#no phone calls. barely any texts. the depression is hitting bad. oh shit now that i think about it yeah. oh boy. oh this isnt good

[be-the-spark-flyboy]

Strange(r) Encounter

Pairing: Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia x GN!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, drunk!reader, brief mentions of past violence and minor character death

A/n: Request by @itspdameronthings way too long ago but I accidentally deleted my first draft :( and was too depressed to write it all over again until now :)

Word count: 1.6k ish

---

Santi woke up with the sun on his face, filtering in from the bare windows. He rolled onto his back staring at the ceiling. The apartment was decent, near enough to the security consultant agency he got a job at that he could just walk if he wanted to.

For the first time in his life, Santi had time to sleep in. There was no drill sergeant to bust his ass for being late, there was no life and death situation that needed his leadership, no missions to consume every second and every thought of his life.

There was still so much he wanted to do, so many people he wanted to help. Yet, between the royal fuck up of the Lorea mission, getting one of his teammates killed and the condition of his knees worsening, Santi finally took the advise of everyone who ever cared for him and finally settled down.

Suddenly, he had nothing but time.

Santi closed his eyes against the light of day progressively getting brighter, mentally running through the list of tasks he needed to get done by the end of the day.

Breakfast with the boys, then pick out furniture for his new apartment, maybe paint if he felt like it. Watch the game. Santi sighed heavily, rolling off the mattress onto the cold tile floor. Oh, and get a bed frame.

---

Pope was locking up the front door when he heard the thunk of keys falling and a voice loudly mutter a curse. He turned towards the sound to see you heavily leaning against a door, coat half slung on your shoulder, the other half dragging on the floor. Santi watched as you clumsily bent down to pick up your keys, promptly dropping it once again while trying to slot it into the keyhole. You glared at a set of keys laying on the floor as if it had insulted your entire lineage. Santi couldn’t help the amusement rising in his chest at his clearly drunk neighbour.

“Hey,” He interrupted your staredown with the keys, as if you were willing them to spontaneously jump into your hands. “You need any help there?” You jumped, as if you hadn't realised that you weren't alone.

“Nah, I got it,” you dismissed waving a hand and moved to pick up the keys again, but a sudden wave of dizziness and nausea made you back up and lean heavily on the door once more. “I don’t got it,” you whispered in defeat. “Shit, I think I’m still drunk,”

“Great party, huh?”

“Amaaazing,” your head thumped against the door where you tipped it back.

“Let me help,” in a few quick strides, Santi swiped the keys from the floor handing it to you. You awkwardly pat his chest.

“Thanks man,” Santi hesitated to walk away from you since the possibility of you tripping over your own two feet and smashing your skull on the floor was very real. Pushing yourself away from the door on your unsteady feet, you tried the door for the third time, whispering a little yay when you finally opened it.

Santi couldn’t help but shake his head in at your antics, but just as he started to leave, you gasped loudly, “You’re my new neighbour!” you exclaimed, giving him a two-finger salute as you started backing away into your own apartment.

“Welcome to the neighbourhood!” You exclaimed in your drunk enthusiasm. “Hope you enjoy y-” before Santi could even process what had happened, you were on the ground, groaning in pain. He quickly darted forward in mild panic.

“You okay?” He asked, checking you over. Thankfully you didn’t seem to have hit your head.

“Who left a shoe over there?” you groaned unironically, making no move to get up from the ground.

“No clue. You really should get up though,”

“Floor good. I’m just gonna take a little nap, don't mind me,” you smiled sleepily, much to santi’s dismay. He heaved a heavy sigh, looking skyward as if asking the gods why me?

“Alright, let's get you inside,” he slowly coaxed you up into a sitting position before managing to pull you up onto your feet. Your place was an absolute mess, riddled with the telltale signs of a workaholic. Santi would know. Empty mugs and paper were lying on every surface, the waste paper bin overflowing. Laptop was balanced atop a stack of books on the coffee table.

You released a content sigh when Santi finally lowered you onto the plush cushions of the sofa. Carefully navigating around your belongings, he made a trip to your kitchen, fetching a glass of water. Santi debated finding you some painkillers but decided it would be a bad idea to go rifling around into a stranger’s belonging. The water would have to do.

---

It was midday when you finally woke up to a hangover so bad, the first thing you had to do was sprint over to the bathroom in your delirious state and throw up. It felt like someone took a sledgehammer to your head the previous day but you made it back to the couch safely, on all fours. After shooting a quick text to your friends that you were still alive, you flopped onto the couch, rethinking all your important life decisions that led you to this moment.

Last night was well deserved, after working your ass off for an article, you wanted to celebrate. But maybe, you went a little too hard with it. You laid there on the couch, mouth dry as sandpaper, contemplating ways to get to the kitchen without throwing up another time. You tossed your phone onto the coffee table unintentionally knocking into a glass. Despite your lethargic movements, your hand whipped out just in time to catch it before it tipped over the side, a little bit of the water sloshing over the edge. Weird. You didn't remember leaving it there.

The memory of that morning came back to you all at once and you groaned into your empty apartment in embarrassment. Your new neighbor was fuzzy in your memory, but you remembered exactly how you thoroughly humiliated yourself in front of him. Oh what a great first impression that was. Nonetheless, you were really thankful for the water he left you. Quickly you drain it, laying back on the couch for another nap. The world could wait.

---

The sun had set when Santi got back home. Apart from the drunk neighbor incident, his day went by uneventfully. At least the boys had thought his recount was funny. The thought of you brought a smile to his face. Santi contemplated going over to check up on you, see if you needed help with anything. Would that be overstepping? Sure he was just being a concerned neighbor. Plus, amidst all the excitement of your unconventional meet-the-neighbor session, he didn’t manage to get your name.

Santi glanced around his apartment, at the bare, lifeless walls and boxes of unpacked shit lying everywhere. And thought he could put off unpacking for another few minutes.

He could spare a moment to go say hi.

---

When the doorbell rang, you almost didn't open it. Fearing it would be one of your neighbors coming to complain about some drunk shit you didn't remember doing. The sound aggravated your already throbbing headache. Then you decided, fuck it, you gotta deal with it sometime. Might as well get it over with.

So, needless to say, you were taken off guard when you were met with a handsome stranger instead of your nosey neighbour Carol. Like, a really handsome older man in a pair of jeans and t-shirt.

“Hey, I just moved in next door-” Panic hit you like a fucking bus, heat rising in your face. The words tumbled out of your mouth in a rush abruptly cutting the familiar stranger off.

“I’m so sorry about this morning, I swear I don’t do that often. You really won’t have to deal with that again,” an amused smile played at the corners of his lips at your sudden word vomit and you had to stop yourself from visibly cringing at yourself.

“It’s okay, don't worry about,” his smile slipped into something warmer, more inviting. “Just wanted to see if you were fine,”

“Fine is a bit of a stretch, but I’ll live,” you shrugged and to that, your neighbor, a bloody handsome one mind you, smiled widely. With his head full of curly salt and pepper hair. You weren't seeing stars, no way. Of all the people who could’ve made a fool of yourself in front of, it just had to be your sexy, distinguished looking neighbor. Hey, at least it can't get worse than that right.

“I’m Santiago, by the way. My friends call me Santi,” distantly, you wondered if you could get away with calling him Santi too. “Or Pope,” that made you squint your eyes at him. Then you opened your mouth, letting it run ahead of your brain, and stupidly asked him one last question that was going to make you want to hit yourself in the face with a flip flop whenever you thought of it.

“How do you get ‘Pope’ from Santiago?"

—-

#santiago garcia x you #santiago pope garcia x reader #santiago garcia x reader #santiago garcia #triple frontier fanfic #requests

[cosmiclatte28]

Home (Baekhyun x reader)

DOMESTIC FLUFF (?) 

ENJOY! 

The jingling sounds of key and door carefully pushed open resonated through the half lit apartment. Baekhyun locked his door and carefully switched on the light. His foot steps brought him to the living room, which surprisingly was not neat. He flashed an apologizing smile when he saw the scattered books, papers, and highlighters on top of the coffee table and to the girl who fell asleep uncomfortably on the couch. 

A book was covering half of her face; Baekhyun giggled at the sight. He gently placed his gym bag on the other couch, took the book on her face, marked the page with a highlighter and closed it down. He bent to greet her with a kiss and gave a gentle stroke on her shining brown hair. The girl did not move at all, in which Baekhyun deducted she had been too tired this week. He shuffled into the bedroom, took a soft blanket and returned to the sleeping girl. He draped the blanket over her, and left to shower. That girl is Scarlet, the lucky girl who stole Baekhyun's heart and the one he's engaged to.

One of the room that Baekhyun loves other than the bedroom is the bathroom. His marvelous girlfriend amazingly turned this place's dull bathroom into a masterpiece. Baekhyun thanked his hard work which resulted this marble walls and tiles. He thanked his sweats for purchasing him a pulsing bathtub, but mostly, Baekhyun appreciated how his girl did the lights and ambience for this room. The dim relaxing lights and candles never failed in calming his nerves down. The pack of aroma oils she kept on one of the shelves helped Baekhyun breathe even lighter. 

Today he realized, it's not late yet to have a dip. It's only 10 (that's why he knew his girl had been tired, for she usually waited til' morning). Baekhyun opened the faucet, walked to the box of oils and chose his companion for tonight. He decided to go with vanilla and a blue bath bomb. He tossed the bomb when the water's enough and stripped down. In less than a minute, he was groaning from the pulses which hit his tired body and softly moaned from the comfort the oils and bubbles gave him. He closed his eyes for a moment, did some deep breathing, and reopened his eyes.

He scanned the room, his heart warming when he saw the things in this room came in pair. The tooth brush, the towels, and the vanity sets. His eyes traveled one more time to the rack of body wash collections Scarlet owns. He frowned a little when he realized her collections had changed. 

Baekhyun remembered seeing bottles of colorful and super sweet smelling soaps, but now it's replaced with plain bottles. He squinted his eyes and reached for each bottles. Reading off the titles and scents. He frowned when he read "aromatherapy edition". Though he admit the smells are wonderful, he tried to get her message. The bottles were labeled like Sleep, Stress, and Love. He returned them and glanced at the scented candles which Scarlet likes to light when she showers. The fun bakery or fruity smells was replaced too with another Sleep candle. He felt something’s wrong. Quickly he finished his bath, washed, and tugged on his shorts.

He walked out of the steamy shower, bare chested, then tip toed to the dining table. He made himself a glass of warm milk and sat down while looking at his sleeping girlfriend. Scarlet has always been a shining, restless ball of energy, with lots of positivity, just like him. But he was late to realize that she was going through a lot. 

Baekhyun's comeback activities have not allowed him to go home early, except today since two members started to feel sick, nor did it allow him to send texts and sneak calls. He tried to remember when was the last time he checked on Scarlet, and he felt bad when he figured out how much of an uncaring boyfriend he is. He looked at the engagement ring on his left finger and then to Scarlet, played a bit with it, and guilt flooded his body.

When was the last time Baekhyun asked how's she doing? When did he call first or texted first? When did he come home to ask her how her day went? When Baekhyun did accompany her to finish her mountain of home works? When did he really act like her man?

The answer was long time ago. It's always Scarlet who started the conversation, it's always her waiting for him. Scarlet's the one who forced her tired body to stay awake, just to welcome tired Baekhyun home. Scarlet's the one who always asked and listened attentively to how his day happened. She's the one who prepared his bath and bed. 

Every morning they still see each other. Drinking coffees and eating breads, Scarlet usually asked him how his sleep was while packing a lunch for her, and him. Not to forget how she always yawned from staying awake to finish her tasks and woke up early to fetch Baekhyun his breakfast and lunch. 

He felt like a shit, had he ever sit next to Scarlet all night when she typed words into her laptop, while chugging on cups and cups of coffee? Rarely. Yes he tried and failed miserably, but Scarlet never for once put a grudge on this. Baekhyun saw her charged phone on the island. He reached it and opened the lock, swiped until he found the calendar widget. He scanned through it and learned that this month is her final exam weeks; that explains the books and papers. He carefully noted down each day's exam. Baekhyun made a small plan on his mind. A small support which he hoped can help her pass the exams.

After finishing his milk, he walked to Scarlet, picked her up and put her down on their bed. He returned to the living room to pack on her belongings for tomorrow's class and tidied up the couch. After noting the clock, he turned off the lights and joined Scarlet to dream land. Baekhyun counted the hours of sleep, its 23.30, his schedule tomorrow starts at nine, while Scarlet's class starts at eight. He will wake up earlier tomorrow, make her breakfast, and walk her to campus. Baekhyun smiled at himself, then after another kiss he closed his eyes.

The sun rays woke Baekhyun up around 6. He carefully left his bed, washed, and walked to the kitchen. He turned the coffee machine on, heated the water, then prepared two cups. Baekhyun yawned as he checked on their fridge, surprisingly there are eggs, hams, and cheese. He threw his head to the counter and smiled when he saw bread. He noted he has to grab groceries on his way home, this fridge won't refill itself.

Baekhyun finished cooking the second egg, when a fresh showered Scarlet surprised him with a back hug.

"Morning bae, sorry for sleeping deep last night," Scarlet kissed Baekhyun's exposed neck.

"Morning too babe, no problem... I saw your tiring schedules, it's okay to fell asleep. I like it better, for you to stay healthy." Baekhyun said as he plated the egg on top of the bread, then topped it with cheese and ham then bread. He turned the stove off and returned the kiss Scarlet gave.

"Hmm the coffee's ready." Scarlet inhaled the sweet smell of coffee.

Baekhyun grinned, "Just sit down my lady; I'll prepare this for you." Baekhyun poured milk into one coffee. He knew her well!

Scarlet took a snap and updated her Instagram.

"What? I'm just going to post this so your fans can day dream on you."

Baekhyun said nothing to this, he's thankful though that even though some fans hated her in the beginning, by today they shifted to support them and Baekhyun's thankful Scarlet has been strong so far.

"Let's eat. Enjoy your breakfast." Baekhyun smiled.

"Thanks Baekhyun." She smiled and delicately finished her portion.

"How's your sleep?" Baekhyun asked this time, and he did not miss how Scarlet seemed surprised and happy he asked first. Gosh why did he not do this before? Seeing her surprised and happy made him happy too.

"Amazing! I dreamed that a handsome prince came to kiss my nightmares away, oh Baek it feels real," She gazed into the space.

Baekhyun giggled and brought his hand to ruffle her hair.

"How's yours?" Scarlet asked back.

They caught up with one another, exchanged small talks on how the comeback is going, annoyed conversation on Scarlet's never ending tasks, planned about visiting their parents, and many more.

"Come let's get ready. I can walk you to campus today." Baekhyun stood up and collected the dirty plates. He washed them quickly as Scarlet prepared herself.

They're ready. Baekhyun's wearing black and black with a black cap and black masker, on his left shoulder hung Scarlet's school bag, on his right hand the small hand of Scarlet. They walk while enjoying the sun and other couples.

"Baekhyun, I'm sorry if I sound rude.. But can you please return to the pastel and denim looks please? I'm tired of seeing your dark clothes in the laundry." Scarlet spoke.

He did not need to think and nodded, "Sure! I'll dress brighter after this."

Scarlet smiled, "Thanks! It's depressing for me to see your dirty clothes."

Their steps reached the end, Scarlet smiled brightly in front of the campus gate.

"I can take it from here, thanks jagi, good luck with your practice!" Scarlet rose to give a quick peck on his lips and they parted.

That afternoon, practice ended quickly. Baekhyun rushed to the parking lot after changing into a fresh tee.

"Yak, where are you running to?" Chanyeol asked before Baekhyun was gone behind the doors. It is normal for him to rush home, but Chanyeol always asked the details.

"A date probably?" Kyungsoo teased his friend.

"Any special day?" Sehun chimed in too.

"Nah.. I want to go to the market and prepare dinner."

"Wow, did something happen?" Kai asked

"Nothing bad, I just realize I'm not a caring namja..." He blushed

The rest of them laughed it off and just wished him good luck

Baekhyun was thankful today is a Friday and he can leave before 6! Yet he was sure that Scarlet's last class today will end at 6, which gives him enough time to shop and cook.

He rushed to the supermarket nearby the apartment and bought everything needed for dinner and the empty desolate fridge. He restocked the fruits, chocolates, pop corns. He bought home a bouquet of fresh flowers and a letter too.

Once back home, he arranged everything on the refrigerator and began to cook.

Right as he wait for the rice to cook, he arranged the tables and still got time for a quick fresh shower.

Once he he spit the light-blue mouthwash away, the jingles of key made his heart pound.

"Mwoya?" Scarlet gasped in surprise when she was greeted by the dim lit room only from the dining room. She took off her shoes and left her belongings on the sofa. Scarlet stood frozen in front of the dining room.

There stood Baekhyun, all in his boyfriend dreamy look and a bouquet of fresh flowers. Not to mention how perfect his oversized yellow pastel sweater matched his fluffy caramel hair. His eye bags showed naturally how tired he is, no heavy make ups and eye shadows. Just the plain glowing cheeks Scarlet love, to an extend that she will give everything just so his cheeks can glow.

She did not say anything, he was still frozen too, and Scarlet took the moment to melt Baekhyun in her deep meaningful kiss.

"You don't have to do this Baek," she whispered as her lips lingered close to his.

"I wanted to jagiya, here's your flower." He handed her the bouquet.

Scarlet took a deep whiff of the roses and placed it on the vase.

"Wow you cooked dinner!" She giggled as she saw the pile of dirty pans and pots in the sink.

"Don't worry I'll clean them up, before that shall we eat?" He raised his brow.

"One moment!" Scarlet turned to take a quick shower and change her clothes.

She returned only in Baekhyun's oversized baby blue knitted sweater and a messy bun.

"Jja, let's begin" She took her seat and Baekhyun lit the candles.

"I'll bring you to a proper place tomorrow or next week... sorry tonight I rushed.." He shyly said.

"Oh I love this better Baekhyun, anyways your food tastes better than mine! What secrets are you using?" Scarlet ate happily, savoring each spices and sweetness. Baekhyun felt full seeing her this happy. He got it now how mothers felt when their kids finished her meals. It's rewarding.

"Nothing much, I pour my heart into it." He cheekily replied.

Scarlet rolled her eyes on this, "You know what... I owe you something for this perfect surprise. I love you Baekhyun!"

"Well you could thank me with tonight's activity. How long was it again since we did it? Oh damn I've missed your touch." He smirked.

Scarlet's cheeks burned and she finished her glass of water.

"Will you be good for me tonight?" Baekhyun sipped his wine and put on his playful smirk.

Scarlet winked, "We'll see."

#baekhyun imagine #baekhyun oneshot #baekhyun domestic fluff #baekhyun fluff #exo baekhyun fluff #baekhyun scenario #baekhyun one shot #imagine baekhyun #baekhyun x reader #baekhyun x you #fluff #exo fluff #exo imagine

[katehuntington]

Title: Black Dog - part three Word count: ±2700 words Episode summary: When Sam gets an anonymous phone call with information about his father, Dean receives a text message with coordinates to different location. The brothers clash and split up, one following orders, the other   trusting his instincts. Meanwhile, in the wilderness of Cascade Range, Washington State, Zoë loses grip on a personal case and is forced to confront her demons. Without back up, this might very well turn out to be her final hunt. Part three summary: Two leads point into different directions. Which one are the Winchester brothers going to follow? Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and  medical procedures. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of demon possession. Swearing, smoking, weaponry. Descriptions of  torture and murder. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Descriptions of suicidal thoughts and tendencies, depression, panic attacks, hallucinations. Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09​​​ & @deanwanddamons​​​​. Thanks, girls!

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist

S1E03 “Black Dog” Masterlist

     Dean gives his Chevrolet Impala a final clean up and looks at the end result.      Ronny nods satisfied, too. “Good as new.”      They mechanics carefully beat out the small dent in the lid and restored the paint with a polisher. The lock of the trunk took some time to replace, but now it closes perfectly. 

     “Thanks, man,” Dean says gratefully, offering him some money for the work.      “Any time. Put that away. I owe you Winchesters more than that,” Ronny reminds him. “Sure you guys don’t want a beer?”      Dean hesitates, but then shakes his head. “I’d love to catch up, but we should get going. The world isn’t rid of all evil motherfuckers just yet.”      Ronny chuckles at that. “Fair enough. Good to see you again, though.”      “You too. Take care, Ron,” the oldest Winchester brother returns.

     The ex-hunter retreats back into his garage, and Dean glances at the trunk for the second time and smiles satisfied. He’s glad he got it fixed. The clunking sound every time they hit a pothole was driving him crazy, and with enough arsenal for a small military operation inside, he wasn’t really keen on leaving it unlocked either. 

     As he takes a look around the abandoned street, he realizes he’s missing the tall individual that usually occupies the passenger’s seat. Where the hell did Sam go? Instinctively, Dean scans the area, uneasiness evident in his stomach, a sensation which arises ever since he was a kid, whenever he loses sight of his little brother. Then he spots him a bit further down the road. He’s on the phone with someone, and for a second he wonders if it’s Zoë he’s having a conversation with.

     Waiting for his brother to return, he leans against his car, shoving his hands in his pockets. The sun feels nice and warm on his back as it burns away the coolness of the night. Now that he has nothing to do for a moment, his thoughts sneak off. He doesn’t like it one bit, but he can’t help but think of the huntress they crossed paths with a little under a week ago. He may pretend that he doesn’t give a shit, but he has to admit that she has been on his mind more than a couple of times. Not that he likes her, fuck no, but Sullivan left an impression that has him wondering. She has been through more in the twenty-five years that she has walked this earth than most endure in an entire lifetime. Maybe that is why he deep down cares; he can relate to her.

     Dean exhales, not dwelling too long on the reason behind the intrigue. Instead, he wonders if Sam’s presumption is actually true. The fierce Zoë Sullivan being in deep shit; he can barely picture it. She always seems in control, even when things don't go as planned. She caught him off guard. He, Dean Winchester, can you fuckin’ believe that? The older Winchester sibling rolls his harmed shoulder, testing its mobility. She shot me, for fuck’s sake. 

     Even though he has been in the field longer than she has, Zoë seems to expertly know her way around the world of monsters that is their reality. She’s a bright girl, skilled, fast, fearless. She has every aspect of a perfect hunter. But after those last words back in Paragould, he was left with the impression that the battle she was going towards, is one she didn’t expect to win. It truly felt like a final goodbye. A disturbing question pops up in his head; did he make a mistake not going after her? The two guys they saved from a werewolf in Waco probably don’t think so. 

     Dean stares ahead, pulling at his bottom lip with his teeth while contemplating his choices. Maybe they should go after her anyway, see if they can pick up her trail. North is indeed a big place, but then again, a hot chick on a Harley Davidson would stand out. It’s a long shot, but if they play this right, they may be able to find her. 

     The matter escapes his mind when he feels his phone vibrating, the buzzing device startling him slightly. Somewhat annoyed by his own reflex, the hunter takes his Motorola and notices the small icon of an envelope in the right upper corner; he has received a text message. It’s probably Erin, his hook up back in Waco, who had to wake up alone this morning. She must be wondering where the man she met in a bar three days prior has gone. But when Dean opens his inbox, his eyes widen in shock. 

     At the top of the list of incoming messages, it says ‘Dad’.

     Dean’s heart has picked up speed, now pounding twice as fast than it was seconds ago. Last time he checked, his father’s phone was inactive, and now there’s a message coming in from that number? Different scenarios flash through his mind, not sure if he should prepare for good or bad news. With shaky fingers, he opens the text.

     Job: 48°13’11.00”N 121°41’4045”W

     Dean exhales, still staring at his cell. He can’t fucking believe it. John disappeared from the face of the earth, nowhere to be found, and after all this time he sent a few numbers and letters. The older Winchester brother huffs out a laugh. It doesn’t matter, though. Relief frees Dean from the crippling worry that he has tried to stuff down for over a month now, but kept him up at night nonetheless. This text confirms what he’s been hoping for; Dad is alive.

     Thrilled, Dean turns around and glances down the street, noticing Sam, who hastens towards the car. He can’t wait to share the news, knowing they have both been so desperate for a breakthrough. 

     “We’ve gotta go,” they both say at the same time.      “Me first,” Dean demands, childish.      “What are you? Seven?” Sam huffs, raising an eyebrow to match with the sass. Despite his accusation, he counters in the same manner. “What I’ve just heard is bigger.”      “Bigger than this?” Dean brags while flashing a grin, victoriously handing his brother the Motorola.

     Curiosity wins and Sam takes it, attentively reading the message. His eyes narrow, but then his jaw falls open when he realizes who the sender is. John’s youngest son isn’t impressed, though. In fact, what shows on the display infuriates him. 

     “That’s it?” he scoffs, agitated, giving the phone back to his brother. “After a month of silence, that’s what he gives us?”      “Sam, don’t you realize what this means? He’s okay!” Dean brings to mind. “Don’t bitch about this.”      “Just because he’s able to send us a text message, doesn’t mean that he’s okay. We’re not even sure it’s him!” Sam returns bitterly.      “Oh, come on. This is so Dad. One word and coordinates, that’s straight up Marine Corps right there. It’s more convincing than his fuckin’ signature,” the older brother argues.

