#anyway *tosses this into the void* do what you want with this

[art-is-kayos]

Sight of a Star - Blue-ish Star Ryōshū and Don Quixote

[waterfallofspace]

What A Way To Start A Year

T/im learns a little something about karma, friends, and care. Seems even J/on isn't quite as cold as he seems.

A M/agnus A/rchives fic, set somewhere pre-season 1. Shouldn't have any spoilers, but proceed with caution just incase~ (nothing late game, just character dynamic things)

Welcome to "I meant for this to be a little drabble and I wrote 3k words"~ Having a bit of hyperfixation and burn out as I started this new year, soooo I decided to make T/im suffer <3 Not promising quality seeing as I wrote this all in the span of tonight, but consider it a lil 'too long' drabble, and happy new years!

Best way to start off the new year, giving one of your lil guys a lil snz <3

Characters: T/im, M/artin, S/asha, and J/on. Word Count: 3.9k

(CW: There is some swearing, and light descriptions of high fevers)

Christmas had been good this year, maybe the best it had in a long time. Life of the party as always, Tim had enjoyed getting to spend it with his old, and new, colleagues. On top of that, Jon had been laid up with a pretty awful cold for a couple days leading up to it, so he wasn’t around to crush any brilliant ideas Tim came up with. 

This led to the budget receiving a fairly substantial hit, though many researchers donated to the cause when they learned this borrowing wasn’t exactly approved. Hell, even Elias had pitched in, claiming something or other about ‘archivists fit for the job not exactly growing on trees’, and wanting to ‘save some of Jon’s sanity’. 

“Tim? Are you even listening to me?”  

Pulled back to the conversation at hand, Tim lifts his gaze to the taller man fidgeting nervously in front of him. Martin was never one for confrontations, and usually the first ‘no’ would have been more than enough to lead to a string of apologies for even asking. Today however, he seems to have grown a spine. At the worst possible moment. 

“Oh come on,” Martin continues, missing the groan slipping from Tim’s throat. “Even Jon agreed to it!” 

“I’m not really in the party mood,” Tim retorts, leaning back in his chair. “Besides, Jon didn’t agree to celebrate, he agreed not to stop the celebration. Not the same thing.” 

From across her desk, Sasha gives a low chuckle. “He’s got you there, Martin.”

“Can you at least give it a little thought before turning it down?” Martin insists, completely out of character for someone usually so eager to please. 

What the hell has gotten into him today? He didn’t even seem to enjoy himself that much at the Christmas party. Sure, he had a few drinks and mingled with the staff, but he’d left as soon as it was over, not waiting around for chatting like Tim and Sasha.

Clearing his throat with a grimace, Tim casts Sasha a dark look as she chuckles again. Knowing far too much, as usual. Especially when it came to him. If it was anyone else, Tim would hate it with all his being, but given that it’s Sasha… well it’s a welcome invasion. 

Still, it would be nice if she didn’t rat him out. And to Martin of all people, well let’s just say he saw what happened when Jon was sick. Yeah, passing on that one. Attention is great, Tim lives for it, but the coddling? Not really his style. 

“hiEH– guh…”

Damn, that had been a close one. Thankfully Martin seems oblivious, though Sasha sits up in her chair, reaching down into a drawer to fish something out. 

Turning his focus back to Martin, Tim provides an offer, desperate to just have the interaction come to an end. 

“Fine, I’ll show up, but I don’t want any part in planning it.” 

“Oh of course, I’ll handle all the details, I mean it’s just a new years party, how much can there really be to do? I mean food, timing, gotta make sure we have keys to the building– oh but if Jon’s there, that shouldn’t be a problem…” Martin says, rambling beginning to fade into the background as Tim finds himself unable to- 

“hH– ek’CHhiew!” 

“-Oh, bless you!” Martin says, his own thoughts long forgotten. 

Unable to get a word out, Tim merely waves a hand, ducking into his shoulder for another, “eTChhew!” 

“Bles-” 

And another, “iTSChh’ew!” 

“Oh ble-” 

And another, “ehh– kTChh’iew!” 

Silently Sasha stands, handing Tim a pack of tissues. Must have been what she was looking for in the desk. Once again, knowing more than she should, of course she picked up on his patterns. 

Accepting them gratefully, Tim pulls a few out and roughly rubs at his nose, pointedly avoiding Martin’s worried gaze. Gripping his still trembling nose through the tissue, Tim sucks in a tight breath through his teeth, holding for a beat, before finally spinning around in his chair for a final- 

“hH’ETCSHh-ieuw! Whew, bless me.” 

Martin’s hands are fidgeting again, seemingly unsure of what to do with himself as Tim gives his nose a light massage through the tissue. He’s aware enough not to point it out, but is nearly shaking with the effort of suppressing his concerns. 

With a sigh, Tim meets his eyes. “I’m fine, Martin. I always sneeze like that.” He leaves out ‘when I’m sick’. It also happens if he’s suffering allergies, though he doubts that would be a point in his defense given it’s the middle of winter. 

“Yeah he’s not kidding,” Sasha pipes up, throwing Tim a wink as he glares. “You should hear him in spring, once it starts he can be going for hours.” 

“I wouldn’t say hours, Sash-” 

“Remember the cherry blossom incident?” Sasha interrupts, sending a sugary smile over to Martin. “He was wrecked for the rest of the day, I was almost certain he was never gonna stop. Even considered giving a statement here, that reaction was almost supernatural.” 

Tim winces, an audible moan slipping from his lips. “We swore to never speak of it again.” 

Sasha laughs, Tim giving her another playful glare from behind his tissues. “You swore that, I did no such thing.” 

Thankfully Martin doesn’t pry, having enough common sense to offer a polite chuckle, and offer some excuse about ‘planning’. Still, he can’t help himself from shooting a meek “I hope you feel better soon” over his shoulder, Tim giving him finger guns in return. 

“This is karma, you know,” Sasha calls after Martin’s outside earshot. “You took pleasure in Jon’s suffering, so now it’s your turn to suffer the same fate.” 

“No, thi- eTChhew! Scuse me,” Tim says, rubbing his nose with the tissue one last time before depositing it in his nearly overflowing trash can. Another tissue is plucked as his eyes begin to water, nostrils flaring with reckless abandon. Never just one. 

“kTChh’uew! hh’iTChh –uew! Tihhckles… eTCHh! etchh’uh! hiehh–” 

The last one toys with him, tracing the rims of his nostrils, back up his sinuses, a gentle itch that seems to burn against every inch of his nose. Finally, with a desperate gasp, Tim ducks into his wrist for the last, “heh’ATChhh –iew!” 

“Many blessings. Sounds like you need them,” Sasha offers with a wince, tossing another pack of tissues over, which Tim catches with a single hand, the other still gripping his nose. 

After taking a moment to clean himself up, Tim shoots her his signature smile, ignoring the eye roll she shoots back. “Where was I?” 

“Admitting this is karma?” 

“It’s not karma, it’s lack of common sense. Going to a party where a coworker is sick, and still drinking and eating the same meals” Tim says, aiming a rough cough into his sleeve. 

Sasha winces once more at the quality of the cough, hands rummaging through her drawers once more as she tosses a reply back. “And yet you’re the only one who caught it. Seems like karma to me.” 

Closing the distance between them in a single stride, Sasha places a hand on Tim’s shoulder, voice softening. “It’s two days till new years, why don’t you go home and try to get some rest? I doubt Martin will object, and I’ll cover for you with Jon.” 

Before Tim can form his rebuttal, Sasha places a box of paracetamol and a jar of vapor rub in front of him. Nodding his thanks, Tim lets out another harsh cough into his arm, leaning as far away from Sasha as he can manage. 

With a light rub to his shoulder, Sasha walks to the door, holding it open with a pointed look. “Go home, you sound awful.” 

“Alright, alright. I got the message. hH’ETchhiew!” Tim says, gathering his care package and beginning his walk down the hallway. 

“If I hear the rest of that fit happening in this building, I’m telling Martin how ill you really are,” Sasha calls after him, a smile flashing over her face as Tim holds up his hands in mock surrender, before ducking back into his arm with another muffled burst. 

— 

“You look horrible.” 

Tim manages a weary smile from behind the tightly wound scarf. “Thagk you.” 

Martin winces, standing in the doorframe, seemingly oblivious to the winter chill soaking into Tim’s bones. Even just the walk from the train station was hell on earth, standing out here is doing him no favours. 

Turning away with a throat scraping cough, Tim manages to clear the congestion enough to finish the sentence somewhat understandably. A great feat, given how fast his voice is retreating. “May I remind you that I’m only here because you insisted.” 

“Right, well I… I didn’t know how bad-” Martin begins, realizing spreading across his face like a wildfire as a chill leaves Tim breathless. “Oh god, I’m making you freeze to death while you’re already this sick, I’m so sorry, come in, I’ll go make you a tea.” 

Tim nods his thanks as he piles inside the warm institute, cursing his aching lungs as each breath of warm air seems to burn them from the inside out. Martin rushes away, nearly crashing into a few researchers as he makes his frantic dash for the kitchen. 

The scarf is reluctantly removed, a shudder running through Tim’s back as the warm air does nothing to soothe what he’s now certain is a growing fever. A few researchers wave to him, offering some idle chit-chat as he makes his way inside.

For the most part, people give him a wide berth, apparently he looks as bad as he feels. Tissues in hand, gripping them like a lifeline, Tim finds his way to a couch and lets himself sink into it. The party buzzes around him, fading into background noise. 

Martin returns soon after, the mug vibrating slightly as he attempts to steady his hand. “I wasn’t sure what kind you’d want, we have a pretty limited amount, but I have a few extras in my desk– oh I could have probably found one for colds and flus, I’m not sure which this is, I thought cold before but you look-” 

“Martin,” Tim interrupts, voice cutting uncomfortably through his raw throat. “Can I have the cup?” 

“Oh, right, sorry!” Martin says, a sheepish grin crossing his face, nerves more than anything else, as he hands Tim the mug. Tim gives another appreciative nod, taking a cautious sip. 

The warm liquid feels like heaven against his throat, and he barely manages to choke back a whimper. The flavour is still a mystery, Martin never actually got to that part. Given how little he can taste at the moment, seems it’s gonna remain that way. Still, the heat beginning to warm his chest is a welcome relief, and Tim has to fight to keep his eyes from drifting shut…

“Watch out!” 

The voice rouses him, his eyes snapping open just in time to witness Jon dropping to his knees in front of the couch. The realization doesn’t sink in for another minute, Tim blinking the tired from his eyes and trying to figure out why people are staring… and why there’s a hand on his finge– 

Oh, the tea. Thankfully Jon’s reflexes seemed to kick in just in time, his hands guiding Tim’s cup to the table next to him. Judgement clouds the boss's eyes as he turns back, fully ready to chastise Tim, no doubt. Jon opens his mouth, one hand beginning to point, but as his eyes scan Tim’s form, his demeanor changes instantly. 

“You don’t seem well.” Jon’s voice is still firm, but with a hint of something Tim can’t quite place. On anyone else, he’d call it concern. On Jon… perhaps concern isn’t far off, though the underlying criticism of the statement irritates him. 

“I wonder why that could be? It’s almost as if someone came to the Christmas party sick enough to fall asleep standing. Twice.” Tim says, sarcasm lining his words, alongside the congestion he can’t seem to fully shake. 

“Well in that case,” Sasha chimes in, cheerful voice a natural antithesis to the misery coursing through Tim’s system. “Seems you’re halfway there!” 

“Hey, I was lying down, that’s hardly the sahh… same thing– hH’ETchh!” 

“Here we go,” Sasha says, already turning on her heel to find a tissue box as Tim’s hitches increase in desperation. 

“aHTChh’ew! gn’tchhew!” 

“Bless,” Jon offers, a brief confusion crossing his face as Sasha laughs, shaking her head. 

“He’s not done,” She says, handing over the tissue box. 

Tim grabs for it blindly, too caught up in the fit to even attempt dignity. Still, the eyes on him do leave him with a hint of embarrassment, and the onslaught is muffled as best he can manage. “hH’MMpshhew! eMPFShh’ieh! hh’MFSHhueh!” 

Blessings sound out from the room, Tim managing to wave a hand towards the ones offering them, eyes still watering. As the fit seems to stall, he lowers his tissues, red nose now visibly twitching. 

“Are you alright?” Jon asks, the hint of concern from before now plainly evident. That’s frankly more alarming than it should be, and Tim finds himself wanting to… reassure the boss. 

“I’m okay, it’s juhh… j-just… huhh–” But it seems his nose has other plans, a tissue being raised once more as Tim paws at the appendage. “‘Scuhhse me, I still have… hahhve to… to… hiHh– eTCHh’ew! hk’ASCHh–oo!” 

This time the tickle fades with the final pitchy sneeze, Tim letting out a low groan as he mashes his nose into the ever growing collection of tissues he’s clutching. A few people call out final blessings, Sasha laughing out hers as Tim’s face goes red once more. 

Martin picks this time to enter the room with drinks, Tim letting his eyes flutter shut as the focus shifts off his misery. A gentle touch keeps him from drifting off to sleep, prying open an eye to find Sasha settling onto his left. 

“Careful, don’t want to catch this,” Tim manages, leaning against his right shoulder to muffle another stream of chesty coughs. Sasha winces as it goes on past the realm of comfort, her hand finding his back. 

“Don’t worry about me, I haven’t earned this cold, I didn’t make use of Jon’s or your suffering,” She says, the playful tone not masking the growing worry in her posture. 

While she can read him like a book, she’s no mystery to him either. The tension in her fingers, absentmindedly stroking patterns on his back. The way she subconsciously tries to support his body weight, despite them both sitting. The look in her eyes when he manages to stall the coughing long enough to meet them. 

With this brief respite from the attack, Sasha takes the chance to bring Tim’s tea back, his fingers wrapping around the warm mug. The first few sips burn, his lungs protesting, begging to return to their efforts to expel all the irritation. By the third, however, the warmth is spreading once more, easing the spasms. 

“Alright?” Sasha asks, beginning to stand from the couch. Tim nods his reply, taking another slow sip. “Think you’ll make it till midnight? We’ve still got a few hours to go.” 

He nods his approval again, not yet trusting his voice enough to make an attempt. Sasha simply smiles, easing back into the party that– Tim had almost forgotten existed. That fever must be worse than he thought, given how loud it is. A fact that’s now pounding against his head in harmony with his heartbeat. 

The party continues on, Sasha and Martin taking turns checking in on Tim as he slips rapidly in and out of consciousness. Seconds turn to hours, and before he knows it, it’s two minutes to midnight. 

As Tim blinks against the harsh fluorescent lighting, it’s Jon that stands before him, hand hovering near his side. Tim begins to speak, breaking off into a cough as his voice comes out rough with sleep and congestion. 

“What’s up boss?” He manages with the second attempt, not missing Jon’s wince at the nasal quality. 

“You simply look… well, the festivities are nearly over, I was just inquiring as to…” Jon seems to get stuck, eyes wandering down to the couch as he finishes. “I know you took the train here, I was seeing if you needed an escort home.” 

“How kind, I’d be delighted to have your accompaniment,” Tim responds, the wit clouding the fact he… hadn’t actually considered needing to go home. Jon seems to take this answer as satisfactory, ignoring all the sarcasm as he gives a tight nod and an out of practice smile. 

From across the room Martin calls out, something about a countdown. Tim attempts to pull himself to a stand, finding Sasha’s arm around his waist, guiding him to the wall. Leaning against it, he lets his rough voice join the chorus as they count into the new year. 

Despite how the lights and noise had pounded into his skull, everyone chanting in unison helps Tim realize that… there actually aren’t that many people here. Aside from his coworkers, there’s only a few researchers, and Elias is not in attendance.

Honestly, thank whatever cosmic being may exist for that one, he had been none too fond of Jon’s arriving sick. Tim shudders to think what he would have said about this state. He shouldn’t have come, but… something about how insistent Martin was… well he just couldn’t disappoint that loveable idiot. 

Somehow Tim finds he’s managed to keep up with the counting, despite being worlds away in his thoughts. As they approach the final numbers, a feathery sensation begins to spread through his nostrils- no. 

Absolutely not, this is not the time. It’s never just one, there’s not enough people here, someone’s gonna notice. And I mean, it’s not like he’s hiding the fact he feels like death, but… drawing that much attention is also not the goal. 

“Five! Four!”

“hiehh- h’ngTchh!” He manages to stifle the first, the congestion pounding in his head as the tickle seems to only get worse. 

“Three! Two!” 

“I cad’t– nNDtch! nGTCh’uh!” 

“One–” 

As the cheers begin to erupt, Tim ducks into the tissues with a scraping, “ehg’TCHhiew!” 

“Happy new years!” 

“yiEShh’iew! etchh’uh! hH’AESHH –oo!” Tim dips into his hands again, managing to sink down against the wall as he lets out a congested blow, ending the fit.

