulled at your lips at the refreshing sound of genuine laughter and bickering. You had an internal battle of whether you should knock or just barge in. It sounded like they were having their fun and you didn’t want to interrupt anything. Soon enough, the laughter was dying down and someone was strumming a bass quietly, practicing a few chords from one of the songs Fred gave you. You raised a fist to knock on the door and the silence that followed was close to defining. Soft footsteps followed the silence and you swore you could hear soft breathing behind the door before it was yanked open.

“Hey! You made it! We were worried you got lost on your way here.”

You weren’t expecting to be face to chest with an individual. Their band's logo was printed across the front, red letters with a gold outline that clashed drastically with the bright orange fabric of the tight shirt. You tilted your head up, meeting cocoa brown eyes and a crisp white smile. His ginger hair was spread across his shoulders, his ear lobes were pierced with two shiny black flat stud earrings and the little white nostril piercing on the left side of his nose was reflecting the sunlight.

“Fred?” You asked, matching his smile. You could tell he had fun, you could sense it. His arm raised, inadvertently showing off his muscles, and rested against the door frame. 

“The one and only.” He grinned, clearly just joking. Before he could say anything else, he was rudely interrupted by a foreign voice behind him. Fred’s smile dropped into a frown like he was suddenly slapped across the face.

“Is it the pizza guy?” The voice asked from somewhere behind him, excitement clearer than crystal. Fred looked over his shoulder to respond.

“No, Ron. That’s not for another twelve minutes.” He rolled his eyes after looking back at you and letting out a loud sigh. “I’m sorry about him. His appetite is larger than Big Ben and it literally never stops. Anyway, I hope you like pizza! I tried to message you about it.” He pulled his phone out of his front pocket, unlocking it and scrolling through his messages and swiping right on notifications he didn’t care for.

“I was using my phone for GPS. Must’ve missed the messages.” Your hands slid into your front pockets, your weight shifting between your feet as embarrassment began to settle in. Maybe this wasn’t the best first impression. Before you could think about it too long, a low whistle was resonating from beside Fred.

Without warning, Fred was being nudged aside by a slightly shorter ginger, his piercing blue eyes staring into yours. They didn’t stay there very long though. They slowly dragged down your body, taking in your form, and his head tilted in appreciation.

“Oh.. I’m not gonna complain about the pizza when Merlin delivered us a cutie.” He gave you a dizzying side smile. “What’s your name, sweetheart? Surely, it’s something as handsome as you are.” Just as quickly as he appeared, Fred was pushing him back, faking a gag while driving the unnamed individual back with Fred’s hand against his forehead. 

“Ew! Ron, down! Seriously? Keep your yap shut! He’s our new band manager and I’d actually like to keep this one, thank you.” Fred groaned, a sneer pulling at his lips. He blocked the smaller ginger from the door with his body before turning back to you with a sigh. “I’m sorry. He’s usually not like this. Usually he’s moping about his ex-” You could see Ron jumping behind Fred to get another look at you. The reaction had you snorting into your hands.

“Fred. Fred, move, mate. I wanna see ‘im again!” The ginger whined, tugging at his older brother's t-shirt. He was dodging around Fred’s constant moving hands to get one more peek at you.

Fred let out a groan, his head falling backwards in agony before letting out a loud “George, please help!”

“Wait! Wait, wait!” Ron’s voice matched the panicked hand trying to hold onto the door frame before it was hilariously slapped off the wood and was dragged into the mystery hidden behind the lead singer. His begs and pleas began to echo and soften which you thought caused you to giggle a bit. 

“I’m sorry. We’ll put a muzzle on him or something. Come on in, I’ll introduce you to everyone.” Fred shifted out of the door way, allowing you to enter the hall. It was bigger on the inside than the outside, that much had you relieved. Fred shut the door behind you with a satisfying click and let you soak the place in while he sat himself down on a velvet red coach. It was dimly lit, about half the lights were on, and the walls were painted a light tan, which easily could’ve been mistaken for white, if white wasn’t used for the tiling. 

Next to Fred on the couch, was a girl with long, slightly darker, ginger hair. Her hair went well past her shoulders, and a bright orange base sat on top of her crossed legs. She had gone back to laying a few chords once you entered, just relaxing as her two brothers basically wrestled each other.

“Ginny, this is (Y/n).” Fred spoke up, pointing from his sister to you, then back to her. (Y/n), this is the youngest Weasley in the family, Ginevra.” Fred smirked, but it turned into a pained expression when she landed a hard slap to his chest.

“Except if you call me that, I will break your legs. It’s Gin or Ginny, nothing else. It’s nice to finally meet you, (Y/n). Fred hasn’t shut up about you.” She smiled at you, reaching a tattoo covered hand out to shake yours. 

“Really?” You couldn’t help but grin. You shook her hand proudly, knowing it was probably your reputation that kept the oldest Weasley in the band chatting up a storm. “It’s nice to meet you too, Gin.” You gave her a cheeky grin before turning to the other side of the hall, noting another Fred standing in front of Ron, who was sitting in a chair quiet grumpily. 

The double picked up a deep red guitar covered in stickers and shoved it into Ron’s lap, causing the younger to gasp out a wheeze. It was obvious he had chewed Ron out for his behavior, but nevertheless, he gave his unplugged electric guitar a few strums, which seemed to satisfy Fred 2 because soon enough he was storming back to the couch, shaking his head the entire walk there.

He sat himself down on the arm of the couch, right next to his doppelganger. His arms crossed back over his chest once again. Fred 2 had the same length hair, different piercings though. He only had one set of black earrings, but had an industrial across his left ear. He had a straight line of freckles across his cheek bones and right across his nose. The spots went down his neck and across his forehead. 

“He’s bloody useless.” He grumbled out, his snake bite moving to the right as his tongue ran across it. “Oh, hi!” Fred 2 scooted over to the edge of the arm rest, reaching his hand out to shake yours. “You must be the band manager! I’m George, Fred’s twin bro-”

“Younger twin. I’m the oldest.” Fred interrupted, smirking again as he pointed a thumb to himself. His smirk dropped when he was smacked in the chest again- by both George and Ginny. 

“I’m his twin brother. Ignore him, he has a God complex.” George rolled his eyes, smiling at you while he shook your hand. He pulled his hand away before scooting back to rest his back against the back of the couch. You could tell he wasn’t comfortable, but  he seemed dedicated to the spot. “I’m sorry you had to meet Ron the way you did. Usually he’s tamer than that.”

You couldn’t help but let out a laugh, your gaze turned down to your shoes. Your cheeks were beginning to heat up as his flirting rebounded through your head again.

“Nah, he wasn’t that bad.”

“I wasn’t?” Ron’s sudden voice behind you had nearly jumped out of your skin. You spun around, your backpack strings nearly catching on one of Ginny’s bass strings. You swallowed down a squeak. “Georgie was trying to convince me I was being inconsiderate and rude and that mum would smack me if she saw.” He was still holding the guitar by the neck, and that was when you noticed the bright gold strings with a red pick trapped between them.

“Well, it’s not like you were asking about my shoe size… “ Your eyes landed on the hands holding the black neck of the instrument and you couldn’t help but gawk at them. Rings covered his finger knuckles, veins popped out from beneath his skin. “Wow.” You didn’t mean to verbally gawk over the hands, so you had to force your gaze down to the instrument and ignore the urge to stare at the pale, freckle covered skin that was making your mouth dry. 

You shook your head, looking at the shiny strings. You had you stop yourself from reaching out and caressing the polished neck, the textures strings and hidden pick. It was clearly loved and carefully taken care of.

“Beauty, isn't she?” Ron grinned, showing off the red body drowning in decals- most of which were bright orange Quidditch themed or terrible chess puns. You almost forgot to check if they were a muggle band, but this told you enough. “My best friend got it for me, he’s a blessing. Mum didn’t approve, of course, said we all had better purposes, but dad said rock on.” 

“She really is. I’m guessing you named her?” The second the question fell from your lips, the three sharing a spot on the couch groaned in agony, but Ron was grinning in pride.

“Of course I have! Her name is Cherry Popper and she’s the love of my life. Unless,” Ron was taking a step closer to you, a twinkle in his eyes as he continued speaking, “you plan on cha-” His flirting was cut off suddenly.

“And that’s enough of that! Please sit down and, for the love of Merlin’s beard, rename the damn thing!” Ginny cried out, almost knocking her own instrument straight into the tiled floor. She ran a hand through her hair, her free hand holding the bass hard enough to make her knuckles pure white.

“I mean, come on! Name it something classic like ‘Bertha’ or ‘Jasmine’, or, and here’s my personal favorite, don’t name it at all!” Fred waved his hands while he spoke, counting the names on his fingers before doing jazz hands at ‘don’t name it at all’.

“Fred, that’s hypocritical. You named your mic.” George spoke up, pulling two white marble drumsticks from his jeans pockets and began to spin one between his fingers. 

“That was a joke.” Fred stuck his tongue out at his twin. “At least I don’t do it seriously. And leave Echo out of this.” Fred ripped the non spinning drumstick from George’s hand, holding it out of his twins reach.

“Shut up and give me Crystal back!”

“No, if you wanna talk about terrible names, we can talk about the band's name! Merlin, Fred, were you sky high when you made it?” Ron shot back, his arms crossing over his chest, one still holding the guitar.

Knowing this kind of fight could go for a good while, you slipped past him, patting Ron on the shoulder while you walked past while a pained gasp rented the silence that flooded the hall. You set your backpack on the white table, opening the zipper and pulling out your laptop. You sat down, pulling the laptop onto your lap before opening the notepad application.

“I made the name! And dammit, I think it was clever! It even has a unique backstory! At our school, we had a um- small business and it was quite successful. By ‘we’, I mean George and I and by successful, I mean we run an online joke shop. I thought it fit the shop pretty well.” Fred held a look of pride- a smirk was, once again, drawn across his lips as his eyes twinkled.

“Mate, it’s horrible.” Ginny spoke up, not even bothering to throw the truth as a curve-ball causing two of her older brothers to nod in agreement. She copied Fred’s movement by yanking the drumstick from his hand, but handed it to George, smiling at him. 

“Why couldn’t it have been something cool? You named your shop something cool. Why’d you give the band something’ shitty?” Ron rolled his eyes, leaning his back against the door, the guitar balancing on his sneakers and leaning against his ripped jean covered legs. His attention didn’t stay with his siblings for long. Soon it was shifting over to you, like he was naturally drawn toward you. He grinned at you, sticking his tongue out. The little gold ball stamped into the middle of his tongue had your full attention.

You swallowed thickly. The ball and his guitar strings were the exact same color and reflected the same light. You felt butterflies fill your stomach from the simple action and noticed, almost suddenly, the ginger was actually quite attractive and funny. You sucked on your tongue, hoping the blush across your cheeks didn’t give too much away. Ron looked back at his brothers, his side grin screaming he basically saw your body temperature rise.

“I was led to believe you all loved the name, but no! I’m starting to think you guys are just trying to embarrass me in front of the (Y/n), but since you think it’s so easy, come up with a new one.” Fred cried out, crossing his arms over the printed long sleeve t-shirt, and was pouting like a child now, sinking lower into the couch.

“It makes us sound like a cheesy boy-band going after 12 year olds.” Ginny scoffed, propping her bass up against the couch. She looked over at her slightly older brother, nodding her head in Fred’s direction.

“It does. We could’ve been Fire Wicks.” Ron pointed at Ginny and the teaming up began. “Or like Solar Skips.”

“Or The Red Bloods.” Gin nodded, pointing back at Ron while her other hand pulled out her phone. The game was ‘Who-Cares-If-It’s-Bad-Let’s-Prove-Fred-Wrong’ and you could tell it was for shits and giggles. You were going to pitch in an idea, but someone beat you to it.

“Or FireBolt Bitters.” Spoke up George, who was now gazing up at the ceiling, shaking his head in mock shame, but you could see the edges of his smile growing at the corners.

“Ooh, I love that one!” Ron leaned over, stretching his arm as far as it could to give  George a high five, before turning to look at you. He grinned at your confused expression. “Are you writing these down?” He pointed at your computer before giving you a wink. The butterflies came back, doubled in strength, and you couldn’t help but laugh. You shook your head no, laughing louder when he waved his hands in a panicked manner. “Write them down, mate!”

You rolled your eyes, typing random shit down just to please the younger one. Your eyes trailed across the dumplings, noting three quarters of them were smiling. Fred’s crabby expression made it was clear he didn’t get picked on very often.

“Charlie texted saying ‘The Copper Horntails’ would’ve been better.” Ginny said, looking up from her phone. She dropped the phone onto her lap, wincing a tad when the device collided with the instrument on her lap. She quickly forgot the pain and leaned back, enjoying her brother's pain.

“You asked Charlie?!” Fred squealed loudly, his hands holding his head. Right beside Fred, George had begun to tap his sticks together, improvising a beat to go with the arguing.

“You know what? That’s a great idea! Let’s ask Percy next-” yelled Ron over Ginny’s laughter and Fred’s agonizing scream. His smirk only grew when Fred tossed his head back. 

“Ok, damn! I get it! But I already made t-shirts so deal with it.”

“Fred, we have magic. We can always change the print.” George piped up, tapping the white wooden sticks against his thighs in some random pattern, his head nodding to a beat. He shrugged his shoulders, not focusing on his words all that much,

“George!” This time it was Fred’s turn to smack George in his chest. He glared at him before leaning over to whisper in his twin's ear. It was something you couldn’t make out, but you figured they were debating over your status. You rolled your eyes, reaching behind you.

With a clear of your throat, you gained their attention before pulling out your wand from your backpack. While waving it, you locked eyes with Ron, playfully chewing on your lip to try to hide your smile.

“But-” Fred scrambled to grab his phone. You knew he was going to pull up one of your profiles to show none of them mentioned magic or wizarding or anything.