     “And what the hell are we supposed to do with this? Trust him blindly and do a job he can’t find the time for because he’s hunting whatever the thing is that killed Mom?” Sam assumes, his arms flying up before he lets them come down to his sides again.      “Exactly,” Dean states, matter of factly. “Don’t you see, Sam? This is what I’ve been telling you. He doesn’t want to be found, he wants us to hunt.”

     Dean opens the passenger side door and rummages in the dashboard locker. When he straightens his back, he pulls out a brown notebook; it’s John’s journal.      “This book. This is dad’s single most valuable possession. Everything he knows about every evil thing is in here. He could’ve taken it with him, but he didn’t. He’s passed it on to us.” Dean looks deep into his brother's eyes while he points at the leather bound book that is the representation of the Bible to the Winchesters. “Dad’s journal, the text... Dad is telling us he wants us to do what we were trained for.”

     “You know what I want? I want to find him,” Sam returns determined, handing back the phone.      “And how the fuck were you planning to achieve that, huh?” Dean returns.      “I don’t need a plan, I already know where he is,” the younger brother states.

     Puzzled, Dean stares at him, waiting for an explanation. There has been zero contact between their old man and Sam for years,  and now all of a sudden he has figured out where John is at?      “How?” he questions, suspicion rising.      “I just received a call. He’s in Tennessee. In Nashville to be precise,” his sibling states.      Dean frowns. “A call? From who?”

     The shrug of Sam’s shoulders is nonchalant. “I think she might be a hunter or something.”      “She? Does this mystery lady have a name?” Dean questions further, trying to get details while frustration bubbles in his chest, triggered by his brother’s short answers.      “She didn’t give it, but it doesn’t matter. We’re going to Tennessee,” Sam decides.

     Dean laughs out loud, dropping the journal on the passenger’s seat before he turns away. Then he returns to glare at Sam as if he just made a joke.      “You wanna go to fucking Nashville based on an anonymous call? Did the sun fry your brain or something? This could be a fucking trap, Sam!” Dean shouts, indignant.      But his sibling is determined. “I don’t care. If he’s there, I’m going.” 

     Dean steps closer and halts right in front of him. He has to look up to stare into the eyes of his taller brother, but that doesn’t make him any less intimidating. 

     “Dad has given us an order,” he growls, his words spoken in a low tone.      “I said: I. don’t. care,” Sam battles him.      “Well I do, you stubborn dumbass!” Dean counters with a raised voice. “What you are planning to do is fucking dangerous! Dad doesn’t want you on his tail, you’ll blow his cover!”

     “You’re calling me a dumbass?! Dad is after an incredibly powerful monster by himself, alone! He’s the dumbass for not accepting our help! We already lost Mom, I lost Jess, I’m not going to lose him too. I want answers, I want a piece of that son of a bitch that ruined our lives and I want it right fucking now! If Dad doesn’t want me there, that’s his problem!” Sam shouts angrily.

     “You’re going against him?” Dean isn’t impressed with the outbreak, and slightly shakes his head. “Oh right, I forgot. That’s what you always do; the exact opposite of what he asks!”  he continues cynically.      “He doesn’t ask. He orders,” his brother corrects. “And you follow those orders like a fucking lapdog.”      “It doesn’t matter how he tells us what to do, Sam! He’s our God damn father, so you better suck it up and fucking LISTEN!!!”

     Dean is sure one of Ronny’s neighbors is going to emerge from one of the houses, telling them to shut up and take this argument elsewhere, instead of fighting it out in the middle of the street. He doesn’t care, however. His little brother has forgotten his place, and he needs to set him straight.

     “I do whatever the hell he tells me to do because I trust him, because I respect him, which is something I’m gonna strongly advise you to do as well, because your attitude fucking stinks,” Dean lectures, his moss green eyes penetrating, fire burning in his irises. “Now get in the fucking car, because we’re going to drive to wherever those coordinates lead us to.”

     Puffing his chest while straightening his back to make himself seem even taller, Sam crosses his arms. His older sibling might think he has all the authority, but he’s not a little kid anymore who he can boss around. Those days are long gone. He thought his departure to Stanford taught Dean a lesson or two, but apparently he needs to remind his brother that he plays by his own rules, and no one else's.      “I’m not going with you,” he decides, standing his ground.

     For a moment, Dean just stares at him, giving him a second to reconsider that conclusion, but Sam doesn’t even blink. Their gazes battle, the air between them almost too thick to breathe, rivalry carving a deep canyon between the two.      “I’m gonna give you a choice,” Dean snarls. “You can come with me and solve that case, or you can go fuck yourself.”

     Sam gulps, but stands his ground. His facial expression doesn’t change as he steps back, away from his brother, and heads over to the back of the Impala without breaking eye contact, until he opens the trunk to grab his duffel. The glare Dean receives when he slams the lid closed says enough; he’s not coming along for the ride. 

     Stunned, Dean stares at him and huffs in disbelief. Un-fucking-believable. He has always known Sam was stubborn, but now he takes the cake. Disappointed, the older brother shakes his head. This is the second time Sam has chosen a different path and leaves him without even batting an eye, but it scares Dean just as much as when he left and went to college. He’s not alright with what he’s about to do, but he can’t give in. He has to listen to his father.      Frustratingly, he pulls open the door of the Impala. “Goodbye, Sam.”

     Trying to hide his unpleasant surprise, the man left in the road watches him. He didn’t expect this, Dean taking off without him, but then again, how could he not expect a soldier to follow orders from his general? It doesn’t change anything, though. He is dead set on investigating this lead and finding his father.

     The man who is about to put a distance between himself and the one person he swore to never part with again, glances in the rearview mirror. He wishes he hadn’t, because the coldness in Sam’s hazel eyes seems foreign, yet familiar. As Dean starts the engine, he realizes he is either having a major deja-vu, or is reliving one of the worst days of his life. Despite the painful pressure that’s building in his chest and the panic that floods his brain, he lowers his right foot on the gas pedal, and the car rolls away. He doesn’t drive off as fast as he normally would, because he’s fighting the urge to turn around. Pained, he glances in his mirror again.      “C’mon, Sam. Move,” he begs.

     But Sam doesn’t even lift a finger, and he remains in the exact same spot. Then he does move, but not in the way Dean hoped. His little brother turns his back on him and heads towards downtown Hillsboro, in the opposite direction.

With a deep sigh, Dean shakes his head, clamping his left hand around the wheel until his knuckles turn white.       “Stubborn bastard,” he sighs.

     His jaw clenches, as West Elm Street flows over in Route 22 and the landscape around him changes. Small homes and sheds make room for stretched out farmlands. But he doesn’t notice the scenery. His conscience is fighting his heart. He wants to hit the brakes and pull the car into a 180° so badly, but he has to listen to his father. Never in his life has Dean done anything else than that, disobedience not being a word one could find in his dictionary. Yet in this situation, both of the options are pitfalls. It doesn’t matter which way he goes, he will make a mistake either way. Because the one line that his father drilled in his mind over and over again keeps haunting him. 

     Take care of Sammy. 

     He grinds his teeth, but continues to drive further and further away, his upbringing leaving him no choice. The hunter has made his decision; he’s going to find the location of those coordinates and do the job his Dad has given him. He knows what he’s doing, he’s just hoping Sam does too, because if something happens to his little brother, Dean knows he will never be able to forgive himself.

Well, shit. The boys have gone separate ways. Who do you think will find what he’s looking for?

Thank you so much for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you  do want to give me some extra love, you are free to reblog my work or  buy me coffee (Link in bio at the top of the page)

Read part four here

#Supernatural: the Sullivan Series #Dean Winchester fanfiction #sam winchester fanfiction #Dean Winchester angst #Sam Winchester angst #dean fanfiction #sam fanfiction #Dark!Supernatural #Supernatural #SPN #Dean Winchester #Sam Winchester #Zoë Sullivan #Dean Winchester x OFC #sam winchester x ofc #Dean x OFC #Sam x OFC #Supernatural fanfiction #SPN fanfiction #supernatural series #SPN series #Dean Winchester series #Sam Winchester series #STSS #Black Dog #1x03 Black Dog #Kate Huntington

[chibistarlyte]

the day after

The tears come unbidden, and Shouto drops his phone in his lap to press the heels of his hands against his eyes. He can already feel frost creeping over his cheek, his tears cooling and hardening as they pass down his skin and over the frozen patches shining translucent white in the daylight.

So many people care for him...and he has no idea why.

i am back with another part in my now so-called series of depressed!todo fics with slow burn todobaku lol

thank youuuuuu so much kat @sunshineijirou for betaing, as always. <333

fic can be read below the cut or here on ao3! you can also find a masterlist of all my bnha fics here!

.

Shouto wakes to the faint scent of burnt sugar. 

The scent in and of itself isn't odd, but Shouto can't ever remember it being the first thing to pervade his senses upon waking. 

He also feels warm. Comfortably so. It's not blistering or suffocating, like it normally would be if his Quirk had gone haywire in his sleep.

Shouto opens his eyes, blurred vision obscuring his view of the room around him. He brings a hand to rub at his right eye, to clear the sleep clouds from his eyeball. What he sees thereafter are unfamiliar surroundings, and an unfamiliar ceiling looking down on him. The morning light filters in differently through curtains that are nothing like his own. The bed he's on feels nothing like his futon, the blankets and pillow soothing his skin in a way that his own covers don't. The modern style of the room gives off such a startlingly different vibe than his own traditionally-modeled one, and yet...Shouto feels at ease, though he's not quite sure where he is at first. 

He rolls over onto his side, seeing neat and tidy bookshelves, an organized desk, a chest of drawers. Not a single hair out of place. 

Ah, right. He's in Bakugou’s room.

Shouto rolls onto his back again, stretching his arms up and groaning as he feels the tension bleed out of his aching muscles. His hand smacks the headboard as his arms fall back down, and he hisses as he shakes his hand to dull the pain. A piece of paper comes floating down from where he'd hit the headboard, landing next to his head on the pillow.

Blinking, Shouto reaches for the paper and pulls it up in front of his face. It’s a handwritten note, short and sweet, in Bakugou’s hard, scratchy handwriting.

You slept too long, so I just got up and went and did my shit for the morning.

Stay as long as you want, I guess. Just don’t burn a fucking hole in my blankets or some shit. Return my clothes whenever, just wash them first. Don’t want your loser stink on them.

-Bakugou

Despite the guilt already pooling in his stomach for putting Bakugou out last night, Shouto can’t help the small smile that tugs at his lips. He looks down at the shirt he’s still wearing, seeing the skull design staring right back up at him. It looks angry, but Shouto doesn't feel intimidated by it. It's kind of like Bakugou, in that regard.

Stretching one final time, Shouto eases himself up and stands up from the bed. He looks around on the floor for his uniform that he'd changed out of last night, but it's nowhere in sight. He even kneels down to look under the bed, in case his clothes had been kicked under there. Still finding nothing, Shouto sighs and stands up again. 

He'll just have to ask Bakugou about it later. 

He also briefly glances around for his phone, but doesn't see that anywhere either. 

"I wonder if I left it upstairs…" Shouto thinks aloud, eyes going up to the ceiling where he knows his room is just on the other side.

He doesn't really want to go back in there, but. Well. He needs to at least get some fresh clothes, and possibly his phone. No use in puttering around and putting off the inevitable.

But in this short time, Bakugou’s room has become a safe haven for Shouto without him really realizing it until he has to leave it. 

Sighing again, Shouto heads for the door and pulls it open slowly, quietly, as if he doesn't want to be caught. 

Old habits die hard, after all.

"Oh, Todoroki!"

Shouto almost has the door closed when the voice greets him, and he turns his head until he sees Kirishima standing in front of his own dorm room. The redhead looks like he's about to head out, keys dangling from the belt loop of his jeans and his hoodie halfway zipped up.

Shouto stares at him like a deer in headlights before he even thinks to respond, blinking rapidly a few times. "H-Hello, Kirishima," he says, hoping the other boy didn't catch the stutter at the beginning of the greeting. 

"I'm glad to see you up and about," Kirishima says, smiling that infectious smile that makes the points of his teeth shine under the hallway lights. "Did you get some rest last night?"

"I...suppose I did," Shouto answers slowly, finally pulling Bakugou’s door shut with a click. 

"Good, I'm glad," Kirishima says. He looks like he wants to step forward and...hug Shouto, or sling his arm around his shoulder, or...something. Kirishima has always been more of a physical being, showing his affection through touch and gestures more than anything else. 

To be honest, Shouto wouldn't be averse to any of those things at the moment. He wants to tell Kirishima that, but...he's scared. 

"Thank you for asking after me," he says instead, and he means it. He's grateful for Kirishima’s concern, even when he doesn't feel like he deserves it much. He crosses one arm across himself, gripping into the sleeve of the other arm with a white-knuckled grip. 

"Of course, dude, you're my friend!" Kirishima says as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "I want you to be okay, y’know?"

Shouto nods dumbly, blinking away some stray tears that have somehow materialized in the corners of his eyes. 

Kirishima seems to notice something in Shouto’s countenance that is cause for concern, because the spiky-haired boy steps forward and pulls Shouto into a fierce hug. The spikes of Kirishima’s hair poke at Shouto’s face, but it's somehow a comfort rather than a nuisance. 

"K-Kirishima…"

"I don't know what you're going through, but I'm here for you, okay? We all are," Kirishima says, speaking for not only himself but the rest of Shouto’s friends. There's such sincerity and conviction in Kirishima’s words that Shouto has to swallow around a lump in his throat.

"Thank you," Shouto responds a bit breathlessly, maneuvering his arms to return the hug in some way. 

They stand there for a few seconds until Kirishima gives him a final squeeze before detaching himself from Shouto. He smiles and pats Shouto on the shoulder. "Text me if you ever need anything, Todo-bro-ki. I got your back."

Shouto allows himself to smile back at Kirishima—it's a tiny, fragile little thing, but it's a smile nonetheless. "Thank you," he says again, hoping Kirishima knows he means it. 

.

Shouto has barely been in his room for a minute before he hears a quiet, almost hesitant knock at his door.

He heads over to the door and opens it a crack, seeing a familiar shade of green. This prompts him to open the door all the way, so he can fully view his best friend standing meekly in the hallway.

Midoriya looks a bit of a disaster. He holds his hands in front of his chest, fidgeting with his fingers like he has no idea what to do with them. His hair is disheveled, even by its typical messy standards, like he’s been running his hands through it non-stop for hours. Shadows crease beneath his wide, innocent eyes like he hasn’t slept a wink. And when those eyes look right up at Shouto, tears start cascading down flushed, freckled cheeks.

“T-Todoroki-kun…” Midoriya says, his voice wavering and cracking.

“Midoriya? What’s wrong?” Shouto asks, panic beginning to creep up his throat. If Midoriya has been in this bad of shape and Shouto’s been too busy wallowing in his own depressive tendencies, then— 

Before Shouto can even finish his train of thought, Midoriya barrels into him and hugs him so tightly that Shouto can feel his spine crack.

“I was so worried about you!!” Midoriya wails into Shouto’s chest, tears staining through the skull-print shirt of Bakugou’s that Shouto is still wearing. “You were acting so off yesterday and when I couldn’t get ahold of you or find you after class, I...I…” Midoriya hiccups, clings tighter to Shouto. “Kacchan t-told me that you j-jumped...and…” A fearful whine escapes Midoriya then, and he buries his face harder into Shouto’s chest.

Shouto is at a loss, isn’t sure exactly what to do but attempt to return the hug. He settles his longer arms around Midoriya’s broader shoulders and sets his chin atop a nest of green curls. “It’s okay, Midoriya...I’m okay,” he emphasizes in a whisper, patting Midoriya’s back in what can only be described as an awkward gesture. He should be used to physical affection by this point, especially from Midoriya, but sometimes it still catches him off-guard and he finds himself stumbling over how to reciprocate.

Midoriya still keeps his face buried in Shouto’s chest as he continues speaking. “If anything had happened to you, I would have never forgiven myself. Never. I knew something wasn’t right, but I wanted to give you some space, and th-then…”

Shouto makes some shushing noises, almost as if he’s trying to console a child. “It’s okay,” he repeats, even though everything feels anything but. The guilt starts bleeding into his veins again, guilt at making his best friend so distraught over his well-being.

Dipping his head just a little lower, Shouto lets out a sigh through his nose that ruffles Midoriya’s hair. Some friend he is, making everyone worry needlessly.

“Please, Todoroki-kun…please, I want you to know that you can trust me...that you can confide in me,” Midoriya says, his voice a little more even as his tears begin drying up. He pulls away from Shouto just far enough that he can look up at the taller boy. “I care about you very much. All of us do. So, please…” Midoriya’s crooked fingers tighten into the fabric at Shouto’s back. “Please don’t shut us out. Don’t shut me out. I want to help you, whenever you need it.”

Yet another unbidden smile finds its way onto Shouto’s face. He brings his hand up and pats the top of Midoriya’s head. “Okay...I can do that,” he agrees, then his smile turns downward at the corners. “I’m...sorry for worrying you so much. I didn’t mean to.”

It’s Midoriya’s turn to say, “It’s okay,” and even though he’s still crying, a small smile peeks through his distress. “I’m just...I’m glad you’re not hurt...or worse.”

Shouto sobers up hearing that comment, holding his breath for a moment. It’s funny, in an extremely non-humorous way, how Shouto’s own pain has reached so far outside of himself. It’s jarring to think that in hurting himself, he’s also been hurting some of the people most important to him.

He can't ever allow that to happen again. He doesn’t want to hurt anyone. Himself, sometimes, yes. But never anyone else.

Midoriya finally lets go of him, seemingly convinced that Shouto won’t disappear the moment he removes his arms from around him. “Do you, um...Uraraka-san and Iida-kun are downstairs, and Yaoyorozu-san...and some others...they’d be really happy to see you if you wanted to come down?”

Shouto nods. He probably should show his face, to prove to everyone that he’s doing better now and that they don’t have to worry after him anymore today. Besides, he also feels like he owes it to everyone for causing such trouble.

"Sure," he agrees with a small smile. "Just, ah, I need to change first." He tugs at the hem of the black shirt. "Is Bakugou down there too? I need to return his clothes."

Midoriya takes a surprised step back, looking Shouto up and down as if just now realizing the skull shirt and too-short sweatpants don't, in fact, belong to Shouto. A laugh escapes him then, and he rubs his tear-stained face with his scarred hand. "How...how did I not notice those were Kacchan’s clothes?" he asks the air rather than addressing Shouto directly. "I think I saw Kacchan earlier, in the laundry room?" he then says, tapping his chin in thought. "Not sure where he is now, though."

Shouto hums in response. "I'm sure I'll find him at some point." He pauses, then regards Midoriya with regret in his mismatched eyes. "I'm...sorry, again, for worrying you so much."

Midoriya smiles warmly at him, going in for another hug. "It's okay, Todoroki-kun. I worry because I care, y’know?"

"Yeah…" Shouto nods, returning the hug much easier this time. "I know."

Sometimes Shouto wonders what he's done to deserve such an amazing friend like Midoriya. Someone so kind and big-hearted.

Midoriya pulls away, still smiling gently up at him. "See you downstairs?"

Shouto nods again. "Yeah...I'll be down soon."

.

After he's washed his face and changed into his own clothing—"grandpa clothes," as Ashido calls them, consisting of plain black pants and a knit cardigan—Shouto sits quietly on his messy futon for a few minutes to gather himself. He had spotted his phone sitting on his desk, blinking with so many new notifications that it had him balking. So now he sits, scrolling through the endless messages from not only the class 2-A group chat, but also some individual friends and classmates. 

Midoriya: todoroki-kun is everything okay? you left class so suddenly…

Midoriya: i'm sorry to bother you, but i tried knocking on your door and you're not answering so i thought i'd text you? of course if you're sleeping that's understandable, but it’s worrying me that you're not answering 

Midoriya: todoroki-kun where are you????

Midoriya: please answer me

Midoriya: kacchan told me what happened 

Midoriya: i…

Midoriya: please be okay

Midoriya: i can't

Midoriya: just

Midoriya: can i see you tomorrow?

Kirishima: hey dude, bakugou filled me in on what's going on w/ u, just checking in to make sure you're okay

Iida: Todoroki-kun, we've been looking all over for you. Please contact me or Midoriya-kun or Uraraka-kun as soon as you are able. We are concerned for your safety.

Iida: I want to help, if you’ll allow me. 

Uraraka: todoroki-kun!!! we're worried about you!!

Uraraka: please answer deku-kun, he’s losing his mind

Uraraka: i don’t really know what’s going on with you, but if you need me, or any of us, just say the word and we’ll come with plenty of hugs for you!!!

Yaoyorozu: Todoroki-san, is everything alright? Ever since today’s practical exercise, you’ve had me very worried.

Yaoyorozu: I’ll be more than happy to brew you a cup of your favorite tea if you feel the need to relax and talk. 

Bakugou: i swear to fuck i will beat the shit out of you if you even try anything funny, icyhot

The tears come unbidden, and Shouto drops his phone in his lap to press the heels of his hands against his eyes. He can already feel frost creeping over his cheek, his tears cooling and hardening as they pass down his skin and over the frozen patches shining translucent white in the daylight. 

So many people care for him...and he has no idea why.

He's nothing special. Just a damaged, broken eugenics project created by some monster who dares call himself a hero. 

And yet…all these people—people he has the honor and privilege to call his friends—think he's special. See something special in him that has nothing to do with his Quirk or his family name. But they're so much more special to him than he ever could, or should, be to them. 

Shouto sucks in a shaky breath to try and calm himself, pull himself together so he can join his classmates downstairs and bask in their friendly warmth. Goodness knows he needs some warmth right now. Like yesterday, he’s having trouble mustering up the will to use his Quirk to warm himself up.

What he would give to be sleeping in Bakugou’s arms again, the other boy’s warmth a balm on his bruised heart.

Blowing out a resolute breath, Shouto rises from his futon with his dying phone in his hand. He plugs it into the charger and leaves it on his desk, figuring he won’t need it if he’s going to be in his friends’ company already. He picks up Bakugou’s shirt and sweatpants from where they sit folded on the desktop and throws them into his clothes hamper with the rest of his laundry.

Return my clothes whenever, just wash them first. Don’t want your loser stink on them.

Shouto smiles a bit as he hoists his hamper up off the floor, balancing it against his hip with one arm. He takes one last look around his lonely room before heading downstairs to join Midoriya and the rest of his friends.

After he throws a load in the wash, of course.

.

Shouto hasn’t seen Bakugou all day.

He’d spent the majority of the late morning and afternoon in the common area with most of class 2-A. His usual group had been there—Midoriya, Iida, and Uraraka barely left him any space on the sofa, the three of them sitting protectively around him the entire time. Yaoyorozu had also been present for most of the day, until she pulled Kaminari, Sero, and a few others away for a much-needed study session. Even Kirishima had dropped by after returning from wherever he’d gone off campus—quite literally dropping himself onto Shouto and creating a dogpile of hugs that he couldn’t escape from, even if he’d wanted to. 

Yet for as content as Shouto is, without Bakugou’s presence, it feels like there’s something missing.

When he decides to retire to his room well past dark, Midoriya offers to carry up his clothes hamper, now full of clean clothes, for him. Shouto declines the offer, but ruffles Midoriya’s hair anyway in thanks. He waits with his hamper tucked against his hip as the elevator crawls its way up to the fifth floor, and almost dejectedly drags his feet to his dorm room. He listlessly presses the keycard against the door handle until the lock clicks open, and bumps the door open with his hamper.

Shouto contemplates just going to bed, but he’s not sure if he’d even be able to fall asleep in the pressing quietness of his room. He decides that he should probably fold his clothes before doing anything else, lest he want wrinkles in them.

He sets the hamper down next to his futon and plops down atop the covers, mechanically going through the motions of his chore. Grab shirt, fold, set aside. Grab pants, fold, set aside. Set aside sweater to be hung up. The mindless activity is somewhat grounding, and Shouto allows his mind to become blissfully blank for a little while.

That is, until his fingers find a black t-shirt with a skull print on it.

Shouto holds the shirt up in front of him, examining it for a few long seconds—for what, he isn’t sure. He has half a mind to swap the shirt out for the one he’s currently wearing, just to feel Bakugou’s phantom hugs around him once again.

Sighing, he folds the shirt so that the skull is looking directly up at him when he sets it on the floor. It’s almost mocking him, spewing insults at him that have crossed Shouto’s mind more than once when he’s stuck in his depressive pitfalls. 

Cold, heartless wretch.

Miserable failure.

Worthless waste of space.

Not good enough, not good enough, not good enough…

Never. Good. Enough. 

Pursing his lips, he folds Bakugou’s sweatpants and sets them atop the shirt just to get the skull to shut up.

Now that his hamper is empty, Shouto drags himself up from the futon and pads over to the sliding door to his balcony. The second he heaves the door open, he’s greeted by a cold wind that stings with the promise of winter weather approaching. He steps onto the concrete with his bare feet, barely noticing the icy pricks of the stone on his skin. Once he reaches the railing, he grips the metal tightly with both hands and leans far enough over to get a glimpse of Bakugou’s balcony below.

In the dark, Shouto can see that the lights to Bakugou’s room are on. The yellowish tint bleeds out into the late evening blackness, and it’s all Shouto needs to make up his mind.

Dashing back into his room without even bothering to close the sliding door, Shouto grabs Bakugou’s clothes from his floor, slams his door shut as he leaves his room. He makes a beeline for the stairwell at the end of the fifth-floor hall.

