#I don’t realize how I lived with so much anxiety until they have these kind of conversations | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nereidprinc3ss · 2 months

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hii i love love how u write spencer omds🥸

uhh i was wondering if you could write sth based off the song “we’ll never have sex” by leith ross? pls dont feel pressured to write this btw😭😭😭 hope ur having a good day lovely💗💗

hello my love i have no self control so this is extremely long and plotty but i love this song and i hope that this is any good at all crying emoji (i'm on a laptop LOL) enjoy!!

warnings/tags: angst/fluff, fem!reader, negative self-talk from reader, mentions of past sexual coercion/feeling used, mentions of past excessive drinking to combat social anxiety, ive been watching a lot of new girl lately and i think it shows, SO FRIENDS TO LOVERS, happy ending

You weren’t expecting to end up on Spencer Reid’s worn-leather couch at two in the morning, clutching a chipped mug of coffee in your hands as you listen to the sounds of the city from the street below. But there you are, sitting with your legs folded under you, in your favorite dress and first date-night makeup (now bleeding and smudged from all the crying.) And realizing that despite considering him one of your closest friends, you haven’t been to his apartment in a long time. There are, of course, good reasons for that—but you try to push those from your mind.

“I’m really sorry about this,” you sigh, staring at your warped reflection in the glassy black surface of your coffee. Spencer is coming out of the small kitchen, now bearing his own cup.

“Please, stop apologizing.”

You glance up, tentatively studying him from behind the safety of your mug. While he may not have been asleep when you knocked on his door ten minutes ago, lachrymose and barely verbal, he must have been getting ready for bed. He’s clad in patterned pajama pants, mismatched socks, and an FBI crewneck that is just big enough to reveal the collar of the tee-shirt underneath. He’s already taken out his contacts, and you were startled by the reminder that he also has glasses.

“So...” he begins, bringing you back to the present moment, “we don't have to talk about anything, if you don’t want to, but...”

You sigh, watching coffee bubbles swirl like stars in a galaxy.

“It’s fine. Honestly, I’m kind of embarrassed. I didn’t really think, I just... ended up here.”

“Yeah... where did you come from?” he laughs quietly. “Not that I’m complaining. But I recall you not living super close by.”

“No, no. I was actually on a date. Kind of.”

“Ah.” There’s a beat of silence, and ostensibly Spencer is waiting for you to say more, but instead you take a sip from your mug. “At two in the morning?” You nod dully, staring at the labyrinthine pattern of the Persian rug.

“I’m taking it that it wasn’t a very good date...?”

A whoosh of air escapes from your puffed cheeks.

“No it was not. Not by the end, anyway. It actually started really well, which made it even more disappointing when he...” you laugh, but there’s not much humor in it. “Well, when he kicked me out of his car on a street corner because I didn’t want to sleep with him.”

You don’t look to see Spencer’s reaction—only take another long, baleful sip of coffee and ignore the heavy silence.

“I’m really sorry. You... you deserve so much better than that.”

An attempt at a jaded scoff from you falls flat.

“Yeah, well. Tell that to the last three white house interns I’ve gone on dates with. It’s the same thing every time.”

“Have you considered going on fewer dates with white house interns...?” The nervous humor is a thin veil over genuine critique. You shrug, biting the inside of your cheek.

“It’s not just them. Every single guy I’ve liked since I was 15 has been like this. Even my past relationships, I felt like I was almost... tricked into, you know? I mean, these guys, they act all understanding and willing to take it slow or whatever, until you’re in a relationship, and suddenly they’re guilt tripping you so hard and making you feel so obligated to...” you catch yourself just in time, glancing up at Spencer. You’re not sure what to make of his expression. The drawn brow and slightly squinted eyes trained so intently on you could be sympathy, or anger, or pity, or apathy—you look away, not sure you even want to know what he’s thinking. “Sorry. You don’t need to hear all about that. Basically romance is exhausting and since I’ll clearly be single forever I’m considering running away to join a nunnery.”

When he doesn’t respond for too long, you look back up quizically.

“I’m not sure you know what romance actually is,” he says as soon as your gaze meets his, like the eye-contact activated some kind of hair-trigger in his vocal box.

You blink, lowering the coffee cup to your lap.

Says Spencer Reid?

“...sorry?”

He flushes, stammering to clarify himself.

“I just meant—I—I know I’m not exactly fighting women off with a stick—” he interrupts himself with a self-conscious (adorable) laugh— “but... but I have been in love, at least once.”

“Maeve,” you say, gently—trying to shove down bitter guilt as you remember how jealous you’d been when Spencer had first told you about her. “I remember.”

He swallows and nods.

“We never even met—we just talked. All the time. I had no idea what she looked like. But it didn’t matter at all. Because I knew her, and I loved her. Maybe things would have gone further if I hadn’t been calling her from public phone booths, but that wasn’t the most important thing to either of us. We were still in love.” You try to shut out the sharp ache in your chest. Being jealous of the way he speaks about a dead woman is so wrong.

“What I’m trying to say is that romance isn’t solely about sex, or even physical appearance. It sounds to me like you’ve been with a lot of men who don’t understand that. And it would be such a shame for you to write romance off in general before you even get to experience it. You are... an extraordinary woman. You’re funny, and intelligent, and kind, and so capable of being loved. One day, someone is going to see beyond your pulchritude and prove that to you. I hope you let them try.”

More tears blur the pattern on the rug, pooling in the rims of your eyes before spilling down your cheeks in fast, fat drops. Shakily you set the cup down, resting your elbows on your knees and hiding your face in your hands. You sniff once. Twice. Shake your head quickly, attempting to wipe the tears away without further smearing your makeup everywhere.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Spencer breathes, leaning forward but obviously unsure how to comfort you. “Please don’t cry, I wasn’t--I was trying to do the opposite of this.”

“No, I’m sorry! You didn’t have to—you didn’t—I’m sorry. That was way too nice.”

But you're not crying because he was nice.

Someone will love you, but not me. That’s all you can hear.

His voice is a mere whisper when he next speaks.

“I meant every word.”

You take a shuddering breath, allowing yourself a moment of reprieve behind the peaceful black of your eyelids. You can’t be looking at his face when you say what you’re about to say.

“I had a crush on you for the longest time, you know.”

Ringing silence. But it doesn’t last as long as you’d imagined. It’s not as world ending.

“Had?”

The little smile in his voice is like a fist around your heart.

“Yeah. You know what changed?”

“What’s that?”

Absolutely nothing.

“Every time I got super drunk and started hitting on you, you’d just drive me home. And I did it a lot. Like, for months. But you were such a gentleman. It drove me fucking crazy. So eventually I figured you just didn’t like me and I gave up.”

Another stretch of silence. A breeze comes in from the open window, fluttering the curtains and cooling the tears on your face. His response is sad when it finally comes.

“You thought I didn’t like you because I didn’t try to take advantage of you when you were drunk?”

“Pretty much.” You smile ruefully, fingertips still pressed over your eyes. “God, listen to me. No wonder I get treated like garbage.”

“Stop. Don’t talk about yourself like that. Did you hear anything I just said?”

You sniff, looking to the ceiling.

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. It was really sweet.”

More silence.

“But you don’t believe it.”

A bitter laugh poisons the air around you.

“I don’t know. I’m kind of tired of waiting for someone to prove it to me. Just for once, I want someone to be interested in me beyond having sex in the back of their fucking... Range Rover, or whatever. Like, maybe all that stuff you said is true, but there’s no evidence to support it, and I know logically you’re probably right but I can’t help wondering if... if I’m the outlier. Maybe there just isn’t someone for me like that. Maybe I’m just gonna be the sex in the back of the Range Rover girl forever.”

A noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob forces itself from your throat and you bury your face in your hands again, shaking your head.

“Wow, I am so sorry,” you say a little too loudly, “I did not mean to be this honest tonight. Did you spike my coffee?”

“You are not the outlier,” Spencer whispers.

You sniff, lifting your head haltingly to look at him.

“What?”

His voice shakes slightly as he speaks.

“You said you can’t help wondering if you’re the outlier, and maybe there just isn’t someone for you like that. That’s not true.”

“Spencer, those are just words. You can’t possibly know that. Statistical probabilities don’t count.”

“That’s... that’s not how I know.”

Your heart drops as you study his face.

No.

Surely he’s not saying what you think he’s saying.

Surely he wouldn’t do this to you after you’ve just told him everything you told him. You have been harboring feelings for him for years. Since you met. He can’t just spring this on you one night because you’re a little bummed out. If he felt the same, you would have found out a long time ago; he had ample opportunity to tell you. There was a period of months where you practically threw yourself all over him at every chance you got, and he did nothing. So this... this is just cruel—something you’ve never known Spencer Reid to be.

You stand up, trembling slightly with rage and grief and humiliation.

“Don’t do that. Don’t say things that you don’t mean just to make me feel better.”

“What are you doing? Don’t--”

You scoop up your purse, trying to get to the front door as fast as your gelatinous legs will allow. More tears are streaming down your face now and you don’t need him to see what he’s done to you—to see how much you care what he thinks.

“It’s fine. Thanks for the coffee, I’ll see you around—”

A hand around your wrist stops you in your tracks

“Stop. Just... please give me a second to talk, okay?”

With nothing left to give, you turn to him.

“Don’t be mean, Spencer. Don’t act like you liked me too. That makes me feel... so much worse.”

He takes a deep, shaky breath, as if steeling himself. Tawny eyes bore into your soul, and you realize that there is so much sheer nervous energy radiating off of him it’s infectious. Your heart begins to pound as he speaks.

“I’m not doing that. I’m being an idiot, because you just told me that you don’t feel that way about me anymore but... but I do. And I have to tell you now because for six months I tortured myself wondering why you would flirt with me so much when you were hammered and then act like nothing happened the next day. There were so many times I almost told you how I felt but I didn’t and now I am because even if it ruins our friendship you need to know that somebody... that I wanted to be that person for you. I still do.”

Your heart is like an unmoored zeppelin in your chest, bumping against your esophagus and threatening to either burst or jump out of your mouth. You take your chances, whispering so quietly it’s almost inaudible.

“You... you like me?”

“Yes,” Spencer sighs. “I have liked you for a very long time. And I’m sorry—”

Whatever ridiculous thing he was going to apologize for, you don’t give him the chance. Instead you launch yourself at him, capturing his lips in a kiss that feels so much better than it’d ever been in your fantasies because it’s real. You hear his sharp intake of breath, but it only takes a second for him to respond, cradling your face in his hands like you’re the entire world. For a moment, time bends. Years of longing, of buried dreams crash into the present in a brilliant, dazzling explosion.

And then, as quickly as it started, he pulls away. The absence of his touch is like a vacuum, so much worse now that you know exactly how it feels to have his lips on yours, even if it was only for a few seconds. How the hell did you live like that for so long? How are you supposed to live like that ever again?

“You’re not thinking clearly,” he breathes, tilting his head back toward the ceiling like he’s barely holding onto his self control. “You just want someone to comfort you, I’m not going to take advantage of you when you’re in an emotionally vulnerable state and confided in me which is manufacturing a false sense of attachment—”

You grab his wrists, which still graze your jaw.

“Spencer, stop intellectualizing for thirty seconds. I promise you I am thinking clearly.”

“You said you used to like me, past tense—”

“Yeah, I did. Do you believe every single murderer who says he didn’t do it?”

“No, but—”

“Have you ever heard the phrase; a drunk man’s words are a sober man’s thoughts?”

“Of course I have.”

“Then what more could you possibly need to be convinced that I really like you? I already kissed you! What is stopping you?”

Another deep breath is taken by him that seems to suck all the air out of the quiet room. Briefly, you wonder if you’ve made a terrible, terrible mistake. If you really do like him so much more than he could ever like you.

Until he looks back down, eyes so golden-brown in the dim light, so kind and full of affectionate concern as he carefully assesses every square centimeter of your face, looking for... well, you’re not exactly sure what. It’s like he’s extracting every thought from your head, turning them over like sun-warmed stones until he finds what he’s looking for. He smooths his hands over your hair, brushing strands away from your teary face. Finally, after what feels like an eternity of holding your breath, he speaks.

“I just want you to believe what I believe about you. But I don’t want you to have to rely on me or anyone else for your own self-worth.”

“Well, don’t you think very highly of yourself,” you tease with a sniffle. He laughs—it's quiet, but his smile is so bright without even trying that suddenly you can’t remember why you’ve ever been sad. The small miracle of his laughter makes you feel so light, and you realize it has nothing to do with the way he makes you feel about yourself. It has everything to do with who he is.

Once the giggles die down, you tentatively mirror his hold on your face.

“Spencer, I don’t like you because you like me. I’ve liked you for an embarrassingly long time. I liked you enough that I gave myself a severe hangover at least once a week for three months just so I could have an excuse to flirt shamelessly with you.”

A half-sad smile pulls at the corner of his mouth, and he gently swipes under your eyes.

“You never had to do that. I would have welcomed your sober brazen flirting with open arms.”

“Well... do you believe me?” you plead. His amber eyes shine.

“I do.”

“Will you kiss me?”

“If that’s what you want.”

You nod, rising on your toes to meet him halfway.

When your lips meet again, it is sweet, and honest, and slow, and deep. Still, there is no desperation--no race to an imagined finish line, no clash of teeth and pawing hands. It is a kiss for the sake of it—as if it were the greatest intimacy. Not a precursor to sharing a bed, but something bigger than that in and of its own. Something just as worthy and important. For the first time, you think you’re beginning to understand romance. And while you wouldn’t mind if things did escalate, you also know that Spencer knows that’s not what matters right now. Because he actually understands you—he actually cares. He will wait until you understand that you mean so much more than that to him.

To that end, he pulls away, gently supplanting his absence with a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“It would be polite of me to offer you a ride home, wouldn’t it?” he whispers, like it’s the last thing he wants to do. You bite the inside of your cheek, coming up with reasons not to go. One ridiculous one arises from the depths of your memory that you know he won’t be able to say no to.

“Or... I could stay here, and we could watch one of those nerdy foreign films you’re always talking about?”

A slow, perfect, high-watt smile blossoms on his face, and you know you’ve said exactly the right thing.

“Nerdy? Oh, my darling girl... Soviet-era filmography is far from nerdy. небесная машина will completely defy what you thought you knew about the life of an average Russian villager in the 1950’s.”

“Oh, good. Because I’ve really been meaning to change the way I think about the average 1950’s Russian villager,” you smile, already closing in to kiss him again.

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

epilogue

Three hours later, you’re crying because the life of the average Russian villager in the 1950’s was so much worse than you’d previously thought.

“It was good, right?” Spencer asks as the credits roll over a bleak snowy sepia landscape, leaning back to get a better look at you. You sit up from where you’d been leaning against him, furiously wiping your eyes.

“It was terrible! Why didn’t you tell me that everyone except the kid dies in the end?!”

“Because that’s the whole point of the movie!” he laughs, pulling you back into him. “I’m sorry. I probably should have explained how depressing this entire era of film was outside of the US.”

“And also how long the movies were. I was not prepared for how many five minute long clips of empty fields there were going to be.”

“You’re right,” he ammends, wrapping his arms around you in a way that gives you butterflies and makes you sleepy at the same time. “Next time we can watch whatever you want to watch.”

Time passes like that—you in his arms, watching weak light slowly flood the room with half-lidded eyes and listening to the sounds of the city waking up from the street below, underscoring the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Thoughts float by like leaves on the ever-flowing current of your mind, and you’re happy to let them pass until one in particular catches your attention.

“Spencer?”

He hums, like he’d been deep in his own proverbial river of thought.

“What does pulchritude mean?”

It takes him a split second to remember the bit of conversation from earlier to which you are referring, but when he does, he chuckles, running his hand over your messy hair.

“Don’t worry about it.”

And so you let it float away.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you

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fatuismooches · 2 years

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hi omg, I hope you don't mind me sending requests <3

I live for your writing sm, all of your fluffs gave me diabetes but healthier. I am a sucker for all of them, so thank you for putting your time and effort in your written works <3

I was thinking of headcanons with gn!reader and the fatui members but the reader is fragile, who can get easily sick or physically weak because of the unhealthy conditions during their childhood. I would love to think about those "meanies" (cough dottore or scara) would go insta worry mode if something bad happens to you because of your condition. Fluff or angst, I'm in love with both, I hope you don't mind about the request ^^ (you can decide platonic or romantic <3)

♡ 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐅𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐥𝐞/𝐖𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 ♡

synopsis: The Harbingers are made of steel, unflinching in any possible situation. That is until they start worrying over your frail figure.

includes: all harbingers (platonic pulcinella) w/ gn! reader

notes: I really loved this request, it made me really inspired! (Probably because they'd be extra soft in this scenario and I love that...) I hope you like this nonnie!

Pierro:

He doesn’t get to see you very often with his work and whatnot. But rest assured that you are in good hands, and that even if Pierro only has a spare twenty minutes of break, he’s coming to your room or wherever you are to check up on you. He doesn’t want you to be restrained. He wants you to go and experience Snezhnaya instead of being cooped up alone all the time (with the proper guards and company of course.) He is a very stoic but kind gentleman. You’d hide in his coat while walking together and no one would know until you pop out of it and scare the recruits. He holds the doors open, pulls up the blankets to the very top. When you’re tired due to your sickness he likes to use ancient Khaenri’ahn magic to make you smile.

If you died, Pierro would feel grief that he has not felt since the destruction of his homeland. He has already lost so much that his heart had become numb a long time ago, but your death made it come flooding back. He would have some kind of small figure similar to a chess piece made of you, and he’d keep it on him. In the battle for his heart, you were always the winner. What hurt the most was that he couldn’t even be with you in your final moments, to at least confirm how much he loved you despite everything. But he promises you, he will see you again in the “Old World” after fulfilling the Tsaritsa’s dream.

Capitano:

He is really worried for you. It was such a sharp contrast - big, tall, in tip-top shape, hulking Capitano while little old you struggled to walk straight sometimes. If you sneeze or even cough once, he’s literally all over you asking you if you’re okay. He tries to do a lot of things for you by himself. He stabs the meat on your plate so hard it breaks. He accidentally spends an hour deciding what you should wear, because he didn’t realize you had this many clothes, so he needed to choose something that’d look the best on you, despite not really having any fashion sense. But at least he is very diligent with your medicine times. He literally hovers over you, unintentionally being menacing, while you drink it. It’s very cute but the first time he did it, you spat out the medicine in surprise because you opened your eyes and he was just standing there with no warning. (Don’t ask him to pour it though. Once you asked him to pour a little into the bottle’s cover. His hands were too big and it spilled on the bedsheets.) If you collapse on him, he would be internally panicking so hard. Poor guy thought he hurt you somehow. The kind of guy who paces back and forth and causes everyone around him ten times more anxiety with how he’s acting. Also, lots of rides where you hook your legs over his shoulders and your hands are on his head (I don’t know what they’re called.)

If you died, Capitano would feel like a monster. Yes, he didn’t kill you, but it still felt like your blood was on his hands. Or did he kill you? He brought ruin and destruction to everyone, did he curse you too? How did he even know you were happy with him? Did you regret it? Would you have been happier spending your days with someone else? Horrific questions dug deeper and deeper stabs into his sturdy body, weighing him down day by day. He would give up anything just to have you back in his arms, for you to reassure and caress him, that he wasn’t a demon. But it seemed like the monster part of him was taking over anyway.

Columbina:

The kind of lover who has a list of songs that remind her of you and also buys you the record so you could listen to it. Columbina thinks music can soothe and heal the soul. So everyone can frequently hear tunes coming from your room. She also has a very calming voice in general, so when you are in pain, she just talks to you. She’d gently croon you to sleep or get you to spill all of your fears about the future, and thus comfort you. Since she sings, I’m declaring that she’s pretty poetic and would write poems for you. They always include bravery, strength, and overcoming illness with love, complete with heart doodles around it.