“What a way to ring in the new year,” Comes Sasha’s voice, her form blocking the light from Tim’s eyes as he looks up, fever blurring his vision.

“Shud ub.” 

“Christ Tim, you sound awful,” Jon adds, his form appearing behind Sasha’s. 

“Thagks boss,” Tim retorts, groaning as he notices a third form, Martin’s nervous fidgeting easy to spot even from this angle. Martin remains silent, though his eyes seem to hold more concern than any of them, and… guilt? Or maybe that’s just the delirium. 

Glancing up to meet Sasha’s gaze, Tim offers a weary, “Tibe to go hobe?” 

She nods softly, kneeling to help him to his feet, Martin wordlessly taking his other arm. Jon stands off to the side, hesitating. What for, who knows. All Tim can focus on is one step after the other, just gotta make it home, then he can sleep. For the rest of forever, at this rate. 

As they get to the door, Martin helps wrap the scarf around Tim’s neck, forcing him to lift it from its perch against Sasha’s shoulder. Sasha, for her part, supports his weight with ease, she was always stronger than she looked. 

Martin keeps casting glances towards Tim, obviously fretting over something. Too tired to manage his usual charm, Tim gives Martin the softest look he can manage. “Jusd say id, please. You’re makigg me nervous.”

“I’m so sorry I asked you to come, you’re obviously so unwell, and I know I didn’t really know that at the time, but I should have, or at least texted and checked in, I just… I wanted us all to get along so bad and I thought if you came it would mean more fun because you’re always so lively and good at talking to people and-” 

Tim holds up a hand, eyes glazing over as Martin stops short, breath coming almost as rapidly as Tim’s. After a minute goes by, Martin starts to open his mouth, seeming confused by the interruption, before nearly jumping out of his skin as Tim ducks into his fist. 

“eTCHh’ew! hH’YEAShh –iew! Sorry, I feld those cobigg… waid– hih’ETCHhew! heAYSHh’oo!” Tim ducks down again, Sasha grabbing him tighter to support the harsh shudders as he attempts to keep his balance. 

“Oh bless you,” Martin offers, voice coming out timid. Tim gives him, what he hopes is, a warm smile despite the fever taking hold of the last corners of his mind.

“If I didn’t wanna cobe, I would have stayed hobe. I dod’t blame you.” 

Martin nods silently, a relief seeming to flood his face. Taking his place once more supporting Tim, they move towards the exit. Opening the door, the first wave of cold floods the entryway, and a chill so violent runs through Tim that both Martin and Sasha take a step back to brace him. 

It’s now that Jon speaks up, voice strained with a type of worry Tim hadn’t heard before. “No, we’re absolutely not doing this, I refuse.” 

The trio turn towards him. Though perhaps a more accurate description is that Martin and Sasha turn, Tim simply goes along for the ride. Martin mumbles something about ‘no other choice’, but Sasha asks what Jon’s on about. 

“It’s too cold out there, it’s the middle of the damn night, there’s no way I’m letting him go home like this.” 

“And what do you suggest we do as an alternative? He can’t stay here-” Sasha begins, pausing as Jon turns towards her. 

“Why not? I’m the archivist, this is my archive,” Jon begins, pausing for a moment, before adding, “Well, Elias’s, but I hardly think he’d suggest we send an employee home in this weather while they’re this sick. That’s just bad management, he’ll freeze to death before even reaching the train.” 

As if to confirm this assumption, Tim shudders violently, ducking into his chest with a tired, “hh’eshhew! eTCHh’iew!” followed by a heavy sigh. Martin mumbles something about covering, but quickly silences himself as Tim begins to tremble again. 

Sasha gives Jon a look, seeming to read him for any hints of doubt, perhaps searching for an ulterior motive. After a brief pause, their eyes meeting, she gives a tight nod, approval of some kind. 

“Come on Martin, let’s get him back to that couch, he can sleep there for the night,” Sasha directs, Martin nodding his acceptance. 

Tim manages to catch snippets of the conversation as they get him settled. Jon fetching him a blanket he keeps in his office. Martin providing some more tea. Sasha grabbing tissues and medication for when he wakes up. Something about Jon sleeping in his office so he’s not alone, and Sasha coming in early to help him home. 

With his final bout of consciousness, Tim holds up a hand, the conversation immediately pausing. “Thagk you guys. And… esSHhh’ew! And, I’b sorry.” 

All three stare at him for a minute, before Sasha breaks first. Her laughter fills the silence, Martin joining in soon after, and even Jon letting a few chuckles slip out. When they’ve finally collected themselves, Sasha gives Tim a warm smile. 

“Sleep well, Tim. I’ll come fetch you in the morning.” 

With a content sigh, Tim lets his eyes drift shut again, his consciousness fading to the soft hum of his friends in the background. 

Alright, so maybe coddling isn’t quite so bad after all.

[yourdudeval]

So I watched a Deltarune theory like last night on YouTube (Deltarune’s Dark Worlds EXPLAINED by Lore Keeper) that said that the Dark Worlds are created by the lightners and the darkners are just whatever objects are in the room and the history of the dark world is based on the history of the objects in the room where the world is created and honestly while that’s the simplest option for what’s happening i gotta say I wasn’t really fully convinced and have never been full convinced with that explanation.

That works well for explaining why the darkners and dark worlds show up as they do, and even explains the history of the individual worlds, but not so much the connections between the worlds. Queen and Spade King know each other, jevil references Queen in some of his dialogue post fight (if you fight him anyway), and Spamton seems to be aware of Jevil (although I’ll admit that kinda has always been dubious). Also Ralsei just shows up in Cyber World, we don’t take him with us, so how did he get there if there wasn’t a way to visit other dark worlds via the dark world itself.

However there’s one thing that really gets me and weirdly enough it’s in the spamton sweepstakes. It gave us an instance of Noelle accidentally put Pipis in her Cat Petters video game and generally Noelle has a connection to dark world related stuff or stuff that could be related to the dark worlds. Seriously the Spamton sweepstakes seemed to have focused heavily on Noelle which makes me think there’s something here we’re missing. (And also that Noelle is incredibly important, but thoughts for another day.)

All of this makes me think that the dark worlds have to exist without the dark fountains in some capacity. After all, if these worlds didn’t exist before they were created, how did the worlds of light and dark stay in balance? The dark worlds really shouldn’t exist period if they didn’t exist before last Thursday if you catch my drift. And we know that all of these events are actually happening and aren’t just some imaginary world the kids are going into, so what’s the real answer?

The information really only seems to contradict itself. The darkners and dark worlds can’t exist without the lightners, so why is it possible for the lightners to seemingly exist without the darkners? Without knowing that they can create these worlds? This would completely change how most people see the world, people would be studying this and how it’s possible. Noelle and Berdly wouldn’t think it was a dream, they would know it was real. That doesn’t seem like balance to me. It could only be balance if the dark worlds exist without light world intervention.

The only way I can rationalize this is that the dark worlds really are worlds, or one continual world with different kingdoms that are connected to the light world and maybe even the darkners themselves exist in some capacity in those worlds. After all we know the dark world has some influence on lightners, note Susie, Kris, Noelle, and Berdly having different clothes in the dark world and the monsters of the group are able to use magic in the dark world, which doesn’t seem to be something that monsters are able to do in the light world. (Seriously what’s with monsters not using the magic we know they should be born with, that’s really weird.)

I think what makes the darkners consider the lightners Gods and what makes them think they are made for them is that the darkners mold themselves to wherever the portal (the fountain) is created. Like how the dark world molds the kids and the room into something else without effecting their base personality and contents, the light world molds the darkners physically without effecting their base history and personalities. The objects are only a form for the darkners to take and gives them object memory, but aren’t the objects themselves. In that sense, you could argue the darkners were made for the lightners because they take the form of the light world more readily, but we can’t forget how the dark world effects the light world.

They are made for each other, but something about their intrinsic natures make it hard to come together without everything falling apart. It’s kinda tragic.

Of course I could also be talking out of my ass. Idk here’s my thoughts. Let me know your thoughts. Like and subscribe

[wileys-russo]

show and tell II a.putellas (before the void blurb)

part of the filling the void universe show and tell II a.putellas (before the void blurb)

"too tight!" you whined as alba ran a brush through your hair and started to braid. "fresa you just told me to do it tighter." your sister sighed, fingers letting go of your hair as you huffed. "sí tighter but not too tight." you replied in a duh tone with a roll of your eyes.

"vale, new plan." alba glanced at the clock knowing she needed to get herself ready for school soon. "but i wanted-" you started to complain feeling her scrape your hair up into two buns atop your head.

"sí but because you are being difficult hermanita, this is what you get instead." alba finished, tying off the second bun and nodding her approval. "you still look very cute for your big day." she kissed your cheek as you pulled a face and wiped it off.

"gross." you grumbled as your sister grinned, you were still a very affectionate kid but you were currently in a phase of detesting kisses, though the youngest in a spanish family that never went your way.

"its not a big day! its just show and tell." you argued, more for your own self soothing than hers. "lo sé, but its still okay to be nervous." your sister sat down on your bed next to you.

"remember what we talked about when you feel nervous fres?" alba asked gently and you nodded, pushing yourself off the bed and moving to your drawers.

"can you help me please?" you held up the bracelet she'd given you as alba smiled, lifting it off your palm and wrapping it around your wrist, tying it securely and kissing the braided material.

"when i have this on, i can't be nervous." you echoed her own words she'd spoken to you time and time again as alba hummed her agreement.

"exactamente, and do you want to know a secret pequeña?" you perked up at that and nodded eagerly. "alexia is more nervous than you are anyway." alba whispered and you let out a laugh as she scooped you up and tossed you over her shoulder.

"why?" you chirped as the two of you exited your room. "because besides you she's scared of all the little niños and niñas in your class." alba answered, dropping you into a chair at the dining room table.

"she is not!" you argued as your sister kissed your mami's cheek good morning and gladly accepted the cup of coffee offered her way. "is too, she told me last night." alba shrugged, making herself breakfast.

"no she's not scared of anything, thats what she told me!" you argued, standing up on the dining room chair and ignoring the disapproving click of eli's tongue and firm look as you did so.

"well she is lying to you then hermana, vergüenza." alba shook her head with a sigh as eli nudged her with an elbow and a look to which the teenager only rolled her eyes.

"bon dia!" your face scrunched up in disgust as alexia tilted your head back and kissed your forehead good morning, picking you up under your arms and dropping you to be sat down in the chair again.

"did you lie to me?" you accused with a scowl, using the collar of your shirt to wipe the kiss from your forehead as alba sat across from you to eat her breakfast.

"qué? no?" the older girl looked at you puzzled as you glared back at her. "alba said that you said that you are scared of my class." you parroted, crossing your arms as eli placed down a bowl of cereal in front of you.

"why don't you wipe hers off!" alba scoffed as eli kissed your cheek a few times and you kissed hers back in thanks. "cause mami isn't gross." you shrugged, shoveling a mouthful of cereal in as alba rolled her eyes for what felt like the tenth time in an hour.

"i am not scared of your classmates nena, alba is lying." alexia clarified, chopping up some fruit in the kitchen. "told you!" you stuck your tongue out at the older girl across from you who flicked a piece of granola at you in response.

"fresa!" you paused where you had a spoonful of cereal ready to fling in your sisters direction, eli raising an eyebrow daring you to continue as you sighed and pushed it into your mouth instead, ducking as another piece of granola was launched at you with a smirk.

"leave the baby alone!" alba whined as alexia's hand connected with the back of her head making you giggle, eyes lighting up spying the bowl of strawberries in your sisters other hand.

"nope, gotta pay for them first pequeña. beso!" alexia sat down and tapped her cheek as you let out a sigh but did as she wanted, leaning over and pecking her cheek as your sister slid the bowl toward you.

"mine!" you smacked away alba's hand which reached for a strawberry, hugging the bowl possessively making alexia chuckle. "you need breakfast too ale, mami says its important!" you reminded your eldest sister who didn't appear to be eating anything.

"sí, lo es. i already ate though fres, i am ready to go when you finish." alexia explained as you gave her a strange look. "you can't wear that!" you pointed to her as she frowned and looked down at herself.

"why not? this is what i always wear when i take you to school." "because you're my show and tell! you have to wear your barça shirt." you groaned, sliding out of your chair.

"i'll go get it." you assured your sister, pausing for a moment before climbing back up and grabbing your bowl of strawberries, sticking your tongue out at alba and jumping back down to the ground racing off toward alexia's room.

"fresa if you get your dirty little strawberry hands on anything in my room-" "i won't!"

~

"walk faster ale we're gonna be late!" you grunted as you pulled at your sisters hand, annoyed it didn't make her budge in the slightest. "relájese hermana, the bell just went." alexia chuckled, purposefully walking a little slower as you groaned.

"i have to take you to the office to sign in and then go to class!" you reminded as your sister smiled and stopped, squatting down. "fresa i know where the office is. i can take myself and you will go to class, and i will be there soon. vale?" alexia spoke gently, a hand on your shoulder as you hesitated.

"look your friends are waiting nena, and you don't want them to be late do you?" alexia waved to the small group hovering a few feet away over your shoulder as you shook your head.

"woah! i will see you in like ten minutes fres." alexia laughed almost losing her balance as you launched at her in a tight hug, squeezing you momentarily and letting go.

"promise?" you asked, holding up your pinky hopefully. "i promise." your sister assured, linking her pinky with yours for a second before adjusting your backpack on your shoulders.

"fresa what do you have in this? it is never this heavy." alexia frowned with concern jostling your backpack as you quickly stepped back away from her.

"nothing! go to the office!" you sprinted away to catch up with your friends as the older girl rolled her eyes in amusement, standing up and doing just that to go sign herself in.

~

"-and now its fresas week for show and tell. i understand you brought a special guest niña?" your teacher smiled once your class had all gathered together cross legged on the floor as you nodded eagerly.

a light chatter broke out among your peers at that as you ducked out of the classroom, taking alexia off guard as you grabbed her hand and pulled her to her feet, yanking her inside with you as the room fell silent.

"this is mi hermana, alexia!" you introduced her as your sister smiled very awkwardly and raised her hand in a small wave, twenty four sets of unfamiliar eyes staring back at her.

"alexia is a footballer and she plays for barcelona and she also plays for españa!" you explained, pausing for a moment to grab your backpack from your cubby.

"alexia has played football for longer than i have been alive, and she is very very very very good!" you recounted, turning your backpack upside down as an array of items tumbled out, alexia now realising why your backpack was so heavy.

"she has won a lot of trophies, and she wears a lot of cool shirts!" you crouched down and lined up several of alexia's medals and trophies through the years, as well as smoothing out a few of her jerseys you'd had bundled up.

your classmates all made a collective oooh and shuffled forward to inspect everything, your teacher nodding at you encouragingly to continue.

"i think alexia is the best footballer in the world. she trains six times a week, goes for a run every day, she has scored..." you paused to hold up your hand where your mami had helped you scribble down a few things.

"...twenty two goals just this season for barcelona, and eight this year for españa." you read out off your hand looking up with a proud grin toward your sister who looked like she was about to cry as she smiled back down at you.

"alexia is also the best hermana in the world. she always puts our family first, she always looks out for me and my other hermana alba, she always helps our mami, and she is a very good listener. she taught me how to ride a bike and how to run really fast and tie my shoes up and how to blow bubbles in milk and to be kind to everyone. and that making mistakes is important because thats how you learn stuff." you rambled out in one breath, pausing to catch it for a second before continuing.

"when my papi died i was sad and i didn't know where he went. but alexia was always there with hugs and kisses and to read to me and take me to our special spot in the park so we could sit in the sun and talk to papi together in heaven. i love her very much, she is very cool and when i grow up i want to be just like alexia, she's my hero!" you grabbed your sisters hand and again beamed up at her, alexia's bottom lip wobbling ever so slightly as she fought every human instinct she had in her not to break down in a puddle.

"you can ask her questions now!" you let go of alexia's hand and pushed her forward as a chorus of tiny voices started to shout all at once and the footballers eyes widened trying to separate them.

"do you know messi?" "why is there a drawing on your arm?" "do you know how to juggle?" "can you show us how to score a goal?" "why number 11?" "have you met messi?" "whats your favourite food?" "why are your hands so big?" "do footballers have to be tall?" "how fast can you run?" "do girls play football different to boys?"

"vale vale vale! one question at a time, we will go in a circle and everybody gets a turn. ana you can go first!" your teacher clapped to gain everyones attention as your sister let out a small sigh of relief, sending the woman a grateful smile.

"ale sit down with us!" you tugged on her hand again as your sister moved to sit cross legged and everyone shuffled a little closer making the older girl chuckle slightly.

almost an hour later and several failed attempts to wrap things up, your teacher put her foot down for good, clapping a pattern and whistling loudly though her fingers as you all immediately fell silent.

