#feeling anxious and emotional for stupid reasons

[msmk11]

A moment of transparency:

i’m struggling to be on this app at the moment, if I’m being totally honest.

I love to write and typically enjoy what I’m writing.

But as my account grows and I make mutuals/get more followers, I’m feeling all this (internal) pressure to be good, a well liked page, etc.

The comparison game makes it worse.

Don’t get me wrong, I feel so grateful but!!

I started this account to write, and now I’m feeling the pressure of it being more like social media. Do people think I’m funny/interesting, do they want to hear what I have to say, am I being annoying, does x mutual actually like me?

And like I’m just a validation-seeker and people pleaser so ik I just need to get my act together, but until that happens, all I can do is rant and be stressed.

If anyone has tips too that’d be appreciated !!

[hers-underwraps]

Why Dashi is my favourite character 🩷

This is something I've been wanting to talk about for awhile. I've been putting it off because I typically like to keep my posts lighthearted and fun. Also, this is kinda a personal thing for me lol. However I just think it's important to get it out there.

————————————————————————

Feelings around Dashi in the Octonauts community are so mixed, some people enjoy her whilst other have a pure hatred for Dashi. Unfortunately, there is a large majority that holds that hatred in their hear or people that like her but only for her aesthetic. Hence this is why I wanted to get my thought of why I valued her out there as someone who values her deeply for her character.

Dashi has always been someone I've idolised. As a young girl, she was the epitome of a woman. She was able to exist as someone confident in what her passion was, someone who actively engaged in fields such as coding and engineering, she could lead her crew and be a daredevil. She was also able to be confident in her femininity, she could love pink, and she could love photography and her music. She's an older sister (and a really good one at that), she can be a little silly and she could hold quality/unique relationships with other members of the team. She was also able to accomplish all of this authentically. She wasn't considered a rare exception in the show, this was just considered the norm and it was honestly something I envy so much.

This was something that I took away from the main series of the Octonauts.

That's what she meant to me from the limited screen time that she got. I remember watching the damselfish episode and thinking omg this is the coolest thing ever. Or that episode where they made the tiny camera of the worm and glued it back together. The manta-ray episode where she was so determined to achieve her goal. She held quality relationships with several members. Seriously one of my favourite Dashi moments with the others was her running off with kwazii in the Siphonophore episode. She was always a central member in leading the team and was confident in her leadership/decisions. A few I remember off the top of my head were the episode where they needed a new bubble generator, that one episode where half the crew got beached and she and kwazii were working to get them back or the surfing snail episode. Also I know this isn't from the OG series but I really like her in the ring of fire and San Actun specials (I refuse to watch the Great Barrier Reef special so idk what was happening there)

This was how I interpreted her character before I found out there was a spin-off series that put her in a central role, which honestly was awesome to me because it just affirmed my interpretation of Dashi. It affirmed that my way of interpreting her was not just in my head. Everything she meant to me was real.

This is what made it more heartbreaking for me when I found out that there were so many people who hated her role in both the original and spinoff series. These people thought her role was forced, that her character choices were off and that she was just another mary-sue.

I think a lot of people fail to see one of the main reasons as to why Dashi is an important character to the people that do value her.

This stems from how important representation is for young people. The original series was released back in 2010. Looking at this era contextually, sexism in everyday life was still a massive problem. Stereotypical traditional roles were heavily enforced in media and everyday life. Basic rights for women were largely failing to be met. Even though things have improved a little bit since then, sexism is still a massive issue that affects every woman. So you can imagine how much it meant to the young girls watching this show to see an autonomous and feminine character being able to achieve so much.

Even though she was a side character in the main series, she was who you looked at, I mean how could you not? Just looking at her aesthetically she is quite literally the only one with a stereotypical "feminine" colour palette. She was the only girl on the crew that presented in a traditionally feminine way.

Then you're probably thinking but what about tweak? Well yes, she was absolutely a groundbreaking character too. However, she is presented in such a masculine way that I don't always feel like she has the same impact that Dashi does. She was original going to be a man and she is aired as a man in other translations of The Octonauts (the Russian one off the top of my head). She is as typically "feminine" as Dashi, she honestly lacks any of those qualities. NOTE: (NO HATE TO TWEAK OR GIRLS WHO ARE LIKE HER, I LOVE TWEAK AND MASC GIRLIES)

This is important to me because when I was younger I believed that in order to have a passion in fields that were considered more "masculine" such as science or mathematics you had to reject femininity. That stereotype was so heavily pushed on me and it was genuinely so damaging. I felt that I had to reject everything feminine and I did. I remember getting reprimanded and told "I'm barely even a woman" for my interests. I always felt that I had to sacrifice a part of myself and it was genuinely such a depressing way to be. Sometimes its so bad that I just has breakdowns because I feel I don't belong and I always have that impending feeling of doom that I ever will. I always feel so isolated because I genuinely found it so hard to find other women who shared that interest. On the rare chance I did find someone, they were cases similar to Tweak, girls that had rejected and demonised all feminity to the point where they were basically considered dudes.

This is still something I struggle with so much today. Yes, a girl can enter into a STEM field without being burnt at the stake but there's still so very few. I'm sitting in physics and mathematics classes where I'm effectively the only girl there. Female scientists are never talked about and I'm by other teachers as a rare exception. I still struggle to feel as if I can exist as both feminine and as someone who can be passionate about STEM. Being feminine is so demonised and intimidating in those fields due to the sheer lack of representation, you feel as if it's necessary to conform to a more masculine demeanour. On the flip side, having a genuine passion for STEM is so freaky in the eyes of other girls. If I try and talk about something remotely related to that, I feel as if they're about to hurl tomatoes at me so I never talk about it. It feels like I can never exist authentically and fully as myself, some days I feel like I lose myself, like I don't belong. I value being feminine I really do. I've always been passionate about feminism, I love the colour pink, pretty things and I like presenting that way. But I also love STEM I'm so passionate about it. I just wish there was a way that I could exist as both.

This is why I idolise Dashi so much. She is what I want to be. She's confident in her femininity and confident in her career. She doesn't; need to sacrifice this to achieve her goals. She can exist in a male-dominated crew (which is a realistic scenario for an irl workplace in those fields) without changing that about her. She isn't treated as a rare exception but just valued a normal part of the team.

She is a Stargirl to so many young girls. She exists as an autonomous and bright character, she isn't entirely defined by just her career or gender but she actively represents both. She's realistic, she's flawed, and she grows so much throughout the series and I think her growth is then appreciated in the spin-off. In a world that's lacking authentic representation in both media and so many male-dominated fields, it's so important to realise the innate value of these characters.

So that's why Dashi is my favourite character. She means the world to me.

She always has and always will 🩷

[lesbianturrets]

HI IM GONNA GO ON A TWO DAY BREAK I CANT HANDLE MY EMOTIONS CURRENTLY

[luludeluluramblings]

Smalltown!Neglected!Meta!Reader x Yandere!Batfam ☁️ Part Two

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Part One ☁️ Part Three ☁️ Part Four ☁️ Part Five ☁️ Part Six ☁️ Part Seven ☁️ Part Eight

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: Still establishing some more lore and feelings. Currently, the Batfamily has two yanderes. With more yandere’s being revealed outside of Gotham and some in Gotham about to start falling into obsession. Also, my favorite Reader is one who is manipulated into thinking the collar around their neck is a necklace. Will be working on Part Three, but it might take longer because we have obsessions starting and Reader starting to get to a breaking point.

Warning(s): Yandere themes, Obsessive behavior

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Poor Reader has it rough. Not too rough, but still life kinda sucks and they wanna go home now, please and thank you.

But, as always, things start to brighten up a notch or two.

Reader is thriving at school, sure they can’t hang out with their friends, but their friends understand (which honestly kinda odd, but they’ll roll with it)

There is a small issue.

Reader is a metahuman. (I know, shocking. So unique.)

Reader controls the weather, at will or with extreme emotions (oooooo interesting)

Back in their hometown, Reader didn’t have to hide said abilities that much. (Hell, more than a few people knew about it. Such an understanding community.)

Here in Gotham, in a practical stranger’s house, they’re not gonna to that.

Which is fine. Fine fine fine

Okay, so Reader is tense. Doesn’t have a healthy outlet, and is bottling things up. So that storms brewing. Gonna be fun when that comes back to bite Reader in the ass.

But, things are looking up. (I swear this time!)

Duke and Cass are hanging out with Reader more. They’re sorta becoming a trio of amigos.

Though, they do disappear often. For long periods of time.

Reader is pretty sure Bruce is Batman, at this point.

They’re not stupid, it’s in their damn genetics to be somewhat intelligent, so to speak.

But, no one actually tells reader. It’s lead to some awkward situations of them going silent when Reader enters the room, or the manor being unusually empty after everyone went to the ‘library’.

(Smalltown doesn’t mean stupid, bunch of jerks.)

It just makes reader feel even less like they’re part of the family. Even Alfred disappears for a time, leaving Reader completely alone with nothing, but portraits and old wood furniture.

No one says anything. No one mentions a single thing. (Am I not worthy of the secret? Why did you drag me here only to ignore me?)

Bruce continue to bounce between ignoring and coddling. Yet gets upset if Reader does the same. (Making them anxious.)

Dick pops back in, immediately showering Reader and excessive amounts of affection before shooing them off cause he’s gotta take care of somethings. (It makes reader feel like a pet in a degrading way.)

Jason gets caught harassing Reader by Alfred. Which leads to a screaming match between Jason and Bruce. It’s a violent one, but Alfred drags Reader out of the room before they can see. (But they hear things breaking and It’s terrifying.)

After that, Reader is extremely cautious around Jason. Which for some reason makes him angry and more violent. (Why does he hate me? This is scary.)

Stephanie starts to come around. Slowly. They’re getting there. (Stephanie still prefers to hangout with Tim and Tim…)

Tim ignores Reader the most. Will not talk to Reader at all. Which sucks because Teader thinks they would total get along. (But, nope. All they get is the cold shoulder.)

Reader just avoids Damian like the plague.

Reader talks more often to her other half-brother living miles away than the one she’s currently living with. (That’s gonna piss Damian off later)

While Barbara remains cordial.

Life is moving on. We’re good. Everything’s good.

Wait? Gotham Academy is having its own student Gala? That sounds amazing! Getting dolled up, having a night with friends. Maybe…. Having a date escort them….

And the best part is, Bruce says Reader can go.

Now, Cass and Duke and Damian won’t be going. Which is a bummer, but Reader understands.

Bruce even buys reader something to wear.

An obnoxious designer outfit. (A couture ruffle monstrosity that’s all the rage on the runway.)

It’s so terrible you have to laugh. (Just to hide how upsetting it is that no one actually knows what you like here or bothers to ask.)

Reader even shows Stephanie and they share a laugh. (It’s great. Reader needed that laugh.)

But, there’s no way Reader is going to wear this. So, Reader calls their childhood friend and favorite fashion designer.

Commissioning a more mature outfit. (Reader is almost grown, time to take a break from the ruffles and embrace the sexy.)

BFF comes through and then a week later someone shows up at Wayne Manor. (Damn that was fast.)

Someone from Reader’s hometown, and this starts to set things in motion.

BFF’s older brother, Reader’s childhood crush, shows up holding a dress and driving Daddy’s old truck. Which he hands Reader the keys too.

Nana and Grand Daddy, the Step Grandparents, wanted to surprise reader with a gift from home. (Remind Reader how much better living in a smalltown is compared to somewhere like Gotham. How much their town adores them and misses them.)

Poor oblivious Reader. Not realizing their smalltown is so desperate to have them back. (Reader was their’s first, they know Reader best.)

Nor how desperate Gotham is going to be to make force reader to stay.

[dead-boys-club]

†  do you love me? : the fatui.

❥ scenario: their mute s/o asking if they love them. ❥ no triggers ❥ i don't have any beta readers - you get what you get. ❥ requested. [ my pending isn't updated, it's a liar. ]

you had thought over it for a while, curious as to where you actually stood with your lover, no.. partner? did they love you? as your curiosity grew to a sickening need for an answer, you decided to write your question down, small and neat; 'do you love me?' before approaching to hand the paper off.

❥ la signora.

as she took the paper from you, you'd be unable to read her expression, something that was awfully common. you couldn't help but become slightly anxious as a few moments of silence went by, giving her the time to process the question. you had learned that signora was a very complex someone, someone who was guarded and difficult to read, but you had grown to understand those things about her. when she finally looked to you, there was a warmth in her gave and she set the paper down, now folded in half. she wouldn't have much to say, a simple 'yes' being whispered, full of sincerity and adoration for you, even if her expression didn't match. she reached out to cup your cheeks, the touch tender with her gloved hands, and she leaned to press a kiss to your forehead. it wasn't easy for her to express how she felt but she would never allow you to live with doubts on how she felt for you.

❥ scaramouche.

unlike signora, scara's response would be heavily complicated. he would be reluctant to take the paper to begin with, his expression immediately showing discomfort and clear distaste. love had never been something that worked out for him very well, nor did he understand it as much as others - love was one of the reasons his life had been filled with betrayal and manipulation. he was wary of emotions to begin with but love held a different kind of weight - it was almost like the word alone left a bitter taste at the back of his throat. he would quickly narrow his sharp eyes, masking the vulnerability with agitation. 'what kind of stupid question is this?' it would have hurt you had their been any malice to his tone. even as he crumpled up the paper and tossed it away, you could see some type of softness slipping through the cracks. it would take time but after a few minutes, he'd glance to you, gaze softening slightly. 'i don't know,' he admitted, voice quiet as he decided to be honest, 'i don't know if that's something i'm capable of but.. i don't hate you, if that's what you're worried about.' for scara, that was the closest thing to a confession you'd be getting and you understood and accepted that. besides.. he was a lot better with his actions than his words, even if he didn't realize.

❥ childe.

childe is always happy to accept your notes, be it during full conversations, asking him about missions, and so forth. with that happy expectation, he took the paper, only to falter briefly before a warm smile formed. 'of course i do,' he answered without hesitation. he'd wave the little piece of paper between two fingers before setting it down, 'this is a silly question.' he wasn't being demeaning, just pointing out what he thought - hoped - was obvious to you. his arms would find their way around you, hugging you close to lift you off your feet with a soft chuckle. 'why would you even feel the need to ask that?' childe had always done everything in his power to make sure his love was open and honest, being hidden from no one because he never wanted you to doubt him. he would actually wonder if he'd done something wrong that lead you to asking but it would be put on the back burner for later. 'you're one of the most important people in my life,' he whispered as he set you down, pressing a kiss right below your ear, 'and, i'll always love you.'

❥ dottore.

you knew such a question could leave you with an aching heart but you'd prepared yourself before hand, knowing the day you agreed to be the doctor's lover, it may not be in such a manner. as he took the paper from you, he read over it with an impassive expression, which you'd expected nothing less. minutes passed as he worked through your question. love was not something dottore considered valuable - emotions, in general, were considered a hindrance to him. love, most of all, was the worst there was. the paper was set down without an answer as he returned to his work, leaving you lost and hurt, despite knowing this would be the outcome. you began to turn on your heel to leave when he glanced to you. 'love is a trivial thing,' he said coldly, almost bitter. 'it's a distraction and a weakness.' you stopped yourself from frowning. contrasting his words, as you looked closely at him, you found something - a hint of conflict that told you there was more he wasn't willing to acknowledge. dottore never was one to answer things directly but his actions - his way of keeping you close, keeping you safe and granting you attention in ways no one else was allowed - that was enough, you decided.

❥ arlecchino.

she would take the paper from you and take no time in reading it, her expression calm. she isn't brought to emotional response easily - you were sure you'd never seen her flustered. she set the paper down with a thoughtful hum before looking at you, her gaze gentle. 'love isn't something i give easily or take lightly,' she answered, steady and serious, 'but if i didn't care for you deeply, you would not be here.' in another of situation or context, you'd have taken the words as a threat but instead, they calmed any frayed nerves. arle's way of showing how she feels is protective and pragmatic, something that doesn't rely on cheap words. she wouldn't give flowery words or pointless gestures - but she would make sure you felt valued in your relationship. 'yes, i do.' she finally admitted, her tone leaving no room for doubt, even as she turned away from you. 'you are mine, and i protect what's mine.'

❥ columbina.

immediately going off of your facial expression, she knew she didn't need to read the paper to know the type of question you had, a gentle, knowing smile forming. columbina is the most attuned to emotions, her own and others, especially yours. she would quickly be able to feel the vulnerability and doubt behind your written word. without hesitation, she collected your hand in her own, making sure to hold your gaze. 'yes,' she said easily, 'i love you more than words will ever be able to express.' columbina leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your cheek. 'you needn't doubt that,' she whispered, letting your hand go only to pull you into a hug, her eyes closing, 'i always will, beloved.' her love was soft, open and nurturing, a presence that never ceased and you almost felt guilty for doubting her. she had done her best to make sure you felt cherished and adored and she would continue to do so.

❥ pantalone.

he wouldn't question why you were suddenly handing him paper but he would be curious, eyes shining with interest as he read the question. panta is a man who sees emotions as secondary to his ambitions and goals, especially with his wealth and power. however, he wouldn't hesitate to admit that you, are different. this may be something that lead you to thinking you were more of a possession than a lover - he would be smart enough to figure out where the doubt blossomed from. folding the paper neatly, he set it down and let a thoughtful smile show, turning his attention to you. 'love, like any valuable asset, is not something i take lightly,' he began, head tilting slightly, 'but you, my dear.. are more precious than anything to me.' reaching out to you, his fingertips brushed over the apple of your cheek. 'yes,' he answered directly, 'i love you, and i will make sure you never doubt that again.' like the others, panta's love is often expressed through actions - keeping you comfortable and safe, your happiness being of utmost importance to him.

❥ il capitano.

he would take the paper without a second thought, reading the words slowly and feeling the weight of them. it would take him a moment to find how to answer, knowing if he was careless, it would bring you unnecessary hurt. love has never been something capitano was accustomed to, not when his life was outlined and defined by duty, loyalty and the cold fate of a soldier. he briefly wondered if love was something he could feel or understand. would he know if he was in love? after what seemed like an eternity, he would slowly set the paper down and look to you, speaking just as careful. 'love is a concept i have little experience with,' he began, his tone apologetic, 'i do care for you, deepy.. your wellbeing, your happiness. i want to keep you safe.' his answer would be straightforward, almost as though he was searching through his own words. he wished he could use the same pretty, poetic words he'd heard in passing, but that wasn't possible. 'if that is love,' he nodded slowly, 'then, yes, i do love you.' he wouldn't be as confident in those words as he wanted to be but he felt as thought it was as close to what you wanted to hear as he could get.