If you died, she would create multiple songs in honor of you. At your funeral, they couldn’t go on with the proceedings for a long time because she sang for hours, thinking of you. Often, she would go to your coffin, encased in ice, and just lie on it, singing. I think she would take a piece of your clothing and attach it to her outfit or something. I just have a feeling that she has lost before, but she likes to hold that article of clothing and feel as though you are still with her. She would become lost in her thoughts a lot more than before. If you had a favorite song, Columbina could often be found humming it to herself alone.

Dottore:

He’s a doctor. A very unethical one, but Dottore’s still extremely intelligent. He knows what you can and can’t do, your possibilities and your limits, your good days and your bad days. He doesn’t trust anyone else to monitor your progress and health. When it’s time for your walks, Dottore personally comes with you, which baffles the other Fatui who knows that virtually nothing can come between him and his research. He tells you about how his medicine for you is coming along, and while you can’t really understand any of it, you like clinging to his arm for support. When it’s time for your medicine, he administers it himself despite your whining that it’s yucky. (For you though, he would find a way to make it a flavor to your liking.)

But even for him, illness can sometimes be unpredictable, despite his precise calculations. Which is why whenever your condition randomly takes a turn for the worse, his mood completely changes and he’s already running a bunch of tests and taking your pressure and all of the like, trying to figure out what triggered your illness. Everyone knows not to even look at him during these times. Doesn’t show it but even though he isn’t scared of anything, these little stunts are not good for him. Has notebooks dedicated to your condition and daily status updates. Nothing goes unnoticed by him. Oh, but he’ll have his clones piggyback you around when you’re too tired to walk <3.

If you died, Dottore wouldn’t show it, but he would never forgive himself. He has the power to create artificial Gods, clone himself, and so much more, but he couldn’t save you? Honestly, he would probably preserve your body through cryosleep, unable to accept your death and his failure. He keeps you in a room that no one else has access to, and just… stares at your naked body in the tube, ruminating about how much he wanted you back. Dottore’s efforts to research and master resurrection triple, and he won’t stop until he could hear your voice again.

Pulcinella:

When you’re at your lowest because of your illness, Pulcinella always comes in and likes to tell you some roundabout story that always has a life message at the end. He’s serious with you but also likes when you have fun. Reads you stories in different voices but it’s not very good when he sounds like a grandpa in all of them. He likes to set you up with different Harbingers. They’re also like family to him so he would want them to spend time with you. It would help your mental health too, he thinks. While some are fine with it, others are less interested, let's just say Papanella has his ways.

If you died, it really felt like he lost his own child. Pulcinella loved when you came to him asking for stories. When you sometimes left the country but came back with exciting stories. He liked to joke that if an old man like him could make it for this long, you’d have to as well. He really wanted you to go and experience the world and what it had to offer, just like he did. Planning your funeral was not something he was looking forward to.

Scaramouche:

Sometimes, he can’t help but think to himself, how much of a grip a weak, frail human like you has on him. A strong breeze could probably knock you off your feet, meanwhile, he has God-like powers. Yet he feels like a fool in your presence. He complains about how needy you are but in an instant, he is ordering someone to bring you a glass of water or extra blankets. Grumbles about how fragile you are but he holds you so gently, you wonder if it’s still Scaramouche. When you’re around, he tends to keep his voice down and not yell at others, since he doesn’t want to accidentally make you feel worse. Scaramouche is still his snarky self, but it’s noticeable how much he observes you, matching his pace to yours even if you’re walking slowly as hell, stopping with you to look at the scenery.

Despite all his whining, not gonna lie, if you collapse on him, he will probably freak out. If he had a heart, it would be thump-thump-thumping, but in its place is just an ache and unsettling feeling. Instantly catches you but his mind goes to the worse, knowing how fleeting your life was. Would move faster than the speed of lightning to get you help, and would not leave for side for anything. Waking up to Scaramouche’s hand intertwined with you and his head facing down into the sheets was not something you expected. In fact, he acts more vulnerable than you, ordering you (which, in reality, is more like a plea) to get better soon.

If you died, any remnants of love and kindness would just… extinguish. Anything in sight is being thrown, crushed, electrocuted. If the sickness was caused by the Tatarigami plaguing Inazuma, he would be especially furious. He would curse everything, everyone. The God, his creator, who abandoned him and let you get this sick. The doctors who were too useless to do anything. But he would curse himself the most, for being so weak, and not being able to do anything for the one person who actually gave a damn about him, now fated to wander Teyvat by himself for eternity. (But… reincarnation AU, anyone?)

Arlecchino:

Arlecchino is a silent yet watchful and hands-on partner. She observes you closely to see if your condition is acting up, or if you’re starting to feel ill. She is the kind of person who wouldn’t allow anything bad to happen since she picks up on your cues. Often times Arlecchino would scold the orphans for bothering you so much but you’d always reassure her that you didn’t mind. Whenever you try to lie about how well you’re feeling, she always narrows her eyes at you and makes you lie back down. Nothing can get past her. I also think she has a great soup recipe due to her experience with children, so you’ll definitely be fed some good food.

If you died, it would seem that there was no change in Arlecchino to the Fatui recruits. Same stone cold face and dead eyes. Same harsh voice that spat out orders. And they would be right, outwardly at least. Inwardly, however, was a completely different story. When a wound is healing, it hurts the most when it’s targeted. If her heart wasn’t hurt before, now it felt like it was completely broken, just when you were starting to piece it back together. When she looks at the children playing, she envisions you running after them too, but the only thing there is the shadows of the kids. When she’s walking through the halls, she anticipates you trying to creep up on her unknowingly and give her a back hug, but now all she hears is her own intense footsteps. When she’s doing paperwork, she expects to see you trying to sneak sugar into her coffee… but you won’t ever be here to do those simple things again.

La Signora:

La Signora treats you like glass. She is especially overprotective of you because she greatly fears losing you. You have the best maids and servants tending to your every need. She’d rather you not exert more energy than you have to. When she’s not around, she sends her little flame moths with sweet messages to you, in hopes of making you smile. She is scared about you going out by yourself since you could get sick so easily. So whenever you need a breath of fresh air, she makes sure to bundle you up in the finest coats. Also has her moths flutter around you for heat. Signora is very tall, so I think she would like to sit you on her lap and do simple things with her. I think she secretly craves a domestic life with her lover after she was robbed of it so long ago. She’d want to play with your hair, press you into her soft chest, make origami butterflies together.

If you died, the ice that previously surrounded her heart would swallow her up again. No more teasing you, hooking her finger under your chin, and kissing you. No more mock fashion shows where she helped to dress you in the most gorgeous clothes and the two of you would pose for pictures for the Kamera. It seemed as though the Gods would tear anyone she loved away from her without hesitation. She suffered the loss of her love once, but for it to happen twice? The pain was unbearable but Rosalyne sealed her feelings up once again. Coldness and ruthlessness returned to mask her true feelings, for if she didn’t, she feared she might not be able to handle it.

Pantalone:

Pantalone wants you to see and do anything you want. You want to go to Liyue to attend the Lantern Rite? He’s clearing his schedule to come with you. You want some obscure item? He’s searching all the markets and buying it, no matter the cost. You picked up some hobby to pass the time? He’s indulging you with the most expensive and efficient equipment to help you with it. He wants you to have the most stress-free, easy, and happy life, so you can just focus on recovering and getting better. Every day, you’ll be visited by a new doctor, repeating the same old questions about how you feel, but Pantalone reassures you that they’re working on something for your health. He’s thankful that his position in the Fatui allows him to stay in Snezhnaya most of the time because he worries about you every minute of the day. The kind of guy who would have a status report on your health sent to his office every hour.

If you died, behind closed doors, his smile would immediately drop, now feeling like it was a heavy burden just to quirk his lips. He had access to the best doctors, medicines, and even bought ancient remedies long forgotten. Yet it was all fruitless. The Mora that he once loved to feel slip through his fingers sickened him. What was all the money he had worth? It couldn’t buy your life back.

Sandrone:

If you want her to, she could probably hook you up with some robotic/prosthetic limbs. But she’ll never want to make you a full robot. You’re not one of her experiments, you’re her lovely lover. At first, she was okay with you going on walks. Well, it wasn’t really a walk because a Ruin Guard just carried you in its hand. But she never did that again when the robot returned with you collapsed and unconscious. Needless to say, the project Sandrone was working on is immediately dropped and now she’s taking extra precautions. I feel as though she would hook up a camera to her caretaker robots so she can be updated on your conditions at all times. When you’re sick, Sandrone likes to make cute robot animals, (which is something she never dreamed of wasting time on before she met you) to bring you little things. Maybe photos of some scenery she took might brighten your day. Or little short but sweet notes. The one that always makes you laugh is when it brings you a clipboard to fill out your daily assessment.

If you died, it would feel like she herself turned into a robot. Wake up, experiment in her lab for an ungodly amount of hours, forget to eat and sleep. Rinse and repeat. Her life was constant now that you, the variable, were gone. Sandrone had a bed for you in her lab so you could watch her while she tinkered with some mechanical parts. It was mostly you talking while she fiddled but your voice bouncing off the walls was pleasant. But now it was silent, only the squeaking of wrenches and screwdrivers remained. She felt emptier than any puppet.

Childe:

He’s the kind of person who excitedly grips your hand and tells you about all the fun and lively activities you two will do together when your health improves. He wakes you up every morning, sunlight pouring into the room and the smell of breakfast cooking (and him in an apron.) Loves to serve you breakfast in bed, spoon-feeding you while the two of you plan what the day will be like. You want to just stay in and relax? Great, he’s got some of Teucer’s favorite story books to read together. You want to go for a stroll? He’s already got the route marked and the picnic basket ready. Childe would manage to carry you and like ten other bags at the same time just to impress you. Also, he is your personal hype man. Even when you’re terribly sick, he’s there to motivate you and sing your praises about how strong you are.

If you died, he would feel lost. The abyss snatched a piece of his heart away already, but he felt even more hollow now. You were the only thing that made Childe forget about being a weapon for the Tsaritsa for a while. When he was away on missions, he enjoyed reading your letters about how you were supposedly getting better. In the middle of a battlefield he would flip through photos of you and his heart would swell in anticipation for the future. But as Teucer and his siblings wail and cling to his legs, and it takes all of Ajax’s strength to not break down in front of them too. When he’s alone though, he silently sobs into your old clothes and bed sheets.

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colormepurplex2 · 1 month

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In Memory of Him | It's Cold In Here

↳ Florist!Taehyung x Artist!f.Reader ⤜ Non-Idol, Late Husband's Best Friend ⤜ Rating: MA 🔞 ⤜ WC: 13,558 ⚠️ Mild language, death/loss of a loved one, deep depression, high anxiety, loads of guilt, hidden feelings, realizations, hurt feelings, repressed feelings, hurt/comfort

Next Chapter⇾ (coming soon!) ◅ Back to story masterlist

With trembling fingers, you smooth out the letter that you found attached to a bundle of flowers on your doorstep.

To the love of my life, For after the funeral Take a deep breath, baby, I know it’s not easy. Even as I sit and write this, I can feel your energy in the next room. You’re always such a worrier, I’m sorry I’ve added to that. It’ll all be better soon, I promise. But, I know you and I know that you’ll pull away, you’ll cut yourself off…and we can’t have that, now can we? You have to keep going if we’re to stay connected even after I’m gone.

So, here’s the first of a collection of some things that you can hold and look back on when the storm starts to roll in. There are only so many words in existence to describe what you mean to me. So, instead of words, I want you to remember these feelings: Warmth - like the sun on your face while you read a great book Satisfaction - the way you sigh softly after a good, lazy day in bed Contentment - waking up with a smile on your face every morning Peace - that moment of quiet before the rain starts, when the scent of petrichor filters in These are all the things you’ve brought into my life the last seven years. I’ve never been able to look at the sun, sleeping, smiles, or storms the same. Never did I imagine I’d meet and marry such a beautiful, kind-hearted soul with a genuinely unique outlook on life. I never had to be reminded to smile because it just came so naturally whenever you were around. You have brought so much light into my world and gave me the best years of my life. You also gave me Sujin, the perfect little replica of myself even if you think he looks more like you than me (I secretly agree, but that’s not something I’ll admit outloud). When I look at our wonderful son, I’m reminded of the beauty that first drew me to you all those years ago. Being his father is the second greatest achievement of my life, the first being making you fall madly in love with me…don’t laugh, you know it’s true. Many people see things in black and white, a beginning and an end…but our life isn’t like that. We’re full of color and everything in between. You’ve supported me at my best and have loved me at my worst. Everything good in my life is because of you. I know you’ll always love me, and I know it won’t be easy once I’m gone, but I need you to promise me you’ll continue to wake up with that smile on your face and never forget how the sun feels or how beautiful the quiet before the storm is. I need my light, my girl, to keep going. Be that guiding light so I know exactly where you are in the world as I watch over you and Sujin. We knew forever wasn’t guaranteed, that’s just the way life is, right? This doesn’t mean it’s over, not by a long shot. You still have so much more to give, so much more love to offer. I know you’d never forget about me, that’s not what this letter is for—it’s not a reminder of me, it’s a reminder to live, love, and keep shining. There are more where this came from, Taehyung has them and knows what to do, but not until you’re ready for them. I love you so much, never stop living—for me, for Sujin…for you. Love forever, Your Yejun

The letter crumples in your fist, the bundle of hibiscus and lavender it was attached to forgotten on the step between your feet as you bury your face in the crook of your elbow and scream. It’s better that way—the symbolism of the hibiscus flower on a letter from Yejun is a punch to the gut when he’s no longer here. Eternity? Bullshit. The sound is muffled into the thick wool of your coat but no less filled with agony. As if the day wasn’t hard enough, everything went belly-up when you found the flowers and the letter on your door step. You choke on a breath of air as you try to control yourself.

“Yejun.” His name drips from your trembling lips, absorbed into your jacket sleeve like your cries. “I miss you so much. Why did you have to leave us?”

A hand on your shoulder makes you flinch, jerking away from the potential comfort, despite it being exactly what you need right now. You crowd against the wall, knees knocking into one another as you huddle in on yourself where you’re sitting in the stairwell outside your apartment door.

“Hey, hey, hey, come here,” a strong, soothing voice coos. Your limbs protest weakly for a moment, your heart raging with guilt at the prospect of finding solace in another man’s arms—even if that man is Taehyung, your now late husband's best friend—but the desperate need for someone to hold your pieces together wins out. You fear if you let yourself truly break, you’ll never be able to be made whole again. You frantically launch into those open arms, keening a wail into the solid chest between them. “Shh, it’s okay. I’ve got you.”

💔💔💔

Two years later

“Mommy, are we going to Uncle Tae’s house today?” Sujin asks from behind you, where he’s strapped into his booster seat.

You glance in the rearview mirror, angling yourself so you catch a glimpse of his smile as he stares out the window, patiently awaiting your answer. It’s gotten easier over the last two years to look at him without growing weepy. He looks like and reminds you so much of Yejun. They have the same chestnut-colored eyes and floppy midnight tresses. When he smiles, the tiny dimple on his left cheek is a near mirror to his father’s and something that your eyes seek out every time he flashes you a grin. Little pieces of his father that fill the gaps in your heart.

“Did you not want to stay at Grandma’s tonight? That’s what you said you wanted yesterday,” you remind him.

Sujin hums like he’s thinking hard about your question. “Well, I did want to go to Grandma’s, but I also want to see Uncle Tae, and plus, he always has good ice cream. All Grandma has is boring vanilla.”

“How about we see if Uncle Tae wants to hang out this weekend? I think Grandma would be sad if you decided not to stay with her tonight.”

In truth, you’d also be a bit disappointed if Sujin changed his mind. Being only four when his father passed, he doesn’t remember Yejun much, mostly knows him from photos and stories he’s heard. So, it’s not surprising he’s not able to put together that today is the second anniversary of his father’s passing. He doesn’t know that tonight isn’t just about your mom getting a visit. It’s also about you having an evening to grieve without being under your son's watchful and inquisitive eye.

Though maybe you’re wrong, perhaps he knows more than you think as he responds softly, “It’s okay, Mommy, I’ll stay with Grandma so you can go visit Daddy.”

If it wasn’t for tightening your grip on the steering wheel, you might have driven right off the highway. “You know what today is?” you ask hesitantly once your initial shock passes.

“Of course I do,” Sujin says with another smile, his dimple catching in the afternoon sunlight coming in through the car window. “I might not remember him, but I could never forget him.” It’s a wonder there aren’t more six-year-old poets, as what he just said is easily the most eloquent thing ever uttered by a child. Your heart swells, and you feel that telltale burn in the back of your nose and behind your eyes as you blink away the flood of emotions threatening to spill into the open.

You nod, taking a deep breath. “That’s right. He’d be so proud of you and how much you’ve grown.”

“He’d be proud of you, too, Mommy.”

It’s another blow, directly targeting the cracks already forming in your armor. Fissures zip and snap over the surface of the wall you’ve spent the last two years building. “Thank you, buddy. I love you,” you manage to get past the lump in your throat.

The rest of the car ride home is spent with Sujin telling you about his day at school and how one of his classmates snuck a salamander into the classroom after recess. You hum, haw, and laugh as he recounts the way the class reacted to the discovery of the amphibian.

It makes you feel lighter, listening to his words and hearing the clear whimsy his heart possesses as the salamander suddenly becomes a dragon and Sujin, the fearless knight that saved the teacher—the damsel in distress—by scooping it up and putting it in an empty lunch box.

“She said since I was so brave and such a good helper that I could go outside with Mr. Kim, the science teacher, and help him release it back into the wild,” he proudly proclaims. “Did you know salamanders like water? Mr. Kim said they’re kind of like frogs even though they look more like lizards.” Sujin continues on, spouting off facts he learned about the salamander from his science teacher.

It’s a short drive from the school to your apartment. You’ve often thought about moving, using some of the life insurance money from Yejun to buy you and Sujin a lovely place outside the city. But, your mom lives just a floor up, and it’s been convenient having someone so close to look after Sujin when you need them, like tonight.

Having your mom close by, not just as a babysitter but also as an emotional support outlet, has been a blessing and far outweighs the other feelings—the seemingly endless void that now lingers in place of your late husband. With that, though, you can’t help looking at your small apartment as more like a preservation of memories. It was the first place you and Yejun moved into after getting married. It’s the place you both brought Sujin home to when he was born. It’s still filled with so many memories…you’re not sure you want to leave—at least, not yet.

The building has no elevator, just several winding flights of steps right up the middle. “Go on up to Grandma’s. I’ll stop by with dinner before I leave. Remember, homework first before you play.”

Sujin gives you a beaming smile and nods his head in understanding before vaulting up the stairs, his strong six-year-old legs carrying him far faster than your own. You watch him disappear up the stairs—the last flash of his face so reminiscent of Yejun racing up those very same steps the day you moved in—followed by the familiar sound of your mother’s voice drifting out over and down the stairwell as she welcomes him into her space—a safe space, away from the looming cloud of darkness over you.

Knowing he’s occupied and cared for, you allow your mask to slip just a little. The weight on your shoulders eases as you let the emotional fatigue roll in and replace your typically calm and collected demeanor. Even after two years, it’s not gotten any easier when this particular day comes. The holidays are hard, sure. There are plenty of days where you find yourself feeling like it’s too much…but nothing truly compares to this day. It’s not filled with happy memories the way those other days are. It’s nothing but darkness. There is a constant ache in your chest, which is amplified when the calendar turns over, and you find yourself once again reliving that fateful day all over again.

You spent nearly every waking hour sitting beside Yejun, the uncomfortable, stiff hospital chair becoming your permanent perch. The ventilator was always loud, but the punching swoosh grew to be comforting because you knew that meant he was still there. All the lines and tubes hooked up to him made it look like a scene from one of those sci-fi films he enjoyed making you watch with him. Yejun was so full of life when you first met, many years before. But, the image stuck in your mind—the one you can’t seem to get rid of—is of him with sallow cheeks and pale, greyish lips, drained of life.

