#i need a good cry i think. i should keep writing my fics!!! project and word vomit until something good comes out. im good at that i think!

[crows-home]

about to have one of the most taxing days tomorrow. nevertheless. we persist gamers 💪

[fallinnflower]

01:01

mingyu x reader (fluff, hurt/comfort?, non-idol!au)

wc: 1.3k

a writing exercise i did with a friend using this prompt list and the prompts "when we first fell in love all of those years ago, your father would say i was too sweet for my own good. maybe he was right." and "i'm the one you've been looking for."

a/n: thanks everyone for being patient with me, i'm still working on some big projects (vampire!DPR Ian and also vampire!BamBam [same universe], vampire!Jun, part 2 of river god!Wonpil, a Wonwoo fic based loosely on Kiki's Delivery Service... send help) in the works but wanted to post a little something <3

As soon as you get into your apartment's living room, you flop onto the couch on your stomach, paying no mind to the makeup you're probably smudging onto the throw pillow. Now just isn't the time. Future you can worry about cleaning it. 

Familiar footsteps follow you into the living room and a knee gently nudges the side of your stomach; you roll so your back is pressed against the back of the couch and Mingyu can lie down in the remaining space. He settles on his side, facing you with his hand propping up his head. His eyes glimmer slightly, and he gives you a wry smile,

"Well, happy anniversary," he says. You groan and look away from him, pressing your face into the couch cushions. He chuckles at your exaggerated reaction and gently reaches over to start undoing the elaborate updo you'd pinned your hair into. 

"What a night," he continues, pulling the bobby pins out one by one. You still refuse to look up, embarrassed and frustrated. 

It wasn't like it was anyone's fault, really, that all your evening plans had gone to total shit. First was the unexpected downpour that ruined your plans of a nice walk before dinner forcing you to frantically hail a cab while huddled under his expensive suit jacket. You'd already felt apologetic over that, and then your distracted cab driver missed a turn, which you thought was bad enough because you would be late for the reservation at this rate. 

But then it had to get worse (because of course it had to get worse) when the cabbie rear-ended another car because they were too busy yelling at someone on the phone. The two of you had to spend another two hours huddled under a shop awning, answering questions for the police officers that came to assess the scene. Thankfully, nobody was seriously hurt, but you still cried so much that everyone kept asking if you needed them to call paramedics. 

That was part of why you didn't want to look at Mingyu. No doubt your face was a mess, not to mention your hair, which he was now methodically freeing from the style you had spent so long on. 

You'd just wanted it to be perfect. You only have one first wedding anniversary, after all. To avoid crying more, you keep your face pressed into the cushions, not responding to your husband. More gently, then, he asks,

"Hey, you're sure you're okay, right?" You sniffle. Goddamnit. 

"Yeah," you croak. "I just… feel bad." Mingyu chuckles. 

"I know, but it isn't your fault," he reassures you. It should make you feel better, but it doesn't. You know Mingyu isn't bothered — this sort of thing doesn't faze him quite like it does you — but you still feel anxious and upset. Is this some kind of warning of impending doom in your relationship? Just the thought makes you feel sick to your stomach. 

You finally turn your face again so you can breathe more easily and find Mingyu smiling at you, concern still clear in his eyes. The couch cushion feels rough against your cheek, still a bit sensitive from all the crying and being out in the cold. 

"I think we have ramen," Mingyu says. "Should I make some? Are you hungry?" Your lower lip trembles as tears start welling up again, and this time you press your forehead into Mingyu's shoulder to hide your face. 

"How are you so calm?" you sputter. "How are you not— not upset?" 

"What, upset at you? You didn't do anything. And the driver didn't get away with being reckless, so I don't need to worry about that, either," he says calmly. When you only continue to sniffle pathetically, he changes his approach a bit,

"Or maybe I'm just too nice. I still remember when we first fell in love all of those years ago, your father would say I was too sweet for my own good. Maybe he was right."

You let out an extremely undignified snort and lift your head to look at him. 

"As if. My dad never said anything like that," you tease. "Plus, 'all those years ago?' It's not like we met as kids or something. We met in college." Mingyu pouts at you, but his eyes glimmer playfully. 

"It sounds so much less romantic when you say that," he whines. 

"Well, you've always been the romantic one," you retort, but Mingyu is quick to counter you,

"No, no— I still remember that letter you wrote me when the semester was ending, when you said I was the one you'd been looking for—"

"Shut up!" you cry, placing your hands over his mouth. On top of everything else tonight, you don't want to be reminded of your embarrassing confession via love letter from years ago. You'd been a lovestruck student afraid you would lose your chance forever when you wrote that letter, and certainly hadn't expected that Mingyu had also been harboring a secret crush on you that would lead to marriage. It had been corny and sappy all because you thought you wouldn't see him again! Oh, how your actions had come back to haunt you. 

You can feel Mingyu smiling under your palms, and it only makes your face get hotter. Eventually, you remove your hands from his face and snuggle up closer to his chest, pressing your forehead into his shoulder again. 

"You're so annoying," you murmur, and you can feel the laughter reverberate through Mingyu's chest as he winds an arm around you. 

"But you still married me," he says. You smile. It still gives you butterflies, thinking of Mingyu as your husband, still so fresh a sensation. It's only been a year, after all. 

"Yeah," you reply. "I did."

Mingyu holds you for a few minutes, gently combing his fingers through your hair as you calm down. Eventually, he broaches the subject of dinner again, now that it's been hours since you were supposed to have eaten. 

"Do you want to shower while I make the ramen?" he asks, and you nod. Mingyu gets up off the couch as you sit up and stretch, noticing the lingering dampness in your hair and dress. A shower definitely sounds nice. You start making your way down the hallway, then turn back to face the living room. 

You watch as Mingyu attempts to straighten out his crumpled, damp button-down shirt, and smile to yourself. 

"Actually," you start, causing Mingyu to stop what he was doing and look up at you out of curiosity. "Do you… wanna join me? It's our anniversary, after all." You can feel your face warming up, but it's worth the slight embarrassment just to see the surprise on your husband's face. Sometimes he can seem so innocent. 

It only takes him a moment to snap out of it though, and cross the living room to meet you in the hallway with a broad grin. He takes your face in his hands and kisses you without hesitation.

"That sounds perfect," he says, practically purring, and you let out a surprised yelp when he suddenly scoops you up bridal style. You throw your arms around his neck and lean against him, giggling. As you look up into his face, all your irritation and upset from earlier melts away. Why should it matter if you went to a fancy restaurant or just ate ramen at home? All you want is to be together — that's why you got married. 

As Mingyu sets you down in the bathroom, you keep your arms looped around his neck and give him a kiss of your own. 

"Happy first anniversary, Gyu." He smiles that big, toothy grin you love so much, the one that makes him look like a happy puppy. 

"Happy anniversary, Y/N. The first of many."

It turns out to be a pretty good night, after all.

[a-random-weeb]

Okay okay, what about dazai with a lady (me) that had every month period super hard. Like she have a shitty doctor who doesn t help her. So each time she can t walk, she s suffering to death trying not to break into tears, unable to work even if she try to ( better if like you can do when she s in the middle of somewhere where she need to keep working ). Like she need to take some special meds to ease the pain that she often forget or just forget to buy but she need a prescription to have them... And in plus she s like super stubbornness and prideful always saying everything is fine until she break into tears, trying not to be a burden but the periods are just too strong. Anyway I m sure you see the picture, i would enjoy to see what kind of little ( writte as much as you want i enjoy reading you~) fanfic you can do with this~

Good luck (wish me luck too periods are near sniff) ❤

that sounds like a living hell, I feel so bad for youuuuuuu! I hope you get help, and good luck to you

Also I'm honored you enjoy my fanfictions, really :)

The oneshot part felt like I was writing for an emo teenager, I'm so sorry if it felt like it you were too emo 😭 also, Dazai is slightly ooc, I'm so sorry this fic is a hit mess... But ig everything I write is a hot mess anyway, so I hope you enjoy!

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

•Dazai feels so bad

•This is the one thing he doesn't tease or be an asshole enough

•He buys you a shit ton of painkillers and heating packs (if they help)

•he always keeps the special meds on him for you

•He hates seeing you in pain

•He doesn't let you go to work or do anything while your on your period

•He cuddles you and comforts you a lot

•He absolutely hates your stubborness though

•he wishes you would tell him when you're in pain

•He's constantly making sure you're ok

•He pins you against the wall and flustered/annoys you until you admit to the pain

•He hates seeing you cry, and takes your periods very seriously

•He observes your body habits and what little tics you have when you're in pain

•He knows when your lying, and isn't putting up with your prideful bs

•he probably gets really forceful 😭

•if you get uncomfortable, he'll stop

𐦍༘⋆.𖥔 ݁ ˖*.𐦍༘⋆.𖥔 ݁ ˖*.𐦍༘⋆.𖥔 ݁ ˖*.𐦍༘⋆.𖥔 ݁ ˖*.𐦍༘⋆.𖥔 ݁ ˖*.𐦍༘⋆.

"I'm totally fine!" You fake a smile despite the horrible cramp. You were doing an improvement work project thing but the cramps were killing you. Dazai knew you were on your period and came to check in on you.

"Oh Belladonna, you look like you're about to cry... do you want me to go home and grab your meds?" A look of pure worry spreads across his face

"I'm fine Dazai!... But I guess if you were to grab them it wouldn't hurt..." You blush and look away in embarrassment, trying to keep your pride intact. Dazai smirks, teasing you a little

"Oh? So you're making me run home for medicine you're not sure if you need or not? Are you sure I should grab them~?" The smirk is immediately wiped from from his face when you begin to cry.

"Please Dazai!" You beg "It really, really hurts..."

"... I don't think you should be working..."

"I have to be... This is important!"

He sighs "I don't have to run home, I brought it for you... I knew you wouldn't have it..." He hands you the thing of medicine, pecking your lips. "when you get home tonight I'll cuddle the hell out of you ok?"

𐦍༘⋆.𖥔 ݁ ˖+.*𐦍༘⋆.𖥔 ݁ ˖+.*𐦍༘⋆.𖥔 ݁ ˖+.*𐦍༘⋆.𖥔 ݁ ˖+.*𐦍༘⋆.𖥔 ݁ ˖+.*

[sabine-smitten-obviously]

And now i need ...

to shout and write about this wonderful fanfic

The last Angel by @bellisima-writes

What it is about:

Crowley's been Hell's Grand Inquisitor for millennia now. Ever since the Apocalypse, he's managed to carve out a relatively cushy life for himself. Hell won the War, Angels were essentially eradicated and all human souls were Satan's. Everything was fine.

Until one day he hears a rumor that the Last Angel in the universe was finally captured. Until Beelzebub is suddenly ordering him to get information from said Angel, information that's critical for Hell's survival. Until the moment he first locks eyes with the last Angel, and everything he's ever known starts to crumble around him.

OR

An AU where we see what would have happened had Aziraphale and Crowley not been assigned to Earth.

What i liked most:

🩷 this story takes you on a ride. There might be times when you are dizzy (in a good way) and not sure if you understood the plot correctly or if you got lost along the way. Trust me, stay with the story and keep on reading. It will all play out.

🤓 there is not one armageddon and not two, there are (kind of) three. The storyline is incredibly sophisticated and thought through. Not only in itself but also often picking up on scenes in S1 or S2 and offering thoughts and points of view that show just how much care and love and brain-wax (is that even a word in english?) went into this story. I had several moments thinking "wow, this is really SO so clever!"

💪 bamf Aziraphale !!! Sorry, i am a sucker for him 😁

👌 again the actionscenes in the grand finale are like a movie in your head and really gripped my pulse.

🌶 only hints to smut inside, but tenderness and the undeniable bond between our ineffables. I was outsmutted before and was glad to have a break (Uh, i cant believe i said that. 😂)

🩷 the parting words to the readers had me crying. I have read so many fics but this one was the first to really say goodbye to me/us/the readers. Such a nice gesture!