“The quidditch stickers were a dead give away.” You pointed to Ron’s guitar with the tip of your wand before putting it back in your bag. “That, and the tiny blue car that somehow carried four band members, and all of their equipment even though, that should’ve been impossible. I do enjoy Firebolt Bitters, though.”

Your own smile grew when the siblings broke out into loud snorts and sniggers, save for Fred’s. Ron walked over to you, and you were sure his cheeks were hurting from how hard he was smiling. He laid his arm across your shoulders, pulling you into his side as he faced his band members.

“I like this one.”

A smile stretches across your face as your cheeks get warmer. Out of everything to come out of today, this was something even the strongest and most willed seer’s couldn’t have predicted. It wasn’t even half past noon and you’d already started to develop a crush on a punk guitarist who shares a band with his siblings. You were clueless on how you were going to do your managing and keep it strictly platonic when he grinned at you like you were everything he wanted.

[george-fabian-weasley]

Fred Weasley — Helplessly Part 3

Summary: After the Battle of Hogwarts, Fred was rushed to he muggle hospital for better treatment of his injuries. While in a coma, his soul stayed with you for a couple of months. He watches as you went through the stages. And he watches when you start to write a song, just for him.

Words: 2, 681 words

Warnings ⚠ : I don’t think this fic will have anything BUT sadness and constant pain and heartbreaks sdhsjd im sORRY

Disclaimer: This one... hurts a lot

TAGLIST FOR HELPLESSLY: HERE

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5 (COMING SOON!)

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CHAPTER 3: I'll Follow You

He woke up alone. 

Fred Weasley woke up with no idea where he was. ‘This… This isn’t Hogwarts?’ he thought. The fluorescent light above him was a bit bright, yet he didn’t feel like he needed to adjust his eyes. Fred blinked, wasn’t he in the middle of a war? The last thing he remembered was saying words to Percy before-

Before the walls.

He tried to move, and was surprised that he can, with complete ease. ‘Wow, and here I thought getting crashed by walls would hurt a lot.’ He thought, scoffing a smile. How the bloody hell did he feel no pain? Absolute brilliant! He sat up from the bed, looking around, looked like a hospital ward.  

Strange, he’s in a hospital but he didn’t feel any pain. Was he visiting someone? That’s not likely, innit?

And then Fred heard the constant beeping. He looked to his right, there’s a peculiar machine showing a line going up and down. Then his eyes darted to a wire connected to it, and then followed his eyes until the very end.

A hand.

Fred tilted his head, slightly confused. He blinked a few times. He just woke up in a hospital… And he saw a beeping muggle tech machine… and now there’s a hand…. Whose hand is it?

He looked to the hand, that hand looked awfully familiar, looking like George’s. But George’s hand is less calloused than this one. So naturally, Fred sees the owner of the hand when he turned around.

It’s… It’s him.

Fred felt the blood draining from his face, his heart felt like it did a somersault and a fucking split to the ground.  He instantly jumped out of the bed in shock, his eyes were the size of two golf balls. Even with bandages, he knew that was him.

It… It could be George, though. But that thought was quickly thrown out the window. He’s lived with the man all his life; he knew they were both very different physically. Fred was, rightfully to be frank, terrified.

Why was he there? In bandages? If that’s him, then what the hell is he doing standing here?! Fred walked closer to ‘himself’, thinking to himself that this might be some prank George pulled on him, Polyjuice potion and all. Upon thinking that, Fred relaxed; actually convinced his brother was pranking him.

“Ha, ha. Funny.” Fred muttered; a relieved smile painted upon his lips. For one second there, he really thought he had gone crazy. He looked around, “Oh, Georgie? Where are you, you little git?” He sang playfully, chuckling to himself. This prank was a great one though, he had to admit.

Fred’s eyes darted back to the man on the bed. He smirked to himself, wondering who did George had successfully coaxed to drink that nasty Polyjuice to turn into him. His mind instantly thought of you, and his smirk widened.

“Oh, goodness. Why is there another me here? I wonder?” Fred faked a shocked voice while simultaneously walking closer to the man, whom he had convinced himself was you under the Polyjuice potion. When ‘you’ didn’t react, he chuckled a little bit more, “I know it’s you, darling. C’mon now, trying to prank Fred Weasley? The prankster himself? Really, love?” 

He reached his hand to touch ‘yours’, only to realize his hand literally went through it. Fred frowned, he reached again. His hand went through the other hand, again. At first, Fred thought this was some sort of magic going on, a hologram at some sort, but the one who looked like a hologram was him.

“Bloody hell-“ Fred inched away fast; his feet stepped back a few steps in newfound fear. He looked around hastily, “This isn’t funny anymore, George. Knock it off!” He shouted across the room, yet nothing happened. He looked back to ‘you’, “Y/N, you can wake up now. This isn’t funny.” When ‘you’ didn’t react, Fred gulped. “Y/N!” He called again.

“Fred!!!”

Fred snapped his head upwards, his heart dropped at the sound of your wail. “Y/N…?” He whispered in horror, eyes darting back to the man on the bed, “Who the bloody hell are you…?”

Fred heard your scream again, and quickly without any thinking ran out of the ward, looking left and right at the unfamiliar surroundings. Suddenly, he saw Bill. He was with Fleur, looking distraught and anxious to the group of nurses at the counter, who instantly got to their feet, some calling the doctors while some followed Bill and Fleur.

He instantly followed them, “Bill!” He kept calling his older brother, but Bill didn’t seem to notice. Fred was far back, yet he kept calling for him. “William Arthur Weasley, you deaf git!” He muttered under his breath, gritting his teeth. He grew more anxious when he heard your screams getting louder, “Fred!!!! Let go of me!!!”

“Y/N?! Y/N!!!” He shouted back, he had lost Bill among the people, yet he kept following until he reached a ward. “Freddie!!!!” You were screaming, with tears non-stop scrolling down your cheeks, a strand of saliva was visible at your mouth, showing how many times you had called for him.  

A group of doctors had pinned you down, and quickly injected you with something, making Fred furrowed his eyes in anger, “What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?!” He shouted. He looked at the surroundings of the room, everyone was there. 

Why was Molly crying hugging Hermione? And why was George just standing there? 

“George! What are they doing to Y/N? Why aren’t you doing anything?!” He shouted, yet George seemed to ignore him. His heart tore apart every time you screamed his name, you were looking very distraught, and scared, and anxious.

He literally ran to be beside you, kneeling to the ground, “Y/N, love, I’m here.”

Yet you kept crying, until it slowed down, “Please, I need to see Freddie… He almost died in my arms, please…” was your last whimper before you passed out. Fred frowned, “Y/N, darling, I’m here! I’m not dead, I’m here-“

His hands that were to cup your face went through you.

Feeling fear right about now is the understatement of the century. Fred had never felt so horrified, in his life. Not even when he was fighting the Death Eaters a while ago, not even when the walls shattered him. This… This is terrifying.

He turned his head to the group of people who were now lifting unconscious you back to bed. He stood up slowly, gulping as he took in your state. You had heavy eye-bags, your skin was pale, and you looked exhausted. Yet you never failed to make his heart flutter at the very sight of you.  

As if adding oil to the fire, Harry who was beside him just stood up and bloody walked through him. Not walk past him, through him. As if he’s just a ghost.

Fred froze. Is that what he is now? A ghost? Like Peeves and Moaning Myrtle? He quickly looked down at his body, checking himself. No, he isn’t glowy blue, nor is he see-through. Fred was confused and terrified, and that two feelings together were never a good mix.

“I told you it’s a bad idea to tell Y/N so soon, George.” Fred turned to Ron who was looking to George who looked distressed. “Now’s not the right time for you to pick up a fight with me, Ron,” George growled; his eyes were dark. Fred realized George’s state was similar to yours. In fact, everyone looked exhausted. His heart broke at the sight of the quietly crying Molly who was still in Hermione’s arms.

“You could’ve told it later.” Ron, ignoring his brother’s warning earlier, continued with silent rage. “Ronald,” Hermione warned, glaring at him. “Then what am I supposed to do, you bastard? Is it your twin who’s in a bloody coma and your best friend hyperventilating, losing their mind? Am I supposed to carry this burden alone, huh you git? You’re fucking 18, Ron, use your bloody brain for once.” George snapped and walked out of the ward, seemingly wanted to cool off.

Hang on. What did he just say?

Fred gripped the bed railings to balance himself, his head suddenly went dizzy. “Coma? Me?” He whispered, not believing his ears. So the man earlier, that was really him? Not you under the Polyjuice potion? So, him standing in your ward right now, what was he? A ghost? A million thoughts swarmed Fred, he felt his chest tightened and he almost couldn’t breathe.   

“Why did you have to do that, Ron?” Hermione sighed out, Molly had just calmed down and excused herself to the bathroom. Ron didn’t answer her, and just walked out after looking solemnly in your direction.  

Harry sighed, “I’ll go get him.” He said, glancing at sleeping you, and left the ward. Slowly, the ward became empty, and the only ones there were Fred and you. His grip on the bed become tighter at the sight of you.

“F… Freddie…” Suddenly you mumbled out, and a tear rolled down to your sides. Fred was beyond devastated, heartbroken even. You looked so miserable, and Fred wanted nothing more than to hug you, caress your hair, and just whisper sweet nothings to you.

“I’m… I’m here, love.” His voice quivering, his hands trembled severely. He wanted to kiss your forehead, but the fear of his lips not touching your skin scared him more than ever. He wanted to wipe your tears away, so bad. Without warning, his own tears scrolled down his cheeks. But the tears never drop to the floor, they just vanished into thin air the moment they left his face.  

Fred felt a painful tug in his heart, he was beyond devastated. You were right there, and he could see you, but you couldn’t see him.

No one could.

The thought of being invisible made Fred’s crying worsened. He started to scream within his cries, begging anyone to just listen to him or actually notice he’s there. Fred wailed, screamed, shouted, with tears running profusely, the saliva in his mouth kept coming out as a result of his excessive breakdown.  

He was screaming his heart out, yet no one was listening.

Fred had to crouch down beside your bed as his knees turned weak, his head facing the ground, silently begging to see if one of his many tears would plop to the ground, and actually wet them. But the moment they jumped from the edge of his face; his tears vanished.

Fred calmed down a few minutes later, he was growing exhausted from the mental breakdown he just had.  He stood up trembling, his mind still distraught and disheveled, and his eyes softly darted to you.

He weakly smiled, “At least I got to see you, love.”

A week passed and Fred had accepted the fact that he was indeed in a coma, and his soul was out of his body, resulting in him to be like… this. 

But it wasn’t easy for him. 

He had to watch Molly and George take turns to look after him and Y/N, and they seemingly took turns crying for both of you. Fred was sobbing in the corner of his ward when Molly was crying while wiping his body, the view of his mother crying over him was absolutely heart-breaking. Molly was the first woman in his life, and he dreaded the fact that he couldn’t hug her, nor even touch her. 

He also discovered that his body would also cry whenever he’s crying, resulting in Molly crying even harder as she realized her unconscious son was also crying silently. His heartbeat would also match his body’s heartbeat. When he was having a breakdown at Y/N’s ward a while ago, his heartbeat was very fast, causing the beeping machine to enhance its pace. 

So Fred had jumped to the conclusion that somehow, he and his body are still connected. And with that being said, he’s not a ghost. Only a lost soul.

Fred would always visit your ward. He couldn’t sleep, but he would close his eyes at night so that his heartbeat won’t increase rapidly, in order not to worry his family. He would smile whenever you smile, just silently watching you communicating with Hermione. But as soon as he realized that you had nightmares at night, he couldn’t sleep after that.

So he would sit at the empty chair beside your bed whenever it’s empty, and just watch you sleep. When it’s time that you woke up crying, Fred was grateful that Hermione was there to calm you down, he couldn’t even describe the pain in his heart when he sees you so distraught.

And it broke his heart, even more, when he found out the nightmare involved him.

You were… suffering because of him, and Fred had never felt guiltier. He had also discovered that he could touch objects, he just couldn’t touch humans, which explained why he woke up laying on a bed, instead of sinking. He didn’t do anything to you though, he was afraid it would worsen your condition.  

That night came along. For the nth time, Fred felt his heart breaking at the sight of you sobbing on Hermione’s arm, once again attacked by the same reoccurring nightmare. When you begged Hermione to go see him, he had expected Hermione to say no, that’s what she’s been saying for the past week.

It’s a pleasant surprise when Hermione agreed.

You didn’t know, but Fred walked beside you and Hermione, watching your every step so you wouldn’t trip. He knew how weak your legs were, he was there when the doctors explained your condition to Molly. If it wasn’t for him being invisible, it would look like Fred was worrying for you at every step you took. He quietly smiled to himself, knowing it would annoy the hell out of you whenever he does that.

“Hello, Freddie.” Your quiet voice made a slight tug on his heart. You were holding his hand, and it was killing Fred that he couldn’t feel your touch. Or your warmth. He had to control his tears when you begin to sob on his body, his cold hand became the resting place for your forehead as you leaned forward. 

He had never wanted to touch you so badly, and it’s torturing him to control his tears because he knew the body would cry as well, and he didn’t want to sadden you any further. No words could describe the pain in his heart, and how fast his heartbeat is becoming. You didn’t notice, seemingly had filtered out the beeping sound from your mind to focus on your lover.

“I missed you, darling. I’ve missed you so much…” He heard you whisper while caressing his face. Fred was right in front of you, the only thing between you two was his static body on the bed. 

Fred forced out a chuckle, faking the laugh so his tears won’t come out instead, “You have no idea how much I missed you as well, my love. No idea…” When you left, after kissing his knuckles, that’s when Fred broke down. He had never cried loudly before, courtesy of sharing a house with several people for years, but when he does, it was refreshing.