It’s weird to think of watching someone die. But that’s precisely what you did over the six months Yejun was in the hospital. The disease moved quickly, the cancer stealing your husband away bit by bit, and you were powerless to stop it. That’s probably one of the worst parts, the helpless feeling that no matter what you do, you can’t prevent it from happening. No amount of prayer, begging, or screaming would change it. He’d still die, just the same. Day by day, the best parts of the man you loved vanished, and by the end—you feel guilty even thinking the thoughts, so you push them out of your head.

After unlocking the door, you step into the quiet space of your apartment. Your shoes join the ones discarded by the door before you drop your purse on the small console table against the wall and make your way across the living room to the hall leading to the bedrooms. Sujin’s room is the first door. You peek inside to see that he had made up his bed before school this morning. You make a mental note to grab one of his chocolate popsicles from the freezer before dropping off dinner tonight. He deserves a little treat for being such a good kid.

The small single bathroom sits between Sujin’s room and the larger of the two bedrooms, the one you shared with Yejun for almost five years. You haven’t changed any of the decor. Everything is the same as it always has been, right down to the pillow on Yejun’s side of the bed. It took months before you mustered the courage to wash the pillow case and cried the entire time you stripped the pillow and plopped it in the washer.

The pillow was small fish compared to the closet. Going through all of Yejun’s clothes nearly took you out. Thankfully, Taehyung was there to help. You weren’t the only one that lost someone two years ago today. Taehyung and Yejun grew up together and worked together for the last dozen years, starting out as teens together at Taehyung’s parents' florist shop. They are—were—as close as brothers, and not just for the fact that Taehyung’s parents took Yejun in when his parents both passed, but because of their unbreakable bond—a bond nearly as strong as the one you had with Yejun.

Taehyung has been there for you whenever you’ve needed him since Yejun’s passing. All it takes is a phone call or a text message, and he drops everything for you. You try not to take advantage of it because you don’t want him sucked into your empty void any more than he already is. No grown man should be attached to a woman like that, especially when he has no obligation for it.

But, you must admit, it’s nice knowing he’s there…especially today. This is the one day of the year that you know you don’t have to text or call Taehyung for him to show up. His one promise to you. He’ll be there, waiting for you at the cemetery, just like he was last year.

You pull off your oversized t-shirt and worn jeans covered in splotches of paint from your time in the studio today. Once a well-known local artist, you haven’t been able to create anything worthwhile since Yejun passed. He would always joke about being your one true muse. It seems he wasn’t wrong. Everything you’ve been able to create in the last two years feels wrong, like it’s missing something.

The life insurance you received from Yejun has been more than enough to keep you and Sujin afloat. However, you feel like a failure having even to touch that money, even if it’s just to pay the bills. If you could just get your life together, you’d be able to provide for yourself and Sujin the way you once did—before everything happened. Shoving that line of thinking away, you focus on the here and now, just getting through the next handful of hours.

A quick shower later, and you’re dressed in a warm sweater and a clean pair of jeans with thick wool socks. It’s cold, winter having well and truly taken hold outside, but when the sun goes down, the bite from the wind grows more bitter. Grabbing the large, lidded bowl of beef stew you had cooking in the slow cooker all day. You wrap it in a dish towel to keep from burning your hands on the hot sides, snag a popsicle for Sujin, and make the short trip upstairs to your mom’s place.

“Hey, sweetheart,” your mom greets you when she opens the door. She’s gotten a lot more grey in her hair in the last year or so. The steel-colored strands stand out against her temples, framing her strong but still soft face. You used to think she looked too austere, but then you realized that was just the permanent mark of motherhood and time.

“Hi, Mom. Did Sujin get his homework done?” You follow your mom in, shutting and locking the door behind you as she ambles into the kitchen on the other side of the living room. Her apartment is a near mirror of your own, her second bedroom set up for Sujin as well.

“He finished a bit ago and wanted to break out the paints. Was nattering on about some sort of lizard, I think. He wanted to try to paint it,” she explains, putting the tea kettle on without needing to ask. Peppermint tea with a dollop of honey can fix even the worst of woes in her eyes. She’ll insist you have some just as she has any other time she can feel your darkness crowding in. You’ve grown to appreciate your mother's intuition, both for yourself and your son's sake.

“There was an incident involving a student bringing in a salamander at school, it seems. Sujin helped the teacher and was allowed to go out with Namjoon—Mr. Kim—to release it.” You recall the conversation in the car, your mother chuckling softly when you tell her about the salamander turning into a dragon.

She busies herself, packing the tea steeper with her own blend of mint tea. Tending the small garden of herbs and spices that she keeps on the fire escape off the living room, is how she spends most of her days since she retired a few years ago. Even in winter, she keeps a small plastic greenhouse over them, opening it just enough to care for them each day. “So, you’re on a first-name basis with that science teacher now?” she asks. You can tell she’s lightly probing, trying to figure out if there is anything more between you and ‘Mr. Kim’.

“I met him at the beginning of the year when we had parent-teacher meetings. He insisted I call him Namjoon, that’s all, Mom.”

Humming, she grabs the kettle just before it begins to whistle. “Still, he’s nice?” she asks, casting you a glance over her shoulder.

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, wishing she’d not try to go down this path of questioning. You know she means well, but you’re just…you’re not ready to think about those things.

“He’s nice enough, Mom, I guess. It was just a slip of the tongue. I’m used to greeting him at drop-off in the mornings. It’s not—I don’t, it’s just being cordial, y’know? I’m not ready…” you trail off, hoping your mom picks up on what you’re trying to say so you don’t actually have to say it; not today.

Her free hand goes to her mouth, covering her frown. “Oh, sweetheart, I didn’t mean—you know I’d never, not like that. I’m sorry. Forgive an old fool for her loose words.”

“It’s okay, Mom, really,” you offer with a tight smile as you set the stew on the counter and pop the popsicle you brought for Sujin in the freezer.

She sets down the tea, the cup slightly trembling on the tiny saucer she serves it on. “I made some pajeon to go with the stew. It’s warming in the oven. Are you going to stay for dinner?” she asks, seeing that you need to move on from the previous subject.

You settle on one of the chairs at her small dining table, pick up the tiny teacup, and blow across the surface before taking a tentative sip. The mint is a cooling contrast to the heat of the liquid, coating your throat with a soothing sensation. The blooming sweetness of the honey lingers on your tongue, helping combat the intense punch of the minty flavor. It’s comforting. Reminds you of home.

“I’m not all that hungry. You and Sujin enjoy it. You’re sure you’re okay taking him to school tomorrow?” She gives you a fond smile and nods. “I’ll pick him up on my way home and we’ll come have dinner.”

“That’s fine, sweetheart.”

You finish off the tea, suppressing a grimace as it goes down a little too warm and nearly scalds your throat. The sun will be completely down soon, and you’d like to get to the cemetery before it’s too dark out. “I should get going. Just going to say hi to him real quick.”

Your mom watches you stand. Her eyes are hyper-focused on your face. “Okay, sweetheart,” she says slowly. It’s clear she wants to say more, but you’re glad she doesn’t push.

The room your mom has set up for Sujin has a small bed pushed into one corner, leaving the rest of the space for him to play—unlike his room at your place, which has a writing desk and dresser taking up the majority of the play space. He’s never complained, though, choosing to get creative with the small room he does have. “Hey, buddy, Grandma said you’re painting. Can I see?”

You lean on the door jamb, peering into the room. The easel Sujin is using is angled away from the door. All you can see is smears of bright color peeking around the edge of the canvas.

His bright eyes meet yours as he grins extra wide. “It’s not done yet, but of course you can see it.”

Stepping in and around the easel frame, you take in the canvas covered in paint. When your mom said he was going to paint the salamander, you knew there was a possibility of said ‘lizard’ being portrayed as a dragon as it was in Sujin’s story in the car. But what you didn’t expect were the characters surrounding the dragon. You count them, six in total. The brunette woman at the top of the castle tower is clearly Sujin’s teacher, Mrs. Min. Sujin himself is astride the dragon, and who you think is Namjoon stands in a corner near some trees, his large-frame glasses are what lead you to believe that’s who it is. The other three characters are where you’re a bit lost.

“Who are these people?” you ask, gesturing to the other feminine figure framed by two men; one with unruly black hair and the other with small angel wings extending from his shoulders. It dawns on you the moment you ask.

“That’s you, Daddy, and Uncle Tae, of course,” Sujin proudly states. “You were in the tower with Mrs. Min. I’m rescuing her, and Uncle Tae is rescuing you while Daddy guides him.”

You’re not sure what to say. But you can’t help looking at your son in a different light. He’s only six, but in moments like this, you feel like his soul is older and wiser than yours. “It’s lovely,” you finally say, because it truly is, and everything else you could say would definitely start the waterworks, and there will be enough of that later. “I’ll be back tomorrow to get you. Be good for Grandma. There’s a treat for you in the freezer, but only after dinner, okay?” You feel like you’re running away—and maybe you are, but the darkness creeps in just a little bit further the more you look at his painting.

“Yes, ma’am,” Sujin beams at you sweetly. He lifts his chin, angling a cheek in your direction for a kiss. You plant one there, throwing an arm around his back for a quick squeeze, too. “Love you, Mommy.”

“Love you, too, buddy,” you murmur, shoving down the suffocating feeling bubbling in your chest—just need to make it a few more hours.

💔💔💔

The cemetery is about an hour's drive from your place in the city. Yejun grew up in the countryside, and the columbarium where he’s interred is at the cemetery closest to his and Taehyung’s childhood home. It’s a quiet drive, a typical Tuesday evening if it were any other week. You don’t even bother with music, haven’t in the last two years, preferring to just soak in the quiet and try to center yourself.

As you pull into the parking area outside the gate to the grounds, you spot Taehyung’s black SUV. He’s standing beside it, leaning against the driver's side door with his chin tipped down below the line of the thick scarf wrapped around his neck. Your headlights swing across his vehicle, illuminating him in the process as you park.

You take your time climbing out of your car, casting fleeting glances in his direction while you gather your courage and resolve. He’s wearing a thick grey-colored tweed coat that covers him to the knees, and khaki slacks lead down to shiny brown loafers. His hair is windswept, the fluffy waves moving across his forehead with every gust of chilly air.

“Hey,” you say as you swing open your door and step out. He catches your eye over the roof of your car and gives you a soft smile.

“Good evening. Drive okay?”

You nod. “Not too much traffic, which is always nice.”

“You should have let me come and pick you up.” It’s the same thing he said last year, to which you decline politely just the same as well.

“Thanks, but I enjoy the drive. Gives me time to think.”

His eyes flick over you, taking you in from head to toe. There is understanding clear on his face. “Shall we?” He gestures toward the entrance gate. You notice a small bundle of flowers held in his other hand that’s hanging by his side. “Oh, this is for you.” It surprises you when Taehyung offers you the flowers, having thought he was bringing them to leave in Yejun’s vase.

You take the offered cluster, automatically bringing it to your nose and giving it a delicate sniff. It’s hard to smell the fragrance in the cold, but as you peer down at the flowers and take in the deep purple and soft pink, the scent of lavender and hibiscus filters through as if on a memory. It’s a combination that reminds you painfully of Yejun, as this was always his go-to whenever he would bring you home flowers from the shop after work.

“Thank y—“ your polite words cut off as you hear the distinct crackle of paper as you shift the bundle of flowers between your hands. “What’s this?” you ask, holding the flowers up until you see the small envelope attached to the hemp string holding the bunch together.

“A note,” Taehyung responds slowly as if he’s trying to decide if that’s all he’ll say. “Perhaps wait until we’re settled to read it?”

You finger the crisp fold of parchment, wondering. “Okay, yeah,” you agree, chalking it up to most likely being a grievance note from Taehyung, and it might be awkward for you to read it right now in front of him.

The cemetery typically closes at sundown, but Taehyung has access as the gardener. When he and Yejun took over Taehyung’s parents' floral shop, they expanded the business to include landscaping for local companies and establishments. The cemetery is one such establishment they took on. He produces a key from his pocket, unlocking the small pedestrian gate that must have been locked up not too long ago, judging by the sun barely having dipped below the horizon.

“Moojin left about ten minutes before you pulled up,” Taehyung explains casually, confirming the thought you just had. “It’ll just be us, so we can take as much time as we need.”

Maybe you should feel bad that Taehyung gives you preferential treatment and access to the cemetery after hours, but it’s hard to care about that when other, darker feelings have you clutched so tightly. The walk to the columbarium is relatively short, being one of the newer buildings erected within the grounds just some twenty years ago or so.

“The trees are doing well, even in the winter,” you note, nodding toward the row of young pines along the fence line. It was one of the last projects Yejun worked on with Taehyung before he became ill.

“He’d be able to tell you all the properties of the tree that make it sustainable during this time of the year,” Taehyung responds, his voice carrying notes of sadness. Yejun doesn’t come up much in conversation between the two of you, most things not needing to be said, merely understood without a spoken word. So, it’s surprising and endearing to actually hear Taehyung talk about him, especially now.

You smile, knowing he’s right. “With enough scientific jargon to make you go cross-eyed trying to keep up, too.”

That earns you a soft laugh from Taehyung. “And he wouldn’t even realize it until you’re so lost you can’t even pretend to have understood.”

“I miss that,” you whisper with a sigh, your warm breath misting lightly in the cold.

Taehyung slips his arm through yours, hooking his elbow around the crook of your arm. “Me, too.”

💔💔💔

Taehyung

It’s never easy, watching the way you suffer through your emotions. Taehyung knows you try to hide them, and sometimes you’re successful. But others…like right now, he can read you as clear as a bright spring sky. Only instead of pastel blues, pinks, and yellows, you’re a stark monochrome of Pantone grey. Just as clear, but decidedly less alive. He hates it. Knowing just how vibrant of a person you once were. When Yejun left your life, so, too, did the color, it seems. Leeched away with the slow death of your husband. It’s a cruel fate, Taehyung has decided, and it’s one you never deserved. Yejun also knew this. He saw this in the way you mourned at his bedside, even before he was gone. It’s why Yejun made Taehyung promise to take care of you, to never let you forget how to smile.

As more time passes, Taehyung isn’t sure whether or not he’s done a good job by Yejun’s request. Not when the dark circles around your eyes seem to get more permanent every time Taehyung sees you. It’s why he brought the letter—the next letter. He’s curious if you remember the first one, the one that came the day of Yejun’s funeral; the one that had you crawling into Taehyung’s arms for the first time, seeking the comfort you knew was there.

That’s happened a few times in the two years since Yejun now. Any time you begin to fray at the edges and unravel a bit too quickly, Taehyung’s been there, weaving you back together the best he can. It might not be pretty, but a patchwork quilt is better than shredded rags, he likes to think. He hopes, at least.

“Are you warm enough?” Taehyung asks, realizing your arm is trembling around his. The jacket you’re wearing is far too thin, meant more for warding off spring rain showers than winter chills. Your lips are formed into a thin, bloodless line as if you’re trying to keep your teeth from chattering, and your brow is pinched.

The lift of your shoulder is subtle, dismissive and nonchalant. “I’m okay.”

“No, you’re not. Here,” Taehyung insists, pulling you to a halt on the walking path. “Take this.” He shrugs out of his jacket, draping it over the thinner trench you’re wearing over your sweater. You instantly relax, a soft sigh misting the air in front of your mouth.

“Thank you. I forget how cold it gets out here at night,” you mumble, encouraging Taehyung to continue walking toward the entrance to the columbarium, where Yejun’s memorial awaits. “Are you sure you’ll be okay without it?” Your eyes are round and glassy when you look up at him, the moonlight overhead reflecting in their depths.

The thick sweater Taehyung has on paired with his wool scarf is enough to stave off the wintery bite, but what warms him the most is seeing your eyes flash with a brief flicker of life when you snuggle into the depths of his jacket, bringing the tweed collar up around your neck after he assures you he’s fine without it.

Your feet shuffle, your stride slowing as you approach the columbarium. Taehyung can feel your hesitancy. The air around you is suffocating and full of static, something Taehyung wants desperately to help dispel.

“Come on. Together.” Taehyung offers you his hand, splaying his fingers wide in invitation. You lick your lips, eyes flicking between Taehyung’s face and his offered hand. Finally, you sag a little and slip your fingers in between his.

Your hand is soft and delicate in his. Taehyung has always admired your ability as an artist, being able to take your hands and a simple tool like a paintbrush and create something profound and breathtaking. Some might argue that what Taehyung does is also a form of art, but he swears it’s nothing compared to the pure magic you create. He’s found himself under your spell more than once, entranced by your art.

Even the works you’ve created in the last two years, the things you keep hidden away in your studio, are still quite beautiful—if more haunted. Taehyung knows you’re not selling any art and you haven’t hosted a gallery night in almost three years now. The few times he’s been inside your studio since Yejun, you’ve indulged his curiosity and let him look at the things you’ve worked on.

Taehyung cherishes those private moments you allow him within your space. He uses them as a time to reflect on what life has brought to you and to him. You have a shared experience of losing someone, but it’s clear you’re both working through your pain differently. Your studio, once a bright and vibrant space filled with inspiration and captured moments of love, is now more of a tomb, silent and full of the whisper of death.

Taehyung eases open the door to the columbarium. The motion-activated lights within flicker on and fill the space with a soft yellow glow. It’s better than the typical fluorescent white lights they used to use. Taehyung thinks the bright, sterile lighting is far too reminiscent of a morgue or hospital, not exactly places people should be reminded of when coming to visit their dead loved ones. So, he suggested the change when he took over doing the gardening for the cemetery.

Yejun’s niche is towards the back of the space, near the bottom. You separate yourself from Taehyung, letting the bundle of flowers droop upside down in your hand as you step lightly across the floor. You look like a specter, gliding across holy ground in search of what’s keeping you tied to this plane of existence. In many ways, Taehyung thinks that’s precisely what is happening with you. You’re suspended in time, stuck in a limbo of heartache.

In the two years since Yejun, you haven’t been able to move on, even though that’s exactly what Yejun wanted you to do. Yejun never wanted you to mourn him for long. He told Taehyung there was far too much love for you to give, and you had a heart big enough to love someone else while still holding true to Yejun. What Yejun failed to realize, Taehyung thinks, is that without Yejun, you didn’t want to love again.

Taehyung holds back a few steps, giving you some time to have a private moment as you kneel down in front of Yejun’s niche. The placard covering the niche is engraved with his name, birth and death dates, and a small metal frame that holds a glass engraved likeness of Yejun. It pains Taehyung to see the smiling face and crinkled eyes behind his wireframed glasses. Yejun was his brother in all ways, except for being born to the same parents. That didn’t matter to them, though—still doesn’t matter to Taehyung. They love—loved—each other just as fiercely as if they had been.

“Yejun,” you whimper his name, pressing a hand to the placard, head hanging low. Taehyung watches your shoulders shake with silent sobs, and he can’t take it anymore. He moves across the space and kneels down beside you, ignoring the cold that instantly leeches through the knees of his trousers. Before he can think better of it, he has his arms around you, trying to hold you together…trying to keep your seams from unraveling too fast.

Taehyung coos softly, murmuring as many words of encouragement and solace as can work past his quivering lips, “Shh, it’s okay. I’m here. It’s going to be okay. I promise. He loved you so fiercely. I miss him, too. I’m here for you. Shh, it’s going to be okay.” Over and over again, Taehyung repeats it like a mantra until your sniffles subside, and you slump into his arms, feebly returning his embrace.

Feeling your arms around him is a comfort, one that helps him keep his own tears in check. “Thank you for being here,” you sniff before burying your face in his scarf and inhaling deeply.

“I’m always going to be here for you,” Taehyung offers, smoothing a hand over your hair in what he hopes is a soothing fashion. He watched Yejun console you enough times to have a good idea of what might help. After Sujin was born, you battled postpartum depression for a while, and Taehyung helped wherever he could, giving him those brief glimpses into your emotional turmoil. Yejun always petted your hair and let you ground yourself in his embrace. He never even had to say a word; just let you draw on his strength. So, Taehyung has always tried to emulate that for you whenever you’ve needed him.

