#anyone else get panic attacks about dying

[lovieku]

TRUE LOVE ⋆ 정국

when you and jeon jeongguk's paths cross again, you question if having a crush on the school's emo and alternative boy was really just a phase, or if it was true love after all.

⋆⁺₊❅. 5/6 from christmas & chill

pairing tattoo artist!jk x fem reader

genre fluff, smut, grumpy & sunshine, somewhat f2l

warnings jk 24 | oc 24, jk thinks he’s too cool for love, oc suffers from a chronic case of “i can fix him”, she eventually does, oc simps HARDDD and jk only pretends to be unaffected, yea he’s a bit of a dick sometimes but he’s also Very funny, brief description of panic attacks, male masturbation, kissing, idk what else to add i just rly rly love them and will think of them for the entirety of xmas season

word count 10.2k

author’s note hi lovies 🩷 it’s my last time with c&c 🙁 i’m kinda emotional omg… it’s been such a fun, warm and lovely week, and i love each one of you for showing endless support to this project <33 i’ll keep trying to not disappoint… please tell me if you like this!!! thank u always and always 🩷 luv u <3

banner by the gorgeous @awrkive ⊹₊⟡⋆

On the first day of December, your path crosses with thee Jeon Jeongguk’s after enough years for your brain to trip slightly before recognising him. But it would have been impossible not to—there’s likely a whole, well-preserved section of your thinking organ dedicated to that mortifying phase of high school, when your hormones turned life into an endless internal tug-of-war.

The moment your eyes widen at having him stand in front of you, you’re yanked unceremoniously into the past, brought back to buried, locked and left to gather dust feelings that have your teenage self’s screams echoing within you in a chorus of delight and cringe.

Jeongguk, on the other hand, is simply following his duties as a tattoo artist. When he catches sight of you next to his appointed client on such a breezy day, the cold December air starting to find its space even in the confines of his studio, he only nods his chin upward at you in slow recognition.

It’s awkward, at first. Only because you make it.

You’d volunteered to accompany Eunbi, your best friend, to get her first tattoo as an early Christmas self-gift. Your mission was clear: support her, hold her hand if the pain became unbearable (though you’re probably the least dependable person when it comes to making clarity in situations of panic, as seen right now), and be the first to bask in her excitement as she finally sees what she’s always pictured to be inked on the skin of her forearm. A blue whale tattoo, large enough to make you wince just thinking about the needlework.

You’d never go through something like that. Never.

And that’s exactly what’s showing on your face when you’re met with Jeongguk’s full sleeve of tattoos, leaving you rooted to the spot.

You’d always known him to be the different kid, the quiet one with forced sharp eyes that canonically listened to alternative rock and glared at anyone who dared approach, whether to tease him or befriend him. He’d convinced himself that no one could ever understand him.

See, you’d instead fooled yourself into thinking you were the exception. That you did understand him.

Fourteen-year-old you had gone through some weird phases, and the one that resurfaces now at the vision of his adult self is the one centered entirely around him. You unashamedly had the biggest crush on Jeongguk. To you, he was mysterious and edgy—in an effortlessly cool way.

You’d tried everything. Offered him your lunch more times than you were left with any for yourself. Even cut your bangs to have them fall over your eyes to mimic his fringe, dyed a strand in blue, overhauled your wardrobe to align with his back-and-grey one. None of it worked. He never noticed.

But, thinking of it now, there’s no way he didn't. He definitely did. How could any boy turn a blind eye to a lovesick girl’s heartfelt Valentine’s letter, a hopeless romantic girl who almost cried on the spot when she got rejected? Jeongguk just chose to willingly ignore it.

These are all valid reasons as to why your functions seem to slow down in his unexpected presence. And you’re not going to deny nor fake that his calm, almost detached demeanor doesn’t flow through your body and right to your left eye, making it twitch with a slight tremor.

Yet, you must also admit that your teenage self was onto something. Jeongguk has changed drastically but he’s also stayed the same. You think fourteen-year-old him would be proud of where he is right now. Two piercings on his lower lip and one on his eyebrow, intricate ink tracing up his muscled arm, his… muscled arms. Wow. And then, his studio. His own studio, a place for him and his passion, one that he made into his job. That’s undeniably cool.

Maybe just not cool enough for you to be gaping like an idiot as he moves with purpose, adjusting your friend’s arm to position the stencil he had prepared, perfectly fitting in the space she had chosen. His muscles flex with every shift, and it’s impossible for you to go past that with the way the black beater he’s wearing is loose on his torso, but still clinging on his chest.

Eunbi notices, of course. You don’t have time to feel embarrassed and in return she doesn’t even try to hide her amusement when your usual chatter dries up entirely, only gulping obnoxiously noisily and alternating that with nervous silences. Jeongguk, too, catches on.

He’d always known you as obnoxious and noisy. In, huh, a good way. Or whatever.

Jeongguk just agrees that you were (and probably still are, if the pastel yellow skirt softly flowing down your legs paired with a cozy cream sweater and the full toothed grin you shoot at your friend are any indicators) the pinpoint embodiment of his opposite. You’ve always been talkative, smiley, and friendly, eager to help and to receive help, not in the slightest ever turning down the opportunity to blabber on, and on, and on.

Honestly, Jeongguk doesn’t think he ever truly listened to a single word of your rambling back in the day, especially during those times when you’d bounce up to him and launch into enthusiastic rants about obscure alternative bands he himself hadn’t even heard of. He respected the hustle, though. He’d always wondered where you found the time and energy to immerse yourself in music like that.

He much preferred when you were less trying so hard to be him and mirror his tastes, more when you gave up on impressing him and simply stayed true to yourself, the girl whose heart belonged to Justin Bieber and One Direction. Truthfully, he fucked with them. Not that he’d ever admit it, of course. His quiet, brooding image wouldn’t survive that revelation.

What he respected the most was your resilience. After all the times he rejected you and your awkward blurts of confessions, you still didn’t think it was enough of a reason for your villain origin story to take off, and instead remained the same frustratingly positive ray of sunshine you’d always been.

Now, as Jeongguk works on the tattoo in front of him, the very design that caused all these long-buried memories to rise back, his dark eyes flick toward you sitting on a stool in a near corner every now and then, a hint of confusion in his expression each time you take more than five seconds to reply to his small talk.

It’s just, you’re a bit taken aback. Since when does he do small talk? The foreign smoothness with which Jeongguk handles interactions is so far removed from the sullen boy you used to know. You’re not prepared for this version of him. It’s disarming, to say the least.

Enough time has passed for you to settle into the odd scenario, your current best friend and your long-standing high school crush in the same room. Slowly but surely, your curiosity sparkles again, and the signature tendency to let thoughts tumble out of your mouth unchecked returns to you naturally.

“Ouch, that looks painful.”

Jeongguk snorts, eyes trained on Eunbi’s arm as he glides the tattoo needle with precise strokes that have his brows pinching and the tip of his tongue peeking out from the corner of his lips, a habit you remember from the past but one you’ve never found quite so distracting before.

Still, he multitasks and responds without missing a beat, “Wanna try?”

Wow. This is, like, the longest conversation you’ve ever had with him. It spurs you on to do anything it takes to hear more of his voice, the sound of it definitely deeper than the shy tones you struggled to coax out of him ten years ago.

That is probably why you literally lie, “Hm. Maybe. I was thinking of getting one actually. In the future.”

Eunbi chokes on her spit, her chest coughing with the sudden, blatantly fake revelation, and Jeongguk promptly pauses, lifting the needle from her skin as his tattooist reflexes kick in. While your friend apologizes between a clearing of her throat and sinks back into the chair, she doesn’t keep from glaring at you, her expression screaming What the hell are you doing?

You deadpan. You’ll explain everything later and it’ll all make sense. And you know this will inevitably end up being added to the list of the many embarrassing facts she knows about you and threatens you with when she wants to go clubbing and you don’t.

Jeongguk uses the brief interruption to glance up at where you’re perched in the corner of his peripheral vision, just to square you up and down with a skeptical arch of his brow, “Really?”

You scoff, smoothing out the creases on your skirt as if the fabric is somehow responsible for the lie you just told, “Is that shocking?”

He hums, returning to his work with the buzz of the needle filling the studio again, his voice padded the more he gets closer to Eunbi’s forearm, “I just find it hard to believe such a princess like you could handle any pain.”

You gulp.

What you’re getting from this conversation is that Jeongguk has always had an idea of who you are in his mind all along. That he’s always perceived you in some way. As much as your inner fourteen-year-old is swooning at the attention, gobbling up each of the tiny crumbles he’s giving you, it doesn’t sit right with you. What exactly does he think of you?

“Test me.”

He shrugs, eyes fixated on the shade he’s perfectioning with black ink, “Busy now.”

“I’ll go pay for mine. I saw you have one last free spot today,” you announce, the words tumbling out with more confidence than you feel. You’re already on your feet before the sentence is fully formed, betraying the fact that your nosy tendencies had gotten the better of you earlier. You’d discreetly glanced at his appointment book when Jeongguk and Eunbi were finalizing her tattoo details and negotiating the final price at the desk.

He hums, head tilting slightly, “And I wanted to spend it bumming around.”

“Too bad. You’ll have to postpone that.”

You walked into this studio swearing you’d never let a needle even brush you.

Now you’re stretched out on a leather bench, Jeongguk leaning over you with a stencil in hand, gloved fingers moving with careful precision.

The design you’d chosen came from his portfolio—a delicate illustration of two butterflies in motion, their soft threads intertwining. You’d flipped through countless pages of bold skulls and intricate linework before settling on this.

The spot you’d chosen for the tattoo was the flat, firm plane between your breasts. It wasn’t a conscious decision, just a place you’d always liked. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that nature hadn’t exactly blessed you in the cleavage department. Subconsciously, perhaps, you thought that adding something there might give the illusion of more.

“Tehe,” you can’t stop the breathy giggle that escapes as the cool paper brushes against your skin. Your hand is pressed to your bra, holding it in place as best you can, though the situation feels so surreal it’s hard to focus on anything but the ridiculousness of it all.

Jeongguk glances up at you with a glare that’s more exasperated than angry before returning to the delicate task at hand, “What’s funny?”

Your voice wobbles, “I just— I tend to laugh during serious moments.”

“Oh. Weird.”

“Sorry.”

With a small sigh, he smooths the stencil, and once it’s transferred he hands you a square mirror, waiting for your approval. You nod, the butterflies now perfectly poised in their eternal dance, and Jeongguk doesn’t waste a moment.

The buzz of the needle fills the room as he leans closer, one gloved hand resting on the upper part of your chest to steady himself. He’s mere seconds from beginning the inking process when another laugh bubbles out of you.

Jeongguk sits back abruptly, dropping his pen onto the metal tray with an audible clink. Tilting his head, he levels you with a look of thinly veiled irritation. “I really can’t work if your chest keeps moving.”

“Sorry,” you blurt again, turning your head to face the wall. You clamp your lips together tightly, mentally scrolling through every sad memory you can conjure. Think of something awful. Your childhood dog dying. Okay, maybe not that sad—

“You haven’t changed a bit since high school. Always smiling like you live surrounded by flowers and rainbows,” Jeongguk’s mutter vibrates against your chest, warm breath fanning over the cold skin, distracting you from your no-giggling mission.

The unexpected observation has your brows furrowing in a mildly offended frown, and banter is ready on your tongue. “You’re just the same too, Gguk. The emo boy who thinks he’s too cool for a smile.”

“I’m not an emo boy. The fuck,” he scoffs, kissing his teeth and murmuring more of his indignation under his breath.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night. I can teach you.”

The whirring needle glides across your skin with a slightly firmer touch, making you hiss softly under your breath. He seems unbothered by the reaction, and instead bothered by your words, “Teach me what.”

“How to smile a bit more,” you reply, your voice laced with mockery as you keep your gaze firmly fixed on the wall. The smirk playing on your lips is triumphant; he walked right into your little jab, hehe.

Your mind is already racing, piecing together the beginning of a sarcastic rant about how his perpetual scowl probably contributed to his mysterious high school persona. For the sake of his ego, you won’t add how it worked in his favor, how more than one girl (your own self) found his untouchable vibe completely irresistible.

Even though, thinking back, he looked ridiculous. His big, round, slightly scared-of-the-world eyes truly didn’t belong with the heavy black eyeliner.

But before you can get a single word out, Jeongguk straightens his posture, pulling away from your chest. With a practiced motion, he tosses one of his gloves onto the counter behind him, his expression cool and indifferent. “It’s done.”

“Done?!” you exclaim, tilting your chin down to look at your chest. You go slightly cross-eyed trying to catch a glimpse of the design now inked onto your skin. Forever.

“Yes.”

“I didn’t even feel it.”

Jeongguk seems equally done with small talk, transitioning into a professional explanation of the tattoo’s aftercare step. His tone is calm but clipped, and you can’t tell if it’s his usual demeanor or just reserved for you. He also hands you a small tube of cream of which you’re not sure the use of, too enthralled by the vision of his colored sleeve this up close.

And still laying on the leather bed, you almost reach to trace one of the many lines with your finger before he interrupts, “You can pay with Yoongi at the entrance.”

Clearing your throat, you sit up, brushing imaginary dust off your skirt as Jeongguk turns his back to you, his focus already back on cleaning his tools. You still are not over, “Thank you, Jeongguk. Can I— huh. Can I get your number?”

He pauses mid-motion, just long enough for the silence to stretch thin and taut. Turning around to study your features, he stares you up and down with knitted brows and a hostile kind of confusion painting his expression. “… For what exactly?”

“In case anything happens with the tattoo.”

Jeongguk stills for a second, eyes narrowing slightly, then turns back to what’s keeping him so occupied with a noncommittal grunt, “Huh. Sure. Yoongi has my business cards at the desk. You can ask him. Have a good day.”

With Eunbi practically dragging you out of the room, you don’t have the chance to say anything more, though your chest burns with indignation. It’s not that you expect him to fall over himself at the chance to catch up, but the sheer indifference is maddening.

Should you pretend you don’t care either? You could. But really, who are you fooling? You still have those old diaries buried somewhere in your closet, their pages crammed with his name written in looping, lovesick cursive. That little girl in you never truly died.

On the fourth day of December, you finally text him. It’s about your tattoo, of course. There’s not much else to say to him, but when his only reply to your picture of the healing process is a yellow thumbs up, you find your fingers hovering over the keyboard. Words start forming before you’ve fully processed them, and before you know it, you hit send.

You [3:39 p.m]: btw u still friends with kim tae?

jeongguk [3:42 p.m.]: Yes

jeongguk [3:42 p.m.]: He’s my best friend

You [3:43 p.m.]: ohhh, cool

jeongguk [3:45 p.m.]: You want his number?

You [3:46 p.m.]: no… i’m good with yours ☺️

You can’t help but giggle at how his typing bubbles appear and then fade for a whole minute, biting your lower lip with a sheepish grin, savoring the silent victory. You’re doing this for your fourteen-year-old self, who would’ve squealed at the thought of making Jeon Jeongguk flustered. But you’re a different girl now. You’ve changed. No man could ever reject—

jeongguk [3:48 p.m.]: If there’s nothing else about the tattoo then 👋

“Hmph,” your frown is so pronounced that you feel your chin aching and your wrinkles prematurely deepening. Well, this is not the first time you come face first with his sour antics. Only now, you’re prepared.

You [3:48 p.m.]: yall hanging out soon? let me join

jeongguk [3:49 p.m.]: Why lol

jeongguk [3:49 p.m.]: He barely even remembers you probs

You [3:50 p.m.]: who would not remember me

jeongguk [3:50 p.m.]: The only thing i’m now remembering about you is how I couldn’t stand your ass

You gasp, hand coming up to brush against your parted lips. With a huff, you hastily click at your keyboard, “Mean. Sent. Ugh.”

On the sixth day of December, your persistence pays off, and you find yourself at a random bar you’d never been to before, seated with both Jeongguk and Taehyung.

Between Jeongguk’s cigarette breaks—forcing the three of you to brave the cold outside—and brief moments in corners of the cramped place where the music feels muffled against the walls, you manage to catch up with Taehyung. The rest of the time though, the noise inside is so deafening that it makes any kind of meaningful conversation impossible.

Even more when a random girl slides into the booth next to him, capturing his attention entirely, leaving you and Jeongguk in paradoxical silence.

The tattoo artist has been glued to his phone with his head down for the last 20 minutes, and now you alternate between observing his side profile, roughened by the piercings and a more defined jawline, and analysing the weird dynamic that is beginning to form between Taehyung and the girl, sitting in front of you.

Alone with your thoughts and, well, the pulsating music, you feel yourself getting unreasonably closer to symptoms you know all too well, that threaten to have you spiraling. You shake your head, forcing it to stop. There’s no reason for anxiety to visit you at such an inconvenient time.

But of course, the little voice in your head starts listing all the totally valid motives why this is indeed the perfect time for it to visit you.

The bar feels suffocating on your skin.

Your dress clings too tightly.

The couple facing you is shamelessly close to making out.

Jeongguk sighs in visible boredom.

You shouldn’t have come. Hell, you shouldn't have suggested it in the first place. A smarter version of yourself would have brought Eunbi for balance, for comfort. But in your foolishness, you thought this could be an opportunity for you and Jeongguk to catch up. Instead, you feel foreign to him, foreign to this pub booth, and the air begins to feel foreign to your lungs. You’ve never liked bars, clubs, or places with loud music.

You sniffle, looking down at your lap. Then up at the ceiling. Then around the room. It keeps spinning and booming with volume that only adds to the feeling of helplessness. Quick, quick, quick.

What are five things that you can see?

Five. Your gaze falls on Taehyung and the girl, their lips and tongues clumsily entangled as they laugh between sloppy kisses. No help there. The air catches harder in your throat.

Four. Your empty glass, its smudged rim a reminder of the single drink you had, now sitting uncomfortably in your stomach.

Three. Your scuffed heels, their tips worn to the nub despite your best efforts to hide it with a marker.

Two. The swirling lights above the bar, dizzying as they flash brighter and brighter.

One. Jeongguk’s tattooed hand on your thigh.

His fingers dig into the skin, shaking you alarmedly, with a force you’ve never known from him, not even when it came to stopping your shaking stomach as you were laying on the studio’s leather bed.

Head snapping up to face him, you’re met with a perfect resemblance of how you must look right now. Wide eyes, knitted brows, nose flaring and exhaling, and you try to follow the movements of his mouth, but they jumble together annoyingly in your brain. You lean closer, narrowed orbs still fixated on his lips to try and read them. Are… you… ok—

“___, you’re scaring me. Hey, hello? Are you okay?”

Jeongguk moves from your thigh to your shoulders, jolting you gently but firmly from the fog that is threatening to cloud up your brain. The sudden clarity hits you, but you still stumble forward, your weight toppling over his chest. With it, your head dips rapidly, hurtling toward the sharp edge of the table, and before Jeongguk knows it his instinct snaps and he catches you promptly.

The next steps blur together. You vaguely register the boy next to you standing up and pulling you along with him, his broad shoulders supporting one of your arms while his inked one secures around the small of your waist, holding you firmly against him.

Then, it’s nothing but brief flashes. Jeongguk pressing a water bottle to your lips. Sitting you down on the stairs outside the pub. Holding your hair back as you double over, emptying the contents of your stomach onto the pavement. Cracking a smile to make you laugh, showing off his tattoos in exaggerated detail like it’s the grandest tour of your life. Opening the door to his car and gently easing you into the passenger seat, ensuring the seatbelt clicks into place.

Inside his car, you slowly feel your senses come back to you.

At a redlight that you recognise as the one near your apartment complex, you muster a small and hoarse thank you. Jeongguk only hums low, eyes fixated on the road and fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel.

Before a sheepish smile can make its way on your lips and spread across your face, your head twitches back as your brows furrow. Your thoughts suddenly catch up with you, “Hey, how do you know the way to my flat?”

His gaze briefly flicks toward you in annoyance, then back to the road. “You literally just told me.”

“Oh.” A beat passes before you giggle softly. “Don’t remember.”

Jeongguk mutters something intelligible under his breath, and next thing you know he’s turning down your street and slowing in front of the building that matches the number you gave him. Given your current state, he begins to question if that is even the right one.

“This one!” You point at the tall front gate with an almost childlike excitement, back shifting slightly from the seat as your grin stretches wide. Jeongguk grimaces. Why the fuck do you look like you’ve been reuinted with your home after years apart, as if you weren’t there just a couple hours ago?

“Right. Huh, you good with going back on your own?”

“Yes. I’d hate to bother you further. I’m sorry for this, I… was getting better, I guess.”

The sad confession doesn’t land with the weight it should, softened by the smile painted on your lips and the chuckle you let out as if it were nothing. Jeongguk’s eyelid twitches, unsettled by the unnecessary happiness that always seems to drip from you, even when it doesn’t belong.

“‘S okay. Have a good night,” he awkwardly bows his head, waiting for you to exit the car. When you stay still, he clears his throat, adding just to fill the silence, and perhaps because he means it, “Huh, and make sure to rest a lot.”

You take a moment, maybe longer than you should, to study his features up this close. You particularly fixate on the way his eyes dart everywhere but never land on yours. Then, with your signature toothy grin, you bow back and open the car door, leaving with a string of thank yous, and get home safe, and I’ll text you, and please, reply to me, and bye.

Jeongguk has to fight a smile of his own.

On the tenth day of December, you realise you want him. Even more badly than your fourteen-year-old self ever did. Which is frankly insane.

You don’t know if it was the natural way he looked after you during your episode, or his dry sarcasm as he actually started replying to your random updates throughout the day.

But no, it was definitely the selfie he sent you after what he said was a long day. Messy hair, tired eyes, a hint of a smile. You’d struggled to even gulp down your saliva when the picture popped up in your chat, and maniacally stared at it with eyes glued to the bright screen before sending one of your own. He had replied with Cute. followed by Your hair pin is cute.

That is why you find yourself facing… Yoongi? If you remember correctly. The guy at the front desk of Jeongguk’s studio.

You beam at him, and what you’re met with instead is a confused stare. You inhale, “Hi. Is Jeongguk in?”

Yoongi scratches his head, muttering, “He’s busy with a client.”

“Oh. It’s okay,” you wave off his concern. “Can I wait here?”

The boy hesitates, looks unsure the more your interaction develops, and he glances between you and the empty waiting area. He relents with furrowed brows, “Sure… Huh, It’s a back tattoo, so it’ll take him a while.”

You shrug and plop yourself onto the leather sofa, seemingly unfazed, “I like waiting.”

Crossing your legs, you take in the studio’s atmosphere, eyes drifting to the dark walls lined with framed artwork and certificates. You spot Jeongguk’s name on many of those.

For the next fifteen minutes, you try distracting yourself by flipping through the stack of tattoo magazines on the coffee table. You wince at inked heads, faces, butts, and even… more private parts. Deciding this world is definitely not for you, you slam the book shut.

By the time an hour passes, you’re fighting a battle with your lack of sleep. The third yawn you manage to stifle, but the fourth escapes before you can stop it. Yoongi, seated at the desk, doesn’t bother hiding his unimpressed stare. Still, he’s polite enough to offer you a glass of water, a coffee, or even a chance to join him for a cigarette break.

You decline all of it, though your throat does feel dry.

Maybe you should have planned this with a bit of rationality. Or at least gotten more sleep. Now, your every blink is slower, eyelids batting to shut and taking longer to flutter open again. Hm, this feels nice. You’ll just let them rest for a bit longer. And longer. And a bit more.

The next time you open your eyes, Jeongguk’s face is inches away, his warm hand resting firmly on your arm. You jolt upright with a startled yelp.

