#speaking of which INSANE that they tried to frame him as a baby by having him not know what someone calling danvers 'mrs robinson' meant

[cctinsleybaxter]

sorry for being #problematic but i almost wish prior was cheating with danvers; out of all the relationships on the show theirs is the most interesting

[lkgmediaproductions]

Redemption Over Obsession (A Helluva Boss Fan Fiction)

"You're the one who's going to save me, baby," Blitzø cooed into the microphone, his eyes gleaming with hope and desperation. The room was dimly lit, the only source of light coming from the flickering candles on the floor. The shadows danced across his face, painting him as both the hero and the villain of his own tragic love story.

Stolas looked up from his book, raising an eyebrow at the sudden outburst. "Could you keep it down?" he murmured, not looking away from the page. "Some of us are trying to read here."

Ignoring the sarcasm, Blitzø took a deep breath, his chest swelling with determination. "You're mine, Stolas," he declared, voice echoing through the room. "And I'll do whatever it takes to get you back."

The air grew thick with tension as Blitzø's obsession took a darker turn. His eyes narrowed, focusing on the book in Stolas's hand, which had become a symbol of their fractured relationship. "You're not going anywhere," he said, his tone shifting from desperate to menacing.

Stolas sighed, closing the book with a thud. He'd heard this before—the same old lines, the same old promises. But this time, something in Blitzø's voice sent a shiver down his spine. He placed the book on the nightstand and turned to face him, his eyes cold and calculating. "What's your plan, Blitz?"

Blitzø expresses his obsession with Stolas after the post-breakup, speaking into a microphone in a dramatically lit room. Stolas, reading, is unimpressed by the display. Blitzø insists on their connection and hints at extreme measures, causing Stolas to feel a new level of unease.

Blitzø stepped closer, a wild grin spreading across his features. "Oh, it's simple," he said, his eyes gleaming with a madness that had been brewing for weeks. "We're going to run away together. Just you, me, and our little baby."

Stolas's heart skipped a beat. "Baby?" he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. "What are you talking about?"

Blitzø leaned in, his breath hot on Stolas's neck. "Our love child," he murmured, his hand stroking Stolas's stomach. "The perfect little demon that will seal our bond forever."

Stolas's eyes widened in horror. "That's insane," he said, his voice trembling. "I'm not having a baby with you."

Blitzø's smile grew even more manic. "Oh, but you will," he whispered, his hand sliding to Stolas's wrist, his grip tightening like a vice. "You'll love it. You'll love me again."

Stolas tried to pull away, his eyes searching for an escape route. But the room seemed to close in around him, the shadows whispering his fears back to him. "Let go of me," he demanded, his voice firm despite the panic rising in his chest.

"Or what?" Blitzø challenged, his grip tightening. "You'll leave me again? For him?" His gaze flickered to the picture frame on the dresser—a snapshot of Stolas with his new boyfriend, the one who had so easily filled the void Blitzø had left behind.

Blitzø reveals his plan to kidnap Stolas and have a child together, believing it will mend their relationship. Stolas is horrified, rejecting the idea and demanding Blitzø to release him, but the latter's grip tightens, driven by madness and anger towards Stolas's new partner.

Stolas's eyes narrowed, his resolve hardening. "I won't be forced into anything," he stated, jerking his hand free. He stepped back, creating a space between them that felt as vast as the abyss. "You're not thinking straight."

"Thinking straight?" Blitzø echoed, his laughter sharp and brittle. "I've never been more clear-headed in my life. This is what we need to fix us, Stolas. A family."

Stolas backed away, his wings fluttering anxiously. "That's not how this works," he said, his voice rising. "You can't just decide for us both."

Blitzø's smile fell, and in its place grew a cold, determined look. "I've seen the way you look at him," he spat, pointing at the picture. "The way you laugh with him, the way you touch him. It's like you've forgotten what we had."

Stolas's eyes never left the photo, his heart aching at the sight of the happiness he had once shared with Blitzø. But he knew it was gone, shattered beyond repair. "I've moved on," he said softly, meeting Blitzø's gaze. "You need to do the same."

The room fell silent, the only sound the crackling of the candles. Blitzø's eyes searched Stolas's, looking for any hint of love or longing, but all he found was resolve. The realization hit him like a ton of bricks, and his expression crumpled. "You don't love me anymore," he murmured, his voice cracking.

Stolas took a deep breath, his eyes filled with a sadness that mirrored the one in his heart. "I care for you, Blitz," he said gently. "But what we had... it's not there anymore."

Stolas rejects Blitzø's plan, asserts his autonomy, and confirms that he has moved on. Blitzø, seeing the finality in Stolas's eyes, realizes that their love is irrevocably lost, leaving him devastated.

Blitzø's grip on reality slipped further, the room spinning around him. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Care?" he scoffed, his voice filled with pain. "That's not enough for me. I want love. I need love."

Stolas's expression softened, his voice tinged with regret. "I know you do, Blitz," he said. "But you're not going to find it by forcing me to stay."

Blitzø's eyes searched Stolas's, desperation pooling in the depths of his soul. "What if I can't live without you?" he whispered, his voice cracking.

Stolas's wings drooped, the weight of Blitzø's pain settling heavily on his shoulders. "Then you need to find a way to live with it," he said firmly. "You can't just take what you want because you can't handle the alternative."

Blitzø's eyes flashed with anger, the flames of his obsession flickering higher. "You think I'm weak?" he snarled, taking a step forward. "I'll show you what I'm capable of."

Stolas held his ground, his own anger rising to meet Blitzø's. "You're not going to win me back with threats," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "If you can't accept that we're over, then you need to leave."

Blitzø's grip on the microphone tightened until his knuckles turned white. "I won't let you go," he said, his voice a harsh whisper. "Not to him. Not to anyone."

Blitzø's desperation leads to anger as Stolas refuses to be forced into a relationship, advising Blitzø to find a way to live without him. Stolas maintains his stance, prompting a darker, more intense obsession from Blitzø, who vows to never let Stolas go.

Stolas's eyes narrowed, his own anger now a living, breathing entity in the room. "You don't get to decide that," he said, his voice icy. "I'm not a possession, Blitz. I'm a person. And I won't be treated like I'm something you can just claim."

The silence stretched between them, thick and tense. Then, with a roar of fury, Blitzø threw the microphone across the room. It shattered against the wall, the sound echoing through the apartment like a gunshot. Stolas didn't flinch. He'd seen this side of Blitz before, the one that lurked beneath the charm and the jokes, the one that had driven him away in the first place.

"You think you can just walk away?" Blitzø yelled, his eyes burning with a fiery rage. "After everything we've been through? After everything I've done for you?"

Stolas stood his ground, his wings spread slightly in a show of his own power. "I'm not walking away from anything," he said calmly. "I'm walking away from you, and the toxic mess you've made of us."

Blitzø's laugh was hollow, filled with a desperation that made Stolas's stomach churn. "Toxic?" he repeated. "You think that's what we had? That's a lie you've been telling yourself to justify leaving me."

Stolas's wings snapped taut, his patience wearing thin. "I'm not the one who's lost their mind," he retorted, gesturing to the candles and the chaotic scene Blitzø had created. "This isn't love. This is obsession."

The confrontation escalates as Stolas asserts his autonomy and refuses to be controlled. Blitzø's anger boils over, leading to the destruction of the microphone. Stolas maintains his resolve, calling out Blitzø's behavior as obsession rather than love.

Blitzø's madness deepens from the post-breakup, revealing a twisted plan to kidnap Stolas for marriage and a child. Stolas, horrified, confirms their relationship's end and refuses to be controlled. Their confrontation escalates, with Stolas calling out Blitzø's obsession. Blitzø, devastated and enraged, vows never to release Stolas.

Blitzø's expression darkened, his hands clenching into fists. "Fine," he spat. "If you won't come back to me willingly, I'll just have to make you." He lunged for Stolas, but the latter was quicker, darting to the side and out of reach.

The room erupted into a chaotic dance of flailing limbs and snarled curses as Stolas tried to evade Blitzø's grasp. The candles toppled, setting fire to the curtains, the flames licking the walls with a hungry ferocity.

"You can't do this, Blitz," Stolas panted, his wings beating a frantic rhythm against the smoke-filled air. "You can't just kidnap me and expect me to love you again."

But Blitzø was beyond listening. His eyes gleamed with a crazed determination that was both terrifying and heartbreaking. He cornered Stolas, his hands outstretched, the flaming curtains casting a hellish glow on his features. "You're mine," he growled, his voice low and guttural. "And I'll never let you go."

Stolas's wings flared, knocking over a lamp and sending it crashing to the floor. The light flickered and went out, leaving them in the flickering embrace of the fire's light. "You're not thinking clearly," he pleaded, his voice strained with fear and sadness. "Please, Blitz, stop this."

But Blitzø was beyond reason. His eyes burned with an intensity that was almost tangible, his mind clouded by a desperate love that had turned toxic. "I'll do whatever it takes," he snarled, his hand shooting out to grab Stolas.

Blitzø's obsession leads to a violent confrontation where he attempts to force Stolas to stay, culminating in the apartment catching fire and Stolas's desperate pleas for Blitzø to let him go.

Stolas managed to dodge, the fabric of his shirt tearing away in Blitzø's grasp. He stumbled backward, his wings fluttering wildly to keep him upright. The heat from the fire was intense, the smoke thick and choking. "This isn't love," he gasped, his eyes watering. "This is madness."

Blitzø's smile was cold, his eyes never leaving Stolas's. "Maybe it is," he conceded, his voice low and dangerous. "But it's the only way I know how to show you what you mean to me."

The fire grew louder, the heat more intense, as the room became a prison of flaming rage. Stolas searched for an exit, his eyes darting around the room, but every path was blocked by the inferno that had once been their shared space. "You're going to get us both killed," he choked out, the smoke filling his lungs.

Blitzø stepped closer, the flames casting an eerie light on his face, making him look like a demon from Stolas's worst nightmares. "I'd rather burn with you than live without you," he murmured, his hand reaching out again.

Stolas's eyes darted around the room, searching for anything that could serve as a weapon or a means of escape. His eyes fell on the nightstand drawer, slightly ajar. He knew what was inside—his own personal knife collection, a macabre assortment of sharp instruments that had been gifts from various admirers over the centuries. Without a second thought, he reached in and pulled out the nearest one, the cool metal giving him a small sense of comfort in the face of the overwhelming heat.

Stolas evades Blitzø's grasp in the burning apartment, with the latter admitting his actions are driven by madness. Stolas sees his knife collection as a potential escape tool.

Blitzø's eyes followed the movement, his smile faltering for a moment before it grew wider, more twisted. "You're not going anywhere," he said, his voice low and deadly.

Stolas's grip on the knife was firm, his wings fluttering to keep the smoke at bay. "Let me go," he said, his voice steady despite the fear that clawed at his insides.

Blitzø's smile never wavered, but his eyes flickered to the knife with a hint of concern. "Don't be ridiculous," he said, taking a step closer. "We're going to be fine. Just come with me."

Stolas's heart raced as he backed away, the flames now dangerously close. "I'm not going anywhere with you," he said, raising the knife. The fire reflected off the blade, casting a crimson glow across the room.

Blitzø's eyes narrowed, his smile fading to a snarl. "You'd really hurt me?" he asked, his voice filled with a mix of anger and disbelief.

Stolas's hand holding the knife didn't waver. "If it means my freedom," he said, his voice cold and firm, "yes, I would."

Blitzø's expression twisted, the reality of the situation crashing down on him. He took a step back, the flames reflected in his eyes. "You'd choose him over me?" he roared, his fists clenching.

Stolas's grip on the knife tightened. "I'm not choosing anyone," he said firmly. "I'm choosing myself."

Stolas finds a knife for defense and stands firm against Blitzø, willing to fight for his freedom. The confrontation escalates as Blitzø questions Stolas's loyalty, and Stolas asserts his right to choose himself.

The words hit Blitzø like a sledgehammer, knocking the wind out of him. He stumbled back, the fire's heat now a reflection of the pain searing through his chest. "How could you?" he choked out, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.

Stolas's own eyes were wet, a sheen of sadness reflecting the flickering flames. "This isn't about choosing," he said, his voice breaking. "It's about letting go of what's toxic."

The room grew quieter, the crackling fire seeming to muffle Blitzø's sobs. Stolas's wings drooped, the weight of his words heavy on his shoulders. He took a deep breath, tasting the acrid smoke in the air. "You need help, Blitz," he said softly. "Real help."

Blitzø's eyes searched Stolas's, looking for any sign of relenting, but all he found was sadness and resolve. He turned away, the firelight playing off his horns as he sank to his knees. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the roar of the flames. "I never wanted it to come to this."

Stolas felt a pang of pity, his hand dropping slightly. "I know," he said, his voice gentle. "But you need to accept that we're over. For both our sakes."

Stolas maintains his stance, clarifying that his decision isn't about choosing someone else but about self-preservation. Blitzø is struck by the finality, breaks down, and apologizes, with Stolas expressing pity and reinforcing the need for their separation.

The room was a maelstrom of fire and shadow, the heat suffocating. Blitzø's shoulders heaved with the weight of his sobs, his form outlined by the flaming curtains behind him. The fire had spread, engulfing the room in a fiery embrace that mirrored the chaos of their relationship. Stolas knew he had to get out, to save himself from the madness that was consuming them both.

He took a tentative step towards Blitzø, the knife lowering slightly. "Let's go," he said, his voice softer now. "We can get out of here. We can get you help."

But Blitzø was lost in his own world of pain and anger. He looked up, his eyes wild and unfocused. "Help?" he spat. "You think you can fix me?"

Stolas took a deep breath, the smoke making his eyes water. "I don't know if I can," he admitted. "But I know you can't do this alone."

The fire grew louder, the heat becoming almost unbearable. Blitzø's form was now nothing but a silhouette against the blaze, his eyes burning with a fury that seemed to fuel the flames. "You're just like everyone else," he screamed, his voice hoarse from the smoke. "You want to control me, to change me."

Stolas's own wings were singeing, the pain a stark reminder of the reality of their situation. "This isn't about control," he yelled back, the knife still clutched in his hand. "This is about saving you from yourself."

The fire spreads, creating a dire escape situation. Stolas tries to reason with Blitzø, offering help and understanding, but Blitzø's madness remains entrenched, seeing Stolas's concern as controlling and rejects it, trapping them both in the burning apartment.

Blitzø's expression grew feral, his eyes glowing with a fiery intensity. "You think you can save me?" He laughed, a sound that was more a sob than anything else. "You're the one who broke me."

The words were a knife to Stolas's heart, but he knew he couldn't let Blitzø's madness consume them both. He took a step forward, the knife now held firmly in his grasp. "Please," he begged, his voice thick with smoke. "Let's go."

But Blitzø was beyond reasoning. He lunged at Stolas, his eyes wild with rage and despair. Stolas reacted instinctively, the knife flashing in the firelight as he swung it in an arc to keep the other demon at bay. The blade sliced through the air, a silent scream in the chaos of the burning room.

Their eyes met for a brief moment, the fury in Blitzø's gaze freezing Stolas's blood. Then, with a roar of pain, Blitzø stumbled back, clutching at his chest where the knife had found its mark. His wings crumpled, and he collapsed to the floor, the flames closing in around him.

Stolas's heart felt like it had been ripped from his chest. "No," he whispered, dropping the knife and rushing to Blitzø's side. The fire had spread too quickly, leaving them with only moments to escape. He reached out to his ex-lover, desperation and regret mixing in his eyes. "I didn't mean to..."

Stolas's pleas for escape are met with accusation and madness from Blitzø, resulting in a violent lunge. Stolas defends himself, accidentally wounding Blitzø, who falls to the ground as the fire surrounds them. Stolas, overwhelmed with regret, tries to help despite the imminent danger.

In a fiery confrontation, Blitzø attempts to force Stolas into marriage and parenthood, but Stolas resists, finding a knife for defense. Blitzø, though broken by regret, is too consumed by madness to leave, trapping them both in the fire.

But Blitzø was already gone, his eyes lifeless, his body swallowed by the hungry flames. Stolas watched in horror as the man he once loved was consumed by the very madness that had driven them apart. The room was now an inferno, the heat unbearable, the smoke choking. The knife lay forgotten on the floor, a tragic symbol of the love that had turned to ash.

With a strength born of desperation, Stolas pushed himself to his feet and stumbled towards the window, the only escape route left. His wings were seared, his skin burned, but the thought of leaving Blitzø behind was unbearable. He reached the window, the glass shattering under his touch, and threw himself through it, the cold night air a stark contrast to the hellish scene he left behind.

He hovered outside for a moment, watching the flames lick the sky, his heart racing. The pain in his chest was nothing compared to the anguish in his soul. He had tried to save Blitzø, but in the end, his love had only brought them both to ruin. The fire trucks were already on their way, their sirens piercing the night, but it was too late for the apartment—and possibly too late for the man he had once cherished.

With a heavy heart, Stolas flew away, leaving the burning building and the shattered remnants of their love behind. The wind stung his burned wings, but he didn't care. The agony was a reminder that he was still alive, that he had escaped the madness.

Blitzø succumbs to the fire, leaving Stolas distraught. Despite his injuries, Stolas escapes through the window, watching the apartment burn as he flies away, painfully aware of his failure to save Blitzø and the end of their love.

He found refuge in an alley, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. His eyes were haunted, the image of Blitzø's fiery end seared into his mind. He had never wanted it to come to this, but he had been backed into a corner, forced to fight for his own freedom. The weight of his actions settled on him like a leaden cloak, suffocating him with guilt.

Stolas knew he couldn't stay. The fire would attract too much attention, and he had to get help for Blitzø. But as he took to the skies again, the wind carrying the acrid scent of burning demon flesh, he couldn't shake the feeling that he had just made the biggest mistake of his life.

He flew straight to the new love's apartment, his mind racing with a plan to save Blitzø. He had to tell someone, had to get help before it was too late. He pounded on the door, his heart hammering in his chest.

The door swung open to reveal the "Better than Blitzo" guy, eyes wide with shock. "Stolas?" he gasped, taking in the sight of the injured demon before him.

Stolas didn't have the strength for pleasantries. "Blitz," he panted, his voice hoarse from the smoke. "He's hurt. We have to help him."

The new boyfriend, whose name Stolas had never bothered to learn, took in the frantic state of the demon before him. "What happened?"

"He's lost it," Stolas choked out, his wings trembling from the exertion. "The apartment's on fire. We have to get him out."

After escaping the fire, Stolas is overwhelmed by guilt and seeks refuge in an alley. Determined to save Blitzø, he flies to the new boyfriend's apartment, revealing the dire situation and begging for assistance to rescue Blitzø from the burning apartment.

The human's expression shifted from shock to concern, his eyes flickering to the fiery skyline. "Okay," he said, his voice steady. "We'll call the fire department, and I'll grab the first aid kit."

Stolas nodded, his breathing shallow and pained. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice a mere whisper.

The human's apartment was a blur of movement as he rushed to the phone, his panic palpable as he dialed emergency services. Stolas hovered by the door, his wings useless at his side. The pain was intense, but his concern for Blitz was even greater. He could feel the burns deep in his muscles, but he pushed aside the agony, focusing solely on the task at hand.

"You need to get to a hospital," the human said, returning with a first aid kit in hand. His eyes were filled with a mix of fear and pity as he took in Stolas's injuries. "You can't stay here."

Stolas nodded, his thoughts a tumultuous storm. "I know," he murmured. "But Blitz..."

The human looked at him, his expression a mix of anger and understanding. "I'll call for him too," he said firmly. "But you can't go back in there. You'll only make it worse."

Stolas nodded, his eyes never leaving the flaming horizon. He knew the human was right, but the urge to rush back into the inferno was overwhelming. The sirens grew louder, a cacophony of despair echoing through the streets.

The human took Stolas's hand, his touch surprisingly gentle. "We'll get him help," he assured, his voice steady. "But we have to do it together."

Stolas is met with concern and aid from his ex-boyfriend's new partner, who helps him contact emergency services. Despite his injuries, Stolas's main concern remains for Blitzø, and the human agrees to help. They form an uneasy alliance as the sirens grow closer, with the shared goal of saving Blitzø from the burning apartment.

Stolas nodded, the reality of the situation finally setting in. His love for Blitz had led them both to this point, and now he had to trust in someone else to save him. The sirens grew closer, the wailing a stark contrast to the silence of the alley.

The human helped him to the nearest hospital, the journey a blur of pain and guilt. Stolas could feel the burns on his wings and skin, but the emotional agony was far worse. As they approached the emergency room, the human spoke firmly. "I'll stay with you," he said, his grip tight on Stolas's hand. "We'll figure this out."

Stolas nodded, his eyes never leaving the burning apartment in the distance. "Thank you," he murmured, the words feeling inadequate.

The human's grip tightened. "You don't have to thank me," he said, his voice gruff. "We're in this together now."

The emergency room was a blur of white lights and concerned faces as they rushed Stolas through the doors. Nurses and doctors flitted around him, their movements a frenetic dance of care and concern. Stolas felt detached from it all, his mind replaying the events of the night over and over. The smell of antiseptic and the sound of beeping machines did little to soothe his frayed nerves.

As the medical staff tended to his burns, the human remained by his side, his hand never leaving Stolas's. "What's your name?" Stolas managed to ask, his voice hoarse from the smoke.

"It's Brandon," the human said, his grip firm but gentle. "Yours is Stolas, right?"

Stolas and Brandon, driven by the urgency of saving Blitzø, head to the hospital. The pain of his injuries is overshadowed by his emotional turmoil. Upon arriving, Stolas expresses his gratitude to Brandon, who reassures him of their shared commitment to help Blitzø. They stand together in the chaotic emergency room, a bond forming amidst the tragedy.

Stolas escapes the burning apartment and seeks help from his new boyfriend, forming an alliance to save Blitzø. Despite his own distress, he is consumed by guilt and a desire to rescue Blitzø, leading them to the hospital.

Stolas nodded, the sound of his name on Brandon's lips strange yet comforting. As the medical staff worked on him, he couldn't shake the image of Blitzø's lifeless body in the fire. The flames had been a symbol of the fiery passion that had once bound them, now a destructive force that had torn them apart.

"We have to save him," Stolas murmured, his voice barely audible above the medical chatter.

Brandon's grip tightened around his hand. "They're doing all they can," he assured, his eyes reflecting the same fear and urgency. "But you have to focus on yourself now."

Stolas nodded weakly, the pain from his burns becoming more pronounced as the adrenaline started to wear off. The world around him spun, the walls closing in with every shallow breath he took. He could feel the weight of his failure pressing down on him, a crushing burden that seemed to grow heavier with every passing moment.

The doctor's voice pierced through the fog of his thoughts. "You're lucky to be alive," he said, his tone a mix of amazement and concern. "Those burns are severe, but we'll do everything we can to help you heal."

Stolas nodded, his eyes glazed over with pain and regret. The room was spinning, the antiseptic smell making him nauseous. The reality of what had happened was setting in, the gravity of his actions weighing on him like a mountain. "What about Blitz?" he croaked, his voice a mere whisper.

In the hospital, Stolas is overwhelmed by the reality of the situation, his thoughts consumed by Blitzø's fate. Despite his severe burns, he remains focused on saving Blitzø. Brandon, also concerned, reminds Stolas to prioritize his own health. The doctor informs them of the seriousness of Stolas's condition, but Stolas is desperate for news about Blitzø's rescue.

Brandon squeezed his hand. "They're on their way to the apartment," he said, his own voice tight with tension. "We have to trust they'll find him."

The words were like a knife to Stolas's heart. He had hoped, prayed, that Blitz had somehow escaped. But deep down, he knew the truth. The fire had been too intense, the smoke too thick. "I have to go to him," he rasped, trying to sit up.

Brandon's grip on his hand tightened. "You can't," he said firmly. "You're in no condition to leave."

Stolas's eyes filled with tears, the guilt threatening to consume him. "But I can't just stay here," he choked out, the pain in his voice raw and palpable. "He needs me."

Brandon's gaze was steady, his voice calm despite the chaos in his own heart. "You're no good to him dead," he said, his grip unyielding. "Let them do their job. We'll find out what happened as soon as we can."

The doctor's voice grew more insistent, the urgency in his tone cutting through the fog of pain and guilt. "Sir, you need to stay still," he said, his eyes focused on Stolas's injuries. "We have to get these burns treated before they get worse."

Stolas nodded, his body feeling like it was made of lead. He watched as the doctor and nurses worked tirelessly, their movements a blur of white coats and medical equipment. The pain was a living, breathing entity, wrapping around him like the very flames that had engulfed the apartment. Each touch was a reminder of his failure, of the love that had burned out of control.

Brandon informs Stolas that rescue efforts are underway at the apartment. Despite his desperation to join them, Stolas is held back due to his injuries. The doctor emphasizes the need for immediate treatment, and Stolas, though filled with guilt, submits to the medical care, haunted by the fear of his failure to save Blitzø.

Brandon remained a steadfast presence beside him, his hand never leaving Stolas's. He spoke in hushed tones, updating him on the fire department's progress and the state of the building. The words barely registered, lost in the symphony of beeping machines and the hiss of oxygen tanks.

"They're saying the fire's under control," Brandon said, his voice strained. "They're searching the building now."

Stolas nodded, his eyes squeezed shut against the tears that threatened to fall. The pain in his wings was a constant reminder of the horror he had just escaped. "I have to see him," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

"We will," Brandon promised, his voice soothing despite the chaos around them. "As soon as you're stable, we'll go."

The hours ticked by in a blur of pain and anxiety. Stolas felt like he was trapped in a nightmare, unable to wake up or escape the crushing weight of his guilt. The sounds of the hospital—beeping machines, the murmur of nurses, the occasional wail of a siren—were a stark contrast to the fiery hell he had just left behind. Each moment that passed without news of Blitz was an eternity, the silence echoing louder than any scream.

Finally, a doctor approached, her face a mask of professionalism but her eyes filled with a gentle concern. "The fire has been extinguished," she said, her voice a lifeline in the sea of despair. "The search and rescue team is still inside."

Stolas, unable to leave his hospital bed due to his injuries, is updated by Brandon on the fire's status and the ongoing search for Blitzø. Despite the pain from his burns, his focus remains on finding Blitzø, and Brandon offers comfort and reassurance as they await news amidst the hospital's chaotic backdrop.

Stolas's chest tightened, his breath shallow and painful. "Is he...?" he couldn't bring himself to finish the question.

Brandon's grip on his hand grew stronger, his own eyes reflecting the hope and fear that danced in Stolas's. "They haven't found anyone yet," the doctor said, her tone carefully measured. "But the search is ongoing."

The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken dread. Stolas closed his eyes, his breathing ragged. The pain in his chest was a constant throb, a dull ache that seemed to pulse with every beat of his heart. He knew what it meant if Blitz wasn't found. He had killed him, not with the knife, but with his own obsession.

Brandon's hand remained a firm presence, a lifeline in the storm of emotions threatening to drown him. "You need to stay strong," he murmured, his voice a gentle reminder of the world outside their shared tragedy. "For Blitz, for all of us."

Stolas nodded, his eyes still closed, the image of Blitz's charred form playing in his mind's eye. The doctor and nurses moved around them, their movements efficient and practiced. They had seen tragedies before, had patched up lives shattered by events beyond their control. But Stolas couldn't shake the feeling that he was the one who had lost control, that he was the one who had brought this horror upon them all.

Stolas agonizes over Blitzø's fate, unable to voice his fears. The doctor delivers an ambiguous update on the search, leaving Stolas and Brandon in suspense. Stolas grapples with guilt and despair, while Brandon urges him to stay strong, emphasizing the need for hope and resilience as the hospital staff tends to his injuries.

At the hospital, Stolas is treated for burns but remains obsessed with Blitzø's fate. Brandon provides comfort and updates on the rescue, as they form a bond amidst the chaos, though Stolas is haunted by his failure to save Blitzø.

The minutes stretched into hours, each second an eternity of doubt and dread. The hospital's sterile embrace offered no comfort, the very air thick with the scent of burned flesh that clung to him like a haunting specter. The pain in his wings was a constant reminder of the fire that had torn through their lives, leaving nothing but ash in its wake.

Finally, a firefighter burst through the doors, his gear singed and face smudged with soot. His eyes scanned the room before locking onto Stolas. "We found someone," he said, his voice gruff from the smoke. "A demon. He's alive, but barely."

Stolas's heart leaped into his throat, hope and fear warring within him. "Take me to him," he rasped, pushing himself up despite the pain.

Brandon's eyes widened. "You can't," he protested. "You're not stable."

But Stolas was beyond listening. He pulled free from the hospital bed, his wings unfurling with a painful crackle. "I have to," he murmured, his eyes never leaving the firefighter. "I have to see him."

Brandon nodded, his own fear and concern etched on his face. "Okay," he said, his voice tight. "But I'm coming with you."

A firefighter delivers hopeful news of Blitzø's survival, though barely. Overriding Brandon's protests, Stolas, driven by a mix of hope and fear, insists on seeing Blitzø despite his own unstable condition. Brandon, understanding his urgency, agrees to accompany him, their bond strengthened by the shared concern for Blitzø's fate.

The doctor's protests fell on deaf ears as Stolas stumbled out of the hospital bed, his wings flapping weakly. Each movement sent a fresh wave of pain through him, but he couldn't ignore the hope that burned brighter than the fire that had tried to claim him. Together, they followed the firefighter through the chaotic halls, the smell of smoke and burned flesh a haunting reminder of the night's events.

As they approached the emergency bay, Stolas's heart sank at the sight of Blitz lying on a stretcher, his body covered in burns, his eyes closed. The medical staff worked feverishly around him, their faces a mix of determination and sadness. The firefighter nodded to the doctor, who immediately took charge.

"Is he...?" Stolas couldn't finish his question, his voice catching in his throat.

The doctor's eyes met his, filled with a solemn gravity that sent a cold shiver down his spine. "We're doing everything we can," she said, her voice tight with the tension of the situation. "He's in critical condition."

Stolas stumbled forward, his legs threatening to give out beneath him. He could see the extent of Blitz's injuries now, the burns covering almost every inch of his body, the smell of charred flesh making his stomach turn. The demon's eyes fluttered open, and for a brief moment, Stolas saw the pain and confusion in them before they fell shut again.

"What have I done?" Stolas whispered, his voice barely audible above the bustle of the hospital.

Despite his own precarious condition, Stolas insists on seeing Blitzø, who is found alive but critically injured. The doctor confirms Blitzø's critical state, and Stolas is overwhelmed by the sight of his ex-lover's severe burns. Struggling with his own pain, Stolas confronts the reality of his actions and the consequences they have wrought.

The doctor looked at him, her expression a mix of pity and understanding. "You did what you had to," she said, her voice gentle. "Now let us do our job."

Stolas nodded, his eyes never leaving Blitz's still form. Brandon stepped up beside him, his hand on Stolas's shoulder. "We're here for you," he murmured.

The doctor's words echoed in Stolas's mind as he watched the medical team work tirelessly to save Blitz. The room was a symphony of beeps and murmured instructions, the rhythm of life-saving measures a stark contrast to the chaos that had brought them here. He knew he had pushed Blitz too far, had let his obsession drive him to madness. The love that had once been a beacon had become a destructive force that had ravaged everything in its path.

Brandon's hand remained a steady presence on his shoulder, grounding him in the present. Stolas felt the weight of his own actions pressing down on him, the guilt a heavy cloak that threatened to suffocate him. "This isn't your fault," Brandon said, his voice low and firm. "You tried to help him."

Stolas couldn't bring himself to look away from Blitz, his mind racing with a tornado of regret and pain. "But I hurt him," he murmured, his voice thick with unshed tears. "I never wanted this."

Brandon's hand tightened on his shoulder. "You didn't do this," he said firmly. "His madness did."

The doctor reassures Stolas that he did what he could, as he watches the medical team treat Blitz. Despite his own guilt, Brandon provides comfort and clarity, reminding Stolas that Blitz's madness is to blame for the current situation, not his own desire to help. The gravity of the situation and the depth of Stolas's regret are palpable as they await news on Blitz's condition.

Against medical advice, Stolas, driven by hope and fear, insists on seeing the critically injured Blitzø. Brandon supports him, and together they face the reality of Blitz's condition, with Stolas beginning to understand the consequences of his actions.

After their breakup, Blitzø spirals into madness, vowing to marry and impregnate Stolas. Stolas resists, and in the ensuing fire, he escapes and joins his new boyfriend, Brandon. Despite his fear, Stolas feels guilty and insists on seeing the severely injured Blitzø at the hospital, where he confronts the grim reality of his situation.

Stolas nodded, his eyes never leaving Blitz's still form. The demon's chest rose and fell in shallow, erratic breaths, a testament to the battle for life raging within him. Each breath was a knife in Stolas's own chest, a reminder of the love that had gone so wrong. "I need to make it right," he murmured, his voice barely audible above the hospital's cacophony.

"You will," Brandon assured him, his voice a steady pillar of strength. "But first, let's get you both through this."

The doctor's voice grew more urgent as she called for a blood transfusion. Stolas watched, his heart pounding in his chest, as the medical staff worked tirelessly to save Blitz's life. His own injuries felt insignificant in comparison to the horror that had unfolded. The sight of Blitz, broken and burned, was a stark reminder of the love that had gone so wrong.

"Is there anything I can do?" Stolas asked, his voice shaking with fear and desperation.

The doctor looked at him, her expression a mix of pity and professionalism. "For now, just stay out of the way," she said, her eyes flicking to his own burned wings. "Your presence is enough."

Stolas nodded, stepping back to give them room. His heart felt like it was being torn apart as he watched the doctors and nurses fight for Blitz's life. The beeps of the machines grew louder, the rhythm of their work more frantic. Each second that passed was an eternity, a symphony of hope and despair that played out before his eyes.

Stolas remains fixated on Blitz's critical condition, feeling guilty for his part in the tragedy. Brandon continues to offer support, urging Stolas to focus on the present. The doctor advises Stolas to stay clear, emphasizing the severity of Blitz's condition and the importance of the medical team's work. The atmosphere is tense as the hospital staff fights to save Blitz's life, with Stolas powerless but hopeful.

As the medical staff worked, Brandon pulled him aside, his grip firm and reassuring. "You need to rest," he said, his voice a whisper amidst the chaos. "You're in no condition to help him."

Stolas nodded, his body trembling with the effort of standing. The pain in his wings was a constant throb, a stark reminder of the events that had led them here. He allowed Brandon to guide him to a chair, his eyes never leaving Blitz's prone form. The demon looked so small and fragile, a stark contrast to the fiery passion that had once burned between them.

As the hours ticked by, the hospital's lights grew dimmer, the sounds of the medical machinery a constant backdrop to their vigil. Stolas felt like he was drowning in guilt, the weight of his actions threatening to pull him under. He had never wanted to hurt Blitz, never wanted their love to end like this.

Brandon's hand was still in his, a silent testament to the bond that had formed between them in the face of tragedy. Stolas looked at him, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. "I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice cracking with pain.

Brandon's grip tightened. "You don't have to be," he said firmly. "You're not to blame for his madness."

Brandon insists Stolas rests, acknowledging his condition. The gravity of the situation weighs heavily on Stolas as he reflects on their tumultuous past. The bond between Stolas and Brandon grows stronger as they share the burden of the tragedy. Despite his guilt, Brandon reassures Stolas that he isn't responsible for Blitz's madness, offering much-needed support during the painful vigil.

Stolas nodded, his eyes never leaving Blitz. The demon's chest rose and fell in a shallow, erratic rhythm, each breath a miracle amidst the chaos. The doctor's voice grew more insistent, calling for a surgeon as the situation grew dire. The world around them faded away, leaving only the stark reality of the fight for life and the heavy silence of regret.

As the doctor stepped back, a surgeon took her place, his movements swift and precise. The room grew colder, the air thick with the scent of fear and anticipation. Stolas's hand tightened around Brandon's, his knuckles white with the effort of not giving in to his own pain. The human's eyes met his, a silent understanding passing between them. They were bound now by the horror they had witnessed, by the love they had lost.

The surgery seemed to stretch on forever, the tension in the room a living entity that grew more oppressive with each passing moment. Stolas felt as though he was trapped in a nightmare from which he could not wake, his thoughts a tumult of regret and sorrow. He had pushed Blitz to this point, had allowed his obsession to control him. The demon had been right all along; he had never truly loved Stolas.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the surgeon stepped back, his face etched with exhaustion. The doctor approached them, her eyes heavy with a burden she was about to lay upon Stolas. "He's stable," she said, her voice devoid of any emotion that might give away the outcome. "For now."

The doctor's urgent call for a surgeon underscores Blitz's precarious condition. The surgery's tension solidifies the bond between Stolas and Brandon. Despite the fear and regret, Stolas recognizes his obsession led to this tragedy. The doctor's update on Blitz's condition is grim but offers a glimmer of hope, leaving them in a state of suspended anxiety.

Stolas is plagued by guilt over Blitz's critical condition, while Brandon provides unwavering support. The doctor advises rest, but Stolas is consumed by his past with Blitz. Their bond deepens as they await surgery results, with Brandon reminding Stolas of his lack of culpability in the situation. The surgery's outcome remains uncertain, leaving them in a state of intense anxiety.

Stolas felt his chest tighten, the hope that had been flickering within him threatening to be snuffed out. "Can I see him?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

The doctor nodded, gesturing for them to follow. The ICU was a stark contrast to the chaos of the emergency bay, the beeping of machines a solemn reminder of the lives hanging in the balance. Blitz lay in a hospital bed, his body a patchwork of bandages, tubes, and wires. His eyes were closed, his breathing shallow and labored.

Stolas felt his heart shatter anew at the sight of him, the reality of the situation setting in like a cold, hard stone in his stomach. He took a tentative step forward, the pain in his wings a constant, throbbing reminder of what he had done. "Blitz," he whispered, his voice hoarse from the smoke and the screams that still echoed in his mind.

Blitz's eyes fluttered open, the green irises clouded with pain and confusion. He looked around the room, his gaze finally settling on Stolas. For a moment, there was a flicker of recognition, but it quickly faded into a vacant stare. "What happened?" he croaked, his voice barely audible.

Stolas swallowed the lump in his throat, his hand reaching out to touch Blitz's bandaged arm. "There was a fire," he said, his voice trembling. "You're in the hospital."

Blitz's eyes searched Stolas's face, his brow furrowing as the fog of painkillers and trauma began to lift. "I remember," he murmured, his voice weak. "Why are you here?"

With trepidation, Stolas asks to see Blitz and is led to the ICU. Blitz's condition is critical, and Stolas is overwhelmed by guilt upon seeing him. When Blitz regains consciousness, he is confused but recognizes Stolas. Despite their painful history, Stolas is the first person he sees, illustrating the depth of their connection.

Stolas felt his heart stutter in his chest. "I... I'm here for you," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm so sorry, Blitz. I never meant for any of this to happen."