Most beloved quote:

Aziraphale cried at the awareness that this was not a kiss that was the beginning of everything he had never let himself dare to openly want. This was a kiss that marked the end of the thing he had denied himself for his entire existence, and the one thing he desperately needed.

So if you want a long story to really dive-in to, with surprising plot-twists and lots of brains, love and action, you really should give this wonderful fic a try! 😇

Reading is not a hobby, its life-giving.

[enhastolemyheart]

BROKEN — P. SH

pairing sunghoon x reader

genre angst, unrequited love (?)

synopsis who knew that you would be too late when it came to confessing to your childhood crush?

warnings crying, overthinking, proofread but lmk if any mistakes

word count 1.2k

networks @k-films @/hyfenet

note HI! I'm back with a fic!! I wanted to write something out real quick and was feeling like angsty saur this is the result!! Hope you guys like it :)

Why can’t I just say how I feel? Why can't I just let Sunghoon know?

It shouldn’t be hard. It should be natural. The most natural thing on earth. Everyone does it, right? Everyone’s always done it. It’s nothing. Just one small step. A few words. A few taps of a keyboard, even.

I reach for my phone. I’m gonna do it. I could call you, or… no. I’ll text. It’s less stressful that way, for me and for you. It lets us make sure we say precisely what we mean. Less chance for misunderstandings.

I open up my messages and scroll to your name. It’s not hard to find. I could pick your face out of a crowd anywhere. Opening the conversation, I start to type.

Hey Sunghoon, I was just wondering, would you maybe-

No.

That’s not good. It’s too weak. Too apprehensive. You’d smell the fear through the screen. I need to project confidence. I try again.

Hey, do you want to go to dinner with me sometime?

I ponder this for a while, eventually shaking my head. It’s too abrupt and unclear. You might not realise that I mean as a date. You might think I’m talking about a casual platonic meetup. That’s not a mistake I want to make. I want you to know what I’m asking. I want to know what your answer means. Sighing, I glance around my room, searching for inspiration. It’s a waste of time. Hundreds of books and movies, yet not a single one can give me the answers I need. In desperation, I turn to the world’s most treacherous source of advice. The internet.

Sure, there’s a lot of garbage on there, but if you slog past the cheesy pick-up lines and pseudo-psychology, there really are a few hidden gems. Not that I can find them. Almost everything I read is about dating in person. Standing up straight. Projecting confidence through physicality. Maybe even a bit of light contact, a hand on the arm, that sort of thing. Solid advice, but utterly useless to me since, you know, you’re halfway across the country right now. Still, slowly but surely, I cobble something together that sounds more or less decent.

Hey, I know you were back in town recently. How about Friday we go for dinner at that pizza place you like, then afterwards take a walk through the park? They’ve revamped the gardens, and I think you’d love them.

Dinner and a romantic, moonlit walk. That sounds like a date, I suppose. I’ve managed to make my intentions clear. Plus, I sound confident. No umming and ahhing, no self-defeatism. The best thing of all is it gives you an easy out. If you’re not interested, you can say you’re busy that night. If you genuinely are busy, you can suggest another time. It’s not like the park is going anywhere.

The message is perfect. I’ve done it.

I’m ready.

Now, there’s only one thing left to do.

It’s just a shame it’s the hardest thing of all. My finger hovers over the send button, unable to take that final step. I keep telling myself to just press it and get this whole thing over with. But that annoying little voice in my head keeps arguing. What if they say no? What if they decide they hate me? What if they don’t want to talk to me anymore? It’s times like this that I wish I drink. A little bit of liquid courage is exactly what I need right now. That’d shut the damn voice up. But I don’t take a drink. Instead, I do the stupidest thing possible. I give myself time to think. Yeah. I’m an idiot.

Before long, that little voice is running rampant. What am I doing? This is stupid. So, so stupid. Sure, I want more from our relationship. But what if you don’t? What if, by doing this, I ruin our friendship? I don’t want to lose you. I tell myself again and again that I’m overthinking. That you aren’t like that. That it would take more than a bit of awkwardness to drive a wedge between us. But I’m not convinced.

Sure, maybe we’d be fine for now. But what if you find someone else? Will they be okay with us being friends, knowing how I feel about you? I’m not so sure. Besides, I know that you’re not exactly looking for a relationship right now. Truth be told, it’s probably not the best time for me either. But that shouldn’t matter, not really. If two people are right for each other, they can overcome anything, can’t they? The timing might not be ideal, but we can get past it.

Then again- I almost scream in frustration. I can’t do this anymore. Picking up my phone, I delete the message, deciding to wait until you’re back and tell you how I feel face to face. It’ll be better that way. I can put all that advice to use and win you over with my charming smile.

I’m lying to myself, of course.

I know the odds are good that I’ll still find a way to bottle it. I’ll still talk myself down. But maybe, just maybe, I won’t. Maybe I’ll find a way to beat that annoying little voice. Do you know what the worst thing is? You probably think I won’t say anything because you don’t mean enough to me. That my fear of rejection is stronger than my feelings for you. You couldn’t be more wrong. In a weird, paradoxical way, the strength of my feelings for you are what stops me from saying anything. You’re amazing. The most perfect human being I’ve ever met. Every time I see your smile, my heart soars like an eagle. And when I hear your laugh, dimple on display, my body glows with happiness. Even when I’m just listening to you vent about your troubles, I feel like I’m hearing a classic tale equal to anything Shakespeare, Austen, Hemingway ever created.

Because you’ve nailed the most important part of storytelling. You’ve made me care about the protagonist. You’ve made me care about you. And I couldn’t bear it if I did something stupid enough to drive you from my life.

The next couple of weeks pass in a blur. I throw myself into school work, glad of the distraction. In the brief moments I let myself think of you, I begin to convince myself that I really will tell you how I feel. That by not saying anything, I could be robbing us of so much time together. By the week before you’re due back, I’m certain. The next time I see you, I’m asking you out.

My muscles finally relaxing, I slump back into a chair. I’ve spent a long day at my desk and am ready to unwind. Turning on the TV, I grab my phone and begin mindlessly scrolling through social media to catch up with what my friends have been doing. I see some pictures of you celebrating a friends' birthday. I smile. You’re happy, and that makes me happy.

But then I swipe to the last picture and see you wrapped up in somebody else’s arms, your rosy lips pressed against theirs.

Fuck.

My head spins. My chest tightens. I feel like I’m about to pass out.

Putting down my phone, I put my head in my hands and start to cry. Why didn’t I tell you how I feel? Why didn’t I atleast try to see if you felt the same way? Why do I have to be so damn broken?

a/n: tysm for reading!! Hope y'all liked it

perm taglist: @jak-ey ; @snoowhore ; @hsgwrld ; @seungiesluv ; @1-800shutthefuckup ; @heeseungshim (send an ask to be added)

[grubus]

i've been following syonr for quite some time now (read: caught up and religiously check updates on mondays) and i actually don't remember if i ever left a comment or just repeated the words in my head enough times i forgot to say them. which is a shame, because you deserve many many warm words for the world you created.

the way you pace the story is SOO good. every arc has delicious hurt/comfort, just enough tension to make you sit on the edge of your seat and the characters???? can we just talk about how your characterization is THE characterization in this fandom? every single character is fleshed out and has a role, they! are! written! with! LOVE! and i love them with all my heart.

i think you were the one who made mu qingfang my comfort character. i really liked him, but you just planted him straight into my soul. he's my pookie now. the best man. should be in every fic for real. you can guess how much i loved when sy lived with him and i adore every scene with him. just thinking about it fill me with warmth. also i generally headcanon mqf as aroace, but here??? yes, he and wqw are a perfect match. no one does it like them ❣️

i have this weird thing where i can't fully imagine what i'm reading and it's like i don't see stuff in my head but more like i sense it? feel it? sometimes i read a fic and it's beautifully written, but i feel uncomfortable just because it feels tight and grimy even if the story itself is light.

but syonr feels spacious, like i can breath fully and what i imagine matches with what is actually happening in the scene. i might be anxious out of my mind but i still enjoy every bit of it. the places you describe fit perfectly into the story. that is to say, my favourite/comfort scenes are bright and sunny :D

i'm not gonna lie i enjoy sy whump. this guy can be in so many Situations and i'm here for it.

and i ADORE bingyuan. they are so sweet and cute and SAFE for each other. it's really interesting how their opinion on sqq changed bc they have each other. sy needing security and validation and binghe's cold disdain.

there actually should be like 10 hours video essay on every syonr character ii i- cant they are wonderful.

nyy my beloved treasured girl. you asked "who's going to make her shine?" and didn't wait for an answer. and shine she does!!!!!!! 🌟

wqw is a charming man, if he was an anime character i imagine him having a huuuuuge fanbase. he's just silly and hot like that.

off the top of my head lady jia's arc was the first one that made me go OH MY FUCKINGGGG GODDDD I'M SCARED AND IT'S ALSO SO COOL AND EXPLAINS SO MUCH AND AND AUGGGHJJHGGHJHJH!!! i just remember this anxiety so well it was great

the demon invasion is one of the arcs i've reread a few times. it's just... perfect. one might even say... you COOKED! i love it.

anyway. thank you for sharing with us your amazing story. it doesn't matter how much time you take to write an update or if you decide you don't wan't to write it anymore, because it already exists in our hearts. ...sometimes i want fics to never ever end at all, even if they are simply left unfinished.

and thank you for brightening my days : ) every new chapter make me squeak and do a happy little dance.

i wish you well 🌼💓

anon. I am crying a lil bit, thank you.

I almost didn't reply to this simply because I wanted to keep it safe in my inbox. I've since taken a screenshot onto my phone and also onto my pc. I've. Saved this comment in a few different places.

I just

;A;

ok ok imma. imma pull myself together and give every word the attention it deserves. *sniffles* I'm not the best at replying to comments in general, because I don't know how to accurately relay how much they mean to me. but. let's do this.

I'm so, so happy to hear all this.

syonr is definitely a love project at this point, for myself and aimed at svsss and also just storytelling in general. As someone who used to only write oneshots or shortfics, it's so fun to really, truly linger and dwell in this story as I explore it. It's freeing in a way that writing hasn't been for me in many years. And I'm so, so happy you think so too. Describing it as "spacious" is a compliment I didn't know I needed, and I love it.

MQF has been fun to explore, because he's a soft but firm character. The one in charge of keeping his sect siblings in some kind of good health- which is of course very difficult because cultivators are insane and they become more nuts the more powerful they are- and then I have had a fun time having him just. Being around SY as SY struggled with basically everything. I've also been delighted to figure out how to write WQW, as he barely says anything in canon, and I'm so happy you also agree he's a hottie. RIP to SY, but I will highfive MQF for getting the hottest man in his generation as his boyfriend. It is very funny to me that they're probably the healthiest relationship in syonr of all time, even as they keep giving SY jumpscares of the gay kind.

I also enjoy SY whump. This, uh, this might be obvious, considering what he has gone through so far. *looks at him* I planned the demon invasion for so long. Fucking up his hands was The Plan all along. Fucking up his self-esteem and confidence was also it. WHUMP!!!

But of course, angst and whump can only truly hit if you line it with fluff. BingYuan is fun to explore in this setting. I like having them be same age and all that comes with it. So much can change in a story if you just swap some things around! They're soft and gooey and idiots <3

When I first decided to let NYY play a bigger part in the story, I was nervous. Canon barely gives her anything, fanon goes in two very different directions with her and neither felt right. She's spoiled and sheltered, but always well-meaning, and I wanted very much to explore writing her in all her oblivious glory while also letting her be Pure Distilled Teenage Girl trying to figure herself out. I'm always, always so happy when people tell me they love her in syonr. It's very rewarding. Not letting her be part of the story was just not possible, either! I'm just glad people appreciate her so much.

Lady Jia... hehehehe :D she always seems to strike a nerve, as intended. And it was so much fun reading the comments for that arc, everyone trying to figure out wtf was happening! Very proud of it to this day.