“Jeongguk.”

He raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking up in an unmistakably mocking smirk. “Hey. You don’t have a bed?”

You sit up, forcing Jeongguk to step back and straighten to his full height. Your neck cranes upward to glare at him, brows furrowed in what you hope is an intimidating glare, though you sport a pout that is all but menacing, “Shut up.”

He clicks his tongue, turning back to round the desk and fiddle with the appointment book, clearly unbothered. You take the moment to rub your eyes—only to remember, too late, that you’d worn makeup. A quick glance around reveals how much has changed since you last let your eyelids flutter open. The lights in the studio are dim, the hallway is dark, and every door is shut. Yoongi is nowhere in sight. It’s just the two of you in the deathly quiet space.

You gasp, pressing a hand to your parted lips, “Did I fall asleep? I'm so sorry. I was probably really tired from yesterday.”

Jeongguk hums, focus still locked on the book in front of him, eyes narrowed. He doesn’t look up, doesn’t ask why you came here in the first place, and doesn’t acknowledge your apology. Ugh. This is humiliating.

Before you can stand, you feel something heavy draped over your body. It’s a jacket. Definitely not yours, since you never took it off. At least not consciously. No, this is a worn black leather one on which his scent lingers. You tug it closer, puzzled, and then look up at him, holding it out. “Did I steal this in my sleep?”

Jeongguk scrunches his nose, “Ew, are you a sleepwalker?” Locking the till, he strolls over to you and plucks the jacket from you, casually slipping it on. “No, I put it on you. Wanted to see how long someone could feel safe enough to pass out in my studio. Thinking of turning this place into a daycare. I’ll have you play in the morning, get some lunch, nap time...”

There’s a beat of silence in which his sarcasm lingers in the air, and you stare at him, unamused. He shrugs, smirk unwavering.

You huff, “I regret coming here.”

“Yeah, why did you come here?”

Smoothing down your pink wool sweater, you stand up to stretch with zero shame. Then, fluttering your lashes at him, you assert with a smile, “You’re coming with me to the Christmas markets. This Sunday.”

Jeongguk groans like the idea physically pains him, “Oh, I would fucking hate that.”

Ignoring him, you zip up your puffer jacket and rock on your toes, “Pick me up at seven, okay?”

He glares, unimpressed at your excitement, before heading toward the entrance and pulling a hefty set of keys from his pocket, “I don’t even remember where you live.”

You hurry after him, following him outside and shuffling closer in your coat at the cold air hitting you. Watching as he locks the door and pulls down the rolling shutter with its red-and-black skull graffiti, you chirp, “You’ll have to text me for that.”

Jeongguk rises up again, giving you a slow once-over. He seems distracted by your hair before snorting, “You’re talking like I’m the one who spent their afternoon napping in my studio just to drop this bomb and leave. Couldn’t you just text me this?”

You shrug innocently. He sighs, reaching out for you, “Do you need a ride hom—”

“Bye!”

You spin on your heel and skip off in the opposite direction before he can let his own greeting out, waving a gloved hand behind you. Jeongguk stays where he is, arm still held out.

Do you even have a car? He hopes so—it’s freezing out.

With another sigh, he shakes his head and tugs his jacket tighter around himself. Why are you so fucking weird?

On the fourteenth day of December, your arm is looped tightly through Jeongguk’s as you stroll through the Christmas markets, burying your face further in your scarf to shield against the icy air, and with each few step you gasp at things that the boy next to you finds utterly unimpressive.

You stop at nearly every stand, eyes glowing with the warm Christmas fairy lights strung all around, effortlessly picking up conversations with the vendors and melting even the most stoic faces with the scrunching of your nose at every grin and the exaggerated nods following descriptions of their crafts.

Through all of it, Jeongguk remains put at your side, his arm linked with yours and a subtle pout on his lips. When you tease him about it, he simply shrugs, and you figure it’s just his natural expression. You find that oddly endearing.

He still humors your enthusiasm, offering low hums or murmured praise whenever you exclaim you’ve finally found what you’ve been searching for everywhere, and he offers to pay every time, the gesture so casual that he doesn’t seem bothered by it in the slightest.

When you bow to the nth seller, clutching yet another bag of sweet treats tightly to your chest, Jeongguk exhales and resumes slow walking beside you, “I don't like these places.”

You glance up at him, fluffy hat almost slipping off before he promptly secures it back on your head with a gesture so smooth you hardly notice it. You instead wonder, “Then why are we here now?”

He slips his hand into his pocket, “Because you threatened me.”

“With a really good time.”

“If this is your version of a good time, you might as well kick me in the balls. That probably feels better.”

You gasp, halting in your tracks to glare at him. When he lets a small chuckle topple out of him, you think you might forgive him. No, you’re more than sure with the way his smile lingers. You sheepishly look away, muttering, “Don’t tempt me, emo boy.”

“I’m not—”

“Oh yes, you are,” you interrupt, snapping your face back to his. Clearing your throat, you prepare your best imitation of him, exaggerating a frown and lowering your voice, “I’m so different, I hate Christmas.”

Jeongguk scoffs, pulling you tighter to him when a scooter unexpectedly zips past you. You yelp, instinctively shuffling closer to his arm. He continues the conversation casually, unaffected, “That’s the worst impression of me I’ve ever heard. And also, I never said that.”

Releasing the breath you held for a moment too long, you uncertainly keep your slow stroll going, only narrowing your orbs at him, “It’s written all over your face.”

“I love Christmas.”

The admission is small, his voice soft and almost reluctant, like it pains him to reveal something so simple and obvious as loving Christmas. When you lean your chin on the puffed arm of his jacket, he doesn’t look down at you, his gaze fixed ahead, guiding the two of you through the chaos of the busy street.

You chirp, your steps stumbling, “Really?

Only then he shifts his attention to you, steadying you with his other arm wrapping around your figure in what seems like a hug, before he lifts you up by the neck of your coat and retreats just enough to face you. His lips press into a straight line as he nods, a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes the more he stares in yours, “Yeah, really. I just don’t like… crowded spaces.”

You can’t help but think back to what happened just a week ago. The exact reason why the spirals in your brain wouldn’t stop twisting and tangling is now slipping from his lips in a voice that quietens as he seems to grasp the delicacy of his own confession.

He doesn’t like the way you’re looking at him. Drawn-up brows over wide and sparkling eyes—the only part of your face visible beneath your scarf—stare at him with something too tender, too focused, that makes him uneasy. He turns his head to the side, the tips of his ears red not only from the cold, and pulls you along toward another stand, an almost nervous distraction.

It’s your turn to frown. Maybe the one that’s permanently plastered on his face tonight isn’t just a reflection of his usual sullen demeanor. With a knot tightening in your chest, you can’t help but feel like you dragged him into something he truly hated, and that he wasn’t just pretending to.

What if this isn’t just your evil inner voice talking? What if this isn’t just overthinking, but the factual truth of your current reality? He’s hating every second of this but still enduring it because— you catch your breath with a long and strained inhale, because—

“Hey, dimples. You okay?”

Jeongguk moves to stand in front of you, his hands settling gently on your shoulders, a stance eerily reminiscent of that night you were just thinking back to. He nods at you, “Breathe with me, hm?”

You find yourself quickly adjusting to his comforting aura, drawn in by the reassurance in his eyes trained on you, never wavering, watching closely as you begin to mirror the measured rise and fall of his chest, your breathing gradually syncing with his until the tightness in your chest starts to ease.

When you feel your feet touching the ground again, you offer a small, apologetic smile. “I’m okay. Sorry. Just…” You quickly scan your surroundings, eyes landing on a colorful stand, “Wait here a second, okay?”

Jeongguk lets you slip away, fingers twitching slightly at his sides. He takes a few hesitant steps closer, careful not to crowd you but unable to tear his eyes away from your next actions, how your grin comes back on your lips with unpracticed ease, lighting up your face as easy talk flows between you and the seller. A few coins trade hands, and soon you’re holding two churros, their chocolate-dipped ends threatening to drip onto the ground.

You don’t hesitate, biting into one of them before it has the chance to make a mess, and with a quick nod of your head you motion for Jeongguk to follow. He does so, only after taking the churros from your hands, and letting you seek his warmth again with an arm snaking under his. He’s only letting you do this because it’s fucking cold, no other reason.

You walk, and walk, guiding him along until you find a quieter corner, away from the bustle, where you two stand isolated from the rest. The dim lighting casts a softer glow, and the distant hum of chatter and music fades into a gentle background noise.

Glancing up at him, you flash a playful smile before leaning in to bite another chunk of the churro he’s holding, your laughter spilling out as he grimaces in exaggerated disgust and pulls the sweet out of your reach. You settle onto a nearby bench, patting the empty spot beside you invitingly.

Jeongguk is unsure of what this means. He takes slow steps towards you, handing you your churro—which you take eagerly, already chewing on it—before tilting his head back in mild confusion, “But… you wanted to visit the markets.”

You shake your head, your bug eyes meeting his as you speak around a mouthful of sugar and chocolate, “There’s no point if you’re not going to enjoy it.”

The look you’re giving him is one he’s seen countless times before—familiar, and annoyingly reminiscent of ten years ago. It’s the same look that, he’s convinced, is solely responsible for making his knees weak and his fingers jittery, no longer something he can blame on the cold. You’re unbelievably frustrating.

He clicks his tongue, looking away, “You’re fucking weird.”

You giggle, humming, “If weird is a synonym for whipped, then sure.”

He has to fight the twitch of his lips. Fakes a gag instead. You chuckle louder. Only then, he hints at a smile, “C’mon. Let’s go check out some other stuff.”

“But—”

He interrupts, pulling you up by your forearm, “I’m hungry.”

The next hour you spend wandering around is made of Jeongguk’s small, imperceptible ways of cracking: his pout less prominent, more replaced by lips pulled into a tight line or in a mildly pursued scowl as you ask him which beanie looks better—the pink or purple one; his so evident sarcasm as he comments on how the old vendor was totally flirting with you, or when he mockingly adds to your over-the-top excitement every time you spot a dog. All in all, he’s more relaxed. More himself.

You then find yourself standing in front of the churros stall from earlier, the warm scent tugging you closer. Without hesitation, you ask the lady behind the counter for another four churros—this time with extra sugar. You add two thank yous.

To fill the waiting, you pick up casual conversation with the woman, until she pauses mid-sentence, wrinkled hand coming to rest over her heart as her gaze flits between you and Jeongguk, her crinkled eyes lighting with a sudden fondness and a quiet, content smile finds its space on her chapped lips, “You two look perfect together.”

Jeongguk snorts, “Oh, we’re not—”

“Thank you, auntie!” You chirp, and your grin is so wide it squeezes your eyes into crescents. You accept the first churro she hands over, biting into it and talking through it, “These are delicious. Is the recipe a secret or can you share it with me?”

The woman laughs, clearly flustered by your energy, and leans in with a conspiratorial expression, though she gives in pretty soon, “It is a secret, but… Oh, c’mon. A pretty lady like you deserves to know.”

You burst into chuckles, joined by auntie’s own rolling and carrying a contrasting warmth to the cold air. Jeongguk, for his part, stands slightly to the side, observing. You still cling to his arm, even as the vendor reaches over to gently smooth her fingers through your curls, complimenting the way they frame your face. You roll your eyes, feigning exasperation, but there’s a dimpled smile stretching on your cheeks that gives you away.

Before you leave, the lady points to Jeongguk, voice growing earnest, “You, handsome. I can see you’re a good guy, so you probably don’t need my advice. But treat her right, yes?”

Jeongguk stills for a second and stumbles over an awkward nod, managing to force a smile that has you stifling a laugh under your scarf. You tug him away with a cheerful wave to your new friend, promising her you’ll come visit again before Christmas.

Once you’re at a safe distance, he mutters, “Why did you not tell her that we’re not together?”

You tilt your head considering his question, “It’s not like she knows us. She looked like she adored you. I didn’t want to ruin that for her. Maybe seeing a young couple like us really means a lot to her.”

Jeongguk observes how the more you explain, the more you’re convincing yourself as much as him, eventually solidifying your reasoning as you nod, muttering some more under your breath. He scoffs, looking away to hide his lips twitching.

When he turns back he’s frowning, though it doesn’t quite match the way he lets you hook arms again, your pastel pink bag hanging from his shoulders. Still, he sulks as though the mere thought of your observation has him shivering, and not with the cold, “We’re not a couple.”

Jeongguk barely gets to let his unnecessarily petty comment out before you drag him with an unusual strength over to another stand, his voice not even touching your ears, “Oh, let’s go over there, Gguk!”

On the twenty-first day or December, you send him a picture of your tattoo.

You had been talking non-stop ever since your… date? Or was it just a hangout? Whatever it was, it’s been a week, and Jeongguk finds himself smiling at a fucking screen too many times a day for his linking. It’s irritating. Even brings his phone with him to the bathroom in case you text him. Not because he cares. No, it’s practical. What if you ever had an emergency and he was the only one who could help?

Most of the time it’s just you sending TikToks, but he clicks on the links with the same urgency he’d reply to a genuine plea for help. He doesn’t really want to think of the reason why.

Now, this picture—it catches Jeongguk off guard.

It doesn’t even look like it’s about the tattoo. Not really. It feels like an excuse, a flimsy pretext for you to show yourself to him. The tattoo—the one he himself inked—is there, yes. But it’s not at all the main focus of the photo that tightens his grip on his phone.

You’re wearing a thin, pink tank top with delicate lace trim, the straps barely clinging to your shoulders. Your fingers hook under the neckline, tugging it down just enough to expose the tattoo nestled between the soft curve of your breasts. The angle of the shot is deliberate, he can tell. Your back arches slightly off what he assumes is your bed, and your face is cropped out, save for your glossed lips, full and slightly parted, catching the dim light.

Jeongguk blinks, hard. Then again. His throat bobs as he swallows thickly, the low light of his phone screen doing little to soften the image burning itself into his mind. His eyes dart upward, scanning his surroundings, just to make sure everything is in place. The shop is empty, the door is closed, the hum of quiet settles over the space.

Looking down, the picture still stares back at him paired with a single message.

Annoying [11:39 p.m.]: do you think it’s healed? idk about this stuff, need your help 🥺

He’s not stupid. He knows exactly what this is. He alternates between the photo and your words, jaw ticking and tightening more with the seconds flowing.

It’s almost cruel, the way you’re testing him like this. He tries to push the feeling down, to reject the buzz of heat pooling low in his stomach. You know him well enough to be aware that he won’t reply to something like this. A stupid, unnecessary message. The tattoo is healed—he told you that a week ago, clear as day. There’s no reason for you to ask again.

What’s the purpose of this?

He gets a distorted idea when he shifts uncomfortably in place, the dull ache tightening his pants almost unbearable now.

Jeongguk groans and locks his phone, tossing it onto the counter as if that will put an end to this. He tries to refocus on his tasks, the last ones before he clocks off. Cleaning needles, tossing used stencils.

But his heavy balls keep sending desperate, silent prayers to his brain, to please let them have this. Just this once.

It’s been a bad day. Two of his appointments canceled last minute, leaving him to sit around bored. The last client showed up drunk and wouldn’t stop trying to flirt with him. His coworkers were loud and distracting, and to top it all off, the heater broke, leaving the studio freezing cold.

It’s been such a bad day.

So, would there be any harm? It’s not like anyone will know. Not you, not his friends. He’s the only one that will. And he’s far more willing to live with this dirty secret rather than with his hard dick straining achingly in its confines.

Jeongguk abruptly snatches up his phone again, unlocking it to the same picture that caused him to brush the device aside just minutes ago. He lets out a shaky breath, thumb hovering over the screen. You won’t get no reply to him. But if you knew what he was up to right now, you would probably geek. Tease him, with your warm smile that digs dimples in your cheek, hopping on your toes to poke at his chest playfully, with those perfectly manicured hands of yours.

“Shit,” his free hand is already pushing the jeans down along with his boxers, and he drops his weight onto the nearest stool as he grips at the base of his thick cock, eyes devouring the image of you in the empty chat.

He doesn’t zoom in. That would feel too shameless. But he finds it oddly better like this. Is it weird that your text, so innocently worded, is turning him on? That the simple idea of you needing his help is enough to have his hips jerking?

What could you possibly need his help for? Fuck. The different ideas that pool his mind have him squeezing harder at his stinging tip.

Jeongguk focuses on your dainty hand, slim pointer finger snaking under the collar of your flimsy shirt to show yourself to him, and your small boobs spill from the sides with a delicious, soft swell. He hisses when he pictures that same hand working on him instead, his warm mouth stuffed with your stiff nipples, visible through the sheer material.

He can’t help the loud groan leaving his lips, wrist flickering up and down in a motion that feels sloppy way too soon, hips jutting up to fuck into his tight fist. Throwing his head back, he sees you even behind closed eyelids.

He pictures your delicate figure sprawled on his bed, long lashes batting up at him as you sheepishly hide with your cheek to your shoulder. Can clearly make out how you’d sit on his lap instead, unsteady breath fanning over his lips, using his long shaft to make yourself cum. The whole time, he sees the tattoo on your chest, the one that is forever on you, eternally a reminder of him.

When he lets his head topple forward again, his bright screen still stares at him, only because a new message pops up in the chat. He startles, and his cock throbs in his hand.

Annoying [11:52 p.m.]: oh, and i miss you.

“Oh, fuck,” the curse is strained through a loud whine, and only followed by more of his full moans filling the room. His brows knit as his hand moves rapidly, palm collecting the precum spreading embarrassingly fast on his tip and rolling it down his length.

He focuses on your parted lips, the soft curve of your breast, your hard nipples begging to be sucked and spit on. Your last text has flashes of your bug-like eyes staring up at him seizing his mind.

That’s what undoes him. He’s delirious as he lets out his every sound, freely, unchecked, not caring about how loud he is, whimpering as he gets closer to his climax. When he thinks of those eyes locking with his, kneeling before him, eager and willing to swallow his every drop, he cums. Hard.

Jeongguk pumps everything he can out of him, and it’s messy—spilling over his hand, staining his clothes, pooling on the floor. His chest heaves with the effort, and the sensation of abandon he feels is so pleasurable, energy drained but leaving him with a lightness that threatens to make his cock hard again.

Fuck. He can’t afford that happening if you’re not the one attending his needs. This won’t be enough, not until it’s you. He’s insatiable.

Jeongguk needs to hear your voice.

It’s an instinct, and he bends to it. He’s careful, making sure not to tap on the FaceTime option, because if you were to see him right now it’d be glaringly obvious.

When he looks to the side, he catches a glimpse of his reflection in the long mirror, and he visibly grimaces at the way his cheeks are flushed, the pearls of sweat coating his forehead causing his bangs to stick uncomfortably to the skin.

Guilty doesn’t even begin to cover it.

With the phone to his ear beeping to eternity, he hesitates, contemplates ending the call before you can answer. But just then, you do.

“Jeongguk! Is everything okay?”

Your voice is familiarly soft, but there’s a trace of concern. Blinking, he brings the device closer again and gulps thickly when he can make out your panting breaths. He clears his throat and puts on his best nonchalant act, “Huh— Yes. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I don’t know… You just never call. Or text first. This is weird. You sure you’re okay?”

Oh. Is that really what it is like?

Jeongguk never realized this was how he came across—so detached that a simple phone call feels out of character. Your naive honesty hits him square in the chest. God, he needs to get better at this. The irony stings: he just fucking jerked off to your picture and the simple thought of you, while you’re on the other side thinking he’s just a careless piece of shit who doesn’t even know how to call.

The long stretch of silence registers in his brain, and he coughs to buy time, “Yes, I’m sure. I— huh,” he thinks of stuff you usually ask to keep the conversation flowing. Not out of courtesy, but out of genuine interest, the curiosity that makes people want to open up. He’s still not used to that. Still finds it weird.

“How… How was your day?”

It must be equally weird for you because it takes you a longer beat to reply. In that quiet moment, he clenches his eyes shut and feels his jaw tick with shame. And embarrassment. And this icky feeling that makes him feel too mushy for his liking. Hell, what is he doing? He’s never been like this, he’s not supposed to be like this.

But you recover quickly, as you always do, and you smooth over the moment. Fix it all for him like you were born to be just that. Make him feel like he fits in ways that have him exhaling shakily.

Jeongguk senses a foreign drumming in his stomach, and it’s warm but odd, and he loves it but he doesn’t want to.

On the twenty-fifth day of December, cheekily under a mistletoe, Jeongguk realizes he wants you. There’s parts of him that probably knew way sooner. But the parts of him that didn’t, fighting tooth and nail to suppress the mere thought, are just now finally surrendering.

Jeongguk has always found you admirable, back in high school. You had this determination to you. Not only when it came to him. It shone particularly when you catered to others, always finding ways to help, to mend, to offer yourself with nothing less than a fully toothed smile.

But he’s also always thought you two were—and still are—too different to work. He can’t be what you want, let alone what you deserve: someone who can match your enthusiasm and unwavering smiles, your frustrating positivity; someone who sees the world the way you do. No black, no grey, no shades in between. Just bright, hopeful white. Blinding white.

It’s the white making him dizzy, shifting his perspective, having him believing the opposite of what he’s always known. Pushing to be a little more egoistical, deceiving himself that he’s right for you. Because he wants to be. He oh, so selfishly wants people to know he’s the one who finally gets to have you, the one gifted with such a light, unfairly deserving of all the love you carry into every room you walk into.

Just a few days ago, during another one of your increasingly frequent phone calls, you asked him what he was doing for Christmas. He could have lied, come up with something on the spot.

But with how you so easily, and always coax the truth out of him, he let it slip. He told you he’d be alone, words subtly heavy. But they didn’t have the chance to even drop their weight before you were already inviting him to your friend’s party, insisting that he would be the most welcome.

And he’s here, and he sits beside you, and every time you laugh you lean your weight over him, and the room vibrates with the energy you fill it with, and each one of your friends is so enamoured with you, and for reasons he can’t fully understand it fills him with a sense of pride that shouldn’t belong to him. But it does, and it comes with so many other feelings.

You don’t push him to talk. You never force him into the spotlight when he takes a step back, quietly observing, choosing to stay in the background. Because you read him like it’s in your nature to do so, your soul seems to intuitively melt with his, and it intertwines in such a tight knot that he feels it constrict his throat. He knows he’s still alive because his heart is beating, just a little faster with each time you flash your dimples at him.

“Dimples. What are you doing, hm?”

Now, he’s in front of you, a small smile on his lips as you stand on your tiptoes, trying to dangle the mistletoe over both your heads. You’re struggling just a little, your hand unable to reach high enough, and the fake plant awkwardly brushes his hair, the tickling sensation causing his nose to scrunch. You laugh.

Looking up at your swinging movements, you lose your balance for the slightest second. Jeongguk’s hands move instinctively, catching you promptly by the waist to steady your body. But even after that, he doesn’t shift, his warm palms stilling. And when you face him, he’s closer and his chest brushes against yours. From this proximity, he witnesses the Christmas lights painting a galaxy of their own in your orbs.

You beam, “What does it look like? We have to kiss now.”

Jeongguk stares in your expectant eyes, brows wiggling and all. The more his mouth keeps in a straight line, the more the wiggling slows. You eventually come down from your tiptoes, letting the mistletoe fall to the side, tilting your head.

He snorts, looking away briefly to hide an embarrassingly wide grin behind his hand. When he turns back to you, your pout is enough to have him scrambling to meet your gaze.

“On one condition, though.”

You chirp, “Yeah?”

He licks his teeth, reserving you with a smug look, “Admit that you were scared to get your tattoo.”