He takes the steps two at a time, the pads of his feet smarting every time they collide with the floor. But Shouto doesn’t notice, doesn’t care one bit. He throws the door to the fourth floor open with nearly enough force to bang it into the wall, but it doesn’t faze him in the slightest. He continues on, his journey finally ending when he reaches Bakugou’s dorm room.

Shouto raps on the door with his knuckles as he tries to catch his breath, belatedly noticing he probably looks like a damn fool for rushing down here for no reason.

He tells himself it’s because he needs to return the borrowed clothes, but deep down, he knows he just wants to see Bakugou.

There’s some faint swearing on the other side of the door before it swings open, revealing Bakugou’s scowling face.

“The fuck are you doing here, half-n-half?” the blond asks almost accusingly, his red eyes searching Shouto up and down. “Why does it look like you just ran a damn marathon? Fix your fucking hair at least, for fuck’s sake.”

Shouto ignores Bakugou’s biting comments, wordlessly holding out his hands and presenting the clean clothes to his friend. 

Friend?

Friend. 

Bakugou raises a brow. “The fuck?”

“Your clothes,” Shouto says unhelpfully, swallowing around the lump that has suddenly appeared in his throat. “I washed them. No loser stink, I promise.”

Bakugou stares at him for a moment before barking out a laugh. Shouto’s heart catches in his chest. 

“Gonna take more than a few washes to get that fuckin’ smell out of ‘em,” Bakugou jokes before opening his door wider to let Shouto in. He gestures to his bed, where the covers have been pulled up and not a crease is in sight. “Just throw them there. If you wait for just a sec, I actually have something for you, too.”

Interest piqued, Shouto does as he’s told, stepping shyly into Bakugou’s room and dropping the clothes atop the bed. “Something...for me?” he asks, tilting his head in question.

“Don’t get so fucking excited, you shithead, it’s just your uniform that you left soaking on my carpet,” Bakugou says as he heads over to his chest of drawers, picking up a neatly folded UA uniform. 

Ah. So that’s where his clothes went, Shouto realizes.

“I even washed it for you, because I’m fucking nice like that,” Bakugou continues, coming over to Shouto and shoving the clean clothing against the taller boy’s chest.

But Shouto doesn’t take his clothes. Instead, he lets them drop to the floor and throws his arms around Bakugou.

“Oi! What the fuck!” Bakugou complains, his voice muffled by Shouto’s cardigan. His hands are spread wide at his sides, palms crackling with sparks waiting to explode.

Shouto just squeezes him tighter, wrenching his eyes shut and balancing his chin atop Bakugou’s head. His dandelion hair is soft against Shouto’s skin, and it smells like…like...

Burnt sugar.

“Thank you, Bakugou,” Shouto says.

“Jesus fuck, I only washed your clothes, no need to get all touchy-feely about it,” Bakugou says, and if Shouto isn’t mistaken, it sort of sounds like Bakugou is pouting.

That thought alone makes Shouto laugh, a quiet noise that barely brushes past his lips. 

But Bakugou seems to hear it well enough, and relaxes in Shouto’s grip as he turns his head to the side. His ear is right over where Shouto’s heart is thundering in his chest.

“You’ve done more than that. So much more,” Shouto says gratefully. 

Bakugou grunts in response, finally bringing his own arms up and wrapping them around Shouto’s more lithe frame.

“Why?” Shouto asks softly, a repeat of his question from last night.

Bakugou tenses in his arms, and Shouto can feel his rough hands fisting the thick fabric of his cardigan. “Don’t...don’t make me say it,” Bakugou mutters through gritted teeth, as if he’s trying to clamp his jaw shut tight enough to keep some forbidden truths from escaping.

Shouto still wants to know, but he doesn’t want to push Bakugou. Doing so would probably end in disaster, and he doesn’t want to let this moment end. Not quite yet.

“Alright,” Shouto concedes, squeezing Bakugou one final time before pulling back.

Bakugou won’t look at him when they separate, ruby red eyes trained on the floor where his socked feet are almost toe-to-toe with Shouto’s bare ones. Wordlessly, the blond kneels down and picks up Shouto’s uniform, now a crumpled mess on the floor.

“Great, look what you did,” Bakugou grouses, still crouched down, trying to smooth out some of the creases in the grey blazer. “And I even fucking ironed it for you, you ungrateful fuckwad.”

Shouto blinks dumbly, staring holes into the top of Bakugou’s head.

He...what?

“Here, now take your shit and get out,” Bakugou commands, standing up and thrusting Shouto’s clothes against his chest once more. This time, Shouto takes them and holds them almost reverently in his arms.

When Bakugou finally looks up at Shouto, something unexpected happens. Heat that Shouto hasn’t felt for the past few days suddenly courses through his veins like river rapids, searing his insides until he feels his skin turning red almost like a sunburn.

Oh, god, he’s…

Shouto summons every ounce of willpower he can muster to prevent himself from literally erupting into flames, nodding once to Bakugou before crossing to the door in a few long strides. The metal of the doorknob hisses when Shouto grabs it with his left hand, and he prays to whatever deities are listening that Bakugou doesn’t notice the smoke coming from his palm.

“Thank you again, Bakugou, for everything,” Shouto says once he’s stepped out into the hallway. To his surprise, Bakugou is standing in his doorway and holding his door open still, watching Shouto carefully, pursing his lips as if he has something to say.

“...Sure thing,” Bakugou finally says quietly. He takes a breath and opens his mouth to say something else, but stops before the words can escape him.

“Bakugou?” Shouto says.

Bakugou scowls, then, letting out a small growl as he slams the door shut in Shouto’s face.

And standing there alone in the hallway, hugging his uniform close to his chest and feeling warmer than ever before, Shouto smiles.

#todobaku #todobaku fic #bakutodo #boku no hero academia #bnha #todoroki shouto #bakugou katsuki #my writing

[ambivalent-anarchy]

Hurts So Bad... (Part 3)

-

The Week That Flashed By (Part 1/3)

Masterlist

Pairing: Peter Parker x reader

Summary: For the first time, Peter Parker meets someone he has no idea how to save...

Warning: angst(obviously), mentions of suicide, depression, self-harm, drug use, me just exposing myself

A/N- if you only see Flash as a villain at all times then these chapters ain't for you. Not a lot of Peter this chapter but it's integral to the story so don't skip lol

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

Maybe he was hoping it'd go away.

Maybe he was wishing for the best.

Maybe he was just disregarding and ignoring you completely.

But for whatever reason, it took Peter a week to finally act. A week.

In the grand scheme of life, a week is incredibly short. However, circumstances can always change the way you perceive things.

When you have an essay due, a week seems to fly by. But when you're waiting for the new episode of your favorite tv to come, a week seems to just drag on.

The normal, busy people don't realize is that when you don't have anything to do, and when you're so far gone into the abyss, a week can genuinely seem like forever.

And your week had been nothing short of endless.

You might've finally been done with the physical low, but the mental low was practically just as bad. You could exert energy without feeling like you'd drop if a feather were to touch your shoulder, but your brain was tired.

On the upside, no one bothered you.

On the downside, no one bothered you.

You hated the silence, but strangely that's what followed you everywhere you went. Deafening silence.

You wanted so much for someone to just talk to you. Talk with you. Even if they were lying. Doesn't matter. You just wanted someone to speak. To have some type of change in your life that forced you out of the mundane, redundant, silent cycle you lived in.

Flash Thomspon was your lab partner.

You'd seen him around. He was hard to miss. Always with his jokes and his livestreams. Forever with a smile on his face. Just like Cecilia.

You remember asking her once why they weren't friends. She'd called him obnoxious.

You wouldn't call him obnoxious though, just... loud.

That Monday when lab partners were chosen, you were completely out of it.

Staring at nothing, not making a sound, setting your head down on the table, obviously not wanting to be bothered by anyone.

So when Flash got to your table, he hadn't bothered you. He walked over, simply looked at you for a bit, and once it was clear you weren't moving any time soon, he started on his notes alone.

Which you respected. That meant he was at the very least a bit sensible, if not just lazy.

The next day wasn't much different. You still weren't up for doing anything and Flash still wasn't up to bothering you.

The day after though, Wednesday, that was the day everything changed.

"Hello?," you said into your phone.

"Hey, is this [Y/N]? That quiet chick in a.p chem?"

You chuckled at the beyond simplistic description of yourself. "Uh, yeah this is she. Who's this?"

"Flash Thompson," he responded. "Coolest guy in the class."

You rolled your eyes. "Mhm, and why are you calling my phone?"

"Well-" you heard a bottle open "-we kinda have a project that's due at the end of the week. And, believe me, as much as I love doing duo projects on my own, you need to do something."

His upfrontness took you aback, but not particularly in a bad way.

And besides, you were getting sick of moping. Your curiosity wanted to see where this was going to go.

"Um, okay. So we'll crack down tomorrow then."

"How about now?" You could practically hear the smirk on his face.

"No," you quickly responded. "You mean come to your house right? Hell no."

"Why not?," he snickered. "Strict parents? Or is the pole really just that far up your ass?"

You rolled your eyes once again. You really didn't have the patience for this. "Okay I'm hanging up-"

"Wait! I'll text you my-" Click.

You stared at the wall for a good minute in complete irritation after that phone call. You had to have lost at least a hundred brain cells during that small conversation. The last thing you needed on your plate right now was some guy giving you shit.

A notification on your phone caught your attention.

3069 Oak Street

"Oh so you text me your address and now I'm just supposed to show up at your door?," you scoffed.

-

In retrospect, ringing that doorbell was probably the smartest dumb thing you ever did.

When you told your parents you were going to a friend's house, they just paused and then smiled. Your parents had no problem at all with you going out. They hadn't even asked questions. Heck they encouraged you to go out. That meant you were trying.

But fuck them. You were trying everyday. Trying not to just take the kitchen knife and slit your wrists after every dinner.

When the door to Flash's house opened you immediately noticed three things.

1) The alleged butler he'd been rumored around school to have was nowhere to be found.

2) This was an extremely nice house. Maybe even nicer than Cecilia's.

3) And Flash's eyes were red.

"Yo!," he greeted with an obnoxious grin. "Wassup?"

"We literally just stopped talking like ten mintues ago dude," you responded as you stepped into the house. "And what's with the shirt?"

This idiot actually had a Spider-Man t-shirt on.

"Excuse me? This is drip in the finest form," he defended, hopping onto his couch. "So anyway, the project or whatever. What're we gonna do for it?"

You sighed. "Well, unless I was actually invisible for all the class periods, it's obvious I wasn't paying much attention the last couple of days."

"Yeah I guess," he chuckled. "What was all that about anyway?," he asked, to which you simply shrugged. He squinted at you, but then rolled his eyes and then picked up the remote for the tv. "Oh well, you're better now, right?"

You winced, but you were glad Flash still wasn't looking your way. "Sure."

"Wanna take off your jacket? You're not outside anymore y'know."

And that's where the problem started.

You didn't know why, but you could look over knowing you were depressed. You'd easily come to terms with it. But it was the small things in normal conversations that hit you harder than anything else. Small little suggestions that you couldn't hide it all from everyone. Hell, you couldn't even take off a damn jacket like everyone else.

"I'm fine," you answered. "So... um, about that project?"

"Yeah," he said leaning forward. "You got the instruction papers or whatever?"

You gave him a look, confused. "I never picked them up. I thought you had the papers."

"I don't fucking pay attention in that boring ass class."

"So what was the purpose of me even coming here if we can't even do anything?," you snapped.

He just shrugged.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He shrugged again.

Your jaw clenched. Cecilia was right. "Obnoxious dumbass..."

You turned to walk back out of the front door before turning back around. "Hey Flash?"

He looked at you and grunted in acknowledgment.

"Were you just crying before I came in or are you just high?"

"High," he said rather quickly. "Why? Are my eyes red?"

You nodded. "Yeah."

"Fuck," he mumbled. "Want some?"

"Nah I'm good-" But he was already gone down the long hallway of his home. "Flash?"

You stood there, waiting for about five minutes before deciding that he wasn't coming back. Great.

So now you could either go get him, leave, or just continue standing there awkwardly.

And due to your lack of better judgment, you did the most classic horror movie move and walked further into a house that you weren't familiar with to go look for a guy you barely knew. If I die, I die, you thought with a shrug.

Walking into the long hallway the first thing you noticed was the abundance of doors. You weren't a stalker, so you didn't bother to look into any, but you could've swore you saw a room full of spiderman pictures and newspapers through the crack of one of them. Fucking weird.

In an attempt not to succumb to your curiosity, you walked faster down the hall. You stopped in your tracks when you heard sniffles. Whimpering? Whatever noises someone makes when they're crying. Someone was crying, that's for sure. And you were also pretty sure Flash was the only one in the house.

'Walk away [Y/N]. This isn't your business.'

But of course you walked closer, and the sniffles got louder. Until you found yourself opening the door and coming face to face with a crying Flash on the floor in the middle of some gaming room.

"Shit!," he yelled, turning away and attempting to cover up his crying with obnoxiously fake coughing.

"Are you okay?," you asked.

"I'm high," he kept repeating in mumbles, desperately reaching for something. "I'm just high, okay? Fuck."

You watched as he continued to search for whatever he was making it seem like he looking for. You wanted to reach out and maybe say something, anything that would make him feel better. But you knew that probably wouldn't help.

After all, it never helped you.

"I'm just... really fucking high right now, alright?"

He seemed incredibly off, even with the squirrelly, rude way he was being earlier. Like he was just trying too hard at something.

You were at a loss for words. You knew it was wrong, but the only thing you could think of was, hm. Rich boy's actually got some issues.

When he finally turned around, his face was dry and he carried a bong in his hands, lighting it and practically shoving it into his mouth in a weak attempt to cover up his unsteady breathing.

"Thought you left," he said, staring at the floor.

Realizing you'd been standing at the doorframe awkwardly, you moved to sit on the floor, opposite to him. "Well, you kinda offered me some weed and then left, I think."

"I thought I heard you say no though."

"I did..." you gulped. "But..I still stayed though."

And now you sat here with Flash and his bong.

He sat back on the side of the chair, his back leaning against it as he blew out the smoke. "Wanna try?," he offered, holding the small object up to you. He didn't wait for you to respond before setting it up again for you and passing it.

Without a word, you took it and breathed the smoke in. You sucked it up and felt it fill your lungs before leaning back and blowing it out, letting out a small cough afterwards. "Thanks."

"Fuck, you're a pro," Flash chuckled.

You shook your head and shrugged. "No. Common sense just tells you how it works, I guess."

"I feel that."

You hummed in amusement.

And then suddenly it was quiet again.

You fucking hated silence.

Luckily, Flash was a talker. Or so you thought.

At school there wasn't a dull moment if he was there. But now, seeing him in his home, he was quiet as a mouse. Contemplative. Searching.

"Say something," you said, earning a confused look from the boy in front of you.

He squinted. "Say what? I don't even know you."

You rolled yours eyes, shrugging. "Look, whatever was going on before I came in here, it's not my business, man. I only said to fucking speak."

Flash groaned. "About what?"

"I dunno," you answered. "I just don't like the quiet. Say anything you want. Just... talk."

"Um.." he looked up at the ceiling. "I got some new shoes the other day." He pointed at the Jordan's on his feet. "My mother got it shipped in from where she's out on business in Bora Bora."

Something about the way he said it made you sure that she wasn't out "on business".

"My butler is out today cuz it's his niece's birthday. She'd be cute enough, if her nose wasn't so big. It's like the wicked witch of the west."

You scrunched up your nose, imagining a younger version of wicked witch minus the green skin.

"Umm, I dunno uh, chocolate chip cookies are better than sugar cookies?"

You snorted at that. Now he was just thinking of anything.

"And uhh, I'm having spaghetti tonight.. and- well I don't know what you really want dude I'm just kinda.. life is just too boring to always have something to say for every second of every day, [Y/N]!," he suddenly snapped.

"Woah dude, chill." You blew out another round of smoke and handed Flash the bong. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize I was asking for too much."

He held his hand over his forehead. "Nah you're fine," sighed. "It's just- you ask that cuz I talk alot at school right? Yeah that makes sense I guess. I-I'm sorry," he rushed out before going back to the small contraption.

You'd been snapped at alot in your life. Way too many to count. But from those experiences you gathered a small truth; if someone has snapped at you over the smallest thing, they probably have something else going on. Or most likely a couple of things, piled up and ready to blow.

And you could smell that on Flash from a mile away.

"Flash, what's your real name?"

He paused, lifting his mouth from the bong. "Flash is my real name," he lied before passing it back over to you.

"No it's not," you stated, picking up another bag and the lighter up beside you for the bong, no longer satisfied with the loss of flavor. "I don't pay that much attention but I know for a fact that's not your name."

He rolled his eyes, quickly becoming frustrated with the conversation. "Eugene."

"Nice," you said, contemplating your next move. "So.. what does Eugene feel right now? Not Flash, but Eugene."

He reached over each practically snatched the bong away from you.

"Eugene is feeling annoyed, and frankly aggravated because some girl he barely knows is asking too much of him."

"Hey I'm only asking for what you'll give me," you said, throwing your hands in your defense.

"Well what about you?," he accused. "You're always down in the dumps, staring at the wall, looking all depressed 24/7 so how about you start talking? I mean, are you fucking okay?"

"No," you answered blandly. "Not in the slightest. Your turn. What does Eugene feel, Flash? Is Eugene, quote, 'fucking okay'?"

Flash scoffed. "What're you trying to say, that I'm depressed?"

"I never said that."

"Oh fuck that, you implied it!"

"I didn't-"

"You don't fucking know me, [Y/N]," he spat out, throwing the bong on the floor, watching as you picked it up before the water spilt. "You don't fucking know what I'm going through everyday, so please don't be like everyone else and tell me what I am, okay?!"

Were you being rude prying into his life? Totally.

Had you reached the level of nonchalantness with your and practically anybody else's wellbeing that you really couldn't possibly bring yourself to care? Yes.

And was Flash finally cracking? Completely.

"Flash is fake. And obnoxious. And rude," you deadpanned. "I wanna meet Eugene. See how he's doing."

Flash scoffed, looking for a comeback. You could see the expressions on his face flickering like random. Annoyance. Sadness. Want.

You were no psychologist but anyone with a brain could see what he was going through.

The two of you sat in silence again. But you didn't really mind it this time. You were waiting. Even without actually speaking, Flash was telling you everything about him.

Takes one to know one.

"Eugene's aggravated," he finally said, his eyes becoming watery. "Eugene's fucking angry all the time because people only seem to want Flash." He gave you a bitter smirk before averting his eyes to the ground. But you let him. If that's what was easiest for him, then whatever.

"And people assume things about Eugene all the damn time so eventually he decided -what the hell- he'll just give em what they want. And Eugene's fucking pissed because he knows for a fact that if he were to just disappear, no one would fucking care. His old man would just put him in the ground and everyone would be back to normal before fucking dinner." His breath was heavy and you could see mocha skin begin to turn a dark red. "And most of all he's pissed because he's been able to hide for so long and some girl just strolls in and figures him out."

And now here you were just there with Eugene and his bong.

You'd lost count of how much you'd smoked, and you knew he did too. But it didn't matter.

Nothing did anymore.

Not the pressure from your parents. Not the endless cycle of running through all the motions without actually taking anything in. Not even the stupid project that was worth half your grade that'd brought the two of you together in the first place.

Life was full of nothing just in millions of various forms.

Things dressed up and decorated to seem all fancy and important but in the grand scheme of things were just was worthless as you were.

You looked at Flash's home and all you saw was fancy nothing. Wealthy nothing. And you looked at his clothes and all you could possibly see was nothing.

And looking at Flash, you saw a nothing that was attempting to cover up something.

But looking at Eugene, you saw something.

Sadness. Neglect. Pain.

He was completely naked to you.

"You should probably stop," he mumbled, finally opening his eyes and sitting up a bit. "You're looking at me all weird." He reached for the bong, laying it aside once he grabbed it.

"Is that a bad thing?," you asked.

"No," he responded with a small shrug. "...just scares me is all."

You smirked. The only resemblance of a smile you'd been able to make in a long while. "And how do I, of all people, scare you, Eugene?"

You could see his jaw clench. Could see him debating with himself. Even relaxed from the weed, his eyes still darted around the room, and he was shaking his head the tiniest bit. Finally he looked back at you.

"Because -fucking somehow.. you see me-" a tear rolled down his face. "You actually see me. Not Flash... You see Eugene."

His mother's words rang through his ears like a cautionary tale. Real men don't cry. Don't be weak, like your father...

But he wanted to be. So badly he wanted, just for one moment, to be weak and to be able to fall into someone's arms and not act like he was always okay on his own. To not act like he didn't desperately yearn for someone's compassion. Someone's trust.

Flash was fun. Flash was the cool, funny side character in everyone's story. Flash was the picture perfect of everything he wanted to be.

"-And Eugene's a mess," he let out in a small, quiet sob, his expression not moving, though the tears streamed down his face. "I'm just high... that's why I'm saying all this crap. I'm just being dumb and high. Forget all this. I never said anything okay?"

You wouldn't see him break. Not some girl he just met...

Regardless of how he already felt about you.

He slowly looked back up at your face, fully expecting to see pity or disgust. Instead, your face remained neutral like his, and you were crying too.

"I don't think you're a mess Eugene." You sat up straighter, moved a little closer. "Just hurt."

He gave a bitter chuckle. "Isn't basically everybody?"

You shook your head slightly. "No...at least I don't think so. Everyone goes through something- and then there are those people that, in some sick way, want to be hurting.. but with people like us.." You found yourself grabbing his hand, not even thinking for what reason. You just did. "With us.. it's real. And not some temporary problem," you whispered. "It won't ever stop."

Eugene looked back at you again and it was over for him. He felt small. He felt naked. He felt fucking pure.

And then it happened.

You went in for a hug and he went in for a kiss.

But he made it first... and you didn't push him away.

Feeling his lips on yours.. wasn't bad. It surprised you at first, but ultimately it was pleasant.

He sighed against your lips and you could taste the smoke in between the two of you. You hadn't had much experience with guys before. Practically nonexistent if you were being honest, but that didn't matter. Eugene pressed his kiss firmer on yours, and you began to reciprocate his movements.

He held the side of your head lightly as he pulled away, his face growing further apart from yours the slightest bit. He rubbed his nose against yours. You both closing your eyes.

"Stay here with me," he pleaded softly, his breathing slightly erratic. "I-i won't try anything, I swear. I just..." He sniffed and used his shoulder to wipe away at some of the tears on his cheek. "You really see me. A-and I see you, y'know? And we're just-"

You nodded, taking your hand to run through his hair. "Okay," you whispered. "I'll stay."

A small smile started to break through his tears. "Thank you," he mumbled against your cheek before planting a soft kiss onto it.

Your mind was blank. You couldn't think of more than one thing at a time. But you knew one thing; you wanted to be there. That much you were sure of. You still weren't happy. You weren't safe. Just content with this idea of change.

For once, you weren't overly sure of what you were doing. It wasn't routine.

For once, you felt like something was different.

----------Back on the other side of town-----------

You weren't home.

Peter had finished his patrol, swung to your apartment, and you were nowhere to be found.

"No. N-no please don't do this," he pleaded to himself. "Be in the bathroom. Please just be somewhere. Come on, get in here."

He'd already looked through every window available and he could only hope you were in some inside room. Your bed was completely untouched.

"I should've reached out to you. Fuck! I should've done something. Just please be alive..."

He waited anxiously to see if you'd show, even sending a drone to Cecilia's address to see if you were there in the meantime. "I-I'm so sorry I- just please! Be at a friend's house! Something!"

He didn't even realize how much he was shaking. How much your life was in his hands. If you were dead, he'd never forgive himself.

"She's not at the Gulliver residence, Peter. Are there any other places you'd like for me to check?," E.D.I.T.H asked.

"She's somewhere!," he yelled out. "It's one in the morning on a school night. Find her! Please...."

He looked back toward the window. After while he didn't even know how much time had passed. He was just staring. Waiting for you to walk through that door. And when you never came he could only hope that you'd be at school.

"I'll help you," he whimpered. "Just..please. Please just stay alive long enough for me to try."

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

Lmao don't worry y/n won't end up with Flash and this certainly won't end up being a love triangle

Taglist - @eridanuswave, @imahardcase, @jules-and-gemss, @yetchann, @captainamericasdaughter, @starlight-starks, @everydaymj, @rubberducky-jrr, @chiaramrvl, @dreamofaprilsblog, @hello--zuko-here, @spidey-mads, @cuddlefishpeter

#peter parker fanfiction #peter parker x reader #peter parker fic #spiderman x you #peter parker x y/n #spiderman #spiderman fic #spiderman mcu #spiderman x reader #peter parker #peter parker angst #peter parker x depressed! reader #hurts so bad #hsb #spiderman x y/n #peter parker fanfic #peter parker fandom #spiderman angst #marvel angst #marvel x you #marvel fanfiction #marvel x reader #marvel

[1zashreena1]

I Am Having a Sad -9

18+, m/f, technically OCxDiego Jimenez [Power]

Summary: Princess has a bad and lonely self-esteem day. Diego goes too far too fast from 2500 miles away and she calls her safeword for the first time in her life. 