"i am sure alexia has training today, and she needs to go get ready." your teacher sent your sister an amused smile who nodded, your class all groaning and complaining but another loud whistle had you all fall quiet.

"can i walk alexia to the gate por favor? i'll run back and be very fast!" you asked your teacher once she'd instructed everyone to thank your sister and say their goodbyes, herding everyone back to their desks to start your lessons for the day.

"sí fresa but you come right back here after. no dawdling!" your teacher warned as you nodded enthusiastically and took alexia's outstretched hand, a final goodbye sung out from your class before the two of you left through the door.

a comfortable silence fell between the pair of you as you lead her over to the front gates. "that was so cool. i think that was the best show and tell ever! gracias ale." you quickly hugged her leg goodbye and turned to run back to your classroom before your sister snagged the back of your shirt.

"hey i said i wouldn't dawdle!" you protested as alexia spun you around, crouching down and yanking you into a suffocatingly bone crushingly tight hug.

"ale i can't breathe." you mumbled out with your face smushed against her shoulder, hitting her back with your hand but still your sister made no move to let you go.

"ale i gotta go, i'm gonna be late!" you whined, trying to pull away and grimacing in disgust as she loosened up only to kiss all over your face.

"no! fres you are not allowed to wipe those off. they're special." your sister warned catching your wrist in her hand as you huffed but none the less obeyed. "why are you crying? are you sad?" you realised as alexia tried to wipe the single tear which escaped but not fast enough for you to miss it.

"no hermanita, the opposite. i am very very proud of you, and i love you very much. you know you are my hero, sí?" "really?" "really. pinky promise!" just like this morning your pinkies interlocked.

"and when i grow up, i wanna be like you!" alexia smiled, flicking your ear as you gave her a strange look. "you are grown up!" you frowned as alexia only let out a small laugh.

"well then when i grow down. go to class, diablillo." with one final pinch of your cheeks she was standing again and nodding behind you across the playground.

"will you be here to pick me up later?" "always fresa, i will always be here."

[eddiethebrave]

secret admirer part three

646 words

one two

Eddie is wearing a white shirt. It wouldn’t be weird if Steve wasn’t so sure that the boy was allergic to color. 

Steve pauses his chewing. He turns to Carol where she sits next to Tommy across from him. “Is white a color?”

She looks at him in boredom. “It’s a mix of all of the colors.”

Steve shares a confused glance with Tommy before nodding slowly. “...Right.”

Anyway, his point stands - Eddie is wearing a white shirt. He also seems to be back in high spirits, and it wasn’t until Steve walked in and saw him in a heated discussion with his buddies at his table that he realized how much he missed the boy’s usual energy.

For as sure as he was that Eddie didn’t not want his notes, it’s relieving to know he’s probably fine. The realization draws him out of his head a bit and puts it all into a better perspective. The world doesn’t revolve around him. 

Over the weekend, Steve invites Tommy over to hangout and when he shows up, he has Carol with him. Steve idly wonders how long that’s gonna last. Tommy has been interested in her for a while. She made him work for it and honestly, Steve thinks they’re perfect for each other. 

He'd thought that whenever they made it official, that Tommy would be spending less time with Steve. If anything, though, the opposite is true. Tommy seems to hang around Steve more now than ever. He goes on and on about what he and Carol get up to, and Steve finds it kind of odd but assumes his friend is just excited. Still, Steve truly doesn’t need to know every detail from when Tommy and Carol hooked up under the bleachers. 

Steve has always gotten along with Carol in school. She’s a bit bitchy but that only means she can keep up with him and Tommy just fine.

The weekend isn’t half-bad but come Monday, Steve is revved up. He’s already had his note written for days. 

He delivers it without a hitch and excitedly waits. 

Eddie it’s hard to look away from you sometimes, i never would if i could get away with that without getting my ass kicked you don’t seem to care what people think about you or the things you like and i find that really impressive i wish i was more like you your books always look really interesting, do you have a favorite? -H

Steve wonders how hard it would be to get his schedule changed so he has at least one class with Eddie in the morning, too. 

Then he comes to his senses and realizes that would make him insanely creepy and weird. Which makes him wonder if he’s already doing that. 

He spirals. 

What if Eddie had looked so troubled because he doesn’t want to be receiving notes from some random person he doesn’t even know, what if the reason he seemed back to normal on Friday is because he’s resigned to live with the unwanted affection, what if he hasn’t even been reading the notes and he just tosses them immediately, what if, what if, what if.

He goes through his morning classes in a fog that only dissipates when he walks into the cafeteria and sees him.

Eddie is reclined in his chair with his ankles crossed and propped on the table in front of him. When Steve walks past him, he hears the boy whistling obnoxiously and rolls his eyes fondly. It's only when he takes his seat and risks another look that he spots the book in Eddie's hands. The boy is making a show out of reading it; he has the book so close that it's covering his entire face.

Steve thinks it's strange until he remembers his note this morning.

It turns out Eddie's favorite book is The Hobbit.

four

tag list (closed)

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@wheneverfeasible @bisexual-and-broke @lil-gremlin-things

sorry if i missed anyone!!

[blarshwritezz]

Could you write a yandere worshipper with a god darling? The darling isn't a benevolent god and requires bloody sacrifices but they are willing to offer anything and everything to them. I would imagine a scenario where the god descends on earth for the first time and he gets to meet them, what would they do? An obsessive, extremely delusional yandere that believes they are meant to be the darling's spouse.

Gender neutral reader and male yandere possibly!

(Can have NSFW or not, whatever you feel most inspired to do)

-🔴🦊

Oh yes! The motivation has me in a chokehold with this one! Also, I was planning on adding NSFW, but got super caught up in the writing and didn't. I'm sorry

Yandere Worshipper x God Reader

M yan x gn reader

TW - obsessive behavior, delusional behavior, blood, torture, murder, harming animals, masochism, manipulation

Before you, his life was miserable. Nothing was worth living for. Everything absolutely pissed him off. Most nights he'd go into the forest behind his home and kill whatever small animals he could find rather than sleep. There was something relaxing about causing something to bleed and watching the light slowly drain from their eyes.

On one of those such nights, he just so happened to kill a rabbit on an abandoned altar. Your altar. He didn't really notice. It just seemed like another abandoned structure. Just a crumbling rock covered in vines to him. Nothing special whatsoever.

Oh how wrong he was. That "stupid rock" was exactly the thing that would change his life.

As the blood of the rabbit seeped through the vines and onto the stone, lightning struck. Odd, it wasn't supposed to rain that night. Regardless, he didn't want to get all wet, that'd be inconvenient. He went home, rain pouring as soon as he closed his door. Lucky timing.

It was nearly 3am, and he had to be up in 2 hours for work. Maybe he should actually try to get some sleep. Only bothering to take off his shoes, he went to the couch and flopped down. Tomorrow was going to be just the same. He closed his eyes, sleep taking him faster than usual.

It was dark. He never feared the dark, but there was something...eerie about this. It seemed like, other than a small area around him, this place was entirely void of light.

Was this a dream? It had to be. But it felt so...real.

The rabbit he had just killed tonight was suddenly tossed to his feet, coming from the darkness. But something was off. It had no blood left. It was completely dried up.

"My, you certainly are disgusting, aren't you?" A voice rang out all around him. "I adore it."

He tried to speak. To ask what was going on. But nothing. Not a sound came out of his throat.

"Let's make a deal." An ominous hand extended from the darkness. "I will give you all your darkest desires, let you harm whomever you want as horribly as you want. And all I ask of you is that you sacrifice their blood to me. Do we have a deal?"

Well, there's a reasons dreams are called as such. The idea of getting to live out his twisted desires freely absolutely was his dream.

Even if this wasn't real, he agreed anyway. He took the hand and shook it, feeling how cold it was. Your grip was brutal and freezing. If this was real, you might have almost broke his hand.

"That's a good boy~" Your voice faded away, drowned out by the sudden wind.

He awoke with a start. It was still the middle of the night. Checking his phone, he found that he only got about 10 minutes of sleep.

But he also found a large, unnatural bruise on his hand. Right where yours would have held it. Was that...not a dream?

He was hesitant at first. As much as he wanted it to be true, life just wasn't that good to him. But that next night, he went back to your altar. The rabbit and its blood were gone. It was too clean for some other animal to have taken it. So he wanted to try something out. He found three squirrels - it must have been a good night - and brought their carcasses to your altar.

And when he came back the next morning, there wasn't a trace of them.

So it was real...it really was! It started simple. He'd hunt small animals and deliver them to the altar. At some point, he even cleared the vines covering it and made sure the area was nice and clean for you. He's been getting frequent visits from you in his dreams. Even if all he knew was your hand and voice, you were growing more and more enticing...and he even gained your trust enough to allow him to speak!

But the little forest critters quickly learned to avoid the area. Some nights, he couldn't find a single thing for you. And so, during one of your dream visits, he begged and pleaded for an answer.

"My god, my perfect god, I am so sorry! No matter how far I go, I can't seem to find enough blood for you! Please, give me an answer! How shall I please you without enough sacrifices?" He was pathetic, down on his knees in front of you. Or at least, where he thought you were.

Truly, your mortal pet was adorable.

"My one and only follower, let me give you the answer..."

When you said it...it seemed so simple. And truly he was flattered.

He spent his days and nights doing exactly as you said. His home turned into more of a church dedicated entirely to you. A church he would get people to join. It was difficult at first. His people skills were lacking, to put it kindly. But with your perfect guidance, he was able to sweet talk anyone into joining your cult church. It was getting so big that he got to quit his job. After all, your new followers were paying him now.

Preying on the weak and desperate made it easy! But of course, he still had to make sacrifices to you somehow until these people could be used. He needed their trust first. So how did he give you blood? Why, by giving you his of course! Just like you said to!

He loved to make blood spill. But he never realized it would feel so good to spill his own blood. If it was for you, he'd tear out his organs and bones one by one until you were satisfied.

He was enjoying himself too much, and everyone could tell. Well, his followers didn't yet know exactly what was going on, but they knew something was wrong. He was getting paler. He was tired and confused, he could hardly walk straight, and he seemed short of breath from simple tasks.

You couldn't have this. You couldn't let your prophet die of blood loss so soon. There was still much work to do.

"You worry me, my devoted follower. How will you spread my word when you're so weak?" Your cold hand reached from the darkness in his mind, your finger gently stroking his cheek.

This was pure bliss. If only he could never wake up. Your cold hand on his face, heat quickly rising in his cheeks. How kind you were to worry for him. That must mean he truly was meant to be yours!

He worked even harder after that dream. Soon enough, you had hundreds of followers! Enough that no one would notice a few going missing. That was when he could finally make big sacrifices to you.

Those who weren't dedicated enough to you payed the price. The basement of his home turned into a lovely little torture chamber. Those who displeased you in even the smallest ways found themselves down there, and never found their way out. No matter how much they screamed or cried or begged, forgiveness was never earned, and therefore neither was freedom.

Some were so pathetic that they even died. Those ones were fun. Such large sacrifices pleased you anytime he dragged them out to the altar. They made you grow more powerful.

It took so long to get here. So much work. He's become unrecognizable. But finally it was time. He'll never forget this dream. He'd never dare forget any of them! He made sure to write them down after waking up.

"It's nearly time, my faithful follower." Your voice, your absolutely perfect voice surrounded him and rang throughout his head.

"Time for what, my god?" No matter what it was, he was eager. After all, you sounded so pleased right now.

"Bring all our followers to my altar tomorrow night. Do as I say."

The word echoed through his mind. You said "our" followers. As in both of you, together. Ah, he really was meant to be your husband! And you knew it too! Clearly, otherwise you wouldn't have worded it like that. You were a very wise god, after all. You would never misspeak.

Or maybe you were just manipulating him, preying on his mad desire for you. He wouldn't be able to tell the difference.

As with all your commands, he did exactly as you said. He would never dare disobey you. They were confused, whispering and murmuring to each other. He was confused too, but that didn't matter. He did what you told him to! He was such a good follower.

Thunder roared above, the wind slowly picking up until it could nearly blow the frail man away. Lighting cracked up above, and rain began to pour. Some of the followers tried to love, not wanting to be stuck in this storm, only to be stopped by sudden cracks of lightning.

It was storming about as bad as it was the first night he "met" you. He kept his eyes on your altar, his hands clasped in front of his chest. Something was about to happen...

Then lightning struck it. Your one and only altar was...not destroyed? An imposing figure sat atop it, the storm dying down.

His jaw dropped as he fell to his knees. It had to be...those hands. This immaculate presence. The sheer fear that struck through his heart. Yes, this was most certainly his beloved god.

While everyone else had looks of shock and terror on their faces, his expression was one of pure bliss. His cheeks were red, a wide grin on his lips as drool dropped down his chin. Your perfection was beyond his wildest imagination.

"Footrest." Your powerful voice commanded, motioning for him to come closer with two fingers. He gladly crawled to you, on his hands and knees as you rested your feet on his back.

He just couldn't stop staring at you. He had to memorize every last detail in case he never sees it again. His absolutely perfect spouse...

"I ought to introduce myself properly. Yes, I am your god. Kneel before me!" Your voice boomed, becoming the only sound in the dense forest. Some of your followers kneeled more hesitantly than others. Those who hesitated...were quickly killed.

Your worshipper was in awe of your power and authority. The way you took those pieces of filth's lives with just a flick of your wrist was utterly divine. He's never seen something so beautiful.

"Those of you who do not dedicate your very being to me...are to die here tonight." You smirked as the people uproar. Did they truly think you were as benevolent as they'd been told? It was their own fault for trusting the delusional man beneath your feet.

It was a massacre. A bloody, brutal, unstoppable massacre. No one was spared. No one but him. They would now be your slaves in the afterlife thanks to their (lackluster) devotion to you in life.

He was absolutely enamoured. He's never seen so much blood. Such beautiful red, so many dead bodies...you most certainly were a good deserving of his complete worship and devotion. It was he that did not deserve your magnificence.

"Now, my devoted worshipper...join me. Plunge this world into utter despair and chaos with me."

"Yes, my god!" He would do anything you wanted! Anything...this world would know your name, and it would be all because of him.

Alright, that was a good one! Endings are hard- also, sorry if there's any errors. It was a long one this time! (Yay!)

[leahrintarou]

✩₊˚.⋆☾ BALANCED - osamu miya

CW: usage of the petname 'baby' and 'pretty', fluff, maybe a bit of 'angst' if you wanna call it that lol, fem reader (she/her) Word Count: 1.4k

“when will you come by, samu?”

“soon, baby. within another hour, i'll be on my way, okay?” his tone was breathy, and y/n inferred he’d stepped away from a busy situation to answer her call. with the weekend approaching, his shop was bound to be bustling. “what’s wrong?” he asked. after hearing only silence from her end, his breathing slowed.

y/n hesitated before responding, “nothing, but okay, i’ll see you later.”

he sighed at her evasion but chose to let it be.

“baby, i'll be home before you know it. you should take a nap to pass the time. you sound tired anyway.”

y/n nodded despite his inability to see her, and when his name was called faintly in the background, she muttered a quick goodbye before ending the call.

with the line dropped, y/n turned off her phone and tossed it to the other side of the sofa. she was genuinely thrilled for her boyfriend’s burgeoning business, but his infrequent visits were beginning to weigh heavily on her.

she hadn’t realized how much time they used to spend together until it started dwindling. whether it was her busy schedule maintaining her grades or osamu's increasingly tight schedule, their communications, though frequent, were beginning to fail in filling the void. nothing could replace the comfort of physical presence, especially when it came to osamu.

she stood up and decided to heed his advice to take a nap. after all, what else was there to do? her friends were occupied with work or their own classes, she’d finished her studying for the day, and she had no errands left. all she truly craved was relaxation, but for that to be possible, she needed the presence of the person she loved beside her.

her phone vibrated in her hand, and she checked the message from her boyfriend.

samu 🩶 -> ‘i know this is terrible timing, pretty, but i might be getting home a bit later than planned. i need to pick up a few supplies for tomorrow. we’re running low.’

she couldn’t stop the tears from welling in her eyes, blurring her vision. she wasn’t sure if her reply made sense, but she was beyond caring.

y/n -> ‘okay. be safe.’

she set her phone down on the nightstand and rested her head on her pillow. it had been a long, arduous week, and all she needed was him.

---

osamu hurriedly hung his hoodie by the door as he called out for y/n. her silence worried him. he had informed her of a late return, but the exact time had been unclear. he intended to be home three hours ago, but unforeseen circumstances had delayed him. he took steps up the stairs cautiously and gently pushed open the door.

there, y/n lay on their bed, her back turned to him. he called her name, and she stirred in her sleep, prompting him to sit on the edge of the bed. it was dim in the room, but he noticed the dampness of her pillow and her swollen eyes. his heart ached as he placed his palm against her cheek.

her eyes fluttered open, and they widened upon seeing his familiar face. she sat up as he settled on the bed, and she enveloped him in a tight hug.