Blitz's eyes searched his, the pain in them fading into something softer, something that looked a lot like regret. "I know," he murmured, his voice a mere whisper. "I pushed you too far."

Stolas felt the weight of his own guilt crushing him, the tears finally spilling over. "No," he choked out. "It was me. I should have seen the signs, should have stopped."

Brandon stepped forward, his voice firm. "You both need to rest," he said, cutting through the heavy silence. "The doctors have done all they can for now."

Stolas nodded, his eyes never leaving Blitz's face. "I'll be back," he promised, his voice barely a whisper. "I'll be here for you."

The demon's eyes closed again, his breathing shallow and uneven. Brandon's hand on his shoulder was the only thing keeping him upright. "Come on," the human said gently, guiding him out of the ICU. "You need to get checked out too."

Stolas nodded, his legs feeling like they might give out at any moment. He allowed Brandon to lead him back to his own hospital room, his mind racing with the events of the night. The doctor checked his burns, applying fresh dressings and administering pain medication. His body was a canvas of agony, a stark reminder of the fire that had ravaged both him and Blitz.

In the ICU, Blitz acknowledges his part in the situation, sharing a moment of mutual regret with Stolas. Brandon intervenes, emphasizing the need for rest and medical attention. Stolas makes a heartfelt promise to be there for Blitz before reluctantly leaving. The doctor's care for Stolas highlights the physical toll of the ordeal, mirroring their emotional turmoil.

As the drugs began to take effect, Stolas felt his eyelids grow heavy. Despite the pain, he fought the urge to sleep, his mind racing with fear for Blitz. "I can't leave him," he murmured, his voice slurred.

Brandon's hand remained firm on his shoulder. "You have to," he said, his tone a mix of compassion and firmness. "You're no good to him if you collapse. Rest, and I'll stay with him."

The words were a balm to Stolas's soul, the exhaustion overwhelming him. He nodded, his eyes drifting closed. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper.

Brandon's reply was lost to the fog of sleep that descended upon him, the world fading into a sea of pain and regret. When he awoke, the room was dim, the sun's first rays peeking through the blinds. His wings, though wrapped in bandages, felt heavy and foreign. The pain was a constant companion, a grim reminder of the horror he had witnessed.

He pushed himself up, his body protesting with every movement. The hospital room was quiet, the beeping of the machines a gentle lullaby. His eyes searched for Blitz, fear gripping him that he had lost him during the night. But then he saw him, still in the same hospital bed, the same array of tubes and wires attached to his body.

Blitz's eyes were open, staring at the ceiling, lost in his own thoughts. The sight of him brought a rush of relief, followed by a fresh wave of guilt. He had done this to him. His obsession had driven him to madness, had almost taken Blitz from him forever.

Despite his exhaustion and pain, Stolas is plagued by guilt and fear for Blitz. Brandon's assurance allows him to relent and rest. Upon waking, he finds Blitz still alive but heavily bandaged, and the reality of his actions sets in, amplifying his emotional distress.

Stolas's voice was barely above a whisper as he called out, "Blitz?"

Blitz's head turned slowly towards him, his eyes still clouded with pain. "You're okay," he murmured, the hint of a smile playing on his cracked lips.

Stolas nodded, his own eyes brimming with unshed tears. "Barely," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "How are you feeling?"

Blitz took a shallow breath, his chest rising and falling with the effort. "Like I've been to hell and back," he murmured, his voice raspy. "But I'm alive."

Stolas felt the weight of his guilt settle heavily on his shoulders. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, his hand shaking as he reached for Blitz's. The demon's skin was warm, a stark contrast to the cold bandages that covered him.

Blitz's eyes searched his, the depths of his pain clear in their emerald depths. "It's okay," he said, his voice barely above a breath. "I know you didn't mean it."

Stolas nodded, the lump in his throat making it hard to speak. "But I did it," he said, his voice cracking. "I hurt you."

Blitz's hand, bandaged and weak, reached out to cover Stolas's. "You didn't," he murmured, his eyes never leaving Stolas's. "You tried to save me."

Stolas felt a tear slip down his cheek, the warmth of Blitz's touch grounding him in the present. "But I didn't," he said, his voice trembling. "I should have seen how much I was hurting you."

Blitz squeezed his hand gently. "It's not your fault," he whispered. "I... I know I pushed you too far."

Stolas and Blitz share a poignant moment in the hospital, where Stolas expresses his guilt and regret. Despite his own condition, Blitz assures Stolas that he understands and forgives, creating a fragile bond of comfort between them.

In the ICU, Stolas is confronted with Blitz's critical condition, feeling immense guilt. They share a moment of mutual regret, and Stolas makes a promise of support. Brandon's intervention allows Stolas to rest, and upon waking, he finds Blitz alive but heavily bandaged. The two share a poignant conversation, with Blitz offering forgiveness, which deepens their complex emotional bond amidst the chaos.

The room was silent, the only sound the steady beep of the heart monitor. Stolas felt his chest tighten, his heart feeling as though it was being squeezed by a vice. "What happens now?" he asked, the words barely escaping his dry lips.

Blitz's gaze drifted to their joined hands, his own bandaged fingers twitching slightly. "Now," he murmured, "we heal."

The simplicity of the statement hit Stolas like a ton of bricks. He had been so focused on the horror of what had happened, on the guilt that threatened to consume him, that he had forgotten the possibility of healing. "How?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Blitz took a deep, pained breath. "We talk," he said, his eyes never leaving Stolas's. "We figure out what went wrong and we move forward."

Stolas nodded, his heart heavy with the weight of their shared history. "But what about us?" he asked, the words slipping out before he could stop them. "Can we ever be...?"

Blitz's gaze remained steadfast on their joined hands. "I don't know," he said, his voice raw with honesty. "But we can try."

The words hung in the air, a lifeline thrown into the abyss of doubt that had consumed Stolas. He nodded, his eyes never leaving Blitz's. "We'll do it together," he murmured, hope flickering in his chest like a candle in the dark.

The doctor stepped into the room, her expression serious. "You both need to rest," she said, her eyes flicking between them. "But it's good to see you talking."

In the hospital, Blitz and Stolas tentatively discuss their future, acknowledging the need for healing and the possibility of rebuilding their relationship. Blitz suggests communication as the first step, and Stolas clings to the hope that they can move forward together. The doctor's intervention emphasizes the gravity of the situation and the importance of their recovery.

Stolas nodded, his gaze never leaving Blitz's. "We'll talk more," he promised, his voice filled with hope. "But first, I need to know that you're okay."

The doctor checked Blitz's vitals, her movements efficient and practiced. She spoke in a calm, professional tone, explaining the extent of his injuries and the long road to recovery ahead. Stolas felt his heart drop with each word, the reality of the situation setting in. "He'll need extensive care," she said, her eyes meeting Stolas's. "But he's a fighter."

"I'll be here," Stolas vowed, his grip on Blitz's hand tightening. "I won't leave his side."

The doctor nodded, a hint of understanding in her eyes. "That's what friends do," she said, her voice gentle. "But remember, Mr. Stolas, you need to heal too."

Stolas nodded, his gaze never leaving Blitz's face. "I will," he murmured. "For him."

The doctor finished her examination and left the room, the door clicking shut behind her. The silence was filled with the soft beeping of monitors and the sound of their own shallow breaths.

"I'm sorry," Stolas said again, the words feeling inadequate. "I never wanted this."

Blitz's hand squeezed his slightly, the warmth a stark contrast to the cold reality of their situation. "It's not your fault," he repeated, his voice hoarse from the tubes down his throat. "We both made mistakes."

Stolas felt a tear slip down his cheek, tracing a path through the soot and ash that still clung to his face. "But I'm the one who... who did this to you."

The doctor delivers a sobering assessment of Blitz's condition, emphasizing the need for care and recovery. Stolas promises to be by Blitz's side, but is reminded of his own need for healing. Blitz forgives Stolas and accepts shared responsibility for their tumultuous past, offering a glimmer of hope for reconciliation amidst the hospital's cold reality.

Blitz's eyes searched his, a hint of the fiery determination that had once fueled his obsession. "We're in this together," he rasped, his grip on Stolas's hand growing stronger. "We'll get through it."

The days in the hospital turned into a blur of pain, recovery, and tentative conversations. Blitz's condition gradually improved, though the burns that marred his body were a constant reminder of the fire that had almost claimed him. Stolas never left his side, his own injuries healing slowly as he focused on supporting the demon he had hurt.

They talked about everything that had led to that fateful night, their words raw and honest. Stolas spoke of his obsession, his fear of losing Blitz, and his desperation to hold onto what he thought was love. Blitz, in turn, confessed his own fears of abandonment, his desire for a family, and his own role in pushing Stolas to the brink.

Slowly, through the pain and the tears, they began to understand each other in a way they never had before. They spoke of their hopes, their regrets, and their love—twisted and broken as it was. They talked about the future, one that didn't involve marriage or a child, but one of friendship and support. A future where they could heal together.

Through their hospital stay, Blitz and Stolas engage in deep, honest discussions about their past. They confront their fears and mistakes, leading to a newfound understanding and acceptance of each other. The concept of a future friendship and mutual support arises, offering a path of healing beyond their romantic entanglement and its destructive end.

In the hospital, Blitz and Stolas consider the future of their relationship, agreeing on the need for communication and healing. Blitz forgives Stolas, and they share responsibility for their past. The doctor's serious prognosis underscores the gravity of the situation, prompting a commitment to support each other's recovery. Through candid discussions, they explore the possibility of a friendship beyond their tumultuous romance, fostering hope amidst the harsh hospital environment.

At the hospital, Stolas's guilt over Blitz's condition grows while Brandon comforts him. Despite surgery, Blitz's fate remains uncertain. Upon waking, Stolas sees the bandaged Blitz and receives his forgiveness. They contemplate a future friendship as Blitz acknowledges his own role in their tragic past.

The hospital room became a sanctuary of sorts, a place where the outside world didn't matter. Only the two of them, their shared past, and the fragile hope of a different kind of future. Brandon, ever the silent guardian, hovered in the background, offering gentle words of encouragement and a strong shoulder to lean on when the weight of their conversation grew too heavy.

As the days turned into weeks, the hospital's sterile walls began to feel less like a prison and more like a shelter. They had each other, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, Stolas felt like he could breathe again. The air was thick with the scent of antiseptic and pain, but there was also a hint of something else—forgiveness.

Brandon had become a constant presence, his gentle nature a balm to their bruised souls. He listened without judgment, offered advice when asked, and held them both together when they thought they might fall apart. His love for Stolas had grown into a fierce protectiveness, a bond that had been forged in the fires of their shared trauma.

One evening, as the sun set over the city, painting the hospital room in shades of gold and pink, Brandon sat in the chair beside Stolas's bed, holding his hand. They had just finished another round of heart-wrenching confessions, their eyes red from crying. "You know," he said, his voice a soft whisper, "you guys might be able to fix this."

Stolas looked at him, hope sparkling in his eyes. "You think so?"

The hospital becomes a safe haven for Blitz and Stolas, with Brandon providing unconditional support. Through weeks of candid conversations and emotional catharsis, they begin to forgive each other. Brandon, evolving from new boyfriend to confidant, suggests that their friendship could be salvaged, igniting a spark of hope in Stolas that a different type of bond could emerge from the ashes of their love.

Brandon nodded, his gaze flicking to Blitz, who was asleep in the next bed. "If you both want it," he said, his voice earnest. "You have to be willing to work through the pain and the anger."

Stolas sighed, his eyes never leaving Blitz. "I do," he murmured. "More than anything."

Brandon gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "Then you will," he said, his voice filled with certainty. "But it won't be easy."

Stolas nodded, his eyes never leaving Blitz. "I know," he murmured. "But I'm willing to try."

Days turned into weeks, and the hospital became a second home for the three of them. The nurses grew accustomed to their constant vigil, the quiet support they offered each other, and the gentle way Brandon cared for Stolas. The burns on Stolas's wings slowly began to heal, the pain dulling to a constant ache that was a stark reminder of the fire that had brought them to this point. Blitz's condition improved, though the scars on his body were a stark reminder of the price he had paid for Stolas's obsession.

Their conversations grew less about the past and more about the future, a future that now included Brandon. He had become an integral part of their lives, a source of comfort and strength that neither of them could have anticipated. Stolas watched him with new eyes, his feelings for the human evolving from gratitude to something deeper, something that felt more like home than the fiery passion he had once felt for Blitz.

Brandon's unwavering support allows Stolas and Blitz to confront their pain and anger, suggesting reconciliation. Their hospital stay evolves into a shared experience of healing, with Brandon becoming a central figure in their lives. Stolas's feelings for Brandon deepen beyond gratitude, forming a new emotional foundation that contrasts with his tumultuous history with Blitz.

The doctor's words echoed in Stolas's mind—they both needed to heal. And so, they took it one day at a time, their bond shifting from one of obsession to one of friendship and mutual support. They shared stories, laughed at old memories, and even allowed themselves to grieve for what could have been.

One day, as the sun set, casting a warm glow over Blitz's bandaged form, Stolas took a deep breath and asked the question that had been haunting him. "Do you... do you still love me?"

Blitz's eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, Stolas was afraid he had overstepped. But then the demon's expression softened, and he reached out a bandaged hand to cover Stolas's own. "In a way," he murmured. "But it's not the same love it was before."

Stolas nodded, understanding in his eyes. "It doesn't have to be," he said, his voice a whisper. "But I need to know if there's a chance for us."

Blitz took a deep, pained breath. "There's always a chance," he murmured. "But it's going to take time."

Stolas nodded, his heart racing in his chest. "I'm willing to wait," he said, his voice filled with determination. "For you, for us."

Blitz's eyes searched his, the depth of his feelings clear despite the pain. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "But we need to focus on healing first."

Stolas nodded, his hand trembling slightly beneath Blitz's touch. "I know," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "We'll get there."

Stolas and Blitz confront their evolving feelings in the hospital, acknowledging the shift from passionate love to friendship. Despite the painful past, they express a willingness to rebuild their relationship with patience and understanding, with Stolas committing to waiting for Blitz's healing and growth before pursuing any romantic future.

The hospital environment allows for healing conversations between Blitz, Stolas, and Brandon, with Brandon acting as a catalyst for reconciliation. Stolas's feelings for Brandon grow, creating a new emotional dynamic. They all accept the shift from romantic love to friendship, with Stolas committing to patience and understanding as Blitz heals and grows, indicating a potential future together beyond their tumultuous past.

The days grew longer, the shadows of the past slowly receding as they focused on the present. The hospital walls, once suffocating, now felt like a cocoon, a place where they could heal and grow. Brandon was the glue that held them together, his unwavering support a beacon of light in the darkness.

One morning, the doctor entered with a more optimistic air than usual. "Blitz, we're going to start physical therapy soon," she said, her voice cheerful. "It's going to be painful, but it's crucial for your recovery."

Blitz nodded, his gaze drifting to Stolas. The demon looked so fragile, so broken, and it was all his doing. He had never meant to hurt him like this. The guilt was a heavy weight in his chest, but he knew he had to move forward, had to heal, not just for himself, but for Stolas and Brandon too.

The first day of physical therapy was a grueling ordeal. The therapist was kind but firm, pushing Blitz's body to its limits. Every movement sent shockwaves of pain through his burned muscles and tender skin. Stolas hovered nearby, his face a mask of anguish as he watched Blitz struggle. Brandon held Stolas's hand, whispering words of encouragement in his ear.

After hours of painstaking effort, Blitz lay back on the hospital bed, panting. His eyes, filled with a mix of pride and pain, searched for Stolas. "I'll get through this," he murmured, his voice laced with determination.

As hospital life becomes a routine, the trio finds strength in their newfound friendship. The doctor's announcement of physical therapy marks a significant step in Blitz's recovery process. Despite the pain, Blitz is motivated by his regret and the presence of Stolas and Brandon, who stand by him, symbolizing hope and growth amidst the difficult journey ahead.

Stolas nodded, his own eyes brimming with tears. "I know you will," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "You're the strongest person I know."

The therapy sessions became a daily ritual, a testament to Blitz's resilience and Stolas's unwavering support. Brandon was always there, his presence a gentle reminder that love didn't have to be destructive, that it could be a force for good. They watched as Blitz slowly regained his strength, the anger and obsession of their past replaced by a quiet resolve to move forward.

One afternoon, as Stolas helped Blitz sit up, the demon's eyes searched his face, a question lingering in the air. "Why are you still here?" he rasped, his voice still strained from the tubes that had been his constant companions.

Stolas paused, the cloth in his hands hovering over Blitz's bandages. "Because I love you," he said simply, his voice filled with conviction. "But not in the way I did before."

Blitz's eyes searched his, the pain in them now mixed with something else—understanding. "I know," he murmured. "It's different now."

The days grew into a rhythm of pain and progress. Blitz pushed through the therapy with a stubbornness that surprised even the most seasoned of the hospital staff, his eyes never straying from Stolas's face. Stolas, in turn, grew stronger alongside him, the bond between them reforming into something new—a friendship that was steadfast and true.

Through the rigorous therapy sessions, the bond between Stolas and Blitz evolves into a deep friendship. Stolas's love transforms from obsession to a steadfast support, and Blitz recognizes the change. Their shared experiences in the hospital strengthen their connection, allowing them to move forward from their tumultuous past into a new phase of their relationship.

One evening, as the light outside grew dim, Brandon approached the hospital room, his eyes filled with a gentle excitement. "Guys, I've got something to tell you," he said, his voice carrying a hopeful lilt.

Stolas looked up from his book, his wings still heavily bandaged, and Blitz's eyes fluttered open, the pain etched into his features despite his attempt to hide it. "What is it?" Stolas asked, setting the book aside.

Brandon took a deep breath, his hand trembling slightly. "I've found a place for us," he said, his voice filled with excitement. "A place where we can all live together and help each other heal."

Stolas's eyes widened, hope sparking in his chest. "Really?" he whispered, his voice filled with disbelief.

Blitz's gaze met Brandon's, a silent question passing between them. The human nodded, his smile warm and reassuring. "It's a safe place," he said. "A place where we can all start over."

The idea of a fresh start was tempting, a beacon of light in the dark tunnel they had been navigating. "What kind of place?" Stolas asked, his voice tentative.

"A house," Brandon said, his eyes shining. "It's a bit of a fixer-upper, but it's got plenty of room for all of us."

Stolas's heart skipped a beat. A home, together. It was more than he had dared to hope for. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice tentative.

Brandon nodded, his smile widening. "I've seen it," he said. "It's not much, but it's a start."

Brandon surprises Stolas and Blitz with the news of a potential new home, a symbol of their newfound friendship and a place to collectively heal from their past. Despite the challenges ahead, the offer of a "fixer-upper" house represents a fresh start, a shared space where they can all recover and build a future together.

The thought of leaving the hospital, of stepping into a new life, was both exhilarating and terrifying. Stolas felt his heart race at the prospect of creating a future that didn't involve the constant ache of guilt and regret. He looked to Blitz, searching for a sign of what he was feeling.

Blitz's expression was unreadable, his eyes flicking between Stolas and Brandon. After a moment, he nodded slowly. "Okay," he murmured, his voice still weak. "Let's do it."

The decision was made, and the wheels were set in motion. Over the next few days, Brandon handled the logistics while Stolas focused on helping Blitz with his therapy. The doctor agreed to release Blitz under their combined care, trusting that the three of them had formed a strong support system.

On the day of their discharge, the hospital room was a flurry of activity. Nurses and orderlies bustled in and out, preparing Blitz for the transition to his new life. Stolas hovered anxiously, his eyes never leaving the demon's face. Despite the pain and exhaustion, Blitz managed a weak smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a way that made Stolas's heart ache.

The trio decides to leave the hospital and move into the new house Brandon found, symbolizing their commitment to a shared future. Blitz, though weak, agrees to the plan, and the three prepare for discharge. The doctor trusts their bond as a support system for Blitz's ongoing recovery, and Stolas remains attentive and hopeful for their life together outside the hospital walls.

The trio forms a strong friendship during Blitz's hospital stay, with Brandon offering a new home as a symbol of their commitment to healing. The doctor supports their plan to move in together post-discharge, recognizing their bond as crucial to Blitz's recovery. Through physical therapy and shared experiences, Stolas's love for Blitz transitions from obsession to support, and they all look forward to starting anew in their "fixer-upper" house.

Brandon, ever the organizer, had packed their meager belongings and arranged for a car to take them to their new home. He hovered near the door, his excitement palpable. The house was a modest two-story building in a quiet neighborhood, the kind of place where the most exciting thing that happened was someone finally mowing their lawn. It was a stark contrast to the chaotic world they had known, but it was exactly what they needed.

As they stepped out of the hospital into the fresh air, the three of them took a moment to breathe in the scent of freedom. Stolas's wings, though still weak and bound, fluttered slightly with the excitement of a new beginning. Blitz leaned heavily on his crutches, his body a testament to the fire that had almost claimed him, but his eyes were bright with hope.

The drive to the house was quiet, the tension in the car thick enough to cut with a knife. Each of them was lost in their own thoughts, the weight of their past heavy on their shoulders. But as the car pulled up to the small, unassuming house, Brandon's excitement was infectious. "Welcome home," he murmured, his eyes shining with happiness.

Brandon organizes their move to the new house, which stands as a symbol of their newfound freedom and a stark contrast to their past lives. The trio leaves the hospital, with Stolas's weak but fluttering wings signifying hope and Blitz's recovery. Upon arrival, Brandon's excitement for their new home spreads among them, offering a glimpse of happiness amidst their heavy contemplations of the future.

Stolas helped Blitz out of the car, his own steps unsure. The house looked welcoming, the lights in the windows a warm beacon of hope. They made their way up the cracked sidewalk, the sound of their shoes echoing in the quiet evening. The door creaked open, revealing a living room that was sparsely furnished but clean. The scent of fresh paint and possibility filled the air.

Brandon led the way, his eyes alight with excitement. "This is it," he said, his voice a mix of nerves and anticipation. "Our fresh start."

Stolas and Blitz exchanged a look, the weight of their shared history heavy between them. But there was also a spark of something new—a tentative hope that maybe, just maybe, they could find peace here.

The house was a mess, a far cry from the luxurious penthouse they had once shared. The walls were bare, the floors uncarpeted, and the furniture second-hand at best. But as they moved through the space, their eyes fell on the small touches Brandon had added—fresh flowers in a vase, a hand-painted "Welcome Home" sign above the fireplace, and a fridge stocked with food that wasn't hospital fare.

"It's perfect," Stolas murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

Blitz managed a weak chuckle. "It's a dump," he said, his voice hoarse. "But it's our dump."

The trio arrives at their new house, which is a stark contrast to their past life. Despite its unassuming and imperfect exterior, the interior holds a promise of a new beginning with Brandon's personal touches. Stolas and Blitz share a moment of hope, acknowledging the potential for peace and growth in their new shared space.

The three of them stood in the middle of the living room, the silence stretching out like a tightrope between them. Then, slowly, they began to laugh—a sound that was both painful and freeing. It was the first genuine laughter they had shared in what felt like forever, a balm to their weary souls.

Brandon took charge, showing them around the house with an enthusiasm that was contagious. Each room held the promise of a new beginning, a place where they could leave the ashes of their past behind. Stolas helped Blitz up the stairs, his heart swelling with a mix of guilt and gratitude as he saw the effort it took for the demon to ascend.

They reached a small, sunlit room with a view of the overgrown backyard. "This will be your room, Blitz," Brandon said, his voice gentle. "We can work on making it more comfortable."

Blitz nodded, his eyes scanning the bare walls. "It's a good start," he murmured, his voice filled with a tired resignation.

Stolas helped him into the room, his own guilt heavy in the air. "We'll make it better," he promised, his wings brushing against the doorframe as he moved to the window. The sun cast a warm glow across the space, highlighting the dust motes that danced in the air.

"We'll all work on it together," Brandon said firmly, his eyes meeting Stolas's in the mirror of his resolve. "We're a team now."

The trio shares a moment of laughter in their new home, symbolizing the start of their new life together. Brandon shows them around, assigning Blitz a room to recover in. Despite its initial state, they are optimistic about improving it and their lives together. Their unity is emphasized as they make plans to transform the house, signifying their commitment to each other and their shared future.

The trio leaves the hospital for their new "fixer-upper" home, which Brandon has made more welcoming. The house represents a new chapter, and their optimism grows as they plan renovations together. Stolas's wings hint at a brighter future, and their unity is reinforced as they envision the home's potential, signifying their dedication to a shared life.

During Blitz's hospitalization, a strong friendship forms between the three. Stolas's love evolves from obsession to support, and they decide to live together post-discharge. The doctor approves, recognizing their bond's importance in Blitz's recovery. They move into a "fixer-upper" home, symbolizing their commitment to a new life and shared growth.

Stolas nodded, his gaze lingering on Blitz's reflection. The demon looked so small, so fragile in the hospital gown, his once proud posture now stooped with pain. But there was something in his eyes that hadn't been there before—a spark of life, of hope.

They spent the next few weeks settling into their new home, each day a mix of hard work and gentle care. Brandon proved to be a surprisingly adept nurse, his dedication to Blitz's recovery unwavering. He helped with the wound care, the exercises, and even the more mundane tasks like cooking and cleaning. Stolas watched him with a mix of admiration and something else—something that felt suspiciously like love.

The house slowly began to take shape, the bare walls filling with art and the empty spaces with furniture that had been scavenged from garage sales and donated by friends. They worked together, the three of them, creating a space that felt less like a hospital and more like a home.

Blitz's recovery was slow, each day a battle against the pain that threatened to consume him. But every small victory—his first step without crutches, the day he could shower by himself—was celebrated with quiet cheer. Stolas was there every step of the way, his gentle touch and soft encouragement a constant in the sea of pain.

As they adjust to their new life, the trio's bond strengthens. Brandon acts as a dedicated caretaker for Blitz, whose recovery is depicted in a series of small victories. The house transforms into a home under their collective efforts, symbolizing their progress from a hospital setting to a place of comfort and belonging. Stolas's love for Brandon grows, and his nurturing nature towards Blitz remains constant, contributing to the latter's healing process.

As the weeks turned into months, the scars on Blitz's body began to fade, but the ones on their hearts remained. They danced around their feelings, unsure of the new dynamic that had formed between them. They were friends, yes, but the love that had once burned so brightly had transformed into something more complex, a tapestry of regret, hope, and a newfound respect.

Stolas found solace in the quiet moments, the gentle brushing of Blitz's horns, the way his eyes lit up when he talked about his dreams for the future. He watched Blitz regain his strength, his fiery spirit slowly returning, and felt a sense of pride that was as unexpected as it was profound. Their conversations grew longer, the silences between them no longer filled with the echoes of their tumultuous past but with the quiet understanding of shared experiences.

Brandon, ever the peacemaker, noticed the change in their relationship. He knew that the love between Stolas and Blitz was something he could never fully understand, but he saw the way they leaned on each other, the way they found comfort in their shared pain. And so, he stepped back, giving them the space they needed to navigate the complexities of their healing.

One evening, as they sat in the backyard watching the sunset, Stolas spoke up, his voice tentative. "Blitz, I know we've talked about this before, but I just want to make sure you're okay with all of this." He gestured to the house, to Brandon, to the life they were building together.

Over time, the trio's relationship evolves, with the emotional scars of their past persisting. Stolas and Blitz find comfort in each other's company, sharing moments of tenderness and understanding as Blitz regains his strength. Brandon, aware of the intricacies of their bond, provides them space to heal. A pivotal conversation arises when Stolas expresses his concern for Blitz's feelings about their new life together, indicating the depth of their friendship and shared experiences.

Blitz looked at him, his eyes a mix of pain and something softer. "I'm okay," he said finally. "I mean, it's not what I ever expected, but... it's not so bad."

Stolas reached out, his hand hovering over Blitz's. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "For everything."

Blitz's eyes searched his, and for a moment, Stolas saw the flicker of the demon he had once known—the fiery passion and intensity that had been the cornerstone of their love. But it was followed by a tired smile, one that spoke of acceptance and growth. "You don't have to be," Blitz said, his voice gruff. "We're here now, aren't we?"

Stolas nodded, his heart swelling with a mix of relief and love. He looked over at Brandon, who was busy tending to the small garden they had started. The human looked up and met his gaze, a knowing smile playing on his lips. He had become the anchor in their storm, the constant that held them together when the waves of their past threatened to pull them apart.

As the days grew longer and the nights shorter, the house took on a life of its own. The garden grew lush and green, and the walls of their new home were adorned with memories of their past, both good and bad. It served as a reminder of how far they had come, and the distance they still had to travel.

In a heartfelt conversation, Stolas and Blitz acknowledge their past and the unexpected nature of their current friendship. Blitz accepts their new life together, and their shared growth is reflected in their interactions. Brandon emerges as a stabilizing force, and the house evolves into a sanctuary filled with memories, symbolizing their collective journey toward healing and acceptance.

The trio's relationships deepen as they turn the house into a home. Brandon's care and Stolas's love contribute to Blitz's recovery. Stolas and Blitz share tender moments of understanding, acknowledging their past. Their friendship grows stronger, and the house becomes a sanctuary symbolizing their journey toward healing, with Brandon acting as a stabilizing force in their lives.

The three of them had developed a routine that was both comfortable and strange. Stolas would help Blitz with his physical therapy in the mornings, pushing him to his limits, while Brandon took care of the household chores. In the afternoons, they would sit together in the living room, sharing stories and laughter, their bond growing stronger with each passing day.

One afternoon, as Blitz worked on a painting that had been left untouched for months, a knock echoed through the house. Stolas answered the door to find a delivery man holding a large, nondescript box. "It's for you," he said, nodding towards Blitz.

Curiosity piqued, they brought the box into the living room. Blitz looked at it warily, his hand hovering over the cardboard. "What is it?" he asked, his voice a mix of suspicion and hope.

Stolas carefully opened the flaps, revealing a sleek, professional camera. "It's from your art school," he said, his eyes wide with excitement. "They want you to come back and finish your degree."

Blitz's hand trembled as he reached for the letter that accompanied the camera. The words swam before his eyes, but the gist was clear—his teachers had seen his potential, had faith in his recovery. "I can't," he murmured, his voice thick with disbelief. "Not after what I've done."

Stolas took the letter from his hand, scanning the words with a frown. "They understand," he said gently. "They want to help you, Blitz. They believe in you."

The trio establishes a routine of care and companionship, with each member contributing to the household and supporting Blitz's recovery. A surprise delivery brings a lifeline from Blitz's past: an invitation to return to art school. Despite his initial doubt, the gesture from his teachers, who offer understanding and belief in his potential, marks a significant step in Blitz's healing journey and opens new possibilities for his future.

Blitz stared at the camera, his heart racing. He had always loved art, had dreamed of a life where he could create without the burden of his family's expectations or the chaos of his own emotions. The thought of returning to school, of being around people again, was both thrilling and terrifying.

"You should go," Stolas said, his voice gentle. "It's what you've always wanted."

Blitz looked up, his eyes searching Stolas's face. He knew the demon was right—this was the chance he had been dreaming of. But the fear of failure, of letting everyone down again, was a heavy burden. "What if I can't do it?" he whispered.

Stolas took his hand, his thumb tracing comforting circles on the back of it. "You're stronger than you think," he said, his voice firm. "We're all here for you."

Brandon nodded in agreement, his eyes filled with encouragement. "You've come so far," he said. "And we'll be right here, supporting you every step of the way."

With a deep breath, Blitz made his decision. "Okay," he said, his voice steady. "I'll do it."

Their excitement was palpable as they helped him set up the camera, the clicking of the shutter a metaphorical leap into the future. Stolas couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy at the idea of Blitz leaving them for school, but he pushed it aside. This was what Blitz needed, what he deserved.

Despite his fears, Blitz decides to accept the offer to return to art school, driven by the encouragement of Stolas and Brandon. The camera delivery represents a beacon of hope and a chance to pursue his lifelong passion, prompting a significant decision to move forward. The support from his newfound family underscores the depth of their friendship and shared desire for his success.

As the days grew closer to the start of the semester, the house buzzed with a new energy. Blitz was a whirlwind of nerves and excitement, pouring his soul into his art as if it were a lifeline back to the world he had almost lost. Stolas watched him work, marveling at the way the light danced across the canvas, bringing to life the emotions that lay dormant in the demon's heart.

The night before his first day of classes, they gathered around the kitchen table, a map of the school sprawled out before them. Brandon's finger traced the path from their house to the art building, pointing out the quickest routes and the best places to grab coffee. "You've got this," he said, his eyes shining with belief.

Stolas felt his heart clench at the thought of Blitz leaving. "I'll miss you," he admitted, his voice thick with unshed tears.

Blitz looked at him, his expression softening. "I'll miss you too, Stoli," he said, using the old pet name that sent a shiver down Stolas's spine. "But this is a good thing. For all of us."

The first day of school was a blur of nervous excitement. Stolas and Brandon saw Blitz off, their words of encouragement hanging in the air like a protective shield. They watched as he disappeared into the sea of students, his crutches a stark reminder of the journey he had endured. Stolas felt a pang of regret, his wings tightening around his chest.

The trio prepares for Blitz's return to art school, filling the house with excitement and anticipation. Stolas, while feeling a sense of loss, recognizes the importance of this opportunity for Blitz. The moment of departure underscores their growth as a supportive family, with Stolas's use of the pet name "Stoli" hinting at their evolving relationship. The scene at the door captures the tension between fear and hope as they each face the new chapter ahead.

A delivery from Blitz's art school with an invitation to return marks a turning point in his healing. Despite fears, the support from Stolas and Brandon encourages Blitz to accept the offer. The house becomes a flurry of activity as they prepare for this significant step in his life, with Stolas calling him "Stoli," revealing the depth of their bond. Their shared excitement and fear highlight their growth as a family unit.

The house felt eerily quiet without Blitz's boisterous presence, and Stolas found himself wandering the halls, lost in thought. He picked up a paintbrush, the bristles still damp with Blitz's determination, and traced the contours of a forgotten canvas. It was as if he could feel the echoes of their shared past, the love and anger that had once consumed them.

In the kitchen, Brandon brewed a pot of coffee, the aroma a comforting embrace in the stillness. He looked over at Stolas, his eyes filled with understanding. "You know he's going to be okay," he said, his voice soothing.

Stolas nodded, but the doubt lingered. "I know," he murmured, his grip on the paintbrush tight. "But it's hard to let go."

Brandon stepped closer, wrapping an arm around his waist. "You've been his rock through all of this," he said. "He'll be fine. And we'll be here for each other."

Stolas leaned into the warmth of Brandon's embrace, his eyes still on the canvas. "I know," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "But it's just... different."

Brandon nodded, his hand coming up to rest on Stolas's shoulder. "It is," he agreed. "But different doesn't have to be bad."

In Blitz's absence, the house feels empty, prompting introspection from Stolas. Brandon's comfort highlights the changing dynamics within their relationship. The moment of shared vulnerability and support acknowledges the challenges of change, while also affirming the strength of their bond as they navigate the new landscape of their lives without Blitz's constant presence. The conversation emphasizes growth and the acceptance of the new normal.

The next few months were a whirlwind of change. Blitz threw himself into his art, his passion for creation consuming him in a way that was both exhilarating and exhausting to watch. Stolas and Brandon supported him from the sidelines, attending his art shows and offering gentle criticism and encouragement. The house remained a bastion of their newfound peace, a place where they could be themselves without fear of judgment or repercussion.

But as the days grew shorter and the nights grew colder, the tension between Stolas and Brandon began to simmer beneath the surface. They had always known their feelings for each other were complicated, but with Blitz's departure, the unspoken truth grew louder. They were in love, and it was a love that transcended the boundaries of friendship.

One evening, as they sat in the living room with the warm glow of the fireplace casting shadows on the walls, Brandon took a deep breath. "Stoli," he began, his voice tentative. "I need to talk to you about something."

Stolas looked up from his book, his eyes meeting Brandon's with a mix of curiosity and wariness. "What's up?"

Brandon fidgeted, his hand tracing the edge of the couch cushion. "I've been thinking a lot about us," he began, his voice low. "And I know we've talked about taking things slow, but I... I can't help how I feel."

As Blitz immerses himself in school, the house remains a haven of support and growth. Stolas and Brandon's relationship evolves, with the unspoken truth of their love becoming more apparent. The conversation by the fireplace marks a pivotal moment where Brandon confesses his feelings, pushing the boundaries of their friendship and setting the stage for potential romantic developments within the trio's dynamic.

Stolas set his book aside, his heart racing. He knew what Brandon was trying to say, had felt the same unspoken tension coiling around them like a tightly wound spring. "What are you saying?" he asked, his voice a whisper.

Brandon took a deep breath, his eyes searching Stolas's face. "I'm saying that I love you," he said finally. "And I want us to be more than just friends."

Stolas felt his breath catch in his throat. The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. He knew that this moment had been a long time coming, but hearing it out loud was like a punch to the gut. He had been so focused on helping Blitz that he had pushed his own feelings aside, afraid of what they might mean.

He looked into Brandon's eyes, searching for any sign of doubt or hesitation. But all he saw was sincerity, a raw vulnerability that made his heart ache. "I love you too," he finally said, the words tumbling out of his mouth in a rush. "More than I thought I could love anyone."

Brandon's smile was like the sun breaking through the clouds. He leaned in, his hand cupping Stolas's cheek, and kissed him softly. It was a kiss filled with promise, with the sweetness of a future that had once seemed so far out of reach. Stolas melted into it, his body responding to the touch of the man he had come to love.

Brandon confesses his love for Stolas, desiring a romantic relationship beyond friendship. Stolas, initially caught off guard, admits his own love. Their mutual confession leads to a tender kiss, signaling a shift in their relationship dynamics and a newfound hope for a future together.

The kiss deepened, their tongues dancing together as they explored the new landscape of their relationship. Stolas felt his wings unfurling, the feathers brushing against Brandon's skin, sending sparks of desire through his body. They pulled away, breathless, their eyes locked.

"We should tell Blitz," Stolas murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "He deserves to know."

Brandon nodded, his thumb tracing the line of Stolas's jaw. "Yeah," he agreed. "But let's give him some time to focus on school first."

Stolas nodded, his hand sliding into Brandon's. "You're right," he said, his voice a gentle whisper. "We don't want to overwhelm him."

The next few weeks were a blur of stolen moments and whispered confessions. They learned each other's rhythms, the way their bodies fit together like pieces of a puzzle that had always been meant to be solved. Stolas had never felt this way before, a fierce love that burned in his chest like a star. And with every touch, every shared glance, he knew that Brandon felt it too.

But the looming shadow of their secret grew heavier with each passing day. They knew they couldn't keep it from Blitz forever, but the timing never felt right. They didn't want to distract him from his studies, from the new life he was building outside the confines of their tumultuous past. So, they waited, their love a quiet flame that grew brighter with every shared smile, every gentle touch.