Your smile vanishes in an instant, your expression falling into mock offense. With a dramatic roll of your eyes, you turn on your heel, pretending to walk away from him. Pretending, only because you know he won’t let you. And you’re proven right when his fingers wrap around your arm, tugging you back with enough force to spin you into him. Suddenly, you’re pressed so close you can feel the heat radiating from him. Your chin nearly touches his chest as you glare up at him, narrowed eyes meeting the mischievous glint in his.

He bites a smile, lips twitching, “C’mon, princess. You wanted to act all tough and shit, but I could feel you shaking.”

Your scoff is loud and incredulous, “You’re such a bitch.”

He only shrugs, “You want my kiss, no?”

“Oh my god,” groaning, it’s your turn to face the side to hide a grin, “Are you always this cocky?”

His chin tilts upward slightly, and you can tell he’s enjoying this, “Say it.”

You whip back around to meet him with a seriousness he hardly ever sees on you, and you even clear your throat, channeling every ounce of the determination he knows you for, every drop of resolve that makes you you. “Yes. I was scared shitless, Jeongguk.”

Foreign excitement brims out of him, not before his eyes widen just a fraction, and his nose scrunches the more he leans closer to you, inches from you, swinging side to side with exaggerated mockery and a grin splitting his face, “See! I knew—hmph.”

There’s no other second to waste.

The condition has been met, and now all the requirements for you to claim what you were promised, your reward, are there. Even more when kissing him means catching him mid-taunt and silencing whatever teasing remark he had ready.

Your lips touch his in effortless ease, breaking the air as they press together. It’s tentative at first, almost uncertain as you feel Jeongguk remain still.

But it doesn’t take him longer to move, mouth molding against yours in a sickeningly sweet hug, tasting each other with quiet curiosity, taking your time to adjust and melt, instructing your bodies to imitate the dance.

Your arms lock around his neck, his stronger and tattooed ones circle your waist, and the way you click together feels so right, almost too perfect, so perfect it scares you. When you arch yourself further into him, even the non-existent space between you unbearable, he accompanies the motion with his wide palms gliding along your back, squeezing you into him, feeling the curve of your hips.

The soft whine that scratches your throat and vibrates against his lips betrays you, along with the useless effort to contain the intensity of what you’re feeling. The emotion disarms you, the sound gasping in your chest, but in Jeongguk’s arms it feels safe to let go.

On Christmas day, you crown a youthful fantasy, the kind you’ll look back to even when you’re older. Jeongguk feels like he’d be the right person to stand by you to do so.

When he reluctantly detaches from you, his face keeps at a safe distance that’d allow him to go back and taste you, not before resting his forehead on yours and whispering, “Merry Christmas.”

You giggle. “Merry Christmas, Gguk.”

[blushweddinggowns]

Eddie woke up with a pounding headache and an intense sense of dread. He groaned as he sat up, shutting his eyes to block out the searing light from the window.

He took a deep breath before opening them again, letting out a sigh of relief when he realized he was in his own room, safe in their apartment. But that wasn't stopping his pounding headache.

God, what the fuck happened last night? He remembered going to Gareth’s party, getting cross-faded. Then, just pure white-boy wasted as the night went on and someone brought out tequila shots. He remembered whining about missing Steve to some guy-

Oh god. The guy. It came screaming back to him, blurry and unfocused but there.

I can be your boyfriend for the night.

How the fuck had the line worked on him? Eddie didn't know, but he knew that it had. He remembered kissing him, whimpering into his mouth while moaning Steve’s name. How good it felt.

What the fuck had he done?

Pure panic was starting to set in. He cheated on Steve. He actually cheated on Steve. And for what? Because he hadn't seen him for a few weeks? It only took one vacation with Robin for him to destroy the trust they built? Was he that pathetic? That selfish? That idiotic?

He didn't even remember how far they'd gone. He didn't even know how he got home. Or if the guy came with him. The idea of him fucking someone else in their bed made him feel physically ill. Ill enough to have Eddie jumping out of bed, frantic as he looked around for any clues. But there was nothing. Just the evidence of the life he'd built with his boyfriend. The one that he had single handedly ruined.

Maybe he could just not tell him. Keep it secret for the rest of his fucking life. Track down anyone who did know and blackmail them to be quiet. That seemed more sane then coming clean. Sane enough to have Eddie stumbling out of his room in a hurry.

But before he could call Gareth to insanely demand the names of anyone who could have seen him, he smelled it. The scent of coffee brewing, plus the sound of a happy hum.

Steve was home. A whole day early.

Holy shit, Eddie was going to be sick. He was actually going to puke. The feeling bad enough to make his legs weak, so bad he crashed right into the wall.

Loud enough to have Steve calling after him, "Babe, is that you?"

Eddie opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out.

Not when Steve was rounding the corner, smiling at him like that. All soft and loving, "There you are. Rough night?"

Was that the last time he would look at him like that?

"Eddie?" Steve asked, frowning at his lack of answer, "Are you okay?"

Eddie wanted to die. He actually wanted to die. Why had he done this? But he couldn't lie to him. Not with the sweet, trusting way Steve was looking at him. He just couldn't.

"I need to tell you something," Eddie finally managed to choke out, his heart beating so fast he was scared Steve could hear it. Maybe he'd have a heart attack it he was lucky. Avoid this whole shit show through almost dying.

But he wasn't that lucky.

Steve cocked his head at him, "What's wrong?"

"I'm so sorry, Stevie," Eddie said, letting his first thought come out, "I'm so fucking sorry."

"What are you talking about?"

"I kissed someone," Eddie blurted out, his hands shaking as he started to word vomit, "Last night. A-At the party I told you about."

Steve just stared at him.

"I-I was drunk!" Eddie went on, his voice coming out wet, "It didnt mean anything, I don't even know why I did it."

Steve still wasn't saying anything. He was just looking at him, his expression unreadable. It just made Eddie feel more desperate.

"Please say something," Eddie begged, "I know this is bad. I do. But I dont even know who he is. I-I won't do it again!"

Steve still had his head cocked as he looked at him, something in his eyes that Eddie didn't understand, "Is that all?"

Fuck no that wasn't all. Not when Steve was looking at him like that. Eddie didn't even think about it as he sunk to his knees, fully fucking ready to beg at Steve’s feet.

"I love you," Eddie tried, the tears he was holding back finally starting to fall, "I fucked up. I know I fucked up but please don't leave me. Please. I can make up for this. I can. Please."

It was hard to see him through the tears in his eyes, hard to comprehend anything through how fucking bad Eddie felt, the sheer amount of self-loathing nearly drowning him completely. His vision was cloudy enough to almost make it look like Steve was... smiling at him?

Steve reached down, grabbing Eddie underneath the armpits to help lift him back onto his feet. Strong in a way that still made Eddie's heart skip a beat whenever he saw it in action. He led a still sniffling Eddie to the couch, grabbing for his hand when they sat down.

"Baby, how do you think you got home last night?" Steve asked.

Eddie frowned, "I-I don't know. I don't remember."

"Do you remember what the guy looked like?"

Eddie swallowed, so nervous he was still kind of afraid he was going to puke. And he highly doubted that puking on Steve would help his case for him to stay, "I don't remember fully."

"What do you remember?"

Eddie sighed, looking down into his lap, "I remember missing you. And then a point where I got drunk enough to say it to anyone who would listen. Then this guy showed up and he said-"

"I can be your boyfriend for the night?"

Eddie snapped his head up, staring at Steve with his mouth open. How the fuck did he know that?

"And then did he do this?" Steve asked as he brought his hand up, cupping Eddie's cheek. Looking at him like he was the most precious thing in the world before placing his thumb on Eddie's bottom lip, teasing it with a smile, "Before saying you were beautiful?"

"I-yes? But how-"

"Honey," Steve sighed, a touch exasperated but mostly fond, "I got back last night. Then went to go find you when I remembered about the party."

Oh god, did that mean Steve saw the whole thing? Was this the calm before he kicked Eddie out? Was he about to be dumped-

"I can see your brain working babe, but it's working in the wrong direction."

"Huh?" Eddie asked, completely lost on why Steve was smiling at him instead of cursing his name.

"Eddie, it was me," Steve said calmly, though his face said he was holding back a laugh, "You made out with me. Before I took us home and you failed at trying to give me road head on the way home. Twice."

"I-what?" Eddie asked, shellshocked.

"You cheated on me with me, babe," Steve laughed, his calm face finally breaking, "Then when we got home, you cried about missing me to me. You're adorable when you're wasted. Stupid, but adorable."

"Oh my fucking God," Eddie breathed out, the reality of the situation hitting him. He groaned, hiding his face in his hands while Steve cackled next to him. He had never felt like a bigger fucking moron, Jesus Christ, "I am never drinking tequila again."

"Good idea," Steve chuckled as he pried Eddie's hands away from his face. He brought one to his mouth, kissing his fingers as he grinned, "But I love the honesty, sweetheart. 10/10. And the begging? Kind of hot."

"I was terrified!" Eddie moaned, staring up at the ceiling as a blush climbed up his neck, "You scared the shit out of me."

"You scared yourself!" Steve laughed, grabbing for Eddie's chin to force his head back down to look at him. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to his forehead, "My favorite little drama queen."

"You're a bastard," Eddie grumbled, like he wasn't smiling when Steve leaned in to kiss him on the lips, "Evil."

"But wasn't I a good boyfriend for the night?" Steve asked, laughing even harder when Eddie pinched his side. Eddie leaned in to kiss him again, effectively shutting him up as the last of his anxiety drained away.

But one thing was for sure. Tequila would be his worst enemy until the day he died.

Purely inspired by this post by @hawkinsbnbg

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Start of Time

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.5k

Warnings: angst, panic attack, almost fainting, fluff at the end

Summary: Hotch is the only parent you have left, so you’re a bit overprotective of him. When he comes up with a plan to stop an unsub, you’re the only one who’s not on board.

Square Filled: fainting for @badthingshappenbingo

Author’s Note: this fic is based on the song "Start of Time" by Gabrielle Aplin. I also pulled inspiration from that scene in Teen Wolf where Lydia kissed Stiles for the first time since he was having a panic attack. You all know the scene.

x

“You’re kidding, right?” You look at Rossi. “Is he kidding? Did I hear him right?”

“No, you heard it right,” Hotch sighs.

“No, you’re not going to do that. End of discussion. You’re not going to put your life on the line for some psychopath.”

“You have no authority over me.”

“That’s bullshit.”

You slam your hands on the table and leave the briefing room to calm yourself down. Spencer watches you leave with a frown, itching to go after you to comfort you.

“Y/N!” Hotch calls after you, but you ignore him.

“I’ll go after her,” Spencer says and leaves the briefing room.

Hotch looks at Rossi who just shrugs. “Don’t look at me. You said it was fine to have your daughter on the team.”

You’d normally not go after Hotch’s throat like that but he’s the only parent you have left since your mother died a few years ago. Anything that puts his life on the line, you immediately object to. He understands you’re looking out for him but he has a job to do. You knew this when you signed up to be in the FBI academy.

You walk into the bathroom and turn the faucet on to splash some water on your face. The thought of your dad going in to face off against a psychopath and dying makes your heart race and sweat build up on your neck. You look around the empty bathroom and squeeze your eyes shut tightly to ward off the panic attack.

The door opens and Spencer walks in without a word. He immediately pulls you into a hug that slows your racing heart. He calms you down before the panic attack can get too far, and you hug Spencer back. He rubs your back and sighs knowing all you’re ever going to see him as is a friend. He likes you a lot but you haven’t given him any indication that you like him back, so he’s kept his feelings for you a secret. The last thing he’s going to do is tell you how he feels, especially not now when all you’re worried about is your dad.

“Sorry,” you whisper and pull away from him.

“Don’t ever be sorry.”

“You have to help me, Spencer. He wants to go inside that bank alone. Make him change his mind.”

“Y/N…”

“Patrick is one of the worst unsubs we’ve ever dealt with. He kills for fun, for sport. If my dad goes in there alone, he’ll kill him. He’s my only family, Spencer. Make him change his mind.”

“I know.” Spencer sighs. “I can’t promise anything but there might be another way to get to Patrick.”

Patrick has the same tragic backstory as all the other unsubs, and he’s hellbent on making humanity suffer for what he went through. He has so much anger for humans that he’s taking out anyone and everyone. He went to rob a bank to fund his trip across the pond, and he’s taken the entire bank hostage. The only reason he hasn’t killed them all is because they might be the key to getting him out of there alive.

Your job is to get the hostages out safely before SWAT can move in on Patrick. Hotch wants to go in and negotiate with Patrick into letting the hostages go, but you can’t fathom the idea of him going in there with someone like Patrick. SWAT and local police already have the streets blocked off to prevent anyone else from getting hurt.

“Garcia, were you able to get the blueprints of the bank?” Hotch asks when the team arrives.

“Yes, and because there are the sewers below it, I also got the layout for that as well. It might be your only way into the bank.”

She lays out the blueprints on the hood of the police car and Derek traces the pipes from the bank to a manhole cover that’s a block away with his finger.

“We can get into the bank through here. Looks like there is a gate blocking the way in, so we’ll have to break it. We’ll need someone on the inside to distract him so he doesn’t hear us.”

“Alright, Morgan, take Prentiss and three officers with you through the sewers. Wait for my word.”

They leave immediately, and Spencer looks at you in worry.

“Who is going to go inside and distract?”

“I don’t know,” Hotch answers.

He and Rossi step off to the side, and you look at the bank in concern.

“It’s going to be okay,” Spencer comforts you.

“I hope so. Sometimes I wonder if it was right for me to take this job.”

“What do you mean?”

“After my mom died, my dad got overprotective of me. He kept warning me of the dangers of this world. I wanted to help people like him, and the academy seemed like the right thing to do. My dad is the Unit Chief of the BAU. That had some pull in the academy. I was looking at a job upstate as an officer, but then a spot opened on the team. I wanted to be closer to my dad so I took the job. Now, I see the horrors of this job and every opportunity to lose him. He’s the best dad I could ask for. I don’t think I could bear losing him to someone like Patrick.”

Spencer pulls you in for a hug and rubs your back.

“That won’t happen.”

You look at the bank once more and your face is twisted in horror. Your dad is walking toward the bank’s front doors… alone.

“Dad!” You push Spencer away and start to run toward him. However, arms wrap around your waist to prevent you from following him. “No, let me go! Dad! Dad, please don’t go!”

Your dad disappears inside the bank, and you break down in tears. Rossi keeps his arms around you until he knows you’re not going to run after him. You step back from Rossi as a panic attack hits you in the face. Suddenly, you can’t breathe and your heart is beating too fast for you to keep up with.

“You need to calm down, Y/N,” Spencer says.

“I… can’t… I… Da…”

Hot tears are running down your cheeks, and you start hyperventilating at the thought of your dad dying right now. You're gonna faint.

“Kid, get her to calm down,” Rossi says.

Spencer doesn’t think twice about this. He grabs you and plants his lips over yours. Your eyes widen in shock but you close them once you feel how natural it is to kiss Spencer. Your heart rate slows down, your head becomes clear, and you relax against Spencer’s body. He pulls away from you but stays close enough so that the only thing you see is him.

His honey-brown eyes are warm and comforting, and his lips are soft and swollen from the kiss. Suddenly, you hear gunshots go off inside the bank, and that breaks you out of your trance. You push Spencer away from you and book it toward the bank without a second thought. This time, no one holds you back.

The hostages are in the corner with the three officers, Patrick is lying on the ground bleeding from a gunshot wound on his shoulder, and all three BAU agents are standing above him with their guns on him. Most importantly, your dad is alive and well. You immediately run over to your dad and hug him, thankful that he survived this.

“I was always going to be fine, Y/N.”

“I thought I lost you,” you cry.

“I’m right here.”

Patrick is arrested, the hostages are saved, and no one got hurt. Now that you’re back at the BAU, you have time to think about what Spencer did to you. Spencer is at his desk finishing some paperwork when you approach him from behind.

“Hey, Spencer.”

He turns around and smiles when he sees you. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m good now. Thank you for…”

You can’t finish your sentence but Spencer knows what you’re saying.

“Yeah, anytime,” he nods.

“You kissed me.”

“I know. I was there.”

“There are other ways to stop a panic attack. Why did you kiss me?”

“I read once that holding your breath can stop a panic attack so when I kissed you, you held your breath.”

“I did?” you whisper.

“Yeah, you did.”

“Was that the only reason you kissed me?”

Spencer opens his mouth to answer but decides against what he really wants to say. “Yes.”

Your face falls in disappointment but you bounce back quickly in hopes he didn’t see it.

“Oh, well, thank you.”

You pass by him to walk away when he grabs your hand. He sees the disappointment, and he takes that as his sign. He stands and pulls you closer to him, and you look into his eyes hopefully.

“That wasn’t the only reason. I like you a lot.”

You smile. “Well, I like you a lot.”

“I know this Indian place with really good food. Want to get dinner with me?”

“Yes,” you smile.

Hotch stands by his window and watches everyone work. He sees you and Spencer by his desk, and he definitely sees the smile on your face. Spencer grabs your hand and leaves with you, and Hotch smiles. Spencer is a good guy, and you’d do well with someone like him.

x

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[girlkisser13]

this is me trying

"i just wanted you to know" "that this is me trying"

a/n: anyone else an older sibling? 🙋🏻‍♀️ anyways, here’s a fic for connie baby. <33

pairings: conrad fisher x fem!reader

warnings/tags: mostly angst. mention of a panic attack.

summary: you help your ex-boyfriend through a panic attack.

the fourth of july celebrations were in full swing at the fisher’s summer house. fireworks painted the sky in vibrant hues, and laughter echoed through the beach air. conrad, however, was far from the festivities, staring blankly at the ocean waves crashing against the shore.

you stood with your family near the bonfire. you had spent every summer with the fishers for as long as you could remember, and despite your breakup with the oldest fisher brother, your family's visit remained a tradition. you noticed conrad's absence and scanned the crowd, your heart sinking when you saw him heading towards the beach, his posture tense and hurried. you knew him too well; something was wrong.

you excused yourself and followed him, your sandals sinking into the cool sand. as you got closer, you could see his shoulders heaving, his breaths coming out in ragged gasps.

"conrad!" you called out, but he didn’t stop.

he froze but didn't turn around. he quickened his steps, desperate to escape the mounting pressure inside his chest. his vision blurred as the panic clawed at him, a tight, suffocating grip that made it hard to breathe.

"conrad, please!" your voice was closer now, filled with concern.

he stumbled to a stop near the water's edge, the sound of the waves failing to soothe him. he dropped to his knees, hands clutching his hair as he tried to steady his breathing. the crashing waves, usually so soothing, now felt like they were closing in on him.

you reached him and knelt beside him, your concern deepening. "conrad, what's wrong?" you asked, your voice a mix of worry and urgency.

"go away, y/n," he managed to choke out, his voice strained and broken. "i don’t want you to see me like this."

"no, you don’t get to push me away again," you said firmly, grabbing his arm as he tried to stand up and walk away. "you don’t have to do this alone. i’m not leaving you."

"just go," he pleaded, tears welling up in his eyes. "i don’t deserve your help. i don’t deserve you."

ignoring his protests, you moved in front of him, your hands gently cupping his face. "conrad, look at me. just breathe with me, okay? in and out, nice and slow."

he tried to turn away, but your grip was firm, your eyes filled with unwavering concern. he focused on you, matching his breaths to yours. slowly, the tightness in his chest began to loosen, he focused on the sound of your voice, your presence.

"that’s it," you whispered, "you’re okay. i’ve got you."

his breathing steadied, but his eyes remained locked on yours, your face was mere inches away from his. for a moment, the world faded away, leaving only the two of you. his proximity was intoxicating, and for a fleeting second, it felt like he might kiss you. but then you turned your head away, breaking the spell. you reminded yourself that you had a boyfriend.

conrad's heart sank. he knew about your boyfriend, of course. he had overheard taylor and belly asking you how things were going with him. he would never admit it, but he was jealous. of course he was jealous. he closed his eyes, trying to push the feelings away. "i'm sorry," he murmured.

"it’s okay," you replied, still holding his face gently. "just tell me what’s going on. why are you so upset?"

he took a deep, shaky breath. "it’s my mom. i’m trying, y/n. i’m really trying to hold it together for jere, but i’m so worried about her. she’s… she’s acting like everything’s normal when it’s not. y/n, she’s not getting better. the trial… it’s… it’s not working. she’s dying, y/n, and i don’t know how to fix it."

your heart broke for him. "conrad, you don’t have to be so strong all the time. it’s okay to be overwhelmed. it’s okay to be scared. you’re human."

he shook his head, tears streaming down his face. "but i'm supposed to be the strong one, the big brother. i’m supposed to be able handle everything."

you shook her head gently. "even the strongest people need help sometimes. it's not wrong for you to feel this way. you're allowed to be vulnerable. conrad, your mother is dying. it's okay to feel however you need to feel. your feelings are completely valid. it's not good for you to keep this all bottled up inside."

he nodded, his tears finally spilling over. "thank you," he whispered, his voice raw. "thank you for being here with me."

you wiped away his tears, your thumbs rubbing at his cheeks. your faces were close once more. for a moment, their was on the verge of something—an old, familiar closeness. but conrad pulled back slightly, knowing it wasn’t fair to you. he couldn’t, no, he wouldn’t hurt you again.

"i appreciate it, y/n. more than you know."

as the fireworks continued to burst in the sky, you stayed by his side, your presence a steady comfort in the chaos of his mind. you sat together on the sand, the sound of the waves providing a soothing backdrop.

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

Calling On You

Wanda Maximoff × Natasha Romanoff x fem!Avenger!reader

Summary: When your ex Natasha calls up needing your help, you come to her rescue like you always have.

Word count: 3.8K

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, anxiety/panic attacks, hurt and comfort, thigh riding, N calls R Mistress, R fingers N

A/N: I love this little piece. Also should mention this is hurt/comfort and smutty with a happy ending!

“Hey I know we haven't talked since we broke up, but I'm having a breakdown and I didn't know who else to call…” Nat talked into the phone, the answering machine. “I-” Nat was cut off by the answering machine beeping as she hung up, “I need you…” 

Nat wasn't okay when her head got like this. When everything was quiet except for her thoughts that were overwhelmingly loud about how terrible she was for everything she had done over the years. All the red in her ledger was overwhelming. Natasha Romanoff is not a good person no matter how many good things she had done.

Natasha too wrapped up in her overwhelming thoughts didn't hear you come in as you ran up to her, dropping your bag and cupping the former assassin's cheeks. 

Clearly in the middle of a major depressive episode, her eyes searching yours trying to figure out if you were in fact real.

“...you came…” Natasha whispered.

“You called.” It was a simple response, but one that resonated with Natasha as you pulled back slightly, opening up your arms for her to come crashing into. “I've got you Tasha. I'm not going to let anyone or anything hurt you, including yourself.” Natasha started crying, heaving sobs as she tried to breath properly. “Shhhh it's okay. I'm here. Can you tell me 5 things you can see?” Natasha still sobbing looked around.

“My bookshelf, my TV, your bag, my peanut butter sandwich, you.”

“4 things you can touch?”

“The floor, my shirt, the curtains, you.”

“3 things you can hear?”

“The cars outside, the neighbors TV, your breathing.”

“Two things you can smell?”

“My peanut butter sandwich, your perfume.” Natasha was nervous. The last one you were about to ask Natasha had only ever had one response and you could tell she wasn't sure if it would be okay now.

