#WHEN NOBODY ELSE IS THERE YOU HAVE TO LOVE YOURSELF

[jiminrings]

mature

pairing: jungkook x reader

wordcount: 8k

glimpse: the good thing about professing your feelings to jungkook is that it'd be over with, whether or not he likes you back — the bad thing is that he rejects you, even if you haven't confessed.

alternatively, crushing on jungkook who's in your friend group is, has, and will never be a good idea.

[ push n pull fic YIPPPEEEEE, fluff, angst, So Much Yearning, friends to lovers trope, jealousy, dunking on a stewpid jk (as one does), arguments that kinda hit home, redemption!! ]

notes: WE R SO BACK!!!! thank u for waiting 🫂🤍

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!!

You will never tell Jungkook how desperately you want to be loved.

In your defense (much to Jungkook’s offence), you want to be loved as desperately as he acts on an everyday basis. He’s not pathetic in the sense that he’s hopeless, but rather pathetic in the light that you want the entirety of him (stubbornness and occasional dimness included) to rub off on you.

You want to be loved pathetically in the same way that Jungkook never computes his expenses when it comes to self-indulgence yet always calculates when it comes to actual requirements. You want to be loved as wholly by the guy who can get by one DIY dorm dinner at a time by asking for scraps from the whole floor with a grin and his hands cupped in begging.

Jungkook’s one of your friends, if not the best you’ve ever had, and it’s a miracle that you haven’t jumped at each and every available chance to confess your growing feelings for him.

You bit your tongue that one time he bought you "one of those silly blind boxes you like" on a whim from a bookstore he only went inside to in the first place because he was dying outside in the heat, only to open it for you with your eyes closed and earn you an extra rare figure.

You had to physically restrain yourself (read: clasp your hands together in front of you) when Jungkook made you swap your counterfeit, barely-holding-on kitten heels for his trustworthy slides on the way home because your research presentation prior had you pacing nervously.

Every time that he gives you your tax of whatever he ordered (which always ends up being the best variant that your friend group could possibly order for a meal or a sweet treat), you have to etch into your head clearly, with ballpoint pen, that you will never tell Jungkook how desperately you want him to love you.

Every time that he gives you a one-on-one friend outing, just as he does with everyone else from your circle of ten people and counting (you lost count because you figure that all of you are about to outgrow the long table in the library that nobody else could fill), you convince yourself to never tell him how much you want it to be just you.

You figure that you’ll tell Jungkook that you do hold a candle for him, despite not detailing the extent, in this lifetime— maybe even the next time you get a moment alone with him, but you figure you won’t do it now; now, when he’s berating you for just a tiny sacrifice you made that’s minuscule for everything he does for you and everyone else.

“You’re impossible!” he huffs, his annoyance for you being loud enough to stop his faux display of studying and gather attention from everyone else in the library who actually is. Jungkook holds up his phone for you to read, brows scrunched at your look of amusement. “Jimin told me you were lactose intolerant!”

You can’t figure how and why Jungkook and Jimin’s conversation even flitted towards you when you recall clearly that the lactose-filled meal in question was from two weeks ago. You don’t question it because you already know that even giving it a second thought would already be too pompous of you, and you don’t question either why Jungkook looks too devastated at the realization.

“I just tolerated it,” you snort, burying your nose back into your notes, missing the flash of regret in Jungkook’s features.

He doesn’t know whether he’d feel more sorry over the fact that he didn’t know you were lactose intolerant, or that you didn’t speak up at all to preserve his excitement over eating at the restaurant he wanted to try out.

“But why would you?” he sulks, completely foregoing the textbook he has opened on the same page for the last hour.

You know exactly why you did, but you’d rather not tell Jungkook now. 

You’ll tell him some other time, that much you’re sure of, but not now — not now when he’s too devastated over your tummy issues, and not now when he’s just one revelation away from chewing you out over something he has to learn from someone else.

“Your broke ass bought it so I had to,” you murmur, rolling your eyes as you rest your chin on the palm of your hand.

“Foul,” Jungkook immediately chuckles, shaking his head at your retort even if he knows you’re just kidding around (he knows you won’t hurt him like that that), finally opening his laptop.

Jungkook, your friend, finally types on his laptop, yet it’s not for the contribution that he badly needs to put in for a group project.

Instead, he opens up the Google Doc and writes in a bullet point underneath your name, the words do not give cheese acquainted with three exclamation points — along with your name, is the names of your mutual friends and Jungkook’s observations that would come in handy for an outing, a gift, or both.

Jungkook’s that good of a friend, and that’s why you’ll never tell him how desperately you want to be loved by him.

( ♡ ) 

Getting gifts for someone who has a credit card and has no inhibitions when it comes to buying whatever they want is a difficult task.

Getting Jungkook for Secret Santa this year is even harder than the last, and that was when Jin snuck five strips of his name and left more than five of you (you don’t even know how that happened) without gifts, all while he was laughing to himself after he successfully gaslit everyone into thinking that they were all drunk and made the mistake themselves.

You don’t know what to give Jungkook that he doesn’t already have. He doesn’t have a girlfriend the last time you checked and while you can’t exactly wrap yourself in ugly, recycled kraft paper (as opposed to Jimin’s dumb, all-knowing-about-your-hidden-feelings suggestion), you’d rather not drive Jungkook away, even if you don’t know either how to drive him in.

You don’t have the slightest clue to what his ‘surprise me ;)’ scribble underneath his name means and it makes you feel guilty, far more than he ever could have after Jimin’s revelation of your dietary restrictions. 

It’s not the dilemma of who would sit next to who in the large albeit crowded dining table in the cabin that you rented out, nor is it the cooking and wrapping duties that each of you are tasked with that stresses you out this holiday season.

You wish so badly that the largest champagne problem you have at the moment was wondering if your Christmas gift for your nitpicky mom and nonchalant dad back at home arrived in time. You pray that your biggest hurdle is either convincing Namjoon that his room is just cold and not haunted, or breaking off a fight between Eunwoo and Soomin because they keep fighting over whose overpriced film camera will be used for the picture by the tree, or even talking Mingyu down from smacking Jin in his sleep.

The largest champagne problem that you have, even if it’s actually between life and living said life in peace without minding your inevitable heartbreak, is worrying about Jungkook’s gift.

You hold your breath as soon as Hoseok gathers everyone into the living room, your nerves probably getting the best of you because you hear Jungkook hollering to whoever’s closest to the thermostat to adjust it because your teeth kept chattering.

You have nothing to be nervous about, you convince yourself as Jungkook steps up into the middle and awaits with wide arms, your best friend being another victim of assuming that the comically large wrapped present is his (it’s not).

Jungkook doesn’t have any expectations for you to meet, you convince yourself as he becomes even more hyper when he learns that it’s you, so much so that he takes a lap around the backyard with his hands clapping furiously.

You can’t love Jungkook any more than you do now, you realize as you see Jungkook throw his head back in glee when he opens up your gift.

It’s only a Himalayan salt lamp. It’s only a lamp that you didn’t buy for so much. It’s only a thing that Jungkook said to you in passing one time, yet he’s beyond grateful — enough for him to carry you in his arms and take another lap around the backyard.

“God, you love me soooo bad,” he lulls, teasing you mercilessly as he unceremoniously drops you so he could adore the lamp up close. “I always wanted to lick one!”

“You’re so stupid,” you mutter, rolling your eyes at his excitement over something so simple; something so insignificant in the world of thoughtful, expensive gifts.

You affectionately think that Jungkook’s stupid, yet you can’t tear your eyes away from him.

“I didn’t hear a no,” Jungkook hums with his tongue out, eyes wide and flickering between you and the lamp. “Should I do it? Should I? I’m doing-…!”

You put a spoonful of cake into his mouth instead, the whine that escapes his throat still sounding like gratefulness to your ears.

Tonight’s not the night wherein you tell Jungkook how badly you want to be loved by him — not when he’s so preoccupied with his new salt lamp that he keeps daring people to take a lick of, not when he’s the one who’s being convinced that there’s a ghost in Namjoon's room and being bullied into sleeping in.

Not when Jungkook’s being the perfect, lovable friend that he is during the holidays and every other day.

( ♡ ) 

You’re well-aware that Jungkook’s a catch.

You know that he’s a catch and he’ll never live it down, and neither can you.

You’re very painfully aware that Jungkook’s a catch because you’re reminded of it every single day whenever you’re with your friends. You know that atleast two of them were integrated into the group in the first place because they liked Jungkook, and that doesn’t really bother you (more than it should, atleast) anymore. 

Sora’s crush formed out of boredom on Jungkook disappeared as soon as she got a boyfriend, but you understand why her gaze lingered on him in the first place.

Eunji’s crush on Jungkook already dissipated the moment she learned about his GPA, but you get why she had been attracted to his charm anyway.

You know that he’s a catch and that he’s not solely yours either, and the latter makes you humble.

“There’s flowers on your desk again,” you point out, the arrangement irking you for more reasons than one. “Why do you have to be so popular and handsome.. and lovable,” you mumble, the tail end of your mini rant barely being heard by Jungkook because he's too busy admiring his gift.

“What’s that now?” Jin piped up, eyebrows furrowed upon picking up your angry muttering. He's beyond confused, maybe just as much as you are, when you just snarl at him for his unintentional use of supersonic hearing.

“And why do I have to sit next to you even if I have allergies,” you redirect your attention to Jungkook who has to sweep the flowers to a beaten-up paper bag for safekeeping, the item in his backpack being the most used object for all of the admiration towards him.

“Because you’re the best-est friend ever,” he rolls his eyes, the faux pout on his lips surprisingly softening you instead of the opposite. “And maybe I’m the worst-est one to keep putting you through this.”

“You sound so stupid,” you reply automatically, crossing your arms and keeping them there. “But you’re right,” you exhale through your nose, conceding your defeat over willingly letting him put you through this, carrying the blame by yourself.

Jungkook doesn’t only act like this with you anyway. There’s no special treatment, there’s no false hopes being promised — it’s just you genuinely happening to fall for him.

“Come on, just tolerate it! Pinch your nose or something!”

“Why should I? Find another seatmate,” you sulk, making a point to angle your back away from him and towards Jin who’s at your right, doing his best at holding in a laugh over how ridiculous the both of you look.

“Obviously you’re the one with the latest phone so you have to take pictures of me with the flowers!” Jungkook whines, punctuating his sentence with a hand on his hip. He’s sulking because you’re sulking, and you’ve never hated him more at the moment. “Why else would I force you to sit with me?”

Jungkook’s stupid, and so are you, so you’d rather not tell him how desperately you want to be loved by him today.

( ♡ ) 

In all fairness, you thought you would lose nothing.

You thought you would lose nothing because in the first place, you barely expected anything out of Jungkook. Liking him didn’t mean that you were indebted to him, and liking you back isn’t something that he owed to you either.

You weren’t expecting Jungkook to fall on his knees and say something stupid to hint at his mutual love for you (although you did think about it a couple of times), but you atleast expected a little bit of respect from him to try and see the strength it took you to even confess.