After confessing their love, Stolas and Brandon share intimate moments, yet decide to keep their new relationship a secret from Blitz to avoid distracting him from his studies. Their bond deepens, but the secret weighs heavily, illustrating the complexities of their evolving family dynamic.

Blitz, for his part, seemed oblivious to the change in the air. His focus was solely on his art, his eyes alight with a passion that had been dulled by their tumultuous history. He talked about his classes, his newfound friends, and the freedom that came with being out from under his family's thumb. Stolas and Brandon listened with pride, their hearts swelling with every victory he shared.

But as the winter months grew closer, the tension between them grew tauter. Stolas knew they couldn't keep their relationship a secret much longer. The guilt of hiding their love from Blitz was eating away at him, especially as they grew closer as friends. They had to tell him, to lay their hearts bare and hope that he would understand.

One night, after Blitz had returned from a particularly grueling day at school, they sat him down in the warmth of the living room. Stolas's wings fluttered nervously, and Brandon's hand found his, offering a silent gesture of support. They took deep breaths, their eyes locked on Blitz's face, which was a canvas of confusion and curiosity.

"What's going on, you guys?" Blitz asked, his voice tinged with weariness.

Stolas took a deep breath, his heart hammering in his chest. "We have something to tell you," he began, his voice shaky. "It's about us. Brandon and me."

Blitz's eyes widened, his expression a mix of surprise and concern. "What is it?" he asked, his gaze flicking between them.

Brandon took the lead, his voice steady. "We've fallen in love," he said, his thumb caressing the back of Stolas's hand. "It's been happening slowly, over the past few months, as we've all been healing and finding our way."

Blitz stared at them, his eyes unblinking. For a moment, the only sound in the room was the crackling of the fireplace. Then, a slow smile spread across his face. "Well, fuck me sideways," he murmured, his eyes shining with something that looked suspiciously like happiness. "I never saw that coming."

Stolas felt his shoulders relax, a weight lifting from his chest. "You're okay with it?" he asked, his voice hopeful.

Blitz leaned back into the couch, a smirk playing on his lips. "Why wouldn't I be?" He chuckled, a warm, genuine sound that filled the room. "You two are perfect for each other. I could see it from the start."

Stolas's eyes widened in shock. "You... you knew?"

Blitz shrugged, his grin growing wider. "I'm not blind, Stoli. Plus, the way you two look at each other, it's like you're sharing a secret the universe is dying to know." He took a sip of his coffee, his eyes never leaving them. "But you guys are happy, right?"

Stolas nodded, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "More than we've ever been," he admitted.

Brandon leaned in, his voice earnest. "We never wanted to hurt you, Blitz. We just didn't know how to tell you."

Blitz's smile softened, and he reached out to pat Stolas's knee. "I know that," he said, his voice gentle. "And I'm happy for you. Really."

The tension in the room dissipated like smoke, replaced by a warmth that made Stolas's wings flutter with relief. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

Blitz leaned forward, his expression serious. "But I need you to promise me one thing," he said, his eyes piercing through the haze of their confession.

Stolas and Brandon exchanged a nervous glance. "What's that?" Brandon asked, his voice a soft murmur.

Blitz's eyes searched their faces, his expression earnest. "Promise me that you'll never forget what we had," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "The good, the bad, it's all a part of who we are. And I don't want any of us to lose that."

Stolas and Brandon nodded in unison, the gravity of Blitz's words settling in their hearts. They knew that their past was a tangled web of love, anger, and regret, but it had shaped them into the beings they were today. They had all suffered, grown, and learned from their experiences, and their friendship was the strongest it had ever been.

"We promise," Stolas said, his voice thick with emotion. "We'll always cherish the memories we've shared, good and bad. They've made us who we are."

Brandon squeezed Stolas's hand, and the demon felt the truth of his words resonate within him. Their past had been a tumultuous rollercoaster, but it had led them to this moment—to a place of healing and growth.

"But what about us?" Stolas asked, his voice tentative. "Where do we go from here?"

Blitz's smile remained, but his eyes grew thoughtful. "Well, we're still friends, right?" He took a deep breath. "I think we need to figure out what that looks like now. We can't go back to the way things were, but we can move forward. Together."

They sat in silence for a moment, the crackling fire the only sound in the room. Then, as if a dam had broken, words began to spill from their lips—memories of the past, hopes for the future, fears and insecurities laid bare. They talked until the early hours of the morning, their hearts open and raw with the weight of their confessions.

As the embers of the fire began to die down, Brandon spoke up, his voice filled with a newfound resolve. "We can make this work," he said, his eyes shining with determination. "We're stronger together than we ever were apart."

Stolas nodded, his gaze moving between Blitz and Brandon. "We're a family," he said firmly. "No matter what happens, we're in this together."

Blitz's eyes sparkled with unshed tears. "Alright," he murmured, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "A family it is."

The weeks that followed were a delicate dance of redefining their dynamics. They were no longer just roommates, but a trio bound by love, friendship, and a shared history that was as complex as it was painful. Stolas and Brandon grew more open with their affection, their touches and gestures a silent declaration of their newfound relationship status. Yet, they remained acutely aware of Blitz's feelings, ensuring that their love didn't overshadow the friendship that had been the foundation of their unconventional bond.

Blitz, for his part, threw himself into his art with renewed vigor. The scent of fresh paint and the scraping of palette knives against canvas filled the house, a constant reminder of the healing power of creation. He painted with a frenzy that both Stolas and Brandon found mesmerizing, his brushstrokes speaking volumes about his tumultuous journey. His pieces grew bolder, more vivid, and the pain that had once been so palpable in his work began to give way to something more profound—a sense of rebirth.

Stolas watched from the sidelines, his heart swelling with pride. He knew that Blitz was still navigating the choppy waters of his emotions, but he saw the growth, the way the demon was slowly letting go of the anger and hurt that had defined him for so long. And as he watched Blitz, he felt a newfound sense of purpose. He had always loved the idea of a family, but now, with Brandon by his side, he saw the possibility of it becoming a reality.

One evening, as Blitz worked on a particularly intense piece, Stolas approached him, a tentative smile on his face. "Hey," he said softly, not wanting to disturb the artist's flow. "Can I see?"

Blitz stepped back, his expression a mix of pride and vulnerability. "It's not finished," he warned, but the way his eyes searched Stolas's face told the demon he was eager for feedback.

Stolas nodded, his wings fluttering with excitement as he stepped closer. The painting was a whirlwind of color and emotion, a stark contrast to the darkness that had once dominated Blitz's work. It was a self-portrait, but instead of the usual snarling, feral demon, there was a softness to the features, a hint of peace in the eyes that hadn't been there before. "It's beautiful," Stolas murmured, the truth of his words resonating through him.

Blitz looked at him, his expression unreadable. "Thanks," he said, his voice gruff. "It's... different."

Stolas reached out, his hand hovering over the canvas. "It's a reflection of where you are now," he said, his eyes never leaving Blitz's. "You're growing, Blitz. We all are."

Blitz nodded, his eyes never leaving the painting. "I know," he murmured. "It's just... scary. Change is scary."

Stolas took a deep breath, his hand landing gently on Blitz's shoulder. "We're all here for you," he said. "We're in this together."

Brandon, who had been quietly observing from the doorway, stepped into the room, his presence a comforting warmth. "And we're not going anywhere," he added, his voice firm.

Blitz's gaze flicked to Brandon, and for a moment, Stolas saw the ghost of their past, the hurt and betrayal that had once driven them apart. But then Blitz took a deep breath, and the moment passed. "Thanks, guys," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

The three of them stood there, their eyes locked in a silent understanding. They had come so far, endured so much, and yet here they were—still standing, still fighting for a future filled with hope and love.

As the nights grew colder and the days shorter, the house grew more alive with the warmth of their shared experiences. They laughed together, cried together, and supported each other's dreams. Stolas watched as Brandon and Blitz grew closer, not as lovers, but as brothers. It was a bond he had never thought possible, but now it was as solid as the foundation of their home.

One particularly dreary afternoon, Stolas found Blitz sitting by the window, his eyes distant. "What's up?" Stolas asked, his voice soft.

Blitz sighed, his gaze still out the window. "Just thinking," he murmured. "I got an email from the school today. They're having an exhibition, and they want me to submit some of my work."

Stolas's heart swelled with excitement. "That's amazing, Blitz!" He knew how much art meant to the demon, how it was his lifeblood, his way of making sense of the chaos inside him. "You should totally do it."

Blitz's eyes searched Stolas's face, looking for reassurance. "Do you think I'm ready?"

Stolas's smile was unwavering. "You're more than ready. Your art is... it's incredible. The world deserves to see it."

The room was filled with the sound of Blitz's shaky exhale. "Okay," he said finally, turning back to the canvas before him. "I'll do it."

Stolas felt a surge of pride. "That's the spirit," he said, clapping Blitz on the back. "We'll all go to the exhibition together. It'll be a celebration of how far you've come."

The days leading up to the exhibition were a flurry of activity. Blitz worked tirelessly on his pieces, fueled by a mix of excitement and nerves. Stolas and Brandon did their part, offering help where they could and giving Blitz the space he needed to create. The house was a symphony of creativity, with paint splattered on the floor and canvas strewn across every available surface.

On the night of the exhibition, the trio stood before the mirror, each dressed to the nines. Stolas's tail swished anxiously as he straightened Brandon's tie, while Brandon checked Blitz's attire. They looked like a well-oiled machine, each one playing their role in the grand performance of their newfound life together.

The gallery was a cacophony of voices and color when they arrived. Stolas felt his heart race as he took in the sea of unfamiliar faces, each one a potential critic of Blitz's soul-baring art. But as they approached the section dedicated to Blitz's work, the chatter grew quieter, replaced by a sense of reverence.

The paintings on the wall were a testament to his growth, each one a snapshot of his journey from anger to acceptance. The vibrant colors and powerful brushstrokes spoke louder than any words could. Stolas felt his chest swell with pride as he watched Blitz's eyes dart around the room, searching for their reactions.

Brandon's hand found Stolas's, their fingers intertwining as they moved closer to the first piece. It was a portrait of the two of them, their faces illuminated by the soft glow of the fireplace, a scene from one of their many quiet nights together. Stolas felt his heart clench at the raw emotion in every detail—the love in Brandon's eyes, the understanding in his own.

As they moved through the exhibition, they saw their lives reflected back at them through Blitz's art. The pain, the anger, the love—it was all there, a visual diary of their journey from hell to something that resembled a home. Each piece was a story, a testament to their resilience and the bonds that had formed between them.

The attendees whispered, their eyes drawn to the raw emotion that poured from the canvases. Stolas felt his cheeks heat up as he heard snippets of their conversations, praising the honesty and depth of Blitz's work. They talked about the transformation, the way the art spoke to them, and for the first time in his life, Stolas felt truly seen.

As they reached the final piece, a sculpture of all three of them standing together, Stolas couldn't hold back his tears. It was perfect, a tangible representation of their journey from hell to this moment of hope. Blitz had captured the strength in Brandon's arms as he held them both, the love in Stolas's eyes as he looked up at him, and the newfound peace in his own expression.

"It's... it's us," Stolas managed to choke out, his voice thick with emotion.

Brandon's hand tightened around his, and Stolas knew that he was feeling the same overwhelming wave of pride and awe. The sculpture was a masterpiece, a three-dimensional representation of their tumultuous journey that somehow managed to encapsulate the love and hope that had emerged from the ashes.

The night of the exhibition was a blur of handshakes, compliments, and questions about their unusual living situation. Blitz fielded them with a mix of his trademark sarcasm and a surprising openness, his cheeks flushing with pleasure at the genuine praise for his art. Stolas and Brandon hovered nearby, a silent support system that seemed to bolster Blitz's confidence with every shared smile and gentle touch.

As the evening drew to a close, the three of them found themselves standing before the sculpture once again. Blitz's hand hovered over the outstretched wing of the Stolas figure, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "This," he said, his voice choked with emotion, "this is what I want to remember."

Stolas stepped closer, his own eyes misty. "We'll always be here for you," he promised, his hand covering Blitz's. "No matter what."

Brandon wrapped an arm around both of them, his eyes shining with love. "We're in this together," he said, his voice firm. "Always."

The exhibition was a success, the three of them leaving the gallery with a sense of accomplishment and a newfound understanding of their place in the world. They had faced their demons, both literally and figuratively, and come out the other side stronger. The art had not only been a reflection of their past but a beacon of hope for their future.

[quindolyn]

plz write george smut thank you :)

Anytime || George Weasley

Word Count: 2,201

a/n: I’m so sorry this took me longer than I wanted it to finish. I’ve been pretty all over the place. I hope you like it! After this I’m getting out a Harry imagine I have requested in my inbox and then I’ll start writing whatever you guys vote for!

Warnings: daddy kink, quickie

Masterlist

It started out innocent. You swore it did, you never imagined that it would get this far, nor was that your intention.

It started off with you not noticing that the top couple buttons of your blouse had popped undone exposing a rather excessive amount of cleavage for the common room. Especially when it was flooded with a bunch of third and fourth years, many of whom were ogling you like they’d never seen a human woman before.

George was torn between giving you his coat to cover you from the less than respectful gazes targeted at you and using it to hide his erection.

Next it was crossing your legs in class when you sat next to him, revealing miles of your beautiful legs that he couldn’t help but drool over as your uniform skirt hiked up dangerously high on your thighs.

Then it was brushing your fingers across his bicep when you were talking to him in class, or sometimes across his chest.

You had no clue how much you had been riling up your boyfriend over the last week or so. Now, it was sort of hard to miss the affect you had on him as evidence of such in the form  of his hardening cock was pressed into your back.

“Georgie?” You craned your head to gaze up at him, blinking owlishly as he stared down at you, practically salivating at the mere sight of you.

You were shocked when he basically growled at you, in hindsight, what you were wearing may have been a little much for a party in the Ravenclaw common room but most of the other girls in attendance were just as dressed up. You all were all young and attractive, why not go all out for the last party of the year?

In a slinky, white slip dress, that could’ve easily passed as modest lingerie you had every eye in the room on you. Some envious, most not as respectful as they probably ought to be, and one pair completely eye fucking you as he was torn between falling to your feet and worshipping you like the goddess you were and pulling you into a broom closet where he would punish you for wearing such provocative clothing. It was too much, all of the teasing, whether or not it was intentional, and now this.

George was desperate, he needed you.

“George?” You called out his name again as he looped his arm along your waist, pulling you into his side as he guided you out of the crowded, smoky room and into the empty corridor directly outside of it.

You were tense, he’d barely said a word all night since you’d met him outside the Ravenclaw common room, and he wasn’t saying anything now either. Which led you to the question, what was wrong with him?

All you received in response was a grunt as he tried to pull you along with him, but your legs were no match for his much longer ones, getting frustrated with the miniscule progress the two of you were making he paused, accessing your figure before huffing and picking you up. It all happened so quickly that you barely had time to squeal as he threw you over his shoulder as though you weighed nothing before he strode off down the corridor.

Your attempts to track where you were going were futile as you lost track somewhere between the third left and second right.

What you didn’t miss, what you couldn’t have missed, was the straining erection pressing against the crotch of his pants.

His off putting silence continued as he sat you down on the ground, rather harshly if you may add, especially considering the sinfully tall stilettos strapped to your feet.

“God George, do you think you could be a little bit more careful? I-”

You were cut off as George took your face in his hand, pressing your cheeks together just enough to make your lips puff out in an exaggerated pout.

“You really wanna take that tone with me Darling? After this past week?”

“What are you talking about George? What did I do?” Your voice was muffled as you tried to speak with his hand, not lightening its grasp on your face.

He cocked his head to the side, his gaze dragging up and down your body before returning to your flushed face, “You really don’t know do you?” His voice was hoarse as he spoke, conveying the arousal thrumming through his veins.

You shook your head, indicating that you indeed had no clue as to what he was talking about.

“Oh poppet,” He cooed, brushing a piece of hair out of your face, tucking it delicately behind your ear, “You really are that innocent aren’t you? S’just everything about you, drives me insane, the way your skirt rides up your thighs, how you brush your fingers against my arm, fuck this dress you’re wearing.”

Your gaze followed his as it dropped to your body, ample amounts of heaving cleavage visible from the low cut of the dress, the hem riding up dangerously high, just as he had described your skirt doing.

“You’ve had me painfully hard for you (Y/N),” He buried his nose in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent as if it was oxygen and he was stranded at the bottom of the ocean, “Need you, need you now.”

“Need you too George,” You moaned, tangling your fingers in his soft hair, pulling slightly to tip back his head and allow you to mesh your lips with his in a slow, sensual kiss. Nothing was rushed as his tongue slipped from his mouth into yours, exploring the cavity of your mouth.

Flicking your tongue with his he slid his hands under the hem of your dress, letting his fingers slide up the backs of your thighs until they grazed against the swell of your bum. Your bare bum.

“No panties angel?” He practically moaned as he brought your skirt up around your waist, revealing your bare ass and cunt to the chilly air of the seemingly abandoned broom closet.

“Every pair I have you could see through my dress Daddy,” You whined, suppressing a shiver as your new level of exposure.

“So you decided to go without them,” George asked you, condescension dripping from his voice as he cocked his head to the side, gazing down at you as he towered over your frame, “Gonna be the death of me bunny.”

George pulled down the thin straps of your dress, revealing that you weren’t wearing a bra either, the silk ivory fabric bunching around your waist.

“Fuck,” He swore pinching your nipples with the rough pads of his fingers before bending down to capture one of your hard buds inbetween his teeth, rolling it gently before sucking, not hard enough to mark, but enough to have you gasping.

You threw your head back at the sensation, your mouth left gaping at the immense pleasure and before you knew it George had his hands underneath your thighs, supporting you as he pushed you against the door of the room.

His large hands guided your legs around his waist, there your ankles criss crossed, locking you against his body. Your small, nimble fingers quickly found their way to the zipper of his jeans, unzipping them so you could pull both them and his boxers down just enough to bring out his throbbing cock.

He’d been hard the instant he saw you, dealing with his throbbing member all night hadn’t exactly been easy and now that you were here, pressed up against a wall, basically naked, needy for him. George couldn’t deny himself any longer.

A pathetic whimper left your mouth as he brushed the head of his cock through your folds, once, then twice before he fully sheathed himself inside of you. Not taking the time to work in his impressive length inch by inch, he’d been more than patient, he deserved to get to make you feel good.

“Daddy!” You screamed as the tip of his prick brushed at a spot deep inside of you, making you feel deliciously full.

George clamped his hand over your mouth, his gaze boring into yours, “Gotta keep quiet for me bunny, can’t have anyone finding us like this, can’t have them knowing that I can’t go more than an hour without needing to be inside of you.”

You nodded your head, his hand still clasped around your mouth.

“Can you do that for me baby?” He asked, still not moving inside of you, giving you a moment to adjust to his size.

“Yes Daddy,” You answered as he pulled his hand from your mouth, instead using it to stabilize himself against the wall, “Please Daddy, move, need you to move.”

“Okay pretty girl,” He smiled as he began to pull out before harshly thrusting back into you, making you arch your back against the splintering wood of the door.

Your hands grappled for the hair at the nape of his neck to ground yourself to him as he thrusted into you, his strokes were deep and quick. There was an urgency in his motions no doubt fueled by the fact that someone could walk by you guys at any time and become curious as to what was making all of that noise.

Pushing your hips down, you tried to meet his thrusts as he pushed himself up into you, “Want it Daddy, making me feel so good,” You whimpered, clenching your eyes closed as the knot forming in your stomach tightened, slowly but surely as wave after wave of pleasure ripple through your body.

Readjusting his grasp on you George thrusted in particularly harshly, prodding at your g-spot over and over again as he observed how well you reacted to his movements.

Knowing that there was no way he was going to last long, not after the week of torture and night of constant temptation he brought one of his hands down to work your clit. Finding it instantly he began tracing figure eights against it, reveling in the way you writhed against him.

“You gonna cum bunny?” He smiled, speeding up the pace of fingers, “You gonna cum all over Daddy’s fingers? Make a mess for me?”

“Yes Daddy,” You whined, trying to match the volume of his voice, not wanting to be too loud, “Yes Daddy please can I cum?”

Deciding he was feeling benevolent he nodded down at you, pinching his fingers around your delicate bundle of nerves sending you careening over the edge of pleasure.

You didn’t know if you stayed quiet as you should’ve because the ecstasy that overtook you was all consuming, blotting out your vision, as your legs tightened around George’s waist. It was like you blacked out, all you could focus on, all you could feel was the knot in your stomach unraveling, leaving you a moaning, quivering mess.

If it weren’t for the throaty grunts he released as he came inside of you, rope after rope of cum painting the inside of your cunt, but his noises grounded you, bringing you back to the musty little closet.

Taking a minute to collect himself George brushed his chapped lips across your brow before slowly pulling out of you and tucking his softening member back into his pants.

Setting you don’t gingerly on the floor he pulled the skirt of your dress down so that it was once again covering your bum before he pulled the delicate straps of the dress back up your shoulders.

“There we go poppet,” He murmured, eyes raking over you, not in the ravenous manner they had earlier but with a distinctly George tenderness, making sure you were properly covered and okay, “Let’s get you up to my dorm, yeah?”

“But the party-” You began before he cut you off.

“Nope, don’t gotta worry about the party, need to get you cleaned up pretty girl.”

“Are you sure?” You asked, peering up at him, unable not to feel just a little guilty that you were the reason George wouldn’t get to go back and celebrate with his friends.

“Of course I am (Y/N),” His hand found its way under your jaw, tilting your face upwards so that his lips could meet yours, “Not even a question.”

Before you could protest any further he was lifting you into his arms, one supporting beneath your bum, the other under your back. You took the opportunity to nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck as he stepped out of the closet with you in his arms.

No matter how hard you tried to resist it, you were no match for the rhythm caused by his walking as he carried you up to his dorm, being lulled to sleep against your own will. Not wanting to fall asleep before you could say something to him you yawned, “Thank you Georgie, made me feel so good.”

Though you couldn’t see it, a gentle smile tugged at the man’s lips as he gazed down at you, clinging to him as you snuggled further into his arms. “Anytime, love. Anytime at all.”

tagging: @randomoutsiders @weasleyposts @kittykylax @amourtentiaa @superbturtlemakerathlete

[joonessence]

The compliment // jjk

summary: When Jungkook remembers a passing comment you made about one of his friends, he makes sure you’ve learned your lesson.

wc: 2.9+k

tags: smut, pwp, kinda possessive/ jealous jk, dirty talk, oral (f and m receiving), fingering, unprotected sex (obv stay safe guys), slightly dom!jk, praise kink, jk calls oc baby an insane amount, fluff at the end though, hmm i think that’s it?

notes: this is a part 2 for this but it can be read alone, also there’s like a year time jump between pt 1 and 2 so if i turn this into a series i’ll order them in the series masterlist in chronological order soon

Maybe it’s all the blood rushing to your head, but you’re positive you didn’t hear Jungkook correctly. It’s one of the rare days that you and your boyfriend have a day off. Normally, one of you would have come up with a way to spend your time together but after that time Jungkook tried taking you to the park and ended up pushing you just a little too hard off the swing (your unripped jeans became ripped jeans that day), you mutually decided that the plan-making responsibility, minus the times he planned dates, would fall to you. Today, you felt like doing absolutely nothing, leading to you and Jungkook laying on his bed with both of your feet resting on the wall behind it. You’d spent more than an hour like this before Jungkook asked you something that had you wracking your brain in search of a memory of what he mentioned.

You turn your head to look at him, incredulously. He’s still looking up at the ceiling with a growing smile on his face.

“Do I remember what?” you ask as you sit up, half expecting Jungkook to take back his statement and say it was all a joke.

“I said, do you remember when you called Namjoon the buff one? Before we started dating?” At this point, his smile looks like it’s taken up more than half his face. Why is he smiling when he’s asking if you remember complimenting someone else? Seeing the prolonged, baffled look on your face he sits up too and reaches for his phone.

“I’ll show you, I think I can still find the message,” Jungkook’s got this determined look on his face while scrolling through thousands of your texts throughout the last year. When you met him over a year ago, Jungkook instantly made you lose your breath. What really surprised you is that he still had the ability to do so, with his twinkling eyes and too bright smile. You were stuck for good, but you don’t mind; you actually preferred it. Jungkook lets out a triumphant noise, signaling to you that he’s found what he’s looking for, and he reads it out to you.

“Here it is, and I quote, ‘I was just wondering if you could tell your tall buff band member that I liked his voice.’ It’s right here!” Jungkook looks at you expectantly, waiting for you to confess your sins.

It takes everything inside you to not burst into laughter. Of course, the second Jungkook started reciting your message, you remembered it. You recalled testing the waters, to see if Jungkook would give you any sort of reaction and you also recalled thinking it was hilarious. God, you were so funny.

“Oh, I remember that, why are you asking?” you wonder, suddenly curious as to why he would bring it up so long after the fact.

“I just remembered it randomly, it’s so funny that you lied to try to get me to be jealous,” Jungkook states.

All in under a second, you decide to play along.

“Lied? Babe, what are you talking about?” you put on your best confused face to sell the act. You’re praying Jungkook falls for it.

He cocks his head to the side and looks puzzled for just a moment before he lets out a huff, “I know what you were trying to do, you lied and used Namjoon to get me jealous. I’m big enough to admit that it worked. You got me.”

You almost feel bad for what you’re doing. “I mean, yeah, that’s what I was doing but I wasn’t lying about Namjoon,” you trail off, quietly.

You can feel Jungkook’s fists clench on the mattress and you look up to see his eyes hardened. You’ve come to learn that Jungkook doesn’t like sharing much and definitely hates sharing attention from you. Jungkook is scooting towards you. He’s towering over you, making you feel small, his jaw clenched as he looks down at you.

“Since when have you thought that about him,” Jungkook spits out ‘him’ like he can’t speak Namjoon’s name anymore.

Your gaze falls as you hesitate to speak, considering calling the whole thing off, but you’re a beat too late. Jungkook’s thumb finds your chin and tilts your head up, forcing you to look at him.

“I was just kidding, Kookie. You know I only have eyes for you,” you gulp, nervously.

Jungkook scoffs, as if he doesn’t believe you, and then smirks. You already know what you’re in for.

“How about you try to prove it and if I believe you, you’ll get something in return,” Jungkook’s words flow out so smoothly that you’re already crawling down the bed.

When you muster up the courage to look up at Jungkook, he’s positioned himself with his back against the headboard. He sends you a questioning look, silently asking if this is okay, and when you nod, he’s smiling at you with that too bright smile, like he’s already forgiven your transgressions. You’re climbing into his lap to straddle him and before either of you can say anything, Jungkook pushes your head down, your lips meeting his. Jungkook’s hand slides over your cheek to your jaw to pry it open, his tongue slipping in and meeting yours. Underwear already soaking, you shift on Jungkook’s lap to find some relief, which you find only for a moment before he removes his hand from your jaw and places it on your hip to still your movements.

“I thought I said you’d get something in return only if I believed you,” Jungkook says with a smirk.

You let out a whine, this is so unfair, and Jungkook laughs, “Don’t complain, baby, you did this to yourself.”

A huff escapes past your lips before Jungkook is pulling you down again, this time towards his neck. You kiss his searing skin, the spot under his ear, then his jaw, and trail down the column of his neck. Jungkook’s letting out little grunts to encourage you to keep going. You lower your hands to the hem of his shirt to lift it up and pull it over his shoulders. You continue kissing down his chest and look up, anxious to get Jungkook’s approval. By the way his face is flushed, you know you’ve already got it. You get to the band of his sweatpants and leave light kisses, the kind that almost tickle.

“Don’t try teasing, baby, I won’t let it slide,” Jungkook states in a dominating tone.

You nod briefly and slide the sweats down. Jungkook’s cock, already hard, slaps his stomach. You let out a giggle, another thing you’ve learned: your Jungkook never wears underwear when he doesn’t have to. Your laughter dissipates quickly when you spot the curve of his cock, it always makes your mouth water and right now is no different. Jungkook moves his hand from the mattress to the side of your head, pushing your hair out of your eyes. You make an appreciative noise before grabbing the base of his cock and leaning over it to release a trail of spit, connecting him to your lips.

Jungkook’s breathy grunts let you know you’re doing something right when you move your hand up and down the length of his cock. You poke your tongue out to lick your lips and Jungkook groans.

“If you take any longer, I swear I’ll make you take care of yourself,” Jungkook threatens.

With that horrible thought in mind, you lean forward and place small kisses up the side of his cock, skin so hot you feel like it could burn you. You swirl your tongue around the angry, red tip and Jungkook’s hands find a place in your hair. Opening your mouth, you wrap your lips and the tip and suck, using the hand that’s not steadying yourself on Jungkook’s thigh to slide up and down the rest of his cock. 

“That’s it baby, look so pretty with my cock in your mouth,” Jungkook praises, “Let’s see if you can fit some more in that pretty mouth, hmm?”

You try to nod without moving too much and continue sliding down, tongue rubbing against the thick vein on the underside. Jungkook’s cock feels heavy on your tongue, the way you like it. You get halfway before you hollow your cheeks. When you look up, Jungkook’s head is thrown back, his hair framing his face. Your heart swells at the sight for two reasons. 1. You love Jungkook so much and 2. Jungkook looks so good when you’re making him feel good, you make it your mission to have him always looking like this. 

Gripping your hair, Jungkook pulls you up, off his cock. You’re confused for a second before he explains.

“Are you gonna let me fuck your mouth, baby?” Jungkook’s tone is strong but his eyes give him away, he wants you to say yes so bad.

You nod your head and place your palms on his thighs to steady yourself before opening your mouth and taking his tip back in. You look at Jungkook to let him know you’re ready. Jungkook’s breath is shaky as he puts his hands back in your hair and starts to thrust into your mouth.

“Oh fuck, f-fuck that’s so good, baby,” Jungkook’s tip reaches the back of your throat. Your eyes are tearing up. “Take some more, baby.”

You try to slack your jaw to take more of Jungkook. Underwear beyond soaked, you straddle one of Jungkook’s legs and press your core down on it. The pressure is tamed by your shorts but it’s enough for now. Letting Jungkook thrust forcefully into your mouth, you circle your hips on his leg, moaning around his cock at the feeling of your sticky underwear against your skin. 

“Namjoon’s cock wouldn’t look as good in your mouth, hmm, baby?” Jungkook lets out between groans. You look up at him and nod, eagerly. When Jungkook catches sight of your gyrating hips, he shoves you off his cock and sits up, chest to chest with you.

“Didn’t you hear me the first two times? What makes you think you can use my leg?” Jungkook looks angry now.

“I-I’m sorry, I can’t help it.”

Jungkook’s frown grows into a smirk. He’s got something planned.

“You want it that bad, hmm?” Jungkook fakes concern, “Beg.”

This was new for Jungkook, not that you minded. He looks at you with real concern this time, afraid he’s overstepped his boundaries.

“Jungkook, please, I need something, please, Jungkook, please help me,” you plead, repeatedly. If he doesn’t touch you, you think you could die.

“Good girl, baby. Come here,” He lays back down and motions you to come up.

His lips clash against yours in a messy kiss. His hands slide over your shoulders and down to your waist, pushing down your shorts. You wiggle out of them and place your legs on either side of Jungkook, his hands instantly finding your hips and pushing them down against him. His cock is hard against your clothed pussy, rubbing up and down providing relieving friction for you both. You moan, aching for something.

“Lay down,” Jungkook mumbles against your mouth.

He flips you over on your back and leaves wet kisses down your neck. With your help, your shirt comes off and right away his hands find your breasts, massaging and kneading. He’s kissing around one nipple while his hand is tugging on the other. It’s a little rough but Jungkook knows you like it like that. You moan loudly, unable to keep it in and Jungkook is smirking against your nipple.

“Namjoon wouldn’t have you making those noises, right, baby?”

You nod, hoping and praying that eventually Jungkook will move his hand towards your pussy. Instead, Jungkook shakes his head and tuts. 

“Not good enough, gotta say it,” Jungkook looks smug now.

Normally, you would show some resistance to Jungkook’s inflated ego but right now that issue pales in comparison to how badly you need him to touch you. 

“Namjoon can’t, he couldn’t, just you. It’s just you, Kookie,” you babble. 

Satisfied, Jungkook kisses down your stomach, his tongue tracing the sensitive parts above the waistband of your underwear, your body is second nature to Jungkook. With his fingers hooked onto the sides, he drags your underwear down your legs, slowly, not wanting to give into you just yet. His hands come back up your legs and push them open to reveal your dripping pussy. He squeezes the flesh of your thighs and leaves open-mouthed kisses on the insides. Your hole clenches around nothing, as if trying to tempt Jungkook into giving it a taste. 

“Such a pretty pussy, baby, so wet for me,” Jungkook says and you bask in the glory that is another praise from Jungkook. 

Finally, Jungkook’s fingers trail from your thigh to the puffy lips of your core and spread them open to see your swollen clit. Jungkook sighs like it’s the most beautiful sight he’s ever witnessed, he makes you feel like it really is. He blows warm air and the contrast between it and the cool air of the room makes you tremble. In a swift movement, Jungkook is pushing forward and leaving a wet kiss on your clit.

“Oh m-my god, Jungkook, please, keep going,” you beg him, but it’s your idea this time.

Pleased, Jungkook rewards you and licks a fat stripe from your hole back up to your clit before stuffing you full of his tongue. Your legs try to shut around his head, but Jungkook pushes them back open and circles his arms around the backs of them to keep them in place. His thumb moves to press down on your clit and circle around it. Your hips buck involuntarily into Jungkook’s face and he groans out like he welcomes it. Jungkook circles his lips around your clit and sucks while prodding your hole with two fingers.

“You look so good, so good for me only,” Jungkook asserts.

“Only for you Jungkook, no one else,” you breathe out, surprised you can even make out the words.

Jungkook’s fingers slide in smoothly, you’re unable to keep your mouth shut, going from letting out high pitched whines to begging Jungkook to keep going. Your hands shoot to his hair, pulling it the way you know Jungkook likes. His fingers move in and out with a purpose while his tongue rubs over your clit. Legs shaking and the feeling of release nearing, you tug on his hair and remove him from your core.

“Kookie, I-I can’t, I’ll come if you keep going,” you say breathlessly, hoping he gets the message.

“Fuck, okay, baby.”

He leaves one last kiss on your clit before he’s moving up to kiss you. You moan at the taste of yourself on his lips. Jungkook takes hold of his cock and rubs the tip against your swollen lips.

“Look how wet you are, just soaking for me,” Jungkook’s in awe.

Jungkook finally pushes himself past the tight ring of muscle. Both letting out a sigh, you revel in the way he stretches you out so good. Jungkook thrusts hard into you and you let out a whine- turned moan.

“You take me so well, baby, so perfect. Namjoon can’t make you feel the way I do, hmm?”

“F-faster, Kookie, p-please, I’m so close,” you say, feeling your stomach tightening.

Jungkook listens and throws your legs over his shoulders, at this new angle you can feel every vein, every ridge of his cock. Moans are spilling out of both of you at an uncontrollable rate.

“F-fuck, say it, say I’m the only one that can make you feel like this, can make you come like this,” Jungkook pants out between thrusts.

“It’s only you Jungkook, just you, no one else, I love you, Kookie,” you ramble on, almost to tears.

Jungkook lurches forward to press his lips to yours. His hand, between your sweaty bodies, travels down to circle around your clit, bringing you closer to the edge.

“I love you, baby,” Jungkook mumbles on your lips, unwilling to move his lips from yours for just a second. 

Jungkook’s thrusts are becoming more sporadic, and he brings his free hand down onto the pillow, beside your head for balance, you can tell he’s close. You squeeze your eyes shut, feeling your release coming any moment now.

“Open your eyes, baby, look at me when you come,” Jungkook says and who are you to refuse?

Your hand reaches up to grab his hand, the one on the pillow, as you come. Your legs shake and your lips tremble as moans tumble from your mouth. With a few more thrusts, Jungkook is covering your fluttering walls with his warm come. Jungkook removes himself from inside you and lays beside you, both trying to catch your breaths. His breathing still hasn’t returned to normal when he turns and looks at you.

“I feel kinda bad for Namjoon.” Jungkook laughs, breathlessly.

“Why are we still talking about Namjoon after all that,” you ask, almost too tired to, but you know if you don’t ask, he’ll just tell you anyway.

“Well,” Jungkook sits up with his head leaning on his hand and explains, “He doesn’t get to love you like I do. I feel bad for everyone who isn’t me because they don’t have you like I do.”

It’s so true, it’s only Jungkook who can make you feel the way he does.

[staywritten]

One Week │Bang Chan(M)

Synopsis: You heard that not having sex could strength a relationship. How long will you and Chan last? 

Genre: Idol!AU, fluff, teasing, smut, slow burn? established relationship, one shot

Word Count: 3k

Masterlist.

This was your idea. 

You did this to yourself but Chan didn’t have to torture you like this. 

A few days ago you came across this article encouraging couples to take a break from their sex life and try to focus on emotional intimacy. It talked about how it would bring you closer as a couple and help your relationship last longer, and not be based on pure sex appeal. 

Honestly, there wasn’t anything fundamentally wrong with your relationship, but since you were both so busy and alone time had been pretty rare. The times you were free you would spend it in bed and end up knocking out right after spending all night making love. You missed the conversation, you missed getting to know your partner. You missed the early stages of the relationship. 

You thought it was a good idea, it was only for a week. 

It was only day three and he was driving you insane. 

You leaned against the bed frame, scrolling through your phone absently. You were just passing the time while your boyfriend got ready for dinner tonight. You had about an hour before you had to meet your parents at the restaurant.

The bathroom door swung open and your mouth went dry at the sight of him. Chan’s curly hair dripping from the shower, his towel sitting low on his hips. His toned body glistening as he walked over to the closet. He never liked fully drying off in the bathroom, he was one that preferred to air dry. 

He smirked to himself, he could feel your eyes on his every move. Looking over his shoulder he grinned. “You look so pretty in that dress Baby. Should I wear a matching button-up or is that too much?”

Your tongue darted out, licking your lips as you just nodded your head. 

He chuckled walking over to you. He grabbed your chin between his thumb and his index finger, making you look at him. “Your words Darling, use your words.”

“Fuck…” you whispered more so to yourself, wanting to go back in time and stop yourself from even bringing up this stupid idea. 

He winked, kissing your forehead. “Now should I wear a white button-up? Or the black one?” his smile widened “You know, the silk one”

“The black one…” you eyed him, letting your gaze follow a particular drop of water that rolled down his chest and disappeared into his towel. 

“You look like you have something else to say Baby?” He quirked a brow, a smirk playing on his lips. “Perhaps something you want to beg me for?”

The way he eyed you was sinful. He leaned in closer to you, caressing your cheek softly. “May I?” he whispered against your lips watching you nod, giving him permission for a kiss. His lips moved against yours, his tongue flicking against the roof of your mouth. You could still taste the watermelon juice on him from earlier. His fingers laced into your hair, tugging you harder as he deepened the kiss. The tiniest growls, echoing from his throat as you bit down on his lip. 