You sigh, and Taehyung reluctantly lets you pull away to sit back on your heels. “I’m such a mess. I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” Taehyung says, capturing the side of your face in one of his hands. You sway on your knees; big, round, red-rimmed eyes locked onto his. “Never apologize to me. You’re human, not a mess. Okay?”

“Okay,” you whisper, lips barely moving. You slowly turn, sitting with your back against Yejun’s niche.

“Okay,” Taehyung repeats, and settles in beside you. He barely notices the cold this time as it seeps through the seat of his pants. There are far too many fierce emotions rolling through him to be bothered by the chill.

“Is it okay if I read this now?” you ask after several moments of shared silence.

Taehyung looks over at you, fingering the small envelope attached to the bundle of fresh flowers he brought. He swallows past the thick knot in his throat, worried about you reading it but knowing you need to. Perhaps it’ll be best read when he’s around and not in the solitude of your apartment where you could fall apart without someone there to catch you; Taehyung knows Sujin is staying at your mother’s tonight.

He clears his throat. “Uh, sure, yeah.”

“They really are beautiful,” you say, voice so soft it barely carries to Taehyung. You admire the flowers for a moment, and the anxiety Taehyung had earlier in the shop when he was wrapping them goes away. He was worried that he got the flowers wrong. He knew Yejun always brought you fresh flowers, different types for different occasions. Yejun was all about the spiritual and emotional meaning of flowers, something that Taehyung hardly paid any mind to until after.

Finally, you tug the end of the string that attaches the envelope to the flowers, and you set them to the side. The flap is tucked into the envelope, so you slide it out and remove the tri-folded parchment from within. It looks the same as it did the day Yejun gave it to Taehyung a few weeks before he died. It’s the same as all the other letters waiting in a box under Taehyung’s bed—waiting for the right moment, waiting for you.

“If you need a moment—” Taehyung begins to say, but you hold up a hand to silence him. Slowly, you unfold the paper and smooth it over your thighs. Your eyes flick over the paper, snatching on random words until they hit the name signed at the bottom.

“What is this?” you whisper, yet your voice cuts like steel. “Is this a cruel joke?” You hold the paper up for Taehyung to see. At the top, it reads ‘For if you haven’t moved on’. Taehyung can understand why you might think so.

“N-no. It’s…there’s…” Taehyung pauses and takes a deep breath before trying again. “It’s not a joke. It’s from Yejun.” The look of hurt that ghosts across your face brings a prickling heat behind Taehyung's eyes, and he has to blink them several times to hold his emotions at bay as he explains. “The letter I gave you after the funeral?” He waits until you give him a subtle nod. “This is another he gave me…along with many others.”

“Many others?” you ask, incredulity seeping into your tone.

“He wanted to leave you something, something more than just your memories and heartache. So, he spent a few weeks, before he got bad, writing letters to you. He gave them to me and made me promise I’d give them to you when the time was right. This one—” Taehyung nods toward the letter held between your fingers “—was one I wasn’t sure if I’d have to give you or not. It was one Yejun specifically said to only give you if…well, if you hadn’t started living life again.”

“Hadn’t started living life again?” You balk at that, rearing back from him with an angry look pinching your face.

Taehyung feels like he’s botching this, not explaining it properly to you or something. “Just, just please read it.” Taehyung has no idea what the letter says. He never wanted to invade Yejun’s and your privacy. He’s hoping, though, that maybe the letter might hold some key information to help you understand…to help ease your anger in a way that Taehyung’s words can’t seem to.

You stare at Taehyung for a moment, and he’s certain you’re about to spit in his face and leave him sitting here alone. But, you finally shake your head and sigh, settling back into place and focusing on the paper. Taehyung is sorely tempted to try and read over your shoulder, but he doesn’t want to further your ire. So, he slides a few inches away, opening up a wide, cold gap between the two of you…and waits.

💔💔💔

To the love of my life, For if you haven’t moved on Hi, baby. I hope this is a letter Tae never has to give you, but if you’re reading this, then that means we’re not doing so well. I say ‘we’, because I’m still there with you. Just like I promised in my other letter. I told Tae to use his discretion on whether to ever give you this or not. He knows you nearly as well as I do, so I trust him. So, if you ever read this, know he doesn’t mean any harm by it…I don’t mean any harm by it. But, baby, you gotta start living again. At this point, I don’t know how much time will have passed since I had to go away, but I do know you can’t let much more time pass. I need you to live, my love. Live for me, live for Sujin…live for yourself. No more standing by while the world continues to spin, you have to spin with it, baby, let it carry you away, and on to better days. Please. Find something that makes you laugh, find something that makes you smile…even if it’s a someone. I know you’ll always love me. There is no doubt about that. But, don’t let that love stop you from living. Let someone in, let someone help…love again, for me. Show the world that it can’t tear you down. Go on a date, go skydiving, go to one of those fancy art galleries in Italy you used to fantasize about…just go, baby. Go and do, and be free. Don’t be afraid…please, don’t be afraid to live. Love forever, Your Yejun

The memory of the other letter, albeit a bit fuzzy, drifts through your mind as you sit and try to come to terms with how you feel at this moment. You absently trace the neat scrawl of Yejun’s handwriting covering the page. Don’t be afraid. Are you afraid? Is that it? You’ve never thought of it like that, in terms of being afraid to live. But, if you think about it, you suppose that’s the root of it. You are afraid. Afraid of moving on. What if you do find happiness? What if you do find someone else? Yejun is clear that he’s confident you’ll never forget him, but what if you do?

You don’t want to be sitting somewhere thirty years from now, with your head thrown back, laughing at the joke from some other guy, with Yejun having not crossed your mind in years. It’s not that you don’t want to be happy. You just…you don’t know.

Taehyung is sitting so quietly beside you that if you closed your eyes, you’d think you were alone. Guilt pricks against your heart at how badly you first reacted, the harsh tone and words you lashed at Taehyung where he didn’t deserve it. You clear your throat, drawing the flicker of Taehyung’s eyes in your direction.

“I’m sorry, Tae. I really am. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.” The words are thick on your tongue as you work through the emotions threatening to obliterate your existence. You think you might cry, but give yourself an imaginary pat on the back when you manage to maintain eye contact with Taehyung while successfully blinking back the tears.

Taehyung is quiet for a moment, a muscle in his jaw working, flexing the dark stubble you can see shadowing along his jawline. It’s in this moment that you feel like you see Taehyung in a new light, with added clarity. He looks haggard, tired. You didn’t notice it before, the sunken circles around his eyes or the lack of a clean shave…until now. It’s not fair, you realize, that he has taken care of you so much the last two years when you haven’t even so much as bothered to check on how he is doing.

You’re just about to break the silence with another feeble apology when he smiles, it’s faint, but it’s there. “You don’t need to apologize to me. Yejun and I might have shared a different kind of bond than what you two had, but I have at least an inkling of the keen sting you’re feeling, the one that never quite goes away no matter what you do.” He brings a hand up and presses it to the center of his chest. “The one that slices a little deeper after the sun goes down and everyone else has gone about their lives.”

Chilled goosebumps pop up along your arms, despite the warmth from the added layer of Taehyung’s jacket. That is exactly what it feels like, a lingering sting that won’t go away, one that grows when you’re alone.

You lick your trembling lips, tearing your gaze away from his and focusing back on the letter clutched in your hand. “Yejun,” you whisper. “He—he wants…he wants me to move on.” A soft sob catches in your throat. “But, I can’t do that. How can I do that?”

Your shoulders heave as the emotions you were able to hold at bay before come crashing through the walls you managed to put up. It’s not like the weeping from earlier. That was simply the quiet cries of a mourning wife. This is bone-deep, soul-rending agony that shakes your entire body.

Taehyung pulls you into his arms, and you press your face into the cushioning of his scarf and scream. The sound is muffled, but you can still hear it echoing through the columbarium when all the air finally empties from your lungs. You try to replenish the air, sucking in stilted breaths, but it’s not enough. Panic ensues, your heart launching into a heavy, staccato rhythm as if trying to pound right out of your chest.

“Hey, hey,” Taehyung soothes. “Slow down. Try to breathe slowly.” He pulls you firmly into his lap. You’re heedless to the intimate position your body falls into with your knees on either side of his hips. All you care about is getting air into your lungs. Taehyung holds you by the face, angling yours so you look up into his worried eyes. “Come on, slow. In…out…like that, come on, another one. In and then out.” He breathes with you, exaggerating the way he inhales air through his nose and pushes it back out through his mouth.

His warm breath puffs across your face with each exhale, carrying with it the faintest sharp tinge of mint and the earthy tones of tea. Something that instantly makes you think of home. It helps bring you back to reality, slowing your rampaging heart, and subsiding your shuddering cries.

“I can’t do it,” you mumble.

“You can. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.”

“No, no. You don’t—I can’t. It’s…it’s cold in here,” you whisper, pressing a trembling hand over your heart. “No one wants that.”

A soft, sad smile forms on Taehyung’s face as he continues to stare down at you. “Good thing that I know a thing or two about keeping things warm.” He drops his hands from your face and grabs the lapels of his jacket that’s still draped over your shoulders and gives it a tug, pulling it tighter around you. You can’t help but smile, even if it’s a watery one.

“What would I do without you?” you ask, not expecting Taehyung to answer.

“You’d make it.” He sounds so sure. “I know you would, you’d do it. But, I am glad to be here, to help however I can.”

Taehyung doesn’t urge you off of his lap, just allows you to rest there with your cheek pressed over his softly beating heart, finding whatever comfort you can from the proximity of another source of warmth. His words linger there, filling the space between you with a comfortability that you know you’ll never find anywhere else. You don’t say anything else, as there isn’t much else to say. At least, not words you think you could say out loud. Not here, not now.

But, an hour later, as you’re driving home, you decide to try. So, you do something you haven’t done in a while and turn on the radio, letting the music fill the silence from before. It’s a small step, but a step nonetheless; the first of—you hope—many.

The next morning, with the light of a new day spilling through the gap between your bedroom curtains, you decide you feel…good. As you lay in bed last night, full of revelations about how you’re going to start making steps toward Yejun’s desire for you to be happy again, worry began to set in. Worry over whether or not you can do this. Now, though, you feel decidedly different—light, in a way—as you push back the blankets and climb out of bed.

With your mom having taken Sujin to school this morning, it afforded you some time to sleep in, which is something you haven’t done in years. You weren’t sure you were going to, considering how poorly you’ve been sleeping the last couple of years. It feels nice, stretching your arms over your head and not feeling as groggy for once.

There is one thing you want to do before heading to the studio, where you know you’ll probably just piddle around until it’s time to pick up Sujin, but it’s just baby steps for now. It’s not lost on you that your work, the art you create, no matter if you manage to move on or not, might still be something that you’re never able to recover. Yejun wasn’t far off when he joked about being your one true muse, but you try to remain hopeful that you can surprise yourself.

The box in the back of the closet is exactly where you left it almost two years ago. It holds some of your most treasured possessions. Things you’ve held on to dating back as far as your teen years and as recent as two years ago. You kneel in the bottom of your closet and slide the box out from behind the stack of empty shoe boxes you can’t seem to toss out.

It’s a bit faded, the blue exterior, once a brilliant navy, is now more denim in color. You’ve had the box since you were a child, given to you by your father the summer before he split from your mom. That really hurt your family, when he cut himself out of the picture without so much as an apology; he ran off with another woman. It was so hard for you to believe in love after that.

Lifting the small silvered latch, you ease open the box lid and sigh as your eyes land on the folded paper nestled on top. Yejun’s first letter. It’s the last thing you put in this box. The paper still feels crisp in your fingers as you delicately pluck it out and unfold it. You worry at your bottom lip a moment before letting your eyes devour the same words you read once before.

This time, they don’t hurt nearly as much. You still feel that piercing ache, but it’s accompanied by another, fresher feeling—one of hope. What stands out the most, now, though, is the confirmation that there are other letters waiting for you. Yejun says as much himself in this letter, you just hadn’t ever put the dots together, too distracted in your grief.

There are endless possibilities for what those other letters might be for. But, what’s clear is that you won't get another one until you do something to deserve it. Knowing Yejun, you have a few ideas of what those things might be. There is a thrill but also a sense of trepidation as you think about that. You want to move on and be happy again, and in doing so, you know you’ll get the other letters, but there’s also that sense of overwhelming dread.

Where do you begin?

You spent most of your day rearranging and organizing supplies at the studio. But, now that the sun is beyond its zenith and casting longer shadows across your paint-marked studio floor, you feel like you’ve done nothing but waste time. You still haven’t decided where to begin with Yejun’s letters and you’re no closer to coming up with an idea for your next project either.

With frustration coloring your thoughts, you lock up and welcome the reprieve of going and picking Sujin up from school. That’s one part of your life that you do know up from down with.

As you pull through the pick up line, you don’t see Sujin anywhere out front. You spot Mrs. Min ushering a few students to their cars, her friendly face sporting a smile as she does so. Her eye catches yours and she holds up a hand, rushing over to your passenger side window.

“Hi!” she says when you roll it down. “So glad I caught you before you waited too long. Sujin volunteered to help Mr. Kim with his terrarium and it’s taking a bit longer than expected. He should be out in the next fifteen minutes or so, feel free to park in the teacher’s lot or you can wait here if you’d like.”

“Mrs. Min!” a rambunctious gaggle of students call her name, requesting her assistance.

She gives you an apologetic look. “Sorry, duty calls. He shouldn’t be too long!” she calls over her shoulder as she jogs towards the cluster of students beckoning her over. One of the kids has what appears to be a large diorama that they’re having a hard time carrying to their car, even with the assistance of their friends.

“Well, great,” you mumble to yourself, checking your rearview mirror and seeing a long line of cars waiting behind you.

Pulling ahead, you slip around the side of the school and pull into one of the empty teacher spots and cut the engine. You haven’t been inside the school since the parent-teacher meeting at the beginning of the year, so it wouldn’t hurt if you went inside now, it would give you a chance to peek into Sujin’s classrooms and see what he’s been up to. If it’s one thing he loves, it’s learning.

Mr. Kim and Mrs. Min have adjoining classrooms at the end of the hall for Sujin’s grade, a storage and supply closet connecting the two rooms. The door to Mrs. Min’s room is closed but the light is still on inside. You take a quick peek through the view window on the door and see colorful drawings and paper projects hanging on the wall, books scattered across a few tables, and a large container of art supplies opened on her desk. She teaches English, Reading, Art, and History while Namjoon covers Math and Science.

The gym teacher, Mr. Jeon, startles you as he breezes through the double doors at the end of the hall that lead out to the playground. “Oh, hey! Sujin, your mom is here!” he calls, stepping back and propping the door open with the heel of his sneaker.

“Mom!” you hear Sujin’s voice sound from through the open door. “You gotta come see this!”

Mr. Jeon holds the door open for you, his face lit with a pleasant smile. “A future scientist, I’d bet,” Mr. Jeon stage-whispers as you pass him and that makes your own smile blossom further.

“What’s going on, buddy?” you ask, taking in the scene before you.

Namjoon is crouched down beside Sujin, helping him sort through a collection of rocks spread out on a sheet of plastic. There are dozens of them, all various shapes and colors.

Sujin excitedly points out a few of the large rocks. “These would be perfect to create a hiding space!” he loudly proclaims before turning his bright eyes up to you. “Mr. Kim is letting me help him choose the rocks to go into the terrarium. We’re going to get our very own class salamander! Isn’t that cool, Mom? A class dragon!”

A soft chuckle comes from Namjoon as he pivots on his heels and squints up at you, the sun catching on the thick-framed glasses that are slipping down his nose. “We had so much fun yesterday talking about the salamander that was brought into Mrs. Min’s class that I couldn’t resist. I’ve had this old aquarium sitting in my garage for years, it just seems perfect.”

“Wow, yeah, that’s really cool.”

“Sorry for keeping him,” Namjoon suddenly stands, shoving his hands in his pockets and looking contrite. “I didn’t realize the bell had rung until Jungkook said something.” He turns to Sujin who is happily stacking a few of the smaller rocks into a pile. “I think that’s all for today, Sujin. We’ll finish it up tomorrow during class.”

Sujin frowns, his warm brown eyes flicking to Namjoon. “Okay,” he sighs.

“I tell you what, for all your hard work today, how about I let you be creative director during assembly tomorrow? Does that sound okay?”

The frown is quickly replaced with another excited smile. Sujin gives a whoop of delight and slaps his hands together before dusting them off. “Thank you, Mr. Kim, that sounds amazing!”

Seeing the interaction between Namjoon and Sujin gives you an idea, one that you hope you won’t regret. “Go grab your backpack, buddy, I’ll meet you outside Mrs. Min’s room in a second.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Sujin pulls open the door and scampers through, his sneakers squeaking on the tiled floor as he skips down the hall.

“Thank you for that, Namjoon, really. He was so excited about what happened yesterday and now this? He’s been wanting a turtle for a year now, so this will be a good test on whether or not we should get one.”

Namjoon pulls one of his hands out of his pocket and grips the back of his neck as he smiles shyly, his cheeks pinking slightly. “He’s a great kid, loves to learn. Though, turtles are a bit more needy than salamanders. It would also depend on the type of turtle. The standard box turtles are…” Namjoon trails off, his brow pinching as he throws furtive glances your way. “Sorry, you didn’t ask for a science lesson.”

That makes you laugh, which seems to ease the awkward tension in Namjoon. “Sujin isn’t the only one that likes learning.” You don’t intend the words to sound flirty, but they come out that way and you can distinctly tell that Namjoon keys into that.

“Yeah?” he asks, the shyness leeching away by the second.

“Um, yeah. Er, well, I should—” you jerk your thumb over your shoulder toward the door “—Sujin is probably waiting.”

“Oh, yeah, of course.” Namjoon sidesteps over the plastic sheet of rocks and fumbles with the door handle before yanking it open. “Have a good—”

“Are you free Friday night?” you blurt, wincing at the rudeness of interrupting him but knowing if you don’t ask now then you’ll lose your nerve.

“Friday?” he parrots back, eyes wide behind his glasses.

Panic slices through and you immediately want to take it back. “Sorry, that was—I didn’t, it’s not appropriate is it? I’m so sor—”

“I’m free,” he states, the words silencing your backpedaling.

“Oh.” Now that he’s confirmed, you’re not sure what else to say. It’s been so long since you’ve done this.

“Is there something you wanted to do?” Namjoon asks hesitantly, clearly picking up on your trepidation.

You swallow around the choking feeling in your throat, the one that’s ingrained with the idea that you’re still married and still madly in love with another man and this is akin to cheating. “Maybe dinner? Or a late coffee? Um, or…I’m sorry, it’s been so long since I’ve done this.”

Namjoon gives you an easy smile. “Dinner sounds great. Let’s say, seven?”

“Seven is good. How about that new pizza place that opened up near the park, do you know the one?”

“I’ve had my eye on that place for weeks! That sounds perfect.”

Are you really going on a date…with Sujin’s Science teacher? “Okay,” you say, chewing the inside of your cheek as you take a few steps down the hall. “Great.”

“Great,” Namjoon confirms with a smile, his deep dimples making an appearance. “See you then.”

All you can do is nod, not trusting yourself with any more words with the influx of emotions now swirling through you. Sujin bursts through Mrs. Min’s door, his backpack and lunchbox in tow.

“Let’s go!” he trumpets, thrusting his free hand into the air in a fist. “I’ve got some homework to do before I can work on my diagram for the terrarium!”

Namjoon’s soft chuckle carries to you from down the hall as you usher Sujin towards the exit. You can’t help casting one last glance behind you, taking in the way he’s lazily leaning against the doorframe of his classroom. He’s quite handsome, there’s no arguing that.

A giddy feeling adds itself to the uncertain emotions rolling through you. A fluttering in your tummy that you haven’t felt in over seven years. You can’t help but wonder, as you load Sujin into the car, if this is really what Yejun wants for you or are you making a mistake?