You planned it perfectly, even taking a page off his book and making a whole word document for it wherein you spent days typing whatever crossed your mind throughout the day and erasing what seemed the most impossible throughout the night. 

In your word document, you and Jungkook would be out in the snow, skating in an outdoor rink even if neither of you know how to. You figure that you won’t attempt to drag (read: hobble with) him to the middle of the ice because in case he doesn’t like you back, the waddle back to the exit wouldn’t be as awkward; if Jungkook does like you back, you’ll still be hobbling to the exit, albeit happily.

In your word document, there’s a spine of a script that you would say when the day comes. You’ll skim along the lines of how you’ve never been so enamored with someone in your entire life (with the internal note that you’ll dial it back a bit if his expression turns sour), of how bright he makes your days for you, and how he doesn’t have to be obligated to like you back.

In your word document, you’re set. You’ve planned a foolproof blueprint of what would turn out, whether or not Jungkook is set on loving you the way you desperately want to be —

Except now, Jungkook completely undoes everything you’ve ever worked for.

Now, he looks at you with a glint in his eye that looks more apologetic than it is endearing. You don’t even know what led to your heartbreak exactly because one minute, you were just studying, and by the next, Jungkook’s already letting you down even if you hadn’t had the chance to rise.

You swear on your life that you weren’t giving any signals at all that you were actually about to confess. You were only silent, refusing to talk to him because you were too stressed over your task and that you were scared you would burst into tears if you tried mouthing the formula out loud, yet Jungkook mistakes it for your love.

Whatever you do on a daily basis, whatever you do based on your nature, Jungkook mistakes it for a confession that he wasn’t even supposed to hear until the end of the week.

He wasn’t wrong about the fact that you love him — what he’s wrong about is his assumption that your silence around him when it’s just the two of you, right now while you lose your mind over an assignment as you’re dressed in last week’s sweater and last semester’s horror, is your confession.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Jungkook winces, gently patting you on the shoulder as you’re yet to digest his rejection. “But I just don’t think we’ll work out.”

( ♡ ) 

You theorized that getting over Jungkook would be fairly easy on the chance that he rejects you after your confession.

You figure that Jungkook himself as a concept would be drastically difficult to move on from because he was just so lovable. He doesn’t know how to read a room and it’s one of his better quirks when you’re worrying over nothing. He doesn’t know much about knowing when to let up, and it comes in clutch when he’s pushing you to wholeheartedly do an assignment even if you’re already burnt out from crying.

Jungkook, as a concept, is indestructible. He’s the everyday variant of the goodness that some frat guys possess occasionally. He’s the realistic, attainable version of a main lead in a manhwa that’s only perfect 1/4 into the plot. 

He’s the manifestation of every good deed a stranger has done for you, except he’s someone you know with your heart and not just someone you could sketch from memory. 

With that, you also figured that moving on from Jungkook can’t be that hard because he was too out of reach despite being in the same friend group as you. Surely, it wouldn’t be so catastrophically hard to move on from a guy who just gasps for air every five minutes when he’s in charge of cooking in the BBQ hangout (instead of using the exhaust like a normal person), or from a guy who thinks citing references for a paper is only a suggestion.

The funny thing about it all is that you never actually confessed to Jungkook.

Actually (and contrary to the assumptions of the other friends you have from your circle), you’ve never said it to his face that you do have a crush on him. You’re ultimately known to be the friendliest person to ever walk the campus, and while not the most confrontational, they atleast expected for you to confess to Jungkook in your own way.

What actually happened was that Jungkook read through you — he does happen to be right about your feelings for him! He’s the second friendliest person right beneath you, and so the way he rejected you should never sting this much.

Jungkook thought it out meticulously. He read into the way you spent extra attention listening to him with your eyes practically gleaming. He read into the way you’d lag back behind him and hold him by his wrist whenever you were all crossing the street. Hell, he even read into the way you would take a shot at opening the extremely tight water bottle from the vending machine before everyone else.

The funny, tragic thing about it is that whilst Jungkook wasn’t wrong about pinpointing your feelings for him — you never confessed.

Jeon Jungkook, the second, ultimate friendliest man that your university has ever known, rejected you without even hearing the actual words from you.

He’s turned his back on you even before you could reach him, and the realization sinks in you unsettlingly. You never expected for him to like you back because it would be unfair of you, and you knew that; what just happened to hurt you most was that Jungkook didn’t even think twice.

He hadn’t given you the chance to pour your heart out at the very least.

He hadn’t even given you the space to breathe right after the rejection, because he skips and puts a smile on before winking, telling you that he’ll never speak of it again because you must probably be embarrassed.

The funniest thing about it all is that you aren’t embarrassed — you’re actually devastated about it.

It’s an odd event for Jungkook to feel lonely because with such a big friend group, he never thought he’d feel a little empty despite literally rubbing elbows in a circular table. He never thought he’d come to be a little annoyed at Jimin and his routine, playful, borderline offensive banter he’d always have with you at the top of the morning, and he never thought he’d even be more annoyed over the absence of it.

There’s one less laugh in the circle. One less bag strewn underneath the table, one less coffee order written on the notes app, and one less person to look for when hanging out.

You’re missing from the friend group, and oddly enough, Jungkook seems to be the most devastated about it.

“Why is Y/N not here?” he asks in the middle of Jin retelling his drunken fishing story, grabbing the attention of everyone in the table and maybe just about everyone else’s in the common area with the way his voice is frantic. “And why is she there with the new kid instead?”

Everyone flits through separate conversations after Jungkook’s interruption, some even wincing to themselves because although they know about your admiration for the guy and not your confession-that-wasn’t-one, they figure that nothing good could come out of Jungkook sucker-punching the new kid in his head.

“I don’t know, man. Buddy system, maybe?” Jin shrugs, stealing his food because it was obvious that Jungkook’s attention is everywhere but himself and the table.

Jungkook snorts, crossing his arms tightly to the point that even he feels a little suffocated. His entire face is crumpled with hurt, eyebrows furrowed out of frustration when you still aren’t looking at him; when you’re still not looking at him with confusion in your eyes, silently telling him off for glaring.

“Buddy system? We’re in uni. Who the fuck would bully that guy?”

“By the looks of it, probably you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he huffs, refusing to unclench his fists on his thighs.

“Well, what’s it to you that Y/N’s hanging out with someone new? What are you so heated for?” Jin elaborates, eyes flitting to you again.

Jungkook could only glare at you.

“What are you so nosy for?” he asks defensively, leaning back on his chair in a faux display of relaxation when all he wants to do is to remove the stupid smile on the guy’s face as he watches you talk.

Unlike Jungkook, Yoongi’s not stupid at all — in fact, he’s been vigilantly aware of Jungkook’s glare on the side of his face ever since you sat in front of him.

Yoongi’s not stupid, so he angles himself in a way that Jungkook gets to see him more. He doesn’t know the guy personally, but he does know of him and his “charm” that seems to make everyone go nuts for him. 

If looks could kill, then Yoongi would’ve already had mourners at his feet, but if provocation could posion, then Jungkook would already be frothing at the mouth.

The thing is, Yoongi doesn’t even know about your admiration nor your foiled confession to Jungkook. The latter hasn’t even done anything personally to him. 

All he knows is that you’re in a big friend group and that you chose to sit with him, your friend whom you share a couple of advanced classes with but not a friend-friend like Jungkook is, and that you’re very easy on the eyes and admirable yourself if he thinks about it (he doesn’t need much time to ponder over it) — and, that he doesn’t really like being glared at.

“No really, I insist!” he laughs, pulling out his handwritten reviewer from a backpack with a grin. “I don’t know anybody else who likes making reviewers anymore by hand, so really, you’re just perfect to get them.”

“But you worked so hard on them,” you gasp, eyes already widening in both surprise and awe at the thick stack of papers in front of you. Yoongi’s handwriting and formatting are perfect; there’s no unnecessary calligraphy, the vividness of the highlighter is just right, and there’s even sticky notes at the bottom for additional details and references you could cross-check. “I.. I don’t want you to feel that I’m taking advantage-…”

“But I offered! You didn’t ask for reviewers from me shamelessly like every other opportunist does,” Yoongi laughs, throwing his head back as he slides the papers closer to you. “I’d be a really shitty senior not to give you any help. If anything, I think you deserve even better than-…”

Jungkook can’t resist.

Jungkook can’t take any more of watching you and Yoongi push and pull over whatever topic he can’t hear nor force Jin to eavesdrop on. He can’t take another second of seeing you be so happy talking to a guy that he doesn’t know, so much so that he comes up to you without a second thought.

“Hey,” he greets, his body only turned to you, completely ignoring Yoongi and blocking him off from your sight. “You didn’t order any coffee.”

You angle your body slightly to excuse yourself, except Jungkook conveniently happens to mirror your every move, confusing you even more. “Oh, I wasn’t feeling like it,” you trail, looking up at him in confusion while Yoongi could see right through him.

“Really?” Jungkook replies, the smile on his face being far from amused, eyes narrowed as he tries to catch up with the own annoyance that he harbors. “Because I’m seeing two coffees right now, and one’s in front of you, so…” he trails, shrugging his shoulders exaggeratedly.

Jungkook’s jaw is still clenched, along with his fists by his sides. He’s standing tall between you and Yoongi with his shoulders squared and his face steeled, the immovable forces that are him and the unnamed pit in his stomach starting to garner attention.

Namjoon has his phone out. 

Hoseok only has one cheek remaining on the seat because he’s ready to stand up and collect bets. 

You’re still sitting, mostly confused, when you realize the attention that’s starting to build towards the three of you.

“Yes, Jungkook. Great observation,” you snicker, the discreet roll of your eyes making him take offense.

“Oh okay, I see. So you were lying by saying that you weren’t feeling it, and I don’t get the hold-up of you-…”

“What did you come here for now, Jungkook?” you angrily whisper, keeping your head down as you retain your gaze on him and lightly tap at the table to indicate to Yoongi for the both of you to move. “It’s a little far-fetched for you to come all over here to pick a fight about coffee.”

Jungkook huffs, turning his head back to Yoongi behind him because he most definitely saw your signal. The lazy, amused gaze of Yoongi is what sets him off even further, the anger in his eyes unmistakable, except you recognize it for only what it is and not jealousy, because Jungkook doesn’t see you like that.

Or atleast that’s what the both of you assume.

Jungkook, your best friend, scoffs loudly.

“You sound so defensive right now.”

( ♡ ) 

You don’t respond much to Jungkook’s calls. 

As a matter of fact, you don’t respond much to Jungkook at all.

You don’t show up whenever he’s present, meaning that you’re only magically available whenever there’s half of your friend group at the most because if there’s more, then the search for the missing members would ensue, then you’d end up squished in a long table next to Jungkook again.

It’s very much like him to form grudges, yet he can’t even tell if he’s capable of having one towards you. Jungkook, with all his chest and afflictions, wants so badly to hate you because you’ve been blowing him off ever since he literally and physically came between you and Yoongi.