“One thing you can taste?” Natasha let her eyes flick between your eyes and your lips. You cupped her cheek letting your thumb pad rub her cheek.

“Y-you?” Natasha questioned, but to you it wasn't; it never would be. You leaned in and kissed your ex softly, your strawberry lip gloss getting transferred onto her own dry and cracked lips. You pulled away, leaning your forehead against Natasha's.

“Feel better?” You ask and Tasha nods. “Good now I know exactly what you need.” You stood up, helping Natasha up and putting her back in front of her peanut butter sandwich. “Eat please. I'm going to get everything together.” You kissed her temple before disappearing into the other room. 

Tasha did as told and ate. She heard you shuffling around and then the scent hit her, popcorn, a smile spread on her face. Suddenly she knew what you were doing, a movie night.

The two of you were on the couch watching spy movies, Natasha’s favorites as she recited them word for word during her favorite parts which you always loved to hear. A smile on your lips as you watched her intently. Natasha knew you were watching her, of course she did. She's a trained assassin and spy, but having your eyes on her was always her favorite.

You don’t remember when it happened exactly, but Natasha was now laying on top of you with a blanket covering the two of you on her couch. John Wick forgotten in the background as your eyes closed along with her, running your fingers through her red and blonde locks. 

When the two of you broke up her hair was short and dyed blonde for a new identity she had taken on. One you couldn’t be a part of, that was now two years ago. 

Natasha never decided to cut or re-dye the blonde, but if you were being honest this was one of your favorite looks that the spy has pulled off. 

Natasha ends up falling asleep on you and slowly you move until she’s grumbling, straddling your lap as you smile, “Shhhh milaya devushka.” (sweet girl) you coo as she settles into your body, fitting perfectly like she always did, face buried in your neck. You hook your arms under her thighs, picking her up easily thanks to your super-human strength. 

Flashback

The first time you picked up Natasha she was surprised because you're smaller than her, much smaller. It was something that took her off guard when in the middle of a mission and you guys were ambushed, bullets flying you rushed to her side when one pierced her, picking her up without a second thought, holding her bridal style and yelling over the coms, “Natasha’s been hit, I’m getting her to safety!” Steve gave a quick reply that he could handle things.

You hadn’t been with the group long at that point and at that point besides Fury and Tony no one knew the full extent of your powers. You had told the group of having a stockpile power. The more you got hit the more you could dish back out, but you also had super strength, a speed boost, and super durability along with advanced healing.

“H-how are you doing this!?” Natasha asked as you ran quickly, dodging bullets and knocking out enemies along the way. 

“I have super strength, speed, durability, and healing. Can we discuss this after I’ve gotten you to a safe place?” You ask, getting her in the passenger seat of a car, getting yourself into the driver's seat and peeling off. 

“Fury. Agent Romanoff has been hit. En route to S.H.I.E.L.D’s hospital.” 

“Is Cap and Falcon holding it down?”

“Yes Sir.” 

“Update me in an hour.” 

You did just that as you sat next to Natasha, they pulled the bullet out and stitched her up. “Tasha, you have to be more careful...” you spoke somberly.

“I do what needs to get done for the mission.” She replies.

“Don’t do that with me Tasha. Don’t go cold.”

“You know I’m not trying to be cold, but this is who I am. On missions I only think about that.” Natasha defends herself.

“Tasha...I love you so can you at least try?” The words catch her off guard so much so that she can’t even form words. You put your hand behind her neck leaning your foreheads together. “Please for me Tasha.” you whisper. 

“O-okay...” You let your lips brush hers, waiting for her to reciprocate and when she does you melt into the kiss, into her.

End Flashback

You watched Natasha for a few moments, breathing evened out, lips slightly parted. Your attention is pulled away as your phone vibrates in your pocket, it's your girlfriend. You slip back out to the living room trying not to disturb her, but Natasha is a light sleeper. 

"Hey, Wands. Sorry I rushed out the door earlier," You apologized, trying to keep your voice low.

"Where did you run off to?" Wanda inquired, her concern evident in her tone.

"Tasha called me," You admitted, knowing that honesty was the foundation of your relationship.

There was a pause on the other end of the line before Wanda spoke again. "She hasn't called you since you two broke up. What happened?"

You sighed, explaining the situation to Wanda. "She was having a really bad night. She needed some grounding."

"Will you be coming home tonight?" Wanda asked, her concern shifting to the practicalities of our shared life.

"I don't think so," You replied honestly.

It was quiet for a moment before you decided to be completely transparent. "Wands, I'm going to be honest with you. Natasha and I kissed. It was always a part of grounding her back, and you should know that because I'd never lie to you."

Wanda absorbed the information, and after a thoughtful pause, she asked, "Do you think anything else is going to happen?"

"I don't think so. She's sleeping now. We just had a movie night, watched her spy movies, a little bit of cuddling, but she was tired from her panic attack," you explained.

"Well, if anything does, you have permission," Wanda granted, her trust in our relationship evident.

"You're so cute, Wands. I know you'd want to be here for that," you teased, feeling the warmth of your connection even through the phone.

"S-shut up, Y/N/N. Just enjoy the rest of your night. I'm gonna see what Carol and Val are up to tonight," Wanda chuckled.

"Okay, pretty girl. You have fun too, okay?" You told her.

"Of course. Whatever I end up doing is going to be fun. I love you, Detka," Wanda declared affectionately.

"I love you too, querida,(dear)" you replied before hanging up. 

With a Gatorade in hand, you made your way back to Natasha's room, choosing an old shirt of hers from the closet. The shirt was large on you, but you loved the comfort it brought. Opting to go without pants, you crawled into bed, wrapping your arms around Natasha.

She stirred, her eyes meeting your own in the dim light. "I thought you were asleep, meu amor," you whispered, pushing some hair out of her face and cupping her cheek.

You saw a shiver run through her, and a smile played on your lips as you settled in for the night, grateful for the warmth and connection that surrounded the two of you.

"You're still here..." Tasha whispered, barely audible. 

"Yeah, of course. Wanda called because of how quickly I left the house earlier. She's going to go have some fun with Carol and Val," you explained softly, brushing a strand of hair away from Natasha's face.

Her emerald eyes searched yours, a hint of vulnerability lurking behind their depths. "What about you?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

A smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you tightened your hold around her, drawing her closer to you. "I am going to stay right here," you replied, your voice low and reassuring. "And take care of you. Whatever that entails."

You felt her body relax against your own, her warmth seeping into your skin as she nestled closer. But you needed to hear it from her, to know that she wanted this as much as you did.

"So tell me, using those big girl words of yours, what is it you want out of this?" You asked, your voice deepening with desire. You knew the effect your voice had on her. It was a connection that transcended any physical touch, an enchantment that bound the two of you together in a dance of desire and longing.

"What can we do?" Natasha ask. A mischievous grin played on your lips as I watched Natasha's reaction, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment at your teasing words.

"Anything, sweetie," You reiterated, your voice low and suggestive. "When I say Wanda's going out with them, I mean it in the dirtiest way that little brain of yours can imagine. Go on, imagine it. I love thinking about it."

You leaned in closer, your breath brushing against her skin as you whispered into her ear, relishing in the way her body squirmed against yours in response to your words. The anticipation crackled between the two of you, igniting a fire that burned with desire and longing.

Natasha's eyes widened with a mixture of surprise and arousal, her mind undoubtedly conjuring up all sorts of illicit fantasies. And as her blush deepened and her breath quickened, you knew that whatever you two decided to do next would be nothing short of exhilarating.

"You wanna know something?" You continued, relishing in the way her body responded to your touch. She nodded eagerly, her lips still caught between her teeth.

"There have been times where Wanda's gone off with Carol and them fucking?" You murmured, watching her reaction with a predatory gleam in your eyes. "It's like two universes clashing, their powers coming undone from each other. It's such a beautiful sight. Val and I love watching them collide like two stars."

As you spoke, Natasha's hips began to move against your leg, seeking friction and release. You smirked, feeling a surge of arousal coursing through you as you continued to explore her body with your hands, each touch reigniting the passion that had always simmered between you two.

"That's a good girl," you whispered, encouraging her to let her fantasies run wild. "Keep thinking about it."

With a hunger that bordered on desperation, you surrendered to the heat of the moment, losing yourself in the sensation of her body against your own. It felt as though no time had passed since you last shared this intimacy, your connection burning brighter than ever before. And as your desires collided like celestial bodies in the night sky, you knew that this moment would be etched into your memory forever.

The intoxicating sounds of pleasure that escaped Natasha's lips only fueled your desire further, igniting a primal hunger within you that demanded to be sated. The knowledge that you had the infamous Black Widow submitting to you, surrendering herself completely, filled you with a sense of power unlike anything else.

With a firm grip on her hip, you let your nails dig into her skin, relishing in the way she responded with a soft mewl of pleasure. "Keep moving your hips, baby," you encouraged, guiding her movements against your leg. "Just like that. I can feel you all over me. Is that from thinking about Wanda and Carol?" you teased, your smirk evident in your voice.

Natasha's breath hitched as she struggled to form a coherent response, her body moving against yours in a rhythm that spoke volumes. But you wouldn't let her off that easily.

"That's not a proper response, sweetie," you chided lightly, your grip on her hip tightening slightly. "What's my name?"

Her hesitation was palpable, but her body continued to move against yours until you intervened, halting her movements with a firm grip. "Answer me," you demanded, your voice laced with authority. "Otherwise, I can leave you like this."

Her eyes snapped open, pupils dilated with desire and anticipation. "Yes, Mistress," she finally admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

A smirk played on your lips as you leaned in, brushing your lips against hers in a feather-light kiss. "Good girl," you whispered against her lips before claiming her mouth in a passionate kiss, your bodies moving together in perfect synchrony.

The sensation of Natasha's body writhing beneath you, her soft moans and desperate pleas echoing in the air, fueled the fire burning within you. With a wicked smile, you continued to dig your nails into her skin, guiding her hips as she rolled against you, her arousal evident in the slickness between her thighs.

"Mmmm, Mistress...need..." she murmured, her voice laced with desire as she surrendered herself to the depths of subspace.

"What do you need, baby girl?" You whispered against her neck, your lips trailing kisses along her skin as you savored the taste of her.

"Need you. Inside. Please, Mistress!" Natasha begged, her desperation palpable as she sought release from the tormenting pleasure that coursed through her veins.

Her words sent a surge of arousal coursing through you, your desire for her growing with each passing moment. With a predatory gleam in your eyes, you withdrew your fingers from her hips and slid them past the waistband of her shorts, reveling in the feeling of her wetness coating your skin.

"Gods, you're soaked, krasivaya devushka,(pretty girl)" you whispered, your voice husky with desire as you teased her folds with feather-light touches. "Tell me, what made you like this?"

Natasha's breath hitched as your fingers danced along her sensitive flesh, eliciting a chorus of gasps and moans from her lips. "Th-thinking about... ah... Wands... and Captain..." she managed to stutter out, her words punctuated by soft gasps of pleasure.

"Good girl," you murmured, your voice thick with lust as you continued to tease her, your fingers delving deeper and deeper until she was on the brink of ecstasy. "Keep thinking about it while I stick my fingers in and make you see stars."

With that, you plunged your fingers inside her, setting off a chain reaction of pleasure that sent her spiraling into the depths of bliss. And as she cried out in ecstasy, her body trembling against yours, you knew that this was just the beginning of a night filled with passion and desire.

≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈

As you scrambled to cover yourselves at the sound of the front door opening, Wanda walked into Natasha's bedroom with three coffees in hand, a smirk playing on her lips at the sight of us.

"Good morning. Did you two sleep well? Because I was kept up all night," Wanda teased, unfazed by your half-naked state.

She leaned in to give you a kiss, and you couldn't help but chuckle at her comment. "Did you even brush your teeth, you heathen? I can still taste her on you!" You called her out, earning a smirk in response.

"I know you love her taste," Wanda retorted playfully, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Turning to Natasha, you asked if she had any spare toothbrushes, and she directed you to the medicine cabinet. You grabbed the coffees from Wanda, urging her to leave with a playful swat to her backside.

"Go. Now," You commanded, smirking as she yelped in surprise.

"Aww, still sore?" You teased, giving her ass another playful smack before pushing her forward. You could tell that despite her attempts to hide it, Wanda was finding it difficult to walk normally after her own night of passion.

As Wanda made her way out of the bedroom, you turned back to Natasha, a smile playing on your lips as you realized just how lucky you were to have both of these incredible women in your life.

"Do you deal with that everyday?" Natasha asks seeing how cheerful Wanda was in the morning and knowing full well you was never a morning person. 

"Yeah, I deal with that every day," You replied to Natasha's question, observing Wanda's cheerful demeanor in the morning. "But I can tell she had a good time, so it's worth it."

Taking a sip of your lavender oat milk latte, you let out a content hum. "And when she comes home with coffee and breakfast from my favorite place, how can I be upset in the morning?"

Natasha took a sip from her coffee, realizing it was her go-to order. "Did you tell her...?" she asked, curiosity evident in her tone.

"Actually, I told her once, two years ago," You explained, recalling the incident. "I was getting us drinks and accidentally ordered yours out of habit for Wanda, and ended up with an extra drink."

"And she remembered?" Natasha inquired, surprised by Wanda's attention to detail.

"I guess so. It's never been brought up again," you replied with a shrug, impressed by Wanda's ability to remember such small details.

As you finished your conversation about Wanda's thoughtfulness, she made her way back into the bedroom, joining you two on the bed with breakfast in hand.

"I do have breakfast if either of you are up for it," she offered, looking between the two of you with a smile.

"Thank you, babe. You're always so attentive," you praised, watching as Wanda did a cute little wiggle, scrunching up her nose in response. I could see the smile it brought to Natasha's face, and my heart swelled with love for both of them.

"Is this what it would be like? This easy?" Natasha spoke quietly, grabbing a piece of turkey bacon.

"What do you mean, meu amor?" You asked, taking a bite of your bagel.

"This. Us. All three of us. This just feels so easy, like falling into a comfortable bed or couch after a long day," Natasha explained, her words carrying a hint of wonder.

You looked at Wanda and smiled, tilting your head, silently encouraging her to share her thoughts.

'Go on,' you spoke to Wanda telepathically.

"Natasha, this can be whatever you want," Wanda began, her voice soothing and reassuring. "Y/N and I are together, but we would both love to have you join us. If you want that. But you can always just be with Y/N, or you don't even have to define it as a relationship. You can just come and go as you please, and we'll always be willing to let you join in our fun, whether that be one or both of us."

Wanda's words held a comforting warmth, a sense of safety that enveloped Natasha like a protective embrace. Her ability to convey reassurance was remarkable, and you could see the impact it had on Natasha, who seemed to be considering the possibilities laid out before her.

As Wanda spoke, her words filled the room with a mix of vulnerability and sincerity. Your heart swelled with emotion as she confessed her feelings for both Natasha and you, recounting the cherished memories you shared during our movie nights and bonding moments.

"But what I'm trying to say, really, is through the little moments the three of us used to share, I ended up falling for both of you," Wanda continued, her accent thickening with emotion. You couldn't help but feel a lump form in your throat as she spoke.

"When Y/N told me about why you two broke up and how she still had feelings, I ended up spilling my own to her about you as well," Wanda confessed, tears prickling the corners of her eyes. "We talked it over for a long time and decided you would be the only actual fit to keep in our dynamic because we already had it before."

As Natasha set down her breakfast, wiping her hands on the sweatpants the two of you had managed to grab for her, her expression was a mix of surprise and tentative hope.

"I... I would... I'd like that... the three of us again," Natasha managed to say, her voice filled with emotion.

Without hesitation, Wanda and you both moved to entangle yourselves with Natasha, enveloping her in a tight embrace. In that moment, it felt as though the weight of the world had been lifted from your shoulders, and you knew that together, the three of you could navigate whatever challenges lay ahead.

"Eu amo vocês dois,(I love you both)" you mumbled against Natasha's shoulder, feeling the weight of your shared love in the air.

"Я тоже тебя люблю,(I love you too)" both Natasha and Wanda responded simultaneously, their voices filled with affection and warmth.

"I already have both of you conditioned so well. My good little baby," you remarked with a playful smirk, cupping Natasha's cheek tenderly before turning to Wanda and doing the same. "And my good little pet."

You leaned in to kiss Wanda's lips first, savoring the softness and warmth before turning to Natasha and pressing your lips against hers. In that moment, surrounded by the love of these two incredible women, you felt a sense of completeness wash over your body.

"My two beautiful girls. Mine, all mine," you whispered, sealing your bond with a promise of love and devotion. And as you embraced each other, you knew that together, the three of you were unstoppable.

[bambisnc]

          . . BACKSTAGE <3

° ˖ ➴ in which you have .. an unusal pre-performance ritual.

### . STARRING ⌢ m.dn ⋆ fluff. + 0.9k // kissing, first kiss + reader is whipped ˖ ✧

🗨️ .. ⌞ XOXO ⌝ danielle save me danielle. same universe as te quiero hanni btw! might add more fics to the same univ w other members + [m.list]

being roped into the biggest event of your school – the festival that'd been on everyone's mind (but yours) for weeks now – had rather come as a surprise to you.

curse your pretty girlfriend, danielle, for misusing her obvious charm and influence on you. like you could have said no to those gorgeous eyes of hers.

“one of the comperes backed out last minute”, she’d told you, “could you please take her place? if there's anyone who can do it – it’s you.”

and, just like that, you had folded.

all your protests died on your lips as soon as she took your hand in both of hers and leaned in close, too close for comfort.

you felt like you could barely even think as a subtly alluring floral scent invaded your senses. messing with your head in the best way possible you barely realized you’d already given her your agreement when she excitedly giggled in that absolutely adorable way of hers and promised that the initiation ceremony would go absolutely perfect with you there <3.

so, with no way out, you allowed yourself to be swept up by rehearsals. your regret only kept building up in the remaining time upon finding out that you wouldn't actually get to spend any time with your girlfriend who had been your sole reason for saying yes.

finally, the morning of the much awaited event dawned. 

… and you realized just a tad bit too late that there was a problem. 

correction : there was a huge problem.

usually, to keep any potential pre-show jitters (or even panic attacks, in extreme cases) at bay, it is rather common for people to develop different practices that they ensure doing before performances; as a placebo, if nothing else. some prefer to spend time all alone, drink a very specific type of soda, make use of good luck charms, even. 

you just so happened to have one of these … rituals. nothing too crazy. all you “needed” for a smooth performance was a few minutes of mindless doomscrolling on any media platform that appealed to you at that moment. insta, twitter, hell – even youtube shorts had bangers occasionally. it calmed you. gave you a little dopamine boost to get through your nerves.

but the problem was that your phone was 1% away from dying on you. 

and no one seemed to have a charger at hand.

trying to convince yourself that everything would work out fine, it's just a silly little ritual, after all – did not work in the slightest. not after the string of disasters in the early morning practice runs. you’d stumbled over your words. forgotten entire chunks of your lines. so, clearly, you were struggling.

but then, as if sent by heaven's angels themselves, a curly head of hair peeked in. 

“danielle, i..” you’d said, “i don’t think i can do this.”

she tilted her head, confusion, worry clearly flashing on her features as she asked why that was. 

you wasted no time explaining – well, more like rambling – about your entire situation. your dying phone, your ritual and how you were convinced there was no way this entire thing wouldn’t crash and burn.

her brows knitted together as she pondered your theory all while you kept yapping and gesturing to make your point. and then, right before the cue for you to go on stage sounded, she stepped closer. 

the warmth radiating off her almost made you dizzy, “dani? what’re you-”

but before you could finish, she’d grabbed your collar, leaned in and kissed you.

her lips against yours were more than anything you could’ve ever imagined. soft, sweet, –  until suddenly, before you could even process it much less savor the moment, she pulled away. 

a quiet whisper left her which you’d barely even heard due to being too distracted by the fact that pressing in just a little closer would let you kiss her again.

“you got this, okay?”

and with that, she was (gently) shoving you out of the wings and only when the stage lights focused on you were you able to snap back to reality. 

“Greetings and welcome to one and all present here." you only vaguely register the words you're speaking, "Today we celebrate our prestigious school’s 20th anniversary with a variety of cultural showcases including …” 

she kissed you. 

“... Additionally, I would like to welcome our chief guest, an alumni of our school from the batch of ‘96…”

that was your first kiss. 

“... Lastly, I would like to invite the choir to present a mellifluous medley to kick off things after which the event will officially be declared open.”

and it was with danielle. your girlfriend. the prettiest girl in the world.

the kiss had definitely sent your brain short-circuiting.

but after having successfully finished up the opening speech, you realized with a jolt that it had been flawless. every word rolled out effortlessly, your nerves totally forgotten.

when you finally find yourself face to face with her again, had she been waiting backstage for you all this while?, you sternly try to confront her about it, hoping the heat rushing to your face doesn’t betray you, “marsh danielle.”

“i… i’ve heard kissing gives, like, dopamine?” she mumbles in her defense, her face just as flushed as yours despite the playful twinkle in her eyes. 

“...”

“...”

“…will you please kiss me again?.”

𐙚 . regulars : none yet! ⋆

[@bambisnc] 2k25

[theysaidhush]

hii its my first time req also i love love love ur writing 🫶🏻 i was wondering if u could do an ot8 skz x fem reader poly and if not either seungmin or lee know where the reader has a severe panic attack during isac? the rest would be up to you and of course if you dont feel comfortable doing this dont feel pressured to

There's always light at the end of the tunnel

➝ YouCan'tSeeItButIt'sThere!OT8 x 9thMember!Reader ➝ You don't have panic attacks. Jisung does but you don’t. Right..? ➝ angst, comfort? ➝ wc. 2k Hiii omg I'm your first !!! I'm so sorry that it took me such a long time to answer, hope you're still around !!

Are panic attacks something that you fear, or have? Not at all. You know what they are, you can try to understand how people feel when they are having one. But since you've never been the one to have it, you don't really understand, you don't...feel it.

Sometimes, you're a witness - it's not something that one would willingly witness for it can create some awkward thoughts and clumsy actions. A thing that people don't tell you, it's how you feel when you actually get to witness a panic attack. It's like you're having one too, especially when the person having it is close to you. You don't know what to do, what to say - should you hold his hands or let him breathe? would it be weird ask him if they're alright - spoiler alert, it is. But it's not something that is taught in school, something that people are aware of - like how you should or shouldn't behave in front of a wild animal. Yet it should.

But you were fine standing in the side lines. The only person who ever had a panic attack in front of you was Jisung. Don't get me wrong, he is your Sweet Cheeks - no one should ever tell him that this is his nickname in your phone, he would get cocky - you partner in crime and your bud. But by fearing how he saw you, you never quite acted during one of his moments. Maybe you were worried - you can be quite something at time. Maybe you were too much, as one of the kids was always here for him, even if you were there before - are you jealous ? A bit.

But it never crossed anyone's mind that this would happen to you. The never ever sleeping little chipmunk high on life. You can congratulate, you've been hiding quite some things under the bed. Things that made the monster sympathize with you. And you thought it was fine, you really thought that someone else needed the attention and the care. It never crossed your mind that there was enough love in the eight's heart for two little anxious chipmunks high on life. But for you're defense - not that anyone blames you - you hadn't seen it coming.

Everything was fine, and then it wasn't. People tend to say that you never get used to the feeling. The overwhelming need to breathe. The first time is always the worse. You don't know what's happening. You are scared, you feel alone, breathless, and you can't hear nor see what's going on around you. And then in a brief moment of clarity it crosses your mind.

Me?

Because you always thought that you were not sad enough for that. And it's the worse that happens. Discovering that you are in fact not alright. That you're dealing with shit bigger than yourself, heavier than what your body can handle. And you fall.

