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lorkai · 1 year

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A/N: Yesterday was the last day of the asexual week and I knew I had to hurry to finish this oneshot in time. First because this has been in my drafts for months and second because I genuinely love his and Yuu's friendship, it's so cute and I hope we see more of that in chapter 7.

Warning: Fluff mostly, asexual and gender neutral!reader, first time writing for Malleus, he might be occ, also proofread only one time. Lemme know if there’s a typo pls!

--- Tagging: @rainiishowers @astershere @jabberwockk

When your chest heaved with uncertainty the only thing you could do was walk until your thoughts cleared, an attentive mind was what would keep you alive in this place after all. And since you arrived in Twisted Wonderland this has happened much more often, anxiety and fear consuming you at being in a totally unknown world and completely without a way to fight those idiots. They had magic while you only had a grumpy fire-breathing cat and your own fists.

It wasn't much, but it was enough for you to be able to snatch the magic pen from their hand and fight. And fighting was the only thing you could do to have a roof over your head and enough money to survive, even though Crowley made you work until your body was as heavy as lead and your mind was about to shut off from the world. Unsurprisingly, today was a day where you ran around, did your homework, took care of your three idiots, and did Crowley's job.

And there was only one problem. You couldn't sleep, couldn't think straight except for the things that awaited you in the morning, tasks that weren't yours but that you had to complete to receive enough Madols to continue living.

Or fight an overblot student, as this has become frequent.

The weather was hot, making you roll from one side of the bed to the other and sometimes face Grimm on his side of the bed, purring, sometimes muttering something you didn't understand. The sound of him purring would put you to sleep most nights, but today it just didn't work. Even scrolling through posts didn't work and counting sheep was a little too childish for you to consider the thought.

Tired of the restless hours and the heat, you got up and left the room. You intended to eat ice cream or whatever you had in the fridge and try to study for the exams that were almost there, even though you knew that tomorrow you would need energy and willingness to get through the day. You held back a sigh, imagining the things you'd fix once you got Crowley's generous allowance, maybe you'd buy a new sofa as the current one was falling apart. But looking up you decided it would be better to fix the roof, slight leaks were forming and you had already scraped both your knees from so many times you had slipped in puddles of water while walking in a hurry.

The ghosts were starting to place bets on how much it would take for you to get seriously hurt, and while they were laughing at the situation, they were also careful to try and catch you before you fell - which again didn't work, as they were ghosts and couldn't touch you physically.

“Awake at this hour, child?” The ghost floated past you as if waiting for the right moment to snap you out of your melancholy thoughts, but also with the mischievous air of someone who intended to scare you. The smile on his face was all you needed to know to realize it and he laughed softly. “Try drinking hot milk to relax. I remember my mother always giving me milk with honey when I was just a little kid, I miss those days.”

But you denied it, indifferently.

"I'm going to eat ice cream." You told him, stretching. You considered drinking iced milk for a moment before dismissing the idea, Grimm would go crazy if he didn't have milk to drink in the morning and you weren't even that fond of it.

“Oh well, I don't think it's good… Hm? Oh, he's there again?" The ghost muttered and broke off, turning toward the window as if he'd heard something you hadn't. Surreptitiously he approached the window to spy something outside that had caught his attention, his gestures were careful and thoughtful as it seemed that he didn't want to be seen by whoever was outside. And curious, you approached him and looked too, but at first you didn't see anything out of the ordinary. "It is so strange. He always shows up at this time and wanders around outside, sometimes humming, sometimes playing his game. Formerly he even dared to enter here. I find it so lonely. Anyway, go to sleep, child, I'm sure you'll feel better in the morning. Goodnight."

And just as he suddenly appeared, the ghost disappeared through the walls. But the doubt was already in your head and ignoring all your common sense you opened the door and the urge to eat ice cream, and ventured against the gusts of dry wind and the persistent heat. You didn't care so much about the lack of an air conditioner anymore, but Crowley could be generous enough to give you a fan at least. And it almost made your tired mind laugh. If he had the option to continue procrastinating he would do so without a shadow of a doubt.

The tall grass was at your ankles and the sensation would almost tickle you if it weren't irritating, you analyzed the scenery in front of you meticulously trying to see what lurked in the dark of the night and only then noticed the person resting under the old willow tree. The black and green uniform managed to camouflage him between the tall trees and the dark of a moonless night, if you didn't know what you were looking for then you certainly wouldn't notice him there, but you noticed him and you decided to approach him with carefree steps. Perhaps the lack of sleep made you dumber than you already were. But you've faced greater dangers than just a guy sitting on the grass in your dorm.

And what could he do? You asked with a silent laugh.

He didn't seem capable of hurting anyone, though his face grew serious with every step you took towards him. But that didn't stop you as you imagined the reasons he would be there, at that time. Maybe he also had trouble sleeping at night or just went out to clear his head like you did sometimes, as the ghost said he was definitely humming something, though your human ears were unable to capture the beauty of the sound until it was too late and he has stopped humming.

Or maybe, the ironic thought raced through your brain, you had finally reached a deep exhaustion and were creating a person in your mind that you could talk to normally. It was ironic that the NRC therapist needed another therapist.

His green eyes were mesmerizing and tinged with danger. But what caught your attention the most were the prominent horns sticking out of his head and how you wanted to touch them. You didn't doubt for a second that they were real, after all the encounter with Leona, the dorm leader of Savanaclaw, who had the ears and tail of a lion was still fresh in your memory. And you refrained from touching them without permission, smiling as you crouched in front of him, a few feet away.

“Um, are you okay? What are you doing here?" you asked, running your eyes over his body to make sure you didn't see any apparent injuries. Sighing, you concluded that he must have gone there for another reason when all he did was smile as if he was amused at something, his eyes twinkling in an odd way. You scratched your neck like you didn't know how to react to that, Twisted Wonderland was really testing your limits to be proactive and know how to act with every awkward situation thrown your way.

He denied. “This is a surprise. You're a child of man, aren't you?”

You shrugged, laughing softly at the nickname he'd bestowed on you. Despite the strangeness you could see that he really wouldn't do you any harm.

“So this derelict dorm that I've taken as my own for all this time actually has a new owner after all, it's a shame. I really wish I had a place where I could enjoy the silence.” Malleus shifted and sat cross-legged as he stared at a fixed point lost in the darkness. To you he seemed to be lost in thought, he didn't even blink when you waved your hand in front of his face. But the fae paid attention to your gestures, studied them, and found it funny how you acted with concern rather than fear.

A lonely smile played across his face while he thought about how other people would be running and profusely apologizing for interrupting him during his rest, how they feared him simply because he was more powerful than they were. But there is no power without humility and he would never do anything against people without having a reason to do so. "If this dorm is no longer abandoned I should find another place for my next night outing, I guess this is my cue to say goodbye then, child of man."

The boy in front of you got up and straightened his robes. He looked ready to leave and perhaps it was best to leave him, as your experiences with all the inhabitants of Twisted Wonderland had been interesting, to say the least, but dangerous. However, you held his hand on impulse, probably because he looked familiar to you. It reminded you of a certain mystical being that brought you comfort as you explored the world and sought to understand who you were.

"Or you can keep coming." You offered and he was considering the offer, and you noticed how he was weighing the pros and cons equally as he straightened his gloves and dusted off his uniform. "Only me and my grumpy cat live here, so it wouldn't be a problem if you joined us once in a while."

“You have no knowledge of who I am, do you, child of man?” Was his immediate response, circling you in slow steps as he watched confusion paint your face. The air around him told you he'd already made his decision before he'd even said it aloud, that the confidence in his smile and the soft way his eyes gleamed heralded the start of something interesting. “Do you not fear me? Aren't you afraid that I might do something to you?”

You suppressed a laugh and slapped his arm in a friendly gesture. “Of course I do, I'm not that innocent and I've had some problems since I got here. But with every passing second it's hard to be scared when all I'm thinking about is whether I can touch your horns or not." You said it sincerely. You raised your hands in the air, but you waited for some kind of positive reaction to your comment so you could actually do that. “I don't know if this sounds weird but you remind me of a dragon. I think it's because of the horns and you know, dragons are important symbols for people like me. It reminds me of home, at least.”

Suddenly, Malleus doubled over with laughter and it was more than obvious that he hadn't expected that heartfelt answer. He was a strange guy, you supposed, but at least his laugh was merry and it took most of your tiredness away easily and you joined him in laughing, a soft, genuine laugh influenced by his glee.

“You amuse me, child of man.” He actually declared. "May I ask you a question?"

You nodded, moving your hand to emphasize that he had permission to do so. You shifted your weight from one leg to the other as you waited for him to collect his thoughts and ask the question he seemed to want to ask, you suppressed a laugh as the grass hit your ankles again and focused your attention on his green eyes.

“When you say dragons are important symbols for people like you, what do you mean?” It was a genuine question that anyone could have, but you always answered it in a clumsy way because for some people it didn't make sense and they were rude when they expressed their opinions camouflaged with prejudice on the subject. It would be a shame if the boy in front of you was one of those people, but you could see a special glint in his eye and you were pretty sure that wasn't the case.

"It's a bit of a long story." You said turning towards your dorm, not caring about the time or the hot weather that still bothered you. “Mind if we talk while we eat ice cream?”

For someone his size, Malleus nearly jumped and let out a squeal of excitement at the invitation. But he regained his composure quickly and hid what he felt behind a forced, loud cough, finally agreeing to escort you into the dorm so you could chat some more while enjoying a good old-fashioned ice cream. It was easy to tell it was his favorite dessert from the way he was almost floating down the stairs to the door, a shy little smile on his lips.

If he'd noticed how old everything was, he'd been kind enough not to mention it in front of you, escorting you into the kitchen to watch the careful way you poured two bowls of ice cream and hummed a tune he didn't know.

“Here it is, hope you like it!” You handed him a bowl of ice cream, smiling. And he thanked you with a polite nod, pushing his long hair behind his ear before eating the delicious dessert. “My name is Yuu, by the way. What is your name?"

The boy in front of you laughed once more before giving you an enigmatic look. “I prefer that you remain without that knowledge. You see, it's for your own good, I assure you. However, I grant you permission to give me a nickname.”

Granted, the toothless human version could be a little eccentric, but you looked at it through a more optimistic lens and thought of various puns on dragons and their names. Tiamat, Sunfyre, Toothless and many other names, but you ended up choosing the nickname Tsunotaro. In your head it made complete sense, at least and suited him.

"Well, as promised I'll tell you why dragons are important." You left your ice cream bowl on the sink as you came to sit on the counter, standing at the same height as Tsunotaro. The common nervousness and anxiety of coming out tickled your belly, but at that point you already knew how to handle it and took a deep breath. “There’s a thing called asexuality, it is a sexuality characterized by a lack of attraction and a desire to, umm, have intimate relationships with someone. Some asexual people like to cuddle and kiss and be in romantic relationships and situations. Other people may not be interested in any of this either, it varies greatly from person to person. Got the general idea?”

Tsunotaro nodded, still eating his ice cream slowly savoring all its flavors and listening to every word you said with great interest.

“Well, as we were little seen and understood by society we kind of associate asexuality with dragons. They don't exist in the world I come from, but I've always taken comfort in the thought of them, as they are so free and big and strong and happy." You smiled with the memories of your past. How you spent hours drawing messy dragons in your notebooks or making plans to invade Denmark while eating garlic bread. Those were the happiest and loneliest days, mainly because you hadn't had the opportunity to meet many people like you or who fully understood your expectations and fears. “You reminded me of a dragon because of your horns. I hope you don't find this too strange or offensive."

Tsunotaro, however, waved his hand away to dismiss your worried thought. “You are certainly not wrong, child of man, since in part I am a dragon, yes. With a pair of horns and a tail, and if I wanted I could take the full form of a dragon, so I'm flattered to think that thousands of people adore my kind and feel safe and happy when they think of us.”

He smiled. A relaxed, happy smile as he leaned his back against the counter you sat on, the silence that fell between the two of you was the comfortable kind. Almost as if two good old friends had been reunited after a long time apart. "You... You can touch them if you still want to, fufu." he said suddenly, lowering his head and peering in your direction with one of his emerald eyes.

But you hesitated. You had just met him and it felt so strange to touch his horns all of a sudden, but when you looked at him and realized he was serious and he really didn't care, you touched them. From base to tip, feeling the texture and trying to remember if you've ever touched anything that looked like this.

Unbelieving that a sleepless night made you befriend a half dragon, you look into Tsunotaro's face intently and study each expression carefully. How he shivers at the chills running down his spine when you hold his horns, how he closes his eyes and sighs when you massage them. As he goes silent, you decide to go ahead with it. It's so weird, but it's so interesting at the same time. Despite their appearance, they are soft and warm to the touch and he seems to enjoy having his horns massaged like that. The relaxed expression he wears makes you laugh, it's almost like petting a kitten and watching its reactions. He's cute like that.

"You know, I believe we'll be good friends." You mumble softly. At the very least, you hope that after all this the two of you can be friends, as he seemed like someone genuinely nice to spend time with.

The sweet sound of his laughter echoed through the kitchen as he looked at you. "I'd love it if we were friends, child of man. Could you tell me more about asexuality?"

You nodded enthusiastically, feeling really welcomed and comfortable. And for the rest of the night you and he were talking about it, making jokes and puns and just having fun.

And that was the story of how you met Malleus Draconia. For people who would like a more elaborate and challenging plot this could be a rather ordinary and boring story, but for him and for you it was a pleasant story and full of good memories. A story of a dragon and his ace friend.

#disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland #twst #twst malleus draconia #twst malleus #ramshackle prefect #twst ramshackle prefect #malleus x yuu #malleus x reader #malleus x mc #asexual #asexual reader #asexual mc #fluff #lorkai imagine

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reminiscent-of-sentiment · 2 years

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it’s 3:41 am. another sleepless night, and i know how this will end: with the afternoon sunlight glaring past my eyelids. another endless cycle of late sleep and late waking times. i thought i had gotten over this during quarantine, but apparently the 6:00 am school routine i had dreaded was the only structure keeping me sane. with so much time but so little of it at the same time, days blending into hours blending into whole weeks slipping past me like minnows in river currents, counting down to the day i will leave home and never return the same way. dread and the horrors a overactive imagination keep me awake again. instead of finishing up a drawing, i am typing up this post. i am procrastinating a chemistry placement exam i was given two months to complete. it is due the day after tomorrow. i need to compile a list of the classes i wish to take but i do not want to face the tutorials i need to watch in order to get a semblance of how to piece my future together. i do not want to face the inevitable independence that comes with the passing of time but if i do not learn how to drive and get my overdue permit and get another new job and call my roommate for the first time and memorize a map of my college so i do not get lost like my directionally-challenged ass will do and swallow down the urge to pee in anxiety or stop my hands from shaking and tearing apart the hairtie in my hands, the reality is that the future will still catch up to me and life will grasp me in its arms and swing me around with no pattern and the earth will keep spinning and i am spiralling i know i am. plug my earbuds in and blast music to drown out my thoughts but if there was a soundtrack to my life it would probably be silent, because i do the best when i have a melody but the worst when there are no distractions, the optimal sound for non-procrastinators and people who have their lives together like i totally do, right?

right?

#college #college thoughts #overthinking #by a lot #aka #anxiety #in the middle of the night #3am #spiralling #word vomit #ev's thoughts #i know i'm a snape acc #and inactive #but if i didn't type this i would have exploded

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greenskellyblob · 3 years

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.....people, do you wanna make a somewhat messed up version of a competition? I'm wondering what's the longest you went without any sleep, and what sleep-deprivation symptoms did you have. What did it feel like to be that tired?

#other #uhhh do I need to tag this with anything?#also I'm asking because of curiosity and the fact that I'm avoiding sleep rn #anxiety over an exam tomorrow keeps me awake -_-

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hyungieyoongi · 3 years

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Sleep

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

Word Count: 2,300+

Genre: fluffy + angst (because I am clearly stressed studying for my final exams, and I am projecting that into my writing) + HYBE employee from America falling for Joonie b/c who wouldn’t

Sleep wouldn’t come. She tossed and turned for a couple of hours before realizing it was futile with how fast her mind was turning over possible scenarios, worries, and anxieties one after the other. She sighed, pulling back her covers and bringing her laptop from the nightstand on top of her comforter. If she couldn’t sleep, she would at least get some work done for tomorrow.

Yawning, she opened her computer, logging in and sorting through the emails she had ignored since getting home from the HYBE offices. If something was really urgent, she would get a call. She looked over the text with glazed eyes, fighting the urge to go back to sleep, knowing she would feel wide awake as soon as her head hit the pillow again.

The truth is, she kept thinking of him. The thoughts kept streaming in, refusing to let her rest or even work. Today had hurt. It had felt like someone was laughing in her face at the sick cosmic joke the universe had played on her, forcing her to deal with her growing and overwhelming feelings for someone she could never have.

A new hire in the public relations department of the label falling for the leader of the biggest band in the world? It had disaster written all over it. Which is exactly what she told Namjoon. He had laughed, saying she was being paranoid, that they weren’t doing anything wrong by hanging out, getting closer, but she knew better. She wasn’t laughing. And by the end of their conversation today, he wasn’t either. Instead, he was looking at her like she had slapped him in the face, ruining any chance of a normal relationship between them.

“Ha, normal,” she thought with a slight, sardonic chuckle. Like anything involving this situation could be classified as normal. She knew how she felt–there was nothing normal about that considering their situation. Two people from different sides of the world, the employee-employer aspect of it all…not to mention the fact that he was a beloved Idol and completely untouchable. It could never work, she knew that. So why was he being so stubborn? He was fighting her every step of the way, telling her that the way they felt about each other warranted at least trying to be together. But it wasn’t that easy. If they didn’t work out, well, easy enough for him to move on and forget this ever happened. But, for her, it meant career devastation.

“But what if it did work out,” Y/N whispered to herself, letting the warm feeling of possibility wrap around her like a hug. She didn’t let the sensation linger, squashing it with a shake of her head as she began to furiously type to try and distract herself from the broken record that was her head versus her heart.

Her phone began to softly buzz on the nightstand next to her. She glanced at the time on her computer - 1:04 a.m. A little late for even an emergency client call. She reached for the phone, answering before checking the name on the screen.

“This is Y/N,” she said, putting on her best professional tone despite her current state of being tucked into bed in her pajamas.

“Y/N.” She knew right away she made a mistake answering the phone.

“Namjoon,” she whispered into the receiver. “What’s - what’s going on? Are you alright?” She shook her head with worry, assuming the only reason he could be calling at this hour after the way the day had transpired was for an emergency.

“Yes, no, well, technically yes,” Namjoon said. It sounded like he was on a busy street. Not hard considering her location in downtown Seoul, but he was clearly outside rather than calling from his home with the rest of BTS.

“Why are you calling me? It’s late, Namjoon,” Y/N said, not really knowing what to say. Alarm bells were ringing in her head, but she needed to know he was really okay before hanging up.

“I know, I - I’m outside,” Namjoon said. Y/N felt her breath catch, realizing the noisy street in the background was her street. She got up like a shot, keeping the phone to her ear as she rushed to the window, pushing the curtain to the side and peering out, seeing a bundled up Namjoon on the phone outside of her apartment building door. He was wearing a black hat, mask covering the lower half of his face, glasses perched on his nose–an attempt to look inconspicuous. He seemed to sense someone’s eyes on him, looking up at her window. She reeled back from the window, tripping over a nearby chair in her haste.

“Fuck,” Y/N swore under her breath, gaining her balance.

“Y/N, please,” Namjoon whispered. She knew he had seen her, but she needed another 30 seconds to gather herself before she could really, truly wrap her head around the situation. It was late. He was here. “Y/N?” Namjoon said her name like a question, wondering if he had lost her.