But he had never felt so alone. 

So he understood your feeling when he saw you leaning against your bedroom door, crying in the dark at your apartment once you’ve been discharged. He decided to follow you home because he couldn’t bear staying at that cold, lonely hospital any longer.

 His home was you; you were his home and you still are.

And his heart bleeds; because he knew he was your home as well. And while he’s right there in front of you, sitting across you with tears in his eyes, begging you to see him so you won’t cry out of agony again, you didn’t know. 

You would never know.

--------------------------------------------------- 

PART 4: READ

TAGLIST:

@paigeyisme @britishspidey @hargreevesgrace @jasminweasley @neutralgoodval @kaidenceweasley @igotabadfeelingabouteverything @123happyllama @nicole-prz @phuvioqhile @ionlycamehereforfanfics @martalol @mccloudchloe @hufflepuffzutara @weasleysangel

[jpegjade]

Confessions - Spencer Reid

frens and ferns, IM OUT OF SCHOOL FOR A MONTH. so here’s a new fic about something i’ve been struggling with lately...

summary: With emily gone, Spencer is having a hard time coping with her death. After a little prodding, he finds comfort in y/n, who is struggling with their own demons.

gender: neutral (i think. i tried not to point to any gender terms so hopefully i did okay at it bc i dont feel like proofreading.)

Warnings: talk of addiction but nothing more

———

Getting home from a case was always, hard on you. There were days when it was harder to get up in the morning because of the physical and emotional toll the job put on your body. Ever since that un-sub broke your ankle, everything has been even harder.

“Y/L/N, nice to see you back." Morgan said as you exited the elevator.

“You too, D." You said, plastering a fake smile on your face. In truth, you wished that you were off for one more week but the world wasn't that kind to you.

The doors to the elevator were slowly closing when you heard Spencer shuffling quickly toward your direction.

Before you had the chance to throw your arm in the way of the elevator sensors, Spencer's slender body slipped through.

You were a newer member to the team. Well... You were the only new member to the team. Being a replacement for agent Emily Prentiss, the team getting to know you was a process. Derek trained you so he already knew what you were like in action but this was the first case the rest of the team saw you on.

The silence in the elevator was loud and thick with anticipation. Spencer was looking over at you in quick glances when he wasn't staring at his converse.

“You didn't press a number." Spencer said, barely loud enough for you to hear.

"Oh... I guess that explains why if felt like I was going nowhere." You chuckled at your joke and winced when you met Dr. Reid's blank gaze.

"Do you..." He paused.

Spencer shook his head, clearing the thought from his mind. You continued staring but he dropped his gaze back to his shoes as if he hadn't started and dropped a question.

The elevator doors opened, showing an empty garage. The two of you gestured for the other to exit first but you ended up going first.

“Did you want to ask me something. Dr. Reid?" You said, watching him hesitate.

"Spencer." He said, ignoring the question. "My friends call me Spencer."

"I didn't think we were friends yet." You blankly. It wasn't meant to be funny but you couldn't help but smile.

“My team consists of my friends. As you are on my team, we're friends." Spencer's face never changed.

"Okay, Spencer." You looked at him. If you weren't so worried about getting home, you would've indulged in the moment. But all you wanted to do right now was be alone with some pizza and take the edge off from today.

"If that's all..." You tried to close the interaction with him by taking a few steps back but Spencer took just as many slow steps forward.

"Actually," Spencer began, "how do you do it?"

You faked a chuckle. "Do what?"

“Hide your addiction so well." Spencer was so pointblank sometimes.

"What are you talking about?" You tried to control the beads of sweat that threatened to pool.

"Everybody knows.” It's your ankle that started the painkillers and you couldn't stop. It took you away from the pain, the humiliation.

“How could you be so stupid as to get caught? You're even dumber for finding solice in the feeling when you've got all of this support around you? You've got a family who..." Spencer trailed off.

Your head was still reeling from the beginning of his statement. Everyone knew... But how could that be? It wasn't obvious but something was off about the distant look in Spencer's eyes. It was like he wasn't looking or talking to you. The anger laced in his tone wasn't for you...

“Spencer," you took a step towards him, "Are you talking about you?" Spencer stopped talking. You weren't used to seeing him so quiet.

"It's been a while." Spencer looked down at his converse. "Emily was there. When it got bad, I would cuddle up with her cat on her couch and try to forget the thoughts. She wouldn't make me feel like a burden at 2 a.m., when I was screaming myself awake. She always told me to stay as long as I needed, even when I was positive she was fed up with me. I wish I believed her. I wish I stayed." Spencer tapered off into silence, sniffling.

A pipe dripping. Footsteps in the stairwell. A car alarm chirping. All of those things sounded louder than they normally would. This wasn't Spencer cornering you. This was a confused and hurting boy that was begging for help. He just didn't know how to say what he needed right now.

“Do you..." You started but stopped because it didn't feel right.

Where do you start with someone who is just like you: broken, hurting, and alone.

How do you comfort someone without enabling them to do something destructive that might make everything worse?

How do you avoid hurting someone when all you wanted to do was hurt yourself, in a way.

"Do you like pancakes?" You asked, startling him out of his thoughts. "Pancakes? Sure." Spencer slowly lifted his head and shrugged.

You started walking to your car, motioning for Spencer to follow.

The car ride with Spencer was filled with silence. The whole time, you were thinking about ways to explain the situation to Spencer without making it worse. Spencer was trying to decide if talking to you was a good idea after all, considering you were taking him somewhere pancake related.

Pulling up to the run-down diner, you looked over at Spencer, who was staring out the window.

"I promise the pancakes are better than the place looks." You chuckled, getting Spencer's attention.

"I wasn't really worried about the taste of the pancakes..." Spencer trailed off.

"Good, I guess." You said, a little bit defeated.

You and Spencer walked into the diner, where you were greeted by a friendly older woman named Janice. She knew your name by heart, since you were a regular, and she seated you at your normal booth.

"Actually, would you mind seating us at 12? This is Spencer, the guy I've told you about..." You blushed, hoping you said everything low enough for Spencer not to notice. His mind was elsewhere so he wasn't listening as he normally would. A part of you was grateful for that.

Janice did a once-over at Spencer, softly grinning, and brought you to table 12.

Despite the outside looking dingy, the inside of the diner was cleaner than Spencer thought it would be. He wasn't really fond of booths but these weren't the pillow seat booths where children could hide things between the bottom seat and the backrest. This was the plastic seats that hurt your butt after a little while. But what he noticed that was different about the seating at the table was that one half was a booth and the other half consisted of two four-legged chairs.

"I know you don't like the germs in booth seats so I figured this would be a better option." You said, unable to meet his eyes.

Spencer was shocked as you slid into the booth seat, avoiding his eyes. Spencer pulled out his chair, temporarily distracted by the fact that he never mentioned how much he hates booth seats. You paid attention and noticed that about him. What else had you noticed?

"So..." Spencer folded his hands in his lap nervously.

"Let's order and then we'll talk." You said, trying to focus on the task at hand.

Placing your orders, you went with your usual breakfast at midnight and he just ordered the same thing you ordered.

"It'll be good, I promise." You said, giving him a small smile.

"You never answered my question." Spencer said, looking up at you.

"I know." You were getting nervous again. The nerves hadn't stopped since Spencer asked that question in the parking lot but you were trying really hard to find an answer to it.

"How do you do it?" Spencer asked again.

"Spencer, it's not that simple. I can't give you an answer like that over something so complex. Why do you want to know?" You asked, trying to focus on meeting his eyes.

Spencer's gaze was intense when he wanted it to be so you settled for staring at the tip of his nose.

"I'm struggling, y/n. Emily was... She was family to me. If Hotch is the dad, Rossi is the cool uncle, JJ is the mom, Derek is the older brother, and Emily is..." Spencer's voice caught in his throat. "Was the big sister. I lost a sister the day she died and I'm lost without her."

"Spencer, I'm so sorry..." You said, wanting to hug him.

A tear slipped down Spencer's face as you watched him frustratedly wipe it away.

"It's not fair, you know?" Spencer continued. "I survived the worst days of my life. I got to live after experiencing torture and she didn't do anything but fall in love with someone who wasn't..."

There was a moment of silence as you let Spencer get his feelings out. While the two of you said nothing, Janice brought your food and drinks to your table. She must have sensed the tension between you and Spencer because once you thanked her, she didn't hover or make additional conversation.

"It just hurts and I don't... I don't want to feel it. I just want to escape the constant pain and be happy again, just for a little while. It doesn't have to stay forever but I don't want this pain to hurt like this for now." Spencer cut into his pancakes, taking a bite. His face changed into something of contentment.

"I come here when I have a... I guess you could say craving." You started, "Carbs and sugar are good for the itching feeling you get when you really need a fix."

A moment passed as the two of you enjoyed the food in front of you. After downing half of your food, you decided to speak again.

"What's your drug of choice, if you don't mind me asking?" You quietly said, your eyes staying trained on the way your butterknife slowly cut into your pancakes.

"Dilaudid." Spencer was so upfront about it. You thought you would have to pull it out of him but he made your job easier.

"Ah... Opioids are a bitch to kick. Controlled substance so I won't ask how you got it but I understand it's not easy. There was this study we had to do in training. This one agent got captured and tortured and the BAU had to watch as he was drugged, tortured, and almost died... I guess you would know them, right?" You asked, trying to figure out which team member it was.

"That was me." Again, Spencer being upfront.

"Oh...Spencer, I'm so sorry... I didn't know." You were remorseful, you shouldn't have brought it up.

"That's where it began. I begged for him not to do it the first time, not wanting the drugs. But after that? After the torture and pain and... Everything? I craved that release. And even after he died, I just wanted to get away from all of the stress in life. Feel warmth in my veins, mentally zoning out for just long enough to reset my mind and be reminded that there was something good in the world..." Spencer looked over your shoulder but his eyes weren't fixed on a particular spot.

That's the thing about being an addict... You don't realize how much it hurts to be alive until the high sends you crashing back down. And, especially in our line of work, all you want is to stay up for as long as possible because the horrors of reality will tear you apart..." You finished.

Spencer's attention came back to you as you spoke, making you a little uncomfortable. You couldn't meet his eyes.

"I went to a couple meetings in the past." Spencer said, thinking about his experiences there. "I didn't feel like I belonged. I have a good life. Stable job. I'm fortunate enough to have a roof over my head. My mom is taken care of by capable people. I don't have to worry about anything. And the guys there? They're struggling in many cases. They're fighting for the things I take for granted and I didn't know how I could stand to be in the same room with my privileges and pretend like my problem was important..." Spencer trailed off.

"Spencer, your addiction is valid." You were finally able to look him in the eyes and emphasize your point.

"Is it, though?" Spencer stared back at you, a challenging tone laced his voice.

"It's not fun..." You started, unable to look at Spencer any longer. "I don't do it for fun or because I want to stay high. I don't do it for the feeling it gives me. I do it because I feel like I have to."

"What do you mean?" Spencer tilted his head like a puppy who was trying to understand a new word.

"After I broke my ankle, I was prescribed these... Off brand pills. They didn't really help unless I snorted them. And even then, they didn't help my ankle or me. So I found something stronger. A friend of mine is a doctor and when I go to see him, I'm able to... I guess manipulate him into giving me the good stuff, the stuff that makes my thoughts slow down, calms the voice, gives me a sense of peace and not this constant anxiety." You said, hands tapping the table.

"Oh..." Spencer said, taking in what you were saying.

"I'm an addict not for pleasure but for pain. And my struggle is no greater or lesser than yours." You said, fingers still tapping away. "I struggle, like you, except the difference is I'm newer to the team so they don't know what it's like to see me in my chaotic neutral state. What did you do when you had cravings before? You must have been clean for a couple years now, right?"

"I went to Emily... I always went to Emily. I play back these moments when I snapped at her for wanting to help and I wish I just..." Once again, Spencer's voice was caught in his throat.

"She was your safe space when you felt like you couldn't turn to anyone else." You said, understanding. "You don't have to be romantically inclined to have a safe space with someone. It's whomever you find solace in, for any reason under and over the sun."

"I wouldn't feel this way if she were here..." Spencer said, more to himself as if he were trying to be convincing.

"Spencer, you have to be honest with yourself. If it wasn't this, it would be something else. And that something else might not have landed you with someone who was willing to assist you in your recovery to stay clean." You said, finishing your pancakes.

"What?" Spencer did a double take. No one had ever offered to help him. He always had to be the first to make the move but even then, everyone was reluctant to take on the responsibility of Spencer.

"Isn't there an unspoken rule about addicts not being with each other?" Spencer asked, genuinely concerned.

He hoped not because he would love to have someone he could finally confide in, someone who wouldn't make him feel like a burden.

"No, that's about addicts not dating each other. But I think that as friends, we can understand each other in ways others cant. We can fight together. Have you notiiced the craving is gone, for the most part?" You asked, sure that Spencers single slice would be gone in a moment.

"Okay. Deal. We can confide in one another and maybe it'll help us get a grip on reality when we feel ourselves slipping.”

“Okay.”

—

taglist: @goldentournesol @averyhotchner @mggsprettygirl

[isolemnlyswearpevensie]

A Moment Apart | Caspian x Reader

Warnings: Nothing

Time/Era: The Voyage of the Dawn Treader

Word Count: 1.7k

Summary: After Y/N gets swept to Narnia with her cousins, she meets a certain someone who piques her interest. Goodbyes are hard, but this one seems more like a “see you later.”