He apologized to you for that (and not to Yoongi because he didn’t really matter to him at all), and he doesn’t know the answer for it yet because his messages still remain unread. He’s enlisted the help of your mutual friends on various occasions by trying to get them to give all his little treats for you, yet you refuse them as soon as you catch wind that it’s from Jungkook.

He even tried studying for real in the library in hopes that reverse psychology (he thinks that’s what it’s called) would work and that thinking he doesn’t want you to come would make you do the opposite, yet it still doesn’t work. Jungkook’s already mad that he studied for nothing (he’s more interested in getting you to notice him than to actually learn), but he becomes even more heated to realize that your anger for him is just directed at him alone.

You still talk to your best friends, with the exception of him, and Jungkook has never been more envious of people who are apparently of the same status as him.

Jungkook wants you to drag him like you drag Sora to the nail salon and have you whisper at his ear to tell the nail tech not to cut your cuticles because you’ve been afraid of getting them done since that 1/34th part of a medical drama episode you watched on your phone.

Jungkook wants you to complain to him like you complain to Namjoon when you’re frustrated with a professor whom you’re convinced is only critical to you and no one else, later making him promise not to tell anyone else from your friend group because they like said professor.

Jungkook wants you to run to him as you always did, just because you feel like it. He wants to sit in silence with you again and put his hand on your knee when you’re in the verge of tears just looking at your schedule for the week.

He wants to stand guard again outside the bathroom door of the expensive coffee shop because it’s either the lock is broken or because Namjoon's managed to instill in you the existence of ghosts in cold spots.

He wants to be the Jungkook like you’ve always known, again, because it seems like you’ve forgotten him completely. You have the Yoongi now, it seems like — the smarter, more composed, and more charismatic variant of him that he wants to get rid of because Jungkook never predicted the existence of him.

Even more, Jungkook didn’t even entertain the concept of him being replaced because it was always the two of you together, even in a sea of friends. 

He’s your best friend, your confidant even, but nothing more — all Jungkook feels is that he’s even less than the status the both of you are assigned to be. 

He’s angry and sad and disappointed all at the same time because he thought he had almost lost you since he rejected your confession. You were fine; you were as fine as you could be for someone rejected when it comes to yearning to be his, and yet the moment you let Yoongi in, Jungkook feels as if you threw everything the both of you had just for him.

“Just so you know, student-teacher relationships are illegal,” he corners you one morning in your dorm, two godforsaken weeks after chasing you around the campus yet turning up empty.

“What the fuck are you on about?” you immediately scrunch your nose at him, the accusation he throws at you being too farfetched to the point that you don’t even think of shutting the door at him, ignoring Eunji’s betrayal for you by pretending to come over.

“What am I on about?” Jungkook exasperates, the scoff that leaves him making you feel small in front of him. “You’re literally the one who’s getting chummy with fucking Yoongi of all people!"

"Yoongi's a teaching assistant! He's our senior! Do you not know that?"

"Do I look like I'm interested in any other people outside of our circle?" he retorts, lips turned up in a snarl. Jungkook provokes you with a sarcastic glare, the look on his face enough to make you throw your head back in irritation.

"Come on, even Jin and Jimin are friends with Yoongi and-..."

"This is not about them!" 

"But you just-..." you stop as soon Jungkook interrupts you, losing your gaze on him for a single second to close your door and when you look back, you find that he’s already comfortable being vindictive on your bed, his arms crossed and his back straight.

"Also, teacher and teaching assistant both have the word teach so it's literally still illegal," he narrows his eyes sarcastically, the tone to his voice unclear despite his words suggesting otherwise. "You look so stupid right now."

"Jungkook can you stop?!" you burst, your temples stinging at the back and forth that Jungkook’s thrown the both of you in. “What the hell is going on with you?"

Jungkook had sworn to himself up and down that he has so much stuff to pick with you. He knows he has so much baggage to unpack and how much shit he has to bring up, even if it’s only been two weeks with you. He’s partly relieved that you’re in front of him and you still haven’t fled, yet a large part of him is beyond frustrated with you because you don’t even look like as if your time apart has taken a toll on you.

Between the two of you, it’s only Jungkook who looks like his distraught has manned him completely beyond surrender. Even coming to see you by hatching a plan with a hesitant friend is something he considers an act beyond surrender — whatever the space is between surrender and demand is where Jungkook lies with you.

"No, what's going on with you!” he argues, standing to his feet to come face-to-face with you. “You can't just spin this around when I've done nothing but be a good friend to you!"

"You think I'm not being a good friend to you just because I don't spend every single minute attached to you? I can still hang out outside of our friend group without being-..."

"This is not about our friend group!" Jungkook emphasizes once again, the tell-tale sting of tears behind his eyes coming up because he feels as if you can’t hear him no matter how much he repeats himself. ”This is about us and how you abandoned me ever since I rejected you!"

"I didn't abandon you, Jungkook!" you spit, pushing at his chest lightly with your finger to get him to back up from your face yet he refuses to. He’s still insistent at staring you down with his jaw clenched, eyes wide and unblinking because he knows that if he moves even just a millimeter askew, he’d cry. “You didn't even give me the chance to confess to you! You rejected me without even hearing me out. Do you think I would still be able to talk to you, face to face like how you want so badly, as if nothing happened?"

"The answer would've been the same even if you confessed,” he grits with his chest heavy, not at the way he keeps holding his breath in order not to break down in front of you, but because you look at him with so much disdain that it makes him want to puke.

"Do you not think I know that?" you laugh humorlessly, gnawing on your bottom lip as you don’t drop his gaze. “Do you think I didn't prepare for that possibility? I knew what could've happened if I confessed and I'd still be okay with it, Jungkook!" you raise your voice, throat already giving out at the slightest pressure because you know you lost the fight ever since you let him in. ”What I'm not okay with is that you didn't even give me the chance.”

It’s evil, really, with the way no amount of self-pity could ever pull you from the grave you’ve dug up. You went for Jungkook, carrying all grief you knew you were bound to feel, and yet you still feel unprepared. You still feel unworthy even moping for someone like Jungkook because not even his rejection, nor anyone else’s acceptance of your admiration by some sort of miracle, is enough to make you feel like you’d be missed.

Your two weeks without Jungkook is your rehearsal for the two months, then two years, then two forevers eventually without him by your side. You had still been able to live by yourself and with your friends, excluding him, and you thought you were fine because it feels as if nothing had changed.

You thought you were fine until Jungkook gets in your face to tell you that it’s not, and all over again, you’re reminded of how desperately you want to be loved by him to the point that you’d rather drown in your own pity to try and preserve whatever’s left of you.

"I told you the answer would-..."

"Shut up!" you cry, steeling your nerves when you realize that Jungkook’s angrily crying in front of you, wiping at his eyes hastily. ”For the love of god, shut up!"

Jungkook stays quiet, not because you told him to, but because nothing good comes to mind when he realizes that you’re crying because of him.

"See? You don't even get where I'm coming from because you're not even giving me the chance to explain myself without making it all about you,” you sob, finally pushing him away, to which he lets you. "That's the problem with you, Jungkook. You're too self-involved."

"Not true," Jungkook whispers, shaking his head earnestly even if he feels the stupidest he has ever did in his life in front of you.

He follows your steps out of routine even if his brain had convinced his system that he hates you just seconds ago, arms instinctively trying to crowd you when you almost trip on the flooring on your way to the coat rack.

"Since you keep insisting that I abandoned you," you chuckle dryly before grabbing your jacket, turning your back on Jungkook and on your own space, which had just been the default hangout place of the both of you for the longest time, in pursuit of your own quiet without him. "Let me follow through."

Jungkook doesn’t want to tell you how desperately he wants you to want him again, to love him as you already did, and neither do you.

( ♡ ) 

The perks of having a big friend group of that the absence of several members wouldn’t make that much of a difference when it comes to hanging out. It would still sustain itself without a few extra voices joining in on the chatter watching movies and the bullying when it comes to a forgotten birthday greeting here and there.

The downside of being in one, is that said big friend group doesn’t matter at all to Jungkook when you’re not in it.

The lengths that your friend (read: a word that Jungkook’s come to abhor) has went through since your fight at your dorm are basically incomprehensible because he’s fully involved himself.

He’s pining after you pathetically, just like how you had always dreamed of, yet seeing him take turn after turn just trying to gain your forgiveness for something you’ve always pitied yourself for makes you feel guilty.

In Jungkook’s defense, he wants to be forgiven and loved (again) as desperately as he acts on an everyday basis. Not only is e pathetic in the sense that he’s hopeless, but also pathetic in the light that he wants the entirety of you (stubbornness and occasional sharpness included) to rub off on him.

“I know I’m stupid. I-I.. I know that I was unfair for not even letting you confess your feelings because I felt like dying when you started to ignore me,” he mumbles to your bedsheets, his legs crossed on the ground and his head muffled by the fabric because he doesn’t even want to sit next to you in fear of you revoking his chance to apologize in person, again, as if that’s not what he had been doing the past weeks. “Y/N, you don’t deserve someone as stupid as me and I hate it so, so bad.”

The sound of Jungkook apologizing to you has already been repeated enough to the point you’ve learned when to tune him out, but with the way his heart precedes his tone this time, you stop folding your clothes in favor of Jungkook who’s just two seconds away from passing out on your bed by fabric conditioner-bathed quilt-induced suffocation, to which he couldn’t pass up on because it was your scent and he missed hugging you.

“I can’t catch up with you on anything that you’re talking about with Yoongi. The only times I open a book are when I want to look at you but I don’t want you to see me. I can’t— I can barely even talk to you without feeling like I’m beneath you,” he admits lowly, the truth of his rejection finally springing up a little too much, and almost a little too late. “I thought, stupidly, that we wouldn’t work because you deserve someone better.”

“I don’t need you to catch up with me, Jungkook,” you murmur, lightly slapping his cheeks because he looks sleepy from all the sniffing he’s done on your quilt, but really, his eyes are only narrowed into slits because he feels like he’s about to cry. Again.

“But I need to, b-because when we run out of things to talk about that you’re willingly to dumb down to my level, what else could we catch up on?” 

“You’re not stupid. I just say-…”

“No. Don’t make excuses for me,” he laughs lightly, still sat on your carpet obediently like a dog because he doesn’t want to push your boundaries. “I’m beneath you and I didn’t want to drag you down with me because I.. I didn’t feel that you deserve me,” he confesses. “But I want you so badly, Y/N. You have no idea.”

Jungkook wants you so badly, that in your insistence of self-pity, it was his self-preservation that led him to cry by himself when you finally left the library after not-confessing to him.

He wants you so badly, that in his fit of self-preservation disguised into stubbornness, he had tamped down his desperation for you.

“I want to catch up with you, not you to slow down for me,” Jungkook rests his chin on your thigh, his wide, pleading eyes looking up at you. “I’m so sorry, my baby. I’m so, so, so sorry for being stupid enough to let you go the first time,” he tilts his head, resting his cheek on your awaiting hand. “Please. I’m just begging you to slow down for me this one time,” Jungkook swallows the lump in his throat, nudging your hand gently with his cheek. “Please let me look stupid trying to earn you.”