“I’m here. I - I’ll buzz you up,” Y/N said, grabbing a sweatshirt out of her top drawer to pull over her loose t-shirt and shorts to try and cover up at least some of herself. She counted backwards from ten, knowing exactly how long it would take him to get in the door and up the stairs until...

Two knocks on the door broke her out of her dreamlike state. She tiptoed to the door, opening it slowly, taking in the sight before her. She hadn’t seen him since their fight, and, honestly, she assumed she really would never see him like this again. Frazzled, hair messed up from anxiously running his fingers through it again and again.

He bore his eyes into her so intently she looked down at a worn spot on the floor to avoid them. She saw one of his feet step forward toward her, and she instinctively stepped back away from him. He stopped. She looked up. He looked - hurt. Hurt that she had stepped away from him. Hurt that she was so clearly uncomfortable with the situation. The easy way they used to talk to each other, laugh with each other in the hallways outside of his studio - it was gone. He wanted so desperately to get it back, see the glimmer in her eyes right before she hit him with a sarcastic comeback, watch her cheeks get red when he teased her. He craved it, that comfort, that familiarity.

She spoke first.

“Namjoon, what are you doing here?” She knew she needed to be direct - get to the point so he could leave and she could get back to pretending everything was fine–normal, even.

“I couldn’t leave things the way we left them today. I couldn’t stop thinking about you, about everything I wanted to say but didn't. I felt like, well, I felt like I lost you. And I couldn’t stomach that. I just couldn’t,” Namjoon said quietly. They were still standing in her doorway. Y/N felt tears well up in her eyes. She blamed exhaustion. She took a deep breath before turning away, walking toward the kitchen. He took it as an invitation to come inside, closing and locking the door behind him as he took off his coat. He heard the kettle start to hiss with the sound of boiling water and smiled - tea. Of course she was making tea. Her way to cope with stressful situations, with emotional coworkers, was always to make them tea.

Namjoon shuffled into the kitchen, hands in his pockets, mask and jacket now removed, as he watched her work, grabbing two mugs from the cabinet and popping tea bags into each of them. The kettle started to get louder, causing her to jump slightly at the interruption to the otherwise silence throughout her apartment. She poured the water slowly, knowing that, when it was done, she would have to look at him again. When she couldn’t avoid it anymore, she turned, handing him a mug.

“Here,” she said simply, passing him and heading to her couch, sitting on the corner of it and curling her feet under her. Namjoon followed her lead yet again, sitting on the opposite end of the couch. He felt like he was a mile from her instead of a few feet. He waited.

“I don’t like the way we left things either,” Y/N said. Namjoon turned his head to her, eyes wide with anticipation and hope. She didn’t return his gaze. “But,” his heart sank, “I can’t change my mind. This is the way things have to be.” She took a long sip of tea, shivering at the contact with hot liquid.

“You can’t, or you don’t want to?” Namjoon said, realizing what she had really said.

Y/N looked at him shocked, realizing she had slipped up in her argument - she might be trying to fight this rationally, but her heart clearly wasn’t all the way in it.

“I - I don’t know,” Y/N said, defeated.

“Yes, you do,” Namjoon encouraged, putting his mug down on the coffee table. He turned to her fully now, refusing to break eye contact with her. “You just don’t want to admit it to yourself because then it will all be real. All the late-night phone calls when we’re stressed, the meals in my studio together. All of it.”

Her eyes got wide and her mouth opened slightly before she quickly shut it and composed herself.

“If it’s real, we’ll both just end up getting hurt, and you know that. You can’t sit here and pretend it’s all going to be okay. Because it’s just - it’s just not,” Y/N suddenly felt more tired than she had all night, dropping her head into her hands and covering her face with her shaking fingers. She felt a tug on her right hand, Namjoon’s warm fingers circling hers as he pulled both hands away from her face. He got up from the couch, kneeling in front of her. She looked up slightly, meeting him eye-level in front of her. He put their joined hands in her lap, stroking the back of her hand subconsciously with her thumb, comforting her.

“How many times do I have to tell you that I’m not going anywhere before you believe it?” Namjoon asked. “It doesn’t matter if it gets complicated or difficult or messy. I will be here for you. I will fight for us.” The exasperation, love, and his own exhaustion were written in his eyes as he scanned hers for reassurance that she felt the same way - that she knew she couldn’t keep going on denying what felt right.

“How can you be so sure?” Y/N asked quietly. He let out a breath, gripping her hands tighter as he brought his face closer to hers.

“Because I’m in love with you. I love you, Y/N,” Namjoon whispered. He saw the emotion flicker across her face, tears fill her eyes. He didn’t have any other words - he grabbed her face with both hands and kissed her, more passionately than he had ever kissed her. He poured every ounce of love and emotion into that kiss, wanting her to know and to feel exactly how he felt. She hesitated at first before wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him closer, his own dropping down around her waist and bringing their bodies as close as possible given their position.

Y/N pulled back first, trying to catch her breath. He looked at her expectantly, hoping she would let him hear the words he so badly wanted - no, needed - to hear.

“Namjoon, I love you, too,” Y/N whispered into the small space between them. It felt like a weight had been lifted off of her chest, finally being able to say those three words to the man that had entered every part of her soul and refused to leave. The man in front of her who was smiling bigger than she had ever seen. He stood up, grabbing her right hand and bringing her to stand in front of him. Then, he grabbed her and spun her around, both of their laughter filling her apartment. After all of the tension, the stress of the day - it felt like the pieces were falling into place again.

He put her back on her feet, looking down at her with the most love and adoration. Her cheeks were tinged pink from laughter, her lips slightly swollen from their kissing. He had never seen her look so beautiful.

“What are we going to do?” Y/N asked, her joy from their mutual admissions of love being replaced with worry. Her forehead scrunched down slightly in worry. He kissed her on the forehead, then both cheeks, then the corner of her mouth, before placing a soft, gentle kiss on her lips. He pulled back, placing his forehead on hers.

“We’ll figure it out - together,” he said simply, confidently. He felt her nod slightly in affirmation against his head, his eyes closing as he just took in this moment between them. Hell, he had waited so long, he needed to just soak it in.

He felt her take his hand in hers, opening his eyes to look at the woman he loved. She led him to her bed, climbing in under the covers while he took off his shoes before climbing in next to her. He wrapped his arms around her, smiling as he felt her head nuzzle into his chest, body forming perfectly to his side. He kissed the top of her head and closed his eyes. Y/N felt Namjoon’s breathing slow down slightly.

“I love you,” he whispered into her hair.

“I love you, too,” she responded, snuggling closer to him, closing her mind to the stress that was to come, knowing that Namjoon would be by her side when it did. His arms tightened around her as they both fell asleep. It was the best night of sleep they both had gotten in a long time.

#bts fluff #bts angst #reader x namjoon #bts namjoon #namjoon imagine #bts imagine #bts imagines #bts #bts drabble #bts x reader #kim namjoon #bangtan #namjoon fic #bts fic

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kusagrasskusa · 3 years

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Gaara X Innocent! Reader - "Hellfire"

Gaara's age is bumped up to 16 in this btw, and the reader is 16 as well. This takes place the night Gaara kills that one Sound Ninja on the rooftop, during the chunin exams. Also, Gaara might be considered a Yandere, but I don't know (you'll see why lol) Lastly, when I talk about Gaara burning, I mean it metaphorically. Yes, this is 100% based off The Hunchback of Notre Dame

FYI! This story isn't very romantic so if you're a fan of slightly darker stories, go ahead snd read this I suppose. Plus Y/N is kinda a coward in this

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There he sat, on top of the rooftop late at night. Tomorrow would be the full moon, when Gaara's power would increase in perfect timing for another battle in the chunin exams. Competition is getting tough and examtakers are either extra aggressive with everyone or forming alliances. Not only that, but so many people are winning each challenge that too few people are being eliminated. That's all that's important and all that will be important until the Sand Village finally finishes off Konoha with the help of the Sound Village. But how, even with these much more important factors, is the only thing Gaara could think about is some normal pediatrician girl?

The moment he met her in the streets, a flame was set in his heart. He had been walking through Konoha after register for the exams and noticed a pretty young girl running through the streets, shouting for help. All she received was weird glances and eye rolls, however Gaara and his siblings caught on. Much to his sister and brother's surprise, Gaara had no problems hearing her pleas and then defending her. Someone had been following her; someone who her family had bad history with and from the looks of it, that person planned to hurt her.

He had no problems escorting her home and listening to her talk along the way. Her voice was so soft, her colorful kimono and flowers in her hair fitting for someone with an innocent and sweet personality. She seemed to be oblivious to the mysterious looks of Gaara and his siblings, or the way Gaara was so cold and silent. She payed no mind and spoke to him as id he was normal; like he was human. And it was that fact, her ignoring his dangerous aura, that lit that flame.

After since that day, that flame grew so strong. Every set of bright shades of the colors she wore on her clothes, every flower that she decorated herself with, every word or item that she mentioned in the little time she spoke to him, and everyone with E/C eyes would make him think of her. That sweet, kind, oblivious girl. It's like she cast a spell on him to make him slowly burn alive; that little flame she set it him would quickly grow into hellfire. His burning desires to see her again, to hold her, to love, traveled through his skin and veins. It didn't take long for Gaara to convince himself she did something cruel to him to use his demon, just like his father is using his demon to destroy Konoha in a few days.

Gaara was began to assume the girl was mocking him when she spoke to him so lightly; that he was no one to be afraid of. It was so insulting, but she was able to hide her cruel and disgraceful jeers under a sweet and loving facade and cute clothing. That has to be it, he thought. No one could ever like me, no one can love me, other than me. More and more of Gaara's thoughts were consumed, then all at once, by thoughts of her. She was like a demon dragging him to hell to torture forever. That beautiful girl with those lovely E/C eyes and pretty clothing was using him, he convinced himself. And someone like that deserved death.

That sweet, young girl had a name; Y/N. She was incapable of sleeping, as a terrible feeling in her stomach was keeping her awake. She pouted her lip and huffed, poking her stomach and whispering to herself, "I want that bad feeling to go away!" That feeling was pure anxiety and a hint of fear. These emotions were very uncommon for Y/N as she had always. Even a positive thinker with lots of love in her heart for even villains to an extent. She sighed, turning over in her bed on her back for sitting up, flipping her legs over her bedside. She stood up and put on a soft kimono over her pajamas and walked to the front door of her home, put on her sandels, and walked out. "Maybe a nice walk around the village will tire me out!"

"It's almost the full moon," Gaara said aloud. "My power will only grow stronger." He stood up, staring intensly at the moon as if it's the only thing keeping him from being devored by his hellish thoughts. His thoughts of how lovely it would be to destroy that girl who made his chest feel warm and his face heat up when she talked to him. That girl who made him feel the way he feels about himself, only a bit different. He had never felt romantic love to anyone, and for him to suddenly feel so strongly about someone instantly convinced him that she did something to him. Someone who would ever control him like would burn in hell before the hellfire consumes him first.

A rough, quiet and threatening voice erupted from behind the redhead. He paid no mind to anything that came out of the mouth of the Sound Village ninja rather just acknowledged that he wanted a fight. Without even realizing it, all that bloodlust built up through thinking of Y/N was released, ending in that Sound Village ninjas blood being spilled all over the roof top. It felt like a weight was taken off his back when he killed the ninja, but in the back of his head he knew it wasn't enough. Gaara didn't want that petty ninja, only that witch known as Y/N. Every passing second, that hellfire coursing through his veins were blazing out of control, weren't they?

"Maybe a nice walk around the village will tire me out!" Gaara's ears perked at that voice. That voice. Y/N's voice. Just like that, Gaara's need for blood grew strong again but this time, it felt different. He killed the Sound Village Ninja with aggression, but knowing he could kill Y/N now that he heard her close by made him feel an exciting kind of bloodlust. Those flames coursing through his body grew hotter every second, growing ever more desperate to get his hands on her.

"It's been a while since I've seen the garden at night come to think about. The moon is bright tonight so it's bound to be pretty sight!" That sweet, soft voice called out from the ground, below Gaara's feet. She walked the pathway it takes to find a nearby lake, where a nice little garden lays. A smile rose on Gaara's face; one of pure hate and excitement. His chest pained to greatly at the thought of her death, but that hellfire coursing through his body was telling him to hurt her. The front of his mind was screaming for him to kill her and use her blood as a piece of his deadly sand, but the back of his kind was whispering for him to comprehend how he feels about her first.

So he began to follow her. Gaara quietly walked from the rooftops, not daring to make a single sound. He continued to smile as he followed her, his smile growing the more he heard her talk to herself. Such a sweet girl with such a pure heart. It's a shame someone with Gaara's problems sees her as a witch because he loves her. As another 10 minutes go by, Y/N began walking into the woods and towards the lake. Gaara jumped to the ground without making a sound and followed her discreetly by hiding behind trees. He stopped when Y/N did. Y/N's eyes widened and sparkled at the amazing sight before her; the moon reflecting on the lake as beautiful flowers and trees accompanied toads on lilipads in the water. Pure bliss.

"Wow...It's incredible!" She laughed in awe. "My arms feel so weak at the sight," she spoke again as her smile widened. "I wish mom was here to see this!" Gaara hummed, looking over the scenery as well. It wasn't very interesting, but it was something he supposed. After all, Y/N loved it. Gaara looked around and saw no one nearby, meaning now would be a great time to react. He silently tip toed over to Y/N, using trees to cover himself. However, Y/N spotted him when she looked around the area in case there was anyone nearby (after all, she was being loud and who knows who lived in the area).

"Hmm? Hi, you there!" She said, waving her hand towards that silhouette behind that tree. Gaara'a face turned into one of the confusion, his "eyebrows" furrowing. Why isn't she scared of someone creeping up behind her in the woods? "Sorry if I'm bothering you! I just wanted to see what's it's like here at night. I can leave if you want," she said, swaying her body back and forth.

"...No, it's quite alright," Gaara replied as he stepped from behind the trees. He walked up the her, and instantly Y/N recognized him. She gasped, surprised.

"I remember you! You're the one that saved me! Thank you so much!" She giggled, clasping her hands together and bowing deeply. "My deepest thanks." Gaara paused, feeling his cheeks heat up a bit.

"My heart is pounding," he mumbled allowed, pressing his hand against his chest. "What have you done to me?" He asked, tilting his head to the side. Y/N stood up straight, giving him a questioning hum in return. Her face looked so innocent and sweet; it's all apart of that facade, isn't it? Gaara growled, roughly grabbing Y/N's shoulders and pulling her close. She jumped, gasping a little at the sudden action. "I said, what did you do to me? Where did this hellfire come from, you witch!" His voice went from his normal calm tone to a scream instantly.

Y/N's eyes widened and her body started to shiver a little. She furrowed her eyebrows together, stuttering out a reply. "I-I don't understand..." That answer wasn't good enough for Gaara as he had no problem throwing her to the ground and looming over her with a look of anger across his facial features. His fist was clenched so tight that his veins were showing. "I don't know what you're talking about!" Y/N yelled out fearfully, covering her face. Tears began to swell in her eyes and her voice became shakey.

Sand began to pour out from behind him and his heart ate picked up again. That flame in his heart was so strong and terrifying to Gaara that he was okay with killing the girl he fell in love with right then and now. His body was so scared that it wanted to kill her, but his heart was too scared to rid such a wonderful girl from the world forever. "Tell me, witch. What did... you do?" He asked again, staring at her so intensely that she could feel his eyes burning into her skin. She sniffed, now too scared to reply upon seeing that sand loom over her.

After a few moments, he screamed, "tell me!" Y/N chocked up on tears, taking a deep breath before replying.

"I don't know any magic or special jutsus, sir! I didn't do anything to you!" She cried out, slowly sitting up. "I'm sorry!" Gaara hissed, silent for a couple minutes. In that time, Gaara remained still as Y/N slowly began to stand up. In her mind, she was recalling words her mom once spoke to her about dangerous people. People are born innocent and harmless and only bad environments or situations can taint their purity. With that in mind, Y/N assumed that Gaara had problems that she couldn't understand. And with a heart as pure as her's, she had already forgave Gaara for scaring her and already felt sympathy for him. She slowly walked closer to him, the hairs on her neck standing up with anxiety, and put an arm on his shoulder.

That touch made him snatch back to reality. He slowly put his hand on top of her's; he was so confused and overwhelmed with opposing emotion and thought. "Then why? Why do you make me feel this way?" He asked in a low rough voice. Y/N began to wrap her arms around him and then hug him softly, shutting her eyes tightly. She managed to push her worried back as she found giving this sad, sad man affection was more important. Gaara felt his chest grow warm again and suddenly, she chuckled.

"I think your hellfire consumed me. I can't even find it in myself to kill you anymore, witch. I think I'm in love with you," he said, blinking away tears. He was so scared and his body pained to kill her, but he just couldn't. He was so overwhelmed with the pleasant feeling of Y/N arms being around him to ever lay a finger on her in anger. Instead he just hugged her back tightly, stuffing his face into the crook of her neck and sniffing. He was obviously holding back tears, which didn't work very well. Afterall, for the first time in forever, he felt like he could show a little bit of a soft side.

"You're gonna control me, aren't you? Use my feelings against me and bend me to your will? You're so cruel, even with the face of an angel." Y/N hummed, not understanding his comments. She just sighed, hugging him tighter and opening her eyes.

"Hey, Gaara, isn't it? Why don't we spend time out here tomorrow? I'd like to get to know you better."

Gaara grunted in response, closing his eyes and wiping his tears with on arm, keeping his other arm tightly around her smaller form. Yeah, whatever hellfire he feels has completely consumed him before he could stop it.

Lol sorry this written to bad!

#gaara x reader #gaara x you #gaara x y/n #gaara x innocent reader #yandere gaara #yandere gaara x reader #naruto x reader #innocent reader #reader insert #naruto shippuden #naruto shitposting #gaara is so sweet #i have a test today #anime #shounen

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rons-wheezely · 3 years

Text

Honey Boy || Cedric

[requested!]

Genre: Fluff!!! Expect your teeth to rot :)

[muggle!reader] [cedric x reader]

Summary: Traditional muggle baking is a favorite past time of yours, although many students are prejudiced against it. A certain boy always liked your baking though, and that’s the only thing that matters. “I had a friend of mine teach me, but I doubt it’s as good as yours.” “It’s absolutely stunning.”

A/N: I’m combining the two requests because sweets + fluff = a recipe for a good Cedric fic lol also I’m so sorry that this fic took me forever!! Once I started writing, it never really stopped so it ended up being kind of long, I hope that is okay!

--x--

When you first came to the Wizarding Academy, it was like a dream come true. In the following weeks, however, it proved to be a little bit less than that. “What are you wearing?”

You stare blankly at a fellow student. “My robes, of course. Why?”

“No, I meant the things on your hands.”

“Oh,” you look at your hands. You’re wearing oven mitts, the ones your parents bought you to take to the academy. You often borrowed the Hogwarts kitchen after hours, so to see you like this is no surprise. Every once in awhile, however, some curious student or the other will waltz by and scrutinize you. “These are oven mitts. It’s a muggle thing.”

The students nods slowly, still trying to understand the reasoning behind it. After a while, the student leaves, mumbling to themselves about “why not use the wand?” but you didn’t pay any mind to it, most kids leave the same response anyways.

You finished up cleaning the countertop area, this time with your wand, reciting an incantation one of the many house elves taught you. They had their own magic, but since you were so keen on using the kitchen, it became a staple rule to clean up after yourself. It swirled around and swept up all of the mixing bowls into the air, letting them dance themselves all the way into the sink. The stainless steel sink bubbled with warm water and soap, busying itself with scrubbing each dish that comes its way.