[anto-pops]

Bitter Truths - Sebastian Sallow x Female!Reader

Summary: Following the revelation that Sebastian has gone back to dabbling in the Dark Arts, you end things with him and try your hardest to stand firm in the decision. He has no intention of making things easy for you, however, and he’ll manipulate any situation to his advantage if it means getting you back on his side.

Even if that means manipulating you.

Word Count: 6k

Warnings: 18+, aged up characters, dark!Sebastian, emotional manipulation, explicit sexual content

Full fic is also up on Ao3 here for your viewing pleasure

You weren’t sure who you hated more. Professor Sharp for refusing to hear you out following the disaster in potion’s class, or your idiot of an ex-boyfriend for causing said disaster in the first place. 

There was absolutely no reason for it either. Even though the two of you hadn’t talked in a week, you liked to think you were familiar with his tendencies in school. Helping Garreth with his obscure, insane ideas had never been something Sebastian made a habit of doing, which just left you all the more frustrated. 

He had clearly landed you both in trouble intentionally. 

Following your fifth-year, you had dutifully stayed firm in your boundary that if Sebastian so much as glanced at anything pertaining to the Dark Arts, you would cut your losses and leave him to deal with the consequences. For too long, you had wallowed in self-pity at the blatant way you had let him take advantage of your kindness, manipulating you into helping him essentially get away with murder. The broody persona he had returned to Hogwarts with your sixth-year had led you to believe that he wouldn’t listen, but he had proven you wrong. Bending over backwards to get on your good side, you had eventually relented and let him back into your life, and that inch given quickly turned into a mile earned when both of you started dating.

After making it through the entire year without a glimpse of his former habits, you had mistakenly assumed your final year of school would be much the same. For the most part it had been– until last week, apparently. 

You had found Salazar Slytherin’s spell book in his dorm. 

It had been well hidden, too; charmed to look like an ordinary textbook, then wrapped in one of his old scarfs and stuffed at the bottom of his trunk. Call it a gut feeling, but you had known something was going on with Sebastian even before finding the book he’d sworn up and down he had destroyed years prior. He would stay out well past curfew, coming back looking anxious and worn down. The far off look in his eyes you had seen towards the end of your fifth-year had returned, along with the dark circles under his eyes that told you he wasn’t sleeping much, if at all. 

Most damning of all had been his three day absence from school. Sebastian had said the Ministry had summoned him to London to finally sign over the deed to Solomon’s old house in Feldcroft to him. An innocent enough excuse, and a believable one when it had been relayed to the Headmaster and to the faculty… but not to you. 

Sebastian wanted nothing to do with that house. He had told you so himself numerous times. 

So why was it that when he’d returned to Hogwarts after those three days, the barely there scent of Dark Magic accompanied him?

Gaslighting yourself into believing that you were imagining things had been difficult, but you’d managed to convince yourself that it wasn’t real– that the rotting, smokey scent that had clung to his clothes for that brief moment was a trick of the wind. But then you’d found the book.

After throwing that stupid spell book in his face and swearing at him with every curse-word that existed, you’d followed through on your promise to him. You ended things then and there, too angry and too irrational to even take the time to hear him out when he’d begged you to. 

“Please just listen to me! It’s not what you think, darling, I swear. I was only–”

“I don’t give a damn, Sebastian!” If looks could kill, the glare you shot his way would have had him collapsing on the spot. “I don’t need to hear the lies or the justifications. You lied to me. You told me you were done with this shit, but apparently that was a fat load of crap. I can’t even look at you right now.” 

Turning away from him to reach for the door handle, you yelped in alarm when his arm shot past your head to hold the exit shut. You spun around, eyes wide with shock and anger, and met his stormy, frantic gaze. He was unrecognizable; his chest heaved violently as he drew in quick breaths one after another, and his mouth was drawn in a tight line across his face. Coiled tighter than a spring, you worried that he would snap with you in his crosshairs, and that thought induced a kind of fear that you hadn’t felt since your fifth-year. 

“You need to let me explain,” he grit through his teeth. You heard his nails scrape against the wood of the door as his hand curled into a tight fist, and the sound snapped you out of your momentary stupor. 

Planting your hands squarely against his chest, you shoved him away with the strength of a Troll, sending him stumbling back towards the middle of the empty dorm with a look of disbelief etched across his face. “No,” you turned back for the door, wrenching it open and flinging it behind you as you stepped into the hallway. “I don’t.”

He had tried and failed to speak to you since then, but you had gone out of your way to avoid him as much as possible. You found yourself sitting with Poppy and Natty during mealtimes, and you’d skipped a few classes altogether to spare yourself the torment of having him try anything there. If your friends knew something was wrong with you, they didn’t comment on it, and you were immensely grateful for their willful obliviousness. 

Unfortunately for you, however, you had underestimated Sebastian’s ability to manipulate situations to his advantage. 

Even after two years, Garreth hadn’t stopped concocting his… unique brews. It was a gamble to walk into Professor Sharp’s class and assume that nothing would blow up in his face that day. You knew it, the Professor knew it, everyone knew it. 

So why Sebastian had seemingly gone out of his way to help Garreth this time around told you enough about his unwillingness to let you go quietly. 

There was no way of knowing what he had given Weasley to add to his Restorative Drought at the beginning of class, and quite frankly, you didn’t care. The exchange had transpired right before you eyes, and whatever thick goop Garreth had dumped into his cauldron had caused an explosion that put all his past fuck-ups to shame. Instantly the room had filled with a pungent gas that was so foul and nauseating, Natty had been forced to run out into the hallway to expel her lunch from her stomach. In the midst of your own gagging you had pulled out your wand to cast Ventus, a wind charm that collected the bulk of the gas into a concentrated funnel that was then directed towards the open window in a bid to clear the room. 

Your plan would have worked… had Professor Sharp not blocked the magically condensed jet of putrid air with his face. 

To say he’d been angry would be a monumental understatement. The palpable rage that had radiated from him was a deadly sort; simmering beneath the surface, powerful, and silent. He had wasted little time after that in docking you, Garreth, and Sebastian fifty house points each before sending the three of you away to detention for the evening. 

Garreth would have attended… had he not gotten violently ill following the debacle. He hadn’t even made it down the hall outside the room before folding over on himself and vomiting profusely all over the floor. Evidently he had taken the brunt of the eruption and was left to cope with the aftereffects. You didn’t envy him. 

Nurse Blainey had apparently promised that her patient would make up the detention as soon as he was done throwing up the contents of his stomach, which had ultimately left you stuck in Professor Weasley’s classroom alone with the current bane of your existence. 

You knew it was pure chance that Garreth was unable to sit in detention with the two of you, but for some reason you were convinced that Sebastian had seamlessly orchestrated the whole thing. 

The bastard was probably feeling awfully smug about it, too.

Sebastian sat at the table furthest from you, boring holes into the side of your head that you were doing your damnedest to ignore. The only thing that likely kept him from outright trying to speak to you was Professor Weasley anally watching the two of you like a hawk in-between grading reports. She had already scolded the life out of you both, taking additional time to chastise Sebastian, because apparently she had seen him in detention “far too many times this semester”. Yet another thing he had kept from you, evidently. It didn’t even seem like he had taken the reprimanding to heart if his slack posture and disinterested expression was anything to go by, but you were too angry to pay it any mind. 

This was shaping up to be the longest three hours of your fucking life. 

The chipped wood on the edge of the desk continued to captivate your attention in favor of meeting the brunet’s unrelenting stare. Your jaw ached from how hard you’d been clenching your molars together, and your leg had cramped up twice now from bouncing it to rid yourself of the jitters that plagued you. You were prepared for the bulk of the detention to continue like that; slowly, suffocated by a tense silence, and wholly uncomfortable. That is, until the door to the classroom was thrown open rather aggressively. 

Looking up from your desk, you watched as a nurse from the Hospital Wing barreled through the entryway, her hair disheveled beneath her bonnet and her glasses crooked atop her nose. She sucked in a sharp breath before straightening herself out and saying, “Matilda– I’m so sorry. Nurse Blainey asked me to fetch you. Your nephew is… well, he’s in quite the state.”

Professor Weasley took her own glasses off to pinch the bridge of her nose, heaving a heavy sigh before muttering, “Merlin, that boy will be the death of me, I swear. Is he alright?” 

“He’s– well…” the nurse trailed off, nervously wringing her hands together as she searched for the right words. “He’s alive, but whatever he added to that potion is causing some… concerning side effects. He has four arms and quite a few extra toes presently.” 

“He what?” Professor Weasley abruptly swiveled her head in Sebastian’s direction, fixing him with an incredulous look that he had the good grace to shrink at. “What exactly did you give him to add to that potion?” 

Stubbornly, you watched through your peripheral vision as Sebastian shrugged nonchalantly before murmuring, “Just troll bogeys. He didn’t tell me what he was trying to accomplish with them, though.” 

Pointedly, Professor Weasley rose from her seat and walked around her desk, brushing a few wrinkles out of her skirt as she strode for the door. “I’ll save my questions about how you got your hands on such a thing for after I get back. In the meantime, don’t even think about going anywhere. Both of you.” 

You could only furrow your brow indignantly before she had turned her attention back to the nurse. The woman spun on her heel to lead the way without a second glance, and as soon as the massive door clicked shut behind them, your heart sank into your feet. 

You were alone. With him. 

An uncomfortable feeling emanated from within the room, the air ripe with tension thick enough to cut with a knife. It took everything in you to keep your eyes averted at your desk before deciding to simply put your head down against the wood. If Professor Weasley was bound to be preoccupied in the Hospital Wing for the remainder of the evening, you could at least catch some shut eye in the meantime. The events from the last week had taken a toll on you mentally, and you were beyond eager to wrap up the day so you could fall into your bed and sleep. 

It couldn’t have been thirty seconds before you felt the table jostle as the culprit of your misfortune made himself comfortable next to you, and with your face still hidden in the crook of your arm, you pursed your lips in blatant distaste. 

Maybe if you pretended to be asleep, he would give up? There was no way he actually thought that there was a conversation to be had after everything he had done. Aside from a handful of inappropriate, choice words that were unbecoming of a lady, you had nothing to say to him. 

Evidently, it seemed that Sebastian thought otherwise. 

“We need to talk.” 

Merlin– even though you had heard his voice around school in the last seven days, having it directed at you while he used that deep, commanding tenor was another thing entirely. A weak, naive part of you was inclined to listen, but you stubbornly burrowed your face deeper into your arm and somehow pressed your lips together even harder. No, you thought, we don’t. 

“Either you talk to me now while we’re finally alone in here, or I’ll drag you to the Undercroft afterwards. Willingly or not.”

At that, you sat up to glare incredulously at him. The unmistakable conviction in his voice and the obstinate tilt to his chin confirmed that he wasn’t lying in the slightest, and he crossed his arms over his chest as though daring you to call his bluff. 

He wouldn’t…

“I would,” he countered your thoughts with narrowed eyes, which in turn resulted in another unamused glare from you. “I’d be an idiot not to try when you’re finally in a position to listen. Especially considering you’ve avoided me like the plague all week.” 

The audacity of this man. How dare he make you out to be some heartless villain. His status as a pariah in your eyes was his own doing, directly caused by the steady flow of manipulations and lies that had dripped from his lips for who knew how long. You had given him another chance after everything, and what did you have to show for it now? Nothing but an aching heart and enough resentments to last a lifetime. 

“And whose fault is that?” you snapped, every word laced with venom. “Your priorities were made abundantly clear to me after you lied straight to my face. How long did you think you could keep it from me, hm? Did you think I was too stupid to notice, or did toeing the line right in front of me excite you somehow? You’re not allowed to be upset that your actions had consequences.” 

As you sucked down a breath and fixed Sebastian with a hard, unyielding look, he stared at you oppressively. His mouth pressed together as he processed your words. Whether it was what you had said that left him speechless or the fact that you had said anything to him at all, you didn’t know. Regardless, he took a second too long to reply, which gave you the chance to click your tongue disapprovingly.

“I have nothing to say to you, Sebastian. Go back to your seat before you land us in more trouble.”

At that moment, it was as if he had been doused with chilled water. Sebastian snapped out of his stupor and frowned, his back straightening as he gathered his resolve once more. “I beg to differ, I have plenty to say. We haven’t even scratched the surface of what needs to be said–”

“Nothing needs to be said!” you blurted, your steely resolve crumbling ever so slightly. This wasn’t as easy as you thought it would be. To spit in the face of his pleading and remain firm in your refusal to hear him out. He sounded so… desperate. More than that, his words were tinged with unmistakable sincerity. Some internal part of you writhed in agony as you ignored your heart and forced out, “I don’t care, Sebastian. I’m tired. I gave you plenty of chances before and you’ve officially squandered every last one. I can’t do this with you– not now, not ever.” 

The telling sting of tears welling in your eyes had you averting your gaze to the door, silently praying for Professor Weasley to come back, because you were being made acutely aware of how difficult it was to keep this up. You had given Sebastian nearly two years of your life. You had loved him– you still loved him– but you didn’t think you had the strength to go down this path with him again. The Dark Arts had brought the two of you nothing but misery, and for him to go back to it after all this time not only infuriated you, it saddened you. 

He had done so well for himself. He had changed, wholly and truly. Even Ominis had let him back into his life after a grueling six months of pleading. But for him to pull all of this on you a second time… 

How did the saying go? Fool me once; shame on you. Fool me twice…

You were tired of being tricked. 

The sudden feeling of Sebastian’s hand skimming down your spine had your head swiveling back towards him in a flash. Your arm flew up to knock him away, but he anticipated the move and caught your wrist with his other hand, coiling his fingers around the limb to lock you in his grip. Through the well of tears in your eyes, you watched as he brought your trapped hand to his mouth, pressing a chaste, gentle kiss to the inside of your palm before nuzzling you affectionately. The motion was so tender– so adoring– that you couldn’t help but watch him completely dumbstruck. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmured against the skin of your hand. Kissing you again, his dark eyes flicked back to meet yours, “I’m sorry for lying. I should have been honest from the start. There’s no one else I trust more in this world than you, you know that, right?” 

The hand on your back took to tracing languid shapes against your blouse, inching its way lower towards the waistline of your skirt, and your breath hitched in your throat as you hastily wiped away an errant tear that slipped down your cheek. You eyed him warily and curled your fingers in the hand he still held, but he made no move to pull away. “You should have done a lot of things, Sebastian. But you can’t change the past. You messed up, and I need you to accept that.” 

“But what if I could?” He spoke the words in a low voice, then tilted his head down so he was gazing at you through his dark lashes. The look… it was predatory. Animalistic, in a way. It scared you that you even began to find the expression intriguing. Moreover, you had no clue what it was he meant… but you wanted to. 

“What if you could what?” 

“What if I could change the past?” Your brows furrowed in alarm, but Sebastian ignored your wary countenance and slid to the edge of his seat so he was mere inches from you. The hand on your back reached the tucked hem of your shirt, his fingers brazenly sneaking beneath the material to trail his touch up your bare back, and despite your reservations, you couldn’t help but shudder. “What if I could use power no one has ever dreamed of? What if I was close to uncovering magic that could make anything possible? Dark or not, it’s magic. It was created for a purpose. What’s so wrong with using it? It’s a tool, same as all spells… it would be wasteful to bury it just because the Ministry says so.”

“But–” his fingers skimmed over your brassiere, toying with the metal clasps that held it in place with a look of mischievousness glimmering in his eyes. Unwilling to back down, however, you forced the rest of your retort from your lips. “It’s not just the Ministry that says so, it’s history. Look at Isidora–”

Sebastian tugged on the hand he still had clasped in his own, drawing you into his space so suddenly that you gasped softly. He let go of your wrist to cup your cheek, leaning in more until he was so close that you could see your own reflection in his eyes. “Isidora’s problem was that she lacked conviction. She was motivated, sure, but she still sought approval from the wrong people. Those Keepers became a vise of her own making. She was never going to get anywhere with her abilities so long as she waited for their consent.” 

You had a feeling you knew where he was going with this. A bad feeling. 

“But you?” His eyes jumped between your own, flicking down at your lips every so often as he slipped two of his fingers under the strappy attire beneath your blouse. “You could be so much better than her. You can control your powers with so much more finesse than she ever could, and together we could unlock untold secrets about magic. Think about it, darling. You and me, unearthing troves of hidden knowledge. What’s the harm in that?” 

He didn’t even give you a chance to respond. The miniscule distance between the two of you vanished in a heartbeat as Sebastian closed in, and your words were stolen from you as his lips crushed against yours with an intensity that muddled your thoughts. You weren’t an idiot– you knew this was his way of distracting you from everything; his lies, the spell book, the utterly incomprehensible bombshell he had just dropped on you. In prime Sebastian fashion, he had disarmed you completely and reduced you to putty in his hands, your previous anger momentarily forgotten as he probed around your mouth with his tongue. 

It was entirely too predictable… but you would be lying if you said it wasn’t addicting. You had missed him. You didn’t think you would ever stop loving him– his faults be damned. 

The fact that the two of you were in Professor Weasley’s classroom barely mattered to you– especially not when the hand on your back finally undid the clasps of your brassiere with a dexterity that enticed you far more than was healthy. With that out of the way, Sebastian dragged the limb out from under your shirt and wrapped both arms around your midsection, continuously devouring the tiny sounds you made with his mouth as he hoisted you out of your chair and deposited you roughly on the desk. 

It was positively frantic. The hurried pulling of clothes and the panted breaths exchanged in-between kisses made it seem like the two of you had been apart for years instead of one measly week. You were still angry with him for lying, and you were worried about what indulging him now would mean for the two of you later down the line… but for the time being, you didn’t care. Sebastian was your vise, and you were certain that no matter how hard you tried, you would never be able to bring yourself to be rid of him. 