WARNINGS: Ridiculous descriptions and ‘the code is more like guidelines’ outlook on grammar. Is it OOC if the character was given essentially zero development in canon???

FEELS. the L word, SAFEWORD, depression/anxiety, self-esteem issues, sensory processing issues, sel-expression difficulties, plus size woman+fit man, soft!Diego,  overwhelmed Princess, is a relationship happening?? apparently. Leftover high school Spanish.

A/N:  Princess took on a life of her own and has essentially become an OC. There are infrequent mentions of her description (specifically as plus size) and her actual name in later pieces (its Bicki). She started as self-insert so she looks like me (plus size, white, short, blue eyes, curly hair). If that is not your thing, I totally understand. And do not feel obligated to read this, I will not be offended!

I’m not a fan of “plot” so be aware that most of this series is just meandering through their relationship, angst-fluff-smut whiplash style. But with dick jokes.

TAGLIST: @chelsfic​​​​ @symbiont13​​​​ @nicke0115​​​​ @bunnykjm​​​​ @rosee-sensuelle​​​​ @girlpornparadise​​​​ @mandoplease​​​​ @heresathreebee​​​​ @xxsteph-enrixx​​​​ @jetiikad​​​​ @joalsglasses​​​​ @mutantcookiesecrets​​​​ @demoncatstone​​​​ @squidlywiddly87​​​​ @lockedoutofmyotherblog​​​ @poeedamerons​​

I am having a sad. This is normal and okay. I just have to wait it out. I do not need to text him. This pep talk would be more effective if you would stop staring longingly at the last selfie he sent you.

It isn't working. All you want right now is to be smothered in Diego but he is in a different time zone. And you don't want to be clingy. And demanding. And needy.

Surely making yesterday's selfie your new lock screen will help, right? 

With a big sigh you flop backwards into your bed. You eye your phone like it's a live grenade. It hasn't even been eight hours since the last text and. And you have this… pain? In your chest? What if I'm annoying him?

He has to be super busy, I should just wait. What time even is it in LA right now?

You snatch up the phone and check. 7:46 pm PDT. You wonder what he ate today. Did he have dinner yet? What shirt is he wearing? Does he have a headache? He always says he has a headache when he gets back to New York. And then you rub his head, stroke through his soft hair, stretch out his solid neck, break up all the adhesions in those broad shoulders.

Bitch, this is not helping. What do you hate about him?

Oh yeah, that list is blank.

You open up the text conversation and stare at the blinking cursor. Just one text can't hurt, right?

You look at the selfie again. He's in bed, deep plum sheet tucked up under his chin, all sleepy chocolate eyes and a soft little smile. His face is relaxed, leaning against his left hand. His beard is ruffled on one side, flattened on the other from where he must have slept on it. You can feel tears welling up again. 

How the fuck is he so gorgeous? Why is someone who looks like that sending me selfies? I have no right to this. I don't deserve this. 

You reach out and trace one finger down his cheek. His right dimple is visible under the stubble. Minimizing the picture, you go back to the cursor. The screen is blurry until you blink and one tear slips out. 

You type out one hasty 'hey' and hit send before you can quadruple guess yourself. This is stupid. He's too busy for your little drama queen hissy fit meltdown.

Sorry, should've asked if you're busy first 

Send.

Enough time passes that you flip the phone screen-down and plop it on your heaving chest. You bring both hands to your face and press into your closed eyelids. Just as you reach back down with a huge sigh the phone vibrates.

Princessssss. You know I'm never busy to you

You choke out a sob-laugh and try to breathe normally. Okay, now a decision. Idle chatter or metric fuckton of feels? While you waffle about it, Diego initiates a videocall. Oh, hell no. You jab 'Decline' so hard it bends your nail back.

What is wrong? Why can't I see you?

I just look like shit rn. Please don't 

That has never been true. Mi princesa bonita

Always quick with the compliments. You sniffle.

I just. I guess I just miss you. Tonight

Perfect, you hit send before could have deleted it. Great job. Wonderful. Brilliant. 

Is everything ok? This does not sound like sexytimes

Oh, Diego. 

Yeah, I'm fine. Mostly. I mean nothing is wrong, its just me

Just me having feels

… should you have sent that? Probably not. Do you regret it? Yes, instantly. In fact, if preemptive regret were possible you would already have drowned in it.

The phone is quiet for a minute. Good job dumbass, now he IS annoyed.

What kind? Sad feels? Headache feels? Work is stupid and frustrating feels? Huffy feels that require cheese? You have many feels. At all times. It sounds exhausting 

Yep. I'm annoying and clingy. You chastise yourself rather effectively.

You're right. Sorry. I got this

Does that sound bitchy? Is it bitchy? Oh my god, I need an off button.

Nonono. I asked. You have to answer. Its a rule

Your laugh is sharp. 

Since when do you care about rules lol

When they're your rules. We agreed to answer direct questions honestly, yes?

Well fuck. He got you there. You had agreed to that. When you two sat down in your living room after the Emotional Spanking*™ and had a 'groundframe setup' discussion. Sometimes you were fairly certain he mangled phrases just to watch your eye twitch violently. Little shit. 

OK fine. I'm feeling shitty about myself.  Happy??

Now that is bitchy. 

FORBIDDEN

And no, that does not please Diego

And is that why I exist? To please you??? 

Before you can stop it, your temper flares.

No Princess. The other way. Let me please you

Oh no. Oh shit. What. Is. Happening?? You are royally fucked now. This entire conversation has gone so completely off the rails that you can't even define a 'train'. Those little bouncing dots have not stopped yet.

Should I tell you how I miss you? How these stupid meetings and these stupid people and my stupid sister bore me when I would rather be listening to you read a dictionary? Or sing every word to every song ever played on the radio? Or explain the differences between cat breeds?

Or maybe I could say how ridiculously empty this bed is with only me in it. How there are no tiny socks hidden under the comforter. Not a single lip balm in sight.

Perhaps you need a list of everything I would touch. The soft lips. A little bitty hand. That tiny ribcage. Those thick thighs. With my beard, ofc. Your forehead with mine?

Oh. Ohh. Oh no. This is not fair. This is an attack. How did he just break me like this? Your face is flushed and you are crying outright now. You have to stop this right now.

Stop.stop please. Diego no

Diego yessss 

You can't take anymore. This isn't funny. You can't even form words. When autocorrect suggests the picture of a pineapple you stab it and then hit send in rapid succession.

Pinnaea🍍🍍

………………………...

Your phone emits one aborted ring then it cuts off.

Can I call? Please

You're trying to figure out a way to calm yourself, to stifle the heaving gasps and whiny sobs. You're nodding. Not useful, idiot, you scold yourself.

No video. Just talk. Please Princess

You can't say no to that when he is trying so hard. 

Ok yeah 

You barely see the message load on the screen when the ringing starts up again. Smacking the green button entirely too hard, you hold your breath to stop the pitiful sounds.

"Princess?" His voice is cautious, tone soft.

"I'm h-here." Is all you can manage. Any more and you'll burst into sobs again.

"Are you in bed?" Keeping it short and precise. Yes or no answers. Nothing too demanding. 

"Yeah. S-s-sitting." He is being so sweet. How is someone like Diego so sweet to you. Something rustles in the background. 

"What was it? A specific word? Or just too much?" His voice is hushed, like he might be in a small room…

"Are… are you in a c-c-closet?" Is he really…? You hold your breath.

"Si. Your closet is too small. I was going to send you a picture." He answers.

You absolutely cannot deal with this man. 

"Baby, I--" Your stupid soprano voice gives away how emotional you really are. He was going to send you a picture of a closet big enough for you to hide. Probably a panoramic shot so you could fully visualize it. Your chest compresses and you gasp.

"Princess? Talk. Make a noise. Something!" He sounds panicked. You suddenly remember he can't read your face this way. He can't see your pleased smile.

"That's. That's just. Diego, I love you so much." Its out before you can stop it. Even though you know he can't see it, you still hide your face.

"Love." He breathes softly into the phone. "Tell Diego what you need, my good little girl." His voice is quiet, controlled. He is letting you lead him where you want him. Everywhere. Forever.

You feel safe enough to actually confess, "I just have a, a really hard time believing… all of. That." You wave your hand in the air vaguely. "Not that you're lying!" You rush to clarify. "Just that anyone could actually like, well seems to, at least, everything…?"

"Did that make any sense?" You chew your lip anxiously.

His soft chuckle makes your stomach flip. "Well, it was technically English." Your snort sends him into quiet giggles.

"I like hearing you laugh." You whisper. He goes silent. You tense up.

"Perfect little princess. No one has ever told me that before. Most people are frightened of my laugh." He seems a little bewildered by his own words. Like he didn't mean for that to come out but now he definitely wants to hear the reaction.

You cover your smile, then pick up the phone so you can lie down. "Apparently I'm not most people." You feel around blindly until you locate TMP (Tiny Murder Panther) and tuck the stuffed animal under your chin for cuddles. "I like your voice, too. Like when you talk to me. Sometimes its just the words. Or rather my ingesting of them of that trips me up." Your quiet sniffle is hidden in silky black fur.

"The words are the problem? Do I need a, a…. The book with words that all mean the same thing." He bites out.

Sometimes you forget that English is his second language. Then things like this happen. And its fucking adorable.

"Thesaurus. Synonyms, baby." Your smile is audible.

"I know!" He huffs in mock indignation.

"I know you know. That's cute, though."

"So are your little 'aqui's and 'si's and 'ahora's."

"Fine! Gawd!" 

You both dissolve into laughter. It fades into easy silence while you rub your cheek over faux fur. 

He sighs gently into the phone. "Was it the forehead touching?" His voice trembles a bit, like he is unsure that he should have asked. As though afraid. A little overwhelmed, just like you.

"Um. Yes. Actually. That was. Yeah, that did it." You blink back tears. "We have a thing. We're a 'we'."

"That is what you want, yes?" Diego sounds cautious. As if he might accidentally utter an irreversible spell or something. Then, a quiet whisper, "It's what I want."

You suck in a deep breath and decide to just force it out. Just take what you desire. Jump already.

"I want you. I don't think a typical, um, relationship would work. But, people can define themselves. Relationships should operate the same way."

That… that actually sounded decisive and authoritative. Wow. You're really that bitch tonight, huh? You are very pleased with yourself. You can hear something sliding against the phone but can't identify the sound.

"There she is." The wide smile in his voice stabs directly into your heart. It was his beard rubbing the phone when he smiled. You laugh with his approval, pleasure burning through your veins.

"Maybe I can write some stuff down. For discussion purposes. Maybe you can write some stuff down for me. Reading it makes it seem more real to me."

"If that is your royal decree, Princess." He shuffles around, you can hear clothing rustling.

"Do you really like finding my orphan socks?" Your voice is sly, like a kid springing a trap question. He likes that smirky tone and you know it.

"They are cute. Just like the tiny feet. You are so very little, Princess." Oh, but he knows exactly how to flip the trap back onto you. The sound of muffled tapping comes through the line. "Tiny feet. Added to the list." His voice echoes the smallest bit, he must have you on speaker so he can access the note app. "Next item: fat ass."

You explode into guffaws. "Damnit Diego!" Your wheezing almost drowns out his husky laughter. 

"Wait! I almost forgot! Fan-tasss-tic. Rrrrack." He sounds out the words as he types them. You lose vocal control again, giggling like a child. Logically you know these juvenile jokes shouldn't be this amusing, but clearly you both have the same maturity level.

"Baby, you are my favorite pervert." Your declaration is met with haughtiness. 

"I had better be your only pervert, Princess." The possessive tone straightens your spine with shock. "You are mine!" He growls fiercely. 

Everything is quiet for a very long minute. You seem to have consumed every butterfly, hot sauce, and poprocks-and-cola mixture on the planet when you weren't paying attention. 

You think about all the gifts. Designer purses, specially tailored clothing, the six pairs of redbottoms you now own, how the last ring he gave you still twinkles up at you from your right hand (he took great pleasure in ensuring it fit your middle finger so you can still be pretty while you flip him off).

You remember all the places he has taken you. The Michelin starred restaurants, that hole-in-the-wall Mexican place where they know him by first name is your favorite, the stupid stores he wanders through with you, the cheesy tourist traps where he always gets you a hideously clichéd souvenir. 

Your memory flashes through a slide show of his laughter. Gleeful giggles at your horrified reaction to the neon orange lipstick he presented in Sephora. His wheezing delight when you gagged on the seaweed appetizer he shoveled into your mouth before you could object. The gentle, knowing chuckle when you pulled TMP out of your bag to take a nap two weekends ago.

You realize he is entirely correct.

"Yes I am, Diego." Is your quiet confirmation. 

"Bicki. I." He seems startled. You stay silent and let him gather his thoughts. The swallow is audible before he continues hesitantly, "I will see you this weekend, mi amor?"

All the ways this man says 'I love you' are so many more than just the actual words. Your pleased smile stretches your cheeks so far it hurts.

"Yes please!" Your shameless request ends in a yawn. "Sorry." 

"You need to sleep for work, Princess. I have one last meeting here then I will be there tomorrow." 

You wish he was here now but keep that to yourself. 

"OK, let me know when you're here." 

I am so not wearing panties under that new maxidress for the flight up and demanding that he pick me up personally. Yes. A perfect plan. You amuse even yourself with your scheming.

"Be careful tonight, Diego. I want you to come home to me." The thought of anything happening to him crushes your throat.

"I, I want that, too. Love you." All comes tumbling out of him in a rushed confession of quiet hopefulness. It makes you so happy that tears well up again. Fucking stop this, woman.

"Love you. Bye, baby." You whisper warmly, hoping he can feel even an ounce of how deliriously happy he makes you.

"Goodnight, Princess." The reply is sighed, full of self-conscious relief and pleasure. His rough voice is so calm and soothing that you nod off before the line disconnects, face tucked into his miniature proxy.

…………………………...

Incoming text

Friday 12:09am

From: Murder Panther

🥰💋💟💯🔜

#damnit diego #murder panther #24 fucking 7 hours in this house #the feeeeeels #zash writes #i hurt myself with this one guys #safewords aren't just for physical stuff

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Not What It’s Cracked Up To Be ch.5 (baon)

Summary: Edge and Stretch are finally getting back on an even keel. Edge’s broken leg is healing well, Spring is finally here and the flowers are close to blooming.

Be a shame if anything disturbed their domestic bliss.

Tags:  Spicyhoney, Kustard, Established Relationships, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Fluff, Chickens, Depression

Notes: As a heads up, this chapter includes a depiction of depression.

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

~~*~~

Read Chapter 5 on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

Before Edge was willing to leave the house on what was likely a fool’s errand, he went back upstairs to peek in on Stretch. It was difficult to tell what was going on beneath the tangle of the blankets, but he seemed to be more relaxed from his tight, fetal curl of earlier. Probably sleeping and that was good.

Back in Underfell, his brother’s supposedly laziness used to drive him mad, but coming to the surface world brought a few humbling realizations. Depression was exhausting and so was low HP, and he no longer questioned the need for plenty of rest from any of those he cared about.

A closer inspection showed the blankets rising and falling in even rhythm, deep, slow breaths and Edge let out a near-silent, relieved sigh of his own, hoping that Stretch came out of the other side of sleep at least a little improved.

Edge hesitated at the bedside, wondering if he should leave a note. He decided against it. Stretch had his phone, he could text if he needed anything. Enough dithering about, whatever it was that Red was dragging him out of the house for must be at least a little important, the cameras Edge knew were hidden outside their house surely showed him what happened last night and—

Edge went stock-still on his way out the bedroom door, his hand still on the doorknob as suspicion along with sudden anger welled up in his soul. He closed the door with care and with slow deliberation, he pulled his phone out of his pocket to send a curt text back to his brother, Tell me what this is about.

No response and just as he was about to shove his phone back into his pocket came, awful slow these days, bro. hurry up and you can see for yourself.

His phone creaked in his hand and Edge forcibly loosened his grip, shoving it back into his pocket before he could give in to the childish urge to throw it against a wall. It wouldn’t change a thing except give him the extra headache of being without a phone until he could get a replacement. Red would have his fun and there wasn’t an angry text message in existence that would change that. There was only one way for his niggling suspicions to be confirmed and that was to play the game.

But he would have a thing or three to say once they were done, of that he was certain. Edge snagged his keys on the way out the door and headed out to his car.

The address Red sent him wasn’t more than a ten-minute drive to the mostly abandoned neighborhoods of Old New Home. As he pulled up to the abandoned lot, Red stepped out of a shortcut on the curb, hands in his pockets and his semi-permanent grin wide.

It set Edge’s emotions into a roiling conflict. On one hand, he was very annoyed with his brother, verging on furious if this turned out the way he suspected, and on the other…

On the other, the last time he’d seen his brother, it had started with him lying on Edge’s kitchen floor, bleeding out in his arms, and ended with Sans carrying him away. He looked tired, but that was more normal than not with Red.

Interesting to note that he was not wearing a matching collar to Sans, which meant either Sans had no idea what a single collar relationship symbolized, or he knew all too well and Edge wasn’t taking that thought any further. Brotherly concern was one thing, but he was not interesting in knowing the minute details of their relationship, so long as they were happy.

Speaking of happiness, Red’s grin was practically gleeful as Edge got out of the car. “awful slow, there, bro. gimp leg holding you back?”

“Shut up,” Edge said automatically, even as he limped over with cane in hand, “and start telling me why you dragged me out here.”

The mocking pout was all the more disturbing for being on Red’s face. “what, no hug?”

“I’d attempt it to prove a point,” Edge told him dryly, “but I have enough injuries without you literally stabbing me in the back. What. Do. You. Want.”

Red only shook his head, sighing as if with deep disappointment, ah, he was in a cheerful mood, wasn’t he. “all those years of you harping on manners and i ain’t even getting a how’s it going, how you been feeling, looking a lot better without all your marrow leakin’ out. no love at all, boss?”

If he wanted to play, Edge did still remember the rules. “Very well. How is Sans doing? He looked well when he brought me your report the other day. Is he taking care of any more of your work?”

That smile slipped a fraction. “he’s doin’ fine.”

Edge only looked at him, brow bone raised. If Red wasn’t going to discuss the elephant in the room, Edge would be more than happy to allow it to step on his foot. “I’m only asking as the Director of Operations, literally your boss, as you so enjoy pointing out. I’m sure you understand that it’s important for me to know what work my people are handling. In case there are any liabilities.”

That wide grin turned faintly wry, Red’s crimson eye lights gleaming his amusement. “yeah, fuck you, boss. he’s doin’ real good. decided for some dumbass reason he needs to move in. stupid fucking cat is having a fit.”

“Ah, yes, fuck you, only the very best comeback in your arsenal for me, I’m sure. And I can’t even begin to imagine why he’d want to move into that garbage pit you call a home.” Edge crossed his arms over his chest, glaring down at his brother. “All right, you’ve had your fun. Now, where is she?”

Red barked out a laugh. “oh, very good, little brother, already figured it out, didja.”

“Your puzzles haven’t improved since Junior Jumble, it was not that difficult.”

“not for you.” As far as he was out of his childhood years, hearing that rare tinge of pride in his brother’s voice still made him want to preen. Edge squashed the urge, following as Red jerked his head towards overgrown field behind him. “come on.”

The terrain would have been aggravating even with two perfectly working legs. Having one that sent up threatening warning twinges with every step made it all the worse and the soil was loose and muddy, hard for feet and the tip of his cane. Grimly, Edge follow his brother through the hip-deep weeds, taking sour enjoyment in the fact that they were nearly above his brother’s head.

“she was a bitch and a half to find, i tell you what,” Red said conversationally, shoving his way through the vegetation. Edge supposed he should be grateful Red hadn’t either gone all-out jungle trekking and brought a machete or worse, offered to shortcut them, if only to force Edge to refuse. The very thought of taking one of Red’s shortcuts made his gorge rise. His brother tromped on obliviously, or at least giving a remarkable appearance of it, “this little gal has some tricks. little chickie crossed a lotta roads to get here.”

“Care to explain how you even knew how to look for her?” Edge asked sardonically and it was just as well Red wasn’t looking at him, because Edge couldn’t hide his surprise when he answered.

“sure. i was the reason she was missing to begin with.”

Edge stopped, “What? What the fuck does that mean?!”

“keep your hair on, you want me to explain or not?” Red kept moving and after a moment, Edge followed him, hands clenched into painful fists to keep from reaching out and strangling him. All that would do was waste time and amuse Red all the more, and Edge was trying to keep his contributions to his brother’s sense of humor at a minimum. “motion sensor went off at your place in the wee hours last night.”

“Motion sensors that you are not supposed to have.”

“huh, strange thing,” Red mused aloud, “don’t remember anyone sayin’ i couldn’t.”

“I didn’t think I had to!”

“anywho, went over to check it out.” He paused, swearing under his breath as he picked several dried-up thistles from his jacket without even bothering to flick any in Edge’s direction and utterly ignoring Edge’s visibly simmering impatience. “and i saw some kinda animal with too much fur and not enough feathers to be in your coop. your little lady was outside in the fenced area and close to bein’ a midnight snack. so i scooped her up, but before i could deal with the toothy lil’ problem, your liability came swooping in like a fucking bare-ass bat out of hell, firing bones every which way. i shortcutted out before he could turn me into a kabob. didn’t really mean to take her along for the ride, but i didn’t exactly have a wide selection of options.” Red craned his head to look over his shoulder slyly, “’least the view wasn’t bad. he musta felt me getting ready to clean house and hightailed it down. honey bun has pretty good reaction time. better'n yours."

Edge ignored that. “And you didn’t bring her back afterward because?

Red only shrugged. “couldn’t. she weaseled her way loose the second we hit grass again and took off. spent half the night and all morning lookin’ for the little fucker. once i figured out where she was holed up, i messaged you.”

Edge exhaled slowly, struggling with his temper. “And why didn’t you simply tell me all this earlier? Stretch is sitting at home mourning her and you—"

“and if it turned out she got hit by a car or some shit?” Red countered sharply, “really wanted to go there? figured it’d be better to make sure she had her feathers intact before i got his hopes all up.”

That was surprisingly valid as excuses went, and yet, “You could have told me! At the very least I could have helped you search!”

“think so, little brother?” Red looked at him with enough scorn that Edge had to suppress a flinch, “or you think maybe you woulda told stretch, try and cheer him up a bit? i wanted you to look her over, make sure she's all right first, but hey, you go on and call him right now if that’s what you think is better.”

Edge ground his teeth and said nothing. All the arguing in the world couldn’t make Red understand that this might have been the last thin, straw that broke the back between Stretch and a very dark day. His brother coped with his issues in much different ways, in Edge’s experience usually copious amounts of alcohol. Perhaps Sans would have been able to explain it better. Or perhaps he would have already given in and slapped Red upside the head, it was a fair chance either way.

They kept up through the tall grass. It shushed around them in the light breeze, that rustle the only sound, surrounding them, and his car growing small and distant behind them. Red was panting when they came to a small clearing, leaning over with his hands braced on his knees as he panted out, “here we are.”

There, sitting happily in a trodden down area of grass, was Nugget. She cackled out a greeting, loud in the muffling hush of the grass, but concerningly she didn’t move when normally she would be dancing flirtatiously around Edge’s legs.

“Is she hurt?” Edge demanded. He reached for her, ready to carry her back to the car and straight to a veterinarian.

Red scratched at the back of his skull, “see, that’s the thing—”

Before Edge could pick her up, she let out a warning screech and tried to peck at his hands. He snatched them back, staring down at her in bemused shock.

“—she seems to be in a mood of some sort,” Red finished, “can’t figure it out, she ain’t bleeding and she hadta walk all the way over here on her own. i woulda brought her back to your place when i found her, but she was pretty insistent on stayin’ right there.”

Baffled, Edge ran a Check on her, ignoring how ridiculous it seemed to do on a chicken. Her HP was fine, and he thought it better not to question why she had a LV of 2. “She doesn’t seem hurt.”

He reached out again cautiously, ignoring her pinching little beak attacks against his gloves, and lifted her up. Beneath her, the grass was torn up and arranged into a sort of nest and inside it—

Red crouched down to peer into it, mouth twisting crookedly. “huh. where you figure she got the golf balls?”

“I have no idea.” Standing in a field questioning the intentions of a chicken was not where Edge ever expected to find himself.

Red reached in and pinched a small, white object between two sharpened fingertips, lifting it up from the pile to inspect it despite Nuggets increasingly loud squalls of betrayal. “there’s one egg, anyway. least she’s still layin’ for you.”

Tucking Nugget against his side to stop her squirms, Edge only stared at it, perplexed, and said slowly, “That isn’t one of her eggs. Nugget’s eggs are a pale green.”

“huh.” Red set it back gently into the pile of grass and golf balls, and scrubbed hand over his face. “lemme get this straight. your little mini liability found a random egg in a pile of golf balls and decided to settle in and play momma? that’s what we think’s happenin’ here?”

“Would you like me consult my crystal ball? I don’t speak chicken and you’re the one whose been spying on them.” Nugget was getting increasingly difficult to hold and her forlorn and angry cries were either too heartrending or too annoying for Red to ignore. He heaved a sigh, shaking his head.

“hang on to the little shit,” Red ordered, even as he stepped sideways into a shortcut. Leaving Edge alone in the tall grass with an increasingly distraught chicken.