💔💔💔

Taehyung

It’s a weird sensation when you expect to feel one emotion but end up feeling another. That’s what Taehyung thinks anyway, as he reads the text message he received from you for the dozenth time. You have a date. With Namjoon.

Taehyung has never met the quirky Science teacher, but he’s heard plenty of stories about him from Sujin. Charming, educated, and completely and utterly perfect for you. And that should make Taehyung happy. Yet, all he can feel is mild annoyance when he thinks about Namjoon sitting across from you at a dinner table making you laugh and smile.

He wants to chalk it up to being overprotective in a brotherly sort of way, but Taehyung knows better. It’s no secret—well maybe it is to you—that Taehyung cares for you deeply. Even before Yejun, Taehyung always had a soft spot for his best friend’s wife. Something that he drunkenly confessed to Yejun once a few years ago. Yejun took it goodnaturedly, something that Taehyung still thinks about to this day, and simply told Taehyung he understood the attraction because hell, who could blame him?

They never talked about it again, until the day Yejun asked Taehyung to take care of you and Sujin—the day he was given a box of letters addressed to you. Yejun had given Taehyung a knowing smile and said something along the lines of fate knowing and that’s why Taehyung already had so much love for you.

He wasn’t sure, at first, if Yejun had ever shared Taehyung’s little secret with you. But, as time went on, it was clear that he hadn’t. That, or, so lost in your grief, you’ve been keenly uninterested in that prospect. But, now, you’re going on a date and Taehyung doesn’t know how to feel about it.

The twinge of jealousy in his chest doesn’t sit right with him. He has no right to feel this way. It’s just something that he can’t seem to shake, hasn’t been able to since you told him about it two days ago. So, instead of expressing that, he forces himself to try and share in your joy.

That’s great. Let me know when you’re home, I have something for you.

A letter perhaps??

Your eager reply makes him smile despite himself. If anything, that helps his mood to improve. The ‘first date’ letter is already sitting on his counter, waiting.

Perhaps. Now stop texting me and go have fun.

There is no reply to that. So, Taehyung waits patiently, phone in hand. Hours pass in a mindless, sluggish way. He’s far too wound up to do anything productive but also has nervous energy that needs to be released. So, Taehyung spends the four hours it takes for you to finally respond by squeaking out haphazard notes on the alto saxophone he’s taken to trying to learn to play.

His phone lights up where it sits on the coffee table and he nearly drops the instrument in his haste to snatch up the device.

I’m home.

That’s all it says and it makes Taehyung frown. Not that he expected you to tell him how the date went over text message, but he was anticipating something more than just those two words. He is startled to realize just how late it is, though, being past eleven already.

Is it too late? I can always just swing by tomorrow.

Sujin is staying with mom. It’s not too late.

Taehyung is contemplating his reply when another text from you pops up that makes him drop everything else and grab his car keys, not caring it’ll be close to midnight by the time he pulls up outside your apartment. It was a knee-jerk reaction to also grab the letter that was sitting beside his keys, but now he’s thinking about whether or not it’s a good idea.

Those thoughts quickly fade as he focuses on the road, intent on reaching your apartment in record time. His phone sits on the passenger seat, still open to your text thread, the single word might as well be an alarm blaring to Taehyung, urging him on faster.

Please.

💔💔💔

As soon as you send the last text message you want to take it back. Not only do you feel whiny, but you know Taehyung will drop everything and come over which makes you feel terrible and like you’re using him.

But, fuck. The date was so horrible all you want to do is crawl into familiar, comforting arms and cry yourself to sleep. You’re about to pour your third glass of wine when there is a sudden knock on the door, followed by it swinging open. Taehyung stands there with your spare key in his hand, eyes wide with concern.

“Are you okay?” he asks, breathless as he clearly sprinted up the stairs to get here and now you feel infinitely worse for it.

You shake your head which earns you a pained sound from Taehyung but you hold up your hand, silencing him. “I’m not shaking my head no as in no I’m not fine, it’s more a I’m such a fool head shake. I’m sorry, Tae. I’m fine. I shouldn’t have said anything, I just—”

“I’m glad you said something. What happened? Do I need to go pay a certain science teacher a visit?” For all his bravado, you know he wouldn’t hesitate if you said yes.

“No, no. It’s not his fault. Well, not entirely. Look, I’m sorry you drove all the way over here.” You discard the empty wine glass in favor of taking a large glug directly from the bottle.

“Hey, hey,” Taehyung says, deftly taking the bottle from your hands before you have the chance to take a second gulp from it. “Stop apologizing and tell me what’s wrong.”

“It was a fucking disaster.”

If Taehyung is surprised by your cussing, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he stills beside you, brow slowly pinching and forming deep furrows between them. “Did he hurt you?” he whispers, but his tone is cold and hard. “I’ll kill him.”

“What? What, oh no, Tae, no. He didn’t hurt me, god no.” You sigh, propping your hip against the lip of the counter and wrapping your arms around your middle. “He was lovely, actually. I was the disaster. Or maybe we were. I don’t know, it was just a terrible night. A terrible idea.”

“Talk to me about it,” Taehyung encourages, his hands landing lightly on your shoulders to steer you toward the couch in the living room.

So, you spend the next hour recounting all the horrid details for him. Everything from the way Namjoon wouldn’t stop talking about rocks and mineralized dirt to the way he tried to kiss you at the end of the night only for you to duck and him to lose his balance, effectively making him face plant into the brick wall of your apartment building.

“See, it was a terrible idea,” you lament, letting out a frustrated sigh.

Taehyung hums softly. “It doesn’t sound like a complete disaster to me. Namjoon was polite, even if he did nothing but talk about his own interests. Did you try changing the subject, or did he ask about you and you gave a dismissive answer?” You give Taehyung an annoyed look. “I’m just saying, you have the tendency to avoid things like that. So, it’s only meant as a means to try and understand. Maybe it can be better next time.”

“There won’t be a next time.” You throw up your hands in defeat. “He said he had a lovely time, but I could see it plain on his face, he was just trying to be nice. He left with a bloody napkin pressed against his mouth for crying out loud!”

“Well, maybe he really—”

“But, most of all,” you continue, speaking over Taehyung, “I didn’t have a good time. I don’t want to do it again. It didn’t make me happy.”

That seems to subdue Taehyung. “Oh,” he says, nodding slowly. “Well, okay, that’s different.”

“I’m broken, defective.”

Taehyung scoffs, giving you a withering look a moment before dragging you into his arms, squeezing you tightly. “You’re not defective. You’re human. All this proves is that maybe the science teacher isn’t the guy for you. Simply just a lack of…chemistry.”

You can’t help but laugh at his bad joke. “You’re terrible,” you say in a lighter tone, meant to tease more than chastise. “But, you’re right, I guess. I just…this was the first date I’ve been on in a long time and it all went so horribly. It’s hard not to think that I somehow messed up, that I’m just…not right, just broken, y’know?” Taehyung’s eyes are soft as you look up at him, trying hard not to let yourself grow too accustomed to the comforting feel of his arms around your shoulders.

“You are perfect, most certainly not broken,” he whispers. You watch from beneath your lashes as a small crease etches across his forehead and you can tell he’s warring with himself over something before he slowly presses a soft kiss against the side of your head. “You just have to give yourself grace. I’m proud of you.” As he says that last part, he gently pulls back, hands resting on your shoulders. His right hand trails down your arm and you feel the soft caress of paper against the back of your hand. “Yejun would be proud of you, too, taking as big of a step as you have, I just know it.”

The envelope is small, but you instantly recognize the shape and feel of the paper. It’s just like the one you got earlier this week—like the one from two years ago. “Should I wait to read it?” you ask, not really expecting an answer.

“I’ll leave if you’d like some privacy.”

And in that moment you realize that’s the last thing you want. “No, please stay. Umm, that is, unless you have something to do.” It’s after midnight, the sour twist of jealousy rears as you think of everything that could possibly take Taehyung away at this hour. You tamp it down, knowing you have no right to keep him here, regardless. “I’m okay, I promise.”

Taehyung’s lip twitches as you wait for him to answer. He shakes his head. “No, I have nothing else to do. I can’t promise I won’t end up crashing on your couch, though,” he says, stifling a yawn in his elbow before lacing his fingers behind his head and stretching out. “I’m here as long as you need me.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, grabbing a blanket from the back of the couch and spreading it out over Taehyung’s legs before curling up on the opposite end of the couch. Taehyung shifts around the blanket with his feet, making sure the other end covers your legs as well.

“Don’t have to thank me,” he sighs sleepily. “I just want to make you happy.”

You’re not sure if he misspoke, because surely he meant only that he wants to see you happy. Because, as it is, him saying he wants to make you happy…well, that does something funny to you. Though, you can probably blame that on the terrible date with Namjoon or the half a bottle of wine you drank. Either way, you can’t help but smile as you look at Taehyung laying on the other end of your couch, eyes closed, and chest rising and falling with deep, even breathing.

You take a moment, running back over the date with Namjoon in your head, fingers idly moving along the edge of the envelope. It started out so nicely, Namjoon standing outside your apartment with a bouquet of flowers. They made your nose itch and your eyes water a bit from how overly fragrant they were—clearly some mass grown clippings from a supermarket—but you smiled anyway, appreciating the gesture.

Dinner was lovely, the new restaurant proving to be worth the drive and money spent. It’s perhaps your own fault for thinking Namjoon might pay for the meal and it didn’t hurt you any to pay for your own, but it felt oddly…impersonal? Less like a date and more like a business meeting or something. You’re not too old to be naive in the sense that women are just as capable of paying for dinner as men, as well as the fact that men shouldn’t hold the complete burden of expense on dates. It’s just…it was unusual and he didn’t even bring it up, simply told the waiter to split the check before it was brought.

It’s not helped by the fact that Namjoon wouldn’t stop talking about work or soil deposits. And perhaps Taehyung was at least half right in the fact that you didn’t put forth a lot of effort to change the subject, but the way you see it, if Namjoon was interested in knowing about you, he would have asked. Though, is that expecting too much? Are you being too harsh? Maybe you’re projecting and Namjoon really wasn’t that bad.

Before you can continue to spiral any further, you force your thoughts to the letter in your hand. Hoping it’ll put your ill heart at ease, you extract the folded parchment and smooth it out.

To the love of my life, For after your first date Hi, baby. First, I want to say that I love you. Second, I hope he at least made you smile. If he didn’t bring you flowers or even those cheap ones from the supermarket, don’t think too much of it. I’ll let you in on a little guy secret, not all of us are well versed on flora and even less so on women. Even if it didn’t go so well, though I hope it did, you can’t give up. Go on another date, with the same person or someone else, you just can’t stop now. Take as many adventures as you can, do something spontaneous. You never did take that dance class you wanted to a few years ago. Paint, travel, explore the world. Take Sujin to places we never got to go. Just don’t stop, keep turning, even if it’s slowly. I’m so proud of you, you know? No matter what, I know you’re going to be okay. You’re going to make it. I can’t wait to see all you do. You’re going to be wonderful. You’re amazing, keep shining, baby. I love you so much. Forever With You, Your Yejun

Tucking the letter against your heart, you snuggle down in the couch, mind racing. You feel lighter somehow, like Yejun’s words have given you far more affirmation than you thought possible. The terrible date doesn’t seem so disastrous now.

“You okay?”

You startle at the soft question, thinking Taehyung was fast asleep. His eyes are barely cracked open, peering at you over his bent, blanket-covered knees.

“Mm, yeah. I think so,” you say after clearing your throat.

“Good…good,” Taehyung murmurs, his eyes falling shut once more.

“Hey, Tae?”

“Hmm?” His eyebrows raise but he doesn’t open his eyes. You take a moment to truly see him, the soft light from the stand lamp on the other side of the room illuminating him in profile. The soft curve of his cheek, the delicate slope of his nose, and the pouty bow of his lips aren’t new features, but you’re not sure you’ve ever truly paid attention to how breathtakingly handsome he is.

“Will you help me?”

Taehyung’s lips twitch as a mild frown turns down his lips. “Help you?”

“With whatever comes next.”

“Whatever you need, I’m yours,” he mumbles, a soft smile replacing his frown. You watch him for a moment longer, his lips going even softer as the smile fades with sleep. His chest rises and falls, your eyes tracking the motion in the dim lighting until you feel the pull of sleep yourself. Taehyung is the last thing you see before you close your eyes, and for the first time in over two years, you sleep peacefully; with a subtle warmth blooming in your chest where once there was only cold.

Next Chapter⇾ (coming soon!) ◅ Back to story masterlist

◅ Back to Main Master List ©️ 2024-03-18 ColorMePurplex2

#taehyung x reader #bts taehyung #taehyung smut #taehyung angst #taehyung fluff #taehyung fanfic #taehyung imagines #bts fanfic #bts smut #bts angst #bts fluff #kim taehyung #bts non idol au #bts imagines #bangtanwhq

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powerfultenderness · 9 months

Note

Hello there author! I know you're taking your time writing the chapter 2 but may we have Neighbor!König visiting y/n to her office, where könig drop off her things or she kinda forgot her lunch something. Thank you for the hard work you put into your fic! WE LOVE IT!

Ahh, i'm sorry! I guess I needed a little time off from writing, but I'm back! And thank you very much!

Lol idk what Reader does for a living, but it sounds nice! I hope you like it!

(Rated T+)

It wasn’t until an hour after your shift started that you realized you’d forgotten your lunch in König’s truck, and it was only because he texted you. You sighed and shot off a quick response, telling him not to worry about it. You can just walk across the street to one of the fast food joints and grab lunch there. You thought nothing more of it and got back to work.

And you would have continued to think nothing more of it until you saw more than one security guard making their way to the front. Odd. You glanced at the clock, it was still a few minutes before your lunch break, and thus a few minutes before you could be nosy and check out what was going on. Well, at least that's what you thought just before your desk phone rang.

“There’s a man here for you,” the receptionist sounded a bit anxious. “I’ve got security keeping him in the lobby, but he’s insisting that he see you.”

Oh! No!

“Let me guess, big guy, like, absurdly big. With a scary looking mask?”

“Yea. Should I call the police?”

“Oh please don’t! He’s…harmless.”

“Are you su-”

“I’ll be down in a sec!”

Ok, you weren’t entirely sure he was harmless. He had told you stories of his time fighting in war zone conflicts, and though he never said it outright, you’re pretty sure he has a kill count that’s higher than one. But in this particular scenario, just visiting your office, as long as no one tried to fight him, you’re almost certain he wouldn’t do anything. (The thought never crossed your mind that the only other situation in which he’d react violently is if you were threatened in any manner).

By the time you reached the lobby, there were three security guards standing a few feet from König. Two of them were very clearly nervous. They’re not at all in any kind of shape, one of them is on the elderly side and the other on the pudgy side. The one young man that is in any kind of fighting shape honestly looks so small compared to König.

“Oh, you can let him through, he’s with me!” You spoke up in a loud, clear, and forcibly cheerful voice.

You were glad for the time it took to get to the lobby, it’d given you just enough time to think of what to say to security. You weren’t entirely sure on where you stood in relation to König. What were you supposed to refer to him as? At this point he was more than just your neighbor. You could say he was your friend, but somehow that didn’t feel like enough either. Yet to call him your boyfriend or partner felt like a stretch. (He was just a really nice neighbor, who was also a good friend, who you maybe sometimes had a little bit of a crush on). So, for now, he was just “with you”.

König was used to having his orders followed. It had been years since he had been denied access to anything and these small men that pretended like they could stop him, all while shaking in their boots, were beginning to…annoy him. Just when he was about to push past them, he heard your voice declare that he was with you.

It was you who slipped past security as you lightly ran up to him. “König!” You smiled and, much to his surprise, pulled him into a quick hug.

Just like that he forgot about the way dealing with these civilians that worked with you had made his anxiety flare, how he wanted something to fight, to put his physical energy into. It all melted away as his world shrunk to just you. Your body flush against his for a single moment, the soft touch of your hands on his back. He was so tempted to lift his hood and bury his face into the crook of your neck, to inhale the intoxicating aroma that haunted his dreams. He almost whined when you pulled out of the hug, one of your hands moving to the bag that he was carrying.

"I thought I told you not to worry about it?"

Before he could stutter out some excuse, you turned around, to the little audience in the lobby, and he had the urge to pull you behind him, to shield you from their eyes. They didn't deserve to look upon you, and certainly didn't deserve your attention.

Perhaps you thought this too (not quite) since you turned back to him and motioned back to the entrance. "Let's go sit outside, it's nice out."

He would follow you anywhere, especially when you looped your arms around one of his like that. You led him to a side patio, where a couple of picnic tables and benches were set up under comfortable shade. There were already other people seated in the area, but one look at him and they returned to their business, better to ignore the frightful stranger than to antagonize him.

You chose a picnic table furthest away from others and took your bag that he had still been carrying and set it down. "Do you have to leave right away?"

“No.” He shook his head as you sat down on the bench facing outwards.

“Good, then, want to join me for lunch?”

He sat down next to you, glad that he didn’t have to try to squeeze his legs under the table and probably bang up his knees in the process. He realized, a soft smile pulling at his lips, as you turned to start digging through your bag that that was probably the reason you sat this way, for his comfort.

He shook his head when you offered a share of your food. "I don't want you to get hungry later."

"Please, you've seen me buy car snacks, you really think I don't also have desk snacks? I would be just fine even if you hadn't brought my lunch, which, thank you, by the way. This is really nice of you." When was the last time someone had been so thoughtful?

"You're like a squirrel." He laughed as he accepted the offered food.

"Psh." You playfully rolled your eyes and softly bumped your shoulder into his arm. "If I'm a squirrel, what does that make you?"

He was silent for a moment, head slightly tilted to the side, before he looked at you, eyes crinkled under his hood in a way that you’d come to recognize as a smile. "A dog."

"A dog?...But dogs are always chasing squirrels!” You then gasped dramatically, "don't tell me you want to eat me!"

König fought down the sudden surge of heat brought on by the memory of a dream. It made his responding laugh a bit too loud, a bit too awkward and forced him to attempt to cover it up. By growling and leaning down quickly to nip at your shoulder.

"Ah!!" You half shrieked and half laughed as you leaned away from him just enough to get out of his silly attempt at biting you through the hood that covered his face. "Stop!" You finally managed through giggles.

He pulled away with another playful growl and snapped his teeth at you twice. "One day I will catch you, Squirrel."

"Yea? Then what?" You laughed again.

He was quiet for just a second too long, eyes boring into you a bit too intensely. He even dropped the playful tone in his voice, now deeper and rougher than you were used to hearing. "I'll eat you."

It’s a good thing that you weren’t eating or drinking anything at that exact moment or you would have choked at the way it sounded! He certainly couldn’t have meant it like that! You chuckled and looked away from him, hoping he could not tell that your thoughts were less than appropriate.

Finished with the main part of your lunch, you opened the packed snack cake and portioned it in half, once again intending to share with König, but he shook his head. It wasn’t so much that he didn’t like this particular snack, not that he’d ever go out of his way to buy the like either, it’s just that he knew it was your favorite. Though, you must have sensed that, as you narrowed your eyes suspiciously at him.

You portioned an even smaller piece, “not even a little taste?” And held the piece of confection up at level where you assumed his mouth was.

König froze, if you were offering to feed him…

You reached for the edge of his hood and pulled it forward, giving you room to slip your other hand under it without revealing his face. The backs of your fingers lightly ghosted across his chin until you held the treat near enough to his mouth. Though he remained stock still, eyes never leaving yours, his lips wrapped around the offered treat and his tongue barely brushing against your fingers.

It was hardly a bite, and his lips and tongue had hardly touched your fingers for half a second. You smiled, hot in the face, and pulled your hand back, “good?”

He hummed and nodded. “Very good. Sweet.”

As if your face wasn’t burning enough!