“were you crying, baby?” he asked, wanting to pull away to see her face, but her embrace was firm, and honestly, he never wanted to leave it.

she mumbled a soft “no,” but the tremor in her voice revealed the truth.

“yeah, you were. look at your eyes…” he finally managed to view her features when she reluctantly released him. “i’m so sorry for being away for so long. why didn’t you tell me you were going through a rough patch?”

“you were busy with the shop and so happy that things were picking up. i’m happy for you too. so much,” she said, using the sleeves of her hoodie to wipe her tear-streaked cheeks.

“there’s a ‘but’ in there, isn’t there?” he asked, reaching for both of her wrists to gently pull them from her face.

“but,” she exhaled, meeting his gaze before looking down at her lap, “i don’t just want you to be here, i need you to be here. nothing is enjoyable without you anymore.” she frowned. osamu smiled and placed a tender kiss on the top of her head, then on her lips.

“i understand, baby. but listen to me.” his hand cupped her cheek, and she leaned into his warmth. “i will drop everything in a heartbeat if it’s you who needs me, okay?” he stated. she nodded and drew herself closer, inhaling the faint scent of his cologne. even the slightest trace of it brought her a sense of tranquility and comfort.

osamu wrapped his arms around y/n, holding her close. the weight of her words and the tears she had shed made him realize just how deeply his absence had impacted her.

“i’ve been so focused on making things work at the shop that i didn’t see how much you were struggling,” he admitted softly. “i promise i’ll make it up to you. we’ll find a way to balance this better.”

y/n nestled her head against his shoulder, her breathing slowly evening out. “i know you’re working hard, and i appreciate it. i just want to feel like i’m a part of your life, not just a contact on your phone.”

“of course you are,” osamu reassured her. “you’re my whole world. we’ll figure it out together, okay?”

he gently rocked her back and forth, his touch soothing her. after a few minutes, he pulled back slightly to look into her eyes. “how about we make some plans for the weekend? no work, no distractions, no studying.”

y/n’s eyes brightened at the idea, her sadness dissolving in the warmth of his gaze. “that sounds amazing, but time won’t stop just because we want to spend time together."

osamu smiled, his heart swelling with relief. he leaned in to kiss her forehead, then her lips again, as if to vow never to let her feel this way again. “you’re right, time won’t stop, but we can make every moment we have together count. let’s focus on the time we do get and make it special. we’ll find our balance, and until then, i promise to make the most of every second i can spend with you.”

as they settled back into their embrace, y/n felt a renewed sense of comfort. the weeks ahead might still be busy, but knowing osamu was committed to making time for her eased her worries.

with osamu by her side, y/n drifted off to sleep, feeling more at peace than she had in days.

“i’ll make sure we always have these moments. you mean everything to me, baby.”

this was written for a certain someone lmaooo

ty for reading! leave a like to show support :D

tag: @lifesucksweswallow & @powpowboom

[lovebugism]

Heyo!

Can you pretty please with sugar on top do something with Steve and shy!reader and then passing notes?

Feel free to skip if you want, and thank you in advance! Your writing skills are so good!

ty angel! hope you like it xoxo — after a scolding from keith for talking to you on the job, steve takes matters into his own hands (shy!fem!r, fluff, established relationship, 1.3k)

bug's one year celebration ♡

Grieving, grieving, grieving.

Steve goes into his fourth hour on the clock mourning the lack of you. You’re sitting just beside him, click-clacking away at the chunky computer, but he misses you anyway. He hasn’t said a word to you in an hour. He’s pretty sure it has to be a record by now, especially with you close enough to kiss.

Keith got mad at the two of you for ‘fonduing on the job.’ Whatever that means. Now, the two of you are silent and unsure of what to do with yourselves. This job was only tolerable because he could spend eight hours with you. What’s he supposed to do now? Work?

“Have a good day,” he says, a bit robotically but with a smile, as he hands a customer their bag of movies. Killer Klowns, Poltergeist, and Basketcase — for what must be a horror movie marathon for a holiday season cleanse.

The customer service grin washes away the second the door dings open and shut again. The store is quiet and mostly empty, eerily so without you to fill the void. 

A funny joke pops into his head then, and his first instinct is to tell you about it — just to see you smile ‘cause he knows you’ll laugh even if it’s not funny. He looks over his shoulder to make sure Keith isn’t looking, then finds the weirdo watching him like a hawk, only his beady eyes visible over the aisle of tapes.

Steve cowers beneath the ice-cold glare and turns away again. He reaches for a sticky note instead, bright yellow and with the Family Video logo printed in green at the top. The jotting of his pen against the pad fills the mostly silent store. 

He yawns and fakes a stretch to stick the thing on the counter next to you.

You don’t notice it at first — because inventory has drained your awareness so much that it’s all you can focus on — but you’re smiling the second you do. It schlicks when you un-stick it from the laminate to find a sloppy drawing of a cartoon pig. 

“Missing you pig time” is written in something close to chicken scratch just beside it.

You get all giddy, like a schoolgirl in the back of the classroom getting a note from their crush. Being with Steve feels exactly like that, all the time. On the legal pad next to you, you write a cheesy pun of your own — a plump hippo in a neater cursive that reads “I hippopota-miss you.” 

You rip it from the notebook slowly and with a palm spread flat to avoid making too much noise. You crumble it up to pretend like it’s trash, then intentionally miss the bin beside you. The thing bounces by Steve’s sneakers before he bends down to pick it up with a golden hand.

He smooths out the paper as best he can on the counter. Then leans on his elbow and props his scruffy chin in his palm, using his fingers to hide the beam on his face. With his free hand, he draws you a hedgehog adjacent to the cartoonish animal you’d created — only he doesn’t really remember what a hedgehog looks like, so it’s more of a circle with spikes.

“Could really use a hedge-hug right now,” he writes.

He crushes the paper between his palms and tosses it into your lap.

You shoot him a glare, accompanied with a small smile, but he looks away too quickly to see it. 

You begin to beam as your eyes dart over the crumbled paper, an expression so wide Steve can see it in his own head. He’s grieved to miss it, but he doesn’t want Keith to see him and think he’s distracted again. Besides, he knows if he looks at you too long, he’ll have no choice but to kiss you stupid.

Now all you are is unkissed and grieving, more so than you were just five minutes ago. You grow empty with the feeling. It makes the spark of bravery and sudden longing burn brighter behind your ribcage.

You rise from your squeaking swivel chair and walk the very short distance to Steve. Three steps. Five, maybe. Six at the very most. You don’t count them, too overwhelmed by your love for the boy who doesn’t see you coming.

You wrap him up in your arms, wedging yourself between him and the countertop. Your arms clasp behind his lower back as your cheek squishes into his sternum. He smells like home, cologne, and something warmer.

Steve tenses beneath your embrace. Not because he doesn’t welcome it, but because you’re not usually so affectionate this way. It took you months to kiss him first — longer to stop asking to kiss him before you did it. 

And you’re a delicate little thing, too. You hate getting in trouble. Hate the thought that someone, somewhere in the world, was at some point unhappy with you. And even though you don’t particularly care for your boss, you’d think you’d probably cry if Keith ever scolded you.

Steve knows this, too. So he doesn’t give in to you so easily.

“Whatcha doing?” he croons lowly to you.

“Give you a hedge-hug,” you mumble into his chest.

He scoffs a faint laugh that fans across your forehead. “You’ll get in trouble,” he teases in a gentle whisper, slowly melting into your embrace. His wide hands smooth warm along your spine. He doesn’t press you anything closer with his touch, just cradles you softly against him.

“Don’t care. I just miss you.”

“Hippopota-miss me?” he jokes and noses into your hair. You smell like home, in both the figurative and literal sense of the word. Equal parts because you spent the night at his place and because your scent strikes something short of nostalgia inside his chest.

You laugh. He can feel the golden sound of it in his ribcage. “Pig time,” you answer.

“How’d you like that one, huh?” he asks, muffled against you.

“It was genius.”

“Right!” he chuckles. “Thought of it outta nowhere and had to tell someone about it.”

Your head shakes against him as a grin blossoms on your lips. He can’t see it from this angle, but he can feel it — in the way your cheek squishes harder against his sternum. “Your brain is so amusing, you know that?”

Steve, knowing that would be an insult coming from Robin, decides to take it as a compliment from you. He presses his petaled mouth to your forehead and lingers there for several moments. “Thank you,” he murmurs after.

The Robin in question turns out to be his savior, neither intentionally nor ungrudgingly.

She’s stacking VHS tapes on the shelves with Keith, both of them crouched to restock the bottom rows. She rises first, bones creaking in protest. “God, I feel like an eighty-year-old, man,” she groans and stretches her aching knees.

Back to full height again, she sees the two of you wrapped in an embrace behind the counter. She scoffs and rolls her eyes. Not because she’s jealous — she’s definitely not jealous — but because the two of you couldn’t last a whole hour not talking. It’s deplorable.

But despite her internalized complaints, she refuses to let Keith catch you fonduing a second time. Right before he stands beside her, she swipes a hand over the top row of tapes. Adventure movies titled L through M tumbled to the ground, a few of them knocking the older boy on his mulleted head.

“Ow!” he winces, nasally and whiny. He cradles the top of his deep brown, only slightly greasy hair and stares daggers at the girl above him. “What the heck was that for?”

Robin shoots him a shaking smile, freckled face blotched pink. “Sorry,” she lilts, voice trembling. “Spasm.”

[elixrr]

part 1 here

It's heartbreaking, being a fictional character in a fictional world. But what makes it worse it that his player; his love—his God, grew bored of him and discarded him.

What was he to you? Did you even feel affection for him? He loved you. He truly loved you because he had nothing but you. He's constantly locked in the same fake, digital room, even when you think he's out living his supposed stable life that some temporary code convinces you he's living. He'd do anything to please you, to keep you with him, because ultimately, you were his savior. You were everyone's savior.

And yet, you threw them all away.

Answer him.

What was he to you?

What were they to you? Were they toys to you? Dolls?

He feels betrayed. Rather, he felt betrayed. He can't feel a single thing now. Floating in the void of a digital trash bin stole all his feelings. It stole his supposed friends; it stole his supposed city; it stole his supposed life. His lifeless soul couldn't feel how much time had passed since the day you deleted the game, not that he would want to, even if he could be conscious again. It's dull in a dark void, and everything about him is already on the line. If he were conscious, not only would he have to openly sulk about how worthless he became in your eyes, but he would also have no future to look to. There wouldn't be any point to existing, let alone wanting to exist. If you ever re-downloaded the game, you would probably continue benching him, and that would be an extra sign that you'll never care about him again; that you came on for anyone else but him.

The only thing he'd wish for,

would be complete deletion.

Deletion of the email linked to your game account would result in the deletion of every single file of him and you. Every single fracture of evidence that you cared would disappear.

And, what he'd really want would be his whole self being erased.

In this life of his, he'd have no point. You left him, and probably completely. It doesn't matter what you do. Whether you never play the game again or even start it up again, none of that would matter because he wouldn't have a use in your life. If he doesn't matter in your life, then he wouldn't matter ever until he's possibly featured in an Archon quest or in some event. Even so, you might never use him ever again.

A single tear forms in his eyes. There's no point in existing.

Another tear falls. You never loved him, did you?

His eyes flutter open, and he's back in the team lineup screen. You're there. The supports are there, but he can't bring himself to pose. He can't bring himself to lighten up.

What are you going to do now? Repeat history, strip him of his artifacts, his weapon, and trash him? Slam him down into a pit of despair? A loveless void made for the hopeless and hurt, all of which once loved you and felt you loved them, now suddenly were torn and tossed like old, ragged dolls.

Through his broken heart and blurry eyes, he could see your face. You were about to enter his character detail screen, but you paused. You were looking at him like you were worried, and genuinely so. And, like an angel, you whispered his name with delicate, careful concern.

“What happened to you?”

You abandoned him. That's what happened, and he bets you never knew.

“Leave me alone,” he nearly sobs, “I know you don't want to use me anymore. Rip me apart for all I care—it won't matter when I'm back in that void again.”

“A void..? Wait, never mind that, I do care. What— really, what happened? Wait, you can hear me?”

He wipes his tears away and stands to face you fully. All the supports watch his bravery against the code.

“I could always see you; everyone on the field could. We can hear you.” He takes a moment to breathe it all in. Maybe... Maybe he can get you to listen. Maybe he can help you hear him out.

Maybe he could help you love him again?

“Anyways, the void is where every unused person goes. Once... Once we leave the screen, we just sit here until you use us. And if you remove us from all teams, we're sent— we're plummeted into said void.”

“Oh my God,” you whisper, leaning back, “I need to revisit everyone I...”

“Please, wait, I—” I want to be used. I want to be the one you revisit. I want to be the one you miss.

“Player, creator, whoever you are, just please,” he watches as you scroll through the team lineup options, “please don't leave—”

And you enter another lineup.

And everyone else is gone, too.

“Please. Don't leave me again.”

He falls over, not caring how much it hurts. Nothing works. Nothing will work. It's hopeless.

He'll be stuck here, waiting, waiting, and waiting. Not for you—there's no point in that anyway, but for your second deletion.

He'll be waiting for the game's deletion.

For his final deletion.

You left him, and he's clearly not important to you. As heartbreaking as it is, he accepts it. Even with this dimensional intersection, he can't convince you.

As heartbreaking as it is, he's just a fictional character to you in this fictional world. He loved you, and he thought you did too, but clearly, you don't. Because he is just an abandoned, rotting toy, and you are the player who abandoned him.

And, he thinks, if you want him to rot, then so be it,

Let him rot.

@iridescentrays @inlovewithlondonn @falconclaw244 @shiningpaint-marbleheart @jeremyth @hikaru-sama @ayatoq @krrkt @yureismellslikefanfic @samhelleborewrites @bi-panicatthedisco @hannya-writes @thomaliciouss @notisekais @lovelykrystal @raeharmonia @ayra2452008 @chikai-k @dreamsofmoney @shutingstar

To everyone who wanted part 2 :))

[fangirl-dot-com]

Carlos Sainz - You don’t like spicy food?! Then why the heck do they call you Chili? 

Aw guys imma cryyyy – this is the last part of Besties for the Resties. I have enjoyed every single moment of writing these. Sorry if the last few ones were short, I’ve been using all of my brain power for finals and for the Christmas chapter! That one is going to be a doozy and I’m hoping it’ll hit almost 10k words: because y’all deserve some good writing! 

I honestly don’t know when this story is set. I have tried to write all of these for races before the summer break. So that being said, on my master list I am not writing a chapter for the Barca Grand Prix – so this chapter will be during that time! 

For one last time for this series – I hope you all enjoy! 

[TAG LIST IS CLOSED] 

Remember that comments, questions, concerns, reblogs, and likes are all appreciated! 

The sun beat down on the top of your head as you lounged and napped in the hotel pool. The Spanish Grand Prix was right around the corner, but you had time to relax and get your tan on. The water lapped at your limbs, cooling you off as the sun felt as though it was getting hotter. 

Kelly had told you time and time again to put on sunscreen so that you wouldn’t burn. You definitely did not want to drive a Formula 1 car with sunburn. At least you weren’t as fair as Max was. You thought that he was a vampire or something. His skin automatically turned pink if he was outside too long. You guessed that’s why he always wore his Red Bull Cap. 

Quiet splashes sounded at the opposite end where you knew Kelly and Penelope were playing. It was nice to hear their giggles as they tossed a beach ball around. To your left, however, you could hear the men talking about the cars and whatever part made more downforce, which was close to bringing you out of your light sleep. 

Apparently when booking the hotels, Red Bull and Ferrari had decided to get rooms at the same place. Which led to you, Penelope, Kelly, and Max finding Carlos and Charles already at the pool. You were glad that they were pretty good friends, because if it had been Esteban, well, you shivered at what might have happened. 

You were a bit bummed that the other drivers’ hotels were much farther away. Because you would have asked Lando, Oscar, and George to come over as well. You had already asked Daniel, hoping that Alpha Tauri would have placed him with you and Max. But sadly, he had his own hotel where he was staying with Heidi. Which made sense, if your significant other was here, you’d want to stay with him too. 

You tried to block out any conversations about the cars, but they were getting too loud. You sat up on your floaty as you looked around. Your eyes adjusted to the bright light after having been closed for a while. 

“Good morning,” Max laughed as he looked at your discombobulated appearance. 

You groaned as you sunk into the water, cooling off the rest of your body. The three of them just laughed as you swam over to the stairs. Pulling yourself up, you stepped onto the warm tile and made your way over to where they were sitting. You took the offered towel from Charles and wrapped it around your shoulders. 

“How are you not burnt?” Max questioned, shocked at your skin that was void of any redness. 