Your hands started getting more daring, sliding up his back, your nails grazing his skin as you tugged him down just a bit. He laughed, catching himself before he fell into bed with you. “Behave”

“I didn’t do anything~” you looked up at him innocently, a small pout playing on your lips. You shook your head, trying to come back to your senses. You could do this! It was only a week, and if you couldn’t even make it a week without having sex with Chan you worried your relationship was purely physical. “Get dressed so we can get going.”

“Alright Baby” he smiled brightly, his cheek dimpling as he gave you a once over. 

You rubbed your temples looking at your phone. Only four more days left of this torture. 

The next day you and Chan were cooking dinner together. You two didn’t normally have this much time together, but he was on holiday from work and you were going to savor every meal with him. You were cooking up an easy stir fry with a steak on the stove. Chan worked on the salad and homemade rolls.

And as much as you savored these little cooking moments. Chan had a tendency tonight of bumping into. One too many times for it to an accident. And you were so touch starved a brush of his fingers could probably make you moan. 

But you tried to ignore it.

Only three more days and you could make love to your heart’s content. You just needed to focus on emotional intimacy. 

“And then Felix helped me write this cute song about photosynthesis-Oops excuse me Love” he grabbed your hips to steady you as he walked between you and the kitchen island. His crotch rubbing against your backside in all the right spots. 

You gasped, biting down on your finger trying to distract yourself. All of this just so he could grab some damn pepper. 

The thing about being touch starved was that absolutely everything made your horny. 

Sure, it was torturous but it was the moments after that made it feel like it was worth it. You had a good conversation during dinner and cuddled on the couch while watching a movie. Chan kissed your temple as you watched the tv. He was more captivated at watching your expressions than he was in the film.

You looked up at him feeling him pepper more kisses. “Hm?” 

“Nothing, I just love you”

You mirrored his beautiful smile. Maybe it was the cozy moment, maybe it was the warm lighting bouncing off the tv. But he just looked so welcoming. You leaned into his touch, the feeling of his nails absently scratching your scalp. “I love you too” you bit down on your lip, your eyes darting to look at his beautiful full lips. “Do you want to….” you looked down, your shoulders slumping a bit as you got embarrassed. 

He laughed “What is it? You can ask me anything?”

“You wanna make out?” you leaned closer to him. “No sex just… like making out?”

He laughed leaning into you. “Like some touch starved teenager?” he brushed his nose against yours. 

“Mhmm” you grinned brushing your lips against his. The sweet gesture turned into a heated kiss in no time. Your fingers threaded through his curly hair, as his strong hands cupped your face, holding you against his. Your legs tangled together as he settled over you, pinning you to the couch as his kiss got hungrier. His pupils wild, and dilated as you moaned. Hearing your voice only motivated him more. His fingers gripped your sides, under your shirt. 

You pulled away, your lips swollen and bruised as you struggled to catch your breath. “Maybe we should cool off?”  you playfully swatted his hand that teasingly played with the waistband of your shorts. 

“I’ll behave, I promise I won’t go further” he pressed a kiss on the bases of your throat, sucking the sensitive skin, making sure to leave a mark. 

You threaded your fingers through his hair, yanking his head playfully to make him look up at you. “I know… But if you keep this up, I might want you to go farther and we still have a few days to this challenge.” 

And in that moment he might have been more turned than he’d like to admit. He licked his lips and grinned “I turn you on that much Baby?” He ran his hand up your throat, applying just the smallest amount of pressure. Just enough for you to gasp and to see your eyes roll back. “Mmmm…  you sound so beautiful” he pressed a kiss at the base of your throat, sucking at the skin. His teeth grazing and nipping you as he did so. 

“Chris…” you whined, your thighs pressing together as you felt that coil in your lower stomach tighten. 

“Hm?” he asked absently, peaking up at you past those long lashes. His hand slowly traveled up your neck, gripping your jaw. His thumb pressing against your lips, making you open up for him. Taking his thumb in your mouth. His breath hitched as you sucked hard. Your tongue swirling against the pad of his thumb as you never broke eye contact. “Your mouth feels so good Baby girl” he tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. “Darling, if you don’t stop, I don’t know if I can keep doing your little exercise” 

He pulled his thumb from your mouth, chuckling when you whined and grabbed for his hand. “Fuck it” you pouted. “I want you.”

“But we still have… Hm? Is it three more days?” he teased. 

“I don’t care” you sat up, your brow furrowing at him. “I want you...” your hand gripped his collar as you eyed him, your hand traveling lower to rest on his pecks. 

“But wasn’t the whole purpose of this, to get closer? Being more intimate?” he laughed. 

“You can get closer by getting inside me” you rolled your hips into the couch. “Please?”

He laughed, pulling out of your grasp and standing. “I dunno Love, I think restraint and discipline can do you well” he winked. “It’s only a few more days. You’ll survive”

Famous last words. 

You huffed, flopping back on to the couch watching your boyfriend disappear into the bedroom. “This is fucking stupid” you grumbled into the pillow. You couldn’t even really be mad at him. You were the one that proposed this whole stupid thing, and he respected your wish. It was only fair that you respected his wish to finish it. But it didn’t stop you from being pouty about it. 

The next day was your silent protest that you were far over this experiment. You’d given him the silent treatment. Spending all day huffing and pouting. Even stomping when you had the chance. Which to your dismay Chan was finding adorable hilarious. It wasn’t often that you acted like a brat and he was savoring it.

Chan was sitting on the couch reading a book when you came to bother him. Sitting at the far end of the couch. He chuckled to himself and glanced over at you. “Are you done with your temper tantrum?”

“Hmpf!” you turned away from him, turning your attention to the tv. 

He smirked, his cheek dimpling. “I suppose not.” he turned the page to his book, making himself more comfortable. “My Baby is so daring… It’s cute” he glanced at you. “I know what you’re doing”

“Then do something about it”

He snickered “And she speaks” he closed his book,setting it on the table. He licked his lips looking at you, placing his hand on your thigh. Letting it span over the skin before gripping it. “I’m going to finish what you started.”

You straddled him in one swift motion, wrapping your arms around his neck. “How about now?” you grinded your core against him. It’s just two more days.”

“You’ve gone far longer without me when I’m on tour” he laughed, gripping your hips. “Why is it harder now?”

“Because you’re in front of me, and refusing me to be petty”

“Oh is that what I’m doing? I’m just being petty?” he leaned back on the couch, giving you the biggest teasing smile. “You wanted us to get to know each other better, let’s get to know each other” he kissed your wrist softly. “I’m going to ask you some questions, we can get to know each other that way.”

“Will it end with you being inside me?”

“We’ll see” he bucked his hips upward subtly as he moved further on to the couch. The motion was enough to making you moan and grip him harder. Your body, hypersensitive from the dry spell. “Sorry” he gave you a coy smile.

“You’re not sorry” you pouted “You’re being mean”

“It’ll be worth it Love” he chuckled, rubbing small circles on your hips. 

“Kiss?” you brushed your lips against his.

“Of course” he grinned, biting down on your bottom lip and pulling you into a kiss. “Mmm…” he raked his fingers through your hair, scratching your scalp softly. “What was the first thing you noticed about me?”

“Really? That’s what you want to know?”

“Mhmm.”

“I thought you were cute, but more than that…” you smiled, remembering the day fondly. Chan had just gotten off stage, and your friend who was a staff member wanted you to meet the guys. You spoke before you could stop yourself, you just couldn’t help it telling him how handsome he was. “After I called you handsome...You had to cover your ears and you had the cutest giggle I’d ever heard in my life… I couldn’t wrap my head around how you were the same beastly sexy man, humping the air on stage” he smiled as you kissed the side of his mouth. “What about you? What did you notice about me?”

His eyes raked down your body and you playfully nudged him. “I’m serious!” 

“I’m just kidding” he chuckled. “The first thing I noticed about you was how breathtaking you were. I was pretty self conscious because I was so sweaty from stage and you were just so… wow” he smiled caressing your cheek. And when you spoke I just knew you were my muse”

“When did you realize you were in love with me?” you quirked a brow, asking him a question. 

“When I got back from tour after three months and I got back to the dorm. That same dorm that I’ve lived in for years...and it didn’t feel like home. The first place I needed to go was you.” he looked at you with the most loving look. “You were my home”

“Chris…” you whispered, pressing your forehead against his. Just basking in the intimacy. 

“When did you realized you loved me?”

“I always knew… but the biggest sign was when I realized that you were the one person it didn’t feel exhausting to be with. My social battery never ran out with you…. I craved being with you” you giggled. “Essentially you became my home too” you yelped, wrapping your arms around him as he stood up. Holding your body close in his arms as he walked you to the bedroom. “What are you doing?”

“I wanna make love to you” he set you down gently.

“We still have two more days”

“I don’t need an intimacy exercise to tell me that I love you” he pinned your arms down. “Any objections?”

“None at all” you grinned as he ripped his shirt off over his head. “It was a stupid article anyway” you smiled running your hands up his abs. 

He settled between your legs, pushing your thin t-shirt up over your head. Haphazardly tossing it behind him. Palming your breast, and pinching your hardened nipples between his fingers. “I miss touching you” he trailed a path from your neck down to your nipple, taking the bud between his lips. Your head falling back into the pillow as you moaned, your hips lifting just to feel something. He hooked his thumbs in the waistband of your sweats tugging them down. “My poor needy Baby is so wet.” 

“Do something about it” you whined, dipping your finger into your core. He licked his lips watching you pleasure yourself. “Look at what you do to me” 

“I’m sorry Baby, let me take care of that for you” he took your finger into his mouth, sucking hard on the digit. A low growl, bubbling from the back of his throat. He boldly lowered himself, slipping his tongue between your folds and sucking on your clit. Your finger lacing in his curly hair. Feeling him pick up pace, slipping his fingers in and out of you; Your body shivered, hips bucking up until he held your waist and pushed it into the mattress. “It’s ok Babygirl, I got you” 

Your pants became more urgent as your lower stomach felt hotter, your hips desperately writhing against him. It wasn’t too long from his relentless teasing that you came for him. He lapped up all of your sweetness before sitting back. Taking in just how beautiful you look. Your chest heaving, eyes clenched in pleasure/ He wiped the slick from his with his thumb. 

Looking up at him you gripped his waistband, tugging him to you. “On your back Chris”

He chuckled letting you pull him down. “Yes ma’am” his eyes darkened as you pulled his sweats and boxers down to his thighs. 

“I wanna ride you…” you wrapped your fingers around his hardened length, leaking with pre-cum. You straddled his thighs and sighed as he helped you lower yourself onto him. Sinking down to his full length. 

He mumbled a strained fuck as his head fell back into the pillows. Your warmth clenching him hard as you readjusted to his length. You sat for a good while, hands firmly planted on his chest  as you took the time to let him stretch you out. “Can you move yet Baby?”

“Almost” you whimpered, rolling your hips, his hands instantly gripping your hips. 

“Please Baby… Please I need you to” he groaned lifting his hips, making you bounce on him. The sinful way his name fell from your lips, encouraging him. 

You rocked your hips slowly at first, picking up pace feeling his hands guide you, words of encouragement on his lips. You kept rocking against him, your moans getting louder as he began to snap his hips upward to meet yours. “Fuck-I’m close, Keep going Love” he gripped your hips tighter, knowing it’d leave a bruise.

You leaned forward, holding on to the bed frame to help you get a different angle, his cock hitting far deeper in you than before. Your whole body shivering as you knew you were coming apart. The way your stomach tightened when he playfully licked your breast. “Come for me..” he whispered. “I need to feel you come for me” rocked your hips faster. 

“I’m close.. I’m Ahh…” you clenched your eyes shut, trying to focus on moving your hips. 

“I have to come Baby, let me pull out” when he moved to lift you off you tighten your walls around him, squeezing hard. 

“Don’t you dare.” 

“But-”

“Come in me please… please” you begged. “Fill me”

He was a goner. He grabbed your hips tight, slamming into you before finally coming. He rubbed your clit in a circle helping you reach your climax. “That a girl…” he panted as you collapsed on his chest. He kissed the top of your head, rubbing small circles on your back. 

You peaked up at him before kissing his lips. “I love you” 

He chuckled “I know Baby, I love you too. But the next time you want to get closer intimately just ask me questions, let's spin more time together. We don’t have to test our patients” he caressed your cheek. 

“I know” you giggled. “But you totally caved before I did” you stuck your tongue out, teasing him. 

“What? But I-” he groaned rubbing his temples “Dammit I really did” he laughed hugging you tight, rolling you over to lay beside him. “Well my consolation prize for losing was worth it” he pecked your lips softly. 

End

Hey Friends!  ( ´ ▽ ` )ﾉ

This was not supposed to be this long but I couldn’t help it D: I kinda wanna do a version of this for all the members. If anyone is interested in that let me know <3

∘Tags List:  (If you’d like to be added to my permanent tag list let me know)

@skzsprinkles @tophuphu @hugs4chan @channieboyo @tonfilm @soobinssmile

[babymetaldoll]

DIWK: Chapter eleven: "Can't get you off my mind"

|Word count:  9,7K

Summary:  Reader struggles with her feelings for Spencer and tries to work with Seaver. Neither of those things works. Spencer's headaches are getting worse. Also, it's Anderson's birthday! Things are getting a little more complicated.

Warnings:  Hardcore fools in love. It's getting painful to watch. Spoilers of Criminal Minds Season 6 Episode 11. 25 to life. Cursing, and frustration. Alcohol consumption. Assholes being blind.

A/N: Please don't hate me! but these two are just so blind, it hurts!

Masterlist

Chapter one | Chapter two | Chapter three | Chapter four | Chapter five | Chapter six | Chapter seven | Chapter eight | Chapter nine | Chapter ten | Chapter eleven | Chapter twelve | Chapter thirteen | Chapter fourteen | Chapter fifteen |

.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.•*•.

Spencer's point of view

Psychotics in a break always evolve. Well, I was psychotic at that minute of my life, but the only things evolving were my migraines. They were driving me insane. I could feel them taking over my life, my head, my sanity. I could feel my good judgment slipping through my fingers every day, especially since (Y/N) had started acting strange.

It wasn't like she had stopped talking to me or hanging out with me. But I could feel a void growing between us every day. And it was driving me insane. I couldn't understand where it had come from. I just knew it was eating me alive.

Morgan was having a bad day. One really bad day. The man he had vouched for parole had just murdered a man after nearly 70 hours of freedom, and now the team was trying to solve the whole case. Don Sanderson claimed he had been framed guilty of the murder of his wife and baby daughter, but after 25 years in prison, the first thing he did as a free man was to murder someone else.

It made no sense.

We had visited the murder scene. Hotch was still on a leave, so it was just Prentiss, (Y/N), Morgan, Rossi, Seaver, and I. Emily was in full "training agent's duty," walking Seaver through every step of the procedure, which was very nice of her. It was her first case after the incident in New Mexico, and she was eager to do better work than that time. She was nearly jumping all over the place, taking notes.

I talked with Garcia on the phone because he was worried about Morgan, and then I walked to (Y/N), who kept a safe distance from Emily and Seaver.

- "The bullets were in the other room, but the gun is right here,"- I said as I looked around the room. (Y/N) turned to me, ready to speak her mind, but Ashley spoke first, which annoyed her beyond belief.

- "Maybe killing him was an accident."

I looked at my best friend as Prentiss and Ashley continued talking. She just crossed her arms and walked around the room. She surely wasn't dealing well with having Seaver around. I wanted to ask her something, anything, but nothing came to mind.

- "Sanderson was out of prison for what, Reid?"- I answered Emily's question but didn't even turn to look at her. My eyes were following (Y/N), moving around that room.

- "At the time of the murder, 51 hours."

- "He's free for 2 days and change? What's the big hurry to find this guy?"

- "Are you ok?"- I whispered and stood next to (Y/N) as Prentiss and Ashley kept analyzing the scene.

- "Yeah, just tired."

- "Do you wanna have dinner with me tonight? I didn't see you this weekend, and I thought we could do a movie night."

(Y/N) took her time to answer, but finally, after a moment, she nodded and agreed.

- "Movie night sounds nice."

- "Great, ‘cos I rented your favorites."- I might have sounded more excited than I should, but I had really missed her those days, and I may or may not have watched and read Pride and Prejudice a couple of times.

- "Did you? Really?"

- "Yes, I was hoping to spend some time with you."

- "Are you coming, Spence?"- Seaver interrupted us and looked from the door- "Rossi called. They are interviewing Sanderson at the BAU."

- "Yeah, we are coming,"- I answered and looked away. (Y/N) shook her head and walked outside in silence the second Prentiss called my name, and I couldn't follow her. Which, I guess, was a good thing.

- "Is everything ok?"- Emily stayed behind with me. She raised an eyebrow, watching (Y/N) walking out of the room as Ashley waited for us by the door.

- "Yes?"- my answer came more as a question because I honestly didn't know what to say- "Everything is ok, Emily."

- "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I have the feeling (Y/N) isn't thrilled to have agent Seaver around."- I almost chuckled at her words and just nodded.

- "It's not like she has made it hard to tell. She literally yelled at her at the jet."

- "Is she mad at me because I am supervising her training?"

- "I don't know. I don't think so… she hasn't told me so. Well, she hasn't talked to me much lately."

- "Why? Did you fight?"- Prentiss wide opened her eyes and moved a little closer to me, trying to read my expressions.

- "No, I don't know what's going on. She just… we…"- I couldn't find the right words to explain my mind, and I think Prentiss knew it, ‘cos she didn't push me.

- "You should talk to her."

- "Yeah, we are going out tonight."

- "You have a date?"- Ashley walked over and asked me with a short smile. I cleared my throat and shook my head right away.

- "No, just meeting with a friend."

- "Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to intrude,"- Seaver blushed and looked at her shoes. Prentiss smiled, probably reading something I wasn't seeing.

- "Come on, Rossi is probably waiting for us at the BAU, and I'm guessing Morgan is not in a good mood."

For the rest of the day, I tried to find a moment alone with (Y/N). I needed to talk about what was going on. But it was impossible. We worked late, rereading the original case files, trying to find something that might help us help Sanderson. But it was frustrating and nearly impossible.

So around nine, we decided to call it a day and go home.

- "Are you in the mood for Chinese?"- I looked at (Y/N), gathering all the things as I stood next to her desk- I thought maybe we could get some take-out from that place you love on our way home.

- "Sounds nice. What are we watching?"

- "Pride and Prejudice, Coraline, maybe Beetlejuice. You pick, I've got all your favorites,"- (Y/N) narrowed her eyes, looking at me in silence- "What?"

- "So you rented movies ‘cos you wanted to hang out with me?"

- "Yes."

- "You usually don't rent movies. You rent documentaries."

- "Yes, but I wanted to do something different this time. I told you I missed you."

(Y/N) blushed as she stood in front of me, biting the inner part of her cheek, trying not to smile. I looked at her, nearly beaming, excited to see her reaction. I had felt so scared to lose her, feeling her pushing away from me. It was a balm watching her so happy, and just because I missed her.

- "I love Pride and Prejudice,"- Ashley said from her desk- "I've read that book so many times, I think I can recite it."

I looked at her and nodded with an awkward smile. I knew she was just trying to be nice ‘cos she was new at the BAU, and she was also trying to be nicer to (Y/N), to get on her good side. But that wasn't the way to get to her. Maybe I had to talk to Seaver and explain that my best friend is a special woman.

Neither of us answered her comment. We just stood there, looking at her in silence, until Anderson walked over and waved.

- "Hey agents, before you go, I wanted to tell you, this Friday I'm celebrating my birthday, and I'd love to have you over."

- "Of course, Sonny!"- (Y/N) wide opened her eyes and clapped. She had called him "Sonny" since they sang "I got you babe" by Sonny and Cher in the karaoke at the Christmas party the year before.

- "Happy birthday, Anderson!"- Derek waved.

- "Thank you! We'll gather at a bar nearby. I'll text you the address."

- "We wouldn't miss it for the world,"- Prentiss added and smiled- "Do you mind if we tell JJ and Garcia?"

- "Please do! I haven't seen JJ since she left, and it would be amazing to have her over. You too, agent Seaver."

- "Thank you!"- Ashley smiled and nodded- "Count me in."

I could feel (Y/N)'s eyes rolling, annoyed, even when I wasn't even looking at her at that minute. I grabbed my bag and my coat and held her hand.

- "Bye, guys! See you tomorrow!"- that was all I said as I dragged her out of the bullpen. Emily waved at us, and Derek cut me an evil grin I could decode easily. I just ignored him and turned to the door.

- "Have fun, pretty girl!!"- Morgan chuckled at his own words, and (Y/N) just smiled and winked. Why? Probably to show him she didn't care about all his teasing, ‘cos nothing was ever going to happen between us.

(Y/N)'s point of view

It might have been childish, but I had to take advantage of Morgan's innuendo just to show Seaver things could happen between Spencer and me. It had been immature and silly, but I just felt like I needed to do it. It was like a stupid animal instinct that forced me to mark my territory.

I shouldn't have done it. Spencer wasn't mine. Not even close. And I had to stop being jealous of Seaver. If he didn't want me, he had the right to be with anyone else. But just the thought of Spencer being with someone, anyone, made me feel sick in my stomach. I hated being in love with him. I honestly did, ‘cos I didn't want to ruin our friendship with useless feelings. Spencer wasn't in love with me. He was just my friend. My very thoughtful, cute, adorable, and lovable best friend.

I was fucked. Completely and utterly fucked. Even that second, sitting on that couch with Spencer, I couldn't focus on the movie. I pretended, but I didn't even pay attention to it. All I could think of was how warm his body felt sitting next to me, like a gigantic magnet that called for me. I could simply just move my hand and intertwined his fingers with mine. Or lean in closer, rest my head on his shoulder, feel how he wraps an arm around me, and melt in his embrace, like I had done a million times before.

But I couldn't. I had to stop that daydream of a domestic and romantic life with Spencer. It wasn't healthy. It wasn't sane. But most of all: I wasn't real. And I was never going to move forward in life if I kept thinking those movie nights meant something.

- "More popcorn?- Spencer handed me the bowl, and I shook my head- "You have been awfully quiet considering we are watching Coraline."

- "Well, we are supposed to watch the movie in silence,"- I answered and didn't take my eyes from the screen.

- "You have never done that."

- "Maybe I wanted to give it a try."

I grabbed a bunch of popcorn just to keep myself busy. I could feel Spencer's eyes on me, and it was killing me ‘cos I knew I didn't have to look at him. If I did, I wasn't sure how I would react. I was overthinking everything and anything you might think of.

- "Are you ok?"

- "Yeah. Sure."

No, I wasn't.

- "(Y/N), can you look at me?"- Spencer paused the movie and turned to me. I hesitated, thinking my best friend is an amazing profiler, and I didn't want him to know how I felt about him ‘cos it didn't want to ruin our friendship.

After a few seconds, I moved on the couch and raised an eyebrow. His brown eyes stared into mine in silence for a moment, trying to read me.

- "What is going on?"

- "Nothing,"- I lied and frowned- "Why are you so obsessed with the idea something is going on?"

- "‘Cos I have this… feeling."

- "You got a feeling?"- I chuckled, trying to be funny but failing completely. In the end, I just stared into his eyes for what seemed to be a million years but were, in fact, just a few seconds.

- "Are we ok?"

- "Of course, we are, Spencer."

- "You never call me that"- he frowned immediately, almost hurt.

- "What?"

- "You just call me Spencer when we are on a case, and there are people around us. But when we are home, I'm never Spencer to you."

"When we are home." That killed me. I hadn't realized how badly I wanted that to be our home, to have a life with Spencer.

I was in love with my best friend. I was spending every single hour of every single day of my life with him. That wasn't right! If I knew he didn't have feelings for me, why was I doing that to myself?

- "(Y/N)?"- Spencer's voice took me from my thoughts. He looked so worried I didn't know how to convince him there wasn't anything wrong, considering it felt like everything was wrong.

- "What is it?"

- "Please tell me what's wrong."

- "I told you, nothing is wrong. I just called you Spencer. That's your name. It's a lovely name. I had never met someone called Spencer ever before in my entire life. You just called me (Y/N), not pumpkin, cupcake, chipmunk, or ma chère,"- he sighed, frustrated and maybe a little annoyed.

- "Nothing is wrong, honey. I'm really ok. Just tired, maybe feeling a little invaded with Seaver in the team"- I knew he knew I hated her, so I had to blame her in a way.

- "Why?"

- "You know I'm not her fan... I hate working with her,"- I kind of chuckled at my own words because I was trying to make a joke out of my awful reality.

- "It's just for a few weeks,"- he tried to reassure me, probably to ease my mood, but the truth was I hated how it always felt like he was defending her.

- "One week, one day, it's the same torture,"- I shook my head and turned to the screen again.

- "Don't be dramatic."

- "I'm not dramatic! I just hate how she is always playing the victim ‘cos her father is a serial killer. She is clearly overcompensating! Besides, we have all gone through bad shit in our lives, and no one is using it as a tool to get things in life."

- "I don't think that's what she is doing."

- "No? Do you think she belongs at the BAU? She is a trainee agent who almost got killed in her first assignment. She works hard, and she is not stupid, I give you that. But she is not top of her class. She is not there ‘cos she is the brightest. She is there ‘cos Rossi, Hotch, and probably Prentiss felt bad for her after what happened and decided to let her hang around and learn something for a while. If you ask me, I think there are more qualified trainee agents we could use in the team, but Seaver played her "my father was a serial killer" card and got the job. And who knows how many times she had done it before, and how many times she will use it again."

Ok, that may or may not have been too hard, but it was exactly how I felt. There was a deep silence in Spencer's apartment. The movie was still paused, and after my speech, Spencer just looked at me with wide-opened eyes. I just sighed and regretted every word that had left my lips ‘cos they made me sound bitter and shallow. But at least they didn't tell him the truth: that I was jealous of the thought Seaver might get his attention. Scared that he could look at her the way he had never looked at me. Just to imagine I could bump into them kissing terrified me.

- "Maybe I should just go home,"- I whispered and tried to stand up, but Spencer grabbed my arm and pulled me back onto the couch.

- "No, please. Stay,"- his voice was a whisper but still managed to shake me.

- "I don't wanna argue with you, honey,"- I thought I would speak too loud, but no, I actually murmured, matching his tone of voice.

- "We don't have to talk about Seaver anymore. Just watch the movie with me. You love this movie."

- "You love this book,"- I added and looked at him. He smiled. God, that smile is going to be the end of me.

- "It's just so dark! But it has such a good message."

- "Not all nice people are good people?"- I just spoke about what the book had meant to me ever since I was a little girl, and Spencer analyzed the whole plot again in less than a minute.

- "I was going to say overcoming your fears, but I like your analysis the most."

- "Of course, you do, ‘cos it's better,"- I teased and stuck out my tongue to him. Spencer just stared at me and nodded.

- "You might be right. Yours is much better,"- he kept his eyes on me for a few more seconds and continued smiling until he snapped from his thoughts- "More tea, ma chère?"

- "No, honey, thank you. I'm good."

I cut him a quick smile and sat back on the couch, trying to relax. I knew it was going to be impossible, but I honestly didn't want to leave. I wanted to be with him. I had stayed home alone the whole weekend, hidden underneath a pile of blankets, in something that looked pretty much like a fort, according to Lu's words. She had stayed with me Saturday night ‘cos I told her I needed a girl's night. It was my poor attempt to stay away from Reid, and she was happy to help.

Ok, Lu didn't know I wanted to stay away from Reid. I just told her I needed a girl's night. I really didn't want to deal with all her questions. You have the right to avoid dealing with your feelings from time to time if you can. And I told Spencer Lu wasn't feeling so good, so I wanted to spend some time with her. He sounded disappointed ‘cos he was making plans for our weekend off but understood completely I needed to be with my friend.

See? Spencer made it so easy falling in love with him! He was so thoughtful it freaking hurt!

I couldn't fight the feeling anymore and rested my head on his shoulder. It felt he was waiting for me to make that move, ‘cos in a few seconds, his arm was wrapped around me protectively.

- "I know Lu needed you, but you missed a whole weekend of cuddling on this couch watching your favorite movies with me,"- Spencer whispered, bumping his head carefully against mine. I bit my lips and smiled, not taking my eyes away from the screen.

- "We do this pretty often"- that was all I could answer.

- "At least once a week for the last… thirteen-month two weeks, and… four days."

- "I love how precise you can be when it comes to our friendship, honey."

Calling it a friendship hurt me at that point, but it was what it was. Spencer chuckled and just nodded. We enjoyed our company in silence for a moment. His fingers drawing figures on my arm and my head resting on his shoulder, letting his smell invade me. It was heaven.

We were finally watching the movie… though what I really wanted was to watch a movie with Spencer instead of actually watching it. But that was the nature of our relationship. We were friends. Friends don't watch movies.

- "No way,"- I argued when his cellphone rang and interrupted our moment- "Please tell me we don't have a case."

- "We don't,"- he quickly answered and picked up the phone- "Hello? Hi… it's ok, tell me"- he didn't stand up or moved from me. He kept holding me tight against his body and finished his call by simply saying.

- "We can meet tomorrow at seven at work. I can help you with your test."- I hated those words immediately.

- "It's not a problem, see you tomorrow. Bye."

I was afraid to ask ‘cos I knew the answer. The knot on my stomach was the fair warning of what had just happened. That bitch had ruined our moment yet again.

- "What are you doing tomorrow at seven?"- I did my best to sound as casual as possible, but I knew that conversation might not end well. He hesitated. I could nearly hear his neurons struggling to find the correct answer to that question. Until he simply whispered:

- "Please don't get mad."

- "Why would I?"

- "‘Cos Ashley just called to ask me to help her study for a test…"

I took a deep breath and held it for a few seconds, doing my best to calm myself down at least a little before speaking.

- "I'm not mad, Spencer,"- I tried to lie as smoothly as possible. I even cut him a smile and looked into his hazel and confused eyes.

- "I know you don't like her, but I had offered to help in case she needed any… what?"

- "I'm not mad, really,"- I smiled again and turned to the screen- "We said we were not going to argue, and besides, she just called to ask you for help. That's not something to be mad about, right?"

Technically I wasn't mad. I was beyond furious.

- "Are you sure?"- he narrowed his eyes, baffled- "Not that I want you to be mad or something, but we just argued over her, and you said you felt invaded by her… so…"

- "Yes, but I don't wanna argue anymore. I don't want you to think I hate Seaver because I don't. And most of all, I don't want her to be the reason we fight. I don't wanna fight with you. Ever."

Spencer sighed, relieved, and smiled, pleased with my answer.

Spencer's point of view

Something felt off the following day when I walked into the bullpen and saw Ashley waiting for me by my desk with two cups of coffee. (Y/N) had said everything was ok, and I decided I wanted to believe her. But I had an awful feeling about everything that was going on.

- "Hi!"- Ashley smiled and handed me a cup- "Figured you might appreciate one of these for making you wake up earlier."

- "Thank you"- I smiled awkwardly and held the cup- "Are you ready?"

- "Yes, I brought all the notes from the class and my books…"- she set them on her desk and giggled as I went through her notes, sipping my cup- "I feel back in high school…"

- "Why?"

- "I wasn't the best student back then, and I always had to ask my classmates for help,"- I couldn't help but think of something (Y/N) had said the night before.

- "And are you a good student at the academy?"

- "Yes, I think. I'm not in the top three of my class, but I have good grades. I'm just not… a genius, like you."

Her eyes lingered on my face, and her cheeks blushed after a few seconds. I frowned, not getting why she was embarrassed. Was it just ‘cos she didn't have the same honorifics as I did?

- "I don't believe that intelligence can be accurately quantified,"- I simply answered, remembering how many times in my life I had ever said something like that. Way too many, to be honest.

It was hard to focus on the subject when Seaver kept asking me personal questions every five minutes. She seemed more interested in knowing about my childhood in Las Vegas than learning about profiling and victimology.

- "Good morning, kids!"- I turned around and smiled at Morgan, so glad to see him I might have actually felt a little relieved- "What are you doing here so early?"

- "Hey! I was just helping Ashley with her test,"- I stood up and walked from her desk over his- "And about you?"

- "I have a meeting with Strauss in a while, and Sanderson's case didn't let me sleep. It was better to come here and start working than to keep on rolling on my bed. But I'm glad you are here. Wanna help me go through a few extra files?"

- "Of course!"- I left the notes I was holding on the closest desk and walked with Morgan to the conference room.

I considered our session with Seaver finished, mostly ‘cos for the last ten minutes, she had been asking about me. What I liked doing outside the BAU, favorite bands, hobbies, anything. I answered her questions and kept trying to push her to study. I didn't want her to blame me if she failed her test.

- "Hey, kid."- Morgan whispered after a few minutes and took a look around, just to make sure no one else was near. I looked at him confused ‘cos he was never that careful to say anything in the office.

- "Is everything ok?"

- "Yes?"- I answered, though it sounded like a question ‘cos I wasn't sure what he was talking about.

- "Are you excited to have Seaver on the team for the next month?"- I shrugged and kept reading the file in my hands- "Come on, Reid. She is clearly sweet to you."

- "I don't know what you are talking about."

- "She has a crush on you, kid."

- "No, she doesn't!"

- "Come on! Are you blind?"- I stared at Morgan, not getting what he was talking about- "Man, Seaver gives you loving eyes even when we are on the field!"

- "She does not!"- I knew I was blushing. I hated those kinds of conversations, and Morgan always made me feel awkward when he hinted I should flirt with a girl or just talk to them.

- "And I would appreciate it if you didn't say anything like that ever again."

- "What's the matter, kid? You don't think she is pretty?"

- "I don't look at her that way!"- I buried my head in a file and tried not to notice how he scanned my whole face, looking for micro expressions.

- "I see. Are you afraid (Y/N) might get jealous?"- Morgan chuckled at his words and tapped on my back a few times, making me flinch- "Relax, man. I'm just kidding!"

- "I don't like those jokes, Derek. Really."

Morgan kept his eyes on me a little longer and nodded. I did my best not to show how I really felt, but somehow, I failed miserably.

- "You know, kid, it would be much easier if you just told (Y/N) how you feel about her,"- Derek's voice was soft and even more concerned than I thought he could be. I nearly shook when I heard him, so I failed my mission of remaining stoic.

- "Reid, it's ok. There's nothing wrong with having feelings for her."

- "I don't… like talking about this,"- I whispered and closed the file- "Can we just focus on work, please?"- Derek nodded and stayed quiet for a few seconds. But I knew he wasn't done yet.

- "Reid, listen. I know you are not really fond of sharing how you feel with us, I know you share almost everything that happens in your life with (Y/N), and as your friend, I've always felt glad and relieved to know you have her. But if there's something you can't tell her, and you need to talk to someone, you can count on me. You know that, right?"

I nodded and looked at him. That conversation took me back to the year I was using and had to keep it secret from my friends. I knew I could count on Morgan if anything happened, but I really wasn't comfortable sharing my thoughts, feelings, and fears with people. (Y/N) made it so easy. Was it ‘cos I loved her? I just always felt I could tell her anything. That had never happened to me before with anyone.

- "Morgan, Strauss was looking for you,"- Rossi walked into the room holding a cup of coffee and stared at us, raising an eyebrow- "Everything ok?"

- "Yes, we were just going through some files,"- Morgan stood up and grabbed the case folder- "I'll be right back."

- "I'll finish reading all these,"- I said and pointed at the box filled with more files. Morgan nodded and walked away.

- "Do you need any help?"- Seaver walked over that second and smiled at me. I stood up and shook my head.

- "Thanks, but I'm basically done. I'll just go make myself another cup of coffee."

- "I'll go with you!"- she smiled and waited for me by the door. Rossi looked at me and raised an eyebrow. I just cut him a straight smile and walked to the kitchenette, followed closely by Ashley.

(Y/N) walked into the bullpen that minute. I watched her as she opened the glass door and took out her jacket. It felt like the time passed in slow motion as she walked. I couldn't help it, I just smiled as soon as our eyes crushed, and for a few seconds, life was perfect. Just to know she was there, smiling at me made everything worth living.

See why I couldn't tell anyone how I was feeling? They would make fun of me. Morgan would never understand the agony and the dimension of my love for her. He would just tease me. I wonder if he had ever actually been in love 'till that point in life.

I didn't want anyone to know what was happening to me ‘cos I was sure they would make fun of me, and that was the last thing I needed at that moment. So I did what I knew best: I locked it all inside and waited for it to burn me alive.

- "Good morning, chipmunk!"- I stood by (Y/N)'s side and smiled as she left her things on her desk and turned to me. She just looked into my eyes, and my brain turned into mush.

- "Good morning, honey bunny. Did you sleep well? You look tired."

- "Yeah, I just got up extra early today to help Seaver, and now I was helping Derek with some files."

- "Do you need a hand?"

- "Sure!"- I didn't even analyze my answer. I just spit the words, thinking it would be amazing to spend some time with my friend, working together.

- "Hi (Y/N), how are you?"- that until her face changed completely when Seaver waved at her- "Spencer, do you want me to make your coffee?"- I froze and turned to her in silence.

- "No, thank you. I'll… just… wait a little before having another one. I just had my third cup."

- "Three cups in already"- (Y/N) narrowed her eyes and turned to her desk, giving me her back- "How long have you been awake?"

- "Not as long as Morgan, I tell you that,"- I pointed at him, walking out of Strauss's office and heading back to our conference room.

- "Let's help him, then."

(Y/N) walked quickly, and I followed closely. I wished I hadn't said no to that coffee. I really needed one to go through that morning.

During that morning, Derek questioned Sanderson again and finally took him and Rossi back to his house, trying to trigger any memory that might help us crack the case. Meanwhile, the rest of the team and I stayed back in the office, repeatedly going through the case files. So far, all we knew is that a team had attacked Sanderon's home and framed him for the murder of his wife and daughter.

The whole day, I focused on work ‘cos it's my favorite escape, and clearly, there was something more important to think of than whatever was going on with my life. But my head was killing me. The migraines were starting to get more intense, and I think they got worse the more thinking I gave to my relationship with (Y/N).

- "It sounds like we need to profile a dormant killer"- Ashle's voice surprised me when I was pouring myself a cup of fresh coffee in the kitchenette.

- "A very lucky one. He was essentially given a gift, a patsy in the form of Don Sanderson, and he'll do anything to protect that story."- I answered, thinking I didn't want to be in Sanderon's shoes, trying to clear my name of something I hadn't done.

- "When someone has a secret this big, everything becomes a lie."

Somehow, Seaver's words hit me. I'm sure she didn't mean to strike a nerve, but she did. I had been in love with my best friend for too long, and now it was starting to affect my life. I didn't want it to get in the way of work, and we were at work most of our time together. But there was nothing I could do about it. I just had to keep on faking everything was normal.