It has never happened before.

Why me?

Why can't I breathe?

Am I dying?

What's wrong with people?

Why are they looking at me?

What's wrong with me?

Someone..?

One moment you're playing with gravels on the ground, the other you're staring blankly at the same spot, eyes unmoving and hands slightly trembling.

Kim Seungmin knows you quite well. Stays know that Sungmin knows you quite well - when you joined the group, a few years later after Stray Kids' debut, it took just a month or two for your ship to be one of the most popular in Stray Kids. It would have been weird, knowing that people were expecting you of fantasizing about a non-existent relationship with one of the youngest. But like it was meant to be, just a month later he was the one to look you in the eyes and tell you what you needed to hear. He was your emotional support. The anchor to your sailing and swaying ship. So yeah, Kim Seungmin might be the one who knows you the best among Stray Kids. And he knows that your eyes usually do not look like one of a dead fish.

He does't move. He stares at the screen displaying the score of each groups competing in the ISAC. Stray Kids' not bad - they're serving, like they usually do. His arms sway awkwardly and he shift his weigh on his right leg. He then looks at you for a brief moment. You're not moving. That's weird, you don't usually stay on the same spot for more than a good twenty seconds.

"What's got your panties in a twist?"

Seungmin hopes that Stay aren't that good at playing detectives and lip reading, because Changbin proved once more that he doesn't give a single fuck about his idol image.

"I'm not mad? What makes you think that I'm mad?"

"Well..." Changbin stops in front of the taller boy, one eyebrow raising as he takes the famous 'pregnant woman pose'. "Why are you asking me? Shouldn't you know?"

For a second - one that dumb Jisung and dumber Hyunjin wouldn't have caught - the singer takes a look at his girl. A brief second. But Seo Changbin do not need more than a second - he is Seo Changbin after all. And what he sees, or understand, do not seem to please him.

"What's up with her?"

He says that with a frown in his face, abandoning his ridiculous posture for one which is more menacing, which could show everyone that something's changed. But Seungmin carefully catches the hem of his vest before the rapper goes toward their ninth member.

If you ask Changbin what he doesn't like about being a K-pop idol, he'd probably say "Nothing" with a smirk on his face. Because Seo Changbin does what he wants and eats what he craves. But if there's one thing that he hates, it's when he can't help people who needs it - especially their female member - because of the repercussion it could have on his group. And he knows it. Seungmin knows it. He is reckless, and they don't need that right. Especially not right now.

A few days later, what happened between them made Stayville go crazy with some cliché videos and compilation of the two men standing close to each other. The famous Seungbin compilations. Little did they know that nothing romantic was happening between them - not at that time anyway.

"Is she..." Changbin's eyes narrowed, looking thoroughly at the young woman as a raw terror and uneasiness flooded his body, "even breathing?"

It was a valid question. To those who were surrounding her and looking close and carefully enough, it was clear that her face was getting paler. Now, it really was worrying.

As if walking into a shop, Seungmin's feet led his straight toward his member, light heartedly and without any sense of urgency. But inside, he felt like bile was rising up his throat, the pure terror hidden behind curtains of hair a unusual and unfitting expression on his girl.

It only seemed normal to crouch next to her and to comfort her with his warm touch - she usually craves it.

If the way you tense up and get slightly away from him is a sign, you clearly don't need it right now, don't even want it. And you have never denied him affection. You always came to him whenever something bothered you - or he would tease the answer out of you, it depends. Why couldn't you bear the mere idea of him touching you right now, when you clearly needed him the most? Why were you refusing the only sense of normalcy in this raging sea of cold water and prickly wreck?

You vaguely discerned the hurt on his face, above the other millions of emotions swimming in his eyes.

"It's okay Seungmin, I got it."

It was a just whisper. Like a siren's voice coming from beneath the surface. What a great parallel, you would have praised yourself in other circumstances. Among all the chaos happenings in and outside your head, you vaguely understood that you were taking somewhere else. It was dark, silent. The light wasn't blinding you anymore, your eyes could rest, the storm was now only raging in your head.

"I can do it... Please."

There's a brief movement that you can't even register in your haze before you feel warm hands engulfing yours. The feeling isn't disturbing, like Seungmin's hand was. You welcome it with a tight grip.

"It's okay to cry, don't hold it."

You really wanted to voice your confusion. Why would you cry? You just felt like you were dying, why would cry help.

"You just have to let it all out. This happens when you bottle up your emotions for too long, then you feel like you can't cry in front of other, or scream, because this is not socially acceptable, so you just hold it in."

The accuracy of the fact was almost scaring. Your eyes, unfocused, tried to identify the silhouettes before you, a choked sob escaping your lips as your legs failed you and you tumbled, your back hitting the cold wall behind you as the silhouettes carefully helped you towards the ground. It was cold. It was nice.

"And when you hold it in, you feel like you can't breathe. Like the world is closing up on you. Everyone is staring, but no one is looking. They can hear you, your thoughts, they can see your deepest secrets, feel how you feel... It's disturbing, isn't it?"

You try to nod, the memory from just a moment ago burning behind your eyelids, the hurt on Seungmin's face. It's not that you don't trust him...

"You just don't want them to see you like this. Vulnerable, pitiful...weird."

Another choked sob escape you, a puff of air leaving your lips, and you feel slightly better as you inhale. Only once, but it's better than zero.

"You don't want them to know that you lied when they asked you if you were okay. You don't want to fail them."

While the words utter by this person seems terribly accurate, it helps soothing the raging storm, which now seems to have been replaced by a grey clouds pouring down on you.

"But you're not failing anyone. They want to help you."

A ray of sunshine.

"It's not wrong to feel those emotions, to experience those episodes."

Another one. It's warm on your skin.

"You're not dying, noting's wrong with you, we're just here and we'll stay as long as you need us. We're not leaving."

Your breathing is back to normal, if not a little shaky, and you feel the ground you're sat on. You never really thought about it. But "There's always light at the end of the tunnel", right?

Your light is warm and comforting, leaving a tingly sensation in your head after each words spoken with care.

"It'll happen again. From now on, you'll have those panic attacks again, at random moments, whenever you feel overwhelmed, whenever you feel." the other silhouette says, his hands hovering over your cheek, not daring touching you. "It's not unusual to refuse help and shy away from the person whose opinion about us is the most important. Seungmin will understand."

And your light has a form and a name, and right now, two rays are shining brightly on you.

You bury your head in Jisung's neck as he wraps an arm around you and let your cry fill the room, Minho's presence on the other side comforting even if not touching you in any way.

"It's gonna be alright, we'll get through it together. You and I."

Jisung's words are not just that: words. It's a promise. At the moment, it doesn't even cross your mind that he sees himself in you, that he feels like it is his duty to help you. The way you're curled up into his chest, tears washing down your face, sobs escaping your lips without interruption. You look like a child. Scared.

But it's alright, because even if you don't know how you'll live with this, you'll manage. Jisung did, and you ought to be just as strong as him. Even if it means hiding from everyone but Minsung. It'll get better overtime, right?

[miniwheat77]

Silence. (Ghost x Reader.)

!nsfw, smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, trauma, panic attacks, blood, death, MDNI!

Short lil ghost fic, hope you enjoy. 💖 (not edited)

If there's anything that's more scary than a warzone.

Anything more terrifying than running through a battlefield, bullets flying past you, explosions around you.

A war is terrifying. But there is one thing even more chilling than that.

Silence.

It's all they hear on your end of the radio. Silence.

Just minutes ago you were responding, you were alive and well and talking to them. Now, nothing. It takes them all off guard. They're worried about you immediately, needing to get to your last coordinates. So they rush there.

They can see your trail. Blood and bodies lay in the wrath that was once you, ambushing and killing to get to the reason behind this mission in the first place. One that they hadn't clued you in on in the first place. Now, as they approach you, they realize they should've. They should’ve asked more questions because it might’ve saved you from what’s to come. You've stumbled upon a lab, standing where you are. You're grief stricken and there's nothing anyone can do to stop it now. Thousands of photos line the walls. Test subjects, something that you had once been involved in. You're sick the moment you see it. The photos, the blood. The wounds and the innocent people dying when there's nothing you could do.

"What the fuck is this?" The venom is clear in your tone as you spin to look at your Captain, who had failed to tell you what this mission was in the first place.

You turn back toward it. "I'm sorry Y/N. I had no idea. It was Laswell who set it up." He stresses at the way you look at the photos on the wall. You seethe, staying quiet. Turning back and making your way to the wall. You tug a photo off, tack falling to the ground. You see the innocent girl inside the photo and you recognize who she is. Having seen her killed the same day you had escaped, your empty promises to her. How you'd get her out and she'd get to see her family again and how you watched a bullet pierce through her skull. Her lifeless body falling, blood spattering onto you. It was then when Captain Price had arrived to help you.

It's what made you decide to join the task force after everything. After being kidnapped and tortured by a foreign enemy. How nobody seen or heard from you for months, how they knew not to send you on anymore missions involving this operation knowing that you were one of few surviving members. It would set you off and that's why you stayed away from it. John was going to let Laswell have it when he got you back to base.

It takes little to nothing to send you into a fit of rage. You start ripping everything off of the walls, throwing equipment, kicking, and destroying everything physically around you. You needed to.

They let you until you're hyperventilating.

It takes Ghost to pull you back, nobody else was brave enough to intervene and he holds you to his chest as you flail and pant, blinded by the memories of being held captive and being tortured. Watching all of those innocent people die around you, some of which were your own. You didn't take enough time to heal and that was apparent to Captain Price as he watches you freak out, having bottled everything up. Watching it explode as you fell into a full blown panic attack. He shakes his head, seething as he exits the building. Phoning Laswell the moment he could no longer hear your cries.

"John."

"So help me god Laswell. If you knew what this was and you let me bring her in here.." He hesitates.

"What do you mean?"

"This is a direct connection to the operation Y/N was in before this task force, Laswell. She's hysterical." He hisses. Laswell can tell through the phone that he's beyond pissed.

"I didn't John, I had intel from some other sources. I didn't know." She hesitates. "Well. Double check next time." He stops responding after that.

When John returns, Simon is still holding you, but he's turned you away from everything that you had just destroyed. Your eyes are bloodshot and you have tear stains on your cheeks. You stare ahead like there's nothing going on behind your eyes and it's unnerving.

Silence.

Nothing but silence and they hate silence. Ghost holds you tight. Like if he lets go you'll disappear into thin air and John silently thanks him for it. Ghost of all should know how you feel right now. Having lost everything himself. When he feels you're ready, he moves you from the room. Helping you up but keeping your head turned away from everything. You didn't need to see this anymore.

When you arrive back on base, you’re silent. Making a b-line right for your room and they don’t see you for the rest of the night. You sit in there for the most part. Your reaction today probably scared everyone and you wish you hadn’t reacted the way you did. But you couldn’t control yourself.

Something shocked you today.

Ghost. The way he held you. You knew he was one who was never into physical touch or affection but that’s all he’d done. He held you to his chest, whispering nothing but soothing things into your ear to calm you. And the fucked up part about it was how well it had worked.

For the next couple of weeks, the aura around Ghost is different. Your eye contact is prolonged in passing, and whatever you feel. You know that he can feel it too. When you pass by him, it’s like everything moves in slow motion and he holds your eye contact until the last possible second. His gaze is chilling.

It’s you who seeks him out first. Late at night, you come knocking and you don’t know why. You don’t remember your feet carrying you to his door this late at night but it’s almost like he’s waiting for you. Still fully dressed despite the hour. You raise your hand and hesitate before you knock very quietly. He says nothing as he opens it up and sees you. Eyes just piercing yours. He steps to the side, allowing you in. Not a word spoken between the both of you. You stand in the middle of his room, turned toward him as he closes the door. You can see his gloved fingertips twist the lock. Swallowing hard, your eyes trail back up to his eyes.

You’re the first one to break the silence.

“You feel it too… don’t you?” You’re already breathless and it comes out more pathetic than you think it does.

He says nothing. Which is the answer you think you want. Ghost is guarded, of course he wouldn’t admit to it. But he’d also deny you if it weren’t true.

He’s on you before you even have time to react. His mask is pulled off and his lips are on yours, pure Ghost. Nothing but a killing machine who you’d hardly talked to before all of this. He’s got you pressed against the wall. He helps you remove your sweatpants, tugging them down your legs.

A hiss leaves your lips as he raises you up. He holds you against the wall, pressing his knee up against it to reach for his belt and zipper. Tugging his jeans just past his cock to free it. You can feel his bare skin brush against yours. Not a single fabric blocking him from you now.

His shaft presses against your entrance and he has time to think about if he should do this or not.

He stares you in the eyes, they’re watery and puffy. Your lips are blushing and plump from kissing him.

“Please-“ you mewl. “Y/N.” He warns. Finally coming to, enough to realize what he’s doing. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to take advantage of you.” He hisses.

“Simon.” Your voice is low.

“Fuck me until it hurts-“ you hiccup. Looking up at him.

His breath hitches in his throat. He rests his cock right up against your entrance and watches your face for any discomfort for at least a minute.

When he sees nothing but pure lust in your gaze, he thrusts up into you. Penetrating you. He cuts your cry off with his hand but hears just a second of it. It rattles him to his core, the way you sound. Ghost doesn’t know what this is, what his sudden feelings for you are. And it’s so weird that you felt everything too. Something has changed, drastically. He holds your hips tight to the wall as he hammers his hips into yours, your own hands clamp over your mouth. He’s rough, but in the most pleasurable way. Even with his tight grip on your hips, fingertips sure to leave bruises. You still don’t hurt.

You move your hands from your mouth, biting your lip to silence yourself as you wrap your arms around his neck to kiss him again. It’s sloppy and messy, just like the sex you’re having but you couldn’t care less.

He moves you to his bed. It creaks a little bit but Ghost can’t find it in himself to care at this moment in time. Your thighs shake as he ravages you. He keeps a bruising pace, not letting up or relenting in any way. He needs you to feel every part of him. He needs to be overbearing, almost to the brink of too much but not crossing it.

You clutch the sheets hard, he tugs his shirt off finally. Taking a deep breath. His hair is damp from sweat, beads of it settle on his face. Drips slide down the strands of his hair. Falling to land on your chest, his hair was a little overgrown for his liking but he hadn’t gotten the chance to cut it just yet. The wetness is what brings you down to earth to raise his chin, making him look you in the eyes. That pressure is building and there’s no going back now. You hold his eye contact, hearing his breathing start to get more jagged and out of control. He was right there, and so were you.

You cum first, eyes screwing shut and he clamps a hand over your mouth, hips still moving into yours as he chases after his own high. When he cums, he can’t hold back the groan. Eyes rolling back as he fills you. Shaking as he experiences the most intense orgasm he’s ever had by far, barely being able to ride it out from being so sensitive. He flinches as you throb around him, it’s almost too much. “F-fuck” he hisses, collapsing on top of you. Resting his head on your chest. “Shit..” he mumbles.

“I’m sorry.” He breathes. His hair is wet and it’s cold all of a sudden.

“For what?” He raises his head to look at you. “I.. I shouldn’t have pushed you like this. And I shouldn’t have..” he hesitates. “I should’ve pulled out.”

“It’s okay. I’ll take care of it, don’t worry about it.” You take in a deep breath. “You didn’t push me. I came to you.” You breathe. “I’m glad you did. Stay.” He mumbles. Seeing the edge of your lips turn up in a smile. “Okay.”

You end up staying there until morning when you sneak off to your own room. Nobody knows what happened, and you want it to stay that way for now.

You’re not sure what this is. What these new feelings for him are. Of course they’re intimidating. But you don’t let them scare you. It’s the start of something new, and bonding with someone who understands your trauma and knows how to help you.

You can help each other.

[luiluvr]

I want to request where reader has a horrible nightmare. Maybe something bad happening to Luigi. He comforts and protects her the best way possible. She ends up falling asleep in his arms :((.

ya’aburnee || luigi mangione

tysm for ur request </3 if it’s is related to this one from a little bit ago genuinely im soso sorry.. i’m behind on requests and i’ve had writers block but!!! here u guys go💞

WARNINGS: car accident, panic attack, death (not real), ends with fluff i promise 💔 kinda proofread

SUMMARY: You have a bad dream about Luigi getting hurt in an accident losing him, he wakes up hearing about your restless sleep and calms you down. He also makes a cheesy promise that when you go, he goes. ((:

WC: 1.7k

Luigi was everything any girl would have wanted — and more. He had the charm of a prince and the soul of a lover. You'd never met anyone quite like him and you were always so astonished to remember that he was your man. He never hurt you, he held your heart in the palm of his hand and he would give or do anything to make sure no harm was caused to it. He'd block a million shots before they'd ever graze you.

You were always so worried about losing him, another girl getting his attention that would outshine you. Even though he promised that would never happen, his life was yours, it was always an aching worry in the back of your mind. If not another woman, then something else, anything bad that could ever occur to the male. He was the sun to your moon, the constellations in your night skies, and the sunset painted behind your oceans.

He was too sweet, too good to be true. The girls in your friend group always joked about it: "how did you get so lucky?" "Where did you find a guy like him anyway?" He was such a good guy that no one could ever find a genuine reason to hate him. You never saw anything bad in him; and even when he made mistakes, they just made you love him more.

The life before Luigi was so bland, before meeting him — that loving bundle of joy, all embodied in this man. He reminded you of your younger years, when life was easy, life was free.

There were dreams of such a sweet and domestic life. Simple company by the man you love, tender and everlasting love. Nothing more needed than one another, or anything fancy, or incredibly unique. You’ve pondered the possibility of ever losing such an important thing in your life. Swearing you would love this man until your final, dying breath, living without him would be the most terrifying thing you'd ever experience and you worried that if something came between you both, separating you for life — you'd never truly live again.

All those thoughts were just doubts of demons in your heart, trying to encourage the idea that someday you’ll end up all alone — like you assumed you were destined to be when you were younger.

With Luigi it felt as though he bundled all your insecurities and worries and made you feel alive.

Your gaze lingers on the ceiling for a minute too long as you await the tiredness to overcome your body and mind; and the sound of Luigi’s snores serenades you now more than they bothered you. You grew more fond of each other’s flaws rather than be upset or annoyed, someday it won’t be there anymore.

When sleep comes, it crashes you down. Your eyes flutter shut and your body finds some peace. Peace.

Peace is debatable with the dream you have.

It’s normal-ish.

Off the bat, distinguishing the fact you were dreaming was a struggle as-is, since you passed out so suddenly. Your lungs heave as you sit up from the couch where you’d been napping supposedly. The apartment was still, you glance at the clock on the stove and find it’s only 4:30 PM. This was about the time Luigi usually came home from work.

Rubbing your neck, you walk to the bathroom, relieve yourself and wash your face. You prepared for your boyfriend, which wasn’t really anything too extreme. Sometimes you’d make dinner — mostly he would. He loved introducing his family dinner recipes into your menu. You suspected tonight was going to be his night to cook, so, you just cleaned up the kitchen as a nice deed.

4:30 became 5:00. 5:00 became 5:30. Your brow furrowed at what and where the hell he was. You called — no answer. Another time — nothing.

Then panic settled in, majorly. You tried not to when he was late, sometimes his boss kept him overtime and others were him stopping to get food or groceries. Once it was well-after 6 PM and he hadn’t responded nor showed up, you worried badly.

Then a call came. You answered, but it wasn’t Luigi. “Hi, is this Y/N?”

“Who’s asking?” You respond.

“I’m officer Rodney, we found you as the emergency contact for Luigi.”

“Yes… That’s me. Why?”

“Luigi’s been in an accident while driving. He’s being escorted to the hospital by ambulance.”

“What??” Your heart quite literally dropped to your ass. “Is this a joke?”

“No, ma’am. He’s in pretty bad shape from what I was told.” You were in such shock, you just hung up and ran out the door. You and Luigi shared a car, but most of the places you liked were within walking distance of the apartment complex. As fast as your feet would take you — you ran, and ran, until you saw an ambulance actively driving to the hospital a few blocks down. You followed it and low and behold, it was the one with Luigi.

Everything was real- it had to be. The looks of the EMTs, the people in a rush, your heart beating wildly — it was getting hard to breathe as you rushed inside the emergency room, unsure what to do and where to go. The woman behind the desk just reassured you everything would be alright and to take a seat. Her smile was smothered with hot-pink lipstick, her expression was a little uncanny. Internally, you wanted to smack her. It annoys you when people try to sugarcoat a bad situation. You did feel guilty for thinking that because she was only doing her job.

You take your seat in the foamy, metal chairs and stare up at the small, box television mounted to the wall. Playing random episodes of Looney-Toons. You chew on your inner lip for what felt like ever. You sat there for two-and-a-half, uncomfortably ong hours. All your brain could replay is the idea of Luigi dying, or being paralyzed, or going brain dead. Is there worse?

Nothing happens.

Another few episodes play quietly, creating an unsettling atmosphere that only a liminal space could offer — one that you would never escape.The TV turned to static and the lady behind flex glass had left, the other patients in the waiting room stared at their phones, read over old magazines or watched outside. The windows were foggy, with thundering skies and hail.

Finally you stand, all you hear is the loud echoing beep of a heart monitor that signals someone’s heart is giving out. With the nerve that Luigi was already hurt, and suffering with a panic-fueled feeling in your bones – all you can do in that moment is run. You push on the emergency doors harshly; which a person without access wouldn’t normally be capable of opening.

The hallways were long, it was taunting how empty it was for an emergency room. As if some rapture happened and you were the only one left behind. You stuck out like a sore thumb, scanning the rooms for Luigi. You exhale shakily, then poke your head in one where the beeping came from. You swing open the paper-feeling curtain; and whatever your brain was trying to do to you, it worked. There laid Luigi, lifeless, a goner upon the bed with earthly-gods who were supposed to save him. Your heart thumped wildly in your chest, it was the last thing you saw before waking up.

Sweating, panting, you sat up from your pillows – glancing at the clock on your nightstand. 3:26 A.M., and snoring quietly beside you – still, Luigi is safe. You choked on tears that began streaming on their own, with full-body tremors and a quivering lip. Luigi sat up curiously as the bed played back your shivering, hearing soft sniffles, “Baby, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

His sweet voice coos and turns over immediately taking you into his embrace. All you’re able to do is soak it in, his warmth, his love, him. “Shh, it’s okay, I got you.” He’s so tender, he didn’t need you to respond, all he needed was to hold you.

All you needed was to be held.

“I’m sorry for waking you up, Lu,” you sniffle, he shakes his head. “No, no, don’t apologize, bellissima. Did something happen?” You nod slowly, still coming down from the fears your dream inflicted on you.

“Bad dream.”

“Had to be pretty bad to wake you up in tears, love.” He smiles weakly to you, gently peppering your temple with his kisses.

“I lost you." Was all you were able to muster up, you could hear your own heartbeat. Yes, Luigi was alive and right here beside you - all your brain could replay was that disturbing image of him being lost to the winds of fate. “Lost me?”

“You got in an accident.” You whimpered.

“Oh, honey, it’s alright. Don’t cry, it was just a dream.” He hushes you, cradling you in those big, strong arms of his. “I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere, my love.” You just curl up into him, knees to chest and everything. There’s no need for anymore talking, until Luigi says something. A word you weren’t sure of. “Ya’aburnee.” He smiles while wiping your tears away.

“Ya — what?” You raise a brow.

“Ya’aburnee, it means you bury me in Arabic.” He chuckles, he always knew random ass words in different languages. “You’re worried of losing me, you think you couldn’t live without me, right?”