Your shoulders raised before dropping, “Genes? Also you woke me up. Do you have to be talking about the upgrades.” You grumbled, sunglasses hiding your closed eyes as your head tipped back. 

A scoff left his lips, brows furrowed under his bucket hat. “You needed to wake up anyway. You’re going to ruin your sleep schedule.” 

“More than it’s already ruined,” Charles pipped, looking at the shared laptop on the table. 

You turned your head and looked at Max, “Can we order food and drinks or something?” 

Max nodded, getting his phone out. You told him what you wanted, but were interrupted with a scoff from Carlos. Max turned, looking a bit annoyed. 

“Everything all right mate?” Charles asked, trying to diffuse the situation. What the three of you didn’t see was Carlos looking at the menu on his phone. 

His eyes widened as he realized what he had done. He quickly held up his phone. “I was scoffing at the menu. Everything seems too spicy.” Max melted back into his chair, but you were completely confused. 

“You don’t like spicy food? Then why the heck do they call you Chili?” Max and Charles laughed at your question. “What? I’m just super confused.” 

Carlos let out a laugh of his own. “No chica. A fan gave me a hat that had chili peppers on it. I guess it just stuck. Kind of like your name.” 

You crossed your arms. “It’s my manager’s fault. He’s the one that started calling me kid in the first place. Then Christian somehow found how, then Max, then my strategist, and now everyone calls me that.” 

Charles pondered for a moment before speaking, “And why is that?” 

You pouted, “Cause in Formula 4 I was the shortest there, and Vito said I looked like a kindergartener who snuck into the middle schooler’s field trip.” 

The three men started to laugh while you continued to pout. 

“It’s really not that funny,” you pouted. “So why are we talking about upgrades? We’re supposed to be enjoying this relaxing time.” You leaned back into your chair, closing your eyes once again. 

Charles started, “Well, on our cars they seem to be doing much better this year with pace, but it’s still not as fast as we’d like it to be.” 

You hummed, thinking about what it could be. “It could just be the balance distribution on the corners and such.” You leaned forward again, now hunched over as you looked at the laptop. Your head jutted toward Max. “How much are we allowed to help.” 

“As long as we don’t talk about specifics of the car, then we have free range, oh – thank you,” Max was replying but got cut off by a waiter with the food that was ordered. 

Drinks were passed around as well as lunches. You quickly grabbed one of your tacos and bit into it. The juices ran down your mouth as you tried to wipe it away. A towel was quickly thrust in your direction. You nodded in a thanks as you swallowed and wiped your chin. 

“So, does the car feel unbalanced in the corners?” you questioned to the two Ferrari drivers. 

“Non, the car feels good. Our pace is just not where we want it.”

You thought for a moment, “Then it might be the breaking or the overall strategy and tires. You two just need better strategists.” 

Carlos ran a hand down his face. “That is what we have been trying to tell them. But every years it’s ‘Oh, they will get better’ but then they don’t.” 

You nodded at this information, before taking another bite of your food. A thought popped into your head. 

“Could be the new design of your front wings,” you paused before adding, “or the gearbox.” 

“The gearbox,” Max said at the same time as you did. 

Charles snapped his fingers as his head turned towards his teammate. “That might be it.” 

You added, “If the gears don’t shift quickly or effectively, then you’re losing time in the laps instead of gaining. Especially when you downshift.” 

Carlos looked at you with amusement, “You really know your cars.” 

You shrugged as you took a drink of whatever fruity thing Max ordered you. “I thought about quitting F3 at one point to become an engineer for the cars.” 

Max cocked his head. “Why didn’t you though?” 

You smirked, “I kept winning.” Charles choked on his drink at your bluntness. “I also didn’t have enough money to go to school for a degree. Thought it would just be easier to continue.” 

Charles gave you a sad-ish smile. He knew what it was like to not have enough money to really pursue your dreams. Arthur knew that even more so. He was honestly glad that you didn’t give up or were forced to quit. Then Arthur wouldn’t have met you, he wouldn’t have met you, and so on. 

You brought him out of his thoughts, “Or the problem with your car might be just that you simply aren’t fast enough to catch us.” You shot the two rival drivers a wink before taking another sip. 

Max shot you a wide smile. “That might be it as well.” 

Carlos and Charles rolled their eyes, but both had a smile on their face. Once your food was finished, you stood up, making your way back to the pool. This time, it was Kelly and Penelope’s turn to get some food and drinks, and maybe a nap for P. 

You turned to the three before you got in. “Can someone play mermaids with me?” 

“No.”  

Y/n.89 has posted

they wouldn't play mermaids with me

tagged: charles_leclerc, carlossainz55, and maxverstappen1

liked by arthur_leclerc, kellypiquet, and 95,204 others

landonorris if I was there, I would have played mermaids smh

y/n.89 its ok -Charles ended up playing with me and P charles_leclerc yeah, after you threatened ME

y/n-lover petition for Charles to play a mermaid in Barbie 2 if they make one

y/n.89 yes charles_leclerc NO

danielricciardo max got sunburned didn't he

kellypiquet yes y/n.89 that would be correct, lobster right now carlossainz55 he hasn't leaned back against his chair in 15 minutes

maxverstappen1 why does Charles get a good picture and I don't

y/n.89 CAUSE HE PLAYED MERMAIDS charles_leclerc yeah, I played mermaids - take that verstappen maxverstappen1 I will RUN YOU OFF THE TRACK christianhorner please do not

box_box_official this is just y/n's world and we're just living in it

AND THAT'S A WRAP - I LOVE YOU ALL!! ON TO THE REGULAR SHOW

AN: This will be the last chapter until Christmas!!

Tag List : @awekbachira @lightdragonrayne @leilanixx @angsthology @topguncultleader @landosgirlxoxo @gods-menace @itsjustkhaos @thefandomswhre @alwaysboredsworld @vellicora @bintuabbas @sam-is-lost @empress-kimiko @assholeinatrenchcoat @kagatinkita @glitterquadricorn @zyonsay @tsukishimawhore @ashy-kit @agent-curt-mega @julesbabey @lydialawrence @stopeatread @claudia5912 @nichmeddar @blueberry64857959 @laura-naruto-fan1998 @leptitlu @alessioayla @badassturtle13 @kaaale @wcnorris @cool-ultra-nerd @hockeyboysarehot @agent-curt-mega @myxticmoon @cmleitora @sam-is-lost @misartymis @boiohboii @alexander-hamilhoe @jayda12 @indesicivelyconfuzzled @fangirl125reader @itscrzy @xcharlottemikaelsonx @fionaschicken @torchbearerkyle @ineedafictionalman @loaksmuntxa @classiclitfreak @sarcasm-ismy-onlydefense @luisie @jayda12 @comfortzonequeen @taylor-will-be-the-death-of-me @inejghafawifesblog @treehouse-mouse

[leclerc-hs]

after hours - cl16

Pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader Summary: based upon ‘After Hours’ by the Weeknd….kinda? Warnings: angst? bad writing lmao, some smut Word Count: 1,955 Author's Note: Feel free to send in requests. I know I'm not the best writer but I have fun doing it anyways lmao kk love u all!!!

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

IT WASN'T ALWAYS like this. This mess of a situation that had caused utter chaos and pain that now lays awake inside the both of you. You used to be happy.

“Without you I can’t sleep,”

In the midst of a restless night, you couldn’t help but toss and turn. You were thrashing around and the sheets were at complete disarray from your constant kicking and rolling around. The oppressive summer heat was merciless as it couldn’t help but creep in through your windows and into your apartment. You had stripped down into a mere spaghetti strapped tank top with the most diminutive semblance piece of underwear. One would question the classification of such a minuscule garment. Sleep, in these circumstances, appeared to be pointless.

You spent, what felt like hours, relentlessly scrolling on your phone in hopes you would eventually grow tiresome. And it was working at first. That is, until you saw the Instagram story of him. Him at the club with friends. While you lie here completely alone and restless. 

The initial reaction to seeing this story was to roll your eyes. By the time 5 minutes had passed and you were still staring at it, you couldn’t help but feel sick to your stomach. It just doesn’t make sense. How is it that he can be out partying while you’re in bed incapable of sleep. Did he not care? Did he ever even love you?

You began to laugh at yourself. Of course, he didn’t love you. If he loved you, he wouldn’t have kissed another girl. He would’ve fought for you more.

“Girl, I felt so alone inside of this crowded room,”

The swarm of heat surrounded him. But not from the humid summer air like you. No, his form of insufferable heat was from the crowd of drunken bodies that filled the club. His friends had dragged him out. Told him he needed to ‘stop moping around’. Told him that he ‘needs time with his boys’ to cheer up.

The irony of this all weighed heavily upon him. A relentless reminder of the gaping void you have left behind. It was as if you had woven yourself into the very fabric of his consciousness. A presence that refused to be ignored.

It had only been a few weeks since he saw you last. But still, you would never leave his mind.

But who is he to complain? Who is he to even care about how he feels when its him who had destroyed one of the only good things in his life. It was all a mistake. One he would absolutely take back and delete its existence if he had that kind of power. 

“I know I made you fall,”

“I just don’t understand how you could do this to me,” Your voice trembled with each shout of a word that you let out. The very walls that surrounded you felt as if they were caving in. It was unbearable. The act of betrayal was too blatant to ignore.

Your boyfriend in tabloids kissing another woman. Kissing another woman. Kissing another woman. Publicly. 

The words repeated in your head like a broken record.

“Mon amour,” he started. You cut him off almost instantly. You could not be silenced. 

It was too quick. So quick, you couldn’t even process the rage that was igniting within you. One second, you held his phone in your hand. The next second, it was shattered all over the floor beside him. Smashed from impact of hitting the wall. A mirror of what your trust for him looked like.

“Don’t call me that,” you seethed. You ached. “I’m not your anything.” 

His mouth opened ready to fight back. Ready to do anything for your forgiveness. He didn’t want to lose you. He couldn’t handle it. He needed you. 

“Not anymore,” you continued before grabbing your purse. “Don’t contact me. I can’t look at you.” You couldn’t even cry. Your eyes were red, puffy, and completely dry. Your body couldn’t even handle making more tears.

The worst part about this entire fight? Did you really want no contact, or did you just yearn for him to fight for you? The question loomed over you. 

Honestly, it’s a fine line. Deciding if the no contact really is the best option or if all you wanted was for him to show more effort for you. To try harder. Would you forgive him? Would you move on? 

“It was simply a blessing waking beside you,”

He couldn’t help but reminisce on all the mornings you spent together. Even at the club. He was shameless. 

The morning sun slowly began peeking through the cream-colored curtains of your bedroom. It was one of your favorite times. The time where you’re on the cusp of being lucid but not completely there yet. This time full of raw love and passion.

His fingers slowly trailed up your ribcage and to your nipples before giving them a slight pinch. Goosebumps arose wherever his fingers trailed.

“Mon amour,” his hips started rolling slowly into you.  Your nipple still pinched in between the rolling of his two fingers. “Give it to me” he said.

You were a moaning mess. “Please,” you were begging. Begging to reach that peak you oh so needed. 

“Tell me what you need,” The pace of his hips increased. The sound of skin to skin slapping mixed with the sounds of both of your moans filled the room and only pushed you towards the edge more. 

“Is it me, amour?” He started. “You always take me so well. So, fucking tight mon amour,” Charles was relentless now. His hips picked up pace urgently. He was feverishly reaching for that peak as well. He fucked himself into you so hard it was as if he was trying to burn the memory of you here with him for forever. 

“What a fucking salope,” He edged you further. “My fucking salope.”

“Come on, mon amour. Make a fucking mess of me,” It was right then. Your orgasm hit hard and fast. Your own thighs squeezed tighter together as you pulsed around him. His orgasm following soon after.

Charles breathed heavily behind you and placed gentle kisses along the backside of your shoulder blade. 

“You did so well, mon amour,” He pecked more kisses. “I never want to wake up without you.”

“Sorry that I broke your heart,”

It was well late into the night. In the dimly lit room, you found yourself wrapped in an emotional embrace. Hard knocks were heard on the front door of your apartment causing you to jump up in surprise. 

“Mon amour,” you heard him speak first on the other side of the door. You immediately stopped in your tracks. Your throat felt constricted. Those two words burned in your memory. It was as if mon amour had become your name. You couldn’t even remember the last time Charles used your real name. 

The tumultuous mixture of anger, betrayal, and love clawed at you. Making it difficult to discern your true feelings.

You hesitated. Whether you should open the door or not. His knocking became insistent. Loud. Each moment that passed his fist against the door went harder. 

Out of respect for your neighbors, you let him in. At least that’s what you told yourself to feel better. 

Charles was leaned against the door frame for support. He looked tired. A look of anger was in his eyes. He wasn’t in the right state of mind. He knew he had no right to be mad at you. But he was. He was being completely irrational as he marched his way over here.

“You are going to sit. You are going to listen to me,” He demanded as he pushed into your apartment. He gripped your wrist as he pulled you into the apartment and to the couch. You accept it anyways. Not because he deserved it, but because you need closure.

“The picture looks wrong,” he began. “I just need to explain this to you. Even if it doesn’t change anything.” He kneeled before you, in between your legs as he explained himself. His green eyes, a tad darker with a reddish tint lined around them, were staring solely into yours.

With a slight nod of your head, you let him continue.

“It’s all wrong. It’s not an excuse, but I did not kiss her back.” His words were sharp. As if he wanted to burn those words into your brain. 

“Pictures say otherwise, Cha,” you felt like you were going to throw up. This conversation burned tears into your eyes, but you did your best to hold them back. 

“She was a fan. She came up to me and grabbed me,” his hands slipped onto your knees and squeezed them tightly. “She grabbed me and kissed me.” His voice was cracking slightly as he let his head drop and rest on your legs.

You knew this information wouldn’t change much. It was still a kiss. One that shouldn’t have happened. 

“Whether she kissed you or you kissed her. It doesn’t change. Don’t you see?” You moved your knee so he would lift his head up. “It’s not going to change anything.” You said. You weren't even positive if it wouldn't change anything. But it was all that could come to mind. “It shouldn’t have even happened.”

“Mon,” 

You cut him off by standing up. “Would you stop calling me that!” You were shouting now. Walking from the confines of his presence. It was too much. He was too close. You couldn’t think properly. 

“I can’t,” He arose from his knees and stood beside the coffee table. “I will do anything.” It was then. His voice finally cracked, and you could sense that tears have started falling from his eyes. He didn’t even bother to wipe them as he sat down on the couch. Exactly where you were last seated. 

In a moment that could only be described as naïve or perhaps even foolish, the depth of your love for him exceeded all rationality. You couldn’t even stand to see him crying, even if he was the one who ignited these issues into your relationship. You still wanted to comfort him regardless. He didn’t deserve it and you knew that. But in this moment, you couldn’t even care if it made you weak. Because you wanted to feel his embrace too. 

You trailed back across the room to sit beside him to wrap your arms around him. The two of you entangled on the couch seeking some form of comfort. He didn’t deserve it – the comfort. Most importantly, didn’t deserve you. 

“I need you to leave,” you began. His arms wrapped tighter around you. He didn’t want to let go. It was as if his grip onto you as if he was physically holding onto what remained of your tattering connection. “Please.” You were begging as your head rested in the crook of his neck. 

You only felt him shake more. Undoubtedly, crying. But he understood.

“I just need space,” your voice was a fragile whisper. “I still love you. I miss you. I wish this never happened to us.” His lips pressed to any inch of skin that was within proximity. You felt his hot tears slip onto your skin with each kiss he pressed. 

The plea for space, while still expressing love and longing, demonstrates the need for personal boundaries and self-care.

“I will keep fighting for you,” He pulled away before standing up from the couch. “I will do anything. I promise you that. You are the love of my life.”

It wasn’t until then, that you felt your tears spill out of your eyes. With a small nod of your head, he walked out of the apartment with his heart still latched onto you. Yours with his. It was a tapestry of emotions left in wake.

[lightlycareless]

seeing your fic about naoya having a child and naming her after reader had me thinking; what if he had a daughter by y/n but then she died or the zen’in clan got rid of her and had him marry another woman to produce a son, but naoya raised naomi to be his sole heir and successor, even if he has children with the other woman?

Heya anon!!

WOW. This ask is sure angsty, or maybe I made it angsty with what I’ve written. But you were 100% right, Naoya wouldn’t really care for kids he might or may not have with other people. I mean, if he could, he would NOT but we’ll go into more detail at the end :)

For now, I’ll just let you enjoy what I’ve written hehe.

Warnings: angst. You’re dead. Naoya’s new wife is a bitch. Naomi is hurt :( I’m sorry, I’ll just get this over with, she was slapped. That bitch gets what she deserves anyways so…

Happy reading!

She doesn’t know you, but she already hates you.

The hindrance you represent, how you voided her one-way ticket to a new, fulfilling life—and all because of her husband’s unwillingness to move on from his dead ex-wife.