Request: Hi ! I just got back home and read your first Caspian one shot, and let me tell you : i LOVE your writing so much!! So im just going to request another caspian os because i love him so much ahah. Can you write something where the reader first meets him during VOTD and she has to go back on Earth then some times after he ends up in our world and meet the reader again? Take care 💕💕

A/N: Thank you so much for such a sweet compliment! If you love Caspian, saddle up because I have 4 more requests for him coming after this one. Thanks for requesting and enjoy! Please give me feedback. I was thinking of doing a part 2 for this, so tell me whatcha think about that idea! :) Also, I was listening to A Moment Apart by ODESZA when writing, so that’s sort of the vibe of this imagine~

Part 2 | masterlist | read on ao3

Being Y/N Scrubb was about as fun as it sounded. Her parents very obviously favored her little brother, Eustace, and didn’t have a care about what she did. Y/N was much older than Eustace anyway, so they weren’t exactly friends either. The only thing that was getting her through the long, boring days was the fact that two of her cousins had come to stay with them. 

Y/N’s cousins, Lucy and Edmund, were closer to Y/N’s age and much more tolerable. Instead of acting as if they were superior due to having an “immense vocabulary,” they were kind and funny. They would actually listen to Y/N and treat her like an equal. Y/N hated being treated as an inferior by an eleven-year-old. 

“How are you even related to that?” Edmund asked one afternoon. He had been the victim of Eustace’s “intellectual insults” a mere five minutes before. 

“I could ask you the same thing.”

~

“Is the water...moving?” Y/N asked, gazing at the painting next to her cousins. Eustace comes in and sits on the bed. 

“What rubbish! That’s what happens when you read-”

“Can you shut your mouth for just five seconds, please?” Y/N turns around and glares at her brother before turning back to the painting. She continues to stare, taking in every detail of the painting. The magnificent blues and greens swirled together to depict a wonderful ocean scene. The boat was just as breathtaking; it had a huge mast adorning a brightly colored sail and what looked like a dragon carved into the bow. It didn’t take long before Edmund and Eustace started fighting. 

There was something about the painting that screams adventure. Whether that be the vivid imagery or the bright colors, Y/N didn’t know, but she wished that she could be on the boat. Maybe then she could get away from Eustace and his constant chatter. 

As if by magic, water started to drip from the corner of the painting. 

“Lu? Do you see that?” Y/N asked as the trickle turned into a constant stream. The water was getting all over the carpet; Y/N couldn’t help but imagine what her mother would say. 

“Edmund! Look!” Lucy screeched, grabbing the attention of her older brother. The painting now had water streaming from every edge of its frame and the water was starting to pool. The bedroom flooded in record time and the four were pushed under. Furniture began to float around them and they had to dodge chairs in order to not get impaled. Y/N had never been the quickest swimmer, resulting in the leg of a chair clipping her arm. 

The need for air overpowered the pain of my arm so she fought to reach the top of the water. When all four of their heads surfaced, they were no longer in the small room, but in the middle of the ocean. 

“What’s happening?!” Y/N screamed at her companions. 

“Swim!!” Was Lucy’s only response. That was when Y/N noticed the huge boat coming straight for them. “Hurry!” Y/N kicked her legs as hard as she could, but the current was strong. 

“Stop!” A hand wrapped around her ankle and pulled her back. “You’re safe now! Stop swimming!’

“Edmund, it’s Caspian!” She recognized that voice to be Lucy’s. “We’re in Narnia!”

Another voice answered her. “You’re in Narnia!”

The voice was deep and strong, laced with a thick accent. It was also slightly scratchy but in the best way. Y/N had the fleeting thought that she wanted to hear it again, and again, and again. 

~

Y/N was covered in a plush towel as soon as she was brought on board. The boat deck was riddled with things and creatures, most of which couldn’t care less about her presence. She scanned the deck for any sign of her cousins; Edmund and Lucy were talking animatedly with a tall gentleman. He was wet, probably one of their rescuers, and his white shirt was clinging to his torso. The stranger’s hair was also sopping wet, pushed to the side and dripping into his eyes. 

“Edmund!” She called out desperately. He looked over and the three walk over. 

“And who might this be?” The handsome stranger asks, looking down at Y/N. He was quite a bit taller than her. Y/N couldn’t bring herself to speak; his hair had fallen to either side of his face and it created a perfect frame around his eyes. His warm, chocolate brown eyes were wrinkled at the corners due to his grin. 

“This is our other cousin, Y/N,” Edmund spoke for Y/N, an amused look on his face. 

The man takes a hold of Y/N’s hand and brings it to his lips. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, my beautiful Y/N. My name is Caspian.” He kissed her knuckles and released his grip. His eyes followed the line of her arm and landed on her injury. 

“Oh, you’re bleeding,” His eyes burned into Y/N’s skin. 

She squirmed under his gaze. “Oh, uh, yeah. A chair hit me.”

“A chair? Hit you?” He crossed his arms and put his weight on one leg. This made his hip jut out slightly and his coat flair. 

The conversation Y/N and Caspian were having seemed to really amuse Lucy and Edmund. They kept sharing knowing glances at each other. Y/N wished she knew what they were thinking. 

“No matter, come with me. I’ll patch you up. We can’t have you bleeding all over my deck, now can we?” He turns on his heel and begins to walk towards the flight of stairs behind him. Y/N looks to Lucy for help. 

“Follow him,” She mouths, a grin taking up her entire face. Y/N bites the inside of her cheek and follows. 

Caspian led the Y/N into a large bedroom that was lit by a wall of windows. There were various different paintings on the walls, a full-sized wardrobe, a desk, and a door leading to a balcony. Y/N came to the conclusion that this was Caspian’s living quarters. Caspian pulled the wooden chair from the desk out and twisted it around. 

“Here, sit,” He motioned his hand towards it. Y/N laid her towel down on the seat and sat down. Her wound had left a large trail of blood down her arm and she fought the urge to wipe it with her hand. Caspian opened one of the desk drawers and pulled out disinfectant and a bandage. 

“Give me your arm,” He said, the words tumbling out of his mouth as he kneeled in front of the chair. He delicately cradled her arm in her hands and examined her cut. The skin of his hand was soft and gentle as it handled Y/N’s forearm. Taking a handkerchief out of his pocket, he tenderly cleaned the blood from her wound. 

“You are very pretty,” He almost purred. Y/N’s stomach burst into butterflies. 

“O-oh, thank you.” She stuttered in response, making him chuckle under his breath. 

He sprayed the disinfectant and Y/N’s body reacted naturally. 

“Ow! That hurt,” Y/N shrieked, pulling her arm back and almost out of his grip. 

“I know, I apologize. But it is necessary, you don’t want an infection.” Caspian pulled Y/N’s arm closer towards him and covered it in a bandage. 

“There you go, as good as new.” His hands trailed down her arm and grasped hers, bringing it to his mouth again. He kissed her knuckles twice then stood up. 

~

In the following months, Y/N and Caspian got very close. He taught her everything about Narnia and all about her cousin’s accomplishments. It was hard to believe at first, but once she saw Caspian and Edmund spar, she believed it. She loved watching Caspian spar; his face always scrunched as he focused and some of the sounds he makes. Mercy, the sounds he makes. 

“I guess this is it, then.” Y/N says, looking up into the eyes of the man she had become to love. 

“I will find you again, my love.” He said, taking a step closer to Y/N. 

“How? Cas, I probably won’t be able to come to Narnia again,” She sniffled. 

“I’ll find a way, I promise.”

Caspian leaned down and pressed a lasting kiss on Y/N’s lips. 

“Goodbye, Y/N. Until I see you again.”

~

Life was boring outside of Narnia. About a month passed since the crew had arrived back home, and none of them have really left the house. Y/N spent most of her time people watching from the window. 

“I wonder what Caspian is doing right now,” Y/N thinks out loud, talking to no one in particular. 

“Probably fighting someone or eating or something. That’s pretty much all he does,” Edmund responds. 

“That is not all he does!” 

“Oh right, he kisses you too. But you’re not there so that isn’t really an option for him.” Edmund grins wickedly and turns back to his book. 

“Ed! That’s not funny!” Y/N frowned. She hated thinking about her favorite boy being sad. Especially because of her.

“I thought it was funny,” He responded. Asshole. 

“Luce, can I go to the store with you? I can’t stand being in this house a moment longer.” Y/N stood up and looked down at the street. It was full of people going about their business. An old man sat upon a bench eating a banana. 

“I’m not sure you would really want to. You might see that boy.” That was another thing Y/N hated about being at home. The last time she went to the market with Lucy, this boy wouldn’t stop hitting on her. He was tall, blonde, and had bright blue glasses. He was conventionally attractive, but there was only one boy on Y/N’s mind. 

“Ack, you’re right. Never mind.” Looking back down at the city below, she saw a strange figure walking down the road. He was wearing a long poofy shirt and black trousers. He looked sort of like a pirate. The fact that he had long hair only added to the pirate look, as did his long boots. He reminded her of Caspian. She sighed and turned her head towards Edmund. 

“Eddie, come look at this guy. He looks exactly like Caspian.”

Edmund groaned and stood up, his only intention was to entertain his cousin. He knew that she was just trying to get over the guy, no matter how annoying it was. He looked down at the stranger and had to do a double-take. 

“Um, Y/N, don’t freak out, but I think that is Caspian.”

[incorrect-ikevamp-quotes]

Do you think they would actually enjoy the modern world? Or would they want to stay in their current time period?

Hm, well, I think that may vary depending on each suitor if I’m honest! (I’ll be excluding Sebastian from this one, only because he is a modern man and I wager he would want to stay in the mansion in order to finish his thesis) 

Under a cut bc it’s a long boi:

I think for people like Arthur and Theo, for instance--who always seem to live in the fast lane--it might not really prove much of a problem. They would continue enjoying the night life and move with their busy schedules. Tl;dr: (For them? Same shit, different day)

Vincent would likely be doing just fine given how Theo often provides assistance in places where he struggles; to promote his art, to spark intrigue in the general public and benefactors. He might be a little overwhelmed by the influx of stimuli that comes with the modern era, constant noise and interaction and movement--perhaps worry that people are losing their ability to live in the moment. (Not to mention what’s being done to the environment...) There might be a learning curve/adjustment, but I think Theo would help him ease in. Plus, it would be a little easier to promote his art given the less stringent restrictions on public exhibitions. He’d still have to work for his fame, but at least the van Goghs wouldn’t have to live in constant unease in the proximity of the cutthroat academy.  Tl;dr: (Mixed feelings, but tries to stay positive about modern times)

Dazai is more familiar with this kind of life of quick turmoil and breakneck speed, if anything he falls back into his old coping mechanisms--hello writing, drinking, and smoking. An overwhelming influx of information and suffering would probably be hard for him to manage, despite how expertly he hides it. I think I would be worried he would lose himself in the dismal reality of diminished connection with other people. Yes I’m shoving him into therapy, I want him to start living for himself and taking care of himself ffs

That isn’t to say there aren’t happy possibilities for him, just that I think he really needs to heal first. I could see him very happy in a kind of writer’s circle with people he loves and trusts; less expending his energy in a desperate attempt to fill the void and please others, more cultivating his own happiness... Tl;dr: (Positive potential, but honestly part of me thinks the past quieter/simple/rural life suits him better...he still loves meme culture tho, he finds it so expansive and creative)

Isaac is in a similar boat as Dazai, I think! He has wonderful potential as a mentor and professor, and living in a world that has a little more patience and respect for genius might help encourage him to put himself out there. That being said, I think the pace of life would exhaust him though--he is very much the kind of person that prefers to keep to himself and just puzzle and tinker. Baby boy just wants to do equations, build little inventions, and read up on the recent discoveries in astrophysics (BRUH WHEN THE IMAGE OF THE BLACK HOLE CAME OUT HE FORGOT HOW TO B R E A T H E) Napoleon is the only reason he eats anything healthy or on any kind of regular schedule s m h. Tl;dr: (Not a lot changes, honestly? He was reclusive then, he still is now--he just has more toys/academic resources. If anything he might get a little too lost in his work because of it, somebody please make sure he’s eating/sleeping/socializing;;;)

Poor Jeanne is SUFFERING. Please release him from this nightmare he is begging. Jk jk, I don’t think it would be too bad for him--but I do think that he would have the aforementioned problem of too many stimuli and too much interaction. I think he would ease into it a little with Mozart’s help; he would just be awkward and wooden until he got the hang of it. Most people just find him quirky in an amusing way, and don’t think too hard about it. I’d wager he’d probably become literate at this point because of the abundance of resources and necessity to read/write (okay but imagine this baby with a little kid workbook iM GONNA CRY!!! TAKE ALL MY CRAYONS JEANNE). 