Jungkook, without fail, tells you how desperately he wants to be loved by you.

[your-hockey-mom]

Christmas with Quinny?

"Hey! No peeking!"

"I...wasn't!" Quinn smirked, putting his hands behind his back after getting caught looking into the gift bags sitting on the coffee table. He had been getting antsy about opening gifts with you since he had gotten up. Sometimes he could be a big kid and during the holidays it was so much worse. Good thing he was cute, you always teased.

"You were, too!" You laughed, approaching him, two mugs of steaming hot chocolate in your hands. "Go ahead and open it, if you want! I'm ready."

Quinn would let you take a seat beside him before handing you a small box he had hidden beneath a blanket next to him. As soon as you saw the colour of the box you knew where it had come from. That trademark blue could only mean one thing: Tiffany's!

"Quinn, you didn't!" You didn't know what else to say!

"I may have. I hope it's okay."

Taking the box, you give Quinn a kiss as thanks before seeing just what was inside. "I'm sure you really outdid yourself! I didn't need anything like this!"

"Sure you did," he replied, taking a careful sip of the hot chocolate.

Inside, was a gold ring in a cursive script that read "love". It was dainty, classic, and so very touching. When had he had the time to get you such a gift, you had no idea but words could not express how much it meant to you.

"I love this so much!" You choked out, putting it on your middle finger. "Quinny, thank you so much!"

"You're welcome. I just wanted to get you something you could enjoy everyday." He was smiling like a kid whose mother had put his best artwork on the fridge. Things like jewelry wasn't his forte in buying, and he couldn't lie: he had help from the girls at Tiffany's in picking it out. His mom had actually suggested the famous jeweler when Quinn had confessed he didn't know what to get you. He had picked out some little things like a book or two, but in terms of the big, memorable, post-on-Instagram sort of gift, that's where he had struggled.

"Oh, I'll absolutely wear this everyday! I've never gotten anything from Tiffany's before!"

"Well, I'm glad I was able to get you something new." Quinn scooted closer, pulling your face to his. "Maybe I'll make a tradition of it?"

The kiss was long and passionate. Such a romantic Quinn had turned out to be and you loved being the center of his ever affection. His hands held you tightly, not letting you leave his side until he was for certain that he had expressed just how much he loved you. The ring truly had meaning.

"I have something for you, but not as nice as this, lemme go get it!"

Quinn slowly withdrew his hands, his fingertips trailing against your body as you got up. "If you have you."

"There's no need to pout! I'll be right back!" You headed to the hall closet where way in the back were two wrapped hockey sticks hidden as far back as you could get them. The had been a custom order to the specs of his on-ice sticks, but these had the Canucks colorway elements and a little message engraved where normally his name would go. You didn't care if he used them even once, but what hockey player couldn't use more sticks?

"How did you wrap those?" Quinn asked, arms outstretched to take them from you. "That's impressive!"

"Well, I think I used a whole roll of paper because it was not going well!"

Carefully, Quinn unwrapped the dual-packaged gift and smiled. It was like he had ordered them himself. Now, you had had some help; making a couple phone calls to teammates to snap a picture of his stick specs so you could get them just right. They had to be perfect!

"'Nobody puts my baby in the box!' You're too cute! Thanks, sweetheart." You had thought a long time about what you wanted to have put on the stick shaft. What better than what you always yelled when Quinn was sent to the "pretty boy box" as you affectionately called the penalty box.

"I thought it was pretty fitting," you giggled, excited that he hadn't found the message too cringe.

"They're perfect! Thanks, babe." His smile was so sweet, and his eyes sparkled within the twinkling of the Christmas tree. "I love you."

"I love you, too!" You pulled yourself into his lap. "Should we open the other stuff?"

"Later, right now I just want to enjoy you." Quinn buried his face in your neck as you laughed against the feeling of his facial hair against your skin. An hour would pass before you left the sofa, or maybe it was two... 

[theocddiaries]

Sonic: We’re lost. Stone: No, we're not… We’re just a little off course, but nothing a map can’t fix. Doctor, could you hand me the map, please? Robotnik: …Why me? Stone: Because you brought it. Robotnik: No, I didn't. Shadow: Didn’t we agree you’d grab it? Robotnik: Yes, and I did grab it while waiting for you back at home. Nobody said anything about bringing it. Sonic: How can someone be smart and stupid at the same time? Robotnik: I hate to agree with this guy, Stone, but forgetting the map is something else. Stone: …Okay. It’s fine, no problem. We still have the compass. Everyone: … … … Stone: Ivo. Please. Tell me you didn’t forget the compass too. Robotnik: I didn’t forget the compass. Stone [sighs with a smile]: Oh, thank goodness. Where is it? Robotnik: I think I saw it on the coffee table before we left. Sonic [to Stone]: Regretting your day in the nature with no electronics yet? Stone: Ivo, you just said you didn't forget the compass. Robotnik: Well, you told me to tell you I didn’t forget it! Shadow: For the love of… Robotnik: Jeez, either I suddenly don’t understand English, or your IQ is dropping by the second. Shadow: What’s dropping is our body temperature. The sun’s going down, and we’re going to freeze thanks to you. Stone [takes in a deep breath]: Okay, okay, everyone calm down… Look, we’ll build a fire, it's okay. [starts gathering supplies]: Kids, watch closely. This is an ancient technique, you’re about to see a man create fire with his own two hands! [Half an hour later, Stone is still trying to start a fire with a stick. Shadow and Sonic are wrapped in a shared blanket, while Robotnik sits with a blanket draped over his shoulders, leaning against a tree.] Sonic: I can see my breath. Stone: Kid, this is hard, okay? Wanna try it yourself?! Sonic: I actually do! Stone: Well, too bad, I want to do it! Robotnik: Stop giving Stone a hard time. At least he has ideas and is trying. Stone: Thank you, Iv--What the hell is that…? Robotnik [lighting a cigarette with a lighter]: Yes, I know I promised I’d quit smoking, but when you told me we were spending the day in the wilderness with your little freak and the blue thing, I figured I’d better bring this. Just in case. Got a chill just thinking about it, you know? Sonic: A chill??? The only chill here is the one we’re feeling because of you! Shadow: Why didn’t you say you had a lighter?! Sonic: And how are you more of a nuisance now that you’re reformed than when you were a self-proclaimed villain?! Robotnik: Stone, the kids are disrespecting me in front of the wildlife. Shadow: Yes, in front of Yogi Bear... Stone: Ivo… [about to snap]: You’ve been watching me shred my hands for half an hour, and it didn’t occur to you to mention you had a lighter!? Robotnik: What would I know, Stone. You just seemed so excited doing your little ancestral thing or whatever the hell that was-- Stone [snatches the lighter angrily] Robotnik: Everything I do is wrong in your eyes, isn’t it? Sometimes I think you getting mad at me is your new hobby.

[pawpiefawn]

𝓯𝓸𝓻𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻𝓼, 𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻𝓶𝓸𝓻𝓮 .𖥔 ݁ ˖

❤︎ alhaitham x reader 2.5k words five acts of love, where alhaitham loves you more with each. reupload + edited from my previous blog. thank u coco for reminding me :"

ask around the bustling hub of sumeru city, and the native dreamers would often describe being loved as something mesmerising and captivating. it is much like a kaleidoscope, twisting and turning enchantingly in hopes that the beads would fall perfectly in place, but it never always truly does; endearing and a lesson for the lovers all the same. the messy beads twirl and turn but there is just some reason why they can’t get enough of it.

the thinkers talk about love like an anchor dragging you further and deeper down into the depths of adoration and affection and infatuation; to them, there are often few clear differentiations between sinking into love and drowning in it.

but for alhaitham, however – love is natural, like the cycle of growth of the dainty flowers and wild grass beneath his feet. a swanlike, enchanting piece of music that flows from your violin’s bow – with the right person, it is as natural as breathing.

but for alhaitham, however – love is also... unnatural, given his lack of experience. he has adoring fans, he has scholars singing his praises and piles of handwritten letters from secret admirers commending his mind and aesthete – but he has never loved before, not until you.

the first act of love. listening, when nobody else will try to.

alhaitham is a wonderful listener. if you ask him, he’d say that he prefers listening, even – he is content to hear all that you have to say, however nonsensical or ridiculous you sound to others. the scribe’s work is simple, so he never truly minds – to sit quietly with a small smile on his face while you talk his ear off about anything and everything – that is what love is, you are sure.

“hey, i’m sorry.. this is just too much right now.” you know they use this as a replacement for you.

“could you tell me another time?” another time will never come.

“just keep quiet, archons! do you ever shut up?” no, i’m sorry. i probably should.

alhaitham watches from his office as your heart breaks with every unwilling individual, each choosing to walk away while you tore your heart out, still bleeding from your ribcage while laying the offering bare at their feet. how could a human being be so cruel? there is much music, excellent voice, in this little organ – yet you believe you cannot make it speak because they do not choose to listen.

“...i believe you hadn’t quite finished your story from the last time we met.” he speaks plainly, eyes glistening – with pity or with eagerness is something you don’t wish to distinguish. let it be the same, lest the heartbreaking realisation that he is just like the others.

“you remember?” you ask cautiously. please do, i can’t bear to beg anyone anymore.

“i do. that day about your old neighbour’s dog escaping into your garden. you’re welcome to continue, if you’d like.”

he watches your eyes light up as you trip and stumble over your words, quietly surprised and eager to please. there is a soft feeling in his chest – a warm, weighing feeling nestled in his ribcage.

the second act of love. remembering, when it feels like no one else does.

it is no secret that alhaitham’s mind is incredible. highly intelligent, closely observant, adept at noticing discrepancies – any researcher would fight to have him take a spot on their team. he is good at remembering, you think to yourself – alhaitham remembers everything – the things you’d grovel at someone’s feet, to remember the slightest thing about you, for, and everything you wished the world forgot. him remembering everything is incredible – whether that be a good thing, or not; is another.

“when’s your birthday again?” your co-worker taps his fingers against his chin, looking through the sheet of office birthdays.

“it’s–”

“december 26th.” alhaitham walks past, not looking up from his notebook.

you and your co-worker stare in silence. he...

“yeah, december 26th...” you catch a glimpse of the silver-haired scribe around the corner. he remembered. even if it was just an offhand comment about how funny you found your birthday to be right after christmas. he remembered.

“huh.” your co-worker shrugs it off, noting it down on the list as if nothing happened.

something happened. you feel something warm blossoming in your chest – warm, comforting, lovely all the same. a tender, sweet feeling like the heavy blanket on a rainy day that attempts to capture your heart in your throat and keep it captive forever; there is so much you want to say to alhaitham. it’s nice that he remembers – out of all your friends ( was he a friend? ), who could confidently say the date without thinking twice?

“i believe those are nuts. if i recall correctly, aren’t you allergic?” the next time you see a glimpse of his silver hair, alhaitham peers into your bowl of noodles. nuts – how comical it is to think that such a small, minuscule digit could potentially cut off breathing for you.