Part of the thing I love writing in syonr is, indeed, relationships. I mean the entire fic is kind of a love letter to it, both bad and good. It's part of why there's different povs. SQQ's pov and SY's pov are both extremely unreliable when it comes to others, as are anyone else's. I don't think there's a single character in svsss that I dislike, which is also why it's so fun to figure out how other characters think about each other. YQY and SQQ has completely different views of SY, and we all know Binghe's pov is 99% Loving On SY.

I just. You truly made my day today, thank you so much. syonr is one of those stories I'm having fun exploring, a story I look forward to finishing but I'm in no hurry to do so. And also, I suspect, a story I will struggle to not write oneshots for once it's over. (or even before that. I do have plans for a MQF/WQW fic set in it...)

Thank you again, anon. I adore you <3

[binnie-bitch]

In Your Arms - Stray Kids Fanfiction

Pairing: Bang Chan/Female Reader Tags: Fluff, Angst, Unrequited Love (but it’s not actually unrequited), Love Confessions, Implied Sexual Content Word Count: 4k Summary: You’re in love with your friend Bang Chan, but you’re afraid to confess. A/N: This is a commission for @thefangirloncrack  Also the second time I wrote a reader fic (Technically the third, but we don’t talk about the first), but it was fun to write! I should write more reader fics. It’s different and trying out different things is always good. Anyway. Please enjoy! ~~~~~~~~~~

Bang Chan smiles at you over the table. Bang Chan, your friend, and the bane of your existence, who agreed to sit down and study with you despite being busy with his own school projects. 

You know he has an essay due this friday, and yet, here he is, in the library, with his gentle eyes and warm aura. His body heat radiates where your ankle is squished between his legs. You have given up freeing yourself from his grasp ten minutes ago. His puppy eyes are hard to resist. It also doesn't help that his friend Changbin drags him to the gym every week.

Chan taps his pen on the back of your hand the moment you look away. You would never complain if he saves you from a headache that comes with trying to comprehend another academic text.

"Do you need something, oppa?" you ask.

"Y/n," he drawls, "are you free this weekend?"

"Depends."

"On?"

"What are you planning?"

Chan's smile molds into a grin. "A party! Well, it's not my party, but I'm invited."

"And you don't want to go alone?"

"You like parties!"

He isn't exactly wrong, but not right either. You don't hate parties. You can stomach them every now and then, but only because most of them involve Chan. He has made a habit of inviting you when you never said no before. You can't start now.

"I guess I have time," you say carefully.

"Great!" 

Chan practically bounces in his chair as he gives you the details, and doesn't stop beaming until you both decide to leave the library. He gives you a hug before you part, like he always does. You might never learn how to not melt into his warmth. Your heart also never stops aching when he pulls away, and you swear that one day you'll break and keep him close for just a little longer.

When you first noticed it, you had just decided to try dating again. Chan was so encouraging. He had been ever since you met, that fateful day where you were crying in the back of the library over some stupid guy from history class. And he kept being there for you when no date went well.

But that's the problem, isn't it? Chan is sweet. So annoyingly sweet. No man had a chance when you started comparing them all to Chan. It's all too easy with him. Including falling in love.

That's how you find yourself rummaging through your closet on Saturday evening in a fruitless search for a good outfit. Whatever a good outfit means. Does it even matter what you wear? It's not like Chan will care. Every other girl at that party is going to be much prettier-

Fingers snap right at your ear. You shriek and jerk away, tripping over a pile of shirts. Minho just watches you fall with something akin to guilt. Or maybe boredom. You can never tell with him.

"Okay, that answers my question," Minho says.

"Question? What question?"

Minho sighs. "If you're listening."

"Oh. Sorry. I was-"

"Thinking about Channie-hyung?"

You shut your mouth immediately. Heat rises into your cheeks, and you bow your head, but Minho's attention is relentless.

"You know, y/n, maybe you should just tell him."

Eyes growing wide, you perk back up. "Absolutely not!"

"Words are a powerful tool. Bla bla. Whatever. He's not a mindreader."

"I don't *want* him to know!"

Minho rolls his eyes and takes his seat back on the bed. With his suffocating presence gone, you push yourself back to your feet, and continue your search. But building that pile of clothes won't help you.

You stare down at the shirts and pants, a colorful mess so unlike Chan. He once said that he appreciates your style. It's a nice contrast to his neverending closet of a black void. He seems to appreciate a lot about you, always giggling and blushing when confessing these things. 

You haven't returned those words yet. They always linger in the back of your throat, but the many things you appreciate about him marinate in something much deeper than they do for Chan. If you dare to spill your thoughts, there is no saying what else might bubble up with it.

You glance at Minho.

"What if he doesn't like me back?"

Minho smiles as if you’re a puppy left in the rain. "Then you can move on at least."

"But what if-"

"Y/n, you think too much. Give your pretty head some rest and just do things."

Just tell Chan? It sounds so much easier than it is. You can't help but imagine all the ways this could go, and none of them end with you in Chan's arms. You want to be in his arms. You want to-

Minho scoffs, pulling you out of your wandering mind.

"If you don't tell me now, it might be too late."

You frown. "And if I do tell him, he won't be my friend anymore."

"Chan? Not your friend? Please." Minho waves his hand. "He'll get over it. You both will. And then you can go and find someone else."

A sigh falls heavy from your lips. Minho is right. You have been looking for the right outfit for an hour now, and for what? Chan won't have a moment of utter awe like a guy in a teen movie when the girl comes down the stairs in her prom dress. If he doesn't feel the same as you already, there is no hope it will change.

Admitting defeat took bravery, and you like to think you're very brave.

"I'll tell him tonight."

Minho gives you a thumbs up. "You got this!"

���-------

You absolutely do not got this. The moment you arrive at the party and Chan hugs you, it's over. All that confidence from before dissolves like cotton candy in water. He's so warm and his voice vibrates through your whole body and his smile has you weak in the knees.

"Hey, y/n! I'm so glad you're here," he says, guiding you into the house that was already overflowing with drunk college students.

You let him push you, because your body refuses to do anything else. Chan is wearing a tight black shirt and leather pants, and you can't help but take in his muscles. With his collection of hoodies, you rarely get the chance. But it also reminds you of how unbelievably attractive Chan is. He's kind and hot, and there is no way you can compete.

As you slip through the crowd towards the kitchen, you hold onto Chan's hand like a lifeline. There is a constant buzz under your skin like a colony of ants and your head overflows as you try to remember your plan. You can't pick through your thoughts with the constant booming music and the heavy mix of sweat and alcohol in the air. 

It’s too much. You can’t focus. You can’t-

It all melts away when Chan turns back to you, beaming brighter than the sun. He’s so close, you can smell him. Sharp and woodsy, like wandering through the forest after it rained. It grows stronger as he leans in even closer, hot breath stroking your ear, and chasing a shiver down your spine. You hold your breath.

"Do you want alcohol or water?" Chan asks.

You exhale softly, ignoring the disappointment nagging at your chest.

"Alcohol," you say, tilting your head so your lips brush his cheek.

Chan tenses. You feel it where you're still holding his hand. His expression is impossible to decipher as he pulls back, but you're sure there is something akin to the excitement filling your nerves.

He smiles.

"I'll mix you something!"

You nod, and follow him to the kitchen counter. Dozens of different bottles cover the top along with packs of plastic cups. Chan takes one of the cups. You look away when he reaches for the vodka bottle. It's more fun if he surprises you.

You watch his face from the corner of your eye. His brows are knitted together, and the tip of tongue peeks out between his teeth. He's so concentrated, you don't dare to say anything, but the music alone is distracting enough to keep your thoughts at bay.

His bright smile is back when he hands you your drink. You accept the cup, but hesitate at the green liquid that's actually in there. Chan watches with many expectations and you take a careful sip. Apple and vodka immediately overwhelm your senses. You shudder, but swallow anyway, and Chan laughs.

"Too much?" he asks.

"No," you purse your lips like you've just bitten into a lemon, "it's good, just a bit strong."

"I can make you another!"

You laugh and quickly pull his hand away from your cup. Just to prove your point, you drink more, and hope that the kick of alcohol will help you later.

"See? It's fine. Thank you, oppa."

Chan laughs too. "You should thank my friend Jaehyun. He taught me how to mix."

"I'll keep that in mind if I ever meet him."

"You might today. He's around here somewhere."

"Later." You hand Chan an empty cup. "It's your turn."

"I have to drink too?" 

You pat his shoulder, giggling. "You should try your own concoctions."

"Fine, but only because you complimented me!"

You keep giggling as Chan gets busy mixing again, but your insides are twisting like you're on a rollercoaster.

Everything that is Bang Chan holds you hostage. You can't look away from him even when you try. Like a moth to flame, you lean into the heat oozing from his body. The urge to trace his muscles tingles at your fingertips. You grip your cup tighter, and it crumbles a little, spilling some of the liquid. 

Minho is more than right. You need to know, before you lose your mind. If Chan doesn't like you back, you at least know, and maybe get over your feelings. Otherwise, if you don't say a word, there is always that small chance that maybe Chan feels the same. And you know that as long as that chance persists, your feelings and yearning will persist as well.

"Oppa."

Chan meets your eyes. You take a deep breath.

"Oppa, can we go somewhere more quiet? I need to tell you some-"

"Chan!" 

You freeze at the melodic voice carrying through the kitchen. At the same moment, you also watch Chan's expression change. He smiles. He smiles like he so rarely does, only when he's incredibly happy and excited. And he smiles like that for the girl joining you at the kitchen counter.

And then she kisses Chan.

The plastic cup cracks and deforms between your tightening grip. More liquid spills over, sticking to your fingers, but you don't care. No one points it out. Chan is too busy hugging that girl that you've never seen before. Or maybe you have. She's beautiful. You would have remembered her, wouldn't you?

She looks at you with cupid bow lips curled into a sweet smile.

"Are you y/n?" the girl asks.

You nod.

"Oh!" The girl claps her hands together. "Channie told me so much about you! It's so nice to finally meet you. I'm Sana!"

You stare at her, blinking. She holds out a hand, but as you fail to take it, Sana slowly pulls back, expression faltering. Both of you look at Chan. Realization seems to finally dawn on him.

"Oh shit! I'm sorry!" He bows his head, laughing nervously. "I wanted to introduce you to Sana today, but this is not how I planned it."

Sana gasps. "You didn't tell her about me?"

"Well, no? I wanted to!"

"What… Who…" You inhale sharply. "And who are you, Sana?"

"Chan's girlfriend!"

Girlfriend. Girlfriend. Girlfriend-

The word bounces in your head until it throbs at your temples. Your next breath stutters, your throat tight. Whatever you could have said gets stuck and even as you swallow, you feel like choking. 

What even was there to say?

You straighten your back and slowly put down the cup on the nearest surface. Concern twists Chan's face, but you can't look at him for more than a few seconds. Your eyes burn at the edges. You take another deep breath, swallowing, chest tight and heart heavy.

"I need. I need some fresh air."

That's all you can get out, and even then your voice breaks at the end. Whatever protest Chan tries to give, it doesn't reach you through the white noise building in your ears. 

You squeeze yourself through the crowd. You try to remember where the front door is, but your vision blurs and your head hurts. Somehow, you do actually manage to get out of the house, and a sob breaks out from deep within your chest. 

You blindly walk away from the music, the voices, and Bang Chan. Alcohol buzzes hot in your guts and you feel sick, but you can't stop. Your feet carry you all the way to your dorm and even then your body refuses to just throw up. All you can do is fall into your bed and succumb to the tears.

—-------

Minho was wrong, actually. Knowing for sure about Chan's feelings doesn't help at all. It's actually worse. As they say, ignorance is bliss. It gives you all the room to be delusional, to cling to a hope that maybe there could be more. 

There can't be more.

You're not even sure that there can be anything anymore.

You can't call Minho that night. He's just as much as Chan's friend as he's yours. You burdened him enough with the knowledge of your feelings. Crying to him was only going to make things worse. 

So you don't. You don't tell anyone. You ignore their messages and calls. Chan even comes knocking on your door. You bury yourself under your blanket until he leaves. On Monday, you avoid Chan like the plague. Minho is harder to dodge. He outright hunts you down during lunch break.