Can you imagine this mofo at a Starbucks??? Tall and stoic, dark and debonair (EVERYONE IS S W O O N I N G), and he just asks in a light tenor “can I have a mocha with eight shots of expresso” with a completely straight face. “Sir, that could kill you” “Don’t worry, I’ve been dead a long time” And he just moves to wait for his order. 11/10 cryptid I could watch an entire show just about his daily adventures

He works with Napoleon a lot given their similar skillsets. They coach kids at high schools that have fencing teams (it’s really REALLY cute bc if they’re on the younger side, Jeanne will very dramatically lose bc he wants to encourage them and the kids are delighted--but the parents are INCHES from laughing so hard they’re in tears). Otherwise, he mostly takes up gigs as a security worker/bodyguard, only really works for the money. He prefers to spend his time in ways that feel meaningful if he can, so don’t be surprised if you see him in foster homes and in social working spaces. He has an uncanny understanding about him, a kind of silence/patience that doesn’t stifle; it makes the kids/teens calm down in milliseconds. They really listen when he does talk, and he sets good and clear boundaries--he knows how to be firm when it’s required. He gives them the structure and placid grounding they’ve never had, and really pays attention to what’s important to them. Brings them little things he notices; brings flowers to the one that likes to draw, brings CDs (he is bad with technology, but they usually only have access to older/outdated stuff anyway) to the one the one that struggles to write with white noise in the house, brings little plushies to the ones that lose theirs. He’s simple but solid, and he finds a lot of meaning in helping kids overcome the similar kind of struggles he faced.  Tl;dr: (Steep learning curve, but he just sees it as all the same really--just more work to be done with the literacy requirement and adjustment to technology. Will be resistant at first, but when he gets accustomed and starts finding people who are important to him, he wouldn’t want to change anything/go back. But will admit there are some days he just wants to go to the most remote place he can access and just live there for a month with no human interaction whatsoever; people are inefficient and insufferable sometimes)

Mozart’s life honestly doesn’t change much? I feel like he would easily be able to keep composing and continue releasing his work as per usual. Given his quick capacity to schmooze and say what people want to hear when he must, he’d be more than able to network his way into success. I think the only thing he might struggle with now and again is inspiration, given the world operates on a very surface level in the modern era sometimes. Profound insight and depth are not quite as cultivated in many ways, and he can struggle to find something that just sparks motivation/novelty in his mind, makes him start composing at breakneck speed. He reads a lot and watches some TV shows/movies when he’s at really low inspiration levels, the kind of guy that sneers at Game of Thrones--but finds things like BBC’s Sherlock more passable (wants intrigue and complexity, doesn’t much enjoy the sensationalized drivel). When Arthur finds out he loves ATLA he about falls off his seat. “It’s a children’s show.” “Yes it is, with a remarkable level of depth and craftsmanship, what are you trying to say?” He begins to find a kind of rhythm in his composing, and Jeanne and Dazai often drop by with so many crazy stories he finds himself filled with music anyway LMAO Tl;dr: (Same as Isaac, really just keeps doing his thing without being impeded, and he enjoys the luxuries/conveniences of the modern era. Will be slightly resistant at first because of how alien some of the changes are, but will fall into the habits/customs slowly and surely. Fine with it, will whine a bit at the growing pains tho)

Leonardo actually canonically owns a bar, and does that really surprise anyone? He really enjoys the excitement of meeting new people and hearing about their myriad histories, the influx of cultures/languages/experiences. It’s a nice but lowkey place, people stop for a drink, listen to some good music--chat amiably and relax after a long day’s work--before heading out. There are regulars and people that just stop for that single day; tourists, vacationers, so on and so forth.

When asked, many people note a sleek black cat with sharp eyes that led them to the bar... Tl;dr: (Don’t Let the Existential Dread Set-in: The Prequel, adapts well to the modern era because of centuries of experience but also...he’s so tired...somebody please hold him I can’t watch him live like this, lord jesus)

Optimally, I see Comte filling his time with myriad pursuits; ranging from philanthropy, indulging in art/music/theatre (often a benefactor as well), and keeping track of his chirren (they may exist more independently now, but he still worries about them ;-;). Otherwise nothing much changes for him, still goes to galas and fancy gatherings, still enjoys fashion and spoiling people, still seeks to occupy himself with social interaction and care-taking--if he doesn’t have a family of his own. He’s basically just that meme that’s like DON’T LET THE EXISTENTIAL DREAD SET-IN. DON’T LET IT SET-IN!!!!!!!!! Tl;dr: (Not to repeat myself but also Don’t Let the Existential Dread Set-in: The Sequel, literally just desperately trying to fill the void please somebody help him he also just needs to be held fuck’s sake, I’m going to drag him kicking and screaming into happiness--but otherwise has no great trouble adjusting to the modern era. I feel like he would have a more minor form of what Dazai struggles with, maybe a lack of personable connection that he once had; fewer chances to be himself and relax. Also probably worried about the increasing unhappiness and turmoil building in the world in general...)

Napoleon is similar to Comte in that he often checks up on Isaac and Jeanne from time to time, and does the aforementioned fencing lessons with kids. He also takes a lot of basic security positions--for venues, concerts, museums--you name it. He dislikes the idea of sitting behind a desk a lot, so he prefers to do a lot of different things; he even cooks from time to time at the restaurants  that know him very well. One gig he particularly enjoys is battle choreography for movies/theatre! He tends to stay away from anything too historically close to his era of origin, but he has fun coming up with realistic (smaller scale) hand-to-hand combat scenarios and duels. Tl;dr: (This era doesn’t feel like too much of a change. It’s a little more intensive in terms of pace, but he manages to keep up pretty well, it just exhausts him from time to time--and he usually goes on trips or hikes to unwind when he needs to like Jeanne LOL they do not go to their happy place, they go to their high lonesome place).

Shakespeare also continues to do his drama thing, organizes troupes on tons of different levels--from community level to more intense, skilled groups that re-enact his own work. His life doesn’t change all that much beyond a new form of theatre logistics, and he adjusts to the technology fairly easily out of necessity. He’ll stop by Vincent’s place from time to time to show him recordings of his latest shows, but otherwise is almost always on the move. Tl;dr: (So long as he can keep following his greatest passion, he doesn’t really mind the changes in how theatre happens--he doesn’t have any sizable issues with the modern era.)

Ability with technology (phones mostly):

Arthur: more than capable, well-versed, loves to do everything on his phone no prob--maybe lives a little too much on his phone (Vine/TikTok/Youtube can kill his productivity RIP) also yes he has a fidget spinner on his desk, no I will not be taking any constructive criticism at this time

Theo: yes but with a lot of cursing at first, had to do it for work and now looks down on anyone that can’t keep up with him (except for Vincent)

Vincent: knows the basics, taking and sending pictures, writing things in notes for later, texting (tho sending emails is a little harder for him); he does his best but he can be slow. Really really enjoys the paint programs on his iPad for when he’s on public transit, but he starts setting alarms after he gets the hang of it (he’s missed his stops before because of it LMAO)

Leonardo: what kind of stupid question? Man knows how to pick them apart and put ‘em back together for crying out loud, uses it like a pro--comes to him naturally, and he’s the guy that keeps coming up with ways to jailbreak Apple products and thwart their money-grubbing tactics. Catch him playing Minish Cap on his emulator on the way to work, brah

Comte: just vibing, keeps up with the times easily since he’s been doing it for so long, much like Theo uses it to keep in touch with the people around him--he’s the “prefers to call instead of text” sorta guy though, he worries about losing emotional subtleties and he likes to hear people’s voices. Doesn’t do anything special on phones, more just a tool; will read/listen to podcasts/does have emulators (courtesy of Leo) and enjoys playing Pokemon when he’s bored

Jeanne: types one finger at a time, it will take a while--but he’ll get there (deleted all his contacts by accident once and Mozart was just. HOW.) He barely knows how to use a phone, and it’s a steep learning curve for him

Mozart: purely functional when it comes to his phone, refuses to rely on it beyond the necessities that only tech can do (for instance, sending emails or reading articles or uploading compositions) he still writes his music before making more polished digital copies. He will sometimes listen to pieces digitally, but prefers to play them in-person; he feels that a lot of the soul in a piece is lost despite the convenience

Dazai: you absolute fools. you baboons. why would you ever give him this kind of power. it is 3AM and he has been on a wikipedia trail spanning hours, started with Cleopatra being the seventh in her line with that name all the way to cotton candy being called “daddy’s beard” in French. please help him he hasn’t slept in years. Also probably binges anime and manga lbr. He’s the one making vine references every other second, always up to date on the memes^TM

Isaac: also mostly uses it as a tool for research and calculations; it’s a way to keep track of information. He also likes to play background music while he’s working, so he finds the device nice and convenient--plus less having to go around pestering people in-person. he does start to get interested in coding and tinkering with apps/programs eventually, too

Shakespeare: finds it a delightful little contraption, so useful because it lets him jot down ideas as they come to him quickly, and he can edit his texts much more easily with digital interfaces. also likes that performances can be recorded, because now he can analyze his staging more efficiently--it gives him a good sense of what needs to be adjusted, and encourages him to keep streamlining/try new concepts

Napoleon: likes it because he can keep in touch with people more easily, the kind of guy to drop a line before checking on a friend. he really likes to look up recipes and find out more about cooking techniques he’s never encountered before. Isaac starts making an Instagram account just to show Napoleon’s impeccable plating, and Napo gets quite the following without knowing for a while

[villainscomplex]

could cry just thinkin about you

anyway i actually started working on @asanoyaweek21 like halfway through july after i finished my camp nano word count, but then i tripped and fell back into my princess tutu pit and ,,,,,,,,,,, yeah im late already 

anyway asanoya week day one: soulmate au / the broom bc i will never get over the homoeroticism of the broom fight 

Also on: AO3

Wattpad

FFnet

Quotev

-----------------------------------------------------------

When Nishinoya Yuu is a child, he’s a coward. 

He’s little, and there’s this ever present bundle of fear and anxiety writhing around in his chest. It means he’s scared, he concludes, and so he cries when he rides a bike for the first time, and then when he gets lost in the woods near his house, and then again when he comes across a dog bigger than he is. 

It’s strange, he begins to think, as he grows. He’s sure that feeling must be his own, but sometimes he’s suddenly, explicitly happy, and sometimes when he thinks he should be happy, he’s so painfully sad that it aches in every fiber of his being. 

When he’s eight, Yuu scrapes his leg from knee to mid-shin when he falls out of a tree. The pain is the first sensation he’s aware of, arm twisted awkwardly beneath him where it’d made a futile attempt to cushion his fall. Underneath it, concern spikes, bubbling with that familiar chill of anxiety. Yuu is too busy thinking about how much his arm and leg hurt to give it too much thought at the time. 

Yuu is eight the first time he breaks his arm, and the cast itches so much that he’s tempted to tear it off the moment it’s on. Yuu is eight when he’s sitting in the passenger seat of his grandfather’s car, a cast on one arm and ice cream in his other hand. He thinks the scrape down his leg is going to leave a nasty scar, but it’ll look cool and he can tell people whatever he wants about its origin. 

“You don’t seem excited about your ice cream,” his grandfather remarks with a little chuckle, lips tugging up.

Yuu huffs. “I am! I’m super excited!”

He thinks he is, at least. Yuu loves ice cream, and he always gets excited when he gets it, but that tugging little concern is still nestled deep in his chest and Yuu doesn’t really know what to do with it. He’s so used to it, like second nature, but somehow it feels foreign nowadays. 

His grandpa laughs again. “I bet your soulmate is worried about you, always causing yourself trouble like this.” 

Yuu stares back at him, ice cream halfway to his mouth. “Huh?”

“Your soulmate,” the man says again, “everyone’s got one. Not necessarily romantic, mind ya. You can feel their emotions. It’s a little inconvenient sometimes, but you miss it when it’s gone. You’re always hurting yourself, so your soulmate is probably worried about you.”

Yuu thinks about his grandmother. His memories of her are faint, at best. He’d barely been old enough to remember her face when she’d passed, but he remembers how strange his grandfather had acted after, like something was missing from the core of his being. Yuu thinks about the word  soulmate . There’s someone out there meant to be in his life specifically, and he’s meant to be in theirs. Yuu thinks about the little bundle of emotion in his chest, and he realizes that must be his soulmate.

He hadn’t thought to try and distinguish them until now, but it has him tracking his memories back as far back as he can, seeking that feeling in them all. Sure enough, the anxiety is ever present. Sometimes, it’s duller than others, muffled beneath other emotions, but it’s always there. 

“I think my soulmate is a scaredy-cat,” Yuu announces, and then shrieks when his cold ice cream drips onto his exposed knee. 

His grandfather laughs, and Yuu whines as he shoves the top of the cone into his mouth in a futile attempt to save the rest of it. 

When he’s a child, Nishinoya Yuu is a coward. When he’s eight, his grandfather tells him about  soulmates  , and Yuu thinks  my soulmate is scared of everything.  It keeps him up that night, staring at the ceiling in a way that feels too ancient for a boy his age, but he’s come to a conclusion. If his soulmate is a scaredy-cat, then Yuu will just have to be the brave one for the both of them. 

He tries to reach out to that little bundle of feeling with his resolve, wanting to sooth the turmoil there. It doesn’t change, but Yuu is determined. He’ll become strong enough for the both of them, and then he’ll protect his soulmate so they never have to worry again. 

“From now on,” he tells the air, sitting up and jumping off his bed, “I’m going to be the bravest person ever! Then my soulmate will never have to worry again!”

His bravery starts by yelling past his bedtime. He tells himself that he isn’t scared when his mother shouts from the other room, he’s just being respectful by listening to her and crawling back into his bed, hiding under his blanket. If his heart is pounding in his ears, then that’s a secret between him and his soulmate. 

With his new resolve, Yuu grows. He becomes bold and eccentric, loud and outspoken. He becomes a lionhearted boy, too much brilliance to fit inside a body as small as his remains. He becomes stubborn and strong-willed, never backing down from a challenge regardless of how much trouble it will get him into. Yuu embraces everything he has to offer, but he refuses to be sad. 

That ever present pit of broiling emotions is constant, nestled deep in his chest like a second heart, and he doesn’t want to make his soulmate worry ever again. 

Some days, it’s calmer than others. There’s times he nearly forgets it’s there, in the wake of some other hesitant, but excited emotion, and there’s times where it’s so strong that it wakes him even from a dead sleep. Those nights are the worst because he  knows  there’s nothing he can do as is, and his soulmate is having to suffer alone. 

He tries to encourage them as best he can, wondering if they feel his emotions as strongly as he often feels their’s. 

Yuu is in his last year of middle school when things begin to change. He’s taken to volleyball like a moth to flame. There’s something about being behind everyone like the final line of defense, the one everyone depends on to keep the ball in play; it’s thrilling, keeping his blood rushing in his veins and his heart pounding in his ears. 

He wins an award, and he’s so full of pride that he nearly misses the faint little swell of happiness that comes from that bundle of feelings in the back of his chest. Maybe his soulmate does feel his emotions just as strongly. 