“i thought i told them ... perhaps i didn’t.” you mumble, hurriedly spitting out half-chewed food into your tissue. you stare tiredly into your bowl – surely you remember letting the waiter know that you had an allergy.

“you did.”

before you could even turn your head to reply to his reassurance, alhaitham flags down the same, tired waiter. he trudges to your table, serving tray tucked between his arm and body.

“can i be of service?”

“excuse me, i believe we mentioned earlier that they couldn’t have nuts.” alhaitham stares at him in the eye, glancing briefly at your bowl with spat-out nuts beside it. the waiter grabs it, letting out a soft sigh of frustration.

“you are a service professional, are you not?” alhaitham interrupts the languid movement; yet he does not break the stare.

“sir, i am just a wa–”

“my apologies. are you are a paid member of this establishment?”

“i am.” the waiter nods in quiet submission. it is better to shut up than to argue with a man who loves.

“you understand the laws regarding a customer’s health and safety, do you not? even if it’s tiresome, if they had gone into an anaphylactic shock here in your cafe, i believe it would have been a matter of time before an investigation is launched and a lawsuit is filed.”

you hear alhaitham soften at the word they. they. you. you are important enough to him that he’d quietly, but fiercely rip into the waiter over your allergy. (alhaitham wishes you felt important enough to care about your health instead of apologising for not speaking loud enough.)

the waiter steels himself and takes your bowl back to the kitchen without another word.

“thank you,” you turn to alhaitham. “that meant a lot.”

you show him a soft smile, and alhaitham feels a wave of silent thankfulness wash over himself – that you sit before him, wearing a bright and sweet smile and not a pained grimace from struggling to breathe, on your features. he feels the same warmth in his chest once again.

“you don’t need to thank me.”

alhaitham remembers, even when it feels like no one else does.

the third act of love. holding, when your skin feels achingly colder.

alhaitham does not strike people as a touchy person; his love language is not physical touch. touch scares him a little, even. the thought that a simple loving gesture could be twisted and morphed into a threatening hold scares even the most intelligent and strong of men – but he is human, and that is enough for him to appreciate lingering touches on his back as and when he needs and wants to.

he sees you – fingers twitching and rubbing against each other, clumsily tapping against your palms then scrunching inwards – you need touch. you need to be held. it was as simple and as crucial as breathing. your fingers press in inwards of itself, and he watches the colour recede and return once again as you loosen your grip.

“come here,” alhaitham gestures, wrapping your hand around his. there’s something comforting about how your hand is smaller than his; it’s not that much smaller, but it’s smaller all the same. if you curled yourself up even more, perhaps you’d be able to fit into the palm of his hands.

“don’t do that. you’ll hurt yourself.”

“do what?” you look at him quizzically.

“i wasn’t sure if you were unaware, but you tend to self-soothe and search for touch.” he sighs quietly, absent-mindedly stroking your purlicue as he turned back to his book.

“although i believe you search for it too much. press too hard, and you’ll start to feel numb.”

“ah.” you stare at your hands – the left, which he holds, and the right, resting on the cool table.

“thank you.”

“i said before, there is no need to thank me. if it is a simple matter regarding your well-being, i would do–” he stops himself. anything, is left hanging in silence.

“i would be happy to resolve that matter.”

even holding you? would he dare hold something so shamefully broken?

“thank you...” you close your eyes. he hesitates; just once.

“you don’t sound pleased, nor satisfied. was it something i said?” you hear his voice soften.

no, it’s not you. you shake your head quietly, resting your head against your right palm on the table.

“it’s alright. you do not have to talk if you don’t wish to.” alhaitham replies. you feel him smoothing your hair back – a touch so soft and tender, you can hardly believe it to be for yourself. it was intoxicating; his touch lacked lust, full in love– you have never been loved (loved?) like this before.

you feel slightly warmer now.

the fourth act of love. comforting, when there seems to be no one in your corner.

“i just wanted them to be different. just this once. is that too much to even ask?”

alhaitham holds you tightly as you sob and lament; he holds tighter than he ever has before, and he mourns. he mourns for the walls you had slowly built up over time dawn with the realisation that it had been justified all along; alhaitham knows how hard you have begged for them to be unneeded.

“i know.”

you hiccup, ducking beneath his arm tiredly – and he holds you gently. he holds you, arm resting on the crook of your neck as you rest against a pillow on his side – he holds you like he has done it all his life. fitting yourself – not small but not big – into his frame, alhaitham thinks, may very well be the most natural thing the world has brought him.

“they had no right to treat you like that. i’m sorry.”

“it’s not your fault.” you sniffle.

archon, it hurt. you were going to get hurt in every lifetime, you know that– no, you deserved it. that has been etched into your mind since day one of starting your work. that was just who you were. the poor, miserable corner-sitter who had nothing else to do but correct their own mistakes. no initiative, no ounce of thought. why had the akademiya even hired you if its own people despised you?

“you don’t deserve to be hurt over and over, you know.”

how did he know?

“you said that aloud.”

you mumble a soft sorry, and he replies, shaking his head.

“it isn’t your fault,” alhaitham echoes your previous sentiment, almost teasingly.

“i believe you’re smart enough to figure that out.”

before you look up at his tousled hair to reply, you feel a soft kiss pressed to your forehead.

a kiss.

his kiss.

“if you find them still bothering you, come and talk to me. the scribe’s position is – it may not be much – but i know with my place within the akademiya, they will listen. i promise you this,” he holds your warm hands in his broader ones.

“if they do not stop, i will leave. i have no regard for a company that will not protect its own workers.”

he wants to say a company that will not protect you, but thinks otherwise. perhaps it is too much right now after his impulsive kiss – that is the one thing that alhaitham mulls over. he has never been impulsive before; always thinking through and filtering and being rational and all the things that makes alhaitham, alhaitham. being impulsive is not a trait others describe him by. 

so why, you–?

the fifth act of love. loving you, even when you believe people cannot.

–because he loves you, and alhaitham cannot, for the life of him and even with all the overbearing advice from kaveh and more bearable guidance from nahida – he cannot put it into words. for the first time in his life, alhaitham stumbles over himself, words tumbling out like love letters hastily shoved into a sack with a cut into it.

“what is so special about me? you’re always here, alhaitham, yet you never grow sick of me.” he finds himself caught off guard when you ask suddenly, caught in today’s throes of anxiety. your words hang cautiously on your tongue like a snake waiting for the moment a displeased reaction appears – whether you hiss or hide, is something alhaitham feels a modicum of curiosity about, pulsing, and pulsing, until he tries.

“you-”

there are too many things that he can think of, he feels. nahida, give me strength.

“you are- you are kind. and generous. you have a heart for people even when they do not have one for you.” he starts, slowly.

“you listen intently, and you enable people to open and talk. they talk because you listen and you support them with all your soul and it is so evident that you love.”

you want to cry.

“i admit i am not good with words, but you deserve every vow i utter tonight. you love so loudly, and you feel no shame for it – you have inspired me, and i dare confess that there have been many times i have desired to pull back, out of worry that i have felt the distinct possibility that i was about to fall in love with you.”

oh. you blink as if that hasn’t been obvious enough.

alhaitham is deeply and madly in love with you.

“i love you, not only because you are special, but also because i believe you deserve every ounce of love i can retrieve from myself. i know it has been made clear to you that others do not feel the same way, and it hurts to believe that some of it has come from those i know – i promise to be different–”

“you already are, alhaitham.” you feel yourself choke up. love is entangling itself around your trachea and holding you hostage, never letting go.

“you have never treated me with the same contempt. i love you, i know you return my feelings and for that i am thankful. i’m sorry that i’m not an easy person to love, please...” you trail off, feeling his body collide into yours. alhaitham holds you. he holds you, hand on your back and the other cradling your head against his shoulder.

“i want to love you,” he whispers into your hair.

“please let me.”

ask alhaitham, however? you see a soft smile adorns his features as he mulls over the question of what love is to him. love, forever yours, evermore.

[sugarverse]

Synop: you and armin have to host the new years eve party this year, how fun could that be? (armin x black reader)

Word count 4k

Mentions of sex, but still a fluff/crack fic. the part 2 is at the bottom lmfao

sug says: ts is so silly LMFAO, if you’re trapped at a NYE party you don’t to be at, heres a good read!!

Why the fuck was it even an option to pick your house to throw the party?? You hated people. Even more so, you hated hearing drunk Eren cry to Mikasa about how sorry he is for the 8th fuck up of the week. Or Connie and Sasha scream singing Not Like Us since it came out as soon as any sort of liquor touched their lips. Or Annie's ass acting like her and Bert are too good to hang out with us. But won't stay at home when Reiner brings him out. 

Why are we bringing no-home-training niggas into the house??? 

You thought to yourself, writing getting a bit messier as you pushed pen against paper. You were making a list for everything you and Armin would need to get done before everyone arrived around 6:30. It was easier to buy certain things on the day of (veggies for example) so your fridge isn't so packed. Not many places were open past 5 so you were trying to remember everything as 1pm rolled around.

You tapped the pen against the counter top as you scribbled what else the house will need. Extra napkins in case Connie conveniently forgets to bring something besides alcohol, Water bottles, set sticky notes out for when people bring food, the whole shabang. 

Before you could voice how this was a lot and was driving you crazy, Armin was standing in front of you on the other side of the kitchen island with a nervous but curious smile. “Are you okay, y/n?” he asks, looking at the obvious annoyance on your face and the sound of pen scratching paper getting more aggressive by the minute. 

You set the pen down, quickly turning to him with a smile. It’s not that you hated them, it’s just that you couldn’t leave once you were tired. It’s your house and they don’t exactly know when to leave. And on New Year's Eve? Hell, You knew they’d stay till damn near 4am. This was one of those holidays where nobody gave a fuck about alcohol poisoning. However, you care about your carpet and your nice couch.

“Yes baby, I’m fine.” You shuffle on your socks to slide around to the side of the counter to give your lovely boyfriend a fat kiss on the cheek. You hold his face in your palms, smiling softly. “Just a little stressed is all.”

Armin studied your face, leaning forward to kiss your forehead. “A little?” He asked, placing his hands on your waist to pull you just a little closer. He knew you like the back of his hand and clearly something was up.

You scowl for a moment, trying to make sure he wasn’t dissing you. You watch his lips flatten for a moment as he quickly spoke up once more. “I can see it in your face, I’m here to help, not harm..” You knew that, but sometimes it was hard to remember that. Even more so forgetting to ask for help. Before you knew it, he hugged you gently, rubbing your lower back with warm hands. 

You snake your arms around his shoulder, doodling hearts and stars against his back in return. “Just gotta get a lotta shit done..” You kiss his other cheek, seeing the smile creep onto his face and causing you to smile as well.