It's nice. Telling someone. It doesn't take away from the weight on your heart, but it soothes your mind. A little. Just enough that you don't feel completely insane for crying about this. Minho holds you and it's the first time in so long that it's not Chan who comforts you through a heartbreak.

It's also Minho who invites you to another party two weeks later. 'Inviting' is a strong word. He knocks on your door two hours before the party starts and tells you to pick out an outfit. You don't ask why. You're too tired to argue. Maybe going out helps. Maybe you can drown yourself in alcohol until your heart stops aching.

This party is again at a stranger's house. You find some familiar faces from college, but you don't know half their names. Minho drags you to get some drinks and then leaves you for 'important business'. Not that you particularly care when you’re here to drink anyway. You sit on the kitchen counter and watch everyone else enjoy themselves, because what else are you going to do? Try to dance and mingle with the crowd? You don’t know them. You don’t want to know them.

You're halfway into your second beer when a guy takes the open space next to you. His knee bumps yours and you meet his eyes. You vaguely remember him. 

Hyunjin? He's definitely one of Minho's friends, but you never really talked. He's pretty though. You want to run your fingers through his blonde hair, but that might be the alcohol speaking. It has loosened both your heart and mind, not enough that you can't make decisions, but enough that you can actually smile back at Hyunjin.

"Hey," you say.

"Hey," Hyunjin says sheepishly, clinging your beer bottles together, "you look a little lonely."

"So you thought you would give me some company?"

"Maybe."

You snort, amused, but not really that endeared. Not that you don't appreciate it, but you're not really in the mood to talk. But you don't really have to talk.

"I would feel less lonely with a kiss," you drawl, not sure if this was the right way to go.

But Hyunjin leans in closer and his hot breath ghosts over your lips and you just want to forget. So you slip a hand into his hair, tugging at the soft strands. Your mouths and tongues meet in a touch devoid of emotion. 

This is to scratch an itch. Nothing more. Yet, guilt eats at the back of your head. You kiss Hyunjin harder, but that small voice won't shut up, and Hyunjin tastes like beer and cookies and you wonder if Chan would taste better.

You pull away, breathless. Hyunjin stares at you with expectations that you can't fulfill. You slip off the counter, about to say something that could get you out of this, when you suddenly catch sight of Chan.

"Y/n."

"Chan."

"You…" He glances at Hyunjin, lips pursed, and then meets your eyes again, "Can we talk?"

You don't want to. That's a lie. You really want to talk, but you're scared. Your body is on fire and yet icy cold as you wrap your arms around yourself.

Chan steps closer and reaches out. Hesitantly, you mimic him, and he takes your wrist.

"Sorry, Hyunjin-ah," Chan says, but you know he doesn't mean it.

Then he moves. Still held by his strong hand, you follow. He squeezes through the crowd and you barely keep up. When you stumble, he catches you, smiling faintly. 

"Where are we going?" You ask.

"Somewhere more quiet."

“Chan-"

"Y/n, please."

You slowly nod, and Chan resumes walking. He only slows down as the crowd thins out and you reach the bottom of a staircase. For just a moment, Chan looks at you, eyes darting all over your face as if trying to find something. He seems to have found it and smiles again.

The upper floor is almost empty. Only a group of girls are standing in front of the bathroom. One of them is talking through the door, probably to a friend. They give you concerned looks as Chan pulls you past them towards another room. You wave at them, smiling, and one girl nods and gives you a thumbs up.

If this was worthy of a thumbs up remains to be seen.

Finally, Chan stops. He lets go of you and closes the door. You take a few deep breaths, your heart running a whole marathon, and it definitely doesn't help that Chan dragged you into a bedroom. A quiet place for sure, but you feel dizzy from the sudden wave of thoughts crashing over you.

"Sorry."

You look at Chan. "What?"

"I'm sorry," he repeats, scratching the back of his head.

"Why are you sorry?"

"I- Well- Maybe we should sit down."

You hesitate as Chan takes a seat on the bed, but he pats the space next to him and his puppy eyes still make you weak. So you sit with him. Your shoulders brush together, and you're immediately filled with his body heat. As your heart flutters, you close your eyes and indulge in that sensation that you’ve missed so much over the last two weeks.

Yeah, there is no way you can get over Chan any time soon.

Chan clears his throat.

"I didn't plan to do it like this, but then Minho said you're here and…"

"Of course. This is why Minho dragged me here."

Chan chuckles. "He really wants us to make up."

"You don't even know what you did wrong."

"I do, actually."

Probably Minho's doing too, but right now, you can't blame him. You would probably do the same. 

You sigh. There is no way out now.

"You didn't actually do anything wrong, oppa."

"I kind of did."

"No," you insist, "I should have told you sooner."

"I should have realized sooner," Chan says.

"To be fair, I really tried to be subtle about it-"

"That's not what I mean," Chan puts a hand on your thigh and the touch burns through your pants, "I should have realized my own feelings sooner, y/n."

You whip your head around so quickly, you're surprised your neck doesn't break. It does hurt a little, but you can't spare a thought for it, your mind too busy trying to comprehend what Chan just said. 

*His* feelings. His feelings?

You blink slowly, eyes wide, but your brain refuses to understand anything. If you're wrong, if you misunderstood…

Chan looks away. A red hue dusts his cheeks and the tips of his ears. You mindlessly reach out and pinch one of his ears, getting a giggle out of him. He also manages to meet your gaze again and his eyes spark with so much honesty, your heart stops for a moment.

"Y/n." 

His voice is so low and he's so close.

"I really like you, y/n."

Is this real? You pinch yourself, but no, you don't wake up. Chan is still there, an expression of so much hope and guilt and…love.

You swallow hard.

"What about Sana?"

"I broke up with her."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"When?" you ask, very much ignoring the crack in your voice.

"A few days after the party. Well, she broke up with me." Chan laughs a little. "I don't know. I think she could tell what was up with you and she told me to really think about what you mean to me. It was kind of bizarre, but yeah, I did think. A lot. And then Minho came to me and…now we’re here."

You can't help but laugh as well. Of course Sana could tell. And of course Chan didn't get it. You wonder if it would be weird if you thanked Sana for this and decide that yes, it would be weird. It's enough if you thank her in your head.

You sigh softly and cup Chan's face, thumbs tracing his warm cheekbones.

"I'm sorry for avoiding you. I was so upset, but like not at you. At myself. I thought… I thought it was all lost."

Chan nods. "It's okay, but you don't have to worry. Nothing is lost."

He tilts his head and presses a kiss to your palm. The spot tingles, his lips plush. You want to kiss him so badly.

"I like you too, Bang Chan," you whisper.

Chan giggles and envelops your hands with his'. He's so warm all over. His smile, his laugh, his touch. 

You pull him closer and his eyes widen in surprise. This time, you giggle.

"Oppa, will you be more than my friend?"

Chan hums thoughtfully. "And what should I be?"

"Come on! Don't make me say it!"

"Nope, no idea what you want from me~"

You huff, pouting, and you refuse to play along with his game. So instead, you breach the last bit of space between you and finally kiss him.

It's gentle. That's all you can think of. It's gentle and almost hesitant, like you're both not quite sure how this works. Chan's lips are as soft as you imagined and he tastes like cherry chapstick that probably belongs to Minho. You tried it once, but it was too sweet. Not this time, though. Not on Chan.

Slowly, you pull away, and Chan leans his forehead against yours.

"I want to be more than your friend," he whispers.

"What does that make you then?" you tease and he laughs.

"Your boyfriend?"

"I would like that very much."

You kiss again, not sure who leans in first. It doesn't matter. Chan wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you so close that you feel like you're melting together. Every piece of clothing that is taken off heats you up more until you're dizzy again.

You don't care whose bed it is when Chan rolls on top of you, your lips slotting together like two puzzle pieces. His hands roam your body and it's hot, so hot. You're candle wax in Chan's arms, molding under his flame and sticking to his fingers.

It's where you belong. It's where you always belonged.

[nhasablogg]

My goals for this blog in 2024

'Tis the season of overanalyzing everything about your life! So naturally I've been thinking a lot about the different spaces I occupy, such as this one, and decided I need to be a bit more intentional with how I spend my time online and offline. I'm trying not to overdo it though. Sometimes you also just have to exist.

Be transparent when I want attention. This makes it sound as if we're in a relationship LMAO, but honestly, a lot of the time I will pop in here with a random post, or a request for prompts, and it will be more a cry for attention than the actual need for prompts (although not always). Prompt + filling of prompt = validation and love and attention. But usually that won't be enough because I'm not always in the mood to write, or I'll write something short and not very good, and then I won't get the attention I was craving and I will get sad. Also not every fic will be a hit anyway. It's a fickle thing to base my emotions around. SO. Solution for this is to just tell you when I want attention, because that way I won't feel annoying and bad about myself afterward. Obviously this might not result in attention whatsoever, and also why is it your job to give it to me anyway, but that way I won't feel as desperate as much as I will at the very least feel authentic about my neediness. I am human. Sometimes I need things and have no idea who to turn to. I often turn to social media. It happens. I just want to be more honest about it next year. Maybe as a sort of therapy.

Kind of related. I want to be a bit more intentional with the fics I post. I've gotten better at leaving fics be if they're not working, rather than trying to finish every single project, but I want to let them take their time and not post fics just to post them if I'm not happy with them. That doesn't mean I can't post shorter, sillier fics I had fun working on even if they're not masterpieces. My enjoyment is just as important as the final product.

I'd also like to write more long, intricate fics, kind of like my Criminal Minds case fics. It's fun to challenge myself, as longer fanfic writing isn't my forte.

Figure out if I want prompts to mostly be open or not. I keep opening and closing them, mostly because I sometimes get in the opposite mood of wanting attention and get overwhelmed and don't want people to "demand" things from me (I know they're not demands, but you know how your brain sometimes gets). But I feel like the best prompts are the ones people will send really randomly because they suddenly got an idea. But maybe, if I stop making those "send me prompts!!!" type of posts I won't get overwhelmed by the amount of them. Does anyone have any input on this?

Stop thinking I need to do certain things to be a part of the community. I keep thinking that I should maybe interact with other people's fics more, or try to be a part of the community in ways I used to when I was younger, but the truth is that I'm not a fanfiction reader at this stage of my life, and rather than lamenting that I need to just accept it. Maybe that makes me a hypocrit, but I don't believe in forcing things like that. Maybe once I stop pressuring myself it will come naturally instead, but if not I need to just be okay with the fact that I'm mostly here for my own fics. Maybe that's selfish, but it's the truth. I have enough problems in my real life to create new ones for myself here.

Stop trying to restore the old blog. It's gone. I was the one to delete it, and with that a lot of followers who never returned, and everything I did on there. It's fun getting to give advice, but people don't turn to me for them like they did back in the day and that's okay. I'm not who I was back then. I don't have the same amount of time. Instead of trying to bring back traces of the old blog I just want to focus on what I want to do with this one, in the moment and in the future. This community has changed anyway. It's time I accept that. (this does not include my Throwback Project, which I will be doing as a way to honor the past rather than try to bring it back)

Do you have any goals? Did any of this make sense? Am I overanalyzing things TOO much? Let me know your thoughts if you have any!

[atomsminecraft]

Hi. Can you write Roy x female reader fic? Where Roy finds reader crying because of stress and studies. He comforts her and kisses her on the forehead. Pretty please 🥺💗🌷

YESSSS?????

I physically can't stop myself from writing this now that I saw it

I'm gonna try and write this in one sitting

Watch me do that

____________________

Everything was going wrong today. First is was a failed test, next it was a failed potion, and after that it was a failed project and then an assignment. Assignments were pilling up day after day after countless failed attempts and essays because of these failed assignments started pilling up even more.

Classes ended early today, which is good because I don't think I could handle anymore fails and scoldings from my professors. Sure, some tried to help me, but they couldn't do my work for me.

The moment the bell rang I packed my stuff and ran out of the classroom. I needed to be alone right now. Where should I go so I can be alone? My dorm? No... Robin is in there and I don't want to worry him. Maybe the bathroom? But someone might walk in there... There were only so many places I could go to, and none of them were any good. The S-ranks should still be in their classes, right? Maybe the rooftop should be ok...