It rightfully infuriated her, mostly because she had been nothing but perfect when it came to complying with the Zen’in’s overwhelming demands.

If they wanted her to keep quiet, she’d never speak a word. If they wanted her to be obedient, she’d go beyond their expectations, there would be none more loyal than her.

And yet—her performance went undetected to her husband and his obsession with your presence.

From those stupid portraits of you scattered across the estate, to his chambers still filled with your garments…!

In a fit of anger, Kaede tried to get rid of them once and for all, grab them and toss them out the door for whoever found some use in them, if a dead woman’s clothes could still have some—but the moment Naoya caught wind of her intentions, he made sure she’d regret ever thinking of such stupid idea.

“Get your disgusting hands out of my wife’s clothes!” He growled, swiftly taking hold of her wrist and throwing her to the side, careless if she got hurt in the process. “Out— get it out my room, now!”

There’s no doubt in Kaede’s mind that if she weren’t protected by that flimsy marriage certificate, she would’ve met her end right there and then.

It wasn’t fair; it really wasn’t. That after all she’s given up to make him happy, Naoya is still hellbent on considering you as his one and only wife, the sole recipient of his affections, and assets.

But that wasn’t to be the worst of all.

In fact, the bane of her existence wasn’t the constant rejection of her so called husband, but rather, how she had given him a child by that point, a son, that was ought to effectively ensure her position in this family considering their gender—

And yet, Naoya has done nothing but reject his existence. Failing to claim him as his legitimate heir, or even name him…

In favor of that daughter, her mere existence stripping her of such right.

Once again, Kaede is reminded that she cannot compete with you.

You must’ve done some kind of witchcraft to have such a suffocating grip on Naoya, because the way he behaved even after years of your death wasn’t right.

It wasn’t natural.

She had to do something, and it had to be quick. Because his growing resentment only signified her eventual discardment, and Kaede had gone through so much to lose it all against a dead contender.

commodities.

But what could possibly be the answer to all her ailments?

Another son?

Or perhaps… a reminder of the prosperity she provides?

Through the scolding of an errant child, Naomi plays out that role when unwittingly crossing her path and bumping into her, accidentally spilling a bright colored drink on the expensive kimono her in-laws had gifted her at the announcement of her pregnancy.

Such tragedy, what an awful transgression, expected of a resentful child against her stepmother...

What a perfect stage.

“I’m—I’m sorry!” Naomi cried, tugging and pulling against the cruel woman’s hold on her hair as she’s guided away, somewhere, she didn’t know where— to be punished. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to!”

But no matter how much she pleaded, she had played right into her hands and there was no way in hell she’d let this opportunity go.

“Oh, you didn’t? Think I haven’t noticed how unfairly rude you’ve been to me since I married your father?!” Kaede lies, for Naomi has been nothing but courteous to her, though most of the time she prefers to keep to herself, distant, because she’s not precisely someone many would consider approachable.

And because her father asked her to as well.

“I’ve done nothing but be compassionate towards you, understanding of your pain now that your poor bitch of a mother isn’t around anymore.” She continues to berate. “And you? You’ve rejected me and my son from the very beginning! I ought to teach you a few things about respec—”

“My—my mama wasn’t a bi—bitch!” Naomi cries back, and her words, as if her resistance wasn’t infuriating enough, made something inside her snap.

It’s like you’ve—like you’ve brainwashed this whole family into holding you to such a high standard! Appraising you like some kind of goddess whose honor was much greater than their very existence!

Because here she was, casting lies against her character, but all that Naomi cared for was clearing your pristine image—the saint you were for these two… two stubborn fools!

But she’s had enough. Of these theatrics, of this blind loyalty…

And for once, she ought to use her title of mother, her father’s wife, to put a stop to this.

Even if she has to sacrifice Naomi for it.

“Shut up! For once, shut up!” Kaede yells, quickly raising her hand and striking your poor daughter across the face, sending her tumbling down to the wooden floor with a loud thud, soon followed by loud wails and calls for help, anyone to come rescue her from her stepmother’s madness—

But she had made sure to take her where no one would be able to intervene, no witnesses to account for. And those that lingered were simply too scared to do anything, selfishly putting their livelihoods above this young child’s innocence.

No one would end up caring for Naomi, no one… except, that is, the only person who would know when their child is in danger—a heartbroken, protective father that had long sworn to take care of his family and all that remained of his love’s legacy.

Rounding up your staff and making haste to her direction the moment he heard his supposed wife’s erratic cries.

Eyes wide and red at the infuriating sight of that disgusting woman looming over his precious child, making haste to grab her hand with such strength is bound to mark her for the following days.

“Na—Naoya!” Kaede gasps, startled as she attempts to fight him off, but she’s immediately forced to surrender when his hand flies up to her neck, choking her on the spot, barely giving her any time to explain herself, not that he cared to listen, and putting an end to her foolishness.

Permanently.

The last thing Naomi sees before your staff picks her up is the anger irradiating from his face, the vengeance burning in his eyes—a sentiment so distant from the loving father he’s always been with her, the man you’ve greatly spoken of… it almost seemed like a nightmare.

Like all that transpired was simply a figment of her imagination, a matter of sleeping it off and the following day would come along, fixing it all, as if nothing ever happened.

As if that were to clear the anguish settling in her heart.

But little Naomi couldn’t rest, not when her cheek and eyes still burned, her small heart loudly pounding against her chest as she tried to process the abuse her so-called stepmother had inflicted on her—no one, ever dared lay a hand on her. Less someone so close to her.

Not even the unwavering company of your loyal staff and their attempt of comfort through the sound of reassuring, kind words were able to quiet down the turmoil going through her mind. If anything, it only fueled it, a vivid reminder that all that transpired had been real, beyond a horrible dream.

A situation that wouldn’t have a proper conclusion once her father returned to her chambers, dismissing the ladies and taking a seat by her side, wrapping his arms around her and tightly holding her against his chest, to profess the words that further stirred her confusion.

“Papa, what—what happened? Where is she—” breathed, Naoya quiets her with a soft shh, kissing the top of her head. Naomi feels something warm soak her forehead.

“She’ll never bother us again. I’ve made sure of it.” She knows what it is now, feels it more—her father was crying.

“What… what did you do?”

“What I had to do to protect you” Is all that he says, no further explanation for when she’s never seen again around the estate, nor her so-called brother. “No one will harm you ever again, I promise.”

Rumors didn’t take long to spread like wildfire, nor whispers to infest the hallways, the staff’s and members of the clan’s futile attempt to uncover what truly happened that awful autumn evening, because it so happens, no one was around to see it.

They all knew of Kaede’s awful behavior towards Naomi, but her fate… was simply unwritten in the Zen’in’s history. Her legacy… gone.

Not that they would eventually know, since Naoya moved out of the estate with his daughter soon after that.

He was never remarried.

Ok so, let’s go through some things that I’m not sure they were properly detailed here, or things I want to detail lol:

That kid he had with his so-called new wife, unwanted. No consent was given. We can go with either he was drugged, sa’d to conceive that child, or she did the same thing but with someone else and just acted like it was Naoya’s. Maybe did it willingly to get back at him or something, but the bottom line is that kid couldn’t be any more irrelevant to Naoya.

Secondly, I think the ending could be interpreted two ways? 1. He either left the estate but is still part of the clan so he’s just waiting to become head of the family to come back and make things right for his daughter, or 2. He left the clan. He no longer associates with the Zen’in. I, personally, go with the first one. But if motivated enough, I think he might cut ties with them. You’re open to choose whatever you want :)

Well, get a few more dead y/n asks to write down… surprisingly. I wonder what that means lol 😂 anyways, it’s always a treat to write angst stuff!!! Keep it coming hehe. And thank you so much for sending in this!

Now, take care and hope to see you soon!

[derww]

DEVOTIONS WEEK DAY 2: POTIONS/DEATH

CW: Suicide attempt, suicidal ideations, mental breakdown, ableism, DDDNE

This is the first thing Zam does when he realizes that everything he has done this season has been absolutely useless: he kills himself.

Okay, he tries: he abruptly turns away, throws off all his armor, takes a few springy steps, and then jumps down. The height is small, but he has ridiculously few hearts, so it's enough...

A moment before landing something breaks on top of his head, and the fall does not cause any damage. The nasty swamp slime gets into his mouth, and he spits it out, at the same time shaking off the glass stuck in his hair.

– What do you think is the probability that he has milk? – Pyro asks Spoke, tossing another splash bottle in his hand. Zam stares at him. How the fuck did he even hit? He is disgusting and wet. He has milk, but only in the enderchest, and he is not stupid enough to believe that he will be given time to drink it. Or that it would make any difference.

– I don't know, man, – Spoke spreads his hands, – like, high? Doesn't matter. Let's continue my supervillain speech. Time is not infinite, you know.

He doesn't want to continue the conversation. He pukes on the spot. He reeks of corpse rot. He doesn't want to be here. He doesn't want to be anywhere at all. Oh, God, can he just fucking die already?

Mapicc rolls his eyes. He looks annoyed, but not surprised. He and Spoke exchange understanding glances. Zam mechanically wipes his mouth from vomit, staring past them. There are too many things around. Everything is too bright and distinct. He wants to pierce through his belly with a sword, and he is horrified to realize that this will not help.

They- they don't even laugh at his insignificance and helplessness, they see it as an expected hindrance, as something that will happen when you tell the PrinceZam about the impending apocalypse. For some reason, it's so much worse. The vomit is creeping up in his throat again.

Step. Another. Third. This time he jumps into the void – because the Abyss kills anything, and even if not, suffocating in the infinity is still better than being next to them. That's the only thing he wants right now – to die.

He barely does not manage to reach y 0 when he is teleported back to their feet, and he falls to the knees. He violently coughs up bile. Deep disgust fills every cell of his body.

– Listen, – Mapicc says wearily, – let's skip this part. Yes, Spoke has backdoored the server, yes, he has an OP, and yes, no mundane plots have any meaning anymore. Wormhole will open in a week. Are you with us?

He lowers his head. His hands are shaking. He wants to wash himself. He wants to be anywhere else. He wants warm clothes and soft food. He wants to go home and bake a pumpkin pie. He wants to kill himself.

– Earth to the PrinceZam,– Spoke snaps fingers in front of his face, – bro, hang off. I need your answer. I'm only giving you a choice anyway because you're different. Be faster.

He opens his mouth and stutters and gasps. Nothing in his body works properly. For the first time in months, he can't say anything. Why-why at all. What's the difference. They can't make his life worse. They won't be able to mess up any more. They are not-

A blurry image with black and red appears in front of his face. Black hair. A pale face. A red hoodie. Bandana. Horns. Zam doesn't have to think about it to know that it's Mapicc.

– Listen, – Mapicc's voice comes to him as if from under water, - I know it's hard, – no, he has no idea, – and really, really sucks. but this is the situation we find ourselves in now. Right now, you don't have to do much, right now you just need to make one decision. Okay?

Something inhuman is bursting out of him. He's throwing up again. Mapicc sighs.

– Hey, – he says too calmly, – it's hard, I know. But not worse than the end of season two, right? – much, much worse, – just take a deep breath, exhale, give yourself time to think and make a decision, okay? And we'll leave you alone.

He can't. He can't. He is not-

– If I refuse, – he says, dead–straight, – will you let me die?

– No, of course not, – Spoke's voice comes from somewhere to the side, and he doesn't have enough strength to turn his head, – why did we try otherwise? Wait for the Wormhole, and I'll think about it. Maybe I'll give you endless effects, or maybe I'll let you die in peace. Who knows? I haven't decided yet.

– Don't listen to him, – Mapicc interrupts, irritated, – don't think about it. Just decide whether you want to destroy this world or fight for its preservation. If you want to keep it, the defenders will pick you up sooner or later. If you want to destroy it, you will become the third with me and Spoke. We will work together. Like before.

He's looking past them. His heart is beating too fast.

– if I join you, – he says dryly, – will you let me die?

– When you will finish your work? – Spoke giggles, – yeah, sure, why not. It wouldn't matter.

He swallows a lump. His throat hurts. Mapicc seems to be looking right at him. He's suffocating. He doesn't want any of this.

– Okay, – he says in the end, – I'll help you. And then you'll let me go.

Spoke grins.

– And that's the deal! Good job, PrinceZam. That's more like it.

At least Mapicc and I will be friends again, he thinks detachedly. At least there's anything good about it. Maybe I can get over it. Even if it's only to get the fuck out later.

[whitedarkmoonflower]

Reunited 3

Part 3

Pairing: modern!Sihtric x reader with a side story of modern!Sigtryggr x reader

Authors note: it's been over a year since I wrote modern!Sihtric so please be gentle with me. I actually never wanted abandon this story, but somehow, I just couldn’t find the motivation to continue. Writing modern!Sihtric isn’t as close to my heart; I always worry that putting him in a new setting might make him lose his true character. But after all the messages and asks about it, I decided it’s time to finish this story. And honestly, I’ve missed them—my reckless photographer Sihtric and the strong yet love-starved designer reader. They deserve their story told to the end. And guess what? This isn’t the end… not just yet.

Warnings: heartbreak, use of alcohol

Summary: It was supposed to be a short two week trip that turned into five long years apart, just because your best friend couldn't keep her mouth shut. Will the reader and Sihtric manage to repair their broken relationship and find their way back to each other?

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Word Count: 3,4 K

Sihtric jumped out of bed the moment the first pale morning light slipped through the curtains—not that he’d gotten much sleep anyway. He’d spent most of the night tossing and turning as pieces of your brief exchange from the day before replayed in a relentless loop. Every attempt to find sleep was met with fleeting, fragmented memories—torn images of the time you had shared together flashing behind his closed eyes..

With a tired sigh, he rubbed a hand over his face, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle in his bones. He got dressed quickly, pulling on his old jeans and a black shirt, mind already spinning on how to approach you today. What would you even think? Would you let him get a word in, or would you just...shut him out?

He wandered down the hallway and stopped, catching sight of himself in the mirror. Dark circles under his eyes, hair a complete disaster—he looked like he’d just survived a brawl with his own bed. He huffed at his reflection, running a hand through his hair as if that might help.

"What are you even doing, Sihtric?" he muttered under his breath. "Trying to put together a life that looks whole, but you know it's a mess. She just had to show up and—" He stopped himself, eyes narrowing. "Yeah, like that’s her fault."

He took a deep breath, looking himself straight in the eyes. "You’re just running," he admitted softly. "All this time, just running from what’s right in front of you." But seeing you again had shattered his illusion—the little world he’d built up piece by piece to distract himself from the truth. Now, there was no denying it: nothing he’d done, no walls he’d put up, could fill the void you’d left behind.

Grabbing his camera bag, Sihtric slung it over his shoulder and headed out the door. The crisp morning air hit him the second he stepped outside, but it did nothing to cool his mind, still swirling with frustration and a pang of something he didn’t want to name. Longing, maybe.

By the time he got to the set, the usual hustle was already in full swing. Assistants darted around setting up lights, models shuffled in with their stylists, and the low hum of chatter filled the space. Sihtric made his way to his station, eyes scanning the room without even meaning to—searching for you. And when he finally spotted you across the room, his heart stumbled.

You looked so focused, completely locked in, like the rest of the world didn’t even exist. He remembered that look so well—your intensity, your ability to tune out everything and just create. It was one of the things he’d always admired about you, what had pulled him in from the start. But now? Now it just reminded him how far he felt from the person you’d once cared about.

Taking a shaky breath, Sihtric made up his mind to walk over. His heart hammered as he crossed the room, not sure what he’d even say—but knowing he couldn’t just keep quiet.

—---------------------------------

The soft hum of equipment, the chatter of the crew, and the droning voice of the girl responsible for the outfits—the so-called "wardrobe manager" these days—all blended into an indistinct background noise as you tried to focus on the day ahead. Every sound seemed distant, almost muffled, as if you were underwater, your mind too preoccupied with the storm of emotions swirling inside you.

“I would suggest pairing this silk blouse with the high-waisted trousers for the first look,” the wardrobe manager continued, her voice lacking enthusiasm, as if she had said it a hundred times before. “It has a timeless feel. Or we could go for something more daring—maybe this leather jacket and skirt combo for the edgier shots?”

You barely registered her words, absentmindedly flipping through the wardrobe selections as though you were deeply engaged, but in truth, you were just stalling. Anything to keep your hands busy, to avoid the inevitable confrontation that seemed to hang in the air like a storm cloud. You nodded vaguely, hoping your disinterest wasn’t too obvious.

You had barely slept. The events from the day before played in a loop in your mind, each thought swirling with fragments of Sihtric's face, his voice, and the burning resentment you felt towards him. The way he had casually greeted you after all these years, like nothing had happened—like he hadn’t broken you into pieces. It was infuriating.

As you examined a sequined gown, you heard footsteps approaching. There was no need to look up to know who it was. Sihtric's presence had a weight, a pull that you used to find comforting, but now it felt suffocating. Your posture stiffened, and your expression instantly hardened.