“Hush, hush, come on now,” Edge soothed, gentle petting what he could reach of her feathers. Her loud clucks dissolved into unhappy coos, looking up at Edge with mournfully beady little eyes. How was this his life, Edge wondered, with weary amusement, catering to the whims of a bird that once he would have seen more as lunch than a pet. He gave her a gentle scritch underneath the chin and she crooned softly, her small eyes closing as she finally settled.

Only to squawk loudly as Red abruptly reappeared, “here we go.”

In his hands was a hanging basket with a spray of flowers only just beginning to bloom from the leafy tendrils. It was rather lovely, definitely expensive, and absolutely did not belong to Red.

“Where did you get that?” Edge demanded.

Red shrugged, “only thing that matters is they didn’t see me.” He dumped the flowers out onto the ground in a sad splatter of leaves and potting soil, then crouched down and began filling it with grass. “c’mon, the joke’s getting’ old and the crowd’s restless, let’s get the show on the road.”

Edge made a mental note to have a much nicer replacement sent discreetly to anyone who complained about a missing floral arrangement and started to crouch down to help. Only for his brother to brusquely wave him back.

“hold the fucking chicken, i got this,” Red snapped. He didn’t look up at Edge, stuffing grass into the basket furiously. “you been standing long enough, last thing you need is to get down here and not be able to get back up. bet that leg is singing an ava maria by now.”

Slowly, Edge straightened, watching silently as Red filled the basket and he didn’t protest his leg was fine, didn’t try to reassure him, only let him make a messy little nest in the basket. He added the golf balls, nestling them into the grass, then hesitated over the egg, finally giving Edge a side eye. “uh. so do we take it or leave it?”

“Take it,” Edge decided. “Perhaps Stretch can do some research and find out what kind of egg it is.”

“it’s your funeral, don’t blame me if you end up with pet crocodile or some shit.”

“Nonsense, crocodiles aren’t native to Ebott. Snakes, however—” He trailed off as Nugget renewed her struggles and leaned down to set her in the basket. She settled immediately, fluffing out her feathers and nestling in. “I suppose that’s that.”

“yep, take ‘er home.” Red stood and stretched, both hands pressed into the small of his back as the joints popped. “by the way, i saw you doing work on the coop. ain’t a bad idea, but you don’t have a fox problem, boss.” His brother straightened and tucked his hands into his pockets, his grin colder, sharper, and in that moment, he could have stepped dusty and damaged directly from Underfell. “’least not anymore.”

He was gone before Edge could even open his mouth to ask.

He was alone again in the tall grass with nothing but a contented chicken for company and his car a painfully long walk away, particularly when lugging said chicken along.

“Thank you, brother,” Edge said, with an equal measure of sincerity and sarcasm. There was nothing for it. Edge heaved up the basket in his free hand and started to struggle his way back through the field.

Time to head home. Home, yes, home, where Stretch was hopefully still asleep, and Edge could only hope that seeing Nugget would shake at least a little of his depression loose. The thought of even a faint smile from his love was enough to make the growing ache in his leg well worth it.

tbc

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #by any other name

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

addiction, m | myg, ksj | 1

pairing(s): yoongi x reader, seokjin x reader, ??? x reader

summary: Kim Seokjin reveals his true colors. Min Yoongi freeloads off his roommate (just a little). Park Jimin and Jeon Jungkook make an appearance.

warnings: non-idol!AU; in which everyone makes bad choices; slow burn; rated M (18+) for language, mentions of drug use, violence, mentions of depression, abusive relationship

See prologue for notes. I am not condoning any of this behavior, in case that wasn’t abundantly clear.

--

“I’m telling you; the public is changing. They want accessibility.”

“They want to get high, Seokjin.”

He grinned. He was alone this time, standing next to the window in his expensive suit. He honestly didn’t need to be in a suit, but he wore it because he knew he looked good in it.

“They still don’t want to get caught.”

She snorted, an inelegant sound that made Seokjin frown. She couldn’t say more so she just looked away from him. He moved away from the window and stepped towards her, taking note of the bucket hat and loose jeans. Brown belt, big loose black sweater.

“You could have at least dressed up for me.”

He saw her lips twist into a pout and she looked up at him with those black holes, viewing him from under the hat.

“Does it matter?” she replied sharply.

He smiled at her.

“Is the problem money? Do you need me to gift you some pretty dresses?”

She rolled her eyes at him. “I don’t need money and you know that.”

He leaned down just a bit and felt her stiffen at his closeness. “Then why are you here?” His eyes flickered up to hers but she wasn’t watching. She was purposefully looking away from him.

“Just give me the fucking pills then,” she mumbled.

“That’s a good girl.”

And he pulled his gun away from her stomach before turning around and giving her the package in a reusable grocery bag.

-

She sat slumped in the train seat, bucket hat over her eyes. It was like she wasn’t even there – people passed by her without giving a second glance. That was the point. She always kept her dark hair and her clothes plain, a forgettable existence to anyone who could be watching.

She didn’t believe Seokjin was an evil person. Not really. Maybe in a different parallel timeline, he was a cheerful person who brought happiness and joy to everyone he met. But not this Kim Seokjin. No, this Kim Seokjin was her drug supplier and it wasn’t a cheerful profession, if one could even call it that.

She doubted Seokjin would actually shoot her. After all, if he wanted to fuck like he claimed, it would be hard with a bloody hole in her stomach.

It wasn’t a theory she was willing to test in the moment though.

She had argued with him because she didn’t want to deal different substances. Quite frankly, she didn’t think she could do this anymore. As if on cue, her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out to see a notification on her lock screen. She bit her lip.

She had thought about changing her lock screen many times but each time she saw his smile, she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

You’re so pathetic, she thought to herself.

She put in her password and looked at her texts. It was simply labelled, Guide. That’s what Seokjin was named on her phone.

Miss you, Moon.

She shoved her phone back into her pocket and tried not to think about it.

-

Yoongi let out a groan and pressed his forehead onto the front door. He barely made rent this month. It was due in three days and he barely had enough in his account to pay rent and have one meal. One meal. He didn’t know how he was going to survive at this rate. The plastic bag with his one convenience store meal banged against the door and he jumped.

Sighing at his own plight, he punched in the code and entered the apartment. He staggered back, immediately hit by the delicious smell of…

Beef.

Grilled beef.

He blinked, looking around the apartment.

There was his roommate, standing next to the stove. Loose grey sweatshirt and matching sweatpants with a cream apron cinching in her waist. Hips swinging to the beat that was playing in her Bluetooth headphones as she turned over the strips of beef, oil popping and sizzling. The smoke was drifting out of the open window but the smell pervaded throughout.

Words couldn’t describe how jealous he was right now.

He looked down and closed the door, staring at his pathetic little boxed lunch through the plastic. Frustration and annoyance threatened to overwhelm him. He wanted to hurl it at the wall. Why couldn’t he have her life? Not a care in the world, dancing away as she cooked that delicious-smelling beef while he was stuck in his shitshow of a–

“Oh, Yoongi.”

His head snapped up at his name. She was staring at him with the headphones around her neck. Black holes staring at him. He felt suddenly exposed, as if she could read his thoughts.

She gestured with her tongs. “You want some beef?”

He raised a hand, chuckling slightly as he shook his head. “No… No, it’s fine. It’s your food.”

And then his stomach growled so loudly that he himself looked down to stare at it. It was even louder than the sizzling beef. He had never been so betrayed by his bodily functions in his life. And his dick had chosen in some weird girls in his time.

She laughed, the first time he had ever heard her laugh. It made her eyes crinkle up and her shoulders shake, a laugh that made those dead eyes disappear for just a second. She tilted her head just a bit and grinned, shaking her head.

“I’ll prepare another bowl for you.”

He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly, disturbing his beanie. “I’ll do the dishes then.”

“Sounds like a deal.”

He placed his boxed lunch in the fridge – a bit further in the back – and sat awkwardly at one of the stools at the counter. She placed a bowl of rice in front of him and handed him a plate of four thick slices of beef. He could feel himself drooling at the sight. She leaned forward just a bit and he realized she must have noticed. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand hastily.

“Hmm.” She was smiling at him.

Shit.

She placed a fifth piece of meat on his rice and shook her head, still chuckling. There was a plate of kimchi on the table too. He looked at it and she noticed that too.

“Go ahead. Store bought.”

He took a bite of the beef first. He swore his eyes rolled back into his head. Seasoned, cooked with some pink in the middle. It was like a flavor explosion in his mouth. Maybe it wasn’t actually that good, but he hadn’t had freshly cooked meat in so long that he had forgotten what it tasted like.

He chewed gratefully, slowly opening his eyes. He was going to say something but she was staring at her phone, looking troubled. She was picking meat off the pan, chewing hurriedly.

“It’s… really good.”

She looked up at him and raised her eyebrows. “Hm? Oh. It’s just marinated beef. There’s some left in the fridge if you want it for dinner.”

Please, oh God, yes. “No, no, I couldn’t eat your food,” he said awkwardly, not really believing in his own words.

She shrugged. “You should cook it. I probably won’t be home until late.” She looked back at her phone; eyes fixated on the screen. She seemed to be concentrating on something. Then she abruptly put her phone down. “You do know how to cook, right?”

He nodded quickly. “Uh, yeah. My brother is a chef. He taught me the basics.”

“Oh.” She looked a bit embarrassed at her own question. “Good. I won’t come to a burned down apartment then.”

It was then they realized they knew very little about each other. She looked awkward and shoved her phone in her pocket before she continued eating. He stared back down at his rice and continued chewing. Fuck. It tasted really good.

“I noticed you’ve been eating a lot of convenience store food.”

He winced. “Yeah…”

She poked the end of her chopsticks at him. “You should make more food at home. All that packaging is bad for the environment,” she said sternly.

“Ah… yeah.”

She finished the last bit of her rice and set the pan and bowl in the sink, running water over them with a bit of soap.

“I have to go.”

He nodded awkwardly. She left the kitchen to go to her room. He let out an exasperated sigh after she closed the door. He wasn’t really sure why he couldn’t talk to her that well. It wasn’t like he was weird around girls. Maybe it was that unapproachable feeling surrounding her.

Or maybe it was because he knew he had to pay her soon.

She came back out dressed in the same sweatpants and an open black hoodie. His eyes widened when he noticed she was wearing a white crop top underneath. She slung a small duffel bag against her shoulder. It was actually a very attractive look on her.

She turned and he saw she was fresh faced, with minimal makeup. She walked over to him, staring straight at him. No, not him.

She plucked the grey beanie off his head.

“I’m gonna borrow this.”

-

“Jimin, I am not upping your order.”

Those perfectly plump lips curved into a pout. “Moonie, pleaaaase? Pretty please?”

She raised an eyebrow and shook her head. “No. I brought your current order with me and I didn’t bring extra. I told you before–”

“I know, I know… A dead customer isn’t a paying customer.”

Well, actually my saying is a dead addict isn’t a paying addict. They were standing at the edge of the dance studio. It was already closed, so the windows were dark and no one was around. The particular corner they stood at couldn’t be seen by the windows. She tapped her sneaker against the hardwood. Park Jimin, dance choreographer and current customer, rubbed the back of his head sheepishly and handed her a cheap blue plastic water bottle. She was wearing her black gloves but had no problem screwing the lid open. She looked inside, satisfied to see the correct amount. She was good at that. She tucked it away in her duffel bag and handed him the small brown paper bag in response, pills tucked in a believable prescription bottle.

“Thanks, Moon. I really needed this.”

Her brows furrowed as he opened the bottle hastily and took one right there in front of her. His orange hair stuck to his forehead, probably due to sweat, but it made him look desperate.

“Jimin, if you need them that bad, you should go see a doctor.”

He winced as he chugged down a gulp of water. “I know. I know… It’s just… award season is coming soon. I need to stay busy.”

She wanted to punch him. You fucking idiot, you’re going to kill yourself.

“Hey, um… I was wondering if you still take on customers? I know a guy…”

She rolled her eyes. “Jimin, please keep your trap shut for your safety and mine. Do you want to get arrested?”

“Are you the one doing the arresting?”

A new, deep voice penetrated the room. A cocky smile and an all-black shadow drifted into the room. The black sweatshirt was so huge it might as well have been a blanket. Dark brown eyes and dark brown hair, slightly long and damp.

She shoved her hands in her black hoodie and glared at Jimin. “You best believe the Guide will hear about this.”

Fear flashed in Jimin’s eyes. “No, wait. Wait, Jungkook–”

“Is this her? Your dealer?” His eyes raked down her frame, briefly fixating on her white crop top. She only wore it because she knew Jimin wasn’t going to mess with her – Seokjin made sure of that – but she hadn’t counted on someone else appearing. “She’s a cute little thing, isn’t she?”

Jimin smacked his chest, trying to push him back. “Stop. You can’t flirt with her,” he warned.

A muscle in her leg tensed. She thought about running but it was better to diffuse the situation.

“Why not?” The one named Jungkook grinned. “Hey, can you hook me up with some of the fun stuff? Not like what Jimin-ssi has here… You know. The fun shit.”

You little– “If you want the fun shit, you have to pay fun shit prices.”

He smiled at her. She did not like it. Not one bit.

“Yeah?”

He took a step towards her. And another. He was trying to back her against the wall, but she stood her ground. Every muscle in her body was tensed. She knew enough to avoid getting her ass kicked by the regular guy. Maybe a little more. He looked down at her, lips curled into a sly smirk. He had a jawline that could cut by itself. He was wearing a gentle cologne and, to be honest, he was attractive, which would be a shame if she had to break that nose.

“Maybe we can strike a deal?”

“Jungkook, I swear, if you even so much as put a finger on her,” Jimin said sternly. She could hear the warning in the shorter male’s voice. It was pretty frightening considering Jimin was one of her more cheerful customers.

Jungkook grinned and backed off. “I’m just kidding.”

She looked away from him and glowered at Jimin. He shook his head.

“Please don’t tell him,” he pleaded.

She looked back at Jungkook, who seemed quite smug about it all. Without warning, she swiftly kicked the back of his knees, making him stumble and cry out.

“Moon, please–”

Another swift chop straight to the sternum and Jungkook was on his knees, gasping for air. She held her fist centimeters from Jungkook’s face, making him freeze. Jimin hovered around, concerned, but it seemed like he was more concerned about her then Jungkook. And within those seconds of exchange, she realized two things.

One, Jungkook was fit. Really fit. And two, if she didn’t have surprise, then she probably would have bitten off more than she could chew. And that would mean…

She clutched her duffel bag and sent Jungkook her most scorching glare.

“Don’t get yourself involved in shit way over your head, kid.”

And, of course, instead of being apologetic or even angry, Jungkook smiled, licking his lips.

“Okay, noona.”

Later, when she was sitting in her room, she really wished she had just punched him.

-

“Are you coming to my party?” The phone quality didn’t hide the honey in Seokjin’s voice.

“No.”

She could almost hear his pout. “You never come anymore. We used to have such fun. You, me, and–”

She cut him off. “Did you talk to Jimin?”

His tone instantly darkened. “I did. He was very apologetic.”

She made a noise of disapproval.

“I didn’t break anything this time.”

“This time,” she echoed. “What about the brat?”

Seokjin brightened. “We had a little discussion. He’ll be a new customer soon.”

She wanted to strangle him. “Seokjin, I told you–”

“You only serve a few customers and you complain about one? One rowdy little thing?”

“This rowdy little thing is going to be trouble,” she warned.

“Don’t worry, my darling,” Seokjin cooed. “I made it very clear you’re mine.”

“I’m n–” And of course he hung up before she could say anything else. She glared at her phone and growled. She didn’t throw it, but she wanted to.

“Bastard,” she muttered to herself.

-

2.

--

masterpost

#bts #bts x reader #bts x y/n #bts fanfic #min yoongi #yoongi #suga #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi x you #yoongi x you #yoongi x reader #bts suga #suga x reader #suga x you #kim seokjin #seokjin #jin #kim seokjin x reader #seokjin x reader #jin x reader #seokjin x you #kim seokjin x you #jin x you

[puckinghell]

Friends Don’t | Jamie Benn

Requested: nope Word count: 2822 Note: basically if a player is being mistreated in any way i have to write about them. also based on a song with the same name

You tucked your legs under you, wrapping the blanket a bit tighter around you. It had been one of those days. First, you spilled your coffee, then your car wouldn’t start, your computer crashed halfway through your assignment, your teacher made a snippy remark towards you, and then your mom had called and banged on about how disappointed she was with you for not going on that date with her coworkers “perfectly nice son”.

You didn’t want perfectly nice. You just wanted to be left alone. And maybe watch a movie with your best friend, but when you’d texted Jamie, he had other plans. Whatever that meant.

You picked up your glass of wine. You tried not to make it a habit to drink alone at home, but some days just asked for it. For some reason, you could feel that you were on the brink of tears; it was stupid, really. Maybe you were PMSing. You decided to text Jamie again.

Now I have to drink my wine alone, which is just depressing. Thanks for nothing, James.

You knew he would have a laugh at that little inside joke, probably text you back something snarky. You waited for his reply, but nothing came. He must be at something where he couldn’t have his phone on him.

You met Jamie at a charity event. You’d been working as a waitress there and he’d been there representing the Stars. He’d been sitting at the bar alone, and you’d joked about how drinking alone was just depressing. He’d told you that it would be a lot less depressing if the pretty waitress joined him, and although you’d been on the clock and couldn’t actually drink, you had stayed in his general vicinity all night, talking about everything and nothing.

He’d been with his ex girlfriend, back then, and when they broke up, you were already so deep into your just-friend regime that it seemed impossible that anything more was ever going to happen. You’d since accepted it, and yet, sometimes, like tonight, you wished you were more than just the best friend. More than just the best friend would be allowed to demand cuddles, and you wanted cuddles. Instead, you had to do with your cat; and she just looked at you with pity in her feline eyes.

You nearly spilled your wine in surprise as you heard a knock on the door. Your blanket wrapped around your shoulders like a cape, and your wine glass still in your hand, you padded towards the door and opened it only slightly, to reveal your best friend standing there. He was wearing a suit and holding a bottle of wine, raising his eyebrows when you stared through the gap of the door.

“I was expecting a more enthusiastic response to my arrival,” he said dryly, holding up the bottle of wine. “I brought booze.”

“Jamie?” You threw the door open, reaching for the bottle and prying it out of his hands. “What are you doing here?” You knew you looked ridiculous, with your blanket cape, cradling what looked like a very expensive bottle of wine, but you didn’t care. Jamie had seen you in worse ways.

“Wouldn’t want you to be drinking alone, would we?” he grinned, pushing past you into your apartment.

“You’re a bit overdressed for wine drunk and movies,” you frowned, closing the door behind him. Jamie was already shrugging off his suit jacket and taking off his tie. Then, he kicked off his shoes and sat down on your couch.

“Was supposed to go to a dinner party,” he explained, “but I’d rather be here.” He frowned at your TV. “We’re not watching the Princess Diaries.”

“You can’t crash my pity party and start making demands,” you sputtered, but you didn’t really mean it. You would watch whatever movie Jamie wanted to watch. And it wasn’t because he looked awfully delicious in that dress shirt. Not at all.

“I think I can,” Jamie challenged. “Also, since I canceled my dinner for this, you better be down with ordering pizza.”

“If you really think I’d ever not be down for that, you don’t know me at all,” you mumbled, and you finally sat down next to him on the couch, a clean wine glass now in your hand; for him. You cuddled up into his side and he picked a movie and then ordered some pizza, and somehow, you’d forgotten all about your bad day.

“God damnit Jamie, it’s 1 am, you better have a very good reason to call me,” you growled into your phone.

“Oh.” Your best friend sounded wary on the phone. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it was that late. Time difference.”

You usually didn’t even have your phone on sound, usually put it on silent when you slept because your many group chats would surely keep you awake, but fate had it that you forgot to do that that night.

“I just wanted to say hi.”

You smiled at his statement. “Hi,” you told him, and you could almost hear his smile on the other side as he answered.

“Hi.”

“Not the results you wanted, huh?”

The Stars had played the Flames that night, and boy had it not gone good. You’d managed to watch all of it, but had to mute the third period, because seeing them get smashed in like that literally hurt your heart too much. You had, however, even on mute, seen Jamie’s fight, and as always, it felt like you hadn’t breathed for a solid half hour afterwards.

“How hurt are you?”

“I’m fine.” He was lying, you knew it, and he knew you knew it, too. “Just a busted lip. I was trying to get some fire into the boys, but I guess you can’t expect much when you’re down 4-0, huh?” He sounded defeated, and you hated it.

“I’m sorry, Jam. It’s not your fault, you know. These games happen. There’s always next time.”

“Yeah, I guess.” He was silent for a while. “I’m sorry for waking you up.”

“Don’t worry,” you hummed. “I’m glad you called. I haven’t heard your voice in a while, you know.”

His deep sigh cut straight through your bones. “I know, it’s been a long road trip.”

You knew Jamie, knew he was beating himself up over their loss and knew that he wasn’t going to sleep for another hour or so, too much adrenaline flowing through his veins. And you knew exactly what would calm him down, too.

“Want me to tell you about my day? I can tell you all about my math assignment.”

“I’ve never been more thrilled for anything in his life,” Jamie said, but he sounded amused now, less focused on his misery. So you settled into your pillow, put your phone on speaker - you’d be talking for a while, and your arm got tired quickly - and told him all about the little details of your day, the mundane things that really didn’t matter, that Jamie wanted to hear about anyway.

You had to get up early the next morning and you knew you’d be so tired, but going to sleep was not an option. Not when Jamie needed you to be awake with him.

You knew this neighborhood well enough to realize that Jamie was going the wrong way. And yet, you didn’t say anything.

The car was going awfully slow, way under the speed limit, for no reason at all. It was 3pm, and there was barely any traffic. Definitely not enough traffic to warrant this turtle speed.

“Jamie, you have a sports car, use that accelerator,” you teased him, and pretended not to notice the red flush on his cheeks. He sped up, but barely.

You didn’t really want him to, anyway.

He’d insisted on picking you up from college and dropping you off home, and although you’d told him a few times that it really wasn’t necessary, you were glad he had. Tonight, he’d leave for another road trip. He’d be gone for almost a week. It wasn’t that long, not that big a deal, had happened many times before and would happen many times again; so why did your heart feel so heavy with dread?

You wondered if he felt it to, if he was driving slow, taking the long way home, just to make this last a little bit longer. Spend a little more time with you. You didn’t dare hope.

The radio was on, but you didn’t really register what song was playing. Jamie wasn’t talking, but he was tapping his finger against the steering wheel on the beat of the music. Tapping his fingers was a nervous habit of his, and usually when he did it, you could pinpoint exactly what he was nervous about. Not this time.

“You got your chemistry project done in time?” he asked suddenly, and you frowned. You’d told him about that project about two weeks ago, and it was one of the last things you expected him to remember.

“Yeah, I did. Why on earth would you care about my chemistry project?” You’d said it jokingly, but he didn’t take it that way, shooting you a pointed look.

“I care about everything going on in your life, Y/N.”

Oh be still, fluttering heart.

“Did you get your skates sharpened?” you shot back, and he smirked.

“You don’t give a shit about my skates.”

“I really don’t. I just wanted to let you know that I remember things you tell me, too.” You sunk back into the car seat as Jamie stopped in front of a red light. You willed it to stay red a little longer, but it jumped to green too quick.

“I remember your grandmother’s name.” Jamie sounded proud of himself, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“God, that’s so not special! I remember your dentist’s name.”

“How?” Jamie asked, bewildered. “I don’t even remember my dentist’s name.”

You shrugged. “I care about your teeth.”

“Yeah, well, I care about your…” he paused, you could see the wheels turning in his head. “Nails!”

“Nails?” you giggled.

“Yeah, you go to this nail place to get them done.”

“You don’t even know what it means to get nails done,” you countered, and you could tell by his scowl that you had hit the nail on the head.

“Well, I’ll come with you next time,” Jamie said triumphantly. “Then I’ll know what it means.”

“Such a problem-solver,” you shook your head. “That’s a true captain at heart.”

You were totally going to drag him to your next nail appointment and you weren’t sure whether he was going to be super bored, or super interested by all the - for him foreign - things going on at a nail salon.

The car slowed down even more and just when you wanted to start scolding him for driving too slow, you realized you were at your house.

Oh.

Jamie put the car in park, took his keys out of the ignition. “I’ll walk you to the door,” he said. It was completely unnecessary, with it being a clear afternoon, but you didn’t fight him on it.

“I’ll see you in a week, I guess,” you smiled, but you had to work for the smile. He was playing with his keys, fumbling with them, staring at his hands.

“Uhm, yeah,” he mumbled. There was a pause and you wished he could find a reason not to leave yet, but he clearly couldn’t come up with anything. “I’ll see ya.” He turned, as if he was going to walk away, then suddenly turned again and launched forward, wrapping you into a hug. He smelled so familiar and warm and you squeezed him. Maybe, if you just didn’t let go, he wouldn’t leave.

“I’ll call you tonight, okay? When I’m at the hotel.” His words were soft against your ear, and you sighed.

“Yes, please.” Another second, he pulled away, steps on the driveway, the car rumbled, and then you were cold and alone on your porch, and you wondered why you could feel tears burning behind your eyes.

You didn’t really want to go to this party, but there really was no other option. You were pretty sure your friend would have your head on a stick if you didn’t go to her birthday party. To make it a little more bearable, you’d brought Jamie, however, your best friend had seemed to disappear as soon as you walked into the house, and now you were drunk and alone and most importantly, extremely bored.