- "He'll most likely be pathological,"- I nearly choked at my own words as I tried to shake away the thoughts from my head.

- "So, we're looking for a liar in D. C. I thought we were trying to narrow this down."- Ashley tried to joke and waited for my reaction but didn't get anything. Instead, I just cut her a straight smile and walked away.

By the end of the night, Morgan had gotten the unsub. But I was still a mess. It had been the longest day in weeks, not just ‘cos I had barely slept the night before, but because I was overthinking everything that happened around me. It was exhausting.

- "Are you coming, Batsy?"- (Y/N) asked me and grabbed her bag after putting on her coat. I stood from my desk and nodded.

- "Yes, ma chère."

- "Where are you guys going tonight?"- Derek asked and smiled at us- "No. Don't tell me, planning this year's matching Comic-Con costumes"- I chuckled and probably blushed, busted.

- "We already settled those, Derek. We are way ahead of schedule this year,"- (Y/N) answered and stuck out her tongue to him.

- "(Y/N), can you give me a second before you go?"- Prentiss stood up and smiled at my friend, who just nodded and walked with her to the conference room. Derek and Seaver looked at me.

- "What?"

- "Do you know what's that about?"- Morgan questioned me.

- "I have no idea."

(Y/N)'s point of view

- "Please don't freak out,"- Emily smiled and turned to me after she closed the door behind her back- I just needed to clear the air a little bit between us.

- "What? Why? Is there something wrong?"

- "I don't know, I just feel you have been acting weird lately, and I needed to know if it has something to do with me supervising Seaver."

I nearly gasped. Not ‘cos I felt insulted but ‘cos I felt caught. I knew I hadn't been subtle about my feelings for Seaver. I just didn't want them to get in the middle of work.

- "I haven't been weird with you, Emily, and I don't think I've been acting strange."

- "Come on, you don't like Ashley, and I offered to supervise her while she works with us."

- "Yes, but neither of those has anything to do with me and you. We are friends, Emily."

- "I know, and I wanna honor that friendship, (Y/N). I love working with you. I just want you to know I'm not… I just… I'm trying to help Seaver start her career."

- "I understand that. We are ok,"- I tried to reassure her, but I knew she could read between my bullshit.

- "Do you think you could try to be a little bit nicer with her?"

- "Nicer?"

- "Yes, (Y/N). She is making an effort to get along with the team, and you've been giving her the cold shoulder since day one." -I crossed my arms on my chest, obviously annoyed and defensive.

- "I have been friendly with her, Emily. I just don't like her, and you can't force me to be her friend."

In my defense, in my mind, that argument didn't sound as childish as it did when I said it out loud.

- "Don't be selfish! Just because you are jealous, you can't deprive her of the opportunity of a lifetime with this team."

Emily's words were knives against my ego and nearly destroyed my facade. I stared into her eyes and wondered how to get out of that situation without hurting my friend. I could pretend I didn't know what she was talking about, but we both knew that was bullshit. I could actually try to tell her how I felt, but it was so humiliating I refused to open up. So instead, I just nodded and smiled at her.

- "I'm sorry that's how you see me. I'll try to be a better version of myself tomorrow,"- and needless to say, I turned around and left.

- "(Y/N), please wait,"- but I didn't stop walking. I refused to continue talking about Seaver with anyone. I refused to deal with feelings or the real world.

- "Everything ok?"- Spencer asked me the second he saw me appear by his side.

- "Yes,"

- "You are blushing. Did you and Prentiss argue?"

- "No, honey. We didn't argue. She just wanted to check on me ‘cos she was worried I was mad at her. But that's all."- Spencer just nodded and looked at me in silence.- "Why don't we just go home and forget about today, honey?"

Easier said than done.

So Seaver was getting under my skin. And it was getting harder to control. That week was hell, and I didn't want to show it. Eventually, I talked with Emily again, and I tried to explain to her I wasn't being mean with Seaver. I just didn't like her. And though I gave Emily my word to be friendlier with Ashley, the circumstances weren't really helping.

Things didn't get any better than Friday night. No, if anything, that was the night that made it all worse. Prentiss, JJ, and I got together at Garcia's house and had a few drinks before leaving for Anderson's birthday. I was making my biggest effort to have fun and ease my mind. Spencer said he wasn't sure he'd make it ‘cos he was tired, and automatically I almost turned out the whole deal, but Penelope literally dragged me to her house and put a beer in my hand.

- "You, my young lady, are going to put some makeup on, a hot dress, and we are going to party!"

- "But PG, I'm not…"- but she didn't let me out of it. Instead, she shushed me and raised an eyebrow, looking pretty convincing.

- "No "but." You are going. End of the conversation."

So she dragged me to the bar, along with Prentiss and JJ, who had left Will with little Henry to join us for what was promised to be one epic girl's night.

Anderson was so happy to see us. He was a sweetheart who was always willing to help us. I knew technically he didn't work at the BAU, but he was always there whenever we needed him. We all felt he was part of the team.

- "Sonny!!"- I yelled and hugged him tight

- "I'm so glad you girls made it!!"- and his smile was priceless- "JJ!!"- he actually yelled when he saw her and ran to give her a triple bear hug.

- "Grant Anderson!! I can't believe it's really you!!"

- "I've missed you so much!! How's Henry?"

- "So big!! I feel I haven't been out with friends in so long!"- JJ looked around, and her face kept lighting up as she recognized more friends and acquaintances from Quantico. I looked around and recognized Morgan already flirting with a woman at the other side of the bar.

- "Looks like chocolate thunder knows how to keep himself busy,"- I joked, and Garcia turned immediately.

- "Have you ever seen him shirtless?"- she asked in a lower voice and leaned a little closer to me, just to make sure no one would listen- "I'm sure it's illegal looking so good in real life."

I laughed and turned to see Prentiss walk to the bar to get us the first round of drinks. Ok, I'll admit it, I was having a great time. I know I didn't want to go at first, but spending time with my work friends and not just with Spencer was refreshing. Not that I didn't do fun things with the rest of the team, but my relationship with Spencer, I mean the friendship that pretty much looked like a relationship, consumed most of my time. But I just loved being with Reid more than anything.

But one night without him wasn't going to be the end of the world. Right?

Right.

Anderson and I danced and laughed. It was all very innocent. And though I've never considered myself a hot chick or whatever, a few guys asked if they could get me drinks, and I kindly declined. I wasn't looking for a one-night stand or anything. I just wanted to have fun with my friends.

- "And where's Reid?"- Anderson asked as we reached our table, where Prentiss and JJ were catching up and laughing.

- "Home, he said he was tired."

- "And? When are you two going to come clean about your relationship? You know, having the confirmation of your romance would be the best birthday present you could ever give me."

- "Grant Anderson, you nosy bastard!!"- I hit his arm and heard his laughter- "You know we are not dating!"

- "Come on!! I mean it! You have to get together! You are like the FBI sweethearts!!"

- "Shut your face!"- Anderson laughed even harder and took a look around the bar

- "So, if you are not dating Spencer, I have a friend who asked about you."

- "Who? What friend? Is he here?"- Garcia shouted question after question as she had overheard the whole conversation and even moved closer.

- "His name is James. He saw you on the news a few months ago, at a press conference with Rossi, and has been asking about you ever since."

I frowned and looked at Garcia, who was wide-eyed staring at Anderson. I had no idea what was going on. It was bizarre.

- "No, thank you?"- I whispered, not even sure of what I should answer at that- "I'm very flattered, Grant, but… I'm really not looking for someone right now."

- "You are not?"- Garcia asked me, and I just shook my head.

- "No, I have too much going on in my life, with work and… well… what we do…"

- "Really?"- Anderson sounded a little disappointed- "Well, in case you change your mind, James is…"

- "(Y/N)? Can I talk to you for a second?"- Garcia grabbed my arm and crawled me to a side of the bar.

- "What? What is it?"

- "Munchkin, you know I love you."

- "Yes, I love you too, PG."

- "That's why I feel like I need to be honest with you, ‘cos you've always been so sweet, and we've known each other for years now, and I feel like if I don't tell you this, you are never going to forgive me."- Penelope was nearly hyperventilating as she spoke.

- "Ok, what is it? You are scaring me."

- "You have to tell Reid how you feel."

- "What?"

- "He has to know! You have to tell him!"

- "I don't wanna talk about what, Penelope"- I tried to walk away from her, but she stopped me, grabbed my arm, and pulled me back.

- "No, (Y/N). He loves you, I'm not a profiler, I don't even play one on tv, but I am sure what I see in his eyes when he looks at you is love… ‘cos it's the same you have when you look at him!"

- "Son of a bitch!!"- the words escaped my lips as my heart nearly left my chest.

- "No, (Y/N)!"- but Garcia lost my attention that second, ‘cos all I could see was Spencer Walter Reid walking into the bar and Ashley Seaver hanging from his arm.

- "What do you want me to tell him, Garcia? To have fun with his new girlfriend?"- I pointed at the door, and her jaw nearly hit the floor.

- "Ok, no. There has to be a reasonable explanation for that!"

- "Yes, but Spencer being in love with me is not the explanation. I'm gonna get a drink."

Spencer's point of view

I was surprised to get Ashley's phone call that night. When my phone rang, I was ready to go to bed. My head was killing me. I had already scheduled an appointment with the doctor for some exams. I was starting to have a bad feeling about what those headaches really were, and I was too scared to tell anyone what was going on. Not even (Y/N).

Actually, of all people, she was the one I wanted to keep in the dark. Why? ‘Cos ever since we met she had taken care of me, I didn't think it was fair. She had taken me into her life and given me a place in it. And sometimes, I felt I was a burden. She helped me overcome all of my traumas and even my drug addiction. She introduced me to her best friends and made me part of her life. (Y/N) had taken trips with me to Las Vegas just to see my mom, ‘cos she knew it was hard for me to do it on my own. If it hadn't been for her, I would have probably spent over a year without visiting her. Now, we took a weekend to see mom every few months.

Why would I trouble her with some headaches? It wasn't fair.

When Ashley called, for a moment, I thought it might be (Y/N), asking me to pick her up. But no. It wasn't her that time.

- "Hey Spence, I'm sorry to bother you, but… are you at Anderson's party?"

- "No, actually, I'm in my house."

- "Why? I thought you were invited too."

- "Yeah, I know, and I was, but I'm kind of tired, and I wanted to come home and get some rest. Why? Are you at the party?"

- "No, but I was getting ready to go. But now I feel kind of awkward asking you."

- "What? What is it?"

- "I just… wanted to know if you could come with me. I'm so sorry, Spence, I didn't know you were tired. I just… I wanted to go to the party, but I feel kind of silly going alone. I wanted to ask Prentiss, but she left with (Y/N) and Garcia, and I felt so awkward asking…"

I wanted to groan, roll in my bed and hide under my pillow. But Ashley was the new girl, and she deserved to have some fun.

- "Don't worry, I'll take you there,"- I know I whispered my answer ‘cos I didn't really want to do it, but somehow I felt it was my duty.

- "Really?!"- and by the excitement in Ashley's voice, it was clear that was what she wanted to hear.

- "I'll pick you up in half an hour, ok?"

- "Thank you so much, Spence!!"

But when I walked into the bar, I knew I had made a mistake. I felt it in my guts. The same intuition I never followed in my personal life, only on the field.

I quickly looked around as Ashley held on to my arm tightly and walked into the bar with a big smile. I soon found Prentiss and JJ talking at a table filled with empty glasses, and my heart jumped inside my chest at the warm, familiar feeling that my friends gave me. I missed JJ very much. And not just as a team member but as a friend who had been taken away from us. (Y/N) always said I didn't know how to deal with change, neither did she, and the shifts in the team always affected me.

Soon I saw Morgan too, talking with Anderson and some other agents. Garcia had to be close then, but I couldn't see her or (Y/N) anywhere around.

- "Come on! Let's get a drink!"- Ashley said and crawled me to the bar.

- "I don't drink and drive"- I said, and she pouted.

- "Come on! You are no fun! Just one!"

- "No, just water. Thanks,"- I turned and scanned the place. Everybody was there, and they seemed to be having fun. Penelope waved and walked to me suddenly. She cut me a short smile and grabbed my arm.

- "Hey, what the hell are you doing here?"

- "I didn't want to come, but Ashley insisted and…"

- "Hi!"- Ashley appeared by our side and handed me a bottle of water- "I'm so excited to be here! We really needed to decompress after everything that happened this week, right Garcia?"

Penelope stared at us, trying to formulate an answer. I could see her making her bet to say something, but she just didn't. Instead, she just turned around and walked away.

- "Is she ok?"- I didn't know how to answer that, ‘cos Penelope's reaction surprised me. Ashley just looked around and grabbed my arm again.

- "Come on, Spencer! Let's dance!"

- "No, I don't… dance, sorry."

Lucky for me, Prentiss showed up and invited us to sit with her at her table. I don't know if she noticed I was uncomfortable, but I was glad to see her. Being in that bar made me feel pretty awkward and exposed.

I had never been much of a party person. I wasn't used to bars and gatherings until I joined the BAU. When I first met Derek, he tried to take me out a few times and be my wingman. It's obvious he failed at that mission. Meeting people at a bar is the most complicated equation I could ever try to solve. It doesn't work for me, no matter how hard Derek pushed me to do it. He said I had to rely on what made me feel comfortable. But no. It wasn't that I couldn't meet people. It was that I didn't want to meet anyone once I met the woman of my dreams. Even when I knew she could never be mine.

When (Y/N) came along, she started hosting these fun "dinner parties" with Frank, Lu, and Mikey, which changed everything. It was the first time I was hanging out with people my age doing things I actually liked doing. It wasn't about drinking or picking girls in a bar. It was about playing Jenga, or charades, eating pizza, and talking about movies and sometimes even books.

(Y/N) said her friends considered me part of the gang, which was all I ever wanted to hear. That I belonged. It's kind of sad when you think about it, but I don't care. I had never felt like I belonged anywhere, and they made me feel like I was one of them. They took me to their rock shows, and I jumped along with the crowd, knowing I wasn't an outcast there. I was with my friends.

You don't know how good that made me feel. And for years, they were my social comfort and cocoon. Then, when Rossi joined the BAU again, he started hosting fancy dinner parties at his house, and I got to hang out with the whole team without being at a bar, pushed to meet people. And it was so good. (Y/N) always said Rossi's arrival had a cohesive effect on us. Not because he brought us together, but the circumstances of his arrival and everything that happened that first year.

This team is no stranger to trauma, and that's a fact. I think Rossi's dinner parties gave us a space to be ourselves, relax, have a few drinks and enjoy our time together. I think that's when we stepped from being friends to be family.

And I hadn't had one before.

I hugged JJ tight as soon as I saw her smiling at me. I hadn't seen her ever since her goodbye party, over two months before, but we had talked on the phone a few times.

- "I've missed you so much, Spence!!"- she said and held my face with both hands- "You and (Y/N) owe me two babysit nights,"- and I laughed, thinking we promised we'd take care of Henry so she and Will could have a date, but we were called for a case.

- "Wait! It was one night!"- I argued, chuckling- "Why is it two nights now?"

- "‘Cos I lost a very exclusive reservation due to the two of you."

- "Technically, it wasn't our fault, we were called in for a case..."

I smiled and sat next to JJ, and Prentiss sat next to me. Ashley stood by the table and smiled at JJ. Right, they didn't even know each other.

- "It's very nice to meet you, Agent Jareau. The team talks very highly of you,"- she shook JJ's hand and smiled.

- "Ashley, right? Prentiss was just telling me you will be taking your remedial training at the BAU. Congratulations, it's a fantastic team to work with."

- "Thank you,"- I took a look around, still trying to find my best friend around. But it seemed useless, and I was starting to feel worried.

- "Where's (Y/N)?"- I had to ask.

- "She was with Anderson a minute ago,"- Penelope said and looked around- "I am going to look for her and bring her here in a second. I'll be right back."

And so, she was gone.

Prentiss and I pretty much interrogated JJ about her new job and the new team she worked with at the pentagon. I sipped my water and half-listened her answer, ‘cos most of my head was trying to register what was going on around me. No, actually, I was trying to find (Y/N). Penelope had been gone for half an hour looking for her, and I was starting to think something weird was going on. Besides, my head was killing me, and all I wanted was to go home. But I hadn't seen JJ in weeks, and I couldn't waste a chance like that.

Ashley talked with Prentiss too, and every once in a while, she tried to engage in conversation with me. But to be honest, I couldn't really concentrate on anything. I just wanted to know (Y/N) was alright.

- "Excuse me,"- I stood up slowly and looked at my friends- "I'm going to the bathroom, be right back."

- "Can you get us another round on our way back?"- Prentiss asked and smiled guiltily.

- "Sure."

- "Do you need help?"- Ashley tried to stand up, but Emily stopped her.

- "He got it, don't worry."

So I was left on my own. I walked around the bar. In my mind, I kept telling myself I was "looking for the bathroom," but I knew very well I was indeed trying to find (Y/N). I had been in that bar for an hour, and I still hadn't seen her. I was worried.

I walked around the bar and found Anderson. He seemed to be a little shocked to see me there but smiled and hugged me. It was weird hugging people, still. But Anderson was part of the team. It always felt like it. We had known each other for years, and somehow it was like he was in the background of our daily basics.

- "Have you seen (Y/N)?"- I asked him, and he widened his eyes- "What?"

- "Yeah, she's right there, actually… "- Grant Anderson pointed and turned around- "Later, Reid."

- "Bye"- I didn't even look at him. I just turned and looked around to see (Y/N).

But my best friend didn't notice me. She was too busy kissing some guy.

I stood in front of her, not knowing what to do. Her eyes were closed, and her arms were around his neck, so clearly, she wasn't in distress, and no matter how badly I wanted to take her from him, I just couldn't.

For a minute, I couldn't believe my eyes. I just stood there and stared at (Y/N), trying to understand what was going on. I always knew she wasn't meant to be mine, but I had never gotten such a brutal reminder. Not even when she was dating Paul. Watching her kissing someone else was shocking. The way that man put his hands on her waist and held her close to him, just like I always dreamt of doing, was painful.

Painful. That was the only word I can explain how it felt.

I stood there for a minute or so. I really don't know how long it was, but it felt long enough to burn in my memory everything I needed to torture myself with for the rest of my life. I stepped back after a minute. It might have been longer; I really can't recall. And all I managed to do was to walk out of the bar and reach my car.

I opened the door and slammed it as I sat behind the wheel. I wanted to cry and yell. But I didn't do either of those. Instead, I stayed still, staring at the nothing in front of me, trying to erase that fresh memory from my head. But it was impossible. (Y/N) was making out with some guy inside that bar, and there was nothing I could do to stop her. So I did the only thing I could do at that minute. I started the car and got the fuck out of there.

–

DIWK Taglist:

@all-tings-diego @big-galaxy-chaos @muffin-cup @shilohpug @eternalharry @tvandfanfic @fandomtrash2405

Spencer taglist

@calm-and-doctor

General Taglist

@spenxerslut @ash19871962 @babebenhardy @meowiemari @archer561

–

Do you want to be on the taglist or ramble about this chapter with me? Just send me a message here.

Next update: June 23th, 2021

[kemakoshume]

h & h ✰ iwaizumi x gn!reader

☆ warnings (‼️) – negative body image talk, talks about mental health. not spicy at all but dom!iwa is there if you REALLY squint.

☆ summary – you’re having a bad self-image day triggered by some harsh words. iwa is there to make it better :')

☆ word count – 1.8k

☆ pairing: genderneutral!reader x personaltrainer!iwaizumi hajime

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* the tunes i listened to while writing this *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You hadn’t meant to let it get to you. Words were just that; words. They had no business sneaking their way into your mind and making you loathe the image looking back at you in the mirror the way they did. Yet here you were, staring at the silhouette of curves and lumps that made up your physical form, playing your mother’s words on a loop in your brain.

“I just don’t get it, honey. How are you still chubby dating such a fit guy? He needs to work you out a little harder,” she rambled, trampling over any attempt you made at interjecting, “Have you thought about changing up your schedule to make more time for the gym? I think that’d be good. You won’t lose him so easily if you do. Men are visual creatures you know! You have to give him something prettier to look at or those eyes will start wandering.”

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t cry. Yes, the weight had crept up on you. Depression, anxiety, and a plethora of other things had begun to occupy the space in your mind where self-care and exercise had once resided. Though you ate more, you hadn’t really been eating any worse. You just did physical activity less and the weight came on its own. Regardless, you were still relatively happy with your body. It had carried you through the hardest few months of your life, and you knew Iwaizumi loved it just as much as he did you. He just cared that you were here, and happy, and functioning well again.

You knew that. You wanted so badly to remember it even when her words stung like alcohol on a fresh wound.

“Hey baby, have you seen the fragrance plug-in refills? I know we bought more like… a few days ago.”

You could hear him calling out to you as he bound his way up the stairs. His footsteps were annoyingly light, which made sense for a guy with such a lean frame. Were your footsteps heavier now too? Had Iwa noticed and was just too polite to say anything?

“Babe?” he questioned, rounding the corner into your shared bedroom.

You stood there in front of your large floor-length mirror in your dark-gray cotton hipster panties and a black t-shirt bra. It took him less than a second to notice the trail of tears running down your face.

“Oh no,” he moaned, “What’s wrong?”

He crowded into your space easily, grabbing you into a hug. He’d turned you away from the mirror, putting your face flat against the firm plane of his chest. You melted into it, letting the tears flow even harder now that you could hear the concern in your partner’s voice, willing the knot forming in your throat to go away and allow you to speak.

“Here baby, sit down for me.”

He placed you on the bench situated at the end of your king bed, immediately sitting next to you to pull you into his arms again. You felt him pulling at your waist, beckoning you to settle into a straddling position in his lap, so he could hug you and hold you fully on the seat. The tears only flowed harder when you instinctively slapped away his hand, pushing yourself away from him to pace around in front of the mirror again.

You looked insane, you thought passively. Your hair was disheveled from running your hands through it, your face was red all over, and all the tears and snot made you look like a child that’d had their favorite toy taken away. You were better than this, at least.

You willed the tears to stop, putting a hand against Iwaizumi’s chest to signal “give me a moment” when he tried to come into your space again. You walked up close to the mirror, wiping the tears both shed and unshed away from your eyes. You smoothed a hand through your hair until it looked somewhat less unkempt, and blew your nose with the tissue Iwa had gotten you sometime during your cooldown period.

“So, can I ask what that was about now?” he asked, standing behind you where you sat in front of the mirror. That stupid fucking mirror.

“Can I ask you something?” you said, deadpan, your voice more hurricane than honey at that moment.

“Of course.”

“Are you ashamed to be with me?” you said, picking at the skin around your nails. You couldn’t will yourself to look up at him.

“Honey,” he said sternly, “Come sit with me. Please.”

He moved to sit on your bed, waiting for you to join him. You hesitated. Was this it? Was this the moment where the love of your life called you a disgusting pig and told you to move out? Was he so ashamed that he couldn’t wait for this moment to finally come?

“Baby. I’m not asking again. Sit, please.”

You sighed, pulling yourself off the floor. You absentmindedly grabbed a rouge t-shirt off the ground and pulled it over your body as you climbed onto the bed. Your eyes were still downcast.

“Now where the hell did you get that idea from?” he said, grabbing you by your ankles to pull you closer. You were criss-cross apple sauce in front of each other on the powder blue duvet.

“I just,” you stammered, trying to blink away the incoming flood of fresh tears, “my mom said some shit to me when we were on the phone earlier, while you were at the gym, and it just got in my head. I don’t know why I let her do this to me.”

“Oh god,” he said, not even attempting to hide his disdain and subsequent eye-roll, “Please baby, for your mental health, stop talking to her if it hurts you this badly. Almost every time she says something that makes things hard for you.”

“I know Iwa, I know. I just… she’s my mom. What she said hurt, it hurt like hell, but we don’t talk very much. She’s all I have too, you know? Besides you and our friends, of course, but still. I wouldn’t want her to not be in my life at all, even if she does make it harder sometimes.”

He huffed, dragging a veiny, large hard across his face in frustration.

“Okay, I get it. I don’t agree, not at all, but I do get it. So, what’d she say this time? If you even feel okay repeating it.”

You took a deep breath, letting the wave of sadness flow out with the air exiting your lungs. You told him what she’d said, making sure to emphasize that you knew it was just her opinion but still, Iwa wasn’t stupid.

“She doesn’t know shit, honey. She doesn’t know me, or our relationship, or what “keeps my eye.” You’re saying you know she’s wrong but what she said bothered you anyway. What’s going on?”

“I just… I’ve gained weight, Iwa. I’ve been so focused on transitioning onto better antidepressants and keeping up a good standing with work that I haven’t been taking care of myself as much.”

“Oh honey,” he groaned, sliding forward until his leg was wrapped around yours and he was cradling your head, “You have been taking care of yourself, and me, and this house. Weight loss maintenance is not the only measurement of self-care baby.”

You felt tears fall again, and you couldn’t help but curl into his embrace a little more.

“But, you love working out. Helping people get hot is your whole job!” you said matter of factly, “How are you happy coming home to someone who looks like your clients’ “before” photos?” you groaned, sounding every bit like the petulant child your mother always accused you of being.

He pulled away just enough to kiss your forehead, making eye contact with you that felt unwavering.

“Babe, I don’t see my clients as a before and after,” he sighed, “I see them as people just trying to take more control of their lives. The focus is never really about weight loss, it’s about getting them to a place where they feel happy and content in their bodies. The most successful clients I have are the ones that are already in love with themselves at their starting weight.”

“Really?” you ask, your face contorted in confusion.

“Yeah,” he chuckles, wiping away the stray tears left on your cheeks, “Despite popular belief, hating yourself is the absolute worst motivator for starting a fitness journey. Depriving yourself of the things and people you love because you feel unworthy is just cruel. Everyone deserves to love and be loved no matter where they are in their body image journey, and I need you to understand that includes you and me as well.”

He runs his hand across the top of your head, pushing back your hair to place even more delicate kisses onto your forehead.

“Honey, as long as you’re happy and healthy, then that’s all I care about. I love you and your body, and no poison your mom tries to smuggle into your brain is going to undo that.”

You sighed, tilting your head up to get a kiss or two from the man of your dreams.

“You know what’s crazy?” you said, feeling the hum in your partner’s chest, “I actually wanted to go back to the gym before I talked to her. Not even because of my weight, I just wanted to go to clear my head.”

He pondered over your words, playing with a stray piece of your hair.

“Well, if you want to start working out again, I’ll join you, but we’ll be doing it for our health. Not aesthetics. I love you exactly how you are baby, but if working out will help make you feel good mentally, I’m all for it.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah,” he said assuringly, smiling down at you before placing a firm kiss on your lips, “We can start doing yoga at home too, maybe? You’ve been talking about wanting to forever. It’s great for focus and balance, and flexibility.”

You didn’t miss the look of mischief creeping onto his face. You chuckled, kissing all over his face.

“You want me to be nice and nimble, huh?”

“Mhm,” he hummed into your mouth, “We should probably test out your flexibility now though before we start our new routine next week. I need an accurate idea of where we’re starting.”

“Well we wouldn’t want anything to be inaccurate, would we?” you said, falling into the sheets with Iwa, letting him remove the last bit of clothing on your body to show you exactly how much he loved your body the way it was.

Your heart felt a million times lighter somehow even though it was so full.

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 5,050 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: Alexandria Warnings: Language, coerced marriage, gore, violence, sexuality, typical TWD stuff (recommended NC17+) A/N: This is part of a series! Find the previous parts on the Masterlist! Summary: Inside Sanctuary, Y/N tries to figure out where Daryl is and what his condition is as well as developing a plan to get him out.

Your name: submit What is this?

You forgot how much damn time was wasted in that place, just sitting around with the other wives trying to think of something to talk about or something to do with your time. You visited the library frequently but you couldn’t actually focus enough on the books to really read. It was like you just stared and turned the pages in some charade while your mind obsessed over where Daryl was… what state he was in… Days went by and they all felt the same, all tinged with you on edge, wracked with anxiety over finding him. You were worried you were going to lose track of how long you had been there. You were constantly looking for that golden opportunity and watching for danger at the same time. Constantly trying to scout out the building, spy on Dwight, and make sure no one was getting suspicious of you.

Finally, you managed to follow Dwight early one morning as he was delivering something to a cell. And you caught a glimpse of a huddled form as he shut the door, a man with long, wavy brown hair. You heart hammered in your chest as you pressed yourself back against the wall around the corner. Daryl. It was him. You knew it. You only needed to see him for a brief moment to know it was him. He was alive. He was alive.

But you didn’t breathe a sigh of relief for long. You knew what they were likely doing to him. You rushed back to your room and grabbed two slices of bread from your kitchenette. You laid some slices of cheese on each and tucked them into your bag, wrapped in some paper towel. You wished you could give him water, but you could only deliver whatever would fit in the small space beneath the door.

Daryl was sitting in the darkness, staring down at the dogfood sandwich Dwight had delivered him, his stomach turning but panging with hunger, when a soft noise suddenly drew his attention.

He looked to his left and saw that something was partially blocking the light beneath the door. He put his hand down on something soft. He felt it with his fingers and leaned down. Food. Someone had slipped in some bread and cheese beneath the door.

Was this a trick? Daryl stared at it for one moment before he picked it up and took an eager bite. It tasted like ambrosia to him. All he had been given was dogfood between thin slices of stale bread since he had been thrown in there. He’d never tasted something so wonderful in his life… but the question now was who the hell had slipped him the food?

And it continued. At least once a day, often more than that, something, sustenance, was slipped under his door. The archer was baffled, but he wasn’t about to question it.

You never dared to linger outside the door to try and talk to him. That was too risky. But you at least could make sure he had something to eat, something with some nutrients. You got creative with what you could make thin enough to fit—cutting apples into thin slices, vegetables, meat and cheese, cooked egg. Anything. But more than anything, you longed to see him, to inspect his condition, know how he was… to speak to him, to tell him that everything was going to be okay. Your heart felt broken, limping along in your chest out of habit, as you thought about how close you were to him and yet how far away.

One day you were gathered with the other wives and Negan in the early evening. It happened.

Dwight walked through, holding Daryl by the back of his filthy sweatshirt. Your heart actually stopped. You concentrated on keeping your face blank even while your heart stalled in your chest. It didn’t take more than two seconds before he saw you there, his blue eyes meeting yours. He actually tried to take another step in toward you, like he was being magnetically pulled and couldn’t help it but Dwight tugged back on him harshly. His brain didn’t comprehend what he was seeing at first. He really thought he was hallucinating it. Maybe he had finally cracked. You were so beautiful. He thought of you so often while he was in there, using his memories of you as an escape from the hell he was in. He thought of how you bit your bottom lip when you were concentrating. He thought of that goddamn smile you always gave him. He thought of how you scrunched your nose up at him when you were trying to pretend to be annoyed… But—no. This was something else. This was new. You were there. You were actually there.

You could see that Daryl had black eyes and cuts on his face, bruises. He’d been beat up and he was filthy, but you were relieved to see that he was mostly whole. But he looked broken, somewhat defeated, his shoulders hanging on his frame, so unlike the man you had come to know, except when you caught his eyes… there was a raging inferno there. The sight of you in that room, the realization that you had “given” yourself to Negan, had fanned it. He felt like he could be sick right then and there, just double over and vomit. You managed to shake your head ever so slightly as you held his eyes, hoping he knew that you meant he shouldn’t give away his connection to you. It took everything in him not to just start throwing punches.

Daryl’s mind was spinning. What the hell had happened? How had you come to be there? Had Negan captured you? Had he taken you forcefully? Had he simply convinced you in exchange for some benefit to the group, to Alexandria? How could you possibly be there, with him? And not just there, not just in the Sanctuary. You were one of his wives. The thought of Negan touching you, his hands on you, kissing you… doing more, whatever he wanted… especially having seen the terror in your eyes when you had told him about your past. It was too much. Daryl clenched his jaw, biting down hard and trying to control his breathing, his expression, trying to prevent his hands from balling into fists.

“There he is!” Negan exclaimed with a smile, standing up from his place in an armchair where he was receiving a shoulder massage from his wife, Frankie. “Daryl! How’s it hangin’? Don’t answer that. Don’t care,” he said with a laugh. “Dwight, I think you should take Daryl down for some fence duty. He’s been in time-out in his hole for long enough as punishment for that hilarious escape attempt. Oh—Daryl. You haven’t met my wife Y/N before. Ya see, Y/N here escaped. Just like old Dwighty boy there and Sherry. We’re gonna call that temporary insanity, right, baby?” He shot a look at you. “But she. came. back. Because she realized that there is no better place to be than here.” Negan walked over to where you were standing against the wall. “And all is forgiven,” he said softly. He reached one hand around to your lower back and tugged you against him. He slid his other hand into your hair and kissed you, deeply, heatedly… his tongue exploring your mouth and his hands exploring your body. And Daryl had to avert his eyes. He couldn’t look. He felt bile rising up into his throat. He was worried Dwight would feel him trembling. Anger was bubbling in his chest at a rolling boil. He imagined ripping Negan off you and beating him into the ground… but he had to just stand there. He had to just let it happen. Finally, Negan broke apart from you and smoothed a thumb over your cheek as he clasped your face, unmistakable desire in his eyes. When he looked back at Dwight and Daryl, his eyes were twinkling and there was a smile on his face. “Ya see, Daryl? Just stop fighting it! And your life will get so much cooler!” He laughed and waved a hand to dismiss him and Dwight tugged him out.

You stood there with your chest heaving, staring down at your shoes, thinking only of the condition Daryl seemed to be in. Your heart was breaking and you had to choke down a swelling of nausea which was becoming all too familiar, almost a constant. If you survived this, you were sure you were going to have an ulcer.

Negan soon left with Frankie announcing that he desperately needed one of her full body massages and you felt as if you could collapse with relief that you wouldn’t have to endure him that night. As soon as he was out of the room, you went to the bar and leaned on it, staring vacantly at the wall. You sensed someone beside you suddenly and looked up to see Sherry. She glanced over her shoulder, clearly making sure Negan was really gone and that no one else was close enough to overhear.

“You know him,” she said quietly.

Your eyes snapped over to her in surprise. “What?”

She studied your expression. “It’s alright. I won’t say anything. And it wasn’t you who gave it away,” she said.

Your brow furrowed in confusion as you tried to guess at her meaning. “What are you—”

“I saw the look in his eyes when he saw you. His face when Negan kissed you. And how he was looking at you when your eyes were elsewhere…” She looked down at her hands sadly. “It’s how D sometimes looks at me,” she said, lighting up a cigarette and blowing out a cloud of smoke up toward the pendent lights over the bar. “Or, maybe, how he used to. How do you know him?” she asked.

You thought you had to have misheard her. What she was implying was that Daryl… “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, wrapping your hands around your empty drink glass.

She nodded. “You do. But it’s alright.” She sighed and studied your face again. “He helped us.”

Now your eyes met hers. She took another long drag on her cigarette. “When D and I escaped with Tina. He helped us even after we tied him up, threatened to kill him… he helped us. And we screwed him,” she said softly. You could tell this was weighing on her heavily. Her face contorted a little with emotion.

You didn’t say anything. What was there to say? You still wanted to kill Dwight for what he’d done, what he was doing to Daryl. Sherry’s remorse didn’t change that.

That night, when you got back to your room, you were sick in the toilet and sat on the floor, curled up, crying until you had nothing left. Eventually, the pain faded into numbness and you turned the shower on as hot as you could stand it and stood beneath the jet of water for a long time.

_ _ _ _ _ _

“Joey!” you called, smiling widely at him as he came toward you down the hall. “I have a favor to ask you. That is, unless you’re too busy,” you said, making sure you batted your eyelashes at him.

“N—no. I was just—I’m not too busy. What is it?” he asked eagerly.

“Well, I wanted to move around some of the furniture in the seating area in my room but I just can’t do it myself. Would you mind helping me? It doesn’t have to be now,” you said, stepping closer to him and reaching out to smooth the collar of his button-up shirt.

He gulped and seemed stunned, unable to talk for a moment. “I—I—I can help you with that now,” he stuttered out.

You grinned widely at him. “Oh, thank you so much! Just this way,” you said, leading the way back to your room. It was working. You needed to turn up the heat a little bit. You wanted to keep him off-balance, oblivious, distracted. You stepped inside and gently closed the door behind him after he entered. He was nervously shifting his weight, his eyes fixed on you. “I hope this doesn’t make you uncomfortable,” you said softly. “Being in my bedroom. Just don’t say anything to Negan or he’ll get jealous,” you said, winking. You went over to the bed and sat down, reaching down and pulling off your high heels, making sure to move slowly. You tossed them to the floor and straightened up, closing your eyes and rolling your neck from one side to the other, sliding a hand down the side of your neck. “Mmm. Those heels are torture,” you murmured.

He cleared his throat, wide-eyes still staring at you like he’d never seen a woman before.

You smiled at him and hopped off the bed. “Thanks again for doing this,” you said. “If you could just move that couch over there, and switch the chair and the end table I think it will be perfect.”

Fat Joey nodded rapidly and started trying to heave the couch to one side. He was huffing and puffing, becoming a bit red in the face when you slid in close next to him, bending down so your face was right next to his and pressing your hands onto the arm of the couch that he was pushing on, making sure to brush your finger against his. “I bet we can do it together,” you said, cultivating a dewy expression on your face.

“W—What?”

You giggled and rolled your eyes. “Move the couch, silly!” you said, playfully hitting him on the arm. God, even pretending to be this vapid was making you hate yourself.

“R—right. Yeah.”

You both pushed again and when the couch finally started to move, you pretended to slip on your bare feet and brushed against him as you slid to the floor, laughing. He didn’t feel that you had swiped his set of keys as you fell.

“I’m such a clutz!” you said, taking his hand as he helped you to your feet.

“Are you alright? Your ankle—do you need to go see the doctor?” he asked urgently.

You waved him off, rubbing your ankle and flexing your foot. “I’m fine. I’m completely fine. But I think we’ll take the universe’s hint and just leave the furniture the way it is,” you said with a laugh, again catching his eyes and smiling. “Thanks anyway, Joey. I do appreciate it.”

“Oh—okay. Yeah. Sure. Anytime. Let me know if you ever need anything.” You smiled at him and batted your eyelashes one more time before he left. As soon as the door was closed, you rushed to it and locked it.

You withdrew your hand from your pocket, staring down in disbelief at the wad of keys in your palm.

You collapsed backwards onto the bed and clutched them so tightly they cut into your hand.

And then more waiting. Based on the laps you’d been doing around the building late at night, you knew Dwight wouldn’t sleep, but he would be ensconced in his room with the television up loud. And you knew who else was on duty, made sure it was the pair of guards who usually fell asleep at their posts by 3 am.

The upper floors of the Sanctuary were quiet as you slipped out of your room. You hugged the wall, one hand in your pocket, clutching the keys, and the other on the strap of the small bag you had slung over your shoulder. You got to the first corner and peeked around. Empty. You turned. You slipped past Dwight’s door, glancing back over your shoulder in paranoia, half-sure he was somehow going to just know what you were up to.