He nodded, hands sliding themselves up the underpart of your shirt. He continued to rub your back soothingly. “What else do you need me to do so far? I moved the card table into the basement with the extra chairs from the garage– I also made sure our car is in the garage so people can park off of the street as much as possible! I had to clean out some of the garage because–”

Before he could finish, you cut him off. “Because I don't want my house smelling like cigarettes or weed. ..Thank you sweetheart.” Now that was something you didn't have to ask for. Armin always tried to read your mind on what to do at least to take some weight off of your shoulders and you greatly appreciated it. 

“I guess just get these few things from the store.. We need some extra decorations if you can stop by.. Dollar tree or something?” You let him go, turning to read the list aloud in case you were forgetting anything. I guess now would be the best time to send him out anyway. 

“We just need a few balloons and I was going to get noise makers? I don’t want to pop confetti inside and its cold as fuck outside. I’m sure someone is gonna want to shoot a gun or make some kind of loud noise to start the year- Someone always does.” Last time it was Jean with the supervision of Marco considering he didn’t want any of the other drunks to do it. Jean could at least aim at the sky and not go overboard even with the liquor in his system. 

You look down at the list, ripping the notepad paper in half to split groceries from to-dos. “Welch’s champagne if there’s any left, I don’t think one bottle is enough. Mikasa doesn’t drink much, Historia hardly drinks, Marco doesn’t drink too much either– But nobody wants to sit and drink pop all night. I like drinking it because it reminds me of being a kid–  Dip for veggies! My God..” You quickly flipped the list of groceries over to write the kind on the back. 

You don’t see him move, probably because your brain was moving a mile a minute, But you do hear the noise of the pantry open and close which causes you to look up and stop listing things aloud.

Armin slowly brings out extra napkins, forks, and paper plates that all read ‘2025’. Even themed in gold and black like the previous decorations you had bought right after Christmas. “I bought them on my way from work last friday– I knew you had a lot to do today so I wanted to try to think of anything I could get to help.” He placed the bags onto the counter, also setting down red solo cups since they held more than any flimsy styrofoam cups. 

He gave you a sympathetic smile. “I also have the rest of those decorations you wanted, the streamers to go above the door?” He set everything out on the island in front of you.

You freeze for a moment before sliding on your socks over to him. You almost tackle your poor boyfriend, hugging him and kissing him all over his face. “You are my hero. I love you so much Armin Arlert you don’t understand..” You cup his face in your hands once more, kissing him as passionately as you could. 

Genuinely you couldn’t ask for a better boyfriend. He always helped, whether you asked or not. He cleans, he works and makes money, he is incredibly intelligent, loyal.. What else could you ask for?

His face lit up at your reaction, lapis eyes quickly shutting and hesitantly placing his hands on your waist to pull you a little closer. You still made him so nervous. 3 years seemed long, but you had just moved in together around summertime last year. Your sudden acts of affection made him almost standoffish, Which was never on purpose! He just couldn’t help but get his words caught in his throat when it came to you. 

You scratch at his undercut, pulling away to look at him happily. “I can set up decorations and shit while you go to the store. Thank you for always having my back baby..” You saw his woozy grin get even bigger, staring down at you with nothing less than love. You kiss his cheek for the final time, letting him go once more to set out the plates and napkins with the few you had bought.

“Alright, I’m going to take your car before I put that one in the driveway too, Is that okay–” He asked, moving to grab the keys that sat next to your purse. You were already standing on the counter, setting your blender on top of your cabinets for counter space. “Y/n!” 

He quickly went over to you, hands hovering to help you down if you needed it. You began giggling, moving the veggie tray off of the top of the cabinets since it wasn't ever used until it was time for a party. “Armeeeeen I have it, Go to the store in my car!” You feel him lightly place his hands on your calves, helping you down anyway. 

He kisses your temple, letting out a half sigh half chuckle before genuinely going to leave. “Okay, Okay. I love you, y/n!” He called as he slid on his shoes, putting his coat on as well. 

“Love you most!” You wash off the veggie tray, setting it on the counter and beginning to write sticky notes for where crockpots and other items should go. Your cooler was already out for pop and the bottom drawer freezer was cleaned out for the stupid amount of liquor that would be brought. You kept the napkins on the island, taking the bag of decorations to the basement and going to set up.

Armin didn't come back till around three, shaking off the snow of his coat as you went out in pajamas to help grab all the bags. He filled the cooler with ice, watching you wash the veggies and cut them with a calmer look on your face. He smiled to himself, placing in the water bottles and case creme soda he bought for everyone. Everything you needed to do for the house was damn near done which gave you time to do your makeup and get dressed way before anyone got there.

“Do you mind moving some shit around in the basement? I cleaned the bathroom and put new hand soap in there but I think the couch needs to go against the wall and I have to cut these stupid–” You felt the irritation and anxiety to get everything done creep up your neck, sighing and placing the veggies in spare tupperware, splitting them up with walls of celery sticks so it wasn’t hard to place onto the tray.

“I got it, y/n. Play some music and take a deep breath..” He stood beside you, attempting to study the features on your face before you looked at him with an almost worn out expression. You were running yourself thin trying to do everything, but music would help the time go by faster. 

“Sir yes sir,” You tease, seeing him shake his head with a small laugh before kissing your cheek and walking down to your furnished basement. You guys had a bar with cute little stools, a mounted TV, recliners and a dark brown u-shaped sofa. Armin made sure you got everything you wanted when you first moved in, slowly buying things with checks after the bills were paid. 

He never let you pay for anything besides the few times you snatched the check at dinner before he could. Even then, He sent you money when the laundry needed done and your dryer was ass. Or leave his debit card on the TV stand for you to get groceries for the house, to fill up your tank. About 4 months of being moved in, your house was full of comfortable furniture, a new washer and dryer, a subwoofer, a PS5? 

You were spoiled for sure, but he made sure you always got your way. It was hard enough getting you to relax and use your money on yourself since you won’t quit your job. [no shade, just knows he makes enough to take care of you.] So if you asked for things or mentioned you wanted something, he’d take care of it.

He made sure to rearrange the furniture for more space, leaving the card table near the adjacent corner of the bar so no one was too annoying to anyone watching the ball drop. However, most of the time when Armins friends came over, the TV had music blaring from it.

Everyone got there between 6:30 and 8 as assumed. You had made buffalo dip, letting everyone else figure out something different to bring a little before Christmas. Ymir and Historia were there right on time, Historia held cookies and cheesecake in hand while Ymir held a bottle of Everclear and a case of cherry coke. 

Then came Mikasa and Eren around 6:45. Mikasa had made crab and lobster stuffed mushrooms, holding a casserole dish full of them. Eren had a huge charcuterie board full of different cheese, crackers, and lunch meat which was also greatly appreciated. Connie and Sasha came in around 7ish, obviously already pre-gaming with an already opened bottle of titos, bacardi, and shopping bags full of chips and store bought salsa and queso.

“Who’s ready to parrrtayyy??” Sasha yelled as she walked in, Connie cheering to pack her up which followed with everyone else cheering. They were definitely tipsy, but Connie looked stoned off his ass and Sasha’s first stop was gonna be the kitchen no matter what. You snickered, helping the two with their bags and pouring the queso into a smaller crockpot under your microwave so that it was warm.

Sasha picked at the celery on the tray before eyeing the dip and quickling going over to it. Connie stayed in the living room for a moment, saying what's up to everyone before going to make himself a plate and setting the liquor in the freezer for now. No one else had begun eating until the rest of the food got there, but Connie and Sasha made sure to stay huddled in the kitchen corner so your carpet wasn’t ruined. 

Somewhere between 7:15 and 7:30, Annie, Bert, and Reiner all walked in with different items in hand. Annie held two things of paper towels, Reiner held a bottle of whiskey, jesus christ how much liquor do we need, and Bert happily held a tin casserole dish of taco dip. And finally closer to 8, Marco and Jean came in with extra cases of soda and extra cups. 

As everyone made their plate and caught up on whatever they had missed in the last few months, they went downstairs to the card table, bar, and coffee table. You had showered and felt a lot better before everyone had gotten there, smoking half a blunt to calm your nerves in the garage with your not-so weed smoking boyfriend.

It was fun to see his eyes become glossy and low after only a few hits. You two didn’t smoke together often, he was more of a drinker if anything. But you were stressed and it was cold in the garage so it’s not like he was leaving you out there by yourself! .. Plus it’d calm his nerves as well so why not?

Eren walked back up the stairs with empty plates, tossing them into the trashcan before carrying three bottles of liquor downstairs without a word. You couldn’t help but laugh, seeing Connie and Armin meet him halfway on the stairs to help him carry everything. Mikasa stopped her conversation with Historia, leaning forward off of the couch as vigilant eyes squinted at the basement door. Was her boyfriend trying to sneak back downstairs??

“Did he just?” She got up, her/his jacket resting on her shoulders more as a cape than actually on. You nod, watching her follow them down the stairs and a surprised yelp come from Armin and Eren as if almost in trouble by their mother. You could hear music starting to play from the subwoofer, volume getting louder through the door.

You hung out upstairs, finally eating your food after talking to everyone and being forced to take at least two shots before eating by the group since ‘everyone was doing it’. Fuckin bullies.. Cocoa colored eyes follow Ymir as she snatched her own bottle from the freezer as if it was a trophy. “Cards downstairs, y/n?” She asked, smiling and opening the bottle before grabbing a few solo cups.

“Should be a pack of red ones on the table.” You spoke behind your hand, watching her smile get even bigger. She opened the door, stopping and holding the doorknob with the opposite hand before turning to her girlfriend sitting in the living room. “Please baby?”

Historia sighed in defeat, laughing a bit as a light blush laid against her cheeks from the few shots she had taken. She knew if she went they’d just make her drink more, but she decided to leave the living room and slowly shuffle on her socks into the kitchen anyway. 

“Let me make f..food first..” She giggled, sliding past you to get a plate and get herself some carrots and broccoli, swaying and humming to herself as she put some dip on her plate with a plastic unused spoon. 

Ymir smirked, half running down the stairs to see who wanted their ass kicked in cards. You look over to Historia, already looking at you with a happy smile. “Thank you for letting us all hang out here y/n, I know Armin said it first but I know it’s a two person thing.. ‘n your buffalo dip is soooo good!” She scooped some onto her new plate, having only really picked at the food earlier.

You let out a small laugh, leaning your back against the sink. “Thank you, I’ll make it again for the superbowl if you want?” She nodded happily, opening the fridge to see the fake champagne. She looked over at you for permission, not wanting to be bullied into any more shots by her friends, girlfriend and just fomo in general. “Yes you can take it downstairs, Take the rose one,” You slide her a cup, watching her happily grab the bottle and place the cup on top before grabbing her plate.

“Wait!” She squealed, setting the plate back down before turning to find something. She turned back to her plate, taking a carrot before looking up at you. “Do you have a marker?” You tilt your head, nodding and pulling one from your miscellaneous drawer. She quickly tossed the carrot into her mouth, scribbling out the word champagne before staring at it in satisfaction. She left the marker on the counter, bringing everything downstairs as she continued to slightly sway.