The first time he meets Azumane Asahi, Yuu doesn’t think much of him. His hair is a little past his ears, curling up beneath the lobes and sticking up in the back like he’d recently been laying on it. His first impression is that Azumane looks as if he’s waiting for the entire world to come down on his shoulders. He easily dwarfs everyone, but he stands with his shoulders curled in, hands clasped complacently in front of him and gaze down, as if trying to avoid notice. 

Yuu isn’t sure why, but it pisses him off, seeing someone who looks as big and strong as Azumane looking like such a coward. 

He says as much to Azumane’s face exactly a week later.

Azumane balks. “What.” 

Yuu puts his hands on his hips. “You’re huge and super strong, but you act like a total coward. You look like a skittish dog or something!” 

“A dog…” Azumane visibly slouches lower.

Yuu would say his dejected expression is almost comical, if it hadn’t been the exact opposite of what he’d been wanting. Azumane reminds him of how he’d been when he was a child, anxiety ridden and glass hearted. 

“Okay!” Yuu announces. “We’re gonna practice together!” 

Azumane doesn’t even get out a response before Yuu is towing him back towards the court, determined to teach this boy the ways of reckless bravery and intense practice.

Yuu doesn’t know when or where he lost the plot, but somehow this becomes second nature. He finds himself seeking Azumane out in the hallway, barreling into the larger boy, or towing him behind himself from time to time. He meets Ryu and he meets Kiyoko; the former becomes his friend early on and both boys adamantly say they’re crushing on the latter.

It feels like a performance. Yuu knows Kiyoko isn’t his soulmate. She’s gentle and anxiously soft-spoken, but not in the same way that his soulmate feels like they should be. He doesn’t admit that maybe there’s this half formed idea about Azumane tucked away in the back of his mind, and everyone is better for it. 

He wants to be sure. He has to be. 

“I think I should trim my hair soon,” Asahi remarks offhandedly one day, when they’re leaving practice.

Yuu watches his fingers card through the wavy brown strands, a little contemplative frown fixed on his face. He tries to imagine Asahi with short hair like most of the others, and the image just won’t come to mind. Maybe he’s biased.

“No way, Asahi-san!” Yuu grins, reaching out to slap the other man on the back. “I think long hair suits you! It makes you look kinda wild, don’t you think? It’s cool!”

Asahi slouches into himself a little, curling a strand of hair around his finger. He hums noncommittally, allowing the strand to fall away, but he doesn’t comment on Yuu’s words. He just looks a little more thoughtful.

Yuu is only a little surprised when he really  looks  at Asahi one day and his hair is just past his shoulders. He’s got a little facial hair now, too, and something about it makes him feel more mature, older, like he’s finally growing into himself. Yuu takes a running leap onto his back the moment he sees him in practice that afternoon, and Asahi hardly sways beneath him. 

The realization settles in; this isn’t going to last forever. He won’t always be able to be with everyone like this. Asahi has grown and filled out, fitting into the broadness of his shoulders. He’s steady and unyielding, and Yuu isn’t sure when he started to become something like this. 

That pit of anxiety still lingers in his chest. It wavers, sometimes. 

They go against Date Tech. Their defeat is crushing and miserable for everyone involved, but when Asahi doesn’t call out for the last spike, Yuu feels it like an anchor in the hollow of his chest. It’s painful, near suffocating, and he can see the sheer weight of it coming down on Asahi’s shoulders. Those negative feelings swirl up into his chest again, fought only by his own fury - fury at Asahi, for not calling for the spike. 

Fury at himself, for not retrieving them. 

He hates it. 

“Why won’t you blame me?” 

Yuu feels the anger before he witnesses it. This is his confirmation, he’s sure. There’s no doubt anymore; these emotions living alongside his own are Asahi’s. The first time he feels Asahi’s anger, it feels cold, like ice in his veins. There’s something sad about it, something self-sacrificing, like Asahi wants to shoulder everything and leave nothing to be spared for the rest of them. His fury comes like a wave of ocean water, painful when it enters his lungs.

Yuu turns on his heel. Asahi stands - no, Asahi hunches - in front of him. He looks like he had when Noya had first met him, shoulders curled into himself, back bent like the world itself is coming down on it. Maybe it is, this time. Yuu doesn’t know if Asahi has realized that they’re soulmates. Yuu doesn’t know if Asahi would even accept it. 

Asahi doesn’t seem to be in a very accepting mood right now, and Yuu is in no mindset for motivation. 

They fight. They fight before they’re even anything, before Yuu can say anything, before he can even confess to himself that he would have been willing to leave his soulmate behind for Asahi, even if the other boy hadn’t ended up being them. He doesn’t tell Asahi how he used to be a coward. He doesn’t tell him that the reason he works so hard and never stops moving forward is because he’d made a promise to both of them a long time ago. 

He doesn’t tell Asahi that he’s terrified to lose him.

All he knows is that if Asahi’s anger is like ice, then his is like flames, raging and all-consuming. All he knows is that he’s furious, and he’s yelling, and then there’s a  snap , and suddenly everything goes cold. Asahi’s feelings drop to the pit of his stomach and become cold there, and Yuu feels like the tightrope he’s been walking has finally given way. 

Ryu holds him back, and all he can do is watch Asahi walk away. 

He doesn’t cry. 

Asahi doesn’t show up for practice the next day, and his lack of presence doesn’t go unnoticed. Yuu corners him in the hall. He feels like this is starting to become a cycle now, arguing and fighting over trivial things. It’d be easy to solve if Asahi just had a little more faith, but Yuu knows better. He knows how Asahi feels too well. 

Yuu doesn’t care what others think. He bleaches his hair because he thinks it looks cool. When people tell him he’s too loud, he gets louder. He refuses to be looked down upon and spoken over. He’s been in detention more times than he can count, but it never stops him from repeated offenses. 

Yuu doesn’t care what others think, but when Asahi walks away from him, it feels final. It feels like the end of something that never began. Nishinoya Yuu never cries. 

(The people in the hall that day are silent witnesses to his tears, but nobody says a thing about them.)��

Yuu isn’t much for thinking, so he spends all of his time in suspension doing, instead. He works and works and works some more, trying not to think of Asahi turning his back on them. On him. All he can do is hope Asahi will come to his senses by the time Yuu is back. 

He doesn’t. Yuu goes back, and Asahi is still gone, so he leaves again. He loves volleyball, but he won’t be a part of it if it means leaving Asahi behind. Asahi may believe that he’s unnecessary, but they all know better. 

It isn’t until he’s staring at the broad expanse of Asahi’s back again in the practice match that he really  realizes,  and for the second time, he feels like he’s really seeing Asahi. He sees someone who is trying for the people he cares about, someone who is finally learning to try for  himself  and he thinks  that’s all I wanted.  

They fix the broom together. 

“We’re soulmates,” Yuu tells him, so abruptly that Asahi’s surprised flinch dislodges the two pieces again. 

Asahi glances down. “I know.”

Yuu stares at him. “What.”

“I know,” Asahi says again, gaze soft and hesitant. “I’ve known since we met. You aren’t exactly quiet about your emotions, y’know. I never said anything because you liked Shimizu. You deserved better than someone like me.”

“Asahi-san,” Yuu intones, “you’re the  only  person I’ve ever liked.”

“What.”

“Oh my god.”

When Asahi laughs, it lights up his whole face. Yuu stares for a long moment, watching Asahi’s shoulders tremble. He feels Asahi’s relief wash over him like a second skin, settling into his bones themselves. The warmth of his joy is like a blanket. 

“Well,” Asahi says, “I guess we’re both a little dumb then, huh?”

“To be fair,” Yuu huffs, “I didn’t realize till after the Date Tech match.” 

Asahi laughs again, and Yuu thinks that everything is going to be okay after all. Asahi is finally starting to have some sort of belief in himself, and while Yuu knows his doubt and anxiety won’t go away overnight, they’re taking baby steps. 

And if Ryu and Daichi give Suga and Kiyoko ten dollars each when they admit their newest revelation, then nobody is any the wiser. 

[startwithbrooklyn]

THE GREAT ND REWATCH OF 2021 / SEPTEMBER 12, 2019 // the kidnapping

okay yall heres this! see you in two weeks! 🥳

-ik george called everyone to help but i get such a thrill from people asking nancy for help bc they know she can do it. (its a real contest sometimes between nancy over-inserting herself into peoples business bc she thinks she knows better vs her actually being the one to call)

-maybe an interesting facet to nancys tendency to lack emotion comes from mystery solving- being able to stay calm and objective when people like george are frantic and anxious. think rationally. search for clues. follow logical footsteps. this is where her predicting human behavior scientifically and not socially prevails. you might think youre behaving rationally but it takes a cold clocked brain to really do it (the 'wall' that carson mentioned)**

-owen is so cute lmfaoooo

-once again bess's particular attention to detail wins the day

-they totally stole this sharpie + back of menu thing from victoria

-wonder what gomber asked for from simon

-chief has absolutely zero hesitation to sharing things with nancy now lmfaoooo

-"just dont slow me down" all im picturing is nancys face when carson says how bout a father juxtaposed with s2 ryan and carson stalking her and pretending to hide in their car when they got caught

-"commentary rescinded" lmfaoooo we all judge him for the weekend sweater vests but he is undoubtedly the most capable character on this show for taking care of a kid

-"your memory is relentlessly specific" would honestly hate to be raising that kid lmfaoooo no winning arguments here. thats probably why carson is the way he is though, soft, small, open and unguarded - no reason to start arguments. perfect calm happy family

-okay lbh. was karen a dick for snooping in nancys room y/n?

-nancys face when carson offers advice on the phone call lmaoooo

-**so now wonder if that "calm" carson mentions as a survival mechanism is manufactured. that would be an intereting parallel to s2 premiere when nancy confesses to the wraith that shes afraid. then with nancys constant conflict of wheter to engage with mysteries or not when they are such a part of her is brought to scintillating focus if we consider this cold clocked calm during panic is actually based in something painful and tragic, and the real truth is that nancy is too afraid to even solve mysteries anymore (afraid of what tho? herself? hurting others? her own mystery-solving ability?)

-carson still has his supernatural nope hat on

-her frustration with her "memory in pieces" become so much more interesting considering it as a control mechanism- nancy is obsessively in control of what shes thinking and feeling and executes that control firmly in pretext of solving mysteries - she controls and solves them, they dont control her. like cancer was "the mystery she couldnt solve" and she just spiraled from there. like in the first ep she says "it was more than just a hobby, it was part of who i was" past tense. shes trying to reclaim parts of her identity that she thought were unshakeable, like mysteries and who her parents are, yet these parts of her identity that she still picks up and engages with turn out to be destructive both to herself and those around her. does her ability to draw the line differ? like the mysteries are a comfort/lacking stillness to avoid dealing with emptiness: did mysteries always hurt her parents/friends/others when she was younger, and she just never noticed because their lives werent permanently damaged like nancys picking apart these secrets did?

-"superstitions and rituals are all part of human behavior, its not proof of something inhuman" -discuss 🧐

-this ep and that hug made me ship george/nick

-love this bess/owen bonding time 💙

-love the contrast between nancy rejecting nicks help to george with "my trucks outside" (THE TRUCK omg foreshdowinggggg)

-damn casting did a good job finding a creepy bitch to play moira (shes sooooo weak tho lmfaooo)

-wonder if mcginnis can sense anything when gombers arm starts to bleed

-"TED!" "...yeah?" 😰😴🤦🏼‍♀️😂

-wonder what a relief nicks help is to george when even her own mother cant help her

-love this branch swinging bit for nancy. one hit for every memory taken! reminds me of our good ole tazer ep. and loving these physical outbursts from nancy.

-carson saying "i'm here" just like he did on the bluffs 😭

-UNPOPULAR OPINION: "just out of curiosity..." and gomber indulges her! what an interesting weirdcreep nancy/gomber (+simon as an extension) for a what if scenario. "i can still smell him on you" 👀...something about the children who were chosen first as little girls that come back as grown women (like an addiction/cant stay away/been marked/curiosity)

-owen holding bess's coat for her 🥺

-"we can enter our homes justified tonight" nancy would love that.

-irony: asking where kate will be in heaven bc lucy never made it to heaven/stuck as a ghost in purgatory (and why nancy always feels so lost bc she cant find kate bc kate's not hers)

-nancys old notebook is the same blue just like her blue car 💙😚

-mcginnis reaches out to nancy physically during/after carsons handcuffing by karen but just barely makes contact- so physical after meeting with mcginnis/him saying "work together" and seance/ceremony - now that opposing forces of mcginnis' law and nancys ability to get results have mixed and "been resolved" - emotional conflict nullified which allows for more genuine emotion/"paternal" instinct of older man-younger woman dynamic to come through (ironic since her actual parent is getting carted away)

and lastly

-"tell them you didnt kill her!" karens look at carson when he doesnt/cant say anything speaks volumes.

[iconsumeheadcanons]

persona characters autism headcanons!

hi im autistic and i started my day with sun so now im !!!!!!!!! some of these headcanons are from elsewhere on tumbr, but i dont know where :(((  so i am hoping someone out there knows that n that everybody knows that i love them <3

(also go check out mollypaup and i think hypeswap if you havent already! they post some good stuff autism+adhd hc too!!! i think.. oh! and thieves-in-the-palace!!!)