“Want another beer?” the guy you’d been talking to asked. You didn’t even really know his name.

You didn’t want another beer, you just wanted him to stop talking. And so you smiled politely, made up an excuse, and started making your way through the crowd.

“Jamie, you in?”

You weren’t even sure why your ears decided to focus on that specific sentence, because it had nothing to do with you. But as always, Jamie’s name rang in your ears and somehow pulled your eyes into the direction of the speaker, and there he was; talking to a girl. A beautiful girl.

That shouldn’t hurt as much as it did.

“Ouch!” You’d been too concentrated on Jamie, and bumped into a person. The girl steadied you, smiled.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m so sorry!” Your voice was hoarse and suddenly the air around you seemed to thick. You made your way outside, wanting to get away from the people, but you hadn’t realized your squeal had alerted Jamie to your presence, and as he saw you storming outside, he’d immediately left the girl he’d been talking to - mid sentence, even, it really wasn’t very polite - to rush to your aid.

You sat outside on your friend’s porch. It was warm in Dallas, even at this hour, and the stars were bright in the sky.

“Hey, you okay?” It was the second time someone asked in maybe three minutes, but this time, you saw no reason to lie.

“Not really.”

Heavy footsteps sounded behind you and then Jamie sat down next to you on the porch. “I saw you run away.”

“I saw you talk to that girl.”

You probably shouldn’t have said it, should probably still be pretending that you were just friends. Because that’s what you were. But friends didn’t feel this way, watching their friends flirt with pretty girls.

Jamie laughed lightly. “I saw you talk to that guy.”

You shook your head. “Not that same. I don’t even remember his name.”

“I don’t remember a word of what she said,” Jamie countered, and you finally turned to look at him. His big brown eyes caught yours right away, and you were taken aback by the sheer emotion in them. “I wouldn’t flirt with her, not when I lo…” His eyes widened as he caught himself, cut himself off. “When I came here with you.”

That’s not what he was going to say. You knew it, because you’d been in this situation so many times before.

And maybe it was because you were a little drunk, but after all those time, you were finally done with it.

“That’s not what you were going to say,” you told him, wrapping your arms around yourself. “What are we, Jamie?”

He stared at you, seemed to really think about your question. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “What do you think we are?”

“I think we tell ourselves we’re just friends,” you said. You were staring at the grass in front of you. Looking at him, while you were going to say what you were going to say, was way too hard. “But friends don’t cancel other plans just to get wine drunk on the couch. They don’t forget the world around them when they hear each other’s name.”

“Friends don’t call you in the middle of the night just cause they feel like saying hi,” Jamie continued. He reached out and you felt his fingers against your hands.

“Friends don’t get chills with every accidental touch,” you whispered, and Jamie intertwined his fingers with yours. “And friends don’t drive too slow and take the long way home and play with their keys, just to postpone goodbye a few seconds longer.”

“Friends don’t almost say I love you.” His words rung through the quiet night sky and your heart seemed to be in your throat. His other hand reached out and with one finger, he took hold of your chin and pulled your face towards him, forcing you to look at him. “Friends don’t do this.” And then, he kissed you. It was like electricity ran all through your body and at the same time, a comfortable warmth took over you as your lips moved against his in perfect synchronization. He pulled away, smiling, and you couldn’t help smile back. You nodded in agreement.

“Friends don’t.”

#nhl imagines #nhl imagine #nhl one shot #nhl writing #hockey one shot #hockey imagine #dallas stars #dallas stars imagine #dallas stars one shot #jamie benn #jamie benn imagine #jamie benn one shot

[negasonicimagines]

Gladdest (Soulmate AU)

For this, I’ll be using the soulmate AU where what happens to your soulmate’s body happens to you. I’m not sure who originally came up with this. Basically, how it works, is like, if your soulmate gets punched in the face, you feel like you’ve been punched in the face. If your soulmate dies, you don’t die, but you feel it. Same with broken bones, you’ll feel it, but your arm won’t actually be broken. But not just pain, other stuff. Like if your soulmate cries, you’ll feel it, but you don’t cry unless they’re super heartbroken, or if they get a really good hug you feel it, too. In my version of this AU, the pain and other feeling doesn’t start until you turn sixteen. Imagine how fucked up it would be if that wasn’t the case and you had a partner older than you? Like, while 13-year old Bill gets in a fight, his soulmate, who is only 3, feels the same punches and kicks. It’d be so fucked up.

warnings: nsfw (but no actual sex, just a lot of talking about it [and masturbation] and some sexually tense scenes), the reader nearly has a panic attack (again, i know, sorry. what can I say? I project), & reader has a thing for.... erotic asphyxiation. let me know if i missed anything.

I am very open to writing a part two with smut... I just chickened out with this because I felt it wouldn’t be good writing.

You’d been sixteen for a little while now, and there hadn’t been much contact from your soulmate aside from the occasional feel of a phone falling on your face and smacking it.

It’s the beginning of a new school year at Xavier’s, and you’re pretty thrilled. Your roommate this year is your best friend, Ellie. Okay, not just your best friend, she’s your crush, too. Do I really have to say, at this point?

“Hey,” she greets you, sounding rather sullen as she enters your dorm, where you sit on the edge of your bed.

“What’s up?” you ask.

“I turned sixteen over the summer and I haven’t felt anything to give me a hint. All my soulmate does is cry.”

“All my soulmate does is drop their phone on their face,” you offer a complaint in return, and the two of you lock eyes for a moment, one of realization.

“No,” Ellie says. “No.” She’s bright red, immediately thinking of just how many hot summer nights she was kept up, orgasm after orgasm after orgasm, gasping for breath at the way her soulmate’s fingers curled just right, just fucking right. There’s no way you, her crush and her best friend, were that good.

“No, can’t be,” you agree.

“Could be,” she reminds you.

“It’d make sense,” you admit.

“I hate everyone else but you.”

“We could try to find out,” you suggest.

She pinches herself.

“Ow! Not like that!” You whine, clutching at your arm. “Oh, well, I guess it’s too late th-” Ellie cuts you off with her eyes alone.

“Where does all that energy come from, Y/N?! What are you, the Energizer bunny?! At least three times a night, every night! What the hell?!”

You blush deeply, scratching the back of your neck. You hadn’t exactly expected you’d meet your soulmate anytime soon, or that they’d be bold enough to comment on your habits.

“I dunno, I thought it was normal for kids our age…” you mumble.

“Oh, yeah, well some people like sleeping and not screaming into the pillow because their soulmate has a little too much fun doing the five finger shuffle!”

“Please, louder. I think a few people in Antarctica didn’t hear you,” you retort, looking up at her from where you were sitting with a challenging expression.

“We’ve been friends for all this time and I never knew what a horny bastard you are,” she remarks.

“Well, I’m not the one who was ‘screaming’ in pleasure,” you mutter.

“I heard that!” she says, her expression still adorably indignant.

“If you hated it so much, you should’ve just got those over the counter meds, Antifel or whatever.”

“I- I…” She sighs. “Yeah, I didn’t hate it that much,” she admits, and you smile a bit. “But I wasn’t a fan of the choking,” she adds, gesturing at your scarf, your favorite one that she never would’ve guessed hides the bruises from where you’ve choked yourself with a belt, at least not before. “I’m more of a choker than a ‘chokee’, but, I guess that’d be obvious, wouldn’t it? Considering we’re soulmates and all.”

You nod, your eyes now on your lap, the floor, her tee shirt, the lamp in the corner, anything that isn’t her eyes, and she smirks.

“Oh, so now you’re shy?”

“A little,” you quietly reply, and she sits next to you on your bed.

“Let’s cool down,” she offers. “We’ve just seen each other after months of purely texting and the occasional phone call.”

“Thanks,” you respond, finding it easier to breathe.

“Why were you crying so much?” Ellie asks, addressing her original observation.

“Just depressed and lonely and stuff. I don’t have friends in my hometown, not like you.”

“You’ll always have me,” she says. “I mean it.”

“I’d hope so, soulmate,” you laugh off the seriousness of the conversation, and she sighs, looking to your eyes with her own soulful ones.

“I’m glad it’s you,” she tells you.  “I don’t think I’d be able to stand anyone else.”

“Yeah, right!” you huff out a laugh, confused at her sudden emotional openness. Sure, she was more honest about her feelings with you than anyone else, but that didn’t mean that she was a completely open book. Who was?

“You’re not disappointed, are you?” Ellie wonders because of your remark.

“God, no! I- I actually have a really big crush on you,” you admit.

“Yeah?” she asks, the cutest little grin on her face, you know the one. “I have a crush on you, too.”

You blush again.

“Sorry… I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I’m not very good at flirting or anything like that. I don’t really care about much of anyone at all, and you’re definitely the only person I’ve really cared about in a romantic way, so…”

“No, it’s not that! I- You- You being really good at flirting is what’s got me like this. And the fact that I’m a dork who’s really bad at flirting contributes,” you explain.

“I am? Good at flirting, I mean.”

“Well, with me, at least,” you tell her.

“Um… Sorry if it’s lame to ask, but… Can I kiss you?”

“Of course! And it’s not lame to ask at all, El, I appreciate it actua- Mmf!”

You could live forever in the feeling of her lips on yours, her hands oh-so carefully holding your cheeks.

“Sorry,” she shyly says, as she slowly pulls away from you, looking in your eyes. “I’ve just been wanting to do that for a really, really long time. Pretty much since we met, actually.”

“R-really?” you ask, a bit breathless and definitely still flustered.

“Yeah, you’re perfect. In, like, every way. It’s the worst and the best.”

“I’m perfect?! But you’re- You’re you!” you argue, and she shakes her head, rolling her eyes. “I’m so lucky.”

“No, I’m the lucky one,” she disagrees.

“We can both be lucky,” you tell her, and she sighs.

“I suppose that’s a good compromise,” she decides. “So, what should we do before dinner? We’ve got a couple hours to kill, but I don’t think either of us has much more to say that wouldn’t be repetitive or… Something.” She blushes again, cheeks bright pink.

You blush back, reminded that she knew all about you and the things you did to yourself behind doors. “R-right,” you reply. Hey, you may be a horny motherfucker, but that doesn’t make you any less of a bottom.

“Can I see?” she asks, touching at your scarf. You nod, and she unwraps the scarf. She carefully touches the spotted bruises with her fingers. “With the belt you’re wearing?”

You can’t even speak. You nod, and the ghost of a smile graces her face before she just barely presses her lips to the bruises closest to her, on the side of your neck. Your hand quickly grabs her bicep tightly, and she stops, looking to you with concern.

“I’m so sorry, I got a bit carried aw-”

“No, no, it’s good, I’m just… Sensitive there,” you admit, and one of the biggest smiles you’ve seen her wear is on her lips.

“Yeah?” she asks, taking her crossbody bag off of her shoulder and opening it. She takes out a bottle of Antifel pills. “How sensitive?”

“Oh God, um… I- Um…” Your nerves are really getting to you, and your breathing gets heavier as you stare at the bottle. This is really happening. It’s really happening. You’d always wanted to, especially with her, but now that it’s a reality, you feel on the brink.

Ellie can recognize that look in your eyes, and it’s a look she’d hoped she’d never be the cause of.

“Shit, Y/N. What’s going on? Talk to me.”

“I- Um, I just- I want to? But I- I just- I don’t know, it’s just getting really hard to breathe, and uh, not in a hot way,” you joke nervously.

“Hey, you can want to and not be ready to right this minute. We haven’t even been on a date yet, okay? I’m really sorry if I made you feel like you had to do anything you didn’t want to,” Ellie tells you, and she feels immensely guilty either way.

“No! I liked you kissing me, especially where you did, but, you’re right. We should probably adjust to the news and put a label on whatever this is before we do anything too serious.”

Ellie nods. “You always were the more logical one. I’ll put these in the medicine cabinet and we can just… Talk about stuff, like we always do.”

“But with more kissing and cuddling, I hope?” you request, and she nods, going to put the bottle away before returning to find you bundled up in her comforter. “It’s so cozy…” you practically sing, at least to her.

“This is a dream,” she sighs happily, slipping off her shoes and joining you in her bed. You spoon her side, and she hums in content, stroking your hair.

“You’re in a good mood,” you comment. Ellie is not a very cheerful person, at least not openly. So, to see her like this was surprising.

“Yeah, of course I am. It’s you. It’s really you. I’ve never been happier in my life,” she says, having really been hit with the fact that you’re her soulmate. All hers. “All mine…” she hums.

“You really know how to make a girl feel special… I mean it. I’m really not all that.”

“Please be my girlfriend,” she requests.

“Only if you’ll be mine,” you reply, and she scoffs.

“I think that’s how that works, babe.”

Your heart skips a beat and you stare at her in wonder.

“Sorry for not asking if pet names were okay…It’s just something I like, it’s really stupid.”

“No, I really like it, hence the dumb stare and the lack of breathing.”

She chuckles, holding you tighter. You smile with her, glad that she’s happy.

“I hope you don’t feel like you have to over-exaggerate how happy you are. It’s okay if you’re not ridiculously happy about finding your soulmate.”

“Oh, no, I’m as happy as I sound. I’m, uh, definitely a textbook case of Lesbian That’s A Grumpy Bitch Til She Gets A Girlfriend. But then again, I’ll probably just be a significantly less grumpy bitch to everyone but you, sorry.”

“I don’t mind, I like you being your bitchy self,” you reply, being rewarded with a kiss placed atop your head that sends tingles dancing down your body. “Mm… I like that.”

“Good,” Ellie responds. “I’m glad.”

“I’m gladder,” you tease.

“I’m gladdest...”

#ellie phimister imagine #marvel #Ellie Phimister #ellie phimister x reader #negasonic teenage warhead #negasonic teenage warhead x reader #negasonic teenage warhead imagine #negasonicteenageimagines #x-men #x-men fanfiction #x-men imagine #soulmate au #soulmate aus #marvel fanfiction #fanfiction #wlw fanfiction #wlw x reader #wlw #lesbian #lesbian fanfiction #lgbt fanfiction

[oh-styles]

Such Beautiful Things: I

Yes, I know, I am just as shocked as you are. 

It’s a bit shorter than what I would have hoped, but just stop complaining and enjoy what I give you. 

Indirect mention of cancer, anxiety and depression.

July 4th, 2016 London, UK

“Harry, for fucks sake…”

At first glance, all you can make out through the harsh glare of the sun peeking through his curtains is the silhouette of a bare bottom a mere few inches from your face, and the faint but budding marks etched across the skin that match your very own fingertips. You first feel the bed shift, and the hustled patters of his feet scampering across the floor with no sense of direction.

“Hey, babe,” his voice is lazy and drawn out, a clear indication to you he’s not been up any longer than you. “Do you have any idea where you threw my pants last night?” You can see him from the corner of your eye, standing stark naked in the middle of his bedroom with a look of complete bewilderment and cowlick standing erect in the middle of his head. “Got quite the arm.”

“Why do you assume it was me?” There’s nothing more you want right now than for this stupid boy to forget his trousers and go back to bed. You’re quite aware of his schedule, and he has no plans till the afternoon where he’d be joining his sister and her friends for lunch, so there is no rhyme or reason why he needs to be up at the crack of dawn for whatever fucking reason he’s mustered up in his mind.

“Well, I wasn’t the one trying to take them off in a hurry.” You can literally hear the smirk in his voice. “Quite impressive, if I can say. Never seen you work that fast before—”

“Please, for the love of God…just shut up.”

So fucking peppy in the morning.

There’s a silence in return, and you hope that maybe, just maybe, he’d decided to spare you the extremely vigorous morning glory that he somehow manages to be without his coffee, and even you can barely hold a conversation with someone before noon.

“Babe?”

“It’s your fucking house, you ballsack—go to your closet and get a new fucking pair if you’re—”

“Babe, I think you’re lying on them.” There’s a gentle poke to your exposed shoulder, and then a second, and by the third you’re flinging the blanket dramatically off your body, and for the second time this morning, you open your eyes to see him standing in front of you, and his soft penis only some mere inches from your face.

“You know I love nothing more than having your flaccid dick in my face first thing in the morning.”

“That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me at half seven.”

The man before you, the same man whose balls you had in your mouth only some hours ago, lifts his hands beneath your waist, gently picking you up before snatching his underwear, and plopping you back down on the sheets. There have been worse ways he has woken you up from before the sun has fully graced the horizon, like a beastly snore in the ear or an obnoxious fart, so you know you’re better off with the cards you’ve been given today.

“It’s time to wake up, buttercup – seize the day, and all that.”

“If you say one more word, I am going to seize your face in my fucking pillow—”

It’s a low, breathless chuckle and a grumble of something along the lines of, “Moody li’le thing in the morning,” but you’re caught off guard when a lump of naked flesh falls dramatically down onto the bed, stirring you beneath the sheets. “Gonna wake up for me, love? Gonna stop being a grumpy gills and open your eyes?” He has this way about him, a perfect mixture of just the right amount of compassion and a complete and utter nuisance, that when stirred together just right, is all the fortitude you need to not up and leave him in his bed before his morningwood begins to dig into your thigh. Sometimes you can overlook his obnoxiously jovial early morning glee fest, and it makes days like this that much more tolerable.

“Just another hour, please.” He might be having a nice, joyous afternoon spent with his sister, but your agenda had been worked around specifically for the events that laid ahead.

Events that might have already gone over his head.

“Harry, seriously—”

“Don’t want’ya taking the train—don’t know why you even want to anyway—”

“It’s the only place where I can just sit and think, okay?” You can feel his breath – very much morning breath -  hit the back of your ear, and you can almost see the grimace aching behind his eyes, because despite the conversation the two of you shared the night before, you were quick to dodge his attention by a simple rummage around his bedside table for a condom.

You might’ve distracted him last night, but you have his full, devoted attention now.

“You gonna try and stop me, hm? Smuggle me into your gym bag and take me to lunch with Gem and her gal pals?”

“If I have to, yeah.” He’s lying, and you know it; he might be able to place his opinion on somethings, but he has no right to prevent you from your actions…but all he asked from you was to bring some form of protection. “How about you get your pretty, little bum dressed, and I will make us breakf—”

“Eggs on toast?”

You see the small crinkle grace his cheek, and just like that any trace of early morning irritation had all but begun to fade away.

“Eggs on toast…and some apple slices and OJ.”  You feel his hands fall under the covers and begin to gently pull away from your very much still warm and comforted body. At the most he could at least have brought you a t-shirt to slip into.

“But I don’t like football” And just like that, he got you back.

*

It’s amazing what a pair of sunglasses and a face clean of makeup can do.

It’s really not that often you find yourself out in the public eye without much as a curious glance your way, but today, you’re feeling hopeful. You sit in the corner of the train with an iced coffee in one hand, and a random book you snatched from Harry’s bookshelf in the other; you believe if the content doesn’t grab your attention, at least no one might pay you a nosy glimpse.

You listen in to conversations as they come go, and a part of you begins to envy a piece of every stranger who you’ve not given more than a subtle, quick glance to. Every person sharing this car with you have been unknowingly blessed with normalcy; they don’t have to hide themselves in public to avoid unwanted attention. You envy your past self for taking such times for granted, and you begin to panic that maybe your shit disguise is only bringing more attention to yourself.

“Why is she wearing sunglasses—we’re underground?”

“Could she have that book any closer to her face?”

“Maybe it wouldn’t be so close to her face if she didn’t have those sodding sunglasses on.”

A part of you rolls your eyes at your own remark. You signed up for this, dumbass.

You hear nothing of the sort, but it doesn’t stop that part of you being self-conscious and weary of the possible inquiries. Maybe you should have let Harry drive you—why do you always deny anytime he tries to do something nice and out of his way for you? You’re so selfish.

You think back on breakfast, and how he kissed your cheek before you left, sneaking in a granola bar into your purse in case you got hungry on your ride back, and you feel your heart swell.

“Text me when you get there, okay? You know I worry about yeh.”

Maybe you should stop giving him reasons to worry about you.

I could walk around with a bodyguard strapped to my chest and he would still worry about me.

Then maybe you should invest in that bodyguard for when you travel by yourself in a place where you could easily get spotted?—

SHUT UP.

You sit back, pulling out your headphones from your purse—of course they’re tangled—and you let the passersby quickly fade out into the mellow strumming’s of Landslide. Your mom loves this song, and you quickly swallow away a knot in your throat when you remind yourself that will soon be past tense.

*

“Fourth of July shirt?” Gemma inquires, smirking through the camera lens of her phone as her brother, with a tightly knit perplexity to his brows, glances down at his shirt.

“What do you me—” Oh.

“Feeling festive for your half-American girlfriend or summat?”

“Summat like that.” Harry admires the stars that adorn his top, and flicks his eyes back up to his sister with a glint in his eyes. What had actually happened, was the top he was supposed to wear today, you had snubbed from his closet the day before, so once you left for the train station earlier that morning, Harry had snatched the first thing he could find from his wardrobe before running out the door. “She said she’ll be back for drinks tonight. Went to see her mum for the afternoon.”

Gemma knows, but she doesn’t pry. A part of her understands all too well these days, so she just lightly nods her head and leans over to grab a slice of pizza.

“Well, she’s always welcome, obviously. I know mum misses her… You two should try and come out for the weekend if you can.”

“Maybe, yeah. Been filming a lot so it’s tough… And she’s doing a lot of festivals this summer. Leeds and Reading here soon.” He shrugs his shoulders with a small pout. “Maybe next weekend. We can take the train up in the morning—that’s if she will even go on a train again after today.”

“Was it bad?” There was an unexplainable tone to her voice that knows the answer well before her brother dares to even say it.

He hums. “Texted me she thought everyone was staring at her.”

“Well, wouldn’t surprise me any! Put that girl on a train and she’s surprised people were staring at her?”

“I asked her if she wanted me to drive up and get her, but she said it was okay—didn’t want to come in between our time today.”

“You know I wouldn’t mind—”

“That’s what I told her, but she persisted. Like she always does. Always persisting.” He takes a quick swig of his drink and runs a hand through his newly chopped hair. “She said she’d call if she changed her mind, but I doubt she will. Just said it to get off the phone.”

“Don’t take it to heart. It’s hard, you know?”

He shares a knowing glance with his sister and gives her a stern nod. Losing someone you loved was hard, but losing a parent surpassed that, and Harry and Gemma were closer everyday to understanding.

It was an hour later when Harry excused himself from the table, and made a quick dart for the door that Gemma caught a quick flash in her brothers eyes that made her stomach sink. For the duration of their lunch, she forced her smiles and faked her laughs, clinging tight to her phone until she felt the buzz that sunk her heart deeper in her chest.

It’s stage 4.

Harry returned some time later, carefully scooting back into his chair and, despite the ache in his gut, he smiled widely at his companions, but Gemma couldn’t look passed the daunting, pained expression forcing to sit and subside in her brother’s eyes. The same expression that screamed that he was in just as much pain as you were in right now.

“Think she is going to stay with her tonight – catch the train tomorrow morning.” He forced a smile in Gemma’s direction, and reached back out to grab his pint. “Might call it an early night for myself.”

*

When you were smaller, and a scrape to the knee sent you to the floor in tears, there was one woman, who with a single kiss, could take every last bit of pain away. Now, not a single thing in the world could make this better. The pain resonated deep, pulling and tugging at every nerve, and every scratch and stretch and swig only made that little bit of pain rush deeper and deeper until there were mornings every inch of your body pulsed and radiated with such anguish and torment, that not even the sun shining or the birds singing or the small of fresh brewed coffee could pull you from bed.

The pain was different now, but it all felt the same in your skin.

You try to remember every detail now, like how her eyes change colors with the seasons, and how she loves the smell of fresh mown grass, and how she can sit outside for hours on a sunny day with a book and a glass of iced tea, and all would be content in her world. You remember how it feels to hold her hand, and how she falls asleep beside you as you hum along to the Jewel discography playing over her stereo. You remember how she cries when she listens to you sing, her eyes welled up with so much love you feel it’s impossible to feel such a thing.

You remember how warm she feels, and the smell of her perfume, and how she kisses your cheek four times before finally letting go.

You remember how she reminds you to text her when you get back home, just like Harry does. You remember how she watches you walk down the driveway and out of sight from her place in the window, and with every step you take you pray to God that isn’t the last time you see her alive.

But you remember to tell her you love her, and you feel the knot in your throat stumble over your words, because God forbid this be the last time she ever hears you say it.

You pray to God that if you ever bear a child, they never have to succumb to such pain.

*

Later that day, after you stumbled back up the stairs of your shared home and found yourself crawling back into your sheets, it’s Harry who gently wakes you to share you the current events filtering through every news article.

You didn’t bother with your sunglasses, and that was your first mistake, but such subtle details like that didn’t fall through your mind as you go on your train home that morning. You sat in your corner, book in hand, but stared blankly at the pages as you reminded yourself, again and again, that your time was running up. There was this internal clock ticking, counting down to the day, and whenever that was, the world would stop, all would halt, and you would lose the very last person that you had.

You glance up at Harry, but he tilts his phone closer to your view, and that’s when you see it.

You aren’t surprised, but the shot still makes you sick.

There you are sat, hunched over in your seat, with the palms of your hands placed overtop your face as you weep heavy heaves into the sleeves of your jacket. The snapshot reminds you of the photo that went viral of the bride on the tube in the exact same position as you are, and you nearly stop yourself from laughing.