I quickly made sure no one was following me then I went to the rooftop. I looked around and found a nice spot near some flowers. Maybe these will make me feel better. I sit down and looked at the variety of flowers. Speaking of flowers, wasn't there an assignments about flowers today too?

...

Great. that makes me feel even worse.

I hug my knees and hide my face in them. What should I do about all that work? Am I really that stupid to not understand something I should know? I get I'm not from this world, but I've been here long enough to know these things by now! I try wiping away some tears that showed up yet they never seem to go away. Ugh, why am I crying? I shouldn't be crying over something so stupid...

"Miss- Oh!" I looked up to find a surprised Roy. "Are you alright?" He asks with worry on his face. Oh boy now he's done it. I try wiping my tears away on my sleeve but even more seem to replace them.

"I-" I choke on my words from both tears and not knowing what to say to him. I feel him sit down next to me and he hands me a handkerchief. I take it gratefully and wipe my seemingly never-ending flow of tears. We stay in silence for some time and I've somewhat calmed down in that time.

"May I ask what caused you this much distress?" Roy's voice is soft and gentle. "Is there any particular way I may help?" I take a deep breath before answering.

"I... I'm sorry for bothering you with this..." My voice shakes as I say this. "It's stupid..."

Roy puts a hand on my shoulder, "If it causes you to be this upset, it surely has a good reason for it." I stay silent for a moment to try and think of the right thing to say.

"I... I'm just... Everything is too much right now..." I start off. "I keep messing up everything and I can't seem to get any of it right and so much work has pilled up and I can't finish it all and-" before I know it, I'm crying again. Roy pulls me into a side hug and I lean into him. We stayed like that for some time. It was peaceful. Comforting. It was nice.

"Miss MC..." Roy says. I feel Roy kiss my forehead and I blush. "Please, allow me to assist you when you need it."

"Wha-"

"Allow me to rid of some of your burden, even for a short time. Allow me to help you with this." My face feels like it's on fire as I stare up at him.

"I- Why would- Huh???"

"I deeply cherish you, Miss MC. I dislike seeing you like this." He smiles at me and takes my hand. I'm shocked into silence from what happened and Roy's fingers traces patterns on my hand.

I take a deep breath, "I... I care about you a lot too Roy." Now it's Roy's turn to be surprised, though he quickly composes himself and smiles at me.

"I am pleased to hear you share the same sentiment." I suddenly realize I've stopped crying all together now.

"Oh! Uh- Your handkerchief-"

He lightly chuckles, "You need not worry about it. All that matters is that you've stopped crying." I feel myself blush and I look away.

"I'm sor-" A sudden realization hits me. "Wait, how come you aren't in class? I thought the S-rank lectures were still happening?"

"Those finished not too long before I came here." Was I out here for that long? If felt shorter...

"Oh..."

Roy got up and gave me his hand. "The next time you feel like this, please seek my assistance. As I said before, I wish to assist you in any way I am able. If you have any questions, I hope you will come to me." I grab his hand and stand up.

"Yes... Thank you again, Roy. I truly appreciate it." He gives me a kind smile.

"I look forward to the visit. Please don't be afraid to ask me anything you need me for. I hope to see you soon." With that, Roy walks off and his hand separate from mine. I feel the warmth on my hand linger as he walks away. As I process what just happened, I can't seem to wonder...

"Wait... Was I just somewhat confessed to?!"

____________________

I hope you liked it 💕

I did in fact write this in one sitting

I am very proud of this because it forced me to write

Thank you Anon for helping me write and do something productive for once 💀

[roosterbox]

Fic Rec Friday 3/1/2024

Title: not everything becomes bullshit (not with you)

Rating: General Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Gen, M/M

Fandom: Stranger Things (TV 2016)

Relationships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington

Characters: Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson, Robin Buckley

Additional Tags: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Trauma, Eddie Munson Lives, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, theyre a mess, Miscommunication, ya know the bullshit thing?, yeah - Freeform, that, thats the trauma, along with his damn parents, Healing, Cuddling

Summary: bullshit: n - stupid or untrue talk or writing; nonsense.

The thing with Nancy comes up with Eddie during an argument and Steve cannot seem to handle it.

———

For this, the last fic rec Friday (of this particular batch anyway), let’s take it back to the start. Back to the beginning of my newest obsession. So here you go - the first Steddie fic I ever bookmarked.

I went into this with next to no knowledge of the context surrounding it. I didn’t know about the whole bullshit thing, didn’t know shit about Family Video, or Vecna, or anything. Heck, I didn’t even know what their voices sounds like (almost still don’t in Eddie’s case - I’ll get to S4 eventually!). But the emotions, man. The emotions just drew me in. The dynamics. Even from this story, going in like 90% blind, I got the sense that I would latch on to Steve Harrington like a dog with a favored toy, and would never let go. Ever. Welp, here I am over a year later, still not letting go of my babygirl.

This fic easily established for me one of my favorite Steddie dynamics. That being emotional wreck!Steve and comforting!Eddie. Everything I’ve seen canonically makes Eddie seem like a great source of comfort. He looks like he’d give great hugs, you know? And Steve just deserves to be able to let himself go, emotionally speaking. That boy has been through A Lot in three or so years - either let him get therapy, or let him cry. Maybe both.

There aren’t very many other characters in this, other than Robin of course. Which is kind of as it should be. And that’s another aspect that I had no context for (still don’t, technically; S3 will continue! Soon!) - her platonic with a capital P relationship with Steve. There’s only a few crumbs of it here, but they are delicious. Also, yet another Steddie fic trope I love pops up here: Robin being extremely protective of Steve when she thinks that Eddie might have wronged him. It’s subtler here than I’ve seen in other stories, but that girl would go feral on a motherfucker for Steve’s sake. I adore that about her.

And let’s not forget that this fic features something else that I adore but rarely see in angsty fics - COMMUNICATION. A huge part of adding drama to relationships in fiction (in RL too let’s be real) is a distinct lack of communication. People keep secrets or dance around what they mean, when just SAYING SOMETHING straight up would solve so many fucking problems, lol. And while this may start out with typical miscommunication shenanigans, the shift when they realize that, no, we need to actually talk about this, is just too good. There’s even a line in the narration that says “communication is key and all that jazz, right?” YES, BOYS. YES. Talk to each other.

Lastly, and perhaps most importantly, the COMFORT in this emotional hurt/comfort story, is out of this world. I can deal with my Stevie baby being put through an emotional wringer as long as someone, preferably Eddie or Robin, is there to comfort him in the end. To remind him that, yes, he is loved beyond measure, and that he deserves said love. How lucky for me (and him) that this fic has comfort in it from both of them?

Just a beautiful, simple little h/c gem of a fic. Steve needs a hug, and he gets several of them. Perfect.

———

Next Week: Nothing! Zip! Nada! Null! This is, officially, the last of these fic recs I’m doing.

FOR NOW

Thanks so much for reading this, and for reading the fic if you do!

[jamiesfootball]

2, 11, and/or 30 for the ask game!

2. Favorite part of writing.

Aside from putting characters in situations, it's a dead tie between 'finding increasingly specific ways to describe something' and 'finding ways to sneak in jokes'.

11. Describe your writing process from scratch to finish.

Ooooh-OOOH. OH. Ok ok jot that down- what was that? Oh, okaaaay. Huh. That's a good start- what do you mean there's more? That's, no. No, I said we have other things that we're working on- okay, no, you're right that is a really good idea and it would be emotionally satisfying, Alright, I'll jot this down, but then we're definitely writing it this time, ok? We are going to focus, we will not leave another project unfinished- where are you going?

It's like that. But here's a more coherent answer.

Step 1- I have an idea. Perhaps it's a scene. Something I would like to see happen, out of pure need or a spiteful malaise from not seeing it happen, whichever.

Ex: I saw Mom City and the Finale and decided I hated what they did with Jamie's dad. I thought up a scene where Jamie and Roy talk about that.

Step 2- I spin the giant wheel in my brain. Without consulting me, it finds an unrelated topic. I then hold the first bit - the THING I want to write - up next to the second bit. I cross my eyes until I figure out what pattern exists between the two that my brain wants me to use.

Ex: The scene with Roy and Jamie talking about Jamie's dad + Roy going to therapy = There are two angry men in Jamie's life. Both of them have taken a step towards becoming better, but I only believe that one of them means it. Why?

Step 3- I start figuring out the whys. I think about which scenarios will strain the narrative. I find the uncomfy bits of dialogue that other authors skip over, and I make the characters talk about it at length until I figure out what the problem is. Slowly, a form comes together in the shape of a narrative. I usually have my climactic moments drafted from the start. I usually have a beginning. If I do not know the end, I find it soon enough. The rest I build with sticks. If dramatic moment one happens, what caused it? What tracks need laid to get me there. I sketch those in. Eventually, I have an outline.

Ex: The dissatisfaction from the end of season three becomes where the post season fic starts. The climactic bits breed out of the Roy Jamie conversation I began with. An ending takes shape- this is the final goal, the place I'd like my character to be. From there I work my way in, tying the moments together, until I can say 'yeah, that looks like a full story'.

Step 4- By exploring all of these scenarios and building a narrative architecture, a theme starts to emerge. I use that theme, and reflect it back on the vague bits I don't have written yet.

Ex: At this point I have realized that the entire impetus of the post-season fic is to stack ammo in the discussion of 'should Jamie's father be allowed back in his life?' The answer is no. What began as a simple comparison in step 2 has now become a multi-armed demon, fleshing out the motivations and backstories of every character it touches. The theme is family--born, found, and made--and so now every other character (Roy, Colin, Isaac, Sam, Keeley, Dani) has their family history being dragged into the light to serve as an example.

Step 5 - Legos. I have my outline (the sketch). I have my themes (the paint). Now I have to write it. Fuck. This step lasts forever.

Step 6 - I just keep trying. Because the story exists already, you know? It's not told, but it exists. I just have to keep putting in the work to make it into the physical world.

Step 7 - I print the things out and I scribble on them until I feel better. Then I take the scribbles, and I put them back into step 5.

Step 8 - Repeat steps 5-7 until you are out of legos. Then you are done, for now.

Step 9 - Walk around in a daze, feeling like you're about to cry. Keep repeating to people, "I can't believe it's over." It is never over. That feeling never truly goes away. You are forever surprised that you created something.

Step 10 - Become annoying to everyone you know by blogging about it online.

Ex: In progress

30. Favorite line you’ve ever written.

Oh, I have lots. Shameless self-plug though, everything I wrote about Moe on his quest to do spoken word poetry in chapter 1 of the post-season fic was a goddamn delight. Up to and including the Machiavelli quotes.

One of my other other favorite parts goes to Isaac in the epilogue. It is the bookend to Moe's poetry. I'm literally so excited about it.

Actually I take that back. I just realized I do have a favorite line, and it's a stupid one.

Right now my favorite line is a running joke, wherein I the author put in the placeholder '[whatever Higgins said]' into Roy's internal monologue about being a better person. This in regards to the scene in the finale where the Diamond Dogs talked about learning how to be better, not perfect. Higgins made some good points. I meant to go back and pull the quote from the episode. It was going to be in italics, the way you do when you're bringing back quotes into an internal monologue.

The only thing is I, uh. Did not do that. The more I thought about it, the more it made sense that Roy, who got the gist of what Higgins was saying, maybe didn't necessarily jot down the exact phrasing in his head, the way he does with other lines (the ones that are detrimental to his emotional health and well being.) Also it made me laugh. So now it's just peppered in sometimes, when Roy is trying to be a better person.

'Whatever Higgins said.'

Like I said at the start- I love to sneak in a joke.