Eren, Jean, Connie, Armin, and Sasha were definitely getting a little too turnt the fuck up, you could hear them louder and louder as the music changed. Armin didn’t dislike rap, however he was sure as hell going with whatever shit Connie or Eren picked next. You could hear Reiner join in, Annie and Bert had walked down a while ago so it was really just you upstairs by this point.

As you began unplugging the crockpots so you could go downstairs, there was a commotion at your basement door. You open it to see Connie and Sasha drunkenly fumbling up the stairs to ask for you to make them plates because 'you do it best'. You didn’t mind, laughing and helping the two up as they stayed glued at the hip and didn’t seem to let go of each other out of fear of falling.. Even though it had already happened. You make sure to make the two of them big plates, turning with both in hand to see Sasha eating cheesecake on a napkin and with her hand. 

“Thmnak you *smack* y/n, this ‘s so good-” Sasha spoke, closing her eyes as she toddled back and forth on her heels. Connie laughed at how quick she was to eat, watching her turn and fall near the trash can as she tried to dunk in the napkin. You let out a small laugh as well, setting their food down to help her up. “You two go downstairs, I’ll bring them okay?”

Connie fell to the floor laughing, causing Sasha to lean against you in a fit of giggles as well. You glance at the clock, seeing it had only been 10:30. “Yessss ma’am!” She pulled away from you, pointing and laughing at Connie before heading down the stairs slowly and carefully. 

After his laughing fit, he held open the door for you since you were carrying two full ass plates. You smile and thank him, walking down. Ymir, Marco, Jean, Annie and Reiner were all playing a game of cards in the corner with a solo cup next to everyone at the table. You already knew who was actually drinking and who hadn't been.

You head over to the bar, setting the plates down where Armin was standing with his arms on the counter from the inside. His eyes lit up at the sight of you, quickly walking over to take a plate and set it on top of the counter. Sasha quickly ran over to start eating, Connie stumbling over to do the same. 

“There you are..” His eyes weren’t as low, but they were definitely glossy from whatever he had been drinking. He hugged you close, resting his head atop of yours and pulling you as close as he could. “We miissed youuuu..” His smile was loopy, looking down at you with eyes still full of love. He wasn’t incoherent, but he was definitely more clingy when drunk. Not that it was bad, you just had to make sure his friends weren’t aware of how handys he can get.

Eren was looking up different songs on YouTube, Mikasa sitting beside him and hiding a bottle behind the couch. You could see the reflection of light on the glass, watching Eren absentmindedly look for it before a small noise came from the TV when he did end up selecting something.

“I missed you too, my big baby.” You let out a soft giggle. Throughout the night you had smoked with Connie, Eren, Reiner, and Armin. Everyone else didn’t fuck with weed like that, Ymir, Berthodlt, and Jean smoked occasionally but their preference was mostly vapes and or cigarettes which you guys would smoke before them because the smell of weed is nothin compared to a fuckin cigarette. 

Historia didn’t smoke, Mikasa didn’t enjoy being high because it makes her anxious and Annie has this fruity flavored vape she hardly hit. But you were definitely still high. Armin didn’t look to be but he stopped early to check on the others so that probably is why he's more drunk than anything.

He pulled away, kissing your cheek and down your neck with a happy smile at the sight of you as you thought to yourself. “You look so pretty in this outfit, should let me take it off..” He mumbled into your ear, chuckling as he slid his hands under your shirt. You giggle, grabbing his wrists to keep his hands out of your shirt. He pouted as you spoke, eyes staring down at your lips as you spoke. “Hey, We have a room full of guests. Wait like.. two hours for me?”

Armin quickly smiles, nodding and moving to hold you by your belt loops. “I can wait forever for you..” He kissed your forehead, kissing down to your cheek and then your lips. You melt into it, giggling quietly and holding him close before hearing the Ad stop. There was only about 5 seconds of non-TV noise, but within so, you could hear Connie speak up.

“You guys gonna fuck right in front of me and Sasha’s food?” You pulled away, looking over at him with a squint and hearing Sasha die laughing. He looked at the TV in fear of looking at you any longer, sputtering and laughing as well. Armin’s face turned bright red, obviously starting to come to as he unhooked his fingers and sheepishly hid behind you despite being taller. 

“Shut the fuck up Connie–” You were cut off by the subwoofer going back to playing loudly with Eren, Reiner, and Connie all yelling.

“LISTEN TO THIS TRACK, BITCH!!” 

You rolled your eyes so hard they might as well have fallen into your skull, walking over to the couch as Armin held your hand and followed you. “Maybe we don’t need noise makers.. Got four of 'em right here.” You motioned to the people yelling, listening to everyone else who knew the lyrics also start getting loud. Maybe a few more shots wouldn't hurt.

here's part two! kinda suggestive but still crack/fluff for sure.

© if you like what you see please reblog! It means a lot and helps me out. Want more? Heres my m.list! I write for x black reader so throw me some requests :P my other account are icons and x black reader moodboards if you’re interested!

[gachagon]

Hypocrisy anon here and I agree completely with your response, especially the tags.

I really hope a p:eg writer writes a fic about a Danganronpa character being plopped into Project Eden's Garden cause I feel like the dichotomy between them and the cast would be so good.

Like I could see the cast seeing Makoto as a complete anomaly with how optimistic he is even compared to Diana. With Hajime I could see many of the characters shunning him with Damon doing so too. Nagito and Kokichi I feel like would be even more wildcards than they were in their own games.

If Eva had been with any other group she either wouldn't have murdered or I think she would've won that Killing Game. The THH and SDR group were like so friendly and trusting of one another that each trial was a gut punch because they knew someone had genuinely betrayed them or felt like they had been backed into a corner into becoming one of the Blackened. (Aside from Celestia who was just straight up trying to win it lol)

I definitely think she would've won the Killing Game for THH if she befriended Naegi and still did her whole "I'm gonna frame someone else" plot. Only because I think Naegi and the others would have had too much faith in her T_T

Hajime had to vote for multiple people he actually liked so I don't think she'd have won SDR's Killing Game, but alternatively she wouldn't have murdered if she had a support group and seeing as the SDR crew were like legit besties even after the Killing Game, I could see her not resorting to murder.

V3 however, idk I feel like she would've lost. She'd have had to tell a lie so convincing that it'd trick the REAL Ultimate Liar, Kokichi Ouma and I just don't see Eva doing that. But I do think she'd bond with other characters in V3 because she wouldn't be the only person with an "unusual" talent. (That, and her ostracizing starts because she's the first to point out the naivety of believing no one would murder. The other crews I feel would've had more people who would've agreed with her openly rather than following some leader. That way she wouldn't be alone in her opinion, which sort of makes her spiral from the jump.)

Like Kirigiri and Byakuya would've agreed with her in THH, I can see Fuyuhiko and Peko backing her up on the whole "we really CAN'T trust people like that..." point, Maki and Shuichi would've also agreed with the idea of it etc...but in Eden's Garden the only person she had was Damon, and Diana agreed but not outwardly and she did just stay quiet for the most part T_T (i love Diana but I feel like Eva had a bit of a point, it's like when you're in a group of friends and they're bullying someone and you point out how they're all being kind of mean, but nothing happens bc you don't do anything personally to distance yourself from that kind of behavior.)

That, and the other crews didn't have a "leader" until like the very end. Sure there was someone to help lead the discussions of the trials, but outside of trials they didn't have someone who dictated what they did or when they did it etc. Like nobody was looking to Naegi or Shuichi or Hajime as leaders to make decisions for everyone. When Wolfgang was like "Just bring any suspicious clues to me next time Desmond" I knew that shit wouldn't fly if it was THH or something (Byakuya would've called him out on it so fast lmao)

[bowsellie]

say it once again with feeling

i’ll forget you, but i’ll never forgive

warnings/info: smut (mdni) face sitting pussy eating scissoring all the goods, top!ellie bottom!r

angst, can be read as either ellie x reader or ellie x dina depending on your vibe, canon compliant, post-canon, mentions of unhealed/poorly healed injuries, alcohol, mentions of grief, reader has a child (jj durr) who is not actually present just mentioned I think that’s all :3

Been big into reading angst lately so here

—

You can only mourn someone for so long, you believed. Their memory would always be with you, yes, but the despair and pain and missing would have to be replaced with something better eventually. If you let it consume you, you couldn’t live on yourself.

This was a lot more difficult to stick to, however, when the person you were mourning may not actually be dead.

Since the night Ellie left, you forced yourself to imagine that she wouldn’t come back. You had to, or else you would hold out hope. And with that hope came a forgiveness you couldn’t afford to give. Nobody gets to ruin your life and leave you alone with a child you felt barely old enough to care for, not even the love of your life. So you imagined her dead—torn apart by clickers, by Abby, by her own refusal to care for herself—and convinced yourself to mourn her death and not her leaving. It felt easier that way.

Since packing up your belongings and your baby and your sheep and moving back to Jackson, you had to constantly remind yourself to not look around each room for her. To not expect her to walk through the door. To not hope that she was alive, and worse, here.

It was a hard habit to break, and your head still perked up every time the door to the Tipsy Bison opened. Especially after a few drinks, like the Friday night you sat at the bar downing tequila shot after tequila shot. JJ was with his grandparents for the weekend and you needed something to fill the silence in the small house you shared with him, something burning.

You must have had too much to drink tonight, because you looked up at the next door creak and swore you actually saw her.

Blinking once, twice, looking away then looking back, the apparition didn’t disappear. In fact, it met its green eyes with yours and began to approach. Her hair was shorter and shittily chopped, her face was scabbed in multiple new places, and her gait was limping as the Ellie-like figure came closer and seemed to becoming more realistic. She sat down in the empty barstool next to you, grunting with the effort but otherwise saying nothing. You, still looking away and back as if to clear your vision, muttered a slurred “holy shit”.

“I was hoping you’d be here,” she said. Her voice was rougher than you remembered, like she hadn’t used it in weeks or had been screaming until the cords fried.

“Holy shit,” you responded.

“I need…we need to talk,” Ellie said, not quite looking at you. She played with her hands, ghosting the fingers of her right hand over an empty spot where her left hand should mirror.

You breathed in sharply, noticing the absence. “Holy shit.”

“Can I take you home?”

The delay in your brain finally caught up to the situation, a million possible words and responses stumbling over themselves until you could say something—anything—that made sense.

“Fuck. No.” You pushed the empty shot glass to rest on top of the plastic part of the bar farther from you and stood up hastily, catching yourself on the barstool as alcohol rushed to your head and made you stumble.

Ellie matched in urgency and elegance, stumbling herself from whatever was affecting her walk on the way in. “Please. I fucked up, so bad, I at least need to say it.”

“You said it,” you snapped back, shoving your way to the door, “now go away and leave me alone.”

“You’re pissed, you should be. I fucked up so bad. Please, let me, I don’t know,” she rambled, trailing behind you.

You shoved the doors open, not caring to hold them on your way out despite Ellie following close behind.

“Please,” she said, again, her voice breaking.

You whipped around to face her. “Please what, Ellie? You’re dead to me. Literally. I can’t—I didn’t—I had to—you’re not. This isn’t a possibility for me. You’re supposed to be dead.”