“Yes, Lu. I don’t think I can ever live in a world without you.” You whispered. “I know it sounds selfish but I hope I go before you.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Lu smiled, “Let’s not think about that yet. Pondering the future is such a dangerous thing to your pretty brain.”

You smile slyly and poke his cheek, “You always make me feel so much better.” He squeezes you tighter in his flexed, uncovered arms. He looked so nice in a tank-top. His tan skin reflects the moonlight gently. “Don’t worry baby, I promise that whenever you go, I go.”

“We’ll grow old together and die together?” He nods to you.

“You wanna try going back to sleep?” He murmurs, securing you in his embrace. “Want to get rid of me already?” You giggled.

“Well.. I am tired.” He smiles, brushing your strands of hair behind your ear. You squish his muscle-y arm and nod, “I’ll try.”

He plants a big kiss on your lips, then pulls you back, tucking you in beside him. He spoons you from behind and continues tickling you with neck kisses.

Your breaths steady out, he stays awake until you fall asleep. “Ya’aburnee, carrasima.” He mumbles against your skin.

“Ya’aburnee.” You mumble back in your sleep.

[yandereforme]

(I’m going to assume these two asks are together. )

OK, so the only way I can see them getting close to injuring you is if they were fighting with someone and accidentally hurt you. They are not gonna let you be a vigilante, and probably would not train you at all.

Dick goes full-blown shut down mode. He will mother hen you to the extreme, but he will be like a shell of himself. How could he hurt his little sibling, his little star? You’re not going to get much alone time, but if you start flinching around him, he’s going to freak out and probably have a panic attack. Best thing you can do to calm him down, is let him help you with everything, and avoid mentioning your injury. If you say you forgive him, though, that will only make him obsess over you more, and feel more guilty. His sweet little sibling forgave him so quickly, he didn’t deserve you.

Jason will vanish. Like straight up gone for a month sort of thing. He will freak out about hurting you and will not come around you for a while. Only once you are healed up. That does not mean he doesn’t stay around the Manor though. In fact, he is more vigilant than ever about any threats towards you.(when you start healing up, Jason might sneak into your room and watch you sleep, reassuring himself, that you’re going to be OK. He is not like Willis.) there are one of two ways. I can see him coming back. Either you get in trouble and he saves you, or he finds out that you miss him. Either way, after he comes back, he will be treating you with more fragility then before and will let you get away with anything,  though he definitely won’t give you as much freedom outside, too worried about you getting hurt again. You just need to ride it out, and make sure he knows that you don’t blame him for anything.

Tim will shut down in the beginning. He will freak out about it and after getting you to Alfred, he will shut down and hit on himself for a while. Eventually, though, his mind will twist it, so that he will believe you hurt yourself, or one of the others hurt you. He cannot except the fact that he hurt you. If anyone brings it up ever again, which Damian probably will, he will simply act as if it did not happen, or start having another breakdown. Best thing you can do is go along with his delusion and let him help you.

Damian will go one of two ways. One, if he was fighting with someone else at the time, he will blame it on them, and not let them see you. He will be more protective than ever and what little time yet to yourself will be gone. The other option is complete and utter shut down. He will go into a similar state that you were in, depression, that will make him bad. Any side of your injury will make him worse, but if he goes to long without seeing you, he will be worse than ever. As long as you can blame someone else, he will be able to keep going, so your best bet for making things run smoothly, is telling him that it wasn’t his fault, or making him believe he’s protecting you.

Bruce is very similar to Jason, but worse guilt. Bruce is aware that he’s been a bad father, but hurting you will send him over the edge, especially with a major injury. He will go into an arc similar to what he did after Jason’s death, though not as bad for the criminals. He will be reckless and avoid you for a long time. Alfred will have to manipulate him into talking to you again, and he will be awkward and scared to be around you. He has a lot of trauma around his loved ones dying, and you getting badly hurt by him? Your best bet is to ride it out, keep your siblings from mutinying on him, make sure they all know you miss Bruce, and working with Alfred to get him better( you going to Bruce and asking for a bed time story will help your relationship with him though.)

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

can i request a one shot where reader has been friends with everyone in cousins for a while and has been around to see everything happen (susannah dying, the love triangle between belly, conrad and jere). fast forward to when conrad leaves the motel, he goes to reader after and they end up falling for eachother over time and reader shows conrad the love and support he deserves, and understands what he’s going through💞

A bit short, but I'm in a spooky autumn mood and these characters scream summer. Please send spooky/autumn requests

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

‘’She chose him and now I can’t fucking breathe,’’ Conrad said as you sat together on your couch. He rubbed his chest with the heel of his palm and your heart shattered. 

He had showed up at your door unannounced a little over an hour ago, backpack over his shoulder and looking like he'd been run over by a truck. His eyes were red, like he had been crying. You took him inside without asking questions, knowing he needed a shoulder to lay his tired head on. 

You listened as Conrad recounted everything that happened since they took the road to Brown. His plan to tell Belly he still loved her. The kiss against his car. The motel. 

‘’I gave her so many signs that I still loved her, but she didn't hear me. She could have turned this around and we could have fixed our relationship, but she chose Jere. So I let her go.’’ 

You reached out to squeeze his hand, the one that wasn’t on his chest. 

The situation between Belly and the Fisher boys was incredibly messy. She was your friend and you could understand that feelings were difficult at that age, but juggling between Conrad and Jeremiah’s hearts was just hurtful for everyone involved. Just because she was confused with who she wanted, who she loved, didn’t mean she had to get a taste of both before making a choice. 

Conrad released a shaky breath, trying to control his emotions and not have another panic attack. ‘’I’m sorry for dumping all of this on you. I didn’t know where else to go…’’ 

You shook your head, dismissing his apologies. ‘’I’d rather you come and pour your little heart out to me than go through everything on your own and mope.’’

‘’I don’t mope by myself—’’ 

You raised an eyebrow playfully, cutting him off.

‘’Maybe I do…’’ he conceded with a defeated sigh. 

Keeping everything inside had always been Conrad's way of coping. He rarely talked to anyone about himself or how he felt. It wasn't the healthiest approach, and you knew it, but you also understood that you couldn't force him to open up.

‘’Do you have a place to stay tonight?’’ 

Conrad sank deeper into the couch cushions, having not thought ahead. When he left the motel, he told his brother he was going to take a bus to Cousins to get the summer house back together, but he impulsively came here instead. 

‘’You can stay if you want. There’s no one in the guest room,’’ you offered.

‘’Thanks. For real.’’ He gave you a soft smile, grateful for everything. ‘’I don’t know what I would’ve done today if you had not been there.’’

‘’I’m always gonna be there for you, Con,’’ you promised, returning a smile. ‘’Right now, it might be raining, but there'll be happiness after her. Someone will turn your gray sky and paint it blue again.’’

—

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[darylsdelts]

Disclaimer!: I am not a writer😭 I just wanna say stuff that I think about Daryl cuz it’s fun and he’s all I think about so that’s what this is.

I really believe that Daryl has anxiety. Like, it was super bad when he was a little kid, feeling like he could throw up or pass out any time he was in a social situation, it was more visible as a child with wobbly legs and shaky hands. Merle would just call him a pussy and tell him to grow up so over the years he learnt how to deal with it better, making it completely invisible to anyone else.

Once the apocalypse started it was kind of a blessing in disguise, it was just Daryl and his big brother so he pretty much forgot he even had anxiety. It wasn’t so bad at the quarry and the farm because he kept his distance. He’d go off on carol when she got too close because he got comfortable being alone and when others would invade his space he'd feel the old spike of nausea that reminds him who he really is, a coward like his brother told him.

during the time at the prison, he got closer to the group, in proximity and friendship wise. there wasn't much choice but he eased himself into talking to rick more instead of just taking orders without another word. He got closest to carol because somehow she seemed to understand him and she knew not to push and to give him space.

when merle returned, so did the old daryl, becoming more hostile and like a little puppy who does what merle says but he came to his senses eventually.

after getting stuck with Beth after the fall of the prison he came to realise that not everyone thinks hes some freak of nature. people can be good, some people are just good, beth was good, beth made daryl feel like he could be good, maybe he was good already.

beth dying set daryl back. whats the point of letting anyone get close if they die anyways? he still had carol though and she understood him.

arriving at alexandria, carol changed, shes smart. Daryl didnt change, the fact he was in a community with people playing happy families, which he never had, was a big enough change for him. This is when he’s oh so kindly reminded that hes still that little boy from the beginning. not having to deal with his anxious habits for such a long time has meant that he’d forgotten how. the amount of people trying to make him feel welcome and the way he felt trapped was too much to handle for him, he’d prefer to be out there.

he’s grateful for aaron, aaron NEEDS daryl to be out there. Daryl is not useless.

however, there are still plenty of times where he feels like he is. when occasional meetings are held, there have been many times where daryl has had to subtly leave, feeling the pit in his stomach grow too powerful, feeling like he could throw up from how anxious he is, he knows that that’s the telltale sign of his body about to have a panic attack and he’d rather die than be seen trying to manage that. sometimes he’d try to stay and get through it but carol notices the deep breaths he takes to try to calm himself and the way his fingernails have gone purple. it makes it so much worse when someone notices.

He knows it’s strange that he feels more at peace when killing walkers and spending time in the forest rather than being in a safe home with a warm bed but, he’s not used to that, he never had that and he doesn’t feel like he deserves it but he does, he’s been deserving of it way before the outbreak.

——————————————————————————

I might write a lil Drabble thing where the reader gets to know daryl and his nervous habits and they help him??

[sleepyangelkami]

I am completely obsessed with your Ellie stories. I beg you, please... Write more!!

HAUNTED DREAMS e.williams

 ☆ WORD COUNT - 3.2K

ELLIE WILLIAMS X FEM!READER

  ☆ SUMMARY - you had always found it difficult to sleep but when ellie's there, it's like all the bad dreams go away. one night she takes night patrol and when she returns, she realises that the dreams have snuck into your mind while she's been gone.

 ☆ WARNINGS - reader has a nightmare, mentions of character death, mentions of reader's family dying, ptsd, reader having sorta a panic attack, violence + gore, comfort, suggestive joke in the beginning, use of y/n, petnames, use of good girl (not sexually), intended lower case, nothing i write is ever proofread 🩷

your parents died before you got to jackson. in fact, when you'd found yourself walking in the gates, you were covered in blood from head to toe, your arms shaking from around you. you'd lost the only people that meant anything to you after the world had gone to shit. the people of the town had let you in. some asian kid opened the gates, he'd soon become one of your best friends. you were appointed to maria and tommy who, of course, let you stay. they took you in as one of your own.

ellie williams followed to the town soon after you did. at this stage, you were already best friends with dina and jesse, they had become the family you only could have dreamed for, it was all you needed after everything had happened.

back then, you were too shy to talk to the pretty auburn haired girl. she looked so cool, so fearless. she quickly became friends with jesse after being on patrol who then introduced her to dina who then introduced her to you.

you and ellie hit it off like no other.

quickly, you became inseparable. best friends, so they called it. you two were practically attached by the hip. she got you and you got her, there was nothing more about it. some people (jesse, single handedly jesse) would tease you for closeness to ellie, tell you that you must have a crush on the girl if you missed her the second she leaved and fawned over her the moment she returned. then again, jesse had always known you better than anyone else, seemingly more than yourself did at times.

jesse soon turned out to be right and by seventeen, you and ellie were just smitten for each other. when you guys got together, you went through a phase where you didn't talk. i mean, of course you talked, you hadn't gone mute. but what you hadn't talked about was everything before. ellie seemed pretty open when you guys started dating, she began spilling everything about her past, the present, everything with the fireflies, her immunity, joel's lies. everything just spewed from her mouth and into your arms. you? you picked her right up and comforted her that night that she told you everything, tears trickling down her face.

you never could talk like her though.

she knew you used to get really bad nightmares of that night, the night that everything happened, the night that you're life seemingly ended. she knew that these dreams seemed to always sneak up on you at the times that she wasn't around which was why she did everything she could to be around. it'd been years since you met ellie, you trusted her more than anyone else you've ever met. but there were just some words that you simply couldn't get out. ellie was okay with this, never pressured you. if anything, she'd kiss your head and let you know that when you were ready, she'd be there. even if it were mere loose words falling from your lips, she'd string up sentences and make a story for you both. she was so good.

then, maria had the bright idea of putting ellie on night patrol.

"do you have to go?" you spoke, your chin on her shoulder and all pouty as you looked up at her with her doe eyes. you and ellie spent every single night together, covered in one anothers embrace. she made all the problems in the world go away by simply being there. the nightmares, at least.

ellie sighed, turning her head to you with a look of guilt across her face. she really didn't want to leave you alone for the night but nobody could argue with maria. "i'll be as quick as i can, baby." and you believed her, but that didn't mean that it didn't suck.

"I know." you snuggled yourself into her, nuzzling your head into her neck. her scent filled your nose, wood and cologne, it was enough to have your legs wobbling. her arms were around you, holding you close as her hands trailed up and down your back, underneath your her shirt. her hands were warm, they reminded you of the summer, heating you up even when the harsh winter invaded your skin. you loved jackson but god was it cold.

she let a couple moments pass before sighing, glancing up at the clock. "i really have to go, sweetheart." because as much as she'd love to spend the rest of the night with you, she knew her patrol partner would soon worry as to where she'd gone.

you pulled yourself out of her embrace, blinking heavily. it seemed as though you were already pretty tired. "i know." you murmured again, as much as you didn't want to accept it.

when ellie had found out she had night patrol, the first place she went was maria's, telling her she couldn't do night patrols, not now, not ever. maria understood, she tried sympathising with her and with you, who at the time had no idea of the situation. but ellie didn't need the sympathy or the pity, she merely grumbled. she got a little angry, stating that maria didn't get it and that ellie couldn't go on night patrols, not when she knew you'd be sat inside your shared home while curling up into yourself. ellie had listened to your 'it's okay's and 'just go, it's fine' one too many times only to find you in the living room, staring into space with teary eyes. she wouldn't leave you alone for another night again, not when she knew how it'd end every single time. maria could only sigh, telling her she'd see what she could do. soon enough, she informed ellie that she wouldn't be put on night patrols again but tonight there simply wasn't anyone to cover for her. so, she'd give up tonight to save the rest of the nights. but that didn't mean it was any easier.

"hey." ellie caught your chin between her thumb and pointer finger. "you're gonna be fine, okay? jus' get some rest, sweet girl, i'll be back before you know it." her mouth leaning forward to press a kiss against your warm lips.

and so, she was gone.

without her, the room felt so cold. without her presence heating it up, it felt damp almost. there was something eerie about it that had you folding in on yourself. you were dressed in her boxers and her sleep shirt, using it so you could soak in the smell of her. you thought it'd help, it didn't. without her, you were sort of lost.

you felt a cold shiver run up your spine.

no, no you couldn't do this.

you quickly sat up on the bed, switching on the lamp next to your and ellie's bed. the bedsheets were a light pink, dark pink hearts dotted across the sheets, your wallpaper was pink again, with flowers across it. ellie wasn't a fan of anything in the room really, but it made you happy and that was all that mattered to ellie. you soon found out that you cold get anything you want just by smiling at her, you were her inseparable.

but as of right now, nothing felt warm and fuzzy. and you couldn't bring yourself to smile, even when you were thinking of the most beautiful, gentle, perfect girl in the world, your ellie. oh, how desperately you needed her home.

you shut yourself down, shaking your head. one night, you reminded yourself, you had to get through one night without her. you suddenly felt like a baby for even being scared in the first place. nothing could hurt you here in jackson, not like what could outside, not like what hurt your family all that time ago.

you blinked harshly, trying to erase the thoughts from your head.

a book sat on your bedside table, you'd read it a thousand times. or, well, ellie had read it. you merely listened as you forced her to read it, batting your lashes and telling her please. you just needed a bedtime story and ellie wasn't exactly the most creative. the last time she tried making up a bedtime story it ended with her pushing your two plushies in front of you, imitating your moans from the night before. this, of course, had earned a swat into the back of the head and a whine quite alike 'ellieeeuyh! you're supposed to be making a good story!' to which she was awfully offended. 'this is a good story! see, i'm bear ellie fucking bunny y/n.' putting on weird voices for each character.

you'd picked up the book, sitting it in front of you and focusing your mind on the words. this time, you wanted to be good for ellie. you wanted her to be able to come home and just sleep. if you focused on the words, distracted yourself enough then you could stay up as late as you pleased, you would only go to sleep after she's returned home.

you thought the plan was great.

staying awake until she got home. staying awake until she got home. staying awake until... you were so tired.

you were so tired that you hardly noticed your mind slipping and your eyes fluttering shut. your sleeping mind didn't register the way that the book slowly fell from your hands and onto the side of the bed, eyes screwed shut and breathing becoming softer, slower. suddenly, you were in a deep sleep and you had many hours to go before your girlfriend comes home.

seconds passed, turning into minutes and then the blur of at least two hours.

you were still passed out in the bedroom. in your sleep, you'd managed to move so you were laying against the soft, fluffed pillows that elevated you a little. your body had found itself engulfed in the blankets that surrounded you, ellie's scent filling the room.

but even the familiar scent of your girlfriends clothes you wore couldn't pull you out of the dream that had snuck it's way towards you now.

the eerie feeling creeped through your body, sending shivers throughout you as the hair stood on your arms. it snuck it's way through towards your head, seeping into your mind. before you'd fallen asleep, you'd almost assumed that the warm light of the room would keep the monsters and demons in your head at bay. but of course, without ellie, you were seemingly trapped.

ellie found herself making her way towards your guys' house a while later. it was late, so late, the sky had darkened completely, a black blanket enveloping the town of jackson. her jacket was covered in snow, little flakes draw across the material. she'd barely made it inside the house when the real snow began, she knew jackson like no other and she knew that by morning, the entire town would be covered in snow. she wasn't a fan but you adored it. you thought it was the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen, she thought the same about you.

making her way inside, she kicked off her boots, tossing off her jacket and letting her bag fall against the ground. it was quiet, she took this as a good sign.

her sock covered feet trailed themselves towards the living room, peeking her head in and not spotting you anywhere. she supposed, that was also a good sign. perhaps you'd done what she asked and gotten some sleep for yourself.

before she left the living room, she made sure to put another log on the fire, knowing it'd be the last one for the night and hoping that it'd keep the house warm for a while. you'd mentioned lighting the stove in the kitchen earlier but ellie shrugged you off, stating that you both would be just fine with the living room fire. of course, you were right, you were always right and as her arms wrapped around herself, she realised she better start listening to you more.

she found herself walking up the stairs, reaching the top and flicking off the light. you were always too scared to do it by yourself, she couldn't help but smile fondly at the thought.

ellie's eyes glanced towards your guys' bedroom door, peeking inside. she could see that the bedside table lamp had been turned on and she found herself walking towards it, spotting you. you were all wrapped up in the blankets, your hair covering the only part of your face that had been visible. she couldn't see your face, however, she still managed to press a little kiss against your forehead, petting your head slightly. then, she grasped the book that was sitting next to you, it must have fallen. without a second thought, she took it from your position, placing it back on the table and then grasping the blankets, taking them down from your face and tucking them around your body. she pushed the hair from your face too, seeing your beautiful features suddenly come to life. she wondered how on earth she had gotten so lucky.

at this point, her eyes were almost fuzzy from tiredness so she hadn't noticed the way your brows were scrunched together, lips strewn in a pout. turning off the only light in the bedroom, she moved away from your body, grasping her jumper and pulling it off her body. she stayed clad in her sports bra, her hands fumbling with the buttons of her jeans, letting them fall off her. it wasn't until she was stepping into her sweatpants that she heard it. a noise fell from your lips, a little whimper.

instantly, her ears perked up, turning her head in your direction. you'd moved from where you last were, almost shoving your face in the pillows beneath you. then, she heard it again, that loud, prolonged whine.

and she knew, it wasn't right.

she was rushing towards you in seconds. getting up onto the bed and her hands finding your body. "hey, hey, wake up, baby." those blasted nightmares that she wished she could get rid of. her poor girl didn't deserve such things. "c'mon, angel, wake up." she tried, her hands pushing at you, shaking you gently albeit.

"please." you mumbled, all broken and soft as you pushed your head into the pillow impossibly more. though, your eyes were still strewn shut, ragged breaths falling from your lips. "please no."

and ellie's heart broke impossibly more. she knew what you were dreaming of, those clickers, those stalkers, the infected, taking your parents and piecing them apart piece by piece all in front of your eyes. their blood spewing onto you. you'd tried so hard, fought for them and in the end you were left with dead clickers, though your parents weren't in any better condition. "wake up, sweet girl." though her voice was slick with stress, trying to will you awake.

when you did wake, a scream was ripping at your throat. you were up in seconds, your breathing laboured and whimpers falling from your lips. ellie's arms were wrapping around you so instantly, you found yourself clawing her off. "please, please, stop, don't―" you couldn't see that it was ellie in the darkness of the bedroom, only feeling arms engulfing you.

"hey, hey, it's just me. 's ellie." she wrapped her arms around yours, strapping them down so you didn't flail them, hurting her or yourself in the process of waking.

you stopped moving, although your breathing was still laboured, breaths shallow and uneven. "ellie." is all you mumbled, so confused. everything had felt so surreal, as if you were there in the moment once more, now that you were back in the bedroom with ellie by your side, it just didn't seem real.

she'd placed your back against her front, sitting behind you as she held you close. "'s okay, sweetheart, 'm right here, ellie's here." but she could hear the way your breathing only picked up, your mind flooding with thoughts of the nightmare. "i gotchu, angel, calm down, alright?" but you couldn't, you tried, believe me you tried but your breathing wouldn't stop, you couldn't catch your breath. ellie knew what to do, noticing the panic attack that was stringing upon you. "hey, c'mere." her hand fell down to your own, clasping it softly, she brought it up to her lips, pressing a kiss to it before placing it on her chest. "y'feel that, honey? 's my heart, 'm here and so are you." she placed your hand over to your own chest, feeling the harsh beat of your heart against it, it was a stark contrast to the soft one of her own. she moved downward slightly, pulling you with her so she could lay on her back, laying your head against her chest. "jus' match my breathing, baby, you've got this." and you tried, wheezing your breaths out. "jus' like that, such a good girl. where are you, sweets?"

you let out a shaky breath. "h-home." you managed to get out, your eyes still welled with tears.

she hummed, agreeing with you. "whose home?"

"ours." you spoke softly, shutting your eyes and breathing out. you attempted everything in your will to stop the rapidness of your heartbeat. but ellie didn't pressure you, making sure you took your time.

"my smart girl." she mumbled. "'s right, you're home. we're home, okay? there's absolutely nothing for you to worry about, nothing can get you here, you're safe."

"els." she hummed, waiting for you to finish. "w-was s'scared." this was when your breathing had returned to normal but the tears willing to break free were still embedded into your eyes.

"oh, i know, honey." feeling her heart break for you. she held you close, pressing kisses into your hair. she wished she could help more, she felt utterly useless just keeping you in her arms. though, her fingers soothed up and down your back, trying to comfort you. she'd never know just how good of a job she was doing. "but there's nothing to be scared of anymore, 'm here, okay?"

you nodded, breathing out as you placed your head in the crook of her neck, she could feel your steady breaths against her skin. "feel safe with you." you told, fluttering your eyes shut. suddenly, the world didn't feel so scary, the past didn't seem so terrifying. with ellie, being truly safe seemed possible.