You smiled happily to yourself. Someone cleared their throat behind you, and you froze. Everything stop mid-production, like a pause button. Paranoia ate away at you, wondering who it could be this time. Perhaps it was a professor, with a scowl on their face and yelling to the heavens. Or perhaps it was another student, a silent stare creeping on the back of your neck.

You turned around, scared out of your wits, only to be met with a disarming smile and yellow accented robes. “I thought you’d be here.” Cedric Diggory smiled at you, and the anxiety melted away with it.

“Really? How come?”

“Tori said just as much,” he walked closer, looking around the room in wonder. Slowly, you resumed the cleaning process, watching how his eyes lit up at the scenery. “I was going to ask if you wanted to study, but,” he chuckles,” it seems like I’ve come at a bad time?”

The oven beeped, catching the attention of the both of you. You rushed over frantically, throwing the oven mitts back over your fingertips. “Actually–”

You open an oven left somewhere in the far corner, letting the delicious scent of baked goodies fill the empty room. At once, Diggory was enraptured in consuming aroma that drifted by. “You came right on time,” you said as you gently take the tray out.

He eyes the tray curiously, watching you fan them to cool down quicker. You only wanted it to cool down faster so that he could have a bite, but just seeing you dramatically fan the goodies brought a smile on his face. “–I wouldn’t say right on time, it’s probably more like a few minutes early, but if you’d like I have–”

“Of course, y/n.” He looks at you,” I’d be more than happy to try them.”

It’s not until hours roll by and an empty tray of goodies gone did you realize how late it became. You sat upright and stiff, a shocking revelation dawning on you. “We never studied.”

“Oh y/n,” Cedric’s nose nose scrunched up as he tried desperately to hid his smile. He failed miserably, letting his lips curl up in delight. “It’s a bit late now, isn’t it?”

“It’s no use, I suppose...” You tapped on your chin as you thought of a solution. “Maybe we can study together tomorrow? The exam isn’t until Friday, right?”

“I’d like that.”

That night you lay awake, the comfy sheets tangled between your legs. You can’t sleep, and thoughts drifted in and out of your head restlessly. As far as you knew, Cedric was a pureblood. But he never judged you, not once, about anything muggle related. It’s kind of liberating; to feel so welcomed in Cedric’s presence.

Your body grew too warm for the bed, tossing and turning as you did so. Your cheeks were hot to the touch, embarrassment leaking out of your pores. It was only a fleeting thought, but then it lingered and then oh, how it wouldn’t go away. Cedric is kind hearted, so much so, that it had touched the very depths of your heart. The little inkling thought that made your breath catch in your throat was the fact that maybe, just a little bit, it would be nice to love a boy like him.

A couple of days later, you found a new recipe that reminded you of Cedric. You busied yourself in the kitchen, letting the joy of baking for another fill you to the brim. After a battle of wits against the mixing machine, there was finally a moment to pause. The sweet scent of chocolate muffins consumed you and left an itch to share the funny butterflies in your stomach. Fresh out of the oven, you wrap one of the muffins up. You neatly tuck the sweet treats into your bag and flurry down the hallway.

If you want him to try it at its peak performance, you need to deliver it while the muffins are still warm. The hallway doesn’t have many students, but you spot your friends, Fred and George.

“Hey Fred,” you smile, half out of breath. “–and George too.”

They smirk when they see you, already lining up a flurry of tricks to play. The Weasley on the left spoke up saying,”What’s the hurry?”

“Yeah, what’s the rush?” The twin on the right said.

“Would you happen to know where,” you pause. Breathing seemed to take its time coming to you. “..where Diggory might be?”

A unified “ooohhh,” sung out from their mouths. Regretfully, you could see it in their eyes that they knew. You liked the boy, didn’t you? With a whistle, George says,” Last I checked it was the Quidditch field.”

You murmur a small thanks and rush off towards the fields. Your footsteps thundered down the corridors, an aching feeling settling in your toes. Baking is one thing, but running across campus? No thanks. And the butterflies. There were so many of them fluttering around, sputtering things that warmed up your cheeks. You wonder how so many butterflies could fit into one stomach, but you digress.

When you reach the fields, Cedric was coming out of one of the tents. Your eyes meet, and his smile practically sweeps you off of the ground. “Hey,” he says as he walks up to you.

Cedric pat his face with a towel, a sheen of shiny sweat rubbing away with the soft fabric.

Immediately you can feel the heat rush from your body to your face. The comfort of his presence juxtaposing your uncomfortable stance was very foreign, but it helped to ease your nerves. “I... I made you some muffins. It’s good luck for the upcoming game, you see.”

His eyes widen just a bit, watching as you frantically pull out the muffin from your satchel. You reach out to hand it to him. Thankfully, it’s still fresh and warm, and the tingling feeling is hot on your fingertips. A gentle,”Thank you,” reaches you ears as he softly takes the baked item into his palms.

You see a teammate call out to him. You want to talk to him more, having only spoken about two sentences, but to your dismay, the better part of you knew better than to keep him to yourself. He turns back to you, the same look on his face.

“I know I’ll love it y/n, don’t worry. I’ll tell you how it tastes later, yeah?”

You nod and watch as he jogs off, hurrying to grab his broomstick. The next week flew in quickly, and the flurry of wizarding homework drowned out all of your free time. As silly as it was, you didn’t have any time to bake now that exams are around the corner.

Light leaks in from the castle window, pouring in to fill the room. Dust basks in the warm sunlight, the particles bothersome to your occasional sneezes. Why does the Hogwarts’ library have to be simultaneously the best and worst place to study?

Hours tick by, and the fatigue is starting to kick in. You’ve been staring at your textbooks for hours. “Ah,” a voice chimes in. “There you are.”

Your droopy eyes immediately shoot open, and you look up to see Cedric. “Oh! Hey, Diggory.” A smile creeps on to your face, unable to hide the relief and joy you found in his presence. “What are you doing here? I thought you were studying with Cho this afternoon?”

He looks down at the ground while his robes silently swayed with his movements. He’s grown awfully quiet, so you thought there was something on the ground. You glance at where he is looking, but there’s nothing to be found. “Cedric?”

Your words snap him back to reality. Red starts to flood his cheeks, and his eyes widen at the sudden jolt. “Ah–– s...sorry!” He stutters. He sounds nervous, but the way he carries himself and moves so fluidly, it looks effortless. His fingers have a mind of their own as they kindly closed the heavy textbook and find a way to your hand. “Come with me, will you?”

And of course, how could you say no to that?

He leads you somewhere quiet. It’s one of those outdoor hallways, but the scene is empty with nothing but stone and the sunset sky. Your heart beats a little faster when he stops. His figure stands tall, but it takes him a minute to look you in the eyes. Warily, he pulls out container.

“I’m not the best at baking, I know,” he chuckles,” but I wanted you to know how much I appreciate the things you’ve done for me.”

He holds out the package, and when you open it there is a miniature cake inside. Despite the concept of a mini cake being delicate, wonky handwriting is scrawled and piped on top. It’s barely legible, so you squint.

“It’s supposed to be honey cake, but uh... don’t be surprised if it doesn’t taste quite right.” He says. “I had a friend of mine teach me, but I doubt it’s as good as yours.”

You two stand there in awkward silence until finally, you understand the words on the cake. “i like you” is what it says. Suddenly not only did the butterflies come back, frogs were also caught in your throat. The boy you liked.... likes you back?

“You... you like me?” The statement that leaves your mouth comes out as more of a question, the shock and confusion stunning your senses.

He nods. “Do you... like the cake?”

“It’s absolutely stunning,” you breathe out. Of course you would like it, Cedric Diggory made it for you.

He hands you a fork and motions you to sit on the stone ledge. You do so numbly, eager to taste. You take a bite and let fluffy texture fill your heart and soul. “Cedric, it’s delicious! I love everything about it.”

You glance at him, and maybe it’s just you, but his face is a breath away from yours. Warmth radiates between you two before he breaks the silence.

“..Can I kiss you?”

It was sweet like honey –– sweet like him.

--x--

A/N: oh boy that was a long one...... Definitely inspired by some honey cake I had lol

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tricksters-captain · 4 years

Text

Weasley Twins/Cedric Diggory Imagines - Accidental Meeting - Part 6

AN: Here ya go! Enjoy!

Overall Summary: (Y/n), is a young witch who always kept her head down due to her complicated past; one day she bumps quite literally into one of the most popular boys in Hogwarts, Cedric Diggory, and that’s when (Y/n)’s plan of keeping her head down seems to go up into the air. Things only seem to worsen when two redheaded twins start to take notice too...

This Chapter: It’s the first match of the season! Gryffindor vs Hufflepuff

(MASTERLIST HERE)

Pairing(s): Cedric Diggory x Reader, (Eventual) George Weasley x Reader, (Platonic) Fred Weasley x Reader, (Platonic) Oliver Wood x Reader

Word Count: 3,376

Warnings: None

“Wood, you need to get laid, mate.” Fred stared at the older boy as he paced the common room. He was as tense as a wooden plank and stressed about the game plan which he thought ‘just wasn’t perfect yet’.

“(Y/n), why don’t you take one for the team?” Fred looked across the sofa at you and you rolled your eyes.

“Or we could use a simple potion on him to relax him or even better knock him out?” You offered a different suggestion looking up at Oliver as he passed you.

“The match is tomorrow. It’s the first one of the season, we must win. With the team change, there is more competition; Malfoy is no match really for Harry as a seeker but Diggory is different.” Oliver’s accent seem to make his words slur together as his thoughts overflowed from his mouth.

“Ooooo, pretty boy Diggory. (Y/n)’s new favourite study partner.” Fred smirked, winking at you as he teased.

“Better watch out, Wood. You’ll lose your only fan at this rate.” George added, smiling along side his brother.

You threw one of the pillows from under your arm at the twins to shut them up before Oliver finally plodded himself down next to you.

“Come on, Oli. Just quit thinking about it, you guys don’t need the perfect game plan when you are an actual good team. You need sleep. Energy for tomorrow morning.” You rested your head on Oliver’s shoulder as he leant back.

“You know I won’t sleep tonight.” Oliver shifted his arm so he could wrap it around you and you scooted closer to the boy, frowning at his statement.

“Alright, get a room.” George’s joke earned a glare from you. The twins knew you and Oliver were like family but it didn’t stop them from commenting on anything you and Oliver did together.

“We know that the real reason Oliver won’t be sleeping tonight is because of your brothers snoring.” You snarked back at the twins with a smile.

“Ah yes.” Fred slapped his knee. “Poor ol’ Wood, having to share a room with Percy.”

“Wouldn’t wish it on anybody.” George added which made all of you laugh.

“It’s fine, only a few more months of it, Wood.” Fred brought up the fact Oliver was leaving this summer and you felt your heart ache.

“What will (Y/n) do without you?” George asked,

“Cling onto Diggory, I suppose.” Fred teased, laughing like he couldn’t help it.

“He’ll be better company than you two.” You retorted which made both twins clutch their hands over their hearts dramatically.

“Ouch, (Y/n). Really ouch.” Fred groaned.

“The better question is what will the quidditch team do when I leave?” Wood smirked, changing the topic slightly to avoid any more Cedric talk.

“Might actually win some matches.” George quipped. Your jaw dropped into an open smile and you brought your hand up to cover your laughter.

“You think you’re clever, Weasley––” Wood threw a pillow at the twins which started a pillow war.

You ducked behind the sofa as protection as the teams formed to be you and Oliver vs the twins.

You and Oliver continued to lob back any pillows thrown in your direction. You rejoiced each time you got one of the twins on top of their red heads and the twins did the same every time they managed to get you.

“I give! I give! I give up!” You squealed as all of a sudden the three boys target you, hitting you each with their own pillows repeatedly.

The blows stopped and the laughter continued as you huffed your hair out of your face. Your cheeks glowing pink from the warmth and excitement of the fight.

George offered his hand to you to pull you off the floor.

You took it.

His large hand was warm against yours and his other hand wrapped around your wrist as he pulled you to your feet.

“Three against one isn’t exactly fair.” You grumbled as you stood.

“It’s not like you’d be any match for one of us anyway, love. It’s saving your the embarrassment of losing to just one of us if all three of us get you.” Fred was the one to reply. He couldn’t help but notice George watching you even after letting your hand go.

“Keep telling yourself that.” You decided it was time to head to bed as you dumped the pillows back on the sofas.

The twins and Oliver bid you goodnight as you walked up the stairs and you did the same.

When you woke in the morning, the room was dark and dreary, you could see Angelina lacing up her boots on the edge of her bed ready for the match ahead.

The noise of raindrops smashing against the window made your stomach drop as you realised the first match of the season would be in the worst weather yet.

“Wrap up warm, (Y/n). It’s not gonna be an easy game today.” Angelina noticed you were awake as she caught you staring at the window.

“A long one too. I doubt anyone will be seeing, let alone catching, the snitch in this weather.” You internally groaned at the thought.

You dressed yourself as best as you could to try and stay warm and dry. You wrapped yourself in thick clothes before putting on some boots and a large rain coat.

You trudged down the stairs to see Oliver in his uniform waiting for you with a muffin.

“I already went to breakfast. I figured you wouldn’t go at all if I already went.” Oliver handed you the muffin and you smiled.

“How thoughtful. Perhaps you could’ve waited for me in the first place.”

“Early bird gets the worm, (Y/n).” Oliver defended himself as he started towards the door to leave.

You followed him out of the common and down the stairs towards the quidditch pitch.

“Have you heard anything from your uncle?” He asked.

“Nope, not since I sent off my letter a few days ago.” You shook your head as you tightened the drawstring on your hood. “I don’t expect to hear anything back now until something new happens with him.”

“You know, I’ve known you this long and I still don’t get you and your uncle.” Oliver admitted, sending you a side glance.

“I mean how can you understand him and everything he’s gone through? He’s not the most loving parental figure I got but he is the only one I have. We keep each other updated on the important things. He doesn’t need to be burdened with my feelings on boys or exams, he’s got too much going on upstairs to care about some teenage girls anxieties.” You gestured to your head and Oliver just chuckled.

“Guess that’s what I’m here for.” Oliver suggested,

“You are perfectly correct there, Oli boy.” You opened your umbrella as you and Wood prepared to run to the pitch in the rain.

You waited in the team tent with Oliver for the team to slowly scatter in.

“Actually here then, Seyler.” Fred using your surname was something you’d have to get used to but since you were just with the team who rarely judged you because of Oliver, you didn’t say anything about it.

“I keep my promises.” You said proudly.

“Yeah right, you’re just here cause of pretty boy Diggory, admit it.” Fred wiggled his eyebrows at you and you flipped him off.

“I’m heading to get a seat, Oli. Make sure not to fall off your broom today.” You wished the boy luck with a quick hug before climbing the stairs to find somewhere to sit or stand with the Gryffindors.

The rain wasn’t easing up. It came down hard and heavy and with grumbling roars of thunder around it.

You felt a knot in your stomach as you thought about all the possible ways things could end badly with the weather.

The first on the pitch were the Hufflepuff team.

You spotted Cedric as he lead the team out onto the field. He wore goggles and his hair was pushed back, wet from the rain along with his yellow quidditch robes which were darker from already being clearly soaked.

You couldn’t help but let your lips form a smile as he flew round to your side of the pitch and flew past you, sending one of his own dazzling smiles your way.

The Gryffindor team swiftly followed Hufflepuff and soon the whistle was blown and the game began.

You tried to watch Oliver but for some reason, your eyes always found themselves back to Cedric.

Quidditch matches were never quiet.

You laughed as the surrounding Gryffindors cheered and shouted over the thunder for their team.

You whooped and whistled whenever Oliver saved a goal and despite the bad weather, you didn’t seem to mind being out there for once.

You also cheered on for Fred and George as you found yourself paying attention to them too.

You furrowed your eyebrows as you lost sight of Cedric.

“They’ve gone up there!” Hermione seemed to have noticed you looking about and she gestured up into the clouds where you knew she was talking about Harry and Cedric.

Soon after, you saw Cedric racing after the snitch back out of the clouds but Harry wasn’t anywhere to be seen.

You couldn’t look up for too long as the rain drops attacked your face.

“HARRY!” Hermione screamed out as she spotted the boy falling fast towards the ground.

Almost no one had noticed over the Hufflepuffs roars as Cedric snagged the snitch. Hufflepuff won and Harry’s body was spiralling to the bottom of the quidditch match.

“Arresto momentum!” Dumbledore noticed Harry and cast out a spell to soften the fall.

Somehow the air got even colder and that’s when you noticed the Dementors above. They must’ve followed Harry down, it would explain why Harry was unconscious. He had fainted after an encounter with a Dementor before.

Dumbledore was furious, you could see it in his face.

You rushed through the stadium as Dumbledore sent the Dementors away; you reached the bottom as Harry was being lifted and escorted to the hospital wing.

Other students rushed past you to see if Harry was okay, you looked up towards the goals to see if Oliver was still there but he must've come to the ground.

You figured your best chance was to head back to the castle with the majority of the students instead of fighting through them, and you’d probably find Wood with Harry in the hospital.

As the students all rushed to get out of the rain you heard someone cough beside you ‘Deatheater’ and you rolled your eyes in frustration. Was this shit really gonna start up again?

You saw glimpses of orange hair and red quidditch robes heading towards the hospital wing ahead of you and you silently thanked the Weasley mother for birthing the tall twins.

Nudging and weaving your way through wet bodies you finally caught up to them.

“Is Oliver not with you?” You asked Fred and George as you took hold of their robes for them to notice you were behind them.

“Last I saw your boyfriend was talking to him.” Fred replied,

“What?” You were confused and taken back by the word ‘boyfriend’.

“Diggory pulled him to one side on the quidditch pitch.” George explained.

“Probably asking his blessing for your hand in marriage.” Fred smirked, you hit him in response.

“Hey!” Fred pouted as he rubbed arm.

“How’s Harry?” You peaked past the boys to see Ron, Hermione, Neville and Angelina surrounding Harry’s bed.

“Not sure yet since you dragged us to a stop to ask about your boyfriends.” Fred was pushing his luck with you but you didn’t feel any real anger at the teasing like you usually would.

“Harry could be dead and we wouldn’t know because we had to talk to you.” George played along with his twin.

“I’m terribly sorry. Please, get back to your adopted brother.” The sarcasm dripped off your tongue and the boys couldn’t help but find it amusing.

You turned on your heels and made your way down a now empty corridor to continue your search for Wood.

“(Y/n)!” You heard a voice echo as you passed a smaller corridor. Your head spun left and your eyes met a very damp Cedric.

“Cedric.” You returned his call.

As the boy neared you, you could see just how soaking he truly was.

Raindrops were still falling down his forehead, dripping off his brown curls and his pink cheeks were flushed from the warmth the castle held compared to outside.

Your eyes couldn’t help but notice his lips, almost shinning like lipgloss. Almost inviting.

“What’s wrong?” Cedric must've noticed your wrinkled expression as his eyebrows knitted together like yours.

“I’m just looking for Oliver.” You confessed.

“I just spoke to him on the pitch. I asked him if he would like a rematch since the Dementors attacked Harry but he said that we had won fair and square which I didn’t think was the exact truth but...” Cedric couldn’t help but ramble as he replayed the conversation in his head. “...But Wood insisted it was okay.”

“That’s big of him. Did you say he was still at the pitch or?”

“No, I don’t know where he went after. Possibly to find Harry’s broom.” Cedric suggested.

“Possibly.” You agreed. “Congratulations by the way.”