You were left to hold yourself steady as Sebastian let go of you to tug at his belt, his teeth biting and pulling at your bottom lip harshly as he drew away briefly to flick the leather aside and undo the catch of his pants. He pulled his cock from the confines of his briefs hastily, stroking himself furiously with one hand as the other blindly gathered your skirt into a disheveled heap below your navel. The ferocity with which he yanked your undergarments down your legs made you gasp, and as soon as those were pulled down past your thighs, he went right back to swallowing up the delicious sounds you made. 

Without breaking away, Sebastian dragged you towards the edge of the desk and lifted one of your thighs up, holding it firmly to his hip as he bumped the head of his cock against your throbbing cunt. The growing wetness there made the teasing slide of his tip through your folds positively heavenly for both of you, and you felt arousal curling in the pit of your stomach when the man before you growled. 

He broke away from your swollen lips with a shaky exhale, and you blinked up at him as you took in the ravenous expression that adorned his handsome face. Flushed cheeks, messy hair, and a lustful, wanton gleam in his dark, bottomless eyes. It was all for you, you realized dimly. 

It was one of the worst ideas you had ever had, but you decided to be greedy. If he was going to offer, then you were going to take. 

You adjusted your weight so you were supporting yourself up with one hand while your other flew to the back of Sebastian’s neck. If the feeling of your nails digging into his skin was unpleasant, he definitely didn’t care, seeing as he groaned appreciatively when you dragged his lips back to yours. It was all a flurry of tongue and teeth as the two of you shamelessly rutted like animals atop the desk, until he finally moved his hips to press into your sopping wet entrance, and the stretch was as delectable as it was jarring. 

“Fuck,” you heard him mutter against your lips. The fingers he had wrapped around your thigh dug into your flesh, the incredible feeling of your warm, pulsing walls enveloping him making him shudder with delight. “I love you. I love you so much, you know?” 

You nodded brainlessly, still processing the feeling of him breaching you. “I love you too. You’re everything to me, Sebastian. I–” 

His hips jerked forward at the declaration, making you cry out against your better judgement, and even though being noisy was quite possibly the worst choice either one of you could make, Sebastian seemed to relish in the sound. In a split second, he had you laid out on your back across the desk, tightening his grip on your leg with a strength you knew would leave bruises. He shook his head as he chuckled to himself, then fixed his sights on you as he began to pump his hips with a tenacity that left you breathless. Your spine arched off the wooden surface as he worked to set a brutal pace, his lust-dark eyes watching you rapaciously as your mouth fell open around a long, drawn out moan. 

“We were made for each other,” you heard him state gruffly. Your other leg was swiftly lifted and tossed over his shoulder, spreading you open for him so obscenely that you knew you would never be able to attend class here with a straight face ever again. The new position gave him the freedom to press his broad hand against your lower stomach as well, applying ample pressure so he could feel the head of his cock spearing into the deepest parts of you. It felt surreal– it was mind-boggling– and you were certain that you broke your nails when you instinctively dragged your fingers along the desk. “Two sides of the same coin, darling. That’s what we are. You’re mine, and I’m all yours. Only yours. You believe me, right?” 

Getting your tongue to work was next to impossible, so your acknowledgement came out sounding like more of a garbled wheeze. Sebastian only laughed at your fucked-out state, moving his hand from your stomach up your torso, shoving your undone brassiere out of the way to roughly squeeze one of your breasts in his warm palm. The intensity of his thrusts kicked up then, and he took to grinding his balls against the swell of your ass with every deep, aggressive plunge of his cock. 

Through your hazy vision, you saw as his head tipped forward between his shoulders, the pleasure he derived from fucking you on the desk taking him to new heights. You were inclined to think similarly, because for some unfathomable reason, the threat of the Professor walking in at any moment only added to the rush of ecstasy that coursed through your veins. 

The force of Sebastian’s thrusts made your arm shake as you lifted it from the desk, planting it squarely over your clit so you could rub aggressive, desperate little circles over it. The instant gratification had you groaning loud, your voice echoing off the walls of the classroom and dragging Sebastian’s attention back to you. He wrenched his hand apart from your breast to snatch yours away from your bundle of nerves, then pinned the limb to the desk beside your head. 

He leaned in close to your face, bending your leg so far back that the sinful sound of his hips slapping against your wet skin amplified tenfold. It was equal parts embarrassing and erotic, and you mewled pitifully as he smirked and proclaimed, “That’s my job, darling.” 

You were about to say that you didn’t care whose job it was, so long as it was a job that got done– but his calloused thumb planting itself over the nub interrupted your snide comment, replacing it instantly with a quivering moan that had him twitching inside of you. Entirely at his mercy as he pounded into you, the rapid flicking he bestowed upon your clit brought you closer to that blissful edge you yearned to fall over. The fire in your gut burned hotter, your senseless noises got raspier, and in turn Sebastian’s hold on you became possessive. 

He watched you unblinkingly, waiting for you to reach your peak with rapt focus, and all you could do was meet his unwavering stare as your climax finally washed over you. Your mouth fell open as a choked groan escaped your hoarse throat, and Sebastian swiftly released your thigh to cover your mouth with his hand, muffling the noises enough so that the sanctity of your activities wouldn’t be broadcasted to anyone nearby. 

You were hardly of a mind to care– you were seeing stars. Everything around you flashed white as you trembled uncontrollably beneath him, your muscles tensing and your walls sucking him in impossibly deeper. A rumbling groan sounded from him as he fucked you through all of it, only deigning to increase his pace once he felt you go lax under him, and then it didn’t take long for him to follow you over that edge. He repeated your name over and over again as he came, bottoming out into your soaked cunt as he emptied himself deep within your walls, those predatory eyes of his sliding shut for the briefest of moments. 

It was hard to say how long the two of you stayed like that; coiled around one another as you both worked to control your breathing. Sebastian’s hand slipped away from your mouth, granting you the ability to suck down deep, steadying gulps of air, and shortly thereafter you felt him trail his fingers down your sides soothingly. 

Through the post-coital haze that clouded your mind, you found yourself staring at him as he stood straight and pulled out of your brutalized folds. He tucked himself back into his pants swiftly, scanning your flushed body beneath him with a sort of unbridled longing that left you feeling exposed. 

Where did the two of you go from here? What was next? 

Wordlessly, Sebastian helped you sit up, huffing out a laugh when your forehead thumped against his chest weakly. He took it upon himself to fix up your clothes, tucking your shirt back into your wrinkled skirt before carefully bending down to drag your underwear back up your boneless legs. You had to shift a little to help him get them on properly, but your head stayed firmly planted against him the entire time. 

A hand on your neck roused you from your hiding spot, and you cautiously tipped your head back to look up at him through your lashes. Sebastian stared down at you with a hopeful expression on his face– something else akin to excitement shadowing the look. “Do you trust me?” 

That was one hell of a loaded question… especially following everything that had transpired throughout the week. You mulled it over quietly, choosing your words carefully before opting to say, “I want to.”

He sighed and brought his other hand to your cheek, cupping your face in his clammy palms as he nodded. “Okay. No more secrets. No more lies. I swear to you, from here on out, you’ll get nothing but the truth from me.” He waited to see if you would push him away or refute the statement, but you didn’t. You just pursed your lips, hesitating only briefly before nodding. It seemed pointless to call his bluff right now. “Would you come with me? To do all the things I told you about?”

From outside the classroom, you could suddenly hear the sound of muffled voices approaching. Professor Weasley had to be returning from the Hospital Wing, and the two of you were still in a very precarious position. One that was guaranteed to land you in more trouble than you could fathom. 

Sebastian jerked your face back towards him, forcing your eyes to return to his as he looked at you with sheer desperation. “Would you?” he reiterated urgently. 

“I–” you gingerly lifted your hands to hold his wrists, opening and closing your mouth as you worked to formulate words. “I don’t know, Sebastian. It’s a scary prospect, and so many things could go wrong–” 

“Not if we work together,” he insisted, chancing a quick look at the massive doorway. The voices and footsteps from outside were getting louder, and you got the distinct impression that Sebastian thought that you were running out of time. He looked back at you, eyes burning, “If we do this together– as a team– there’s so much we could accomplish. You and me against the world, darling. We can bring in a new era of magic that no one has ever dreamed of. You just have to trust me.” 

It was terrifying to consider. It was balmy and likely to end in the worst of ways. You were both still so young– still figuring out where you stood in a world run by magic. Your shared, tumultuous past with Sebastian had barely opened your eyes to the surface of what your abilities could do. Of that, you were certain. Part of you was afraid to traverse that path once again and run the risk of something worse than Solomon transpiring. 

But another, much stronger part of you was curious to test your limits. Sebastian wasn’t wrong; Isidora’s magic was ripe with potential, and if he really did mean to help you along the way… 

If you couldn’t convince him to veer away from the path he had chosen, the least you could do was walk it with him. Maybe doing so would prove beneficial… or maybe it wouldn’t. There was no way of knowing for certain. 

“I do trust you,” you said plainly, the weight of the statement settling over the two of you like a blanket of iron. Despite your reasoning behind saying the words, you still couldn’t help but feel like you’d just signed a deal with the devil. 

He smiled at you then, the sight blinding when coupled with the excitement that glimmered in his captivating, brown eyes. Your grip on his wrists tightened a fraction, and Sebastian used your own hold on him to tug you off the desk and into his arms in one, swift motion. “Then hold on tight, darling.” 

It should have been impossible– and the implications of the action left your mind reeling– but in the next second, a deafening crack sounded all around the two of you and echoed off the walls of the classroom. You had no clue where he was apparating you to, nor did you know how he had managed to even do it while on school grounds, but you knew that you trusted him to keep you safe. 

From here on out, you had to trust him. You realized, through the roar of magic that flooded your ears, that there was no other choice. 

[loserinahotway]

Hobbies - Will Solace

Will Solace is head doctor. Easily and often shortened to only doctor. So, he thinks, knowing there’s more snide than there needs to be, who would expect him to have hobbies? Apparently, there’s a phase of dating that relies on their existence. 

Nico and Will have only been dating for two weeks. Haven’t kissed yet, have been on a solid three in-camp dates. And Will, on the forest floor with his back to some poor tree, is breathing heavy with the crushing, rock-hard weight of that stupid, too deep question that just. Keeps. Coming. Back.

He’s not stupid. He can see. He knows, logically, rationally, that it’s a standard question. A good and easy icebreaker. An important thing to know about as a partner. Yeah. Totally. Mhm. What do you do in your free time? Solid stuff. Solid. Solid. Good. Solid.

Solid enough to fill his lungs with rocks.

“Shit, what did I- what’s wrong? Will? Fuck. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I don’t- what did I do?”

In. Out. In. Out. In, in, in, in-

He wheezes, embarrassingly, and his forehead hits his knees. He can feel, lightly, that Nico’s hand is above his shoulder. Ghosting it. He’d make a joke if he wasn’t so nauseously panicked. It barely brushes him, hesitant in the anxious, heart-stopped way Will can’t afford to be. That’s a mean thing to think, he berates. You aren’t struggling more than he is. Don’t compare.

He thinks it anyway. I can’t afford that. I can’t have that.

Can’t have hobbies, either.

Will hates when he gets like this.

Nico, next to him and out of his sight, seems to have settled his own breathing. You win, Will thinks, and almost laughs. He doesn’t. “Hey, alright, do you-uhm, do you wanna do the breathing stuff you taught me?”

His hand finally drops to touch his back, and Will feels one finger trace an infinite square on his shoulder. He knows the rules. He’s said them to camper after camper. In for the first line, hold for the second, out for the third, hold for the fourth; in, hold, out, hold, in, hold, out, hold in. 

He doesn’t know how long it takes, but his breath does even out. 

And instantly, guilt. 

He shoots right up and turns to his date. Fuck, his date. A picnic in the woods at the edges of camp. What a lovely way to kill romance. With a pointless panic attack. “Fuck, fuck! I’m sorry, shit, Nico, you didn’t do-”

“Hey, hey,” Nico raises his hands, looking right into Will’s eyes. He looks panicked, like he’s not quite sure what to do. Will likes that, somehow. Not in a sadistic way. It’s calming to seem like he’s not the only one all messed up in the moment. Part of him still bites, why aren’t you fixing it. It sneers about his need to nurse everything back to health. Sometimes Will thinks he was born a contradiction. God and mortal swimming in his blood, with all sorts of emotional opposites moving after that. “We just got you breathing again. You don’t need to apologize to me, Will.”

Will just sort of keeps looking at him. He’s not sure how to respond. Not out of shock or anything, just a lack of words. Luckily enough, Nico continues. 

“I said something.” “You didn-”

“Will.” Nico furrows his brows with the name, and Will closes his mouth and cuts off the denial. He remembers, sometimes, that Nico is technically a prince. And the way he ties weights to words really does sound royal. “I’m not blaming myself, or beating myself up, or sad. I didn’t mean to do anything. I’ve got very little reason to get mad at myself. That won’t help. I’ve learned that, by now. I promise.” Lightly, he moves his hand to Wills. He slots their fingers together against the dirt. “But I care about you. A lot. So, if something I did hurt you, I want to know. I want to get at it and learn and- and be good to you. I want to be good to you, Will. Please. Let me?”

He blinks.

And blinks.

And, with tears in his eyes; “I can’t have hobbies.”

A beat. “What?”

And he just fucking bawls, after that. Crumpling impossibly smaller as Nico curses and reassures and gets closer to him, rubbing his shoulders and forearm. Gods. How fucking pathetic, he thinks. You’re supposed to be a doctor.

That line, that last line. It does do something to numb him. He quiets, after another little bit. And eventually he’s just sniffling and leaning half against the tree and half against the sweet, beautiful, surprisingly good with speeches boy he’s supposed to be on a date with. 

“‘M sorry,”

“I’m not mad, though.”

“Probably should be.”

He pauses for just a second. “I don’t think so, Will.”

Now, Will’s voice is monotone and devoid of anything in a way he’s a little sickly proud of. “I’m a freak.”

Nico raises an eyebrow. Will can’t see it, with his head on his shoulder, but he knows he does, because he knows Nico. “For what? Not filling your exceptionally limited free time with extra tasks?”

Will rolls his eyes. “That’s not what hobbies are.”

“Isn’t it?”

They both stop for just a little, sitting close and in silence. It's really quite nice. 

“Is there a reason this upsets you so much?” You know that feeling, where you’re asked a question, and your whole story just sort of unfolds backwards in your brain. You remember everything, see it all, but it’s behind things. It’s blurred and muffled by glass. That’s what happens to Will, there.

Everything Will Solace has read since he was nine has been in a medical textbook. Because godly gifts aside, he needs to know he’s getting things right. He needs to know how to treat the bleeding and coughing and crying children that are in his care. So the Star Wars novels he’d trek through as a kid are gone. Because he can’t read them without knowing that there’s something better he could be looking at. Something  more useful to get into his head. 

He is the son of the music god and a renowned country star. And he has not a drop of musical talent. Musical knowledge, sure. He can read any sheet music, he can tell you any fact about a piece by ear, he could probably even teach you to play any instrument with words. But for the fucking sake of him, he cannot  put anything that sounds good into the air. He gets stressed in low-stakes situations instead of high ones, like he was anxiously programmed backwards. His hands only shake when they’re presented with something that will distract him. Like a guitar. Like a microphone. Et cetera. There’s no instrument that will give him something he needs to have. So why play one?

When he writes, he subconsciously looks for the line he has to sign. The boxes to check. The space for notes. All he’s written in years has been hospital reports and records. Files upon files of them. How’s he supposed to write something without those little guides that have been leading him almost all his life? How would he pen a story, or characters, when all the ideas in his head are organized by urgency? 

Will hates closing his eyes, hates stopping to be with himself. Because then he sees it all. Every mistake. Every brother and sister. Every soaked-through bandage. Every failure. When he looks back into his head, those are the pictures. So what would he paint? Broken ribs? Dead family? Because those are the images he works so hard not to look at. He can’t paint, or draw, because that will bring them forwards.

His hands sewed the shrouds that burned over so many of his siblings. So many. They’ve sewn shut cuts and slices and wounds on almost everyone he lives in proximity to. How can he try sewing, when every needle he’s ever touched has been sticky with blood?

What hobby would you give to Will Solace? Because he really doesn’t see an option.

Still, He’s not really sure how to answer the question. 

“How are you gonna care about me,” He breathes, still internally settling on what he’s going to say. “If I don’t even fucking know me?”

Nico breathes something that sounds sort of like oh, and he pauses. Will sits in that silence, thick and dense, and hysterically, somehow, he’s fucking crying again. 

“Shit. Hey, no- I’m not, like, contemplating you, or being with you, or anything. You don’t need to worry about that. It’s not gonna change. I promise. ”

Will just laughs welty, still crying. Doctor. Doctor. 

The thought isn’t really working, this time. It sort of has a cooldown period. He’s all numb in that cooldown period. He’s good at switching emotions quick, isn’t he? Maybe that could be my hobby. He’s not really present enough to register whether that thought is a joke. 

“I’m just, wondering if that’s something people actually need from a partner. I guess that makes sense, when I think about it. but I never really did before now.”

“You’re the one who asked me. You knew, subconsciously, that it’s something people are supposed to have.”

“Well, maybe. But the questions i’m asking you-“ he breathes a laugh before continuing, “They’re because that’s a part of all the advice I’ve got. Ask him what he likes to eat, and do, and what his favourite colour is. That’s what everyone told me I was supposed to do. I don’t know what I’m doing, here. I’m learning. You’re learning, too. But I’m not learning how to, like, figure out your pastimes. I’m learning how to love you. I don’t need you to have a favourite colour for me to love you, Will.”

“Love me?”

His head is raised, suddenly. Eyes still teary and breathing still choppy. But he’s looking at Nico. His face goes red, but stony as ever, Nico doesn’t falter. “You’re my best friend, even if you’re my boyfriend, too. Of course I love you, Will.” 

Oh.

He’s still. Crying. And that really just makes him cry harder, dropping his head again, his lungs all full of something that won’t go through his blood. 

“Hey. Will. Hey, look at me. Look at me. You know what?”

He looks. 

“Neither do I.” Beat. Beat. Beat.

His heart feels like it’s about to burst. Like it’s full of light or tar.

“Huh?”