“But I’m not.”

“But you are. You have been for the last however many months. You don’t get to come here and tell me how you killed Abby and got your fucking revenge and can actually care about me instead of letting me be the second most important person to you. You don’t get to make me forgive you for ruining my life. You ruined my fucking life! You left me, mourning everyone who ever meant fucking anything to me, with a fucking CHILD, and if I don’t believe you’re dead then I have to hate you. I fucking hate you. I fucking HATE you, Ellie!”

Somewhere you had begun to cry, hard and hot and wet. The tears choked you as they rain down your face, and you half hunched over as your stomach clenched with the devastating waves of emotion you were feeling. It was like reliving everything all over again.

And still, she looked at you with her green eyes and the line between her eyebrows that you knew like your own face.

“I’m so, so sorry.”

“Yeah. You should be,” you choked out. Forcing yourself to stand and taking hyperventilating breaths, you turned and started to walk home.

“At least let me make sure you get home safe. Please. We don’t need to talk about it, I just…I’m sorry. Please,” Ellie said. Her own voice was thicker now, the words barely rasping out.

You shook your head, but didn’t turn her away when she began walking with you. You made your way home nearly in silence, except for the crunch of two pairs of shoes and your gasps between tears that wouldn’t stop.

When you approached the porch of the apartments you were living in, you turned to Ellie. You couldn’t get rid of her soon enough. And yet, having her presence with you when you’d adjusted to never feeling it again…you couldn’t let it go yet.

You walked up the porch, fumbling with your keys from your pocket and unlocking the door after a few attempts. You pushed open the door, and turned back to the pitiful looking girl behind you. Everything you felt, minus the anger, was mirrored on her face. Sadness, longing, and a love that had been forced away.

“Come in, then. I don’t fucking care,” you said, holding the door for her.

Ellie scurried in, quickly removing her shoes at the door. Like she remembered you’d liked. Like she used to always do.

“Please don’t tell me those are the same goddamn converse you left in,” you said, scrunching your nose and she tucked in the laces.

“Not a lot of shoe stores in California, turns out,” Ellie said with something like a laugh. “I can stick them outside, if you want.”

You shook your head, removing your own shoes before heading up the creaky stairs. Ellie lingered at the bottom.

“There’s a toy on the left halfway up. Don’t trip on it,” you said, not turning around. Her footsteps began to follow yours.

In your bedroom, you began to get ready for bed. Ellie stood, watching, so still it was like she was afraid to move. Maybe she was, you thought. Maybe the delicacy you felt in the air was so tangible she was afraid to break it.

Finally, she breathed and spoke. “What do you—“

You cut her off quickly, looking in her eyes for the first time since coming into your house. One that, until now, had been free of her memory.

“Spend the night. Please. I can’t say goodbye to you again just,” you swallowed heavily, “just yet.”

Ellie nodded, soundlessly, and the both of you got into varying states of undress before turning off the lights and crawling into bed.

You turned your body, resting your head on her chest and breathing deeply. She stunk of outside, in a way that only Ellie could make you like. Her arm curled tentatively around your shoulders.

“Where’s JJ?” she whispered.

“With Jesse’s parents. They watch him every few weekends. They’ve really helped a lot,” you responded, just as quietly.

“How is he?”

You smiled despite yourself. “Good. He knows a few words. He walks, mostly.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I mean, he’s really shitty at it so far—“

Ellie interrupted your sentence with a snort, causing you to giggle back. You twisted so you could see her face, and before you had time to reconsider, kissed her deeply.

She didn’t hesitate to kiss you back. For months, almost a year, you hadn’t been kissed this way. Like she needed you to breathe, like you needed her to live. Her hands fell to your hips, gripping until you felt fingertip shaped indents beginning to form.

“Ellie, ouch,” you breathed into her mouth, and she loosened her grip slightly. You were once again reminded of the missing digits, feeling their absence on your right side.

“Sorry. I need to feel that you’re real,” she said, kissing you again. Her hands stayed obediently on your hips, your waist, the proper places for them to be. But you needed more. Goddamn it, if you were going to indulge the fantasy of Ellie being back, you needed to indulge completely.

Breaking the kiss, you grabbed her hands and moved them down and back to grab your ass.

“Are you sure?” she asked, squeezing tentatively.

You nodded. “Please, Ellie. Don’t make me question it. Fuck me.”

She leaned up to kiss you again, more fervently than before as her hands kneaded your ass. Her hands began to move up, underneath your tshirt to cup your breasts, eliciting a sharp breath.

Ellie’s mouth opened again, likely to ask you if that was alright, but you silenced her with a kiss. The truth is, you didn’t know if it was alright. But you wanted it to be.

She flipped you over, moving low to remove your panties and bury her face in between your legs. She wasted no time licking thick stripes over your hole to your clit, dipping her tongue inside before moving it back upwards to flick the sensitive bud.

Ellie’s left hand snaked up to join her mouth, but she froze for a fraction of a second when nothing met your folds. Instead, she shoved the offending hand back underneath her body and brought up the right hand to slip in one, then two fingers.

It was less adept than it used to be, you thought. She wasn’t used to using this hand.

For what felt like hours, Ellie ate you out ravenously and without tiring. You squirmed, moaned, and pulled her hair, chasing an orgasm that kept seeming to run away at the last moment. After the third or fourth time of this, Ellie lifted her head away.

“Are you okay?” she asked softly.

You nodded. “Yeah, yeah. Sorry. I’m just thinking a lot. Can I sit on your face instead?”

She nodded quickly, adjusting her body to lay in between the pillows as you positioned yourself on top of her. Sinking onto her open mouth, you ground down onto her waiting tongue. The change in position was exactly what you needed, and with Ellie’s tongue flicking over your clit, you felt the blood began to pool below your naval as your core tightened.

“Fuck. Please don’t stop. Please, just like that,” you gasped out. Ellie moaned in acknowledgement against you, the vibrations causing your orgasm to go crashing down. Your body convulsed on top of her, while her arms hooked around your thighs to hold you mostly in place. She gave three more long licks, causing you to twitch in overstimulation before swinging a leg over her and settling to lay down.

Ellie rolled over, using both arms to hold herself above your body as she kissed you. The heady taste of your own wet combined with the warm softness of her mouth had you spreading your legs once more, almost imperceptibly rolling your hips upward to ask for more.

Ellie smiled at you, in the way that always made you melt, and your stomach twisted. It would be so easy to fall in love with her again, you thought. To forgive her, to pretend it never happened.

She lifted off her sweatshirt and dirty tank top, revealing an angry red scar around her abdomen that was almost definitely infected. She slid out of her own underwear, looking at you for confirmation as she slid her legs over yours and slotted her pussy against your own.

In tandem, you both moaned as your hips began to move messily towards each other. The effect of your last orgasm combined with the twisting of your stomach at having Ellie here, right now, and before you knew it you were crying. Above you, Ellie sniffled. She was crying too.

Your motions against each other became more and more frantic as Ellie reached her orgasm above you. Nearly sobbing now, the pulsing of her pussy pushed you over the top into your own. Your moans grew louder and more incomprehensible, until the only thing you could shout was “I hate you. I hate you. I fucking hate you.”

Ellie collapsed on top of you, both of you crying and sweaty. You didn’t kiss again. Like sweet nothings in her ear, you continued to mutter. “I hate you, I hate you, I fucking hate you.”

Ellie peeled her body off of yours, reclothing herself and throwing a blanket over your shaking body.

“I hate you,” you whispered.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered back.

And for the second time in your life, Ellie walked out the door.

[crumbleclub]

What if Michael met ghost Mike?

I feel your confusion, but hear me out.

There's no time travel involved. A part of Michael died with his brother, and that concept is taken literally.

A result of trauma? Penance? A supernatural fluke? You decide.

Michael Afton's life continues. He gets older, he starts trying to figure out his father's crimes, he gets involved with trying to save the souls that are trapped.

He never questions the crying he sometimes hears, never questions the cold hand he's felt on his wrist when his life was in danger. It could have been anyone. One of the kids didn't quite leave, maybe, or his brother or sister came around from time to time. He grew accustomed to it.

Once, though, in the mirror, he sees another version of himself standing nearby. That sort of thing is hard to write off.

[yarrow-leaf]

A kindling of a swordless bloodshed,

The creaking of a voiceless door —

Another piece inspired by something @mincemeat-the-warforged said that absolutely altered my brain chemistry (the same 1 am conversation that sparked this in fact!)

[icarrymany]

the mh comics open up such an interesting narrative for our few surviving characters. to them, what happened in the videos was real, but to everyone else its a cool creative web series. when all of that is viewed as fiction, fans have a freedom to speculate about and invade the lives and privacy of real people. and that would be so uncomfortable and terrifying. imagine someone irl having headcanons about YOU. writing fan fiction about you and your real friends. assuming things about you PUBLICLY ! IN MASS!

wouldnt it be so cool to see a character grapple with that in like a self-reflective way? fans asking questions the muse is too afraid to ask themselves. of course, theyre the only person the answer matters to.

[laniidae-passerine]

decided that in my own personal canon, Santiago’s maker looked similar to Louis, simply because Ben Daniels stated that Santiago was very likely in love with his maker. and wouldn’t it be some kind of torture to fall in love with the man who murdered your first vampiric love? to then watch him fall in love with another, who bears an eerie resemblance to that first love? to be witness to something tender and affectionate blooming, every moment a memory of how none of those you’ve adored have ever wanted you back? it would be agony. it would be torture. god, you would just hate them to pieces, loathing even as you loved them. and you wouldn’t know peace - not until the whole pack of them learnt the horror of love, just as you have.

[galacticlamps]

I just wanted to apologize to my classic whotuals for all the dead boy detectives spamming, but it's also important to me that you guys know two things:

a) I've become aware that a lot of what appeals to me about dead boy detectives is, on a kind of conceptual/thematic level, the same stuff that I love about my favorite eras of dr who, and 6b in particular

And I tell you this not as an advertising tactic but as a genuine PSA for anyone following me because:

b) Being me & having realized this, I know I'm definitely gonna wind up posting some unnecessarily long-winded analysis/comparison, pop it in the main tags for the sake of organization on my own blog, and subsequently confuse a hell of a lot of people there who either have no idea what I'm talking about or simply don't view either piece of media in the same light as I do to begin with

So I just wanted to reassure everyone that at least you're not suffering alone, as I will soon be inflicting the reverse bait-and-switch upon others!

That's all! continue w ur scrolling <3

[boyczar]

please remember that it is a compliment to be disliked by people. most people don’t even like themselves. think about why you even want to be liked by somebody. why do YOU like YOURSELF?? why give a fuck about whether or not somebody with so much work to do on themselves doesn’t like you? they literally do not even like themselves. they can’t genuinely “like” you.

[my-cages-were-mental]

i got a little bit of inspirational stuff for y’all lol.

just because you started off on the wrong foot does not mean you can’t fix your step.

[malkaviian]

i am having a great time here on life dot com

[thebumblingbee]

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