A few more anxious moments passed as you slipped through the halls but you finally arrived at the door. You were so close. You had spied on Dwight enough to make sure you knew when he usually checked on Daryl. Night was a safe bet. There were fewer guards on duty on the upper floors at night. Most of them were pulled off for the factory floor and perimeter or were otherwise off-duty.

Your heart was pounding so loud you thought half the floor would hear it.

You withdrew the keys as quietly as you could. At first, when you had swiped them, you wondered exactly how you would know which key was the right one—there were too many to try each. You’d certainly be caught if you had to be in the hall that long, fitting every key on the ring into the keyhole. But Fat Joey had done the work for you again.

Apparently, he had a hard time remembering which key went to what, and so he had labeled them. The one to the door of Daryl’s cell was labeled with a #2, matching the number on the door. You were almost lightheaded as you slipped the key into the lock as silently as possible.

Inside, Daryl shot awake where he was huddled in the corner, dozing purely out of sheer exhaustion. He heard the key sliding in and the click of the pins. His heart was immediately pounding wondering what new hell was in store for him now. He had no concept of time in the blackness they kept him in. He assumed it was morning and that Dwight would appear and chuck a dog food sandwich at him like he always did.

But something about the way the key had sounded when it went in was odd… and so was the silent pause before the door handle started to turn excruciatingly slowly.

Daryl steeled himself for whatever or whoever was coming, pressing his back hard against the wall behind him, staring into the darkness, his arms pressed tightly across himself protectively. In keeping with the strangeness, the door began to open at a snail’s pace. Daryl squinted as the dim light in the hallway filtered in. He had a hand up to shield his eyes when the crack revealed you kneeling on the other side of the door. Your face desperate and frantic as you looked in at him.

Daryl’s jaw dropped open and his chest heaved as he took in shuddering breaths, staring in disbelief that you were there in front of him, so close and opening the door of that hellhole. Alone. Just you.

You slipped through the door and into his cell, closing the door softly behind you and returning it to darkness. You could hear Daryl’s ragged breathing in the pitch blackness. Before he could say anything, you grabbed onto him. You threw your arms around him where he was cowered on the floor, kneeling in front of him. You pulled his head against you and he pressed it into the crook of your neck. He didn’t resist. He fell into you. You pressed your hand gently to the back of his head, smoothing his hair. “Daryl…” you whispered to him. “Daryl. You’re okay. Thank God. You’re okay.” You whispered it over and over like a mantra. His name leaving your lips was maybe the most wonderful thing he had ever heard. You could feel him trembling, hear his shuddering breaths, feel the wetness of his tears falling against you. “It’s ok. It’s alright. I’m right here. It’s gonna be okay.” You were struggling to hold back your own tears. His hands, which had been tightly crossed over his chest flew around you and clung to you, smoothing over your back and feeling every angle of your shoulder blades, the curve of your spine, tangling his fingers into the ends of your silky hair as much as he dared, clutching to you. He again really thought perhaps he’d finally cracked and maybe this wasn’t happening at all, but your hands found the sides of his face in the darkness, even then wiping his tears gently with your thumbs, so light it could have been a breeze, and it rooted him in reality. This was real. He was reeling with the implications. “Just—just a moment. I’ve got—I brought—”

You dug a hand into the bag you had brought with you and pulled out a towel, which you laid across the bottom of the door to block the light from the next item you retrieved from your bag. You pulled out a small camping lantern and turned it on. The sight of you immediately brought Daryl to tears again and for a moment you just looked—you just looked and looked at each other. You grabbed his face in your hands again, being careful to be gentle and mindful of the bruises and cuts. His eyes closed at your touch. He’d had no physical contact with anyone that wasn’t just sheer violence since he’d been taken. Your hands on him were like medicine and he felt ten times stronger instantly. You shut your eyes too and pressed your forehead against his. “It’s okay. It’s alright,” you breathed. His hands clutched to your shoulders and his chest heaved again with shuddering breaths. “Daryl…” You pulled back from him with some effort and looked into his face again. You brushed his hair away from his cheeks. It was hanging in dirty strands, sticking to the wetness left from his tears.

That was when Daryl’s shock waned and he felt the rising creep of humiliation, embarrassment, guilt… God, you looked so beautiful, even there in that fucking hole by the light of a tiny, shitty lantern and he was a filthy disaster. He was like trash someone had discarded… and yet you were touching him with kindness and affection, no care for how dirty he was—he was overwhelmed again and couldn’t meet your eyes any longer. He was struggling with never wanting to look away from you but also feeling unable to hold your gaze.

You saw the change happen and smoothed your hands down his arms. You turned your attention back to your bag and pulled out a canteen full of water for him. “Go slow, okay?” you said, as he desperately grabbed it and drank deeply. “And here,” you pulled out a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a cut-up apple. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t get more this evening without drawing attention but—”

He hadn’t said a word to you yet and his voice was hoarse from disuse. In that place he would go days without speaking, maybe longer even… He cleared his throat and tried to swallow the scratchy feeling.

“This is—more than enough,” he rasped, hungrily devouring your offerings. “You’re the one who’s been slippin’ me food.”

You nodded.

“Ya shouldn’t. Ya could get caught.” You watched him with a sad smile and moved beside him so you could press against him better without his bent knees in the way. You just needed to touch him, to remind him that there was more than this place, to show him you were there for him. To prove this was real, to him and to yourself. Your shoulders were pressed together.

He kept stealing tiny glances over at you while he ate and you could practically hear the wheels in his head turning. When he had finished eating and drinking, he fidgeted and stretched his legs out in front of him. You could tell he was purposely not looking at you. You knew something was on his mind and that he was working up to speaking it aloud. Finally, he did.

“What happened? How are—why are ya here?” he asked. “Did they find you in Alexandria? Did—how?”

You studied his expression. He turned his blue eyes to you again and you saw worry and fear in them. “No. They don’t know that I have any connection to Alexandria, and it needs to stay that way. We don’t need to give them any more leverage than they already have.”

“Then, how?” he asked again.

You averted your eyes away from him now. You knew he wouldn’t take the next bit of news well. “I—I came back. I told Negan I made a mistake running away and that I wanted to be here.”

A shadow darkened his face. “What did he do to ya?” His chest was heaving again, this time in anger. His eyes were whirring over every inch of you that he could see, looking for evidence that you were hurt.

“Nothing. He—he didn’t do anything.” You stared down at your hands.

“Why are ya here? Why d’you come? After everythin’ ya told me—” His questions were desperate.

Your brow flickered down momentarily in confusion that he even had to ask that question. “I came to get you out.” Your eyes searching his face in disbelief that he didn’t know. You sat up on your heels, kneeling beside him again. “Daryl, did you really think we would just leave you here? Did you really think I would? I know what happens in this place.” He had a tortured expression on his face. “Nah. Not like this. Ya gotta go. Ya gotta get out. You can’t be—ya can’t let him—” His face screwed up as the image of you kissing Negan flashed in his mind. He knew what you being his ‘wife’ meant. “Nah. It ain’t worth it,” he argued harshly, his voice raspy. “It ain’t worth that.”

“Yes, it is,” you said forcefully. “Don’t you get it? You are worth it.” Daryl could see tears glistening in your eyes again but you blinked them away. “I’m not leaving you in here. It’s done, Daryl. It’s done. I’m already here.” The muscle in his jaw twitched as he clenched his teeth. “Hey. Look at me,” you said. His eyes found yours again and you studied his face, reaching out gently to clasp it again. You traced a finger along his jaw, grazing lightly over the stubble there. “I’m getting you out of here.” The feeling of your hands on him was like a tonic for all his pain.

He looked away, ducking his head in that way that was so Daryl. You cleared your throat and dropped your hand to his arm. “Alright. Tell me. How are you? Rick said you were shot or something… And you’re obviously beat up.”

“M’fine,” he said. “Doctor’s been treatin’ me.”

“Let me see.”

Daryl begrudgingly pulled down the neck of his sweatshirt and you lifted the gauze pad taped on his chest to look at the wound. It looked okay. No infection. You smoothed the bandage back over it and nodded. You adjusted his sweatshirt and pressed your hand flatly against his chest. You could feel his heart beating hard beneath your fingers. Daryl felt warmth spreading out from your touch. You examined the bruises on his face and you knew there were surely worse ones beneath his clothes. “Are you hurting? I found some painkillers,” you said, digging in your bag. His hand closed gently on your wrist.

“M’fine. Ya should go before we get caught.”

You didn’t want to leave him. The last thing you wanted to do was return him to being alone in the darkness there. He could read it on your face.

“S’okay. Just—just seein’ ya, talkin’ to ya is enough,” he said, so quietly you almost didn’t hear it.

You threw your arms around him one more time, pressing him into you. His hands were strong against your back, stronger even than they had been when you first hugged him, and you squeezed your eyes shut. As you pulled away, you smoothed your hands over his hair and brushed it away from his face one more time. You clasped his face and pressed a kiss to his forehead and another to his cheek. Daryl reeled at the action before you tore yourself away from him. He felt speechless. He knew he was a complete mess. It wasn’t like they were letting him bathe or clean up regularly… And still you had just pressed your soft lips to his skin. You were brushing his dirty hair aside. “Okay,” you nodded, gathering up what was left of what you had brought him. “I’m working on a plan to get you out. But it’s going to take me a little time. Just—just hang in there. Don’t do anything rash. I need you in one piece.”

“Where’d ya get the key?”

You held up the ring of keys and showed him. “Keys. All of them.” Daryl’s brow contracted with worry. “Nothing to worry about it. I pinched them off of Fat Joey. I think he has a crush on me,” you murmured, rolling your eyes. “He’s too scared and too incompetent to know. He probably just thinks he lost them and I’m guessing he won’t tell anybody because he’s afraid of what will happen if he admits it.”

Daryl nodded. “Alright.”

“I’ll be back tomorrow if I can.”

“Nah, don’t—”

“I’m coming, Daryl, and you can’t stop me.” You gave him one last look and clicked off the lantern, grabbing the towel you had used to block the light and stuffing it back into your bag. He heard you shuffling in the dark and then saw the expanding sliver of light grow before it was blocked out as you left. You glanced over at him once more as you left, a sad smile on your face. The door shut quietly behind you and he heard the key turn in the lock.

His cell had never felt so empty, so dark, or so silent.

[pockydays]

unravel me

⤷ characters: tsukishima x gn!reader

⤷ synopsis: in which you notice tsukishima struggling to peel the tape off his fingers during study hall. what you didn’t notice, however, was how much he had the ability to find his way into every aspect of your life, until it was too late.

⤷ word count: 6.3k (longest fic to date woohoo!)

⤷ contains: fluff, slight angst, acquaintances to friends to lovers (?), mild language, my (insanely) wordy writing

⤷ a/n: i’m not even lying this took me weeks to write and it’s my baby :] most of the dialogue in this is probably hot shit but if you enjoyed please leave a like/reblog :3: mwah mwah ily all thank you for being patient with my slow ass <3 and thank you to my dear friend abby for beta reading the first chunk of this story, if you read this ily <3

You've always considered yourself as someone who wasn't especially generous. But you weren’t incredibly selfish, either. You were in some sort of grey area, too indifferent to care about what society says about people who aren't willing to go so far as to sell their souls to the devil for the common good. But you weren't heartless, either. You cared, usually out of mutual convenience. Isn't that what everyone does? Ninety-nine percent of the time, helping others (undeniably) involves genuinely good intentions, but they coexist with selfish motives as well. Then what about that one percent?

That one percent, in fact, came to you in the most inconspicuous of times: during mid-day study hall.

You found yourself going through the motions of your everyday routine: walking into the classroom, saying hi to your friend in the third row, putting your bag on the desk, pulling out your chair, sitting down, taking out your notebook and pencils, and waiting for approximately thirty-nine seconds until a (supposedly attractive, or at least according to whispers among your female classmates, which was bold of them to assume that he even liked girls in that way — you weren’t one to burst their bubbles) tall blond guy with glasses walked through the door, and greet him with a nonchalant "hey" and a wave.

And after that, if he responded with a slightly snarkier tone than usual, you knew he was having an especially bad day (more likely than not, it was because of the volleyball teammates he often complained about). But as for the real reason why, your guess was as good as anybody else's. He probably had piss in his Cheerios every morning and his trousers in a twist until the end of time for all you knew.

But today was slightly different than usual. For one, a full minute had already passed after you took out your pencils and yesterday’s chemistry notes, and there was still no sign of him. For some unknown reason, you couldn't stop the worry gnawing its way into your conscience. You rested your chin in one hand and drummed your fingers on the desk with the other, trying not to think about your classmate with a sharp tongue and a glare that could kill. Of course, trying to not think about something is a form of thinking about it, so that didn’t exactly work out.

The bell suddenly rang, jolting you out of your thoughts as well as your seat. Tsukishima Kei was now officially late, according to the school rules. Thankfully, your study hall advisor was lenient and understanding enough to not mark anybody late if they arrived within a reasonable time as to not tarnish their transcript, but you knew Tsukishima well enough to know that he wouldn’t care about a single unsavory comment that would only have the slightest potential to alarm admissions officers in those money-hungry institutions.

That was one thing you admired about your classmate. His ability to judge what things to put his effort into and selectively choose what he could get away with doing half-assed was unparalleled. As far as you could tell, volleyball was something he didn’t deem as worthy to put his all into. You weren’t usually wrong in such judgements about people, but then again, you’d only been right, let’s say, a total of three out of three times. You weren’t sure if it was considered a really good or really bad track record, so you’d always kept those sort of assumptions to yourself.

“Not going to say hi to me today? That’s awfully rude of you,” a voice said, out of the blue. You tense, wondering who had the audacity to call you rude.

“What?” you asked incredulously before you could realize where the voice came from. “Oh, it’s you,” you said, recognizing his inhumanly tall frame and the pair of white headphones around his neck. I should’ve guessed; of course only he’s brash enough to say something like that. 

You rested your chin in your hands again, the tension in your body visibly dissipating. You were glad that it was just Tsukishima and not some other person, because they would be a pain in the ass to deal with. Plus, he was just about the only person you allowed to speak without a filter; one, because it’s fun verbally sparring with him, and two, it makes his stunned silence after you counter with an especially witty phrase all the more satisfying.

This time, though, he sat down at the desk to your left without a word. Usually, he would never pass up the chance to have another round of firing tasteful insults at you. Today was indeed slightly different than usual. 

As he clicked the top of his mechanical pencil, you couldn’t help but notice a flash of white one his hands out of the corner of your eye. Did he always have that on his hands or was I just horribly unobservant before?

Leaning over to his seat at a dangerous angle, you asked, “Hey, what’s up with your fingers? You have leprosy or something?” in hopes of lightening his supposedly gloomy mood.

“Shut up,” he muttered irritably. “If I had leprosy, my fingers would’ve fallen off by now and I would’ve put one in your lunch as a keepsake,” he added. Shifting away from you in his chair, he tried as much as possible to make his (in your opinion, unconventionally lanky) body as far away as possible from your general vicinity.

“Okay, okay, geez! At least tell me, because now I’m curious and it’s all your fault.”

“If I tell you, will you stop bothering me?” he asked, rubbing the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“Maaybee...?” you replied slowly, trying to find an answer when a simple “yes” or “no” didn’t suffice.

“If you’re not going to stop bothering me, then I don’t have a reason to tell you, so no,” he frowned, crossing his arms self-righteously.

“Alright then, keep your secrets, mister. I don’t care whether you tell me or not.” Which wasn’t completely the truth, since some tiny part of your conscience thought that wrestling the answer from him was for the better. “But just know that I’ll continue to be my annoying self, so don’t say I didn’t warn you.” With that, you turned your attention back to your chemistry notes.

A few silent minutes passed before you leaned back over to his desk on the left.

“Hey mister, do you have some pencil lead? I think I ran out,” you whispered to Tsukishima.

He heaved what you thought was the biggest sigh in the universe before responding, “Point-five or point-seven?”

“Tsukishima, you wound me! I thought you knew that I write exclusively in point-five!” you exclaimed with a hand over your chest, feigning offense. 

He rolled his eyes, and out of the corner of your eye, you saw him count out three pieces of lead. Three, that’s generous, you think to yourself as you suppress a small smile.

“Thanks, mister,” you whispered as you plucked the delicate sticks of graphite from his fingers. Taking a quick glance at his hands, you noticed that his fingers were wrapped in some sort of adhesive tape. Before Tsukishima could catch you looking for too long and make some snarky remark about how absolutely positively beautiful his hands were for you to be staring, you abruptly turn back to your notes and refill your (actually already lead-filled) pencil. If he wouldn’t answer your question, it wouldn’t hurt to take things into your own hands and figure it out for yourself, right? 

You looked back to the notebook in front of you, but with your curiousity still unsatiated, you couldn’t help the thoughts bouncing off the walls of your mind, competing for your undivided attention.

Ask him about it! a voice yelled.

Mind your own business, you creepy fuck! another (particularly foul-mouthed) one screamed.

At this point, you’d probably read the first line of your notebook about thirty times without comprehending a single thing, so you decided to give up and resort to banging your head lightly on your desk.

Apparently, 'lightly’ was an understatement, because a voice on your left hissed, “What’s your problem?!”

Oops.

“Nothing,” you replied softly with your head still on the desk.

Tsukishima sighed in exasperation. “Well, now I’m curious and it’s all your fault,” he scoffed, using your own words from earlier.

Now it was your turn to sigh. Stubborn person number one meets equally stubborn person number two: one of life’s most aggravating experiences. 

“C’mon, let me see your hands,” you demanded, your own hand outstretched. You’ll say ‘no’ no matter what I ask.

“No.” Tsukishima pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose and turned away.

Point proven.

You had always considered yourself to be somewhat generous when circumstances permitted, yes. But being yourself around others was something you considered yourself to be quite good at, as well.

Sometimes you imagined what it would be like if people’s hearts had metaphorical layers of thread surrounding them, winding, twisting, wrapping, and sometimes tangling around and around the ugliest, scariest, or most precious parts of themselves. The people you met would either unravel a bit of your heart, even if just a little bit, or they would cause you to wind the threads of your heartstrings even more tightly. 

You had strings that were (sometimes laughably) effortless to unwind, but once someone got to the last layer of thread, they refused to unravel any further. In other words, you weren’t afraid to be ninety-nine percent yourself around everybody. But that one percent? You’d keep it safely tucked away behind the impenetrable fortress of that last previous layer of thread — for both the good of yourself and everyone else.

Sometimes, you also wondered what the threads wrapping around Tsukishima’s heart was like. Not because you particularly had more of an interest in him than your other classmates, but because he was a sort of enigma to you. You had countless questions: How hard is it to unravel those threads? and What lies beyond those tightly wound strings? and What did he have to hide that is so unsightly? et cetera, et cetera. He was a puzzle you wanted to piece together, although you weren’t sure what the finished product would look like, or if there even was a finished product. 

You had a lot more questions about Tsukishima than you did answers.

You must’ve been deep in thought for a while, because it took an utterance of some rather coarse language to bring you back to reality.

“Fuck,” Tsukishima muttered, fiddling with the tape covering his fingers. It was evident, after about ten seconds of observing him, that he was getting nowhere. At this point, you were presented with two choices: to help him or to leave him to wallow in his own frustration and suffer. Admittedly, the latter option seemed rather entertaining, but for some unknown reason, you opted for the former.

“Here, let me help,” you said, hand extending in front of you as an offer. “You obviously aren’t getting anywhere, so let me put you out of your misery.”

“You better get it all off then,” he grumbled, outstretching his arm, letting it limply dangle in front of your face. Huh, I didn’t expect him to actually agree so easily.

You gently took his hand, and starting with his pinky finger, you worked your nails under the end of the tape. As the tape unraveled further, you couldn’t help but notice how elegant his hands were. They were long and slender in ways that yours weren’t — the magnum opus of all things relating to hands. If God played favorites, he certainly did when it came to Tsukishima’s hands. Geez, knock it off, you cringed inwardly. You’re literally worshipping his hands at this point.

“So, uh, why are your fingers covered in tape?” You hoped to break the awkward silence between the two of you, and asking him questions that he probably wouldn’t answer (especially to plebeians like you) seemed like the last resort.

“Volleyball practice,” he responded simply. 

Oh. I didn’t expect an actual response.

“This morning? You guys sometimes have practice early in the day, right?”

“Last evening,” he corrected.

“You had these on your hands for that long?! I see you’re finally getting serious about volleyball, my dude, but you have to be able to ask other people for help." People other than me, but if I’m your last resort, then I’d be happily obliged to help.

Tsukishima scowled, which, thankfully, you missed, busy undoing the tape around his fingers. At least you didn’t criticize him for being hypocritical regarding his attitude about volleyball, which was relieving. 

There was a substantial (and slightly awkward) pause as you peeled the white adhesive strip of cloth off of his fingers, working slowly enough so that it wouldn’t hurt, or so you hoped.

“There we go!” you exclaimed proudly as the last of the tape fell away from his fingers. He wiggled them experimentally, not unlike a newly hatched butterfly would flap its fresh new pair of wings. 

“Thanks,” he responded curtly. 

As if on cue, the bell rang, marking the end of study hall. It was time for chemistry class.

Over the course of your next class, your mind with occupied with thoughts that weren’t even remotely related to chemistry. You almost had a close call with the teacher when he called on you to answer a question, but thankfully, your friend sitting next to you whispered the answer in your ear — though not before giving you a quizzical look. You were too embarrassed to say that you were actually thinking about why the hell you actually agreed to help the guy sitting the next seat over whom you should have absolutely nothing to do with.

I did not just touch his hands no no no — I did not just hold hands with Tsukishima Kei — It wasn’t really of my own volition and he looked like he really needed help and I was feeling generous and it conveniently benefited the both of us, right? He got to finally be free from his misery and I— I got to touch his hands—

Your thoughts spiraled out of control as you buried your face in your hands, and perhaps some of the threads around your heart unraveled themselves that day.

Thus, after that day, your everyday routine changed in more ways than one. You would into the classroom, say hi to your friend in the third row, put your bag on the desk, pull out your chair, sit down, take out your notebook and pencils, and wait for approximately thirty-nine seconds until a tall blond guy with glasses walked through the door, and greet him with a nonchalant "hey" and a wave. If he still had tape around his fingers (which was quite often), you’d ask him if he needed help; he’d say yes, and you would spend the next however many minutes undoing the adhesive strips of cloth.

Today was no different. You carefully eased the tape away from Tsukishima’s fingers. When you got to the base of his ring finger, he hissed in pain. The skin there was red and raw as if it had been recently injured. Not as if, it had been.

“Sorry,” you whispered, wincing as if you were the one in pain. “How’d you get hurt?” This time, you were genuinely concerned for him, which was rare for anyone, especially him.

“The one time I put some more effort into volleyball as if it were actually worth something, it comes back to bite me,” he muttered, gritting his teeth.

You looked up from his hand. 

“What?”

“I said, somehow I always give the things that I swear off from my life a second chance, it never, ever, works out,” he muttered through gritted teeth.

“Did anyone ever tell you that you can’t get better out of sheer will? You’re bound to slip and fall on your butt at least a few times. Or a lot,” you responded. 

“Nobody told me that falling would hurt this much, though,” he replied. He looked off to the side, too embarrassed to meet your gaze.

“It’ll get better, trust me. You just have to get back off your ass and stand up.”

You left the conversation at that and continued undoing the tape on his other hand. 

I want to kiss his hands like I’m greeting the crown prince of a foreign kingdom, you thought, lips twitching, fighting back a small smile.

Oh my God, stop it! you mentally slapped yourself. You had to restrain yourself from actually slapping yourself in the face. Meanwhile, the uniform you wore began to feel a bit too warm — it was quite convenient that Tsukishima couldn’t see your face at that moment.

Unbeknownst to you, however, Tsukishima's thoughts weren’t nearly as calm as his cool and collected exterior. 

After all, what was he supposed to do when he could feel your breath fanning on his hands (could he tell you were desperately trying to keep them steady?) and your meticulous fingers on his?

I must be going crazy, he thought.

He imagines holding your hand, and not because of that dumb finger tape-

He shook his head, as if to dislodge the idea from his memory. No, I’m definitely going crazy.

“So, do you like him or something?” your best friend asked out of the blue during a sleepover, the both of you laying in the darkness on your sleeping bags.

“Who?” you asked, though you had an idea of who she was referring to. 

“Tsukishima. That guy who sits to your left during study hall.”

“No, why would I like him? I mean, how can you even tell if you like someone or not. It’s not like there’s a radar that detects crushes and blasts ‘OH MY GOD YOU’RE HOPELESSLY IN LOVE’ on speaker,“ you replied dryly.

“Do you feel different around him?” she asked.

“As in the cliché symptoms of love that you read in romance novels? Like you feel like your heart is going to burst out of your chest and you have to clutch your shirt like it’s gonna pop out onto the floor if you don’t? If that’s what you’re asking, then no.”

“I mean that could be a sign, but you don’t have to feel like that to like someone. I mean in the way that you’re willing to show them who you really are, including all the ugly parts of yourself that you wouldn’t show to other people.”

Of course not! you thought to yourself. There’s no way I would fall in love with someone that I argue with for fun, right? 

“Why do you always complain about those tryhards on your volleyball team? You can always quit, you know,” you asked after Tsukishima was in a particularly bad mood about something, presumably about volleyball (as it usually was). As per your daily schedule, you were unraveling his finger tape during study hall once again.

“Don’t they know that the more effort they put into something, the more it’ll hurt when they find out everything they believe in is a lie?” he asked.

You paused. Oh, it was an a genuine question, you realized. And he wants a genuine answer.

“Such as?” you asked, your mouth acting quicker than your mind. I probably shouldn’t have pried deeper into something that’s obviously his business.

He went ahead and responded anyway, but not before taking a deep breath.

“When I was little,” he began, “I looked up to my older brother a lot. I really respected him, you know? He was my idol; he was perfect and infallible in every way. He played volleyball in junior high, so it was only natural that I played the same sport he did. And he continued playing throughout high school, or so I thought.”

“Or so you thought?” you repeated.

“He lied to me.” With those four words, you heard years and years of resentment and bitterness through his shaking voice, barely above a whisper. 

“To be honest, I should’ve expected it,” he continued, laughing humorlessly at himself. “I was too enamored to realize that when he was trying to stop me from watching his games, he was also trying to stop me from finding out that he was a liar. He wasn’t even a starting player. Instead he was on the bench, cheering for the team he was supposedly on.”

As those words left his mouth, you realized how little you understood Tsukishima. No, it was honestly ridiculous how you could consider yourself his friend when all you did was unwind strips of tape from his fingers for a mere few minutes every day.

Despite that, you held his hands a little tighter.

“If you don’t mind, I had a similar experience in junior high as well. This girl that I was really close friends with apparently had a huge circle of friends outside of school, and she would tell me and my other friends about all the rich guy friends she had and how well they treated her and shit. But I found out years later that they were probably all made up so that she could have something to tell us. So that she could keep us in her friend group. I realized they were fake.”

You let go of his hands, your arms limp at the memory.

“And how are you two right now?” Tsukishima asked. “Your relationship, I mean.”

“Surprisingly, we’re still on good terms,” you said. “She still doesn’t know I found out. But despite her pretending to be someone else in front of us for all those years, I still don’t think she’s a bad person. I’m actually kinda glad she got the attention she wanted. But man, the past still hurts like a bitch,” you chuckled in an attempt to forget.

“I see,” he replied. With that, you picked up his hand once again, continuing to undo the tape around the rest of his fingers.

That day, both you and the once unyielding, stone-faced Tsukishima left the classroom knowing just a bit more about each other.

You didn’t know that day that Tsukishima had his first real conversation with his brother after ‘the incident’.

He didn’t know you gave that friend from junior high a call for the first time in two years.

And the threads around your hearts unwound themselves just a bit more.

“No, I don’t,” you finally responded after a long pause. “I don’t like him in that way. He’s just someone I can rant to about the shit that happened in junior high—”

“Say that again, but slower,” your friend interrupted.

“He’s someone that I can rant to about all the... stuff that happened in the past,” you repeated. Did she not hear me the first time?

“Exactly, that’s my point,” she responded. “You never talk about those things with anybody, and even when I bring it up, you just brush over it.”

The weight of what your friend was implying took far too long for your brain to register, but when it did—

“Oh shit, I think I might actually like Tsukishima.”

It was in the classroom of your mid-day study hall where Tsukishima Kei stole your heart bit by bit through the conversations you had with him while unraveling his finger tape; it was where you opened your heart and he opened his. 

“You and Tsukishima aren’t a thing, right?” a voice asked you out of the blue in the hallway after the dismissal bell rang.

“What?” you asked, turning your head to see who it was. You recognized her, although you struggled to put a name to her face. “You sit in the back of our study hall classroom, right? And to answer your question, no, we are not a thing.” 

Such questions were becoming all the more frequent these days, and you had the same two-letter answer to all of them (although you secretly hoped you could answer yes, but how Tsukishima felt about you was a whole different story).

“Yeah, I do. But are you sure you two aren’t dating? Like you could just be going out with him and not know it,” she answered.

You held back a snort that almost escaped your lips. 

“No, I’m sure we aren’t,” you said with a sigh, trying to keep your tone remotely cordial. “Besides, I’m not sure if he even considers me as a friend.”

“Oh, I’m sure he considers you as more than that,” she replied with a tone you couldn’t quite decipher. “Trust me.”

You barely knew her, so you couldn’t say how credible her statement was (though you desperately wanted it to be true). You glanced at the clock, itching to end the conversation.

“Alright, then. I’ll take your word for it. I have to get home now though, seeya.”

“Seeya around then,” she replied with a wave. Why does that sound strangely ominous?

“Bye,” you answered, too mentally drained from the conversations that began with the same question: ”Oh my God are you dating Tsukishima?” (Answer: no, no you weren’t). Nonetheless, you couldn’t ignore the nagging voice in your head that you haven’t seen the last of her just yet.

She appeared the very next day, in the same spot at the hallway after school ended. That’s... strange.

You decided to ignore how off-putting it was. Maybe it was her wide smile — so much so that you could see her dimples and her blinding white teeth. Or maybe it was the way she spoke, like she was trying to get something from you. Whatever it was, you didn’t have what she wanted.

“If you’re asking whether Tsukishima and I became a thing within the past twenty-four hours, then no,” you said in exasperation. She was now walking by your side with an odd spring in her step, a bit too close for comfort despite the empty hallway.

“No, that wasn’t my question,” she said with a chuckle. “You keep denying that Tsukishima doesn’t like you, but I think he does.”

You had to scoff at that.

“In what way?” 

“In that way,” she responded with a knowing glance. “You’re already in the talking stage with him! He never talks to anyone other than that one friend he has, so I’d say you’re off to a good start.”

“And that totally means that he’s in love with me.”

“Please, don’t lie to yourself. You’ve gotten farther than anybody has, even if they tried for their entire life. How did you do it?”

But I didn’t do anything, you thought. 

“I just talked to him about stuff,” you replied slowly. The look she gave you said go on, so you did. 

“I just talked to him about myself and deep stuff and shi— and such. I really didn’t do much, so I’m probably not the best person to ask. Why don’t you try and ask his friend Yamaguchi?”

“No, I think I’m good,” she said with an unreadable tone. “Well I gotta go, so see you tomorrow!”

“....Bye,” you replied halfheartedly. You tried to shake the unsettling feeling from your chest, but you couldn’t help thinking, What if he does like me back?

The volleyball made a resounding smack against the court behind the middle blocker instead of his hands. Tsukishima clenched his fists, gritting his teeth. Another ball that I couldn’t block?

“Hey, use your smartass head for once and pay attention!” Kageyama yelled across the court.

Tsukishima ignored his taunts. 

“Oh, the smart mouth finally doesn’t have any words left to say? Finally some peace and quiet,” Kageyama muttered. 

Practice continued for far too long, but the whistle finally blew, signaling everyone that it was time to go home. Finally, Tsukishima thought. I don’t have to listen to the King spew nonsense anymore.

He and Yamaguchi gathered their belongings and made their way out of the gym.

“Something’s on your mind,” Yamaguchi commented as they walked back home side by side.

“No there isn’t,” Tsukishima replied a bit too quickly to sound convincing.

“Right.”

A long silence ensued, the two of them kicking pebbles on the road and twiddling their thumbs in the cool night air. The buzz of the electric street lamps felt much too loud, feeding off the tension in the air. 

“How can you tell that you like someone?” Tsukishima was the first to break the silence, but it was the question, not the fact that he was the one that spoke first, that was more jarring.

“So I was right,” Yamaguchi responded after a slight pause. He fought back a small smile and added, “I thought something bad happened that I didn’t know about, but it turns out that you’re just in love.”

The taller one of the two sighed. 

“I’m asking you to tell me if I... like someone in that way, not for you to tell me that I am, Tadashi.”

“I can’t make a judgement if you don’t tell me anything. Tell me.” Yamaguchi lightly punched his friends arm.

“There’s this... classmate of mine. They asked if I needed help peeling off my finger tape during study hall and I said yes.”

“I figured as such.”

“What?” 

“You always come into first period with your fingers still wrapped but it’s gone by the time practice starts. I always wondered why but I never got around to asking you. But I’m even more surprised at the fact that you actually agreed.”

“Yeah, I surprise even myself sometimes,” Tsukishima deadpanned. “Especially the fact that it would become something that they would ask pretty much every day, and I would say yes every time. I just don’t know whether I have feelings for them in that way or not.”

“Well, do you look forward to talking to them everyday?” Yamaguchi asked.

Yes.

“Do you want them to know you for who you really are instead of what people think you are?”

Yes.

“Does your mind wander to them all the time?”

Yes.

“If you flipped a coin to decide whether you do like them or not, would your gut tell you the answer before you looked at whether it landed on head or tails?” 

Yes, Tsukishima answered silently, knowing he’d finally have to accept the truth: he was in love and there was nothing he could do about it.

One thing you didn’t know about having a crush on someone was that you suddenly realize how often they appear in your life. You knew where you’d cross paths with him in the hallway before and after school, where his locker was, and worst of all, every goddamn love song reminded you of him. 

Even all the little mannerisms people had circled back to him: your friend would push her glasses up her nose the same way he did. Your mother would furrow her eyebrows like him when he was thinking about a particularly annoying math problem. Your English teacher would spin a pen between his fingers, just like him (although you had to admit that you preferred watching the latter do so; his hands were prettier). 

Maybe this was just some twisted manifestation of the Baader-Meinhof Phenomenon, but your brain couldn’t recall enough content from psychology class to be sure. Either way, you were going insane.

That is, until one rather unremarkable day; there was nothing out of the ordinary. Everything came and went according to schedule — the same time spent with Tsukishima during study hall and the same boring class lectures. But as soon as the dismissal bell rang, you were surprised to find that the girl who would pester you in the hallway asking about you and Tsukishima’s relationship status (you still didn’t know her name) as if anything had changed (which it had not, of course). 

Apparently, her presence had already become routine enough for you to notice her absence. 

It was a welcome change, though; it wasn’t like you wanted her to be around. No, you absolutely didn’t need her nosy questions. So you just shrugged it off and made your way to the school’s exit like you normally did.

But a very familiar voice from a nearby classroom made your ears perk up — coincidentally, from your study hall classroom. You peered into the room from the doorway.

“Um, I think I like you, Tsukishima! I’ve felt this way for a long time and I just had to tell you!” The same boisterous girl who only had one topic of conversation with you (Tsukishima, of course) now had her hands coyly clasped behind her back, in all likelihood holding something meant for him.

As soon as you heard those words leave her mouth, the world around you seemingly ground to a halt — and so did you. As if your body stopped functioning for a moment, your heart stopped and your brain took much too long to process what she said. 

What did it matter anyway? You didn’t take your chance and look where that got you.

You turned on your heel and half-walked half-ran outside the school.

The second thing you didn’t realize about having a crush on someone, you realized as you laid in the darkness in the middle of the night, is that it physically hurts. Someone might as well have put your heart in a jar of acid and screwed the lid shut — no matter how hard you tried, it still hurt. And hurt it did.

You felt a stray tear slide down your cheek, and you angrily punched your pillow. You didn’t even have the emotional capacity to be angry at the girl who confessed to him. It was too obvious that she liked him, from the way she would stand a bit straighter when you mentioned Tsukishima’s name to the way she seemed a bit too satisfied when you said that you weren’t dating him. Were you too much of an idiot to notice? 

But most importantly, you were angry at yourself. Why were you crying over someone who you knew wouldn’t like you in the way that you liked him? Maybe you were too much of an idiot to not think things through; you’d just assumed that your feelings for him were so intense that he had to like you back. In retrospect, that was a stupid idea. But then again, in retrospect, you were the idiot all along.

It was in the classroom of your mid-day study hall where Tsukishima Kei stole your heart. It was in the same classroom where you got your heart broken for the first time.

The most annoying thing about the universe was that it was ruthlessly, unrelentingly cruel. The earth kept spinning even if your world stopped mid-orbit, too traumatized by loss to continue. 

This was the brutal irony that you came to realize in the classroom where it all began and ended, supposedly. The very next morning, you had to pick your sorry self out of bed after however many hours of sleep you were able to get and go to school. And now half the school day had gone by — it was study hall time once again. 

“Are you gonna help me get this off my fingers or not?” The voice that you wanted so desperately to get out of your mind after months of replaying in your head plagued you once again. Indeed, the universe was cruel.

“No,” you replied meekly with your head on the desk. “It’s been long enough for you to know how to do it yourself by now.”

“I insist.”

You hesitated. A second passed, then two.

“Fine.”

Ever since you realized your feelings for the other boy with a cold stare and an even icier glare, you couldn’t help but be hyper aware of yourself, and today was no different.

You could hear your own heartbeat in your ears. Could he? (It wasn’t that obvious, was it?)

You could feel yourself getting warmer by the second. Could he tell? (You were too busy looking at his hands; so let’s hope not.)

You knew that your heart was tugging you in his direction, urging you to do something. Was his doing the same? (You scoffed at yourself — you went over this last night and came to the conclusion that no, there was no way he could ever like you back.)

But maybe you wanted to be wrong this time. Being proven wrong wasn’t something you particularly enjoyed, but you would rather take the pessimistic point of view in this circumstance so you wouldn’t get hurt. And yet you still got your heart broken. 

That didn’t stop your erratic heartbeat and staggered breaths whenever your fingers brushed over his, though. While slowly unwinding the tape down his fingers, you wondered how many threads he unwound from your heart for it to hurt so much when it broke. Too many for your emotions to be left undamaged by something like this, you reckoned. Not that it was his fault, of course. It was your own for becoming so naïve and vulnerable.

But, the universe was full of irony. While you had your head down, too embarrassed and dejected to say anything else, Tsukishima was thanking whatever gods existed that you couldn’t see how flustered he was. 