“I spent, just, so long. I spent so long seeking kiddie vengeance, and looking for some emotional band aid. I’ve been, like, nothing but angry, for years. I don’t do much, Will. I haven’t picked up many hobbies while feeling like that. So if you can’t be cared for, because you don’t know everything about yourself? then I’m just the same. And you tell me all the time I need to accept care. There’s nothing making you any different from me, Will. You deserve this, too. ”

And it’s light. 

Light.

It’s a stupid thing.

And he’s not fixed.

But it’s every fear in his body made just that little bit smaller, that little bit less loud.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I love you too.”

Nico grins. “I know.”

Will raises both of his eyebrows. “Was that a Star Wars reference?”

Nico laughs. “Gods, what have you made of me?”

Will laughs, too. “You do know me.”

His smile softens. “You know me, too. Hobbies or not.”

And they sit with that, for a bit. Will’s breathing is uneven, but not with panic. It’s a good feeling.

They sit next to each other, right until sundown, fingers entwined, and maybe. Just maybe. This is something Will  can have. Maybe, he’s not too beat down or busy for that. 

He’s one assurance closer to believing it.

[itaipava]

— things f1 boys do that make people think you’re dating.

˒ ⌕ LANDO NORRIS

the way he always looks at you when he makes a joke; he loves your laugh and he loves knowing that he is often the reason for it, so he always tries his best to make you smile and feel happy around him. there’s no better feeling than making some comment or stupid joke and knowing that you liked it and laughed, that you share the same brain cell as him, makes him extremely happy and warm inside. he looks at you with a smile on his face, eyes shining as your laughter fills his ears like music. and he can’t hide his emotions, which makes everyone around look at the two of you, a sly smile on their faces.

˒ ⌕ DANIEL RICCIARDO

the way he smiles when you walk into the room; he always instinctively looks for you when he arrives somewhere; his gaze darts to all the people there and he feels a slight sadness invade his heart when he doesn’t see you. but he’s patient and while he’s talking to his friends or listening to them tell a random story, he’s staring at the front door waiting for you, and, when you finally arrive, he’ll stop anything he’s doing just to go to you and his smile is priceless with a happy, anxious gleam in his eyes. he greets you with a kiss on the forehead and wrapping you in a hug before taking your hand and leading you closer to his friends.

˒ ⌕ CARLOS SAINZ

the way he takes care of you in little ways; he always accompanies you home and only leaves when he makes sure you are safe, he always offers you his jacket when it starts to get cold or else you are wearing skirt/dress and will sit down. he always protects your body with his in crowded places. he takes care of you with so much love and affection that it always makes your heart melt in your chest and the pure smile and look you give him makes everyone around you think that you are together, especially when he pulls you to him and kisses your head.

˒ ⌕ CHARLES LECLERC

the way he looks at you; when you are in a place with many people, he likes to admire you from afar; watching your smile and seeing you having fun makes his heart warm in his chest because your happiness is his happiness. he always keeps an eye on you and sometimes he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, he just notices he’s staring a little too hard when you snap your fingers in front of him or smile amusedly at him.

˒ ⌕ LEWIS HAMILTON

the way he always talks with or about you; when you start talking, all his attention goes to you; he memorizes everything you said, all your mannerisms and quirks and he honestly could spend all day listening to you talk, gently pulling a lock of your hair and tucking it behind your ear just so he can see you better. and when you’re not around, he always thinks of you; especially when someone starts talking superficially about people they like or think it’s hot, and he always mentions your traits when someone asks him what’s his ideal type. he is also always the first to defend you if someone dares to say something bad about you; to him, you are the most amazing and flawless person ever, and he is not afraid to say that to anyone who will listen.

˒ ⌕ OSCAR PIASTRI

the way he is chivalrous with you; he always opens doors for you, gives you his jacket at the slightest sign of cold, walks on the side of the road to protect you, leaves you the last bit of food, and even sends you flowers at your work or school. he does all this with love and genuineness, you know he is affectionate and wants to make you feel appreciated and loved, but whoever looks at you two on the street, surely thinks you two are dating because of the way he shows love for you; it’s totally unique and passionate.

˒ ⌕ MAX VERSTAPPEN

the way his actions become warmer and softer towards you; he does things for you that no one expected him to do like reserve a seat for you, share the blanket with you on the couch during a movie night with friends, give you flowers, and even go to the shopping with you, even if it means he’ll carry your purse and bags or sit in the same store for hours while he waits for you. he has so much love for you and everyone who sees him knows he is eager to give you his heart.

[ilikerafayelwaytoomuch]

How the LADS men help their gf with anxiety

The LADS (separate) girlfriend has been feeling anxious lately, what do they do to help?

Warnings: mentions of anxiety, vague mentions of 'something' happening that triggered the gf, fluff, comfort

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Rafayel 

She had been extra anxious all day, all week really. It had been building and she didn’t know why. She kept it from Rafayel, not wanting to bother him with something she wasn’t even sure she could talk about. But it was beginning to be too much, her body shaking, mind racing, glancing in every direction. She felt impending doom, whether that be something about to happen to her career or her relationship with the artist. Speaking of, the artist himself, Rafayel, hadn’t come home yet. That pushed her anxiety even further, checking her calendar and seeing he had nowhere to be at this time. Had he been upset about something? She hadn’t even seen him yet though. Was he struggling? Was he second guessing their relationship? 

She wasn’t given too much time to entertain her thoughts of where her boyfriend could be, as he came through the door, face brightening when he saw her. “Hi Cutie! I didn’t expect to see you today,” he smiled at her, arms full of shells. She smiled and nodded at him, not wanting to burden him. “I was down at the beach getting some supplies,” he explained, walking over and plopping down his pile of shells, rocks, and whatever else he deemed a useful supply. “Those damn seagulls were about to fight me for some too. I swear they have something against me, like they think I’m food. Stupid birds. All they can do is be annoying and squawk or beg for food. I suppose they also pester humans too. Anyway, I almost lost an arm getting some of these,” he sighed. 

“Are you okay?” she asked him, not even catching onto his dramatics. Alarm bells rang in Rafayel’s head. She usually would reply with a snarky comeback, not seem genuinely worried about him. Something was off about her. 

“Of course,” he answered, moving to sit next to his girlfriend on the couch, immediately wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “They couldn’t catch a slippery fish like me.” 

“That’s good,” she muttered. 

“Everything okay?” Rafayel asked her tentatively. She nodded her head, but he didn’t believe her. “You sure? You seem off today especially. Did something happen? You know you can tell me anything and I won’t judge you, right?” 

“I know,” she took in a breath. She had never really talked about her anxiety to him. It used to be much more of a problem, but she had been doing much better in the past few years, not struggling with it as much. This week was the exception. How would he react? Would he change his mind and believe she was too much to deal with? Too emotional? “I’ve just been really anxious today,” she eventually answered, looking towards the floor. 

“About what?” he asked, curious. 

“Dunno,” she shrugged. “It’s not the first time. I never really told you, but I do have anxiety. I had been doing really really well, but for some reason this week I’ve just been so on edge and it’s been piling up. It’s bad today.” Rafayel held her a bit closer, noticing that she did seem more jittery than normal, her mind not fully present, almost. 

“It happens. Things can’t always get better and better. Sometimes we have bad weeks, that doesn’t mean you are going to be back at square one. Anxiety sucks,” he breathed. She looked up at him with her head tilted. He said it as if he had experienced it. “I also have anxiety,” he answered her before she could ask the question. “Or did? I’m not sure if I still qualify as having it, but there was a long period of time where I really struggled. I’ve been quote unquote, stable, for a while now, not needing any medication or anything. Is there anything I can do to help? For me painting always helped, duh, but we can do whatever you want.” 

“Honestly? Painting doesn’t sound too bad right now. Can you maybe walk me through the process? It’ll maybe help me focus on something,” she agreed. Rafayel smiled at her, excited to paint with his girlfriend. But since this is Rafayel, he started by getting out his paint making supplies so they could make paint together and then paint together from start to finish. He had put some background music on, as that was what he always wanted when he had felt anxious and began to walk her through the process. They grinded up various shells and things Rafayel gathered from the sea, then mixed it in with the binding ingredient, tested it and began to paint. Y/n was mostly silent, focusing on the process and Rafayel’s instructions or jokes. It did help. She no longer felt quite as anxious. Rafayel had suggested they work on the same canvas and create something together, which she agreed to. At first, Rafayel had been helping, giving instructions on what to paint. Of course acting out his cliche fantasy, moving behind his girlfriend, placing his hand over hers and guiding her strokes. It made her laugh, so he deemed it a success. Eventually, as time went on and their painting became more and more alive, their conversation died. They grew into a comfortable silence, focusing solely on the canvas in front of them or the music softly playing. 

“It’s stunning,” Rafayel said when they finished, admiring their work. “I didn’t know my Cutie was also an artist.” 

“It’s not like I did that much,” she argued. 

“I think you did. We made the paints and created this together. Hmm, I would say this needs to be hung at an exhibit, but I think I like it too much for that. Above my bed will do,” he decided. 

“That seems like a bit much don-”

“Hush. I’ll hang it when it’s done drying. Have you eaten already?” he asked, standing up from the stool he was sitting on and stretching his sore limbs from having sat in the same position for so long. 

“Technically,” she drew out the word. He raised a brow at her. 

“Craving something?” 

“So much junk food. Any and all kinds you can get.” 

“On it,” he answered, getting his phone out and placing an order. When the food arrived y/n had been very cautious at first, afraid that her boyfriend would think she was eating too much. Rafayel thought quite the opposite, believing that she was holding herself back and should eat more. So he brought it upon himself to ensure that she would eat what she wanted, offering her more and more and making sure to eat just as much or even more as her. The food was comforting, but so was the time, just getting to sit and eat with Rafayel as they chatted. When they finished up, Rafayel insisted that she stay the night. He was unaware that she was hardly sleeping because of her anxiety, but y/n wondered if that wasn’t the case. Why else would he suggest she sleep there with him to get a good rest? He had to know she hadn’t been sleeping well. Rafayel had also insisted that she wear his favorite pair of comfort sweats and shirt, saying there was no possible way to feel anxious wearing them. Of course, she went along with it, the smile on Rafayel’s face irresistible. In his bed, Rafayel spooned his girlfriend from behind, engulfing her with his warmth and holding her more tightly than normal. The pressure and warmth was comforting and y/n felt more relaxed in his arms than she had all week. “Thank you for opening up to me. You can let me know when you’re feeling anxious and I’ll help any way I can. I’ll listen to you, paint with you, cook for you, sit in silence for you, give you a massage, cuddle you, kiss you, fuck you, anything really as long as it’ll help,” he told her. She laughed softly as he had brushed over the last suggestion, saying it quickly. 

“Thank you. I’ll try to be even more honest. Today really helped though,” she said through a yawn. “I feel a lot more relaxed.” 

“Good. Now get some rest,” Rafayel instructed, placing a kiss to the back of her head as she fell asleep in his arms. 

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Sylus 

“You’ve been sitting there staring at the wall for over half an hour now, is everything okay, sweetie?” Sylus asked his girlfriend. She had indeed been sitting on the couch in his office, saying nothing and not moving for half an hour. 

“Hmm?” she hummed, turning to him. His brows furrowed in concern and he stood from the chair at his desk, walking over to her. 

“You seem more distant,” he pushed. She nodded, saying nothing. Sylus sat next to her and placed his hand on her thigh, the feeling grounding her. “Is this about what happened the other night?” She nodded and he nodded back, understanding. Ever since that night she had been feeling more anxious and distant. Worried that at any moment, she would be back in that situation. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

“I don’t,” she immediately answered. “I don’t want to remember it, I want to forget it.” 

“I understand that, really. But this isn’t healthy. If you don’t want to talk to me, I won’t push it, but I do think you should talk to someone about it,” Sylus admitted. She closed her eyes, biting her lip as her hand moved to scratch her thigh. Sylus’s hand blocked her movement, as he had noticed it was a habit she began to pick up when feeling this way. 

“I’m scared and I don’t know what to do about it. I always figure shit out on my own, so why is this affecting me so much?” she said. 

“Because it’s a lot. Even the strongest person in the world has to lean on people sometimes. We’re meant to lean on each other. You’re so unbelievably strong, but it’s okay to lean on me when you need to,” he comforted her, squeezing her thigh softly. She nodded, unsure what to even say. “How about I finish up work early and we can go wash up? Then we should eat and we can read a book?” he suggested. 

“That sounds nice,” she agreed. Sylus stood up and reached for her hand. She took it and he guided her to the bathroom where he slowly helped her undress, making sure that she was still completely comfortable. He made sure the water was extra hot for her, even though he thought she was insane for preferring the water to be almost boiling hot. He watched as she stepped into the shower and visibly relaxed more, the tremors in her hands stilling slightly. He got in behind her, hugging her from behind and saying nothing. It was more comforting than y/n had thought it would be. Despite what had happened, she felt okay in Sylus’s arms. They stayed like this for much too long, Sylus moving to help wash up. When they were done, he pulled out the new robes he had gotten. A new design from a luxury brand that promised ultra comfort in their robes. He ordered it as well as a few other things since that night. She had been staying with him and he watched as her anxieties had grown. She had barely slept, and he was determined to change that. When she was more well rested, she could process more and hopefully agree to talking to someone. 

After eating, they headed to Sylus’s bedroom. He put on one of his records before choosing a book and sitting on his bed, back against the headboard. Y/n stood by his bookshelf, not really wanting to start a new read. She wasn’t sure she could focus enough to read. Her fingers brushed across the spines of the books, her body saying to pick one but her brain unable to say anything but “watch out” or “run”. “Come sit, sweetheart,” Sylus called to her, inviting her to sit after seeing her internal conflict. She took his invitation, sitting between his legs with her back against his chest. Sylus held the book in front of them, arms caging his girlfriend. He read the pages silently before asking if y/n was ready to turn the page. When she didn’t respond, he decided to take matters into his own hands, starting over and reading the pages aloud. He kept his voice soft, hoping to lull her to sleep. His story choice wasn’t random either- he made sure to choose a book that had a message of comfort behind it. He hoped she would get the message- that she was safe here with him through the book. 

At first, y/n could barely get what was happening in the story, unable to focus still. So instead, she focused on her boyfriend. The rise and fall of his chest as he breathed against her back. The slight rumble she could feel as he spoke. His arms wrapped around her, but not suffocating as he held the book in front of them. The warmth from being so close. The sound of the record playing softly in the background- words of comfort being sung- mixed with the sound of Sylus’s voice, deep and comforting. She focused on these things first, allowing herself to feel safe. When she was able to focus on the story more, she realized everything about this was meticulously planned. Sylus had chosen a vinyl that had a soothing melody with words of comfort on purpose. He had chosen this book to give her a message- that she was safe with him. She had never felt so seen and cared for in her life, tears being brought to her eyes. When she sniffled, her boyfriend noticed immediately and stopped reading. “Are you alright?” he softly asked. 

“Yes. Thank you Sylus. For all of this,” she answered. 

“Of course, sweetie. I want you to not only know that you’re safe with me, but also that you feel safe with me. I’d do anything to protect you. If I could fight this anxiety away from you, I would in a heartbeat.” 

“I know you would,” she chuckled. “Keep reading.” Sylus did as she requested, continuing to read the book. Around ten minutes later, Sylus felt y/n’s body relax fully into his. He peeked down to see she had fallen asleep on him. He smiled softly, having nothing but love for the woman in front of him. He wished he could protect her from everything- the world, the bad feelings, the hard problems she was sure to face. If he could, he would take it all for her, leaving her with nothing but happiness, safety, and peace. But for now, he would continue to read to her as she slept in his arms, ensuring she’d feel safe even in her dreams. 

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

Zayne 

Zayne could tell his girlfriend was anxious. Having known her even before they began a relationship, it was easy to spot. She hadn’t even noticed how she was feeling quite yet, but he saw the signs. It was why he had suggested going on a walk at a park. Zayne had scoped out all the parks nearby, finding which ones were the least crowded, but also the most scenic- the perfect place to walk if you’re anxious. Y/n had agreed, getting into his car and ready to walk. She had been stressed lately about work, things piling up. And on top of that there was a lot of drama in the office. So she was happy to spend time with Zayne. 

They walked through the park relatively slow, taking their time to take everything in. Their hands, stuck together, swung beside them. Though they didn’t speak much, Zayne kept a close eye on his girlfriend. At the beginning, she seemed more neutral. Stressed. Trying to hide it of course, but he could tell. Now she had a soft smile on her face, a genuine one. He guided her to a small pond at the park and her face lit up. “Look over there!” she exclaimed, letting go of his hand to jog over to the pond. He smiled and caught up to her. “Aww, they’re so cute! The little babies are even following,” she cooed. In the pond, there was a duck swimming, her small ducklings following close behind. She squatted down at the water to get a closer look at their cuteness, Zayne following. Upon hearing a crushing sound, she turned to her boyfriend, who was pulling out a bag of frozen peas from his coat. She laughed. “Where were you hiding those?” she asked. 

“That’s a secret,” he smiled at her, opening the bag and handing it to her. The ducks had also heard the noise and began to swim over to the couple. Y/n’s excitement grew the closer they got, sticking her hand in the bag and offering some peas to the ducks. They swam quicker, diving into the water to eat. The couple watched as they fed the ducks peas, laughing whenever a duckling would flop around, still unsure how to work its new body. Eventually, the ducks swam off, leaving the couple behind as they stood and watched. Y/n stood and took Zayne’s hand in hers, sighing. “It would be nice to be a duck sometimes,” she admitted.

“It would,” he agreed. 

“Just swim around all day eating peas people throw at you. They don’t have to worry about work. Maybe they still have to deal with drama. I don’t think I’d like a duck taking away my duck boyfriend,” she smiled. 

“If we were ducks I’d be just as dedicated to you. No other duck would sway me,” he mused. 

“How romantic,” she chuckled. “You knew how I was feeling, didn’t you? That’s why you brought me here.” 

“I did. I could tell you were stressed and likely anxious. If you weren’t anxious already, I knew you would be. Figured the fresh air and ducks could help.” 

“They did. But something else helped even more,” her eyes glimmered. 

“What’s that?” Zayne asked, wanting to know so he could help more next time as well .