“Congratulations? I’m surprised you’re congratulating me, Wood is your best friend, I thought he’d have you swearing off talking to the enemy let alone congratulating them.” Cedric clearly found the conversation funny.

“Honestly, you think Oliver owns me or something?” You rolled your eyes, placing your hands on your hips as you looked up at the boy.

“I really hope not.” Cedric smiled back down at you which made your heart flutter.

You felt your lips part as Cedric flirted and you cleared your throat to save the embarrassment of your jaw hanging open.

“I should probably let you go. You look freezing in those wet clothes.” Cedric helped save you the embarrassment by not commenting on it.

“You too. Those robes must be heavy now.” You pointed at his quidditch robes which you had to admit looked especially good on the boy.

“Meet me outside my common room. I’m sure some hot chocolate with marshmallows will help warm you up?” Cedric raised his eyebrows as he made the offer. You could only nod back as an answer.

Cedric was the one to walk away as you felt suddenly very heavy in your boots.

“(Y/n)! There you are. Is Harry awake yet?” Oliver followed the same path Cedric had taken and came face to face with you only seconds later.

“I-I-I don’t know. I was looking for you.” You admitted, you noticed the broken broom wrapped up in his arms.

“Whomping Willow. That bastard tree.” Oliver cursed as he saw you look at the broom.

“Looks like your seeker needs a new broom.” You winced, knowing what Oliver was thinking now the fastest broom on the team was now broken.

“At least, hopefully with Madam Pomfrey’s help, I won’t be needing a new seeker.” Oliver was trying to look on the bright side.

“Go check on him. I’m heading back to the common room to dry off.” You ushered the boy forward before returning to the dorms.

You peeled out of your wet clothes and towel dried your hair. You pulled on some comfier, warmer clothes and a pair of fluffy socks. It always seems so much colder after you’ve been soaked through by the Scottish rain.

“You look cute. Off to meet someone?” Angelina sent you a knowing look as she entered the dorm, taking off her own wet robes.

“What?” You scoffed, “No, of course not. Who would I be meeting?”

“I don’t know but there have been rumours flying around about a particularly handsome Hufflepuff prefect quidditch captain.” Angie was being way too obvious that she meant Cedric.

“You should know by now to stop listening to rumours about me, Angelina.” You shook your head as you gathered your dirty laundry off the floor.

“Okay, have fun not going to meet anyone then...” Angelina giggled to herself as she wiggled her eyebrows.

You left the dorm, descending the stairs down to the common room where most Gryffindors were sat sourly as we lost and Harry had fallen and broke his broom.

You couldn’t see the twins or Oliver anywhere so you assumed they were still with Harry.

You left the common room quietly and made your way down to the kitchen corridor where the Hufflepuff common room was located.

You had never been near the Hufflepuff common room before. You hadn't really bothered going near any of the other house’s commons room actually. You hadn’t had friends outside Gryffindor before, more specifically outside the Gryffindor quidditch team.

You scrunched the sleeves of your sweater in the palm of your hands as you tiptoed down the corridor.

“There you are.” Cedric seemed to almost appear out of thin air as he exited the kitchens with two mugs of hot chocolate.

“How did you?” You gestured at the mugs as you questioned.

“The house elves are happy to give out food and drinks as long as they are treated well.” Cedric offered you your mug.

You smiled as you heard quiet humming coming from the cup.

“My father bought these marshmallows from Denmark. They sing as they melt into your drink.” Cedric smiled as you noticed the soft music.

The mug had a mound of cream on top with shavings of chocolate and several fluffy singing marshmallows.

“Thank you.” You held the mug close to you as it warmed your hands.

Cedric sat down with his back against the corridor wall and you sat beside him.

“I like your hair. It’s gone all curly.” Cedric complimented you which made you blush.

“Ugh, I hate it. The rain always makes it go really frizzy.” You patted the top of your head and groaned. Cedric just shook his head lightly at your actions.

“Is Harry okay?” He asked,

“I think so. Madam Pomfrey is the best healer I’ve ever seen so if anyone can fix him, she can.” You stated, sipping on your hot chocolate.

Cedric suddenly started laughing, his bright eyes wincing as his smile grew wide.

“What?” You smiled at him, the whipped cream now covering your noise.

Cedric wiped the cream from the tip of your nose, sucking it off his thumb as he continued to laugh.

You let your own laughter fall quiet as you examined the handsome boys face.

Your thoughts started to race as the marshmallows started to quietly hum an old love song.

“Why me?” You asked him.

“What do you mean?” Cedric questioned you back, looking from your eyes to your lips to your eyes again.

“Why talk to me this year? You could talk to anyone. We only briefly bumped into each other on that train ride. Why not leave it at that?”

“Because...” Cedric sat up further against the wall. “...I have never been drawn to anyone the way I was drawn to you after you purposely threw yourself against me.”

“I did not throw myself against you!” You screeched, defending yourself which only made Cedric laugh wildly again.

You tried not to laugh with him but your smile couldn't help but break out.

You both sat there in the quiet for a moment until you started humming along with the marshmallows.

“You know this?” Cedric asked, referring to the tune the sweets were singing.

“I love this song.” You whispered as you stared down at your mug.

Cedric suddenly started singing the words to the song but extremely off key.

“Shut up! You’re ruining it!” You nudged the boys shoulder which only started him up again. “Does your face not hurt, Mr Smiley?” You teased him for it.

“Come on.” Cedric rose to his feet and offered his hand out to you.

You took it.

His hand was warm.

“You hungry?” Cedric led you towards the kitchen entrance.

“Starving.”

(NEXT PART)

TAG LIST

@viirgobbyy @itsfangirlmendes @obsessedunicorn24 @rye-li @thealienplace @ziggyspurplehaze @cookiecakeslive @joellemoriarty @cherryflavouredlipbalm @big-galaxy-chaos @whotfisdani @spn-marvel-nerd

#cedric diggory #Cedric diggory imagines #cedric diggory x reader #george weasley #george weasley x reader #George weasley imagines #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley #Harry Potter #harry potter imagines #robert pattinson #oliver phelps #james phelps #harry potter and the prisoner of Azkaban #imagines #Ron Weasley #Hermione granger #Oliver wood #Oliver Wood imagines

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maybankiara · 4 years

Text

BORROWED TIME (1/2)

pairing: JJ Maybank x Girlfriend!Reader

summary: JJ’s girlfriend tells him she loves him, and it’s the one thing he’s not ready to hear.

word count: 3k

warning: negative self-image on jj’s part; implications of anxiety issues and trauma from his upbringing

additional: this is basically 90% angst with some fluff thrown into the mix, it’s based on i love you by billie eilish as if the song were from jj’s perspective, hence the fic is from jj’s perspective, too. it’s a part one out of two.

masterlist

tag list

written for an anon

part two

JJ Maybank is a lonely boy. He is hurting more often than he isn’t, and most of it doesn’t even come in the shape of jabs that turn him into a canvas of red, purple, and yellow. It’s words, often, leaving his skin unscathed but his mind cut deeply, little by little.

He wonders, sometimes, if some of what is said about him is true. He wonders if he truly is the person his father sees him to be – drunken thoughts are meant to be sober thoughts, and what’s that other than honest truth? The words might hurt, and JJ might be able to shove them underneath the rug in his chest, but sometimes it’s not his dad who says them.

Sometimes it’s John B, when he makes a joke about JJ ending up like Luke. The Pogues laugh, because what they know of his father is only that he’s a criminal.

They don’t know he makes JJ’s life a living hell. He doesn’t want them to; he doesn’t want their pity.

It’s the times like these when he turns to the one person who looks at him like she sees him for who he’s trying to be, not who he is.

‘What?’ Y/N asks, grinning over her knee.

‘Nothing,’ mumbles JJ.

‘You’re staring.’

‘Admiring.’

Y/N rolls her eyes, going back to the textbook in her lap. She’s sitting in her chair, one of her knees pulled to her chest with an arm around it, and the other one resting on the seat with the textbook on top of it, her fingers flicking through its pages, or jotting thoughts into the notebook on her desk.

She’s not used to compliments, at least not from JJ. He’s not a very vocal person when it comes to expressing his feelings in an honest, joke-free manner, and it was something they had to work through. Now, JJ makes a point of telling her what’s on his mind, even if it’s simply how he can’t take his eyes off of her, or how he can’t believe she’s with him.

Most of the time, she thinks it’s a joke.

Most of the time, JJ understands the trends of people having had enough of him, seeing whatever it is his father sees in him, and he’s just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

JJ is sprawled across her bed, keeping her company as she studies. He’s in his usual attire, cargo shorts and a sleeveless top, lying in his usual spot. Lately, since she started prepping for her exams, he’s been spending more time here. It’s quiet in a way his house isn’t – people fill nearly every corner of the small space with their trinkets, but it’s never imposing. It’s all smiles, warm beverages and snacks, Y/N’s mom checking up on the two of them, her dad inviting them for dinner.

It’s quiet in a way where people who live together understand the others’ need to be alone.

‘JJ,’ he hears her voice, soft through the sleepiness. ‘You good?’

He nods. ‘How’s studying going?’

Y/N sighs pointedly, draping her arms over the back of her chair. ‘I’m done. I’m too tired to do any more today.’

‘How much have you done?’

‘Seven chapters, I think.’ She flicks through her notebook, and it brings warmth to his heart, because he knows her. ‘Seven, yeah.’

‘Then you can do one more.’

‘I’m tired,’ she complains.

JJ props himself up on his elbows, shuffling backwards until he’s pressed against the headboard, grinning at his girlfriend. ‘Just start it. You’ll have less to do tomorrow.’

She gives him a look that he’s seen enough times to know that she’s given in, because he’s right. Not only will she have less to do tomorrow, but she’s also not tired to the point where she can’t study anymore. If she were, she wouldn’t have gone through her notebook to check how much she’s done.

‘Fine. But I’m getting the cuddles.’

JJ grins, wide and bright and honest. ‘Yes, ma’am.’

Y/N goes back to studying and JJ goes back to thinking, under the pretence of being on social media. Her shoulders are hunched over the book again and the desk lamp isn’t providing her with enough light, but she’d rather hurt her eyesight than to replace that particular lamp.

He knows everything about her. He knows how to tell when she’s too tired to study, what lamps she likes, how she likes her tea, how she breathes in each stage of falling asleep. He knows when they’re lying on the bed and her fingers trace the outline of his jaw, she’s falling in and out of sleep, happy to have him by her side. When her hands are on his chest, or his abs, and she’s doodling shapes on his skin, she wants more to just cuddle.

He knows how to read her mood based on the way she flicks her hair. He knows how her day’s been based on the eagerness of the kiss she gives him.

JJ Maybank is a perceptive boy, and he’s made it his mission to care for her to the best of his abilities.

He watches her stretch, arms above her head as she gives him a slight smile. She tucks her hair behind her ears, as some of it has escaped the braid she’d put it in.

Eventually, she’ll be good without him. He doesn’t know when it’s going to happen—when she’s going to realise that she’s better off without him—but he revels in the now.

Fifteen minutes later, the textbook is closed with a thud. A groan follows right after. Y/N gets up from the chair and JJ has about a second’s notice before she throws herself onto the bed, nesting her head into his chest.

‘I’m done with this shit,’ she murmurs. He feels her voice against his skin even through the fabric; it’s enough to send shivers down his spine.

‘Then rest,’ he says. ‘We’ll go get some snacks afterwards, watch a movie.’

Y/N nods, and he already feels her dozing off.

JJ closes his eyes, wishing he could relax like she did. He takes one of her hands into his, rubbing soothing circles into her palm. His other hand is lost in her hair, massaging the scalp in slow, circular motions, the way he knows puts her to sleep with ease.

The problem with moments like these is that they’re too perfect. It’s like film, for him, showing the memories of things he’s about to lose.

this is what you can’t have, the quiet voice in the back of his mind says, the one that sounds like Luke Maybank. you could never earn something like this.

It’s called borrowed time.

She stirs against him, waking up. JJ pulls her closer into his chest and tries to forget the words his dad yelled at him this morning. He fixates on Y/N as if she’s the only thing that matters right now, and in a way, she is.

JJ breathes heavily, but she doesn’t notice. Her lips move and she mutters something he doesn’t understand, and he doesn’t think about it. His hand leaves her hair and slips underneath the back of her shirt instead, tracing circles on her bare skin.

He’ll hold her close as long as she lets him.

Some time later, she stirs again. He sees her wake, slowly and in a daze. His face is the first thing her eyes search for; he sees the sleep still in them, the tiredness from studying. He places a kiss on her forehead, as soft as he can.

‘Morning, sleeping beauty,’ he says, even though it’s nearly midnight. ‘You ready to get some snacks?’

She closes her eyes with a shake of head. Her fingers trail to his jaw and she’s tracing it again, fingers light as feathers. ‘I think I’d rather stay in bed.’

‘Want me to get them?’

‘No.’

‘Movie?’

‘I’m too tired,’ she says, and JJ can tell it’s the truth.

He places a kiss to her hair. It’s not the end of the night just yet – he knows that because she’s always the first one to say they’re going to bed. Her parents are okay with him staying over because they know how they feel about one another, and they trust them to be responsible enough. A deeper side of him suspects it might be because they have a hunch of what’s waiting for him at home, but he doesn’t dwell on it.

Moonlight is shining through the window, into the room. It’s soft and ethereal, just like every moment he’s with her.

Her laptop is still playing some music, he notices, low in the background. It’s too quiet for him to be able to tell what it is, but the sensible notes are soothing enough.

Y/N isn’t asleep. Her fingers are still beneath his chin and her heart is beating against his own, irregular. JJ wonders how many of these moments he’s got left.

He takes hold of her hand and brings it to his lips, kissing it softly.

She whispers his name as if it were a secret.

He holds her fingers to his lips, brushing them with his eyes now closed.

‘I love you,’ she says, softly.

JJ doesn’t move. Y/N doesn’t move either, and he somehow manages to register that she said those words half-asleep, and hasn’t probably even registered what she’s done.

She falls asleep and he becomes wide awake. His lips are still brushing against her fingers, his hot breath fanning the knuckles. His eyes sting and he feels his nose is about to become runny, his heart is speeding up and body growing hot, but he doesn’t move.

If he moves, the moment is over, and he has to deal with it.

JJ doesn’t want to deal with it.

He knows she didn’t mean it, because she couldn’t have – he’s not the person she sees him as. He’s not as kind, or as determined, or as self-sufficient; he’s not as ready to open up as she is. It’s been long time coming, the moment where he finally admits that she deserves better than a boy who can’t even admit to his girlfriend how shitty his life is.

Now that it’s here, JJ knows that as soon as either of them moves, things will have change.

This isn’t—

fuck, he thinks, and that’s about the only coherent thought he can form.

no, comes next, and it’s far more persistent than any other. It keeps repeating until it’s the only sound he can hear, and he lets go off Y/N’s hand. He pushes her off, gently enough for it not to be rude, but pointedly enough for it to be odd.

She rubs her eyes, looking at him as if she’s just woken up.

maybe she has, he thinks. maybe she doesn’t even know she said it.

‘JJ?’

He swallows and it’s hard, and he presses his back against the headboard, both of his hands in his hair. Words escape him – he can’t think.

Y/N’s now in front of him, with her hands steadying him on his knees. He looks through her, recalling every single thing about himself he’s never told her.

how can she love someone she doesn’t even know?

He clears his throat, swallowing the emotions threatening to overflow. ‘You— Why did you say that.’

‘Oh.’ Her voice is inaudible and it’s the shape of her lips telling JJ she said anything at all – her eyes fall to her lap and her face loses colour, all in once.

The music has stopped playing. JJ wishes there was something else other than this deafening silence.

i should say i’m sorry, crosses his mind, but he can’t bring himself to do it.

am i sorry?

‘I’m sorry if it’s too soon,’ says Y/N, unable to meet his eyes. ‘I didn’t mean to—’

‘Yeah,’ he cuts her off. ‘You didn’t mean it.’

‘No, JJ—’

‘It’s alright.’

Y/N’s lips part, but no sound comes out. She’s staring at him with his face unreadable – or maybe JJ is refusing to understand whatever she’s feeling. If he tells her she didn’t mean it, that she lied, that he doesn’t need to face what happened—

‘I meant it,’ she says.

JJ shakes his head. His hands push hers off of his knees and his body stiffens when she flinches at the roughness of his action. He pushes himself halfway off the bed, not looking at her anymore.

He can’t. Not with the look in her eyes – not after she flinched at what he’d done. Not after what he’d done.

‘You don’t love me,’ he tells her. ‘It’s a lie.’

you and i are no different, son. look at her face – she’s afraid of you. you can’t blame it on me, too. this is all you.

‘I don’t know what’s gotten into you, JJ. I know I might’ve said it too soon, but this – this isn’t you.’

Her fingers are on his shoulders, rubbing them, as they’ve done countless times before. JJ resists the instinct to lean his head to the side, let his cheek rest against the back of her hand, because this is over now.

you are going to hurt her.

His eyes flutter and tears threaten to fall, but he doesn’t let them. He shakes her hands off her shoulders. He wants to turn around, to look at her, to take her face in his hands and tell her everything’s going to be okay, but he’s not a liar.

So he doesn’t.

‘You don’t love me,’ he repeats, instead. ‘You can’t.’

‘JJ—’

‘You have no idea who I am.’ His eyes are fixed on the window and the silver light shining through it – if he so much as moves his head an inch to her, he’ll fall apart. The words are coming through gritted teeth. ‘I’m not the kind person you see me as. I’m not that good. I’m my father’s son and that’s the one thing you refuse to see – and you can’t love me if you don’t see me for who I am.’

JJ spins his head to face her, and it’s so fast that she flinches, again. He doesn’t look at her so much as he looks through her – his body is cold and head filled with the noise of his blood boiling.

‘The person you think you love doesn’t exist, Y/N. He never did. You can’t live in the fairytale.’

A few moments pass in silence and it takes him a little too long to realise it isn’t a silence, at all. Y/N is breathing quietly, sniffling between every other breath or so. When he finally looks at her, she’s trembling; blood has left her face and she looks a little sick, a little faint. Her cheeks are glistening on the moonlight and the patches under her eyes red, even if her eyes are closed.

She doesn’t say anything. Her soft cries are all that fills out the room, and JJ is starting to feel their weight on his own chest.

‘I’m—’ sorry, he thinks, but he doesn’t say it.

i’m my father’s son, he recalls himself saying. Now, the words make his stomach twist in knots, and he understands why it felt wrong when she said it.

‘There’s shit about me you don’t know,’ he forces himself to say. His fingers are balled up in fists because if they weren’t, he’d reach out and hold her until she stopped crying. ‘Bad shit. Shit you wouldn’t want to deal with.’

He expects her to say something, but she doesn’t.

Y/N doesn’t hide her crying and somehow it hurts more than if she did. is this what i deserve?

‘I should go,’ he says.

She nods, and it’s the first reaction she gives him. ‘I think so, too.’

They don’t say goodbye. He picks up his things and it’s quiet; she doesn’t even so much as glance at him. Her cries are quiet but they’re persistent, and he can’t help but hate himself for doing this to her.

JJ parts his lips and he feels the words on his tongue, but he thinks of her face when he pushed her away, and nothing comes out.

His hand is on the doorknob when he hears her chuckle drily. It makes her sound almost broken, and he freezes in the spot.

‘You’re an idiot, JJ, if you think I’d be in love with someone I don’t know,’ she tells him. Her voice is hoarse and hurting, but strong, still. ‘I know about your dad. I know about your criminal record. You’re not as good at hiding shit as you think you are, you know.’