"you are safe with me." she informed you, fingers pressing shakes onto your skin. "what happened to you was... awful." your chest ached at the thought of that night with your parents. "but nothing more is going to happen to you as long as i'm here."

you pulled your head from her neck, looking up at her with those watery eyes. "promise?" voice bleak and broken.

ellie smiled softly at you. "I promise." pulling your head towards her to capture your lips in a soft kiss. you melted into her, allowing her to heal you with her touch, her hand against your jaw. when she pulled away, she was pulling the hair away from your face, big green eyes looking at you so full of admiration and love. "'s me 'n you against the world, baby."

never in your life had you been so sure of something before.

main masterlist/ellie's masterlist

[chicago-pd-is-weird]

Jay Halstead x Reader Oneshot

Synopsis: Jay and reader are together, and reader works at Med in ED with Will. Reader has a lot of anxiety because Jay is a cop, thinking every cop that is brought in may be Jay.

TW: anxiety/panic attacks is a main theme in this, also some mention of blood and doctor-y stuff because reader works at Med in ED

Requested by: @sorry-i-spaced

Thank you so much! This was fun to write!

Any other oneshot requests, please DM me! :)

“We got a Stevenson!” A paramedic called out as they rolled into the ED. You and several other doctors sprung into action, running toward where the paramedics were coming in. ‘Stevenson’ was the code name for a cop, to let Med know who it was, no matter if they were in uniform, plainclothes, or undercover.

“(Y/N)! Rhodes! Trauma three!” Maggie’s voice called from the desk. Working in the ED was no walk in the park, especially in the middle of Chicago. You made your way quickly to where Maggie pointed you, picking up the pace as they wheeled in a man who was surrounded by cops. You pushed through the crowd and into the room, seeing the man on the gurney with three bullet holes in him. You helped get him moved over, then assessed the damage, Dr. Rhodes right behind you to help.

“Three bullet wounds, center mass. I’m assuming this is the perpetrator, not our Stevenson?” You spoke out loud. Some of the officers outside the room confirmed your thoughts.

Your heart was already pumping from the adrenaline as you worked on the man, but you couldn’t help it as it beat faster, hoping the officer shot wasn’t Jay Halstead. It made you especially nervous when the officers outside the room talked amongst one another, saying the man shot was a detective. Bile started to rise in your throat, but you were pulled back by the monitors beeping rapidly. You took immediate action as you snapped out of your anxiety for just a few moments.

You finally stabilized the man enough to take him to surgery, letting the nurses and techs take him with Dr. Rhodes. You backed away, looking around the room at the mess that had been made. For a moment, you stood in silence, looking around at the blood and various instruments that were around the room, as well as the blood on your gloves and scrubs.

Blood. You saw it every day, and yet, you couldn’t help but get a nauseous at the sight. You thought maybe that detective, who was fighting for his life, was bleeding out. That maybe it was the man you loved. Maybe he was in the other room, clinging to life, and here you were, trying to save the man who shot him. The notion made you sick to your stomach. You ripped off your bloody gloves and left them in the room, quickly moving to the nearest bathroom to empty your stomach of your breakfast. You panted in between heaves, gripping the toilet for dear life as you trembled at the thought of Jay dying and you saving the man who killed him.

You and Jay had met through Will, one of your coworkers and closest friends at Chicago Med. Will and Jay were brothers, and both had taken a liking to you at first, but you ultimately decided that romance with a doctor at the same hospital as you would be too complicated. You never expected the anxiety that came with beings cop’s girlfriend, though. You’d been prone to anxiety in the past, but it ramped up when you started getting serious with Jay. You had episodes like this a lot, no matter what cop came in. It had never been Jay in the past, but it only took one bullet in the wrong spot for him to die.

When the nausea passed, you slowly pushed yourself to your feet, though still unsteady as your head spin. You flushed, washed your hands and face, then made your way to the locker rooms to change out of your scrubs and into a fresh pair. When you re-emerged, you were met with Will, who gently pulled you aside before anyone else could see you. “Hey, (Y/N), you okay?” Will already knew the answer to that. He was the only one who knew the full story about these episodes you had at work. Although Jay knew some of it, especially about your anxiety, he didn’t know the full picture, and you’d sworn Will into secrecy over it.

“Will, it wasn’t him, was it?”

“No, (Y/N), Jay is fine. I talked to him just a little bit ago. He is investigating this with Intelligence. He might still be here. He was looking for you.”

You let out a shaky breath, but nodded. You were relieved, but needed to see for yourself. You walked with Will back to where he’d last seen Jay, your stomach settling down as you saw him standing with Detective Lindsay, talking to Maggie. You walked over, leaning on the counter with a hum beside him, hand reaching out to rest atop his on the counter.

Jay smiled when he saw you, leaning over and kissing your cheek. “Hey, was looking for you earlier. That perp going to make it?”

Instantly, your anxiety faded away, as if it was never there in the first place. Jay had that effect on you, especially when he was upright and acting like himself. “It’s touch and go, I think,” you said with a soft sigh. “We did what we could. Rhodes took him to surgery prolly about a half hour ago. If he does make it, it’ll be a hard and long road.”

Jay hummed and looked up at Will, who had taken a place behind the counter with Maggie. “And what about the detective?”

“He’ll make it,” Will replied. “Barring complications, he should be back on the job within a few weeks.”

“That’s good,” Jay replied, shifting his gaze back to you, unable to help the smile that pulled on his lips. “Hey, don’t look so down. We’ve got this.”

Your eyes met his, not realizing you’d looked upset. You smiled at him, nodding. “I know,” you replied. “It just must be hard that it’s one of your own, yaknow?”

“The risks we take,” he said with a small shrug. His statement was so nonchalant, which you didn’t like. You had to force yourself to focus on anything else to keep your rising anxiety at bay. Jay and Erin left soon after, and you shuddered, but moved back to work, checking on some other patients.

— —

“Stevenson incoming!” Maggie’s voice called out. You froze, looking up from the computer you had been typing at, swallowing hard. Your mouth ran dry, as stats were called by the paramedics. “Male, mid-thirties, stabbed multiple times.” You stood quickly, but Maggie didn’t assign you to it. You probably wouldn’t have been much help anyways, seeing as you were on the verge of an attack.

A firm hand was placed on your shoulder, pulling you back to reality as you gasped, looking behind you to see Will. “Come on,” he said softly, nodding to you. “It’s okay, come on.”

You let out a shaky breath, walking with Will out to the small break room. He got you coffee, which you took whether you liked it or not. It was something to pull you back into reality. “I-I’m sorry, I just…”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” Will said, shaking his head. “I get the same feeling every time, but Jay just texted me that we are meeting for lunch, so it can’t be him.”

“I shouldn’t feel so much relief from this,” you said, putting your hands to your face, wiping away some tears that had started to escape. “Someone is hurt, yaknow? But I… I’m so terrified of something happening.”

“Have you talked to anyone about this? Maybe Dr. Charles can help.”

“No, no,” you said, sighing heavily, sniffling and wiping your face. “I talked to therapists all throughout middle and high school. None of them even understood me. As far as I know, I’m just messed up mentally.”

“(Y/N),” Will sighed. “We’re all messed up mentally. We’re doctors.” He shook his head again, reaching over to put a hand on your arm. “Look, maybe you just need to find the right person. Besides, we know more about mental health and the brain now than we did then. There may be new tactics to help you cope, even if we can’t cure it.”

You were thankful for Will, nodding at his suggestions. “Maybe,” you muttered, leaning back in your chair and rubbing your face with your hands again, then coming back to down the coffee. “Thanks.”

“Any time,” he replied, nodding. “You’re not alone, alright?”

“Thanks,” you repeated. Just then, Will’s pager rang and he had to go, but he planted a soft kiss on the top of your head as he pulled you into a gentle embrace. As quick as he was beside you, he was gone, and you sank back down to the chair, looking at your empty coffee mug with despair. Maybe you’d never get better.

— —

The past few weeks had been filled with more and more scares. There was a serial killer on the loose who was targeting cops. Your body was racked with constant anxiety every time a Stevenson was brought into the ED. The only time you weren’t was when you were assisting with a surgery, so you stayed with Dr. Rhodes most of the time to ensure you were in surgery. It was better that way for the patients and for you.

The surgery you’d just assisted in finishing was a tough one. It was a kid who had fallen on a pair of scissors the wrong way. However, Dr. Rhodes was like magic, and your own hands remained calm and steady as you fell into a zen-like trance. You weren’t thinking of anything else but the surgery at hand. The anatomy and biology of the body lying below you. It was the only time and place you’d felt at peace, despite the circumstances surrounding the incident.

As you scrubbed out, washing your hands and arms, someone came into the room. “(Y/N)…” Will’s voice rang, a hand coming to your shoulder.

“Hey,” you said softly as you turned off the water and dried your hands. “What’s up?” Your mind was still calm, but when you looked up to Will, you could tell something was off.

“Don’t freak out on me, alright?”

“Will…?” You searched his face for the answer as he squeezed your shoulders with his hands.

“Just, promise.”

“Uh… I… okay…?”

“Okay,” he said with a sigh, knowing that was good enough. “Look, Jay was brought in, but-“

“What?!” You didn’t let him finish before trying to push past him to find Jay.

Will kept you in place. “No, no, (Y/N), stop, it’s okay.”

“This is NOT okay, Will! How are you so calm?!” The bile had begun to rise in your throat as you feared the worst. Tears jumped to your eyes and you had to see him. You had to know Jay was alright, even if he wasn’t.

“Hey, hey, look at me. It’s Will. Look at me!” You looked back up to Will, his hands squeezing your shoulders again to pull you back, shaking you a little. “Look, see, I’m right here. Let me finish before you break down, at least.”

You scoffed, a small scoff to hide the soft laugh of that last remark. Although you were on the verge of an attack, that pulled you back from the edge a bit, making you shake your head. “Just tell me then!”

“Jay just had a gash on his arm from a piece of metal he ran across. He just ran into a piece of metal. His sergeant sent him, just to make sure it was good. He is not shot. He is not hurt badly. He is coherent and walking around. He needed a few stitches, but that’s all.”

You searched Will’s face for any sign of him playing down the injury, but you knew Will wouldn’t lie to you. You let out a breath, wiping your face. “No, I still have to see him though because… if I don’t, I’ll never recover from this feeling.”

“I know,” Will replied. “Come on, he’s in five. But you know if you go in there like this, you’re going to have to come clean?”

“I need to see him,” you affirmed as Will walked you downstairs to where Jay was.

When you got there, you walked in and pushed the curtain back over the door to ensure you had privacy. You nearly broke down as you saw Jay, his shirt off, a bandage on his upper arm. Whether from anxiety or relief, you had no idea. The emotions pulling you in different directions was crippling, and you just stood there, trembling as tears streaked down your cheeks.

Jay looked over you as you stood, frozen in time, hot tears racing down and dripping off your chin. He got up quickly, his soft voice finally hitting your ears. “Hey, hey, (Y/N), what’s the matter?”

As he caught you between his arms, you started to sob, nearly collapsing into his chest. “Fuck, Jay!”

Jay was surprised, but caught you with ease, holding you close to his bare chest. “What did I do this time?” He teased, trying to make you feel better.

You were barely in the mood as you took a fist to his chest, hitting him softly. “Don’t even joke, it’s not fair!”

Jay turned more serious, pulling back to look at you as you sobbed. “Hey… hey, just tell me what’s going on.” You couldn’t muster any more words, wiping your face with your hands. Jay pulled you over, sitting on the bed and pulling you to sit beside him. “(Y/N)?”

“I have… I have this… this intense fear,” you finally spoke, soft words only coming out with your breaths. “This intense… burning fear… all the time… that…” You swallowed hard, leaning into his shoulder on his uninjured arm.

“That what?” Jay prompted after a moment of silence.

“That you’re going to come in here and die!” You sobbed out, moving to cling to him again, arms around his torso. “Jay, every time a cop comes in here, I can’t take it! Anxiety and panic takes me over! I-I can’t! I love you so much, and I can’t lose you!”

“Hey, hey baby, you won’t lose me. You won’t.” Jay held you tightly against his chest once again, kissing your head. “Hey, come here, look at me.” He pulled back, letting you sit up and then gently taking your chin in his fingers. He tenderly pulled your chin up, then leaned down to meet you, planting a soft kiss to your lips. When he pulled back, he let out a breath. “Nothing will ever take me away from you… Nothing. Ever.”

With that, your emotions finally leveled out. You swallowed hard and reached up to cup his face, looking over his freckles. You smiled a little as your eyes met his. “Promise?”

“I promise,” he replied, matching your smile and leaning down to kiss you again.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Creature Craft | Cohabitation

Read on Ao3 Part 1 Part 2

Warnings: panic attack

Pairings: analogical

Word Count: 1772

"Logan."

"Huh?"

"I believe that's my name." They set down the book with a small smile on their face. "Logan."

"Oh, okay. Uh, nice to meet you, Logan."

"Lovely to meet you as well."

Now that that's been taken care of, Virgil can admit that living with Logan is a special kind of terrifying.

When he'd first woken up, a low murmur in his ear asking what he'd like for breakfast, he'd thought he was still dreaming. Or at the very least, far drunker than he'd care to admit. But no, Logan had been right there, hiding a fond smile at his beleaguered expression, ruffling his hair and repeating the question. And when Virgil had stuttered out a request for coffee and whatever cereal was still in the house, Logan had smiled and adjusted the blanket so he could be more comfortable and a few minutes later, he'd heard his coffee machine going. He'd stumbled out in the living room and been sat at the counter and there was breakfast, with another steaming mug of coffee in Logan's hands, another quiet smile on their face.

And it hadn't stopped there! He'd been made dinner, asked if he wanted to do something together or if he wanted his own space, asked about his day, asked about his interests, hell, asked if he was sleeping okay, and when he admitted he was having some stress dreams, asked if he wanted to cuddle.

There is a sort of person who will turn down cuddles from an incredibly attractive and attentive person, but Virgil is not that person, nor will he ever be, probably.

And somehow that made all of it just a little more unbearable. Because now instead of a gentle shake and a low voice asking if he was hungry, there were arms wrapped around him and a slightly graveled whisper in his ear, a warmth pressed up against his back, and a hand protectively on his chest to hold him even closer. And now he was seeing a sleep-rumpled yet somehow still entirely composed Logan in a loose shirt and boxers and nothing else, bare legs pressed against his and that slight squint from a lack of glasses softening when he gets close enough to peer at Virgil's face. And when he goes to bed, it's the slight dip of the mattress with the weight of another body and the open arms of someone who wants to just hold him and the crooning lilt of a voice sending him off to sleep and—

See? Virgil's dying a little bit over here.

It's just—there's a lingering ache in his shoulder blades whenever Logan does something that makes his chest feel all funny. There's a lump in his throat that won't quite go away because Logan's hand is just resting on his shoulder, just to touch him, just to feel him. There's a heaviness to his eyes that he tries desperately to ignore when Logan's voice softens deliberately, directed towards him in a way that he's never had anyone, anyone do for him.

Of course, Logan notices that something's wrong. And in true Logan fashion, they don't interrogate, don't confront, they just gently take Virgil by the hand one night and murmur what's bothering you, my dear?

Before he knows it, they're on the couch, Virgil's head against Logan's shoulder so he doesn't have to make eye contact, one of his hands in Logan's as their thumb strokes over his knuckles. Logan turns his head and their breath warms the top of his head, whispering that he can take as much time as he needs.

"I'm…I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop."

"How so?"

"I'm—" he swallows the lump— "I'm not used to this. To having someone be—be so nice to me. And I keep—it's nothing against you or anything you're doing wrong, I'm just—I'm sorry—"

"Shh-shh, you needn't apologize, you're not doing anything wrong either."

"Aren't I though?" The bitterness threatens to drip from the corners of his mouth. "Isn't this being mean to you, assuming you're just doing this as some, like, ploy? Or that this is all the setup for some stupid elaborate prank?"

Logan's quiet for a moment, their thumb still stroking his knuckles, before they let out a soft breath. "It's not your fault you have a condition that makes you susceptible to irrational thought patterns."

"Well, yeah, but—"

"Nor is it your fault that you are having trouble adjusting to something that is a significant alteration to your routine."

"I know that, but—"

"But what," and they don't say it with any condemnation, only badly-concealed fondness, "but what, little one?"

"What if it's a mistake?"

"A mistake?"

Virgil buries his head in the crook of Logan's neck, his grip on their hand turning his knuckles white. "What if…what if they realize that this is wrong? That you're not—that you're not for me or that there's something wrong with the magic or—or—"

He trails off into an uneasy silence. Logan's grip never wavers, they never pull away. Instead, there's another quiet huff and their head turns, their mouth by his ear. "Do you think you have to earn me?"

The lump returns. He swallows anyway. "Don't I?"

"Did I have to earn you?"

Virgil frowns, pulling back just enough to see Logan's face. They stare back, no judgement in their gaze, just a slight furrow to their brows. "What?"

"Did I have to earn kindness from you? Did I have to earn my way into your favor?"

"What are you talking about?"

"When you received a seed you knew nothing about, when it sprouted thorns and wild tendrils, did it have to earn the proper food and water? When a cat you didn't ask for ruined your home and caused you pain, drew blood, did it have to earn safety and respect from you?"

There's a joke right on the tip of his tongue, something about Logan admitting that his house was trashed, thank you very much, but then Logan's fingers brush over the scars he still has from the cat's claws, and suddenly he can't. "…no."

"It's no accident that the magic has taken the shape that it has," Logan explains with the kind of patience borne of deep affection, "and I'm certainly not about to let someone take you away from me. But, if it would help ease your mind, would you like to book an appointment at the clinic to talk about it with one of them?"

Virgil's eyes were already welling up at Logan insisting that no one would be able to separate them, but at the offer and the subsequent way Logan takes his phone and makes the appointment for him, he can't help it, can't hold back to sniffle nor the sob when Logan sets his phone down on the coffee table and pulls him against their chest.

"Shh, it's all going to be alright, don't you see? It's okay. It's all okay." They card their fingers through his hair, rocking him back and forth. "It's alright, Virgil. You're alright."

"I'm sorry—I'm sorry—"

"Don't you apologize for things you can't control, darling. Come, this has been weighing on you for a while, hasn't it? Oh, you poor thing…come, cry on me, that's it…that's it…"

Virgil sniffles and snots his way through another small crisis. Logan just holds him, because apparently that's what the magic wants, and what Logan wants, and Logan's not going to let anyone stop them from being able to do this, and that might give him yet another small crisis, and that's fine. It's fine. It's so fine and good right now in the way that it's happening.

"Here," Logan murmurs when they finally manage to separate without Virgil making an embarrassing noise, "have a drink."

The water chills his fingertips and sweat-slick palm as he gulps it down. Logan takes the glass before he can drop it. "Thanks."

"Of course, sweetheart. You look—forgive me, but you look exhausted."

He slumps into Logan's touch. "Yeah."

"Would a shower help you feel better?"

"…dunno if I have the energy to stand right now."

"How about a bath, then? I can wash your hair for you. Ah—" they cup his cheek, smoothing their thumb over the bone, which is a dirty trick because they know how much that makes him melt— "don't tell me I don't have to, I know I don't have to, I'm offering to, sweetheart."

"Logan!"

"Yes?"

"Being mean."

They chuckle, leaning close enough to press a kiss to his cheek. "Forgive me, dear, that was mean. Stay here; I'm going to run the water, I'll come and fetch you when the bath is ready."

He would mount some token protest, just for appearance's sake, but then Logan kisses his cheek again and he has to just sit there on the couch, floating a little bit from all the tears until there are warm hands taking his, coaxing him up and to the bathroom. Only when he gets there and breathes in the steam does he remember that bathing requires him to have significantly less clothes on than he does right now.

"Turn this way," comes Logan's voice, "may I help undress you, or would you rather do it yourself?"

"Uh, I think I got—oh," he mumbles when his hands fall uselessly to his sides, "maybe I don't got it."

Deft fingers undo buttons and lay fabric aside, goosebumps chased by warm touch as more of Virgil's bare skin meets the air. He's encouraged to lift his feet, step out of his socks and sweatpants, balancing against the counter when he takes too big of a step.

"Would you prefer to keep your boxers on? I can bring you a fresh pair of them when I get your pajamas."

"I think so."

"Alright. Come, into the tub with you."

Had he the awareness to be, he might have been mortified at the noise that leaves his lips as he sinks into the warm water, but all he hears is Logan's chuckle and the quiet bid to lean his head back so warm water can spill over his hair. Fingers work shampoo and conditioner in turn through his locks, nudging him back every so often for the rinse. He drifts, lost in the steam, the faint smell of green apple and citrus, the gentle touch on his scalp and neck. He damn near falls asleep in there, only roused by the damp pat on his chest asking how long he'd like to stay in.

"Will you…will you stay with me?"

Logan smiles, incandescent. "Darling, I would love nothing more."

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[theomencometh]

Anthony's Realization

Fandom: Smosh Pairing: Ian Hecox/Anthony Padilla, Anthony Padilla & Dan Howell, implied phan Rating: T Key Tags: Feelings Realization, Getting Together, Friends to Lovers Word Count: 5,275 Read on AO3

Summary:

When Anthony’s realization finally hits him, the first thing that he does is take three slow, deep breaths. The second thing that he does is figure out when his next therapy appointment is, decide it’s too far away, and pull out his phone to text an expert.

When Anthony’s realization finally hits him, the first thing that he does is take three slow, deep breaths.  He closes his eyes, inhales, and tells himself that it isn’t a big deal.  And it truly isn’t, not really.  The thing about this realization is that it's not a surprise.  He may not have been aware enough to name what was happening, but by the time he becomes conscious of his feelings, he’s been living with them for long enough that it’s a natural part of him, nothing to be done.  He doesn’t want to fight it, it’s silly to deny it, and there are definitely worse fates in the world.  Still, it’s a huge fucking realization to have, and he takes a second to re-center himself in the middle of the office so he doesn’t do something stupid, like have a panic attack or grab Ian by the lapels of his jacket or start laughing hysterically.

The second thing that he does when he finally has his realization is figure out when his next therapy appointment is, decide it’s too far away, and pull out his phone to text an expert.

There’s no way that he can talk about this with anyone he works with.  Not only are there sometimes complicated boundaries with him being one of the owners, but if this got leaked it would spread around Smosh like wildfire, and he’s absolutely not ready for that.  In that instance, might as well stay away from everyone in the general LA area, just in case it manages to get back to anyone on staff.  Actually, there are too many people who know Smosh members in the entire country, so it’s best to discard everyone in the United States–no, everyone in all of North America entirely.

The answer is obvious.  There’s one other person who is uniquely positioned to understand what he’s going through and who would be willing to talk him through it, and that person doesn’t live in the country and talks more to him than anyone else at Smosh.

Anthony: hey, any chance you’re free to chat soon? could use your advice. nothing bad

He only has to wait a few seconds, which is impressive, because he didn’t consider calculating the time difference before he texted.

Dan Howell (youtube): oh hell

you’re not dying right

30 minutes sound good?

Anthony: no death, 30 min is good. Ttyl

Anthony grabs his jacket and heads out the door, calling a very general goodbye to the office at large so no one thinks he has just been burdened with self-knowledge that he will be obsessing over for the foreseeable future.

Anthony makes it home with no memory of the drive.  He barely has time to kick off his shoes and settle on the couch before Dan’s call comes through.  It’s a video call, but Anthony is still met by a dark screen, only half of Dan’s face illuminated with white light.  He’s probably in his room in the dark even though he’s wide awake, which feels so quintessentially Dan that it eases Anthony a little.

“Hey, thanks for calling,” Anthony says.  Dan squints at him suspiciously from the tiny phone screen.