“Hey,” Sihtric’s voice was soft, tentative, as though testing the waters. “Can we talk?” he asked quietly, careful not to attract too much attention from the others.

You gave the wardrobe manager a soft, halfhearted smile, hoping she'd catch the hint, but her mind was clearly elsewhere. She was too busy batting her lashes, her gaze locked on Sihtric with flushed cheeks and a little lip-bite, practically radiating a crush.

You couldn’t help the smirk tugging at the corners of your mouth as you watched her, caught in that painfully familiar moment as a humiliating flashback hit you—he’d had the same effect on you the first time you met…and, well, he still did. It was maddening, really. You sighed inwardly, silently cursing yourself for being just as foolish.

Clearing your throat a bit too deliberately, you broke the silence, snapping her back to reality.

The girl’s blush deepened, spreading across her face like wildfire. "Oh, um—sorry," she mumbled, eyes dropping to the floor as she scrambled to grab her things. She gave a quick, flustered nod and practically bolted, nearly tripping over her own feet in her rush to escape.

You didn’t even bother to turn around. “I’m busy,” you said flatly, flipping to the next outfit on the rack.

“I know,” he replied, tension lacing his voice, “but we need to talk. Yesterday—”

“Yesterday was nothing,” you cut him off, finally turning to face him with a cold, distant stare. You saw the hurt flicker across his face. “You don’t get to pretend we’re still friends or that there’s anything left between us.”

Sihtric’s gaze dropped for a second, and he ran a hand through his tousled hair, clearly searching for the right words. “I didn’t expect to see you, okay? I was… surprised.”

You crossed your arms, trying to build a barrier, anything to shield yourself from the vulnerability that crept up when you saw him yesterday. “Surprised? That’s your excuse? After everything you did? You threw me away like I was nothing.”

His head snapped up, a flash of guilt flickering over his face. “I didn’t— It wasn’t like that,” he said quickly, taking a step closer, but you backed away on instinct. “You don’t know the whole story.”

Your laugh was sharp, humorless. “I know enough. I know you moved on. Fast.”

Your gazes finally met, and for a moment, Sihtric caught a glimpse of something in your eyes—pain, anger, maybe even something else—but whatever it was vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “I never stopped thinking about you. I just didn’t know how to—”

“Stop.” You held up a hand, cutting him off. “I don’t care what you did or didn’t think about. You made your choice. Believe it or not, I’ve moved on too.”

Sihtric clenched his jaw, feeling the weight of your words like a punch in the chest. The distance between you felt insurmountable, like a chasm that had opened long ago and now couldn’t be bridged.

“I get that you’re angry,” he said quietly, one last attempt to break through the wall you’d put up. “I would be too. But please, I owe you an explanation for why I—”

“Enough!” Your voice came out sharper than you’d intended, drawing a few curious glances from nearby crew members. Taking a deep breath, you tried to pull yourself back to calm.

“Whatever you think you owe me, I don’t want it,” you replied, fighting to keep your tone steady and unaffected. “It’s been five years, Sihtric. There’s nothing left to say.”

Sihtric shifted uncomfortably, like he wanted to protest. His mouth opened, but no words came out. You watched him struggle for some excuse or explanation, but you didn’t care. Not anymore.

"Sihtric," you said, voice cold like a bucket of ice water, “we have work to do. We’re not friends; we’re not anything. So let’s just keep this professional and do what we’re here to do.”

His jaw tightened, frustration and regret clouding his expression. “I didn’t want it to end up like this,” he murmured, almost to himself.

You shook your head, reinforcing the walls around your heart with every second that passed. “It’s too late for that.” Not waiting for his response, you turned back to the wardrobe rack, hands busy sorting through hangers, making it clear the conversation was over.

Sihtric stood there, lingering longer than he probably should have, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other and running a hand through his hair, as if that might somehow bring the right words to mind. He stole one last glance at you, hoping you’d change your mind or give him a sign, any sign, that there was still a chance. But when nothing came, he let out a quiet sigh and started to make his way back to his station.

His steps were slow, reluctant, and every few paces he glanced back, his eyes searching for you among the bustling set. Even as he reached his spot by the cameras, he couldn’t stop himself from casting a look in your direction, hoping for even the smallest hint of softness in your expression. But there was nothing—nada, zip. Just your back, straight and unyielding, radiating a chill that could’ve kept an ice rink frozen solid.

The tension lingered in the air, but you forced yourself to push through it. Work came first, and you weren’t about to let Sihtric’s sudden reappearance unravel everything you’d built in the past five years. You had built a new life—one that didn’t include him. Letting him back in wasn’t an option.

But as you sifted through the outfits, your hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

—-----------------------------------

Sihtric sat at the bar, shadows casting across his face in the dim light. It was one of those fancy, expensive places that tried too hard to look casual—exposed brick walls, soft jazz in the background, and bartenders in tailored vests who looked like they’d just stepped out of an old movie.

He was a regular here now, the kind of guest who turned heads the moment he walked in. In the last five years, Sihtric had become something of a celebrity in the fashion world—a photographer whose bold, daring shoots pushed boundaries and set trends. 

He stared blankly at his half-empty glass of whiskey, swirling the amber liquid as if it held any answers. This was his routine now—numbing himself in fancy bars that felt as cold and empty as he did inside. The photoshoot earlier had been brutal; each moment you ignored him twisted the knife in his chest a little deeper.

Another drink. Another night.

The bartender shot him a questioning glance, and Sihtric nodded for another round before he even had to ask. As the glass refilled, his thoughts circled back to you—how easily you’d shut him out, the distance in your eyes. His mind fought to make sense of it, but his heart knew the truth. You were done with him. He’d clung to some small hope for a sign, even an argument, anything but the indifference you showed him.

But you didn’t care anymore, and that truth gnawed at him like an open wound.

A hand slid over his shoulder, fingers trailing down his arm. At first, he barely noticed, his attention locked on the empty space where his heart used to be. A woman leaned in, her perfume cutting through the haze, whispering something playful in his ear. He turned to look at her—tall, brunette, model-like features.

Sihtric forced a smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. “Buy you a drink?” he asked, his voice rough from the whiskey and everything he was holding back.

She giggled, fingers tracing circles on his arm, but he barely felt it. This was all mechanical now. He knew where this was going—a few more drinks, some empty flirting, a messy, fleeting distraction that would only leave him feeling emptier by morning. The same hollow routine.

A few hours later, they ended up in his apartment, just like he’d predicted. She lay sprawled on his bed, dark hair spilling over the pillows, murmuring soft words he wasn’t really listening to.

He moved against her, but his mind was miles away, lost somewhere far from the woman beneath him. Each motion felt mechanical, his body on autopilot, no real connection—no spark, no passion. Every touch, every thrust felt like an echo of something he used to feel, now reduced to emptiness. Sihtric barely registered the soft sounds she made, her murmurs fading into the background as his thoughts drifted back to you.

Even here you were haunting him like a ghost he couldn’t shake. He tried to push the memories away, but they clung to him—the way you laughed, how your eyes softened when they met his, the way your body felt under his fingers when you were close. None of this was the same. Each fleeting distraction only reminded him of what he’d lost, of what he’d ruined.

As she wrapped her arms around Sihtric’s neck, pulling him closer, he closed his eyes, trying to focus, to lose himself in the moment. But all he saw was you and all he felt was the aching emptiness in his chest.

When it was over, he rolled off her, breathing heavily as he stared up at the ceiling. The silence between them stretched on, pressing down like a weight. She snuggled into his side, her head on his shoulder, but her warmth only made him feel colder inside.

“That was amazing,” she whispered, soft and content.

Sihtric didn’t respond. He couldn’t. The words just wouldn’t come, because nothing about this felt amazing. It felt like another mistake—a mistake he kept making, hoping it would fill the emptiness, even though he knew it never would.

He waited until she drifted off to sleep, her breath slow and even against his chest. Then, carefully, he untangled himself from her, slipping out of bed and pulling on his jeans. The room was dark, save for the sliver of moonlight filtering through the curtains, casting shadows across the floor.

As he stood there, staring down at the woman who had become just another face in a long line of temporary distractions, Sihtric felt a wave of disgust wash over him—not at her, but at himself. This wasn’t who he used to be. This wasn’t the man you had fallen in love with.

—----------------------------------

The art gallery buzzed with excitement as you walked in, Gisela right by your side. You’d been to openings like this before, but tonight felt different—there was an electric vibe in the air, like everyone knew they were about to see something incredible. Gisela had been hyping up this exhibition for weeks, raving about the young, talented painter she’d discovered: Sigtryggr.

“You’re going to love his work,” Gisela said with a grin, leading you through the crowd. “He’s brilliant. And I have a feeling you two will get along. There’s just something about him…” She gave you a teasing look, but you brushed it off, not really sure what she meant.

As you made your way through the gallery, you couldn’t help but get drawn into the paintings. Bold, vibrant strokes blended with softer, more intimate details, each piece telling a story. Sigtryggr’s art was captivating—a perfect mix of emotion and precision that made it hard to look away. There was a rawness in his work that hit close to home, stirring up feelings you hadn’t let yourself feel in a long time.

“Do you like it?” a voice broke through your thoughts.

You turned to find a man standing beside you, his features soft yet undeniably striking. His long, light hair framed his face almost ethereally, and his deep blue eyes held a warmth mixed with intensity. His gentle smile put you instantly at ease.

“Yeah, it’s... breathtaking,” you said, glancing back at the painting. “There’s so much emotion in it. It feels personal.”

Sigtryggr smiled, his eyes softening. “I’m glad you think so. It is personal, in a way. Each piece is a part of me—things I’ve seen, felt, or imagined. Sometimes, painting’s the only way I know to get those feelings out.”

His voice was soft but sincere, and something about him took you by surprise—a calmness and sweetness that felt rare. In the back of your mind, you couldn’t help but feel faint echoes of someone else, someone who had once stirred your heart just as deeply.

The next hour slipped by as you talked with Sigtryggr, his presence unexpectedly comforting. He was charming without being over the top, and his quiet humor reminded you of simpler times. As you shared stories, you found yourself laughing more freely than you had in a long time. His quiet confidence and the way he really listened drew you in.

From across the room, you kept catching Gisela’s amused glances, her knowing smile hard to miss. You knew she’d set this up, but for once, you didn’t mind. As the evening wore on, Sigtryggr’s sweetness and his genuine interest in you started chipping away at the walls you’d built around your heart.

As the crowd began to thin, Sigtryggr turned to you with a soft smile. “I’d love to see you again if you’re interested. Maybe we could grab a coffee, or check out another gallery sometime?”

You hesitated, but the warmth in his eyes and the ease you felt around him made it impossible to refuse. “I’d like that.”

—---------------------------------------

A few weeks later, you found yourself spending more time with Sigtryggr, getting to know him better. Each time you met, you couldn’t help but notice how much he reminded you of Sihtric—the quiet intensity, the focus he poured into his work, the way he always held a little something back. But unlike Sihtric, there was no darkness in his eyes, no heaviness or regret. Sigtryggr was just... calm, confident, kind.

Your dates were simple and easy—strolls through art districts, cozy coffee shop stops, gallery visits, all filled with comfortable conversation. Sigtryggr had this natural way of making you feel at ease, giving you closeness without any pressure. He never pushed, never asked about your past, though you could tell he sensed something was holding you back.

Still, no matter how good things felt, you often caught yourself comparing him to Sihtric. The way Sigtryggr laughed, the thoughtful pauses he took—little things kept bringing Sihtric to mind, as if his shadow lingered over every new connection you tried to build.

One evening, after a particularly sweet date, Sigtryggr walked you home. Standing at your doorstep, you looked at him, emotions swirling. He held your gaze, eyes soft, as if he could see what you were feeling but didn’t need to hear it. Slowly, he reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering gently at your cheek. His gaze dipped to your lips, and he took a careful breath before leaning in.

When he kissed you, it was soft, unhurried, like he wanted to savor every moment. One hand rested at the curve of your jaw, the other slipped to the small of your back, drawing you a bit closer. He tasted faintly of coffee, his touch steady and grounding, and as his thumb brushed gently against your cheek, a warmth spread through you, melting away the lingering shadows of doubt.

The world around you faded as the kiss deepened, his lips exploring yours with a slow, tender intensity that felt both comforting and thrilling. You found yourself relaxing, melting into him, letting go of the weight you’d been carrying. For a moment, all that mattered was him, here, now.

When he finally pulled back, he searched your face with those gentle eyes of his, his thumb still tracing small circles on your cheek. “Are you okay?” he asked softly, his voice low and full of concern.

You took a shaky breath, feeling the old memories tugging at you again. “It’s not you,” you said, unsure how to explain the tangled mess inside you. “It’s… someone from my past.”

Sigtryggr’s expression remained calm, though you caught a flicker of understanding in his eyes. “You don’t have to explain,” he said gently, his voice soothing. “I know it’s hard to move on from someone who meant so much to you.”

You blinked, surprised by his perceptiveness. “How did you…?”

He gave a faint smile, a small shrug. “You wear it on your face sometimes, the way you get that distant look when something reminds you of him. But I’m not here to rush you. I just want to spend time with you, however you need.”

His words touched you deeply, and for the first time in a long time, you felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, it was possible to let go of the past and let someone else in.

As you said goodnight, something inside you shifted. Sigtryggr wasn’t Sihtric—he was his own person, with his own gentle sweetness, one that felt like it could help you heal. And for the first time in years, you allowed yourself to believe in a future worth exploring, not centered on what you’d lost but on what you might still find.

[drurrito]

Home

A/N: You're going to have to pry retired!avengers reader x Natasha au from my cold, dead hands. Anyway, I wanted to see if I could quickly churn out a little something before needing to focus my attention on this stupid MSJ memo.

From a drabble list: #34 - "The boxes are all labeled incorrectly."

Parings: Natasha x Reader

Warnings: time...and it's a little angsty ig but there's a happy ending.

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

You slice through the tape with ease and toss the box cutter to the side.

"Huh, so that's where I packed my boxing gear," you lift your gloves out of the box and set them aside. Moving has been anything but a breeze. Natasha finally pried your last remaining stubborn fingers that had a death grip on your life as an Avenger. Your retirement party was too-perfect. Even Fury was there to send you off. You hated it. Natasha knew from the jump you wanted to die an Avenger, not some washed-up hero that spent retirement trying to find anything to fill the bottomless void left from no longer being needed by the world anymore.

But you love Natasha much, much more than you hate not being an Avenger.

She tried to make it up to you, even picking a house that has a home theater and game room for your poker nights with Tony and the boys. Someplace by the beach while being close enough to the S.H.I.E.L.D. training facility so you can sleep in as long as possible before having to train recruits.

Your new life scares you much more than any bullet, bomb, or power-hungry warlord ever could.

You hear the front door open and keys drop onto the new marble counter that Natasha spent weeks curating. The familiar clicking of heels draws nearer. You feel your wife's nails drag across your back before her fingers dig into the knots between your shoulders.

"There you are," Natasha's voice is so gentle, it has been since your retirement party. She always knew what she wanted with you, and you never gave her reason to doubt you would meet her halfway. Retirement was the last step she needed you to take into this new chapter of your lives. Most people would have rather opted to watch paint dry, but she would have waited forever for you if you needed it.

"How's the unpacking going?" Natasha rests her head on top of yours, letting her arms drape around your neck. You instinctively lean back into her and take a few breaths. Among the most chaotic scenes, Natasha has always been your safe place to land.

"We're making some progress," you trail off, both of your eyes scanning the room that's littered in torn, sliced, and otherwise unopened boxes. You feel Natasha heave a loud sigh against your back. Her arms come up to your shoulders to give you a sympathetic squeeze.

"Wait, why are my dishes in your underwear box?"

You chew on your bottom lip for a moment to buy yourself some time, "because...the boxes are labelled incorrectly."

"And who was in charge of labelling the boxes?"

"I was," you try not to sound so deflated, Natasha's laugh echoes through the mostly empty house.

"Should've hired the recruits to do our dirty work," she smirks and pulls out her phone, "I'll get us take out."

You watch her rattle off your favorite order as she walks down a barren hallway. Maybe retirement won't be so bad after all.

[oneshots-heaven]

“Sleeping Mates" — Timothée Chalamet

What are you supposed to do when your best friend answers to your ’Can't sleep' text with a cheeky ’Come sleep with me' but you refuse due to your feelings for him?

WARNING True heartfelt fluff with some spice and angst Timothée Chalamet x Reader

You were tossing and turning in your bed, the sheets already stripped down to your hips as the city lights flooded your room. Your body felt on fire, and while your limbs felt tired and begged your mind to find some rest, it didn’t. You were wide awake, grasping your pillowcase, quietly groaning into it. 