A cold shiver runs through his body. His mind falls blank, too, and his hand falls from the doorknob. He wants to turn around, to look at her, but he can’t.

It’ll break him.

Even if there are tears already streaming down his face, it’ll shatter him.

She chuckles again and his knees buckle as he leans his forehead against the wooden door. ‘I guess I’m the idiot, then,’ she says, ‘for choosing to see the best in the person I love.’

JJ presses his fist against the wood until it starts to hurt. His teeth are clenched, but a sob still escapes him.

‘Y/N…’ he begins, but no words follow.

i fucked up.

He sighs. His hand grabs the doorknob again.

but it’s for the best.

‘I think you’ve said enough,’ she tells him.

JJ grits his teeth and pushes himself through the door, and then through the hallway, and then through the main door, until he’s out, in the fresh air, and he lets out a shaky sob as he holds his hand to his mouth, muffling it.

His chest is hurting and his head is hurting and his cheeks are hurting and he feels the need to hit something, anything, because his hands feel like they’re on fire and he’s angry at the world and he’s just—

He falls to the ground, holding his knees to his chest, with only the moon to shine some light. His eyes look up to the bright spot in the sky, feeling the heartbreak as if it were an itch across his whole body – her face flashes before his eyes, her smile, then her flinching away from him, then her tear-stained cheeks, and he can no longer hold himself together.

what have i done?

★

part two

★

tagging. @jjtheangel @teenwaywardasgardian @thelocalpogue @jjmaybanky @sacredto @chasefreakinstokes @shawnssongs @drewstarkey @thatsme-johnbookerroutledge @outrbank @yourlocalauthor @justawilddreamerchild @activist-af @mynamewontwork13 @sunwardsss @storiesbymads @koufaxx @drewstarkeyobx

#outer banks #obx #jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank imagine #outer banks imagine #obx imagine #outer banks fic #obx fic #my fic #my imagines #f: obx #c: jj

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funeralhomewifi · 4 years

Text

First Kiss(es) - MC x Diavolo

Summary: Verona (my mc) kisses Diavolo. She leaves out of embarrassment, but Diavolo ensures her that he’s more than okay with trying again to get it right.

Word Count: 2,186

The first time Verona kisses Diavolo, she doesn’t process it fully at first. Only the panic at first, because she just kissed the Prince of Devildom.

Her body just moved on its own. Lucifer stepped out for a moment and she leaned in to show Diavolo something cute from the human realm. And she peers over and sees that his attention is very much on her and not the phone where a bird is chirping the Star Wars theme.

What shocks her than her own boldness… Diavolo kisses her back. More gently than any human has before and she so just wants to fall into his touch and savor the moment.

But embarrassment kicks in. Because what is she doing? Because Lucifer is still in the general vicinity and Verona would be launched into week long cooking duty on top of the punishment from her and Mammon’s concert escapades the week before. And surely Barbatos would not hesitate to enchant her shoes if she proved to be a distraction.

Verona pulls away quickly, heart in her throat, mind racing because: What the Hell have I just done. Softly she murmurs, “Sorry, I’ll leave.”

But the Prince simply smiles up to her, temptation glistening in his golden eyes as she leaves so quick that Verona doesn’t even catch his response.

Verona doesn’t even realize that she had left her DDD behind until Lucifer returns it that night with a simple warning: Be more careful. Leaving her to wonder if Diavolo told him or if he simply doesn’t want to have to replace another phone.

But later that evening, her DDD vibrates with a single emoji from Diavolo and her cheeks heat up as she simply sends one back.

Moments pass and somehow the conversation evolves. He already knows the bare minimum about Verona and her life (whatever Barbatos had looked into prior to her invitation to the Devildom) and she knows the bare minimum of his and what she’d been allowed to know.

He asks about her tattoos and piercings, curious about the length of time she had to sit for, how long it took Verona to heal since demons tend to heal quicker and there are more painless applications of tattoos and body modifications in the Devildom. Diavolo also asks about what Verona did in the human realm (a barista), if she liked it (not really, but it paid rent and some bills), and what she wants to do once the year is over (she doesn’t have the drive to tell him that she’d rather stay in the Devildom if she could just retrieve her pets. She tells him she’d nap, cuddle with her cat, and return to work).

Diavolo finally inquires about Verona’s family and finally she pauses. Because she hadn’t spoken to her family in years. Not willingly, at least.

The phone buzzes again, leaving Verona that she had left Diavolo hanging.

[??? Sticker]

Verona hesitates. Then sends: Sorry, I’m sleepy. (a lie) We don’t speak much.

His response comes swiftly: I apologize, Verona. Then immediately after: It is late, so I’ll let you get some sleep.

Verona glances at the alarm clock, the numbers blinking 11:01 PM, nowhere near her self-imposed bedtime of at least 3AM, and she wonders what he’s still doing awake although the answer is probably the same as Lucifer’s.

But she inquiries anyway: Are you in bed too? Which immediately after sending it she realizes holy shit, that’s a bit intrusive despite the curiosity spiking anyway. But he responds with a laughing demon emoji then promptly: Not yet. I’m still wrapping up paperwork before I can wind down. And again: But Verona!

Verona waited for the next round of messages, checking her connection until LORD DIAVOLO flashed across the screen as her phone vibrated. Panic clenched her stomach and she nearly tossed the phone.

He knows you’re available, dumbass, Verona chastised, her hatred of speaking on the phone and nervousness over Diavolo calling at all spiraled together. Quickly, she stood on the bed as there was a knock at her bedroom door, ignoring it she pressed the phone to her ear, “Hello?”

“Verona!” Diavolo’s voice boomed from the other line.

The door opened and Asmo entered, thankfully noticing her state before announcing himself. His eyebrows rose, he held up a bag with the label of an expensive skincare line, Verona waved her free hand.

“Verona?” Diavolo tried again, “Are you there? I have a proposal.”

“Yes, my lord,” Verona practically kicked Asmodeus as an excited expression formed on his face. Asmo jumped on the bed and pressed himself near the phone despite Verona’s valiant attempt to cover his lips, “I’m still here.”

“Wonderful!” Diavolo continued, clearly not clued into the desperate swatting away of Asmo on Verona’s end. “I have some down time tomorrow evening. Would you like to join me for tea? We can discuss what happened earlier.”

Asmo broke away, quickly mouthing, “What happened?”

“I’m not sure, my lord.” Verona answered quickly, the words souring, “It was out of—”

“Oh!” Diavolo cut her off, “I’m not angry, it was quite nice. Refreshing, even, Verona. We can do it properly even.”

Verona reached up and attempted to cover Asmo’s lips, her own cheeks burning, “That… That sounds nice.”

“Perfect, I’ll send Barbatos for you after class,” Diavolo murmurs, voice like honey in her ear. “Goodnight, Verona.”

“Goodnight, Diavolo.” Verona quickly hung up.

Asmo grinned and swiped the phone, dragging her back to the bed, “What did you do, V? That Diavolo wants to do again?”

“Nothing!”

“Liar.”

Verona stared and flopped back with a frown, “I kissed Diavolo.”

“Naughty Verona!” Asmodeus gushed, “Does Lucifer know? Well I suppose not since you’re not searching for cobwebs to clean. But what are you going to wear? Do you need lingerie? Also, don’t frown, love, it causes wrinkles.”

Verona rolled over and huffed into her pillow, “It’s tea, not… not… fuck.”

“It could be, V,” The Avatar of Lust tried unhelpfully. “At least wear something cute under your uniform. It’ll make you feel good.”

“I’m not wearing something cute, Asmo.”

XXX

Verona wore something cute under her uniform. It hadn’t helped with her anxiousness throughout her classes, but it did make her feel less bad over Asmodeus spoiling her with cute items considering she never really got the chance to wear them.

After her last class, Barbatos met her at the end of the hall and she quietly followed him through the winding building until they came to a portal.

“Are we not going to Lord Diavolo’s office?” Verona asked cautiously.

“He requested that you meet him in the palace gardens for tea,” Barbatos offered his arm. “Ready?”

With a nod, Verona wrapped a hand around his forearm and nearly toppled over at the sudden change of setting. The dark, candlelit halls of RAD instantly replaced with lush gardens filled with flowers and plants native to Devildom that Verona hadn’t seen in her months as an exchange student.

Barbatos steadied her then allowed her to look around, Verona cautiously followed a dark bricked path, sure that many of the unknown plants could probably eat her if she so much as nudged them.

“These are relatively safe plants,” Diavolo’s gentle voice noted as Verona came to a better lit area with blackened floating lanterns. “Barbatos keeps anything remotely dangerous in his personal garden.”

“Relatively, though?” Verona paused to blink up at the lanterns, eyes adjusting a realizing that they weren’t lanterns at all. They were lightning bugs, probably the size of her fist, hovering around and resting on pale flowers.

“I suppose I wouldn’t try to eat them,” Diavolo muses, then motions to the seat across from the oversized garden table. “Have a seat, Verona.”

Verona sits and focuses on the sandwiches, the tea, the fine china. Everything except Diavolo seated across from her simply watching as Barbatos pours a blue-ish tinged tea then takes his leave. Verona quietly takes a sip, noting the bitterness before dropping a single sugar cube in. She finally breaks the silence, “How was your day? Or is it technically still going?”

“It seems to be picking up,” Diavolo offers. “How was yours? You had an exam in History of Devildom today, didn’t you?”

“I did,” Verona exhales, cheeks heating up, “But I didn’t do as well as I hoped. My mind was… elsewhere, I guess.”

“I suppose I should’ve accounted for that. We could’ve met earlier this morning, but I believe I start my day a bit earlier that it would inconvenience you.” Diavolo hums, “I could request that you be allowed to retake it.”

“Oh, no!” Verona rubs her cheeks to calm herself, “I keep my grade high enough that it should be fine.” Then adds, “Thank you though.”

They fall back into heavy silence. Verona picks at a sandwich before sighing and shooing away the anxiety, “I’m sorry for yesterday. It just… I don’t know… You were close and…” I think you’re lowkey gorgeous, Verona nearly admits.

“You’re a very anxious little human, Verona. But only with me.” A gentle smile pulls at the Prince of Devildom’s lips, “Why is that? You’re perfectly chaotic with Lucifer and the other brothers. The angels, even.”

“I…” A lump twisted at her throat as she racked her brain for a coherent answer, “I think it might be an, I don’t know, authority issue. You’re very much attractive… but very much above me. It makes me nervous. I don’t like to put myself in situations that might not go right for me.”

“But you did yesterday?” Diavolo tries, eyes ghosting over her.

“I guess I did,” Verona stares down at her tea.

“What would remedy this situation, Verona?” Diavolo asks quietly, “What would make you feel better?”

Verona wanted to sink into the garden and melt into the other levels of the Devildom. She sighs and focuses on one of the lightning bugs at the edge of the table, “I don’t know,”

“Would you like to hold one?” Diavolo asks softly, cutting through her thoughts, “They aren’t dangerous to humans.”

Verona only nods and Diavolo rises to offer his hand. She takes it and he leads her to the center of the lush garden. He stands behind her and Verona is hyperaware that he towers over her barely five foot nothing form and even more aware that his cologne makes her head spin in the best way.

Diavolo raises his hand with a bit of sandwich in the center. It takes a moment but one of the creatures flits around before settling on his hand and poking at the bread and gently flapping its lit up wings.

“Put your hand near mine.”

And Verona does. The creature buzzes but transfers hands as it finishes the spec of sandwich.

“You’re very lovely, Verona,” Diavolo places his hand under hers. “Maybe the loveliest thing I’ve seen in centuries. The most interesting creature by far that has landed in my sight.”

The bug flits away, but Verona doesn’t move, “Maybe?”

“Definitely,” Diavolo amends, . “You’re nervous around me, yet you don’t hesitate to message me to take breaks and send me animal videos. Even offer to bring me, even Barbatos, trinkets when you ask permission to go to the human realm. Not many people do that, Verona.”

“I know you like cute things, you’ve expressed interest in human trinkets and Barbatos likes to use certain brands of foods for meals.” Verona unconsciously tilts her head against his chest.

“Yes,” Diavolo pauses. “But you don’t hesitate to treat me like an equal, Verona. Not like a royal that you bend backwards for, like someone, Verona. It’s refreshing. It’s different. Something no one has attempted to try in thousands and thousands of years.”

Verona is quiet, stomach twisting, “That’s unfortunate, Diavolo.”

“I suppose,” Diavolo hums, gently hovering over bright tattoos along her arm. “Can I touch you, Verona?”

Yes. Yes. Yes. But Verona’s breath hitches, “Do you want to?”

“Do you want me to, Verona?” Diavolo counters softly.

“Then… Yes,” Verona exhales. “Yes, you can touch me.”

His fingers trace over her tattoos, up her shoulder, to her neck and she nudges against his hand. A mix of ticklish and leftover feelings from Belphie’s mishap. Diavolo quietly apologizes, then combs his fingers through her thick hair. From behind he thumbs her lips and she leans into his touch.

“Turn to face me, Verona?” And she does, Diavolo gently tilts her chin up, taking her in, “Would you like to try again?”

Verona lets out a shaky breath and nods, she knots her fingers against his coat to bring him closer. She’s on her toes and he meets her halfway, the kiss soft and dissolves into something sweeter and desperate. But Verona blushes and pulls away, peering around the garden.

Diavolo watches nothing but her lips, “Are you concerned about Barbatos?”

Verona blushes, but smiles as Diavolo’s hands go to her waist, “He might enchant my shoes to walk me into a different timeline.”

“Only if you want him to, Verona.”

“No,” Verona seeks out another sweet kiss. “I like it here.”

#diavolo #obey me diavolo #i hear its soft diavolo hours #i'm here to provide bc apparently i'm simping for him now #obey me shall we date #obey me lucifer #obey me belphegor #my writing #i might post this to ao3 tbh #shall we date obey me #obey me satan #diavolo x reader #diavolo x mc #i need to make a post for verona but here #obey me diavolo x mc #obey me diavolo x reader

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words-writ-in-starlight · 4 years

Note

modern reincarnated song lan/xiao xingchen first meeting with both their memories back 👀

KIDS IT’S BEEN A WHILE SINCE I WROTE A FIC TO PROVE IT (I’mso sorry Les Mis fandom) BUT REINCARNATION FICS ARE STILL MY JAM and oh boy amI ever going to make it the Songxiao fandom’s problem. It’s also been a while since I postedsomething for that five headcanons meme, but I’m on lockdown and except for goingto the grocery store a week ago I literally haven’t left my apartment in goingon five weeks, so like, I’m officially still doing that meme. Not QUITE the prompt, but a cousin of theprompt, and it’s 3:18 AM so you’re not my boss.

ONE

Song Lan remembers the very first time he sees XiaoXingchen. Xingchen is eighteen, a yearolder than he was when they met before, wearing a white shirt and a messy bun, andSong Lan takes one look at him in a grocery store and almost knocks over adisplay of oranges. It’s—a lot to takein. Xingchen looks exactly like himself,like Song Lan remembers him from—from before. He’s talking with a store employee, a basket in one hand and the otherholding up an apple. He looks apologetic,with the mild smile that he always wore when he felt like he was imposing onsomeone’s time, and he’s saying something about being sorry, but please couldhe have some help choosing.

Song Lan’s ears are still ringing and his chest is still aching andhis hands are still shaking, but his voice is clear and steady when he hearshimself say, “I can give you a hand.”

Xingchen turns toward him, a startled look on his beautifulface, and Song Lan’s throat threatens to close up on him, because Xingchen’seyes are a clear light brown more familiar than anything in the world, and theydo not focus on him. He has a white canetucked into the corner of his arm—blind, still.

“I couldn’t impose,” Xingchen demurs immediately, and Song Lanshakes his head.

“It’s no imposition. I—I don’thave anywhere else to be.” Song Lan castsaround a little desperately for an excuse, a good reason for Xingchen to lethim help, let him stay under the light of that smile, and says, “I’m supposedto be studying for an exam and if I didn’t get out of the apartment I was goingto tear up my textbook. You’d be savingme three hundred and fifty dollars.”

Xingchen laughs, then, and Song Lan doesn’t know what hisface does, but the employee gives him a mildly pitying glance.

“Well, I suppose I had better, then,” Xingchen says, warm andamused. “I normally come with one of myroommates, but one of them is sick.” Heholds up the apple to Song Lan and says, “I’m Xiao Xingchen.”

I know,Song Lan almost says. He doesn’t. He takes the apple and says, “This one isbruised. I’m Song Lan.”

TWO

Xiao Xingchen, for his part, doesn’t remember for three weeks. It’s a piling up of little things that weardown the wall hiding the past, for him, but the last straw, the crack that bringsthe dam down, is nothing at all: his roommates are usually good about makingsure to keep all the silverware in their assigned places, so that Xingchen canfind them, but that day, one of them, a study-abroad student named Morgan,forgets, and he slices open his palm on a knife. She’s horrified and sorry and he has to talkher down from calling an ambulance, and she still insists on bandaging his handfor him, which he appreciates. It hurtsand pulls all evening, and when he goes to sleep, he has a terrible nightmare.

This is nothing new. XiaoXingchen has had terrible nightmares all his life. Sometimes he even sees in them, which hewould find academically interesting if it were happening to anyone else—all thecolors are right, every line detailed and familiar. He can’t read characters, but he knows theengravings on the swords.

It’s not a seeing dream that night. It’s a dream about darkness and lies anddying, and there’s blood drying sticky and hot on his hand and sleeve when he sobshimself awake, from where his hand is clenched into such a tight fist that itseeped through the bandages. His handfeels like someone’s laid a match to the cut, and he has a headache likenothing he’s ever felt, a bone-deep spike of pain behind his eyes, and he needs—

His hands shake as he grabs his phone and manages to pull upSong Lan’s number.

THREE

Song Lan has the gift of waking up to a vibrating phone—which isto say, he worked in retail for three years before he got into teaching school,and still has anxiety about it. Thephone is already at his ear and he’s saying “This is Song Lan” before he’s evenawake.

“Zichen?”

“Xingchen?” Song Lan issitting up and doesn’t really remember how that happened, and he’s staringwide-eyed at his desk through the dim city-twilight creeping around his darkcurtains, and Xingchen’s voice sounds ravaged on the other end of theline. “What’s wrong?”

“I—please, Zichen, I—”

“Are you hurt?” Song Lan demands, and he’s already on his feet,the phone pinned between his cheek and his shoulder as he grabs whateverclothes are near at hand.

“No,” Xingchen says faintly. “Wait—yes. My hands—no. Just my right hand.” He makes a noise that sounds like it might,theoretically, be a laugh, if he stopped crying. “I cut it on a knife, Zichen.”

Song Lan thinks about the world-ending feeling of remembering XiaoXingchen, and tries not to love the sound of Xingchen’s voice saying Zichenagain, and that moment, when he’s already dragging on socks with his keys inhis hand, is when he finally, finally catches up.

He stops cold, one shoe on. “Xingchen—do you remember me?”

“Yes,” Xingchen whispers. “I remember everything.”

Song Lan shuts his eyes for a moment and really, really hatesXue Yang. “I’m coming over.”

FOUR

Xingchen’s roommates are not going to appreciate him having his “weirdfriend with the scary face” show up at three in the morning and waking them upby knocking on the door, but on the other hand, Xingchen knows he probablylooks…bad. He knows he has blood leakingfrom his hand, and he can feel that the cut is probably worse than he thought,and he can hear one of them make an alarmed sound as he wavers on his feet inhis bedroom door, but then Song Lan stops knocking politely and startshammering on the door with the side of his fist. Xingchen makes a helpless gesture with his bleedinghand, and hears someone fumble the lock open and immediately scramble back toget out of the way. They’re scared ofSong Lan for some reason.