You looked down at your portion of the sweet treat to realize there was a dab of cream on your finger still. You glanced back at him, not completely titling your head back up, casting your eyes in a coquettish shadow, and licked your finger. “Good.”

König quietly grunted, one of his hands landing on your knee as he leaned in a little closer to you. He didn’t know why. He just needed to be closer to you, needed to feel you.

Your breath hitched but you pretended not to be affected by his touch as you quickly finished off your lunch while his fingers fidgeted with the hem of your skirt. You then grabbed his hand, gently squeezing before you pushed it off your knee. “Unfortunately, I am not a general that can dictate my own break times.”

“What?”

You cleaned up what trash was left from your lunch and tossed it in a nearby bin. “My lunch is just about up.” Sure enough, an alarm on your phone sounded just as you returned to the table.

König frowned, it felt like he just arrived! How could your lunch be up already? “Oh, let me.” He stood up and grabbed the bag you had stored your lunch in. An excuse to visit you later.

“Thanks.” You started to walk back to the office, him right beside you again. “And thanks again for stopping by. Can you still pick me up after work?” “Yes. Five?” “Yep!”

König is practically walking on air after lunch, though eager for the end of the day. He couldn’t wait to see you again.

[Neighbor König Masterlist]

Neighbor König taglist (blurbs): Please let me know if you wish to be added or removed.

@warrior-of-justice @cumikering @ihateuguys @rand0m--fangirl @keiva1000 @dtftheavengers @takeyour-pants-off @aeeliy @milenko115 @sodonuthideout

#anonymous #könig x reader #könig x fem reader #neighbor!könig #blurb #short #fun fact: in the first draft when he bites her the hood doesnt get in the way. and he practically left a hickey on her neck #but i thought that was too forward! so changed it a bit #i was thinking of qing this up for lunch. but i think i'm gonna nap for lunch instead.

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cookinguptales · 2 years

Photo

So back when I was much younger and much newer, I took a class at UChicago on ancient Egypt. This was so exciting for me, especially because UChicago has an extensive collection of artifacts from the ancient Near East -- which meant that we got to learn using actual artifacts.

It wasn’t that unusual for us to be sent off to the Oriental Institute to translate something as homework, and one of the things I remember vividly was this (partially restored) fragment of a tomb wall.

In ancient Egypt, names were important, and so was memory. The continued existence of the soul was associated with the continued existence and memory of a person’s name, which is one reason why we have all of these beautiful carved monuments to this day. They wanted to write their names down. They wanted to be remembered. They knew that they could live forever as long as they lived in one person’s memory.

But tombs are expensive. They take a lot of time, a lot of resources, a lot of work. It’s a lot easier to just scratch out one person’s name and replace it with your own. A lot of memorials were repurposed in this way, sometimes because they were actively trying to erase one person’s memory and sometimes simply in an effort to maintain their own. So there was a very real anxiety about tomb desecration and name erasure that comes up again and again and again.

That was what we’d learned about in class that day, but I didn’t know why this wall fragment was our homework until I finished translating it.

I remember sitting there, huddled over my notebook as I crouched on the floor of the OI, sixteen years old and just beginning to learn the world. I remember painstakingly copying the inscription and then translating it to the best of my ability. And then I remember giggling as quietly as I could, not wanting to bother the other guests, when I realized it basically said, “HAHA, I MADE IT SO YOU CAN’T ERASE THIS.”

You see, he’d invented a technique that involved filling the carvings with a certain kind of colored paste. It was very, very difficult to completely remove -- and he was right. No one had managed to do it.

I remember sitting there on the floor and laughing and thinking to myself that humans don’t change, not really. We don’t ever, ever change. Our beliefs might and our goals might, but people? Our souls can traverse millennia.

Because over four thousand years had passed but I still felt this odd connection to a man whose pride in his own ingenuity had made me laugh.

This all happened around fifteen years ago and I no longer remember how to read this wall. But you know what I do remember? His name.

I remember you, Nefermaat.

#I FOUND HIM #I found a site that talked about this exact wall fragment #so I decided to turn it into a post and share it with you #so you can remember him too #and his wife Itet at that #I ended up switching majors because I realized that I had ethical concerns with the discipline #and I felt complicit in things like imperialism and grave robbing #but I still remember this guy :)#ancient egypt

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questionableratatouille00 · 7 months

Text

𝓜𝓸𝓿𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓞𝓷

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your girlfriend, Natasha Romanoff, died roughly 9 months ago. Unable to handle any more time alone in your formerly shared apartment, you decide to join a local therapy group you heard about from a friend. Little did you know, you’d meet a beautiful redhead going through a similar situation. You know you need to get better. For both your sake, and Natasha’s memory.

Warnings (Entire Series): This series deals with mature topics, including, but not limited to: death, mental health issues, physical, emotional, and sexual abuse, grief, trauma, general unwellness, illness (both mental and physical), and a most likely inaccurate portrayal of group therapy (though it’s much better than whatever was going on in TFATWS.) Please mind the warnings below.

Warnings: death of a romantic partner, depression, mentions of death of a family member, anxiety.

||Part 2|| 🌻 Series Masterlist 🌻

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𝐈 𝐂𝐚𝐧 𝐃𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞 The apartment had never been this quiet. It was never so silent. There had always been some kind of white noise, whether that was the coffee pot or the washing machine running. It had never been completely silent, up until now.

You could divide your life into two parts. Before the accident, and after. Before the accident, your life was awesome. Of course, some pretty awful shit had happened to you, but it didn’t compare to all of the good shit that happened too. You liked living. You liked being alive. Now, well, you weren’t as sure.

It had been nine months. Nine months since the worst day of your life. Your life had been so full, and now, it felt so empty.

You get up. You get ready. You go to work. You drive home. You turn on the TV. And then, you just sit.

It’s been a while since the funeral. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d left your apartment for fun. You went to work and you went to the store. That was pretty much it.

The last time you’d left for any reason other than those had to be..maybe six months ago?

You’d gone to a coffee shop with your friend, Sharon.

“You’ve been so different after..you know. I completely understand, of course, but you shouldn’t have to live like this.” She said after sighing. She takes a sip of her latte from the porcelain mug in front of her.

“After my aunt died, I felt just like you, really. Remember my cousin Dottie? She went to a group therapy thing by the old Target. I don’t think they have it anymore, but some office nearby has to have one. I don’t know. I just think it would be good for you.” She suggested.

“I’ll think about it.” You said, knowing you were not going to be thinking about it. Part of you felt ignored, knowing that the relationship between you and your late girlfriend was different than that of Sharon and her aunt. You said nothing, staring down at your own drink.

“Good. I’ll send you some links later, alright?”

You nodded numbly.

You’d really ended up ghosting her after that, along with all of your other friends. Sharon was the only one who continued to try and reach out, sending you a message every two days or so. She didn’t stop, knowing that you were at least reading them.

You’d never reply, but that didn’t stop her.

Your phone vibrated in your pocket as you laid on the couch. You knew exactly who it was.

Hey! There’s a group near your apartment that’s only just starting up. I have a friend who went there for just one on one therapy, and she said the people were super nice. You should think about it 💕

You sighed, letting your phone drop on your stomach. And then, in an instant, it was like you’d just snapped out of a dream. You looked around your apartment, seeing how dirty it had become. Trash littered on the kitchen table and counters, trash bags stacked in a corner. It smelled gross. You smelled gross. You felt gross.

“What are you doing?” You mumbled to yourself, standing up. “This is fucking awful.”

You grimaced, and you realized that Sharon was right. You should think about it.

So you did.

You took out the garbage. You took most of the junk off of the table. You did some of the dishes. You took a nice, long shower. You made some kind of improvement. Even if it wasn’t much, it was at least something.

It was better than nothing. Then, you took Sharon’s advice. Sending her a quick thumbs up emoji, you clicked the link she sent you, opening the website.

A small form later, you were officially signed up. The first meeting would be on Wednesday.

—————————

“What do you think, Nat?” You mumble, adjusting your shirt. You weren’t wearing anything particularly nice, but you could tell there was a stark difference between what you looked like now, and what you’d looked like a few days ago.

You glanced down at the photo of the two of you you’d set on your dresser. Sucking in a deep breath, your phone vibrated in your pocket, your ringtone playing from its speakers. You’d set an alarm for when it was time to go.

The car ride there wasn’t too long. You’d been on much longer car rides before. One summer a few years ago, you and Natasha went on a road trip to a bunch of national parks.

You parked in the parking lot of the large building. Staring up at it, you noticed the logo and name. It was an eagle, you were pretty sure, in a circle. S.H.I.E.L.D. Therapy Offices, white letters on the front of the building announced.

Taking in more deep breaths, you nodded a few times. You were ready for this. Even if you weren't, there's no getting out of it. Not now.

Your legs felt hollow as you walked into the building. You were greeted by a large waiting room, which looked open and friendly enough. There was a reception desk, and a woman with dark brown hair and blue eyes smiled at you.

“Uh..hi,” you greeted awkwardly as you walked up to the desk.

“Hello. Are you here for that group?” She asked, and you felt your eyes widen. How would she know that? Did you look out of place?

“Sorry. We normally don’t have any appointments scheduled around now. Until the group, I mean.” She explained, and you nodded, smiling. Her name tag read ‘Maria Hill’, and you mentally took note of her name.

“Alright, I just need you to fill out this.” She slid a clipboard with some kind of form over the counter.

You smiled again, taking it and going to sit down. There was one other guy already there. He was wearing a purple shirt, his brown hair short. You couldn't tell what color his eyes were as he looked down at his phone.

You filled out the paperwork, going and taking the clipboard back to Maria.

"Thank you. Peter's gonna call you guys in when Dr. Coulson is done." She said, taking the clipboard from you. You went to sit back down, watching your feet.

The door opened, and two men—one short and skinny, and the other was about average height and seemed to have a bit of muscle on him, but you couldn’t be sure—walked up to the reception desk. The smaller one was blonde, with sky blue eyes and pale skin. He wore khaki pants and a t-shirt that was loose on him, and stood quite confidently. Not particularly bold or self-centered, just..open. He seemed very friendly, and you watched through your eyelashes as Maria Hill smiled at something he said.

The other guy dressed with a lot less confidence, and he stood awkwardly next to the blonde man. His hair was brown, and went down to a little above his shoulders. He had a jacket on, even in the warm weather. His eyes were a steel blue, though you only got a glimpse of them.

They quickly filled out their paperwork, and a few more people walked in. Most notably, a redhead. For a sliver of a moment, you mistook her for Nat. You mentally kicked yourself for it. You'd be lying if you didn't believe Nat could just walk through the door of your apartment any moment.

Her voice was warm, friendly. As she spoke to Maria, you could hear it. When she turned to fill out her clipboard, you saw her large doe-like green eyes. She smiled softly at you, before coming to sit a few seats down from you. She was beautiful, you couldn’t deny it.

Pushing that strange thought out of your head, you waited patiently.

A young man, with brown eyes and brown hair, walked through a hallway and into the waiting area. This must be Peter, you assumed.

“You can all follow me this way—Dr. Coulson’s ready now.” He announced.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #wanda x you #wanda x y/n #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch #scarlet witch x reader #Wanda Maximoff series #wanda fluff #wanda angst #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff fic #Moving On

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pinesfamilyguidetotheweird · 7 months

Text

Gravity Falls Thoughts: Ford and Trauma™ Part 2 (Forced Insomnia)

Annnnnd here we are with Part 2 of Ford and Trauma™!

Last time, we tackled the likelihood of Ford living off of pills and coffee over the last 30 years. So, what’s the logical next part?

Perhaps one of the most popular Ford ships out there!

Ford x Sleeeeep!!!!

Or…his problems with it. Let’s go with that.

If Gravity Falls went a bit longer (like if it had 3 seasons), this could have been a running gag of sorts for Ford, his lack of sleep or at least the repercussions of said lack of sleep, such as him dozing off in weird places.

And you can blame a certain dream demon for that.

Not long after Ford learns of Bill’s true colors, Ford did anything he could to prevent Bill from having any control of the situation…that includes depriving himself of sleep due to his deal with Bill.

…Yeah…um…there is a glaring issue on that plan, I must say. And that is the fact that depriving yourself of sleep…will not be beneficial in the long run.

According to Healthline, there are 5 Sleep Deprivation Stages, each stage is determined by the many hours of no sleep.

Stage 01 is after 24 hours of no sleep. A personal fact here, y’all: I’ve done this before twice in my life, staying up for about 24 hours…it was not fun both times.

While not necessarily a cause for major problems, there will be some issues, such as decreased alertness, drowsiness, fatigue, increased risks of mistakes…

Stage 02, after 36 hours (A day and a half), and you’ll start experiencing severe cognitive impairment. Not to mention an overwhelming desire for sleep and the likelihood of having microsleeps (short bouts of sleep that lasts for about 30 secs) is possible.

Come Stage 03 (after 48 hours) and hoooo…boy, things aren’t lookin’ good at all! This is where hallucinations can start setting in. Which, in Ford’s paranoid case, is a definite cause for concern. And there’s depersonalization, anxiety, heightened stress levels, increased irritability, and extreme fatigue. Microsleeps becomes more of a guarantee. And you won't realize it.

At Stage 04 (after 72 hours), along with more frequent and longer microsleeps, the hallucinations could get more complex.

Then finally, at Stage 05 (after 96 hours and more), you’ll start to experience a little thing called sleep deprivation psychosis, when your perception of reality is severely distorted due to lack of sleep.

So…not much of a shock to see this…

And we don’t even know how long Ford had been trying to keep himself awake. Even Journal 3 (I have the regular edition) doesn’t provide the answer for this except for the mad scrawlings of CAN’T SLEEP and the hellish amount of coffee he drank.

This can also explain his insistence on preserving his journals instead of just destroying them. He’s not thinking clearly due to lack of sleep.

It is possible to recover from this, though, it will take a while.

It can take days or weeks to recover from a bout of sleep deprivation. Just 1 hour of sleep loss requires 4 days to recover. The longer you’ve been awake, the longer it will take to get back on track.

And considering that Ford got sucked into the Portal before he could have a moment for well deserved rest…kind of a similar situation to his crap diet while on the run, how often was Ford able to get a full night's rest? I mean...look how he sleeps now, in day wear with his coat, glasses, and boots on, like he has to be prepared to book it...

It’s honestly a wonder that Ford came back to our dimension without sporting some eyebags that would give Shouta Aizawa (or even Toshinori Yagi) a run for his money.

…Question: So, Bill had free reign of entering Ford’s mind when he sleeps, right? Did Bill still do that during Ford’s travels up until he got that plate installed?

...So, what should I talk about next? The bullying Ford had to endure? Father of the Year, Filbrick Pines? Possible complex PTSD? Major Guilt? Wounds and potential complications? Bill -fucking- Cipher and the abuse?

#gravity falls #stanford pines #ford pines #grunkle ford #trauma #gravity falls thoughts

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engie-ivy · 2 years

Text

(Early for @wolfstarmicrofic! That's new for me! Wolfstar Get-Together Fluff! That's not new for me😋)

4th: Tumbling

It was a right person at the wrong time situation. Now, time has changed, but, as Sirius points out, the person hasn't.

Literally Right Here

Remus steps outside, hoping that the cool air will calm him down a bit. He feels frustrated and annoyed. Also a little hurt. And okay, admittedly, jealous.

Prewett eyeing Sirius up all night. Dearborn buying him drinks with his endless stream of flirtatious comments. Fenwick touching Sirius’ arm constantly and so very unnecessarily.

“Rem? You okay?”

Sirius.

Remus takes a deep breath and turns around. “Yeah, alright. I’m just... frustrated.” He wasn’t really planning to elaborate much, but maybe the frustration is just too strong, because the words keep tumbling out. “With the whole situation. I mean, I don’t regret it. I made the only decision I could’ve made, I know I did. But sometimes I just wish I didn’t have to make that decision, you know?”

“...not really,” Sirius says slowly.

Remus sighs and looks away. “I guess I just hate that I’ve missed my chance.”

“Chance at what?”

“Dating.”

Sirius chuckles. “Remus, what are you talking about? Of course you haven’t missed your chance at dating! You’re only twenty-two, for god’s sake. You’re smart and handsome, and everybody adores you. You still got plenty of opportunity to date.”

“Dating you, I mean.”

A couple of years ago, Remus was in a bad place.

He’s had a lonely childhood, living off somewhere remote with only his parents, being home-schooled. He only got into contact with kids his age when he went to high school, and that went... poorly. Remus wasn’t used to social situations, plus he looked different because of the scars on his body from an accident when he was six years old, and he quickly learned how cruel kid his age can be.

When Remus started college, he met Sirius, James, Peter, Lily, Marlene and Mary, who were kind to him and wanted him around, and Remus... did not take it well. He felt like a fraud. Like he was fooling them into thinking he was a person worth having around, misleading them by making them believe he deserved their friendship, and it would only be a matter of time until they found out he really didn’t.

Then, things got even worse when an uncharacteristically nervous Sirius confessed that he had an interest in Remus that went beyond friendship, and asked him out on a date.

Remus completely panicked. Just the idea of dating Sirius filled him with dread. He’d only be waiting for Sirius to realise that he could do way better than him, and consequently blaming Remus for wasting his time. Although Remus didn’t know much about dating, he did know that panic and dread aren’t what you’re supposed to feel when thinking about going out with someone, so Remus did the only thing he could do and rejected Sirius.

In the next two years, thanks to an amazing professor, Ms McGonagall, who saw the potential in Remus and helped him see that potential himself, talks with a psychologist, and the continued love and support of his friends, including Sirius, who wasn’t resentful and decided that if a friend was all he could be to Remus, he was going to be the best friend ever, Remus got better. Sure, he still has his insecurities and anxieties, but overall, he now knows he is a worthwhile person who has something to offer.

So no, Remus wouldn’t change what he did. He just wishes it hadn’t been necessary to do it. Especially when he thinks about Sirius’ eyes, or Sirius’ smile, or Sirius’ kindness, or, well, anything about Sirius really. When he sees everyone vying for Sirius’ attention, and he realizes that, under different circumstances, Sirius Black could’ve been his.

Because Remus knows by now that it had only been the timing that was wrong, not the person. He is, in fact, hopelessly in love with Sirius.

Sirius stiffens. “Dating me? You’ve never wanted to date me.”

“I’ve never been able to date you,” Remus corrects. “I wasn’t able to date anyone back then, wasn’t in any position to be dating, not with how insecure I was. I would’ve freaked out about everything, to the point where you would finally be fed up and leave, ruining our friendship in the process.”

Sirius opens his mouth to protest, but Remus continues.

“I don’t regret that I rejected you, I just regret that I was in a place where I had to reject you. But it was never about you, you know? I actually kinda really like you.”

Sirius just looks at him for a while, and then he says “You’re not the sharpest tool in the shed, aren’t you, Remus?”

“Excuse me?”

“Have you ever considered,” Sirius asks. “If you are ready to date and are interested in me, to just ask me out?”

Remus stares at him. “Assume you’d still want to date me? After I already rejected you? Wouldn’t that be a bit presumptuous?”

“If you would’ve come up to me and said ‘Okay, Sirius. Thank you for waiting. I took my time, and now I do want to date you, so let’s go’, then yes, I would’ve thought ‘Huh, that’s a bit presumptuous’,” Sirius says. “But if you said ‘Hey, I’m in a much better place than I used to be, and I know it’s been a while, but if you’re perhaps still interested, would you consider going out with me?’ that would’ve been fine! More than fine. That would’ve been pretty great, actually.”

Remus still stares at him.

“You’re regretting what you’ve lost, but you fail to see that the thing you think you’ve lost, is actually right here.” Sirius waves his arms. “Like literally right here!”

Remus continues to stare at him.

Sirius sighs. “I don’t think I can make it any more clear. Just think about it.” He turns and walks back into the pub.

Remus keeps staring at the door for a while, then he reaches a conclusion and marches inside.