P5

Joker

there was some artwork from someone on tublr..where they pointed out that he doesnt really talk outside the metaverse so--hes hyperverbal as joker and just near nonverbal as akiren

he stims ALL THE TIME. that phone thing, the pencil thing, the little tappy tap of his foot, pulling at his bangs when hes embarrassed/smug. someone get him a fidget spinner. he’ll prob learn to do tricks with it

he probably sucks at focusing in class, like i know its just the game design but hes always surprised out of his daily “star out the window at the nearby office building” when his teachers ask him questions

mona mentions when the pt is at Wilton for the first time (after they run into shido) that joker eats like shit, and that could have multiple causes at the start of the story of course, but when i first played i thought that joker was a picky eater and that the variety (and amount of food) at the buffet would be an Ordeal...

tho mona makes that comment bc joker looked pale after having a little ptsd moment from shidos voice, but i didnt know that the first time i played

maybe when joker makes a face at ryuji putting so much ginger in his gyudon? joker probably does not like pickled ginger lol

his favortive foods are all spicy, which is why the curry he makes for his friends is always ‘overly spicy’, and why kasumi makes him a curry bento and joker kept going “...?” .... “....?!”

overly reflective glasses have been a great plus for him bc now he never has to make real eye contact every again!

mona Soft. play with Ann hair. maybe Braid. nice

puns (Gorou the Goroumet)

he has so many options to be straight up rude sometimes in game. he probably no clue on his own, which is why he defaults to Not Talking. people probably mention his constant scary face, which is just him being nonexpressive, squinting at all the fucking bright lights, and Tired

executive function who? we do everything last minute folks

high pain tolerance, which is why he was the kid that was always climbing trees in elementary school to get basketballs unstuck from the branches

his sixth sense lets him see treasure and possible places to climb/crawl bc 1. Shiny? Steal it. Steal it Now. and 2. Could i fit in that? Time to Find Out

probalby a bit of a klepto too oops. he’ll return it tho!! but he has to do it dramatically or he’ll die

cant sit properly to save his life

smells and touch are Great, they can keep him grounded when his brain goes off to police or dead rivals or guilt or

if a friend hung out with him and gave him total reigns of the agenda, he would choose to nap on the floor while his friend does something off to the side quietly

hyperfocuses on handy tasks (i.e. lockpicks, coffee brewing, cleaning, his part time jobs) and some things like movies and books. everything else is a tossup

his (normal) navigation app is his most used app bc he still doesnt know where hes going, even though he only goes to the same few places in the city

hates being sweaty, literally cannot stand it. probably double exhausted during the summer

but Needs Compression so hes often Struggling

Futaba

paraphrase from p5d “i have no motor skills so i cant play rhythm games :(” need i say more? (i will regardless)

echolalia all the time, from anime, memes, the PT

those headphones she wears all the time? noise cancelling ear protectors babey

only talks about her interests, “normal” talking is Not Easy, but she is still communicative w others despite her worries. shes not “hard to understand” at all but she feels the anxiety nonetheless

only talks informally, cannot talk ‘politely’ with out imitating someone around her

shes had meltdowns and anxiety attacks in game :( i relate so hard

Technology. thats it

def had an egypt phase that pops up every few months. probably came from yu-gi-oh

has Immune to Bright Lights buff.  joker is very jealous

“Time to make like a tree and leave!” and 30 other iterations

video game metaphors are the only ones that makes sense to her

probably relates hard to robot characters in anime for their general androgyny and confusion about human emotions and connections

probably gets told that shes “too smart to be on the spectrum” by teachers >:( she fails their classes on purpose

wakaba’s autistic too that just how it is

the Connection that she establishes with Joker is so Warm. my life goals include adopting an older brother like futaba has lsdkfjslkfj

also eater of 5 foods only, i mean, she brings cup ramen to the beach. i just really admire her...

hides in small spaces for comfort

doesnt she have like uhhhhh hyperthymesia or something like that?

Yusuke

art

his entire social link is learning how humans work, which i relate

talks seriously all the time

“sarcasm? who is that? are you saying I was sarcastic?...how?”

cant remember to take care of his body, and madarame did not help with that either

lot of uncomfortable staring, hes overdoing the eye contact thingy

infodumps all the time, doesnt know hes doing it

needs a lot of support even if he doesnt think he deserves it. no one ever complains about helping him out tho

visual stims my friends

he didnt know that you could look up pictures on the internet but he does know you can stream live videos of waterfalls and fluffy animales!!

I am certainly in the mood

for something salty today.

he and joker are scared of math. numbers do not interact

Yusuke, futaba, and akiren are a trio and i know this bc their first day of non-thievery interacts is Akiren clearing Futabas room w/o permission, futaba hyperfocusing on destroying medjed, and yusuke rearranging futabas figurines so they are more visually appealing

morgana is a support friend for all of them bc igor knows they need it

P4

Souji/Yu

yes, he mostly wears gray semi formal clothes bc parents tell him to, no, he will not changes this

Schedule or Death

“sorry, could you repeat that?” “huh? oh yeah, i was saying that--” “yeah that’d be cool.”

cats, fishing, he just likes to be quiet. you can literally spend a day at the beach just to think if you want, and that is what yu want

has a lot of scripts for things (of which he shares with nanako!) but if he runs out he just stops talking..

inaba is a godsend bc its so fucking quiet and warm

he Yearns to hold his friends hands, but he shies away from a lot of touch (excepting yosuke, teddie, and nanako)

Cooking and Cleaning makes the world better. he and joker vibe together with this

unlike akiren, he strong arms any executive dysfunction into Be Productive or Else. his punishment is feeling the pure anxiety of having to make up for ‘lost time’. (another symptom of his workaholic parents)

writes everything down, notes are very neat, has pages dedicated for bad doodles when hes not feeling his usual Super Classroom Focus

Cannot handle secondhand embarrassment (most often caused by yosuke) and will quietly slip away to random cats or origami folding

hungry, crunch crunch folks. probably needs chewelry bc he used to chew on his shirt collars when he was younger.

cleans up after everyone in the food court, constantly worries about them accidently hurting themselves. likely spends half of group conversations watching peoples hands

he canonically eats expired food, nanako plz help your brother

really clumsy, but people only notice after they decide that he is a cool person

video games are too chaotic for him

exhausted every night from the pure amount of masking he does, if a friend spends the night (or is like yosuke) they will know his more comfortable weirdo self (tho everyone knows hes a weirdo eventually)

hyperempathetic, sometimes just understands animals and children better than peeople his age or older

Yukiko

her jokes

she and souji get in ‘trouble’ together, she and joker commit crimes together

she and chie have to coordinate outfits, its important

actually understands metaphors, but does not understand people

like me, had no clue that creepy kid was flirting with her

she is very angry when she has meltdowns that might involve slamming doors and shouting. her parents call these ‘tantrums’ and ‘unfitting for a polite daughter’ but really thats because her meltdowns tend to be caused by arguments w her family after a long day of school and TV world traipsing

the metronome meme, except hers goes between Loudest Person in the Room to Quietest Pin Drop in the Planet. she is completely unaware of this

her atmosphere brightens when chie appears. that is not only the lesbian energy within her, but also because chie is like her Favorite Person

Cannot wear Pants. No (tho she wants to try it! but she puts them on and her soul instantly squashes)

happy flappy lesbian! watch out!

Naoto

the pouty face. all the time lskdfjlasdkf

hes really snappy sometimes and i love that for him. he and akechi should fight just to see what would happen (please read Bang Bang Shoot Shoot on AO3)

“do not touch me or my hat, thank you”

no one has ever seen him shutdown and no one ever will (except for his grandpa)(and kanji)(and rise)

probably likes certain food textures and will stand for nothing less, probably feels embarrassed about his preferences with friends

constantly jumps between ‘everybody hates me so i should act like them so they dont hate me’ to ‘i refuse to be anything but very comfortable as myself, and i dont care that im making you upset sir’

he and souji are the king and queen of subtle stims, but for unhappy reasons :(

does not make jokes. cannot joke around. understand? yes, do? no.

loose clothes are the only good clothes, but all tags and obtrusive seams will be obliterated by kanji tatsumi

not very empathetic so he probably comes off as an asshole to strangers (like when he throws away his classmates confession letters without reading them) but he tries so hard to sound comforting when his buds are struggling.

his understanding of others emotions/reactions come from his learning as a detective, which seems cold+clinical to others, especially compared to souji, whos completely unexpressive but very introverted people person

P3

Hamuko/Minako/Kotone

big personality!! very people-oriented!! koromaru and her are buddies!! when shes having a real bad time, shes very quiet and expressions turn off

interrupts herself in the middle of conversations all the time. no one knows where shes coming from. her brains is thousands of km ahead of her body

bouncey legs, swingin arms, twirlly skirt, little somersaults! when will she stop? never!

very obvious music stims with her hands and arms! people are like “oh there she goes! happy as usual!” shes listening to minatos heavy metal playlist

switches from exhausted to excited within milliseconds. no one can predict, not even her

SEES has to ask her for context all the time cuz she’ll just continue shit from 2 weeks ago without warning

professionals will assume shes very childish bc of how chipper she is, but she is beyond mature for her age and only feels comfortable enough to have serious conversations if a person has proved themself able to handle it

collects every little thing. her room is a mess and she has to get rid of most of it every time she moves :(

hates cleaning! smells bad, feels bad hhhhhgggg

dont let mitsuru-senpai see her bedroom

gets lost in the middle of conversations with others bc shes thinking about a story connected to one(1) word that was said earlier

 no sense of time and place, she just sees her friends and goes “ah, this is the right place, then” but junpei and akihiko are also lost so now theyre all screwed

Minato/Makoto/Sakuya

no talkies, no walkies

his story in the movies is him literally learning how to function around people he cares for

doesnt get jokes, expressions, body language, empathy, subtlety, metaphors, physical contact, or eye contact. aigis is probably the only person he truly understands right away

he is still nice to people because he doesnt see a reason not to be, but also he has very limited energy so only his senpai and old people get his most polite-kindnesses

cannot describe feelings for the life of him. the team wont know hes injured or sick until hes passed out

everything is too loud, time to drown it out with my loud ass music

rocking and chewing stims, ryoji is the first person to point him out for these subtle stims (not accusingly of course, just general pure curiosity and love for the uniqueness of humanity)

likes to cover his face with whatever is available, lives like a bat in a dark dry cave

will wear anything that has pockets and his blue/gray/black palette

sleepy at all times bc he never has much energy

when he was younger he probably needed a lot of support, especially after his parents died, because he wouldnt communicate like a neurotypical and would shutdown for hours in the middle of school without warning. probably missed a lot of lessons and field trips out of pure overstimulation

eating at all times. no preference, just whatevers closest

his meltdowns probalby include humming whining noises and curling up in a ball, which makes people want to touch him, but that is the LAST thing he wants. put a blanket on him! play some music! do not talk and do not expect him to speak

aigis is the only person who can touch him normally bc her hands are cold and he likes cold

never nude, feels mmmmmmmmm without clothes and probalby wears a full robe in the hotsprings

will not do things that take more than one step w/o someone else walking him thru it, which Same

[moonlightjeno]

I demand a 4,4,4 with Jeno queen 😤

but you are the queen :) two things a. sorry youwaited so long and b. asdfg this wasn’t supposed to be this long lmao but ENJOY 

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬: [4. mafia!au] + [4. meet messy] + [4.  “You said so, didn’t you?”]

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: crack, angst and a sprinkle of le fluff. 

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: blood, guns, drugs, cursing !! and this is a fem reader bc made my life easier im sorry !!

𝐰𝐜: 4k 🙃

You’d hated following orders since the day you’d been pushed off for the attacking team just because you were a girl. The day had started with a tang of metal in the air, like how animals can tell when there’s a storm to come from the change in winds from one side to the other, you could tell that blood was going to be shed on your thirteenth birthday. Guns had left blazing the undercover hideout where the attacking team resided, you had been told you’d be able to go and scout the area, after all, you’d be the best scout the mafia had ever seen even at the mere age of thirteen. You had thanked all the late nights spent pent up in a mansion you had no interest in residing and instead of climbing out of the windows and searching the forest for something to distract you from the emptiness of the house. The forest thought very much dark and looming with shadows that should have scared you, a small child, was the least of your concerns when growing up in one of the most aggressive and the bloodiest mafia in the country. Instead, the forest with it’s chirping sounds and looming figures that would occasionally be illuminated under the white moonlight of the celestial being that you had always thought to be more impressive and beautiful than the sun itself. After all, it was the moon that could be seen at all times during the day, though faint it still held a presence on the earth’s surfaces, and then at night it would illuminate the world and control its tides. 

The first set of yelling startles you out of the memories, the shouts are distant and fuzzy far far away from you. You pick up your gun, the weapon a dead weight at your side, the earpiece is placed in your ear receiving feedback from the multiple calls that are being sent out from the base and into the field. Boots crunch against the gravel floor and you feel a hand almost larger than your shoulder tap you in the back, a look of defiance fills your father’s face as he tells you to get back into the base, “the field is no place for you”, the words aren’t said but you know that he doesn’t mean you, because you are the heir to the mafia or because he actually cares about his only daughter and child. No, he says you, as if a girl weren’t able to do any fieldwork because that isn’t what they were born to do, instead they had to stay inside the safe walls of any base they could scout out to protect under the men’s gaze. A protest rose from your mouth, willing to defy your father’s direct order, the cold fire that illuminated his eyes something you’d seen too often every time you’d sneaked out of your room to find him torturing victims, most of them innocent that ended up coughing in the crossfire. It was a look that should have scared you, and it had for a long long time the way his smile would turn into a humorless and mocking grin, the laugh that escaped his lips seemed to be poisonous as everyone around moved farther away, and you stood the same fire rising in you. 