Xingchen can’t imagine being scared of Song Lan.

“Xingchen,” Song Lan says, Zichen says, and Xiao Xingchenknows, like he knows his own name, that Song Lan doesn’t like to be touched,but he can’t stop himself from reaching out. He stops when he can feel the warmth of a body beyond his fingertips anddoesn’t go any further.

“Zichen.”

Song Lan’s hand closes around his bare wrist without hesitation,and he forces Xingchen’s hand palm up, and says, “You’re bleeding.”

“Yes,” Xingchen says, starting to laugh. He’s not sure why he’s laughing. He thinks he might still be crying. But Song Lan is here, touching Xingchen inthe measured, intentional way he always did, and it seems obscurely hilariousthat he expects Xingchen to care about something as petty as bleeding. “Yes, I am.”

“All right,” Song Lan says softly, like he’s answering aquestion that hasn’t been asked. “Comeon, Xingchen. Let’s get a look at yourhand.”

Xingchen hates to be led around by the hand, like a child, buthe goes easily when Song Lan pulls him toward the bathroom. Song Lan lets him rest his head against SongLan’s hip, while those familiar hands dab blood from his skin and peel away thesoaked bandages, and Xingchen listens to Zichen’s low voice, and tries tobreathe.

FIVE

So, Song Lan isn’t going to class tomorrow. He send the emails from the emergency roomwaiting area, on his phone, with Xingchen sitting beside him and holding asmall pile of gauze to his palm. Xingchenhas been quiet since Song Lan announced that they were going to the hospital,but he went without a fight, admitted that the laceration was worse than it hadbeen before—from the clench of his fist in his nightmare, apparently. His hair is tied back into a braid that curlsover his shoulder, and he forgot his cane, and Song Lan washed the smearedblood from his face and didn’t throw up at the memory of watching Xue Yang dothe same, and—

“I missed you,” Song Lan says quietly, and Xingchen turns towardhim. All at once, all the things thatSong Lan planned and imagined and dreamed of saying are piled up behind histeeth, trying to force their way out in a rush. “I’m—so sorry, Xingchen. Everything—it was all my fault, I was so cruel to you.”

“Zichen,” Xingchen says, and he sounds so tired. His head tips toward Song Lan’s shoulder, buthe stops, just like he did before, just like he always has, a little distancefrom touching. Xingchen always lets SongLan be the one to close that last gap, always lets him choose how and when andwhere he’s willing to be touched. Hedidn’t need it explained to him when they first met and doesn’t need it thistime. Song Lan has missed him so much.

“I’m not—I never had your gift with words,” Song Lan goes on, somefeeling rising in his chest that he can’t name, something nearly frantic,because he’s not Xingchen, has never been Xingchen, has never had the rightwords at the right time even when he needed them most desperately. He wrote so many versions of thisconversation in his head, before, that he can’t pick one now. “But I—I am so sorry, Xingchen. I should have done better by you, I was—I wasthoughtless, and you suffered for it--”

“Zichen,” Xingchen says again, weary, and Song Lan shuts up. “I only regretted being blind when it killedyou,” he says, in a low murmur. “When itkilled all those—and that—that was not your fault.”

“But—”

“Enough,” Xingchen says. “You’reforgiven. You were always forgiven,Zichen.” He smiles a little. “Besides, I should be the one apologizing.”

“I won’t listen,” Song Lan says, trying for humor. He never did have the talent for being funnywhen he meant to be, but Xingchen smiles a little more.

“I missed you too. Allthe time.”

Song Lan thinks briefly about kissing him. Maybe later. Instead he reaches up and tips Xingchen’s head onto his shoulder, andsays, “Keep pressure on your hand.”

“It’s not bleeding anymore.”

“Good. Keep pressure onit.”

AndXingchen laughs, with his cheek resting on Song Lan��s shoulder, and Song Lansmiles a little himself.

#the untamed #mdzs #mo dao zu shi #songxiao #xiao xingchen #song lan #starlight writes stuff #headcanon meme #ask meme #i should apparently start doing what sarah yyy does and tag for sadness level according to the girlfriend #mild to medium angst #I THINK YOU MEANT THIS TO BE...KIND AND SWEET #IT'S STILL KIND! but like mild to medium angst without a doubt #this is also verging on being a whole fic rather than headcanons but are any of us really surprised #sl is a few years older than xxc again and he's in grad school for a degree in education #xxc is in his first year of post-secondary something #he has kind of a whole existential crisis about it after getting his memories back #but it turns out okay all things considered #a qing is one of the students song lan teaches the next year and she sees him the first day and shrieks 'daozhang' and throws herself at hi #song lan heroically doesn't drop her in a panic but he does later ask her not to grab him because he doesn't like to be touched #xxc on the other hand loves a hug! and by god a qing wants to give him one!#i have no idea how xue yang figures into this if at all #i just wanted sl and xxc to sit quietly in an er waiting room and talk about missing each other #xiao xingchen kisses him the next day by the way #he reaches out and stops with his hand three inches from song lan's face and says 'may i'#and song lan forces his hand down and brings his left (uninjured) hand up instead and puts xxc's palm to his cheek #and xxc is laughing when he kisses him #a queue we will keep and our honor someday avenge #insert-cleverurl #asked and answered

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waywardfangirl · 4 years

Text

Write This Down

General Audiences | No Archive Warnings Apply

Baz Pitch/Simon Snow | 3,305 words | Complete

Summary: Inspired by Write This Down by George Strait - Baz and Simon love each other, and they know it. But, Baz came close to losing Simon once, and he doesn't intend to let that ever happen again.

***A big thank you to @foolofabookwyrm for editing this for me literally the second I finished writing it! I love you!!!***

Baz

The first time I told Simon I loved him, tears were pouring down both of our faces and we were absolutely miserable. It was one of the worst days of my life, and I hated the fact that every nice thing Simon and I have, every special moment and milestone in our disaster of a relationship, is marred in some way by tragedy. We kissed for the first time in the middle of a burning forest when I was so deep in the throes of self-hatred I couldn’t find my way out without Simon to save me. Instead of the honeymoon phase that every other couple gets, Simon and I received death and destruction and trauma, and then hearings and interrogations before the Coven. When we tried to go on vacation, to take a break and do something to pull Simon out of the pit of depression he had spiraled into, we almost died multiple times. When I finally propose to him I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure that dark creatures can’t find us, the weather can’t ruin us, and even our well-meaning but nosy friends can’t disturb us.

But I’m getting too far ahead of myself. I can’t start planning for a proposal just yet, because I’m still not sure that I won’t lose him one day. He told me he loved me with tears streaming down his cheeks, and then he tried to break up with me.

I had started crying around that time too; I wanted to be in control, I wanted to shut off my emotions so Simon wouldn’t be hurt by my own anguish, but instead traitorous tears came streaming down my face and I started babbling out every thought I’d ever had – please don’t leave me and I’m not happy without you and no no no don’t go, Simon, please don’t and eventually I love you, I love you too, I love you so much, there’s nothing for me if you aren’t here, I love you. So, no, it was not one of our better moments.

Once I finally convinced him that breaking up with me would, in fact, not help me at all, we agreed to put serious effort into working on our relationship. This has also meant that both Simon and I found ourselves going to (separate) therapists, and coming together once a month for couple’s counseling too. Put together, we’re utilizing three-quarters of the magical word’s mental health resources. (It’s helping.)

(Read the rest on AO3, or under the cut)

I don’t know exactly what Simon discusses with his own therapist (although I could probably make a few guesses), but my therapist has been encouraging me to work on my own anxieties as of late among other things. I haven’t been able to shake my fear that Simon might decide to leave again, and that crying amidst declarations of love won’t fix things this time. So, since I can’t control the actions of others, I can only control what I think and do myself (yes, thank you Amy, the once-weekly sessions are working and I now hear your voice in my head when I evaluate my own thoughts), I’ve decided on a course of action that will help both Simon and myself.

I start by stealing his phone. He only uses the notes app to write down things he wants to bring up in therapy, so I ignore all the existing memos and start a new one, just three words – I love you.

(The numpty never bothered setting a passcode, I should modify his phone more often. He needs a new lock screen.)

Three days later, Simon emerges from his bedroom after his appointment, face blotchy and tear tracks drying on his cheeks. Every muscle in my body pulls to gather him up in my arms and give him shelter in the form of an embrace, but I know in moments like this I have to let him make the first move. Luckily, he walks straight over to where I’m putting the dishes away and immediately buries his face in my neck. His arms cinch around my waist, and I waste no time in pulling him closer to me, carding one hand through his curls.

“Alright, love?”

He nods, pressing in closer, then mumbles into my skin, “I love you.”

Ah. He found the note, then. Good.

“I love you too.”

*****

The next week, I walk into Simon and Penny’s apartment after classes, only to find Simon asleep on the couch. Netflix is playing some action movie on the tv, and Simon’s face is twitching slightly, still reacting to the sound even while fast asleep. I know he was up late last night preparing for a big presentation, so I let him rest. As I pull my laptop out of my bag to study at the kitchen table, I grab a sticky note as well, and attach it to the center of the television screen.

I love you

An hour later, I hear the tv shut off. Simon wanders into the kitchen, sitting down at the table and scooching his chair over until it’s pressed up next to mine. He kisses me on the cheek, and then on the mouth when I turn my head.

“Hi love, how was your day?”

“Good. Better now.”

*****

Finals are upon us, and of course the worst academic weeks of the year are also the time when Simon and I decide to try spending the night together again. (Just sleeping, but sharing each other’s space for that long, being there together when we wake up the next morning.) I feel like all of this should be so much easier, like other couples just make it look so effortless – we love each other, why can’t we show it? Why is it so hard to turn those emotions into actions and words? I don’t ever want to be beside anyone else, how can I prove that to him?

After the first few nights, it starts to feel normal. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the feeling of Snow’s arms wrapped around me, his muscles relaxing as we both fall asleep, but I don’t want to get used to it. I want it to be novel every single time, I always want to feel this in love with him.

Tonight, though, I can’t let myself lie down until I finish this last essay. I’ll edit it tomorrow, but I can’t stop writing until I’m done or I know I’ll lose momentum. Simon went to bed at least half an hour ago, and that’s all the incentive I need to keep my fingers flying across the keyboard; the sooner I’m done, the sooner I’ll be back beside him.

I close my laptop at half past midnight, and attempt to straighten the academic mess on the kitchen table before breakfast ruins a textbook tomorrow morning. Snow has left his books in a perilous heap, on the verge of teetering onto the floor, so I straighten the stack, then pick up the top book.

It’s a textbook, An Introduction to Social Services, because my brave and caring boyfriend wants to continue saving the world in any way he can. The first half of the book is filled with bookmarks and flags, highlighted passages and scribbled notes in the margins. He’s been attacking his studies with a vigor he’s never shown for academia before, and I’m so proud of him. I pick up a pen and add a note of my own under the practice review he’s flagged with tomorrow’s date (when did he get to be so organized? He’s wonderfully full of surprises even now) – You’re absolutely brilliant, love.

I leaf through the book to the next practice exam, this one flagged for three days from now. You’re the most caring man I’ve ever met, you were born for this work. The review in the middle of the book gets a simple (true) I’m so proud of you, and then I start leafing through the pages I assume Simon will be using next semester. I don’t let myself question the future, I don’t let uncertainty and anxiety creep in, I just write notes on random pages, to be discovered in the middle of lectures or homework or studying.

My darling

You’re the only sunshine I need

Have I told you lately how handsome you are?

I adore you

You’re my perfect other half, I’m so happy we match

Finally, I leave an index card mixed in with the ones he’s been using for review.

Q: How much do I love you?

A: More than I can possibly say.

*****

Simon Snow can still go off. He’s less physically destructive now, nothing in the flat gets burnt to a crisp and he doesn’t leave craters behind, but sometimes his emotions get stopped up until they come out in a flood of yelling and crying, and he erupts.

We’ve both been trying to be better about handling our outbursts, and trying not to take bad days out on the other, but sometimes it still happens. I don’t know exactly what happened today, but from what I can make out it seems like small things just piled up until I rolled my eyes when Simon suggested watching Star Wars, and that became the straw that broke the camel’s back. Old habits die hard, and we both still give as good as we get when fighting, so fifteen minutes later Penelope came home to find a screaming match in the living room and neither of us even aware of what we were saying or fighting over anymore.

She made us sit down and go through all the skills we’ve learned (use “I” statements, list your emotions, say what you admire about the other person – fine, thank you Amy, your voice is still in my head) until finally we had calmed down enough to be there for each other again.

I held Simon as he cried into my shirt, and we crawled into bed together still holding hands. We kissed before falling asleep and the last thing I remembered was Simon’s breath ghosting over me.

Now though, I’m awake, pulled from sleep and my boyfriend’s arms because I needed a glass of water, and I suddenly can’t stop reliving our argument. We’re fine, I know we are, we’re going to be okay. All couples fight, what matters is that we sat down and talked about it afterwards. We’re both sorry and we both love each other.

I can’t help the voice in the back of my head though, the voice that insists that Simon still thinks I don’t love him and that he might leave me again. I ignore it, then tell it how wrong it is, before finally giving in to my anxiety and tearing a blank piece of paper from the notepad on the fridge. I leave the note on his bedside table, so he’ll see it first thing in the morning, when he inevitably wakes up before I do.

Simon, my dearest, I love you so much. I promise, I love you, no matter what.

*****

“Baz! Did you get it?”

Simon Snow is bouncing on the soles of his feet like a toddler crossed with a golden retriever, and if anyone else were acting like this I would make a point of ignoring them, but because it’s Simon I just kiss him quickly and pull the book out from behind my back.

“Yes, love, I got it. Hot off the press, specially for you.”

Simon’s never been much of a reader, but after discovering ‘the best book in the world’, as he puts it, he’s been devouring this series. The newest one was released today, and I promised him I would pick it up from the bookstore on my way home. (I’ve read them too, and they are quite good, although Simon is definitely more enchanted with them than I am.)

“Can we start reading it right now?” He’s got it clutched to his chest like a child, and—no, that’s dangerous territory to enter, I can’t let myself start thinking of Simon with a baby or else I won’t leave this flat until I’ve proposed to him, and he deserves a nicer proposal than whatever happens to fall out of my mouth right now. Besides, I don’t even have the ring with me, it’s still hidden in my sock drawer back in Hampshire.

“Are you suggesting skipping dinner?” I hold up the bags of takeaway I’ve brought. He looks anguished.

“Can’t we do both?”

He’s a disaster. I love him.

“Alright you bottomless pit, you can eat your dinner and I’ll read to you, will that work?”

He kisses me again in response, a proper snog that’s only interrupted when Bunce wanders through to the kitchen, remarking loudly to Shepard, “They have their own room and everything, but they still insist on doing this sort of thing out here in the open.”

Simon good naturedly flips her off, and I pull away to smirk.

“He’s far too attractive for me to confine my affection to only one room in the house, Bunce. It’s not fair to expect me to restrain myself when my boyfriend is so criminally handsome.” I take Simon’s hand and tug him into the living room to settle against me as I start to read.

When all the food has been devoured and my voice is starting to lull Snow to sleep, I grab a scrap of paper, scribble I love you on it, and then insert it in the book to mark our place.

*****

Simon has been baking up a storm. He’s determined to figure out Cook Pritchard’s recipe for sour cherry scones, because she won’t give up the secret and he hates having to wait for Pitch family gatherings to eat them. He’s going through butter like a fiend, and all of our neighbors adore us because he keeps giving batches away.

When he leaves the kitchen to go retrieve something from his bedroom I slip a note into the fridge, to be discovered the next time he picks up the butter.

I love you

Three days later, I find the note affixed to the freezer door.

*****

“It’s so empty!”

Simon’s voice bounces off of the walls, and it almost echoes. The house really is empty, at once both exciting and intimidating – this is ours, this is where we get to keep building our life together, this is where we’ll make more memories, this is where we’ll start our family.

“The rest of our furniture will be here tomorrow, love, the movers said they could have it in before nine.”

I hear running footfalls, and then Simon comes sliding down the hall in his socks, crashing into me and almost knocking me over.

“Maybe we should keep it like this, and we can use the first floor for sock races!” He’s laughing, and so happy, and I adore him.

“Mmm, perhaps not,” I say, pushing his curls back from his face. “As enchanting as that idea may be, I expect you’d be sad if Penny and Shepard stopped visiting us because they had no place to sit. And I’m sure you would miss having a dining room table, too.” I kiss him on his nose, because it always makes him laugh, and then I lean back, grab his hands, and spin him around in circles in our empty living room.

Once we’re both too dizzy to stay standing, we collapse on the floor together, struggling to swallow our giggles. Eventually, I pull Simon back up to standing, and nudge him to start unpacking what we can. Dishes go in the cupboards, and sheets go in the linen closet. One of the boxes I open has a hammer and nails, and Simon finds the box that we put our pictures in. Some have to be set aside until the furniture is arranged, but we hang a few in the kitchen and the entry hall. Right before we blow up the inflatable mattress and go to sleep for the first time in our new house, I lead Simon back into the living room and pull out one last photo to hang.

The picture itself is quite large, a candid shot taken during our engagement party. Simon was laughing at something I’d just said, and he’s as bright and radiant as ever. I’m gazing adoringly at him, looking every bit the lovesick fool I am. Penny and Shep are in the background, along with Fiona and the rest of my immediate family, and everyone looks so happy to be celebrating the two of us. It’s one of my favorites, enlarged to sit in a frame over the mantle, where everyone who enters our home will be sure to see it.

It’s a bit of a struggle to get it to hang straight, but eventually we manage it.

“That looks lovely. I didn’t even know you’d had that one framed, I like it.”

I kiss his neck, and wrap my arms around his waist, hooking my chin over his shoulder and holding my wand out in front of him.

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”

We watch together as three words start to curve around our bodies in the portrait, shiny gold cursive tethering us to each other and stating simply, I love you.

Simon leans back into me, turning his face up for a kiss. “I love you too,” he whispers when we pull apart, “Show-off.” Then he’s walking backwards down the hall, leading me towards the stairs, and going to break his neck if he tries to go up the stairs without first turning around. I’ll tell him tomorrow that the spell I cast will only show those words if they’re true and if I still mean them. (They’re going to be there forever.)

*****

We go ring shopping together. We want our wedding rings to match, and to also complement the engagement rings we gave each other, so we block off an entire Saturday to find the perfect bands. (It turns out that the perfect rings are hiding in a jewelry store just a few blocks from Simon and Penny’s first apartment, which I think has a lovely symmetry to it.)

The rings themselves are simple, gold bands that compliment both of our complexions with a delicate scattering of engraved stars barely visible on the surface. We know immediately that these are our rings, we hardly need to glance at each other to confirm it.

As we’re being sized and filling out all the necessary information, I hand over a folded slip of paper.

“I would like this to be engraved on the inside of his ring, please.”

Simon’s mouth falls open for a moment, then he reaches into his jeans pocket to pull out his own slip of paper.

“I’d like this engraved inside of his too, please,” he says, and I can’t help but loop my arm around his waist.

“I suppose great minds think alike, don’t they Snow?”

He wrinkles his nose.

“You’re going to have to start calling me Pitch before too much longer, you know.”

I wasn’t prepared for this argument, and I’m far too in love with him to have a satisfactory response ready.

“No I won’t. Pitch will be your last name, and Snow will become your middle name. You call me by my middle name already, so we’ll match,” I add, as a happy afterthought.

The jeweler chuckles.

“You really do. You want the same engraving and everything.”

I feel like he maybe should have understood that those messages were meant to be a surprise, given Snow’s obvious shock, and the folded pieces of paper, but I’m a little too happy to care. Our wedding rings are going to match, inscription and all.