[tiffanylamps]

I wish you would write a fic where...after crying in each other's arms over Nam Sang Bae in episode 10, Joo Won volunteers to take Dong Sik home (as a partner should, he reasons), but takes him to his apartment instead when he thinks about the empty Lee family home and the hole in the basement where Yu Yeon was found. Dong Sik is too distraught to complain, so Joo Won just takes him and puts him to bed. And while Joo Won observes the man sleeping in his bed, he wonders why he did it, why did he feel such a strong need to make sure Dong Sik wasn't alone...basically pining very hard but being very unaware of it at the same time 😂 there is something about your Joo Won that makes me think you could project that kind of oblivious but helpless longing really well!

I wish you would write a fic where... Hey anon, I did kiiiiind of write this already a long time ago! But I wrote it as Dong Sik looking after Joo Won (who's in shock and dealing with mild hyperthermia, as a result of being in the February-cold seawater). It's a chapter from my fic By Desire, and Dong Sik is trying so hard to keep it together but he's numb as fuck (and at one point, dry heaves into Joo Won's kitchen sink because he can't believe he's lost another person). Whereas Joo Won is a mess. He showers and after receiving a phone call from Hyuk, he falls apart as the gravity of the evening's events finally sink in. He expects Dong Sik to hate him, and keeps trying to get Dong Sik to answer why is he being so kind to him? He brings up some stuff that happened in the previous chapter but Dong Sik doesn't want him to talk about it, so he puts him to bed. He wraps him up and waits until Joo Won falls asleep before leaving his side of the bed. He thinks about Min Jeong and how - when she was a child and distressed - he would stroke her hair to calm her down. But he can't bring himself to do it for Joo Won; he's terrified of what will happen if he gives in to that feeling (wanting. needing. pining). He thinks about leaving but before he knows it, he's fallen asleep on the end of Joo Won's bed, only to wake up to a phone call from Jung Je. He leaves without Joo Won knowing he stayed.

Here's a super rough snippet. It's pretty different to my current writing style and I don't like it all that much, but I hope you enjoy it:

“Lee Dong Sik,” Joo Won’s eyes are tearful, forlorn, and so, so sorry. Dong Sik swallows the tightness in his throat, his eyes are burning, and gives the lost boy opposite him a piteous smile, or as close to a smile as he can muster. Joo Won’s features fall into fragments but that doesn’t stop the older man from nodding over to the bed, “at least sit down, Inspector Han. You might fall over.”

Joo Won’s lip quivers but he lets Dong Sik send him back to bed anyway. “I don’t understand,” he mumbles through tired breaths.

Dong Sik bends and pulls the covers away and without touching him, he guides Joo Won onto the mattress. “Good. Now get under the covers,” he coaxes gently.

Joo Won moves awkwardly, his face grimacing, making that injury to his ribs all the more real. He gasps, his eyes snapping shut as he rides out the pain. Breathe, Han Joo Won. “Why-?”

“Lift your arm,” Dong Sik says gently.

Joo Won lies on his side facing Dong Sik and the older man takes his place, sitting in the curve that Joo Won's body left behind. Regrettably, he's reminded of how yin and yang chase after one another, but he sighs that unhelpful thought away. He used to do this for Min Jeong when she wasn’t feeling well or had a bad day at school, or the many nights she didn’t want to go home. He would sit with her and let her talk, sometimes when she was inconsolable, he would run his fingers through her hair until the tears eased off. If only he had seen the signs- if he hadn’t been so blind- if he had actually been paying attention- if- no, don’t do that. Not now.

The young man eyes him and takes in the extra weight on the bed, the warmth of central heating, and the soft glow from the bathroom light and… starts to cry. Dong Sik wants nothing more than to run his fingers through his hair but they're ice cold, rigid and unable to move. He shouldn't, he won't, he can't. They can't.

Joo Won chokes on a cry. He must be exhausted if he’s allowing himself to be so openly vulnerable and Dong Sik can't stop the pickling ache in his chest: a feeling he has only reserved for a select few. When did Joo Won become someone he cared for? Fuck. This isn't fair. The young inspector continues to cry quietly and doesn’t even notice when Dong Sik has a moment of weakness and brushes a tear away from his cheek. 

“I still smell like it... When will it go away?” Dong Sik knows what he really means: when will this pain go away? Never. That’s the truth, but he can’t bring himself to say it. Han Joo Won will always feel this pain: the pain of being involved in another person’s murder, the pain of not being there on time, and the sickening pain of physically holding a dead body whilst trying to stay afloat in winter-cold water. He will never forget this pain. Nor should he. 

But Dong Sik can’t possibly say any of that to him, so, he just settles with the next best thing: “Take another shower in the morning. You’ll feel like yourself in no time.”

“I don’t want to be myself.”

Dong Sik’s eyes sting. What a heartbreaking thing to say- why would he want that? Joo Won covers his face and sobs like a child: foolhardy, fat tears shed with his whole heart. Dong Sik is a loving man, he can’t stand to see others in pain. So, despite it being a bad idea - one that he might regret - he places his hand on top of Joo Won’s. 

He expects him to recoil, to push Dong Sik away and it would be okay if he did. What he doesn’t expect him to do is to open up beautifully, twining their fingers together like daisies opening their petals to greet the sun. They stay like this and it’s awful but wonderful- everything he needs, everything he shouldn’t have.  His stomach flips and it takes more than it should not be pulled down in Joo Won's embrace.

Joo Won sniffles, his eye finding Dong Sik. There was something there, raw and askance: anger, confusion, greed. He pulls away with a frown, “I don’t understand.” This again. Dong Sik runs a hand over his face, he can still smell the salt. 

“I don’t understand,” Joo Won repeats, his voice heavy from exhaustion.

That was half of the problem, Joo Won doesn’t understand and he’s earnest when he says that. It’s an annoyance, no, it’s utterly disarming. Dong Sik knows how to work a room just as well as he can play a person. He’s a conductor of a band that is slowly building to a symphony in size. He sets the pace and leads the players through each movement. 

It’s almost genius how he’s able to fashion his emotions into layers by toying with other people’s assumptions, or their ideas of social norms; in times of strife or battle, his sincerity is artificial for the means of survival. Anyone who knows him is aware of this, they can see through it and even call out his bullshit if they have the huts. They know that Dong Sik shines a mirror and lets others see what they want. But Joo Won doesn’t seem to understand how mirrors work. Whenever Dong Sik holds it up to deflect him, the kid will just look past the frame and ask Dong Sik what he’s doing, completely dumbfounded. 

It wasn’t safe for Joo Won to come to his own conclusions. The boy had a creative imagination, one that will only cause issues for the whole orchestra. He’s a rogue konzertmeister, who fucks with the whole piece by modulating the key. How is Dong Sik expected to direct the way when his konzertmeister is leading himself astray?

“You don’t need to understand.”

- there is something about your Joo Won that makes me think you could project that kind of oblivious but helpless longing really well!- Thank you for saying this! I take that as a huge compliment because it is something I strive to convey whenever I write from Joo Won's pov. He's just so loving but he doesn't what love is, so the way he feels is more of a burden to him than something he can harness and use for good. Obviously, he learns and grows, but it can take him a long time to get there 😩 I hope this was of interest to you, anon!!! Thank you so much for sending me this ask. I absolutely loved it! It's a fantastic idea and I think this sequence of events would be so interesting to explore through Joo Won's funny brain, especially in a time of tragedy. Hope you have a great day! 😊

[msfbgraves]

I'm lucky enough to not have heard these sentiments too much myself, so I have no idea how widespread this attitude is. And goodness, you don't know you're growing up in a golden age of storytelling when it's happening, hm? People just release dozens of great series, complete seasons on the one streaming service for you to peruse for a really affordable price. No $100 to shell out for a box set of (1) great series, are you nuts? Waiting for anything? Huh? And of course stuff is good. Why shouldn't it be? And after 2007 Ao3 has always been there. And now of course you're so used to the fact that your attention means cash money, that you might not even realise that is what's happening. You might think it's simply your approval people are so desperate for.

Again, this might be a really small minority of people.

Good art needs to be nurtured. And sadly, the ones coming up with the newest ideas and concepts are also those paid the least for them. Because when they need art, they can just, like, make it. It's not fair, really! And of course artists are crazy people. They just... keep giving you stuff. Because they have to. Because they can't not. Well then maybe they should. It's only right? Because isn't it all about your approval?

The reason I make a lot of art is that I need very little approval to keep doing it. I don't, I get sick. That said, I need some, if I don't get any, I will stop.

But I also need to live, and if I need to spend a lot of brainpower to stay alive, well, that's a lot less art that comes your way.

But why should that be a problem? Isn't the world overflowing with great art?

Hm... is it lately? Is it really? Or do you find yourself wading through a lot of drivel looking for something good? There used to be so much of it, why aren't those creators doing their job?

Because they are, again, not being paid to do it. If they're being paid at all, they're paid to make a knockoff of a former success. Because too many people got stingy and greedy.

But there's even less good fic and fanart to go around, and no one is paying for that.

Yes. Good fanart needs good enough source material. Less of that nowadays. And oh yeah. That engagement you don't owe anyone? Not before it's completed and not after it's completed because in two years, it is old and stalkerish to engage with something?

Look, not all artists are as demented as I am, ok? Not everyone keeps slinging stories or songs (that I don't even record) into the void because they'd go insane if they didn't. Most people react to the message "apparently nobody cares" with "Ah. I will cease this activity, then, shall I. Yes. Let's make brownies, at least I'll enjoy eating those." My God, I have been writing in my second language for ten years because that is the only way to let people engage with what I make. I am a crazy person.

But not everybody is and they're not worse artists for it. They're very good and sorely missed, actually. If you don't engage with art you'll find yourself crying in some algorithm hellscape of shit and more shit searching for something good, please, anything.

That's what you get for not giving artists anything good. By and large, they stop giving back.

Because sorry love. It is, in large part, still about money. The only reason why your attention means money is because of fucking advertisers paying for your data.

You can't pay books and art in data. Even Ao3 needs money to run.

And I get it. Who has money? But if your engagement is all you have to give, give that - or there will simply be a lot less to go around. And finding the good stuff on project Gutenberg is not impossible, but it is work love. Work and the stuff is old af.

just saw someone reviewing the erin hunter books like, ‘they should publish the whole series at once, i don’t want to wait a whole year to read it’. like babe i hate to break it to you but,,,, go touch some grass and think about your relationship with consumerism okay, because it’s gotten really weird on you

[contentconsumer]

It’s always been you

A/n: First Druig fic and first time writing for the MCU, let me know what you think! GIF not mine & my requests are open! Word count: 1,575 Requested?: No Pairing: Druig X F!Reader Summary: Overdue confessions and when I say overdue I mean thousands of years overdue

“The beautiful beautiful Makkari'' You can’t help the sigh that escapes your lips as you overhear Druig speaking, letting your head fall towards the goblet you were drinking from staring into the deep red liquid. You knew you couldn’t get drunk but you could definitely try. “You know no good ever comes from eavesdropping?” A voice appears behind you, Gilgamesh , “Who’s eavesdropping?” You fire back, “Well I couldn’t help but notice the way you slumped over when you-know-who complimented our friend.” “I think you’re seeing things Gil,” You let out a dry chuckle trying to convince both Gilgamesh  and yourself that Druig’s words didn’t hurt you. “You know you could just tell him you love him?” You now turn to face the eternal behind you, he’s staring down at your smaller frame with an eyebrow quirked and a sly smile ghosts his lips. “Now don’t call me crazy or anything but I have a feeling he’s not interested. Plus love is so very human which we are very not.” “Sometimes I wish the locals didn’t teach you things like sarcasm, let it up Y/N you’ve fought by my side for eons and you expect us not to notice how you look at him? Or nonetheless how he looks at you? Trust me he’s more interested than you think.” The air felt thicker in your lungs, “Gui I love you but please leave it be, it’s not me - it’ll never be me.” You whisper, standing and making a swift exit to get some fresh air. What you miss is the mindreaders eyes following you the whole way out and the concerned expression which laces his features.