Turns out, even people with hearts of stone can fall prey to the symptoms of falling in love. With a million thoughts collectively running through your minds, he was the first to blurt out:

“I think I’m in love.”

You let go of his hands, the loose end of the tape still dangling. There were too many questions raised at the utterance of a single sentence: With whom? When? How? Why?

Before you could organize your thoughts and form a coherent sentence — as if he could read your mind and peer into your soul — Tsukishima answered:

“With you.”

And as soon as the last two words fell from his lips, the last of the threads surrounding your worn, beaten hearts unraveled themselves, and fell away.

[sisterspooky1013]

Only One Choice, Part 2, Chapter 22

Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

“Five, four, three, two, one, Happy New Year!”

Auld Lang Syne erupts from the speakers at the Gunmen’s, everyone finding someone, or something, to kiss. Scully smiles at the sight of Missy and Byers, snuggled in the corner of the couch smirking around a series of small pecks, whispering something to each other meant only for their ears.

“Sorry, poorly timed bathroom break,” Mulder says as he approaches, putting one hand at the small of her back and the other across her shoulders as he dips like he’s a sailor returning from sea. She squeals, then kisses him in earnest with her hands cradling his face, stopping only when Frohike suggests they get a room. They straighten up, her palms on his chest as his rest just above her tailbone. She beams up at him, optimistic and excited to embark on 1998 as a team. What a difference a year makes, she thinks to herself.

“Happy New Year, Scully,” he says with an affectionate smile.

“Happy New Year, Mulder.”

———

“Ugh, do we have to go?” she whines, curled up on the couch under a blanket.

“Do we have to go to your birthday party? I’m thinking yes,” he says, crouching down next to her.

“I’m sleepy,” she says, tugging on his hand, “let’s take a nap.”

He sighs. “That sounds very enticing, but you already took a nap today and we have to be at your mom’s in forty-five minutes.”

She makes a face. “Fine, but she better have coffee made.”

“She always does,” he replies, pulling her to her feet. “But drinking coffee at 6:00 pm is probably why you’re so tired in the first place. You’re not sleeping well at night.”

She gives him a deadpan expression. “I totally missed you getting your doctorate in medicine, Mulder. You hid it so well.”

He gives her a playful slap on the butt. “Get going, little lady, we’re gonna be late.”

There’s dinner, cake, and a small set of gifts. Missy and Byer’s give her a very fancy set of bubble bath and bath salts, while Charlie opts for a VHS of Weekend at Bernies, which she begrudgingly admits is one of her favorites. Mom gives her two tickets to see Chicago live on Broadway, and insists that she won’t be upset if Dana takes Mulder instead of her. She opens Mulder’s gift last, having already warned him that if it were something inappropriate to open in front of her family, she would punish him profusely. He insisted it was totally safe, so she accepts the large flat rectangular package from him with only a hint of skepticism. She tears the paper away to find a large frame, nearly the size of a poster, with a dark blue circle occupying most of the framed area. Within the circle is a series of white dots and lines of varying sizes. Beneath it is a date and set of coordinates.

May 29, 1996

38.5313718, -77.4456233

She feels her throat constrict with emotion and bites her lip to try and stave off the tears.

“What does it mean?” Missy asks.

“It’s a constellation map,” Byers answers, “it shows the night sky on a specific date and at a specific location. Those are coordinates.”

“For where?” Missy inquires further.

“Quantico,” Scully answers tightly, standing to thread her arms around Mulder’s neck. “Thank you,” she whispers, and he gives her a little squeeze.

“It was written in the stars, Scully,” he whispers back, then holds her while her mother clears the dishes and everyone retreats to the living room.

An hour later, Mulder and Maggie stand at the kitchen sink, washing and drying the dishes while Scully sips a cup of coffee at the counter, her chin resting on her fist.

“Can we go soon, Mulder? I’m exhausted,” she says with drooping eyelids.

“Of course, whatever the birthday girl wishes is my command,” he replies, running a dish towel around the perimeter of a plate.

“Are you okay sweetie, you getting sick?” Maggie asks with a concerned furrow of her brow.

“No, Mom, I’m fine. I’ve just been exhausted lately, no matter how much sleep I get.”

Maggie cocks her head at her daughter. “When’s the last time you had your period, Dana?”

“I don’t get a period, pleasant side effect of my birth control,” she says with a hint of annoyance.

“And you haven’t missed a pill, or whatever?” Maggie clarifies.

“It’s a shot, and I got one in December, I’m not due to get another until next month,” she replies, resting her forehead on the counter.

There is a long silence. Long enough that she lifts her head to see what’s causing it. Mulder is staring at her with wide eyes, his mouth slightly open, and Maggie is staring at Mulder like she’s just come to some kind of realization.

“What?” Scully asks, “you’re freaking me out.”

“I was supposed to remind you to reschedule your appointment in December,” he says softly, his breathing very shallow.

She sits up straighter. “No, Mulder, I got my shot right before we went to California for Christmas.” Even as she tries to convince them all that it’s not what Maggie is suggesting, her face is contorting into one of fear.

“You had an emergency autopsy,” he says quietly, “Trudy was out. You missed it.”

“Oh god,” she says, her mind reeling. “Oh my god.”

“I’m going to give you two some privacy,” Maggie says, exciting the kitchen.

Mulder comes around to her side of the counter, placing a palm in the middle of her back. “Scully?” he asks, though he’s not sure what the question is.

“We need to go to the store,” she says flatly, shifting into problem-solving mode. “We need to pick up a pregnancy test.”

———

They are perched on the edge of the bathtub, the test sitting face-down on the counter next to the sink.

“How long has it been?” she asks, and Mulder checks his watch again.

“Four minutes,” he answers, squeezing her hand.

She pulls in a deep breath and lets it out slowly.

“What if it’s positive?” she asks quietly.

“Then...we have a baby,” he answers.

She looks at him and he gives her a small smile. She tries to smile back but her chin puckers and turns it into a grimace.

“Okay,” she finally responds.

Mulder checks his watch again.

“It’s been five minutes,” he says, “do you want to look, or do you want me to?”

She closes her eyes.

“You look. One line is negative, two lines is positive. Even if the second line is very faint, it’s positive if there are two.”

“Okay,” he says, moving to the counter.

She opens her eyes to watch him as he picks up the test and turns it over. His face is unreadable as he places it back on the counter and walks over to the tub, kneeling on the floor between her knees. He brings his hands to her hips and looks up at her with a gentle expression, then leans forward and presses his lips to her belly.

“Oh my god,” she whispers, tears pooling in her eyes.

He pulls back and takes her hands in his.

“It’s okay, Scully. Maybe it’s not perfect timing, but I love you and I’m excited to have a baby with you.”

She looks at him incredulously. “You are?”

He smiles at her. “Of course. I’ve thought about us having kids someday hundreds of times. I just always figured it would be a little further in the future.”

She gives him a pained smile through her tears, draping her arms around his neck.

“We’re going to have a baby,” she says out loud for the first time.

“We’re going to have a baby,” he repeats.

That night in bed, she lies awake for a long time, the shock of the news overriding her fatigue.

“I can feel you thinking,” Mulder grumbles from behind her.

“Sorry,” she answers over her shoulder.

He pushes his chin into the crook of her neck, his arm slinging over her waist.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks softly.

“Just the future. What’s going to happen next. Where the hell we’re going to fit a baby and all it’s crap in this apartment.”

“We might have to move,” Mulder offers.

“Even if we do, should we rent someplace bigger? Should we buy a house? Would your name or mine be on the deed? Speaking of names, will the baby have your last name or mine? I can picture my mother’s church friends gossiping about the poor bastard child with a different last name than his mother,” she rambles.

Mulder is quiet for a moment.

“We could get married,” he says with the same casualness as suggesting pizza for dinner.

She freezes. “No, Mulder,” she says coldly.

“Why not?” he asks, pulling away and gently rolling her onto her back so he can see her face.

She shakes her head glumly. “I got married for the wrong reasons once. I’m not going to do it again.”

“What’s the wrong reason?” he asks sincerely.

“Getting married because you’re pregnant is about the most standard wrong reason to get married I can think of, Mulder.”

“I don’t want to marry you because you’re pregnant, Scully,” he implores, resting his hand on her stomach. “I want to marry you because I love you.”

“The timing of the question suggests otherwise,” she counters, and his face contorts into a wounded expression. “Mulder, I’m not saying no forever, I’m just saying not right now. We’re about to go through a lot, I’m going to be insane with hormones, and then give birth and feel fat and awful with a crying newborn and will probably resent you-“

“Well with that attitude,” he cuts her off, though his tone is lighthearted.

She rolls to her side to face him, clutching his hands to her chest.

“Ask me again later, Mulder, when we’ve survived this. When you’ve seen me huge and then deflated and unshowered and weepy. If you still think you want to marry me after seeing me at my absolute worst, ask me again.”

“Okay,” he says, planting a kiss to her forehead. “I will.”

[shesawriter39049]

|FEVER| M|

Pairing: Namjoon X Reader

About- Namjoon just has a kink for letting you do whatever the hell you want with him...Whether that be putting him in a hot pink suit shirtless! Or, telling him he’s a good boy as he fucks you into oblivion!

OR- Namjoon and yourself hooked up 5 months ago when the boys were in London on Tour, and you were the creative director for there British GQ & Harper’s Bazzar Cover! Now, months later he’s prepping to release his second mixtape “RM vs Rap Monster”. Opting to go a complete 360 from his first release Mono in all realms. So, with that being said BigHit thinks he needs someone with a little more... “umph” Take a wild guess as to who they call...

WC:1.2k (Sneak peek)

WARNINGS: Switch OC (Top & Bottom...but there's no real dom/sub tones here) Service top/power bottom Namjoon, praise kink, Fingering, Unprotected sex(Back shot), come play, dirty talk, light choking, light overstimulation, (This is lowkey a little softer than it sounds) The OC kinda leads this, but Joon isin’t the cliché “sub” he just likes letting her take control.

NOTE- Just my take on the OG cliché Artist X Stylist AU (Though she’s more of a full package, Art Director/Stylist/Photographer ETC) I have tried to add some minor elements to make it a little more realistic. I will say I typically stray from “Idol-verse” just because if we’re being real, the cultural difference alone sometimes stunts my creativity...BUT I just had a little fun with this one...so I hope you all enjoy it. Also, I don’t go into much physical details but in my mind regardless of race, aesthetic wise the OC is a huge contrast to what he’s use to which is part of her appeal. I picture a tatted Barbie of some sorts...

SIDE NOTE: No shade, but shade, I was lowkey inspired to write this bc I have very strong opinions about the creative team at BH....

*** Let me know if you guys want the full thing or not...I kidna flaked on posting because it is such a cliché lol

SONG- FEVER DUA LIPA  FT ANGELE

~~~~~~~

“Well, it’s a yes for me” Eyeing him in this Hot pink-fitted Burliti suit, which you paired with a very sheer black Arnar Mar turtle neck. The minute you saw the piece on the runway you’d been dying to get it on someone with melanated skin, and it just so happens, the boys are fresh off the US leg of their stadium tour! So, lucky for you, baby boy’s been in the sun a lot, and Namjoon’s currently a sinful shade of brown and you're totally here for it…

Then to top it off, the mesh material of the turtle neck creates the perfect silhouette around his offensively toned chest, outlining the muscles sinfully. Eternally snorting at the way the fans are gonna thank and curse you out all at the same damn time once they see the looks you’ve pulled for this man!

And yes, you had your crew bring extended shades of foundation and concealer, because his face and neck will match if your name is going to be attached to these damn photos! 

Head tilted to the side as you silently observe the way he rakes over his reflection in the mirror, it’s a sixth sense you’ve acquired as a stylist at this point. Half of your job is essentially being a hype man/self love coach, real shit, a lot of these artist aren't always as...confident as one may think!

And just like clockwork Namjoon runs his palm down his thighs, smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles on his pants for the umpteenth time in the span of oh I don’t know 30 seconds? Which in turn prompts you to say….

“You look good Joonie...” Musing over your second glass of Don, the compliment was genuine, tone warm, soothing even, not a hint flirtation insight because that wasn’t your motive. You weren’t trying to get him flustered you’re just trying to gas him up a little, you wanted to see Namjoon get alittle cocky and feel himself!

Ears perking up like an overgrown puppy, head whipping in your direction “Yeah?” The way this man’s eyes just lit up like the soul skyline. I just-goddamn, an almost bashful smile toys on those plush lips of his, and you can’t help the way your chest flutters with nothing but fondness.

“So fuckin cute” Flutters off your lips, as you hide a smile of your own behind a half empty whine glass. The delivery was so faint it almost go lost in the background music floating through the air. However the slight flush hitting his cheeks let you know Namjoon heard you whether he wanted to admit it or not!

”Mmmhmm, the color looks fuckin insane against your skin, not to mention, the way everything's going to pop once we tone your hair a little! “ Eyes drinking him in from head to toe, though there was nothing suggestive playing within your iris. Very much aware of time and place and right now your genuinely looking respectfully! Seeing if any alterations are needed, making sure you like where everything sits along his frame. Making notes in your phone of places you want to pin and adjust later...snapping a couple shots here and there. 

Licking his lips anxiously as he plays with the lapels on the blazer “But like-I mean-I- dont’-It doesn’t look like I’m... trying too hard or anything?” Brows furrowed in the center of his face, jaw tight, wincing slightly at his own words, almost as if he was afraid of your response. The vulnerability within his delivery was more than evident, and no matter how common this is with artist, it’s still just as devastating! Regardless of how much he tried to play it off as if he was just making casual conversation, you can see how blatantly uncomfortable he is . Gazing back at you wide eyed, and uncannily exposed, pointing at the outfit in question. Licking his lips anxiously as he plays with the the blazer, switching posses subtlety trying to get a better feel for the suit.  

You stayed silent for a minute, taking the time to actually process before speaking which is rare, not gonna lie. Gaze piercing as you hop off the bed, wine, and accessories in hand, swaying closer. “It’s fashion”. The baited pause almost implied that’s all you had to say, as if one-word was self-sufficient, and in your mind it was...but you knew better than to just leave it at that.

“Art at its finest Mr. Kim” You smile something a little devious, and he flushes even deeper as you slowly start to invade his space eyes locked with him meaningfully. You can physically see the shift, the closer you get, Namjoon starts fidgeting slightly under your gaze but he doesn't back down.

“It gives you room to play, create...it’s something that let’s us connect to people without saying a damn thing.” Suddenly the hand that wasn’t holding your alcohol has become a prop, flailing around haphazardly as you spoke, pointing at the various pieces hanging on clothes racks in your suite! The penthouse has essentially been transformed into your own personal walk in closet for the next 5 or so days! “It’s a statement. A opportunity to tap into a side of yourself that maybe you can’t always verbally articulate to the world around you! More importantly, it’s supposed to be fun, it’s literally something that can be removed within seconds! I mean we all have to wear clothes so why not just enjoy it?”  Head cocked to the side as you appraise him, brow quirked, eyes warm, yet there's a clear challenge playing within your gaze.

Namjoon’s watching you intently, almost as if he’s taking mental notes as you speak...the heaviness within those dangerously honed eyes of his could almost be unsettling to some, but you quite like it. Made you feel as though he actually gives a flying fuck about what you’re saying.

“In my opinion the only time it looks like someone’s “Trying too hard” Making little air bunnies with your spare hand “Is if they look uncomfortable in what they’re wearing, confidence is key, and I know you know that better than anyone RM!” You muse batting your lashes in Namjoon’s direction, and he dimples back at you, eyes sinking into tiny crescents, face rivaling the color of his suit, trying to hide said smile behind his own glass of champagne.  

“I could put you in a damn clown suit...” Words trailing off your tongue lackadaisically as you grow distracted searching the bar for a specific chain from John Hardy. “Which” Focus snapping back in his direction making the later splutter a little “Would be fire as fuck if I did by the way, but-”  Namjoon ended up cackling midsentence, almost choking on his drink in the process, fist pounding against his sternum.

Yeah..killing the leader of Bangtan wasn’t really high on your list tonight....

“Ayee, none of that shit...” Smacking him in the back a little more so just to be an ass because he wasn’t even choking anymore “Don’t die on me until we at least get this damn photoshoot done, I had to cancel my trip to Jamaica for this shit!”

Now he’s damn near choking and his laugh was contagious, it’s just.. loud, carefree so yes, your cackling, and there's nothing cute about it. But you honestly don’t care, you let yourself get lost in it! Finally able to feel the atmosphere in the room start to shift to something a little less scripted and a little more organic...

Throwing his hands in the air as If he’s waving a nonexistent white flag “I’m sorry, noona” There’s a pout playing in his lips, not exactly aegyo per say, but it’s fuckin adorable “Blame PD-nim, it’s his fault we had to do this so last minute” Wheezes from his throat, in the form of a slight whine, almost rivaling Jimin if I’m honest.

You already know he was laughing more so due to your delivery, specifically, your casual use of profanity over anything else. This is actually something you use to be self-conscious about, especially at your first shoot with the boys, at the shoot for GQ . Well aware it wasn’t as common in Asia for people especially women to use “fuck” like a comma. So you were hoping they wouldn’t be offended, or uncomfortable by your dialect, and, thankfully they didn’t seem to mind. Much like Joonie over here, they found it entertaining over anything.

“Yeah, a huh, sureee...” Eyes rolling to the back of your head playfully as you start lightly altering the suit in question with clips and pens. “Stay still babe” The pet name slipped off your tongue effortlessly, honestly, that's what you call most people in your life. However you were far too focused to notice how wide eyed and flustered the man before you became upon hearing it directed at him so casually.

A faint little “Sorry” muses off his lips as he gnaws on his inner cheek, trying to stay still as you ghetto-rig hems into place until you can get this under your sewing needle.

“ No, but real shit…” You sigh, taking on a slightly more serious tone “If you step in front of that camera like you own the bitch, regardless of what your wearing..., then they can’t tell you shit! If your comfortable there’s no such thing as trying too hard” You shrug nonchalantly like that was the simplest concept known to man, downing the rest of your drink “Alright, that’s all, thanks for coming to my Ted talk” Waving him off as if you’re about to leave the room and he pouted playfully, jokingly begging you not to leave him yet...it felt good to be able to banter like this. The shift continuous shift within the atmosphere was more than welcomed…

Hesitantly you watch his eyes find their way back to the full length mirror, which promptly smacks you back to reality!

Unfortunately you didn't fly all the way to Seoul just to drink,  and shoot shit with Namjoon for hours on end,  your actually here to work…

Sooo...

“Alright” Placing your arms on his shoulders, giving him a reassuring squeeze as you peer over his shoulder. Meeting his gaze through the glass, chin resting gently against the blade. “Back to the reason you came Mr. “I’m sooo anxiously” Shooting him a teasing little smirk in the process “The suit, yay or nay”

So, here’s the thing technically the official fitting is tomorrow, and as far as his team knows he’s in the studio with Yoongi and Hoseok finishing up a song!

Which of course raises the question as to why he’s here..alone..mind you..no staff or security in site.

Just Kim Namjoon and yourself.....

~~~~

Heyyyy, Lemme know if you guys want this or not, it will leave kinda open ended because it was supposed to kinda be a 3 part mini series initially. Part 1 ends the morning of the shoot, the full thing is set to be around 6/7k! Spoiler, the company is going to want to keep her around for more than just Namjoon’s solo project....

Also, YES...I did see that they actually put Tae in that Burliti suit (I wrote this long before that shoot was released)...I actually hated the way it was styled it though...I never thought I’d say this but MGK’s team did a better job than BH....

[kookiesjoonies]

come home | myg.

another collab w/ my platonic soulmate, @ppersonna​, abt bad hookups and how members of bts fix it n make you feel good. it took me awhile to get my part up, so i want to thank lindy for the millionth time for being so patient. i hope u all enjoy. read her part of this collab w/ jin here!

main pairing: min yoongi x reader (exes to lovers)

fic type: one shot

word count: 3.2k

genre: smut

warnings: language, mentions of smoking/nicotine, mentions of penetrative sex, dry humping, light dirty talk, fingering, oral sex (f. receiving), multiple orgasms, angst if you squint?, tiny amount of fluff (if i forgot any warnings, i apologize! i have been working on this over the course of a week or longer. if i missed anything major, let me know pls! xo)

summary: you just want to feel good. and seeing as how no one has been successful in making that happen for you, you go to the one person who never fails to get you off. who just so happens to be your ex boyfriend.

The last person in the world that Yoongi expected to be knocking on his door at eight o’ clock at night was you. You’d been broken up for over a year now, and sure, the two of you were on good terms. Hell, you even considered yourselves friends, but rarely ever did the two of you hang out or speak more than a few times a week through text messages.

So naturally, his first thought was that something was wrong. He was standing in the doorway, staring straight ahead at you, trying to read your face for any indication as to why you’d shown up at his house unannounced. Your expression was stoic, though, almost bored. Your hair was shorter though, he’d noticed. Had you gained weight? He couldn’t have been sure, but your thighs definitely appeared to be thicker, and your bra fuller than he remembered.

You caught him eyeing your cleavage and you rolled your eyes. Same old Yoongi, same old habits.

“Are you going to invite me inside?” You asked, arms crossed over your chest and effectively pushing your breasts up.

Yoongi was sure he would be drooling any moment now, and he hadn’t even heard a word you’d said. Fuck, he’d missed staring at you like this.

“Yoongi,” you reached a hand forward, pressing a freshly manicured finger underneath his chin and pointing it up toward your face, “my eyes are up here.”

Now it was his turn to roll his eyes, “And?”

You tilted your head to the side, eyebrows pushing together in annoyance, “Would you just move so I can come inside?”

He obliged, stepping away from the door frame and gesturing you, albeit dramatically, inside.

His house hadn’t changed much, but it definitely wasn’t as well kept as it was when you lived with him. The coffee table was cluttered with assorted take out boxes and half empty water bottles, and you never understood why he didn’t drink the entire bottle of water. It annoyed the piss out of you, and you were still convinced that was the only reason he did it.

Blankets and coats littered the sofa, throw pillows pushed off of the couch and onto the floor. You always hated when he did that. He claimed the pillows made the couch uncomfortable and hard to sit on, and you’d called him insane, telling him that the entire purpose of the pillows were to make it comfortable.

You were curious to see what his bedroom looked like. Well, you were mostly curious, and a tad bit frightened at the thought. Yoongi wasn’t a messy person, but he didn’t mind clutter. You, on the other hand, despised it.

Yoongi took note of the way your eyes danced around the room, taking everything surrounding you in.

“Yeah, it’s messy, I know.” His tone of voice shifted to one of nervousness. He was suddenly very aware that you we’re here, in the house the two of you used to share, for the first time in what felt like forever.

You sensed his awkwardness and turned your attention from the living room and into him, placing a hand gently around his bicep. He instantly relaxed under your touch. You always did know exactly what he needed and when he needed it. He still didn’t know how the fuck you managed to do that.

“I don’t care if it’s messy, Yoongi. I don’t live here anymore.”

“No, you don’t. Which brings me to ask, why are you here?”

“Actually,” you began, leaning against the back of his sofa as you slowly raked your eyes up and down his small frame, “I was wondering if you wanted to fuck.”

Your question clearly caught him off guard, his face immediately contorting into one of utter confusion. Eyes slightly widened, mouth agape.

“Hold on,” he shook his head, a poor attempt at collecting his thoughts as he tried to make sense of what you’d just proposed, “are you high?”

Was he serious? You rolled your eyes at him yet again, convinced they were going to get stuck in the back of your head.

“No, Yoongi. I am not high. I’m just horny, and want to fuck. Simple as that.”

He carded his long fingers through his hair, eyes focusing on yours and fully taking in your serious expression.

“You couldn’t find someone on tinder? I mean, not that I’m not flattered that you came all the way here, but. I’m just a bit confused.”

“I could’ve, yeah,” you nodded, “and I have, in the past. But I’m sick of bad hookups, I have to fake it half the time anyway. Nobody knows my body like you do. I just want to feel good, but if you don’t want to, or if it’s too weird then I can leave. No hard feelings.”

Yoongi took a minute to weigh out the pros and cons in his head. On one hand, he’d kill to be inside of you again. He’d had hookups of his own, sure, but none of them even came close to what you felt like. But on the other hand, you’d broken up for a reason. And this could complicate things.

Who was he to deny you, though? He never could, not when you were together, and he wasn’t about to start now. If all you wanted was to feel good, then goddammit, he was going to make sure that you did.

“Yeah, okay. Let’s do it.”

Your eyes grew wider than quarters, and you stared at him in disbelief, “Really?”

“Were you expecting me to say no?”

“I don’t..” you paused, “I don’t know what I was expecting, but I was hoping you’d say yes.”

“Well,” he took a single step forward, hands easily falling down and onto your hips, “I did.”

All it took was the feeling of his hands on you to make your breath catch in your throat. It’d been over a year since he’d last touched you, his hands felt like they were burning your skin through your shirt. You stared up at him, eyes fixated on his as his mouth slowly crept down and onto yours.

It felt like sparks of electricity were coursing through your veins. Your body instantly reacted, legs jumping up and off of the ground to wrap around his waist. He was quick to catch you, hands cupping your ass to hold you up and pressed against him. His lips moved against yours easily, his tongue gliding into your mouth and wrapping around yours perfectly. Kissing you was muscle memory, he knew every crevice of your mouth, which moves of his tongue would have you wrecked.

He took advantage of that, lapping and twirling his tongue against yours in a way that had you moaning into the kiss. The vibrations going straight from his lips and down to his dick, and you could feel him hardening against your thigh. Your hands found their way into the dark hair at the nape of his neck and you twirled it around your fingers, all the while giving a quick swivel of your hips that had Yoongi groaning into your mouth.

He carried you away from the couch and down the hallway into his master bedroom, kicking the door closed with his foot once inside. He had your back pressed up against it instantaneously, grinding his hips up and into yours at a steady pace. You were holding onto his neck for dear life, letting out a whine as he hit your clit perfectly.

“Y-yoongi! Right there, oh my God, do that again.” You pleaded, and he happily obliged by thrusting his hips in the exact same way, causing you to cry out and bite down on your lower lip. If he kept this shit up, you’d be cumming in your pants.

His lips were attached to your neck now, attacking the skin there with sloppy kisses and occasional suction. You knew there would be bruises, but you couldn’t be bothered to give a single fuck. Your body was elated, you felt like you were floating. And all of it was from a fucking make out session and dry humping. You couldn’t even begin to imagine how you were going to feel once he was finally inside of you. The thought of it alone had you soaking wet, and you could feel how damp your panties had gotten, sure that your jeans were soon to follow suit.

His hips never slowed, in fact, they only sped up. You were bouncing against him now, attempting to gather even more friction than what he was giving you. His fingers curled and squeezed your ass, holding you still as he ruthlessly humped against your core.

“Gonna cum for me, huh? Right here? With your clothes still on?” He was nipping at your jawline now, and the sounds you were making sounded like you were trying to speak, but nothing you were saying was coherent.

“What was that?” he rolled his hips hard against your aching cunt, and you immediately saw black, “Words, baby. Or I’ll stop right now.”

You panicked, trying to muster up any sort of response that you could manage, even if you did sound completely fucking pitiful.

“Yes! Oh my god, yes.” You mewled, and one final jolt of his hips had you coming undone.

Your thighs contracted around him, shaking and attempting to pull him closer and keep him trapped between your legs. Your hands were tugging on his hair, burning his scalp and causing him to groan at the sensation. Cries of his name and a slew of fucked out curses made their way past your lips as you came, head knocking back against the wooden door.

Yoongi had pulled away from your neck so that he could watch you, his eyes darkening with want as he witnessed you lose yourself from just grinding alone. He thought you’d never looked sexier than you did right now. And all he could think about was how badly he wanted to clean up the mess he’d just made in between your legs.

“Let me eat you out.” His voice was rough, raspy, and hot. How could you say no to that?

You hadn’t even completely come down from your high yet, stars still circling above your head as you blinked rapidly in an attempt to get them to go away. But still, you nodded.

He was quick to drop to his knees after setting your feet and shaky legs back down onto the ground. Your fingers threaded through his hair, hips pushing forward and toward his mouth. You’d never wanted— no, needed his tongue against you so badly before. But you couldn’t help the breathy laugh that pushed out of your throat.

“What’s so funny?” Yoongi prompted, mumbling against the skin of your lower abdomen as he pressed wet kisses there.

You lightly twirled his hair around your index finger, a small sigh making its way through your lips as you felt him begin to undo the button a zipper on your pants.

The whole situation was fucking hilarious to you. You ever imagined you’d be here again, with Yoongi in general, let alone with his head between your legs. But that was too heavy of a conversation to have at the moment. You knew that if you said such things, he’d want to have a deep, touchy feely talk and all you were interested right now was him making you cum for the second time today.

So, you decided to play your laughter off, sounding as nonchalant as possible.

“Just find it funny that our bed is two feet away from us, yet you’re still going to eat me out while you’re on the floor.”

Yoongi had taken to ridding you of those god forsaken jeans, kissing from your knee up to the tops of your thigh. His actions coming to a still in the middle of your sentence.

“Our? bed?” He cocked an eyebrow, deep irises flickering up to look straight at you.

“Just habit, I guess.” you shrugged it off, but internally, you were kicking your own ass for making such a slip up, “Are you going to go down on me, or not?”

Yoongi couldn’t stop the roll of his eyes. This was so fucking like you, brushing off your true emotions and covering them up with something sexual. Had you forgotten he knew you better than anyone else in the world?

Still, you’d come to him for a reason. You wanted to feel good. He was determined to follow through with your wishes, but made a mental note to get you to tell him how you were feeling afterwards.

“You’re so fucking bossy.” He spat out the words, though they weren’t laced with any real venom. It was too playful, too Yoongi.

You were going to offer him a smart ass remark, a witty comeback on the very tip of your lips. However, the feel of his tongue dragging through your folds had you moaning instead.

His arms linked around the backs of your thighs to hold you in place, keeping your cunt pressed firmly against his face as he nudged your clit with his tongue. A small, barely there flick that had you whining in a high pitched fashion. Your eyes had screwed shut, hand tangled in his hair and pulling it from the root.

One of his hands moved from your legs so that he could hover his index finger over your entrance, circling around it and gathering up your wetness. He groaned at the feeling, at how absolutely fucking soaked you were for him. It was something he never, ever got tired of. And it was definitely something he’d grown to miss.

All at once, he was pulling your clit into his mouth. Teeth lightly grazing it before he took his time suckling on the bud, quick, exasperated whimpers coming out of your lips as he did so.

You offered him fucked out praises, telling him how good it felt, how badly you wanted more. His finger pushed into you, and your walls immediately squeezed around it. Once you’d loosened back up, he added his middle finger and slowly began to fuck into you.

Your mouth was left agape at the feeling, his tongue now swirling at a steady pace against your bundle of nerves. Your nails dug into his scalp, and you’d begun to shamelessly ride his face. He was loving every minute of it, every wanton noise that came out of your mouth.

“I—I need—,” you stuttered, unsure of exactly what it was that you needed from him, “God, Yoongi, please—”

Even when you didn’t know, he always seemed to. His long fingers curled inside of you, arching and pressing against that glorious spot that had you screaming out a line of curses.

He quickened the pace of his tongue up, the speed of it ruthless against your clit now. Your eyes were beginning to well up, and you were sure you’d never felt pleasure like this before. Not even from him. There was something about this time that made it feel like you were floating on cloud nine. And you never, ever wanted to come down. You wanted his head buried between your thighs for an eternity.

One more push of his fingers and lick of his tongue had you bucking your hips against his face, and you weren’t sure how he was managing to breathe. Your lower stomach was knotting, heat spreading from your core throughout your entire body as your orgasm washed over you. Both of your hands were in his hair now, gripping onto the soft strands of it with all of your might. You were squirming, trying to get closer to him, and away from him all at the same time.

Black dots were all that you could see, your head spinning and making you feel like you were floating off of the ground. Your chest was rising and falling rapidly as you attempted to catch your breath and regain your composure.

You groaned at the empty feeling as you felt Yoongi pull his fingers out of you, glancing down at him just in time to watch him insert the digits into his mouth and swallow your release. Your eyes rolled back at the sight, a huff leaving your lips.

“You’re going to be the death of me.” You joked, and he rewarded you with a chuckle as he stood up and pressed his lips to yours, pushing his tongue into your mouth with ease.

You could taste yourself on him, and that alone had you aroused again and ready for orgasm number three. And hopefully four and five. You could feel yourself growing wet again, and took the opportunity to grab one of his hands and bring it down and onto your soaked pussy.

He groaned into the kiss, tongue moving with more fervor, more hunger.

You were pulling back, and he was chasing your lips with his. You giggled at his actions, your fingers toying with the fine strands of his hair.

Without giving it a second thought, he was lifting you off of the ground again and taking quick strides toward the bed.

It seemed like the two of you had spent the better part of the night fucking. But by your fifth orgasm, you were too fucked out, and way too sensitive to do it again. You could barely walk, your legs the equivalent of Jell-O. Yoongi insisted over and over that you just spent the night with him, offering to take the couch if that would make you more comfortable.

“I just spent the last two hours with your dick buried inside of me,” you pointed out, “I think we can share a bed.”

He laughed as he laid beside of you, still completely naked and on full display for you.

“Touché.”

“I need a cigarette, but I can’t even walk to get them out of my jeans.” You groaned as you stared at your pants lying in front of the door, and you could hear Yoongi sighing beside of you.

“What?” You cocked an eyebrow, rolling onto your side so that you could face him.

“You know how I feel about you smoking. I wish you’d quit that shit.”

“Well,” you started, “at least you don’t have to smell it on a daily basis anymore. You know, since I don’t live here.”

“Eh,” he shrugged, turning over on his side to match your position, “kind of miss it.”

Your eyes slightly widened, and you were left speechless. Because what were you supposed to say to that?

Yoongi sighed, giving you a quick roll of his eyes.

“Come on, Y/n. What are we doing?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” You lied.

“You mean to tell me you don’t feel comfortable right now? Like we never stopped this in the first place? Never stopped.. us?” He studied your face as he waited for your answer, fingers instinctively reaching out to trail along the curve of your bare hip.

“Yoongi..” You sighed, unsure of what else to say. Because he was right. This felt normal. It felt right.

“Just come home.” His voice was sincere, his eyes soft and pleading as he looked at you.

Usually, this was the kind of big decision you’d have to think about, outweigh all of the pros and cons. But this time, you didn’t hesitate to respond. Because this was Yoongi, and he was home.

“Yeah,” you nodded, gently rubbing your thumb along the top of his cheek as you offered him a gentle smile, “okay.”

[plentyelegant]

never mind about the shape I'm in, I'll keep you safe

(alternative title: Klaus just loves his baby sister send tweet)

Summary: After getting bested by their umpteenth threat to the world's continued existence, the siblings not only get scattered across the city, but their powers scattered amongst them. After waking up without his powers, a clue which of his siblings' powers he did have, or where his siblings actually were, Klaus starts looking for them... only to see possibly the most heartbreaking sight he could have imagined: Vanya, obviously burdened with his powers of seeing and hearing the dead... in a cemetery.

Words: 3.8k

Pairings: PLATONIC Klaus & Vanya (and some platonic Klaus & Allison near the end)

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort. Sensory overload/panic attack. Discussion of seeing/hearing ghosts. Mentions of death, drugs, and Reginald's abuse (The Mausoleum). One mention of insanity (klaus being worried his powers might drive vanya insane).

A/N: This is my first tua oneshot! I've been working on it since Friday because... well... the idea wouldn't leave me alone until I got it out in a fic. I actually did it instead of finally finishing s2, so... it might be a bit ooc? But I hope you like it! Title from "S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W by MCR. Based on the second addition of this post of mine. <3

---

Well, Klaus thought, isn’t this just swell?

“Swell” was probably, by far, one of the most inaccurate ways to describe this debacle that he could come up with. Just earlier that afternoon - Oh, what a nice afternoon it had been! - he and his siblings were dealing with some threat. Maybe it was more nefariousness from the Commission, maybe they were preventing the apocalypse of the week. Who knew? Who kept track, anyway, of the fires they’d been putting out?

(Well, Five probably did. But that wasn’t the point.)

But it just so happened that this fire they’d been putting out had been able to best them and scatter them across the city. What’s more, this fire wasn’t an ordinary fire, but one like themselves, or that chameleon-esque one from the 60s. Maybe that fire had intended to erase or absorb their powers, and the act had been botched, or this was their intent all along. It didn’t matter, really; all that mattered was that this fire managed to give his and his siblings’ powers a whole switcheroo before scattering them.

(Alright, metaphors aside, it wasn’t a fire. It was a villain.)

Klaus’ only reassurance that their powers hadn’t been erased entirely (or taken by the villain for themself) was that, after they’d sent a blast out at him and all of his siblings, leaving the six positively reeling, Klaus had seen a very confused Luther start “blipping” everywhere, ala Five’s teleportation, before they’d all been scattered. Oddly enough, he’d been grateful for seeing that; if Luther had Five’s powers, it stood to reason that each of them had the power of another sibling instead of their own… right?

Well, it was what Klaus was going with.

But when he came to without any of his siblings around, a clue where they were, or that power-swapper in sight, he decided against trying to figure out which of their powers had been thrown at him. He may not have been the smartest of the bunch (that was either Five or Allison, really. Probably Allison. Yeah, it was Allison.), but even he knew it would have probably been a bad idea to see if he could control things’ directions like Diego, or rumor things into existence (or nonexistence) like Allison, or make use of Luther’s super strength.

And he could only imagine the catastrophe that might come about if he tried to use Vanya’s powers. The only one who knew how to best handle them was Vanya herself. And even she wasn’t exactly well-acquainted with them!

No, no, no. The best plan - if he could call whatever the fuck he was improvising a plan, which just didn’t seem like the right thing to do - was to find the others, figure out who had whose powers, and realize which one he had through process of elimination.

Speaking of elimination, as Klaus searched through the streets for where the other five ended up, he’d at least been content with the power-swapping ensuring that he wasn’t hounded by the dead as he attempted to round up his siblings. Silence from the ghosts was a pleasantry he’d never quite been used to, especially silence that hadn’t come along with either being as high as a kite or drunk as a skunk. At least, it made it easier to look for the others.

“Allison!” he called out as he walked the streets, “Vanya! Diego!”

Of course, sober or not, he still drew stares from passers by as he called their names. That was fine. He just had to find them as soon as he could. They couldn’t have been far!

(Well, they very well could have, but right now, Klaus took quite a liking to trying to reassure himself through falsehoods so he didn’t panic. It was fun.)

After an hour or two of searching fruitlessly for his brothers and sisters, he eventually turned into a lesser-populated street of town - a street which harbored a cemetery.

He winced at the sight of the large plot. He always hated going into graveyards; they only bombarded him with ghosts (which he’d never forgotten Reginald taking advantage of with that fucking mausoleum). Of course, the dead couldn’t do much to him now, since he’d been stripped (or relieved?) of his usual powers that afternoon, but that didn’t stop him from grimacing.