“Of course,” he replies.  “Not every day I get to talk to my good friend Anthony Padilla.”

Anthony rolls his eyes, because Dan has been busier than him lately and they do send each other memes and funny messages sometimes.  It’s not like they’ve had no contact in the past few months.

“What’s up?” Dan asks, steamrolling past any reply Anthony might come up with.  Anthony likes that about him.  It may be hard to lock Dan into a genuine conversation when he doesn’t want one, but once he’s there he has single-minded focus and doesn’t let Anthony beat around the bush or procrastinate.  Anthony would be almost offended that it seems like Dan wants to get it over with if it wasn’t for the fact that small talk right now would be excruciating.

“I’ve, uh, had a bit of a realization recently, and I don’t really want to talk to anyone in the office about it.”

Dan levels him with a flat look.

“Are you fucking in love with Ian?”

Anthony groans, leaning back against his couch and giving himself a moment to cover his face.

He didn’t expect Dan to clock him so easily.  Can everyone tell?  Was Anthony himself the last person to know?  Does he have a flashing neon sign saying IN LOVE WITH IAN HECOX hanging above his head?

“How the fuck did you know?” he asks incredulously.  Dan laughs at him, loud and bright.

“Because if it wasn’t about Ian, you’d be talking through whatever it is with him as part of your “healthy communication” pact, and my largest skill set is navigating how to be a gay youtuber in love with your best friend and business partner. Also, I’m probably the closest gay person you know who isn’t associated with your company.”

Anthony laughs.

“Is it really that obvious?” he asks.  Dan shrugs.

“I know what I’m about,” he replies.  “Now, is it the gayness that’s a crisis or the Ian-ness that’s a crisis?”

“Ian-ness,” he responds immediately.  “Wait, actually…”

Dan waits while Anthony takes a moment, because that’s not right, not really.

He isn’t worried about his sexuality.  He came to the conclusion a few years ago that he would keep himself open to other possibilities, and he’s always been able to appreciate other guys.  The fact that Ian has a dick isn’t a problem.  Sure, he hasn’t felt particularly motivated to give someone a blowjob before, but he’s not bothered by the idea at all.  He’d like to have the chance, frankly, even if he’s bad at it and needs to practice a bit, especially if Ian is the one he’s practicing with.  But the Ian of it all isn’t a crisis, either.

“It’s not–” he starts, then stops.  Dan hums encouragingly.  “It’s not a crisis, really?  It’s Ian, you know?  This is probably the best case scenario for my first time falling in love with a man.”

“Fair,” Dan says.  “So what do you need me for, then?”

Anthony snorts.

“If I didn’t talk this through with someone, I’d probably end up blurting it out in a meeting tomorrow in front of everyone.”

Dan hums.

“Yeah, wouldn’t be the most professional moment, even for you,” he says.  “I take it this means you’re down bad.”

“Oh yeah,” Anthony confirms.  “Hit me like a truck.  Nothing even prompted it!  I was wrapping up for the day and wondering if I should ask Ian to grab dinner like usual and the idea made me so happy I thought something was wrong.”

“That’s fucking gay, Anthony,” Dan says.

“I know!” he groans.  “That was the problem, because that’s how I feel about him all the time.  This is how I’ve felt for months, and I’m just now realizing.  What the fuck?  How does that happen?”

“You were too caught up in the euphoria of being around him again to tell it was a proper crush.  Like a frog in boiling water,” Dan says, nodding sagely.  Anthony mirrors him, grateful that he doesn’t need to elaborate further.  Reuniting with Ian felt like finding a part of himself that had been missing since before he left Smosh.  He had no way of knowing that the rush he felt every time they hung out or the elation when he managed to say something that made Ian laugh was a symptom of something bigger.  It felt like it used to, except better because they’d both grown as people and weren’t emotionally stunted children anymore.  He didn’t realize that love had anything to do with it, at least not romantic love.  Then, once they’d stabilized properly, they bought Smosh and he had more things to distract himself with.  He loved being around Ian, he loved being at Smosh, he loved the fact that he could have both when he had missed them for years.  He didn’t feel the need to examine things closer than that.

“What am I supposed to do?” Anthony asks.  Dan snorts.

“Don’t do what I did, which was stalk the other person to the point where we were friends and then make him do all the romantic heavy lifting,” he says.  “The way I see it, you can either repress it so hard it disappears and you’re miserable, or you tell him in a private moment that you both can escape if it goes badly.”

Anthony frowns.

“Will it go badly?”

Dan shrugs.

“You know Ian better than I do.  What do you think?”

Anthony makes himself stop and genuinely consider the question, rather than respond with knee-jerk fears or defensiveness.  There’s decades of history including their friendship completely unraveling to consider, and Anthony doesn’t think he’ll survive losing Ian a second time.  But Ian has never run away because Anthony wanted too much from him.  He might not respond the way that Anthony wants, and he might not give Anthony the same openness and vulnerability that Anthony would be giving him during a confession, but he can’t see this being the thing that pushes Ian away for good.  It might be awkward for a bit, but they’re both adults.  Anthony can figure out how to manage his feelings, and Ian historically has been great at ignoring elephants in rooms and pretending like things are fine.

“I think it’ll be okay,” he says slowly.  “If he doesn’t feel the same or is weirded out, I think we’ll be able to move past it.  He’ll probably make some bad jokes to deflect, but I don’t think he’ll hate me, or ask me to leave the company or anything.”

“You think he doesn’t feel the same?” Dan asks.  Anthony shrugs.

“Who knows, with Ian.  I know he loves me, but that’s different than being in love with me, and he was repressing the shit out of his emotions for a while there.  I don’t know.  It’s been–things have been really good with us, recently.  And I think he’s in the same place as me, with the sexuality thing.  But that doesn’t mean that he’s in the same place as me with his feelings, too.”

Dan hums.

Anthony tries to imagine Ian smiling at him in that new, soft way he sometimes does, saying something like “don’t be stupid, Anthony, of course I love you, too”.  His heart speeds up at just the thought, feeling like it’s about to skip out of his chest, and he slams that door shut immediately.  No use in getting his hopes up or catastrophizing, not before he knows the actual outcome.  Better not borrow the joy or anxiety of the future, right?

“When are you going to tell him?” Dan asks.

“What happened to maybe repressing it and being miserable?”  Anthony replies.

Even though he can barely see anything from Dan’s side of the screen, he can see the look that Dan gives him.  At least it makes him snort.

“As your friend, I can’t in good conscience actually recommend that route to you,” Dan says.  “Especially because you’d be shit at it and would tell him anyway, but it’d probably be at the worst possible moment.”

Anthony can’t argue with that.  He’s not great at keeping things inside.  If he tries to repress this, it’ll bubble up before exploding, like a soda that’s been shaken then cracked open, spilling his feelings all over the place.

“I should probably tell him soon, then,” Anthony says.  Dan nods.

“Better to get it over with.  Rip off the bandaid.”

“Opposite of what you did.”

“Fuck off,” Dan says, voice high with indignation.  “I’ve been in a happy relationship for over a decade.  You asked me for help.”

“I did,” Anthony concedes.  “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Dan says, smarmy and pompous in a way that makes Anthony laugh.

He directs the conversation away from his realization and toward normal topics, taking his time to catch up with Dan properly.  It’s good to talk to him, just like it always is.  As allergic as they are to phone calls, it’s nice to be able to chat in real time, rather than allowing text messages to get lost in a flurry of notifications.  More time has passed than Anthony realized when another notification pops up at the top of his screen.  He trails off mid-sentence when he sees who it’s from.

Ian: you ok? you left the office pret…

While he’s reading, another banner appears.

Ian: dinner?

“What’s up, what just happened?  Why are you ignoring me?” Dan asks.

“Sorry,” Anthony says, shaking his head to bring himself back to the moment.  “Ian just texted.  He wants to have dinner.”

“The thing that started it all,” Dan says ominously.  “Sounds like the perfect opportunity.”

Anthony feels a dash of panic surge through him before it fades, leaving the hint of a bitter aftertaste.

“Already?” he winces.

“Why, do you need to let things settle?” Dan asks.  “You seemed pretty secure with everything earlier.  Do you think your feelings are going to change?”

Anthony shakes his head immediately.

“I have never been more sure of my feelings,” he affirms.  “I’m in this for the long haul.”

Dan holds his hand up in a there you go gesture.

“Right,” Anthony says.  “Pulling off a bandaid.”

“Guess I’ll let you go get your man,” Dan sighs dramatically.  “Text me what happens.  Whether it’s a celebration or you want someone to listen to emo music and cry with you.”

“Thank you,” Anthony says earnestly.  Dan rolls his eyes.

“Whatever.  Welcome to the gay disaster club.  Have fun.”

“Thanks for having me,” Anthony laughs.  “Talk to you later.”

Dan says a quick goodbye and signs off with a wave, and Anthony navigates over to Ian’s messages before he can second-guess himself.

Ian Hecox: you ok? you left the office pretty quick today

dinner?

Anthony’s thumbs hover over the buttons, not wanting to lie to Ian, but also not wanting to confess his feelings over text.  If he says he wants to talk to Ian about something, Ian might think it’s worse than it is, and Anthony doesn’t want to turn this into a big deal for him if it doesn’t have to be, but if he ignores Ian’s initial question and just asks him to come over with takeout, he’ll still think something is wrong, and he’ll think that Anthony doesn’t want to talk about it with him and therefore it’s something terrible.

His phone buzzes with another notification.

Dan Howell (youtube): you better be replying to him and not PROCRASTINATING like a LOSER

Anthony sends him the middle finger emoji, but it’s the encouragement that he needs.

Anthony: had something on my mind i wanted to think through, nothing bad

wanna come over? bring thai pls

Ian’s reply comes in immediately.

Ian: be there in 20

Anthony locks his phone and sets it down, letting out a long breath.  He scrubs his hands over his face, then through his hair, blinking at the blank tv across from him while he tries to organize his thoughts.

He can’t sit here for 20 minutes spiraling until Ian gets here.  He wants to smoke to offset the nerves thrumming through him, but he doesn’t want to overdo it and lose his sense of urgency, then decide to put the confession off because of it.  He needs to tell Ian tonight.

“Like ripping off a bandaid,” he says aloud, slapping his thighs and standing.  He spots a candle and lights that, at least, then busies himself tidying up.  His home isn’t messy by any means, but rearranging things and breaking out the duster to run along his bookshelves gives him something to keep his hands busy while he repeats a mantra of affirmations in his mind, not allowing any room for the negative and anxious thoughts to permeate.

A sharp knock on his door breaks him out of his thoughts while he’s unloading the dishwasher, immediately followed by his door opening and Ian’s voice calling “Honey, I’m home!”

Anthony’s heart flutters.  If this continues, he’s going to need to see a cardiologist.

“In the kitchen!” he calls back.  “Want a drink?”

“Water for now,” Ian calls back, no doubt setting their take-out up on the coffee table in the living room.  “We’ll see about later.”

Anthony grabs two glasses for them and fills them from the filter in the fridge, adding ice for himself but none for Ian because he says it gets too cold for his teeth these days.  They’re getting older.  Anthony is grateful that he’s present to see it.

“I got you your usual,” Ian says, gesturing to the container while Anthony carefully sets the glass in front of him.  He changed since the office, dressing down in sweatpants and an older Smosh hoodie that they discontinued before Anthony left.  He looks tired and comfortable, like he belongs on Anthony’s couch shoveling rice into his mouth, and Anthony swallows around the lump in his throat.

Yeah, he needs to tell Ian tonight.  He can’t keep living like this.  Self-awareness is a gift, because you can’t change things if you don’t know there’s a problem, but Anthony wishes the problem wasn’t being in love with his best friend in a way that’s overwhelmingly impossible to ignore.

They don’t talk about anything important while they eat, just chatting casually about whatever crosses their minds, from a weird squirrel that Ian saw yesterday to an artist that Anthony found on Instagram and really likes.  It’s easy and comfortable, and Anthony finds himself relaxing with every little joke Ian says that makes him laugh.  Ian doesn’t try to be funny outside of work, but he naturally has Anthony in stitches more than anyone else he’s ever met.  Anthony has laughed more in the two years they’ve been reunited than he did in the entire six years they were apart.

Eventually, the laughter fades away, Ian setting his plastic fork down and leaning back against the cushions, wiggling a bit to get in the most comfortable position possible with a content sigh.  He’s such an old man that way, but Anthony is right there with him, knees cracking when he stretches out.

“So,” Ian says, lolling his head to the side so he can see Anthony fully. “What were you thinking so hard about earlier?”

Anthony sighs.  He crosses his arms, but he doesn’t like how that makes him feel like a kid waiting outside the principal’s office, so he rubs his hands against his jeans instead.

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Ian offers.  “I didn’t mean to pry.”

“No, it’s fine,” Anthony says before Ian can get the wrong idea.  “It’s not–I wanted to tell you, anyway.”

“Okay,” Ian says slowly.  Anthony takes a deep breath, then another one.

“I’m bi,” he blurts.

Not quite what he wanted to say, but baby steps.

“Officially,” he adds.  “I know we’ve kind of talked about it before, but I wasn’t really sure, and now I am.  I’m bisexual.  I like dudes, too.”

“Nice,” Ian says with a grin, leaning forward to give him a high five.  Anthony obediently slaps their palms together, and Ian’s fingers curl around Anthony’s hand, shaking him.  “Let’s go!  Solidarity!”

Anthony laughs, letting Ian break the tension like he usually does.  Their hands fall back against the couch, still clasped together, and part of the laughter dies in Anthony’s throat.

“Thanks for telling me, dude,” Ian says.  “I am, too, since we’re sharing sexualities.”

Ian’s thumb swipes over the back of Anthony’s hand and goosebumps erupt across his arms, thankfully hidden by his sweater.

“Cool,” he manages to say.  Ian smiles at him, open and joyful, and Anthony doesn’t know what emotion is playing across his face, but it makes Ian soften.

“Are you going to get emo on me?” he asks, light and teasing.  Anthony chuckles, but it comes out a little wet.

“I didn’t think I would,” he says honestly, blinking up at the ceiling and letting out a shaky breath.  Ian squeezes his hand, just a quick pressure and release, and Anthony returns it.  When he’s centered himself enough to look back at Ian, his best friend is still smiling at him.  It’s a smile that has no pretenses or expectations, just gentle acceptance.  He’s so much more open than Anthony ever expected him to be, even since they reconciled.  They both had to relearn how to read each other in these heavy moments, and Anthony now knows when Ian puts his walls up and why, and when he can give Anthony more of the vulnerability that he always craves.  Now, though, he doesn’t feel like Ian is hiding, despite the jokes and teasing.  He’s just here with Anthony, ready to take whatever confession he gives.

“That’s not all of it,” Anthony says.  Ian shifts, tucking a foot under him so he can face Anthony fully.  He still hasn’t let go of his hand, but Anthony doesn’t want to watch him do so later, so he does it himself, twisting one of his rings around to distract his hands from the sudden emptiness.

“I, uh,” he starts.  Ian’s steady focus on him is distracting, and it’s making his throat close up again.  He clears it, an incongruous sound in the otherwise quiet space.

“I realized I have feelings for someone,” he finally brings himself to say. Ian’s expression doesn’t change, maintaining a careful neutrality that Anthony is all too familiar with.

“Is that a bad thing?” he asks eventually, when too much time has passed for Anthony to fill in the blanks.

“No,” Anthony says quickly.  “No, it’s not– I’m not upset about it.  It’s just… scary.  But I can handle it.”

Ian’s eyebrows twitch with an aborted frown.

Damn, he’s botching this.

“It’s– if I had to fall in love with anyone, it’s best that it’s him,” he tries to explain.  “He’s– this is the best case scenario.”

Ian does frown this time.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re gonna let me down easy.”

Ian stares at him.  Anthony replays those words in his head and heat floods his face, everything burning.  He blinks a few times, but time doesn’t rewind and let him take those words back to tell Ian in a better way.  He’s always been shit at improv; he should’ve scripted this in those 20 minutes while Ian was grabbing them dinner and instead he’s making a mess of things.

“What,” Ian asks, no inflection.  Anthony opens his mouth, can’t get any actual words out, and closes it again.

“Deep breath, Anthony,” Ian commands.  Even though the inflection is still strangely empty, Anthony forces in a breath, then another one.

“Sorry,” he says.  Ian shakes his head.

“It’s fine.  But you need to use words, because I don’t know what the fuck is happening right now.”

Anthony gestures helplessly.

“I love you?” he says.  “In a gay way?”

Ian nods slowly.  Anthony wants the ground to open up and swallow him.  Maybe he can go stay with Dan and Phil for a few weeks or forever, since Dan’s advice got him in this situation in the first place, except he knows that he’s being irrational and everything should be fine once it stops sucking so bad.

He should’ve done this at Ian’s house so he could run away, rather than having Ian come to him and having to kick him out.

“You think I’m going to let you down easy?” Ian asks.  Anthony laughs, a high pitched, hysteric noise that he immediately hates and never wants to make again.

“Are you really going to be mean to me about it?” he asks.  His pulse is racing.  He’s going to die.  He’s actually going to die from confessing his gay love for his best friend.  This is pathetic.  This is terrible.  He’s almost 40 years old and it feels like he’s 15 and getting rejected for the first time, except worse.  Dan owes him so many drinks.

“Anthony,” Ian says, reaching towards him.  Anthony isn’t fast enough to lean away, and Ian’s hands cup his jaw, curling around his neck and threading through his hair to keep him in place.

“Stop freaking out,” he says, thumb swiping across Anthony’s jaw.  “Don’t be stupid.”

Anthony can’t even begin to formulate a response, because Ian leans forward and kisses him.  His brain completely short circuits at the gentle contact, even though it only lasts for a second before Ian is leaning back, carefully eyeing him.

“Huh?” he says.  Ian cracks a smile.

“I love you, too, you idiot.”

All of the tension leaves Anthony in a rush that makes him dizzy.  It’s a good thing that Ian is still holding him, hands anchoring him in the present while Ian gives him that new smile, the one that makes Anthony feel like Ian doesn’t want to be anywhere else if Anthony isn’t with him.

“Huh?” he asks again.  Ian chuckles, but it isn’t malicious, and Anthony smiles with him.

“Dude, did you really not know?” Ian asks.  “Courtney staged an intervention for me weeks ago.  Apparently she and Shayne have been making little bets since you came back.”

“Since I came back?” Anthony asks.  “No way.”

“They were delusional,” Ian agrees.  “I was not in touch with my feelings enough at that point.  I was just happy to have my best friend back.”

“And now?” Anthony asks.  Ian grins.

“I’ve been waiting for you to catch up.  What happened to you being in tune with your mind and spirit, bro?  Why’d it take you so long to get here?”

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” Anthony laughs, hands coming up to circle Ian’s wrists.  “I’ve never fallen in love with my best friend before.  I thought it was just you.”

Ian snorts, ducking his head and finally letting his hands fall from Anthony’s face, tangling their fingers together instead.

“That’s so fucking cheesy,” he says, but he sounds pleased.  Anthony flushes.

“We’re basically a friends to lovers fanfiction, Ian.  This was always going to be cheesy.”

Ian rolls his eyes.  When he looks at Anthony again, it’s through his lashes with a fond smile, like he’s taking pages out of Seduction 101.  Anthony is actually embarrassed at how well it works on him, face heating and breath catching.  His eyes wander down to Ian’s lips, and he forces them back to his eyes in a panic before he remembers that he’s allowed to do that.  Ian made that clear.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks.  “I wasn’t ready when you did it.”

“I don’t know, can you?” Ian replies automatically, then grimaces.  Anthony gives him a look, even if Ian’s immediate regret is clear.  At least they’re on the same page there.

“Yes,” Ian corrects.  “Actually, if you don’t I’m going to be upset.”

That’s all the encouragement that Anthony needs to lean in.  He takes his time, letting their noses brush and settling his hands on Ian’s waist before Ian gets impatient and closes the gap.  It feels entirely different than their first kiss.  Anthony goes into it with intention, pressing as close as he can without Ian's glasses getting in the way, and Ian responds in kind, hands snaking over Anthony's shoulders.  The scratch of Ian's stubble against his mouth sends shivers down his spine, much more addictive than Anthony would've guessed, and he fists Ian's hoodie tighter in response, shifting to try to get even closer.  Ian breaks the kiss before Anthony is ready, but all he does is take off his glasses and dive right back in, matching Anthony step for step.

Being this close is causing Anthony's head to spin, each change in angle and point of contact simultaneously making every nerve in him stand at attention and glaze over.  He can smell Ian's aftershave under the leftover Thai food and burned down remnants of the candle permeating through the living room, and Ian's hands feel incredibly warm through his sweater, even more so when one of them slides up his neck to dig into his hair.  The gentle scratch of nails against his scalp pulls the start of a whine out of his throat unbidden, and Ian immediately deepens the kiss, coaxing Anthony to open his mouth with a brush of his tongue.

Anthony wants to keep kissing him all night.  He could stay kissing him for the rest of his life and be perfectly happy, whether he keels over in a few minutes or a few decades.  This is their first time kissing with intent, the first time where it actually means something, but there's something so familiar about it anyway, the easy way that they move together and around each other, the compatible pressure and comfortable motions.  He pulls at Ian again, wanting to get even closer, and Ian shifts without breaking contact, pushing Anthony back against the arm of the couch and following him down.  It puts their bodies flush together, and Anthony wraps his arms around Ian's back, pinning him there, a warm line along his front.

A vibration in his pocket startles him enough that he breaks the kiss, blinking up at Ian in surprise.  He's haloed by the overhead light, mouth red and cheeks flushed, and he has never looked more beautiful.

"What's wrong?" he asks.  Anthony blinks at him, processing.

The phone in his back pocket vibrates again, loud enough that Anthony can hear it now that he's not distracted.  He forces one of his hands to release Ian's sweatshirt, lifting his hips to access the pocket and inhaling sharply when the motion makes him brush against Ian.

"Anthony..." Ian says, voice thick.  Anthony's phone vibrates again in his hand, drawing Ian's attention to it.  He sits back on his heels, finally giving Anthony room to catch a full breath.

Dan Howell (youtube): how are things?  have you told him yet?

celebration or crying

maybe silence is a good sign??

“Who is it?” Ian asks, tugging on the bottom of his hoodie.

“Dan,” Anthony says.  Then, for clarification, “Howell.  I called him earlier.  He wants to know how the love confession went.”

Ian plucks the phone from his hand in the middle of typing his reply.

“Hey,” Anthony protests halfheartedly while Ian swipes to the camera app.  Any additional bitching dies in his throat when Ian presses his lips to the corner of Anthony’s mouth, taking a selfie at the exact moment.

It isn’t the best picture.  They’re off-center and Anthony’s face equal parts enamored and very clearly caught off-guard, but Anthony doesn’t protest while Ian attaches the picture to Anthony’s message thread with Dan and sends it.  He locks the phone and discards it off to the side, something that Anthony is very okay with once Ian turns his full attention back to him.

“I know we need to talk about this soon, but I kinda want to save that conversation for later tonight and go back to making out right now,” Ian states.

“I’m fine with that,” Anthony says, already reaching for him.  He kisses Ian’s grin off his face.

Somewhere on Anthony’s coffee table, nestled among empty takeout containers and a stack of napkins, Anthony’s phone buzzes again.  Neither of them hear it.  When Anthony finally checks his phone the next morning, he’ll have a litany of text messages, equal parts sincerely happy and playfully disgusted.  For now, he’s more than satisfied to kiss Ian silly, everything else fading away until the world consists of just the two of them.