While outside you breathe out deeply trying to fill your burning lungs with oxygen. As much as you hated to admit it, you were in love with Druig. Completely, humiliatingly, in love with him. You can’t remember when your infatuation started. Maybe it had always lurked deep in your heart but you couldn’t help but feel like you were meant to be together. Yet the love you felt seemed completely one sided - Druig didn’t hate you or anything, almost the opposite, you two were very close friends which makes his interest in Makkari even worse. He had never out rightly told you he wanted to pursue a relationship with her but his obvious flirting made it clear to you. Recently it’s become hard to be around Druig as you try to keep your butterflies at bay and so you began to distance yourself. You felt it was for the best - you could keep your friendship with Druig and he had more time to flirt with Makkari.

Druig knew something was off, he didn’t need to read your mind to notice how you left the room when he entered or wouldn’t laugh as hard at his jokes as you used to, to be honest he thought you were getting bored of being around him. For some time he tried to convince himself he was making it up, it was his own insecurities he was projecting but soon the other eternals noticed something was wrong and began to question him, and what hurt him the most is he didn’t know what he did. After watching your departure from the party, he refocused his attention on Makkari. Half of him wanted to chase after you to find out why you had left in such a hurry but the other half realised you probably didn’t want him there. ‘You should speak to her’ Makkari signed across the table, “I don’t think she’ll want to speak to me” Druig murmurs, reuling on her powers to feel vibrations and lip read to understand what he said. ‘You won’t know unless you try’ She signs, this time he unfolds his previously crossed arms to sign back, ‘What if I make it worse?’ ‘You won’t unless you do something stupid’ His mind begins to race, what includes something stupid? He felt like crying out, he didn’t know what to do, he wanted to take you in his arms and take away anything that makes you upset yet it seems like you want nothing to do with him. 

Before you started ignoring Druig, he was planning to tell you he was in love with you and had been for thousands of years. Makkari was helping him plan the way he would tell you and what he would say, but the fear of rejection and self doubt lingered in his thoughts so he continued to put off the admission no matter how harsh Makkari was on him.

Druig can’t stand the thought of you standing out in the cold by yourself anymore so he stands, you can either come back inside into the warm and ignore him or maybe you two could have the longest conversation in the past few months. Makkari claps lightly as he stands, however he brushes it off and saunters over to the entrance, he walks under the entryway and finds you standing slightly further along the path.

“Y/N!” You could recognise that voice anywhere, it just so happened to be the voice you least wanted to hear right now. You turn nonetheless to see Druig jogging to meet up to where you were stood. “Is everything alright?” His thick accent is laced with concern, “Yeah I just needed some air” “Come on Y/N I know you, it’s more than that”  “Honestly, it’s nothing Druig just go back inside” “I’m not going in without you it’s freezing” He shrugs, it angers you how calm he is, how he couldn’t comprehend how your heart is beating in your chest so fast it feels like it might jump out you skin, “Druig I said go back inside!” You throw your hands up in the air, “Why can’t you just listen to me!” “Because you won’t tell me the truth!” Anger laces Druig’s features, all his emotions he’s bottled up over the past few months bubble to the surface, “You avoid me everyday, you never want to see me but when I ask you say everythings fine! But it’s not fine and I want to know why you won’t speak to me anymore, what did I do?” “You did nothing, Druig! You don’t get it” “Then explain it, I can fix it” Tears prick your eyes as you look up towards the man in front of you “You can’t fix it! I don’t want to be around you anymore!” The look on Druig’s face makes you instantly regret the words that just fell from your lips, it’s like his insecurities swallowed him whole and he takes a step back, “I’m sorry for trying to be your friend Y/N” He tuts, trying to hide his emotions from you, to make him seem less vulnerable, “God I can’t believe you grew sick of me” He mutters as he turns on his heel, “What are you talking about Dru, I never got sick of you?” You use the nickname only he lets you use, “Then why ignore me? It’s like you hate me!” Tears fill his eyes, “You mean so much to me Y/N and one day you woke up and decided you hated me!” “I never hated you Druig, I couldn’t stand seeing you flirt with Makkari!” You let your emotions take control of you, letting out everything you wish you had more of a chance to say, “It hurts seeing you chase after someone over and over again when I’ve loved you for thousands of years and you can’t see it! IT hurts Druig. You. Don’t. Understand.” The last sentence laced with venom as tears flowed freely down your face. Druig opens his mouth to reply but you weren’t finished yet, “God it hurt so much seeing how happy she made you, how you two would sneak around always plotting and planning things I didn’t know! So go back inside and be with her and leave me alone!” Your voice cracks and you look to the floor thinking you’re going to hear Druig’s footsteps receding yet the get louder in your hears and you feel a cold hand push your chin up to look, your teary eyes meet, and Druig has that stupid smirk, “Y/N,” he breaths deeply, “Makkari and I weren’t sneaking around. We were planning how I was going to tell you that I loved you” You look at him with disbelief, but he places a finger on your lips to silence you, “But now” he chuckles, “You’ve ruined it by telling ME you love me first” A shaky breath leaves your lips, and you blink at Druig with the weight of a new relationship falling on your shoulders, “You’re not just saying that?” You question, “I wouldn’t lie about these things if that's what you're insinuating” Druig raises his eyebrows before regaining his serious composure, “I love you Y/N. I always have. It’s always been you, no one else”. Without thinking you crash your lips into his, he’s quick to respond and kiss you back pouring thousands of years of love and emotion into one kiss. You pull away for air and lean your forehead against his. The smiles on your faces bright enough to light a city, Druig places his large hand into your smaller one, “Shall we go back inside m’love? They might wonder where we are.” You nod, and begin your short walk back, “I never took you for the jealous type.” “DRU.”

[bonkie-barnes]

Spoons

natasha romanoff x gn!reader

word count: 2.1k

warnings: chronic illness, mention of medicine, self deprecating thoughts

A/N: this is me 1000% projecting about my guilt that comes with my chronic illnesses. they're kicking my ass rn. this is a vent fic, but if you resonate with this at all, i hope you enjoy :)

- - -

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The alarm clock on Natasha’s bedside table has been going off for a full minute already. You merely roll over and cover your head with Natasha’s pillow. It smells like her.

You have absolutely no energy to get up, let alone reach across the bed to turn the alarm off. Your head feels heavy and your body aches something terrible.

The list of chores you have to do around the house today sits uncomfortably in the back of your mind. The list of friends who have texted you about making plans to hang out sits there too. The idea of staying in bed all day sounds more and more appealing by the second. You know this because the alarm is still blaring into the otherwise peaceful morning air.

Just as you’re gathering the strength to sit up and turn the alarm off, Natasha walks in. She looks at her watch and her brow furrows in confusion.

“What are you doing, sleepyhead?” she asks you with a little smirk. There is concern in her eyes, though she masks it well.

You’re both fully aware the alarm has been going off for seven minutes straight now.

“Just tired, love. You know how much work it takes to reach over,” you say in a joking manner, hopeful that you can get past this without worrying her too much.

Natasha eyes you suspiciously for a second before giving in.

“How was your workout?” you ask her sincerely.

As she starts rambling about her morning activities, you feel a sense of shame. You’ve barely managed to wake up in the time it’s taken her to complete a full workout routine. Hell, you couldn’t even find it in you to turn the alarm off.

You finally focus on her rant as it comes to an end. Natasha is looking at you expectantly. Shit. She’s asked you a question.

“Huh?” you grunt.

She chuckles before answering, “I asked if you were ever going to get up and get in the shower, stinky.”

You put on a fake smile but fail to meet her eyes, the shame eating you up. It has been a few days since your last shower, but it’s just so hard to find the strength and energy to get up and stand in one place for more than a minute or two.

If Natasha notices the far away look in your eyes and the grimace on your mouth, she doesn’t say anything.

After one of the quickest and most unproductive showers you’ve ever taken, you find Natasha waiting for you in the kitchen. She’s taken it upon herself to make breakfast for you both.

You kiss her cheek and thank her as you sit down at the table. The warm cup of coffee she sets down in front of you is a godsend. The warmth emitting from the cup helps to diminish the pain in your knuckles, if only slightly. You send up a silent prayer to whomever might be listening that the caffeine will help with the fatigue today instead of making you sick.

Natasha sits down in the chair next to you with her own plate. She runs her eyes over you in a scrutinizing manner. She wants to think you don’t notice, but you do.

Clearing your throat in hopes to take her focus off you, you ask about her plans for the day.

“Oh, you know, mostly just busy work. I have a ton of paperwork to get through,” she tells you through an exaggerated sigh. “What about you?”

The list of chores screams at you again. “Mostly just some things around the house. Grocery shopping, laundry, boring shit like that.”

Natasha hums around a sip of her coffee. It surprised you just how much cream and sugar she takes in hers. It’s just one of the many unpredictable things about her that made you fall in love.

“Super exciting. I hate to miss out,” she teases you.

You crack a smile to appease her. Inside, though, you realize just how little she understands. These errands seem so simple to her, when to you, they are the most daunting of tasks.

You’re brought out of your thoughts by Natasha standing up to take her plate to the sink. She comes back to kiss your cheek and let you know she’s going to go get ready, before walking out of the room.

You suspect the amount of housework you’ll get done today will be minimal, so you decide to at least make Natasha some lunch. Maybe it will lessen the disappointment she feels when she comes home to see everything exactly as it was when she left, you think.

Your plan is halted as you’re making her sandwich. The stupid cover on the peanut butter jar is stuck. You can’t open it for the life of you. The guilt comes in like a tidal wave. You can’t even do something as simple as make lunch for her, your brain supplies for you.

Natasha returns from getting ready to see you standing in the kitchen with a glare on your tired face.

“What’d the peanut butter do to you this time,” she jokes.

“I can’t.” Tears well up in your eyes.

She comes up to wrap you in a hug from behind. She softly asks, “What can’t you do?”

“I can’t open the jar,” you mutter softly, feeling overwhelmingly embarrassed.

“It’s okay, love. Let me help,” she tells you delicately before kissing the spot under your ear. She can tell this is affecting you more than usual and wishes for nothing more than to be able to take away your distress.

You mutter a thank you before continuing to make her sandwich. You pack everything into a bag and write a small note to finish it off. You know Natasha loves the little messages you leave her periodically, and nothing will stop you from trying to make her as happy as you can.

Goodbyes are said as you both wander closer to the door. Natasha makes sure to hold you longer and tighter than usual. You don’t comment on that.

The silence that encompasses the room as soon as the love of your life leaves is suffocating. You can feel the exhaustion from purely getting up and getting ready creeping up on you. Logically, you know that you shouldn’t overexert yourself, but the shame is eating you up. Already on a roll, might as well keep on going, you think to yourself.

You go back to your mental to-do list and debate what to start with. The grocery store doesn’t sound terrible. Some sun would do you some good. It’s been a few days since you’ve seen the world that exists outside of your house.

Wandering back to the bedroom to get your phone and shoes, you try to push the fatigue from your mind. In your attempt to block out the tiredness, you fail to recognize the ever-present pain in your joints increasing. It’s only when you sit down and bend over to put your shoes on that you register the feeling. Your hips ache severely; so much so, that you can’t hold your position long enough to get your shoe on your foot.

This seems to be the straw that breaks the camel’s back, seeing as you immediately burst into tears. The pain mixed with your inability to do basic, everyday activities completely overwhelms you as you break down.

There’s absolutely no chance that you’re going to complete this task, let alone all the other ones on your list. You let out a sigh as you stand up and shuffle to your room, phone and shoes forgotten in the living room.

You let the weight of your emotions crush you as you climb into bed and under the covers, your wife’s pillow clutched closely to your chest.

Your tears cease to stop, even as you succumb to the sleep you so desperately wished to hold onto this morning.

- - -

Natasha comes home to an eerily silent house. On any typical day, she would come home to the noise of your favorite show or music softly playing, whether it be from a speaker or from your guitar. Your shared house consistently was filled with life and sound. It was one of her favorite parts of her day; coming home to you in your own element, laughing or singing. You are her home.

This newfound silence has her exceptionally worried. Even on your bad days, there was at least a laugh track coming from the TV or the smell of hot chocolate coming from the kitchen. Now, there’s absolutely nothing. For a split second, Natasha thinks that you may never have come back from the grocery. Her heart rate spikes. The sight of your phone on the coffee table and your shoes strewn haphazardly on the floor puts those worries to rest.