Sirius is at the bar chatting to James. Remus walks up to them and taps Sirius on the shoulder. As Sirius turns around Remus immediately speaks. “Hey, I’m in a much better place than I used to be, and I know it’s been a while, but if you’re perhaps still interested, would you consider going out with me?”

“Fucking finally”, James mutters, while Sirius grins. “Why, Remus, what a wonderful suggestion! Come to think of it, I might still be interested, yeah.”

He then throws his arms around Remus, pulling him into a hug, and as he does so, he whispers in his ear “Always have been, always will be.”

#my tumblr writing #wolfstar microfic #wolfstar #wolfstar fanfiction #wolfstar fic #marauders #marauders fanfiction #marauders fic #sirius black #remus lupin #remus x sirius #college au #wolfstar college au

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moonflvver · 1 year

Note

Soft Kaeya headcanons agenda, inspired by your Kaeya abandonment anxiety ramblings. May I have some headcanons on a reader who often defends and praises Kaeya even behind his back? Like, reader keeps trying to show Kaeya how loved he is, and they put their money where their mouth is, and step up in their actions?

character: Kaeya Alberich x reader

warnings: none! (fluffy stuff)

a/n: I am always down to further the soft kaeya agenda! I ended up turning this into a little drabble... enjoy <3

w/c: 851 this wasn't supposed to be so long

Kaeya is familiar with the slew of insults that often come his way. He’s been called a lazy drunkard by Diluc more times than he cares to count, and he knows that most people look down on the fact that he spends many of his nights nursing a Death After Noon at the Angel’s Share. He’s seen quite a few people glaring at him mumbling about how he should be out patrolling at this time of night. But Kaeya does his work in the shadows, he keeps Monstadt safe without caring about the praise and fame that comes with a flashy win against the Abyss mages that threaten the outskirts of the city. He’s the one that helps to silently take care of threats that work against the peaceful harmony that the Anemo Archon has worked so hard to spread throughout the country. And most people don’t tend to see that, but you do.

Whenever he comes back from yet another thankless job you’re the one who comes to knock on his office door and commend him on his hard work. You’re the one who gives him a pat on the shoulder and a word of congratulations after the two of you take care of some treasure hoarders that set up camp a little too close to the city. He’s never really had anyone praise him so consistently, so he’s not quite sure what to say. After a while he quits trying to come up with a flirty one-liner and you see a light blush spreading across his face as he mumbles a thank you. At one point Kaeya convinces himself that this is just how you are. You’re kind, you’re encouraging, you’re loved by practically every citizen of Monstadt. So he chalks up your compliments as nothing more than a result of your generous personality.

That is until one day when he’s about to round the corner to visit your office he hears you berating a few of the newer members of the Knights of Favonius. He’s a bit taken aback at first. He’s never heard you raise your voice like this, and his curiosity gets the best of him so he inches closer to where you’re yelling at the two men standing in front of you. “The two of you have no idea what you’re talking about. Captain Alberich is far from lazy, he’s the one who keeps everyone safe. Including you two. He’s the one who regularly puts his life on the line to collect intelligence on the Abyss so that we can stay one step ahead of them and prevent countless lives from being lost. He’s a pillar of the Knights and he has more bravery and honor in him than the two of you have combined. So if I hear another insult about him coming out of your mouth, I’ll make sure that the both of you spend the next month patrolling the Whispering Woods.” The two men are silent as you berate them and then you finally sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose while you say, “Dismissed.”

Kaeya is shocked to say the least. He never realized just how highly you thought of him. The mere idea of you defending him even when he isn’t watching makes him feel like for the first time someone truly sees him. He realizes that maybe you do actually care. You’ve made that much clear through your actions. His recognition that your praise for him is genuine causes him to pause for a moment. He thinks back to each time that you’ve been there to offer a gentle word of encouragement and he realizes that it’s okay. It’s okay for him to trust you and allow you to be there for him because you’re not going anywhere.

The two men move past him, and he finally walks up to you. It’s then that you realize he’s been there the entire time so you greet him with a sheepish smile and say, “So I’m guessing you heard that.” And at this point he’s giving you the most shit eating grin but it’s not because he’s trying to be condescending. He just can’t hold in how elated he feels now that he’s finally recognized that your actions are genuine. “Yeah I did.” He laughs as your cheeks redden. He continues, “And I just want to say thank y-” but before he’s able to finish you interrupt him.

“I really meant what I was saying. So there’s no need to thank me for just telling the truth.” And at this point he’s short circuiting as he struggles to find the right words. So instead he settles for placing a hand on your waist and pulling you in for a gentle kiss. His lips are feather light on yours and as he pulls away he says, “I know, but thank you. Not just for that but for everything else you’ve done for me.” And honestly, Kaeya doesn’t think that he’ll ever truly be able to trust that the people in his life will always be by his side but with you, it’s different.

#kaeya x reader #kaeya x y/n #kaeya headcanons #kaeya fanfic #kaeya alberich #genshin impact x y/n #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact fluff #kaeya fluff #꒰ ✶ ꒱ nora writes

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local-redhead-bookworm · 1 year

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Some of the people in the Stranger Things fandom are absolute boneheads. I don’t care about whatever degree in psychology you have, if you think an 18-year-old boy who

was abandoned by his mother and left to live with his abusive father

was actively being abused up until he got flayed

had clear abandonment issues

showed behaviors that could easily fall into anxiety and/or PTSD or CPTSD

was groomed by a woman old enough to be his mom

was possessed by the Mind Flayer and was robbed of all bodily autonomy

sacrificed himself for the first person to show him kindness and compassion

used his final words to apologize to his sister

deserves to die, then you didn’t pay enough attention in those psychology classes, you don’t understand how abuse shapes people and the different effects it can have, and you should never, ever be allowed to practice. You don’t deserve a license if you think someone is undeserving of help.

“He was racist” debatable. Dacre has expressly stated he didn’t play Billy as racist, in spite of the Duffers’ initial attempts to write him that way, the original script even including “a far nastier piece of language” in regard to Lucas. Even the Duffers aren’t 100% sure if Billy is racist. And if Billy is racist, this is a small conservative Midwest town in the 80s and Billy is a Californian. He’s definitely not the worst one there. Most importantly, racism is learned and can be unlearned.

“He’s abusive” highly unlikely. The most we see is him yelling at Max once and grabbing her wrist once. This is all just after a very sudden move too, which inevitably makes things strained between family members. Even Max says that Billy wasn’t behaving that way before the move. Also if he was as abusive as y’all say he is, she wouldn’t be flipping him off, back-talking him, snooping around his room, and talking about him like he’s her annoying gross older brother. If he were abusive, she would be more scared of him.

“He tried to run over the kids” do you really think he would have risked jail time? Really? If he had actually wanted to run them over, Max wouldn’t have been able to turn the wheel.

“He tried to get with a married woman” I think you mean that a grown woman with a husband and children was sexually interested in an underaged boy and pursued him for nine months, was willing to have sex with him as soon as he was legal, stalked him to the point of having his work schedule memorized, and showed up at his workplace just so she could ogle him. It doesn’t matter that Billy initiated the flirting, Karen is an adult and she knows better. She only backed out because she didn’t want to ruin her own cushy life by sleeping with Billy, not because she realized that sleeping with a boy young enough to be her son was wrong.

“He’s homophobic” he’s quite literally not. There’s zero indication of that. He’s actually one of only three characters to be called a homophobic slur (the other two being Will and Jonathan). You’re making things up now.

Your arguments are boring and baseless, and your treatment of anyone who likes Billy is abominable. The sheer amount of horrendous things I’ve seen my friends be called because they like Billy (racial slurs, victim blaming, weight shaming, suicide baiting, saying they deserved the abuse they experienced, wishing death and rape on them) is actually disgusting. Behave like civilized people, stay in your lane, and if something upsets you that much, don’t interact with it.

#billy hargrove #anti billy hargrove #I’m arguing with a wall here but y’all are annoying #if he upsets you stay out of his tag

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gabbasposts · 6 months

Text

>Day Dreamer<

Star Wars: Luke and Anakin x Reader

Warnings: language, maladaptive day dreaming, but otherwise nothing other than maybe slight second-hand embarrassment if you can relate like myself soo yeah💀

(Gifs not mine)

A/n: I miss writing dumb-headcannons so here’s some for Luke and Anakin about basically catching the reader pacing and talking to themselves. This is obviously self-indulgent 💀 I literally got the idea because I was about to start doing it just before writing this and was like, “Hold on, I can cook with this-”

-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-

Anakin:

You didn’t even hear him enter (Either because you were so caught up in what you were thinking, or had some form of headphones in)

He just stood there, and stared for a good few minutes… 💀

He had just came back from a particular rough day of training, and thought he could maybe vent to you for a bit, and cuddle like you two typically did when it came to having rough days.

Instead, he walked in you wearing an annoyed expression as you walked horizontally across one end of the room, to the other. Your eyes low, as you muttered things here and there under your breath.

He doesn’t realize he’s grinning like an idiot until you turn around to head in the vertical direction where the door is that he entered from, (also so that you can do your usual check to make sure there aren’t cameras in the walls, or someone’s watching you 🤡) and you jump out of your skin at the sight of him.

“Anakin stop!” You probably say, more so because you want him to stop smiling at the fact he caught you.

“How long were you standing there?”

He literally starts laughing after that, crossing his arms as he leans against the door frame. “Why are you telling me to stop? I’m not doing anything.”

He doesn’t look at you any differently for doing so though. Matter of-fact, he thinks it’s kind of cute?

If you explain to him you do it for creative purposes (like trying to map out a scenario before writing it, or just for the fun of it) he finds it a bit odd, but more so for the fact he’s never done that.

If you tell him it’s something that happens usually after something frustrating (like maybe suddenly realizing all the shit you could’ve said in an argument earlier or how you wish you had worded things differently) than he can definitely relate but probably not so much to the speaking out loud and doing small gestures.

Regardless, he doesn’t judge you for it in the sense he thinks you need help or should stop. After all, he’s a Jedi and the Jedi are all about methods that lead to centering and calming the mind.

And if that helps you, then who’s he to say you’re wrong for it?

But don’t think he isn’t going to tease the hell out of you about it 🫠

Every time he manages to catch you, he can’t help but to grin or smirk as he simply smirks before making his presence known.

“I’m going to buy you a treadmill. The floors dipping every time you walk around there.”

Will literally run away laughing if you chase him.

Overall, he finds it endearing and doesn’t mind.

Luke:

While Anakin feels indifferent to it, Luke literally does not care.

Probably because he use to do it too. (If we’re talking about Luke before the ESB, then yeah that boy was for sure a maladaptive daydreamer 😭)

When he catches you for the first time doing it, he just smirks, both surprised and smug about it especially if he hadn’t expected it.

“Burning holes in the floor today, aren’t we?”

A smart-ass like his dad 🤡

Now unlike Anakin, I feel Luke would try to suggest other methods especially if your doing it out frustration or anxiety.

Tiring yourself out to feel a sense of ease is definitely not the best way to deal with that, and he definitely understands.

Like I said, he definitely used to pace around as well, and Luke is someone who always has a lot on his mind, so he probably would mutter under his breath too 😭

When he was living with his Aunt and Uncle, it was most likely a daily occurrence, especially after he’d try to explain to them he was ready to leave Tatooine, and they kept gently turning down his request.

Now he knows they did it out of wanting to protect him, but then it was extremely frustrating.

He just felt trapped, and it didn’t help that his closest friends were all leaving to do the things he wanted like participate in the war, or a University.

So he’d do it as a means to keep is frustrations to himself, as well as to keep him going for when the time finally came that he’d be allowed to pursue the same dreams he kept daydreaming about.

Now if you explain to him it’s just something you do for creative purposes, he’ll nicely ask that you get it out of your system in the daytime and not right before bed (he probably had flashbacks to his Aunt and Uncle being annoyed with hearing him pacing around a night time 💀)

Otherwise, he literally doesn’t care at all.

While he isn’t a pacer, he sometimes has moments where he’ll stand or sit in a position with a hard expression on his face as he’s trying to brainstorm something.

“Don’t mind me, I’m just thinking.” He’d say, switching to a softer one as he glances at you.

Most time he looks like he’s fighting mental demons as he’s starring down at the floor, playing with the collar of his shirt as he’s either leaning on the wall or sitting down.

Whole time, he’s simply trying to figure out what he wants to eat 💀

#luke skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker x reader #star wars x reader #gabbasdumbthoughts #crack post #pacing around while Luke looks like he’s having war flashbacks in the same room>>#he proabably is 💀

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hurlingsupport · 1 year

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Can I request inside job Reagan x reader platonic who teen prodigy who works at congito inc and reader always looks up Reagan compliments their work and aslo reader has chaotic energy personality lol I hope this ok

It's definitely okay! This is a nice idea, also thanks for the request!!

(Reagan and Teen Prodigy! Gender Nuetral Reader One-shot)

It’s a sunny Monday morning, the temperature's around 78°, and the birds are happily chirping away. It’s a perfect morning, leading to a similarly perfect day.

However, that suspicious tranquility is interrupted with the sound of sizzling circuit board joints, a sound you consider music to your ears. So much so, that you hum a melody that vaguely matches the wires attaching themselves to joints on said circuit.

Now, what could a kid—scratch that—TEEN genius possibly create with a singular circuit board? Ah, the possibilities are truly endless. However, before you can use your intellectual mind to make the world spin to your rhythm, there’s a knocking at your door.

The sizzling stops, and your content humming comes to a close. There’s silence, and you have an underlying sense of anxiety about what may be waiting behind the wooden door that you oh so desperately wish you could upgrade. Is J.R going to order someone to put a bag over your head again? You hope not. The first one smelled odd, and you’d rather not catch anything.

A voice, one that isn’t gruff and attempting to micro-chip you, appears behind the alder wood.

“You there? You’re not dead are you—that’d be the third one this week—please don’t be dead.” You squint your eyes at the mystery person’s words before making a run towards your apartment door. And once you pull it open, you nearly squeal.

“Reagan!” Your lips curl into an excited smile, bouncing on your toes as you stare at her. She’s not much taller than you, yet you look up to her both literally and figuratively. She smiles back, though it’s more out of relief than excitement.

“Hey, what took you so long to answer the door?” She walks in, wiggling her shoes off before going any further into your home. Which you’re thankful for. Since she has some unidentifiable liquid on her shoes, you wouldn’t want to clean whatever it was off your carpet.

“Sorry, I thought it was the CIA again!” The two of you let out some chuckles, but yours ends with a fearful hiss. “They won’t do that to me again, will they?”

Reagan grimaces, then gives you a half-hearted pat on the back, as if to say ‘no, they totally will’—before retreating into your workspace. Really, it was just a rather messy area in your living room, since your apartment wasn’t all that spacious.

“Tasty circuit work. What’re you working on in this little lair of yours?” She smirks at you, pointing at the unfinished circuit board with a soldering iron resting on its own holder nearby.

Your eyes widen, as you were planning to show the finished product to Reagan as both a present and a message which stood for: “I wanna be your evil assistant even though you’re not inherently evil but whatever”

It’s not until silence fills the room that you realize you said that aloud.

“UH–” You spin around looking for any kind of distraction to convince Reagan that she didn’t hear those words exit your mouth. You find a solution once you spot the modified goggles that sat on top of her head.

“Wow! Look at those goggles—they look super useful. What do you use them for, Reagan ma’am?” Reagan sputters at your use of the word ma’am before answering.

“They’re, uh, a bit of a mix between safety goggles and a magnifying glass. But what did you say-” you interrupt her sentence as you continue to compliment her impressive creation.

“How do they work? Is there a separate layer with convex lenses or is it a mix between that and a polycarbonate lens?”

“Oh, haha- um, it’s just separate layers.” She pulled the goggles over her eyes and flicked a layer of glass over the structure of the goggles. “You just flip the convex lens over the polycarbonate layer and—viola! A multi-layer tight-fitting eye protector perfected for situations such as chemical splash, irritating mist and/or vapor, AND activities such as soldering!”

She proudly puffs out her chest, taking in your amazement like a dry sponge, and therefore forgetting your previous statement just as you had hoped. You let out a huff of air as you began to wonder why Reagan was in your apartment in the first place.

“Hold on, why are you even here?” Reagan pauses her monologue about the safety goggles and pulls said accessory off her eyes.

“Huh.”

There’s a moment of awkward silence, though you can’t comprehend why it’s awkward on your end.

“Oh! Dammit, I completely forgot about what I came here for.” She loses her grip on the goggles completely, flinching when they slap her head, and makes her way towards your front door. Slipping her shoes on as she grabs the handle, she turns toward you with a more serious expression.

“Change into some work-appropriate clothes. I’m driving you to Cognito.” And with that, she’s out your door, and you’re left to look down at what you’re wearing.

It’s a dinosaur onesie.

After the awkward acknowledgement that your role model saw you in a onesie, you sped into your bedroom to change into a white button up and black slacks. You almost—no, scratch that you actually do tumble down your apartment complex stairs as you hurry to Reagan’s car.

She stares in concern at your slightly disheveled appearance before starting the engine. Then silence ensues, leaving you to wonder if she was going to bring up what you thought you had successfully distracted her from.

“Evil assistant…” she mutters.

God dammit.

“Y’know, I think you’d fit into that role perfectly.” This makes you look in her direction.

“Scuse me?” The words scramble out of your mouth, and you wince at the improperness.

Reagan laughs, keeping her eyes on the road as she slightly leans her head towards you. “I’m not too sure about the evil part, but you do commit some rather wicked acts.”

You briefly remember her saying something similar after you had blown up their meeting room. You swore it hadn’t been your fault. You only wanted to show off a gun that could shoot things other than bullets. You didn’t know that Andre had pumped it full of nitroglycerin when you had suggested he fill it with ‘literally anything’ earlier that day. You made Andre do your paperwork for a month after that.

You shudder, and Reagan raises a brow before continuing.

“You seem like a good evil-doer. Or at least as good as an evil-doer can get.” She nudges you with her elbow, encouraging you to loosen up. “I’d like it.”

You smile, staying silent since you really had nothing else to say. You had finally told Reagan, someone you aspired to be one day, that you wanted to work underneath her; and not only had she accepted, but she wanted you to work under her too!

You struggle to keep happy noises from escaping your mouth, the only evidence of your exhilaration being the wide smile on your face and your feet unintentionally kicking the glove box every once in a while.

Reagan snickers and mumbles under her breath, “Evil assistant, huh?”

#inside job #inside job x reader #reagan ridley #gender neutral reader #reader insert

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arklaytears · 10 months

Text

Confident When I’m With You [Pt.1?] (Joel x F! Anxious/Shy! Reader)

t/w: anxiety attacks, ptsd flashbacks, mentions of being sold, drinking, mean! joel

a/n: this has taken me a couple days to write, and i’m too anxious to fully read over it again. i want to try a slowburn something and really wanted to see an anxious reader with joel. building a relationship off of that. please please please tell me what you think, i hope you like it and yeah!-

·̩̩̥＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥·̩̩̥＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥·̩̩̥＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚

When the apocalypse started, you were nothing but 5 years old. Barely able to remember anything aside from the fear and panic in your family’s eyes as they did their best to flee from the all too fucked up situation.

Vividly you remember your mother speaking to you, her hands wrapped tightly around yours as she spoke,

“Hey, you don’t need to be scared. I promise.”

Though you can still feel just how much her hands were shaking as she helped to buckle you into your neighbor's car.

The blood on her hands, even more spurting violently from her neck, you could still feel it when you laid in bed and let your mind wander. The streak she’d left on your cheek as she leaned in for one final kiss to your forehead, before she shut the door to the truck, your final goodbye.

The last vision was of you pulling out with your neighbors, looking out the window the best you could to see the woman you had been raised all alone by. Tears streamed down her face as she collapsed to the ground, her wails heard even through the closed window. Your neighbors quickly peel away, and drive to where you were to reside for the next 20 years.

Before you could reminisce any further, you felt your hands tangled in your sheets. Knuckles white as you hold them as tightly as you could. Your breathing was uneven, and when you did your best to look at your watch in the minimal light coming in through your window, you realized you’d only slept for 20 minutes.