I love you

#Write This Down #my fic #snowbaz #snowbaz fic #Write This Down Fic #this is just self-indulgent fluff

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redfoxwritesstuff · 4 years

Text

Of Dust and Ashes. Chapter 31

So, good and bad news. The good, you’re getting your update right on time. More good news? The next update should also be right on time! In exchange for two bits of bad news, my laptop died. RIP and my daughter has been Covid’ed out of daycare and is stuck home until her test result comes in which means I too am stuck at home. I may be around more... or less.

Chapter warnings: None? Some blood and talk of the aftermath of the snap. Series warnings: Dude, at this point- if it can be a warning, it’s probably either already in the story or planned. Please read responsibly. Series rating: M for mature themes, graphic violence, sexual content and death.

Wanna catch up? Masterlist is here. Wanna drop me a tip? Buy me a Ko-Fi.

Chapter 31: Stew

Dee paced the waiting room. Each lap across the wood floor took less time. When she realized she was near a jog, she forced herself to slow down. It wouldn't do to work herself up.

She should have been talking to Rachel. Now was a perfect time to explain the situation with Sasha in more detail. How else could Rachel ever feel comfortable enough to trust the new woman. If Rachel didn’t trust Sasha, how could they be sure that she would stay with her?

If Rachel left the Clinic and struck out on her own, it was very likely that her baby would die. If she got lucky, she herself would survive until the spring. Dee didn’t want to put much time, effort or resources into keeping the ungrateful woman alive but she also didn’t want her to die. There had already been more than enough death.

The fact that they’d already done too much already to keep her alive gnawed at her. They had left the safety of the farmhouse to keep her alive. They killed people to keep her alive. Trust got hurt because they decided to save her. She owed it to them to survive until the spring. If saving her resulted in Trust's death, she owed it to them to survive.

Swallowing her anxiety, Dee forced herself to sit next to Rachel. “Make yourself at home.”

“What?”

“This is where we’re going to be leaving you.” Dee didn’t want to be talking. She wanted to be trying to sneak up on the exam room again. She wanted to check on Trust. But she knew she would only be a distraction. Clint wanted her to work on setting Rachel at ease.

“I thought… I thought we would be going to a house… This isn’t somewhere people can live.”

Dee took a deep breath, willing herself to be calm. Silence ticked on around them. She reminded herself that she had a different experience with the Decimation than Rachel. She had known many horrors during the last five months but she had traveled. She had seen the extent of it through a great portion of the country. She had seen what it did to cities, towns, people and most importantly, to families.

Rachel only knew what this small part of the country. She was a local to Kansas. She’d lived in the small town she had grown up in. Those who remained had banded together to protect themselves and their supplies. When King Jacob’s men had shown up and offered to absorb them at the cost of a minor tax, it was hard not to hear them out. It had seemed like a great way to gain more safety and support. The majority agreed to join with King Jacob, believing with all their hearts that they were doing what was best for the town.

They hadn’t expected that the minor tax would include most of their supplies. It had taken the King’s men looting the town for them to stand up and say enough. The result was only bloodshed and the kidnapping of most of the women and young boys.

Dee had listened to a bit of her story while they had walked through the city, on their way to the truck. If that was what had happened here, she could only imagine what happened to those living within the expanding territory of King Mason. There were so many other self named 'kings'. How were they running their territories?

Clint had mentioned that the reforming government was working with the self titled Kings on the East Coast. What were they like? How many people had they hurt? The idea made her sick.

“You can live anywhere, now. Zoning rules don’t apply.” It was a bad joke and Rachel didn’t laugh. “There’s a stove, generator, well water, rooms and beds.”

“Exam rooms and beds.” Rachel pointed out.

“True. But the walls are thick and solid. It’s out of the way and you’ll be living with a nurse.”

“But-”

“We won’t make you stay. But this is where we will bring supplies and this is where we will leave you. The rest is up to you. But if you come and go from here, come back to get supplies and leave again- you could lead others here. It’s up to you.”

Rachel was silent for a moment. Finally, she opened her mouth to say something as Clint rounded the corner. Dee shot to her feet and rushed across the room, heart beating wildly in her chest. Her stomach rolled. Blood was smeared on his hands. Though she tried, she couldn’t make her voice work.

“He’s okay.” Clint’s arms wrapped around her, pulling her into a tight hug. It was everything she needed. “He’s okay.”

“Really?” Tears slipped down her face. She told herself it was dumb to cry over a dog but couldn’t stop.

“Sasha was able to remove the bullet. Stitched him right up. He got lucky, it missed everything vital. He may always have a limp though, it nicked his shoulder blade but she doesn’t have a way to cast it.”

“He’s going to be okay?” She asked again, as if he hadn’t already said he would be.

“Yeah. Some pain meds for a few days. He’s going to be sore for a while.”

“He’ll be fine, assuming infection doesn’t set in.” Sasha added, rounding the corner. “I’d like to keep him in an exam room overnight to make sure he rests. We’ll offer food and water in a while when he’s fully awake.”

“Why can’t he stay with us?”

“I don’t want him ripping the sutures. If he’s alone in a small room, he won’t be doing much moving around. Just for tonight, maybe some of tomorrow.”

“Hopefully he leaves them alone.” Clint grumbled. “I don’t exactly have a cone of shame in the truck.”

“If you could get one, that’d be best.” Sasha offered.

“We’ll see.” Clint grumbled. His back was sore. His legs were sore. His head ached from lack of sleep and stress. “It’s not something that many would think to take and hoard at least. Shouldn’t be too hard to come by.”

“If you can, antibiotics and animal medications? Any literature they have as well- I’m a nurse, a people nurse. Not a vet. I’m playing a dangerous game of guesswork using what I’ve got on him.”

“Not likely on antibiotics. Most people know that they will need antibiotics if they get hurt. Most don’t know the names- they probably just shoved everything they could in a bag and called it a day. But a cone and maybe some books should be easy enough.” Clint didn’t want to go anywhere. He wanted to sleep. Still, Sasha was a valuable resource that was already paying for her keep. The least he could do was enable her to be a bigger resource. “I’ll go after we eat, swing by the farmhouse and load up supplies as well.”

“You will come back.” Sasha pressed. Though it wasn’t presented as an option or a question, it was. The way she twisted her hands and her eyebrows bunched together gave it away. She would have been a pretty young woman, before everything had happened. Clint would bet that as she came into her new life now, she would once again be a pretty young woman.

“I will. You’ll have Trust so I have to. Can’t leave the mutt behind, now can I? Dee’d be heartbroken.”

Sasha nodded and turned. “You’re all probably hungry. I’ll see what I can make.”

“Let me.” Dee insisted.

“I’ll build up the fire.” Clint offered, dragging himself to the wood stove.

“But-”

“I’d rather you give Lizzy a checkup and her shots. Rachel could use a once over as well. We can make food while you do what we can’t.”

Dee made her way over to Rachel who was still huddled in the chair. “Sasha here is going to give you and Lizzy a once over, okay? If Lizzy is strong enough, she’s going to give her her shots.”

“Why?”

“The shots? Because we want to protect her from as much as we can.”

“Herd immunity is questionable at best right now.” Clint added. It had been something that had been weighing on his mind. More than a few of Lauren’s mom friends had opted out of giving their snot goblins shots. They would give imaginary reasons full of made up science that only made sense on the most surface level. “Half the population is gone and antivax was gaining traction. I wouldn’t be surprised at all if there is a resurgence of most of the shit we gave shots for in the next decade. There may not be enough kids in some areas that had their shots, kids born now probably won’t get their shots for a while, if at all- large holes in a very thin herd.”

“I’ll give shots to any kid who needs them.” Sasha pointed out. “Other doctors, nurses still alive will too. We don’t want to see things like whooping cough and measles outbreaks becoming routine again.”

“You will. But others may only give it in exchange for food or supplies. Others still may hoard the vaccines, only giving them to members of their family or group. It’s a new world and you’ve got to stop thinking in terms of this being temporary.”

“But the Avengers, You’ll fix this.” Sasha pressed.

“No. We. Won’t.” Clint punctuated each word with the toss of a handful of twigs and kindling into the wood stove. “We- They tried. They failed. The grape that did this is dead. The stones are destroyed. It’s over and this is what’s left.”

“But-” This time it was Rachel that spoke up only to receive Clint’s glower.

“But what? The world will come back to something that looks normal? Fat chance.” Clint directed his attention wholly to his task when he noticed both Sasha and Rachel shrinking back from his glare. “The Avengers are working with the government to re-establish order and rule on the east coast, moving west. They’re filling the government and military ranks.”

“That’s good then?” Rachel offered. Sasha had abandoned the room to prepare for the exams.

“Is it?” Clint scoffed as he took a long stick lighter from Dee’s offered hand. Before long, Sasha would have to light her fires with matches and then, learn to strike a fire with flint. It was one of the many ways people were not prepared to live a life like this. “They are absorbing the self titled rulers, naming them governors and mayors. Do you think King Jacob would have made a good mayor? That’s what he would have become, if they came and he still held the city. Sure, they’d require him to raise the standard of treatment of the people, give them freedom but still.”

“They can’t be. They’re heroes. That’s not-”

“It is. Tony’s got crippling PTSD and has all but given up. Thor’s busy doing whatever to settle his people. Bruce has locked himself in a lab. Nat and Steve are working damn hard to bring the government back damn near on their own but they are only two people. They can’t be everywhere and they can’t fill every spot. The Avengers you hold so dear are down to one super soldier and one very tired assassin.”

“What about you?” Rachel asked. “You’re still alive.”

“Am I?�� Clint snapped, regretting it instantly as Dee draped a calming arm across his shoulders.

“You are.” She whispered in his ear and he clung to that.

“I can’t support putting people like that in charge of other people's lives.” Clint said.

Both he and Dee knew there was more to it, though they rarely spoke of it. Clint was bitter. He was angry. He blamed them. They failed to save everyone. He blamed himself, too. He wasn't there to have the chance to help, to fail with them. Now, he wouldn’t- no, he couldn’t help them put people like the self named King Jacob in power.

He understood why they had to do it. He wouldn’t help but he wouldn’t stand in their way. Let the terrible king’s reign for now, someone would likely go through and kill them later. Someone like-

“Come on.” Sasha called out, ushering Rachel and the baby out of the waiting room with a clipboard in her hand and what looked like two charts. It was so normal that Dee couldn’t help but smile at the sight. If playing doctor made Sasha feel better, all the better.

The fire crackled as Clint stacked a few large logs on top of the pile of flaming kindling and thick sticks. He waited for the first to begin catching before adding the next.

“There are others like King Jacob.” Dee said.

Though it was not a question, Clint answered. “Yeah. I won’t let them hurt you. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

“Can you really promise that?” Dee asked. “Our own government, your friends are allowing them to keep power and giving them authority.”

“I won’t let them touch you.” Clint insisted.

“Back in California, there was a man calling himself King-”

“Did he hurt you?”

“No, I never had a encounter with him. I’d hear him and his people on the radio, making announcements of their power or whatever. There were stations that resisted, TV and radio. One was taken over while on the air. People died. He isn’t a good man.”

“Bad people are going to rule the world, at least for a while.”

“They did before too, I think. It was just less obvious.”

Clint laughed, though the sound was bitter. “True enough. But there were others who kept them in check.”

“Like we did today?” Dee whispered. Her heart was pounding in her ears. She knew she was dancing around something but she couldn’t pinpoint what. It was something dark that didn’t want to be given voice. Perhaps it was evil. Perhaps it was madness.

“Yeah.” Clint whispered. “Just like today.”

“I’ll see what I can find for dinner.” Dee said.

With that, they turned away from the unnamed madness, leaving it hanging and powerless. If they didn’t look at it too long, maybe they could ignore the siren call. What would happen if they listened? What would happen if they gave it voice? What would happen if they took more power than they had now? What power could they have?

~~~~~<3

“Well, Lizzy seems to have gained a good bit of weight. She’s doing much better than that first day. Got her shots in. I’d like to keep her on the normal schedule for them, if possible.”

Sasha’s voice cut through the room as they entered. The heavy smell of stew greeted them. It smelled heavenly and drew a rumble from her stomach. How Clint and Dee could manage to make something that smelled that divine with the food she had, she couldn’t imagine. Somehow, they did though and she couldn’t wait to dig in.

“Everyone’s okay, then?” Dee called out, straightening her back. She’d been slumped over the stew, mixing the pot to keep it from burning. Clint was next to her, making something akin to flat bread on the stove top.

“For the most part.” Sasha wouldn’t call Rachel healthy but she would admit she could be in worse condition.

“There should be plenty to eat, at least.” Clint said, flipping the bread like disks when the first side was browned. “Grab bowls so we can eat up.”

The meal passed with soft words and long spells of silence. Sasha and Rachel both ate two bowls and many, many disks of bread. Clint wasn’t surprised. Sasha had looked to have been stretching her food. He couldn’t blame her. She had no real reason to trust that he would come back with supplies like he had promised.

While they had been waiting for Sasha and Rachel, Clint had taken his time to poke around her supplies. She had some canned meat and a almost empty freezer. He had every intention of filling her freezer with meat and ice. He’d see to it that they could last a month between supplying trips, if they ever were unable to make the trip.

Setting his empty bowl to the side, Clint stood up. “I’ll go grab supplies as promised before it gets too late.”

“You’re going to come back, right?” Sasha asked as if he had somewhere else to go with all the supplies.

“Yeah.” He directed his attention to Dee. “That stew will taste even better tonight. When the fire burns down, throw it back on the stove to simmer.”

She nodded her agreement, pulling herself to her feet as Clint gathered his keys, boots and coat. As he stood from tying his boots, she wrapped her arms around his waist from behind. His arms crossed over her’s, his hands clasping around her’s.

“Be safe.” She pleaded.

“Always.”

“Come back to me.”

“Always.” He promised again. “I will always come back to you.”

“I love you.” She whispered, as if it was a sacred secret.

Turning, he placed his hand on the side of her face. Fingers slipped into the strands of her hair as he brought his lips to her’s. The kiss was soft, sweet and chaste yet it was somehow everything she needed from him. “I love you, too.”

After letting him go, she watched him slip into his coat. He checked his gun before pushing the furniture from in front of the door. As it closed behind him, she squeezed her eyes together. After taking two slow, deep breaths, she began pushing everything back in place.

She wondered if it would ever be easier to watch him leave.

~~~~~<3

Tag list: @usedtobegoodfriend96 @alcoholic-muffin @theoneanna @alexakeyloveloki, @toozmanykids, @winterisakiller, @j-u-s-t-4. @bambamwolf87, @missaphrodite23, @nonsensicalobsessions, @tinchentitri, @xoxabs88xox @queenoftheunderdark, @carissime72 @myoxisbroken @coyotesongwriting @wegingerangelica @tnystrk-exe @faemapfae, @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123

#clint x oc #clint x ofc #clint barton x ofc #clint barton fanfiction #clint barton x oc

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fruit-teeth · 3 years

Text

Gifted

(All right so...this is new. I wrote a story about Sniper’s biological mother from the comics. You’re probably like “hey Mara, why did you write this?” And honestly? I don’t know!! Your guess is as good as mine, it was a story that had been living rent free in my brain for a while and the only way I can deal when that happens is to write it out. I’m posting this even though it might not get many notes, but that’s all right. I wrote something, that’s what matters. Anyway, enjoy, even if it’s sad.)

A ‘gifted child’. That was what everyone told her she was from the moment she learned to read.

She grew up raised by her genius uncle, a man of unparalleled skill when it came to writing. She did not remember her parents, but she had seen pictures of her mother: a beautiful, warm woman with a big smile and dark hair as long and thick as the grass that grew around the lake nearby.

Lar-Nah knew she would never be her mother.

But why did that matter? Everyone told her she was smart, and she knew it, too. She began reading at the age of three, and at five years old, the math she had begun learning at school quickly became too basic for her. She excelled past many people in her grade, and by ten years old, she’d been placed in several advanced classes already. Her uncle paraded her around his peers, telling them how intelligent she was and how proud he was of her. On the surface, she seemed to enjoy the attention. Internally, however, Lar-Nah was incredibly anxious.

The few times she did get poor grades, her uncle would shame her, instilling a fear of failure into his niece at an early age. She soon became obsessed with pleasing him and with pleasing her teachers, rather than reaching achievement for her own enjoyment. But that was all right, she decided. Once she got to a good college (and she was certain she would), she could live independently and never worry about pleasing anyone again.

She did not account for what would happen in her last year of high school.

Lar-Nah looked to the chalkboard one morning and saw something written there that she had not seen before.

“There’s a writing assignment due in two days?” She looked to her teacher for clarification, feeling a flash of panic. “That wasn’t in the calendar,”

The teacher just nodded from where he sat behind his desk, his eyes fixated on the lesson plan for the day. “I know, it’s a mandated writing assignment. The school just required it for all the writing classes,” he looked back up at Lar-Nah. “I’m sure it’s nothing you can’t handle,”

As he passed out the instruction papers for the assignment, Lar-Nah’s heart sank when she realized just how long this was going to take. Not only that, but she’d meticulously planned out her schedule for the rest of the week — her other classes had a great deal of work due on the same day as this assignment, she realized. Her hands shook as she made the adjustments to her schedule, and she realized with horror that she did not have time to complete everything like she thought she would.

Upon returning home, Lar-Nah headed straight to her uncle’s study and exclaimed, “I have so much work to do! I won’t have time to do all of it! I’m so sorry, something is going to have a zero!”

Her uncle, hunched over his latest piece of writing, grunted back at her, “You are being dramatic.”

“I’m not!” Lar-Nah knelt beside his chair, grabbing his hand. “I need help...can I show you my schedule? There’s so much to do, I don’t know—“

Her uncle stood up, looming over her, his eyes burning straight into her soul. “You’re wasting time!” He barked at her. “Use every moment to work if you have so much, then!”

Lar-Nah’s voice faltered a bit. “E-Every moment?”

“Yes,” he sighed, deep and low. “You will not disappoint me, will you? You will not only complete every bit of work, but you will get the best possible grades on each assignment, won’t you?”

Lar-Nah moved back, standing up slowly. She nodded after a moment. “Yes, Uncle Locke,”

“Good,” he went back to his typewriter, not looking at her. “You are smart, and you are gifted. Gifted people like you can overcome this,”

“...yes,” she murmured, pulling back and heading upstairs to get to work.

The rest of her day was just work. She managed to eat and take a shower, but all the moments in between those activities were spent doing her schoolwork. Lar-Nah did not have many friends anyway, but if any of them came to the door to try and get her attention, she would push them away. She had to focus.

She finished 5 assignments by the time the sun had set. She had six more to go before the dreaded writing assignment, which was now less than 48 hours away from needing to be done. But she decided to go to sleep, despite all the work, as she knew sleeping would give her the energy she needed to keep working.

When she woke up the next morning and went to school, however, her science teacher had an announcement to make.

“My apologies for springing this on you,” he began. “But tomorrow, we have a test,”

Lar-Nah felt like she was going to die on the spot.

“Don’t worry,” the teacher clarified. “It’s a very low-stakes test, but I would advise you study,”

The test was on the same day as the writing assignment, now, and Lar-Nah already had other subjects to do work for. She had never been in this situation before, teachers usually did not assign so much on the same day.

Lar-Nah decided to ask her science teacher about it once class ended. “Um, I hate to ask, but...can the test be moved to a different day?”

Her teacher quirked an eyebrow. “Why?”