“But I want to help father” the determination you had was visible by the way you held yourself, hand resting on the weapon at your side, feet shifted slightly apart - a “power pose” they called it in one of the many comic books you’d read about wonder women. You could feel the impatience beginning to roll off your father in waves, first, it was the clenching and unclenching of his fists then it was the slight twitch in his eye that made you want to glare at him, that is until he kneeled just slightly grabbing onto your small wrist enough to leave a bruise. You knew the black and purple would be there tomorrow, branding you as weaker than the man who bore you, from the numerous times it had happened before, and you wouldn’t care didn’t care as long as you could prove how good of a scout you were. Truly, the fear had seemed to leave your mind, replaced by anger and determination being the only thing you saw, “i can tell you right now that there are five guards waiting at the parking lot, two of which are probably newbies, those of which are probably paired up with older members of the group, and the one that remains will probably be the most alert as they left him alone a backup” you voice is clear, as you recite what you already know, what you’ve seen with your eyes only an hour before this whole debacle occurred, and your father looked at you again the grip on your wrist tightening, the cold rings in his hand cooling the touch, crushing your skin, before letting out a scoff. The scoff causes his head to move to the side slightly, balding head tilting and you catch a glimpse of your mother, who’s face is usually warm even under the constant threats your family lives under, is stricken with fear. 

Her fear is directed to you, and herself because you know, a deep part of you knows that the shadows that fill her arms and legs in the early morning when she thinks no one can see her, the pots of foundation that you find in the broken cabinets of the abandoned rooms belong to your mother, and the beating she receives both mental and physical every time a case goes bad. Every time her daughter defies the orders the “grand” master has declared so you back down, eyes lowered, and whimper slightly at the pain that is cruising through your wrist. Your father lets go, content with the submission before ordering more guards around, including your best friend, lee jeno. 

That night you don’t sleep, you toss and turn and you miss the ability to climb out of your window and visit jeno. You know by the way the thud of the door and clang at four in the morning that blood has been shed. You know that jeno hasn’t come back, you know half an hour before everyone else because you’ve seen them take him away. The scream threatens to rip from your throat, tears falling falling, turning silver by the moonlight. It’s 3:30 when you watch them take your best friend away, it’s 3:35 when you can control your breaths. The clock ticks 5 in the morning, when you decide that you aren’t listening to any word your father tells you again because you knew where the boy was set up, you knew how jeno could have been saved if only they’d let you go. If only.  

It’s been seven years since the promise you made yourself to never break is bent. A year has passed since your father passed away, an illness that you recently found out had been in the years making but something he had never bothered to take care of because he thought he was above it. You would have thought your father’s passing would have been the turning point in your life, no longer did you have to fear the violence that would be placed against your mother or yourself. It should have felt like a weight on your shoulder the day his casket was incinerated in the grass fields in front of the manor’s garden. Instead the mafia seemed to break down, it’s collectiveness and faith in each other broke until the only group that remained in what used to be the country's strongest mafia lay in front of you. Their bodies sprawled on the floor like rag dolls, a light stench of metal and blood filled the room, and your hands burn from holding onto the guns for too long the rubber outlets hitting every single time at their proclaimed target. 

“Miss y/n, your mother awaits for you at the entrance hall” the scuffle of feet and light scratch of the door opening catches your attention as a boy only a couple of years younger than you comes through the door and requests a mumble from his lips.

“How many times do i have to tell you jisung” though you smile, you’re tired from the never-ending training sessions you put yourself through, and as much as you put up a cold front, the laughter and mocking from some of the members is exhausting too. The way they snicker and mumble under their breaths “she’s crazy”, and “no wonder jeno left” cause you to just push yourself that much, place that many more bruises and dark black lines across your arms. The tattoos seem at times the only source of power and freedom you are allowed, and you trace the back of your arm, a sense of comfort washes over you, and you speak up again “don’t call me miss. y/n is perfectly fine kid” you ruffle his hair even if he is taller than you, and walk out of the training room, the agents that were on the ground began to shift behind you, grunts and complaints leaving their lips but you’ve already walked out of the room. Out of sigh, out of mind. 

The click and clack of heels on the wooden floor surprise you, and you find your mother dressed in a white suit, black heels still clicking against the marvel floor of the entrance as she paces up and down the stairs, her hair is tied up in a bun, pulling back her face. The sound her heels make are drastically different from the silent almost soundless thumping of your boots against the floor. You weren’t used to seeing your mother in anything but training gear, the black gear and leggings replaced by freshly pressed white suit surprised you to say the least, but you knew something was wrong. More wrong than the daily notifications you would receive from jisung that more members were being recruited or killed off in the streets, for every member that died a new line would be added to the black swirls that decorate your right arm, for every member that left more hours would be spent trying to figure out how to save the corrupt business that was running a mafia. It was sad to say that as much as you hate the way things worked, and the blood and death that it brought to your doorstep you couldn’t deny that you loved scouting, you loved being able to be high up in the trees or buildings where it was just you and the wind noting, counting, looking at the world around you to help. 

“What’s up?” was your way of greeting, steps stopping in front of her, whose mouth twitched slightly into a small smile.

“You know how much i love you,” she started, eyes casted towards the landscape in front of you, if you thought hard enough one could still smell the burning of flesh, from your father’s body, and then the smell of booze and weed that stank the air only hours after his burial. No one was sad that night. 

“What do you need me to do?” you dreaded the response that was to come out of her lips, but her eyes focused on you and you could see how tired she was. Mother who was always bright and full of energy, her hair was close to being purely white, ebony almost, and the dark circles under her eyes made you want to demand she get some rest but you knew even as hard as she tried there was no way to escape the horrors of the mind. 

“I need you to infiltrate a base camp” at seeing your nod, she continued, infiltration was nothing you haven't done before, “now before you refute anything I say, this might be the only way to get us out of this shitshow so please bear with me darling” another nod, and you could almost see the breathe leave her body, shoulders becoming slightly more curved, as the anxiety begins to diffuse. 

“What camp? I mean we have almost all of them figured out, even without low numbers i’ve scoured most of them and jisung said he had checked on the one’s downtown” 

“That’s the thing darling, it isn’t exactly a home base. It’s a training center of sorts, but the Lee’s are running it. One of the heir’s is supposed to be taking part in the camp, so I need you to infiltrate without anyone noticing what group you belong to, it shouldn’t be that hard no one’s seen you since the attack seven years ago, and you’ve grown. See how they're getting our recruiters and try to get them back”  her hand at one point has come to hold onto yours, her big rings that she had taught herself how to make adorning almost every finger, it was a comfort the squeeze of her hand on your calloused and scarred one. 

“When do i head out?” The question leaves your lips slightly harsher than you’d wanted to, because in no world would you have ever wanted to go hang out with anyone from the lee family, but you knew as it had been drilled into your brain, for as long as you could remember that family is above all others. And you normally would have disagreed, because blood families shouldn’t define who one is willing to risk their life for but your mom looks at you again before letting go of your hand.

“Tonight” she is no longer looking at you, and you aren;t surprised because you can almost feel a sort of resentment towards the time, that only gave you a couple of hours to get ready and say goodbye to the only remaining friend you had here, well at least you told yourself jisung was a friend, after all he helped you bandage up your cuts and would keep you company into the late nights his soft smile always there, a shoulder to rely on. You manage to murmur a “fine”, and right as you're about to head back into the manor, mind running on what to pack and prepare you hear the light voice of your mother, “and y/n. For the love of god, do not fall in love”. The remark made you stop for a slight second because who would you fall for, the patriarchal society and male’s ego’s where too high to get close enough to care, and you truly didn’t care for romance. 

Bright spots in the sky, constellations that spread across the sky like a blanket keep you from falling asleep in the black car. Everytime you look at a constellation you name it, leo - the lion -, followed by the big dipper and small dipper always next to each other, always close. Time passes by, and your eyelids become too heavy to not keep open, until the spots in the sky are no longer there and instead darkness washes over you. 

It’s the smell of black coffee that wakes you up, where you find yourself half naked and disarmed under scratchy sheets and a bed that creaks every time you move. It takes you a second to gaze up the room around you, finding every exit possible and anything that might serve as a weapon, there’s only one exit and the most dangerous thing in the room seems to be the mug in front of you, steam rising from it the lettering of “LEE’S WEATHER CHANNEL” imprinted on it. The scowl on your face causes the boy in front of you to chuckle, a boy who is also half naked, it takes everything in you to not take in the firm muscles in the boy’s chest until you look up into his face, blonde almost white hair hanging slightly. 

“Well good morning to you sleeping beauty” his voice is gentler than what you expected, and he stands up from the brown chair, hand wrapping around the coffee mug as he hands it to you which you refuse, arm coming out of the sheets revealing your tattooed arm to refuse the cup of caffeine that instead of giving you energy would only leave a bitter and awful taste in your mouth. 

“Yeah, no thanks that tastes like shit” you murmur, and the boy in front of you laughs, causing the muscles in his arms and chest to flex slightly, and his eyes to become small almost like small moons. Fuck why does he have to be cute, you scold yourself before pushing yourself of the bed. It isn’t like you weren’t used to being around those of the male species in a sports bra and shorts, just like a normal training day just like a normal training day. But you do spot a pair of leggings and muscle tee by the corner of your bed that you change into, the boy with almost white hair still inside the small cot with you, though when you are done pulling the shirt over your head the boy is also wearing the same shirt with the words “training co.” printed behind him. 

“Jaemin” the noise startles you slightly, until you realize the voice belongs to the boy who is holding his hand out, as if in greeting to which you just nod too and walk out the small door, your name leaving your lips right as the door closes. Jeno can’t stop the smile that spreads on his lips, as he walks out of the cot that he’s too familiar with. The best friend he thought he’d lost back in his life even if you hadn't recognized him, his smile falters slightly at having to lie to you about who he was but is forget quickie as he leaves the room. In the short span of five seconds he’s caught up with you, an hand placed on the lower of your back which causes you to squirm, before turning around and twisting his hands around. 

“What the fuck” the words slips from jeno’s mouth, his arm in your hand and you loosen your grip on it, the twist to disarm an opponent, a subconscious action from distrust and too many times being led on by men who think they’re in control. “What were you doing?” you snap back, and though you’ve released his hand you keep your distance, to which he responds by putting his hands up in a sort of defeat, “umm you asked me too? Well didn;t deliberately ask me to, but before you passed out on my bed yesterday after, i really don’t know what you were doing, you told me to tour you around the camp, hence what am doing” his voice is teasing, and the words shock you but don’t surprise you, you might have been a little tipsy before you left the van, a last fuck you to the world before being imprisoned in this hellhole. 

“Hmmm, fine”

“Fine? No thank you? Or oh, yeah am sorry?”

“Do you want to get hit” your answer isn’t much of a question but more of a demand and jeno shrugs, “no ma’am” and you can’t help but stop the smile that slips from your lips by his response. 

Jeno does as he says and walks you around camp, and it isn’t until the two of you are paired together to spar names written down on chalkboards that you almost have a heart attack. Because the boy who’s made you laugh during the blazing hot sun, and given you small piggy back rides as a punishment for losing in a game of rock paper scissors which you can’t recall what for, and it isn’t until you see the small moon tattoo on the base of his wrist, that the realization rushes through your body. Because in front of you isn’t na jaemin the boy who you were supposed to look out for. Instead the blonde haired boy, with eyes like the moon and voice that you thought you would recognize anywhere is in front of you, your childhood best friend, who no longer has brown hair but white locks.  Jeno stands before you, eyes smiling words as charming as ever, and you know you’ve been taught better. You know that this is exactly why you trained so hard, why you wasted so many nights scouting the woods and having the bruises bloom so when you did face him you would feel nothing. But no one can stop human emotions from getting in the way of a mission, an infiltration in which you have lee jeno wrapped around your finger, but anger not sadness, anger pushes you forward as you slap lee jeno. The crack echoing around camp, and jeno doesn’t back down. 

“The fuck?”

“The fuck jeno?” the fuck?” your voice almost breaks, but you manage to spit the words out because in front of you stands the boy who broke your heart and in the span of a day managed to begin to repair it again. The second his name escapes your lips, Jeno's face comes into realization, and he holds onto your arms, he’d always be stronger than you even as you struggle against his grip, tears threatening to spill. You are aware of the eyes that are on you, aware that this could jeopardize everything you’ve worked for, the gun in your waist holster feels more like a dragged weight than ever. But a look from jeno and the eyes have scattered leaving the two of you alone in the dipping sun, the red rays igniting flames in the lake behind jeno, “why?”

“Why? Why did i leave? Why did i not come find you? Why did i leave my heart with the girl who held it? Why what?”

“Why did you lie?” you seethe, the confession not being processed through your clouded thoughts, too much too much.

“Because darlin, you said so, didn’t you?” the words are smooth and slightly broken, they make you want to scream and hit him again and again, pushing away the pain. Because the memory was hidden, hidden so deep in the pain and anger that you’d forgotten that you had begged jeno to leave the corrupted world you lived in, begged him and asked him to leave you with your father because jeno would be next to be killed.  

“I… I…” you can’t seem to form the words but it doesn’t matter because jeno seems to now, like he always does. His hair falls and grazes your forehead when he hugs you closer, and for some reason that you can’t point out it keeps your fallen pieces, the broken ones and those that were glued together by black lines. And you let him comfort you, you let him hold you in the middle of a grassfield, as the sun dips down the red that flares in the forest turns ruby almost like blood, like the way the blood feels warm on your hands, the salt and metal tang of blood fills your mouth, as a sob escapes your lips and then jeno’s. And you hold him, his head cradled between your hands as you repeat over and over how much you love him and how sorry you are.

The gunshot rings in the air, metal mixing with blood, warmth seeping into your clothes and mixing with the sweat from your hands that continue to cradle the boy you love in your hands. The life slowly dies out, fluttering slightly, dark brown shutting close. Because as much as you love jeno, more than life itself, you’ve been taught family over everything, even if that means feeling yourself crumble underneath him. Quite sobs wrecking through your body, as you whisper the same words over and over. 

The sun is no longer there, the ruby red of blood no longer coloring the forest red and your bodies in orange and yellow sunlight. For when the field council comes out, they find two lovers lying down next to each other, a silver bullet between them both, ruby red lips pressed against each other in a final goodbye. 

masterlist requested from this prompt list

mymy my queen I'm sorry. pls don’t hurt me.