“Getting to walk around with my handsome doctor boyfriend,” she smiled, making him chuckle. “I’m serious!” she insisted. “You always know how to make me feel better. Just being with you makes me feel better, we could have been at the stinkiest place right now and I’d feel better.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind for next time,” he teased. 

“Okay, maybe not if it was stinky and gross. But you get the point,” she sighed. 

“I do,” he agreed. They began to walk again, this time back towards Zayne’s car, hand in hand. Y/n swung their hands happily, smiling more now and feeling lighter, ready to go home and end the night in his arms. 

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

Xavier 

When Xavier woke up from his nap, he walked into the living room mto find his girlfriend on the floor in front of the coffee table, her head resting on the laptop in front of her. At first, he thought she was asleep, then she let out a groan of frustration. “Everything okay?” he asked carefully, grabbing himself a glass of water. 

“No,” she answered, exploding. “There’s too much to do and I’m so fucking tired. I don’t know how I’m going to do any of this. And all week long my coworkers have been staring at me, like daggers into the back of my skull and I don’t know what I ever did to them. Because of that I can’t focus at the office and when I’m here I’m either thinking about that or about how much shit there is to do that I can’t get done.” Xavier set his glass down gently and walked over to the living room, sitting on the couch behind her and looking over her shoulder at her laptop. 

“Want me to help?” he offered. 

“I would, but that’s technically illegal,” she sighed, looking up at him with a pout. 

“Then how about a break?” 

“I don’t have time for a break, Xavie,” she warned. 

“If it’s all making you this anxious, it won’t matter,” he argued. She sighed, knowing he was right, but not knowing what to do to calm her racing mind. “Would talking about it help?” he asked. 

“I don’t know? It’s like what I said. I don’t know what I did to them, but they just keep glaring at me. And I know I’m not imagining it before you ask that. I’ve tried thinking about everything. I don’t think I said anything rude or offensive, I haven’t thrown more work onto anyone, and I don’t think it was anything about me physically. I don’t know what I’ve done,” she shrugged. Xavier’s hands made their way to her shoulders, massaging them gently. 

“It could be nothing. Maybe they just felt like being dicks,” he thought aloud. “Have you asked Tara about it? She’s chill from what I’ve heard from you.” 

“I haven’t. She wasn’t at the office today, but she would know. That’s a good idea, thank you.” 

“Of course. Now about this work you got, any way of making a plan so you don’t feel so overwhelmed and anxious? What all do you have to do?” he asked. She went through all of the tasks she had to do and when they needed to be done with him. Xavier was weirdly good at organizing and breaking things down, so he took all the information she gave him and did just that. He broke down all of the things she needed to get done into smaller tasks and then organized them day by day, making a to-do list for her. It left her with just two more small tasks to do that day. “Thank you, Xavie. That helped a lot,” she thanked him, resting her head on his shoulder as he had moved to sit next to her. 

“Mhm,” he hummed. “Now I’m not rushing you, but get these done so we can go get some hotpot. I’m hungry.” 

“Yes sir,” she saluted him, getting to work. Before that, she sent a quick text to Tara, asking if she knew what was up. She didn’t get an answer until they were deep into their meal. Y/n suddenly began laughing, Xavier looking at her confused. They had just been eating. Was there something on his face? “Tara answered,” she told him. 

“Oh? What did she say?” he asked. Y/n sighed. 

“It’s dumb, are you ready for this?” she warned. He nodded. “Remember Monday when I forgot my lunch and you came and brought it to me?” He nodded again, confused as to what this had to do with anything. “Apparently, one of my coworkers thought you were cute…so they stopped you in the hall?” His face dropped. 

“I didn’t do anything. She just flirted and asked for my number, but I told her I was happily with you,” he informed her. She nodded. 

“I believe you fully. She must have been pretty offended though. She started a dumb rumor about me being a whore and cheating on you, which I’m not by the way. She starts drama all the time, Tara said she’ll take care of it,” She told him. 

“Ah, well, that’s good? Still not cool of her to cause so many problems,” he muttered, putting another piece of meat in his mouth. Y/n nodded in agreement and the two finished their meal, her anxieties being lessened knowing Tara would stay true to her word. It wasn’t the first time a nasty rumor had gone around and Tara easily smashed it in its place. When they finished, they returned home and washed up, Xavier yawning and barely making it to bed. His girlfriend got in next to him, facing him. “Thank you again for everything today. I feel a lot better now,” she told him. 

“Of course. I don’t like seeing you stressed and anxious. I’d do anything to help,” he told her, yawning again. She laughed at him. 

“Even though I was on an emotional rollercoaster today, you still seem tired.” 

“I’m always tired. Only time I’m not is when I get to spend the day with you.” 

“I was home today though, so doesn’t that mean you shouldn’t be tired?” 

“I wasn’t home all day, so I am tired. Tomorrow though, is our day off, so I’ll be wide awake,” he smiled, eyes already closing. 

“Whatever you say, sleepy. Goodnight,” she pressed a kiss to his nose, making him scrunch it up a bit. 

“Sweet dreams, starlight.” 

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Caleb 

All it took was a single text for Caleb to visit his girlfriend. Having grown up together, he was easily able to detect when something was wrong, and her replying with just a thumbs up, was wrong. She was surprised when he showed up at her door. “Caleb? What are you doing here? Don’t you have a flight?” she asked. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked. 

“That’s what I’m asking you, yes,” she blinked. 

“I’m fine, but you’re not. What’s going on? Vibes are off too,” he raised his brow. Y/n sighed, moving aside to let him in. They sat on the couch, Caleb looking at her expectantly. Their relationship had been complicated. When they were growing up, they were as close as close can be, relying on each other and having no secrets. Then, Caleb had essentially disappeared, harming the relationship. At first when he returned, she had mixed feelings. Anger, relief, frustration. But eventually, it worked out, the two getting into a relationship. Despite how they were before, his disappearance had changed their dynamic, and going to Caleb for everything was harder than before. Y/n tried to keep more secrets, not big ones of course. Just ones like this one, not telling him how anxious she felt and that she had a panic attack the night before, causing her to call in for a sick day. “I don’t know where to start,” she told him. 

“How about why you’re not at work? What happened?” he asked, growing more concerned. “Do I need to beat someone up? Give you a million dollars?” 

“No, none of that,” she smiled, then sighed. “I had a panic attack yesterday so I called in to work. Still kinda anxious today.” 

“Oh,” he slowly said, processing. She used to always come to him when she was panicking, but this time she hadn’t. Of course, he knew things were different now, but it still sat uncomfortably in his chest. He didn’t even know she still struggled with them. Would what he used to do comfort her? He didn’t know what to do. When they were kids, she would just talk to him about it all. Did she no longer want to do that? Did she not trust him? 

“Stop overthinking over there, we don’t need both of us anxious,” she half teased. “I didn’t tell you because it’s embarrassing now. I can handle them myself, this one was just a bit much and I was exhausted. I’m feeling better today.” 

“Can I ask what caused it?” 

“You can. It started at work, a supervisor had some words to say to me. It was maybe a bit out of line, but obviously for most people they wouldn’t have been sent into a panic attack. It thankfully was at the end of the day so I just held it together until I got home. I already emailed and took care of it all, so no need to go hunt them down,” she explained. 

“I’m sorry that happened. And I suppose I won’t hunt them down, just because you said not to,” he smiled. “Well, since we have the day off, is there anything I can do to help?” 

“I mean, I was just going to nap the day away, eat junk, and chill,” she trailed off. 

“But?” he finished, urging her. 

“There is one thing that would be super fun.” 

“You gonna make me guess Pipsqueak?” he asked, exhausted. She grinned. 

“Take me on a flight?” 

Caleb had agreed and the two headed to the nearby private airport. He had gotten his pilot license and flew people around mostly privately, but he also had bought a small, old airplane, big enough for just the two of them. When they arrived, he got his gear on, letting the staff know they’d be in the air, and then got y/n her gear. She didn’t need much, as she wasn’t flying the plane, but he made sure to give her a helmet so they could talk. Y/n watched as he did all of the standard checks, ensuring everything was good and they were safe to fly. When he finished, he helped her into the plane, offering a hand. Soon enough, they were in the air. Y/n watched as they went through the clouds, looking down below at the world. It seemed so small from up there, like nothing really mattered on it. It was just a small rock floating through space. She yelled in half fear- half excitement when Caleb decided to make the flight more interesting, twisting and turning the plane. It was freeing to be up in the air, adrenaline rushing through their bodies as their worries were left on the ground. For Caleb, it was the best thing in the world to hear his girlfriend's screams and laughs in excitement. 

After landing, the two went back to her place. There they did as y/n had suggested earlier. They ate junk, though Caleb was sure to force in a few nutritious things, then watched a show. The two were cuddled up on the couch, face masks on while they munched on popcorn and watched the show they loved when they were kids. It was comfortable. Y/n had fallen asleep first, unable to stay awake after everything that happened since the day before. Caleb had taken her into his arms and carried her to bed, getting in beside her. He smiled softly as he looked at her, happy he was able to make her feel at least a bit better. In the morning, he would make sure that she was better, and if she wasn’t, he’d do anything she wanted to help her feel better.

[animeyanderelover]

Anon: Can you do a mute S/O with Jouno, Chrollo, Feitan, Inumaki and Gojo?

Tw: Yandere themes, possessive behavior, obsession, delusional behavior, manipulation, isolation, abduction

Tags: @jamayah @chxxz @leveyani @hyakki-yosai @shenryu-sama @maggiequinn59 @shumidehiro @izanami78 @lovley-valentine7

Mute s/o

Chrollo Lucilfer

📖​Words aren't the only way for a human to communicate. Over years of a harsh life Chrollo has learnt to read the language of one's body as fluently as he does with his books. This makes the situation for you a lot easier as he is always able to tell from one single glance at your body how you're currently feeling, one look from you enough to convey what you are unable to express in words. Always harboring an interest to learn about everything he doesn't know, Chrollo quickly learns how to use sign language for you so that you can communicate with him by using it. The Phantom Troupe actually makes an effort to learn the language as well since you're Chrollo's darling though with mixed results. Still, he gifts you a beautifully wrapped notebook in which the two of you often write in to talk to each other and once one is full he gifts you a new one but still keeps the old one as he likes skimming through the pages and reread the many dialogues the two of you had with each other, no matter how insignificant they may be. If you should have selective mutism and talk very rarely as a result of it Chrollo would be utterly captivated whenever you softly speak up, longing to keep your voice for himself.

Feitan Portor

☠️​Now, Feitan loves torturing people and for that can read it very well when people are anxious or in pain yet that doesn't mean that he always understands why. That proves to be troublesome as soon as he has you within his captivity as he is able to realise when something is wrong with you but he isn't always able to tell what it is you need and that gets on his nerves quickly. He relies on messages and texts typed on the phone to communicate with you as it is the easiest and fastest way for you to give him an answer. At the very least you aren't noisy though and annoy him in his daily life as you remain quiet, the silence between the two of you so thick that one would be able to cut it with a knife. Feitan's sadism is a huge burden for you though, especially when he finds himself longing to hear something from you. It doesn't have to be a word, just a sound from you. A sound of pain, coupled with those exciting squirms of your body as you're subdued to his torture. Whether you're actually incapable of forming words or are selectively mute ultimately doesn't matter to him, most of the time he appreciates things the way they are between you two.

Jouno Saigiku

♦️​Able to pick up emotions due to his enhanced hearing, Jouno is able to understand what is going in within you quite well though perhaps he isn't what you hoped the person who would understand you wordlessly to be like. The worries you have aren't unjustified because Jouno doesn't emphasise with your feelings even though he is able to pick them up. Instead he uses them against you to mold you into the obedient person he would like you to be. Most frustrating of all is that he tortures you by not allowing you any paper or even a phone which you could use to communicate with someone else. He wouldn't be able to talk to you by using such methods after all as he is blind. Deep down, though he wouldn't admit it out loud, he is secretly angry that you are able to communicate with others all whilst he is only able to read you and it is one of the main reasons why he forbids others to talk to you by using other methods. If you are actually able to talk but are selectively mute Jouno is not someone you can expect patience from. Insensitive and cruel, he considers your problem stupid. He doesn't want you to talk to everybody but he expects you to talk to him.

Gojo Satoru

🩵​Gojo proves to be quite conflicting with his obsession due to your mutism. Communicating with others starts to become significantly harder as Gojo's possessive and clingy antics interfere with your daily life. This leaves you with no choice but to turn to him though to your surprise you notice quickly that he learns fast how to understand you wordlessly without you having to use your phone. He already has experience with Inumaki after all and quickly teaches himself how to use sign language as well to be able to communicate with you just in case the electronic devices shouldn't work. Your silence leads to him being more protective over you though since you aren't able to verbally express yourself which tends to lead people to misunderstand you. Whenever you two are in a crowd he has a tight grip on your hand to not lose you though his Six Eyes would be able to find you quickly even if you somehow should escape his hold. Whenever someone approaches you or talks to you he always takes over the conversation for you which only worsens your social skills over time. Even if you should still be able to speak he won't let anyone besides himself hear your voice.

Inumaki Toge

🗣️​His friends always joke that the two of you are really meant to be as both of you are unable to talk normally. Both of you still make the best out of it despite those obstacles though and Inumaki, normally on a more reserved side, starts being more expressive with his body language, hand gestures as well as his facial expressions so that you can understand him better as well. Even when he sends you a message on your phone he starts using more emojis to give everything more emotions. During your relationship the two of you actually come up with a new secret language between the two of you and it tightens the bond the two of you share as now you're able to communicate in front of others without them being able to decipher what the two of you are saying. It's not a new experience for him to be made fun of due to his inability to speak by others but if you should experience the same treatment he doesn't tolerate it as he would normally, standing up for you whilst you might be unable to do so for yourself. In case you are able to talk he'd be really happy the moment you grow comfortable enough to talk to him even if you should stutter or mumble your words.

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Reader being anxious about JJ getting on the bike since the accident in season 3. Maybe it’s during the bike competition? He promise her he won’t do anything stupid that would get him hurt, but he’s JJ so things always turn to shit

Request: being John b's sister and dating JJ when he's doing that motocross competition. He does it to earn some money back

I have not seen season 4 yet, so I have no idea of the context of the race, so don't come yelling at me because it's not what happened in the show. I also decided to not make it go to shit, because that one accident was enough trauma

Warnings: slight ptsd, JJ making stupid jokes, mention of motocross accident (season 3),

—

‘’I don’t like this...’’ 

You wrapped your arms around yourself as you stood by JJ and his bike, getting flashes of the accident and the utter distress you felt when you couldn’t find him after he fell over the overpass. You never wanted to relive that type of emotion again. 

At your reaction, JJ grabbed your arms, his voice dropping to a soothing tone. ‘’I know you're worried for me, but I need to do this. If I win, I’ll get a lot of money…and make up for spending most of the gold money on my old house,’’ he explained, trying to calm your worries. His eyes shifted to Pope and the others. ‘’No one’s gonna be mad at me anymore.’’

You understood his reason for signing up for the competition, but you couldn’t support it. There had to be something else he could do. Not a fucking motocross competition. Anything but that.

‘’I’m gonna be fine,’’ he added, lifting your chin and looking into your eyes. ‘’This is just a race in the sand, not a police chase.’’ 

That earned him a glare. 

‘’JJ, the last time I saw you on a bike—’’  Your voice faltered, the knot in your stomach tightening painfully.

Realizing his joke fell flat, JJ pulled you into a tight embrace, holding you close. His hand rubbed soothing circles on your back, trying to calm you down. Sometimes he wanted to smack himself for saying stupid things…

The crash haunted him too, no question about it. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel a surge of panic when he lost control of the bike and tumbled down the overpass. But it was different for you — you had watched it happen from Topper’s truck, helpless as he fell. You and Sarah screamed for him, only to receive no answers. You thought he had died from the crash. 

Too soon to your liking, a loud noise echoed over the speakers, calling all racers to the starting line. You reluctantly pulled away from JJ and walked off with Kiara, linking her arms with yours in silent support.

You went up the stands to find seats, taking the spot beside your brother. You gripped the edge of the seat as you glanced at the racetrack, then the starting line where JJ sat on his bike, revving up with the others. You’ve been trying to prepare yourself mentally for weeks, but you don’t think you’ll ever be ready to see the boy you loved getting back on a bike that almost took his life.

‘’Don’t worry, he’s got this,’’ John B. said, wrapping an arm around you. He smiled, but you could see the flicker of concern in his eyes too. You all knew what happened last time, even if no one was saying it out loud. ‘’And he’s got protective gear this time.’’

Injuries can still happen with protective gear. You’ve read about it online. 

You could barely breathe as the starter raised the flag, and the crowd fell into an anticipatory hush. JJ pulled down the visor of his helmet, a familiar cocky smile tugging at his lips, then the flag dropped.

The race exploded into motion. The bikes shot off, kicking up a massive cloud of dust. The roar of engines filled your ears, drowning out everything else. Your heart raced faster than the bikes on the track as you gripped the bench beneath you, your knuckles going white.

Kiara followed JJ with her eyes, her voice loud enough to cut through the noise. "He's in third already!" she shouted, trying to add some enthusiasm.

''Come on, JJ,'' Pope added, looking almost just as nervous as you. 

Your eyes stayed glued to JJ, weaving between riders as the pack hurtled toward the first turn. Every bump, every jump had you holding your breath, afraid that any second things could go wrong.

It was impossible not to relive the accident in your mind — the way he flew over the edge, the bike spinning out of control. But this time, you tried to push those images aside, focusing on the present, on him. You needed to believe he could make it through.

The first turn came up fast, the riders leaning hard into it, and your heart lurched as JJ took the inside path, overtaking the guy in second place. The crowd roared, and for a moment, the adrenaline made you forget your worry, just watching him race.

Although this bike brought back bad memories, it held good ones too. All the times you’ve sat behind JJ and held onto his waist as he sped through the streets of Kildare…and the muddy shortcuts. When he tried to teach you how to drive it, but you ended up making out while you were sitting on the bike instead. John B. would kill him if he knew. 

By the third lap, JJ was neck-and-neck with the leader. The crowd around you was on their feet, yelling and cheering, but all you could focus on was JJ, pushing his bike harder, faster, determined to take first place. 