“Darling?” she calls from the entryway. There is no response. She carefully removes her boots and coat before moving through every room in the house, calling out for you softly in each.

She makes her way to the bedroom, lightly knocking on the door as she lets herself in. She sees the rise and fall of your chest and is filled with a sense of relief she didn't know she needed.

"Love? Are you awake?"

You grumble out an answer that could be understood as a 'yes'.

Natasha carefully sits down on the side of the bed that you are facing.

"Can you tell me what's going on?" she requests softly, in fear of upsetting the quiet environment of the bedroom and making things worse.

The tears that started up again when you wife called out the first time get even heavier somehow.

"Oh love, come here."

She carefully gathers you in her arms and rests your head on her chest.

"Does this have anything to do with the peanut butter jar this morning?"

You nod. One of your favorite things about your wife is her ability to observe and understand what you're going through.

"I just can't do anything today. Everything hurts and I'm so, so tired," you whisper, followed by a heartbreaking sob.

"It's okay love. Please don't cry," Natasha whispers back.

"But it's not! It's not okay!" You sit up from her chest to let out your rant. "You've done so much today and I could barely wake up. You work so hard and I should be able to do stuff around the house so you can come home and not have to worry about anything," you finish with a sigh.

Your wife puts her hand under your chin, forcing you to look in her direction. "Love, look at me. Believe me when I say that I don't care about the state of the laundry or if the pantry has been stocked. All I care about is you. All I want is for you to be okay. It's killing me that you feel like this and I can't do anything to take it away from you. What I can do, though, is tell you just how proud I am of you. You are the strongest person I know, and I work with the Avengers."

You giggled at that. Natasha smiles at your small second of happiness.

"Are you sure? Because I was going to get so much done today and I was trying to-"

Natasha cuts you off with a soft kiss.

"My love. Listen to me. All I care about is your health and happiness. If staying in bed and catching up on sleep is what you needed today, then that's all I expect from you. I never want you to hurt yourself trying to do more than you can. We all have limits. It’s okay to need a break some days. I love you and I am so very, very proud of you."

With a long look into her eyes, all you find is love and adoration directed towards you. There's no disgust or disappointment as you had anticipated.

"I love you too," you utter quietly.

Natasha smiles and leaves a long kiss on your forehead. "What if we got some pain killers and some food in you? We can even put on your favorite movie. Does that sound good?"

You nod. Natasha gets up to get you some medicine and to order some food, while you get your favorite movie loaded on the TV.

Later that night, when both your stomachs are full and your wife is obnoxiously singing along to the songs in the movie just to make you laugh, you realize just how loved you are.

You don't know how tomorrow will treat you, or the day after that. What you do know, however, is that Natasha will always be there to support and love you. Your pain level and ability to function is always an uncertainty, but your wife's love will never be.

- - -

A/N: as always, i try to keep it gender neutral. if you find a mistake, please let me know! feedback is appreciated! to all my chronic illness buddies out there: i love you, you've got this :)

taglist: @007giu

[jillianallen14]

Spirk fanfic rec

Some amazing Spirk fanfic to bless your dash because I’m falling in love with this shit all over again (this is like the 10th time this has happened lol):

Entering Orbit:  Jim escapes to Iowa to avoid the media frenzy following the Narada incident, but a late-night miscommunication results in Spock turning up on his front porch; rated m; 30,957 words

Papers in the Roadside:  Non-Starfleet AU. Jim owns a small bar in Chicago, keeps on picking up strays and taking care of everyone no matter how hard it makes his own life. Spock is a journalist writing feature articles for the Chicago Tribune; he depicts the world with uncanny skill, but hides more than one personal drama and is possibly under surveillance from the Vulcan royal family. They meet by accident just before their lives start to spin out of control; rated e; 49,637 words

Take Refuge in What You Know:  AU - Kirk has moved into a apartment/house and wants to get to know his neighbors. He meets his neighbor Spock, a loner who suffers from extreme agoraphobia. Kirk thinks he's beautiful enigma; rated e; 120,334 words

Listen, this is not only my favorite Star Trek fic of all time, it’s also one of my favorite fanfics in general. It’s right up there with Text Talk and The Shoebox Project from the HP fandom, which if you’ve read, you know are incredible and frankly life-changing. And this fanfic changed my life. The description the author gives doesn’t do the beauty of this fic justice. I suffer from agoraphobia and Spock’s depiction as an agoraphobic man was probably the most well-researched, sympathetic, empathetic, caring, realistic portrayal of what it’s like to be agoraphobic that I’ve ever witnessed in fiction. It made me cry like a child because I had never felt so seen and understood. This writer is incredible, and this fic is incredible. I can’t recommend it enough. It’s an AU, which I’m usually pretty wary about, but it barely even feels like an AU. It just feels like Jim and Spock. The author’s understanding of both of their characters’ is perfect, like just a spot-on portrayal of who they are. This fic genuinely helped me accept who I am and helped me understand that I am capable of & deserving of love. If you don’t read any other Star Trek fics (and you def should read more Star Trek fics because they’re amazing), then let this one be the one you read. I dare you not to read it three times in a row like I did.

Observations:  First Officer Spock comments on life aboard the Enterprise and his service under Captain James T. Kirk; rated m; 500,000+ words.

So the author of this fic actually did a thing where they made this fic into two books (similar to what The Shoebox Project authors did many years ago in the HP fandom). They don’t get any money from people buying the books; the cost is just to go towards producing the books. This fic is the equivalent of two LARGE novels. We’re talking 600 pages & up. It’s a huge fic. Now, that being said, I read it in one day. ONE DAY. It’s that good. This is another one of my all-time favorite fics, though not quite as dear to my heart as the one I listed above. It’s focused on AOS, and tbh, I forget that what happens in this book isn’t actually canon. Like it’s so well-told, it just feels like it’s now part of the timeless story of Kirk & Spock. The “professional” Star Trek writers would never be brave enough to do what this author does with Kirk and Spock, though. This fic will make you angry, will make you laugh, will make you cry. It has such a good grasp on every single character. It also shows the love between the crew of the Enterprise, which is always a treat, and it’s beautifully done in this fic. It has a sorta-enemies-to-lovers arc between Spirk and an enemies-to-close-friends arc between Spock and McCoy that is beautifully done and fleshed out. This fic is definitely a journey to go through, and I can’t recommend it enough. It’s extremely slow burn, and you will want to slap both Kirk and Spock (and McCoy) upside the head at certain points lol. 

Of Coffee Beans and Green Tea Leaves:  The progression of a relationship, through Coffee Beans and Green Tea Leaves. Basically, it’s an AU where Kirk works at a coffee shop to pay his way through school, and Spock visits often. rated t; 16,429 words

Love, love, love, this fic. It’s cute, it’s in character. They have kind of a rocky start together, so it’s got a little bit of that Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy i-hated-you-but-now-i-love-you-marry-me vibes to it. I’m a sucker for that, if you haven’t figured that out by now lol. It’s really good, and a really enjoyable read. And it’s not too long, if you’re in the mood for something on the shorter end of things.

 Please Don’t Touch the Vulcans:  The "yes" is out of Jim's mouth before he can think about it. Jim is chipper about having time off for the holidays. He asks everyone if they want to spend time together but sadly, everyone ditches Jim over the holidays because they have plans. McCoy visits his daughter, Nyota visits her family, and everyone splits. Not knowing Spock has feelings for him, Jim doesn't even bother asking if he wants to spend time together figuring he has something to do. Something cute, romantic with the boys spending time with one another and confessions; rated m; 17,690 words

Super cute and has lots of Sarek, which idk about y’all, but I’m always a fan of. Sarek and Jim kind of get to know each other a bit, and it’s cute. Sarek knows about they’re in love before Spock & Kirk know lol. If I remember correctly, there’s also some appearances from everyone’s favorite: Old!Spock! You also get a little bit of jealous and protective Young!Spock. So you’re in for a real treat with this one. 

The Ren shat’var Trilogy:  A split-second decision changes Jim's life forever, as he enters into a bond with Spock in the face of certain torture. Enemies to the Federation emerge from unlikely places, and the command team must contend with unexpected threats, as well as challenges within their own intense relationship. In this three-part series, the Enterprise races across the galaxy to confront the unknown, and Jim and Spock discover the true significance of their unprecedented connection; rated e; 184,411 words

Textual Attraction:  Valentine’s Day does not bring up pleasant memories for Cadet Kirk. But the serendipitous switch-up of his cell phone with a particular Vulcan professor’s will make his day far more interesting –and romantic. Perhaps some new memories can be made! 15,900 words

SO GOOD. Just SO good

Spaceman:  Academy AU. Five times Spock realizes he's attracted to a barista at the academy spaceport, and one time he decides to do something about it. rated t; 3728 words

Short, sweet, funny. You’ll love it.

Subtext: Texting your Vulcan first officer in the middle of the night is never a good idea. Especially when you have an obsessive crush on said Vulcan.The holidays are approaching and Jim is left entirely Spockless aboard the Enterprise when his First takes shore leave on New Vulcan. After some midnight pining, Jim sends a text he instantly regrets. That is, until Spock responds and willingly continues their textual communications to an inevitable conclusion; rated t; 13,032 words

Cute, sweet, funny. It’s a texting fic. I think you’ve probably figured out I love those. This one makes me laugh so fucking hard. Like actually laugh-out-loud-omg-did-i-just-snort kind of funny. Spock is great in this one

All Spock Wants For Christmas:  While Jim is away on a delegation mission, he panics about what to give Spock for Christmas. With help from Bones and Uhura, and in between some spam texting with Spock, Jim realizes he already has the perfect gift. And all it needs is wrapping paper and a bow; rated t; 11,966 words

And here we have another cute, sweet, funny texting fic. Sue me lol

The Morning After:  Jim convinces Spock to take shore leave with him on Risa, hoping the time together will help re-solidify their bond of friendship after some recent tension. Meanwhile, Spock convinces himself he's on Risa for one reason and one reason only, to prevent his wayward captain from getting into trouble. After a passionately illogical night of Romulan Ale and chocolate infused liquor, everything changes when Jim wakes with something other than a hangover filling his head. Something he's sure neither he nor Spock can handle. Because if Jim knows anything for sure, it's that his messed up thoughts belong nowhere near Spock's clean, ordered mind; rated m; 50,381 words

HAHA. This fic fucking cracks me up. You’ve got drunk boys pining over each other & not realizing it. You’ve got accidental marriage. You’ve got bed sharing. It’s great, it’s cute, it’s funny. 

Take This Sinking Boat (And Point It Home):  In which Spock pines, Jim isn’t stupid (except he kind of is), and Christopher Pike has had enough of this bullshit; 6698 words

Pike is great in this one, and it’s super, super funny.

Extracurricular Activities:   Spock returns to the Academy from a tour of duty to find an intriguing cadet captures his attention; rated e; 15,433 words

Veritas: Basically, Kirk and Spock are on trial because the Federation thinks they are emotionally compromised by each other, which is putting the lives of their crew in danger. They have to convince a court they’re not actually in love with each other. They think the claims are bullshit. They think it will be easy to prove that they aren’t in love or emotionally compromised, damn it. It isn’t; rated m; 186,80 words

This one is so, so good. A real gem off of Fanfic.net. I remember it was actually one of the first Spirk fanfics I ever read, and it blew me away. The progression of their relationship is really well-done and interesting. It has star-crossed lovers vibes and has some really emotionally intense moments in it, especially for Spock. 

A Habitual Affection:  Living in 1930s New York with the Vulcan you're secretly in love with is no simple thing. But Jim never liked anything simple. And then, the big snowstorm hit...; rated t; 7998 words

A beautiful TOS fic about one of the gayest episodes of Star Trek. Love this one. 

Atlas:  Between what was and what will be stands James Tiberius Kirk, in all his fractured patchwork glory. Because saving the Federation was only the beginning; rated t; 135,529 words

A beaut. Really great characterization, and the progression of Jim and Spock’s relationship is really well-done.