“It’s just...I have a lot of work to do,” she explained, scratching the back of her head. “The writing classes have an assignment due tomorrow, too,”

The teacher huffed. “Now, Miss Lar-Nah, I know there’s a writing assignment due. But can you imagine if I arranged every schedule of mine based on how busy the students are? Why, that would be pure chaos!” He laughed, although Lar-Nah could not understand why this was funny. He went on. “Besides, you’re a very gifted student. This is nothing you can’t handle,”

“...yes, sir,” she nodded, feeling her heart pound from anxiety. Still, she gathered her books and headed to her next class, just like she always did.

The afternoon that followed was pure chaos. Lar-Nah barely ate, and she poured all of her energy into finishing the assignments as quickly and as efficiently as possible. By evening, she had only the writing assignment and the studying for the test left, though her hands were shaking and her body was screaming for rest.

“Uncle Locke?” She stood at the top of the stairs, looking down to where he was seated in the living room. “Uncle Locke, when is dinner?”

He looked up at her, watching her expression. “Are you done with your work yet?”

Lar-Nah shifted from foot to foot. “Well...no...”

He sighed. “Have some water and some bread, and then get back to work. That will put much pressure on you, but it will make you want to work harder,”

Lar-Nah felt tears welling in her eyes. “I’m so tired...” she murmured, her fists clenching. “Please, I need...i need to eat or something, I—“

“Bread and water is food!” Her uncle barked again. “And stop being so dramatic! Wipe your eyes and eat some bread, then get back to work.”

Lar-Nah swallowed the lump in her throat, forcing the tears back the best she could. “Yes,”

Once she’d eaten a slice of bread and downed a glass of water, she went straight back to work. Within the next few hours, she hunched over her typewriter and wrote the rest of the writing assignment, following the instructions the best she could.

By the time she was finished with that, it was well into the night and far past her bedtime. She did not know if her uncle was still awake, but she knew that he would want her to keep going, to finish everything. She opened up her science book to study for her exam, and that was the last thing she remembered.

The next thing Lar-Nah knew, her alarm’s shrill cry jolted her awake. She sat up quickly, and then groaned in pain, feeling the stiffness in her neck, back and shoulders, not to mention there was an uncomfortable stickiness on her cheek and chin...

She looked down, realizing that she’d fallen asleep on her science book, still in her daytime clothes. It then dawned on her that she hadn’t studied for the test— she’d fallen asleep instead.

As Lar-Nah tried to clean up the best she could for school, she internally warred with herself over her failure to study. The teacher had said it was a low stakes test, so it didn’t matter what grade she got, right? But at the same time, she had never failed a test before...what if this was the first one she failed? The thought made her feel sick.

Still, she felt a bit of relief as she handed in the writing assignment at school that morning, thankful to have that out of the way. As she turned her back to return to her seat, though, her writing teacher got her attention again.

“Lar-Nah?” He gestured for her to come closer. “Where are your citations?”

Lar-Nah paused, feeling herself go pale. “...citations?” When he nodded, she took a shaky breath in. “The instructions didn’t say we had to cite anything,”

Her teacher held up the instruction sheet again. “It’s right there, see?” He pointed to the very small paragraph towards the bottom that listed the instructions for citing sources. “Did you not read those?”

When Lar-Nah stood like a deer in headlights, staring at the sheet of paper, her teacher let out a long sigh. “I see...go take a seat, Lar-Nah,”

Lar-Nah slowly headed down to her desk, sitting down. She’d gotten something wrong— she’d gotten something wrong and now her teacher was mad. Surely, she was going to fail, and her uncle would find out. All hell would soon break loose, she knew that much.

The science test was a blur. Lar-Nah wrote in whatever answers made sense to her, but her heart pounded the whole time. Once it was over, she was certain she had failed, and to avoid any disappointment from her science teacher, she sprinted out into the hallways, desperate to just get through the day and then go home.

But home would never be the same. Once Lar-Nah got to her uncle’s study, she burst into tears and fell to the floor.

Startled, her uncle stood up and pulled her to her feet. ‘Good lord, child! What’s become of you!? Pull yourself together!”

Lar-Nah sobbed, covering her face. “I missed the citations on the writing assignment and I failed my science test!”

He pulled away from her a bit. “What?”

“I did it all wrong!” Lar-Nah wept, tears rolling down her face like rain. “My teachers are furious with me! But its not my fault, I had so much work!”

“So much work!?” Her uncle repeated, gritting his teeth. “You don’t know the meaning of true work, you silly girl!” He sighed, pacing around, his hands clenched into fists. “I knew it— I knew this would all come crumbling!”

Lar-Nah sniffled, taking a step back. “But...w-what was I supposed to do? Stay up all night and never sleep!?”

“Your problem is you don’t work efficiently!” Her uncle insisted. “You don’t...” he sighed again, turning back on his heel. “Pah! What am I saying? You are a woman! Women are far too dramatic to get on a level with men such as myself!”

When he said that, something broke in Lar-Nah. Something snapped— little sleep, limited food, and constant stress all bubbled to the surface, and she couldn’t stand it anymore. As her uncle had his back turned, she grabbed the heavy, stone ash tray off the shelf and slammed him on the back of the head with it.

He collapsed, falling face first into the type writer and then sliding to the floor with a ‘thump’. Lar-Nah hovered over his lifeless body, before dropping the ash tray and heading upstairs to take a shower.

It wasn’t until she returned from her shower and heard the police outside the door that she realized her uncle had died. A neighbor had seen the interaction from outside the window, and had subsequently called the police when she saw Lar-Nah strike her uncle with the ash tray. Lar-Nah was then arrested and placed on trial, though after a psychiatric examination, she was determined to be unfit for a trial and was instead placed into a mental institution. She was seventeen years old at the time.

Lar-Nah remained at the institution for roughly four years, the same amount of time she would have spent at a college. By the end of the four years, she hardly cared about anything anymore: her emotions had completely numbed. She could not remember the last time she had truly smiled or laughed, and once she left the institution, she met the man who would end up becoming her husband. She married him, although she wasn’t quite sure why. He had money...that was about it.

Lar-Nah became a passenger of her own life. She stopped trying, she stopped searching for true happiness and instead focused on whatever made her feel good in the moment. That was all that mattered to her. Her uncle, the writing assignment, school, grades...it all felt like some distant nightmare. Sometimes she wondered if she had never truly been born, but rather materialized to just to get married.

There came a moment, though, when she was six months pregnant and laying in bed alone, listening to the leaky roof above her, that her mind took her somewhere else. Behind her eyes, she could see herself standing on the shore of the lake, amongst the tall grass, and beside her stood a figure. It was her mother— with her beautiful face and long flowing hair, the pinnacle of perfection...Lar-Nah reached for her, but just like that, she was gone, and Lar-Nah was alone again, alone in the vast void of her own soul, a place she would ultimately end up in when all was said and done.

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bellamygateoldblog · 4 years

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So, I read a lot of your personal posts and I'm just really curious about you. You seem very stressed out and tired all the time. Are you a college student? Are you just in a financial situation that necessitates that you work all the time? I just feel bad because It seems that you do not absorb joy very much. Like, I have seen that you recently started watching that show The 100. You seem very pissed off about it and yet keep watching it? You confuse and intrigue me. Explain?

"it seems that you do not absorb joy very much" has been playing on my mind ever since i read this. It hit something close to my heart.

I know i’m not obligated to explain anything and i don’t tend to put my life online (i don’t have any social media, so that should give you an idea of how secretive i usually am) but i literally stayed awake for 30 hours straight before sleeping for 15 hours straight and of course i don’t feel very well after that lol. I feel like i need to talk through some things that i’ve been keeping to myself for a long time. Get it out of my head, stop carrying it around, maybe gain some control over it.

I never intend to make anyone feel bad though, but i don’t have anyone to talk to so i guess i sometimes make those posts as a substitute for someone listening. Or for me being pissed about the 100, i think that’s my mood translating into what i end up posting in general.

Anyways this is A Lot. I obviously don’t mind if you read it. Advice would be nice, if anyone has any.

I’m a 2nd year university student. Due to severe mental illness (often making me physically sick and exhausted) these last 2 years have been extremely difficult so that's left me in a very intense situation essentially just trying to ensure i pass the year. That means handing in all the assignments i deferred basically all at the same time, after not attending the year at all. Like no lectures, no workshops, no lessons, nothing past the first month of semester 1. It's really not an ideal situation and my condition isn't improving the way i thought it would (you know when you think ‘this is the worst it can possibly get’ and then it gets worse?), and i can't focus. I’m resourceful and naturally decently smart, so i’m able to still pass a year of uni without...going. I’ve become less capable over time but because of other life experience i don’t place value on academic excellence anymore and because of covid there is a benchmark anyway, where my grade can’t drop below a 2:2, so basically i’m good as long as i don’t recieve a fail grade on anything. But that being said it’s still really hard to get things done anyway despite this? especially with depression and concentration issues, because uni in general just makes me really unhappy and disrupts my entire life, and i’d rather do literally anything else.

I can’t function whenever thinking about school in general. If im stressed about something i can’t think about anything else and it ends up seeping into other things im doing.

I have a really clear idea of what i want for the next step in my life and university is the only route available to get to so that’s why i’m still going through all of this when i could technically just ‘stop’. I’ve explored other ideas already and it appears even more stressful and complicated to make a huge change now. Even though i know 3rd year will be harder (which is also a source of stress, anxiety over what’s to come when im already struggling...).

I've been talking to my uni the whole time and while they've been understanding and accommodating (psychology department...like...they Know lol), there's only so much they can do to help me. Everyone i’ve spoken to is genuienly amazed i am where i am, but imo my resilience is bourne out of pure spite not to let my life fall apart along with myself LMAO. I have one assignment deadline left which is tomorrow. It’s the hardest one yet, i haven’t started and i’m filled with dread, and i’m so burned out i have no idea how i’m going to get it done.

To give some context about the whole ‘i can’t help myself when i’m under stress’ thing: I’m a really feminine girl. I have health and beauty routines that i like to stick to, but i can’t stick to them right now so i don’t feel like myself. There is nothing more to my life than stress and depression. I’m pretty sure i experienced dissociation for a few days last week. It was like i didn’t exist.

Just so happens that when i thought i could finally have a break from the extreme stress there are exams coming up on the 11th, which my uni has for some reason decided to make harder!?!? And i need to tell you that because it’s been bugging me ever since i recieved the email. They've completely changed the exams from being 1 hour long multiple choice tests (multiple choice is so easy smh) to basically a group of short answer questions we have 24 hours (each!) to write and submit and it’s seeming like i’ve got another 5 assignments to do after already writing 7 in the past month. It’s open book while the January exams were closed but it still seems to me like the students who didn’t defer (who did the exams back in January) got an unfair advantage over those of us taking them now due to our own circumstances. So I’m confused and upset about that, and about the thought that i probably won’t even get a break before 3rd year begins.

My living situation doesn’t make it better. It’s a really negative and emotionally draining space for me to be in. Just adding to my being drawn to negativity, and my own sensitivity. And covid has made everything that much more complicated, with everything changing and being closed etc. I’m completely alone btw, there is no one i can lean on.

As for the 100, that’s really tricky. I actually stopped “watching” it last year and now mostly consume it through fandom tumblr. I'm just not in the right headspace to sit alone and watch such a heavy show (clearly LMAO). But I’m so comfortable in this circle of fandom & love my mutuals, so i stay. I am actually liking a lot about the final season, like they’re delivering everything i wanted them to lol, but it’s so flawed and easy to complain about when you have a predisposition to be a Negative Nancy all the time so here we are.

I think i don’t really talk so extensively about shows I really love because i feel like i don’t have anything substancial to say about them besides ‘i love it’? Like i just sit there and happily watch and the farthest i go is commenting gibberish love confessions in the tags of a gifset i reblog. So most of my posts end up being me being petty or something. I do want to focus more on shows i love but like i said...it’s so hard for me sometimes to be all-positive and pretend i’m not completely crushed?

I really just want to not be so stressed and exhausted all the time. I want to do something besides worry about and/or do work. I’d love to clean my space & take a shower & read a book without a nagging anxiety in the back of my head. But i have to wait it out, and then wait it out, and continue waiting it out because it feels like things are going to be this way forever or get even worse.

I’ve had a lot of good luck lately though, and i don’t know what your beliefs are but i think someone is watching over me.

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wordsandshawn · 5 years

Text

Open Up

Summary: Y/n doesn’t know how to tell Shawn she’s not doing okay.

A/n: I know it’s been forever since I last wrote anything. I’m really trying to get back into it. Please please let me know what you think. I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Stress, anxiety, nothing too intense though.

Your phone vibrating on the table in front of you draws your attention away from your laptop. You’re studying with your friend, who notices it before you’re able to pick it up. Glancing down, you see Shawn’s name splayed across the screen, but you only hit the volume button on the side to silence the call and stop your phone from vibrating although it will continue ringing on his end so he won’t realize you purposely didn’t answer.

“You’re not going to answer?” She questions glancing between your phone and you, more out of curiosity than anything else.

“I’ll call him back later.” You lie quickly.

“Are you guys fighting?” She questions. She’s one of the few people you trust enough to even be honest with about your relationship with Shawn, so it only makes sense that she’d inquire.

You shrug, “No, I just don’t want to talk to him right now. We’re studying.” She raises her eyebrow, her silent way of calling bullshit, but she doesn’t push the topic anymore, and you’re grateful for that.

A second later, your phone vibrates with a text from Shawn, I’m off for the rest of the day. Call me if you get a chance. Love you.

You quickly type a reply and hit send before thinking twice. Sorry, I’m in an intense study session. I’ve got an exam tomorrow. I’ll try to call tonight. Love you.

He responds with a heart, and you flip your phone over, so you won’t be distracted by it anymore as you turn your attention back to the study guide on your laptop.

It’s not that you don’t want to talk to Shawn, at least that’s not really it. Lately, you’ve felt like you have to pretend to be okay for him and for you when you talk to him. You don’t want him to worry because you know he already has so many things to worry about. It’s easier to hide things from him when he’s so far away. You can control when you talk to him, and what parts of you he sees. Even if you don’t want to admit it, you know this has been taking a toll on your relationship because you haven’t been completely honest with him for about a week. Things at school and work have really intensified, and you’ve been so busy you haven’t had any time for yourself, which has taken a toll on your mental health and truly left you feeling out of sorts and out of control.

Shawn doesn’t call again, and it’s midnight before you finally pick up your phone, forcing yourself to call him back. You’re already ready for bed and only plan to talk to him for a few minutes, quickly catching up on what’s going on with him before making the excuse that you’re tired in order to cut the call short.

“Hi baby,” His voice comes through the phone after two rings.

“Hey, Shawn. How was your day?” You question, resting against your pillows.

“It was good. I recorded all morning, but I had the afternoon off, so I went to the gym and then just hung out with Brian for the most part.”

“Sounds like a good day.” You say, a small smile crossing your face. Even if you don’t want to share everything with him, he still makes you feel better, just by being himself.

“How’s your day been? I feel like I’ve barely heard from you lately.” He remarks.

“It was alright. It was busy. So busy I’ve barely had time to think.” You respond honestly, but purposely don’t expand.

“I know, you’ve been so busy lately. Is everything okay? Are you okay?” He questions with so much genuine concern, you almost break down and admit that you’re not. But now’s not the time, you remind yourself. It’s late, and you’re tired.

“Yeah, it’s fine. I can’t really help it or change how much I have going on so I’m just trying to get through it.” You shrug, even though he can’t see you.

“I know, but what’s really going on? You haven’t been talking to me lately. Sometimes talking about it makes it better.” He tries encouraging you, but you still refuse to open up.

“I miss you.” You whisper instead.

“I miss you too. But I’m here if you just talk to me. I want to be here for you.”

You take a deep breath, holding yourself together. “I’m tired.”

Shawn takes the cue, knowing what you didn’t just say. You’re not ready, and you don’t want to talk. Not now, not while you’re exhausted, and stressed, and so not okay. “Get some rest. I know you’ll do great on your exam tomorrow. Call me after if you have some time to talk, okay?”

“I will.” You say, your eyes falling closed even though you’re still holding the phone to your ear. You weren’t lying when you said you were tired.

“Okay, I love you. Sleep well.”

“I love you too. Bye Shawn.”

“Bye.” He says before you hear that little ding signaling he has hung up. You put your phone down only after double-checking that your alarms are set fo the morning, and then you turn off the light.

Despite the tiredness that you feel all the way to your bones, sleep doesn’t come like you hope it will. When it finally does come, it feels like you’re only asleep for a few seconds before you feel the familiar anxiety that wakes you up all too often. You lie there in the dark, staring at nothing, and trying to convince yourself that you’re okay, that things will work out, that you’ll get everything done that you need to. That you’re okay. But you’re not, and you know you’re not. When you check your clock, it shows that it’s three-thirty in the morning. You were only sleeping for three hours at the most, but you know you’re not going back to sleep anytime soon.

You reach for your phone, the light from the screen forcing you to squint. You open messages and click on your boyfriend's name before typing out a message, Are you awake? It’s only 12:30 in LA where Shawn is so you think he might still be awake. Only a few seconds pass where you stare at the message you sent before your phone is ringing. “Hello?” You answer, your voice raspy, immediately giving away that you were sleeping not long ago, but Shawn probably knew that, knowing what time it is in Toronto.

“What’s going on, baby?” He sounds tired, but he probably wasn’t sleeping yet, so at least you don’t have to feel guilty for waking him up.

“I’m sorry,” You apologize. You always feel like you have to apologize whenever you need Shawn, no matter how many times he tells you not to apologize, you still do.

“It’s okay. You have nothing to be sorry for. Talk to me, yeah? What’s going on?” He questions, concern lacing his voice.

“I just woke up feeling stressed. About everything. There’s just so much going on right now, and I’m trying to do everything, but I can’t, and I don’t have time to even think, and that stresses me out even more.”

“Hey, breathe. Just take a deep breath.” He responds, remaining calm to counter all of the stressed-out, anxious energy that he knows is bubbling within you. You listen, taking in a deep breath as Shawn continues. “Do you want to talk about what’s on your mind, what’s keeping you up?”

You sigh, frustrated that you are even awake. You let your eyes fall closed as you say, “No, I just want to sleep.”

“Okay,” He responds, following your lead. “Then all of that can wait until the morning. There’s no sense in worrying about it right now. You need to sleep. I’m right here. You’re not alone. I’m not going anywhere.” You want to argue that he’s not here, that if he were here with you, you probably would be pressed up against his chest, his arms wrapped around your body, holding you close. His steady breathing would remind you to slow your own breaths. But he’s not here, and there’s no point in making him feel bad about that, so you don’t say anything. Instead, you focus on breathing. After a few seconds of breathing and knowing Shawn is on the other end, you feel yourself start to calm down enough to feel sleepy again.

“Y/n?”

“Yeah?” You question, your eyes falling closed as you listen intently to Shawn, wanting to focus on the sound of his voice.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?”

“I know.” You respond.

“No matter what you say, I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

Those are the words you needed to hear. Shawn may not have known it, but that’s what you needed to hear to be able, to be honest with him about everything that’s going on. Even though Shawn has never given you a reason to believe otherwise, you had experienced the feeling of being “too much” for other people in your life which has led to you holding things inside.

“Can I call you tomorrow?” You ask the vulnerability of that statement hangs heavy in the air around you. It’s not that statement that is making you feel vulnerable but thinking about how you’re finally ready to be completely honest with Shawn about how not okay you’ve been lately.

“Of course. Get some rest, okay? I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Okay, goodnight. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

You hang up the phone before putting it down, closing your eyes, and letting yourself drift off to sleep.

#Shawn Mendes #imagine #Shawn Mendes blurb #blurb #Shawn Peter Raul Mendes

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