‘’Oh my god, he’s in first!’’ Sarah shouted as he took a turn for the final lap, getting caught up in the excitement. ‘’Come on, JJ! One more lap!’’ 

Your pulse hammered in your ears as he flew toward the line. The guy on the blue bike was trying to go past JJ, the bikes barely separated by inches, but JJ was still leading. 

And then, in a flash, it was over.

JJ crossed the line, just a split second ahead.

Around you, everyone was jumping and cheering while you stood there. A mix of excitement, relief and joy washed through you, together a strange and confusing cocktail. Kiara wrapped her arms around you, a wide grin on his face, and everyone else joined, celebrating JJ’s big win. All the anxiety and fear suddenly melted away, replaced by pure excitement. Your hands were shaking but your heart was pounding with adrenaline and happiness. 

As soon as you could, you all made your way down the stand, wanting to congratulate JJ. You pushed your way through the throngs of people until you finally caught sight of him. He was still in his racing gear, including the helmet, but he had taken the visor off, and you could see his face glistened with sweat. 

You ran toward him, a wide grin on your face, but before you could say anything, he saw you and pulled you into a tight hug, lifting you off the ground. 

''I told you I would win,'' he said, mirroring your grin. 

You squealed in surprise as your feet left the ground, holding onto him tightly. The familiar scent of sweat, adrenaline, and just a hint of motor oil filled your nostrils, evoking a mix of feelings. You laughed, wrapping your arms around his neck.

—

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[drowning-in-paragraphs]

STORM

• jude bellingham x gf!reader

• warnings: none, pure comfort.

• summary: Amid a fierce storm, Jude and his girlfriend, estranged by silence and tension of past arguments, are forced to confront their emotions. In the darkness, a single moment of vulnerability can change everything.

The storm outside was relentless, its furious winds howling through the night, rattling the windows of the bedroom like the sky itself was falling apart. Those kinds of storms didn’t happen occasionally, but weren’t an uncommon phenomenon in Madrid’s Fall weather. Thunder crashed in the distance, sending shivers up Jude’s spine as he lay on his side of the bed, staring blankly at the poor iluminated ceiling. The low rumble of the storm mirrored the storm inside him—the one that had been raging for days now, or maybe weeks, between him and her.

They hadn’t spoken much lately. The silence between them had grown too heavy to bear, but neither had the courage or the lack of pride to break it. What had started as small disagreements had snowballed into something larger, more painful. Jude couldn’t even remember what the first fight had been about—a forgotten plan, a misplaced word, maybe a careless remark. All of them stupid reasons at the end of the day. But now it felt like every conversation turned into a fight, every look shared was strained and every touch avoided.

Tonight was no different. The space between them on the bed felt like an ocean, cold and endless. He could feel her next to him, curled up on her side, her back facing him. The bed dipped slightly under her weight, and yet she felt miles away. They hadn’t kissed goodnight in days. They hadn’t even said “goodnight” in what felt like forever. God he missed her. And she did too.

Jude sighed, trying to focus on the steady rhythm of the rain against the window. Maybe if he just closed his eyes, he could fall asleep and escape this awful silence for a few hours. Maybe tomorrow would be better. Maybe tomorrow they could talk.

But then he felt it—a small tremor in the bed. At first, he thought he’d imagined it, but then it happened again. He turned his head slightly, eyes narrowing in the dark. It was her—she was shaking. Trembling, really. The storm outside grew louder, and with it, so did her tremors. Jude frowned. She had never been good with storms. She was always terrified of them, something about the noise, the unpredictability of it all. She had told him in their third date. It made her anxious, though she rarely admitted it.

He tried to ignore it, focusing again on the sound of the rain, the thunder, anything but the fact that she was scared and trembling right next to him. They hadn’t been talking. They were still angry, weren’t they? He didn’t know if he should do anything, didn’t know if she wanted him to. His heart warred with his pride, that bitter part of him telling him to stay on his side of the bed, to let her deal with it on her own.

But then another shudder ran through her body, more violent this time, and he heard a soft, muffled whimper escape her lips. His heart clenched painfully in his chest.

He couldn't ignore it. He couldn't ignore her.

Finally, with sigh, Jude shifted. Slowly, tentatively, he reached out, his hand hovering just above her back. For a moment, he hesitated, wondering if she’d pull away, if the gap between them had grown too wide to bridge. But then another roll of thunder shook the house, and she flinched, a small, involuntary whimper escaping her lips.

That was all it took.

In one smooth motion, Jude moved closer, wrapping his arms around her trembling form. He pulled her into his chest, holding her tightly, as if trying to shield her from the storm raging outside. She stiffened at first, as if surprised by the sudden contact, but then she melted into him, her body sagging against his as though she had been waiting for this, waiting for him to break the barrier between them.

"I´m here," he murmured, his voice soft against the back of her neck. He pulled her tighter, his chest pressed against her trembling back. "I´m right here, okay? I´ve got you."

She didn´t say anything, but her hands reached up, gripping his forearm that was now wrapped around her middle. She held on like she was afraid he might let go, and for a second, Jude felt a lump form in his throat. He could feel her trying to keep it altogether but failing.

"I´m sorry," she whispered suddendly, her voice craking.

Jude blinked in the dark, surprised by her words. He opened his mouth to say something, but then he felt it—a warm, wet drop hitting his arm. She was crying.

"Hey, hey, no, don´t—" His heart twisted, and without thinking, he pulled her even closer, if that was possible, turning her in his arms so she was facing him. She buried her face in his chest, her tears dampening his shirt as she sobbed quietly. He held her tightly, one hand cupping the back of her head, the other rubbing soothing circles on her back. "It´s okay," he whispered, his lips brushing the top of her head.

Her hand clung to him, her fingers fisting the fabric of his shirt as she cried, the sound of the storm drowned out by the sound of her broken sobs.

"I don´t like fighting with you," she whispered through her tears, her voice muffled against his chest. "I hate it."

Jude swallowed hard, his own throat tight with emotion. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, his lips lingering there as he tried to find the right words.

"I hate it too," he admitted quietly. "I hate being like this with you."

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The storm outside raged on, but in the quiet of their embrace, it felt like something shifted. Something broke open between them, a dam that had been holding back all the hurt and frustration, and now it was spilling out in the form of tears, in the way he held her like he never wanted to let go.

"I´m sorry too," Jude said, his voice thick. "I don´t want to fight anymore. I just want us to be okay."

She sniffled, nodding against him, her grip on him loosening slightly as her sobs began to subside. Her breathing, though still shaky, started to even out, and Jude felt her body relax a little in his arms. He kept holding her, kept whispering reassurances in her ear, telling her he was there, that he wasn´t going anywhere.

After what felt like and eternity, her sobs quieted to soft sniffles, and she pulled back slightly, just enough to look up to him. Her eyes were red ans swollen for crying, her cheeks wet with tears, but she looked at him with such vulnerability, such raw emotion, that Jude felt like his heart might burst.

"Can we... can we fix this?" she asked, her voice small, uncertain.

Jude looked into her eyes, having her for the first time in weeks just for him. He nodded, brushing a stray tear from her cheek with his thumb.

"Of course," he whispered, his voice firm with that accent that she loved. "We will."

She managed a small, soft smile, and it was the most beautiful thing Jude had seen in a long time. He leaned down, pressing his forehead to hers, and for a moment, they just breathed together, their foreheads touching, their breaths mingling.

The storm outside continued to rage, but she felt safe in his arms, like as if she belonged there. They still had things to talk about, things to work through. But for now, in this moment, they were finally together. And that was enough.

"I love you," Jude said softly, his lips brushing hers as he spoke the words. "I love you so so much...," he continued against her neck making her giggle.

"I love you too, Jude," she whispered back, and then she kissed him—soft, sweet, and filled with a quiet promise that they would be okay.

[chewnotchoke]

boynextdoor when they miss you but you're mad at them

why do i always think of such drabbles when i'm about to sleep? anyway,,,enjoy!

sungho

𓍯 he would give you space but he makes sure he checks on you if you haven't skipped your meals.

𓍯 you don't reply at all when he asks if you've eaten lunch, so the moment you answer with "i did" during dinnertime was the sign that he could talk to you again

𓍯 when he misses you, he's vocal about it but he limits it so you wouldn't feel overwhelmed

riwoo

𓍯 he waits for you to text him back but he doesn't try to start a conversation. perhaps, he's waiting for you when you're ready

𓍯 he would go out to distract himself because he doesn't want to get fed up by anxiety so he puts his phone on do not disturb. but he couldn't help but constantly check his notifications, waiting for your name to appear

𓍯 would type "i miss you" but hesitates to send them and would eventually erase what he typed

jaehyun

𓍯 he has anxious attachment so it really bothers him when you don't reply for several hours. he would send "i'm sorry...i miss you. can we talk this out please?"

𓍯 also sends "babe :(" messages. he understands it when you need space but he's really anxious about it. and he hates arguments, but he knows it's his fault this time so he's trying to make it through

taesan

𓍯 "i understand you're mad and i can give you space. but in case you need me, just text or call me up and i'll be here, okay? i miss you."

𓍯 would text his friends to go out to cope because he thinks he's gonna go insane if he doesn't step out of the house while waiting for you to reply

𓍯 at the end of the day when you're still not replying, he'd come over to your apartment with food in hand and a stem of flower. "i can't take it anymore. i miss you."

leehan

𓍯 has the most emotional intellegence out of all them, when you need space, he gives you space. but before that, you have to talk it out with him because he wants to understand your feelings well

𓍯 after that talk, he'd roll on his bed because he misses you so much but he has to wait before he talks to you again.

𓍯 takes the reason why you're upset to his heart and he would murmur "leehan stupid" everytime he remembers

woonhak

𓍯 seeks advices from his friends on what to do so he can better understand you

𓍯 same as leehan but instead of mumbling words, he groans from frustration to himself out of nowhere "agh! woonhak what's wrong with you?!" he talks in third-person.

𓍯 he calls you right away when you feel a little better and he does the rest of cheering you up on call ^__^

[varesai]

HIIII I JUST READ YOUR BOOTHILL IDEA ABOUT PREGNANCY AND I AM WELL FED 😭 i love how angsty it is. oh boy i'm sure struggles a lot during his s/o's pregnancy. like...it has lots of cry and self-conflict because he may thinking that he isn't helping his s/o. there gonna be small arguments and misunderstandings. it's hard for the both of them and the baby. 🥹

ohhhh yes. yup. decided to take a real angsty route with this one. I added some mentions of his actual backstory here, bc my og one was written before his backstory was released lols

Boothill definitely cries during your whole entire pregnancy. He also has a lot of bad thoughts about himself during it, too. 

At first, he tries to hide it, and either subtly cry, or just simply wait until you’re no longer in the room or the house. He doesn’t want you to know that he’s not happy because of the state he’s in. 

He used to be human, he used to be flesh, and most importantly, he once had a daughter of his own, and that's what crushes him the most. He fears so much that he’s almost going to replace her, even though he knows deep down in his heart that it most definitely wouldn’t be able to happen. 

He also feels so bad about not being able to do normal human things for your during your pregnancy :(((( he knows how much you want to be able to be soft and intimate, to take baths and be able to have a cozy massage and just a cozy person around in general, and he’s the exact opposite of that. He doesn’t even think he deserves the husband title anymore.

He literally once asked you why you’re still with him and not someone else. You explained that you loved him and you wanted to be with him, and even then he never really expressed the way he felt about himself to you but you could sort of see it in his eyes. He didn’t like the way he was and the fact that he can’t be what he refers to as a “proper dad” to his kid. 

He knows it’s hard on you, too, and he also knows that you’re catching onto his harsh thoughts, and you’re catching on fast. It caused an argument a few times, on how you’re hurt that he’s not expressing his emotions, he doesn’t want to, it turns into a “do you not trust me or something?” conflict on your end, and a “I just don’t know what to say without hurting you” conflict on his end. Misunderstanding that likely won’t just dissipate. 

There was one argument that you both had when you were nearing pretty close to your due date, and he decided he was going to walk out midway through and not come back for about a week. For some reason, he chose a petty route, leaving you anxious and super betrayed, considering he refused to answer his phone, too.

The argument was over something that seemed incredibly stupid, if you both must say so yourselves. He was, once again, insecure, and he wouldn’t tell you why. That was what bothered you- did he not trust you enough? Did he seriously not want to be a part of this baby's life? Why else would he just walk out?

To say it made you super anxious, scared, and lonely was an understatement. You were left with the thought that you’d have to give birth alone, and go back to your original game plan that you already mentally set up. You thought he genuinely left you.

That was, until he walked back into the house on a random afternoon that next week. He ran up to you and apologized, allowing you to cry it out in his steel arms. He felt so horrible, and he vowed to you to never, ever do that again.

He tries to start letting you in on his troubles from that point on, but there still seems to him like there's a barrier blocking his words from coming out. Sometimes, he just blames it on his synesthesia beacon, which seems to work for now. 

He also lets you see him cry more often, but that stops when you give birth. He doesn’t need you to be more overwhelmed than you already will end up being.

[holy-puckslibrary]

─ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜.

pairing(s) — fwb!MATTHEW TKACHUK x reader wc — 3.2k synopsis — best not-boyfriend boyfriend ever! (read the request here) note — bestie, your brain? marvelous! this was an absolute joy to write, and i hope this captures your vision!!! thank you for the request <3

main masterlist

content warnings under the cut.

cw — hints of a debut-inspired ensemble; complicated, grossly intimate situationship + emotional constipation; angst (not really) to fluffy fluffy; tswizzle references; suggestive section: "heavy petting" but nothing explicit / fade to black; brief alcohol mention + consumption; brief mention of food (no specifics); and ~emotions~ 

I. it’s getting so much clearer… 

Matthew regrets making you a key. 

Majorly.

If he’d known the can of worms he was opening when he unceremoniously dropped them in your lap one night, he would’ve listened to his brother; you don’t give girlfriend privileges to women who aren’t your girlfriend. It only leads to hurt feelings, broken console controllers, and unnecessary trouble. 

However, it’s highly unlikely this is the “trouble” to which Brady was referring. 

Rooted in the entryway, he surveys the damage. 

Beads of all shapes, sizes, and colors sit in a sea of jars. Some have spilled out under the coffee table and couch, others have made it all the way into the kitchen. Knotted balls of elastic are sprinkled throughout the chaos, as are multiple pairs of scissors, skeins of embroidery floss, and shards of construction paper. There are markers everywhere, but for some unknown reason, the crayons and sticker sheets are in nice, neat piles. A white feather boa is draped over the entertainment center and there’s a pink one curled by his feet. And, in the eye of the storm, is an anxious lump frantically stringing together DIY jewelry and muttering along to the megamix blaring through the room; he doubts you even heard him come home. 

“Sweetheart, is there a reason it looks like a craft store threw up everywhere?” Matthew shouts as he gingerly braves the hurricane. 

Something crunches under his shoe, and from the sound alone, he knows it would’ve been worse than stepping on a Lego if his feet were bare. 

He also knows that if the music were even a decibel lower, you would be pissed beyond belief. How dare he move freely through his own home without first checking for rogue pieces of plastic? His ears are ringing, but he’s grateful for it. From many years of mistakes and misadventures, he's learned you won’t get on top if you’re mad, regardless of how much groveling he does. And he's got one foot in the doghouse after last weekend as it is. 

“T-minus two days ’til Taylor, Matthew,” you grumble from the floor. “What do you think?” 

You’ve been at this for weeks. It gets worse the closer the concert gets. The mess and your mood. 

Matthew isn’t stupid, and he knows you better than he lets on. You panic under the weight of your own (often unrealistic) expectations. You need everything to be perfect, or the entire world crumbles. This, Night One of the Florida dates of the Eras Tour, is, understandably, no exception. If anything, the pressure’s dialed up to eleven. 

In stressing over every little detail, you’ve made yourself miserable. Watching you unravel makes his chest feel strange. 

You won’t ask for help. You don’t want it, either.

But, he can’t let you flounder. For his own sanity, he can’t do it. And he does care about you. Maybe not in the way everyone assumes or hopes, but he does. He’d do almost anything to lighten your load. 

Yet, Matthew treads lightly. If he’s too forthcoming, you could get the wrong idea. He doesn’t want to spook you, and he can’t have any wires getting crossed. What’s so good about your situation is how markedly uncomplicated it’s been. He refuses to be the one who fucks it up for everyone. 

So, he does what he can, and he does it without making a big deal about it. 

After a quick shower and a change of clothes, he sinks down onto the floor beside you. You’re perched on one of the obnoxious throw pillows you insisted he order to “spruce up” the space and make it look less “bachelor pad-y." As if that’s not exactly what it is. He takes this as rare permission to do the same, placing one under his hips and cuddling another to his chest as he stretches out on his stomach, phone in hand. 

Well, as stretched as a person can be in the middle of an obstacle course. 

Between the second play of “cowboy like me” and the third of “Tim McGraw,” his various feeds dry up, and he’s spammed his contacts into oblivion. You're still chugging along, like a Sad Girl automaton locked in an endless glittery assembly line. 

At one point, you murmur, “Give me your wrist." 

And he does. 

Matthew’s taken aback when you loop elastic around it to get a measurement.

He’s confused, but not for the reason one might assume. He’s painfully familiar with the friendship bracelet phenomenon and the giddy exchanges, having been force-fed hours' worth of tour content over the past year, but he never thought you’d rope him into it.

The buzz under his skin is oddly auspicious, watching you clip the appropriate length before reaching for the pile laid out near his head. 

It’s not long before you make the same request again. However, this time, you slide on a custom creation. You fiddle with it for a moment, then turn back to your station to begin the next one on the list. 

“And in which era does she cosplay as a camp counselor?” Matthew teases as he thumbs the letter beads.

They spell out a moniker he’d honestly find offensive if you hadn’t looped the song one too many times. He wonders if you’ve made yourself the matching one. 

You emit a sound that haunts his nightmares and side-eye him in a way that would’ve made a lesser man disintegrate. 

“If you don’t want it, give it back so I can give it to someone who will appreciate my time and effort,” you bite with your hand outstretched, palm up and open expectantly. 

Matthew shoves it away, suddenly defensive. “I never said that.” 