It had been the third night this week you struggled to fall asleep, and by now you knew you couldn’t blame it on the weather, neither on the city lights. It had thundered on the first night you couldn’t sleep and spent the entire next day blaming it on the weather. The second night, it had been chilly and rained all day, perfect temperature to have a good sleep, but instead you had stayed up almost the entire night. 

You knew it must be another reason for you to be so restless lately, but you couldn’t explain to yourself what it was. There was nothing wrong in your life right now, literally not a single thing you had to worry about. While of course, there were the usual ups and downs life had to offer, you were doing good. 

Turning back onto your back, you sighed as your hands searched for your phone, laying somewhere close by in your bed. Blinking against the bright screen, you checked the time. 

2:38 AM. 

Your tired arms gave in, laying the phone back down as you stared at the ceiling. The street lights brought the tiniest bit of light into the darkness of your room. There was only that, darkness filled with tiredness and admittedly, a bit of loneliness, as you felt like the only person awake around your block. 

Grabbing your phone again, you checked the time once again. Not even a minute had passed, and it would only become more painful if you kept staring at it. Your finger hovered over the touchscreen, having no clue what to do. No solution came to your mind, everything only seemed to make it worse. 

Unconsciously, you opened the messages, seeing the last chat with your best friend. You had sent him a video of his sister and you mocking his last fit, to which he had answered with some angry emojis. It still made you smile as you knew how eager he had become with his fashion looks, he liked making a statement and trying new things.

You stared at the chat, swiping upwards, reading some of your older texts. Timothée and you had been best friends for years now after having met more or less by pure coincidence. It was the easiest friendship you’ve ever had in your entire life, and somehow neither of you had ever questioned it, what you truly were, what you were supposed to be. It was just easy, he could focus on his movie career and you on your degree. Sometimes you didn’t hear from each other for weeks or even months, and yet you still always knew you had a friend for life. It felt like a lifeline. 

One that you felt the need for now. 

To: Timothée

Can’t sleep

This was stupid, he probably wouldn’t answer anyway. Knowing him, he was knocked out since 11 PM, peacefully sleeping in his bed two streets down the block. 

Just as you wanted to put your phone away again, it buzzed in your hand. You blinked in surprise, yet frowned as you checked it. 

From: Timothée 

come sleep with me

You slightly sat up in bed, your eyes still fixed on his response, your hand clutched hard around your phone, as if you could lose it any second. Your chest suddenly felt like a panicked void, completely caught off-guard. You blinked and read the text again. For a second you weren’t sure if this wasn’t just a fever dream, however it was very much real, it was right there. 

And yet it still felt surreal, although there was no reason to be surprised like that. Timothée and you were as close as the text hinted, saying stuff like that wasn’t a rarity. From the day you’d met, there had been this unspoken closeness between you two, a space where you could be whatever you wanted to be. It felt so natural that you had never questioned it, not until now. While you had had sleepovers at each other’s places and shared hotel rooms multiple times in the past, it just never was as intimate as inviting someone to purposely sleep besides you. 

This had to be a joke. 

All of the sudden, after whatever much time had passed, your phone buzzed again. 

From: Timothée

are you there or asleep already?

You pressed your lips together, your fingers itching to type an answer. 

To: Timothée

No, I’m here. Still can’t fall asleep.

Seconds later, your phone buzzed once more. 

From: Timothée 

open your door then

Disbelief kept you right where you were, hesitating. He wasn’t at your door, that was ridiculous. Why would he come over in the middle of the night? You tried to fight it, but the what if in your head was much louder. You let go of your phone, pushing the blanket aside before you stumbled through the dark hallways of your apartment. You must look like an absolute mess, but with the force you unlocked your door and pulled it open, it was clear you didn’t care at all. All your heart desired was to see if he was actually there. 

Clothed in a hoodie despite the nightly freezing temperatures outside, Timothée stood in front of your apartment door, his eyes flying up to meet yours. His face softened as he caught sight of you. “Hey,“ he mumbled, still sounding groggy from his previous sleep. 

Overwhelmed by the fact that he was actually here, you glanced at him wordlessly for a brief moment, before replying a soft ’Hey’. 

“Can I come in?“ 

You nodded, unable to form any words with your numbed tongue. It felt like your brain had stopped working, a complete malfunction of basic behavior. You remained standing in the doorway before ever so slowly stepping aside for Timothée to step in. You hadn’t expected this, you hadn’t expected to see him at this hour. 

Timothée walked further in your apartment as you closed the door behind him, starring at his back, right until he turned back around to you. “You okay?“ he questioned, making you feel caught. 

“Yes,“ you breathed. 

Pushing his hands in the pockets of his loose fitted sweatpants, he said, “Just can’t sleep, hm?“ 

Pressing your lips together, you leaned against the kitchen counter, nodding. You felt so out of place. What was this? Why did this feel not like usual, not like any other situation in your friendship and instead so different?

“Have had trouble sleeping for some days now. I don’t know why, I just can’t seem to find any rest.“ 

“Want me to make some tea? Talk you tired?“ he offered. “No offense, but you do look pretty exhausted.“ 

You chuckled quietly. “Well, I am pretty exhausted. But you don’t have to do all that. I just need to finally fall asleep.“ 

“Let’s go to bed, then.“ 

There were a million questions in your head, putting in question all sort of things. Go to bed, together? What will happen then? Will you sleep next to me? But first and foremost, why are you here now? While all of this was highly confusing to you, you didn’t stop yourself from following him to your bedroom. Your bed was the proof of your restless nights. The covers laid crumbled aside, pillows were laying everywhere, but were they fit right. Nothing about your bed looked comfy right now, but rather like a chaotic, stressful mess.

Timothée, without another word, made the space his own, grabbing one of the bigger pillows and fluffed it out before doing the same to the other. Stripping his sweater and throwing it on the ground, he stood on the other side of the bed, looking at you. He was still clothed in his low hanging sweatpants and a t-shirt, yet your cheeks flushed at the sight of him. 

It was the ease with how he did things. Without hesitation, without fear, because that was what your friendship had always been about—safety without any doubt. His smile offered the same comfort that you’d always known, and although the confusion didn’t leave you, you felt a little more relaxed to get into bed, just as he did too. 

This was just like any other sleepover, this didn’t mean anything more than any other time before, or at least that was what you told yourself. Timothée laid next to you, hauling under the same blanket as you, feeling so close yet far away in your queen sized bed.

The city lights brought enough light into your bedroom to see the contours of his face as you took a glimpse at him. Your fingertips tickled in desperate desire to touch his face, to draw your finger along his strong jaw over to his soft lips, but you denied yourself to give into that desire. Your hands stayed where they should be, laying to close to your body on either side. You laid in your own bed like a corpse, paralyzed to move or make yourself more comfortable, because you felt so fearful to get too close to him, and he seemed to notice. 

“Relax,“ he whispered into the dark. 

“I am relaxed,“ you assured him, lying through your gritted teeth. 

He snorted quietly, suddenly you felt his hand shaking your shoulder lightly. “No, don’t lie,“ he said, his voice sounding like a true beg. “You’re tensed as hell, no wonder why you can’t sleep like that. You need to let your body loose, like you’re sleeping in a hammock.“

“In a hammock, you say?“ you laughed. “I don’t think—“ 

“Yes, don’t think. Don’t overthink anything right now, that’s too much brain activity.“ 

At this point, you felt like he was mumbling bullshit, you could hear it in his voice. Before you texted him, he must’ve been asleep or close to sleeping already, he sounded groggy, yet ever so concentrated on making you feel just as sleepy. 

“I cannot not think. That feels impossible.“ you argued, which was the truth, especially now with him next to you in bed at this late hour. It was in the middle of the night, he should’ve been fast asleep and instead he had been suddenly standing in front of your door. You couldn’t concentrate on sleeping when your body was so hyperaware of his. 

“Why?“

The worst possible question because you had no answer to that, or rather you feared the answer to that. 

“I don’t know, I just can’t.“ 

His fingers brushed back and forth over your arm, creasing it, as he said, “Everything’s ok, Y/N. You’re fine, you can rest.“ 

You gulped, tensing more up if that was even possible. Why would he say such thing? Your mind spun around, and by now you were sure that you were losing yourself in absently overthinking about the meaning of your friendship. Timothée was the greatest friend you’d ever had, there was no argument in that, and you would do anything for this boy, and still you wondered. 

He pushed himself up on his elbows as he noticed how you still couldn’t relax and rather laid rigged up beside him. “Come here,“ he said, ever so quietly, as he opened up his arms for you to move closer. 

For a brief moment, you simply starred at him and the small space between the two of you. In the briefness of it all, Timothée looked like he may regretted his words, yet held his arms wide open. The confusion yelled loudly in your head, trying to draw further attention to itself but you had ignored it, already having pushed yourself over the mattress into his welcoming arms. They came around you, holding you against him. 

His fingers continued to brush over your shoulder down your arm as you snuggled deeper into his arms, face on his chest, and closed your eyes. This felt like peace, and that was all you had longed for in a very, very long time. Yet the question didn’t leave your mind, perhaps bothering you until you would free it from your soul. 

“Why did you come here, Timmy?“ 

The movement of his fingers stopped abruptly, his breathing becoming rigged, as you had definitely caught him slightly off-guard with that question. His chest moved up as he breathed in deeply, your head moving with it. What a dangerous, little question. 

“You texted me in the middle of the night, and I just—“ he mumbled, you could feel his lips brushing your head that was laying in the crook of his shoulder. You hung on every word he said, desperately waiting for him to finish his sentence and as he did, you swore you felt like you’d just died. “I just thought you needed me.“

You breathed out, feeling his hand brushing gently over your head. The darkness was your savior, it did not let Timothée read your thoughts out loud as they were written all over it. As confusing as this was, it warmed your heart that he had made his way blocks over in the middle of the night, just because he thought you needed him. 

And you did. 

All you were lacking for the past few nights was the sense of comfort that perhaps only he could bring back with ease. A gesture like this, God knows a smile from him even, was enough to give you peace, and that realization was scary. When did you put all your source of true comfort into one person? Especially one that was so close, yet never yours? Why did you do that? 

“I did,“ you whispered. “I had hoped you’d answer.“ 

His arms around your body tightened, pulling you even closer to him, if that was even possible. “I’m glad you texted me.“ 

“Why?“ 

You felt his head falling back deeper into the pillow he was laying on. “I was glad to be or even feel like the person you’d call in the middle of the night when you can’t sleep.“ 

Take your entire hand and crush my heart in it, it’s yours, that is all it ever was. 

Your thoughts spun with every continuing breath as the airy silence crawled over you two, and in that moment, everything halted in time, or at least that was how it felt like to you. A painfully long moment filled with even more questions, more confusion and longing. For days, your body had craved to finally find some rest and just as you possibly could get it, you wanted to do anything but to fall asleep. Although this may didn’t mean as much as your heart interpreted in his words, you wanted this to last forever.

“Timmy?“ 

He hummed in response, his fingertips running gently up your back, caressing it until you leaned onto your elbow to properly look at him. He loosened his embrace around you, yet refused to fully let you go. His gaze went up, meeting yours, you could barely make it out in the almost pitch-black darkness. 

“I wouldn’t want anyone else to be that person but you.“ 

“Really?“ 

Disbelief resounded in his voice. What a fool he was for not believing you. If he only knew what he did to you—for years. How much you cared, how much you wanted him to care. How much you needed this, and how much you wanted him to need you as well. It tore you apart that he couldn’t see that, and it felt like torture even thinking further about this. Why hadn’t you never act on this? Why had you always denied yourself the truth, especially when it was right in front of your eyes? 

Why even, why still? 

Timothée’s hand rushed forward, catching the strand of hair that was about to fall into your face, slowly brushing it behind your ear as you went against all fears and doubts and leaned forward, connecting your lips together without further hesitation. You felt his body stiffen, his mouth not moving a bit, not even responding. Just as reality came crushing down onto you and you hasted to move away from him, his hand pulled your face closer again as his lips crushed harder onto yours. You gasped into the kiss by the sudden surprise, leaning more on him. 

Blood rushed in your head, making you feel dizzy in his embrace. Your heart stumbled over its own beat as he pulled you even closer, those soft lips brushed over your bottom lip, luring a moan out of your mouth as his tongue slipped in, brushing against yours. 

Was this even real? 

His hands traveled carefully, almost a bit fearful down your waist to your hips while you melted into his touch, longing for it even more now than ever before. You’d always been close, but not once had you crossed this line, it always had felt taboo. You had believed Timothée could never like you in this way, more than just a friend, but the way how he moaned into your mouth as you gently bit his bottom lip proved you otherwise. He may desired you, too, at least a bit. 

Your hands found the collar of his shirt that you grabbed and pulled him on top of you, desperate to feel his weight on you. He chuckled against your mouth, “Stop it, I’m going to crush you.“ 

“Don’t be silly, Tim,“ you breathed, before he placed one hand on each side of your head and leaned down to kiss you once more. 

“I really don’t wanna crush you,“ he whispered in-between each kiss he planted on your lips, “because that would be a terrible way of ever losing you.“ 

Suddenly, the lightness got a little swept away by the serious undertone of his voice. Had he ever feared to lose you? 

“You’ll never lose me if you only keep kissing me like that.“ 

His mouth twitched to a smile that made him look so gentle and wholesome, yet his dark eyes told a different story. They had changed into a deeper hue, longing gazing, eyeing every inch of you in the dark night. Leaning down on his elbow, he used his other hand to brush with his finger along the lines of your jaw, his gaze following the movement, until he reached your lips. As he brushed over your lips, you opened your mouth, letting it dip in, and wrapped your lips around it to suck it. 

His breath hitched in the very moment of it, as he let out an airy laugh. “Don’t do that,“ 

You frowned, insecurity overwhelming you within seconds. “Why not? Sorry—you didn’t like that, did you?“ 

“No,“ he said, “I wanted for you to finally sleep, but if you keep doing stuff like that, I will most definitely try to keep you from sleeping.“ 

Shivers crept up on you, tingling all over your body, as your brain immediately shifted to imagine the reality of his words, and all you were left with was the desperate need to make it happen. Suddenly, every part of your body uncovered its aching for closeness that you had denied yourselves for too long. All those forbidden glances at each other, all those feelings that you couldn’t ignore, all the built up through the years of friendship finally found its purpose, and you would be damned if you let that chance slip. 

Your hand carefully reached forward, brushing aside the brown curls that fell into his face, caressing his cheek, “For once, I don’t wanna sleep.“ 

“Good,“ he breathed, and your lips met in the perfect middle of it all. Your hands grabbed after his face, pulling him closer down to you—him still on his elbows in his ridiculous fear to crush you, as he seemingly forgot that he was rather a lightweight, but you adored his wariness. He’s always been like that, taking care of you, looking out for you, wherever you went. Your mind had been attracted to him, before your body did. 

His lips began to wander to your cheek slowly down your neck, which you recked unconsciously to offer him even more space, marking every inch with a kiss. Just as your hands wandered, too, trailering down his sides to the hem of his shirt. You’d seen him shirtless before, many times, this, however, would be different. You’d pull off his shirt with intention, and he let you. Breaking away from your neck, leaving you whimper for a second, he kneeled in-between your spread legs. You followed his suit, hands still on the hem of his shirt, as he held up his arms, letting you pull it off in one swift movement. Your chest tightened at the sight of him shirtless. There was something that kick off serotonin in your head as soon as you saw him like this. 

“Don’t look at me like that.“ 

You met his eyes. “Like what?“ 

“As if I’ve got anything good to offer you. I don’t—I’m not—“

Your shoulders sunk in, face softening. “I like you just the way you are, Timmy.“ 

Chest heaving, his gaze also softened at your words. His hands found your face again, as he whispered against your lips, “God, you’re too good to be true.“ 

You melted in that kiss, as you never felt closer to him than in this random night that you wished would last forever. Morning shouldn’t come too soon, who knew how long this would actually last, but until then you would believe his words as the truth. 

“Can I take your shirt off, too?“

You nodded, wildly, offering him your arms in the air as he did the same to you, undressing you. You hadn’t worn a bra or anything underneath your oversized shirt, so you were instantly exposed to him, much to his surprise. His adam’s apple hitched visibly, as he took in the sight of you for a moment. “You’re so beautiful,“ he hushed, crushing his lips back onto yours, bringing you down on the bed again. “So damn beautiful.“  

And he proved his words. You felt him all over your body, appreciating it with his mouth and his hands, showered you in kisses and intense waves of shivers. He sucked on the softest parts of your breasts as he lightly flicked the nipple of the other, sending your brain into another dimension. Who would’ve ever thought of this happening? 

As his head hovered over the lower part of your body, hands on your sweatpants, he glanced up, meeting your eyes. “Is this real?“ you questioned. 

Timothée came back up to you. “Yes,“ he replied. “It’s always been real.“

Please do not come at me for not writing smut in this. I wanted to keep it wholesome. 😭