“It’s because I forgot my sunglasses,” you croak, barely reading over the text that the uploader added. “Did you really wake me up to show me this?”

He stares back down at the image, studying your stance, and without saying another word, locks his phone.

You keep quiet over the topic; it all exhausts you, and as much as Harry wants to protect you and hold your hand through this, he is quietly going through the exact same thing, and you don’t want to add gas to the fire.

But your silence is nothing but a headache to him.

He goes to stand back up, brushing a hand through his hair, and casually walks around to the other end of the bed where he plops himself down beside you, and sidles closer to scoot you nearer.

“Harry, I’m fine, you don’t ha—”

“Shh, will you? Just want to love on you some.” You could lie all you want, and he would let you, but he isn’t going to waste a second of his life ever believing it. “I made some lunch if you’re hungry. I’ll bring you up something if you want to chill here today. That’s okay.”

He placed a soft kiss behind your ear and nuzzled up to your neck, and it’s just like that you remind yourself to remember this love, because some heavy, disastrous storms were approaching, and this was the love that was going to stick with you until the rainbow comes.

#cancer mention #famous series #harry styles imagine #harry styles #one direction imagine #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #one direction fluff #one direction smut #tw cancer

[clockworkmoose]

I’ve only got so much brain-battery to put towards doing things, and this isn’t like, actual physical energy, just.. mental ability-to-want-to-do-shit-instead-of-sitting-like-a-depressed-lump energy. If I’ve got a high charge, it’s easy enough to spend some and do a fun thing, and then go to bed and by the morning it’ll be recharged up to full

but the farther down I drain that battery level, the harder and longer it takes to recharge. So doing something social with friends when I’m at high battery is fun! but doing something social with friends when I’m at low brain-energy will take longer to come back and it makes me wary because what if I get so low, I can’t recharge? And then the energy I spend just keeps draining away faster than it comes back, I can’t replace it fast enough and I have to sequester myself away for days just to regain the energy I spent in half a day.

And I’ve been really, really struggling the past 6-ish months, because I’ve got this one terrible, terrible chaotic employee. She started out not terrible when I hired her, but she’s been careening wildly off in a worse way over the past year, and then six-ish months ago I had to start giving her twice the hours and relying much more heavily on her, which put me in much closer proximity to her and right in the way of her chaos, and she is an absolute DRAIN. And just. Trying to distance myself from her doesn’t really work, it’s a really small business, I work very closely with my employees, and every day I see her, and even some I don’t but don’t worry! She’ll keep me updated via text or phonecalls! she just... absolutely sucks energy out of me and trying to avoid her has only somewhat worked! I can tell her straight to her face “stop telling me about your personal life” and she goes “oh, okay” and launches right into another story about how the red dots on her arm means she got AIDS from sleeping with a guy a decade ago, and the doctors are conspiring against her when they say she’s clean, and don’t I just agree with her that it’s terrible malpractice and immoral of them to hide something that important from her?

And starting when I gave her more hours, I could feel my brain battery energy just,, draining away because of her. It was kind of horrifying, in that vague-back-of-the-mind way of thinking about how my brain works, just watching myself actively WANTING to do things, WANTING to talk to people WANTING to sew and make things WANTING to go to social stuff with friends... and just being completely unable to force myself to actually do those things because I either hadn’t had the brain energy, or was so close to this chasm tipping point where I knew if I spent that last little bit of energy I’d absolutely fall into this place of being so low on energy it would take ages to recharge even the tiniest bit, so I was straight up avoiding doing anything at all except going home and basically curling up with app games or tv show reruns and doing nothing because I had to reserve those tiny shreds of energy I had left to be sapped away by this employee. Which was just making me fucking PISSED like why was I letting her lay claim to my brain battery, instead of letting me use it as I wanted??? But I didn’t really have a choice, because she WAS going to drain that energy, whether I wanted her to or not; I can’t just decide to not lose energy when she starts yapping at me, holy crap if I could have done that, it would have saved me so so many problems?

Until maybe two-three months ago, I actually hit that chasm tipping point and it’s been incredibly bad, like, even basic just “I should eat food” has been more energy than I’ve been able to spend, and even then at close to zero energy, employee was still sucking away the little bits I recharged every day, I was not getting better in any way at all, it’s been hell. Like, even though nothing actively BAD was happening, I just. Felt like everything was absolute hell, and felt all the worse for it because nothing was actually physically wrong, I wasn’t dealing with any specific issues or problems, I was just kind of cruising through life vaguely existing, which I think in part made me feel worse. There wasn’t actually anything WRONG, I just wasn’t doing things I would have liked to be doing. And it’s super easy to just say ‘well if you want to be doing something and you’re not doing it, that’s on you then, innit?’ and blame yourself for just being lazy, or making that choice to not do things for yourself. 

But I was in this place of NOT being able to make that choice for myself, I didn’t have the energy to make those kind of decisions and was just wallowing, and that’s really hard to explain and verbalize, especially to people who aren’t fighting with their adhd brains to just feel normal? It’s so angering to be sitting there thinking you want to do something but not being able to actually start doing it and just sitting there wondering why you’ve not started doing it yet because you want to... Like I can deal with this on a normal day when I have brain energy because I can recognize when my brain is doing that and do this hard reboot and reset, tell myself I’ll do something else instead until I find something my brain has the energy for, and then after I’ve started that thing, segue into the thing I’d actually wanted to do instead, but for months I just couldn’t recognize that my brain wasn’t working until after the fact looking back and wondering why I didn’t eat anything all day and realizing that I’d gotten stuck and didn’t even know and realizing that I’ve not been in control- and even recognizing that knowing that fact would do nothing for the next time, so fuck me!!!

But I finally got another person working for me, and rearranged the work schedule to minimize my contact with soul sucking employee, and after a month of this new schedule I’m feeling maybe 15-20% charge again? Like, enough that I’m starting to do things again, I’m finally out of that chasm, but barely, barely. This weekend I cleaned the living room! I’m working on two sewing projects! Well- one! I started one and hit a road bump and had to set it aside because troubleshooting it was going to take too much brain energy, so I started working on a different project instead and I’ll come back to the first once I’ve recharged a bit more!

But I’m still feeling so absolutely mentally fragile, I have to be gentle on my brain, and I’m afraid that just one more story from this employee about her shitstorm of a life or how she’ll be taking her case against this drunk-driver-sent-by-a-cult-to-assassinate-her all the way to the supreme court (as well as getting the lawyer who didn’t want to help disbarred for “failing to serve the good of the public” (????)) will be more than enough to shatter this little bit of progress back up I’ve made and send me back spiraling down.

But now that I mentally CAN do fun things like work on my galaxy quilt, I NEED to use some of this energy for myself, I have to do SOMETHING because I feel like if I don’t, I’m falling apart and losing myself completely, and not using the energy I have now will be as worse as saving it up and waiting for a full charge because there won’t be anything left of me if I wait any longer.

This month, I only had six days where I was physically in contact with this employee and only answered one phone call from her (misread her name and thought it was someone else; was upset at myself) and only replied to 2 out of her 76 (I counted) text messages. NONE of which contained info I actually needed to be informed about while I was out of work and off the clock.

So that’s good, now I know what kind of level I need to keep her at in order to regain my energy she stole.

But what’s not great is in the first two weeks of July, I’ve already got 5 days I will overlap with her and have to be in contact, and I’m straight up terrified of losing this tiny bit of progress I’ve made because I want to feel normal I want to be able to want to do something and then just... do it! Not sit there wanting to do something and being driven to tears because I can’t actually start doing it! It’s fucking terrible not having energy! And I hate it I hate it, I hate her for taking so much time an energy from me, and I can’t get rid of her, and am honestly thinking of getting rid of myself, finding a new job doing something else that is less relevant to my interests and sucks more energy--- because at this point, even a job I hate would probably take less energy than dealing with is employee does. But there’s just no stable steady jobs available, and I can’t responsibly plan on hopping from temp job to temp job assuming I’ll just ~have a paycheck each week~ because I’m the one currently supporting the house so that James can focus on finishing his dissertation this year and finally get his phd over and done with.

So I’m just hunkering down, recharging as much energy as I can now this week so that next week hopefully I’ll have the energy to lose again.

#moosemun

[wonderlustlucas]

dancing through our house - kim yugyeom

⇢ prompt Feet don’t dance like they did with you.—“ghost of you” by 5 seconds of summer ⇢ pairing yugyeom x female reader ⇢ word count 2.5k ⇢ genre some fluff, but mainly heavy angst ⇢ warnings main character death; descriptions of anxiety & depression ⇢ summary In which some things are impossible to forget. ⇢ a/n this be hella sad i think i cried the whole time writing this. listen to the song for optimum sadness. my friend read this earlier and told me to quote what she said sooo: BUT LIKE EVEN THOUGH IT HITS YOU AT THE CORE AND YOUR LIKE WOW THIS IS SO GOOD YOUR ALSO LIKE FUCK THIS AUTHOR CAUSE WOW IM CRYIN

“You’re too pretty for a shitty place like this,” you commented boldly; however, no trace of humor laced your tone and, casual as ever, you took a long gulp from your red plastic cup as Yugyeom leaned against the marble island, speechless because he was the one that spent hours planning for this moment. He was the one that had an insufferable crush on your pretty face from the moment he tumbled headfirst, literally, into your life. Days had rolled into weeks which rolled into months and he simply could never bottle up all his feelings and serve them as they were, “Today’s the day,” he told himself practically every morning, yet as soon as he marched into the lecture hall with the courage of an ex-One Direction fan slash current K-pop fan and found you so, so effortlessly beautiful amongst your circle of friends, his tail shot between his legs and, alas, “Tomorrow. Tomorrow’s the day.”

And so, when Yugyeom’s first ever university end of year party rolled around, BamBam, Jeongguk, and Mingyu thrust an absurd amount of shots down his esophagus and propelled him like a rocket to where you concocted some sort of drink, he was ready this time. He was going to grab the bull—no, not a bull, you’re too pretty to even be labeled as some sort of animal—by the horns and spill out every last ounce of his emotions until his lungs collapsed, whether you remembered him from the first day of freshman orientation nearly six months ago when he oh-so-gracefully smacked your iced coffee right out of your hands or not. He was here now, prepared to do whatever it took to sweep you off your feet, not vice versa.

“You didn’t give me a chance to get to the good part of this conversation,” Yugyeom grumbled, ruffling his hair with his hands, he saw—he saw your eyes follow the motion and his heart absolutely picked up to a detrimental rate. “Wait,” you smiled—or was that a smirk you were hiding?—and added an ungodly amount of rum to your cup, “I think this is where you’re finally going to tell me how you feel and I’d rather embarrass myself drunk than embarrass myself sober because, I’ll have you know, I nearly shit my pants every time I see you.”

Suddenly Yugyeom’s tongue was pulsing like a heart in his very dry mouth and he most definitely misheard you—right? “Is that a good shit, or a bad shit?”

You laughed, a sound so sickly sweet he fleetingly considered smashing his head through the wall until your answer blessed his ears, “Nah, it’s a good shit. I heard you were head over heels for me, or something like that, back in January and I thought you’d come talk to me but—ah, never mind. Needless to say, we were both dumb for not just speaking up.”

“Does this mean if I ask you on a date you won’t reject me?” Yugyeom let out a shaky laugh, mesmerized with the way your skin glowed under the kitchen’s dimmed lights, he fought the urge not to cup your face and instead opted for stepping closer, breathing in your rosy perfume and nearly losing his shit, when you responded with a bashful smile.

“Yeah,” you sighed, much more breathless than you’d like to be, “you don’t have to worry about that anytime soon. Unless, of course, you’re a total dickhead or a terrible kisser,” you snorted, a noise usually found unpleasant but Yugyeom wanted nothing more than to prove to the world no fresh-out-of-the-pussy puppy was cuter than you; however, his prize-winning grin faltered when you went on, “which by the way, I think we should totally test that out. You know, in case you are a terrible kisser and I have time to back out of this dating proposition.”

Yugyeom didn’t need to be asked twice and yanked you forward so quickly you yelped, but, the gentleman he is, steadied you against his chest and dipped down to kiss you without a single drop of hesitation. His lips found yours effortlessly, heart singing with joy when you gasped against his mouth but melted into his arms nevertheless, his tongue ran along the seam of your lips, and he could just barely taste a hint of Doritos cheese as—

The shrieking of his cellphone like an angry rattlesnake renders Yugyeom’s peaceful dreaming of the beginning of his relationship with you nearly 3 years ago cut short-lived, he lets out an aggravated groan, slapping around the mattress aimlessly for the device before pressing down on the off button to shut the annoying blaring off.

Brain still clouded with sleep, Yugyeom flips onto his stomach and sighs blissfully, stretching his arm out to the pillows on the left side in order to determine whether you’ve already left for work or not.

Upon feeling the icy touch of the sheets Yugyeom rolls over to your side, relishing in mornings like these: he’s home, you’ll be home soon, he can spend the rest of the day—the whole day!—with you. Cheek pressed against your pillows, Yugyeom inhales a hefty breath of your scent, filling his lungs and brain with the jasmine and vanilla perfume from your shampoo. He smiles into the coolness of the downy pillow, contemplating whether he wants to send you good morning meme until, like a shit ton of bricks dumped on his head, the weight of the world falling on his shoulders, the realization hits Yugyeom slowly, cruelly.

He realizes, upon impact, that whether he texted your phone or not—you won’t answer. He could text you a million times a minute, call you even, and you wouldn’t answer because you’re not here. Eyelids fluttering open within milliseconds, Yugyeom jerks away from your side of the bed with a choke, clawing the sheets as he flies from the bed, nearly crumbling to the floor but catching a grip against the windowsill. You’re gone.

Breathless and with your smell multiplying like cells in his senses, Yugyeom reaches for the closest thing—one of his pillows hanging lopsided off the mattress—and pelts it to the wall across from where he stands, heaving, watching with disappointment as it thumps against the brick lightly and, consequently, not unleashing any of his pent-up emotions. Your beautiful heart isn’t even beating.

But he knows if you were here, you’d tell him he would be just fine.

The red and black and white grain muddling Yugyeom’s vision begins to clear as he chokes on air, the briny taste of tears enters his mouth when he licks his chapped lips and when did he start crying?

Six feet underground. Like the past thirty-three days, Yugyeom blinks away the rest of his tears and waits until they’re dribbling down his cheeks to wipe them, he lets out a shaky breath and proceeds with his day, plucking up the pillow and setting it back on the bed like you would’ve asked him to.

When he leaves the bedroom and makes way for the kitchen, he winces at the eerie silence of the apartment aside from the incessant percussion of birds singing outside the living room window and occasional creaking of the attendants an apartment above and decides some Chris Brown could do. Swinging open the refrigerator door, Yugyeom sighs at what’s inside—or, better, there lack of—and decides, he really needs to go grocery shopping; a half-empty gallon of milk, three eggs left in the carton, what’s left of the sliced bread, and four bottles of soju that has turned into medicine to cure his headaches and panic attacks rather than a way to enjoy nights like he used to with you.

Despite the persistent growling from his gut, Yugyeom only reaches for the milk, sets it down on the counter and hums—he hums!—something so insignificant but something he hasn’t done since your accident as he reaches for the dishwasher and pulls the door open. His humming stops when he catches sight of your coffee cup inside, mauve lipstick stain faded even more from the day before and he knows if he wants it to stay he has to stop using it every morning, but a part of him cannot help but reach for it because it’s just another part of you.

His stomach churns and keeps churning and suddenly Yugyeom’s head is heavy and saliva is flooding his mouth and he’s burning hotter than the star that keeps our planet alive and he scrambles to the stainless steel and heaves into the sink, expelling everything from his belly, which, ultimately, is nothing. Yugyeom dry-heaves, once, twice, before inhaling a shuddering breath, drool dripping from his lips and down his chin until he hastily wipes it away. With his appetite stolen like a rug whipped away from beneath his feet, Yugyeom slams the dishwasher door closed, the contents angrily rattling inside, and leaves the milk on the counter for he could not give less of a shit.

A cold shower fixes everything, love, you would say, the cold-shower freak yourself, he nods to himself, a cold shower will do, Yugyeom makes way for the bathroom and strips from his clothes that seem to stick to his sweaty body, twists the shower knob just slightly so the stream is at its coldest possible temperature before whipping aside the curtain and stepping inside. Yugyeom shudders at the contact of water against his skin, goosebumps spreading across his body head to toe and he presses himself against the wall, shivers wracking his body, squeezing his eyes tighttighttightuntil it all goes away, until he’s numb, until your standing beside him again.

His body, at some point, numbs to the frigid water and he finally backs away from the wall to stand underneath the shower head, running his hands through his raven hair, rubbing the crust away from his eyes, washing up quickly and using your body cleanser instead of his own. When Yugyeom’s finished, he dries off quickly and wraps the towel low on his hip, but frowns when he enters your bedroom because you’re not there to tell him how hot he is and how lucky you are, in which he would tackle your cute ass and smother your face in kisses, which, eventually, lead to his towel on the floor and your clothes dropped next to it.

A dinging notification from Yugyeom’s phone still buried beneath his pillows snaps him back to reality and he wanders over, scrolling through his notifications from the newest to the oldest.

DabDab🤮– 1:42 PM Hey bud. Hope ur getting there. Call me

Missed Call from DabDab🤮 – 11:23 AM

Missed Call from 🅱️eon 🅱️eongguk – 10:14 AM

Yugyeom sighs—he knows he should be grateful his friends care, but he simply does not care enough for himself to constantly answer their nagging questions. He contemplates ignoring it, he could shove the device back under the pillows and answer it tomorrow like he usually does, but he’s gone three days without talking to one of them and so, guilt makes up his mind and he’s tapping away until BamBam’s voice disturbs the deadened ambiance Yugyeom’s created in your bedroom.

“Hey! You called,” BamBam’s voice fills the hair, Yugyeom can almost see the smile, and falls back onto the mattress.

“I called.”

“I know you don’t want to talk, which I understand. But I want you to do me a favor,” BamBam goes on, Yugyeom pinches the bridge of his nose, biting back a sharp retort, “I want you to use that damn well-spent studio the two of you have in your apartment and freestyle. Just an hour. I know you were coming up for a choreo to something, I don’t know, but go do that.”

Yugyeom pauses, considering the idea, but shuts it down quickly because he does not want to do anything but lie here, “I can’t. Not today.”

“Yugyeom, you’ve said that to everything. I know you’re not doing anything, and I don’t blame you. But if there’s one thing you still have and love, that’s dancing. And I’m not arguing with you over this. Please, just do this. For me.”

Yugyeom hears the crack in his best friend’s voice, he can feel the pain through the phone, another ache to add to his poor heart, “I can’t go in that room without her, Bam.”

“You’ve had dance before you had ___, Yugyeom. You shared dance with her, you grew with her from it. You can do it without her. Do it for her, she’d be proud. Okay?”

Yugyeom swallows the lump in his throat, the tears threatening to spill from his burning eyes and his bottom lip trembles, “Okay.”

“Okay. Don’t say okay again, I’m not Augustus Waters,” BamBam chuckles, sniffling on his line and Yugyeom knows he’s crying too but manages to crack a smile, “okay. Fuck! I said it again. Alright, go dance your heart out for a little and take care of yourself. Also, don’t be a stranger. Please.”

Yugyeom nods, digging his knuckle into his eye to stop the tears, he croaks out, “Okay. Thanks, man. See you.”

He hangs up a moment later to let the tears spill freely.

An hour later, Yugyeom stands in the doorway of his—your—dance room, glaring questioningly at the mirrored walls around him, his pitiful reflection staring back at him. Do it for you, he tells himself, stepping inside and clicking the door shut behind him.

Yugyeom stretches his tense muscles, avoiding looking at himself in the mirror in fear he’ll back out or conjure up a mental image of your bruised and bloodied body in the hospital, he mustn’t think about it or else it’ll only get worse. He scrolls through his downloaded songs, zoned in on something other than you for the first time in weeks, going back and forth between a few options before caving in to another Chris Brown bop he cannot get away from.

Just like before, Yugyeom tells himself after his first slip-up, swinging his leg too far to the side and so he begins again, carrying himself with utmost grace and sharp, fluid movements but he shakes his head a minute and a half in—not good enough. “One, two, three, four,” he whispers to himself, starting from the top for the seventh time, he glides and twists and pulls and—

And he blanks hardly thirty seconds in, pausing, staring into his reflection, shuddering for oxygen, long hair tousled from the quick movements, limbs screaming at the sudden usage, and he can’t wrap his mind around what follows next.

“I can’t do it,” Yugyeom says to no one in particular, balling his fists at his sides before collapsing onto the smooth laminate, he looks to the corner of the room and if he squints hard enough, he can imagine you standing there, telling him he can do it, but his tears blur his vision so he buries his head between his knees, “I can’t do it without you.”

And Yugyeom cries for the thirty-third day, for his feet don’t dance like they used to with you.

#got7 #jaebum #jb #jackson #mark #jinyoung #youngjae #bambam #yugyeom #got7 yugyeom #yugyeom x reader #yugyeom angst #got7 angst #yugyeom fluff #got7 fluff #kim yugyeom #got7 kim yugyeom #got7 scenarios #yugyeom scenarios #yugyeom reactions #5 seconds of summer #ghost of you #5sos #5sos ghost of you #5 seconds of summer ghost of you #youngblood #5sos youngblood #5 seconds of summer youngblood #lyrics #ghost of you lyrics

[phan-of-the-pen]

I Dare To Stay: Chapter 20

we made it to 20 boys!! this one isn’t as sad, but it’s very bittersweet

Tags for chapter: angst, brief mentions of depression/mental health issues, minor fluff (it gets better at the end), lots of cursing, so many f bombs

Words for chapter: ~3 k

Fic Summary: Dan Howell is a barista working a shitty job, frequenting his shitty apartment, and living a shitty existence, hiding his asexuality and going for a PHD in self-depreciation and depression. Phil Lester is a part-time intern, part-time employee at a local weather station, trying to get experience in his field and make a name for himself, while juggling a second job at the nearby Tesco’s to give him some financial breathing room. Their paths were never supposed to meet, but what happens when they do anyways, one rainy day in Manchester?

(ao3!)