The sun slips behind the fence an hour later, and the sky bathes the house in purple-pink hues. As he gathers ingredients in the kitchen, Matthew watches the slow-moving clouds absentmindedly. He hasn't felt this content in a while.

Arms full, he wades through the arts and crafts on the way to the backyard. 

You’re still in the den, still hunched over in the same place he found you in. He shakes his head when he passes you, knowing he’s got an hour (at least) moonlighting as a masseuse in his future. 

You don’t startle or acknowledge him until the grill set you bought for his birthday clatters to the floor. 

“Why’re there two cowboy hats getting glitter all over my patio?” he asks, despite knowing the answer. And hating it. Vehemently. 

You fix him with an unamused glare. Your brow quirks, and your hands still. Then, you blink at him very slowly. Like he’s an idiot. Like he just asked a stupid question—because he did. 

Matthew’s head wags so intensely that his neck cracks.

“Oh, hell no.” 

II. it’s coming undone…

Matthew scowls at his reflection. 

“—looks so fucking stupid.” 

He can’t tell if he looks worse with or without the fur-trimmed, shimmery cowboy hat. And, honestly, it's a little distressing. After temporarily ditching it, he tugs at his curls. Then, the hem of the jersey. 

Resigned, he reaches across the bed for the homemade accessory. Wearing it will make you smile—and it gives his dignity something to hide behind. 

Twitter’s going to have a fucking field day. 

Your panicked voice spills out from the hotel bathroom, “Really?” 

“Of course, it fucking do—” 

His tirade of vanity grinds to a screeching halt at the sight of you, backlit and wilting. 

“That’s not—ah, fuck.” Matthew digs the heels of his palms into his eyes. “What I meant was—me, it looks stupid on me. Not you. On you, it looks… It looks…” 

“It looks, what?” 

It looks like he’s glad none of your friends were available because he won’t have to pretend you’re less than you are.

No lectures, no goading, no scrutiny. Just you. 

“Right.” That’s the word he settles for. “It looks right.” 

The emphasis chips away at what little believability the underwhelming affirmation had. That much is evident from the insecurity bleeding through your makeup. 

“Right,” you parrot. Skeptically, you drag out the vowel long enough that it disappears into the bathroom with you. 

Before the door clicks shut, Matthew’s already berating himself for whatever just happened. For acting like a complete doofus with a foot shoved down his throat. 

His mind is as quick as his tongue is sharp. He’s got confidence for days and a cocky demeanor primed and on-call, one that most women find endearing. Yourself included. He’s never had an issue dishing out pretty words or flirting before, especially not with you. 

With you, banter came easy. Sweet or salacious, it didn’t matter. The bob and weave, from platonic chatter to something charged and suggestive, is effortless. And it’s been that way for as long as he can remember. It's innate. He should be able to uphold his reputation in his sleep. 

What’s gotten into him? 

(You’d say the power of Taylor Swift, or some shit. Which is why he doesn’t open the floor for discussion. Among other reasons.) 

Matthew makes the executive decision to put things right. To redeem himself, to feel more like himself. 

His palms are hot and tingling as he sets off to do what he does best. Something fool-proof. Something that’ll erase the past ten minutes from the collective consciousness. Something to scratch an itch...

He won't make it through three and a half hours without catching a public indecency charge. 

Not with you looking like that.  

“I was thinking,” Matthew trails off as he comes up behind you in the en suite bathroom. His hands land on the counter, one on either side of you. “We should fool around a little bit before we leave.” 

With his chest flush to your back and his chin propped on your shoulder, he blatantly checks you out.

You, albeit begrudgingly, find it flattering. On principle, you roll your eyes. 

You snort. “Funny." 

Sarcasm pinches his face as he unintelligibly mocks you. 

Whatever witty retort he had died on his tongue when you lean forward to put some eyeliner in your waterline, inadvertently pushing the curve of your backside right into his growing bulge. 

Matthew turns you to face him without warning. 

The kohl pencil goes flying, dotting the pristine space as it tumbles to the floor. Its final resting place is unknown; you’ll follow the smudge-crumbs later. 

Later, when he doesn’t have you pressed tight between the harsh edge of the counter and his chest. 

Later, when the dull ache in your arched back dissipates. 

Later, when his attraction isn’t so painfully tangible. 

Later, when he isn’t looking at you the way he is now.  

You’re sinking in a shade of blue you don’t recognize. It’s stormy, vast and disquieting. Like any collision, you’re unable to tear your eyes away even though you know you should. It betrays an aura of foreboding, yet somehow, Matthew’s charged gaze carries a soothing effect. It's hypnotic in an stomach-twisting way. 

“I’m not laughing, sweetheart.” He breathes the words through the slight part in your lips, his voice rich and thick like honey. 

“W-We need to be quick—” 

Matthew buries his face in the sweet-smelling crook of your neck. Intent on shutting you up, he succeeds with infuriating ease once he’s latched onto your throat. He nips and sucks whenever you protest, and soon, you don’t even bother trying anymore.

Why lie and deny when what you want feels this fucking good? 

When your nails dig impatient little half-moons into his forearms, Matthew bares his teeth with a triumphant hiss.  

He grins against your skin, humming atop your erratic pulse. 

“Better hurry up and spread ‘em, then.” 

Matthew’s between your dangling boots as soon as you’ve hoisted yourself onto the counter. Kneading the soft skin of your thighs, inching up and in with eager hands, he doesn’t slow or stop until the white Self-Titled sundress is bunched up in the hinge of your hips.

“That’s my girl.” 

III. it’s delicate…

“All Tequila, No Crime” isn’t as diabolical of a cocktail as it sounds. 

Spending $100+ to taste test it and three other signature mixed drinks is. 

A robbery, if you ask him. 

What's downright criminal, though, is your inability to finish a single one. A “Last Great American G&T” with a few sips missing, a half-finished “Midnight Mule,” and a watered-down “Blue Debut” sit abandoned amongst an assortment of sweet treats and small bites. 

As he waits for what he ordered, Matthew picks at the vibrant fruit salad. He’s about to pluck a honeydew star from the pile stacked high in a bowl fashioned from a watermelon rind when the back of his neck prickles. 

“Knock it off.”

You blink, bemused. 

Matthew, having watched your reaction in a reflection, rolls his eyes. 

Back still to you, he clarifies. “You promised you wouldn’t make this a whole thing.”  

“I'm not.” 

“You've never been a good liar.” 

“Isn't that a good thing?” you deflect. 

You turn your attention back to the lively stadium, watching as it fills with laughter and anticipation. You're hoping he'll take the hint and drop it, that he won't pull the night apart at the seams. 

He abandons the sprawling buffet table in favor of the plush recliner beside yours. Once settled, Matthew slides a plate of your favorites across the small table between you. 

“Don't change the subject.” 

The cement under your boots makes for a captive audience as you sail into dicey weather. “I know—I know what I said, and I'm really trying my best, but can you blame me? I mean, c’mon, Matty. Look where we are.”

“A Taylor Swift concert?” Matthew does what he does best.

You know his tells and his tricks. You indulge neither. 

“My first Taylor Swift concert. Ever. I came out of The Queue From Hell empty-handed and shit out of luck, yet here we are. The Eras Tour. And not way up the nosebleeds or side-stage with an obstructed view. A suite. A private, fifteen-person suite—for just us. You did that.” 

Matthew shifts uncomfortably. He scratches the shadow clinging to his jaw. He looks everywhere, at everything. Everything except you. 

“So?” 

The probe is firm yet reluctant but not inherently dismissive. 

“So,” you heave a labored sigh of unease. “—so, how could I not? This ‘whole thing’ is the kindest, most thoughtful gesture anyone’s ever done for me. It means the absolute world, and I know you know that.” 

A thick, paralyzing quiet descends on the balcony. 

He does know that, which is what makes it so terrible. He knows, he knows, he knows. Matthew knows; he wishes he didn’t. For years, he successfully kept it at bay because… because you can’t just un-know something like that. Even entertaining the thought felt too big a risk. It jeopardizes the delicate peace only willful ignorance can safeguard. 

“Alright, alright. Jesus, sweetheart. Can't have you emptying the tank before the show even starts,” Matthew teases as he thumbs the tears away. “How d’ya know I didn’t pull some strings just to put an end to your perpetual pity party?” 

He’s trying to lighten the mood. Hoping to inch away from the emotionally dense zone of uncharted territory, hoping you’ll have mercy—or take pity—on him and his plight of avoidance. 

And you do.  

Ever the benevolent people-pleaser. 

You take your foot off the gas. You retreat to the status quo. You yield, but for a good cause.

Good and right aren’t synonymous. And we can’t will them to be. So, instead, we choose our battles and bide our time. 

There’s no reason to rain on tonight’s parade. 

“Thank you,” you acquiesce.  

Mathew smiles. 

This ceasefire, this tacit truce, is as fragile as rice paper. It feels as though, if someone pushed too hard from either side, they'd go right through it unchallenged. But, for now, it's enough. 

He takes your hand and squeezes. “And for the hundredth time, you’re welcome.” 

IV. it’s been a long time coming…

He gets it now. 

Truthfully, he understood after the very first bridge of the night. There’s just something about the intimacy of the spectacle; it's… indescribable. With thousands from all walks of life gathered in a single stadium to celebrate nearly two decades of singing, crying, and growing up together, it wasn't difficult to get swept up in the magic. 

For someone who’d consider themselves fan-adjacent at best, he wasn’t expecting to feel much of anything, let alone goosebumps, misty-eyed. 

He can’t even imagine how extraordinarily special it must’ve been for you, a lifelong fan, to partake in the world’s most cinematic sing-along. To luck out with your opener of choice, to be surprised with your favorite song during the acoustic set—you could probably die happy. Matthew can still feel your tear-streaked cheek against his shoulder and your shakey hand clasped in his. And he’ll remember the warmth of your joy for the rest of his life. 

He, however, doesn't have to imagine how much the experience took out of you. 

“Hey, hey. Don’t pass out on me yet, sweetheart.” 

You’re one minute into a five-minute Uber ride, and he’s already had to nudge you twice. 

Curled against the cool window like a cat, you groggily protest, “I’m not. My mind is alive, promise.”  

He snorts. “Then why’re your eyes shut?” 

“They aren’t!” 

They absolutely are. 

Matthew tugs you across his lap with a smile pulling at his cheeks. 

“Sounds like you need to get yours checked, Matthew Brendan,” you quip into his chest before drowning the backseat in delirious giggles. 

In the golden glow of the streetlamps, his smirk rests against your temple. 

Here is the moment. There have been hundreds like it in the years since you met. Lighthearted banter and late night laughter spill over into the early morning hours, all of it utter nonsense he wouldn’t trade for anything. It should be perfectly ordinary, but it's music to his ears. 

The cowboy boots he swore he wouldn’t carry home rest against his similarly sore calves. The ziplock bag, once bursting at the seams with bracelets, is empty and folded in his back pocket, and his arm is full from elbow to wrist. The glitter he contested clings to him like a second skin, there to stay. 

And he doesn’t hate it. 

💌 if you liked it, pls lmk! 💌

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[bernardsbendystraws]

Pink Petals

Chris Sturniolo x Reader

See pinned post for (series) masterlist and (oneshots) masterlist and more.

Summary: Chris had a past with a few girls who had left him burned. Y/n had succumbed to the utter tragedy of giving up on her high school sweetheart a while ago. Chris walks into Y/n’s flower shop, searching for  a bouquet of flowers for a girl. A blind date takes the lovelorn pair into fate’s hands. Chris isn’t holding back his true colors anymore. He’s a true romantic. Handwritten letters, cheesy compliments…and maybe some flowers. 

Warnings: 18+. This series contains mature themes, read at your own risk. (SMUT, angst, parental troubles, mentions of SA, financial hardships, and more. Don't like, don't read.) This warning is made for all parts.

A/N: To be added to the taglist, send a request in my inbox or comment on the pinned post. I'm far more likely to see requests sent to my inbox.

With love and big tits, Rose.

Part Three: Remember The Relief

The shop was cooler than usual. Vibrant petals seemed to glow with a hazy look as the sun peeped up from the horizon on the beach and in through the windows.

It was a good day. Opening went smoothly, the drawers added up perfectly with the amount of stock I had excluding the bouquet Chris and I had made for Madison. 

Chris. 

He had texted me. I had yet to respond to the message he sent last night. For some reason, it didn’t feel right. The magical potion had turned into poison in my mind. I had been paranoid. Every echo of his name left me with the same thought. 

He’s gonna hurt me. 

It was stupid. He hadn’t given me any reason behind the belief. The looming danger peddled from my past. Every right motion we had made seemed to be stopped as I slammed on the breaks in my mind. 

I couldn’t help it. 

Logic did little to cure my impending doom of anxious thoughts. I could reason with myself, bringing truth and facts as arguments fighting against the negative connotations. I just couldn’t seem to believe myself. Some part in my mind wouldn’t shut up. 

Too good to be true. 

A gentleman was what he was. He opened the doors for me, got me flowers, and even adjusted the air conditioning for me. Caring and sweet yet it somehow left a muddled pile of regret in my stomach. 

I couldn’t give him the benefit of the doubt. I was assuming the worst. Every fantasy I played in my head about him at night somehow ended in a nightmare of horror. 

I hated it. I hated the fact that it had nothing to do with him. It had everything to do with me. It was my thoughts in my own head, my rubber heart protecting myself from someone who showed no ill intentions towards me. 

Tiring was what it was. I was exhausted from constantly checking in, reprogramming my thoughts. Part of me wanted to ghost him and never speak to him again. I wanted to pretend like he didn’t exist, but I couldn’t. 

For one, Madison and Austin were ecstatic after I had told them a couple brief details over the phone. Chris had dropped the bouquet off on his way back home after our date even though Madison’s home wasn’t exactly close. Especially not with LA traffic. He insisted on dropping me off beforehand, not wanting to keep me out too late. 

Sweet nectar suffocated me. I felt like I was choking on fresh air. 

I couldn’t pretend he didn’t exist. He lingered in my mind far more than I was willing to admit. The little I had seen of him was enticing. I was nervous for the second date. The excitement had fallen to a despair of rushing thoughts, and they weren’t exactly good. 

What if it went bad? 

What if it went even better?

Neither option did anything to appease to my anxiety. The see-saw teetered with wavering emotions, ones I couldn’t begin to understand. 

Opening my phone out of sheer boredom, his message illuminates the screen tauntingly. 

[ From Chris: How about we wait off on our little agreement? I really wanna take you somewhere else first… ]

I was deathly curious. The man had taken me mini-golfing for our first date–not that it was weird, it was just odd compared to most other dates I had been on. Usually, men wanted to perform. Take me out to a fancy dinner, hoping the night would end with me inviting them in. 

Chris was different. 

It didn’t feel like he was kissing me for more. When he was kissing me it felt like he was trying to know me somehow. It was as if my lips tangled stories with movement, finding their rhythm against him. It was like figuring out how I fit in his life, a glimpse of more. 

Part of me wandered to mindless thoughts of him through the past couple of days. He had texted me only a couple of times, but each time stayed the same. I found myself smiling down looking at his name on my screen before scolding myself. I had neglected some parts of my routine that I cherished, almost as if I was punishing myself for wanting more with him. 

I didn’t wanna get my hopes up. I didn’t want to be disappointed. Heartbreak hurts. I knew it hurt. Reminiscing of the night I stayed awake crying and hunched over a toilet from sadness played in a loop after thinking of Chris. 

Hearts could only take so much. I wasn’t confident my heart or my ego could be ripped apart and shredded into sand again. I didn’t wanna be washed away by the shore, picking up broken pieces of a puzzle, so insignificant in size that it was meaningless. Starting from a blank slate in early adulthood was nearly impossible. My heart couldn’t take another hit, let alone a blender of insecurity and depression. 

But, it was only one date. 

This was only the second date. 

It was stupid how fast my brain paced itself compared to the reality of the situation. There was no love to be lost, only opportunity. I had healed myself enough to admit I deserved an opportunity. I couldn’t hide in self isolation forever. 

I didn’t want to.

Even as a kid, I played with toys alone or tendered grandma’s garden by myself. Taylor was nearly ten years older than me. She had an entire life and moved out when she became an adult. Grandma’s health just wasn’t good enough to be wasting energy on anything other than the bare minimum. I felt bad bothering her, I wasn’t even her kid. Seeing Taylor so independent made me more reclusive. It was impossible for me to reach out and ask for help. 

I wanted more. The people I loved rarely knew much about me, but it wasn’t on them. It was on me. The only person I had ever given my vulnerability to had crushed it against push pins on the sidewalk. It was as if my body wouldn’t let me say a single thing that laid close to my heart. 

Grandma and Taylor had supported me after they found out about the breakup between Zach and I. Taylor called on a daily basis while grandma had checked in on me, making sure I ate and drank water. But, they didn’t know why. No one did. I couldn’t get the explanation to come out of my mouth. 

At first, I couldn’t even admit it to myself. Not until Zach had shoved the truth down my throat, right in front of my face. My mind no longer could find any reasoning or defense for his behavior. There never was any, but it took him making it so blatantly obvious for my brain to comprehend around the idea of leaving him. 

I felt so stupid and naive. Sometimes, I still did. 

Putting my heart in someone’s hands, even for a second, felt like a tragedy waiting to happen. I knew the outcome of getting hurt was far worse than healing from the other person’s actions. It also included the holes I had dug out from myself, trying to save the relationship. 

It first started with my mother. Then, I found it as a pattern with every friend I let walk over me and every single romance ever touched within my life. 

Maybe he would be next. 

Chris looked sweet and soft, but his stature also screamed an erotic nature that left me breathless. It drawed me in and pushed me out all at the same time. 

The door moving open brings in a swift breeze while triggering the bell. My eyes dart up from the now black screen of my phone to the entrance of my shop, smiling as I see a familiar face. 

Rebecca.

“Hey!” I greet, “--how’ve you been? I saw you with your man the other day…” I say in a sing-song voice. 

Rebecca smiles, sighing as she places her purse on the counter while resting her arms on either side of the leather bag. “Oh honey,” she drifts her eyes around the shop, leaning towards me with a grin. “--I saw you with your man.” 