But his grimace fell when he saw someone in a patch of trees far off on the opposite side of the property from where he’d stood outside it’s gates.

“Oh no,” he mumbled to himself as he shook his head, “Oh, no, no, nononono-”

He wished he was mistaken in thinking he recognized that quivering little frame, curled up against a tree with her forehead against her knees as she kept them close to her chest; he wished he didn’t recognize her all-black outfit from earlier, or her brown hair which she’d had her hands dug into as she covered her ears.

He’d recognized that posture all too well. Not from her, but from himself; from his days locked in the dark of that mausoleum, trying to cover his ears to block everything out and make himself small, because he felt small - and he was, he was just a kid - and curling into a ball because he’d had no one there to hold him but himself.

It was Vanya.

Vanya had his powers.

...And she got dropped in a fucking cemetery.

“Oh, fuck!”

Klaus half-ran, half-stumbled into the graveyard. Thankfully, it was nearly empty, and the few people there paid no attention when he ran across the yard, dodging and hurdling over headstones when he’d needed to. He’d dodged them on instinct and reflex alone, because all he could think about was that scared little ball up against that tree. He didn’t try to call to her; not only was he almost out of breath, but he feared that trying to call her name while she didn’t see him would just add to the bombardment of voices that no doubt rang out in her head.

As he got closer, the sight just became more and more heartbreaking, but it was at its worst when he’d gotten right in front of her, and he could hear her sobs.

“Go away.” she pleaded, a little muffled with how her head had been ducked behind her knees, “Please, please just go away.”

Klaus knew she wasn’t talking to him, but the ghosts. She wasn’t even aware of his presence yet. And he couldn’t let that stand, so he dropped to his knees and put his hand on her arm.

“Vanya-”

“NO!” she jerked away from his hand with a sob. He didn’t blame her - he would have done the same, after being left alone with the ghosts for…

...Oh, fuck, it had been hours since they’d been scattered. Hours since she’d ended up here. In a cemetery. With overwhelming powers of seeing the dead. Alone. 

“Vanya!” he said louder, trying to speak over the ghosts if he could have. Gently, instead of putting a hand on her arm again, he placed both his hands on her shoulders.

Finally, her head snapped up, and when he saw those big brown eyes shine with tears that hadn’t already joined the others that streamed down her face, it took all Klaus had in him not to start crying too. Instead, he just put his hands over hers. It wouldn’t do much to actually deafen the ghosts, but he hoped it at least gave her some comfort.

“It’s me, Vanny.” he said, hoping she’d hear it, or at least know what he was saying, “It’s just me.”

Her lips, which had been relaxed as they trembled from shock, contorted into a grimace.

She hugged Klaus so tightly that it almost winded him. Even with her powers being as incredible as they were, he always got surprised at how much physical force could be inside one little violinist. Still, he hugged her back, tight enough to reassure her while not making her feel restrained. No one really hugged him when the ghosts got too strong before, but if they did, this was how he would have liked it.

Klaus could feel Vanya grab fistfuls of the back of his shirt and hold them in what he aptly assumed was a white-knuckled grip. That was alright, he was just glad she hadn’t scratched him in the process.

“There’s-” she started, her head nestled against the crook of his shoulder, her voice shaking, so little, “There’s - there’s so many of them-”

Even though she couldn’t really see it, he tried to smile reassuringly.

“Ohhh,” He tried to make his voice as reassuring as the smile she couldn’t see. “Don’t pay any mind to those silly gooses, Vanny. All their snarling and shrieking’s just for show.”

Klaus could hear her sniffle against his shoulder.

“...Geese.”

Klaus twisted his neck a little to look at what was visible of Vanya’s face, “Hm?”

Vanya picked her head up a bit.

“Not gooses.” she said, her voice strained and her eyes red, both obvious byproducts of crying as she was bombarded by the spirits of the dead in a cemetery for hours, “Geese.”

Klaus rolled his eyes in mock exasperation. Of course, of all the things that helped ground her, it was correcting his grammar. Still, he took what he could get.

“Oh, so you write one bestseller, and now you know everything about grammar, don’cha?” he said, smiling and giggling when he’d finished so she’d hopefully know he’d been trying to be lighthearted.

Apparently, it worked, because a smile twitched at the corners of her lips, and she laughed a hoarse little laugh…

...until her little smile fell, and that laugh turned into more shaking breaths again, getting deeper and deeper until she gasped with every breath.

Oh, no.

Of course, it hadn’t grounded or distracted her for long; she hugged him tighter and nestled her head against his shoulder again. But this time, she screamed against his shoulder, a sound that wasn’t made one bit less heart-shattering by being muffled. As he tried to stop his own lips from trembling and his own eyes from watering, he just hugged her tighter.

“Shhhh, it’s okay, Vanny, it’s okay.” he said, his shushing more to sooth her than to actually make her be quiet, which he knew wouldn’t work the moment she shrieked again, “You’re okay. Just focus on this. Just on me.”

“I can’t.” she choked out, “I can’t - I can’t do it - I can’t-”

As hysteric as she was… Klaus knew she was right; she couldn’t withstand this. Not for much longer. Even after almost thirty years with the ghosts, he still had a hard time keeping them at bay. For years, he couldn’t. That’s why he’d started the drugs. But even his experience with the ghosts all his life, as nightmarish as it had been, was nowhere near as bad as what had been thrust upon Vanya. He, at least, had ways to withstand it, or keep it drowned out. Vanya didn’t have that.

And it was killing her.

It was killing his baby sister.

Maybe it wasn’t killing her, but without a way to quiet it, or keep it at bay, Klaus didn’t have any doubt that… that it could drive her mad. He feared it for himself, some days in his childhood, but that fear became so much more real - and so much worse - as his sister shook in his arms.

“Klaus. Please. Help me.”

But he didn’t know how.

She was in too much hysterics to walk out of here, and he wasn’t strong enough to carry her. He didn’t have any drugs on him either - even if he did, he was not going to give them to Vanya; there was no way in hell he was going to fuck her up like that. She didn’t have any of the mood regulators she used to take, either, which might have dampened the ghost-seeing powers just like they did her moon-blow-uppy powers before.

He didn’t know what to do. His little sister was in pain and terrified and he didn’t know how to make it go away.

...He had an idea.

There was one thing he could try - something he’d wished and asked fruitlessly for often when he was little. He didn’t know if it would work, but he didn’t know for sure that it wouldn’t work, either. If it could help Vanya, it was worth a shot.

“Vanny, I have an idea,” he pulled his arms away, “But you have to trust me, okay?’

He felt her head move in a frantic nod.

“I do, I do, I do, just - just do something -”

He put his hands on her arms and gently pulled them away and pushed her back a bit so she was right in front of him, and he could look into her eyes. He didn’t know if eye contact was necessary for this, but why risk messing it up if it was?

He took a deep breath and said something he wished countless times to hear as a child; something he’d probably look really, really stupid for saying if this didn’t work, and he didn’t get the power that he really, really hoped he did.

“I heard a rumor that the ghosts went away.”

…Vanya’s eyes clouded over.

Klaus didn’t think he’d ever felt so relieved in his life. Not even after he’d been brought out of the mausoleum, or when he’d needed anaesthetics to wire his jaw shut after he fell down the stairs, and he realized that drugs shut the ghosts up. No, this was more of a relief than all of that, guaranteed.

After a few seconds, Vanya’s eyes cleared up, going from milky white back to their normal brown. Immediately, she closed them as she brought her hands to the sides of her head, her little frame sagging with fatigue.

“Did it work?” he asked with a tilt of his head. Letting out a deep breath, she nodded.

“Thank you…” she mumbled, exhaustion evident in her voice as she opened her eyes, though her eyelids were heavy.

Klaus smiled again.

“Pure luck, Vanny.” he said, “That’s all that was.”

“Mhm…” she nodded a little, sleepy nod before her eyes fell shut and her head lolled to the side… 

And the rest of her body followed.

Though she was still kneeling, and it wouldn’t have hurt much if she hit the ground, Klaus still caught her as she fell unconscious, keeping her back and neck supported as best he could as he gently laid her on the ground next to the tree she’d been curled up against. Of course she collapsed; he knew how exhausting this must have been for her.

So, Vanya has my powers, I have Allison’s, and…

Klaus thought back to earlier, when he’d seen Luther frantically blipping around.

...Luther has Five’s. Great.

Well, it wasn’t like he could go searching for the others and figure out where the other three powers ended up. Vanya, laying flat on her back in the shade, was already dead to the world, and would probably be for a while yet, and Klaus would never just leave her here. Also, since he didn’t exactly have Luther-like super strength (or, depending on who got it in the switch… Allison-like? Diego-like? Five-like? Oh, now that would be rich.), or as much upper body strength as he’d like, he couldn’t carry her out.

No… the best thing to do was wait here. Whether he was waiting for one of the others to find him, or for Vanya to wake up, or for someone to kick the both of them out when the graveyard closed, he wasn’t sure. But he knew he’d wait right there for one of those things… preferably any but the latter.

Resigned and relieved, he moved over to sit up against the tree, next to his sleeping sister. With his back against the bark, he let his head loll back. Until now, he hadn’t realized how exhausted he’d been in all of this, after walking the streets for hours, running to poor Vanya, and finding her as he did…

It had been a full afternoon, and he decided resting his eyes for a bit wouldn’t hurt.

---

Klaus was lured back into the realm of the conscious by the sound of voices.

“There they are!” he’d heard.

No, not the voices of the dead he usually heard. Those would be with Vanya when (if at all) that rumor wore off (and honestly, he hoped it wouldn’t).

No, it was the voices of his siblings.

“Klaus!” he heard Five’s ever-snippety tone.

“Vanya!” he heard the worry in Allison’s voice.

He opened his eyes to see the rest of his siblings coming towards them; Allison and Five, who he heard moments before, as well as Diego and Luther. He let out a sigh. Thank fuck. He’d been worried that he might get kicked out first, as that would’ve been his luck.

It didn’t take long for them to make their way over to them.

“What happened-” Luther started, a little loud due to his concern. So it didn’t wake Vanya (or disturb nearby mourners), Klaus brought a finger to his lips and shushed him.

He pointed down to Vanya, still sleeping at his side, and put up his hands - and their ouija board-esque tattoos - in a flourish, a clear gesture saying that Vanya had his powers.

They all got it immediately.

“What about you guys?” he whispered.

“Well,” Allison started, still glancing at Vanya. “After I tried seeing if I could control where things I threw went, I figured out I had Diego’s powers.”

She nodded to Diego as he stood behind her, looking over her shoulder to stare down at Vanya with a troubled gaze, which almost looked… restrained, as if he was trying to keep his emotions at bay.

“I landed by a lake, so it was easy to find out with skipping stones.” she explained. Of course, leave it to Allison to find the most practical way to deduct which power she’d gotten.

(It must have been fun holding the family’s brain cell.)

“And after a few broken streetlamps,” Five announced, hands in his pockets, “Figured it would be best if Diego here kept a cool head for a while.”

So, he’s got Vanya’s powers. Klaus figured out. Makes sense.

It didn’t, but none of this did. Nothing in their lives ever did.

“And it took a bit to find Luther when he kept blipping across the street every time he sneezed.” Allison said, eyeing a very sheepish Luther behind her.

“Sorry.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

“That means…” Five trailed off.

Klaus nodded.

“I’m all…” he brought up his hands and wiggled his fingers, “rumory.”

Allison looked between him and Vanya. “Did you use it?”

Klaus nodded again.

“Just to get the ghosts off her back.” he assured, looking down at his sister, “Ohhh, they just terrified poor Vanny. She was crying her eyes out when I found her.”

He looked back up at them.

“She alright now?” Diego asked. Either he was doing a terrible job at keeping his worry for Vanya out of his voice, or he wasn’t trying at all.

“Oh, yeah, yeah, she’s fine.” He waved his hand as nonchalantly as he could manage, as if it didn’t feel weird to talk about how “fine” his sister was after he found her crying her eyes out. “She’s just… out. She ended up passing out all on her own.” He shrugged and shook his head. “Wasn’t me, or the rumor. She was just tuckered out, poor thing.”

Five walked forward until he was right in front of Vanya, crouched down, put one arm under her back and one under her legs, and - much to Klaus’ surprise - lifted her with no trouble. Klaus’ eyes widened at the sight, and his eyebrows raised.

“Super strength.” he said, completely and utterly matter of fact.

Oh. Klaus held back a grin and stifled a giggle. Of course.

“Which means,” he grit his teeth, “it won’t be hard to throw one of these headstones at you if you let out that laugh you’re doing a shit job at holding back.”

Keeping a poker face, Klaus put up a thumbs-up.

“Come on.” Five turned around, “Let’s figure this out.”

Five started to lead the pack of power-mismatched siblings out of the cemetery, and even though he wasn’t sure where they were going, Klaus followed where Five was leading. That always took him and his siblings to the most lovely destinations, didn’t it?

He ended up falling in stride with Allison, who kept looking at the ground.

“So…” she lifted her head back up and looked at him, “You used a rumor on her?”

Even though she’d already asked that, Klaus nodded.

“If there’s one thing I know, Allie,” he started, “it’s how bad the ghosts are. Especially somewhere like…”

He gestured around them.

“...this. I felt pretty out of options, really. I didn’t even know I had it. Pure luck - that’s what we usually run on, right? Luck, I think, is the lifeblood of the Hargreeves.”

“You sure it’s not things going wrong?” she asked. Klaus shrugged.

“Hey,” he said, “the family can have two lifebloods.”

Allison seemed to agree. “God knows we need it.’

After another moment or so of walking, she laughed a little laugh - not really a laugh, but close enough to one that any other word would have been too inaccurate.

“I remember…” She let her gaze fall to the ground. “When we were kids, you’d always ask me to use it. All the time. When we’d come back from missions, when you’d have nightmares, when Dad let you out of…”

She didn’t finish that thought. Instead, she shook her head.

“...and I never did. I wanted to, but-”

“Alliiie, you don’t have to explain yourself.” He waved it off with a shrug, “I get it! Dear ol’ Dad would’ve lost his marbles. I never held that against you, and neither-” he put his hand on her shoulder, “should you.”

Allison nodded before she said…

“It might not wear off.”

Klaus gasped, putting a hand over his mouth.

“Oh, nooo! That's... the opposite of a problem!”

Allison rolled her eyes.

“Klaus...”

“Come ooon.” he said, “Seeing ghosts all the time is, surprisingly enough, not all it’s cracked up to be. Kinda spooky, actually.”

“I'm just saying,” she said, a little exasperated by her brother’s sarcasm, “It might be permanent. Even when we do get our powers switched back. Sometimes… rumors stick around for a while.”

“Well…” he winced, “I guess we’ll just burn that bridge when we get to it.”

“You mean cross that bridge?”

At that exact moment, they both heard a loud sneeze and whipped their heads forward at Luther - or at least, where he was. Much to the other four’s exasperation (Vanya didn’t respond, as she was still asleep), he’d blipped across the graveyard.

“...Nope.”

[thosewickedlovelies]

It’s not a thot, but watch some of Primitive Technology on youtube.

It’s just a dude out in the jungle woods making shit totally from scratch, and he never speaks, or does voiceovers, or describe anything he’s doing (outside of making it visually clear for the camera) (he made some videos later where he added text descriptors but I think it totally killed the charm of the whole thing)

But it’s definitely the kind of thing I could see for Into the Woods.

He starts off with simple things: a hut, a bucket, a wee outdoor grill, some rope — then he fucking levels up and starts making things like a brick oven and a tiled roof house for which he makes the tiles from scratch.

Honestly the videos are so amazing and so serene, with just the noises of nature. Because let’s be honest, Frankie might have a channel/insta but he’s definitely not talking in it or showing off for the camera because that’s just not him.

Primitive Technology: https://youtube.com/channel/UCAL3JXZSzSm8AlZyD3nQdBA

Omg okay 1) that is INSANELY COOL, 2) I LOVE this, and I can totally see Frankie being nice enough to do tutorials on fire-building or whatnot if people asked :’)

That being said, the first video I watched was this one, and it gave me an idea for a lil drabble: 

Into the Woods: Firestick  |  Frankie Morales x GN!Reader

Warnings: playing with fire, a lil spicy at the end

Word count: 829

“No, babe, I can totally do this, just wait.”

“Shouldn’t the army have taught you to do this?” you tease. “I can’t believe you’ve never tried it before.”

“Well...” Frankie looks up, a guilty, sheepish sort of smile trying not to creep up one side of his mouth.

“Oh my god, you have!” you realize, laughing out loud. The sound seems to bounce off the surface of the pond and echo around you, too full of joy to be absorbed by the trees.

“Yeah, but that was before I knew there was an actual method. If this guy can do it, so can I.”

Evidence of Frankie’s determination is strewn around him. A stack of dry branches which he’d brought from home; a smaller pile of twigs and tinder to use upon the appearance of smoke; and his phone, with a youtube video paused to show a branch carved with notches, demonstrating how to start a fire with fire sticks.

You’ve witnessed several failed attempts already, but Frankie was not yet discouraged. On the last one he’d actually produced a spirited tendril of smoke, and had notched his current branch with renewed vigor.

You smother your giggles, watching him bend to his task again. Fondness for this silly, determined man wells up in you like a pot overflowing its boil. Frankie’s brow is furrowed so deeply you’re surprised he can even see clearly, concentrating so hard he’s nearly glaring at the intersecting sticks before him. He doesn’t usually get like this, you muse. Frankie liked to challenge himself, try new things, but he seemed particularly stuck on this (in his good-natured way). You wonder if it was a manly pride thing; if something about ‘making fire for your mate’ struck an ancient nerve in him.

Beside you, Oso sneezes, waking herself up from a doze. The disgruntled expression on her canine face makes you laugh again, and you scratch her ears until she lays back down. She, at least, had benefited from Frankie’s failures, wearing herself out fetching the branches you threw.

You eye the pile of wood Frankie had designated as potential firesticks. In all the time you’d spent in the woods together, he’d taught you the different ways to build fires, but in this method you were on equal footing. Curiosity pulls on you as you watch him roll his hands down the wood.

“I wanna try,” you announce.

You plop yourself decisively beside him and watch the video again. As you take up his knife and your own two sticks, his eyes crinkle at you in a welcoming smile.

Briefly you’re distracted by the warm glow that rises in your chest, the same emanation that sparks every time Frankie smiles at you, like a beam of sunlight striking your heart. He’s just so pretty and kind all the time....

You clear your throat, refocusing on your goal. On your first try, smoke drifts up from the pile of tinder, and you feel a leap of excitement. It doesn’t last, but you carve the next branch with a perfectionist concentration, trying to imitate the video’s actions precisely.

You gasp at the thick pluming of smoke from the tinder. “Frankie!” You want him to see, but you also want to stay focused and actually start a fire. You blow lightly, carefully on the hotspot, aiming for the telltale ember-orange glow.

“I can’t believe you got it before me! Don’t let it die, here-” Frankie’s grousing is all an act, he’s as excited as you are. Abandoning his own attempts, he scrambles to pass you more material and kindling.

You’re hyperfocused on your breathing, allowing only a controlled trickle of air to goad the smoking matter into flames. “Oh!” When it does, you squeal.

Frankie lets out a crow of delight. “Ha, you did it, baby! Look at that!” He nearly bowls you over smacking a kiss on your cheek, but you duck out of the way.

“Wait, let me get it going properly!” Giggling, you manage to fend off his affections for long enough to build the fire into something slightly more sustainable.

“Okay, now kiss me,” you order, breathless and pleased when Frankie obeys, bundling you to the ground. His heavy frame presses you into the earth. A happy sigh slips out as he winds his arms around you, at the familiar warmth of his mouth on yours.

“Proud of you, querida,” he mumbles.

You squirm at the ticklish whisper of his lips beneath your ear. “Thanks,” you manage, voice breathy. The unexpected, playful desire Frankie was pouring into you was dousing your ability to form words. “I thought you wanted to do it though?“

“I did.” His teeth scrape your clavicle. “Was kinda hot seeing you be all survivalist, though.” He keeps his face buried in your neck as admits this, but he can’t hide the husk in his voice.

“Oooo.” You grin, wriggling a bit beneath him. “Got another kind of firestick for me there, survivor-man?”

Frankie groans.

--

[akutagawasbitch]

Aku, Atsushi, Chuuya, Higuchi, and whoever u want--how do they act when they're black out drunk??? Absolutely shit faced?

Of course my love, I had so much fun writing these. Let the crack commence <3

Chuuya

As we all know he can fly but when he's drunk he'll fly into shit all the fucking time. The side of a building, random walls, the window of his penthouse. You name it he's probably flown into it and face planted it while drunk

He also suffers from short man syndrome and will not hesitate to punch anyone. He has been kicked out of many bars for throwing the bartender when they cut him off

He likes to flirt but when drunk, he turns into a mess. Slurring his words, mixing up pickup lines and or just forgetting how to speak. It's all happened to him before but if dazai is around? He turns into the best womanizer in all of Yokohama for the sake of his pride

His favourite drunk food is ramen, he'll make shitty 99 cent ramen in his penthouse and devour it

His normally refined palette goes out the window

While he can be aggressive, if you're friendly to him, Chuuya will be your friend and be an absolute sweetheart back. He's made many a friend on drinking nights who he never remembers but they remember him

Amazon and drunk Chuuya are his wallet's greatest enemy

He will spend hours scrolling through and buy himself the stupidest shit ever

He once bought a massive playhouse because he wanted one

He'll also buy himself hats

Buys ridiculous shit and has it delivered to Dazai's apartment

One time he had hair removal cream disguised as shampoo order and dazai used it

Loves to dance while drunk

He will fucking get down with any song and is amazing at dancing

Loves going to karaoke bars, gets super into it. He will sing any song and is always surprisingly good at it. 

Passes out super quickly and easily so he never stays out too long 

Dazai 

Doesn’t like drinking too much as it reminds him of when him and Oda would go to Lupin together.

When he’s drunk, he swears he can hear Oda talking to him telling him what an idiot he’s being. 

He’s either an incredibly happy and elated drunk or a horribly suicidal depressed drunk. It depends on how much he has to drink. If he’s tipsy, he laughs a lot and feels a genuine sense of happiness, not the fake happiness he feels most of the time. If he is blackout drunk, he’s depressed and highly suicidal but in a more serious way. No more mushrooms or trying to drown himself, he goes for knives and pills but he always wakes up.

He will trip a lot and be incredibly clumsy when drunk. His bandages come undone which he doesn’t notice causing him to trip on them. This happens regularly 

When drunk he’s more prone to bumping his head on things since he isn’t paying attention. Ceilings, fans, lights, door frames. No matter what drunk dazai is a tall bastard with no spatial awareness

His flirting goes through the roof when drunk. He will flirt with anything that moves, he does not care. 

You know what else goes through the roof when he’s drunk? His d- appetite. This man can rival Kenjii or Atsushi in how much he can eat when drunk. He orders 6 different plates of crab and devours them like he’s never eaten in his life. 

His self restraint goes out the window and he’ll go break into Chuuya’s apartment just to mess with him and steal his hat or something along those lines. Drunk Dazai loves to fuck with people. 

He’s also more relaxed and will happily let Naomi or Yosano do his makeup if they asked nicely enough. He’d brag about how he’s the “prettiest princess of them all” before passing out

Aku 

You think Akutagawa has no filter? Wait until you meet drunk Akutagawa. This man doesn’t even know what a filter is. 

He deadass looks at Chuuya and stares at him before commenting “You’re short” with a deadpan look. 

He also has a surprisingly high tolerance and enjoys strong alcohol over wine. 

His lack of filter gets him into trouble more often than not and he gets into fights a lot. He actually uses his fists while drunk over using Rashomon mainly because he can barely speak a word without hiccuping 

He has trouble speaking, he either hiccups through every sentence or slurs his words to the point where they are unintelligible 

He is more chatty than normal but don’t expect a Dazai or Chuuya level of chatter. 

He likes to drink spiked teas 

He does enjoy drinking with others and enjoys accompanying Chuuya on nights out

He will devour a massive bowl of curry while drunk. He rarely eats when sober but when drunk? He’ll eat anything put in front of him

He is still pretty quick on his feet and agile but he is prone to falling over

He literally once woke up Gin because he fell over their couch when walking into their apartment and he just lay on the floor cursing out the sofa

He’ll roast the fuck out of Dazai and Atsushi while drunking and make various death threats

Aku ends up being rather protective of others while drunk and has scared of a number of creepy men making advances on uninterested women, he’s like a guard dog in that regard 

He will pass out fairly quickly once he gets home, refuses to pass out anywhere other than his bed 

Higuchi

As we found out in the PM Onsen CD, Higuchi cries when she’s drunk. She’ll cry over a cute puppy or cry over a mission going wrong or she’ll just cry because she got praise from Akutagawa. 

She also will talk for hours on one specific topic. Either its Akutagawa or something completely random. She’ll rarely talk about her sister but when she’s drunk she’ll open up more about her and tell everyone how much she loves her sister. 

She is also a lightweight and will pass out fairly quickly 

She likes sweet things when drunk and will eat something sweet that’s near her. 

She also has to hold Akutagawa back from fighting people or prevent him from getting punched because his no filter talk insulted the wrong person 

She isn’t an aggressive drunk but an emotional one. 

Gin

Gin isn’t a big talker, but she’ll talk more if she is drunk drunk and comfortable enough with the people she is drinking with 

She will laugh a lot while drunk and smile but it's hard to tell with her mask on 

Gin as we all  know is insanely fast and agile but when she’s drunk? All her agility goes out the window and she will face plant the floor if she tries any of her tricks.

I think she has a sweet tooth, so I can see her enjoying mochi ice cream while drunk

She also would love to watch people do karaoke, she won't participate since she’s too shy but seeing Chuuya and everyone else do it makes her laugh so hard her sides hurt

She lets out her more soft side and tries to pet all animals she sees

She once stole a duck and brought it home, Akutagawa wasn’t happy 

Atsushi

He will be a mess

100% a giggly drunk, he’ll find everything funny, even Kunkida’s dad jokes.  

He’ll accidently activate his ability and be walking around with a tail and not even notice it. 

Speaking of his tail, when drunk he likes to chase it as he gives into his more cat like tendencies, Dazai has a video of Atsushi chasing his tail for a good 20 minutes  

This boy will devour an entire restaurants worth of chazuke, if he could while drunk 

He likes to climb trees and he’s good at it, Kunida once found him at the top of a tree curled up asleep 

He’s also more blunt and will roast the fuck out of Akutagawa 

He also roasts Dazai a little bit but not as much as Akutagawa

He likes to transform into is tiger form and nap when drunk

He’d probably curse and then say fuck because he cursed and then just spiral into a stream of fucks 

He will try catch cats to cuddle, he once followed a cat two blocks just to pet him

I imagine him enjoying amusement parks so he’d go to once while drunk and have the time of his life until he got nauseous on the rides 

I also imagine he like play video games so when drunk he’ll do that and have the time of his life

Suddenly sweet baby atsushi is cursing and swearing like a sailor

He’ll pass out pretty quick and once he’s passed out, he’s out like a light for the rest of the evening.

Junchiro 

He likes his alcohol delivered in baked goods

He will try drunk bake/cook

He will pass out quickly and just cuddle his own sweater

He tries to flirt with women but naomi does not like it

My man will be shirtless trying to make a souffle at 2am

This was so fun to write, I’m sorry it took so long but I hope you enjoy this crack <3 

[lilbabycee]

sundown // steve rogers 🌇

↳ summary: steve’s little ray of sunshine isn’t shining so bright.

↳ relationship: steve rogers x reader

↳ word count: 2.5k

↳ warnings: angst angst angst (i was in my feelings with this one), hurt/comfort and some fluff 

↳ author’s note: hi! i wrote a kind of sequel to daybreak today! i’ve been stuck in a writing rut for like two weeks but then @pinksdaydream​ inspired me to write some more for this! 🥰

READ DAYBREAK

A year later and Steve still hasn’t learned his lesson. Every day, he stares for hours at the brightest light that he’s ever had the pleasure of seeing in his many years of life. He can’t believe how close he is, how easily he’s able to touch and feel something- someone so precious. It’s a wonder that he hasn’t been burned yet, but he knows that it’s because this light doesn’t pose a physical threat to him - emotionally, perhaps, but rather, it’s much more the contrary. He basks it in, soaks in its warmth and revels in its brilliance all because he’s allowed to. He’s allowed to because this light is his. 

It’s you.

You’re not perfect - you tripped on the fluffy white rug in the living room and subsequently ran into the sharp marble corner of the kitchen island this morning alone - but you’re still his. However, this time you’re awake and standing in the kitchen - too far away from him. One of his grey Henley’s shields your entire upper half from his eager gaze and he silently curses himself for throwing you that shirt when you’d asked for one - if he was smarter, he would’ve just insisted that you walk around naked. He knows that your legs are completely bare, but his vivid imagination has to be the one to conjure up the image of those miles of exposed skin because his view is obstructed by the kitchen counter. For now, he’s stuck admiring you from the waist up. He bets that he could rip the counter right out of the tiled floor if he tried hard enough, but he knows that as of right now, he has more restraint than that. 

No matter what time of the day, not once in any of those twenty-four hours for the past one-thousand-one-hundred-and-eighteen days has he failed to be amazed by how you can make him feel like the asthmatic man he was all of those years ago by simply walking into a room, no matter whether or not you even know that he’s there. You’ve been quieter than usual lately, running endless back-to-back sprints as opposed to marathons inside your brain that wear you out because you refuse to take a water break. He knows what this is - he’s seen it before, watched you run so far only to drop the baton in the relay race at the most critical moment. And as much as he can coach you to not push so hard and pace your running, in the end, you’re the only one who can really make those decisions for yourself. 

Of course, you always take his advice in stride, using it to propel yourself those last few meters to the finish line. But time and time again, he’s watched you fall short, letting all the different facets of your overactive and often noisy brain speed past you to snap that finish line tape in half much like the way that they break your soul. Your aura dims considerably in moments like these, despite the glow of the late afternoon sun swallowing the white walls of your apartment and spitting out rays of golden light. One shines right on your face and Steve almost laughs - it’s as if the sun itself knows how deserving you are of the limelight - a star in his eyes having taken center stage in the production of his life. 

He’d let you take all of the attention any day. But you’re not like that - as much as you can be his little social butterfly, the taste of pink lemonade and cherry lollipops in your speech, there are still those days when he can both physically and emotionally see you sink in on yourself, the words you speak stinging him in a way that makes his entire body shudder just thinking about it. They always taste like copper to him.

He knows that you don’t mean it. It’s the way you’ve always been and who is he to think that he’s entitled to make you change it? But the way that you deal with what goes on inside your head isn’t healthy. He knows that. You know it, too. And you’re trying. That’s all he can ask for. 

And so here he sits on the floor of your living room, large body wedged in the sizable space between the coffee table and the couch that his back rests against. You’re directly in his line of sight - still too far away - but that’s okay because even though you haven’t spared him a glance or uttered a word to him in the past hour, at least you’re together. 

Sometimes he regrets the mantle that he carries around - Captain America. True, it is such an integral part of him but he can’t help but resent it some days. It keeps him away from you all too often. Time and time again, people have chased him just to meet the man in red, white, and blue. They’re not interested in the man behind the shield and honestly, he doesn’t know if he is either. There have been plenty of times where he’s spiraled into an identity crisis, unable to separate Steve Rogers from his superhero persona. 

But every single time, you’ve been there to work through it right alongside him. You’ve dealt with him at his very lowest - when he was in a hole deeper than rock bottom and couldn’t bring himself to get out of bed in the morning. So there has not been even one moment when Steve has thought about leaving you alone when you get like this. He now knows not to pry just as well as he knows that you don’t want to be by yourself in times like these. You may not explicitly vocalize it, but in the seconds when you do meet his stare across the dinner table or right before you fall asleep, he can see the love housed in the depths of your eyes and that’s more than enough for him.

His own eyes haven’t left you for the better part of the hour. His favorite black leather-bound sketchbook is open to what was once a blank page at the beginning of the day but is now an almost complete sketch of the angel in front of him. The luminosity of the sun on your body reveals your halo, usually hidden during the day but in rare moments like these, he’s able to appreciate your otherworldly presence casually standing in the middle of his kitchen with a hand propped against the edge of the counter. A notebook is set in front of you and Steve never thought that he could be so jealous of an inanimate object before - it’s held your undivided attention for hours. 

His eyes widen as you shift, leaning forwards to rest both of your elbows on the counter top to type something on your open laptop and giving him a clear view of your breasts through the gap in the front of your shirt. Your lips have been wrapped around a ballpoint pen for virtually the whole day which is how he knows you’ve been working hard because sucking on the ends of pens always helps you focus. He, on the other hand, can’t seem to focus at all as soon as you whip out one of those godforsaken pens. Steve swallows hard - almost immediately regretting wearing grey sweatpants as he adjusts the crotch as subtly as he can - and tears his eyes away from you to flip to a new page, sketching profusely so as to immortalize this moment in his sketchbook before his mind can even dare to forget it. 

In his haste, he doesn’t even realize when the silence is broken by the chime of your voice. 

“Steve. Steve.”

His hand moves fast and he’s squinting at the page in concentration, willing his brain to hold onto the picture of you bent over the kitchen counter as if he doesn’t have the real thing standing right in front of him-

“Stevie,” you call out, your brow furrowing slightly in concern. This makes his head snap up - finally - and you can’t help but notice how blown his pupils are and how strategic the placement of his sketchbook seems to be. You can pinpoint the exact moment that he starts to panic. For someone who is usually so stoic, he wears his heart proudly on his sleeve. Realization quite literally dawns on his face but it does nothing to alleviate the dusting of light pink across his cheeks. 

“I’m sorry, baby,” his unused voice is raspy but he doesn’t bother clearing his throat, as if he knows exactly how it makes you clench your thighs together where he can’t see them. “I was just really invested in- uh,” he hesitates, gesturing vaguely at the page that you can’t see, “the sketch. What’s goin’ on, doll?”

And the flower of your heart blooms at the look in those eyes that remind you so much of April showers, those eyes that are filled to the brim with the rain that has watered all of the dead and decaying blossoms that line your stomach, crawl up to your ribs and up your throat, their vines climbing up through your skull to wrap around your brain. That look alone, framed by those insanely long eyelashes, has extended a helping hand to your beaten-down spirit, telling it to dust itself off and keep going. 

“You’re staring, sweetheart,” Steve’s sinfully pink lips quirk up into a demure smile as he teases you, his thick beard shielding the brief flash of white teeth. You decided a long time ago that the beard has been the best thing to happen to you, as is the long hair that he’s currently running his hands through. 

“Sorry,” you say but continue to stare unabashedly at his beautiful face because you don’t mean it. You can’t help the way that your eyes trail down his chest that has woefully been covered by one of his too-tight black t-shirts, though you don’t miss the way that it strains against his bulging biceps, nor the way that it’s slightly rucked up at the bottom which gives you an eyeful of the dark blonde wisps of hair that travel downwards towards one of your favorite parts of his body. 

Steve, always so perceptive, doesn’t miss where your gaze has traveled, and he can’t help the self-satisfied smirk that grows on his face. It’s easy to forget that you’ve been down for these past few days when you have seconds like these in between those tired hours when you oversleep and he hasn’t slept at all because he’s too busy watching you.

“See somethin’ you like, baby?” he hums, continuing his sketch absent-mindedly because he knows that the image of you standing in front of him like a dream will forever be ingrained into his memory. 

Heat ignites your veins and blooms in your cheeks; you can’t help it when you look away, smiling shyly to the side. Steve has resigned himself to the fact that you won’t answer, going back to tracing careful lines with the point of his pencil. 

“In fact, I do,” you murmur, knowing that if it was anybody else, they wouldn’t have heard you. Steve’s eyes meet yours and you can almost taste the saltiness of the ocean on your tongue as he drowns you in their depths. He stands abruptly, casting his book to the side carelessly and taking long strides to get to where you are. 

Once his hand lands on your hip, the warmth seeps in through the cotton of your shirt and melts your entire body; it catalyzes the small eruption of the volcano in your chest, causing the burning lava of the breath that you didn’t know you were holding to spill over and out of your mouth in an audible sigh. His other hand soon joins the first, framing your body and pulling you back into him. You stare down at the dusting of hair on his forearms when he slips them around your waist and you squeal when he turns you around in his hold, meeting your eyes with a softness that you weren’t expecting.

“Do you wanna talk about what’s goin’ on with you, sweetheart?” he probes lightly in that same low voice, recognizing your deflection and not wanting to cause that volcano to explode. You bite the inside of your cheek, avoiding eye contact because you don’t want him to worry (you don’t know that he worries about you every second of every day because you’re almost his entire heart) but he grasps your jaw in his right hand. He ducks his head down a little, trying to catch your darting eyes. When they finally rest on him, he thinks that he’s dying because your stare is glassy and your lip is trembling. 

“Baby,” he coos, tugging you into his chest. You relent, releasing your hold on his forearms to throw your arms around his middle. It’s hard to hold back the tears anymore: Steve’s concern has kicked down the fragile floodgates of your emotional control. Pressing your head into his chest, he says nothing while your body shakes but it’s better this way. You know that you’d only cry even more if he started speaking. Instead, you inhale gasping breaths between babbling as you try to explain why you haven’t been yourself recently. He listens attentively, rubbing circles into your back and dropping frequent kisses on your forehead. 

The room is more orange than yellow by the time you can finally speak coherently. 

“M’sorry,” you sniffle into his shirt, fists clenching the material tightly. He pushes you away from him so there’s just enough space for him to lift his hands to your face. Slowly, he wipes any residual tears from your cheeks and underneath your eyes with this thumbs. 

“Nothin’ to be sorry for, baby,” he speaks softly, your face still in his hands when he presses a kiss to your nose, both of your now mostly dry cheeks, and then right on top of your lips. It’s chaste, only lasting about a second but it makes your soul sing nonetheless. 

You stand in silence for a beat longer, merely staring into each other’s eyes before something flashes in Steve’s eyes. You squish your face to his body again, feeling his chest rise slightly, signifying that he’s about to speak. 

“What did you need before, sweetheart?”

You’re confused. 

“What do you mean?

“When you were calling me before - what did you need?”

Now you get it. 

“Oh- I was just going to ask what you wanted for dinner...”

Your voice falters at the end because - and you have no clue why - this makes Steve throw his head back as he barks out a surprised laugh. You frown, narrowing your eyes at him slightly. 

“What?” you ask.

“Nothing - I just love you, that’s all,” he clarifies, casually throwing the sentiment out there because it’s so easy with you. It’s always easy, even when it’s not.

“I love you, too,” you place a lingering kiss on his jaw before pulling back to stare in his eyes with a grave expression on your face. Now it’s his turn to frown in confusion. “But seriously, what do you want for dinner?”