A new record, at least as of late.

Sleep had not been kind to you in all the time since you’d made it to the Boston QZ. After being abandoned by the

‘neighbors’

you held your trust in for the last two decades, you had to find somewhere to go. The closest being Boston.

Luckily, through the process, though no one was kind to you upon your arrival, you were able to get a bed and find some sort of peace under FEDRA rule.

You’d only been there a few days, and each day you found it harder and harder to get any sleep. So, knowing that you would be up in your bed once again until it was time to rise and shine, you decided to be a little productive in caring for your new living space, getting in a bit of cleaning.

·̩̩̥＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥·̩̩̥＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥·̩̩̥＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥

Then the sun rose, coloring the sky in soft orange as it rose over the buildings of the QZ. Though you didn’t have much left, you moved to your kitchen to grab the coffee that you had brewed yourself. Beans you were able to find on scavenging trips, that you'd had hidden away for months. Hiding things being much more difficult when it came to the family you were living with before.

Now definitely being the time you needed them most. But, you’d already been dressed, and wanted to explore and see possibly what sort of jobs you’d be able to get starting the next day.

Grabbing for your key to your apartment, you head out. Locking the door quickly behind you.

Looking down to your hands, you could see they were definitely shaking. You gulped the best you could, taking a deep breath to try and calm yourself before you made your way out of the building.

It was just a FEDRA establishment, just people surviving just like you were.. That’s all it was. No need to panic. Please, no more panicking.

The day found itself uneventful, as you’d been rejected for all jobs except for being told to help with gardening. One of the jobs that paid the least, but the man had refused every other job that he spoke of. Maybe it was for a lack of trust, or maybe that was all you looked capable of.

Holding the small piece of paper in your hand, you crushed it slightly under the weight of your fist. You needed to get money, to be able to survive here. Yet, it didn’t seem like it was going to be all that easy.

Walking back, you shoved your hands into your jeans pockets, kicking along a small pebble before you’d heard the murmuring of a crowd. Looking up, you saw a large group gathered around what seemed to be a public display of shame.

You approached cautiously, but found your stomach turning in upset at the sight above you. Three humans standing on a large wooden lift, each with a noose respectively in front of them. A woman dressed in all black military gear, speaking through what looked to be a walkie connected to a speaker behind her.

Lurching forward, you wrapped your arms around yourself, that all too familiar of an anxiety rising up in your throat. Like tears were threatening to fall, and acid was rising through your esophagus. Your breathing felt more labored, and you had to look away. The idea of how big of a crowd was here to watch, like this was some sort of entertaining sport made your skin crawl.

As you looked to the side, you saw a man with his back to you as he began walking toward the side street. Following his path with your eyes, you saw him approaching another FEDRA agent, this one having his gaze set on the stranger you’d just seen. Giving him a seemingly knowing nod to his left. Following the motion, you saw it led to a dingy looking walkway.

After they’d disappeared from sight, you contemplated. What the fuck were those two up to? A civilian going to a back alley deal with a FEDRA agent?

The woman on her speaker spoke again, speaking of more of the crimes those lined up had committed against the dictatorship that was this new post-apocalypse government.

Fuck this.

In that moment, you decided to follow the stranger quietly, pushing through the crowd as gently as you could to catch up to the two. Anything was better than knowing you were going to see three human beings be executed for an audience.

Doing your best, you followed the man from a distance once you’d caught up. Though, as he moved down a gravel path, you took a moment in trying to figure out how to follow quietly.

Taking a breath, you took a few steps along, being sure to keep holding back and allowing the two to do what they needed to do. Or maybe this stranger was in trouble? You didn’t really know, but you followed along the grating of the fence, until you could peek through it and see the two men in front of this green door that was kept away in its own little nook.

Crouching down as you noticed the man from FEDRA taking one last peek around before digging in his pocket for a stack of… something. It looked to be like money, handing it to the stranger in his blue-button up and tousled salt and pepper hair. Though you couldn’t see much of the man you’d followed, the guard looked less than pleased.

What the fuck could this even be? Some sort of sex thing? Fuck, if it was anything like that you would have to get the hell out of there.

But, no sooner than you’d had the thought, you saw him being handed a small white pill. Dropped into his hand, as he looked over it, saying something while he did. Quickly he pulled it up to his tongue, getting a small taste of it. Surely to check if it was real, before he nodded to the other, and was handed a bag filled with more of those little capsules.

Wait fuck, this man was able to get pills? From where? And, from whom?

Holding your position, you kept peeking above the patch of overgrown grass that hid your body behind it. Seeing him pour the tablets into his pocket before handing the bag back to the civilian.

Shit, would he be able to get you something like that? Not even much, just something to let you be able to sleep. Just one peaceful night was all that you asked.

The two’s exchange continued, them talking about something that you were completely out of earshot for. Yet, as the guard pushed himself off from the wall, you knew it was your time to get out of there. The two seemed to have made their peace with the deal and wanted to get back to their day.

You stood up, being sure you couldn’t see the two before you had fully risen to your feet, and moved back to where the crowd was slowly dispersing. Averting your eyes from what you knew was hanging on your right.

Moving forward, you moved to the phone pole that the guard seemed to be leaning against before meeting up for his deal. Clutching it in your grip slightly as you take another steadying breath. Maybe that man would even be able to give you medication to stop these attacks from overcoming every small aspect of your life.

“Hey.”

Your heart felt like it had leapt from your chest, and you jumped quickly into the air before turning to meet whomever was speaking to you.

The stranger.

Here you were, face to face with the man you’d followed to something you definitely didn’t need to be a witness to. His arms were crossed over his broad chest, his chestnut eyes looking as though they would pierce a hole right through you, and his left eyebrow cocked up in a quizzical way.

“H-”

He cut you off, his voice low and gruff. Commanding as he spoke,

“What the fuck were you doing watching me? And, who the fuck do you think you are?”

The man had taken a step forward, using his commandeering demeanor to back you further up into the phone pole. You gulped hard, visibly so. Which definitely was not unnoticed by the unwavering man.

“I-I-”

Would he kill you? Was it really something that important that you weren’t meant to see? Fuck, your heart was pounding so hard you could hear it in your ears, and it droned out a lot of the background noise of passersby and city ambience.

“Spit it out kid.”

Your stuttering had to be on his nerves. He looked as if he wanted to kill you, and was doing so with his gaze alone.

You balled your hands into fists, knowing they were trembling as you took a second to try and collect your thoughts. Speaking them out much faster than you anticipated.

“I’mreallysorry… Iwaswonderingifyouweresellingothersortsofthings…”

Your words jumbled together, and you hang your head. Your face lighting up a bright red, knowing just how foolish and childish you looked.

His gaze was locked onto you. You knew because you could feel it.

It was much easier to talk when your eyes weren’t locked with his own, and you let your eyes wander over your beat up sneakers as you spoke softly.

“I was wondering if you sell things like that to other people.. Like, pills?”

You said it almost as a question to yourself. Maybe it was just some deal this guy had with FEDRA and you were completely overstepping. Which, you already had overstepped by just following someone you had never met before.

A long silence wedged itself between you two, and you decided to break it by continuing.

“I mean like.. Sleeping pills. Pills that make.. Nerves go away.”

As soon as you added that, you heard a gruff chuckle and immediately looked back up.

The smallest of smirks had grown along his face, and his eyes crinkled as he closed them. Though this gave you an opportunity to look him over.

And holy shit, was this man

gorgeous.

Definitely much older than you, just by the looks of him. His confidence in his own stance is almost palpable.

Yet you continued to look for the small moment that you had.

His defined eyebrows that knotted together, having a permanent indent between them, (from scowling you would assume.) Yet, they were knotted together in his small amusement. A small dimple that you could slightly see with his crooked grin, holding itself on his right cheek. His large hand moved up to his lips, covering them from view but letting your eyes wander along his beard that matched his graying hairs. Seeing small bits of patches where the hair seemed to refuse to grow.

But, quickly you were torn away as those threatening umber colored eyes caught you looking at him a little too intensely. Which very quickly had you looking toward one of the abandoned buildings that still lined this street. That familiar heat rising to your face as you definitely made yourself seem even more embarrassing in front of this stranger.

“That’s it?”

He spoke, almost matter-of-factly, and you nodded quickly. Still unable to meet your gaze with his own again.

“Yeah, but it’s gonna cost quite a bit of cards, seein’ as I don’t know you.”

The man definitely had a bit of an accent, something southern you would assume.

Fuck though, you didn’t even think about the fact that you literally watched that officer pay for the drugs he had bought. Yet, you didn’t even have your first shift until the next day. And, that shift didn’t even leave you enough to probably get through the week without begging that man to give you more than just gardening.

Chewing at your cheek, you let out a deflating breath.

“Shit..”

You muttered, though you didn’t realize it was audible to the older man.

“There’s no way you would think that in the end of the world, you could get away with favors and I-O-Us from strangers did you?”

He was blunt, and even a tad rude. Surely you were just some ignorant child to him. You were probably wasting his time from other things he had to do, but you couldn’t back down. If you went another night without sleep, you felt as though you would implode.

“I just got here and..”

Again you were interrupted,

“I don’t care about any of that. I need payment for anything that I give you.”

Tears were pulling at your eyes, and you did your best to blink them away as your head tilted back to the ground to stare at your feet.

‘Do not cry in front of this man, please.’

“Is.. There anything other than cards that I can trade you…?”

He backed up a bit, though you didn’t feel that piercing gaze on the back of your head as you kept looking down. Thankfully.

“What do you have that you think is worth a trade?”

Fucking nothing. You came with what little you had from your abandonment, clothes, toiletries, some cans of food.. Your thoughts trailed, but then it hit you how much of a commodity that something you owned was. AT least it was when you were foraging.

“Coffee.”

You spoke plainly, feeling the tears halt in your eyes, though they were most definitely glossed over. But, you cocked your head up, enough that you could take a peek to see if the cogs were turning in this guy’s head.

Which, they definitely looked as though they were. You had to have been right or he would have scoffed you away. The man was gently scratching along his peppered facial hair, clicking his tongue before speaking once more.

“Fuck, if that’s true, then yeah I can make a trade. Just bring over what you’re willing to give.”

It felt as though karma was finally on your good side, and an audible sigh of relief left your throat.

The man reached into his pocket, grabbing a small piece of paper and a pen and writing down something on it.

“Meet there later tonight, I have some errands to run.”

Folding it in half, he placed it between his index and middle finger, extending his hand to give it to you. Yet, no sooner as you had it in your grip and were opening it to read, he’d left without even a farewell.

You looked at the small white note, and on it read;

‘Joel’

With an address scribbled below it. An apartment building you’d thought you’d seen near your own, but you might have to do a bit of searching.

But, finally, you’re going to get some fucking sleep.

The day went by as normal. A whole lot of nothing as you found yourself shacked up in your apartment, re-reading a book you’ve already read a handful of times. Hopefully when you were more independent, you could trade some cards for something else. Hell, you’d rather read a dictionary than this fucking book again.

But, as you were noticing the sun begin to set, you pushed yourself from your raggedy couch and moved to the kitchen. Opening your cabinet, you pulled out the quite large bag you’d had stored of your coffee beans, deciding to take the entirety with you as you didn’t want to have to walk back to grab more should it not be enough.

You clutched the bag tightly, pulling it to your chest as a bit of that anxiety was swelling its way up your chest. Slowly filling your throat with a burning sensation, as you realized you were going to this random man’s house, trading for pills. Someone, somewhere, you didn’t know, you’d never been..

It was going to be a long fucking exchange.

You were right about his apartment building being familiar, as you found it really was right across the street from your own. A hop away and you’d be at the front of his building. It looked about the same as yours, just a different color on the outside, and you found yourself frozen outside the front door for a moment, looking up at the sheer height of it. Dizziness working its way to the forefront as that panic continued to build itself inside of you.

But, you needed these pills. You had to do it.

‘Bite the bullet.’

You thought to yourself over and over, moving to grip the cool metal of the entry door allowing yourself inside.

Following up a couple flights of stairs, the inside of the building looked completely worn down. A pink carpet stained with age leads you through the halls. Random pieces of furniture and debris scattered and lining the walls in each area you walked in. It definitely wasn’t something you weren’t used to, as people seemed more concerned in making their living quarters a home, and not so much the entryway for others.

You take out the small scribbled note from your pocket, looking over it again as you look at the small scribble he had drawn on it. A weird little shape with an arrow coming off of it that said, ‘This door.’;

Which was definitely not easy instruction, but as you walked the halls, you saw most of the doors had enough wear and tear that most of them just had chips in the wood as their symbol of entry. A couple still held their shiny golden numbers, but most seemed to have fallen off or just completely vanished.

So you kept going, walking as far as you could until you’d moved up three floors and finally found the small symbol at the front of a door. If you looked at it with maybe squinted eyes, it looked a little like a brachiosaurus. So, that’s how you would decide to remember it should you need to come back.

Holding the beans closer to yourself, you took in a deep breath. Your free hand hovering itself in front of the wood of the door, trembling as you did. Your wrist was shaking violently, and you felt hot tears swelling their way up your ducts and holding them behind your eyes. Taking a moment to blink them away.

Sucking your lower lip into your mouth, you took one last deep inhale before gently tapping the back of your knuckles to Joel’s door.

Fuck you really hoped you read his note right, because if anyone else were to answer you would be running with your tail between your legs.

Silence followed. You had taken a step back to allow the man room for him to open the door. Yet, no answer came.

Was it the wrong room?

You took out the small piece of paper again, looking at the symbol and back to the door, confident that it had to be it. Or you were a terrible artistic interpreter.

Fear continued to bubble in your lower abdomen, especially as another stranger began making their way to their room down the hall. Of course not without taking a look at this new face knocking on his neighbors door. Cocking a brow at you before he ducked out of the hallway and into his own dwelling.

Knock again..

You had to, you could not fucking go another night without sleep. It would kill you at this rate. You took a step forward, once again having your shaky hand move up to the wood, this time knocking a bit harder.

Fuck, your heart was pounding so hard in your chest you could feel it in your fingertips. Like your heartbeat was surrounding your entire being in itself, and it’s all you could think about.

So when your next knock came, they were completely desperate. Slamming against the wood, knowing you would run off this time if he didn’t answer.

Yet, as soon as you found yourself about to turn off on your heel, the door waS swung open with complete aggression and the older man stood there, using the weight of the wood to hold himself up. His eyebrows were drawn together in annoyance, and he looked over you in confusion.

“Fuck do you want?”

His voice was gruff, lower than you’d heard earlier. A drawl working its way through him as he wobbled slightly. Had he been asleep? There’s no way this man has already forgotten who you are.

“We were going to-”

He cut you off, his hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration, opening the door wider for you to come in.

“Just get in, I need to sit the fuck down.”

Definitely not a welcoming atmosphere, but you decided to walk past him the best that you could. And almost as soon as you walked in, you could smell the booze lingering off of him. A heavy smell of whiskey, and the smell was followed by a messy table right in front of you, littered with maps, papers, and alcohol bottles. Two almost completely empty as they sat atop the disarray.

Not your place to judge, but the idea of being around someone drunk always puts you on high alert. You’d had enough experiences, very bad, when your neighbor would drink. So, you hold yourself a little taller, evening out your posture. Doing your best to not look as fragile as you most definitely were.

You clasped your hands together in front of you, leaning back on the balls of your feet awaiting him.

The slam of the door made you jump, but he just groaned out as it seemed to piss him off even more as he walked past you. Right into the small living room. Giving little to no regard as his shoulders hit yours, moving past to plop himself down onto the worn plush of the couch.

You gulped hard, looking around at the stained and dated wallpaper that lined the entirety of the apartment, around at small little pieces that made the space seem lived in. Hospitable. Definitely more than what you currently had at your abode.

Joel had grunted again, leaning his head back onto the dark green of the couch, his head resting next to a small seemingly hand knitted blanket. His eyes were not even looking over at you, and you were sure it was because of the alcohol. He seemed far away. Of course physically, but his brain didn’t seem to be wired correctly at the moment, with how he allowed himself to close his eyes.

“So…”

You decided to break the silence that washed over the room, placing the coffee beans you’d brought on his cluttered table. Careful not to make too much noise, treading lightly. Like you were with a sleeping bear.

“Fuck that’s who you are. The one spyin’ on me earlier.”

His eyes were still closed, his hand moving up to shield his eyes from the sunset that was making its way through his windows to his right.

“Y-Yeah..”

You stuttered, still not really having any ground to stand on as you began to rock yourself back and forth. Still holding your head high as you straightened out your back, not wanting to let on just how scared you were.

Joel let out a small laugh. One you could see peeking under his arm as you kept your gaze solely on him.

“So, you wanted to trade me after spyin’ on my other deals. Thinkin’ now I should be all up’n kind to you? Is that it?”

Was this just how he was? Your voice caught in your throat. Still keeping your eyes locked to his spot on the couch. Taking a breath as you were going to respond, he cut you off.

“A fuckin’ new kid in town stickin’ her nose where it don’t belong, is that right? Now here I am, tradin’ her some pills for fuckin’ coffee?”

It sounded like he was talking to himself. But, you couldn’t help but feel your throat become a little tighter, jolting even as he moved to be sitting up. Elbows resting on his knees, his piercing brown eyes staring right through you.

You shook your head, because really what else was there to do in this scenario. It was made blatantly clear that you were the idiot in the wrong.

“S-Sorry… I just can’t sleep-”

Again he let out a chuckle, this one a bit louder, more spiteful.

“Kid, you’re so lucky I’m not some of the other folks around here. They woulda followed you home, and murdered you under blanket’a night. No one would bat a fuckin’ eye.”

This felt like he was threatening you, and you felt yourself back up even though he didn’t move at all. You leaned your weight onto the messy table, using your hands to hold yourself up as you knew if you kept them in front of you he would see the shaking.

You gulped, nodding this time. Keeping it slow as your eyes stay locked.

“Even worse, they wouldn’ta just killed you. They woulda sold you. For cards. To whoever was the highest bidder. Your life would be nothin’ more than the use some rich fucker has for you.”

Silence hung heavy in the air. Nothing breaking it as Joel had finally looked away from you.

Surely in his own head he had to think he was doing something out of the kindness of his heart. To warn you of who else was out there, but to you.. That meant nothing. Your eyes began to swell with tears, and silently they began to fall down your cheeks.

“Yeah, I’m just a stupid kid. Sorry for coming.”

Your voice was laced with venom and pain, and your tears continued to slowly slip down your cheeks and to the floor below you.

At that moment Joel seemed to have seen you. Finally seeing what he’d done, through his drunken haze.

The man leaned back a little, his arm resting over the back of the couch loosely, one hand moving to rest on his inner thigh. He looked smug, almost pleased with himself, until your voice broke.

“Just fucking keep-”

You couldn’t even talk, your mind felt as though you were that little girl again. Memories swelling in your brain as you felt as though you were sinking in quicksand, nausea working its way up through your body.

Your breathing became ragged. Those silent tears turned into hyperventilation, and you found yourself pushing off the table the best you could.

What a fucking embarrassing sight.

You could see only your past, flashing in colors and moments behind your eyes. Feelings rising to your skin that made your hyperventilation quickly turn to wheezing.

All of it was catching up to you, all at once.

You looked up to the man, the one you were supposed to be here to trade with, and you saw he had stopped that smug attitude. His brows furrowed in what you were more than likely just perceiving as concern, but he probably was more annoyed that you were wasting more of his time.

Almost as soon as you saw him, you were back in the eyes of your childhood once again. Blinking up to a man you thought you could trust, reaching his hand down to you.

A scream escaped you, filling the small apartment as you began to scream in begs

“Please don’t! Please, please! I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

Your heart felt like it was going to explode,and as your screams continued quickly everything around you was swirling in black.The last thing you remember is the sound of your body fully hitting the floor, and the sound of your own ragged breaths.

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