My eyes go wide as I clear my throat, looking down at my black phone screen. “I–um,”

Before I get the chance to say a single word, Rebecca holds up a palm. “Nu-uh. No denying it, I know your cute ribbons from anywhere. Now, I was talking to Austin–since, you know, you didn’t wanna tell me yourself,” I let out a nervous laugh, shaking my head. “--and my boy told me lots, but I wanna know from you.” She points her finger up at my face as I go cross eyed trying to focus on the ligament. 

“I…” I look up between her finger and her piercing green eyes. Her wrinkled forehead intensifies the fine lines as she squints down at me. 

“Hun,” She lets her hand go limp with her elbow still propped up on the counter. “--I ain’t mad. I just…wanna know what you’re feeling–or thinking. I know you don’t talk about whatever happened, but I’ve never seen you with a guy.” I huff deeply at her words. “Especially one that cute…” she mumbles. 

My cheeks flush as I stare up at her. She bites down on her bottom lip with her eyes filled with a taunting mischief. “I’m teasing you, doll. But seriously–Austin showed me a picture and…damn. That’s all I gotta say.” She holds up her hands defensively as I shake my head with disbelief. 

“Rebecca, Rebecca….” I trail off. Cracking my knuckles against the counter, I see her flinch from the noise as I breath out a soft apology. “I…I don’t know what to think. He’s sweet. Honestly, from what I’ve seen, he’s everything I’ve always dreamed of, but….”

Rebecca quirks an eyebrow at me as my eyes drift to her face. With a deep sigh, I run my hands over my face. “I just feel like there has to be something wrong with him…I…I don’t know. It’s just…it’s just my brain comes up with every possible reason why this isn’t good and isn’t right for me. I–yeah, that’s the best I can explain how I’m feeling.” I express. 

My cold hands go stiff as I feel her warm hands slide under my own. As she grasps each of them tightly, her warmth grounds me. “Hey,” I look up, seeing her eyes looking between my own with a gentle tenderness. “--it’s okay to be scared. Just…don’t let your past haunt your present and future, okay? Be open, tell him!! He’ll either understand and try to help you…or you will have dodged a bullet.” she says. 

I nod, wrapping my mind around the integrity of her words. She was right. I hated that she was right. Even the thought of having an open and vulnerable conversation with Chris made my gut twist with anxiety. But, I knew I deserved to be loved and to have people I love. 

Plus, my pure spite of not letting one man ruin my life strung out a strong, bitter taste of determination. 

Chris wasn’t him. Chris wasn’t any guy I had met before. Therefore, they had no weight in adding to his personal record in my mind. He hadn’t done anything I didn’t like. Everything he had given me was something that urged me to push forward, even with the anxiety in my chest. 

“Thank you, I…thank you. I just, I really needed to hear that.” I say. 

Rebecca nods, squeezing my hands in her frail hold. She blows me an air kiss as she turns around to leave. “Anytime, darlin’, anytime.” Her hand lands on the door knob. She slowly turns around, pursing her lips as she gazes at the flower displays. 

With a questioning glance from me, Rebecca lets her eyes wander back over to mine. “Tell Austin I want purple flowers for mother’s day this time around, okay? Madison's bouquet was heavenly when I went over the other day. I can’t believe your talent, honestly.” she says. 

I hold back a smile, nodding as she waves goodbye while walking out the door. Sure, I made the bouquet, but it was Chris’s talent. He had taste, he had style. He seemed to have everything.

So why did he want me?

Shaking off the intrusive thought, I start gathering the receipts from today’s purchases in a pile. I stuff the stack of thin papers into the drawer. 

Why did I want him?

_

Every text I tried to type didn’t sound right. My reluctant fingers had yet to press send to a singular message. It had nearly been an entire 24 hours since he had sent the last text. 

But…what the fuck was I suppose to say? 

As I start to bring my fingers back to the keyboard, I nearly drop my phone as new text bubbles pop up in the chat. 

[ From Chris: Hey, could you call for a sec to figure out some details with me? Promise I won’t take up too much of your time :) ] 

My anxiety pulses my reaction, typing a quick ‘yes’ in the chat before I can think. As soon as I hit send, my eyes go wide with fear. 

I had ghosted him for nearly 24 fucking hours and then responded in less than five seconds to his next text? 

Fucking hell. 

My stomach dropped with a churn of dizziness. Catching me out of my thoughts, my phone begins to ring. I laugh at the PROFILE PICTURE he had sent me. Taking a deep breath, I swipe right on my screen, accepting the phone call.

I bring the device up to my ear, tilting the speaker away from my mouth in hopes my breathing isn’t too heavy. “Hey, I..I was just about to text you back.” I say. I cringe at the breathlessness in my voice, finding the pace of my breathing uneasy and irregular as if my body had forgotten the habit. 

The chuckle of his voice makes my hand clench into my shirt with a wave of emotions that make it hard to stay still. “Don’t worry, it’s okay, it’s okay!” He laughs. “I was just wondering when you were available and if, um, and if you like animals.” 

My face scrunches with confusion at his question. “I…um, well, I love animals, actually. I–”

“Thank. Fucking. God.” I hear him murmur. 

I laugh at his statement. “--and I’m available pretty much any time after work, but I don’t work Sunday’s since well–there is not much business down there on Sunday’s since most people go to church and shit.” I say. 

A moment of silence passes as I rethink my words. I bite into my lower lip, wishing I could reverse time as the tension breaks through the walls in my mind. 

Is he religious? Did I just offend him? 

“The only thing I worship is Pepsi,” he says. 

A laugh of relief espaces my lips as my weight sinks in evenly to my soft mattress covered by my pillowy white comforter. 

“I mean…even this Sunday? Like, tomorrow?” he presses. 

I furrow my eyebrows, bring my phone down in front of me to see that it is indeed Saturday somehow. I curl my arm, pressing the screen back up against my ear and letting out a small laugh. 

“Yeah, I, I mean–I didn’t even realize it was Saturday, actually.” I huff out. 

“Oh my god,” his contagious laugh tugs my lips into a cheek pulsing smile. “--I do that all the fucking time, bro!! I-fuck. Not bro, I mean–fuck.” 

I giggle at him cursing out beneath his breath. 

“I meant bro, like, romantically?” he says almost as if he was asking a question. 

My stomach clenches with inescapable giggles. I hear his chuckles echo my laughter softly, dying down as I start to catch my breath. 

“Bro-manitically.” I state, breaking out into a fight of laughter once more. 

I hear him groan into the phone with a playful annoyance, but his facade falls with a soft laugh. 

“I…god, you’re too cute.” he says. 

My lips sealed shut with an embarrassment coating my cheeks with a heavy pink at his statement. I feel my breath falter, becoming too aware of how much air was stuck in my chest as I cough and clear my throat. 

His laughter practically breaks the sound barrier ringing through the phone. “Oh, fuck! You–you,” he struggles to string the words together between the fits of giggles. “--you, oh my god, you’re adorable!” I blush even deeper at his statement. “--you shut up so fast, damn. All I gotta do is make you nervous, hm?” he teases. 

The muscles in my body react on their own, turning me on my side and then flipping me onto my back once more. My toes clench into the balls of my feet as I hear a multitude of cracks announce themselves in the room, hoping the sound is too quiet and far for the phone to pick up on. 

“I…” Licking over my teeth, my mind goes numb. 

“Sorryyy, I’ll stop teasing you.” His promise leads my legs to fumble over one another, rubbing on the skin in hopes of reliving the anxious pulsation of my nerves throughout my body. “Can I pick you up tomorrow at like…noon? Would that be okay?” he asks. 

I hum delicately. “Yes, more than okay. I…what should I be wearing? Same dress code as last time?” 

The sound of Chris clicking his tongue on the roof of his mouth sends my mind into a frenzy. “Uh, yeah. But, wear whatever you feel most comfortable in. Maybe some fucking gloves for your ice hands.” he jokes. 

I laugh in response. “Okay, will do. I got a whole bin full of gloves at my disposal since, ya know, I live in fucking LA.” I retorted

“Wait–” Chris suddenly falls silent as I listen intently. My heart clammers in my chest as I hear him let out a rough huff of air. “Don’t worry about the gloves, I wanna be warming up your hands.” he flirts. 

My tongue cries for mercy as my teeth clench down on the soft muscle. The saliva building in my mouth seems to drown me as I find myself at a loss for holding back my own words that first come to mind. 

“Shut the fuck upppp!!” I reply, dragging out the words with a whine playfully. 

“Why, hm?” Chris says. “--making you too nervous over there?” he taunts. 

I fight the urge to turn my body into the pillows beneath my head and suffocate myself. With a heavy sigh, I clench my fist into my stomach. 

“Chris!!!” I exclaim. 

His laugh brings my stomach to a calm sensation as it tears through the tension. 

“--sorry, sorry. I’ll pick you up at 12. Wear whatever and…I’m, uh, I’m excited to see you.” he remarks. 

I pout admirably at his soft confession.

“I…I’m excited to see you too.” I reply. 

I hear him let out a breathy sigh. “Well,” I frown, not ready to let his voice fade from my ear. “I’ll text you, but have a good rest of your day.” he says. 

Finding myself leaning into my phone, I clutch the device tighter. “I, you too. Thanks for calling, see you soon.” I say. 

I wanna see him now. 

The anticipation builds as I listen closely. “Alright, see you soon, bye.” he says. I hold onto the words, letting them sink into my chest as the line goes dead. Letting my phone drop from my grasp, I stare up at the ceiling while closing my eyes tightly. 

His voice seemed like a melody my heart seemed to find a rhythm with. Grounding myself, I realized my breath had evened out to a soft pace, a light feathery feeling lingering in my stomach from the conversation. 

Now, what the fuck do I wear? 

_

A quiet Sunday morning had been painted with chaos as I strayed clothes all over my floor. In utter frustration, I had facetimed Madison. However, I had not expected her to have company–let alone company that had a face nearly identical to Chris’s. 

Nick was fucking funny. I could see how Madison felt so relaxed and enthralled by his presence. He was very different from Chris. Their voices were not even close to one another, the humor and jokes were on completely different levels from each other, but…Nick was someone I wanted to know more too. 

He was genuine. The admission of Chris going to Nick for approval of his own outfit left me a giggling mess and relieved some of the pressure while talking to Nick himself. He felt like a friend the way he let out jokes and random questions that made me scrunch my face with utter confusion. 

“Chris is fucking lucky. I hope he doesn’t screw this up, but if he does…can we still be friends?” Nicks asks. 

I promised to continue the friendship, completely unseriously. Someone so close to Chris, one of the closest people to him–wanted to be my friend. And that…that left me with a form of validation that made picking an outfit a lot easier. 

With the help of the pair and Austin’s approval, I had settled on a simple outfit. I had put on a cargo mini-skirt and a mostly plain top, layering jewelry to make the outfit seem more put together. My legs were impossibly soft, something I took pride in as I indulged into my self care routine. 

Maybe he’ll want to touch them. 

Part of me imagined his hands tracing on my body, getting addicted to the feeling of my skin underneath his fingertips. It wasn’t just sexual. I imagined a cozy night spent watching movies with his hands mindlessly tracing over my skin. 

Hanging up the phone, I finished getting ready before settling on the couch. The doorbell of my condo sounds. My feet travel happily towards the door, twisting the knob open to reveal Chris on the other side. My eyes catch his own, a smile mirroring on both of our faces in sync. 

“Hi.” he breathes out. 

I suck the flesh on the inside of my cheek in hopes of relieving an ounce of the swarming butterflies in my stomach. “Hey.” I say back. 

His eyes fall downwards, leaving mine as I glance down. I let out a small giggle looking at the bouquet of flowers in his hands. Magenta and lavender baby’s breath with a couple of white roses wrapped in a brown paper with a silk cream ribbon wrapped around the stems rest in his clasped hold. 

“You didn’t!” I exclaim. He reaches out the bouquet as I pull it into my own grasp. “Here, come in. I’ll put these away real quick.” I announce. 

He nervously looks from side to side before stepping in as I turn around and race joyfully to the kitchen. My feet bounce off the ground admiring the floral scene in my hands. 

“You can sit on the couch or something, I’ll just be a minute.” I proclaim. 

Chris nods, sliding his hands on his jeans before collapsing softly onto the sofa. I walk around the couch, my eyes darting to the back of his head. My fingers pulse seeing him in my home. Usually, I would feel on-guard. Other people entering my safe space had always felt uncomfortable. But, as I turned back and pranced into the kitchen, I was filled with warmth. 

Filling a vase with water and flower food, I carefully begin to untie the ribbon and brown paper around the bouquet. 

“This is…very sweet. You really didn’t have to. I mean, I have an endless supply of flowers at the tips of my fingers.” I joke. 

I watch his arm sling over the back of the sofa. His soft brown hair shines in the sunlight beaming through the window as he turns to look behind at me. I quickly avert my gaze to the task at hand while carefully pulling the delicate flowers into a steady arrangement. 

“I know, but…it’s the thought that counts, right?” he points out. 

I blush at my words being reflected from his own voice. The day we met splashes into my thoughts with endearment. I maneuver the vase to the center of the kitchen counter and carefully analyze the placement of the sunlight peeking through the window, making sure to not fry the delicate petals with the blistering California sun. 

“I….you seem to have a really good memory.” I admire the given fact out loud. 

Quickly rinsing off my hands, I start wiping them off on a kitchen towel. My eyes meet his, my actions coming to a slow motion as my mind blanks. Something in his eyes touches a part of me that hadn’t been reached before. I felt as if I was on fire yet surrounded by cool water at the same time. 

Relief. 

“Actually, I typically don’t. But, I guess I…I guess I just pay more attention to you.” he mumbles under his breath. 

I barely heard the statement. My ears clung to the confession with a grasping desire. Gorgeous waves of sunlight felt freezing compared to the warmth of his words callusing around every pore of my body. It was unfamiliar. It was a little frightening. 

But, I couldn’t help but want more. 

Clapping my hands together, I start making my way towards the door. Chris stands up, walking past me and onto the doormat. 

“I really hope you’ll like what I have planned for today.” he states. 

I fiddle with the door knob, checking if the key had twisted enough to lock the door completely. Finding reassurance through the lack of movement with the handle, I turn around. As my body takes a step forward before I look up, I bump into a hard chest. His chest. 

“Oh–sorry.” I exclaim with wide eyes. 

His hands had warped around my body, supporting my weight as the palms of my hands pushed against his chest for stability. I swallow nervously. I watch as he sends me a small smile. His eyebrows crinkle with an unknown emotion as I find myself vanishing from reality  in the depths of his gaze. 

No one has ever looked at me like that before. 

No one has ever held me like this before. 

Romantic endeavors weren’t foreign to me. But, this? This was. Nothing about this was familiar. Nothing about Chris’s breath fanning onto my face created a feeling known to my brain. My mind fell silent as the tension turned into a bubble of emotion. 

“You’re, you’re fine.” he whispers out. 

Neither of us move. The moment lasts forever as my thoughts run straight to a seated position. The gentle fear of him noticing my racing heart against his chest disappears, turning into a fantasy. 

I want him to feel it. I want him to feel me. 

Fully dressed yet I had never felt so bare. 

“I,” I sigh out, running my fingers soothing against his chest. I watch as his eyes flutter shut with a relaxed expression. “--I’ll love whatever it is.” I let my hand wander up. The skin beneath it trails with soft hairs becoming stiff with goosebumps. I smile watching the effect I have on him as his eyes slowly open with a dazed expression. 

“Yeah?” he presses. 

I nod. My fingers come to a stop as I swivel my thumb along his jawline. I feel the bone clench quickly under my touch before releasing and his head resting further into my hold. “Yeah, I mean, it’s the thought that counts, isn’t it?” I taunt. 

My squinted eyes reflect onto his facial expression as a grin tugs on his lips. His tongue darts over the soft muscle. I feel my tongue pulsate in my mouth, saliva building up as I swallow roughly. 

His warm touch clasps over my hand with his, pulling it into a tight hold as he interlocks our fingers and lets them swing between our sides. “Yeah,” we walked over to the passenger side of his car. He opens the door, dropping my hand and moving his palm to the small of my back to guide me in. “--it is.” he finishes, closing the door softly as I shift comfortably in the seat of his car. 

Safe and sound, yet completely clueless. 

As he sits in the car and switches the engine on with a soft rumble, he holds out an aux cord. “Wanna play your music?” he offers. 

I nod shyly, taking the cord from his hold. Our fingers brush slightly. My cold skin burns warmly with his touch. Plugging in my phone, I press play as the music begins to sing through the car. 

Setting my phone down in my lap, I look forward. In my peripheral vision, I notice his hands darting to the controls. 

“Too cold? Or is that just the hands still?” he says, hovering his fingers over the air conditioning. 

I shake my head. “No, I’m good. Just the hands, but thank you.” I say. 

He nods, placing both of his hands on the steering wheel. Reversing out of the parking spot with ease, he puts the car into drive. 

A moment of silence deters my attention to him. His head is pointed downward, one hand on the steering wheel as the other rubs nervously against his jean-clad thigh. 

“Are you okay?” I ask. 

His gaze shifts towards me with a reassuring smile. “I, yeah, I’m okay. I just…maybe I could hold your hand if you’re okay with that?” 

Chris holds out his hand, his open palm resting on the center console. I hold back a tooth-rotting grin, settling for a warm smile as I slide my hand into his grip. His fingers fold back on my hand sweetly, the pad of his thumb starting to draw circles as the car starts moving forward. 

“--I’m more than okay with that.” I cheer. 

I look out the side window, avoiding his stare as the car rolls to a halt at the stop sign. Feeling his eyes on me, my finger nimble and twitches subconsciously. His hand squeezes around mine tighter. 

“Good, because I really, really wanted to.” he says. 

My mouth stays closed as I try to will the words out of my mouth. 

‘I wanted that too.’ 

They stay locked in my lips as my heart hammers in my chest. I look over at him, seeing his focused gaze on the road. My eyes wander downward, seeing our intertwined hands as a fuzzy feeling settles in my head. 

My mind isn’t screaming that this wasn’t ‘right’ for once. It was as if his touch had put a silence to the consuming subconscious and beliefs that I had run marathons too while away from him. 

It didn’t feel ‘right,’ but it didn’t feel wrong either. 

All I knew was that it felt good. 

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