<– Previous chapter Next chapter -->

~~~~~~~~~~

Dan doesn't see Phil the first day he gets back from London.

In fact, Dan doesn't see Phil until the third day he's back in Manchester.

As damning as it might sound, not all of the blame was on Phil, but it was mostly all on Dan. Dan had taken three days to destruct during the week that Phil had been away, and all 72 hours were pure hell. And after Dan managed to pull himself from his sheets enough to try and be a person, Dan threw himself into his work. When he needed some sort of explanation for his behavior, he had used the flimsy excuse of needing to make up for the three work shifts he missed.

They had both asked after him during those three days where he disappeared with no explanation, and when Dan only returned horribly drawn into himself and not acting normal, they had grown even more concerned. Dan couldn't remember when he had last received so many texts in such a short time.

When Phil had initially gotten back it was late at night, and even though Dan had been awake when Phil had texted him, he hadn't responded. The next day Phil had called him, telling Dan that he had a loonngg shift at the weather station. However, he still wanted to try and see Dan because it had been ages since they had last had some down time together.

Dan had nearly bitten his tongue off to keep himself from dropping a damaging, smartass comment about how little he had seen of his boyfriend and that spending this much time apart was basically normal.

He knew that Phil was trying. He didn't deserve something like that.

It was Dan, however, to shut down the possibility of them meeting that day. Dan still wasn't feeling normal, and he knew that he looked like a hot, depressed mess. He not only didn't want Phil to see him like this, but he also didn't want to have to try and pretend. Dan knew that if they saw each other their time would be extremely limited between both of their work schedules that day, and Dan was well aware of how not okay he was. If he saw Phil he would act even less normal because of all of the reasons why Dan was hurting inside, and they didn't have the time right now to try and work through it all.

So even though it cut something inside of him to hear the fall of Phil's voice at Dan's rejection, Dan stood by his decision.

That shift seemed extra long, and it wasn't because Dan was working a double.

The next day Dan gave Phil a similar reason. The third one—the day they finally saw each other—was only the fateful day because Phil had shown up to Dan's door. Dan had opened it, not really knowing who would be behind the door, but he had been puzzled to find Phil standing there. He was a bit disheveled and his eyebrows drawn together in concern; the lines those eyebrows made only grew deeper the moment that Phil saw Dan.

When he saw Phil, a part of Dan that he wasn't proud of wanted to find any excuse he could to run or hide because he didn't feel anywhere close to being able to handle this. Instead, he only opened the door wide enough for Phil to pass through, and led him into the lounge where they stood, five feet apart physically and even more in every other way that mattered.

Dan resisted the urge to squirm as Phil raked his eyes over Dan's frame. Dan had no doubts that he noticed the rumpled clothes, messy hair, his slightly thinner frame from not properly eating, and the deep eye bags from a lack of sleep.

"Dan…" Phil breathed, like it was the only word he could manage.

"I'm sorry."

"What are you apologizing for?"

"Pulling away from you when you got back. I know I shouldn't have shut you out like that, and I know you wanted to see me. I wanted to see you too, but just…"

"Just?" Phil asked after Dan trailed off and didn't continue his sentence.

"...not like this."

Phil's face softened, and he took a few steps forward to close the physical distance between them. He took Dan's hand into his after a moment.

"Dan, there won't ever be a time when I don't want to see you. And when you're in a bad place I only want to be here more to help you."

Dan looked down.

You say this now. You don't know how bad it gets.

"This has to do with you going M.I.A. last week, doesn't it? Dan," Phil said, his voice soft as can be, "what happened to you while I was gone? I want to help, but...but you need to let me in."

Two sides in a bitter war rapidly formed in Dan's head. One was melting at Phil's words and swelling with the notion that Phil cared about him this much. The other was taking advantage of Dan's post-depressive-episode emotional state and rising with a terrible anger at Phil trying to talk about letting people in. Dan wasn't proud at how fast that darker side of him took over.

"You can't really talk about letting people in when all you've been doing for the past month is shutting me out." Dan bit back before he could even try and control his words. His hand slipped out of Phil's, and the part of Dan that didn't want to get angry screamed that this was going to manifest into one of Dan's many regrets if Dan kept acting like an asshole.

Phil looked confused for half of a second, but his expression immediately became guilty.

"Dan, I know we haven't been spending a lot of time together lately, but it's just been work stuff, and I-"

"Oh, like how over a month ago whatever the hell you had on your phone was only a change in schedule? Yeah, no offense but I'm calling bullshit."

Dan had no idea where he was getting the anger or the energy for this. He had been so, so drained this whole week, and now his body decided to kick into high gear?

Phil's eyebrows crinkled once again, but this wasn't him being concerned. This was him stifling his anger. For some reason, that only made Dan madder.

"What are you talking about?"

Dan laughed. "What am I talking about? Do you remember that movie night we had, and I took care of our trash. When I came back in you were on your phone, reading something, but you were so upset. You looked like you were going to throw your phone—and I'm sorry I was concerned about you—but I asked you what was up, and you lied to me."

Phil huffed, and Dan watched agitation blossom in his eyes.

"What, should I come to you whenever I get any notification now? Dan, that's like, three red flags of what should not be in a relationship."

Dan ran his hands through his hair, groaning.

"No, I don't care what the hell you get on your phone. What I care about is that you fucking lied to my fucking face! That's the kind of shit my parents pulled all the damn time, and fuck, I can't stand when people fucking lie to me!"

"Is this why you look like you've been through the war? Have you been upset about this this whole time? I mean, Dan, I never meant-"

Dan knew that this anger was his hyperactive depression taking the wheel and trying it's hardest to fuck up anything good in his life, but he felt powerless to stop it. He was spitting out words faster than his brain could try and regulate them.

"Uh, yeah, I've been sitting here for the past month trying to figure out why the hell my boyfriend lied to me and feels that he can't fucking trust me, but if you think that it's the only reason that I look like fucking shit then you are sorely wrong." Dan took a step forward, some sort of dam inside of him having been smashed to smithereens. "I spent the the first two weeks of this year wondering why you were only pulling further and further away from me. I barely saw you, and when I did, it was for such a little amount of time. You dropped everything once your phone rang, but you didn't even bother to answer half of my texts."

Dan turned away and started to pace. He needed a way to get rid of all of this sudden energy that he had.

"I spent the whole week before you left slipping into depression, and slowly getting stuck inside my head." "You could have told me, I-"

"Don't even try and put this on me because you also could have done a lot too. And can you really blame me for thinking that you didn't want me to bother you? It's not like you seemed like you wanted anything to do with me."

Phil recoiled like he had been physically hit with Dan's words.

"And when you left, god, it was just in time for me to fall apart completely. I spent three fucking days in bed thinking about how lonely I am and how the only two people in this world that I care about are moving on without me and how I'm going to end up alone. And Phil that's not your fault, but the reason why I look like I've been through the war is because I fucking have been. You don't get to try and berate me for pushing you out when that's all you've been doing to me for the past fucking month."

Dan took a breath, clenching his fists and blew out the air in his lungs shakily.

God, I really need to calm the fuck down…

A minute passed in complete silence while Dan gathered himself and tried to dampen the flames of anger inside of him.

When he started talking again, his voice was at a normal volume.

"I've been hurting so bad. I know I could have told you, but you also could have noticed. I'm upset that you lied to me. I'm upset that you shut me out and flat out ignored me at times. I'm upset that you didn't feel like you could trust me. I know I should have told you sooner, but I didn't want to spoil the holidays, and then you slipped away from me so quickly. I haven't exactly had the chance, and I'm sorry I let it blow up to this. I'm really sorry I just like, screamed at you, but fuck, it felt good to let it all out."

Dan slumped against his couch. The anger that had engulfed him had been sudden and complete, and it was gone as fast as it had arrived.

It was quiet for a moment...five...ten…

"The station isn't getting enough views anymore, and they can't keep losing money. The owners are dissolving the company to cut their losses, and the last broadcast is at the end of the month. I knew the owners really well so they've endorsed me to a few other stations, but none of them would be based around here, and I'd have to move." Phil said, quietly, his gaze on his feet. "I've been trying all of the other local weather stations to try and get a job, but none of them are hiring, even after calling in some favors and dropping a few names. I didn't want to tell you until I knew what I was doing."

Dan's jaw dropped at the words, horror seeping into his bones.

"I…" Dan trailed off, not even knowing where to start. The attention to his phone, the never-ending phone calls, the constant long hours and appointments, they all fell into place and made much more sense than any half-baked explanation Dan had tried to come up with.

And god did Dan feel guilty. Phil had been dealing with all of this for so long, and he had undoubtedly been anxious and stressed over it, and what had Dan done? He had gotten worked up over the fact that he was missing a bit of attention, let it fuck with his head, and he had just fucking exploded at Phil for no good reason.

"I'm so fucking sorry," Dan breathed, and his voice sounded guilty, tight, and overwhelmed, "I didn't know, and I shouldn't have-"

"Exactly, Dan, that's exactly my point." Phil interrupted, tangling his fingers through Dan's. "I didn't tell you because I was scared and selfish and I didn't want to admit that something like this was happening. I didn't think about how this would affect you, and now that my head isn't up my own arse I'm sorry that I put you through that. I'm sorry I lied to you, and I'm sorry I kept pulling away from you." Phil laughed a little. "I was so worried about protecting you from the stress I was going through that I didn't even see how my actions were affecting you."

They both fell quiet, and that silent moment with nothing but Phil's thumb rolling over Dan's knuckles was exactly what Dan needed to collect himself.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you. I know I already said that, but even if you were a bit of a jerk you didn't deserve it."

"I kind of did."

"No, you really didn't. Normally I'm better at handling things like that, but I guess I'm worn pretty thin to the bone right now. It's no excuse, but…"

Phil squeezed his hand.

"It's alright. I promise I won't ever try and keep something like this from you. I learned my lesson, trust me."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"If the station is going under, why did they send you to that old guy? I would have thought that they would try and keep all the money they could."

"Normally, yeah. The owners and I know each other really well though. They're friends of my parents and I grew up around them. When it was clear that the station wasn't going to survive, they wanted to give me all they could for me to make it somewhere else as a meteorologist. So they convinced their old colleague to mentor me for a week."

Dan hummed in response, thinking. There was one other question he wanted to ask, but he was afraid of the answer.

He decided to ask it anyways.

Being afraid had been what had gotten them into this mess in the first place.

"Have you decided where you want to go yet?"

Phil sighed, his shoulders sagging under an invisible weight.

"No. The few places I was recommended to are too far for me to commute to, like I said, and I tried every local station I could."

"So what are you thinking of doing?"

Phil bit his lip.

"Nothing I guess. Keep trying, maybe hope that a local station gets an opening, but other than that...I don't think I can really do that much."

"Wait a minute, Phil, you're just giving up? You can't do that, meteorology is your dream! You have a freaking degree in it, you've worked so hard to get where you are, and you're just going to throw it out the window?"

"Don't you think I know that? I just…" Phil squeezed Dan's hand, and Dan's eye widened as he caught all of the words Phil was trying to convey to him without speaking.

"Phil, you can't give up on your dream just because of me."

"I wouldn't say I'm giving up on it, more like...pressing pause?"

"Phil."

"Okay, fine, you caught me, I'm not pursuing any of the other stations in the cities because I'd have to move away from you, and I don't think I could do that."

Dan pulled Phil down with him onto the couch. They instinctively curled around each other, each of their bodies bending in the direction of the other.

"You can't sacrifice your career for me. I won't let you."

Phil only continued to play with Dan's hand in his, not quite ignoring Dan's gaze, but not meeting it either.

"Phil."

He looked up, and Dan tried to smile to reassure him.

"Listen, if you want to pursue your dream of being a top meteorologist, then I'll stand by you, even if that means that you have to move across the country. You're special to me, Philip Lester, and I'm willing to sacrifice a little cuddle time to see you happy and doing what you love. Besides, we can always visit each other."

"Dan, we both know you can't really afford a lot of trips places, especially if they're far."

Dan shrugged.

"A few doubles never hurt anyone." 

"Dan, you already work way too much, there's no way I'm letting you work more just for me." 

"Shhh," Dan interrupted. The stress of trying to come up with the money to visit Phil regularly would bear down on him later, but Dan didn't want to think about it right now. Right now he was so, so fond of this man in front of him. This man who knew that something like this would stress Dan out of his mind, and tried—even if he went about it the wrong way—to relieve that stress.

Relationships needed effort from both sides to work, and sometimes that effort wasn't quite equal. Right now, Dan needed to put in a little more effort, and that was okay. He could do it. He wanted to do it. He wanted to fight for this beautiful, incredible, amazing thing in his life.

"We'll get through this, alright? You don't have to worry; I'm not going anywhere."

Phil's frame relaxed at Dan's words, and relief oozed from him. He let his hand cup Dan's head and gently pulled him into a kiss.

"Thank you."

#my fics #allyssaTM #dan howell #phil lester #phanfic #phan #phanfiction #au #minor fluff #angst #so much cursing oh my god #they're finally talking boys #also we made it to 20 chapters! #i dare you to stay #i dare you to stay: chapter 20 #idyts #chaptered

[laisselfreemaiden]

Grandmother’s Ring p.2

Pairing: I have it decided but ;)

Warnings: Cursing and...idk honestly I forget. Is genderneutral friend a warning?? Idk probably not oops

Summary: Your grandmother left you a silver ring. What happens when you find a new world after it’s yours?

A/n: I have a genderneutral friend for you in here, but if I missed a they/them in there please let me know, I’ve never used those for a single character before so it’s weird for me to get used to ^^; and I made your interactions and nicknames like how I talk to my friends so sorry!

    You wake up ten minutes before your alarm goes off, making you groan and roll over with your face in your pillow. You have no idea what could have woken you up, but something had. And it feels horrible because you were in the middle of a good dream, too. Rubbing your eyes, you decide to just get up for work. You shut off your alarm, put on your black pants and off-white t-shirt, then grab your bag and head out the door. You say goodbye to your cat, scratching behind her ears, then lock the door behind you. Your best friend is waiting outside in his car for you, texting on his phone as you slam the door shut.

    “Who you texting?” You lean over his shoulder with a grin, seeing “Beautiful<3” in the chat.

    “Just Mac. Ready to serve coffee and candy to people for like...five hours?”

    Your eyes roll. “How are they, anyway? And no, it’s gonna suck ass, but at least I get good enough tips.”

    He smiles and starts driving to the cafe you work at. Mac and Jace have been your friends since middle school and you are definitely their biggest cheerleader when it came to their relationship. Mac is a huge sweetie, but they’ll kick ass if anyone messes with you or their boyfriend. They may be a shorty, but they are absolutely your bodyguard.

    You thank Jace for the ride and head inside, seeing Mac already handing out different coffees and chocolates to a small family. They shoot you a smile and wink as they put the money in the register.

    “Hey, baby girl, ready to work for your living?”

    “No,” you laugh softly as you wrap an arm over their shoulders. “But it can’t be so bad if you’re here.”

    Mac laughs softly at that, then pats your shoulder gently. “I’m glad to see you’re back to normal.”

    It’s been two days since the funeral, four since your grandmother passed, and almost a week of you being in a depressive slump. You’re not sure what had broken it, maybe having some of her things have helped. Like her ring. It’s an oddly comfortable weight against your chest.

    “Yo, you feel okay, babes?” Mac nudges your arm, then snaps next to your ear.

    You jump on instinct. “Ah! Um, s-sorry, I guess I spaced out.”

    They smirk. “Thinkin’ about a booooy~?” The teasing lilt in their voice doesn’t go unnoticed. “Aw, did he even get you a ring?” 

    When they reach for it, you playfully swat at their hands. They pout and whimper, cradling their hand like you’d actually hit them.

    “Hey! I have paper skin!” You know that’s a joke, so you shoot back at them.

    You roll your eyes. “Yeah, just as thin as your lies, isn’t it?”

    They grin at you, leaning against the counter as you start making orders. “So? Where’s the ring from?”

    “Apparently,” you hand off a latte and make change real quick, “my grandmother had it hidden away for me. Weird note, too, she played a pronoun game.”

    “So...you’re either gonna meet a mentor or horrible evil villain. Can I tag along?” They laugh softly again.

    “Yeah...I also knocked myself out, too, and woke up in a weird place. Really pretty, like something out of National Geographic.”

    They whistle lowly. “Trippy. Sure it wasn’t just a dream?”

    You shrug. “Something hit my head and I still have a bruise. Though maybe that’s from hitting the floor.”

    “And no concussion? Maybe it’s a lucky ring!” Their mouth forms an ‘o’.

    “I don’t believe in luck or magic like that, remember?” You playfully flick them, earning a laugh.

    “Cuz you’re boring!”

    “Hey!” Your manager snaps. “Maybe try working instead of chatting!”

    “Sorry,” you both say in unison.

    “Regardless,” they say as you both start working the machines. “It’s a beautiful ring.”

    “Yeah, thanks, Mac ‘n’ Cheese.”

    You and Mac work for about two or three hours until your break, when the both of you went outside to wait for Jace to pick you up for food. Well, he’d pick up food and bring it to you both. That’s his assigned job, according to Mac. He doesn’t seem to mind, though, since that means he can sneak food from your bags while he drives.

    When he steps out with two bags of food, Mac grabs their favorite before pecking his cheek. You smile. They really are cute together.

    “So, my two amigos,” Jace says casually as all of you sit on the steps, “who’s excited for the extended weekend tomorrow?”

    “Extended?” You tilt your head curiously. Why didn’t you know about this?

    Mac makes a noise around a mouthful of food. Then they mumble something with sporadic hand gestures and acting like you could understand them. You blink a few times before looking at Jace.

    He chuckles, ruffling their hair gently. “Boss called Mac last night and said that since Monday was a holiday, you guys could just take off the weekend and Monday.”

    You shake your head. “Nah, man, I gotta work Monday, or else my mom will find out and I’ll have to do God knows what.”

    “But we were gonna do Three Amigos shit!” Mac cries out after swallowing.

    “Sorry, babes, I can’t.” You say with a sigh. “You know how she is.”

    “She just cares about you, Y/n.” Jace leans back slightly. “When your dad just...disappeared, you know she basically only had you. And you only have her.”

    You get up and throw your trash away before heading back inside. “No. I have you guys. And I had my grandmother.”

    Monday has been the second worse day of your life. You flop face first on your bed and scream into a pillow. Not only was your manager an absolute dickhead, some idiot let their child sit on the counter and then the child almost threw their hot coffee at you. So, your work shirt is ruined, your head is pounding, and you really, really wish that you could fall asleep and wake up somewhere different. Anywhere different. You’d even take The Hunger Games at this point.

    Rolling onto your back, you feel the cold metal of the ring slide from your neck to rest above your shoulder. You hadn’t even noticed its weight all day. You close your eyes just to rest a few minutes. Just a few. Didn’t you deserve that? 

    When something whispers around you, you groan, wondering if Mac and Jace had let themselves in again. You keep your eyes closed, seeing if you can gauge where the voice is whispering from, but you can’t. It seems to be almost everywhere but nowhere near you. So, you sit up, wondering if you’d summoned a demon or ghost at any point in your life at this apartment. Nothing. The whispers haven’t stopped yet, though, but the voices seem to be coming...from the ring and your closet, which sunlight seems to be streaming from.

    “What the hell...I have to be losing it, right?” You mutter to yourself, getting up to walk closer. May be a stupid thing to do, but your closet is literally glowing by now.

    You put your hand into a beam of light. It’s warm, a stark contrast to the world outside and your apartment. If the landlord would turn up the damn heat.

    “If this takes me to Narnia, I’m gonna flip my shit,” you mutter, opening your closet and covering your eyes before the light could blind you.

    When you open your eyes, you’re greeted by green grass and warm sunlight. Your changed hair is in a loose braid and your clothes are slightly different, but you know it’s the same place. The smell of coffee is still on your skin and hair, but it’s almost completely masked by the pure smell of the world around you. No polluted air from factories, no global warming. It’s just...perfect.

    Taking a deep breath, you find yourself on the hill overlooking the town of curly haired people. You quickly made your way down, only to find that the tallest are nearly a head shorter than you, and you’re not really that tall. Their feet are bare and fuzzy and their faces are merry, but a bit dirty. Their clothes are bright as well.

    “No way…” you mutter before running to see if what you think is real.

    You stop abruptly at the sight of a curly haired man in a yellow vest smoking a pipe. He looks at you in surprise as the need to fix your outfit grows.

    “Good morning,” he says politely. “Can I help you, miss?”

    “Umm…” you trail off as you pretend you aren’t having an existential crisis. “C-can you...tell me where I am?”

    Bilbo gives you a confused look. “The Shire. Bag-End, to be precise. Are you alright? You look flushed.”

    Not willing to admit you believe you’ve probably died, you nod and squeak out, “I’m fine.”

    He taps his pipe with his index finger as he wiggles his nose in thought. “Well...I was just about to make some tea. Would you...like to join me? It might settle your nerves.”

    Tea with a hobbit. Not just any hobbit, either. The one and only Bilbo Baggins of Bag-End, who finds the One Ring and goes on incredible journeys and is one of your favorite characters, mostly because of his sarcasm and how he’d rather stay home than go out.

     You follow him in and you just fit under his lights, which surprises you. Maybe the magic also made you shrink a little. Honestly, you have no idea what the rules of this world are really.

    “Please, sit. What kind of cake is your favorite? I will see if I have any.”

    You blank for a moment, blinking a few times before you snap to your senses. “Oh! Ah, yes, um...if you have...um, any strawberry cake?”

    He smiles, nodding. “Lucky you, I went a bought a few today at the market.” He then disappears into his larder room.

    You slump down in your chair, sighing heavily as you try to grasp everything that’s happening.

    Let’s start from the beginning. One, you got your grandmother’s silver ring. Two, you went home after work. Three, your closet was glowing and you walked through. Which probably was stupid in theory. What if it had just been a really bright light? That would’ve been a prank Mac would pull on you. Four, you somehow have made your way into MIDDLE EARTH OF ALL PLACES from that closet. Has it always been there?

    Come to think of it...all these crazy things only started when you got the ring.

    You sit up more as Bilbo comes back with a tray of tea and cakes. You’d have to think more about this later. Up until you saw the cakes, you didn’t realize how hungry you are.

    You’ll think more about this with a full stomach.

#the hobbit #the hobbit x reader #x reader #lotr #lord of the rings #bilbo baggins #Grandmother's ring #this is gonna be fun #and a hell of a ride

[agustdomain]

85 statements

tagged by the lovely @evangelene

This seems fun and I also need to stop slacking with everything you tag me in, so here goes nothing. 

rules: answer these 85 statements about yourself, then tag 20 people.

Well, I don’t really talk to 20 people on here... I tag: @wtf-taeyong @starlightyukhei (ik, ik, we just talked for like two seconds but you’re cool) and @xdailysunshine-x. I decided three’s a crowd! If anyone else wants to do it, please do. I couldn’t even think of more than three people to tag, let alone 20 so...

last

1. drink- Water. Because I’m boring... haha no, I was just thirsty and my bottle of water has been sitting there begging to be finished.

2. phone call- my mama. She wanted to ask about this class I’m taking.

3. text message- asking my friend when they’ll be coming home.

4. song you listened to- Magic Shop by BTS. 

5. time you cried- this past Thursday because it was a special day, and my emotions randomly decided to make an appearance. It was happy crying though.

ever

6. dated someone twice- hahahahaha no. And I don’t ever intend to, because just thinking about that makes me cringe.

7. kissed someone and regretted it- No. I believe that this hasn’t happened to me yet, thankfully.

8. been cheated on- In technicalities, no. But if I reflect on it hard enough, I most likely was cheated on at the time. That sounds ridiculous yikes...

9. lost someone special- yup.

10. been depressed- yes.

11. gotten drunk and thrown up- No I have not. And I don’t plan to. I don’t like drinking. Alas, my friends happen to like it though so guess who’s the designated mom!!

fave colors

12. Navy Blue

13. Green

14. Gray (if this counts as a color...)

in the last year have you...

15. made new friends - Of course! I love every single one of them!

16. fallen out of love - Haven’t been in love yet. Thought I was, but I don’t think so anymore.

17. laughed until you cried - yes and it’s great!

18. found out someone was talking about you - Of course. 

19. met someone who changed you - Without a doubt, yes. And in the best way possible.

20. found out who your friends are - Constantly. Sometimes it surprises you, but mostly I’m grateful.

21. kissed someone on your facebook friends list - No. I don’t use facebook haha.

general

22. how many of your facebook friends do you know irl - Still don’t use facebook but I’d like to kickstart that back up within this year.

23. do you have any pets - No ): I want a puppy though!

24. do you want to change your name - No.

25. what did you do for your last birthday - I went out to dinner with my family and my best friend- she’s family though too so ig I just went out to dinner with the fam. 

26. what time did you wake up today - I think either 9:45 am or 10:45 am. I don’t remember hah.

27. what were you doing at midnight last night - writing!!

28. what is something you can’t wait for - a party I’m throwing!

30. what are you listening to right now - just hit shuffle on my playlist. It started off with Privilege by The Weeknd. THIS SONG HAUNTS ME WHEREVER I GO. I love it though. It’s my favorite song by him and it also helps me write a lot of angst so...

31. have you ever talked to a person named tom - I know a Tommy. But no Toms.

32. something that’s getting on your nerves - mmm... nothing at the moment. Maybe the fact that I get sick so easily?

33. most visited website - YouTube and Tumblr for sure

34. hair colour - dark brown

35. long or short hair - I prefer having short hair but it’s kind of long right now. I want to get it cut short before my party next weekend. 

36. do you have a crush on someone - where do I start? Yes and I hope it goes away soon because I can barely hold eye contact with him without remembering how I embarrassed myself in front of him. I also have a crush on Tom Holland that is particularly poking at me these days.

37. what do you like about yourself - That I am passionate about what I love, and don’t let anyone change or ruin that.

38. want any piercings? - I want more piercings on my ear. 

39. blood type -  is it bad that I don’t know...

40. nicknames - Moon, Angel, Myannaise, Angelo

41. relationship status - single but heart is occupied haha

42. zodiac - Aries

43. pronouns - She/Her

44. fave tv shows - Friends, This is Us, The 100, The Office

45. tattoos - none

46. right or left handed - Leftie! I’m a southpaw woot woot

47. ever had surgery - Yes! only one though.

48. piercings - Used to have five. Now I have three lol.

49. sport -  To watch? Football and Boxing. To playing? Shoot... Swimming I guess.

50. vacation - atm, yes I’m at the beginning of one.

51. trainers - yeah idk what this means

more general

52. eating - here and there

53. drinking - water still.

54. i’m about to watch -  a jungkook v live or The Challenge.

55. waiting for - Oz to come home.

56. want - to see BTS in concert. Oh, and to make sure I don’t really see my ex during the summer but knowing that it’s inevitable.

57. get married - later.

58. career - in the process of pursuing.

which is better

59. hugs or kisses - atm, I like hugs.

60. lips or eyes - eyes for sure.

61. shorter or taller - Doesn’t matter. But because I’m short, I’ll choose taller.

62. older or younger - older. yes.

63. nice arms or stomach - IT’S ALL ABOUT ARMS. And shoulders like wow.

64. hookup or relationship - Relationship. Not a hookup type.

65. troublemaker or hesitant - A mixture of both.

have you ever

66. kissed a stranger -  No, actually. Interesting. How does this happen in real life? I guess it does haha.

67. drank hard liquor - Nope.

68. lost glasses - yes and it’s the most annoying shit in the world.

69. turned someone down - Yes.

70. sex on first date - Nope.

71. broken someone’s heart - Yes I have.

72. had your heart broken - Yeah...

73. been arrested - No I have not.

74. cried when someone died - the answer to this is self-explanatory.

75. fallen for a friend - yes and it sucks.

do you believe in

76. yourself - majority of the time, yes.

77. miracles - yes.

78. love at first sight - mmm I don’t think so.

79. santa claus - Haha hope.

80. kiss on a first date - this is definitely okay. If you’re vibing and you like them, then why not?

81. angels - of course.

other

82. best friend’s name - have a few haha. Ozzie, Marty, and Sab.

83. eye colour - dark brown.

84. fave movie - I have a list of favorites. But a good movie I saw recently is LadyBird.

85. fave actor - James McAvoy is pretty freakin great.

#angelo tags #evangelene #85 statements